An Advent Devotion from Rev. Dr. Lenore Hosier, member of United Methodists for Kairos Response (UMKR)

The following was written by Rev. Dr. Lenore Hosier and is taken from a Methodist Federation for Social Action Advent Devotion series. Please support MFSA with a contribution.

Advent Devotion 5: December 21, 2022

The House of the Watchers:

Reflections from Beit Sahour, Palestine

Luke 2:8-20

While I had passed through Beit Sahour on my earlier trips to Palestine, it was on my trip in 2009 when I went with Global Ministries as one of our conference Mission Ambassadors where I was first introduced to the reality “on the ground” in that little town bordering up against Bethlehem. As part of our immersion experience, I was dropped off at the home of a local Palestinian Christian family to enjoy true Middle Eastern hospitality as I stayed in their home for the night. I confess, it was intimidating to go alone into a home in a strange town with people who seemed so different than those back home. I was not even sure if I would be able to communicate since I did not speak Arabic. There we sat, me with the husband, wife and five children from infant to teen, not quite sure where to begin. What began with food around their kitchen table, though, turned into laughter and stories that lasted well into the night.

Fast forward thirteen years, and I can share that I am still in contact with my family in Beit Sahour. I have spent many a wonderful meal at their table and have even enjoyed a few family weddings. I still do not speak Arabic, but I know a lot more than I used to know, mostly from the kids as we sat in their home playing cards and talking about life. Their eldest daughter has come to spend time with my family here in Pennsylvania, and I have had the privilege of seeing the “baby” of the family grow into a handsome, teenage boy. None of this would have been possible, though, if I (and this family) had not been open to God showing up in a new and unexpected manner.

Reading this very familiar passage from the Gospel of Matthew as we prepare to enter into the Celebration of the Birth of Christ, my mind immediately goes to those sloping, rocky hills of Beit Sahour where tradition locates those watching shepherds not far from Bethlehem, very close to my friends’ home. The shepherds sat there that night watching their sheep in the dark of the night, no streetlights to break through the darkness, probably only a glowing fire to warn away predators that might come looking to steal a sheep or two.

The name Beit Sahour translates into something like “house of the watchers.” The shepherds might have thought they were just watching over their flocks, but the Scripture reminds us that they saw so much more there on the hillside that night. Luke tells us that what they saw made them fearful, but they did not turn tail and run away. Instead, they heeded the “good news” of the angels. Despite the fact they were intimidated, nervous and even afraid, they were curious enough to see how God was going to show up in a new way, so they went to check it out for themselves.

And God did. God showed up in an unexpected manner as a little baby in swaddling clothes, born to a virgin, teenage mother and her carpenter husband. The Lord came to Earth in human form, and it was the unexpected shepherds that were the first to come to worship the newborn king. They were open to God doing something new and amazing while so many others missed it!

So, as we go through Advent, may we set aside our preconceived ideas, our fears, and our assumptions, as well. May we be open to sitting at the table together with those unlike us, maybe to share a meal, stories, laughter and even tears with our Palestinian and Israeli brothers and sisters. May we be watching to see what God might do in our midst, even through us, in unexpected ways.

I hope that we can be like those shepherds, too, in our willingness to glorify and praise God in what we have seen and heard. Despite the struggles that are experienced daily in the Occupied West Bank and Gaza, God is still at work. Throughout this season, keep your eyes open and watch to see how God is moving amongst us so that we might proclaim God’s goodness wherever we go!

Prayer: Gracious God, open our eyes during this season of preparation to see what you would have us to see. May our eyes not grow weary from watching, our heads not start to droop with fatigue or complacency, our spirits not become distracted and discouraged despite all the heartaches in our world today. Keep our eyes looking towards Jesus, our Prince of Peace, that we might experience your Peace today and every day. Amen.

