Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smother; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God. Luke 3:6
Time to prepare. That's what John the Baptist tells us.
Time to prepare for the season.
In my household as a child, we all knew that the big event of the season was the annual Christmas party at our home.
My parents’ Christmas party really.
I believe that everything from Thanksgiving on was aiming towards that night.
Our Christmas party was a trim-the-tree party.
The Christmas tree appeared sometime the week before the party in our enclosed porch.
Lights were strung.
But no ornaments.
The ornaments would come on the night of the party.
Guests would bring a handmade ornament for the tree.
The next day we would add our own.
As a child, it seemed that the party was little about the tree.
Since, as usual, I was the only child at the party, I got to observe the adult behavior.
There never seemed to be any people around the tree—oohing and aahhing and admiring the twinkling sight and inhaling the pine scent.
There were two places the adults were.
Many were gathered around our dining room table to partake of the goodies.
There were the pigs in a blanket—little hot dogs in crescent rolls.
There was the turkey.
There was the Smithfield ham—ordered by my mother from her hometown and steeped and cooked in a magical concoction of brine for a few days before the party.
I tried to like the salty ham, but preferred to stay with pigs in a blanket.
I often hid under the dining room table with the dog during the party.
While the dog enjoyed the ham and turkey scraps falling from the table, I watched the shiny high heels and black wing-tips glide by.
But the main center of activity was the living room.
That was where the silver punch bowl resided.
And in the punch bowl was the infamous St Cecelia’s punch.
That was my father’s domain.
Like the Smithfield ham and the Christmas tree, St Cecelia’s punch was created over several days.
It consisted of slices of oranges, lemons and limes in a soup of many and varied liquors.
It would steep in the cold garage for a few days before the party.
My father would go out to the garage to observe and stir the punch.
That’s where all the adults congregated during the party.
As the conversation grew louder over the evening in the living room, I stayed by the tree---beholden by its bright lights and beauty.
As we grow older, we take on our own holiday traditions.
Ways of preparing for the season.
As I think back to my childhood, I wonder what would have happened if John the Baptist had appeared at our trim-the tree party.
I imagine him appearing in the middle of the gowned women and tuxedoed men—right by the punch bowl and St Cecelia’s punch.
What would he have said?
Would he have gotten in the front door?
How does John the Baptist enter our holiday preparations?
Does he enter at all?
Do we really want to hear a call to repentance at a time of year that evokes all sorts of tender memories. Tender and painful.
Folks we see no longer. Loneliness.
Parties are ways to combat these feelings. But all too often parties can be occasions to cover up our deepest feelings of the season.
In part, that’s why St Cecelia’s punch is a popular item.
I’m not here to call a halt to holiday parties.
I’m here to wonder today what a spiritual Advent preparation for Christmas might look like.
I hope that you'll join me at the annual Advent Lessons and Carols service at Memorial this coming Friday, December 11. We will gather for a light supper at 6:30 in the Parish Hall and then move to the church for the service at 7:30 pm. Candlelight will fill the church as we hear Advent lessons, sing Advent hymns and enjoy Advent anthems sung be the Memorial choir. Maybe in this time, we can begin to prepare for our spiritual journey in the new year. If you can't be here for this event, check out my blog later in the week. I'll suggest readings to share with a loved one or read by the fire in the days to come.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Waiting--Not So easy
Monday, November 20, 2009
First Monday of Advent
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, "The Lord needs them." And he will send them immediately.
from Matthew 21:1-11, Daily Office, Year Two reading
In Advent, we begin another year of Daily Office readings. It seems a bit strange to begin with a scene more familiar to another part of the liturgical and calendar year--Palm Sunday and Spring. But as I read this selection from Matthew more closely, I believe that it does have quite a bit to do with the concept of Advent waiting.
One of my books for Advent pondering is The Meaning is in the Waiting by Paula Gooder (Paraclete Press, 2008). Here's a gem about how hard it is for us to wait---especially when there is a problem just waiting to be solved. Here's how Gooder puts it:
Imagine you have a broken washing machine. You call the washing machine repair service and wait, and wait, and wait, but no one comes. In your desperation, you get out the tool kit and attempt to solve the problem yourself. Now you may be a brilliant repairer of washing machines, but I know that I would end up with a pile of parts on the floor, no washing machine, and the need to go out and buy a new one." (Gooder, p. 34)
In our reading from Matthew, how did the disciples follow Jesus' instruction? If I were one of those disciples charged with finding the colt and donkey, I bet that if the donkey and colt didn't present themselves immediately, I would make my own plan to find a donkey and colt. One that I think would be easier, better, more efficient, faster.
One morning in South Africa, the children and I went out to the garage to get in the car to go to school. We piled in the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned the key. Nothing. Yes, you know that feeling. No sound. The battery was dead. My mind went into quick thinking mode. I wanted to get the children to school and then I had errands that I wanted to get done that day. I didn't want ot wait for a mechanic to bring a battery. So, I had a brainy idea. The car was perched in the garage at an elevated level. What if I pushed the car backwards in neutral until it hit the garage ramp---as it picked up speed--going backwards--I could jump it into gear. I'd seen it done going forward. Couldn't it work backwards? I told the children to Stand Back. I got in the car. I kept the driver's side door open a bit with one leg and foot out. I pushed with my outside foot against the concrete. The car started to move. Then it really started to move as it hit the garage ramp. WHAP! A horrible sound of crunching metal. Before I knew it, the car door had been pulled off its hinges. I was unable to close it as the car picked up speed as it passed the sides of the garage door. Luckily, I had gotten my leg inside the car or it might be dangling too. I somehow engaged the emergency brake. I looked around. Jack and Anna were staring at me, the car, the situation --dumbfounded. Finally, one of them said, "Oh-Oh, Mommy!"
Well, I had a lot of explaining to do since this was a church car. I was without a car for a week or two. Rather than wait for someone to come and replace the battery, I had made the situation much worse. Why couldn't I have waited for a morning? It's a good family story now. That morning, it wasn't very funny. My impatience got the best of me.
Waiting....it's hard for humans to do. What's your story of impatient problem solving gone wrong?
First Monday of Advent
When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, "The Lord needs them." And he will send them immediately.
from Matthew 21:1-11, Daily Office, Year Two reading
In Advent, we begin another year of Daily Office readings. It seems a bit strange to begin with a scene more familiar to another part of the liturgical and calendar year--Palm Sunday and Spring. But as I read this selection from Matthew more closely, I believe that it does have quite a bit to do with the concept of Advent waiting.
One of my books for Advent pondering is The Meaning is in the Waiting by Paula Gooder (Paraclete Press, 2008). Here's a gem about how hard it is for us to wait---especially when there is a problem just waiting to be solved. Here's how Gooder puts it:
Imagine you have a broken washing machine. You call the washing machine repair service and wait, and wait, and wait, but no one comes. In your desperation, you get out the tool kit and attempt to solve the problem yourself. Now you may be a brilliant repairer of washing machines, but I know that I would end up with a pile of parts on the floor, no washing machine, and the need to go out and buy a new one." (Gooder, p. 34)
In our reading from Matthew, how did the disciples follow Jesus' instruction? If I were one of those disciples charged with finding the colt and donkey, I bet that if the donkey and colt didn't present themselves immediately, I would make my own plan to find a donkey and colt. One that I think would be easier, better, more efficient, faster.
One morning in South Africa, the children and I went out to the garage to get in the car to go to school. We piled in the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned the key. Nothing. Yes, you know that feeling. No sound. The battery was dead. My mind went into quick thinking mode. I wanted to get the children to school and then I had errands that I wanted to get done that day. I didn't want ot wait for a mechanic to bring a battery. So, I had a brainy idea. The car was perched in the garage at an elevated level. What if I pushed the car backwards in neutral until it hit the garage ramp---as it picked up speed--going backwards--I could jump it into gear. I'd seen it done going forward. Couldn't it work backwards? I told the children to Stand Back. I got in the car. I kept the driver's side door open a bit with one leg and foot out. I pushed with my outside foot against the concrete. The car started to move. Then it really started to move as it hit the garage ramp. WHAP! A horrible sound of crunching metal. Before I knew it, the car door had been pulled off its hinges. I was unable to close it as the car picked up speed as it passed the sides of the garage door. Luckily, I had gotten my leg inside the car or it might be dangling too. I somehow engaged the emergency brake. I looked around. Jack and Anna were staring at me, the car, the situation --dumbfounded. Finally, one of them said, "Oh-Oh, Mommy!"
Well, I had a lot of explaining to do since this was a church car. I was without a car for a week or two. Rather than wait for someone to come and replace the battery, I had made the situation much worse. Why couldn't I have waited for a morning? It's a good family story now. That morning, it wasn't very funny. My impatience got the best of me.
Waiting....it's hard for humans to do. What's your story of impatient problem solving gone wrong?
Monday, November 9, 2009
Leavetakings and New Beginnings
The fall seems have flown by and now we are almost at Thanksgiving! As I noted in my Monday meditation today (memorialepiscopal.org), this time of year truly marks the end of the year for me. Not only does the liturgical year--Advent--begin at the end of November, but the season of All Saints and Thanksgiving bring my attention to those I love and see no longer as well as the blessing of these departed loved ones in my life. My parents were born on November 6 and November 8. My son, who is now 21(!), was born on November 7. So, this time of year naturally reminds me of leavetakings and new beginnings.
As I pondered how it could be that it was 21 years ago that I was in the hospital wondering what labor and delivery was all about (and about to find out directly), I was brought back to pregnancy and delivery by our two Memorial couples who will be finding out directly about birth this month. On Sunday morning, I gave the parish cross to Tom and Erin who are expecting a baby this coming weekend. Sunday afternoon, I took communion to Liz and Steph. Liz hopes to have her son (to be named Henry Isaac!) over Thanksgiving (or sooner she says). My visit with Liz and Steph took me back 21 years to sleeping sitting up, eating Ben and Jerry's heath bar crunch ice cream a pint at at time, and raking leaves 9 months pregnant. Such feelings of excitement, anticipation and fear rolled into one.
At EFM class (Education for Ministry) last week, I presented a theological reflection on my son's leavetaking a few years ago to China. I've written about his coming home as part of my South Africa writings. Here is the excerpt.
The Art of Coming Home
It was the longest day of my life so far. Surely there have been many long hours and days. There was the day leading up to thyroid cancer surgery. There was Bryan’s prostate surgery this past February. But Wednesday, May 31, 2006 must have been the longest day of my life. My first born son, Jack, would arrive home from Beijing, China after an academic year away. He was to fly through 12 time zones and over Russia, the Bearing Strait, Alaska and then across the entire United States. I began to feel the dread of his journey on Monday. My stomach just didn’t feel right. That’s where it always begins. In the pit of my stomach. As I sat down to read the newspaper on Tuesday morning the phone rang. It was Jack. He was clearly anxious. He couldn’t get everything in his suitcase. He had to leave his sleeping bag behind. He had said goodbye to all his teachers. Now it was almost time to say goodbye to his Chinese mom and dad—who had loved and cared for him since he arrived last August. Parting was hard. His voice kept getting quieter. He said he didn’t feel well. He couldn’t breathe. Could I call him back? When I called back after an agonizing five minutes, he seemed better, but his voice still was weak. “Breathe, Bub,” I said, “Just breathe.” We started talking about the Orioles—how was the hometown baseball team doing? Not so well. The pitching stank. A laugh. Equilibrium was returning to his voice. After I hung up, I had to breathe---deep, long, slow breaths. My heart went out to my son. It is always hard saying goodbye to those you love. It is particularly hard saying goodbye to friends and family who live far away---even after only a few short months.
My son’s phone call brought me back to the weeks and days leading up to leaving South Africa after almost three years. There were many goodbye parties. There was the usual pathos of leaving a parish you love as a parish priest---some parishioners accepted your move and gave thanks for being together, some parishioners clung tighter, some parishioners distanced themselves from you as far as possible, some were inexplicably angry at you. But the day we left---that was a long day as well. By then, the furniture was again on the container somewhere in the Atlantic on its way to Baltimore. We didn’t pray for the container anymore. We had been burglarized again and so had less luggage than what we arrived with. The parish car was at Peter Day’s house without tires on blocks---so it wouldn’t be stolen before the next parish priest arrived. Passports and tickets in hand, we were just waiting to go. All international overseas flight generally leave Johannesburg in the early to late evening. That meant waiting around all day. I don’t even know what we did. Jack and Anna read the new Harry Potter book which was impossible to get at home, but plentiful on the shelves of Johannesburg bookstores. But the time came to go to the airport. It was time to leave our home of three years. It was time to leave my sister in Christ Estelle. We drove to the airport in two cars this time. The Rogans drove Jack, Anna and Bryan. I rode with Estelle. A great heaviness hung in the car. Estelle had special African music on her tape player. We drove by those same gold dumps and mines that we had passed thre years ago—now as familiar as old friends. The heaviness stayed with us as we checked our luggage and waited with a grand assortment of friends from the parish in the restaurant area. Then it was time to board the plane. It was time to leave Estelle. That meant we were really going. On the way to the entrance to the boarding area, Dorothy Mosepe and Thembe arrived with presents. There were hugs all around. Then I turned to Estelle. It was too much. The floodgates opened. We hugged and she ran off into the crowd. I watched until I could no longer see her bright white hair. It didn’t take long. Once in the duty free area, I headed for the Ladies Room. I sobbed and sobbed in the stall. My heart felt as it were being torn from my body. Why was I leaving? What was I thinking?
How can it be that leaving people you have known only a few short months or a couple of years be so difficult? There is something about leaving friends in Christ in another part of the world. There is something about stepping forth in faith into a dark and unknown place—only trusting that God’s love will be present in those who are your companions on the way while in that place. In our American world of “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” and “Well, what have you done for me lately?” it is humbling and awesome to place your lives in the hands of strangers and be loved beyond measure—just because you are human and a child of God. There is no sense of binding family duty in the world of global ministry. There is just the overwhelming love of God. People love you because you are you in Christ. Amazing! It took going to the farthest spot in the world for me to realize this. Once you realize this, you never want to let it go.
I know there were some adults who wondered how Bryan and I could possibly let our 17 year old son go to Beijing, China for an academic year. Was it prudent? Was it safe? Could we possibly be good, responsible parents if we let him go? I think it was the gift of South Africa that Jack even considered going to China for his junior year of high school and we as his parents considered letting him go. We know that the kindness of strangers is an incredible gift and blessing—especially the kindness of strangers in Christ. Strangers in Christ? Is that possible? The only way to know for sure is to step into that dark, unknown place and see. And we now know. In God’s love, there are no strangers. Only ministering angels. But we have to step out in faith not knowing to know it finally.
As Jack left China, his Chinese father cried. On the other side of the world, as he walked down a long corridor at Baltimore-Washington Airport, an American mother embraced her son in tears. Both were tears of heartache and joy—for the leaving and for the coming together once again. If we don’t meet in South Africa or America or China again, we will meet in the Kingdom and there we will see one another face to face. I now know that this is true in my heart. The tears tell me it is so.
