The Last Survivors - Sermon for Week Ending April 25

   Readings

Isaiah 40: 31—“Those who hope in God will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

John Pavlovitz—“Hope is the pulsating lifeblood for weary hearts in dispiriting days. The steadfast belief that somewhere off in the distance, terrible things will get better, and everything that is upside down will be right side up. That despite hate’s booming voices, love will have the last, loudest word.”

The Last Survivors

I had planned to begin the Documentary Sermon Series in a couple of weeks, but I recently watched a PBS Frontline video called The Last Survivors, which interviewed Holocaust death camp survivors who were children or teens at the time of their imprisonment.  Since Holocaust Remembrance Say was this week and this is such a powerful documentary, I decided to go ahead and start the series by sharing some of the survivors’ stories. (You can watch the documentary for free at PBS Frontline) Manfred Goldberg began by saying to the interviewer, “Sitting in the car coming here, it began to dawn on me that this would be a first for me, and I wasn’t quite sure just what I had let myself in for. I’m here today to record some testimony of my experiences during the Holocaust. Time is marching on, and it will not be long before there will be no firsthand survivors alive, and it is important to record this testimony as evidence for future generations.” Manfred was 14 when he arrived at Auschwitz. He said that he felt lucky that he and his mother were in the same camp, and that they both survived.  But his younger brother, Hermann, one day, just disappeared. There were rumors that the SS picked him up, but they never again heard from him or about him.

Frank Brichta said, “I can’t really communicate with others properly, because they don’t know what I’m talking about.  I mean, how many people have seen their parents murdered or seen a gas chamber in action? It has affected me.” At age 16, he too arrived with his mother.  Immediately, they were put into different lines. She broke free and came to him for just a moment, before she was led to the gas chamber.  He said that someone told him what was happening, and later, looking at the flames of the crematories, he wondered to himself, “Which flame was my mother?” Frank has kept a class picture that he calls Red for Dead. For every child in the photo that did not survive the death camps, he put a red square, which was almost all of them. He shared the picture with the interviewer, telling him the children’s names, when they were born, and when they died.

Susan Pollack, who was 14, lost over 50 relatives in the Holocaust. She remembers that the train trip to the camp took 6 to 8 days. There was no food or water, and many babies and children died along the way. She said that as soon as they arrived, the German guards started shouting orders at them. Susan is Hungarian, and another Hungarian girl in line with her whispered to her to tell them that she was 16. She did, and that saved her from the gas chamber.  But she watched as her mother was marched in.

Maurice Blik was only 5-years-old when his family arrived at Bergen- Belsen. When his little sister was close to her first birthday, he found a piece of discarded carrot and carved a little boat out of it to give to her. But she didn’t live to see her first birthday.  And he remembers his older sister taking her out and putting her on top of the pile of bodies. Blik is a sculptor. He said he was not one that looked forward to starting a new project.  More often than not, it is a tormenting experience for him. He shared that his therapist suggested that since his first sculpture was for his baby sister who died, that memory recurs each time he starts a new one.

Finally, Anita Laasker-Wallfisch was 19 when she entered Auschwitz.  A cellist, she became part of the Women’s Orchestra of Auschwitz, which helped her survive when most women and girls did not. At age 95, she is one tough woman. Her daughter was there for the interview.  She is a psychologist and wanted to talk about second generation trauma. Anita interrupted and said, “To me, anybody who’s got a roof over their head and enough food, forget the trauma, you know?” She gave a speech before the German Parliament on the 73rd anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. She didn’t talk about what she witnessed or endured at the camp. She talked about antisemitism and the human capacity for evil. She included a plea to the German people to make sure that it never happens again and ended on what was for her a note of hope, saying, “Hate is poison, and ultimately those who hate poison themselves.” We can only hope that you win this fight. The future lies in your hands. I really hated the Germans.  I’m trying to build bridges. And as long as I can do it, I’ll do it.”

Living through the unimaginable horrors of the holocaust, almost all the survivors said that what kept them going was the help that they got from each other. And the hope that someday, this would end. Help and Hope kept them alive, and gave them the opportunity to create families of their own after having lost so much. Help and Hope are their gift to us. May we learn from them to help one another in our hard times. And remember that no matter what we are going through, there is hope for better days ahead. No matter the amount of darkness that surrounds us, the light will shine again, and it will overcome the darkness.

