Zacchaeus was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature.  So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.  When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.”     Luke 19:2-5

Why can’t we all be like Zacchaeus? It only takes ten verses for this guy to make a dramatic spiritual transformation.

Zacchaeus starts out as the baddest of the Jericho bad. He’s is a tax collector, which means that he is a traitor, a Jew who collaborates with Roman colonial rulers. He’s a chief tax collector, which means he’s one of the most important traitors around. And he’s a rich chief tax collector, which means he’s great at extortion.

Zacchaeus is the baddest of the Jericho bad. But, for some reason, he is interested in Jesus. He can’t see Jesus over the crowd, and he can’t get through the crowd —  so he runs ahead of the crowd and he hoists himself up into a tree.

Earlier in the gospel of Luke, there are plenty of stories of rich men getting a hard time from Jesus.  We have every reason to suspect that Zacchaeus is next. But instead, Jesus asks him to come down from the tree, and invites himself over for dinner. And that’s all it takes. The next moment, Zacchaeus promises to give half of what he owns to the poor, and pay four times what he owes to anyone he has defrauded.

Why can’t we all be like Zacchaeus? Well, most of us don’t start out as the baddest of the bad. SBut it’s not only our unexceptional back stories that create a stumbling block. Living a faithful life is a project that just keeps going, even if we have big revelations and life-changing reversals. We keep facing new and complex decisions. Remembering to love God and neighbor every day is a challenge.

Some people even wonder about Zacchaeus. Does he really follow through on his promises?  And even if he does, what happens next? Does he resign his post as a tax collector? Does he develop a new relationship to his people, his faith, his God?

Whether we take Zaccheus as a role model or a warning, I hope we can embrace some of the enthusiasm of his interaction with Jesus. As we make our everyday choices, may we discover our own thirst for divine encounter, and be refreshed by God’s extravagant response.

God, you come to our hometown and walk right down the street. Help us to run ahead and climb a tree, or do whatever it takes to see who you are and learn how to follow you. Amen.

This morning we gathered to dedicate our gifts and pledges for 2014 — and to celebrate all that they will make possible in our ministry together.  It was a blessing to see members of our community come forward with their offerings, and to feel the presence of so many others.

Bless us, Lord, as we walk in your way.  Bless our wealth and our want; our joys and our fears.  Strengthen and inspire us as we share what we have with this community, and with all of your creation.  Amen.

After All Saints worship, we gathered for a messier event — digging out seeds, carving faces, and even going bowling with our pumpkins.  Thanks to everyone who helped us celebrate the season.  Look at that great lineup of kids, youth, and pumpkins!

I pray that God may give you a spirit of wisdom and perception… so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which God has called us, how rich is the glory of the heritage that God offers us. Ephesians 1:17-18

It is that time of year again. That time, when leaves burst out in color and fade and fall; when the air begins to chill; when the plants retreat into the earth; when birds depart for the south. It is the dying time of the year, in this part of the globe. We begin to think more often of those whom we love who have died. We begin to think about where we are in the cycle of life and death. Sometimes we even talk about life, death, and dying.

It is not considered nice to talk about death, so we use other words. We say that someone has passed, or left us; been taken, been lost, or gone to a better place. And yet it is very important to talk about death and dying honestly, without holding back. There is so much to share with one another: poignant memories, and painful ones; fears and questions and plans.

Our culture teaches us that death is something to ignore or, if necessary, to defy. But however we resist it, death is a natural event. And the time of dying, even the process of grieving, can be precious. We give thanks for all of the gifts that a child of God has brought into the world. We embrace one another with hearts that are more open, more tender. And we remember, as Ephesians puts it, the hope to which God has called us, and the glorious heritage that God offers us. But what exactly is the hope, what is the heritage, that God gives us? What is the comfort our faith offers us in the face of death? During this week of All Saints day, I am reminded of three aspects of our hope and heritage in God.

First, I think of the saints themselves. Often we assume  “saints” are those canonized in the Roman or Orthodox traditions. But in New Testament language, the Greek word hagioi simply means “holy ones.” It is the most commonly used title for anyone following in the way of Jesus. All of us have saints who have accompanied us on our journey of faith.  Who are the saints in your life?

Secondly, I think about how God draws us towards a better future. We are taught that God’s realm will someday be fully realized; that Jesus will return among us in a new way; that every tear will be wiped away; that every hungry mouth will be filled; that there will be a new heaven and a new earth. This beautiful hope stands before us, encouraging us to be part of God’s work in the world.

Finally, at this dying time of year, I think of the gift of the resurrection. In the mysterious rising of Jesus, God teaches us that evil, suffering, and even death never have the final word. In God, we are all caught up in a greater story, a greater cycle. We are united with all creation: past, present, and future. Justice, joy, and life will come again. Love will come again, like wheat that rises green. Alleluia, Christ is risen; Christ is risen, indeed.

It is because of our magnificent hope and our glorious inheritance that we can bear to be honest about death. We will not always be full of confidence. We will certainly not be without suffering. And yet, we can take comfort. We are part of a great host of faithful, who have gone before us, and come after us, and walk alongside us. We await a better future that calls us forward. And we have a strange, beautiful resurrection to ponder: a resurrection that happened over two thousand years ago, and yet is still being experienced all over the world. In fact, it is happening right now, whenever we let go of fear, and put our trust in God instead.

Holy One, we give thanks for the heritage and hope we receive in you. We thank you for all the saints who surround us. We thank you for all those who hope and work for God’s realm alongside us. We thank you for all those who embody the resurrection with us. Amen.