As I pondered how it could be that it was 21 years ago that I was in the hospital wondering what labor and delivery was all about (and about to find out directly), I was brought back to pregnancy and delivery by our two Memorial couples who will be finding out directly about birth this month. On Sunday morning, I gave the parish cross to Tom and Erin who are expecting a baby this coming weekend. Sunday afternoon, I took communion to Liz and Steph. Liz hopes to have her son (to be named Henry Isaac!) over Thanksgiving (or sooner she says). My visit with Liz and Steph took me back 21 years to sleeping sitting up, eating Ben and Jerry's heath bar crunch ice cream a pint at at time, and raking leaves 9 months pregnant. Such feelings of excitement, anticipation and fear rolled into one.
At EFM class (Education for Ministry) last week, I presented a theological reflection on my son's leavetaking a few years ago to China. I've written about his coming home as part of my South Africa writings. Here is the excerpt.
The Art of Coming Home
It was the longest day of my life so far. Surely there have been many long hours and days. There was the day leading up to thyroid cancer surgery. There was Bryan’s prostate surgery this past February. But Wednesday, May 31, 2006 must have been the longest day of my life. My first born son, Jack, would arrive home from Beijing, China after an academic year away. He was to fly through 12 time zones and over Russia, the Bearing Strait, Alaska and then across the entire United States. I began to feel the dread of his journey on Monday. My stomach just didn’t feel right. That’s where it always begins. In the pit of my stomach. As I sat down to read the newspaper on Tuesday morning the phone rang. It was Jack. He was clearly anxious. He couldn’t get everything in his suitcase. He had to leave his sleeping bag behind. He had said goodbye to all his teachers. Now it was almost time to say goodbye to his Chinese mom and dad—who had loved and cared for him since he arrived last August. Parting was hard. His voice kept getting quieter. He said he didn’t feel well. He couldn’t breathe. Could I call him back? When I called back after an agonizing five minutes, he seemed better, but his voice still was weak. “Breathe, Bub,” I said, “Just breathe.” We started talking about the Orioles—how was the hometown baseball team doing? Not so well. The pitching stank. A laugh. Equilibrium was returning to his voice. After I hung up, I had to breathe---deep, long, slow breaths. My heart went out to my son. It is always hard saying goodbye to those you love. It is particularly hard saying goodbye to friends and family who live far away---even after only a few short months.
My son’s phone call brought me back to the weeks and days leading up to leaving South Africa after almost three years. There were many goodbye parties. There was the usual pathos of leaving a parish you love as a parish priest---some parishioners accepted your move and gave thanks for being together, some parishioners clung tighter, some parishioners distanced themselves from you as far as possible, some were inexplicably angry at you. But the day we left---that was a long day as well. By then, the furniture was again on the container somewhere in the Atlantic on its way to Baltimore. We didn’t pray for the container anymore. We had been burglarized again and so had less luggage than what we arrived with. The parish car was at Peter Day’s house without tires on blocks---so it wouldn’t be stolen before the next parish priest arrived. Passports and tickets in hand, we were just waiting to go. All international overseas flight generally leave Johannesburg in the early to late evening. That meant waiting around all day. I don’t even know what we did. Jack and Anna read the new Harry Potter book which was impossible to get at home, but plentiful on the shelves of Johannesburg bookstores. But the time came to go to the airport. It was time to leave our home of three years. It was time to leave my sister in Christ Estelle. We drove to the airport in two cars this time. The Rogans drove Jack, Anna and Bryan. I rode with Estelle. A great heaviness hung in the car. Estelle had special African music on her tape player. We drove by those same gold dumps and mines that we had passed thre years ago—now as familiar as old friends. The heaviness stayed with us as we checked our luggage and waited with a grand assortment of friends from the parish in the restaurant area. Then it was time to board the plane. It was time to leave Estelle. That meant we were really going. On the way to the entrance to the boarding area, Dorothy Mosepe and Thembe arrived with presents. There were hugs all around. Then I turned to Estelle. It was too much. The floodgates opened. We hugged and she ran off into the crowd. I watched until I could no longer see her bright white hair. It didn’t take long. Once in the duty free area, I headed for the Ladies Room. I sobbed and sobbed in the stall. My heart felt as it were being torn from my body. Why was I leaving? What was I thinking?
How can it be that leaving people you have known only a few short months or a couple of years be so difficult? There is something about leaving friends in Christ in another part of the world. There is something about stepping forth in faith into a dark and unknown place—only trusting that God’s love will be present in those who are your companions on the way while in that place. In our American world of “I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine” and “Well, what have you done for me lately?” it is humbling and awesome to place your lives in the hands of strangers and be loved beyond measure—just because you are human and a child of God. There is no sense of binding family duty in the world of global ministry. There is just the overwhelming love of God. People love you because you are you in Christ. Amazing! It took going to the farthest spot in the world for me to realize this. Once you realize this, you never want to let it go.
I know there were some adults who wondered how Bryan and I could possibly let our 17 year old son go to Beijing, China for an academic year. Was it prudent? Was it safe? Could we possibly be good, responsible parents if we let him go? I think it was the gift of South Africa that Jack even considered going to China for his junior year of high school and we as his parents considered letting him go. We know that the kindness of strangers is an incredible gift and blessing—especially the kindness of strangers in Christ. Strangers in Christ? Is that possible? The only way to know for sure is to step into that dark, unknown place and see. And we now know. In God’s love, there are no strangers. Only ministering angels. But we have to step out in faith not knowing to know it finally.
As Jack left China, his Chinese father cried. On the other side of the world, as he walked down a long corridor at Baltimore-Washington Airport, an American mother embraced her son in tears. Both were tears of heartache and joy—for the leaving and for the coming together once again. If we don’t meet in South Africa or America or China again, we will meet in the Kingdom and there we will see one another face to face. I now know that this is true in my heart. The tears tell me it is so.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Back in the saddle!
Our help is in the Name of the Lord,* the maker of heaven and earth Psalm 124:8
It's fun to be back at the blog--pondering God and life. I can't believe that it is now the end of September and that fall is truly upon us. Fall is my favorite season. Even though it is hard to return to the pace of fuller days, I find that help comes in God's creative touch in the fall weather. I love the crisp days. Perfect days for hiking. Not just hiking in the country but hiking in the city. This Saturday, I had my first fall hike. The front was blowing in from the west and there was a stiff breeze when I started out around 10:30 am. I walked from the Clipper Mill apartments up to the Druid Hill trail that begins at the top of our street up into the north edge of Druid Hill Park. It was quiet. The only sounds were the acorns falling from the oak trees. I walked past the Frisbee Golf course and by the Maryland Zoo. The zoo parking lot was filling up and many families and couples were making their way to the zoo entrance. I continued walking towards the arboretum. There were cars parked everywhere as a Baltimore Tennis Patrons breakfast was in full swing under the tent. There was a plant sale at the arboretum. A little ways further and I found the resevoir full of walkers and joggers. The city was renting bikes at the resevoir as well and there were families, singles and couples riding around and around the water. I felt part of a great whirlwind of urban activity and recreation. I briefly considered conitnuing on across the 29th street bridge but I retraced my steps back through the park. I arrived back home after an hour and a half of brisk walking. I felt alive in the wind, the cooler weather, the urban activity, the green space. I love urban hiking! I'd like to discover other great urban hikes--what's yours?
It's fun to be back at the blog--pondering God and life. I can't believe that it is now the end of September and that fall is truly upon us. Fall is my favorite season. Even though it is hard to return to the pace of fuller days, I find that help comes in God's creative touch in the fall weather. I love the crisp days. Perfect days for hiking. Not just hiking in the country but hiking in the city. This Saturday, I had my first fall hike. The front was blowing in from the west and there was a stiff breeze when I started out around 10:30 am. I walked from the Clipper Mill apartments up to the Druid Hill trail that begins at the top of our street up into the north edge of Druid Hill Park. It was quiet. The only sounds were the acorns falling from the oak trees. I walked past the Frisbee Golf course and by the Maryland Zoo. The zoo parking lot was filling up and many families and couples were making their way to the zoo entrance. I continued walking towards the arboretum. There were cars parked everywhere as a Baltimore Tennis Patrons breakfast was in full swing under the tent. There was a plant sale at the arboretum. A little ways further and I found the resevoir full of walkers and joggers. The city was renting bikes at the resevoir as well and there were families, singles and couples riding around and around the water. I felt part of a great whirlwind of urban activity and recreation. I briefly considered conitnuing on across the 29th street bridge but I retraced my steps back through the park. I arrived back home after an hour and a half of brisk walking. I felt alive in the wind, the cooler weather, the urban activity, the green space. I love urban hiking! I'd like to discover other great urban hikes--what's yours?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Summer Vacation
To my beloved blog friends: It is summertime and time to take it easy! I'll be taking a brief sabbatical from my blog for the summer. I'll be spending time with friends and family, hiking and biking in the Western Maryland mountains, and writing. In particular, I'm working on a book of meditations to be published in the fall for Lent 2010. Have a grand summer and be sure to check back in around September 1 for more meditations on this blog. love and blessings, Mother Martha
Friday, June 5, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Letter from a Birmingham Jail
I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds. From Letter from a Birmingham Jail by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. dated April 16, 1963
It's been a while since I've read Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Just recently, someone mentioned to me how much that letter had become a foundational document in his life. When our Wednesday morning Bible Study group arrived at Peter Gomes' chapter on the Bible and Slavery and Gomes mentioned the Letter, I thought it was time to take another look. So, this past Wednesday morning, we read A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.
First, I had forgotten what a long letter King wrote. As we read aloud his words, I imagine King in prison. I imagine that the solitude of prison life allowed King to stop for some time and collect his thoughts. His life was lived in active passion. Now, all his thoughts and feelings start pouring out. He writes to a group of clergymen who have asked him to take the segregation issue a bit more slowly. Perhaps more politely. To wait for the right time. Perhaps to stay in Atlanta and do his rabble rousing there.
Second, I remembered why I spent part of my time in seminary studying and writing about Dr. King. The Gospel is a prophetic document. The church is about being prophetic. When we become afraid to live out the Gospel imperatives in our lives through words and actions, we diminish ourselves. We diminish the church. And sometimes, we begin to think that the Body of Christ is composed of insiders and outsiders. King speak to this issue with strength and grace.
I am so very proud that the Memorial church community is a place that we can speak to our prophetic calling. We can live into that prophetic calling through words. However, Memorial is a place that embraces St Francis of Assisi's suggestion: Preach the Gospel and if necessary, use words! Thanks be to God for the Memorial community.
Question: Have you ever felt like an outsider when you bring up an issue of social change? Maybe just plain old change? Have you felt like an outsider in Christ's Body, the Church? What does Dr. King's message say to you?
I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds. From Letter from a Birmingham Jail by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. dated April 16, 1963
It's been a while since I've read Dr. King's Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Just recently, someone mentioned to me how much that letter had become a foundational document in his life. When our Wednesday morning Bible Study group arrived at Peter Gomes' chapter on the Bible and Slavery and Gomes mentioned the Letter, I thought it was time to take another look. So, this past Wednesday morning, we read A Letter from a Birmingham Jail.
First, I had forgotten what a long letter King wrote. As we read aloud his words, I imagine King in prison. I imagine that the solitude of prison life allowed King to stop for some time and collect his thoughts. His life was lived in active passion. Now, all his thoughts and feelings start pouring out. He writes to a group of clergymen who have asked him to take the segregation issue a bit more slowly. Perhaps more politely. To wait for the right time. Perhaps to stay in Atlanta and do his rabble rousing there.
Second, I remembered why I spent part of my time in seminary studying and writing about Dr. King. The Gospel is a prophetic document. The church is about being prophetic. When we become afraid to live out the Gospel imperatives in our lives through words and actions, we diminish ourselves. We diminish the church. And sometimes, we begin to think that the Body of Christ is composed of insiders and outsiders. King speak to this issue with strength and grace.
I am so very proud that the Memorial church community is a place that we can speak to our prophetic calling. We can live into that prophetic calling through words. However, Memorial is a place that embraces St Francis of Assisi's suggestion: Preach the Gospel and if necessary, use words! Thanks be to God for the Memorial community.
Question: Have you ever felt like an outsider when you bring up an issue of social change? Maybe just plain old change? Have you felt like an outsider in Christ's Body, the Church? What does Dr. King's message say to you?
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Memorial Day Tribute
Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. --The Burial of the Dead, Book of Common Prayer
Today I want to remember a particular saint who died yesterday--the Rev. Fa. Paul Wessinger, SSJE. Paul was am Episcopal priest and a professed member of the Anglican order of monks, the Society of St John the Evangelist. He was my spiritual director for over 10 years. He was a spiritual marker and guide for me. He brought me back to my truest self again and again. The self that God had in mind for me to live into when God created me (see Psalm 139).
When someone that we love dies, it takes us time to figure out how to love them when we see them no longer. For Paul and me, we had some practice at this already. For the past few years, Paul has been deaf. He had to give up spiritual direction. When I made retreats at the monastery in Cambridge, we would see one another, but we had trouble communicating. Eventually, Paul moved to a nursing care facility close to the monastery--where he died in the night Friday morning. He was over 90 years old.
In his prime, Paul was Superior of the Order. He brought the Society to a place of deep inclusion--for ordained women, for ordained gay and lesbians, for those for whom the institutional church was less than welcoming. He continued to bring out the best in me--which, in the end, allowed me to be true to my deepest self. He loved the church yet he challenged the church to go further into Gospel living. He was and is a deep inspiration in my ministry for me again and again. On the day Paul died, he was that deep source of comfort and strength yet again.
As it turns out yesterday was also the day that I received some news that caused me--yet again--to wonder why I have been created the way that I am. I heard news--yet again---that being open about supporting social justice causes and living your life in a way that supports actively those causes continues to cause misunderstanding, exclusion and pain. As the Gospel for Sunday points out, following and then living out the Gospel is not such an easy road. In fact, it will lead to suffering again and again. But how can you be true to yourself and not live out the Gospel? As you live your life, there are times when you realize that the choices you have made for the Gospel exclude you from the very living you believe that God is calling you to do. How do you reconcile that?
That's when I bring Paul into my heart. I imagine him sitting across from me in our room of spiritual direction--a candle lit and an icon of Jesus close by. He is in his black cassock. As I recount the latest story of exclusion, he listens. His face radiates gentleness and love. After I finish there is a moment of silence. And then Paul smiles at me. There is a gleam in his eye. Paul replies: "It is so hard. But what else can you do. I believe this is God's work that you are doing. It is important work. It is the way of love." I leave spiritual direction feeling that I am not alone. That I am loved--just as I am and just as I live. There are so many days that I need Paul Wessinger in my life. He is still with me. He will be with me all along.
This Memorial Day weekend....Who is it that loves you as you are? Who is it that confirms your call in God?
Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting. --The Burial of the Dead, Book of Common Prayer
Today I want to remember a particular saint who died yesterday--the Rev. Fa. Paul Wessinger, SSJE. Paul was am Episcopal priest and a professed member of the Anglican order of monks, the Society of St John the Evangelist. He was my spiritual director for over 10 years. He was a spiritual marker and guide for me. He brought me back to my truest self again and again. The self that God had in mind for me to live into when God created me (see Psalm 139).