The Pearl Of Great Price - Sermon for Week ending April 18, 2020

The Pearl of Great Price 

I’m returning for a few weeks to this book, Short stories by Jesus by Amy- Jill Levine, professor of Jewish studies and New Testament at Vanderbilt Divinity school in Nashville. She describes herself as “a Yankee, Jewish, Feminist who teaches in a predominantly Christian Divinity School in the Buckle of the Bible belt.” The book is primarily about all the ways that Christians interpret the parables of Jesus allegorically, with most of the interpretations focusing on who gets into heaven and Jews the enemy, and she notes that even the gospel writers added their own allegorical interpretations to the text of the parables. 

Levine reminds us that Jesus told the stories to fellow Jews who had no idea that he would be proclaimed the son of God by millions. And she asks us to try to hear the parables in that context. She says, “One does not have to worship Jesus for the parables to have meaning.

The people who first heard them did not. They paid attention because the parables spoke to their hearts. I do not worship Jesus, but I continue to return to these stories because they are at the heart of my own Judaism. They have provided me with hours of inspiration and conversation. If we hear them in their original context, and if we avoid the anti-Jewish interpretations that deform them, they gleam with a shine that cannot be hidden.”

Today we are looking at the very short parable, The Pearl of Great Price in Matthew 13, 45-46, which says, “The realm of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” Levine says that Christians typically read this parable as an allegory of discipleship, with the merchant as the disciple and the pearl as the gospel. Or Jesus is the pearl of great value.Or the pearl is the church, and we have been purchased through the blood of Christ. Or God is the merchant and we are the pearl. Or the pearl is the New Covenant Jesus speaks about. Levine is a scholar, so after she asks us to resist reading the parable as allegory, she spends 12 pages telling us more than I ever needed to know about merchants and pearls. 

Finally, she suggests that this parable simply challenges us, as it would Jesus’ fellow Jews who heard it, to ask ourselves what is truly of value to us. For what would we sell or give everything we own? For what would we make a drastic and life-changing act? Levine asked her students the question. One woman answered that it was her doctoral degree. She already had a Masters of Divinity, and was planning to go directly into a doctoral program in New Testament. But she got married, to a pastor, and her husband discouraged her from seeking her doctorate, because he had his and felt that one Doctor of Ministry in the family was enough. But eventually she did apply to the program and was accepted, with funding.

She decided to enroll, and that hastened the end of her marriage. She said, “I gave up my home. I took out loans. I took back my original name. I do not know what will happen at the end of this program. But that does not matter. I am doing what is right for me. I have my pearl.” One of Levine’s Divinity students in the Riverbend Maximum security prison answered, Freedom. Saying he would do whatever it took to increase his chances of parole. Another Riverbend student answered, Safety. And other, his Dignity. We know that the Civil Rights activists asked themselves that question. Their answer was, Justice and Equality. And they risked everything, including their very lives, fighting for those values. Gay and trans rights activists’ answer is to not just be tolerated, but accepted and included as we are. For a great number of people all over the world, especially girls, their pearl is to be able to go to school. For the millions of refugees, it is safety for themselves and their families and the chance at a life without constant fear. For migrants, it’s the opportunity to work so their children can have better lives than they have had. 

This parable also challenges us to ask, What is of great value to our neighbors?

If we can find that out, we might be able to help them find their pearls. For so many of our neighbors out of work, they are most in need of food and supplies, masks and gloves, money to pay their bills, and help navigating the arduous task of filing for unemployment benefits. For some neighbors, their pearl is a place to live other than in the woods. For others, it’s a computer so their children can participate in online learning. And books to read to them. There are so very many people in our world who would give all they had just to have someone love them unconditionally. 

The parables that Jesus told speak to our hearts and our situations too. There’s no need to add meaning that isn’t there. Jesus said all that we need to hear. The parable, The Pearl of Great Price challenges us to ask ourselves what is most important to us and to our neighbors. And then to align our actions with those values. Amen. Take Care.

Easter Sunday - Sermon for Week ending April 11, 2020

Nobody knows for certain what happened after Jesus was executed for spreading his message of love and justice and inclusivity for all people. There were no eye witnesses still around to give their accounts. The earliest gospel, Mark, wasn’t written until 40 years after Jesus died, and the latest, John, was 60 to 70 years after. And all the gospel accounts are different. A lot of people think they know for certain what happened. A lot of people think they know everything there is to know about Jesus and about God. Others of us, who used to be certain, aren’t anymore. And we are just fine not knowing, embracing the mystery.