Rev. Dr. Hosier is an ordained elder in the Susquehanna Conference of the United Methodist Church. She earned a D.Min. from Colgate Rochester Crozer in Peacebuilding and Interfaith Dialogue and completed her thesis work on the African American experience in the Methodist Tradition. Hosier has served local churches in her conference, spent almost three years serving cross-culturally/cross-racially as a Mission Volunteer with GBGM and now serves as an interfaith prison chaplain. She has travelled to Israel and Palestine on 16 trips since 2006 and continues to stay engaged with the people and the land by educating others in the Church and beyond through her work with UMKR.

Advent Devotion 4: December 14, 2022 Zechariah 9:9 By Rev. Brandee Jasmine Mimitzraiem

The following thoughtful devotion is taken from the most recent Methodist Federation for Social Action bulletin.

May this devotion move us and disturb us into taking action.

Zechariah 9:9 “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jersualem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.”

The crimson of Christmas-to-come can carry a different meaning for the infertile. Hidden in the shadows of city sidewalks, behind the anticipation of the birth of the Child so easily conceived, Advent for infertile and low-fertility women can come with the silent dread of seeing a crimson ribbon where none should be.

I went home for Christmas, after a compassionless ob/gyn giddily announced that I would not be burdened with the ability to conceive children, on crutches. I was moving too fast, carrying too much, and had rolled down a flight of marble stairs. I couldn’t navigate the shopping malls or the piles of snow. I stayed behind while my family members went out. The babysitter. The aunty who could not have her own. Resigned to her fate.

Somehow, we all managed to get to church on the third Sunday of Advent. My mom’s pastor preached the first reading, Zechariah 9:9. “Rejoice,” he said, “for everything you desire is coming soon. Be joyful in the expectation of your wildest dreams coming true.” I hobbled back to my mom’s house, with two sprained ankles and a torn meniscus, feeling the pain of ovaries wrapped in cysts and a uterus that the doctor said would remain empty, and I wondered where the joy was for me, who deeply desired children, but whose physician rejoicingly declared that I would not be one of the scores of Black women who would “suffer through that.” I felt defeated, invisible, and no matter how many times I heard the words “rejoice, O Daughter” ring from my mom’s recording of Handle’s Messiah (or its Joyful Celebration), I could find no cause for rejoicing.

I wonder if the daughters of Jerusalem and daughters of Zion who heard Zechariah’s prophecy felt the same way. Known by their relationships, Zechariah calls out to the women as daughters. Not the mothers. Not the wives. He calls out to the women who were the accidental casualties of a war they did not wage. Rejoice. From the sidelines where they watched the warriors fall. Rejoice. From the margins where they witnessed the mighty be pulled into exile. Rejoice. From the shadows where they heard decisions being made for the nation around them, decisions that did not include them. Rejoice. Unmarried. Cut off from having children. Invisible to the narrative. Rejoice.

We’ve been in a war for abortion rights, this season. Across the United States, we’re battling for access, for the rights of impregnable women to make their own decisions. And in the fringes, on the margins, the infertile and low-fertility shudder in invisibility. The infertile and those of low fertility are the accidental casualties of the battle for abortion rights. Political arguments about the beginning of life – whether at conception or at the first signs of electrical activity – leave fertility clinics, doctors, impregnable people and their families shuddering in the shadows, invisible and unheard. What do these emerging laws mean for the embryos waiting for implantation? What do they mean for the embryos that cannot be implanted? What do they mean for the patient that can conceive but suffers miscarriage after miscarriage, crimson ribbons appearing where they are not welcomed to be? In this battle over the rights of the easily pregnant to choose their own narrative, even those voices crying out in the wilderness, “keep your hands off my uterus” tend to not see the pain of those for whom pregnancy is not simply a choice but is, itself, a battle.
Rejoice.