When someone that we love dies, it takes us time to figure out how to love them when we see them no longer. For Paul and me, we had some practice at this already. For the past few years, Paul has been deaf. He had to give up spiritual direction. When I made retreats at the monastery in Cambridge, we would see one another, but we had trouble communicating. Eventually, Paul moved to a nursing care facility close to the monastery--where he died in the night Friday morning. He was over 90 years old.
In his prime, Paul was Superior of the Order. He brought the Society to a place of deep inclusion--for ordained women, for ordained gay and lesbians, for those for whom the institutional church was less than welcoming. He continued to bring out the best in me--which, in the end, allowed me to be true to my deepest self. He loved the church yet he challenged the church to go further into Gospel living. He was and is a deep inspiration in my ministry for me again and again. On the day Paul died, he was that deep source of comfort and strength yet again.
As it turns out yesterday was also the day that I received some news that caused me--yet again--to wonder why I have been created the way that I am. I heard news--yet again---that being open about supporting social justice causes and living your life in a way that supports actively those causes continues to cause misunderstanding, exclusion and pain. As the Gospel for Sunday points out, following and then living out the Gospel is not such an easy road. In fact, it will lead to suffering again and again. But how can you be true to yourself and not live out the Gospel? As you live your life, there are times when you realize that the choices you have made for the Gospel exclude you from the very living you believe that God is calling you to do. How do you reconcile that?
That's when I bring Paul into my heart. I imagine him sitting across from me in our room of spiritual direction--a candle lit and an icon of Jesus close by. He is in his black cassock. As I recount the latest story of exclusion, he listens. His face radiates gentleness and love. After I finish there is a moment of silence. And then Paul smiles at me. There is a gleam in his eye. Paul replies: "It is so hard. But what else can you do. I believe this is God's work that you are doing. It is important work. It is the way of love." I leave spiritual direction feeling that I am not alone. That I am loved--just as I am and just as I live. There are so many days that I need Paul Wessinger in my life. He is still with me. He will be with me all along.
This Memorial Day weekend....Who is it that loves you as you are? Who is it that confirms your call in God?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Moving Forward
Sing to the Lord a new song*for he has done marvelous things. Psalm 98:1
When we are trying to find meaning as we move forward from one day to the next, we often spend a good deal of energy in the past. We think of decisions that we wish we had made differently or with more forethought. I'm sure the disciples had a good deal of these kind of thoughts after Jesus' death and resurrection. There is a great song in Jesus Christ Superstar entitled "Could We Start Again Please?" That song could be a mantra for many of us.
For years, when asked about my college experience, I would start off by saying that I attended Davidson College. If the conversation continued, I would then add that my first choice of college had been Williams College. Then I would launch into a discussion about how I had applied to Williams early decision and had not been accepted. I then added that I hadn't taken the application seriously, that I had written it in longhand in cartridge pen. Yada..Yada..Yada.. On and on I would go about how I had made mistakes in my application. I would wonder what my life would have been like if I'd been a college student in the northeast.
Not long into the conversation, my good husband would interject that I would never have met him if I had gone to another college. For a while, I would try to argue that I would have met him eventually. After a while, I gave up that line of argument. My experience at Davidson was a wonderful experience in many ways. Why did I spend a good ten years of my life unable to recognize this fact? Why focus on the road not taken?
This morning, I started the sermon with a poem by Carl Dennis called "The God Who Loves You." The poem is in his collection called Practical Gods. I won't quote the whole poem here but here are some pertinent lines:
It must be troubling for the god who loves you
To ponder how much happier you'd be today
Had you been able to glimpse your many futures.
It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings
Driving home from the office, content with your week---
Three fine houses sold to deserving families--
Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened
Had you gone to your second choice for college,
Knowing the roommate you'd have been allotted
Whose ardent opinions on painting and music
Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion
A life thirty points above the life you're living
On any scale of satisfaction.......
The difference between what is
And what could have been will remain alive for him
Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill
Running out in the snow for the morning paper,
Losing eleven years that the god who loves you
Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene
Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him
No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend
No closer than the actual friend you made at college,
The one you haven't written in months. Sit down tonight
And write him about the life you can talk about
With a claim to authority, the life you've witnessed,
Which for all you know is the life you've chosen.
Who is that friend that you actually know that it's time to write? That's a way to move forward into the future.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Love of God
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. 1 John 4:7-8
One of the greatest truths that I know of is that God is love. And the best way to find God's love is to love one another. This weekend was testament to the love of God at Memorial. On Saturday, we celebrated the life of Judith Mosley, who died a week ago Sunday. It has certainly been an amazing journey of Christian love that brought Judith home to Baltimore from New Mexico. In the short time that she has been back among us, her hospital room was full each day of Memorial visitors. While I was out of town last Sunday, Judith was visited by several folks--one brought communion, one prayed, some talked gently to her, and others sang by her bedside. By then, Judith was non-responsive, but I believe she knew that God's love surrounded her as she made her way home.
On Saturday, the celebration of her life was joyous--with more singing and much festive eating and visiting afterwards. All of Judith's communities came together to remember her and how she brought so many people together that she loved. At Memorial, my Wednesday morning Bible Study has regular attendees that Judith brought to the class. She loved her friends and even though she was frightened at times and had difficult moments, she knew we loved her.
After the funeral, I traveled up to Western Maryland to join some of Memorial's Young Adults on retreat. As we spoke about sabbath and a discipline of prayer, the gathered group realized that they spent their Sabbath together. These busy twenty-somethings spend almost every Sunday meeting up at the 10:30 service and then going to brunch together. Often, they spend the afternoon hanging out while two of the group wait to lead the Memorial youth group on Sunday night. Sometimes they all reconnect for dinner as well. When I asked them what was their Sabbath time--they all said to a person "our Sunday Brunch after church." They went on to add that the Sabbath really does begin with worship and informs the rest of their day. What a lucky group! They find God's love in being together one day a week. Sometimes they let me come along to brunch and it's true---they show what the love of community looks like.
All in all, it was an Eastertide kind of weekend--begun and ended in love. The love of friends in Christ for one another. Alleluia!
Question for the week: What does your Sabbath time look like? Does it involve the love of friends?
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. 1 John 4:7-8
One of the greatest truths that I know of is that God is love. And the best way to find God's love is to love one another. This weekend was testament to the love of God at Memorial. On Saturday, we celebrated the life of Judith Mosley, who died a week ago Sunday. It has certainly been an amazing journey of Christian love that brought Judith home to Baltimore from New Mexico. In the short time that she has been back among us, her hospital room was full each day of Memorial visitors. While I was out of town last Sunday, Judith was visited by several folks--one brought communion, one prayed, some talked gently to her, and others sang by her bedside. By then, Judith was non-responsive, but I believe she knew that God's love surrounded her as she made her way home.
On Saturday, the celebration of her life was joyous--with more singing and much festive eating and visiting afterwards. All of Judith's communities came together to remember her and how she brought so many people together that she loved. At Memorial, my Wednesday morning Bible Study has regular attendees that Judith brought to the class. She loved her friends and even though she was frightened at times and had difficult moments, she knew we loved her.
After the funeral, I traveled up to Western Maryland to join some of Memorial's Young Adults on retreat. As we spoke about sabbath and a discipline of prayer, the gathered group realized that they spent their Sabbath together. These busy twenty-somethings spend almost every Sunday meeting up at the 10:30 service and then going to brunch together. Often, they spend the afternoon hanging out while two of the group wait to lead the Memorial youth group on Sunday night. Sometimes they all reconnect for dinner as well. When I asked them what was their Sabbath time--they all said to a person "our Sunday Brunch after church." They went on to add that the Sabbath really does begin with worship and informs the rest of their day. What a lucky group! They find God's love in being together one day a week. Sometimes they let me come along to brunch and it's true---they show what the love of community looks like.
All in all, it was an Eastertide kind of weekend--begun and ended in love. The love of friends in Christ for one another. Alleluia!
Question for the week: What does your Sabbath time look like? Does it involve the love of friends?
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Spirit of God
The Spirit of Nakanawa is with you always. From far away cities to distant shores. But nobody else can find it for you. You have to find it for yourself.
The above text is from a song from my summer camp. For eight summers, I attended Camp Nakanawa, a camp for girls on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee. This past weekend, I attended a reunion weekend at camp. As part of the reunion, of course, we sang camp songs. I find it amazing that these songs are blazoned on my heart--I remember ALL the words. As part of the weekend, we ate in the dining hall with all the southern delicacies (grits, biscuits, bacon, sausage). We helped the directors get ready for camp in a few weeks. I weeded gardens and woodburned pine medallions for awards. We hiked on the trail around the lake. In between the rain, I canoed on the lake. There were women in attendance from their early twenties to the late eighties. It was a blast.
As part of the weekend, I was asked to helped plan the church service (so I was still working after a fashion on Sunday morning!). We sang from the old Methodist hymnals that remain all year long in the Wigwam (the gathering hall). Those hymnals still had that familiar musty camp smell. We read Psalm 139--the psalm that is read at Rite 13 service to mark teenagers entering into adulthood. We prayed for all our daughters, the young women who would be coming to camp in a few weeks--biological or not. (We also prayed for the men-husbands and sons as well!) The most moving part of the service was the reflection period. Five former campers from the very eldest to one of the youngest spoke about what camp had meant to them and what they carried from camp into their later lives.
What I realized from the reflections (including my own) is that more than any other community, I learned at this camp what God's love looks and feels like in community. Coming from a family that was not good at expressing emotions or giving loving touches, camp was a whole new ballgame for me from the age of 12. This weekend, I remembered that I had to learn what it was to sit close to another person, to link arms, to hug, laugh and cry together. This weekend, I was amazed at how quickly we all fell back into our camp pattern. I noticed that unlike our usual worlds at home, we sat so closely together at meetings that our shoulders touched. We linked arms to sing songs. We held hands to pray. By Sunday, I realized that much of what I do in my vocation as an Episcopal priest flows directly from the community life of my summer camp. My call is to help to make the love of God present in a community day in and day out. I use what I was given and learned at camp to give back that Spirit of God's love to those I meet in my life as a priest. I came to camp a sad and lonely young girl whose mother had died. A young girl that did not know how to express her loss--or even what that loss really was all about. I left a young women who was given the healing and life-giving love of God who could then give and show that love to others. The Spirit of Nakanawa is the Spirit of God for me.
Where do you find the Spirit of God in community? Is it beyond your church community?
The Spirit of Nakanawa is with you always. From far away cities to distant shores. But nobody else can find it for you. You have to find it for yourself.
The above text is from a song from my summer camp. For eight summers, I attended Camp Nakanawa, a camp for girls on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee. This past weekend, I attended a reunion weekend at camp. As part of the reunion, of course, we sang camp songs. I find it amazing that these songs are blazoned on my heart--I remember ALL the words. As part of the weekend, we ate in the dining hall with all the southern delicacies (grits, biscuits, bacon, sausage). We helped the directors get ready for camp in a few weeks. I weeded gardens and woodburned pine medallions for awards. We hiked on the trail around the lake. In between the rain, I canoed on the lake. There were women in attendance from their early twenties to the late eighties. It was a blast.
As part of the weekend, I was asked to helped plan the church service (so I was still working after a fashion on Sunday morning!). We sang from the old Methodist hymnals that remain all year long in the Wigwam (the gathering hall). Those hymnals still had that familiar musty camp smell. We read Psalm 139--the psalm that is read at Rite 13 service to mark teenagers entering into adulthood. We prayed for all our daughters, the young women who would be coming to camp in a few weeks--biological or not. (We also prayed for the men-husbands and sons as well!) The most moving part of the service was the reflection period. Five former campers from the very eldest to one of the youngest spoke about what camp had meant to them and what they carried from camp into their later lives.
What I realized from the reflections (including my own) is that more than any other community, I learned at this camp what God's love looks and feels like in community. Coming from a family that was not good at expressing emotions or giving loving touches, camp was a whole new ballgame for me from the age of 12. This weekend, I remembered that I had to learn what it was to sit close to another person, to link arms, to hug, laugh and cry together. This weekend, I was amazed at how quickly we all fell back into our camp pattern. I noticed that unlike our usual worlds at home, we sat so closely together at meetings that our shoulders touched. We linked arms to sing songs. We held hands to pray. By Sunday, I realized that much of what I do in my vocation as an Episcopal priest flows directly from the community life of my summer camp. My call is to help to make the love of God present in a community day in and day out. I use what I was given and learned at camp to give back that Spirit of God's love to those I meet in my life as a priest. I came to camp a sad and lonely young girl whose mother had died. A young girl that did not know how to express her loss--or even what that loss really was all about. I left a young women who was given the healing and life-giving love of God who could then give and show that love to others. The Spirit of Nakanawa is the Spirit of God for me.
Where do you find the Spirit of God in community? Is it beyond your church community?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tell Out My Soul
Tell out, my soul, the glories of his word! Firm is his promise, and his mercy sure. Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord to children's children and forevermore. Stanza 4, Hymn 438, Hymnal 1982
Episcopalians often think theology through hymn texts. When I'm working on a certain theme for a sermon or a teaching session, I do think of certain Bible passages right off the bat. More often, hymns come to mind first. I then have to work my way back to Hooker's famous Anglican three-legged stool (scripture, tradition and reason) in order to get back to the scripture from the tradition (hymnody)!
This morning, I have the demise of our newspaper industry much on my heart. Tuesday and Wednesday, the Baltimore Sun cut its newsroom staff by nearly a third. The reduction hit nearly every type of job in the 205-person newsroom--top editors, copy editors, photographers, critics, columnists, sports reporters, page designers and graphic artists. The cuts have affected Memorialites.
I suppose that I'm a dying breed--but I love the local morning newspaper. Breakfast over the sports page (if I can get to it before Bryan). Lingering over the rest of the paper with my cup of strong Irish breakfast tea. It's a firm morning ritual. I am even old enough to remember when there were two local newspapers. For me, that meant reading the Washington Post in the morning and the Evening Star in the late afternoon. Although I have resorted in the past few years to reading the New York Times in addition to the Sun in order to get important national and international news, I can't imagine how I'd learn about the local goings-on in Baltimore except through the newspaper. Now I'm not completely living under a rock. I do check the weather on the internet as well as watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart (and sometimes the Colbert Report). But I am never quite satisfied with the method of finding and then reading the news on the internet.
As it looks as though the Sun will be less and less news and more and more ads in the days to come- a mere vestige of its former self--I wonder: What will happen to those marvelous obituaries that Fred Rasmussen and Jacques Kelly write? How will folks that have not come into the computer age--the elderly--find out about funerals? What about the local neighborhood events around food and gardens that Rob Kasper so eloquently and enthusiastically covers? Of course, what about the extended coverage of the Orioles (as painful as it is right now) and the Ravens? These articles bring pleasure and hope to my life. Given the size of Baltimore, I often read about folks I know in the Sun. How will I know their stories?
Well, I guess that I will have to be on-line more in the days to come. But, truth be told, I don't think I'll ever sidle up to a laptop with my cup of tea to read the news. I'll have to find another way. Times change. But the loss of a local newspaper would be the end of an era. It's the way that I know that a community tells out its soul.