However we read the Easter story, we can find meaning in it. That from despair comes hope. From sadness, Joy. From death, life. For me, the primary message in this story is that love survives, no matter what. The fear and hate that led to Jesus’ death did not conquer the love that he lived and taught. The opposite happened. In the gospel of John, after Jesus gave the new commandment to ‘love one another as I love you, he said,‘ They will know you by your love.’ The love of Jesus is in us. And it multiplies with every act of compassion or sacrifice. We don’t have to look far to see love and sacrifice in action in these past weeks, in this time of fear, despair, and grief. There are so many regular folks making masks for our health care workers. We have mask makers right here in our congregation. There’s a group in Fernandina making masks for family members to visit their loved ones in the hospital. High school students are using 3-D printers to make faces shields. College students are building low cost-ventilators that can treat 2 patients at once with no cross-contamination. Whole communities near hospitals go out onto their balconies and clap and cheer for the nurses during shift change. Doctors and nurses and medics are coming out of retirement to help ease the burden that this virus has placed on our health care system. Have you seen the teacher parades? Teachers ride through the neighborhoods where their students live and honk and wave, and the children stand on their porches holding signs that say, “We miss you!  We love you!”

I read about a couple who are street performers in Naples. They lived on tourist dollars and are now out of work, as are most of the people they know. The city’s soup kitchens are closed. So this couple revived an old custom, which some of you might know more about than I do, of lowering food in baskets from their balcony to those below who need it. Inspired by the work of Italian doctor and St. Guiseppe Moscati, they put cards on the baskets that read, “Those who can, put something in. Those who can’t, help yourself.” Others neighbors have starting pitching in, and, at least for now, everyone has enough to eat. There are so many more examples. It would take me more than a day just to tell you all the ones I’ve heard about. I saw a poem on Facebook, attributed to the songwriter Paul Williams, although I don’t know if he actually wrote it. It describes so well the kind of love and sacrifice that Jesus lived and taught, the kind of love that survives in us and is now ours to share:

“When you go out and see the empty streets, the empty stadiums, the empty train platforms, don't say to yourself, ‘It looks like the end of the world.’ What you're seeing is love in action. What you're seeing, in that negative space, is how much we do care for each other, for our grandparents, for our immuno-compromised brothers and sisters, for people we will never meet. People will lose jobs over this. Some will lose their businesses. And some will lose their lives. All the more reason to take a moment, when you're out on your walk, or on your way to the store, or just watching the news, to look into the emptiness and marvel at all of that love. Let it fill and sustain you. It isn’t the end of the world. It is the most remarkable act of global solidarity we may ever witness.”

May the love of Jesus continue to fill us and sustain us. And may we keep that love alive through sharing it. Take care. I’ll see you soon.

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Readings: 

Our modern reading is from Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott.

When we talk about goodness, an animating intelligence in the universe and in our hearts, or a pervasive positive unity or presence, we are not talking about an old beaded guy in the sky, Parvati, or a Jewish Palestinian baby. We are talking about a higher power. A power that might be called, ‘not me.’  A kindness, a patience, a hope which is everywhere, even in our annoying, self-centered fraudulent selves. The lower powers—greed, hatred, addiction, ignorance,  are easy to connect with and describe. But a higher power is not easily defined. It can’t be controlled, manipulated, or appropriated.  It opens up and heals us and brings us together, and turns hearts of stone into human hearts.

Our gospel reading for this Easter Sunday is from John 20: 1—16.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed. She ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went towards the tomb. Simon Peter went into the tomb and saw the linen wrapping lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head.

Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 

Palm Sunday - Sermon for week ending April 4, 2020

Brene’ Brown was on 60 Minutes last Sunday. (Thanks to Cathy Brandt for that info, as I don’t usually watch it.) I know many of you are familiar with her books and Ted Talks and Netflix special. As we heard in the reading, her years of research have led her to the conclusion that vulnerability is one of the best qualities we can have, and it is a crucial element in courage, connection, and compassion. No one displays these characteristics better than Jesus did, So I thought we would take a look at how he exemplified those qualities during the final week of his life.


