PART TWO

22 Chorus
Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world. (John 1:29)

23 Air (Alto)
He was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:3) He gave His back to the smiters, and His cheeks to them that plucked off His hair: He hid not His face from shame and spitting. (Isaiah 50:6)

24 Chorus
Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him. (Isaiah 53:4-5)

25 Chorus
And with His stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

26 Chorus
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:6)

27 Accompagnato (Tenor)
All they that see Him laugh Him to scorn; they shoot out their lips, and shake their heads, saying: (Psalm 22:7)

28 Chorus
“He trusted in God that He would deliver Him; let Him deliver Him, if He delight in Him.” (Psalm 22:8)

29 Accompagnato (Tenor)
Thy rebuke hath broken His heart: He is full of heaviness. He looked for some to have pity on Him, but there was no man, neither found He any to comfort him. (Psalm 69:20)

30 Arioso (Tenor)
Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow. (Lamentations 1:12)

31 Accompagnato (Soprano or Tenor)
He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgressions of Thy people was He stricken. (Isaiah 53:8)

32 Air (Soprano or Tenor)
But Thou didst not leave His soul in hell; nor didst Thou suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption. (Psalm 16:10)

33 Chorus
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord strong and mighty, The Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory. (Psalm 24:7-10)

34 Recitative (Tenor)
Unto which of the angels said He at any time: “Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee?” (Hebrews 1:5)

35 Chorus
Let all the angels of God worship Him. (Hebrews 1:6)

36 Air (Alto or Soprano)
Thou art gone up on high; Thou hast led captivity captive, and received gifts for men; yea, even from Thine enemies, that the Lord God might dwell among them. (Psalm 68:18)

37 Chorus
The Lord gave the word; great was the company of the preachers. (Psalm 68:11)

38 Air (Soprano or Alto) (or Duet and Chorus (Soprano, Alto and Chorus)
How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things. (Isaiah 52:7; Romans 10:15)

39 Chorus (or air for tenor)
Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the world. (Romans 10:18; Psalm 19:4)

40 Air (Bass) (or Air and Recitative)
Why do the nations so furiously rage together, and why do the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth rise up, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against His anointed. (Psalm 2:1-2)

41 Chorus
Let us break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us. (Psalm 2:3)

42 Recitative (Tenor)
He that dwelleth in Heav’n shall laugh them to scorn; The Lord shall have them in derision. (Psalm 2:4)

43 Air (Tenor)
Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel. (Psalm 2:9)

44 Chorus
Hallelujah: for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. (Revelation 19:6) The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ; and He shall reign for ever and ever. (Revelation 11:15) King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. (Revelation 19:16)

PART THREE

45 Air (Soprano)
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. (Job 19:25-26) For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that sleep. (1 Corinthians 15:20)

46 Chorus
Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. (1 Corinthians 15: 21-22)

47 Accompagnato (Bass)
Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. (1 Corinthians 15: 51-52)

48 Air (Bass)
The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption and this mortal must put on immortality. (1 Corinthians 15:52-53)

49 Recitative (Alto)
Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” (1 Corinthians 15:54)

50 Duet (Alto & Tenor)
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. (1 Corinthians 15:55-56)

51 Chorus
But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:57)

52 Air (Soprano & Alto)
If God be for us, who can be against us? (Romans 8:31) Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth, who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is at the right hand of God, who makes intercession for us. (Romans 8:33-34)

53 Chorus
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen. (Revelation 5:12-14)

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He is risen! … He is risen indeed!
Happy Easter.

[Editor’s Note: the title of this item could easily have been “When You Find Your Community…” Any of us who have discovered a community of like-minded friends that encourages us to participate … to contribute … to dream of all the ways, established and brand-new, by which we could be an active part of that community … can attest to the impact it can make upon us.]

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I truly appreciate the opportunities provided me by this Community to serve during the Lenten Season. Singing with the Gospel Group, leading Youth Sunday School, sharing Scripture, planning our Juneteenth Concert, have allowed me to help spread God’s Love.

Thank You Jesus.

-Jack Drewry

Let man’s soul be a sphere, and then, in this,
Th’ intelligence that moves, devotion is;
And as the other spheres, by being grown
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a year their natural form obey;
Pleasure or business, so, our souls admit
For their first mover, and are whirl’d by it.
Hence is’t, that I am carried towards the west,
This day, when my soul’s form bends to the East.
There I should see a Sun by rising set,
And by that setting endless day beget.
But that Christ on His cross did rise and fall,
Sin had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for me.
Who sees God’s face, that is self-life, must die;
What a death were it then to see God die?
It made His own lieutenant, Nature, shrink,
It made His footstool crack, and the sun wink.
Could I behold those hands, which span the poles
And tune all spheres at once, pierced with those holes?
Could I behold that endless height, which is
Zenith to us and our antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood, which is
The seat of all our soul’s, if not of His,
Made dirt of dust, or that flesh which was worn
By God for His apparel, ragg’d and torn?
If on these things I durst not look, durst I
On His distressed Mother cast mine eye,
Who was God’s partner here, and furnish’d thus
Half of that sacrifice which ransom’d us?
Though these things as I ride be from mine eye,
They’re present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them; and Thou look’st towards me,
O Saviour, as Thou hang’st upon the tree.
I turn my back to thee but to receive
Corrections till Thy mercies bid Thee leave.
O think me worth Thine anger, punish me,
Burn off my rust, and my deformity;
Restore Thine image, so much, by Thy grace,
That Thou mayst know me, and I’ll turn my face.

-John Donne (1572–1631)

His body wholly mixed
with these our bodies, and His pure
blood poured generously out
to fill our veins, His voice
now pulses in our ears,
and look! His lighted vision
pools within our eyes. All of Him
is mixed with all of us —
compassionate communion. And as
He loves His church His body
utterly, so He gives
it more than bread, more
even than bread from heaven
but gives His own, His
living Bread for her to eat.

Wheat, olive, and the grape —
these three — serve Your mystic union
in threefold manner
Your bread became our strength,
Your wine our consolation.

Our faces were renewed,
illumined by the grace and
blessing of Your holy oil. For all
of this and more, Your body —
saved your abasement —
now unites in true thanksgiving
and Death — the insatiable lion
who consumed us all — by You alone
its appetite was sated, by You alone
its hold has burst, and we
rise strengthened, comforted, and luminous.

-Saint Ephraim of Syria

[Editor’s Note: this entry in the LentBlog is one in which the setup is far longer than the actual bit of writing.

[More than one person made note of this quote, which was posted on the social-media feed of a US Representative some tim ago. She was probably presenting it for a specific purpose. Whether or not her political stances are 100% at all times in alignment with yours, it’s safe to say that her thought is at least as meaningful out-of-context as it is in-context.

[“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” -Matthew 18:20 ]

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“Community is the antidote to despair.”

-Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Let us pray for

… the wounded, that healing and comfort may surround them.

… families and communities in mourning, that they may find strength for the days ahead.

… leaders and nations, that they may choose the path of peace over the path of destruction.

-from the Council of Bishops letter, “United Methodist Bishops Call for Prayer and Peace in the New Middle East War”

Good Friday to Easter Sunday. Execution to resurrection. Death to life. On Friday, the tomb is sealed, but by Sunday the massive boulder is rolled away, the tomb is empty, we are relieved of our Lenten fast, and the flowers are blooming on the altar. The triumphant Christ of Western iconography, here shown as a solitary image, but for four overcome guards, has done his work once again and we are free to be on our way until next Easter.

Let us hit the pause button here, friends, and ask, what is the resurrection really for? What does it cost? What does it mean that it happened to Jesus’ body, executed by the Roman empire, for the crime of the Messianic claim?

And what does it mean that his wounds never heal?

The Western icon most of us grew up with, in some form, is Christ rising alone. Here is Christ Victorious. It is also, as John Dominic Crossan argues, subtly about the individual — this happened to Jesus, and if you believe in it, something like it will eventually happen to you.

The Eastern icon is different. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the central Easter image is not the empty tomb but the descent into hell, and Christ pulling Adam and Eve out by the wrists. Not arriving alone. Not ascending alone. Taking the whole human race with him. The icon doesn’t let you individualize it. You cannot look at Adam and Eve being dragged, blinded by the light, out of the darkness of the tomb and think: this is about my personal afterlife. The image forces a different question. What does it mean that what happened to Jesus is happening to everyone?

And in both traditions — Eastern and Western Christianity — the wounds are still there. Not healed. Not erased. For over a thousand years after the resurrection, the marks of the nails are still on his side, his hands, his feet. We might ask, if God has conquered death through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, why haven’t his wounds healed? Why carry the evidence of the tortuous death of Christ into the unknown future?

Paul has an answer, and, be warned, it is not a comfortable one.

When Paul tells the Romans they have died with Christ, he is not speaking metaphorically, as in you have died to certain bad habits, like overeating, drinking or smoking, or that you have had a spiritual transformation. He means something far deeper. Far more insidious. You have died to the values that killed Jesus — racism, sexism, classism, warmongering, xenophobia, coveting, the logic that some people matter less than others — those are the values to which you have died. Past tense. Already. Not an aspiration but an identity, a truth.

Christ died by those values. We die to them.

In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, he makes this clear to a community that is trying to have it both ways. They want to keep the language of the kingdom while slowly reinstating the social structures of Rome. Better wine and bread for the people at the top table. The poorer members of the community eating later, eating less, eating leftovers.

Paul tells them: don’t come to the table unless you understand. The bread and the cup, blessed and shared, are not symbols of your personal piety. They are a public declaration that you have died to the values that executed Christ.

The wounds stay visible because the execution is not over. The greed, the hate, the selfishness, the supremacy are not past. And the resurrection does not erase what was done, in fact it refuses to let us forget. It is the permanent, visible, unhealed claim that what was done to Jesus was wrong, that the values that did it are wrong, and that everyone who gathers around that broken bread and poured wine loudly proclaim that they will not support the wrongdoing.

-Pastor Leigh E. Goodrich

I grew up going to a Moravian Church that had beautiful stain glass windows. There were ten of them, fifteen to twenty feet tall, depicting the life of Jesus. They were placed, in the order of his life, as the windows of the sanctuary.

Our family, with five children, sat in the balcony with many other families with wiggly children! We always sat across from a beautiful window showing Jesus knocking at a closed door. This put me at about eye level with Jesus’ face. His expression was kind, with a little question in it. Would I and all of us answer His knock and let Him into our hearts and lives? It’s a question I asked myself every Sunday as I grew older, sitting near the window, and I ask myself now.

We all need to answer the knock for ourselves and for the world. We need to let Jesus into our lives so we can be the best Christians we can be, and share His love and teachings with a world that so desperately needs to hear them.

I heard a different interpretation of Jesus knocking at the door – that He hopes the people inside will come out and be a part of the world, sharing His teachings with others.

Either way, it is so important that we answer His knock!

-Jody Avery

Community doesn’t have to be a club or at church; it can be at school and at work. And through these communities it can have a meaningful influence on your life. It is not only what the community is about, but also who is in it that really shapes you.

I especially think the most impactful community for me is being in band at my high school. I never really thought band would be such a positive influence on my life. When I joined band back in fifth grade, I just thought we would play music and if we had our friends doing band with us that would be an added bonus. Through my band experience, I have met my best friends and learned how to grow as a musician but also as a person.

In middle school we have a concert band per grade, Blues Cafe (a non-auditioned band) and two honors bands: Wilson Winds (the honors concert band) and Jazz Band (the honors jazz band).

In these honors bands, I really found people with the same interest as me. If there is a common interest in your community like playing music, it creates the first step of a better community.

The second step is creating a good environment. There is kind of a ladder in the honors band. The people who have been in the band for the longest are at the top and sixth grade me who just joined is kind of at the bottom. The people on top really shape how the whole community behaves towards each other. I felt many of the older kids were respectful to everybody which made people want to stay.

The last step to creating a good community is time. Even in a short period of time, it is so amazing how people can get along with each other if there is a shared sense of kindness and respect.

In the band I won’t remember if we played well or not, but I will remember all the bus rides to and from MICCA and MAJE, or the five-minute break where we fooled around. (For those of you who don’t know, MICCA is a concert band competition where you get judged on your playing, and MAJE is the same but for jazz.)

This same community is in high school band too. Our school district has two middle schools, and when I first met the kids from the other middle school I thought the kids from the band were the nicest. I don’t know if the band has an impact on you, but I do know that band people are the nicest.

One of my teachers who was a chaperone to the high school band’s Washington, DC trip found our school’s band was one of the best behaved kids out of every school there. It goes to show that some of the good communities made in band wear off on you. I still have three more years of high school band, and I hope it is the best.

For some of you who haven’t been in a band, what are some other communities you joined and unexpectedly found great people to be around? I never thought about band as being a community, since it is such an integral part of my life; but sometimes the communities that have impacted you the most sometimes don’t even feel like a community but just a big group of friends doing something together.

-Samuel Kang

[Editor’s Note: we’re firing up the LentBlog Wayback Machine again today, this time with a piece of writing from early March 2020 — just before COVID seemed to shut down the world for a time. Through that lens, we invite you to read on, about the subject of welcoming the stranger … and you can be the judge of how it’s going, from the perspective of the UMC’s Social Principles and of the world in general, six years later.]

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Prayer of Confession: “Gracious God, we confess that we like to be comfortable. … When you asked Abram and Sarai to leave all that was familiar, they obeyed you and went where you led them. Meanwhile, we idolize nation, home and even church buildings. Too often, we look with suspicion on those who are strangers among us. Crossing borders, risking the unfamiliar, welcoming changes – these things require more faith than we can muster. Forgive us, O God. Heal our reliance on things familiar by filling us with your grace; through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.”

The Bible contains many stories about refugees seeking to escape famine, oppression and persecution. Abram and Sarai migrated to Egypt because of a severe famine in their homeland. The Israelites, led by Moses, fled from Egypt to settle in the promised land. Joseph took Mary and the child Jesus to Egypt to save Jesus from being killed by Herod. In most cases, the refugees in these stories were hospitably received at their destinations.

Many scripture passages throughout the Bible instruct the Jew and the Christian to treat aliens, or migrants, with kindness and mercy. Here are a few:

• “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34)
• “Thus says the Lord: … And do no wrong or violence to the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place.” (Jeremiah 22:3)
• “Do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another.” (Zechariah 7:10)
• “…I will be swift to bear witness … against those who oppress the hired workers in their wages, the widow and the orphan, against those who thrust aside the alien…” (Malachi 3:5)
• “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” (Matthew 25:35)
• “For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'” (Galatians 5:14)
• “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.” (Ephesians 2:19)
• “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13:2)

The United Methodist Church addresses the plight of migrants in its 2016 Book of Resolutions:

• “Migrants rights are human rights. It is tragic when migrants, whose rights have already been violated in their home countries, find their human rights also violated in their foreign host countries.” (#6025)
• “Christians do not approach the issue of migration from the perspective of tribe or nation but from within a faith community of love and welcome, a community that teaches and expects hospitality to the poor, the homeless and the oppressed. …” (#6028)

The immigration laws of our country were originally intended to treat refugees and asylum seekers with such respect and dignity. However, our refugee policies and practices have not kept up with the surge of migrants flowing to and through our southern border, driven by increased levels of violence and abuse by gangs, police and security forces in their home countries. Few if any of the increasing number of migrants and asylum seekers are offered a real opportunity to present their cases. The vast majority are eventually deported back to their countries of origin, with little or no consideration of the serious harm that may await them.

The organization Human Rights Watch recently reported a first-of-its-kind study in El Salvador that found 138 cases of repatriated Salvadorans killed since 2013. More than 70 others were beaten, sexually assaulted, extorted, tortured or went missing — “the tip of the iceberg.”

Migrants and asylum seekers who are abused and maltreated in their own countries, and then during their journey northward and at the southern border, must feel abandoned and hopeless and wonder why God seems to have forsaken them.