Perhaps Zechariah’s call to rejoice is not a demand for easy joy, a demand to forget the pain and suffering of exilic life. Perhaps Zechariah’s phrasing of Jerusalem and Zion as daughters – and not mothers or wives – awaiting good news and good tidings is a call for the nations, the community to witness the pain of those marginalized by the battle. Rather than a call for the expectant hope of deliverance at the hands of a king that never came or never existed, perhaps Zechariah calls the daughters to see, simply, that God is present in the midst of their pain. Rather than an easy supercessionist slip into a messianic hope for salvation, perhaps Zechariah calls the community to see that God sees the pain of those at the margins and choose to alleviate the fear therein. Perhaps the rejoicing is not a promise for what is to come but a recognition that the torment and trauma was real and so is the permission to grieve, to heal, and to simply no longer fear. Rejoice.

The Christmas after the Christmas on crutches, I came home in defiant opposition of that doctor. Whatever level of infertility I had, I decided, I would make my body cooperate and bear a child. I came home reeling from multiple failed medicated attempts, never ever wanting to see another red dot or crimson streak. Since I was in charge of decorating the tree, we had a pastel Christmas. And, somewhere deep behind the jingles of joy, I found a trove of sad holiday music. It was a community of tears and, there, I found the possibility of rejoicing. I rejoiced – not in spite of what I lost, not because of the possible fulfillment of all I dreamed, not because of a new hope found – because my pain was shared and vocalized. I was no longer alone. God saw me. I recognized God with me. I rejoiced.

O daughter, whose pregnancy story never makes it to front page news: we see you. Rejoice. O daughter, who hides your tears in the rosiness of frozen cheeks, behind the twinkling of silver bells: God is with you. Rejoice. O daughter, for whom the story of an easy impregnation of a young woman serves as a reminder of your own difficulties: God sees you. Rejoice. O daughter, the trauma of your story has not been swept aside in this battle for sovereignty. Every year, every Christmas, we join our tears in communion with your own. That is rejoicing. O daughter, O aunty, O sister: we remember you, we recognize your pain, we reimagine a future where you are not pressed at the edges of our community. That is rejoicing.

We stand together, rehearsing the words of Zechariah to the daughters left behind after war, exile, and devastation: rejoice, O daughter. Rejoice. Behold – look and see! – God holds and sees you, in your pain. Behold – look and see! – God is with you. Don’t fear disaster. We, too, are with you.

Rejoice.

Does anyone want to go to church and have their solidarity and service with others affirmed?

This post is for people who want to listen in and feel that they have been to church and had their solidarity and service with others fully affirmed. We post videos from Bishop Barber and the Poor People's Campaign often, we rejoice in the warmth from All Souls Unitarian Church, we are affirmed by Pastor Gadson (and we have many posts up from him), the hymns and music here touches us, and the talk by Claude AnShin Thomas models sobriety and service for us. We don't expect anyone listen to all of these. Please take your pick and please listen in to what feels right to you.

From Greenleaf Christian Church, with Bishop William Barber and so many other great people witnessing to righteousness and justice. Just click on the screen and you will see the clip---no need to leave us.

 

From All Souls Unitarian Church---A great sermon!

Pastor Anthony F. Gadson preaching

A wonderful bluegrass gospel hymn from Ralph Stanley 

"Peace in Every Step" - Claude AnShin Thomas at the First Unitarian Church of Dallas

I'll Fly Away - Ransomed Bluegrass

You Fight On - (Church on fire with the Holy Ghost) - Plymouth Rock Church Choir

A Splendid Lenten Reflection By Grace Okerson

It was a joy for me to read this brief Lenten Devotional written by Grace Okerson and sent on by the Methodist Federation for Social Action.

2022 Lent Devotional: Week 5

By Grace Okerson

“Without community, there is no liberation...but community must not mean a shedding of our differences, nor the pathetic pretense that these differences do not exist.” – Audre Lorde

This quote by Audre Lorde always reminds me that liberation is intricately connected to the company we keep; we are all connected---for better or for worse.

So much of my personal and professional work over the past five years has been centered around being connected to those around me, especially those on the margins. I served as a missionary through the General Board of Global Ministries for two years in Detroit, MI with the NOAH Project tackling issues around homelessness. It was there that I developed a deep passion for social justice and mission. It was that work in Detroit and the glaring intersection between homelessness and mass incarceration that fed my passion and interest of prison abolition and led me to seminary which has informed my advocacy and work in ways I could not have imagined. Those that I worked alongside were different than I was, but it was those differences that fueled a beautiful relationship full of awe and wonder. It was those differences that made it clear that there was work to be done together if the liberation of all God’s people was to be achieved.