First is his procession into Jerusalem, Palm Sunday, which is today. In their book, The Last Week, Marcus Borg and Dom Crossan noted that while Jesus was entering through one gate of the city, Pilate, the Roman governor, was entering through another gate. And there were great differences between them. Pilate entered on horseback, flanked by an armed battalion of soldiers.  Jesus entered on a borrowed donkey, surrounded by peasants. Pilate was posturing and blustering, a picture of grandiosity. Jesus was silent and humble. Pilate wore armor. Jesus wore no armor, leaving himself vulnerable to attack. Pilate was under the illusion that he was in control. Jesus had no such illusions. He knew that what he was doing was risky, and the outcome uncertain. Pilate’s message was might is right. Jesus’ message was that there was a better way for humans to live together. Jesus was the one who had real courage.



The next day, Jesus, a Jewish Rabbi, went to the temple to teach. And he witnessed some unscrupulous priests (which there have always been and always will be) cheating the poor peasants who had journeyed to the city for Passover, requiring that they exchange their money for the official shekel to pay their temple tax, charging them extraordinary sums and keeping the difference for themselves, and overcharging them for birds that were required for temple sacrifice. When he drove them out of the temple, Jesus knew it made him even more of a target for Pilate, who was looking for a reason to use military power against the Jews. But he was willing to take that risk in order to speak the truth, that, in the kindom of God, everyone is equal. There is no letting some in, while keeping others out, counting some worthy and others unworthy. Everyone is worthy.



Then on Thursday, while celebrating the Passover supper with his disciples, in a borrowed room, Jesus did something that Pilate and all those like him would never do.  He connected with his disciples in the purest, most loving way, by physically touching them as he washed their feet, allowing himself to be emotionally exposed in order to show them, not just tell them, how much they were loved and how worthy they were. Traditionally, guests at Passover would have their feet washed by servants, so Jesus was also showing them the importance of serving each other as a natural part of loving each other. Then he gave them a new commandment, “To love one another as I have loved you.” Shortly, his followers would be without Jesus, but he left them with everything they needed to know about how to live, and he implored them to keep sharing it. And they did. In the book of Acts, they carried to everyone they met the message that love, not hate, vulnerability, not power, connection and compassion are what the world needs. Acts, chapter 2, says, “They were all together and had all things in common. They would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all who had any need. They spent time together in the temple, they broke bread at home, and ate with glad and generous hearts.” The apostle Paul helped get Jesus’ message to his followers, through starting those early churches.



And here we are. Jesus isn’t physically present with us, but we too have his example, and his lessons on how to live and treat each other. May we continue to share that message in our time and place. Especially during these most difficult days, may our actions reveal just how much we love one another. Amen.



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Readings 



I have 4 readings today, because I want to talk about some of the major events of Holy Week.  So I edited them down to their core messages.





Mark 11: 1-10



When they were approaching Jerusalem, Jesus sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of God!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”



Mark 11: 15-17

Jesus entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves, saying, “Is it not written, ‘My house should be called a house of prayer for all the nations? But you have made it a den of robbers.”



From John 13

During the Passover supper, Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe and tied a towel around himself. He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel. After he washed their feet and returned to the table, he said to them, “As I have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example that you should do as I have done to you.”


Then Jesus said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”



Our 4th reading is by Sociologist and author Brene’ Brown on the role of vulnerability in courage, connection, and compassion.



There is no example of courage that does not require uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. There is no courage without vulnerability. Courage is not doing something because you are fearless. The most vulnerable people I know are the toughest people I know, not posturing, blustery tough. They are real tough. Connection is why we are here. It is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives. To practice courage, connection, and compassion is to look at life and the people around us and say, ‘I am all in.’

Women in History - Betty Reid Soskin - Sermon for Week ending March 28, 2020

I am finishing our Women in History series with another great woman that I had never heard of. I was driving back from somewhere a few weeks ago, when I heard her tell her story on NPR’s The Moth Radio Hour, one of my favorite NPR programs, where people tell true stories, without a script or notes, to a live audience. Her story was so amazing, that I had one of those NPR driveway moments, where after I got home, I sat in my car and finished listening.  


The title of the program was Truth and Power: Global stories of Women, and the first storyteller was Betty Reid Soskin, who, at age 97, is the oldest person to tell a story on the Moth stage. When she started speaking, she sounded a little nervous. She began by saying that she was a full-time park ranger at ‘Rosie the Riveter’ National Historic Park in Richmond, California, a job she began at age 85, because she was at a point where she had outlived her sense of future, and so was making life up as she went, one day at a time. In her job as a ranger, she guided tours and trained other rangers in CPR, where she usually played the victim. 3 times a week, she packed the theatre to talk about the Rosies and other women who served the war effort on the home front, weaving in her own experience as a young black woman in a segregated America.


