Ludicrous

Gospel Reading

Luke 24:44–53 ESV

Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And behold, I am sending the promise of my Father upon you. But stay in the city until you are clothed with power from on high.” And he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them. While he blessed them, he parted from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God.

Hebrew Scripture Reading

Exodus 4:10-

Exodus 4:10–13 ESV

But Moses said to the Lord, “Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue.” Then the Lord said to him, “Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.” But he said, “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.”

Epistle Reading

Romans 8:1–17 ESV

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God. You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you. So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.

Romans 8:1-

Ephesians

Ephesians 1:3–23 ESV

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory. For this reason, because I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Ludicrous

Moses with all his excuses for why he couldn’t do it. ()

Jeremiah, called at a young age to be a leader in a community that hurt him deeply. (, )

Jonah who literally ran the other direction, got caught, delivered the word he was given, then GOT MAD when the people he gave the word to actually repented. ()

Deborah, who refused to be written off as a leader because she was a woman. ()

Today, we acknowledge the Ascension - the day Jesus went back up to heaven after hanging out a bit here on Earth after Easter. It’s a crazy story. The gospels are at a loss as to how to handle it. Luke just basically says, “Jesus went back to heaven. And they were pretty flabbergasted.” He has no idea what else to say about it. It’s a fantastic example of how God really loves a crazy story with a twist at the end.

Saul, a hot, angry mess until God literally knocked him off his ass to get his attention. ()

I sympathize with these people because I have made a thousand excuses like Moses did. I have run the other direction as hard as I can. I’ve been written off as a leader for being a woman. I’ve been a hot, angry mess who needed a good, swift kick in the right direction. I’ve been hurt deeply by the church.

I have been asked to share today about the journey that has led me to this time and place - standing before you all on this Sunday when you are faced with a choice about the future of this church, the partnership between St. Andrew’s and Emsworth Churches, and your choice of leadership moving forward into that future and that partnership. And when I reflect on that journey, the first thing that comes to my mind is how utterly ludicrous it is that I’m standing here before you today. This, friends, is a crazy story with a twist at the end.

It’s not that you are ludicrous. I’ve told you a thousand times and I’ll tell you a thousand more: you are wonderful and I am so spoiled and overjoyed to be here. It’s that I am ludicrous. I’m a ridiculous choice for God to have set before you today.

And at the same time. . . it makes sense that the journey so far has led me here. God has such a funny way of weaving things together.

I was born just 6 weeks before my dad graduated from Gordon Conwell Seminary and began his first call as a Presbyterian minster near Burgettstown. I know, I know. We went back 40 years, but I’m going to skim alot.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago when we talked about names, my first name is from the New Testament Greek for “Grace” and my maiden name is from the Scottish for “clergy”. I married the son of the church organist at my dad’s second call. When we were little, I would chase him around the church and insist that we’d be married someday. It wasn’t the last time he had to admit I was right. I couldn’t be more Presbyterian if I wanted to.

I grew up in the church. Church has always been an extension of home for me. My dad was a Presbyterian Minister for many years and my best friend growing up - even after we moved to Kansas when I was 6 - was the son of the organist from Dormont church where my dad served for a few years. I used to chase him around and tell him I’d marry him someday.

During the long hot summers in Kansas, my sister and I would wander back and forth across the street between the church and the manse, playing hide and go seek, riding our bikes, climbing onto the church roof.

When I was eight years old, some missionaries came to our church to do a presentation. The other kids all wandered off to pilfer cookies or climb onto the church roof, but weird little kid that I was, I was riveted. At some point during that presentation, I clearly heard God say, “You’re going to do that some day.” Until that night, I’d wanted to be a dump truck driver, but sometimes God just sends us in directions we didn’t expect.

Throughout the years growing up, I bounced between remembering what God had said so clearly to me that night when the missionaries were at our church and wanting to be a veterinarian, or an aerospace engineer, or a star on Broadway. I liked leading bible studies at youth group and leading worship at camp with my trusty guitar. But the older I got, the more distant that voice got.

