Author: The Rev. J. Gary Brinn

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

SERMON “Wise Ass”

A few weeks ago, I taught a Monday School session on heresy. Technically, heresy is wrong belief. Practically, it is the losing side in theological battles as a religion becomes increasingly rigid, calcified, and in my opinion, dead.

Fortunately, though we still think of ourselves as part of the Christian religious trajectory, our United Church of Christ commitment to continuing testament and the right of Christian conscience means we don’t do creeds, and don’t label people as heretics because their understanding of unknowable mystery is different than our understanding of unknowable mystery.

This is a Sunday when heresy gets a lot of attention in traditional Christianity. The Sunday after Pentecost is, for churches that use the liturgical calendar, Trinity Sunday, and orthodoxy around the Trinity is particularly tricky. Preachers are sometimes advised not to preach at all, or, if there are seminarians handy, to throw them to the wolves. Better to let that wet-behind-the-ears newbie fail than to embarrass yourself as the parish rector.

We do not have seminarians, so you are stuck with me. Though I am only sort of going to preach on the Trinity.

While in Divinity School, I took a semester long course called “Trinitarianism and Anti-Trinitarianism” taught by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Coakley, a systematic theologian in the Anglican tradition who would leave the next year to serve as the Norris-Hulse Professor of Divinity at the University of Cambridge. Like most of my classes, I was a guppie among sharks, outclassed by my peers in every way. But I did manage to learn a thing or two.

Okay. Maybe a thing, not two.

Early Christians were able to manage the God and Jesus thing. I mean, there were still heresies, people occasionally losing their heads, literally. But it was only when they tried to figure out the Holy Spirit that things got messy. It was like finishing a jigsaw puzzle, and having one piece left over. 

That’s when they came up with the idea of the Trinity, describing God, called “The Father” in this context, Jesus aka “The Son,” and the Holy Spirit, as three divine persons sharing one nature. Definitely not three natures because that would somehow be polytheism, and not three modes of one person because that would be bad too for some reason I never completely understood.

Mostly I don’t care about these ancient arguments, heavily influenced by ancient Greek philosophy. 

I understand why the ancients conceived of God as a person. I accept that people who encountered Jesus thought they had experienced God. I get that our experience of God today is in one another and in creation. 

But as we studied the pre-cursors to Trinitarianism, I learned that the Holy Spirit, which also has to be eternal in classic theology, is foreshadowed in the Jewish tradition in an embodied “wisdom,” sometimes called “Sophia” after the Koine Greek word. And there is this whole body of work called “wisdom literature” in the ancient Near East, texts like the Book of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes in the Jewish canon, and the Book of Sirach in the additional materials known as the Apocrypha.

I’m not one-hundred percent on personified wisdom being the same as the Holy Spirit, but I am completely down with the fact that wisdom is depicted as a woman, because, as I mentioned last week, ninety-nine times out of one hundred, it is not a woman who says “hold my beer!” right before they scream “YOLO!”

Which gives me a flimsy excuse to tell a fun story found in the Torah. We could use a fun story these days, and there are not that many in the Jewish Bible, what with all the genocide and war.

Continue reading “Wise Ass: 15 June 2025”

Pentecost / Pride Sunday

Acts 2:1-21

SERMON “Holy DEI”

In April of 1966, the cover of Time Magazine had no picture, and apart from the masthead, contained just three words and a punctuation mark, red against a black background. It asked “Is God Dead?”

It was a response to a theological movement that is a bit wonkish, and if I’m being honest, I don’t find that movement particularly interesting, except in that the Rev. Dr. King felt the need to take a pot shot at the idea.

I suppose for me, God is a bit like Schrödinger’s cat, the famous thought experiment in quantum physics. In that experiment, the cat in the box is alive and dead until you open the box, the observation collapsing the quantum state. And unless you are a physicist, that probably makes about as much sense as the idea that God is dead.

I have no question that God is alive in the sense of still present, though the god I was raised with, the petty male tyrant in the sky, egotistical perpetuator of domestic violence, is most certainly dead to me, and not just because that god is not the God I experience, not a god worthy of my praise.

Traditional Christian belief supposes that God does not change, that the salvation narrative contained in the Jewish and Christian scripture tradition is a carefully scripted divine drama, humans little more than puppets. 