This unjust situation and the policies that cause and sustain it need to change, both in the countries of origin and at the southern border. They are completely unaligned with what God expects of us, as indicated throughout the Bible. The dry bones of our country’s immigration laws and policies are lying in the middle of the valley, waiting for new life.

Prayer: Gracious God, we confess that we are failing to love our neighbors who suffer from violence and poverty, both in this country and elsewhere. In our zeal to protect and preserve our own privileges, we turn a blind eye to their suffering. Show us how we can help eliminate the situations in the origin countries that cause so many to seek asylum elsewhere. And help us to be more neighborly to those who look to our country in that quest. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

-Richard Morris

[Editor’s Note: The overarching themes for this year’s Lenten devotional writing have been “community” and “social principles”‘, specifically those of the United Methodist Church. We’ve spent quite a lot of Internet ink on the former; not quite as much on the latter. That’s about to change — curiously enough, thanks to this and a few other “throwbacks” to SUMC Lenten writing of a different time.

In this case, that different time was 2019, the first year that our Lenten writings went online. Our current Lay Leader was relatively new to this congregation; and this congregation was wrestling with the stance that the General Conference of the United Methodist Church had taken, at its meeting in St. Louis, about place of the LGBTQ+ community in our denomination.

So, we invite you to read the following piece of writing, from our current Lay Leader but written seven years ago – and consider: where are we now, compared to where we were then — as humans, as Methodists, as Sudbury Methodists?]

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“I am the church, you are the church / We are the church together / All who follow Jesus, all around the world / Yes, we’re the church together.” -Richard Avery

Saturday, March 2, 2019:

Snow is falling as I write. In many ways it’s a typically mundane weekend around here: homework, violin practice, laundry. My partner, Lois, and I will go to our 12-year-old’s soccer game this afternoon and then out to GiGi’s, our new favorite Vietnamese restaurant. If Dez is bothered by having two grammies cheering her on at every game, she doesn’t show it. To her, we are unremarkable. Boring even. She reminded me recently that I have the “most uncool” car of all time. This is the way I like it.

Yet as the news from the special General Conference in St. Louis seeped across my social media feeds this week, I was reminded that my little family is not unremarkable to some factions of the wider church, and for all the wrong reasons.

The passage of The Traditionalist Plan, or “the Mean Plan”, as it’s known around our house, has strengthened the exclusion of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgender people, and those who would stand with them, from full participation in the life and ministry of the United Methodist Church. With the passage of this possibly unconstitutional plan, our family has been even more securely relegated to second class citizenship.

Ironically, this moment has given me a chance to pause and to count my blessings. I was raised by two parents who loved me unconditionally. Growing up in Sunday school, youth group, and at UMC summer camps, and later on as a CCYM (Conference Council on Youth Ministry) delegate, I learned over and over that God loves me just as I am. As an adult, I know General Conference isn’t the church; we the people, are the church. I feel well-equipped to stand on the side of justice regardless of consequences. I am not afraid of those who cast their ballots out of fear in St Louis this week.

My concerns are not for me personally, but for the wider body of the United Methodist Church. What does the Traditionalist Plan say about us as an institution and what we believe about God’s love? What message does this stance send to our children about their place at God’s table? How has this decision added to the pain and loneliness of young people from Nevada to Nairobi, from Memphis to Manilla, who may be struggling with their identities in fearful, homophobic families, churches, schools, or workplaces?

According to The Trevor Project:

• Suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people;
• LGB youth are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to heterosexual youth;
• LGB youth who come from highly rejecting families are 8.4 times as likely to have attempted suicide as LGB peers who reported no or low levels of family rejection.

Now more than ever our young people need to to hear the message of the welcoming church movement: You are not alone! You are loved just as you are! You are welcome here!

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Sunday, March 3, 2019:

This morning I helped serve communion for the first time at SUMC. Like others have done for me, I looked into each person’s eyes and offered this simple blessing: “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.” And I was nearly moved to tears as people of all ages, abilities, and ethnicities approached the chancel. This is God’s table and everyone is welcome here, I thought. Look at how beautiful we are!

At coffee hour after the service, someone asked me why in the world would I want to join a United Methodist Church after the events of the past week? My answer was, “How can I not?” Pastor Joel [Guillemette] came to our home Wednesday evening following the dreadful news to let us know how sorry he was and that he was thinking of us. When I pulled into the SUMC parking lot this morning, I saw not one, but two, giant rainbow flags, cheerful and defiant, greeting the neighborhood and beckoning parishioners to worship. In his message this morning, Pastor Joel spoke truth to power, to borrow a Quaker phrase, with more than a little bit of fire. He is hurt and angry, and he shared his sense of injustice and outrage openly and honestly. Lay leaders stood up and re-affirmed SUMC’s commitment to the inclusion of all people in the ministries of this church. And as on almost any Sunday, choir members sang their hearts out with divine, uplifting harmonies wrapping the congregation in God’s love and grace.

If this congregation and its leaders are willing to take a stand against institutionalized hatred and discrimination, even at the possibility of facing sanctions, then how could I walk away from this? How can I NOT be a part of this?

-Christie C. White

In 1975 and 1976, I lived in San Salvador, El Salvador while working on the Central American Transportation Study funded by the Inter-American Development Bank. I visited all of the Central American countries several times to gather information on potential infrastructure projects. I learned a lot about the economic needs of those countries, but I learned a lot more about the social inequities affecting many of their citizens.

My neighborhood in San Salvador was spread out on the sides of an inactive volcano. Higher up, beyond the reaches of the streets and utilities, lived hundreds of families struggling to survive. I asked the landlord why none of the outside water faucets had handles. “To keep the campesinos from coming down the mountain and taking water from you,” he answered.

While visiting the Port of Corinto in Nicaragua, I noticed someone with a clipboard interrupting the laborers unloading cargo to obtain their signatures — not a usual port procedure. I inquired what he was doing. “He’s asking them to authorize a wage deduction for a birthday gift to Mrs. Somoza (the wife of the country’s billionaire president).”

I learned while visiting Puerto Somoza, a private port a few miles away owned by the president, that all imported automobiles were required to enter the country through that port so they could be transported to the capital Managua on a railroad also owned by Mr. Somoza — in spite of the superior facilities at Puerto Corinto.

After spending four years in peaceful Costa Rica and watching its northern neighbors descend into revolution and civil war, I understood why. I learned about Christians in both El Salvador and Nicaragua that exercised a “preferential option for the poor” and stood with the oppressed peoples. A whole new theology of liberation grew out of those conflicts.

The people believed what they read throughout the Bible — that God took the side of the poor and oppressed. They reasoned that the God of the Bible was still on their side. After having been taught for hundreds of years that their reward was in Heaven, they came to believe that God intended for all people to enjoy the fruits of their labors through an abundant life on Earth as well.

God called Moses to lead the people of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt. More recently, God called Archbishop Romero to speak out on behalf of the oppressed in El Salvador. Martin Luther King Jr. responded to God’s call to achieve civil rights for African-Americans.

God continues to call all of us, whether leaders or followers, to do our part to help all people live an abundant life. In his vision of the Last Judgment, Jesus leaves no doubt that meeting the needs of the poor, the sick and the oppressed — “the least of these my brethren” — must be a top priority for his followers. He even describes it as a condition of salvation. We can take action individually. We can work together as a community or as a nation. We can also study and pray. But, as Massachusetts State Senator Sonia Chang-Diaz said at a recent MLK Breakfast, “When you pray, move your feet.”

-Richard Morris

Some time ago, trending on the local Facebook was a miserable story that turned unexpectedly delightful, and about building community. The clickbait merchants of the grand Internet love this stuff: “Twenty Seconds Into This Clip, Your Heart Will Melt”, and all that.

This particular story was about miserable middle-school behavior, and this time it happened in an actual middle school: here’s a little bullying for you!: the typical stuff that happens in the seventh grade. I’ve taken to sometimes using “seventh-grade” as a pejorative adjective – with due respect to the couple of teachers I had in the seventh grade that did help me to now recall my experience as more than phys-ed awkwardness; more than just that yahoo who lived in locker #280 and delighted in keeping me from getting my stuff from #279. That sort of delightful stuff.

The online story ran thusly: at a middle school basketball game, one of the cheerleaders, named Desiree, took some verbal abuse from at least one wiseacre kid in the crowd, and half the home team came to her rescue. For openers, seventh-grade boys emerging from their sphere of awareness can be a pretty big deal. These particular kids may have been able to use their status as athletes to some greater good; so okay!

The detail in the story that caused this to be a bigger story was the fact that the cheerleader in question had Down Syndrome. In a moment that suggested that in some cases, humanity can separate itself from the rest of its prey-on-the-weak animal kingdom … the spectator who decided it was okay to verbally beat on somebody else (somebody who is dealing with a challenge not of her own making) was put in his place.

Shortly thereafter, the school had renamed the gym “D’s House”, to suggest that Desiree was not only welcome, but she owned the joint the same as anybody else at that school. And did she ever. It was an unofficial re-christening, but at the same time someone had already designed a new logo for a banner that was planned to be ready for the next home game.

The image that caused my eyes to spring a tiny little leak was the photo of Desiree flanked by some of the athletic kids that came to her defense, holding hands with two of them. The caption read, “Now Desiree, who they call Dee, never walks to class alone.”

With luck, this was going to demonstrate to the rest of that Wisconsin school, and to the rest of the online hordes who happened across the story, that it’s important to take these kinds of stands sometimes. And to treat people decently.

At this moment, I need to shine a little spotlight on a former workplace of mine.

For most of thirteen years, I taught in the town of Uxbridge, Massachusetts, which is halfway between Worcester and Providence, Rhode Island. As with all towns everywhere, it had its strengths and weaknesses. But one thing its public schools did really well – exceptionally well – was to maintain an environment in which special-needs students were part of the team, like everybody else.

There is much more “mainstreaming” of special-needs kids in public schools than there ever used to be, when I was a student myself – much more inclusion of these students in “regular” classes. It can present an extra challenge for teachers, but I haven’t met any teachers who didn’t throw their entire container of professional expertise at the challenge when it was presented to them (or hit up their learned colleagues for help).

In Uxbridge, while I was at the high school, we did have a few students who were developmentally-challenged enough that they did have their own curriculum, and spent the majority of their school day together, under the tutelage of some genuinely remarkable special-ed teachers. In a subset of the education industry which sees a level of turnover and burnout that can be entirely forgiven – special ed is a hard, hard business to be in – Uxbridge High School had a set of special-ed teachers who had been there long before I was hired. They were devoted to their craft in a way that impressed their “regular ed” colleagues – and probably impressed their students, at least by way of being there at the beginning of every new school year and thus providing a familiar and safe welcome for them.

Additionally, their work impressed the student body. Students rarely actually said, “boy, those special ed teachers do a great job” – but they showed it in the way they treated those developmentally-challenged students.

When those kids ventured out into the hallways, on their way to lunch, or on their way to the rare class into which they had been “mainstreamed’ (not, I should note, needing any escort, at least for protection from bullies) – or, yes, at athletic home games in the gym – I never saw any “regular ed” students giving them a hard time. Nobody made fun of them. Everybody who passed them in the hallways smiled at them, or at least let them go on their way unhindered – and every so often, I got the sense that they were having thoughts like, “yeah, maybe this quiz I’m about to flunk isn’t the biggest problem anyone ever had and I should get over myself a little.”

So, bravo to the Wisconsin seventh-grade basketball-playing boys who made their school quite a bit better just by doing the right thing. Sounds to me as if they’d changed the culture of their school. I hope that their actions led to other people doing other decent things, treating other people well, et cetera.

But a gentle shout-out, again, to my former colleagues back in Uxbridge, who – however they did it – figured out how to create that kind of atmosphere a long, long time ago, such that it didn’t require an extra special, clickbait-worthy effort. It was just how ya did things.

-Rob Hammerton

I’m writing this from on board an airplane because I didn’t want to lose the moment after my experience in the airport. We’re on day 33 of the Department of Homeland Security shutdown, and as I went through airport security, I noticed something I don’t usually see in a TSA line — people being really kind.

Travelers were saying things to the TSA workers like, “Thank you for being here,” and “We appreciate you.” There was more patience, more eye contact, more friendliness than usual.

It made me realize: we’re all being kind because we know what they’re going through. It’s public. It’s in the news that TSA workers are struggling. We understand the stress, the uncertainty, and that it’s not their fault. I know that the workers are doing their jobs even though they missed a paycheck, so that I can get on my airplane and take my trip safely. That awareness changed how I showed up. I offered a little more grace and so did my fellow travelers.

It made me wonder: what if we assumed that about everyone? That every person we encounter is carrying something heavy, even if we can’t see it.

Lent invites us to pay attention, to lead with compassion instead of assumption. I’m going to try to use the rest of my Lent journey to make that my default — offering kindness not just when I understand, but as a way of moving through the world.

“Do to others as you would have them do to you.” -Luke 6:31

-Kim Prendergast

Thinking about community recently, I have been struck by the impact of interactions with people outside my closest circle of acquaintances, but within my larger community. What were seemingly random interactions sometimes have had long-lasting and far-reaching effects. These were times when people invited me to join projects, supported things I was involved in, encouraged me, offered suggestions, provided help.

One example comes to mind. Many years ago, my husband and I moved to a new city with our two young sons. During coffee hour at our new church, a charming woman came over and introduced herself. After a brief chat she surprised me by asking if I would like to help with Vacation Bible School. Having no experience with VBS, not even having attended one, I graciously, but firmly, declined.

This woman, however, was not to be deterred. She convinced me that if I could read books out loud, use scissors, glue, crayons, and paint, and had managed two young sons, then I had what it took to be an assistant in the three year old class!

Well, she was right. Before long I was assisting in Sunday School, and then, over the years, co-teaching and lead teaching preschool through middle school, and adult groups. It has been fulfilling work and my life has been much enriched by it. I am grateful to the charming woman.

We only attended that church for about 18 months before moving again. I don’t remember the charming woman’s face or her name, as we never actually worked together; but I do remember our chat. Fifty years and countless classes later, I am still amazed at what that single conversation set in motion.

We can be the same. Let’s not hesitate to reach out to others to participate in our community. Invite them, encourage them, support them. Perhaps fifty years from now, someone will be telling your story!

Prayer: Dear God, Thank you for being with us always and for bringing random acts of kindness into our lives. Help us to be the bearers of kindness to others. Amen.

-Sandra Burns

Romans 8:1-2 says “There is therefore no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.”

I am mindful of what influences my daily decisions. If my choice is driven by my flesh, emotions, pressure or worldly expectations, I make a deliberate effort to readjust and walk in the Spirit — to continuously seek the Holy Spirit’s guidance and vision, listen to His voice, follow His direction and stay committed, not just during the season of Lent but everyday for as long as I live.

AMEN!

-Chantal Charles

[Editor’s Note: the youth of SUMC continue to weigh in…]

[Youth Director’s note: …In case you don’t notice it, the common theme among these entries is that consistent, shared experiences create community. How do we make our church a strong community? Step one is simply showing up … and y’know, I feel like I read something about that a few days ago. Anyway, here’s the next response from SUMC youth:]

A very important community in my life is Scouts because I get new experiences with friends I would not have if not for Scouts.

When I’m with my troop, I feel like I can rely on everyone and everybody gets included. We push each other to be better, which never feels like competition because I feel accepted and supported by everyone.

I know that everyone in the community loves me, so I am inspired to be better instead of pressured to be better.

-one of our SUMC Youth

[Editor’s Note: the youth of SUMC continue to weigh in…]

[Youth Director’s note: …In case you don’t notice it, the common theme among these entries is that consistent, shared experiences create community. How do we make our church a strong community? Step one is simply showing up … and y’know, I feel like I read something about that a few days ago. Anyway, here’s the next response from SUMC youth:]

The community that feels most important to me is my lunch table at school, although the community didn’t start there.

A few of us have been friends for a long time and they are some of my best friends. They are important because we are all comfortable being who we are and feel no judgment.