I was 16 the first time I felt the world really crash down around me. We’d been in Kansas for 10 years - most of my childhood. My parents sat my sister and I down one day and simply told us “We’re getting a divorce.” We weren’t given a reason, just a timeline. In two weeks, we were leaving everything my sister and I knew and moving back to the motherland - Pittsburgh.

Those two weeks were full of patronizing pity stares from everyone in town (or at least it felt like that) and whispers behind our backs. Our parents immediately stopped going to church, but I decided to keep going to youth group. I’d grown up with the kids in that youth group. They were like siblings and I only had two weeks left with them.

But the first time at youth group after my parents’ announcement, one of my friends said, “I can’t believe it. I never would have thought your dad is gay.” It was then I understood the stares and the whispers and why neither of my parents would ever step foot in that church again. In 1995, not even the PC(USA) was very kind to the LGBTQ community - no church was. Suddenly, the church (not just our local congregation but the church as a whole) that had nurtured me my whole life saw my father as a dirty outcast and my mom and sister and I as some sort of weird, broken, collateral damage.

And I found out that my friend’s information was right.

That was when I decided church wasn’t worth the effort. I told God to take a hike, I wasn’t interested anymore. That voice I had heard when I was little was now just a whisper in the distance. And I’d had enough of whispers.

That voice I had heard when I was little was now just a whisper in the distance. And I’d had enough of whispers.

I kept going to church after we moved back to Pennsylvania, but only because Mom made me. I put on a pretty believable show, but that’s all it was. On the outside, I appeared to be adjusting OK to the move, but on the inside. . . on the inside I was angry. I was angry and hurt and traumatized.

The thing that happens when we are angry, hurt, and traumatized is that until we heal from that trauma, allow the wounds to close, let go of the anger, we are increasingly vulnerable to more traumas.

My senior year in high school, having long since lost all meaningful contact with the organist’s son from Dormont, I started dating a guy who was the dictionary definition of bad news. He was angry and he took that anger out on everyone around him in hurtful, manipulative, and sometimes physically violent ways. But I was broken and confused. I had no confidence, no hope, no vision of anything better. So when I was 20, I married this Bad News. When I was 21, I had my daughter and accepted that this was my life now.

The voice I’d heard when I was 8 was no longer even a whisper. I had put on headphones and drowned it out completely. I was going to church at a little church down the street from where I was living, but that was just because my Mom had guilted me into it. My daughter should grow up in the church too, right?

I was going to church at a little church down the street from where I was living, but that was still just because my Mom guilted me into it.

Those were the loneliest years of my life.

Worse than losing my surrogate siblings at the church I grew up in.

Worse than being uprooted from the only home I remembered.

I had lost myself.

I had lost God.

And I didn’t really care.

I was still going to church at a little church down the street from where I was living, but that was still just because my Mom guilted me into it. I was still mostly just putting on a good show.

I wasn’t allowed to talk to my friends much, but one day my best friend managed to call at just the right time and I was able to talk to her openly for a short while. I don’t know what gave me the courage to tell her about the screaming, the objects hurtling through the air, the time he pushed me down the stairs, the night I slept with a kitchen knife under my pillow and the bedroom door locked because I genuinely thought he was going to try to kill me that night. But I did. I told her about all those things.

She said just one sentence to me.

“If you don’t leave right now, you’ll never be anything more than a statistic.”

And God’s voice rushed back to me in that moment. I could live into the calling that God gave me - a calling that offered a life of hope, or I could live the rest of my life as just another number because if I didn’t find a way out of that marriage, it would kill me.

I left that night.

A few days later, the church offered me another betrayal. The pastor of the church we’d been going to sat me down and told me it was a sin to leave that marriage and I was just going to have to go back and learn to be a better wife.

But something was different this time. I knew that pastor was wrong. I knew what he was saying was dangerous. I knew what he was saying went against what God said I was meant to be. I’m not saying that I think God likes divorce. What I am saying is that God won’t ask us to live a life contrary to who we were meant to be. It’s the sin in the world - our sin and the sin of the people around us and the collective sin of society that traps us in those unholy, uncalled lives. Sometimes, getting out of lives of captivity - trapped by roles and identities created by sin - requires remembering the spirit of the law, not the letter of the law. I never went back to that church. I kept packing and starting a new life - this one founded on hope and freedom.