As Christians, we need to focus on liberation. Liberation and freedom are a part of God’s intention for humanity. When looking at creation and the imago Dei, we can see that God’s intention for humanity was mutuality, respect, and valuing of one another. God’s intention was for all humans to have dignity and worth. God created us to be bound up with one another. Adam and Eve were “bone of bone and flesh of flesh,” intricately connected to one another for better or for worse. Humanity was created to be free. Although we are radically free, there is responsibility in said freedom. The freedom we have is for something. It is for creation, for God, and for others. Freedom for is not power over something or someone. It is freedom that is oriented toward the flourishing of the earth, of one another, and for receiving God within our lives. To be made in the image of God is to participate in God’s freedom within what is given to us. The freedom for one another causes us to be dependent upon one another.

As a queer, Black woman, belonging is something that I have always craved. I have always strived to be “enough” and have tried to contort myself to fit into the boxes that society has made for me. Rather than try to find a box that can encompass my identity, I have found that I need to get rid of the boxes entirely. I was not created to fit into a box or conform to societal standards. I was fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God tasked to bring Christ’s kin-dom here on earth. I am different. And my difference matters, and makes me unique. I am a person who values community above all else and strives to create inclusive and affirming communities where individual flourishing can be realized. When thinking about freedom and liberation, I often love to ask others the following question: “Who would you be if you were allowed to flourish in all the desires of your heart?”

The answer to that question is at the heart of liberation. The answer to that question is the gateway to figuring out how we all can become radically free. Let’s get free together.

You make our collective work possible by your witness for justice every day in your church, community, and Annual Conference. MFSA does not receive any financial support from the United Methodist Church's giving channels. 100% of our budget is funded through your membership dues and your generosity in giving.

A Florida native, Grace Okerson is a first year Master of Divinity Student studying at Candler School of Theology @ Emory in Atlanta, Georgia. She is pursuing a concentration in Chaplaincy with the hope of going into hospital and/or hospice chaplaincy. She wants to journey with people through their grief and in their points of crisis, putting her own gifts, talents, and lived experience of grief to use.

Equipped with a Master of Arts in Public Ministry from Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary, Grace’s passions surround dismantling white supremacy and prison abolition. Grace graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Social Science with minors in Diversity and Social Inequality, Women and Gender Studies, and Journalism Studies from the University of Central Florida.

From 2017-2019, Grace then served as Global Mission Fellow with the General Board of Global Ministries as the Lunch & Volunteer Coordinator at the NOAH Project, an agency tackling issues around homeless in downtown Detroit, MI.

Grace currently works with McCormick Theological Seminary’s Solidarity Building Initiative as the Special Projects Coordinator & Content Curator. Through a praxis of curious- learning, innovative-action, and active-reflection, Grace has imagined into existence life-giving solutions and collaborative partnerships towards justice-making and solidarity-building with those who have been marginalized by hyper incarceration.

Grace is a certified candidate for ordained ministry in the Florida Conference of the United Methodist Church and plans to continue her ministry as a deacon. When she is not working or in school, you can find Grace exploring the city and traveling the globe. Grace enjoys walks, reading, writing, and taking naps on the beach.

2022 Lent Devotional: Week 4 By Pastor Miguel Estrada---A Profound Lesson From The Methodist Federation For Social Action---And Please Boycott Wendy's

From the Methodist Federation for Social Action:

2022 Lent Devotional: Week 4

By Pastor Miguel Estrada

During the 2018 season of Lent, the Alliance for Fair Food (AFF), the ally organization of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW), recruited pastors and other Christian leaders who are in solidarity with the CIW to offer short Lenten reflections that intersect lent, a time of discipline and self-determination with the ongoing struggle for Fair Food. These reflections were released to our Interfaith Network as part of our Lenten reflection series.