My first friend in this group was very popular and easily made friends, and that’s probably how I became part of this community. Over time, our friendships grew stronger (usually by playing video games together – especially Minecraft), and they are now so strong that some of my friends feel secure enough to share that they are not straight, which shows they know they can trust the rest of us.

The point is that it takes time to build a strong community, but it’s worth it.

-one of our SUMC Youth

[Editor’s Note: the youth of SUMC have got something to say, again this year. The next few LentBlog offerings come from, well, our congregation’s future.]

[Youth Director’s note: the following entries are responses to “What community in your life feels the most important?” In case you don’t notice it, the common theme among these entries is that consistent, shared experiences create community. How do we make our church a strong community? Step one is simply showing up … and y’know, I feel like I read something about that a few days ago. Anyway, here’s the first of the responses from SUMC youth:]

The most important community in my life is a tie between my Scout troop and my dance studio.

The Scout troop is important because I get to share so many adventures, trips, and experiences with some really good friends. It’s a good community because we have similar goals.

My dance studio is important because everyone is working hard to grow as individuals, but we all come together to apply that growth to a group performance.

In Scouts, we work together to grow as individuals. In dance, we work as individuals to become better as a group. Pretty poetic, isn’t it?

-one of our SUMC Youth

[Ed. Note: Here, re-printed from this week’s Chronicle newsletter, is Pastor Leigh Goodrich’s letter to our congregation about mission shares — what they are, why they’re important, and how they go toward advancing work in the name of the United Methodist Church’s Social Principles document.]

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In the midst of a very severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. -2 Corinthians 8:2-3

Hello Friends,

Grace and Peace in the name of Jesus Christ.

As we have moved from a brutally cold February into warmer days of March, as the snow melts and we can see the ground and pavement, we also prepare for a year of mission and ministry.

In 2025, we showed our faithfulness to one another and to the larger United Methodist Church by paying 100% of our Conference Mission Share. Fulfilling our commitment to the larger church means that we participate in paying salaries for 350 missionaries in 60 countries. We support disaster relief and disease solutions. In particular, the General Board of Global Mission is working with Africa University to curb the spread of malaria. We support United Methodist students with scholarships throughout the world. We support 119 universities like Duke, Southern Methodist, Boston University, Emory, Syracuse, as well as Africa University. The Black College Fund supports 11 Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCU), and we provide funding for 13 United Methodist seminaries. We fund summer camps, retreat centers, and campus ministry units at colleges. We support pension plans, health insurance, and disability benefits for current and retired pastors as well as support to bishops and administrative staff. General Conference, Jurisdictional Conference, the Judicial Council, General Commissions on Race and Religion, the Status and Role of Women, Archives and History, United Methodist Men, Communications, and the Committee on Faith and Order are supported by mission shares. Our mission shares also support new church starts, campus ministries, and district-level projects.

Our mission shares connect us in meaningful ministry all over the world. It means that the United Methodist Church could maintain a presence in many countries who lost federal funding as a result of the dissolution of USAID, since we are not dependent on federal grants. We should all be grateful for this.

The United Methodist Church made a significant decision when it became open and affirming to people who are gay and lesbian. In that process, we realized a 40% reduction in the overall budget due to disaffiliating churches. This shift aimed for a more “agile” structure, forcing bishops to oversee multiple, larger geographical areas due to reduced funding and membership. We dramatically reduced the number of bishops from 46 in 2016 to 32 in 2024.

As we navigate this new terrain of following Christ ever more justly, ever more faithfully, it is all the more important to pay our missional share. As Bishop Bickerton wrote to us, “God changed the world through the ministries of the people of Macedonia. As we are faithful, God will change the world through us!”

We will talk more about how we can and will change the world during our Annual Financial Forum immediately after church on April 12. Join us as we celebrate all that we have done in 2025, and all that is possible in 2026.

Thank you from both me and Bishop Bickerton, for paying your Mission Shares 100%. We both appreciate it.

Grace and Peace,
-Pastor Leigh

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
’Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

(poem from Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well. Copyright ©1975 by Maya Angelou (1928-2014))

-submitted anonymously

[Ed. Note: Here is a bit of writing — reprinted from the LentBlog of three years ago — from an SUMC pastor thirty years removed. At least, she’s removed physically from her associate-pastor office — which was located where our “family room” is now, up above the Narthex. Safe to say that she is not removed from the memories of the congregation members of the time, whether they’re physically removed from SUMC or not. And a number of us are not.]

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That spring, in quick succession we experienced a number of life-defining events.  I was approved for ordination in the UMC. I interviewed at a suburban Boston church for the role of associate pastor. I graduated seminary. I was ordained and I received a call from the District Superintendent saying the Bishop was appointing me to Sudbury UMC.

We prepared to move from our small studio apartment on the seminary campus to the four-bedroom parsonage on Drum Lane.  I was told to expect some church people to show up at the seminary one Saturday morning in late June to help us move.

You did show up. There were at least five trucks and 20 people. Within two hours all our worldly possessions were packed in the trucks, driven the 20 miles west, unpacked and put onto shelves and into cabinets. The other students at the seminary snuck peeks out their windows and later told me they had never seen such a thing. Most expected to rent a trailer themselves, get a triptych (remember those?) from AAA, and find their own way to their first appointment.

Over and over again, in the six years I served as the associate, you showed up for one another and for the community. You showed up for the youth when I asked for volunteers to go on work team weekends. You showed up for 7:30am Bible studies.  You showed up for one another in covenant groups for years on end, as you met to talk about your lives, your children’s lives, books you might read together, and ideas you were working through.  You showed up and together produced music to lift the rafters of the church and our spirits also.  You showed up for difficult discussions about the best way to do ministry in our community and beyond.  You showed up, sometimes in silence and usually carrying a prepared meal, when hard or terrible things happened. You showed up for games of rounders, for teaching Sunday School, for fixing the parsonage plumbing, for folding and sending the newsletter… You showed up.

This commitment to and habit of showing up for one another is a church’s superpower. This consistent presence and engaged caring for one another is the best living example and clearest reflection of God’s love for us. This season of Lent, let this be our continued aspiration in ministry: to find ways that we can show up for one another as God has always shown up for us.

-Avis Hoyt-O’Connor
Associate Pastor, SUMC, 1989-1995

[Editor and Author’s Note: this piece of writing is one that I published on July 6, 2012, in my “other” blog – the one that due to one thing and another has been mostly dormant for the last five years or so. For awhile, it was where I went to rant, to opine, to chronicle, and, as in this case, to pay tribute.

[I include this essay in the LentBlog this year because it’s about the woman who is credited as the founder of what came to be known as the “Charles River Creative Arts Program” (CRCAP).

[From time to time, around Sudbury UMC, I get to talk about my experiences with this summer fine-arts day camp. Each summer, beginning in July 1970, and continuing in all the way through its fiftieth year, the year before COVID shook everything up … around two hundred 8- to 15-year-old campers, along with about fifty camp staff, gathered on the campus of the Charles River School (CRS) in Dover, Massachusetts, and carried out two four-week sessions of grand artistic exploration and achievement.

[Much more importantly, it’s where the Hammerton family first ran into one Kevin Murphy. So when we say we’ve been doing business for more than forty years… that’s where it all kicked off.

[But any time we wax poetic about the golden years of “CRCAP”, or any of the years really … at some point we do marvel at the remarkable, inspired, arguably magical space that all of these artists and future artists inhabited – really, the community that we helped build and maintain.

[For a half-century, a legion of campers and counselors pooled their collective artistic spirits and maintained a form of summertime arts exploration that inspired many spinoff arts programs around the US and the world. The subset of this creative legion with whom I got to interact, during my four camper summers and six more on staff in the 1980s, by themselves comprise a little community that still gathers, either in creative or social pursuits, to this day – and when it does, the years just fall away.

[But CRCAP had to come from somewhere; had to be someone’s brainstorm, someone’s spark of an idea so crazy that it just might work. And in this case, my tribute to the founder of CRCAP may offer some idea of why that summer arts program, that little community, had the personality that it did. Read on…]

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Seems I have a little bit of experience, now, with the passing of important figures in my professional life. And this afternoon, along came word that another passing had occurred. And the one who is no longer with us played a very large role in helping me think that maybe I could be a journalist when I grew up … and then, later, that maybe I could become a music teacher.

Other people who might write this essay would replace “journalist” or “music teacher” with “textile artist”, “documentary filmmaker”, “dance teacher”, “motion picture special effects designer”, “puppeteer”, “playwright”, “photographer” … or, yes, “Broadway star”. I know each and every one of those people (including the Broadway star), and many more besides.

Not an easy feat. In how many different disciplines would one have to be proficient in order to have so many students going in so many different directions?

As it turns out, Priscilla Dewey only had to be proficient in one.

In 1978, I was a twelve-year-old kid, going to summer camp for the first time in my life, and not too thrilled about it. I think my previous few summer vacations had consisted largely of me spending the days doing whatever fun thing struck me, all day, on pretty much my own schedule. Except perhaps if the family was going on a family vacation – but that was OK too.

Stereotypical day camp: Arts ‘n’ crafts. Obstacle courses. Groups of campers named after animals. Swimming. I had zero interest in any of it; in fact I’d taken swimming lessons a few summers prior to that – to no avail. So it was not going to be any kind of fun to have my summer weekdays wiped out by this.

After four weeks as a camper at the Charles River Creative Arts Program, I’d had my concept of day camp happily exploded in a thousand or so different directions.

Oh, early on in the month, I resisted. Even after the first week, during which I’d [1] taken part in the invention of a mad, mad, mad shadow-drama skit, [2] written an article for the camp newspaper, and [3] participated in my first fencing match, I still wasn’t sold on the concept of summer camp. Mysteriously, though, after the final day of the camp session – Arts Festival Day, which was a giant Presentation For The Parents (so they got some idea what their money was going toward, presumably) – I found myself immediately looking forward to the summer of 1979. Already, I could feel myself missing the campers who were suddenly my great friends, and the counselors who were so much fun (and pretty good at what they did, by the way).

During that first summer at CRCAP, I became aware of one person who clearly didn’t teach in any one of the subject areas that made up the camp’s curriculum – not art, or music, or dance, or writing or video or gymnastics (or the other sports that, too, were present in the camp course list) – but she was ever-present. Priscilla Dewey – known to most folks as “Nissy” – was the camp’s director, and she spent quite a bit of each camp day checking in with the various classes and activities that were taught throughout the several buildings of the private school campus that housed the summer program. This grandmotherly figure could very often be seen riding a relatively ancient bicycle from class to class, stopping to see what sort of showtune was being sung by 14- and 15-year-olds around a piano here, or what sort of painting or drawing was being created by an 8-year-old there, or what sort of improved tennis serve was being developed by 11- or 12-year-olds over there.

And all the time – constantly, consistently – she was encouraging all those kids to keep going, and to continue to pursue those activities that clearly interested them; and she was expressing almost starry-eyed wonder at the creativity that was happening. When members of the arts camp staff (myself included, years later) would try to do impersonations of Priscilla Dewey, the first phrases that would be used were always, “That’s wooonnnnnderful!” … “maaaaaarvelous!” … “faaaaaabulous!” … and in a sing-song tone of voice that might strike people as so relentlessly cheery and positive that it simply had to be phony. But it wasn’t.

(In fact, many years later, in reply to the publicity mailing that heralded the production of the first musical theater show I ever wrote – by a theater troupe established by, you guessed it, CRCAP-affiliated people – Nissy dashed off an eMail that said, and I quote verbatim: “Robbie, congratulations! How fabulous. It sounds so wonderful. Break a leg – I know you will!” She signed it, “Nissy”; but she didn’t have to. I’d have known who it was anyway.)

Nissy (whom I never ever called “Nissy” – it was always “Mrs. Dewey”, even after I graduated from college) didn’t teach any classes at the camp, at least not that I was ever aware of. I’m not sure, but I suspect that she would no more classify herself as a master musician, or painter, or filmmaker, or dancer, or poet, or photographer, or player of four-square (a major element of the camp’s athletic program!) … than she would classify herself as a jet plane.

What she did, in the early 1970s, was take her own enthusiasm for young people, and her considerable resources, and utilize them to create an environment for children to explore their artistic creativity. The discipline Nissy was proficient in was arts administration, but that’s a dry and clinical-sounding term. Her proficiency – her gift – was enthusiasm for, and belief in, the creativity of the humans around her.

She helped establish a summer arts program in which no activity was mandatory (so no, I didn’t have to take a swimming class); but where instead students were offered opportunities to explore the arts, to try new things, to use those experiences to develop interests in the arts … to hone skills related to the arts … to discover and express a love for the arts. All of which might set them on paths toward becoming lifelong participants, consumers and advocates of the arts, and, in more cases than are statistically likely, toward making the arts their profession. There are more than a hundred spin-off arts programs now in operation around the world that are built upon the model that started in 1970, in Dover, Massachusetts, under the enthusiastically watchful eye of Priscilla Dewey.

Just as importantly, every time she paused in her bicycling rounds to see what sort of weird or wonderful creative thing that campers or counselors were up to, we knew that she was genuinely interested in what we were doing, and who we were.

And in so doing, it’s fair to say that she was responsible for launching a lot of careers in the arts. For myself, I know that my first teaching and musical arranging experiences occurred at CRCAP. And, if my experience is anything to base a conclusion upon, she was responsible for a lot of lifelong friendships, as well. There are people, who operated both within and outside my areas of artistic interest, whose presence in my world I treasure, whom I never would have met had the creative environment that was (and still is) the Charles River Creative Arts Program not been established and nurtured.

Priscilla Dewey passed away today [July 6, 2012].

It’s a day of the kind which we couldn’t really imagine; or rather, although this day was inevitable (Mrs. Dewey was, after all, human), we just chose not to think about the world would be like without her in it somewhere. Happily, on this very day, CRCAP is in business, chugging along in its usual second-week-of-the-summer fashion, in the midst of its 43rd season. The foundation that was laid down turns out to be more than strong enough.

So. Godspeed, Mrs. Dewey. As legacies go, yours is a grand and significant one. It’s about creativity, and enthusiasm, and love. And I can imagine that perhaps you’ll no longer need that bicycle in order to get where you need to be, in order to see and enjoy what your legions of students are up to.

-Rob(bie) Hammerton

I haven’t moved as much as Dave Jacob [ed. note: scroll down in the LentBlog to February 20 if you need to get caught up!] … but with my ex-husband’s job in sales, a promotion meant a move.

We grew up outside Cleveland, Ohio. After we got married, we moved to Westbrook, Maine as part of his training with the paper company he worked for. We were next sent to Muskegan, Michigan and then to Chicago, Illinois. All of my three children were born in Evanston, Illinois. When my youngest was a year old, we moved to Rockville, Maryland. Five years later, we moved to Antwerp, Belgium.

After four years overseas, we came to Sudbury. Living overseas was an education itself, but I have written about that before. Each place we have lived, we had to find a new community. Except for our Belgian stop, that community was always a church. A Congregational church in Evanston; a Presbyterian church in Rockville; and SUMC in Sudbury.

In Belgium, I found community in the Antwerp American Women’s Club. They became like family when we were so far away from home. The American Protestants and the American Catholics got together and found we both knew one hymn that was heartfelt during the late 1970s. Rob and Kevin know the hymn “Let there be peace on earth” that I often request during the hymn sing at the end of the month. That hymn brought the Americans living overseas together in community.

It was my Sudbury church family that got me through my divorce, and was here to comfort me when my younger sister died. Sudbury United Methodist Church is our family and is our community. When Zack asks, “Who is the church?” … we can always say, “We are the church!”. We are a welcoming church community!