Do you still read the local paper? How do you get your news?
Tell out, my soul, the glories of his word! Firm is his promise, and his mercy sure. Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord to children's children and forevermore. Stanza 4, Hymn 438, Hymnal 1982
Episcopalians often think theology through hymn texts. When I'm working on a certain theme for a sermon or a teaching session, I do think of certain Bible passages right off the bat. More often, hymns come to mind first. I then have to work my way back to Hooker's famous Anglican three-legged stool (scripture, tradition and reason) in order to get back to the scripture from the tradition (hymnody)!
This morning, I have the demise of our newspaper industry much on my heart. Tuesday and Wednesday, the Baltimore Sun cut its newsroom staff by nearly a third. The reduction hit nearly every type of job in the 205-person newsroom--top editors, copy editors, photographers, critics, columnists, sports reporters, page designers and graphic artists. The cuts have affected Memorialites.
I suppose that I'm a dying breed--but I love the local morning newspaper. Breakfast over the sports page (if I can get to it before Bryan). Lingering over the rest of the paper with my cup of strong Irish breakfast tea. It's a firm morning ritual. I am even old enough to remember when there were two local newspapers. For me, that meant reading the Washington Post in the morning and the Evening Star in the late afternoon. Although I have resorted in the past few years to reading the New York Times in addition to the Sun in order to get important national and international news, I can't imagine how I'd learn about the local goings-on in Baltimore except through the newspaper. Now I'm not completely living under a rock. I do check the weather on the internet as well as watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart (and sometimes the Colbert Report). But I am never quite satisfied with the method of finding and then reading the news on the internet.
As it looks as though the Sun will be less and less news and more and more ads in the days to come- a mere vestige of its former self--I wonder: What will happen to those marvelous obituaries that Fred Rasmussen and Jacques Kelly write? How will folks that have not come into the computer age--the elderly--find out about funerals? What about the local neighborhood events around food and gardens that Rob Kasper so eloquently and enthusiastically covers? Of course, what about the extended coverage of the Orioles (as painful as it is right now) and the Ravens? These articles bring pleasure and hope to my life. Given the size of Baltimore, I often read about folks I know in the Sun. How will I know their stories?
Well, I guess that I will have to be on-line more in the days to come. But, truth be told, I don't think I'll ever sidle up to a laptop with my cup of tea to read the news. I'll have to find another way. Times change. But the loss of a local newspaper would be the end of an era. It's the way that I know that a community tells out its soul.
Do you still read the local paper? How do you get your news?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Better Times
Many are saying, "Oh, that we might see better times!"*Lift up the light of your countenance upon us, O Lord. Psalm 4:6
The local news has been rough these days. Not only is our economic news unsettling, our local news in Baltimore and the surrounding region has been downright disturbing. Adding to the urban violence that has become all-too-commonplace, last week the front pages of the Baltimore Sun told the story of two murder-suicides of families by fathers. Today the front page story was about a pastor who murdered a disabled adult for insurance money. You have to wonder what the world is coming to these days. I join with the psalmist and say "Oh, that we might see better times!" I'd also add another psalm verse: "How long, O Lord?"
It is into these times that God's resurrection hope beams once again this spring. Boy, do I need the resurrection this spring! As I look through the lectionary Gospel readings for the next few Sundays in Eastertide, the readings are classic portions of John's Gospel. However, after this Sunday, we move away from the resurrection appearances to the images of Jesus as Good Shepherd, the vine, the exemplar of love. What I need right now are those great scenes of Jesus appearing to the disciples in the flesh. With all the news in our world today, I need to touch and be touched by Jesus.
That's why I give thanks for the Eastertide activity that always takes place at Memorial in the spring. While most clergy and church staff feel as though summer should arrive just after Easter only to find at least 6 weeks of busy program yet to come, the time of blessings, baptisms, garden dedications and musical production at Memorial is just what I need. We need opportunities to come together in joyous thanks and celebration for the life that we have. Last night at Opening Night of the Sound of Music was a perfect example.
Last night the house was full. We saw Maria leave the convent and begin her time as governess of the Von Trapps. Yet, just as the thunderstorm brought all the children to Maria's bed, a cry went up from the audience. "House Lights!" One of the cast members' grandfather was ill. Immediately fron the audience, a doctor, a medical student and an EMT ministered to this man. An ambulance was called. The man was transported to the hosptial in good hands. But what happened in those moments while we waited and then after the medical crew left was a resurrection appearance. What happened was this...as we waited, we prayed. As the crew transported the man to the waiting ambulance, we sang Amazing Grace. Children in the cast (there are at least 30) came out to hug their parents. Then, the show went on. The Goatherd scene with all the children dressed and acting as puppets brought smiles to the crowd. Cheers ensued. All was well. An amazing moment in community.
Here's what I felt in that moment of community....when hard things happen to us and those we love and know when we are in community, it feels different from reading about those events in a newspaper, television or the internet. In Memorial Church last night, the community held the love and fear, the joy and sorrow all together. We could hold hands and pray together as teenagers backstage worried about their friend and her grandfather. We could comfort the wife of the ill man at the door as she waited for the ambulance. We could sing the song we all know about overcoming adversity and hardship and pain. We could say God is there and touch one another in assurance that Christ is among us. We could sing and laugh again even in the midst of the fragility of human life. He is risen. It makes all the difference in the world. Alleluia!
Many are saying, "Oh, that we might see better times!"*Lift up the light of your countenance upon us, O Lord. Psalm 4:6
The local news has been rough these days. Not only is our economic news unsettling, our local news in Baltimore and the surrounding region has been downright disturbing. Adding to the urban violence that has become all-too-commonplace, last week the front pages of the Baltimore Sun told the story of two murder-suicides of families by fathers. Today the front page story was about a pastor who murdered a disabled adult for insurance money. You have to wonder what the world is coming to these days. I join with the psalmist and say "Oh, that we might see better times!" I'd also add another psalm verse: "How long, O Lord?"
It is into these times that God's resurrection hope beams once again this spring. Boy, do I need the resurrection this spring! As I look through the lectionary Gospel readings for the next few Sundays in Eastertide, the readings are classic portions of John's Gospel. However, after this Sunday, we move away from the resurrection appearances to the images of Jesus as Good Shepherd, the vine, the exemplar of love. What I need right now are those great scenes of Jesus appearing to the disciples in the flesh. With all the news in our world today, I need to touch and be touched by Jesus.
That's why I give thanks for the Eastertide activity that always takes place at Memorial in the spring. While most clergy and church staff feel as though summer should arrive just after Easter only to find at least 6 weeks of busy program yet to come, the time of blessings, baptisms, garden dedications and musical production at Memorial is just what I need. We need opportunities to come together in joyous thanks and celebration for the life that we have. Last night at Opening Night of the Sound of Music was a perfect example.
Last night the house was full. We saw Maria leave the convent and begin her time as governess of the Von Trapps. Yet, just as the thunderstorm brought all the children to Maria's bed, a cry went up from the audience. "House Lights!" One of the cast members' grandfather was ill. Immediately fron the audience, a doctor, a medical student and an EMT ministered to this man. An ambulance was called. The man was transported to the hosptial in good hands. But what happened in those moments while we waited and then after the medical crew left was a resurrection appearance. What happened was this...as we waited, we prayed. As the crew transported the man to the waiting ambulance, we sang Amazing Grace. Children in the cast (there are at least 30) came out to hug their parents. Then, the show went on. The Goatherd scene with all the children dressed and acting as puppets brought smiles to the crowd. Cheers ensued. All was well. An amazing moment in community.
Here's what I felt in that moment of community....when hard things happen to us and those we love and know when we are in community, it feels different from reading about those events in a newspaper, television or the internet. In Memorial Church last night, the community held the love and fear, the joy and sorrow all together. We could hold hands and pray together as teenagers backstage worried about their friend and her grandfather. We could comfort the wife of the ill man at the door as she waited for the ambulance. We could sing the song we all know about overcoming adversity and hardship and pain. We could say God is there and touch one another in assurance that Christ is among us. We could sing and laugh again even in the midst of the fragility of human life. He is risen. It makes all the difference in the world. Alleluia!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The St John's Bible
As I watched, thrones were set in place, and an Ancient One took his throne, his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne of fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. Daniel 7:9
I have to go back! This morning, the Wednesday morning Bible Study class went on a field trip to the Walters Museum. We went to see the St. John's Bible special exhibit. Little did I know that I was about to be completely amazed.
The St. John's Bible is an extraordinary project begun at St. John's College and Abbey in Minnesota. St. John's Abbey is one of the largest Benedictine communities in North America. To honor the millennium, the abbey decided to take on a great project---an illuminated bible for the 21st century. Collaborating with a master calligrapher and artist from Wales, the Abbey has seen to it that the St. John's Bible is on its way to completion by 2010. The purpose of this modern illuminated manuscript is to present the biblical story with an openness that would invite all faiths and people into the conversation.
At the exhibit, the manuscript pages range from the Gospels to the Apocrypha to the Hebrew Scripture of the Old Testament. The image of the Ancient One in Daniel was a figure that called out to the viewer--a figure that was not a figure of judgment but of compassion. Brilliant blues with gold leaf swirled in his robe and hair. Another favorite of our class was the Woman representing Sophia. Her wise, wrinkled face of silver and purple could have been an elderly woman from any part of the world--from a Native American tribe to a woman from the San of Africa. There were images from the Koran, Hebrew Scripture, Hindu text, and the Hubbell telescope woven into the biblical images. To top it off, the St John manuscripts were placed side by side with the Walters world class medieval manuscript collection. The whole exhibit was only three rooms, but I could have stayed all day.
Easter resurrection comes to us through all mediums--through liturgy, community, chance encounters. Today, Jesus came to me through the pens of calligraphers, artists and scribes from the 1200s through today.
The exhibit continues into mid-May at the Walters. It is only $8. By all means, GO...and see if you find God in a new way.
As I watched, thrones were set in place, and an Ancient One took his throne, his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne of fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. Daniel 7:9
I have to go back! This morning, the Wednesday morning Bible Study class went on a field trip to the Walters Museum. We went to see the St. John's Bible special exhibit. Little did I know that I was about to be completely amazed.
The St. John's Bible is an extraordinary project begun at St. John's College and Abbey in Minnesota. St. John's Abbey is one of the largest Benedictine communities in North America. To honor the millennium, the abbey decided to take on a great project---an illuminated bible for the 21st century. Collaborating with a master calligrapher and artist from Wales, the Abbey has seen to it that the St. John's Bible is on its way to completion by 2010. The purpose of this modern illuminated manuscript is to present the biblical story with an openness that would invite all faiths and people into the conversation.
At the exhibit, the manuscript pages range from the Gospels to the Apocrypha to the Hebrew Scripture of the Old Testament. The image of the Ancient One in Daniel was a figure that called out to the viewer--a figure that was not a figure of judgment but of compassion. Brilliant blues with gold leaf swirled in his robe and hair. Another favorite of our class was the Woman representing Sophia. Her wise, wrinkled face of silver and purple could have been an elderly woman from any part of the world--from a Native American tribe to a woman from the San of Africa. There were images from the Koran, Hebrew Scripture, Hindu text, and the Hubbell telescope woven into the biblical images. To top it off, the St John manuscripts were placed side by side with the Walters world class medieval manuscript collection. The whole exhibit was only three rooms, but I could have stayed all day.
Easter resurrection comes to us through all mediums--through liturgy, community, chance encounters. Today, Jesus came to me through the pens of calligraphers, artists and scribes from the 1200s through today.
The exhibit continues into mid-May at the Walters. It is only $8. By all means, GO...and see if you find God in a new way.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Second Sunday after Easter---April 19, 2009
Garden Dedication
Oh, how good and pleasant it is, * when brethren live together in unity. Psalm 133:1
Today we dedicated our Lafayette Avenue garden. Many years ago, Memorialites Frank and Lottie Shivers were instrumental in making that area a green space and not just a concrete sidewalk. Since then, the garden has had many loving caretakers. Two years ago, Peter Dunn and Louise Toby--both landscape architects--had a vision of what the garden could be. When Jose Lamdin, Denis' mother, died last year, Denis asked if there were a project at the church which could be a memorial to his parents. Peter and Louise's garden became a reality.
It wasn't as easy as we thought. When we began to anticipate the digging, we realized that now would be the time to take care of the drainage problem in the undercroft. The old nursery space had always leaked in that one corner. My guess is that it has leaked from the moment that the dirt basement was dug out for office space decades ago. More funds needed to be raised to dig down and place new drainage pipes. Peter went to work...and mission accomplished. The mass of electrical wires and pipes running through the garden rivaled our spaghetti junction during the renovation. Peter and Louise remained calm and steady.
Before long, the underground mechanics gave way to plantings, a memorial fountain, and a beautiful wooden bench. As we gathered to bless the space today at the end of the service, it is amazing how projects come together in God's time. With our musical stage up and confirmation this afternoon, our community does find a myriad of ways to live together in unity and welcome. And more gardening has taken place. The Rite 13 class along with Dale Balfour and Pam Garrettson have planted a native plant garden in the Rectory garden. We hope to have a summer coffee hour out there soon.
In all of this, I wonder where we each will meet Jesus this Eastertide. You never know where Jesus might turn up--in the garden, on the stage or in the audience of our musical, in a conversation over dinner after confirmation. Jesus is among us. Especially when we find ways to live together in unity.
Here's the blessing that I used at the garden ceremony--I've adapted it from Jennifer Heckart's prayer We See a Gardener in Women's Uncommon Prayers:
Risen Lord, so often encountered, so seldom recognized, you meet us in the garden of our hearts, on the lonely roads of our lives, our empty beaches (or benches!), and greet us. But in our blindness, we mistake you for someone else. Through our tears, we see a gardener; in our weariness and wariness, a stranger. But you call us back to ourselves. Forgive us our heard-heatedness, our lack of understanding. Open our eyes and our ears to you, wherever you are found, and give us grace to love you with abandon, to throw ourselves into your service, as Mary threw herself at your feet, as Peter threw himself into the sea. AMEN.
Look for Jesus this week--he may appear in a place where you least expect him to appear!
Oh, how good and pleasant it is, * when brethren live together in unity. Psalm 133:1
Today we dedicated our Lafayette Avenue garden. Many years ago, Memorialites Frank and Lottie Shivers were instrumental in making that area a green space and not just a concrete sidewalk. Since then, the garden has had many loving caretakers. Two years ago, Peter Dunn and Louise Toby--both landscape architects--had a vision of what the garden could be. When Jose Lamdin, Denis' mother, died last year, Denis asked if there were a project at the church which could be a memorial to his parents. Peter and Louise's garden became a reality.
It wasn't as easy as we thought. When we began to anticipate the digging, we realized that now would be the time to take care of the drainage problem in the undercroft. The old nursery space had always leaked in that one corner. My guess is that it has leaked from the moment that the dirt basement was dug out for office space decades ago. More funds needed to be raised to dig down and place new drainage pipes. Peter went to work...and mission accomplished. The mass of electrical wires and pipes running through the garden rivaled our spaghetti junction during the renovation. Peter and Louise remained calm and steady.
