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Part of the Family: Remembering Laurie O’Brian Shaw 1/7/06

The Faithspring Community in northern Nevada is beginning its third year together. And while we can’t exactly say that we’re growing–we’ve had as few as seven present in our home meetings and as many as twenty-two folks involved–we can quite honestly say that something has happened inside of each one of us because of the affiliation and affection we share.

Over the last couple of years, we’ve seen nearly a dozen folks come and go, individuals who for one reason or another haven’t been able to make the regular commitment of meeting monthly for celebration, attend a book study on the intermedial weeks, or work at a new and informal friendship. But for those who made the effort–who took seriously the new opportunities Faithspring and its community brings–sure and concrete blessings were the result.

Because of Faithspring, for example, I’ve come to appreciate, and sometimes espouse, a more liberal point of view. Steve and Sable have been a big part of encouraging that side of my life.

Some us have grown to appreciate new faces in our lives. The friendships that have resulted have been refreshing and perhaps even transformative. All of us have found a freer and more revitalized faith.

The trips, the hospitality we offered each other, and other individual and communal efforts to care beyond-the-ordinary ways, the money that has been given and spent to make it possible for Nancy and I to meet with you has been extraordinary.

We’ve yet to spend Christmas together.

Interestingly enough, in the years that we’ve met, we’ve never met over the Christmas holiday. I had to remind Joel of this a couple of weeks ago. We have traditionally, all of us I mean, been so busy.

Given that we meet so soon after Christmas, I thought I’d begin tonight with a poem I shared with a former congregation of saints and sinners seven or eight years ago. Speaking to the holiday’s sometimes mean and harried pace, the poem suggests that each of us might spend the twelve days of Christmas in coming years more intentionally.

“‘Twas the night after Christmas
And all through the house,
We were paying each one
For our Yuletide carouse.

I felt in my tummy
A burden like lead,
And visions of tumors
Careened through my head.

Martha tumbled and tossed
At last breathed with a sob,
I’ve got ‘pendicitis,
I’m sure of it Bob.

I swore about sunrise
It’s not worth the price,
Believe me next Christmas,
We dine on boiled rice. ”

Maybe we’ll do just that? Maybe Nancy and I will spend a part of our holiday here next year?

Let’s pave the road with good intentions.

It’s the beginning of a New Year. And given that I actually made a few resolutions this year—something I’ve avoided in the last few years–this year, I’m compelled to ask what New Year’s resolutions have you made?

As I say, I’ve made a few. As odd as it seems, I’ve determined to incorporate the practice of alternative healing in our ministry and martial arts studios. I’ve suffered a certain shyness about pursuing it. But personal health issues and a few hard-to-explain events in my life have pushed it to the top of my list.

I’ve also determined to find my way into a traditional church and pulpit again, if only part-time or perhaps in the very distant future. I’m in the process of applying to the United Church of Christ (UCC) for ministerial standing.

Thirdly, I’ve decided to finish the book I began four or five years ago when I first left a large pulpit in the Presbyterian Church, USA. My Barn Has Burned but Now I See the Moon is almost complete, save a couple of chapters on human sexuality, scripture, and the church. I had to get to where I am to be able to think about such things and I’m now excited about that I Am coming out.

And finally, I’m intending to get a better balance with my work and whistle. A serious challenge to our business’ sales contract with the man who bought our Hillsboro studio last year is costing one of our corporations $1,000 a month. And while the money is a small amount compared to what most corporations make, it’s sometimes the difference between comfort and calamity for Nancy and me. Hillsboro’s Norm Thompson Call Center may miss my 3 AM mornings, but I’ve got to get more serious about the bliss.
You may have heard of folks who, like most of us, started the year with the best intentions, but by year’s end had made a mess of them. Here are one guy’s resolutions:

Resolution #1. 2003: I will try to be a better husband to Marge. 2004: I will not leave Marge. 2005: I will try for a reconciliation with Marge. 2006: I will try to be a better husband to Wanda.

Resolution #2. 2003: I will read at least 20 good books a year. 2004: I will read at least 10 books a year. 2005: I will read 5 books a year. 2006: I will finish reading Airport.

Resolution #3. 2003: I will get my weight down below 180. 2004: I will watch my calories until I get below 190. 2005: I will follow my new diet religiously until I get below 200. 2006: I will try to develop a realistic attitude about my weight.

Resolution #4. 2003: I will go to church every Sunday. 2004: I will go to church as often as possible.
2006: I will set aside time each day for prayer and meditation. 2007: I will try to catch a late night sermonette on TV.

What do they say about the road paved with good intentions? Whatever you’ve decided about setting yours, I hope you’re more successful.

This is the season to see and say that God loves everyone.

This is the first Sunday in Epiphany, the season after Christmastide, or the first Sunday of Ordinary Time as it is sometimes known. And the traditional text is the one we read tonight.

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of King Herod, behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.”
When King Herod heard this, he was greatly troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Assembling all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, He inquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They said to him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet: And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.”

Then Herod called the magi secretly and ascertained from them the time of the star’s appearance. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage.”
After their audience with the king they set out. And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way.

What do we know about the text?

We know that Matthew’s story of the magi visiting the birthplace of Jesus is probably fictional. A few quick reasons might be noted: The story is only used by Matthew, which tells us that it may not have been known by other gospel writers or they would have included it. We know that the story bears exceptionally strong resemblance to fictionalized tales in other ancient religions and writings celebrating the birth of an emperor or hero. We know that stars don’t move in the sky and that there is no record of a nation-wide census for Hebrews. And so on. Yet still—and I mean that—Matthew’s story of the three magi or wise men carries real import or meaning.

Reading the text this past week, I was reminded of Laurie O’Brian Shaw. A member of our fellowship, friend to a couple of us and the woman who took responsibility to cut my hair. Laurie died—I think most of us are aware—last Sunday, the morning of January 1st.

One of the things I liked most about Laurie was that she was different than me. She had a different set of issues than me, a different set of problems, a different set of circumstances, gifts and abilities. Laurie’s life reminds me that we all have issues, you know what I mean? Reading tonight’s gospel story underscores just how universal God’s love is. God doesn’t just love me or people like me. Or you. God loves everyone.

Something else that I liked about Laurie is that she gave credence to faith instead of fear, which is another point this last-of-the-Christmas texts wants to bring to our party tonight. Laurie kept on keeping on when everything was sad or sour. She persevered. She hung in there. And that quality in Laurie’s life, quite honestly, meant a lot to me.

We’re grafting a new branch to faith’s family.

When the developing church crafted or grafted this tale to its story of Jesus, it did so in order to reflect a new and very radical understanding of faith and family. God, whoever he or she is, was grafting to the peoples of God a new branch or limb. Those who had no hope now had a hope; those who were not a people were now a part of the people God called his or her own. The people generally considered outcasts—and these people differ, of course, given time or place—are now to be considered a part of the Divine plan or family.

We are a part of that family. Laurie was a part of that family. And while she didn’t look much like a church lady—thank God, someone recently asked me ‘just what does a church lady look like?’—she was a part of the family. Like I am. Like you are.

This time of year, our journeys toward the manger differ. Surely that’s a good thing. Whether the journey is long or short, orthodox or progressive, informed or unreflective, it’s by faith that we find our way daily.

It was by faith that Laurie did. For that, in fact for each of us, we are grateful.