-Judy Aufderhaar

“As for the things that you have learned and received and heard and noticed in me, do them, and the God of peace will be with you.” -Philippians 4:9

We pray for the hungry,
And then we feed them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the lonely,
And then we enter into their lives.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the naked,
And then we clothe them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the stranger,
And then we welcome them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the despairing,
And then we give them hope.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the grieving,
And then we comfort them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for an end to gun violence,
And then we admit that we are a soul-sick people;
We repent of our colossal failure to value life;
We stop making excuses;
We demand that we change hearts and minds,
And we act.
That’s how prayer works.

(-Rev. Dr. Charlene Rachuy Cox, a Lutheran pastor, May 2022)

-submitted anonymously

How Prayer Works

O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.
-Psalm 139:1-5

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Moving from North Carolina to anywhere would have been hard for me, and moving to Massachusetts was.

I left behind a large extended family, a way of life I had known, and the Moravian Church I had gone to my whole life.

Fortunately, we found SUMC soon after we moved to Stow, and Shep Johnson was the pastor. One of his sermons was based on a poem, “Celebrate the Temporary” by Clyde Reid. Its message to me was to stop wishing for the past and to live and appreciate the present, with God’s help.

God has always been with us and helped us through good times and bad in the past, is with us now as we live our present times, and will be with us and help us through the future if we let Him.

God is ever present and ever loving, every day of our lives! We are so thankful!

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“Celebrate the Temporary”

Celebrate the temporary
Don’t wait until tomorrow
Live today
Celebrate the simple things
Enjoy the butterfly
Embrace the snow
Run with the ocean
Delight in trees
Or a single lonely flower

Go barefoot in the wet grass
Don’t wait
Until all the problems are solved
Or all the bills are paid
You will wait forever
Eternity will come and go
And you will still be waiting
Live in the now
With all its problems
And its agonies
With its joys
And its pains
Celebrate your pain
Your despair
Your anger
It means you’re alive
Look closer
Breathe deeper
Stand taller
Stop grieving the past
There is joy and beauty today
It is temporary
Here now and gone
So celebrate it
While you can.
Celebrate the temporary.

-Jody Avery

When I was a kid, we moved to a new town, after Mom met and married the man who became Dad, and we moved into a “real” house (my kid thought) and set up family life. I entered my last year of junior high and wanted to fit in, but didn’t feel quite there…

Then came high school. I had grown up joining Grandpa’s church choir in the summer, so I followed Gram’s suggestion to join chorus at school, as a way to feel more comfortable…

And, so, Mr. Don MacTavish entered my life.

In my opinion, I wasn’t one of the kids born with the talent I heard in the Select Chorus; and I was scared to try out, just to prove myself right. So, I entered the general chorus and did my best while having fun at the same time. I caught a glance, right at me, from Mr. MacTavish, once and a while, and the smile that came with it had me singing to myself, with thoughts that I might be a little better than I had judged myself. But, I still didn’t want to try out for Select for my sophomore year.

And then Mr. MacTavish walked up to me one day, as I was leaving chorus, and joined me on the way to my next class, walking with me for a little bit. He said he knew I hadn’t tried out, but wondered if I would consider joining Select, as my second elective, as a link between regular chorus members and Select, because he always liked to have one kid on each part to do that. He said he had heard enough of me to know I was the alto he’d like, even without a tryout.

I just about fell over my feet, and blubbered a bit and mumbled something about not really wanting a study hall anyway, at the exact same time I was thinking “Me? You want me?”

That five-minute walk and talk changed me a bit. I am still not going to try out for a part … I’d prefer to drop through a hole in the floor than have anyone over the age of sevenhear me sing all by myself, I think! But I accepted Mr. MacTavish’s invitation with the growing certainty that I had something to offer. I didn’t magically evolve into a soloist, but I did know I could join another singing community when I wondered briefly about that in following years.

In choir, Rob often reminds me of Mr. MacTavish. (The joy of marching band is something they have in common, also.) I had no clue of Mr. Mac’s religious belief … he was a public-school teacher that taught us the joy that could be found in music, through his own enjoyment and discipline. (You couldn’t chew gum in chorus!) He did have expectations of us, and graded us, but I can’t help but feel that he shared his loving gift with us, also … right there in a public high school.

I just heard that Mr. MacTavish passed away recently, which made me feel the need to write … it’s one of the ways I process. I haven’t seen him in close to five decades, but I feel quite emotional about his death. He taught me that I had something to offer, he shared his joy, and he was a gift to my community. I am still singing through joys and sorrows, in part, because of him. He isn’t the lone influencer, but he is part of the whole picture.

I am sure that we need each other, some for short periods, some for a lot longer. I had Mr. Mac in my days for four years, and he’s been a gift since then. His joy, his discipline, his love. I am sure God gave us each other for such.

-Cindi Bockweg

Last Sunday afternoon, the Rev. Dr. Ellen Clark Clemont introduced SUMC to her book, Discerning Welcome, which introduced us to her journey with refugees as a Presbyterian pastor and a lawyer.

As a practicing lawyer and ordained minister, she was faced with the incarceration of one of her longtime members who had been “picked up” by ICE as an illegal immigrant (refugee).

She used this event to document how to use the power of her congregation and her legal experience to navigate the return of her congregant.

According to the author, “the goal of this book is to help congregants and churches to discern an ethical path to welcoming the stranger, specifically the long-term resident, undocumented refugee.”

Her approach educates us on the religious, moral and political realities of welcoming a stranger.

“Reformed theology” paints a broad brush of welcoming any and all strangers to our church family, and contrasts that with a political reality of placing some limits on who can cross our borders.

Dr. Clemont divides the book into three parts:
Part 1: Arriving as an Undocumented Refugee
Part 2: Residing as an Undocumented Refugee
Part 3: Abiding with the Undocumented Refugee

The question that I wrestle with is what to do with illegal refugees who have become productive members of our society and are captured years later by ICE. There are marriage and family considerations, work history, etc. which would say we should (maybe?) give them a path forward to citizenship or at least green card consideration.

It quickly becomes a slippery slope as we navigate each situation without any particular guidance as to the outcome.

The reformed theology is clear and obvious –- think of the parable of The Good Samaritan. The church should be a welcoming environment for all strangers. The government or political approach is less clear. We are a nation of laws that should be followed.

What I appreciate about this book is that it addresses both the religious and political concerns about this special class of strangers — the undocumented refugee — and some approaches to resolving the issue.

It’s hard to think about classes of strangers; but that’s the reality of the world we live in.

-Dave Jacob

This past Sunday, I felt amazingly inspired and impressed by a group of teens at SUMC. Let me tell you about my morning.

As the snow fell, I entered the church a bit earlier than most and walked in with choir members, Angela (our new nursery teacher), and some other familiar faces. I headed down the stairs in the Narthex to the Youth Room. It was 9:10am and I wondered how many youth might come to that morning’s “Youth Devo” gathering. I knew that Zack had been working hard to challenge the youth to be present at Youth Devo and worship, so I was hopeful.

I love facilitating Youth Devo and have volunteered here and there over the past year. It’s a Sunday-morning gathering (9:15 to 9:45 am) offered to middle and high schoolers, and I think that Zack will be opening it up to fourth- and fifth-graders in the future.

I love it because it gives me a chance to connect with and get to know our young people AND because there is no preparation necessary to facilitate the discussion. The group uses an online application called d365 that provides a short daily reflection each day of the year (hence, 365!). We go to the app, click on today’s devotion and start sharing it, using the format provided (pause, listen, think, pray, and go).

So, I showed up to Youth Devo last Sunday, having not yet read the daily devotion and looking forward to seeing some young faces. I was pleasantly surprised when the first teen arrived, and then two more, and then another who wasn’t feeling so hot and brought a mug of hot water and a little jar of honey.

We spent a few minutes just chatting. I asked them about their ages and where they went to school, and we talked about youth group a bit. We talked about Zack, we talked about their families, we talked about what they want to be when they grow up. One is definitely on track to enter ministry. Another wants to go into criminal justice and security (to protect others), and another was sure that she wanted to become an orthodontist and travel abroad to treat people in underdeveloped countries. It was an incredible conversation that spanned the gamut of topics, including how “conviction” is different than “judgment”!

The daily devotion was about feeling and accepting God’s grace. I shared with them how I feel His grace in my life and what that has meant to me personally. There was some chatter about God’s love and grace being nonjudgmental. We learned that He meets us where we are and that when we accept God’s grace, we begin to live differently, carry hope and share kindness.

We each shared ways we thought we could offer kindness and care to someone this week. One youth said she was hoping to bring some cheer to her friend who was home sick with mono. Another said he would turn the other cheek when a classmate says something mean, while another mentioned he would show respect to his opponent (in sports) by shaking hands and offering a kind word.

Then, after we read the prayer provided by d365, I asked the kids about what was on their minds for the week ahead. Were they worried about anything? How can we pray for them? I learned about an upcoming history test. One teen wanted prayers for his sister in college. Another hoped that we could be thinking of her friend with mono.

I shared with them that I’d be thinking about them this week and raising these people and things up in prayer. And guess what: as I started my day this morning, I thought of these kids and what was on their minds. I said some quiet prayers that their week was off to a good start. And then I thought, I need to share my experience from this past Sunday with our congregation … I need to write a Lenten Devotional and say, OUR YOUTH ARE AMAZING! Our future is in good hands!

We must do all we can to support these young people as they make their way in this challenging world. I hope you can find a way to do just that. It’s simple, just be present in their lives!

If you’re interested in getting daily email devotions from d365, sign up for free at https://d365.org.

If you want to learn more about Youth Devo, please reach out. I’d love to talk with you about it! <csstraub@verizon.net>

-Kristen Straub

I had a chance to sit down with my friend Jess, the other day.

We had first met more than a quarter-century ago, when we were each part of the teaching staff of that summer band leadership clinic that I go on and on about. The clinic whose founder utilized a lot of “Starred Thoughts” (sayings that were wise or witty or both) to make his points about how high-school band students ought to conduct themselves as they attempt peer leadership.

Although the magic of social media has allowed my friend and I to click “like” on each other’s various expressions of opinion and reporting of big life moments, and so keep in some kind of ephemeral contact … it had been a solid fifteen years since we’d last crossed paths.

And since most of our chats have been no longer than a quick lunch or dinner break before having to run off to start the next band-clinic activity … it was easily the most extensive conversation we’ve shared.

We sat in a local coffee shop for a couple of hours, which stretched into four … and we enjoyed the fact that we were indeed, blissfully, one of those sets of friends who could reunite after months, or years, and still pick up our conversation right where we left off. Even after accruing months or years of life experiences, of successes and setbacks — we still recognized each other.

As another friend of mine from the same summer-band-clinic community has put it: “…and the years just fall away.”

We caught up on just about everything.

Almost right away, I asked my friend, “so what brings you out to my neck of the woods?” Because she was spending time here in Massachusetts, which is a fair distance from her stomping grounds in New Jersey.

In short, her trek north was an errand of mercy in support of a family member who needed her. Which, I would judge, was entirely in character for her.

But, she said, “I’m just embarrassed that I’ve been here for most of two weeks, and I only just now thought, ‘ya know, I wonder if any of my Massachusetts friends are available for coffee?'”

I waved that off. “You were focused on what you needed to be focused on.” She replied, yes, she had only just “come up for air” a couple of days before.

And four hours later, as we went our separate ways, I mused that (predictably) we had exemplified a great many of the Starred Thoughts that our band-clinic boss had espoused.

But we had also exemplifed what the Bible says about being in community.

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” –Matthew 18:20

“Wait,” you’re thinking, “they’re band-clinic mates; how’d the Bible get into this?”

It hadn’t come up directly during the few band-clinic summers that my friend and I had shared; but with the advent of social media, I had become very aware of her willingness to express her faith.

To be candid, her politics and mine have not always been in perfect alignment. We haven’t always voted for the same people. On the political spectrum, I’m nicely over here as something of a lefty, and my friend has been … less so.

Via the periscope that is social-media, I’ve noticed that her takes on issues of the world, whether expressed directly through references to scripture or just “can you believe this nonsense?” posts, have brought our politics quite a bit closer together of late.

Anyway, by the time we’d been in that coffee shop for three out of the eventual four hours, two things had happened. First, we’d outlasted the morning shift’s staff! … But more importantly, our discussions about what was going on in our lives, and what was going on in the world around us, had slid quite organically into the realm of what would Jesus say about all this?

No judgment, but (he said with frank understatement) that’s not always where my conversations with my summer-band-clinic friends go. But Jess is one of the relatively few of that set of friends who has at least dipped their toes into the church-music world. So, that can and did serve as a gentle conversational on-ramp.

And yes, I found it quite satisfying to note that, although we might quibble on some details occasionally, our fundamental position — regarding both band peer leadership and our mandate as people of faith in the world — is, and always has been: lead with compassion; and take care of each other, and of people who need taking care of.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ.” –Galatians 6:2

So my friend and I, after a very long time physically separated, had sat for several hours and at least identified all the problems of the world. And we had effectively reassured each other that we were still good; we were more than just Internet-based phantoms of connection; we were real people, each with a real appreciation for the other.

Once upon a time, someone (I don’t recall exactly who) said to me a wise thing: “people don’t fundamentally change.”

As I drove away from that coffee shop, I thought to myself that I was very glad that in the case of my summer-band-clinic friend this was true. She was the same thoughtful, caring person she had been, the last time we crossed paths. (Remember me mentioning that, at the beginning of this tale?)

Again, that was fifteen years ago. It was at the celebration-of-life service commemorating our very-recently-passed band-clinic boss, the founder of the George N. Parks Drum Major Academy. I rounded a corner outside the UMass-Amherst campus building where the event was about to take place, and there standing before me were my friend Jess and two of her friends, both of whom also had been part of the Drum Major Academy experience. They had all been college band mates in the mid-1990s, and had kept in touch and been leaders in their band’s alumni organization. They had stayed connected, in community, all that time.

They’d driven north from Delaware or southern New Jersey, together — starting early that morning I think — to be at that late-morning event, to pay their respects to Mr. Parks, and to do so in community with the hundreds of other people who had come also. Sadly, they were probably going to drive right back, later that day; so our conversation lasted just a couple of minutes, before we all had to head into the basketball arena that was needed to accommodate all the attendees.

But in that moment fifteen years ago, I remember marveling that they’d come all that way, together, for that reason, and that said a whole lot about them — and about our shared experiences as part of that weird little band-clinic community.

“Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.” –Romans 12:10

And again, I was pleased — am pleased — to be able to carry on that spirit. To do so every time I reconnect with any of my Drum Major Academy friends, of course … but particularly so, the other day, with my friend Jess.

“Then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind.” –Philippians 2:2

-Rob Hammerton

[Editor’s note: This is one of those moments in which the format of SUMC’s online Lenten Devotions allows for flexibility, and for responsiveness to the moment. Here are several Bible verses, as well as a statement from Pope Leo, that were submitted this weekend… verses which address the current military action in the Middle East…]

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“Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? You want something and do not have it, so you commit murder. And you covet something and cannot obtain it, so you engage in disputes and conflicts. You do not have because you do not ask.” -James 4:1-2

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” -Matthew 5:9

“Then Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place, for all who take the sword will die by the sword.'” -Matthew 26:52

“He shall judge between the nations and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more.” -Isaiah 2:4

“Stability and peace are not achieved through mutual threats, nor through the use of weapons, which sow destruction, suffering, and death, but only through reasonable, sincere, and responsible dialogue. … Faced with the possibility of a tragedy of immense proportions, I make a heartfelt appeal to all the parties involved to assume the moral responsibility of halting the spiral of violence before it becomes an unbridgeable chasm. May diplomacy regain its proper role, and may the well-being of peoples, who yearn for peaceful existence founded on justice, be upheld. And let us continue to pray for peace.”
-Pope Leo XIV

*-submitted anonymously*

Two days before a new school year began, my mother died.

My daughter, a New England public-school third-grade teacher, said she would go with me to Florida for Mom’s service. Knowing my Mom so well, I said, “Mom wouldn’t want you to miss those important first days of school. Stay here and teach. I’ll be fine.” Reluctantly, my daughter agreed — and then wrote a remembrance of her grandmother which she asked me to read at Mom’s service.