In that traditional reading, God’s last communication with humankind occurs when John of Patmos receives a revelation, and since then, God has been more absentee landlord than divine presence. Two thousand years of radio silence. Unless little Joey receives enough “get well” cards or our favorite team needs a touchdown.

Sure, certain traditions have people, mostly men, who claim to speak for God, and Pentecostals lean into the Holy Spirit’s activity in the church, but systematic theology is about describing God as God was at that moment when the Christian Testament became a thing.

The thing is, to be alive is to change, so in that sense, that God of Traditional Christianity is dead, unchanging, boring, and unable to love.

Continue reading “Holy DEI : Pentecost / Pride Sunday 2025”

“Miracles” by Walt Whitman

Acts 1:1-11

SERMON “Body Electric”

I have never completely understood how Walt Whitman not only survived the mid-19th century, but indeed thrived, becoming one of the greatest American voices of his age. 

I mean, he might have had many of the marks of privilege in his age and ours: white, male, nominally Christian, but he was absolutely queer, and not even in the “Is he or isn’t he?” heavily coded way of that time. 

You do not need a degree in literature and an unpublished dissertation to figure out what he means in “We two boys, together clinging, one the other never leaving,” and he had what we once euphemistically called “longtime companions.”

Whitman not only thrived as queer man in 19th century America, his lifelong project, the always growing “Leaves of Grass,” became a sort of catalog of the American experience, at least as much of it as he could understand. He took in all he perceived of democracy and labor and land. 

His voice was always his distinctive voice, but when he sang the body electric, he aspired to sing of women’s bodies and children’s bodies too, the bodies of men and of the elderly. 

Sadly, he also wrote powerful verse about the fallen body of Abraham Lincoln, assassinated by a white supremacist, in “O Captain! My Captain!” Lincoln and Whitman would grieve to see the United States in the hands of a post-Constitutional White Supremacist government after both witnessed first hand the broken bodies of those who fought to expand the definition of American and preserve the union.

It is the fallen brown body of Jesus with which we must deal this morning. And honestly, I am not interested in the unanswerable question of what really happened. We know things that First Century Judeans did not know, like what happens when you go up… no pearly gates, just the cold vacuum of space, Space X junk, heavenly bodies, and the still mysterious dark matter… maybe, because we aren’t always as smart as we think we are.

Those who wish to strip all mystery and magic from the world may view the ascension as a crass fabrication, one part of a long con. I view it as a necessary theological move, the creation of a king-less Christianity.

Continue reading “Body Electric: June 1, 2025”

Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5

SERMON “Apocalyptic Problems”

Back in more primitive times, as an arbitrary millennia on the Christian calendar came to a close, people imagined a catastrophic ending of the age, the collapse of society, or maybe even the destruction of the earth itself. There was a surge of interest in a biblical apocalypse and the rapture, and more than a little hysteria.

I am not, in fact, speaking about the late Tenth Century, “one thousand-zero-zero-zero, party over oops out of time,” when they were partying like it’s “999.” 

I am speaking about the turn of the last century, when the “Left Behind” series of Christian apocalyptic novels were bestsellers, when movies like “Armageddon” and “Deep Impact” contemplated a planet-killing asteroid on a collision course with Earth, and of course, the Y2K bug was going to crash all of our computer systems, from banking to air traffic control.

It didn’t happen. Well, mostly. Air traffic control has been problematic since Reagan broke the union in 1981, and banking could come to a catastrophic end on “Q-Day,” which has nothing to do with the whackos of Q-Anon and everything to do with the fact that Quantum computing will render the encryption used by our financial system obsolete in an instant.

Y2K was a secular disaster cult, not religious. The silliness in 2012 around the Mayan Long Count Calendar was not Christian. The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists maintains a Doomsday Clock, currently set at about a minute and a half from catastrophe, and they are exactly what the name suggests, Atomic Scientists. Astronomers tell us the Earth will eventually become uninhabitable as the sun continues through its life cycle. 

Still, Christianity has a particular reputation, one that is well deserved, for focusing on disastrous endings and after. Now, no one has actually been raptured, at least no one I know personally, but I can suggest a good candidate if you are looking for the anti-Christ.

We really don’t know where Jesus stood on the end times. Everything we know about him was passed down as oral tradition for at least a full generation before it was written down. And what was written down contains two very distinct and seemingly incompatible ideas.