Before long, the underground mechanics gave way to plantings, a memorial fountain, and a beautiful wooden bench. As we gathered to bless the space today at the end of the service, it is amazing how projects come together in God's time. With our musical stage up and confirmation this afternoon, our community does find a myriad of ways to live together in unity and welcome. And more gardening has taken place. The Rite 13 class along with Dale Balfour and Pam Garrettson have planted a native plant garden in the Rectory garden. We hope to have a summer coffee hour out there soon.
In all of this, I wonder where we each will meet Jesus this Eastertide. You never know where Jesus might turn up--in the garden, on the stage or in the audience of our musical, in a conversation over dinner after confirmation. Jesus is among us. Especially when we find ways to live together in unity.
Here's the blessing that I used at the garden ceremony--I've adapted it from Jennifer Heckart's prayer We See a Gardener in Women's Uncommon Prayers:
Risen Lord, so often encountered, so seldom recognized, you meet us in the garden of our hearts, on the lonely roads of our lives, our empty beaches (or benches!), and greet us. But in our blindness, we mistake you for someone else. Through our tears, we see a gardener; in our weariness and wariness, a stranger. But you call us back to ourselves. Forgive us our heard-heatedness, our lack of understanding. Open our eyes and our ears to you, wherever you are found, and give us grace to love you with abandon, to throw ourselves into your service, as Mary threw herself at your feet, as Peter threw himself into the sea. AMEN.
Look for Jesus this week--he may appear in a place where you least expect him to appear!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday April 16, 2009
The Sharing of Goods
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common...There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need. Acts 4:32,34-35
The Book of Acts recounts the beginnings of the Christian Church in the years after Jesus' resurrection. Jesus' followers, including the disciples, are doing their best to live in community as Jesus taught them. One of the hallmarks of the early Christian community was the sharing of goods. The notes in my annotated NRSV Bible say that this practice only happened in the Christian communities in Jerusalem and perhaps in the Essene communities outside the city. Presumably, this means that all of the communities that Paul visited--Corinth, Rome, Ephesus, etc--did not practice the common sharing of goods. I wonder how long this practice lasted in the early church. Two scenes come to mind.
First, this passage reminded me of a scene that is fresh in our minds from Holy Week. When Mary anoints Jesus' feet with the pure ointment of nard, there is dissension. Judas is upset for using a possession of the community which could be sold and the money given to the poor. Perhaps other disciples in that room in Bethany that night were upset. Even before Jesus' death, there was consternation about how to have enough for all (remember the feeding of the five thousand?) as well as when to use what for whom.
Playing alongside this scene is a scene from today's headlines---the TEA parties. All over the country yesterday, folks gathered to register their disapproval for our tax system. As I looked over the crowds that gathered, I wondered: were there any people in the crowd that were without shelter or food or health care that day? What about the very least among us as a nation? Part of our role as Christians is to look after the least of these. How do we care for the least of these in our American cities and rural areas? How do we raise the money and distribute to those who are in need?
The idea of pooling resources is often touted as a socialist system. How do human beings care for each other with our limited resources? Not just in our own country, but throughout the world? Jesus' example and the early church's example cause us to take a step back and wonder just how revolutionary Jesus' message is.
How do reconcile the early church's rule of life--the sharing of goods in common--with your life today?
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common...There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need. Acts 4:32,34-35
The Book of Acts recounts the beginnings of the Christian Church in the years after Jesus' resurrection. Jesus' followers, including the disciples, are doing their best to live in community as Jesus taught them. One of the hallmarks of the early Christian community was the sharing of goods. The notes in my annotated NRSV Bible say that this practice only happened in the Christian communities in Jerusalem and perhaps in the Essene communities outside the city. Presumably, this means that all of the communities that Paul visited--Corinth, Rome, Ephesus, etc--did not practice the common sharing of goods. I wonder how long this practice lasted in the early church. Two scenes come to mind.
First, this passage reminded me of a scene that is fresh in our minds from Holy Week. When Mary anoints Jesus' feet with the pure ointment of nard, there is dissension. Judas is upset for using a possession of the community which could be sold and the money given to the poor. Perhaps other disciples in that room in Bethany that night were upset. Even before Jesus' death, there was consternation about how to have enough for all (remember the feeding of the five thousand?) as well as when to use what for whom.
Playing alongside this scene is a scene from today's headlines---the TEA parties. All over the country yesterday, folks gathered to register their disapproval for our tax system. As I looked over the crowds that gathered, I wondered: were there any people in the crowd that were without shelter or food or health care that day? What about the very least among us as a nation? Part of our role as Christians is to look after the least of these. How do we care for the least of these in our American cities and rural areas? How do we raise the money and distribute to those who are in need?
The idea of pooling resources is often touted as a socialist system. How do human beings care for each other with our limited resources? Not just in our own country, but throughout the world? Jesus' example and the early church's example cause us to take a step back and wonder just how revolutionary Jesus' message is.
How do reconcile the early church's rule of life--the sharing of goods in common--with your life today?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Wednesday, April 15th
God and the Emperor
Teacher, we know that you are right in what you say and teach, and you show deference to no one, but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful for us to pay taxes to the emperor, or not? Luke 20:21-22
Jesus answers this question with the famous line: "Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." (Luke 20:25) This scene takes place as Jesus is surrounded by students who seek to learn from him and spies from the Roman authorities who seek to trap him and so arrest him. Like a good teacher (and maybe lawyer), Jesus is unable to be trapped by his words.
Today is April 15th--a day that lives in infamy for many folks each year. In my parish setting, I notice that along with major holidays, Tax Day is a day that brings forth much anxiety for many folks. Of course, Tax Day often coincides nicely with a major holiday or season of the church--Lent and Eastertide. In the doldrums of Lent, folks begin to assemble (and find) their financial records. Piles of papers that have sat quietly minding their own business for months are riffled through on the weekend. Procrastination runs high in January and February. For those having to file financial aid forms for schools and colleges, procrastination doesn't work. Those financial aid offices require copies of the returns in early spring. Questions abound. Will there be a refund? For clergy types and the self-employed, did we pay enough estimated quarterly tax? Money is a major anxiety producer--especially these days. How can Jesus understand? He lived a nomadic, monastic existence.
Ah, but Jesus does understand. Look at all the parables and stories from his ministry involving money. Earning, Coveting, Hoarding, Panicking about money are all ways for us to be pulled away from God. Yet, in our society, money has its place--if we can put it in the proper perspective.. For me, I am blessed to have a husband who organizes the tax papers nicely. He has studied, marked, read and inwardly digested the Clergy Tax Guide. Because of him, I can concentrate on Lent, Holy Week and Easter this time of year. However, I know from my time as a clerk on the Tax Court and from my colleagues who work in tax law (and even for the IRS), that the majority of folks who work in this area do so because they believe in our system of taxation and want to make it work. It is important for the health of our country--especially now--to pay our taxes. It is easy to become cynical and see all the loopholes and earmarks in the Tax Code. However, for the folks I know that work in tax policy and legislation, the common good is the ideal for most.
I always feel good when we send in our returns each year--although it feels even better when a refund comes our way. For me, it has become a responsibility that means that I am part of a larger community. A community that can be a vehicle for doing Kingdom work. Another part of my responsibility as a citizen is to hold that community responsible for the common good. As a follower of Jesus, I continue to work for the Kingdom of God in all the communities to which I belong. I just have to keep it in perspective.
How do filing your taxes make you feel?
Teacher, we know that you are right in what you say and teach, and you show deference to no one, but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful for us to pay taxes to the emperor, or not? Luke 20:21-22
Jesus answers this question with the famous line: "Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." (Luke 20:25) This scene takes place as Jesus is surrounded by students who seek to learn from him and spies from the Roman authorities who seek to trap him and so arrest him. Like a good teacher (and maybe lawyer), Jesus is unable to be trapped by his words.
Today is April 15th--a day that lives in infamy for many folks each year. In my parish setting, I notice that along with major holidays, Tax Day is a day that brings forth much anxiety for many folks. Of course, Tax Day often coincides nicely with a major holiday or season of the church--Lent and Eastertide. In the doldrums of Lent, folks begin to assemble (and find) their financial records. Piles of papers that have sat quietly minding their own business for months are riffled through on the weekend. Procrastination runs high in January and February. For those having to file financial aid forms for schools and colleges, procrastination doesn't work. Those financial aid offices require copies of the returns in early spring. Questions abound. Will there be a refund? For clergy types and the self-employed, did we pay enough estimated quarterly tax? Money is a major anxiety producer--especially these days. How can Jesus understand? He lived a nomadic, monastic existence.
Ah, but Jesus does understand. Look at all the parables and stories from his ministry involving money. Earning, Coveting, Hoarding, Panicking about money are all ways for us to be pulled away from God. Yet, in our society, money has its place--if we can put it in the proper perspective.. For me, I am blessed to have a husband who organizes the tax papers nicely. He has studied, marked, read and inwardly digested the Clergy Tax Guide. Because of him, I can concentrate on Lent, Holy Week and Easter this time of year. However, I know from my time as a clerk on the Tax Court and from my colleagues who work in tax law (and even for the IRS), that the majority of folks who work in this area do so because they believe in our system of taxation and want to make it work. It is important for the health of our country--especially now--to pay our taxes. It is easy to become cynical and see all the loopholes and earmarks in the Tax Code. However, for the folks I know that work in tax policy and legislation, the common good is the ideal for most.
I always feel good when we send in our returns each year--although it feels even better when a refund comes our way. For me, it has become a responsibility that means that I am part of a larger community. A community that can be a vehicle for doing Kingdom work. Another part of my responsibility as a citizen is to hold that community responsible for the common good. As a follower of Jesus, I continue to work for the Kingdom of God in all the communities to which I belong. I just have to keep it in perspective.
How do filing your taxes make you feel?
Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter Monday--April 13, 2009
The Easter Blessing: Telling the whole truth
Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for? "
Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." John 20:13-14
Telling the whole truth. It is the only way to be whole. Holy Week and Easter show us the way.
From the beginning of Maundy Thursday through Easter Day, I was struck by how Jesus tells his truth. Then, in turn, the disciples are asked to tell their truths. This truth telling continues through Eastertide. For Jesus' followers, it all begins with Mary Magdelane at the tomb.
In order to move from grief to joy, it is important that we share our grief aloud. Mary is asked twice--by the angels and then by Jesus himself--WHY she is weeping. Before she can turn to Easter joy and witness to her Lord's resurrection, she must unburden her heart from her worry and grief. Jesus knows this.
In his book God has a Dream, Desmond Tutu notes that human beings need to tell their stories of suffering in order to be whole. Nations need to tell their stories of suffering in order to be whole. What is true for post-apartheid South Africa is true for us. Tutu says that using the phrase "Oh, let's just let bygones be bygones," destines us to learn that bygones never be begones. That suffering will just go underground to continue to live and grow in our psyche and the psyche of a country.
Of course, we so often don't tell the truth in order to spare another pain and hardship. But that often backfires. Folks--especially folks that are children--know when something isn't right. When the truth is not plain, we all try to insert our own assumptions into that space. Again, keeping silent so as to keep the peace or avoid pain often leads to more hardship and suffering.
Each Eastertide presents the opportunity to tell a truth about our lives and our world that needs to be told. What truth is God calling you to tell this Eastertide? What truth will set you free?
Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for? "
Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." John 20:13-14
Telling the whole truth. It is the only way to be whole. Holy Week and Easter show us the way.
From the beginning of Maundy Thursday through Easter Day, I was struck by how Jesus tells his truth. Then, in turn, the disciples are asked to tell their truths. This truth telling continues through Eastertide. For Jesus' followers, it all begins with Mary Magdelane at the tomb.
In order to move from grief to joy, it is important that we share our grief aloud. Mary is asked twice--by the angels and then by Jesus himself--WHY she is weeping. Before she can turn to Easter joy and witness to her Lord's resurrection, she must unburden her heart from her worry and grief. Jesus knows this.
In his book God has a Dream, Desmond Tutu notes that human beings need to tell their stories of suffering in order to be whole. Nations need to tell their stories of suffering in order to be whole. What is true for post-apartheid South Africa is true for us. Tutu says that using the phrase "Oh, let's just let bygones be bygones," destines us to learn that bygones never be begones. That suffering will just go underground to continue to live and grow in our psyche and the psyche of a country.
Of course, we so often don't tell the truth in order to spare another pain and hardship. But that often backfires. Folks--especially folks that are children--know when something isn't right. When the truth is not plain, we all try to insert our own assumptions into that space. Again, keeping silent so as to keep the peace or avoid pain often leads to more hardship and suffering.
Each Eastertide presents the opportunity to tell a truth about our lives and our world that needs to be told. What truth is God calling you to tell this Eastertide? What truth will set you free?
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday and Thursday of Holy Week--April 8 & 9, 2009
Reclining at table with Jesus
One of the disciples--the one whom Jesus loved--was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, "Lord, who is it?" Jesus answered, "It is the one to whom I give this peice of bread when I have dipped it in the dish." John 13:23-26
Yesterday evening, I attended a Passover seder dinner at close friends. We sat at a long table all together. I sat next to the grandfather and grandmother. The grandfather grew up in a conservative and orthodox family in Brooklyn, New York. Our hosts and friends are reform Jews. So, the grandfather gave me a fascinating commentary about how the seder how changed over the years--both in language (inclusive), food (much more kosher offerings), and actions.
When we reached a certain part of the seder haggadah, we spoke about reclining at table. Grandfather D said, "It's time for a footnote." We stopped the seder liturgy and listened. He recounted that when he was growing up, there were always large pillows near the table during the seder. At certain points of the service and dinner, the men would recline at table. The women were working hard in the kitchen. We went on to talk about the Last Supper. Grandmother D asked me: "Some folks believe that there were women at table at the Last Supper. What do you think?" At another part of the Haggadah, we paused as our host asked us to reflect on the bondage of the Hebrews in Egypt. He asked us each to answer this question: How are we bound in slavery in our lives today? It was a fascinating evening. Pausing in the seder liturgy to talk about our lives today.
Overall, I was struck by the intimate, serious yet playful nature of the seder meal. Although we did not lie down on pillows, I felt a part of the gathered family. There was the familiar exodus story interwoven with Grandmother D's famous matzoh ball chicken soup and gelfite fish with horseradish. Both young daughters of the family read from the Haggadah--the youngest asking the four questions. There was bedlam in the house when they searched for the hidden piece of matzoh. There was giggling when we opened the door for Elijah. At one point in the service, Grandfather D reminded me that this is the ONE special holy day of the year that Jews celebrate at home.
All evening, I kept thinking about Jesus with his disciples that night of the Last Supper. Just as we gathered at my friends' home, Jesus had gathered with his disciples. It was intimate, serious yet light-hearted. And in that light-hearted, relaxed moment, when the disciple Jesus loved lay his head on Jesus, his body heavy with a full stomach, Jesus revealed who was to betray him. Jesus left the seder liturgy to reveal an important part of his life right then. Into this loving atmosphere, dread appeared. Given the disciples inability to listen to Jesus on the road, perhaps this is the only place that they could hear what Jesus had to tell them. On a quiet evening. At the Passover meal. In an intimate setting of family, Jesus told them the news that would change their lives.