My sister, who lived with Mom, was the secretary of Mom’s church. She took a dim view of the speech that I had written, and assured me that “Pastor” would have to OK it. She took my speech to get his approval, and he reluctantly OK’d all but the last sentence:

“I believe that I shall see my Mom waiting for me when I pass on.”

That, he said, had to go. So I said to my sister, “Okay, let me discuss it with him.” But she said “Pastor’s” word was final.

By this time, I was beginning to get nervous about how I would be received. And would people understand why her granddaughter was not present?

The day of the service in my sister’s conservative church was upon us. On arriving, I was “invited” to sit in a room away from everyone. I was told I would be called when I could come in. Ignoring that, I walked to the outside door and BEHOLD! who should I see coming up the walk but Kris Brown, a longtime SUMC member now retired in Florida.

Kris told me she seldom reads obituaries in the morning paper, but that day she did. When she saw my name included in my mother’s obituary, she decided to come to that service. A comforting presence.

Despite my misgivings, the congregation understood why I came alone. Although the congregation did not know me, they quickly came together and became a community who supported me, surrounding me with kindness.

During the service, I faithfully read the script that “Pastor” had OK’d, adding only one last sentence:

“I believe that I shall see my Mom waiting for me when I pass on.”

-Nancy Hammerton

“Social Justice…”

I try. Today is the day…

I have an old laptop, and it’s gone through recent updates at the same time our family has gotten new cell phones after signing up with a provider for another period of time. So, there are codes I don’t recall and things I’m not able to read, and a dog that wants to be fed and laundry to do. And, the thing I intended to do, as usual, was interfered with, and time passed, and I didn’t get anything written yet, much less sent to Rob, who has been such a positive influence in my life.

Every year, he invites me, and you, to share my thoughts during Lent. Every year, I fully intend to get something to him, and every year, I hit a snag and get it to him later, rather than sooner. And, he thanks me! He is a Christian, like so many I have been surrounded by, who has been sharing with us of his time and talent, as we are taught in this church of God.

Anyway, my thoughts of late … we are witnessing a lot of examples of the disparity between the rich and the poor these days, aren’t we? And, there are some really rich Christians, who are in the news and it makes me wonder … is there a translation issue?

This is my thing … I don’t have a desire to own a bakery, but I have access to this really awesome recipe for chocolate chip cookies. So, on special occasions, I put the dough together one day, and bake the cookies the next, because they are better that way. Ingredients communicate and combine, and they are fantastic (I’ve heard) with the extra time and effort before they are baked.

We read the words of the Bible, in church on Sunday mornings. I am an enjoyer of music, and when I first came to this church to hear the words, decades ago, I heard the choir and just assumed that you had to try out and hope to pass a test. Fortunately, I was wrong. It has been a source of strength in my life … the words we sing, the words I hear spoken … they are gifts. And, all I had to do was say I’d like to join the singers.

We sing of feeding the poor, of clothing the naked … and our follow-through may not be as much as we could/should, but we are trying. At the same time, in the news, we hear that the poor and the naked don’t deserve our efforts; in fact, they deserve the opposite. Providing housing, medical care, food … Speaking as a woman who has been poor as a loved child, and as a woman who has witnessed what rejection can do to a child, I am saying that the love Jesus teaches us, is something He gives freely, so we can share it. We can share it, and it grows. It is hard to measure, though, isn’t it?

I guess I might be able to make a lot of money if I sold my cookies, and share some wealth. I think of coffee, I digress … I find myself wanting to share what happens when I bake cookies and see them eaten!

I used to be incredibly self-conscious about my walking disability, but the loving Christians I have been enveloped by enjoy sharing their gift of music in the way I enjoy sharing my baking ability, I think. They tell me they are happy to have me in the choir, even if they do need to keep an eye on my wheels! And, others have told me that I have been inspirational because I show up and add my voice, even if my disability requires some special attention at times.

Jesus promised us that we are loved, and told us that that love is a thing that we are to do. I know it to be true; thanks be to God! We get love; we give it. This is what Christians are baked with, with a voice of singing!

And, Jesus was the one perfect human, the One we can follow.

We aren’t ever going to be perfect. We can move to perfect our faith with love. Sharing our gifts with community gives us all strength, because it is love. Receiving the gifts we are given strengthens us all, because they are love. Community includes us all, sharing with all, the gifts we are given.

-Cindi Bockweg

[Author’s note: “In this Lenten Devotion, I am responding to all of the tenets of the revised UM Social Principles: Community of All Creation, The Economic Community, The Social Community, and the Political Community. My writing tells of a woman who devoted her life to each of these tenets.”]

As an elementary school teacher, I am always searching for stories that resonate with my students. Some of the best stories are the accounts of people who have worked tirelessly on behalf of others, who have spoken truth to power, and who have tried to better the world — often without regard for their own reputation, and sometimes without considering their own safety. The best written stories transform these amazing people into role models or mentors for children, showing all of my students what is possible when fighting for change in a world in which so many still experience inequity.

During the pandemic, in the 2020-2021 school year, I was tasked with teaching all of my school district’s second graders whose families had chosen the remote school option. Of course, as a teacher with a sociology degree, I had always infused my curriculum with the stories and histories of as many cultures as I could find, and I didn’t shy away from talking about social systems. In the middle of the pandemic, I felt a special responsibility during that remote year, when my students’ worlds had physically diminished, to help them to see the power of these role models’ outward reach as well as to give my students a view of the world at large — which they were not able to see in person — in the lessons they learned.

Since it was the first time in my professional career that I had taught second graders, until then only having taught intermediate students, I examined the second grade curriculum and found that second graders in my district study the geography of the continents. I decided to build on this geographic study to help students get a better understanding of the diversity of not only the land, but also the people and their cultures within each continent.

I used a map of the world to link video recordings of as many songs and musical styles as I could on every part of the seven continents, and I uploaded the map to their educational app, allowing them to choose to listen to as many of the songs as they could, and respond in writing to each. I also took time to play many of the songs as we studied each separate continent, talking about the diverse styles and instruments, as well as some of the history of an area, especially if the song addressed a particular part of the history. In addition, I read my students the stories of as many people who lived on each of these continents as I could.

In my research, I found and read to my students Jeanette Winter’s moving children’s book, Wangari’s Trees of Peace, to introduce them to an amazing and brilliant scientist, environmentalist, scholar, legislator, and humanitarian. Wangari Maathai learned to love and respect nature from her mother, and her parents recognized her potential, sending her from her home in Kenya to the US to earn degrees in Biology. After earning her BS and Masters degrees, Wangari returned home to Kenya, and became the first woman in East Africa to earn a doctorate. After graduating with her PhD, she became a professor at her alma mater, the University of Nairobi, and rose to become the Chair of the Department of Veterinary Anatomy.

Wangari heard the complaints of women who were fellow members of the National Council of Women of Kenya. Their streams were disappearing, causing the women to have to walk miles for water. Their harvests were less each year. There were no trees nearby to provide food or shade.

Wangari recognized that the pillaging of Kenyan trees by global corporations was the source of this problem. She hired thousands of Kenyan women — many of whom received their first income from her — to plant trees in order to reforest Kenya. She paid them extra if the trees survived. This movement, which became known as the Green Belt Movement, returned trees to the landscape, the roots of which kept the soil from eroding, and thus allowed groundwater to fill streams. The trees also were a source of food and fuel, and directly improved the women’s lives, since they no longer had to walk hours for water and firewood. Wangari’s movement planted 30 million trees.

Through her work, Wangari Maathai recognized that in order to counter the illegal and corrupt conversion of public lands to private use which had caused Kenyans to suffer, she needed to speak publicly, thus drawing the ire of the Kenyan government, which jailed her. Instead of suppressing her, the incarcerations and the threats, beatings, and harassment she endured did not deter her. In fact, her advocacy and determination to secure women’s rights and democracy eventually earned her a position in the parliament, as well as the title of assistant minister for the environment.

This recognition of her skills and talents did not end her quest for environmental justice, climate justice, democracy, and women’s rights. She continued her life’s work by traveling globally to campaign for positive global change, right up until her death in 2011. In 2004, she became the first African woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.

It is safe to say that my second graders were captivated by the story I had read to them about Professor Maathai. Because they were younger than the students I usually teach, I had chosen this simpler story, which didn’t provide much detail about Maathai’s persecution, but simply said that members of the government had jailed her.

Student after student unmuted themselves during our virtual discussion afterwards to ask questions that revealed their incredulity about Wangari’s time in jail. They clearly could not understand why she wasn’t lauded for her actions. One student used his new knowledge about story genres to posit a guess about the jailing of Maathai, saying, “Mrs. Murphy, maybe this is realistic fiction. It could have happened that she went to jail, but she didn’t.”

I realized that I needed to continue our discussion, and to make Wangari’s story real for my students, and so I collected footage of Maathai giving a speech and accepting the Nobel Peace Prize. I found a short video clip that described her life’s mission. I also chose another book to read to students, called Seeds of Change: Wangari’s Gift to the World by Jen Cullerton Johnson. This book was meant for a slightly older audience, and explained the events of her life — including her persecution — in more detail.

When I taught this new lesson and read the second book, heads pulled closer to their cameras. There was head nodding — up and down for her work, and side-to-side when she was treated unfairly and when she was jailed. The discussion afterwards focused on her persistence and her accomplishments, even when criticized or dismissed as not being capable of succeeding, and even when people in power tried to quash her message. Students recognized how this huge movement, with its tangible improvements in the lives of Kenyans, began with one woman, and with one seed.

At the end of our discussion, one student — the same student who commented about the genre of the book — unmuted himself and said, “Thank you Mrs. Murphy, for reading us this book.” It was about the highest compliment I have received.

As it happens, in that remote year, about two-thirds of my class was composed of students of color, perhaps because I was teaching in the town’s fully remote program, and families had chosen to be in this program. Their choice may have been related to the disproportionately negative effects of the viral pandemic on communities of color. More than half of my class identified as girls, as well. However, the vast majority of all of the biographies I read to the students in my classes in any of my 34 years are the stories of women of color. Their stories have been unfairly subtracted from the world’s ears.

We tend to think of superheroes as wielding power by force to accomplish their goals. I want my students to recognize that real-life superheroes thwart corrupt and unjust power, which makes life better for people. Real-life superheroes grow power for good into a movement. I hope that the works of real-life superheroes may one day be on the tongues and in the minds of every student of mine. I hope that my students remember the power of one to change the world. I hope that they are that one.

-Kristin Murphy

Look at your hand; spread your fingers and hold them high in the air. What does that mean to you? Perhaps you’re raising your hand to share a comment or opinion among a group. Maybe you’re giving someone a high five. Maybe you’re praising the Lord, singing “Hallelujah,” or even hailing a cab.

For me, lifting my #5 high in the air carries an extra special meaning.

In previous years, I have shared in SUMC’s Lenten devotionals the story of my young nephew, Ryan Smith. Ryan’s battle with acute myeloid leukemia lasted nineteen challenging months, and he entered the gates of heaven in 2021. He was not only a star basketball player at East Stroudsburg University, wearing jersey #5, but also one of the most faithful people I have ever known.

After his freshman year, when Ryan was diagnosed, his basketball coaches united the team around Ryan’s spirit and determination. They initiated the #5 RelentlesS campaign — emphasizing both “R” for Ryan and “S” for Smith — to rally support for Ryan and his family, invite others into his community, and inspire everyone to be relentless in all pursuits.

When Ryan died in March 2021, the number 5 became symbolic for our family and for all of those who knew Ryan. My sister (Ryan’s mom) is a second-grade teacher in Pennsylvania. Ryan taught her five major life lessons over the course of his battle with cancer, and she wanted to share them with her students. She created her #5 (see the image included with this post) and shared it with the teachers in her district, and they each encourage their students in this way:

Remember your #5.
The pinky finger reminds you to WORK HARD and try your best.
The ring finger reminds you to STAY HUMBLE and think about others before yourself.
The word RELENTLESS is on our tall finger to remind you to stand tall and be relentless. Don’t give up.
Your pointer finger makes the #1 to remind you to be 1% BETTER each day.
Your thumb is to make a “thumbs up” and be your BEST SELF. Be respectful, kind, and helpful.
Make this world a better place by remembering your #5!

These reminders aren’t just good advice — they reflect the way God calls us to live. Acts 20:35 teaches us to work hard and help the weak, echoing Jesus’ words: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Colossians 3:23-24 urges us to do everything from the heart, for the Lord. Ephesians 4:2 reminds us to be humble, gentle, and patient, bearing with one another in love.

Relentlessness is a Biblical trait, too. Jeremiah 31:3 speaks of God’s everlasting love and unfailing kindness. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians to be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord. And 2 Timothy 4:7 inspires us: “I have fought the good fight, finished the race, and kept the faith.” Philippians 4:13 assures us: “I can endure all these things through the power of the one who gives me strength.”

This Lent, let’s raise our #5 — living out these reminders in faith, hope, and love. May we work hard, stay humble, be relentless, strive for growth, and be our best selves, making the world a better place as followers of Christ. As we do, let’s use our #5 to encourage and uplift those around us — especially anyone facing hardship or feeling alone. By living out these values together, we can make a lasting difference and reflect the love of Christ to all.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, As I raise my hand and remember my #5, help me to also remember Your five wounds. May Your pierced hands inspire me to work hard and serve others. May Your humility on the cross teach me to stay humble and put others first. May Your wounded feet remind me to be relentless in faith, never giving up. May the wound in Your side move me to grow each day, seeking to be more like You. And may all Your suffering inspire me to be my best self—kind, loving, and courageous. This Lent, let me live out these five reminders, making the world a better place as I follow You. Amen.

-Kristen Straub

“All creation is the Lord’s, and we are responsible for the ways in which we use or abuse it.”

Lent reminds us of how we are a part of God’s creation from the very beginning, on Ash Wednesday. When we receive the cross made of ash on our foreheads on the first day of the season of Lent, we hear the words “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” These words come from the creation story in the beginning of the book of Genesis.

In Genesis, God speaks the whole cosmos into being: lights and waters, day and night, flying things and creeping things and swimming things, and even human beings. People are made in God’s own image, but they are also fallible. In Genesis chapter 3, the first people are tempted by curiosity and by the desire for knowledge, and they eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When God confronts them after this, God pronounces the consequences of their actions: the tempting snake will now slither on its belly, the woman will experience pain in childbirth, and the man will work hard to grow crops. God finishes this pronouncement with the words:

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

We are made in God’s own image, and we are also children of dust. We have the nature of the earth in us, as we were formed and taken from the earth itself. When we are tempted to think that we are higher or separate from the rest of creation, we need to remember that we are dust, as we do each year on Ash Wednesday.

Many people choose to give up something for Lent –- to refrain from activities that are harmful or even just pleasurable, as a Lenten sacrifice and discipline. Maybe God’s words to Adam and Eve –- which are also God’s words to us on Ash Wednesday –- might guide us in choosing a Lenten discipline this year. How can we live in solidarity with the rest of creation? How can we remember our connectedness to the world that God has made and the creatures of God’s own making? What are the actions that we can take during Lent to refrain from abusing creation? Can we avoid products with plastic and extra packaging? Can we reuse older items rather than purchasing new ones? Can we consider the distance that goods must travel to get to us, and opt for locally-made choices instead of products that come with the pollution that such transportation yields?

This year, let us remember that we are dust, and let us make choices that benefit the plants and animals that live with us on this planet of dust.

-Heather Josselyn Cranson

While I was in Washington, DC for a conference on February 11th, I was given the unexpected gift of witnessing the Walk for Peace at the Lincoln Memorial.