I’m listening to this woman talk about her work, and thinking I am going to learn all about ‘Rosie the Riveter’ National Historic Park, and perhaps about other strong women who had influenced her. But after she mentioned that her children were concerned that she still lived alone, her voiced lost the sound of nervousness, as she said,  “On June 30th, two years ago, I awoke in the night and saw a man looking through my things.” She reached for her cell phone to call the police, but her movement got his attention, and he grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. Within seconds, he leaped across the bed and wrestled her off (She is 5 ft. 3). She screamed as loud as she could. He pinned her arms. Her back was against his chest, and he put his arm over her mouth. She kicked his leg, and they both fell, she onto her back, with him straddling her, and he started to pummel her face with his fists. She realized that her hands were free, and that he was wearing some sort of pajama pants with a drawstring. She said, “And somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered this magical thing, and I reached in, and squeezed as hard as I could, and he tumbled over in a heap.”


She ran into the bathroom and barred the door. She said, “I don’t know how long I sat there, but I suddenly realized that underneath the lavatory, was my electric iron.  I plugged it in and turned it up to linen. I was going to brand him for the police.” After a while, when she was pretty sure he had gone, with the iron still in her hand,  she ran out and pounded on her neighbors’ door, and they called the police, who not only took care of her, but offered her counseling and relocation if she wanted it. 

She ended her story saying, “That night, I think I received a gift that was unintended. I realized that I had been tested, and I had not only survived, but prevailed. And I’m now 97, still living alone.”  

I learned a lot more about Betty. She is an author, composer, singer, political activist, and historian. During WWII, she worked as a file clerk for the Boilermakers union.  A Unitarian Universalist, she was an activist in and songwriter for the Civil Rights Movement. And she was a field representative for two California assembly women, where she helped make the ‘Rosie the Riveter’ park a reality. She has a page full of honors. She attended Barack Obama’s inauguration, as his guest. But she considers this incident one of the defining moments of her life.



Betty’s experience affirms what we all know, that old people are tough. She inspires us to do whatever we are able to do even in the most fearful of circumstances, and she reminds us just how resilient we humans are. You can listen to her story on The Moth Podcast. I’ll ask Debbie to include the link. As many of you have requested, today and every week going forward, we will be blessed and inspired by the music of our one and only, Jane Lindberg. Stay safe. And keep in touch.

(The link to the story referenced by Rev Kathy's sermon is https://themoth.org/radio-hour/truth-and-power-global-stories-of-women .)  

Women in History - Lillian Wald - Sermon for week ending March 21, 2020

Our woman in history this week is Lillian Wald, an American nurse, humanitarian, activist, and author.  In 1892, she was a 25-year-old nurse in a New York hospital. While giving instructions for home care at a building on Henry Street in New York’s, lower East Side, she was approached by a little girl who asked her to come help her mother, who was bleeding to death in childbirth. Until then, Wald was unfamiliar with the poverty of the tenement dwellers there.  She wrote later in her memoir, The House on Henry Street, “All the maladjustments of our social and economic relations seemed epitomized in this brief journey and what was found at the end of it. 2 rooms for a family of 7 plus 2 boarders who literally slept on boards on the floor.”

That event so changed her that, with a friend, she moved into the neighborhood, into one of the tenements, and offered home healthcare to the other residents, who were mostly immigrants. In 1893, she expanded the practice, founding the Henry Street Settlement, the first visiting nurse service that did not rely on a religious institution or a particular doctor. In 1913 and 1914, the service treated more patient than the 3 largest hospitals in New York combined. In addition to nursing care, Henry Street provided social services, English language instruction, music, and theater. It had study rooms where children could have a quiet place to do their homework with teachers who could supplement what they were learning in school. And books for children too young to get a library card.

Wald became a fierce defender of and advocate for the immigrants who were her neighbors and her patients. She believed that immigrant’s culture should be valued, and their contributions celebrated. 