Continue reading “Apocalyptic Problems: 25 May 2025”

Acts 11:1-18

SERMON “My God”

My predecessor at the church I served on the coast of Maine climbed Blue Hill Mountain hundreds of times, at least once a week during his decades serving that congregation. He was a bit of a Transcendentalist, a bit of a Unitarian, and certainly carved from the same cloth as Henry David Thoreau.

His familiarity with the mountain led, no doubt, to deep natural knowledge, complementing his undergraduate training as an arborist. I am guessing that those hikes also led to transcendent moments, frequent epiphanies of the sort narrated in our Opening Words, adapted from Annie Dillard’s 1977 essay “Holy the Firm.” 

Blue Hill Mountain was most certainly a “thin place” for the late Rev. Rob McCall, as was Puget Sound for Dillard, drawing on the Celtic tradition of recognizing places where the mundane and the holy are close to one another.

Traditional Christianity, orthodox with a lower-case “o,” appreciates these magical spaces as examples of God’s glory, and the most mystical of the traditional theologians might even dare to use the word “holy,” but there would be a warning label attached. 

For them, what passes for holiness in nature or art must always be partial, for particular humans and cultures claim to be the gatekeepers, messengers and managers of the transcendent, so that direct experience is always suspect. 

We see this in claims of religious exclusivity. God spoke to Abraham, and chose the descendants of Abraham and Sarah as a solely preferred people out of all of the homo sapiens in the world, God being himself (always “he”) just an immortal and omnipotent instance of homo sapiens. 

Continue reading “My God: 18 May 2025”

Acts 9:36-43

SERMON “Daily Bread”

My recent time off included a trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I serve on the Alumix Advisory Council for the Divinity School at Harvard. Among the highlights was the opportunity to present the Gomes Honor for Friend of the School to the Rev. Dr. Stephanie Paulsell, a recently retired professor who not only served as my advisor, but who also preached at my ordination. She is ordained in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), one of our partner denominations, and was the last of my teachers on the full-time faculty. Several still have emerita status, and a shocking number are quite dead. Among this latter group is Gordon Kaufman, one of the founders of Constructive Theology.

For those who are familiar with theology, Constructive Theology is the opposite of Systematics. While Systematics tries to describe fixed truths, parsing holy mystery into pint-sized certainties, Constructive Theology admits that all of our theological thinking is provisional, subject to new insights, located in the contexts of place, time, and culture, evaluated not by untestable metaphysical claims, but instead measured by their contribution to human thriving, and by extension, to the thriving of the planet as a living system. Not is it true, but is it useful. In classic theology, humans are passive in the face of direct revelation. In Constructive Theology, humans are partners with the holy in the task of meaning making.

Kaufman supervised both of my major papers, the first on prayer. Specifically, I wanted to challenge traditional notions of prayer as transactional. And I’m not even talking about the proxy transactions of the Roman tradition, where various saints and demi-gods intervene on behalf of the living and the dead, releasing people from purgatory, curing various afflictions, and in the case of Saint Anthony, locating lost car keys.

Even in our own Reform Protestant tradition, prayer is often seen as transactional. We may offer thanks and praise, but mostly we pray “for” whatever it is we are praying for. 

There are a couple of problems with this. First, what sort of God needs or even wants constant praise? That God would be co-dependent at best, manipulative and abusive at worst, an immortal version of Donald Trump. Many American Christians believe in exactly that sort of violent and capricious god, which may help explain why they see the autocrat as God’s agent. 

Second, and equally important, there is exactly zero evidence that either merit or prayer determines outcomes, that the transactions are successful. Good people get horrific diseases, are surrounded by prayer, and still die… while horrific people often thrive. Research tells us that prayer does have a positive impact, not because the hand of God reaches down and rewires the world like some puppet master in the sky, but because it changes us and our relationship with the world around us.

In for a penny, in for a pound, as the old English expression goes. Since I was putting prayer under the microscope of constructive thought, why not consider the most famous of all prayers in our tradition? Why not consider “the Lord’s Prayer”? Particularly, I took aim at the line “give us, this day, our daily bread.” 

Continue reading “Daily Bread: Mothering Sunday 2025”

Good Friday Homily 2025

Though there are independent records of the execution of Jesus by Roman occupation forces under the prefect Pontius Pilate, we have no record of the trial itself except for the accounts in the gospels. This is not really that surprising. Judea wasn’t exactly a great assignment, and there are few records of Pilate’s ten years of service in the region. He disappears from the historic record after he is dismissed from his post and returns to Rome.