I stood and watched a group of Buddhist monks arrive after walking 2,300 miles from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington, DC. It was part of the Walk for Peace, and while the distance itself was remarkable, what struck me most was the energy that surrounded them. The crowd was calm and deeply respectful. There was a palpable sense of unity with people from different backgrounds standing together, quiet but hopeful, as if everyone believed that change, however slow, is still possible. In a world that often feels loud, divided, and rushed, this moment felt like an invitation to slow down and listen to the quiet work of the Spirit among us.

During the closing ceremony, one of the venerable monks said something that has stayed with me: although they had reached their destination, the Walk for Peace was not over. In fact, he said, it was just beginning. The miles they had walked were only the preparation; the real work was what came next. How they — and all of us — would live, act, and carry peace forward into the world.

That message feels especially resonant during Lent. Lent is our walk. It is our season of reflection, repentance, and intentional slowing for a journey that shapes us for faithful living beyond the season. Lent invites us not only into personal reflection, but into the hard and holy work of being formed as people of compassion, justice, and peace.

As Christians, we know that Lent leads us to Easter, but Easter is not the finish line. Resurrection is not the conclusion of the story; it is the beginning of transformed life. Just as the monks’ long walk prepared them for deeper work ahead, our Lenten practices prepare us to show up in the world with courage, humility, and hope. Easter sends us out, asking where we will carry the resurrection story and how we will continue the walk for peace in our own lives.

“If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:18)

-Kim Prendergast

A faith community has always been important to me. My father helped to found a church in the lake community where I grew up. I enjoyed Sunday School and youth group as a child and teenager. I went to a Presbyterian college, where we were required to attend a chapel service each morning before classes and take a Bible course as a freshman.

During my adult years my faith community was Sudbury United Methodist Church, for 45 years. Here I grew in my faith and met many wonderful, faith-filled people who became my friends. I fondly remember teaching Sunday School, attending the annual church retreat, participating in Bible studies and a covenant group, serving on the Education and Membership committees, being a Stephen Minister, being part of a Women’s Circle, and so much more. Now I am active in a faith community in Plymouth, Massachusetts. I try to share my faith and encourage others. A faith community has and always will be important to me.

I want to share the following thoughts to encourage you on your life and faith journey. I hope it resonates with you.

“You (God) show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy.” (Psalm 16:11)

Stop, Relax and Rest
Relax, relax. Let mind, body, and soul relax.
Wander in your imagination to a quiet place.
Leave behind worries, burdens, the rush of life.
Stop, relax and rest in God’s presence.
Smile, believe that life is good.
Believe that God cares for you, believes in you.
Do not ponder why bad things happen.
Just imagine light and love bursting forth like Spring.
Soak in the sunshine, the warmth, the compassion.
Imagine Jesus or peace or God’s Kingdom on earth.
Relax, relax; don’t worry.
Look around you; see the beauty of nature unfolding.
Listen to quiet music; give thanks for family and friends.
We are together in faith, in sharing, even in silence.
Relax, relax. Let mind, body, and soul relax.
You are in the presence of God.
Now and forever!

-Nancy Sweeney
(former SUMC member; now a member of a UCC Church in Plymouth, MA)

In my marriage, military and business career, I have moved eleven times. My family had stops in Florida (twice), Tennessee, Maryland, New York, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Nebraska and Texas (twice) before coming to Massachusetts.

I have three children, who were born in Pennsylvania, Iowa and Texas.

As part of their development, we developed resiliency and the ability to fit in quickly, as we moved every three years for most of their upbringing.

Church, music and sports were all part of their ability to assimilate to each new community. We are a closely-knit family that constantly looks out for each other.

The tactical move for the family was always the same: initially, what community do we want to live in that offers the best public schools for our children? Close behind that decision was: what faith community do we want to be a part of? This became a key part of our decision process to help us all assimilate into the local community.

Although not part of the plan, it’s interesting that in many of our moves, the church we chose was within walking distance to the church, including here in Sudbury.

Even though each community we joined had very different politics, conservative and liberal values, et cetera, I believe we found that most of the people we associate with in the church are accepting and want to get along — even when we disagree on some issues.

I also believe that there are no strangers in life, just friends we haven’t met.

-Dave Jacob

There is no font.
The pipes are shut off.
The choir is silent.

John stands
In the river,
Hair wild,
Voice cutting through sirens
And brightly colored plumes.
He says the water remembers mercy.
Begin again.

Downstream
Names become wristbands.
Windows don’t open.
Lights never dim.
Cases outlive childhood.
In Jesus’ name.

John lifts the water in both hands.
The river knows.

-Christie C. White

For the eighth time … I know! has it been eight years already? … and why is the editor of this project seemingly surprised by this? Has he not been keeping track? …

I’ll start again.

Since 2019 [*counts on fingers, confirms that 2026 is in fact the eighth year*], Sudbury UMC has taken its Lenten Devotional Booklet into the 21st century by publishing it online. One devotion per day, for the forty days of Lent. (We have been assured that Lent is in fact forty days PLUS Sundays … so Monday through Saturday are “LentBlog” mornings.)

In that time, we have used the devotional writing skills of Sudbury UMC’s members and friends to address various overarching topical themes, from “carrying our light into the world” to “superheroes”. I’m not going to push that old “from the sublime to the ridiculous” aphorism, because there haven’t been any ridiculous bits of writing. Even the themes which initially may have struck some readers as slightly less than theologically weighty have still yielded heartfelt and meaningful written expressions of how people’s understandings of their own faith intersect with the world.

That intersection has been on often-terrifying display for most of the last year or so, out there in the world which journalists cover. And, I would judge, we at SUMC have been wrestling with two versions of that intersection.

For one: during morning worship for the last several weeks we’ve been examining what the United Methodist Church’s Social Principles are, and how they guide our denomination in its assessment of the state of the world and how we as Methodists are meant to respond to it. How do we put our money (metaphorical and actual) where our mouths are?

For another, we’ve been encouraged to do … well, not navel-gazing, per se, but a bit of self-reflection … in trying to work out what we can do about this unhappy trend of pews not getting any fuller.

Societal forces (and, frankly, actions by people who purport to be Christians, who invoke the name of Christ, but appear not to have read the Jesus parts of the Bible) are pulling potential churchgoers more and more strongly away from regular church attendance and support.

On a pair of consecutive Sunday afternoons last month, a contingent of SUMC members joined delegations from several other congregations in our area to watch a documentary about researcher Robert Putnam’s examination of trends in American civic participation and then to hear directly from Dr. Putnam himself. The topic was: how civic participation, community-building, is the thing that can rescue America from its current problematic state — because Putnam’s research and the historical record suggests that it has already done so at least once previously. The Gilded Age of the late 19th century and the current oligarchical influence on the early 21st century have many characteristics in common; and Putnam’s hint to us was: those two eras could see similar resolutions, if we only will turn our words into actions.

So the question gets to be answered by assertions of who we are and what we believe; but more importantly by how we demonstrate this.

And after all this talk of “actions speak louder than words” … the Lenten Devotions “LentBlog” project will now, and throughout Lent, utilize words.

Ah well. It’s a start.

But historically, it’s been a worthy start. As the LentBlog editor, of course I would think this; but I’ve also received feedback since we took this project online in 2019 that suggests that these Lenten writings — presented in a form that has often allowed us to write in direct response to breaking current events (hello, COVID) — have in fact been meaningful and useful and even inspiring.

Inspiring in an Olympic-television-broadcast “up-close-and-personal”-feature kind of way, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that … but also inspiring in a “get up off the couch and DO something” kind of way.

This year? I’ve already received about a week and a half’s worth of writing from members of our congregation, and I would judge that the LentBlog will again engage and inspire you. We keep this going all the way to Holy Week, it is hoped, by having these writings inspire other writings, and the whole thing snowballs.

Rather like we would like our community-building efforts to do.

So … here we go.

-Rob Hammerton

PART TWO

22 Chorus
Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world. (John 1:29)

23 Air (Alto)
He was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:3) He gave His back to the smiters, and His cheeks to them that plucked off His hair: He hid not His face from shame and spitting. (Isaiah 50:6)

24 Chorus
Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him. (Isaiah 53:4-5)

25 Chorus
And with His stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

26 Chorus
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:6)

27 Accompagnato (Tenor)
All they that see Him laugh Him to scorn; they shoot out their lips, and shake their heads, saying: (Psalm 22:7)

28 Chorus
“He trusted in God that He would deliver Him; let Him deliver Him, if He delight in Him.” (Psalm 22:8)

29 Accompagnato (Tenor)
Thy rebuke hath broken His heart: He is full of heaviness. He looked for some to have pity on Him, but there was no man, neither found He any to comfort him. (Psalm 69:20)

30 Arioso (Tenor)
Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow. (Lamentations 1:12)

31 Accompagnato (Soprano or Tenor)
He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgressions of Thy people was He stricken. (Isaiah 53:8)

32 Air (Soprano or Tenor)
But Thou didst not leave His soul in hell; nor didst Thou suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption. (Psalm 16:10)

33 Chorus
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord strong and mighty, The Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory. (Psalm 24:7-10)

34 Recitative (Tenor)
Unto which of the angels said He at any time: “Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee?” (Hebrews 1:5)

35 Chorus
Let all the angels of God worship Him. (Hebrews 1:6)

36 Air (Alto or Soprano)
Thou art gone up on high; Thou hast led captivity captive, and received gifts for men; yea, even from Thine enemies, that the Lord God might dwell among them. (Psalm 68:18)

37 Chorus
The Lord gave the word; great was the company of the preachers. (Psalm 68:11)

38 Air (Soprano or Alto) (or Duet and Chorus (Soprano, Alto and Chorus)
How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things. (Isaiah 52:7; Romans 10:15)

39 Chorus (or air for tenor)
Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the world. (Romans 10:18; Psalm 19:4)

40 Air (Bass) (or Air and Recitative)
Why do the nations so furiously rage together, and why do the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth rise up, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against His anointed. (Psalm 2:1-2)

41 Chorus
Let us break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us. (Psalm 2:3)

42 Recitative (Tenor)
He that dwelleth in Heav’n shall laugh them to scorn; The Lord shall have them in derision. (Psalm 2:4)

43 Air (Tenor)
Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel. (Psalm 2:9)

44 Chorus
Hallelujah: for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. (Revelation 19:6) The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ; and He shall reign for ever and ever. (Revelation 11:15) King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. (Revelation 19:16)

PART THREE

45 Air (Soprano)
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. (Job 19:25-26) For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that sleep. (1 Corinthians 15:20)

46 Chorus
Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. (1 Corinthians 15: 21-22)

47 Accompagnato (Bass)
Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. (1 Corinthians 15: 51-52)

48 Air (Bass)
The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption and this mortal must put on immortality. (1 Corinthians 15:52-53)

49 Recitative (Alto)
Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” (1 Corinthians 15:54)

50 Duet (Alto & Tenor)
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. (1 Corinthians 15:55-56)

51 Chorus
But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:57)

52 Air (Soprano & Alto)
If God be for us, who can be against us? (Romans 8:31) Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth, who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is at the right hand of God, who makes intercession for us. (Romans 8:33-34)

53 Chorus
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen. (Revelation 5:12-14)

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He is risen! … He is risen indeed!
Happy Easter.

Do nothing from selfish ambition or empty conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. (Philippians 2:3-4)

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A little more than three weeks ago, in this space: I went on a bit — about admiring Famous Persons when I was a little guy, and every once in a while writing a Fan Letter. And sometimes receiving an authentic but (understandably) not super-personalized reply in return.

My previous writing was about Mary Whipple, the coxswain of the 2008 US Olympic rowing team.

Here’s another tale of “…whoa!” — my other Brush With Fame, from July of 2019. An example, I think, of someone Carrying Their Light Into the World quietly.

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In the middle of 2019, Ed Ross passed from this world to the next.

Mr. Ross was one of those folks who gain the unofficial title of “Pillar of the Church”; and I did and do call him Mr. Ross because that’s how I knew him first.

He was a consistent presence in my early life here at Sudbury UMC. His memorial service was held on the first of July 2019, in a little church on Cape Cod, and the content of that service reflected beautifully his gentlemanly presence in this world.

My mother and I took a leisurely drive “down the Cape” early that morning, parked the car, unpacked a picnic lunch, and enjoyed it and the beautiful sunny day on a shady patch of lawn across the street from that church. We saw a few people walking toward the church, and determined that we ought to join them, as it was getting close enough to the service’s starting time. We put the picnic equipment back into the car, and strolled up the gentle incline to the church.

I spotted, walking down the sidewalk toward the church from the opposite direction, someone dressed in what could only be described as a Pepto-Bismol-pink pantsuit. Head to toe: pink.

The figure, the gait, and the shock of short dark hair that topped the pink pantsuit that so very few other people on this earth could (or would) carry off … made me think perhaps I was looking at someone I actually knew.

Or knew of.

There were all manner of reasons why it was unlikely that this particular public figure would be seen in this place, at noon on a Monday, wearing that. Doesn’t live in this part of the world; is a very busy person. That sort of thing.

There was, though, one reason why this person would be seen there, and in a flash it made perfect sense to me. This person had grown up on the same road in Sudbury where Mr. Ross, and the Ross family, had lived.

I whispered to my mother, “I think I know who the pink pantsuit is.”

She whispered back, “…yes, that’s who that is.”

That person had come a long way to be there.

My mother and I reached the church well before the pink pantsuit. We entered the sanctuary, and found that the arrangement of pews was rather like many school auditoriums: a mass of seats stretching from the stage (sorry; chancel) most of the way to the rear of the room, but with a crossover aisle dividing those seats from a series of risers containing rows of individual chairs.

We settled into one of those rise-bound rows, noted that we were among the first few people there, and studiously examined our bulletins … and I spared a glance every ten seconds or so to see if the pink-clad person had actually been aiming for the church.

That person had. I worked very very hard not to appear to stare; but I did keep track of her movements. She entered the sanctuary … traversed the crossover aisle to the far side of the sanctuary … and sat down next to a very much older gentleman whom I did not recognize, who was sitting all by himself, with no one else at all sitting near him. It could have been chance, or his decision not to sit near anyone else; I didn’t know.

There were few enough people in the sanctuary, keeping a respectful near-silence, that I was able to overhear the pink-clad person when she turned to this gentleman, smiled kindly, and said in a quiet but friendly alto voice, “Hello. My name’s Paula. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

He answered quietly; I don’t remember now what he said his name was. They spent the next minute or so exchanging pleasantries; and maybe it was my imagination, but the gentleman looked much more comfortable and relaxed after that minute or so.

The service began, progressed beautifully, and ended. Since we were in a church sanctuary at the end of a memorial service, I did not try to “accidentally” coordinate my path toward the exit with that of the pink-clad woman so as to get her autograph. I was, and am, a well-behaved person. This was neither the time nor the place.

But for the rest of that day … and many times since … I thought back to that moment before the service, when a woman in a fairly loud pink pantsuit quietly greeted a gentleman sitting alone in a pew.

As if she were concerned that he not feel alone before this service. As if she genuinely wanted to meet him. As if she weren’t a famous person, and didn’t require anyone to recognize her as such. As if she were simply a friendly someone, hoping to make a friendly connection to another human in a difficult moment.

As if she weren’t Paula Poundstone.

Because she was Paula Poundstone.

Yep. That Paula Poundstone. The comedian, Paula Poundstone, famous since she scored her first HBO solo comedy special in the mid-1980s, when that sort of thing was a big deal.

Who lived in Los Angeles and worked in comedy clubs around the country … but who grew up down the street from Ed Ross and the Ross family, and who therefore also benefited from Mr. Ross’s consistent and gentlemanly presence in her early life in Sudbury.

And therefore felt it was important to be there, then. To pay her respects … and to carry her light into the world. A light that was amplified by a hot pink pantsuit, yes, to be sure … but that light would have been evident even without.

I did a reeeeal good job of not publicly fanboying out any further than I already would have.