She expressed these thoughts in her memoir, which our first reading is from. She said, “When school is dismissed, out they pour, the little hyphenated Americans, thousands on a single city block, unaware that to some of us, they carry on their shoulders our hopes for a more democratic America, when the good in their traditions and culture shall be mingled with ours. Only through knowledge is one fortified to resist the onslaught of arguments of the superficial observer, who, dismayed by the sight, is conscious only of ‘hordes’ and ‘dangers to America’ in these little children. Social exclusions and prejudices separate far more effectively than distance or different language. These children open up wide vistas of the lands from which they come. They bring a hope that a better relationship is possible, and that through love and understanding, we shall come to know the shame of prejudice.”

Every day, Lillian Wald practiced what she preached. She created the first playground in New York City in the back yard of the Henry Street Settlement.  She introduced the concept of free lunches in schools, and nurses in schools, and did not stop until they became reality. She fought against child labor, which she saw every day. And she was a pioneer for special education. An early civil rights activist, she insisted that all the classes at Henry Street be racially integrated, and she established branches in neighborhoods with large African-American populations so that they could take full advantage of the services. In response to the practice of lynching, she joined with Mary McLeod Bethune,  Mary Talbert, and Jane Addams to found the NAACP, whose first meetings were held at the Henry Street settlement. There is more, if you want to research further.

The New York Times named Wald one of the greatest American women, who “devoted her life to ensure that women and children, immigrants and the poor,  and members of all ethnic and religious groups would realize America’s promise of  life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” What an inspiration she is to us that with commitment and dedication and love for our neighbor, we can accomplish more than we ever thought we could. 

Our gospel reading is James 2: 14-17 from The Message. It describes Lillian Wald and all of us who seek to exemplify Jesus not just in our words, but in our works. It says, Dear friends, do you think you’ll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, ‘Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!’ and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—isn’t it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?”

We have heard plenty of God-talk.  And we know that it is hollow by itself. You have probably heard this quote, attributed to St. Francis, “Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” Now is one of the times when we can make a Real difference in the lives of our neighbors. This crisis most impacts all of us who are over 60, the medically fragile, and their caregivers. But also the poor, low-wage earners, the homeless, immigrants, refugees, and all those who don’t a support system.

May our commitment to one another grow even stronger during this time of uncertainty and fear.  And when it is over, may we join together and help in every way that we can to rebuild our communities, our nation, and our world.

Stay safe everyone. I will see you soon.

Unsung Hero Henrietta Lacks - Sermon from August 4, 2019

Our unsung Hero for today is Henrietta Lacks, who, though she died in 1951, as we heard in the reading, her cells, called immortal, because they continue to multiply almost 70 years later  have been used in almost every aspect of medicine.   Many of us know about her because of the book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, published in 2000 and made into a movie starring Oprah Winfrey. But for half a century, no one knew about her, and that was on purpose, because her cells were taken from her without her consent or even her knowledge.  She died never knowing about them, and her family only learned bits and pieces of information  until Rebecca Skloot, the author of the book, told them.

Henrietta was born in Virginia in 1920, one of 9 children. When her mother died, the children were farmed out to relatives. She went to live with her grandfather, who was already raising her cousin Day, who was 5 years older than she was.  They shared a room and grew up together, and when she was 20 and he was 25, they got married and moved to Baltimore.

A few weeks after she had her 5^th child, she started having pains and felt around until she found a lump. Her local doctor sent her to the gynecology clinic at Johns Hopkins, which was built as a charity hospital for the poor, and was one of the few hospitals at the time who would even treat black people, but even they kept them segregated in public wards.

At Hopkins and other charity hospitals, doctors and scientists routinely used patients for research without their consent or knowledge, figuring that since they couldn’t pay for their treatment with money, it was fair to use their bodies as a source of payment.That’s what Richard Telind and George Gey did to Henrietta. After they diagnosed her with cervical cancer, they treated her with radium.  But when he had her on the table under anesthesia, before he inserted the radium, Dr. Telind cut a slice of her tumor and a slice of her healthy cervix, and sent them to Dr. Gey, who had been trying without success to get human cells to reproduce outside the body. With each visit for her treatments, they took more cells, and Henrietta was never informed. Soon tumors spread all over her body, and she died on October 4, 1951. Even back then, the law did require family consent to perform an autopsy.  When they asked her husband for permission, he said no.  So they lied and said they needed it to run tests that might help his children someday. He agreed, and they took pieces of all the tumors.