There was something freeing about admitting to myself that the church screws up. The church is full of broken, sinful people who say stupid things sometimes: shoot, it’s RUN by broken, sinful people who say stupid things sometimes.

I started going to a very large church on the Northside. I liked it because it was big enough for me to get lost in. I didn’t want to be noticed. I didn’t want to get involved because I was afraid I’d go back into “putting on a good show” mode. But it wasn’t long before I started working there. And it was there that the voice started to get louder again.

It wasn’t long after that, I reconnected with that organist’s son from long ago. We only dated for a few weeks before we were engaged. We got married just a few months after that. And as he and I both healed from past traumas and disappointments together, the voice got louder again.

When I went to Guatemala on a mission trip, I was supposed to be playing with children and helping run the makeshift pharmacy we’d taken with us. But on the second or third day, a trip leader grabbed me by the arm, set me in front of I don’t know how many people and said, “Today, you preach.” I cannot for the life of me tell you what I said that day, but someone else on the team told me later, “It’s about time.” The volume turned up.

When I signed up to host a summer ladies’ bible study at my house, a friend erased my name and moved it to the “leaders” sign up. I was not amused when I found out and I showed up at the first gathering - at someone else’s house - and said, “I am not a leader, Leanne just moved my name.” And the woman next to me said, “I’m just here for the food.” and the woman next to her said, “I’m just here because my therapist told me I need to make friends.” And when the summer groups disbanded in September, ours went rogue and kept meeting for another 5 or 6 years, all the while with me never admitting to being the leader. It kept getting louder.

One day, I told one of the pastors at our church I felt called to ministry. It was a pretty conservative denomination, so I was told that I could look into being a missionary, but I’d never be a preacher. Oh, and did I have my husband’s permission to be asking about this? I did, for the record, have his support, and he thought it was ridiculous that they’d send me halfway around the world before letting me be a preacher at home.

Not long after hearing our church leadership suggest I wasn’t fit for pastoral ministry, we found out I was pregnant with Levi and immediately afterward launched into a year of emergency surgeries, long hospital stays for both of us, bedrest, the works. And not a single pastor from the church called or stopped by. Not one elder or deacon checked in on us. That’s the trade off when you go to a giant church. It’s easy to hide when you want to be left alone, but it’s also easy to get looked over when you need someone.

After having dabbled in another denomination for a few years, my husband and I returned to our Presbyterian roots. We started attending Mosaic Presbyterian just down the street from our house and the voice kept getting louder.

and then getting lost in the shuffle and overlooked by all the pastors at one of the scariest moments of our lives, my supportive husband suggested leaving that church. After dabbling in another denomination for a few years, my husband and I returned to our Presbyterian roots. We started attending Mosaic Presbyterian just down the street from our house and the voice kept getting louder.

In spite of the church’s pity and disgust for my family when I was a teenager, in spite of the church telling me divorce was worse than withstanding violent daily abuse, in spite of the church telling me I wasn’t fit to lead because I’m a woman, in spite of the church failing to support us when we needed them most. . . the voice kept getting louder. I’m telling you, this story is ridiculous.

A friend called. She was looking for a developer and director for a girls’ mentoring program to fit into a new non profit she was starting. She said God gave her my name. I told her no thanks, she heard wrong. She called me a few days later and said, “Nope. It’s still your name.” I turned her down about half a dozen times before admitting she was right. But. . . the voice got louder as I worked for several years developing that program and working with some really incredible young women.

Eventually, I finished my bachelor’s degree (in all the drama of the past decade or two, I’d dropped out of college not once. . . not twice. . . but THREE times.) and I admitted it was time to go to seminary. I wasn’t going to be a pastor, for the record. I was going to continue doing community development work. I said that much to my pastor, Saleem, when we met to talk about seminary.

He told me, “You know, Charissa, you really should think about entering the ordination process.” I told him there was no reason to, I wasn’t planning on becoming a pastor. And in a brilliant appeal to my pragmatic side, he gently said, “I know. But it’s easier to drop out of the process later on than to come into it late.” So I filled out the ordination inquiry paperwork, even though I knew I wouldn’t be following through with the whole process. Spoiler alert: I did not drop out of the ordination process.