-Rob Hammerton

During Lent in 2019, I read a book of blessings by Jan Richardson. Jan has a talent for ingeniously turning difficult moments of grief into blessings, so the terrible is turned into love. Her “Blessing for Coming Home to an Empty House” was the inspiration for me to write a poem about cancer stealing my dad away the previous year. I can’t remember ever writing a poem, but writing this one helped me turn feelings of grief, sadness, anger, and fierce love into a memory I can laugh about. It also helped me reframe dreading to go to the place that reminds me of him the most.

During the children’s moment last week, Zack explained that we started out joyously saying “Hosanna!” but it is going to get terrible and sad real quick. But then, he went on to say that the greatest part is, “Jesus ruled with love. Love triumphs over death.” Yes! Love triumphs. After hearing this, I went home and reread the poem I wrote during Lent in 2019:

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Where the Light Shines Through
You may think this pew is empty.
It looks so.
With only the bright,
Golden sun light shining through.
But no. It is full.
It is where he sat,
Next to me,
Each Sunday
When he wasn’t ushering.

It looked empty
The day I bent my head in prayer,
Wondering if he wasn’t feeling well,
Or had other plans.
But then, the unison “Amen” and I looked up, to my right,
Expecting to see the light shining through. But no,
He was sitting next to me in that spot
And said with a grin,
“Were you praying I would show up?”
“Yes, Dad, I was.”

So sit in the spot where the light shines through.
It is not empty.
Sing with good courage,
Do all the good you can for as long as you can,
Remember your blessings.
Love is here to stay.

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There are a multitude of emotions going on in the story of Jesus this week and they are all valid and important. Let us experience them together on Good Friday and look forward to an Easter celebration with Hallelujahs and trumpets! Love will triumph on Easter!

-Alison Condon

Last Sunday, during the “Passion” portion of Palm-Passion Sunday, I was upstairs in the nursery. Besides my baby boy, there were two toddlers and a preschooler. All four children were having a blast, so it was an active environment. We could hear Libby narrating the passion, but “focus” was hard to come by, and so the parent conversation became about how and when to tell our small children about Jesus’ death (which, as if death wasn’t hard enough a topic, was a particularly horrifying death).

And then we noticed the lights go out in the service and saw the shutters being closed. We quickly turned off the nursery light so it didn’t spill into worship, and all three of the children who could stand on two legs went immediately to the window to peer into the dark sanctuary. This was something new and they wanted to know what was happening!

I sat on the floor with my seven-month-old and listened and watched while two moms explained gently to their children that we were remembering how Jesus died so that we could be with God – and not to worry because Jesus was going to rise from the dead so that everyone will know God loves us.

“When” became “now.” “How” became “together.” It was inspiring. Those two moms knew that the time was right and trusted that the Spirit was moving (whether or not that was a conscious thought in their minds, I cannot say, but I could tell from my spot on the floor). Here’s the most important part, though…

The children were listening.

I hope I never forget that moment.

As a children’s pastor, I love talking to your kids about Jesus. I also know that Pastor Leigh loves talking to your kids about Jesus, but we aren’t the ones who truly matter. For a child, there is nobody in the world whose faith matters more than a parent.

Tell your children the stories of Jesus. They’ll listen.

-Zack Moser

[Pre-devotion note from SUMC’s Director of Youth and Children’s Ministries: Read this devotion and be inspired. It is a testimony to how much intergenerational relationships and ministries matter; and do not let it be missed that the thing that meant the most to this youth is how someone has given up their time for him.
Thank you for indulging this preface. Read and be inspired.]

Dear Church,

I am writing this devotion because of the love and support I get at SUMC.

I especially want to say thank you to all the people in the Choir and Gospel Group that have provided amazing opportunities to share our music with everyone. Recently, I have gotten to sit down with Rob and Kevin and learn about music theory. They give up a half-hour during coffee hour every week just to teach me music. It already meant so much for me to play drums for the Gospel Group and in worship, and then on top of that having a one-on-one music chat after the service. I don’t think I have met anyone else who would do that.

I am trying my best to improve my musical talent and I am looking forward to hopefully sharing what they have taught me with the congregation in the near future.

-Samuel (from our SUMC Youth)

As I was sitting at the Lenten Supper last Wednesday night, I was struck by how everyone at the table has been carrying their light — by simply being a pillar of strength for others and then continuing to show up. All of the people at the table have been in service to others by being a primary caretaker of children or a spouse who faced illness. I know all of them have experienced dark hours where it probably felt unbearable.

The conversation turned to how some situations were harder than others. I think each “hard” is only a matter of perspective and the only way through it is to roll up your sleeves and do it. You face it because you have too, not because you are strong.

It reminded of a part in Ann Lamott’s book Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year where she writes, “…it turns out that you’ve already gone ahead and done it before you realize you couldn’t possibly do it, not in a million years.”

I’m pretty sure everyone at that soup table is tired and worn down. And yet, despite the trials they have faced they are here supporting each other and finding community with others at SUMC. I think part of that is because we share the same story of Jesus. We know how the story plays out and choose to be with Him anyway. We will bear witness. We will be the light.

Prayer: Dear God, We pray that you will help us to bear witness to all those in our lives by showing up for each other and those that don’t yet know the love of Jesus. We are caretakers of each other and ourselves by sitting in the pews each Sunday singing our praise to You for giving us Your only Son. Through despair and hope may we rise up, be the light, and make disciples of Jesus throughout the world. Amen.

-Alison Condon

³⁴“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
³⁷“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
⁴⁰“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” Matthew 25:35-40

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My mom and I arrived in the US in 1970. We were not fleeing religious persecution, rampant crime, or political turmoil when we left India. We came to the US in search of the “American Dream.” Unfortunately, many immigrants who arrive in this country are fleeing dangers and circumstances we cannot conceive of. All Americans of non-Indigenous heritage are the descendants of immigrants. They all travelled to America, sometimes at great peril, to make a better life for themselves. While America does need to address our issues with immigration, the current political climate is targeting very specific immigrants – people of color.

When mom and I arrived, we lived in Brooklyn, NY, with my aunt and grandmother. I entered the American education system as a third grader. As is true of most people, and especially kids, I did my best to blend in so that I would not “stand out” in the wrong way. Luckily, television, and my ability to mimic, sped up the process of losing my accent. Fortunately, New York, like many large cities, is packed with people of diverse origins, skin colors, languages, and beliefs. I am incredibly grateful for the friends I made in my youth and for the acceptance shown to my family by our community and by the Park Slope United Methodist Church.

The words “Immigrant” and “Immigration” have taken on terribly negative connotations recently. Although I am not currently the ethnicity being targeted, I am acutely aware how throughout history, many groups have become scapegoats due to the intolerance and hatred of others. My heart always breaks a little when I’m told “I don’t think of you as a minority, or immigrant” because it implies that I’ve done a great job of fitting their expectation of what a true “American” is, but they fail to see the real me! All the immigrants throughout US history have contributed to the diverse tapestry that makes this country what it is.

As the youth group answers when Zack asks the question “Who is the church?” … We are the church! We are the hands, feet, hearts, ears, and voices of God. As the Bible passage above above reminds us, when we welcome the stranger, we invite Jesus into our presence.

-Shetal Kaye

This past Wednesday, at the last of the Lenten Supper series, I saw what I considered a mini-miracle. As had happened before every other Lenten supper, we gathered to form a prayer circle. As people joined, the circle grew larger, and larger. and larger, seemingly larger than in the previous weeks. I whispered to the person next to me, “I don’t think we have enough seats for everyone.” The four tables of eight that had sufficed in previous weeks wouldn’t hold this crowd.

Apparently I was not the only one to notice, because as soon as the prayer ended folks sprang into action. A group carried over a table and set it up while other people brought over eight more chairs. Meanwhile someone who knew where the tablecloths were stored brought one over and draped it on the table. More helpful hands appeared with silverware, napkins, water glasses, a pitcher of water, bread, and butter. It was as if a magician (or Disney) had magically pulled a perfectly set table out of thin air and placed it neatly next to the other tables in Hawes Hall. Amazing. A mini-miracle!

In the Biblical story of the feeding of the five thousand, the disciples worried how they could possibly feed so many. They even considered sending them away. Jesus had a different solution. Looking at the child’s offering of five loaves of bread and two fishes, He said, in my personal interpretation, “Don’t worry. If we share what we have, we will all have enough.” There was even more than enough, as there were twelve baskets full of food left over.

If we share what we have, we will all have enough. Words to live by.

Let us always celebrate and give thanks for the sharing and caring community that we are a part of here at Sudbury United Methodist Church.

-Sandy Burns

[Ed. note: It’s a LentBlog Replay! Specifically, a Lenten devotion from the online LentBlog project’s very first year – 2019. We’re presenting it again, here, in support of SUMC’s “Easter Egg Olympics” event … which is happening again, TOMORROW at 2pm, weather or not! :) We invite you to visit SUMC’s website, http://www.sudbury-umc.org, for more details – and then come see!]

My family’s celebration of Easter when I was a child always included the traditional Easter egg hunt. My dad carefully hid the dyed hard-boiled eggs and more permanent eggs made of colorful pieces of cloth. My younger brother and I didn’t waste much time filling our baskets with found eggs. To be honest, though, I was never quite sure what eggs and a bunny had to do with Easter.

Now, fast-forward 35 years to a new version of the Easter egg hunt tradition. Our “Saturday Night Live” covenant group for older parents of younger children marshaled our cumulative experience to present the best Easter egg hunt ever for our kids. And I was chosen to don the Easter Bunny costume and hop around the lawn of the Los Altos UMC where the hunt was held. The costume was complete with a fluffy cotton-tail, a big round smiley face and long rabbit ears.

The afternoon was quite warm under the California sun. Bunny assistants helped hide the eggs. Then we released the kids to go find them. As usual, the older kids grabbed most of the eggs before the younger ones figured out what to do, so the Easter Bunny had to hop around the lawn and help the little ones fill their baskets.

When all the eggs had been gathered, the temperature inside the bunny costume had risen substantially, and with great relief I removed the head. But before I could take a breath of fresh air, our three-year old son Charlie saw his daddy inside the bunny’s body and broke down crying and sobbing, “…the Easter Bunny ate Daddy … the Easter Bunny ate Daddy…” as he ran to Margriet for consolation. It took a while to remove the rest of the costume and convince Charlie that his Daddy was alive and well.

Centuries ago, rabbits were a symbol of fertility and new life. Eggs were also an ancient symbol of new life, which perhaps caused eggs to be associated with bunnies during the springtime celebration of Easter, since the Resurrection gave new life to Jesus and his followers. That’s one possible origin of the association of eggs and bunnies with Easter.

There’s also a mini-lesson in Charlie’s experience with the Easter Bunny. Just as Jesus came back to life after His crucifixion, Charlie’s Daddy came back to life in his mind after being devoured by the Easter Bunny.

Of course, there’s a lot more to Easter than bunnies and eggs, and it’s easy to devote too much attention to the them and not enough attention to the resurrection of our Lord.

Prayer: Dear Lord, we thank you for your son Jesus whose resurrection gave us new life. As we celebrate Easter may the eggs and the bunnies remind us of the Risen Lord and the salvation he brought to us. In His name we pray, Amen.

-Richard Morris

[Ed. note: here is a different take on responding to one of this year’s writing prompt’s, “Someone I need to support is…” — perhaps you have felt similarly?]

“Someone I need to support is …”

… giving me a very, very real case of “I just don’t know”.

With each life comes… you know the rest of that thought, right?

I’ve hit the wall … I tried to be the ears of Christ. I listened. I offered what I thought were loving and supportive words. I’ve tried to be the arms, opened, ready to hug as they are filled.

It is not working the way I hoped. There are circumstances I can’t change.

Lent is at a time of year that this is most obvious, isn’t it? We are heading out of dark, cold winter, and into greener, warmer days. The sunlight lasts longer.

It still gets dark each night. And every morning the sun comes up and the grass is growing and daffodils are getting ready to pop open and hope arises.

I am thankful for the hope that spring brings.

-Cindi Bockweg

My best friend of twenty-three years is on the other end of the phone sobbing. It is 2 AM and I am downstairs whispering, to not wake anyone one up. If she were here I would hug her; as it is, I am trying to hug her down the phone line as I just sit and listen to the end of her marriage.

This isn’t our first, or probably last, painful call … and in that moment I am struck by a profound realization.

Being her friend wasn’t just something I was doing. It was something I was receiving. At fifty years old, I’ve come to understand something that my younger self couldn’t fully grasp. We often express gratitude for having friends, but the true privilege — the real gift — is being able to be a friend.

There’s something sacred about being the person whom someone calls in the middle of the night when their world is crumbling.

Something precious about being trusted with someone’s heartbreak, their fears, their unfiltered thoughts.

Something profound about being the shoulder they choose to cry on, the ear they want to hear their stories, the heart they trust with their vulnerability.

I’ve stood beside my friend as she buried her mother. Held her hand as she waited for biopsy results. Celebrated when her son graduated from high school. Listened when her marriage hit rocky ground. Laughed until we cried over memories only we share. These weren’t burdens — they were privileges.

When my best friend’s husband left suddenly, I didn’t think twice about showing up on her doorstep with groceries and wine. I stayed for three days, helping her navigate the initial shock. Later, she told me those days were what kept her from falling apart completely. What she didn’t understand was how much it meant to me that I could be that person for her.

There’s a unique joy in being needed, in being useful, in being trusted. In knowing that your presence matters to someone you care about deeply.

When my children were young, I had friends who showed up with meals when I was overwhelmed, who took my kids for playdates when I needed a break, who listened without judgment when I confessed my parenting insecurities. I was grateful then for what they gave me. But now, years later, I realize that the opportunity to do the same for them was an equally precious gift.

Being the friend who drives three hours to sit in a hospital waiting room. Being the friend who remembers birthdays and anniversaries and difficult dates. Being the friend who knows when to push and when to just listen.

These aren’t obligations — they’re opportunities to practice the most profound form of human connection.

A friend recently thanked me for “always being there,” and I almost laughed. Doesn’t she understand? Being allowed into her life, being trusted with her story, being chosen as her confidante — these are gifts she has given me, not the other way around.

At fifty, I’ve accumulated enough life experience to know that we’re not meant to travel through this world alone. We need community, connection, companionship.

But what I understand now that I didn’t fully grasp in my younger years is that being needed is as essential as needing others.

When we’re young, friendship often feels like something that happens around the edges of life — between classes, after work, on weekends. But as we age, as life grows more complex; friendship becomes the foundation that holds everything else together.

It’s a profound privilege to walk alongside someone through the decades, to witness their story unfold, to hold space for their growth and struggles and triumphs. To be trusted with their secrets, their insecurities, their dreams.

So yes, I am grateful for my friends. But more than that, I am grateful for the opportunity to be a friend. To show up. To listen. To remember. To witness. To celebrate. To comfort.

Being someone’s friend isn’t something we do — it’s something we’re allowed to be. It is a gift life has given us.

-anonymous writer on the “Grown & Flown” Facebook page

[This writing appears on the LentBlog by permission of the moderator of the “Grown & Flown” Facebook page.]

Lately, I’ve found myself weighed down by the state of the world — political division, emotional turmoil, and the constant negativity that seems to seep into every conversation. It’s easy to feel disheartened, even bitter, about the way things are.

But I’ve also learned that bitterness only steals my peace and dims my light. As someone who works closely with people — whether in my church community or through my work in executive search — I see firsthand how negativity can cloud judgment and harden hearts.

And yet, Christ calls me to something different. Ephesians 4:31-32 reminds me, “Get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger… Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” I don’t want to let the world’s chaos make me cold. Instead, I want to choose warmth, kindness, and grace — to be better, not bitter.

When I make that choice, I feel a shift. I find more joy in the work I do, more patience in the conversations I have, and more peace in my heart. And in those moments, I realize that being better doesn’t just change me — it allows Christ’s light to shine through me for others to see.

Whether it’s arranging flowers for worship, rallying volunteers, offering encouragement to my friends and colleagues, or simply being present for those around me, I want to be someone who draws people in with love, rather than pushing them away with bitterness. Jesus never let the world’s brokenness steal His light, and neither should any of us.