We know that Jesus had followers and friends among the Jewish elite, including Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, and the gospels tell us Peter and a second disciple made it inside, so accounts of events before the Sanhedrin may be historically accurate. Did he, as legend often suggests, also have would be followers among the Roman soldiers? 

It seems unlikely that Pilate was the wishy-washy dreamer who washed his hands of the execution. Pilate had little regard for Jewish religion and custom, and a prefect was a military governor, not a civilian. His rise to that middling high office most certainly reflected a cold and calculated brutality.

If the events are dramatized, there is no question that they are characteristic of Roman rule. Though the cross has become the symbol of Christianity, the crucifixion of Jesus and the two bandits was far from a one-off. There were crosses outside of every city in the Roman colonies, containing the dead and rotting and sometimes still living and moaning bodies of runaway slaves and insurrectionists.

But tonight I want to focus on what happens before Jesus is nailed to a cross. There is, of course, the physical torture. Interrogated all night, he is then flogged, a mock crown placed on his head, a purple robe like that of a king across his bleeding back. He would eventually die under a placard naming him King of the Jews, often abbreviated INRI from the Latin.

Evil does not simply seek to execute threats to the powerful. It seeks to first humiliate its victim, to strip them of their dignity, of what makes them human. This is its own form of terrorism.

Continue reading “Good Friday and Easter Sunday 2025”

Psalm 118:19-29

Luke 19:28-40

SERMON “The Lonely Mountain”

My family joined the white flight to the suburbs when I finished 6th grade, before I would have started junior high in an urban school system. I can look back on that now through the lens of an adult anti-racist, which does absolutely nothing to change the past. 

Because I had been considered gifted in my previous school, I was placed in the class with the highest achievers in my new school, an obvious mistake. 

My homeroom teacher was Mr. Taylor. He was that teacher. 

You know that teacher. There is one in every school. His classroom, the furthest from the office and cafeteria, was cool, had walls painted like a map instead of the pale industrial colors of the rest of the building. 

In addition to the core learning expected of all seventh graders, he offered a menu of independent learning activities for credit. One of the items on that list was reading “The Hobbit,” by J.R.R. Tolkien. 

I was already an avid reader, and I was probably going to be a nerd anyways, but that sealed the deal. I spent my early teenage years with my nose buried in the Lord of the Rings and various prequels and supplements.

So it was that I sat in a bedroom that was still relatively new to me, decorated for our nation’s bicentennial, and wept. 

I had powered past Gollum and the forest, the initial events at the Lonely Mountain, and had just read of the death of a central character. I can still see the paperback, the quality of light in my bedroom, the quiet of the house, hear my own sobs, still more little boy than adolescent.

It was certainly not the first time I had cried, not the first time I had cried from deep sorrow, not even the first time a book had brought me to tears. But this was on a whole new level.

I’ve read plenty of books in the nearly half century since that day, wept more than a few times while reading, watching a film, attending an opera. 

Great writing can transcend genre and make you care about a character, whether it is Bilbo Baggins, John Grady Cole, or Katniss Everdeen. And if you are wondering, that is a range from the fantasy of J.R.R. Tolkien and the gritty realism of Cormac McCarthy, to the brutality of Suzanne Collins, this last without a doubt the best author of the eerily prophetic genre of dystopian teen angst. The Hunger Games series, in which the powerless are sacrificed to entertain the powerful and maintain tyranny, is looking more and more like reality every day.

Story is how homo sapiens makes meaning of the complex and the mysterious. You can get as hardcore empiricist as you want, leaning into the long de-bunked outlook called positivism, which has nothing to do with positivity, but in the end, we tell the story of those scientific discoveries, the story of how those discoveries changed lives, changed the world. 

No one does dramatic readings of the Pythagorean Equation or Fermat’s Last Theorem, except maybe at MIT, where I once worked as a Chaplain Intern.

I wept that afternoon a half century ago because I was learning through literature, learning that people, in this case hobbits and dwarves, are complicated and imperfect, that reconciliation does not always mean restoration, that good and evil lie on a continuum rather than a binary, that sometimes awful stuff happens.

The story worked as a story, moved me, because I started with the “Unexpected Party,” dealt with the trolls and the goblins, visited Rivendell and encountered the tricksy Gollum long before I got to the Lonely Mountain. 