West Concord Union Church has been a part of Edna’s life since childhood. She has enjoyed all aspects of providing fellowship at the church, including preparing church suppers and helping with funeral arrangements. She is good friends with a group of women her age from the church who get together often. She enjoys the music at WCUC as well as Hannah’s sermons and says that the addition of the elevator has been “wonderful” since it allows her access to the church’s many events.

Edna’s family has lived in West Concord for about 100 years. First her aunt and uncle moved here to work at the Boston Harness Shop, which was owned by Harvey Wheeler. He built many of the houses on Cottage Street so that his workers could walk to work from home, which is what Edna’s aunt and uncle did. She spent summers here with them when she was a girl and liked the area so much that when she retired in 1986, she “moved up here the next day.”

Edna grew up in the Bronx, NY where she married and raised her daughter. She worked at Albert Einstein Medical College in New York for 25 years. She was an avid traveler when younger, and that sense of adventure has continued. She went up in a hot-air balloon to celebrate her 80th birthday!

Betsy and Larry, with their three children, Ethan 9, Sara 7, and Toby 4, came to West Concord Union Church in December 2012. And they stayed; because, in their words, this is a community where all can “come as they are.” There is spontaneity in worship, they don’t need to be perfect, and their children are accepted as full members of the church family who can offer their own prayers in worship. They remember last season’s Maundy Thursday service as a perfect example of the way we “do church.” What started out one way evolved and changed as more children did their own thing and adults chimed in until the evening became one big, noisy, joyous celebration of God’s surprising good news!

Both Betsy and Larry grew up in the Greater Boston Area and were raised in the Roman Catholic Church. They are grateful for the warm welcome that they received right away from Rev. Hannah and from all the members.

A little more than a week ago, I had the privilege of visiting Heather.  She sang this song from her bed in the hospital:

Day by day, Oh dear Lord, three things I pray:

To see thee more clearly

Love thee more dearly

Follow thee more nearly, day by day.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JW_RpWbnJXQ]

The Lord God formed Adam from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and Adam became a human being.          Genesis 2:7

To me, you will be unique in all the world.  To you, I shall be unique in all the world.                                                                                              Antoine de Saint-Exupery

My brother died seven years ago after a massive stroke. His life had not been easy and so most of us looked upon his death as a release from the many torments he endured for almost 70 years. He and I were not close as children and I hadn’t seen much of him as an adult. But when we heard the news of his stroke, we took the train to Philadelphia to be with him for his last breaths. And that is the memory that stays with me: his last breaths.

For three days we took turns sitting in his room, watching him breathe; or, more accurately, listening to him breathe. After a while I found myself counting the seconds between each breath. I was knitting at the time, a prayer shawl that would be given to someone in need, someone, perhaps, like my brother. Unconsciously, I would stop and hold the needles still until the next breath came, and then start knitting again. For some time the space between the breaths seemed constant; seven or eight seconds. Then, a bit longer each time. Until another raspy breath came. This vigil reminded me if something, but it wasn’t until days later that I remembered what it was.

Over ten years ago, in Australia, I was in the delivery room with my daughter, as she labored with her first child. Again, I was knitting, this time a baby blanket that I was hurrying to finish before the baby appeared. I was counting then too; counting the minutes between contractions, halting my needles each time to pay close attention to my watch. Over time, as of course it would, the space between contractions grew shorter and shorter, until, at last, the small, wet head appeared and a life began.

The two events were so alike, and so different. For, at my daughter’s bedside, I witnessed a birth and a first breath. At my brother’s, the end of a life, and the last breath. Each time, I was counting, watching, waiting. But with my brother, the moments between the breaths lengthened, until there were no more. With my daughter, the intervals shortened until the final contraction and the first breath came.

Breath. Most of the time we take it for granted. Only when we have difficulty breathing, whether from a cold, polluted air or because of a more serious condition, do we really pay attention to our breath. Breath, though, is synonymous with life. It is our first and greatest gift from God; it is the last sign of life in the body. And that, I think, is what I learned as witness to these two separate events, one being the inverse of the other. Not a grand “aha’, not the answer to the big question of life after death, although I could have wished it so, but something much simple, beautiful in it own way. I saw that there was symmetry in the design of life. Just as each birth begins a new life, one never before known or seen, “unique in all the world,’ so too, if this symmetry is to remain constant, each death would also begin a new life, one of a different sort, one we have yet seen or known. Parents who wait for their baby say, “We are expecting.” So too, might we not also say that we wait, in expectation, for a life that is to come.

Polly

This article first appeared in the Concord Journal, March 12, 2009.

A physician in Westford, mother, and new member, Amy attended church as a child, but during her adult life often did not have a church home. “I felt disconnected and adrift. Trying out a new church can sometimes be daunting, but since the first time I came to WCUC, I really felt welcomed. I knew after only a few weeks that I had found a new church home.” Amy’s daughter quickly grew to love her Sunday School teachers. “I have been so happy to watch her faith in God grow.”

Amy finds that the challenge to self-reflect and hear God speaking are some of her favorite aspects of Pastor Hannah’s messages. “I really like the emphasis on a true Biblical message.” Finding her mission through volunteering in Vacation Bible School and helping those in need through Congregational Care, Amy feels connected and involved in a deeply meaningful way. “Connecting with people and feeling useful is easy here,” Amy adds, “this is really a community of mutual support.”