By choosing to be better, we can impact others and help them walk in the light, feel the light, and be a light for others. So, be better, not bitter!

-Kristen Straub

[Ed. note: this is a response to one of this year’s Lenten writing prompts, “Here is a special hymn, and why it’s special to me…” The author notes that it isn’t an Easter hymn, as the original prompt suggested, but hopes that you won’t hold that against her.]

As many of you may know, my former husband was in sales for a paper company, and every promotion meant a move to a bigger market sales office. Although we grew up outside of Cleveland, Ohio, we lived in Westbrook, Maine … Muskegon, Michigan … and Chicago, Illinois (all three of my children were born there in Evanston). Then we moved to Rockville, Maryland, and Brasschaat, Belgium (outside of Antwerp).

Living overseas with three elementary-school-age children was a challenge. They attended the Antwerp International School, which had twenty-two countries represented, but was based on the American school system and many of the staff were Americans. It was difficult being away from family and friends, but the American community became like family to us.

On Sundays the Protestants and Catholics would get together to have a joint worship service. We both knew one hymn and since it was between the years 1975 and 1979, and we all were praying for peace, we sang it every Sunday. It’s number 431 in our United Methodist hymnal.

LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH
Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me;
Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.
*With God our creator, children all are we.
Let us walk with each other in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me; let this be the moment now.
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow:
To take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

Back in the 1970s, we sang the original words: With God as our Father, brothers all are we / Let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony.

Either way, I still love this hymn and think we need these words even more today than we did back then. Let us all pray for peace in this troubled world.

-Judy Aufderhaar

“A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”
-Albert Camus

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Although some Sudbury UMC folks do know this particular fact about me, it may not be evident during, say, your average Sunday worship service at Sudbury UMC.

The only moment at which it might be on display comes at the end of every Friday “Choir Director Check-In” video I do for the church Facebook page, just as my face is fading away and my eMail address is coming onto the screen.

Hi. My name is Rob, and I like Star Trek.

From the late 1960s through probably the mid-2000s I think … this was not necessarily a characteristic that a lot of similarly-inclined people shouted from the rooftops.

But long before Star Trek somehow stopped being referred to by pop-culture writers as “a cult classic”, and began to be seen as a little more retro-hip — or at least, not so much something that drew instant snickering — various commonly-used phrases from within that TV program had already made it into the popular lexicon.

“Live long and prosper.” “Warp speed.” “Beam me up, Scotty” (a line of dialogue which, fun fact, was never spoken in exactly that way by any character).

It was only a matter of time before the general public caught on; but to a lot of us it seemed like a really long matter-of-time.

So, for years and years, “Trekkie” was more of an epithet than a simple descriptive noun.

But if there’s one thing that us “Trekkies” are good at … it’s bearing those gentle slings and arrows, and maintaining our reputation for being one of the most positive and supportive fan bases in American entertainment.

(In this age of social media, with its ability to nurture the worst instincts of online flame-throwing commenters — who can throw their flame from the safety of relative anonymity — there are of course people who claim to be Star Trek fans, but don’t exactly rise to the noble ideal. They’re more “my way or the highway” people — if I don’t like something that Star Trek did, then it’s worthless!! And the rest of us Trekkies look over at them and think, did you learn nothing from Mr. Spock’s philosophy, appreciation for “infinite diversity in infinite combinations”? As actor William Shatner once cracked, “–get a life!”)

“‘Star Trek’ was an attempt to say humanity will reach maturity and wisdom on the day that it begins not just to tolerate, but take a special delight in, differences in ideas and differences in lifeforms.”
-Gene Roddenberry (Star Trek creator)

Straight from the beginning, Trek has been: lots of different-looking people working together for the common good – on a spaceship with lots of fun blinky lights.

And in their best moments, the various Trek spinoff series have done what great science fiction should do: tell thinly-veiled stories about current controversial issues, and slide some social commentary in, right under the noses of whatever TV network executives were distributing them.

“I’d argue that in the last few decades in America, when people are asked what they hope the future will look like, they still turn to ‘Star Trek.’ They hope we put aside our differences and come together as humanity, that we rise above war, poverty, racism, and other problems that have beset us.”
-Ronald D. Moore (Star Trek: The Next Generation writer and script editor)

Lately, I’ve had a grand time reading and hearing accounts of the fun that was had during the making of the first sequel-series, Star Trek: The Next Generation. On a recent episode of a podcast called “TrekCulture”, actor Wil Wheaton recounted the immediate friendly connection amongst his colleagues from the Next Generation cast; and expressed appreciation for the decades-long continuation of the genuine affection that they all hold for one another. It’s reportedly not just a public-facing act. And it’s consistently on display — and lights up the room! — whether they’re reunited on a podcast, or at a restaurant, or at a science-fiction convention.

Which brings me to the main thrust of today’s symposium: for about the last fifty years, Trekkies have been venturing out into the world, and finding each other — the better to compare notes about their favorite TV show, and to work out new ways to bring its overarching message of hope for humanity.

Finding each other has taken the form of Star Trek conventions. In the mid-1970s, the first few of these gatherings seemed to be for the purpose of creating a “safe space” to appreciate a favorite TV show. Nowadays, they are that, but they’re also huge commercial ventures.

But the original spirit of the “cons” does live on, expressed outwardly by the many people who “cosplay” – who dress up as their favorite characters, human or alien. Sometimes the costumes are basic; other times, they are elaborate. Either way, at heart, they’re expressions of affection.

To be clear: I watch Trek, I read books about it, I gleefully discuss it with old friends and new … but I don’t wear it. (Well, except for the time when somehow, in a moment of either inattention or understanding, my mother let me wear a yellow Captain Kirk uniform shirt on school-picture day. Cut me a break — I was in the fourth grade.)

I’ve only ever been to one Star Trek convention. It was held in a large hotel in Cambridge, in spring of 1992. My inspiration for going: the keynote speaker was going to be none other than Sir Patrick Stewart — the Next Generation’s starship captain, Jean-Luc Picard, his very own self.

Yeah, I’ll pay money to go listen to that.

So I boarded an MBTA train at Riverside station, and got ready to take that Green Line in to Boston, change to a Red Line train headed back out in the general direction of Harvard University (“out there… thataway!”), and attend my first Con.

Not that I was going to advertise this to anyone on the train. Oh my no. It was still 1992, after all.

One stop after I changed to that Red Line train, it was confirmed for me that I had in fact taken the correct connecting train.

A family of four — Mom, Dad, sister, brother — boarded the train and sat down in seats across from me. We all faced in toward the middle of the train. And I knew, deep in my heart, that we were all headed to the same destination.

It wasn’t their aura of good cheer, though they did seem cheery enough — arguably far too cheery for that early on a Saturday morning. It was, instead, the fact that they were each of them dressed in full and painstakingly authentic Star Trek: The Next Generation uniforms. Maroon-and-black jumpsuits, with rank-insignia pips at the top of the collars, and the famous delta-shaped USS Enterprise logo over their hearts.

A tiny psychic ripple did go through the MBTA train, as various passengers took silent note of the outfits. And I’m sure that the unvoiced thoughts ranged from “uhh… okay…” to “…nerds…”. It was still 1992, after all.

And even nowadays, any time a family of four boards a train looking like Captain Picard, Doctor Crusher, the android Data, and Counselor Troi, it’s still not the usual occurrence, so it’ll get a certain amount of notice.

That family clearly knew what they looked like. They didn’t exude a sense of “yeah, I’m dressed like this, and what are you gonna do about it?” defiance. They instead looked, for all the world, like they wore that stuff all the time, wherever they went. It was impressive in that way — like the Monty Python actors walking around in the middle of town dressed up as English housewives, or as English clerics, or as medieval knights, as if it were perfectly normal.

(Nerds, you will understand me when I say that I felt for a moment as if I were in that scene from Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home when Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock and the rest of the Original Series crew board a trolley in San Francisco, after having time-traveled back to 1986 Earth, and everybody on board looks at them funny.)

And that family seemed not to be worried about gentle slings and arrows that might come their way. They were comfortable in their own skins — and in their own absolutely authentic-looking (while clearly homemade) starship uniforms.

Happily, neither slings nor arrows were sent their way, at least nothing you could see or hear. Which was impressive.

I’d love to say that I gave them a cheerful thumbs up, smiled widely, asked them which episode was their favorite, and now we’re lifelong friends.

Didn’t happen. I did glance up, smile quietly — yeah, I get the joke and I’m laughing WITH it, not AT it — and look back down my folded hands.

But the experience suggested to me that I — still, then, a Shy Person in word and deed — might one day consider coming closer to wearing my heart on my sleeve. To demonstrate my appreciation for a science-fiction franchise, my opinions about current events, even perhaps my love of God (well, let’s not push this too far ;) ). To carry my light into the world.

Hey, if the Hendersons can march right out into a world that still saw Star Trek as a cult classic, with everything the word “cult” implies … then, maybe this Shy Person can attempt similar things. Maybe even discover other people who have similar interests, or takes on life, or feelings about the Spirit.

Mind. Blown.

P.S.: Yes, Sir Patrick Stewart did speak to a packed convention hall (full of people who had dressed the part!) for better than an hour, that afternoon … and he was, quite simply, as advertised.

-Rob Hammerton

[Ed. note: The youth of Sudbury UMC continue to answer the call for Lenten Devotions writers! Today features a pair of responses to a devotional prompt: “One time I should have praised God instead of complaining…”

A note from Pastor of Youth and Children’s Ministries Zack Moser: “There is an accidental theme to these stories (the youth didn’t know what each other were writing about), and it is the realization that complaining actually blinded them to opportunities for praise. The difference between an adventure and an ordeal is perspective.”]

“One time I had to study for a math quiz. No one likes quizzes, especially math quizzes, but it’s just one of those things you have to do. When you study for any type of quiz, it makes you feel good because you feel more ready. Then it makes you feel better when you get a good grade on the quiz. Then it makes you feel even better when you know that the good grade will help in the future when you want to go to college. The point is, I complained about doing work but doing the work made me happier, so I should have praised God.”

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“One time I should have praised God instead of complaining was when I wanted to play a game that they other youth were playing while I was writing this devotion, but I couldn’t play because I wasn’t done writing yet. I still tried to play the game, and started to complain about not being able to play the game and having to write the devotion when I could have already finished writing it by now. I should have been writing this as an act of praising God.”

[Ed. note: A follow-up note from Zack: the above youth finished writing and got to play the game.]

-The SUMC Youth

[Ed. note: The youth of Sudbury UMC continue to answer the call for Lenten Devotions writers!
Pastor of Youth and Children’s Ministries Zack Moser says, about these Youth thoughts: “SUMC Youth respond to a devotional prompt: ‘At this point in my life, here’s a change that God wants me to accept…’
“The accidental theme of these responses (the youth didn’t know what each other were going to write) is not knowing what is going to happen. A relatable sentiment, no doubt, but where we should follow their lead rather than relate is in trying to trust God’s wisdom as we stare into the unknown future.”]

“God wants me to have a deep understanding of the Bible and of trying to use it in my life. I know that nobody’s perfect, so I don’t know what I will do for God’s plan, but I pray that what I do in the future will affect many (or at least a few) in a very positive way, and understanding the Bible will help me see what to do. I pray for love and courage in my life moving forward. Amen.”

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“I haven’t accepted growing up yet, but I am working on it. I don’t actually want it to happen, but there’s no preventing it and God wants me to accept that. I guess I’m a little afraid because I love being younger and I don’t know what life will be like when I’m older, but God knows what I need.”

-The SUMC Youth

[Ed. note: The youth of Sudbury UMC have answered the call for Lenten Devotions writers! Today features the third of three sets of responses to one of this year’s devotional prompts: “Here’s a time in my life when someone did a small thing for me that ended up being a big deal…”
A note from Pastor of Youth and Children’s Ministries Zack Moser: “Little things really do make big differences. In the following stories, there is an accidental theme throughout most of them (the youth didn’t know what each other were going to write). In these moments, they felt acknowledged on a personal level. Even the stories where something is received or gained, the emphasis is on how the act made them feel like they mattered.”]

“There was someone in my friend group that I looked up to but I didn’t think I was that important to her. One day, she asked me if I wanted to go see a movie and hang out before. I had an amazing day, partly because it was a lot of fun, but mostly because I felt like she wanted to be better friends instead of people who just know each other.”

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“One time a friend showed me a book, told me I should read it, and let me borrow it. The book was A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder. (It’s about a girl who INVESTIGATES a murder, not a ‘how to,” just to be clear!) I didn’t think it would be that great, but my friend obviously knows me well. I read it and it was really good. Now it’s my favorite book series.”

-The SUMC Youth

[Ed. note: The youth of Sudbury UMC have answered the call for Lenten Devotions writers! Today features the second of three sets of responses to one of this year’s devotional prompts: “Here’s a time in my life when someone did a small thing for me that ended up being a big deal…”
A note from Pastor of Youth and Children’s Ministries Zack Moser: “Little things really do make big differences. In the following stories, there is an accidental theme throughout most of them (the youth didn’t know what each other were going to write). In these moments, they felt acknowledged on a personal level. Even the stories where something is received or gained, the emphasis is on how the act made them feel like they mattered.”]

“One time I left my favorite stuffed animal at my grandparents’ house (and if you have kids or if you were ever a kid, then you know that was a big deal!). They mailed it to me, which gave me a new appreciation for how much my family loves me. It was a small thing, but it meant the world at the time.”

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“My friend and I once got into a big argument over something small. I was mad at her for nearly three weeks … and then I thought about it and realized she was right. I learned I need to have a more open mind. She was more than willing to make up and leave the argument behind.”

-The SUMC Youth

[Ed. note: The youth of Sudbury UMC have answered the call for Lenten Devotions writers! Today features the first of three sets of responses to one of this year’s devotional prompts: “Here’s a time in my life when someone did a small thing for me that ended up being a big deal…”
A note from Pastor of Youth and Children’s Ministries Zack Moser: “Little things really do make big differences. In the following stories, there is an accidental theme throughout most of them (the youth didn’t know what each other were going to write). In these moments, they felt acknowledged on a personal level. Even the stories where something is received or gained, the emphasis is on how the act made them feel like they mattered.”]

“I go to Wayland Middle School and once a month the teachers gather everyone in my grade in the gym and hand out “W”s, which means they appreciate what that student has done in class. Only about ten people get them per month, and this month I got one from my favorite teacher. This meant a lot to me because someone I look up to recognized me.”

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“Recently, a teacher from another school came to my school to start a DnD Club (“DnD” is short for Dungeons and Dragons, a very loud and chaotic role-playing game). They spend an hour supervising the club once a week. That seems like a small action and not much time, but DnD Club is a massive reward on Mondays after school. It shows that this teacher cares about kids’ interests and not just their grades.”

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“When I was in 8th grade, I hated math (many of you may relate to this), but the reason for my hatred was the horribly competitive class environment. Half of my 8th grade math class was made up of 7th graders taking extracurricular math classes. Those students were used to being the smartest and had very high standards for themselves; I remember one classmate literally crying about getting a 92 on a test that I got a 75 on. What made things worse was that I had no friends in that class (there were people I knew, but nobody close), and the loneliness made everything else feel even worse.

“On one test, I got a 67, which was the worst test grade I had ever gotten and was visibly upset. A classmate noticed, asked what was up, and said “Ah…” when I showed him the grade. After a moment, he asked, “do you want me to tape over that?” (He always carried a role of masking tape because you never know; 8th grade is a magical time.) I nodded, and he proceeded to do such a horrible job of covering the grade that the page ended up a folded, crumpled mess, and I laughed. I’m sure it wasn’t a big deal to him, but that made me realize I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was. We’re much closer now, and I think about that masking tape often. Because he wanted to help and was hopeless at using tape, it turned the worst grade of my life into a fond memory.”

-The SUMC Youth