Where do you tell important news to those you love?
One of the disciples--the one whom Jesus loved--was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, "Lord, who is it?" Jesus answered, "It is the one to whom I give this peice of bread when I have dipped it in the dish." John 13:23-26
Yesterday evening, I attended a Passover seder dinner at close friends. We sat at a long table all together. I sat next to the grandfather and grandmother. The grandfather grew up in a conservative and orthodox family in Brooklyn, New York. Our hosts and friends are reform Jews. So, the grandfather gave me a fascinating commentary about how the seder how changed over the years--both in language (inclusive), food (much more kosher offerings), and actions.
When we reached a certain part of the seder haggadah, we spoke about reclining at table. Grandfather D said, "It's time for a footnote." We stopped the seder liturgy and listened. He recounted that when he was growing up, there were always large pillows near the table during the seder. At certain points of the service and dinner, the men would recline at table. The women were working hard in the kitchen. We went on to talk about the Last Supper. Grandmother D asked me: "Some folks believe that there were women at table at the Last Supper. What do you think?" At another part of the Haggadah, we paused as our host asked us to reflect on the bondage of the Hebrews in Egypt. He asked us each to answer this question: How are we bound in slavery in our lives today? It was a fascinating evening. Pausing in the seder liturgy to talk about our lives today.
Overall, I was struck by the intimate, serious yet playful nature of the seder meal. Although we did not lie down on pillows, I felt a part of the gathered family. There was the familiar exodus story interwoven with Grandmother D's famous matzoh ball chicken soup and gelfite fish with horseradish. Both young daughters of the family read from the Haggadah--the youngest asking the four questions. There was bedlam in the house when they searched for the hidden piece of matzoh. There was giggling when we opened the door for Elijah. At one point in the service, Grandfather D reminded me that this is the ONE special holy day of the year that Jews celebrate at home.
All evening, I kept thinking about Jesus with his disciples that night of the Last Supper. Just as we gathered at my friends' home, Jesus had gathered with his disciples. It was intimate, serious yet light-hearted. And in that light-hearted, relaxed moment, when the disciple Jesus loved lay his head on Jesus, his body heavy with a full stomach, Jesus revealed who was to betray him. Jesus left the seder liturgy to reveal an important part of his life right then. Into this loving atmosphere, dread appeared. Given the disciples inability to listen to Jesus on the road, perhaps this is the only place that they could hear what Jesus had to tell them. On a quiet evening. At the Passover meal. In an intimate setting of family, Jesus told them the news that would change their lives.
Where do you tell important news to those you love?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Tuesday in Holy Week--April 7, 2009
Receiving the wisdom
Jesus said to them, "The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light." After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them. Although he had performed so many signs in their presence, they did not believe in him. John 12: 35-37
These words of Jesus from the Gospel of John appointed for today remind us that wisdom is often ignored. As children and grandchildren, we don't often don't realize the great worth of parental advice until our parents have died and we are parents ourselves. Then we have to remember that our children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, will do the same. Like Jesus, our words fall on empty ears. Some day, the words will be useful.
When I was standing in the locker room of the gym on the morning of September 11, 2001 and the television began to broadcast the horrible events of that day, I immediately thought of my father. What would he have said to me? What words of wisdom from him would help me find hope? A man that had lived through the Great Depression and World War II--it wasn't until he died and I was an adult with children of my own that I wished I had time to ask him questions I wasn't ready to ask when he was alive. I was ready for the wisdom. A new wave of grief came over me that day.
It is a learning that we all must come to as children and adults. I realize that my children may not be ready to listen to what I have to tell them. One day, my wisdom born of experience may be remembered. In the days after Jesus' death, in the years to come, the disciples and the early church yearned to remember the wisdom of the man they called their Lord. After the resurrection, they were ready to hear and receive God's Word. That's how our New Testament came to be. It is a way of remembering the actions and words of Jesus. It is also remembering that the disciples couldn't hear God's wisdom when Jesus was with them in the flesh.
I believe Jesus suffered in his inability to show his disciples what he meant. To get them to understand while he was with them. We all suffer when someone we love is unable to understand what we are trying to tell them when we have lived long enough to have wisdom born of suffering. We hope we can spare those we love--whether our children, a dear friend, a young colleague. Often, it is ignored. Sometimes, it backfires. We go and hide. We realize that we have done all we can. We hope and pray that time redeem it all.
In the end, Jesus knew this. In the end, the disciples learned this. Wisdom takes time.
Where has your wisdom been ignored or challenged? In time, has the wisdom been received?
Jesus said to them, "The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light." After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them. Although he had performed so many signs in their presence, they did not believe in him. John 12: 35-37
These words of Jesus from the Gospel of John appointed for today remind us that wisdom is often ignored. As children and grandchildren, we don't often don't realize the great worth of parental advice until our parents have died and we are parents ourselves. Then we have to remember that our children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, will do the same. Like Jesus, our words fall on empty ears. Some day, the words will be useful.
When I was standing in the locker room of the gym on the morning of September 11, 2001 and the television began to broadcast the horrible events of that day, I immediately thought of my father. What would he have said to me? What words of wisdom from him would help me find hope? A man that had lived through the Great Depression and World War II--it wasn't until he died and I was an adult with children of my own that I wished I had time to ask him questions I wasn't ready to ask when he was alive. I was ready for the wisdom. A new wave of grief came over me that day.
It is a learning that we all must come to as children and adults. I realize that my children may not be ready to listen to what I have to tell them. One day, my wisdom born of experience may be remembered. In the days after Jesus' death, in the years to come, the disciples and the early church yearned to remember the wisdom of the man they called their Lord. After the resurrection, they were ready to hear and receive God's Word. That's how our New Testament came to be. It is a way of remembering the actions and words of Jesus. It is also remembering that the disciples couldn't hear God's wisdom when Jesus was with them in the flesh.
I believe Jesus suffered in his inability to show his disciples what he meant. To get them to understand while he was with them. We all suffer when someone we love is unable to understand what we are trying to tell them when we have lived long enough to have wisdom born of suffering. We hope we can spare those we love--whether our children, a dear friend, a young colleague. Often, it is ignored. Sometimes, it backfires. We go and hide. We realize that we have done all we can. We hope and pray that time redeem it all.
In the end, Jesus knew this. In the end, the disciples learned this. Wisdom takes time.
Where has your wisdom been ignored or challenged? In time, has the wisdom been received?
Monday, April 6, 2009
Monday of Holy Week---April 6, 2009
Extravagant Love
Mary took a costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples(the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" John 12: 3-5
We have heard the story of Jesus' passion on Palm Sunday. Beginning today, we go back. We remember the events of the Passion scene by scene. On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Holy Week, we remember Jesus' last days before the entrance into Jerusalem. What the gospels tell us in our lectionary readings is the depth of love. Not only Jesus' love for us, but the disciples' love for him. It is an extravagant love. A love that might make us very uncomfortable.
Today our Gospel reading is Mary anointing Jesus' feet with a costly perfume. After anointing his feet, Mary then wipes Jesus' feet with her hair. A tactile, sensual and intimate moment. Instead of washing his feet with water when he arrives for dinner, Mary makes an extravagant action expressing her love for Jesus. He does not stop her. He does not push her away. He accepts her extravagant offering. Not everyone does.
Judas complains to Jesus that she has wasted a costly ointment that could be sold and the money given to the poor. The text tells us Judas does not really care for the poor, but wants the money for himself. Perhaps this is so. However, I would hazard to guess that Mary's loving action made Judas very uncomfortable. There have been many studies wondering why Judas betrayed Jesus as he did. Surely he loved him. Perhaps, as the other disciples discovered, Judas knew that Jesus did not have a favorite. Judas wanted to be a favorite. Perhaps he wanted to show Jesus his deep love for him. But he was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid to offer a gift of love.
In Inquirer's class last night, we discussed the liturgies of Holy Week. One of our classmates asked about the footwashing on Maundy Thursday. What was it like? Was it mandatory? The general consensus was that it made most of us uncomfortable yet we couldn't really explain why. Some say it is because our feet are rather a private part of our bodies that are often a bit dirty. We don't like to reveal them to another. This is true. What is also true, I believe, is that we are uncomfortable with someone touching us in love where we are vulnerable. It is hard for us to receive love. It is much easier to be the footwasher than the footwashee. On Maundy Thursday, we are often feeling a bit like Judas as he watched Mary give Jesus a gift of love and Jesus receive that gift willingly.
In practice, the liturgies of Holy Week are full of tactile actions that engage many of our senses. Some of the actions are deeply meaningful; others mean very little; and others make us downright uncomfortable. Everyone responds to these liturgies differently. Each year, I try to embrace those actions I love and open myself a bit more to those that I find uncomfortable. I often learn some interesting things about myself, the cross and love.
Exclusion and embrace. In our lives, in the liturgies of Holy Week, in the Passion story.
What action in Holy Week makes you most uncomfortable? May it be a gift of love offered?
Mary took a costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples(the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" John 12: 3-5
We have heard the story of Jesus' passion on Palm Sunday. Beginning today, we go back. We remember the events of the Passion scene by scene. On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Holy Week, we remember Jesus' last days before the entrance into Jerusalem. What the gospels tell us in our lectionary readings is the depth of love. Not only Jesus' love for us, but the disciples' love for him. It is an extravagant love. A love that might make us very uncomfortable.
Today our Gospel reading is Mary anointing Jesus' feet with a costly perfume. After anointing his feet, Mary then wipes Jesus' feet with her hair. A tactile, sensual and intimate moment. Instead of washing his feet with water when he arrives for dinner, Mary makes an extravagant action expressing her love for Jesus. He does not stop her. He does not push her away. He accepts her extravagant offering. Not everyone does.
Judas complains to Jesus that she has wasted a costly ointment that could be sold and the money given to the poor. The text tells us Judas does not really care for the poor, but wants the money for himself. Perhaps this is so. However, I would hazard to guess that Mary's loving action made Judas very uncomfortable. There have been many studies wondering why Judas betrayed Jesus as he did. Surely he loved him. Perhaps, as the other disciples discovered, Judas knew that Jesus did not have a favorite. Judas wanted to be a favorite. Perhaps he wanted to show Jesus his deep love for him. But he was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid to offer a gift of love.
In Inquirer's class last night, we discussed the liturgies of Holy Week. One of our classmates asked about the footwashing on Maundy Thursday. What was it like? Was it mandatory? The general consensus was that it made most of us uncomfortable yet we couldn't really explain why. Some say it is because our feet are rather a private part of our bodies that are often a bit dirty. We don't like to reveal them to another. This is true. What is also true, I believe, is that we are uncomfortable with someone touching us in love where we are vulnerable. It is hard for us to receive love. It is much easier to be the footwasher than the footwashee. On Maundy Thursday, we are often feeling a bit like Judas as he watched Mary give Jesus a gift of love and Jesus receive that gift willingly.
In practice, the liturgies of Holy Week are full of tactile actions that engage many of our senses. Some of the actions are deeply meaningful; others mean very little; and others make us downright uncomfortable. Everyone responds to these liturgies differently. Each year, I try to embrace those actions I love and open myself a bit more to those that I find uncomfortable. I often learn some interesting things about myself, the cross and love.
Exclusion and embrace. In our lives, in the liturgies of Holy Week, in the Passion story.
What action in Holy Week makes you most uncomfortable? May it be a gift of love offered?
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Saturday after Lent V--April 4, 2009
No house, No home
In life no house, no home my Lord on earth might have; in death no friendly tomb but what a stranger gave. What may I say? Heaven was his home; but mine the tomb wherein he lay.
Stanza 6 from "My song is love unknown", Hymn 458, Hymnal 1982
Tomorrow is Palm Sunday and during the Sunday liturgy, we will sing this hymn. We will sing it directly after the dramatic reading of the Passion Gospel. This hymn is one of my very favorite hymns and captures the essence of the Way of the Cross. All through Holy Week, I find the hymns of the church often say what cannot be said in sermon or spoken liturgy. Such is true of this hymn.
Most of us struggle throughout our life to find or recapture a sense of home. We search for the right house, the right job, the right schools for our children. We think if we can just nail down the perfect spot and situation that we will be comforted and at peace. Jesus' life tells us otherwise. We don't know if Jesus lived at home in Nazareth until the age of thirty and the beginning of his public ministry. However, what we remember down through the ages is his life as an itinerant minister. From Galilee to Jerusalem, from Jerusalem through Samaria to Galilee and back, Jesus did not have a permanent home. He spent a good deal of time with Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany. Perhaps he stayed at his family home on occasion. The ministry we remember is his ministry on the road. As always, Jesus turns the cultural expectation upside down.
My grandmother, Mother Nell, was an itinerant woman for the last 20 years of her life. When she sold the family home in Garrett Park, Maryland, she lived for three months at a time with her three children and their families. As a child, I never knew when she was coming to our home. She just arrived. So too, when it was time to move on, one morning her baby blue Samsonite packed suitcase would appear in front of her bedroom door. Her presence in my life grounded me in a deep way. She was a source of comfort and love just by her very presence. When I saw her perusing the obituraries with her magnifying glass each morning in the library, I chuckled and knew all was well.
Mother Nell died at 96. At the end of her life, she made a series of trips to nursing homes. Her two daughters could no longer care for her. My father tried, but finally had to place her in a local nursing home. He and my aunt visited my grandmother every day. She had no house, no home, in a worldly sense. However, when I accompanied my father to visit her, I had a sense of home as soon as I walked into her room. As we rolled her out to the patio to feed the birds, I found home in her presence--even though she was less and less mentally present. Her picture is in my office. Her presence as a strong, faithful, itinerant woman is with me always.
Does our memory of Jesus work like our memory of those we love that we see no longer? Is it the love that passes beyond worldly space and time that is our true sense of home? I think so. It is a love that allows us to let go of our worldly homes and place our faith in a different sense of home. A home that never closes its door to us. A home that is with us always wherever we may be.
Where do you find your sense of home? Who is your sense of home?
In life no house, no home my Lord on earth might have; in death no friendly tomb but what a stranger gave. What may I say? Heaven was his home; but mine the tomb wherein he lay.
Stanza 6 from "My song is love unknown", Hymn 458, Hymnal 1982
Tomorrow is Palm Sunday and during the Sunday liturgy, we will sing this hymn. We will sing it directly after the dramatic reading of the Passion Gospel. This hymn is one of my very favorite hymns and captures the essence of the Way of the Cross. All through Holy Week, I find the hymns of the church often say what cannot be said in sermon or spoken liturgy. Such is true of this hymn.
Most of us struggle throughout our life to find or recapture a sense of home. We search for the right house, the right job, the right schools for our children. We think if we can just nail down the perfect spot and situation that we will be comforted and at peace. Jesus' life tells us otherwise. We don't know if Jesus lived at home in Nazareth until the age of thirty and the beginning of his public ministry. However, what we remember down through the ages is his life as an itinerant minister. From Galilee to Jerusalem, from Jerusalem through Samaria to Galilee and back, Jesus did not have a permanent home. He spent a good deal of time with Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany. Perhaps he stayed at his family home on occasion. The ministry we remember is his ministry on the road. As always, Jesus turns the cultural expectation upside down.
