Hearts Wide Open (Bandshell/MPLS)

** Due to a really wet morning in store and great music on tap, bandshell worship with Monroe Crossing, Bethlehem and Spirit Garage was moved to the Minneapolis campus Sanctuary. **

Mark 4:35-41

On that day, when evening had come, Jesus said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great gale arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

My colleague Ben was telling me about something he saw promoted on facebook. I was thinking about trying it out today — decided just to tell you about it instead. It’s called Pandemic Color Coding.

At in-person events, hosts give out red, yellow and green accessories to attendees — could be stickers, lanyards or wristbands. The purpose is to encourage better respect toward people’s boundaries and to help people communicate their comfort level around physical touch as we return to social gatherings. Red announces, “Keep your distance to 6 ft., please”; Yellow, elbow bumps are ok; and Green, bring it in — hugs all around. One conference gave these instructions when they handed out pandemic color-coded name tags:  Green, celebrating life like it’s 2019; Yellow, 2020 has me confused; Red, wake me up in 2022.

This pandemic-era tool is an interesting notion. We’re in uncharted territory — re-entering social gatherings after a year of staying apart. I find myself second guessing what to do and how to connect in these shared spaces of vaccinated, unvaccinated, young and old, all together in one place. 

Priya Parker, author of the book, “The Art of Gathering: How we gather and why it matters,” noted in a recent podcast that we are experiencing more and more “micro moments of perceived rejection.” Essentially, we’re having a hard time not taking the awkwardness of our encounters as something personal. 

The phrase, and what it is describing, has stuck with me. I know what she’s talking about. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it. Just last week when Bethlehem gathered for Sunday morning worship at one of our campuses I noticed one person reaching out to shake another’s hand and that person leaning back in order to be out of reach; another person was handing out treats and someone put up their hand and said, “No thanks, I’ll get it myself.” 

Micro moments of perceived rejection. This will take a toll on us. It already is. It’s just one of many aftershocks of the pandemic that compromises mental health. All of us are trying to figure out how to reemerge. 

We have weathered an incredible storm — multiple storms actually — the pandemic, civil unrest, economic and racial disparity, personal loss, so much grief on multiple levels. While we may be weathering these storms together, it’s been different for each of us. None of us is in the same boat.

This seems like a perfect segue into today’s story. It’s a great story — both dramatic and relatable. So many elements that make for memorable metaphors — it can be hard to decide what to focus on: 

• Focus on the storm and you are assured that even as they come, you’re never alone. Jesus is in the boat with you. 

OR

• Focus on the disciples who wonder how Jesus stays sleeping and silent through the storm. Have you ever wondered if God’s just taking an epic spiritual nap? How would the story be different if instead of accusing Jesus of apathy the disciples had been vulnerable, admitting to Jesus that they needed his help. 

OR

• Focus on Jesus and what do you do with the question he poses to those in the boat with him: Have you no faith? 

OR…

This time around I got stuck in the very first sentence: 

“On that same day, when evening had come, Jesus said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”

A little context for you — before taking their boat ride, Jesus is teaching and telling stories. He’s been on his home turf, drawing large crowds — entertaining those who are curious and enlightening those searching for God. Jesus and the disciples are in their comfort zone. Things are going well. Life is good. 

And then at the end of the day, Jesus said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” There is more work to do.

Jesus isn’t satisfied with staying put. The status quo is not good enough. He’s got places to go, boundaries to break down, people to heal. The good news of God’s love won’t be contained to particular places or people. So even after a long day, Jesus gets in the boat to move to another place. 

He invites his disciples to join him. He extends the invitation to you too. Our inclination is to stay right where we are, thank you very much. To go to the other side — to change location, to change proximity — well, that changes everything. And change is hard. Familiar feels safe. We like our comfort zones. You can choose to stay right where you are, as you are but you will miss what God is up to everywhere else. 

When following Jesus you only stay on this side of the lake for so long. Get In the boat with him and know this: you can’t predict what might happen next. 

Anything is possible. 
Everything is possible. 
Storms might rage.
You may be afraid, weary, undone. 
You may wonder if God cares.
Without question you’ll end up in places you’d never discover on your own. 
And Jesus will be in the middle of it all, calling for peace.
In the boat with Jesus you are blessed with his presence and a promise: that there’s something on the other side worthy to discover.

Yesterday, in honor of Juneteenth, my daughter Liv and I attended the Minnesota Black Box Jubilee Bazaar — an event that held space for 30 Minnesota black-owned businesses to tell their stories, receive support and sell their products. We learned some names and listened to several stories. 

Daphney told us she never liked her name, it never seemed to fit. But when she started her business of selling homemade sweets she knew it would take all of who she was, and so she leaned into the name she didn’t like. Her business is Daphney Treats. 

Tella Harlin is a poet, spoken word artist, and mental health specialist. She introduced us to her son — the one who motivates her to write and to work for change. She shared some of her poems. This one is called “Forgive me”:

I have changed so you will have to forgive me.
I am not who I used to be.
You devalued someone who is no longer a part of me.
If you think I switched up and changed,
Not exactly 
I was just called to a new level in my life,
Which means I could not stay the same.
God just expanded my territory,
And my blessing I had to claim.
I had to let go of the things that were hindering me,
Letting some things go because I have so much to gain.
It’s not intentionally against you,
We just happen to be different in the way we move… 

Sometimes going to the other side is not as dramatic as weathering a wicked storm. Sometimes it is. It can also be one small step — as simple as learning a stranger’s name, listening to another’s story and holding space for a different perspective. 

One thing is sure — going to the other side doesn’t happen if it’s left up to us. Jesus is the one who makes the invitation. The trip may entail multiple moments of perceived rejection. It will take intention and courage to move — because moving creates change both inside and around you. But don’t let that stop you. Don’t let fear win. For you are enough just as you are. There’s always room in the boat for you. So let’s go — across to the other side. And as we do may God inspire our hearts and expand our minds to discover our part in the work God is already doing to heal the world with justice, mercy and love. AMEN.