Henrietta’s cells, unlike any other cells anyone had tried to grow, produced an entire generation every 24 hours. They kept growing until there were millions and then billions of them. And they are still growing. The cells were called HeLa, and the doctors and scientists who used and sold them kept secret that HeLa stood for Henrietta Lacks because they had stolen them from her. Dr. Gey believed that HeLa could cure cancer, and he started sending HeLa cells  to anyone who was doing cancer research. When tests showed that the cells could be used to make a polio vaccine, he set up distribution centers to supply labs around the world. When an article about HeLa ran in 1953, it mistakenly said that the cells came from someone known as Helen Lane, Dr. Gey purposely didn’t correct the error. It also said that the cells were all taken after her death. He didn’t correct that either.

Henrietta’s family began to hear rumors about their mother’s cells in 1975, but nothing from the medical establishment, and as we heard in the reading, they were never compensated. Her husband Day said, “Them doctors never said nuthin about keepin her alive in tubes or growin no cells. They said if I give her to them, they could help my children and grandchildren.”

HeLa cells have been at the forefront of every medical breakthrough in the 67 years after they were taken, and they gave birth to the biomedical industry. They have been used in research for leukemia, hemophilia, polio, In vitro fertilization, chemotherapy, HIV and AIDs and HPV. They have helped researchers find out more about genetic disorders like Down syndrome  and to grow corneas for the blind and more.

The story of Henrietta’s stolen cells shows how ethics in medicine are so easily ignored by white doctors who believe that black bodies are theirs to do what they want with.This was also evident in the Tuskegee syphilis study, in which hundreds of African American men were observed as they slowly and painfully died of syphilis, when penicillin could have cured them, so that white scientists, who called black people “a notoriously syphilis soaked race,” could study the disease’s progression. And in “Mississippi appendectomies,” which were actually hysterectomies performed on poor, African American women to sterilize them to slow the growth of the black population and to give white medical students practice.

These weren’t just a few rogue doctors doing these deplorable things. There is a history in our country of white doctors treating black patients differently than they treat white patients. It is racism, and it is systemic, not just in medicine, but in education, housing, employment, political representation, rates of incarceration, and so much more. And it depends on secrecy and deceit to continue. The Tuskegee study was supposed to last 6 months, but it went on for 40 years because they continued to get away with it by keeping what they were actually doing secret.   It was finally exposed to the light in 1974. A class action lawsuit was filed on behalf of the subjects and their families, and they were finally compensated. Henrietta Lacks’ cells were stolen from her, and that abomination has been kept secret.  But it too has now been exposed. Maybe someday her descendants will finally see justice.

John 3: 20 says, “All who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.”  At our Lights for Liberty vigil, we promised to keep shining a light on the evil of children in cages.  We need to apply that promise to all evil in our society that thrives in secret. We need to expose it to the light of truth, so that everyone can see it for what it is, and then, we need to do whatever we can to help change the system that propagates it.

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Our first reading is from the book White Fragility: Why it is so hard for white people to talk about Racism, by Robin Diangelo

When white people ask me what to do about racism and white fragility, the first thing I ask is, “What has enabled you to be a full, educated, professional adult and not know what to do about racism. Information is all around us. People of color have been telling us for years.

If I haven’t been educated, I will have to get educated. If I don’t know people of color, I will have to build relationships. If there are no people of color in my environment, I will need to get out of my comfort zone and change my environment. Addressing racism is not without effort. White people need to find out for themselves what they can do. Break with the apathy of whiteness, and demonstrate that you care enough to put in the effort.

Our second is from the book The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. It is a quote from her daughter, Deborah.

When people ask, and it seems like people are always asking—I say, “Yeah, that’s right, my mother’s name was Henrietta Lacks. She died in 1951.  Johns Hopkins took her cells and those cells are still living today, still multiplying. Science calls her HeLa and she’s all over the world in medical facilities.”

When I go to the doctor, I always say my mother was HeLa.  They get all excited and tell me stuff like how her cells helped make my blood pressure medicine. Your mother was on the moon, and she made that polio vaccine, and all this important stuff in science happened because of her. But I’ve always thought it strange, if our mother’s cells done so much for medicine, how come her family can’t afford to see a doctor. People got rich off my mother without us even knowing about them taking her cells. Now, we don’t get a dime.

Our third reading is Proverbs 24: 11-12

If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength being small, if you hold back from rescuing those taken away to death, those who go staggering to the slaughter. If you say, “Look, we did not know this,” does not the one who weighs the heart perceive it? Does not the one who keeps watch over your soul know it? And will you not be repaid according to your deeds?