My grandmother, Mother Nell, was an itinerant woman for the last 20 years of her life. When she sold the family home in Garrett Park, Maryland, she lived for three months at a time with her three children and their families. As a child, I never knew when she was coming to our home. She just arrived. So too, when it was time to move on, one morning her baby blue Samsonite packed suitcase would appear in front of her bedroom door. Her presence in my life grounded me in a deep way. She was a source of comfort and love just by her very presence. When I saw her perusing the obituraries with her magnifying glass each morning in the library, I chuckled and knew all was well.
Mother Nell died at 96. At the end of her life, she made a series of trips to nursing homes. Her two daughters could no longer care for her. My father tried, but finally had to place her in a local nursing home. He and my aunt visited my grandmother every day. She had no house, no home, in a worldly sense. However, when I accompanied my father to visit her, I had a sense of home as soon as I walked into her room. As we rolled her out to the patio to feed the birds, I found home in her presence--even though she was less and less mentally present. Her picture is in my office. Her presence as a strong, faithful, itinerant woman is with me always.
Does our memory of Jesus work like our memory of those we love that we see no longer? Is it the love that passes beyond worldly space and time that is our true sense of home? I think so. It is a love that allows us to let go of our worldly homes and place our faith in a different sense of home. A home that never closes its door to us. A home that is with us always wherever we may be.
Where do you find your sense of home? Who is your sense of home?
Friday, April 3, 2009
Friday after Lent V--April 3, 2009
Exclusion and Embrace
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. Whe Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. From the Good Friday Gospel reading from the Gospel of John 18:1-19:42
A different rhythm takes over as we approach Holy Week. At least for those who are immersed in church community. For those creating and revisiting these very sacred liturgies of Holy Week, there is the excitement of the once-a-year services. There are also the lapses of memory: what did we do on Maundy Thursday to remove the aubry candle from its spot during the stripping of the altar? Was it hot to the touch or not? Pressure mounts as all those involved in the services work together to make the liturgies deeply meaningful. But more than that, the rhythm of Holy Week takes on surreal movements in liturgical time. One moment I am firmly centered in the entrance into Jerusalem in the Liturgy of the Palms on Palm Sunday. The next I may be deeply embracing the suffering of the cross as I work on my sermon for Good Friday. The next afternoon, I am talking through the joyous movements of the Easter Day service with our organist Bill.
Moving backward and forward in the events of Jesus' last days. One of the movements of Holy Week that stands out to me this year is the movement of Jesus' followers in the lectionary readings from Palm Sunday onward. On Palm Sunday, the disciples gleefully follow Jesus into Jerusalem until it all goes very wrong. Then Peter, who vowed he would never deny Jesus, goes into hiding and the disciples scatter. At the end, the women are left at the foot of the cross. For the women, one moment they are close to Jesus, the next they are parted from him, then at the resurrection reunited. But not for long. It is a dance of exclusion and embrace. (Thanks to theologian Miroslav Volf for this term)
The passage at the beginning of this meditation is the passage which I am preaching on at the Three Hour service at Sharp Street Baptist on Good Friday. In that passage. Mary and Jesus perform the dance of saying goodbye to one another. There is the parting, the exclusion from one another. Then there is the embrace with the disciple whom Jesus loved. I am working with that image for the Good Friday and Easter Day sermons.
I am so blessed that I will be able to preach at Sharp Street Baptist this Good Friday. Sharp Street is the mother church of African- American Baptists. When I preach at these West Baltimore ecumenical churches, I know I have to be on my preaching game in a big way. I always have to be able to know the congregation to which I'll be preaching. When I come to the ecumenical services, I am aware of the exclusion of church communities over race in years past. I am honored by the embrace that I receive by being included as a preacher. In my sermon, I want to embrace the community. It is still a tentative dance with vulnerabilities all around.
Exclusion and Embrace. As we approach Palm Sunday, be thinking about where is your deepest suffering this Holy Week. Such suffering is often rooted around a painful exclusion or parting. Bring it to the foot of the cross, to the Passion Gospel. Where is your most joyful embrace? Give thanks for it and bring it to the garden of the resurrection on Easter Day.
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. Whe Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. From the Good Friday Gospel reading from the Gospel of John 18:1-19:42
A different rhythm takes over as we approach Holy Week. At least for those who are immersed in church community. For those creating and revisiting these very sacred liturgies of Holy Week, there is the excitement of the once-a-year services. There are also the lapses of memory: what did we do on Maundy Thursday to remove the aubry candle from its spot during the stripping of the altar? Was it hot to the touch or not? Pressure mounts as all those involved in the services work together to make the liturgies deeply meaningful. But more than that, the rhythm of Holy Week takes on surreal movements in liturgical time. One moment I am firmly centered in the entrance into Jerusalem in the Liturgy of the Palms on Palm Sunday. The next I may be deeply embracing the suffering of the cross as I work on my sermon for Good Friday. The next afternoon, I am talking through the joyous movements of the Easter Day service with our organist Bill.
Moving backward and forward in the events of Jesus' last days. One of the movements of Holy Week that stands out to me this year is the movement of Jesus' followers in the lectionary readings from Palm Sunday onward. On Palm Sunday, the disciples gleefully follow Jesus into Jerusalem until it all goes very wrong. Then Peter, who vowed he would never deny Jesus, goes into hiding and the disciples scatter. At the end, the women are left at the foot of the cross. For the women, one moment they are close to Jesus, the next they are parted from him, then at the resurrection reunited. But not for long. It is a dance of exclusion and embrace. (Thanks to theologian Miroslav Volf for this term)
The passage at the beginning of this meditation is the passage which I am preaching on at the Three Hour service at Sharp Street Baptist on Good Friday. In that passage. Mary and Jesus perform the dance of saying goodbye to one another. There is the parting, the exclusion from one another. Then there is the embrace with the disciple whom Jesus loved. I am working with that image for the Good Friday and Easter Day sermons.
I am so blessed that I will be able to preach at Sharp Street Baptist this Good Friday. Sharp Street is the mother church of African- American Baptists. When I preach at these West Baltimore ecumenical churches, I know I have to be on my preaching game in a big way. I always have to be able to know the congregation to which I'll be preaching. When I come to the ecumenical services, I am aware of the exclusion of church communities over race in years past. I am honored by the embrace that I receive by being included as a preacher. In my sermon, I want to embrace the community. It is still a tentative dance with vulnerabilities all around.
Exclusion and Embrace. As we approach Palm Sunday, be thinking about where is your deepest suffering this Holy Week. Such suffering is often rooted around a painful exclusion or parting. Bring it to the foot of the cross, to the Passion Gospel. Where is your most joyful embrace? Give thanks for it and bring it to the garden of the resurrection on Easter Day.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Wednesday after Lent V--April 1, 2009
The world's children
As Jacob journeyed, he came one night to an open place under the stars...And one of the angels stood beside him and said, "Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go. I will never leave you and will bring you back to this land." (Philip Newell translation of Genesis 28-33)
Today I spent a bit of time with Sally and Keenan. Very soon, Sally and Keenan will board a plane to China, travel across the globe, and in a small rural village, meet their new daughter Lucy for the first time. Then, the three of them, a new family now, will get back on the plane and travel across the globe home. What amazing years will be in store for all three of them! As I spoke to them, I remembered how our family was changed and amazed by the arrival of a little boy named Max.
After several years of trying to have a baby, our friends Mary Lou and Bob decided to adopt. Their son Max arrived from South Korea not long after our own son Jack was born. As it turns out, Jack and Max were born three days apart. From the first day that Max arrived at Washington National Airport until we left for Richmond after seminary, Jack and Max were a twosome. Max would carefully build bridges and buildings with his blocks; Jack would knock them down. I have a picture of the two of them sitting side by side in a chair--each with lime green popsicle juice all over their clothes, hands, and faces. Although we haven't seen Max for a few years now, he will always be a part of our lives and Jack's. In fact, I have often wondered if Jack's passion about Asian culture may have to do in part with spending so many early years with Max.
It's hard to believe that just a generation or two ago, adoption was not something folks spoke about very much. It had a slight dishonor to it. And cross-cultural adoptions? Folks would politely say that they were very "unusual." Today, I hope that any stigma to adoption is gone. It is a blessing to care for a young life---and a special blessing to care for a life that comes to you from another part of the world. For the incarnation works this way--when we are asked to care and love a young life, we realize very quickly that a human being is a human being is a human being. Love doesn't need translators or cultural interpreters. Please send up a prayer for Sally, Keenan and Lucy. And for all the children in the world who need someone to love and care for them.
As Jacob journeyed, he came one night to an open place under the stars...And one of the angels stood beside him and said, "Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go. I will never leave you and will bring you back to this land." (Philip Newell translation of Genesis 28-33)
Today I spent a bit of time with Sally and Keenan. Very soon, Sally and Keenan will board a plane to China, travel across the globe, and in a small rural village, meet their new daughter Lucy for the first time. Then, the three of them, a new family now, will get back on the plane and travel across the globe home. What amazing years will be in store for all three of them! As I spoke to them, I remembered how our family was changed and amazed by the arrival of a little boy named Max.
After several years of trying to have a baby, our friends Mary Lou and Bob decided to adopt. Their son Max arrived from South Korea not long after our own son Jack was born. As it turns out, Jack and Max were born three days apart. From the first day that Max arrived at Washington National Airport until we left for Richmond after seminary, Jack and Max were a twosome. Max would carefully build bridges and buildings with his blocks; Jack would knock them down. I have a picture of the two of them sitting side by side in a chair--each with lime green popsicle juice all over their clothes, hands, and faces. Although we haven't seen Max for a few years now, he will always be a part of our lives and Jack's. In fact, I have often wondered if Jack's passion about Asian culture may have to do in part with spending so many early years with Max.
It's hard to believe that just a generation or two ago, adoption was not something folks spoke about very much. It had a slight dishonor to it. And cross-cultural adoptions? Folks would politely say that they were very "unusual." Today, I hope that any stigma to adoption is gone. It is a blessing to care for a young life---and a special blessing to care for a life that comes to you from another part of the world. For the incarnation works this way--when we are asked to care and love a young life, we realize very quickly that a human being is a human being is a human being. Love doesn't need translators or cultural interpreters. Please send up a prayer for Sally, Keenan and Lucy. And for all the children in the world who need someone to love and care for them.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday after Lent V--March 30, 2009
Finding God in the Dark
Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day. Psalm 139
At our parent retreat on Saturday afternoon, we talked about what we found frightening about the dark. When we were little, were we afraid of the dark? Most of us were. On Saturday, we named some things that were frightening about the dark. We were afraid of imaginary types of things--hobgoblins and ghosts and zombies were top of the list. We were also afraid of things that were real--rabid foxes (someone grew up in the country)and burglars (for the city folk). For almost everyone who was afraid of the dark as a child, the number one reason was being all alone and separated from our parents. A light in the hall was a help. A voice responding to our cries was even better. A loving hug that all was well was best of all.
At one time or another in our lives as adults, we wake up at night and can't go back to sleep. Our minds are racing with many thoughts and worries. When we can't sleep, some of us get up, turn the light on and work. Some of us turn the light on and read ourselves back to sleep. Some toss and turn the rest of the night. Some stay in the dark and say a memorized psalm or prayer. I often think that if I just get comfortable once again, I'll go back to sleep. So, I often toss and turn for a while. In my better moments, I remember that God is in the dark night with me. I recite Compline to myself to connect with God--and often I am asleep before I get to the psalm portion of Compline. I also remind myself that when I wake in the night, it is usually because I have overdone myself at work. I try gently to remind myself to take it easy. I imagine that when I do these things, God smiles.
I can't say that I do remember that God is in the night with me every time. Sometimes I just toss and turn and think. When I was a little girl, I was afraid of the dark. I needed a light on in the hall. Sometimes I would cry out and be comforted when my mother answered or, better yet, came to sit on the edge of my bed until I went back to sleep. Now, inner fears can surface in the night. God is there. In the dark. Right there next to me on the edge of the bed. God is there all along.
What do you do when you can't sleep? Can you find God in the dark?
Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day. Psalm 139
At our parent retreat on Saturday afternoon, we talked about what we found frightening about the dark. When we were little, were we afraid of the dark? Most of us were. On Saturday, we named some things that were frightening about the dark. We were afraid of imaginary types of things--hobgoblins and ghosts and zombies were top of the list. We were also afraid of things that were real--rabid foxes (someone grew up in the country)and burglars (for the city folk). For almost everyone who was afraid of the dark as a child, the number one reason was being all alone and separated from our parents. A light in the hall was a help. A voice responding to our cries was even better. A loving hug that all was well was best of all.
At one time or another in our lives as adults, we wake up at night and can't go back to sleep. Our minds are racing with many thoughts and worries. When we can't sleep, some of us get up, turn the light on and work. Some of us turn the light on and read ourselves back to sleep. Some toss and turn the rest of the night. Some stay in the dark and say a memorized psalm or prayer. I often think that if I just get comfortable once again, I'll go back to sleep. So, I often toss and turn for a while. In my better moments, I remember that God is in the dark night with me. I recite Compline to myself to connect with God--and often I am asleep before I get to the psalm portion of Compline. I also remind myself that when I wake in the night, it is usually because I have overdone myself at work. I try gently to remind myself to take it easy. I imagine that when I do these things, God smiles.
I can't say that I do remember that God is in the night with me every time. Sometimes I just toss and turn and think. When I was a little girl, I was afraid of the dark. I needed a light on in the hall. Sometimes I would cry out and be comforted when my mother answered or, better yet, came to sit on the edge of my bed until I went back to sleep. Now, inner fears can surface in the night. God is there. In the dark. Right there next to me on the edge of the bed. God is there all along.
What do you do when you can't sleep? Can you find God in the dark?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Saturday after Lent IV--March 28, 2009
Crossing Over Part Two
And leaving the crowd behind, the disciples took Jesus with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm 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 not 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?" Mark 4: 36-41
In my sermon at the Lenten ecumenical series at Union Baptist on Wednesday, my sermon theme was "crossing over." Now we all cross over thresholds in all through our lives. We learn to walk and walk across the room into our parent's waiting arms. We learn to cross the street. As adults, we cross from one neighborhood to another as we go to work and back home again. Sometimes I wonder to myself how many times I've crossed North Avenue off of 1-83 as I make my way to school and home and church. Crossing over is part of the repetition that brings God's love to us in our ordinary routines.
But then there is a crossing over such as the disciples find with Jesus in Mark's gospel. There is that time when we are called to step into the boat, go out into the wind and waves, and cross over into a place that we fear and dread. Sometimes that's the only way for us truly to trust God. To get in the boat when we least want to get in the boat. A surgery. A death. Leaving a relationship. Confronting the other. Embracing the other.
On Wednesday, I told a story about my time in South Africa and a time that I had to get into the boat, ride the wind and the waves, and cross over into a new way of living. Near St Francis Church in Walkerville, there is an elderly group home called Abbeyfield. During my time, eight proper British ladies lived there. At the back of the property was a one-room shack. In that one-room shack lived Delores--Abbeyfield's maid. I would see Delores when I came to celebrate a monthly Eucharist with the ladies. She would often come in for communion from the kitchen. Then, I didn't see her for a good long time. One day, I received a call from one of the ladies. Would I come and visit Delores--she was back and very ill.