At the same time that we at AFF were working on gathering these reflections, a team of 7, farmworkers and organizers were in NYC for 3 months with the goal of mobilizing solidarity for CIW’s Freedom Fast, a 5-day fast outside of the offices of Wendy’s majority owner and Board Chairman, Nelson Peltz. The Fast was demanding that Wendy’s join the rest of the fast-food industry in supporting CIW’s Fair Food Program (FFP), a program with groundbreaking worker protections, including protections against sexual violence, while at the same time protesting the ongoing human rights abuses faced by workers in Mexico’s produce industry where Wendy’s was buying its tomatoes.

It’s important to know that this action was being organized in the context of the #MeToo movement. At that time, many women, inspired by the unprecedented power of this movement, were looking for long-term, proven solutions to sexual harassment and assault in the workplace. An answer to this national scourge had emerged from one of the most unlikely corners of society: the farmworker community of Immokalee, Florida.

For generations, farmworker women have endured some of the most hostile working conditions this country has to offer. Farmworker women have referred to the constant barrage of catcalls, groping, and sexual assault as “our daily bread” in the fields, and in one study, four out of every five farmworker women reported experiencing sexual harassment or violence at work.

But in 2011, after nearly two decades of hard-fought organizing with consumers across the country, farmworkers with the CIW launched the FFP and, within a few short years, put an end to sexual assault and other human rights violations in the $650 million Florida tomato industry. By harnessing public awareness and the purchasing power of more than a dozen of the world’s largest retail food companies, the FFP has radically transformed working conditions for tens of thousands of farmworkers and has been recognized for its unique success by human rights observers from the White House to the United Nations. Today, the FFP extends to seven states and several crops, and all the major fast-food companies – McDonald’s, Burger King, Subway, Taco Bell, KFC, and Chipotle – are on board. All except for Wendy’s. Something that, unfortunately, remains true to this day.

With the goal of bringing Wendy’s to the table, a busload of farmworkers and community members left the warm comfort of Immokalee and traveled to chilly New York City to fast for farmworker justice. Among those on the bus was Rev. Miguel Estrada, the pastor at Peace River Presbytery's Mision Peniel in Immokalee and longtime supporter of CIW. The following is his reflection:

Like Nicodemus, looking for Jesus at night, I approached the experience of fasting for five days with the Coalition of Immokalee Workers in front of the offices of Nelson Peltz in Manhattan with more doubts than answers. I fasted with the intention of continuing the call to Wendy's to join the Fair Food Program, which among other things promotes the cessation of sexual abuse experienced by women in the agricultural fields.

Now, I can say that my secret visit to the Redeemer, like the visit of Nicodemus, has opened my eyes to the light; to the desire to move next to those who do not fear to be where justice shines in all its splendor. I wish to be with those who do not fear being in the light, with those who do not hide "because they know that their works have been done in God" (John 3.21).

My awakening to light, I describe it as follows: 

I thought I knew ... 

what it is to work hard, until I saw the people who do it in the fields. 

what it is to be abused, until I witnessed the exploitation that befalls agricultural workers. 

what it is to be poor, until I measured how little farmworkers receive for their hard work. 

what it is to sacrifice for others, until I saw the commitment of a farmworker to their family and community. 

what it is to suffer, until I knew the physical and emotional pain of agricultural workers. 

what it is to endure hunger, until I sat down at the table with people returning from work in the fields. 

what is to feel pain, until I heard the stories of resilience of the peasants. 

So, I also thought I knew ... 

what is fair, until I realized that through my lifestyle I am complicit by action and omission in a system that enslaves, abuses, exploits, and sacrifices many for the well-being of a few. 

what it is to be happy, until I saw the smiling face of an agricultural worker after a long day's work. 

what it is to enjoy the simple things in life, until I heard the frank and spontaneous laughter of the children of the farmworkers.

 what it is to be brave, until I witnessed how the peasants put a stop to the abuser. 

what it is to be in solidarity, until the one who had little shared her bread with me when I was hungry. 

what it is to have faith and hope, until I accompanied the farmworkers on the road in the fight for justice even in the face of opposition. 