Spoiler alert:

In seminary, you get asked about your call over and over and over ad nauseum. The admissions counselors ask about it. Your professors ask about it. The Presbytery asks you about it. Your advisor asks about it. Your classmates ask. Your field education supervisor asks. Your care team from the Presbytery asks. Time and time again, I told the story about hearing God speak to me during that mission presentation when I was 8 years old and how I ran from that call for 25 years before getting around to seminary and now I’d finally admitted that I was going to do Christian community development and non profit work. And time and time again, the person asking about my call would look at me strangely as if to say, “Wow, you really don’t see it, do you?” You guys. . . I still didn’t get it until HALFWAY THROUGH SEMINARY.

Then I preached my first sermon. Well, my first real sermon. We’re not counting the day in Guatemala I stood like a deer in headlights in a small mountain village and sputtered something about Jesus being awesome.

You may have noticed this about me, but I LOVE to preach. I mean, I love to talk in general, so give me a microphone, a scripture to talk about, and a captive audience. . . I mean. . . a congregation, and I. Am. Happy.

But I found myself in seminary and soon, I was ordained and began serving in a church. But the commute was long, it was part time, and it was a temporary position. After a few years, I found myself looking for another call, preferably closer to home.

I knew I was called to small churches, but so many small churches out there these days are giving up. They have lost their hope. They just want a pastor who will preach on Sundays, visit the nursing homes, and officiate the funerals. Nothing fancy. None of this “evangelism” or “outreach” garbage. And one thing I had learned along my journey is that a loss of hope means a loss of call, a loss of identity. Hope is how we know who we are in Christ - as individuals and as communities. I knew that hope was important. I could not be in a hopeless place that had given up. I’d lived that. It sucked.

Without hope, we become bitter and angry. Without hope, we find ourselves sleeping with knives under our pillows and wondering how we wound up so scared and alone. Without hope, we forget who we are and what God has called us to. Without hope, we are trapped into thinking we are someone we aren’t. Without hope, we fail to offer grace to those around us who are just sinful, broken people who sometimes say stupid things - just like we are. Without hope, we just give up and accept the crappy life we’ve been dealt.

I will not lie: I was skeptical when I first saw the listing for this temporary position here at two little churches. But it was full time and it was close to home. What the hay? When I went in for the interview, I did not see the tired, fed-up, angry, hopelessness that is often apparent in small churches. I saw uncertainty. I recognized past traumas in the life of the community. But there was hope. The message was loud and clear, “This is weird and different and we want to try it because we want more than just a pastor to live out the last years of this church with.”

Ya’ll know how much I love weird and different. That was the icing on the hope cake, sisters and brothers!

In the 2 years, 4 months, and 2 days since I joined this motley crew (not that I’m counting), this plucky band of hopeful Christians, these two congregations all rolled into one happy partnership, something super fun has happened: it’s working. Both congregations have experienced growth and new life. New friendships are being formed and both congregations are slowly but surely developing new, stronger senses of identity and of God’s call for our involvement in the communities surrounding us.

2 years is not a very long time. But. . . it’s also a long enough time to learn alot. Think about the difference between a newborn baby and a two year old! And it’s long enough to know that this can be a long term creative solution to bring hope and new life to this congregation.

But. . . it’s also a long enough time to learn alot. Many Master’s Degree programs are just two years long. Think about the difference between a newborn baby and a two year old! And it’s long enough to know that this can be a long term creative solution to bring hope and new life to this congregation.

It is with hope and excitement for the future that I stand up here today, as ludicrous as it seems for my journey to have led me to a pulpit - any pulpit. I often say that it’s ridiculous I even still go to church, let alone that I’m expected to lead a church (or crazier yet, TWO). But God is ridiculous sometimes. And the God of hope works in ludicrous ways. And I love that God has landed me in these two churches that are willing to embrace God’s ridiculousness and follow along hopefully in God’s work even when it seems ludicrous. I cannot wait to see what God has in store next, dear ones!

Ephesians 1:15–23 ESV

For this reason, because I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And he put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Ephesians 1:15-