If I has skipped from Gandalf scratching a sign on the door to the climactic events at the Lonely Mountain, there would have been no tears, no trips to the bookstore for volume after volume of Tolkien’s writing, no Tolkien calendar among the Christmas gifts year after year.

Continue reading “Palm Sunday 2025”

John 12:1-8

Isaiah 43:16-21

You probably had never heard the name Joe DePugh before this week, though you may, like me, have known him as a character. 

DePugh, who recently died, was the inspiration behind Bruce Springsteen’s 1984 hit “Glory Days.” The song, which opens with a real life encounter, names the ways we live in the past, seek to recapture our glory days, like that fastball DePugh could throw in his youth.

As the first generations of Christians transformed a Jewish reformation movement into a trans-cultural religion, they wove into the story a modified form of glory days, of messianic expectation. 

Let’s take a few minutes to parse that.

There was a significant kingdom in Canaan, or whatever name you call that region, now or at any given point in history. For about a century, that mighty-ish kingdom was made up of a collection of people who would eventually be identified as Jews. The city that became Jerusalem was captured and transformed into a capital, with a Temple built on a high point sometimes called Mount Moriah, Mount Zion, or simply the Temple Mount. 

The most powerful of that short-lived nation’s three rulers was David. Though he was a usurper, a rapist, and a murderer, the nation torn apart by civil war during his last years on the throne, his reign would be romanticized in much the same way Shakespeare romanticized the Tudors. 

David’s heirs would rule a declining remnant state called Judah for another four centuries. That house produced a significant amount of propaganda, including the claim that Yahweh made a covenant with King David, much as Yahweh had made a covenant with the house of Abraham and Sarah in the Torah. The Davidic Covenant asserted that a descendent of the king would sit on the throne forever.

In the real world, Jews lost control of the northern part of their kingdom early on, which was largely depopulated. The southern part of their kingdom would become a client state to other regional powers, before it too was destroyed, the Temple a burning ruin, the elite held captive in a foreign land.

Some texts in the Tanakh, the Hebrew language scripture, suggest a hero would come to liberate and restore the people to their former glory. The term used for this hero is Messiah, which refers to the individual being anointed with oil, something that is still done, was done behind a privacy screen during the recent coronation of King Charles III. 

The Koine Greek word for the Anointed One is Christ, and oil is still traditionally used as part of christening. Christ and Messiah are the same word.

One “Messiah” is named in the Tanakh, the Jewish Testament. That messiah is King Cyrus of Persia. He defeats Babylon and frees the Jewish elite, who then return to Jerusalem and rebuild their Temple and the city’s walls as a Persian client-state.

Since the development of history as a discipline with scientific support, Christian historians have convinced themselves that during the time of Jesus, the pre-Rabbinic Jews of Judea and Galilee were expecting a Messiah to appear and save them. That is to say, scholars claim that during the time of Jesus, there was widespread Messianic expectation among the Jewish people. That view has been challenged in recent years.

This morning, we are less interested in that unknown, whether the average Jewish inhabitant of Judea in the early First Century longed for a messiah, and more interested in what is known, what the early Christians did with that idea.

And to put it bluntly, they flipped it on its head.

Continue reading “Kill the Past: 6 April 20254”

Psalm 32 (adapted)
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Today’s gospel reading features a parable often known as the Prodigal Son. 

I’d venture to say that it is the second most familiar parable in the gospels, only surpassed by the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

Among other things, the reading serves to remind us how easy it is to miss subtle clues in ancient literature, literature that was not written for us. 

We are told that the younger son has demanded his inheritance and squandered it is in a distant region. The text does not directly describe that distant region as Gentile, and yet it does, for there is a “pig flag” in the text. 

There are no pig farms in Jewish towns. 

We see this “pig flag” in other places in the Christian Testament as well. For example, Matthew’s version of a story found in all three Synoptic Gospels has two mentally ill un-sheltered men in the cemetery, rather than the one in the more familiar Lucan version of the Gerasene demoniac story. When Jesus exorcizes their demons, the demons move into a herd of pigs. The herd promptly runs into the sea and the pigs drown, which does not thrill the locals. That’s a lot of lost bacon.

We are meant to understand that Jesus is healing people pretty indiscriminately, even Gentiles who didn’t ask to be healed. 

Continue reading “Pig Flag: 30 March 2025”