Lent is not over yet; the time of reflection continues. Surely, I will continue to find that there are many other things that I think I already know, but that in the light of my encounter with the Redeemer I will have to relearn. 

- Rev. Miguel Estrada (Penned in front of the offices of Trian Partners, 280 Park Avenue in New York, NY) 

We hope that Pastor Miguel’s reflection inspires you, as it did us, to commit to the cause of farmworker justice. Today, 4 years after this fast in NYC, CIW farmworkers continue in their search for self-determination and continue to pressure Wendy’s to ensure protections against sexual violence and forced labor by joining the FFP. You can stand with these farmworkers by marching alongside them on April 2nd, in Palm Beach, Florida. For more information, visit our website: https://ciw-online.org/.

2022 Lent Devotional: Week 3 By Emily Burns/Methodist Federation for Social Action

A Lenten meditation provided by the Methodist Federation for Social Action:

 2022 Lent Devotional: Week 3

By Emily Burns

 Psalm 62: 5-8, 11:

“Rest in God alone, my soul, for my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I will not be shaken. My salvation and glory depend on God, my strong rock. My refuge is in God. Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts before him. God is our refuge. God has spoken once; I have heard this twice: strength belongs to God.”

One of my favorite authors, Kate Bowler, describes Lent as a time when, “We ask God to show us the world as it is. We begin with the reality of our finitude rubbed on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday...then we walk through that reality in a kind of dress rehearsal. It’s the downward slope of God-the Great Descent, where the whole church walks toward the cross. A time when we all get a minute to tell the truth: Life is so beautiful and life is so hard. For everyone.”

Lent is a season of grief to acknowledge Christ’s sacrifice and the reality of our suffering. We live within the sacred tension that “life is so beautiful and life is so hard.” We know Easter is on its way, but we sit with the brokenness of the world as we wait. We cannot ignore it. We sit with the grief of more than 800,000 deaths from COVID-19 in the United States and more than 5 million worldwide. We cannot look away from the reality that even before the pandemic, 1 in 4 households experienced a major form of economic hardship and that number rises to 1 in 2 for Black and Latinx households. Many of us have felt the toll that this pandemic has had on our mental health. We are experiencing more anxiety and depression than before the pandemic but struggle to access adequate mental health care. The list goes on and on. COVID-19 has exposed the gaps in society’s systems, and those who have been the most deeply affected have been the most disadvantaged.

We sit here with the reality that the world is not as it should be. People are hungry, grieving, scared, and sick. As the “end” of the pandemic is declared to be nearing, some of us may wonder why we do not feel relief. We have all been going through a collective stressor. As we are finally coming to the point where we can breathe, the reality that is our changed world and all that we have experienced feels like it is crashing down upon us. Many of us are grieving the loss of loved ones while others may be feeling the exhaustion of being both a parent and teacher to children. Some have lost their jobs and others are managing the effects of Long Covid. Whatever your experience has been, life feels unbearably hard for many of us and it can be hard to hope.

This Lent, I will look for God to meet me in those places of despair, helplessness, grief, sorrow... I will “find my rest in God alone and remember that my hope comes from them.” I may not get the easy solutions and answers I want, but I receive God’s presence within the unresolved. That presence gives me the strength to continue to seek justice and work toward systems that care for the most vulnerable. Rachel Held Evans writes that “sometimes we are closer to the truth in our vulnerabilities than in our safe certainties.” This Lent, may you encounter God in your vulnerabilities, in your grief, and in your sorrow. May “the strength [that] belongs to God,” sustain you as you seek justice and make change.

You make our collective work possible by your witness for justice every day in your church, community, and Annual Conference. MFSA does not receive any financial support from the United Methodist Church's giving channels. 100% of our budget is funded through your membership dues and your generosity in giving.