The day I arrived to visit Delores, the ladies were waiting for me. They explained that she had gone home to the Orange Free State (about a day's journey) because she was ill. However, she had come back. Her family had asked her to leave. They had disowned her. Delores had AIDS. As I crossed the yard to visit her, I had to ask Jesus to be with me. AIDS was making its way across South Africa from Durban to Johannesberg slowly. This was my first AIDS visit in Africa. What would the visit bring? I entered the shack. It was dark. I couldn't see a thing. Gradually, I saw a figured huddled uner several blankets on a simple cot. As I came closer, it was Delores. Horribly thin, shaking with fever. She asked for communion. As she took the Body and Blood of Jesus, I noticed her face and mouth were covered in sores. I sat with her and held her hand. There wasn't much to say except pray. Pray for Jesus to ride with her through this storm. After I visited Delores, she died a few days later.
I will always think of Delores as the face of AIDS in Africa. In her suffering, there were many crossing overs. The English ladies of Abbeyfield were asked by Jesus to get in the boat and care for a black woman. They crossed over into a new life and became her only family at the end. Delores had to cross over and come to Abbeyfield to find a home where she could die with dignity and peace. That's what mission is all about --crossing over into a new land. Stepping in the boat when we are ful of faith and when we are fearful. Knowing that Jesus is with us with every waves. Where has God asked you to get in the boat this Lent?
And leaving the crowd behind, the disciples took Jesus with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm 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 not 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?" Mark 4: 36-41
In my sermon at the Lenten ecumenical series at Union Baptist on Wednesday, my sermon theme was "crossing over." Now we all cross over thresholds in all through our lives. We learn to walk and walk across the room into our parent's waiting arms. We learn to cross the street. As adults, we cross from one neighborhood to another as we go to work and back home again. Sometimes I wonder to myself how many times I've crossed North Avenue off of 1-83 as I make my way to school and home and church. Crossing over is part of the repetition that brings God's love to us in our ordinary routines.
But then there is a crossing over such as the disciples find with Jesus in Mark's gospel. There is that time when we are called to step into the boat, go out into the wind and waves, and cross over into a place that we fear and dread. Sometimes that's the only way for us truly to trust God. To get in the boat when we least want to get in the boat. A surgery. A death. Leaving a relationship. Confronting the other. Embracing the other.
On Wednesday, I told a story about my time in South Africa and a time that I had to get into the boat, ride the wind and the waves, and cross over into a new way of living. Near St Francis Church in Walkerville, there is an elderly group home called Abbeyfield. During my time, eight proper British ladies lived there. At the back of the property was a one-room shack. In that one-room shack lived Delores--Abbeyfield's maid. I would see Delores when I came to celebrate a monthly Eucharist with the ladies. She would often come in for communion from the kitchen. Then, I didn't see her for a good long time. One day, I received a call from one of the ladies. Would I come and visit Delores--she was back and very ill.
The day I arrived to visit Delores, the ladies were waiting for me. They explained that she had gone home to the Orange Free State (about a day's journey) because she was ill. However, she had come back. Her family had asked her to leave. They had disowned her. Delores had AIDS. As I crossed the yard to visit her, I had to ask Jesus to be with me. AIDS was making its way across South Africa from Durban to Johannesberg slowly. This was my first AIDS visit in Africa. What would the visit bring? I entered the shack. It was dark. I couldn't see a thing. Gradually, I saw a figured huddled uner several blankets on a simple cot. As I came closer, it was Delores. Horribly thin, shaking with fever. She asked for communion. As she took the Body and Blood of Jesus, I noticed her face and mouth were covered in sores. I sat with her and held her hand. There wasn't much to say except pray. Pray for Jesus to ride with her through this storm. After I visited Delores, she died a few days later.
I will always think of Delores as the face of AIDS in Africa. In her suffering, there were many crossing overs. The English ladies of Abbeyfield were asked by Jesus to get in the boat and care for a black woman. They crossed over into a new life and became her only family at the end. Delores had to cross over and come to Abbeyfield to find a home where she could die with dignity and peace. That's what mission is all about --crossing over into a new land. Stepping in the boat when we are ful of faith and when we are fearful. Knowing that Jesus is with us with every waves. Where has God asked you to get in the boat this Lent?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday and Wednesday after Lent IV--March 24 & 25
Crossing Over
On that day, when evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, "Let us go across to the other side." Mark 4:35
I've been praying over this passage for a few days now. It is the passage that I am preaching on at the Lenten Ecumenical Service at Union Baptist on Druid Hill Avenue this noonday. The rest of the passage is about Jesus and disciples in the boat when a great storm arises. The wind lashes at the sails and the waves violently rock the boat. Amidst the clamor and fear, Jesus calmly sleeps in the bottom of the boat. All curled up like a cat in the sun, I imagine, while bedlam and choas are all around him. Finally, the disciples wake him up. "Don't you care about us perishing in this storm?" they ask. Jesus essentially says what he often says---don't be afraid, I am with you, have faith. Then Jesus calmly, deliberately, stills the storm. Everyone arrives on the other side of the sea intact.
My theme for the sermon is "Crossing Over." I'll report tonight on how I actually preached this text and theme. When you read this, think of yourself as the preacher. How would you preach this passage? What immediately comes to mind when you imagine yourself in the boat?
On that day, when evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, "Let us go across to the other side." Mark 4:35
I've been praying over this passage for a few days now. It is the passage that I am preaching on at the Lenten Ecumenical Service at Union Baptist on Druid Hill Avenue this noonday. The rest of the passage is about Jesus and disciples in the boat when a great storm arises. The wind lashes at the sails and the waves violently rock the boat. Amidst the clamor and fear, Jesus calmly sleeps in the bottom of the boat. All curled up like a cat in the sun, I imagine, while bedlam and choas are all around him. Finally, the disciples wake him up. "Don't you care about us perishing in this storm?" they ask. Jesus essentially says what he often says---don't be afraid, I am with you, have faith. Then Jesus calmly, deliberately, stills the storm. Everyone arrives on the other side of the sea intact.
My theme for the sermon is "Crossing Over." I'll report tonight on how I actually preached this text and theme. When you read this, think of yourself as the preacher. How would you preach this passage? What immediately comes to mind when you imagine yourself in the boat?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Monday after Lent IV--March 23, 2009
Our Mission in the World
The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; and dust shall be the serpent's food. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, says the Lord. Isaiah 65:24-25.
Yesterday evening gave me much food for thought. At our Inquirer's Class, we had a spirited discussion about our role in the world. We've been reading Brian McLaren's book on reclaiming the ancient Christian practices. McLaren argues that three practices are essential to Christian life: the contemplative practice( our individual relationship with God through prayer and silence), the communal practice (our worship life in a gathered community), and our missional practice( our ministry in the world). All three practices are essential to a full life in Christ and inform one another--kind of like the Trinity! (but that's a topic for another day) On the topic of mission, we each shared where we find that we share the love of Christ with another in the world. Responses ranged from working with women in recovery to doing odd jobs for friends and relatives. All were clear signs of mission.
After class, I attended the service for Diocesan Peace in the Middle East which Memorial hosted this month. As part of the reflection, Wendy Shuford read a story about the hardships and injustices at the checkpoints in the Gaza strip. She told a moving story of a Palestinian man who had his leg amputated outside of the Palestinian area. He was coming back to bury his amputated leg in the burial area of Palestine. When he died, he wanted to have his leg buried with his body. He was held up for ten hours at the checkpoint while soldiers determined if the leg held explosives, if the proper papers existed, if the leg really was his leg. During what must have been a horrific experience, someone waited with this man. It was a Jewish grandmother. She waited with him to make sure that he got through the checkpoint to his home with his leg. At the checkpoints in Gaza, there is a ministry of presence in these Jewish grandmothers. Every day, they show up and document ill-treatment and abuse and just plain incompetence at these checkpoint. They are working for peace--one day, one individual at a time.
I am inspired by their story. I wonder if I could state my daily mission in the world so clearly. That will be one of my spiritual inquiries for the week. How do I work for peace and justice each day?
The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; and dust shall be the serpent's food. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, says the Lord. Isaiah 65:24-25.
Yesterday evening gave me much food for thought. At our Inquirer's Class, we had a spirited discussion about our role in the world. We've been reading Brian McLaren's book on reclaiming the ancient Christian practices. McLaren argues that three practices are essential to Christian life: the contemplative practice( our individual relationship with God through prayer and silence), the communal practice (our worship life in a gathered community), and our missional practice( our ministry in the world). All three practices are essential to a full life in Christ and inform one another--kind of like the Trinity! (but that's a topic for another day) On the topic of mission, we each shared where we find that we share the love of Christ with another in the world. Responses ranged from working with women in recovery to doing odd jobs for friends and relatives. All were clear signs of mission.
After class, I attended the service for Diocesan Peace in the Middle East which Memorial hosted this month. As part of the reflection, Wendy Shuford read a story about the hardships and injustices at the checkpoints in the Gaza strip. She told a moving story of a Palestinian man who had his leg amputated outside of the Palestinian area. He was coming back to bury his amputated leg in the burial area of Palestine. When he died, he wanted to have his leg buried with his body. He was held up for ten hours at the checkpoint while soldiers determined if the leg held explosives, if the proper papers existed, if the leg really was his leg. During what must have been a horrific experience, someone waited with this man. It was a Jewish grandmother. She waited with him to make sure that he got through the checkpoint to his home with his leg. At the checkpoints in Gaza, there is a ministry of presence in these Jewish grandmothers. Every day, they show up and document ill-treatment and abuse and just plain incompetence at these checkpoint. They are working for peace--one day, one individual at a time.
I am inspired by their story. I wonder if I could state my daily mission in the world so clearly. That will be one of my spiritual inquiries for the week. How do I work for peace and justice each day?
Friday, March 20, 2009
Friday after Lent III--March 20, 2009
In the in-between
It is now Friday and I am just getting used to being out in Western Maryland. My routine is set for the week. Yet it is time to think about coming back to Baltimore. Like any vacation or time away, it is a time to transition. Much of our life is entering into communities and ways of life, moving back to older communities, and moving on to new ones. There is the transition from family home to school, school to college, college to work, work to retirement. There are family members who move on to eternal life to be replaced by the newborn. There are friends left behind in a move and new friends gained in a new place. Our life is full of deaths and new births in many ways.
I've been thinking quite a lot this week about Judith Mosley. Judith Mosley is a longtime Memorialite who moved to New Mexico a couple of years ago. She left behind several strong communities who supported her day in and day out. Before she had time to establish new ties, she was diagnosed with ALS or Lou' Gehrig's disease. ALS is a neuromuscular disease that has no cure. Judith now would like to spend her last days in Baltimore. She has certainly been in the in-between. This week she was to fly back to Baltimore; however, when the medical team arrived to take her to the airport, it became evident that the disease had progressed to the point where she could no longer sit upright in an airplane. Now, the only way to get Judith home is for her to fly on an air ambulance which is $12,500. As friends try to raise the money to get her to Baltimore, we realize that so many are in the in-between these days. Money worries, health issues, relationship uncertainties. Judith's situation makes all of our in-betweens more pronounced and, at the same time, small by comparison. One thing is certain--it is hard to be at the end of one's journey on earth and be in transition with one's daily surroundings. The spiritual journey is transition enough. Please pray for Judith, her caregivers, and all who love her.
It is now Friday and I am just getting used to being out in Western Maryland. My routine is set for the week. Yet it is time to think about coming back to Baltimore. Like any vacation or time away, it is a time to transition. Much of our life is entering into communities and ways of life, moving back to older communities, and moving on to new ones. There is the transition from family home to school, school to college, college to work, work to retirement. There are family members who move on to eternal life to be replaced by the newborn. There are friends left behind in a move and new friends gained in a new place. Our life is full of deaths and new births in many ways.
I've been thinking quite a lot this week about Judith Mosley. Judith Mosley is a longtime Memorialite who moved to New Mexico a couple of years ago. She left behind several strong communities who supported her day in and day out. Before she had time to establish new ties, she was diagnosed with ALS or Lou' Gehrig's disease. ALS is a neuromuscular disease that has no cure. Judith now would like to spend her last days in Baltimore. She has certainly been in the in-between. This week she was to fly back to Baltimore; however, when the medical team arrived to take her to the airport, it became evident that the disease had progressed to the point where she could no longer sit upright in an airplane. Now, the only way to get Judith home is for her to fly on an air ambulance which is $12,500. As friends try to raise the money to get her to Baltimore, we realize that so many are in the in-between these days. Money worries, health issues, relationship uncertainties. Judith's situation makes all of our in-betweens more pronounced and, at the same time, small by comparison. One thing is certain--it is hard to be at the end of one's journey on earth and be in transition with one's daily surroundings. The spiritual journey is transition enough. Please pray for Judith, her caregivers, and all who love her.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Thursday after Lent III--March 19, 2009
Waiting
I waited patiently upon the Lord; he stooped to me and heard my cry. Psalm 40:1
Waiting has never been easy. It's something that we all have to learn to deal with on a regular basis. With our new "instant" messaging--e-mails, chats, twittering, we hope that everyone will be available when we need them. When we have an urgent e-mail ( and what we define as urgent is always up for examination), we hope that our e-mail recipient is on-line at that moment, ready with an answer. It's as if the world is just waiting for us and our questions. When we are under a good deal of stress due to time pressures (which are almost unrealistic on occasion) or personal issues, it is easy to get frustrated.
I continue to be transfixed by Kathleen Norris' book on Acedia. In it, she talks about waiting. In particular, she shares a time when she was in charge of keeping financial records for companies. Her new software added amazing feats of organization, yet, in order to save her time as a bookkeeper, she had to wait a few seconds for the computer to do its task. One day, she became frustrated at the wait. She decided to time the wait. The wait was 10 seconds! 10 seconds! There have been instances when I've felt the same way. When you sit down, pause and think about it, it seems ridiculous. Yet who of us hasn't felt that way?
Norris writes about how this has always been the case. When the zippy stage coach was invented, some folks bemoaned the loss of days on horseback or foot--when there was time to smell the roadside flowers or speak to a fellow traveler resting under the tree. The stage coach led folks to expect to get to Philadelphia in one day instead of two. Expectations increased. Frustration with slowness abounded.
When I am in Western Maryland and am working, I do check our Sunday bulletins and publications. I come to the library once a day. Sometimes I don't get an answer right away on a question or two. Sometimes I am not available for a question. Is it really that important? Sometimes I get anxious about my inability to be present at all times, yet is that ever really neceaary for any of us? Communication does work at this mountain pace. I think about my usual week--when I am running between meetings, checking bulletins and goldenrods. Is there a calmer way to live and still get the information out? Is waiting such a bad thing? The prophet Isaiah tells us that those who wait on the Lord renew their strength. Good advice.
I waited patiently upon the Lord; he stooped to me and heard my cry. Psalm 40:1
Waiting has never been easy. It's something that we all have to learn to deal with on a regular basis. With our new "instant" messaging--e-mails, chats, twittering, we hope that everyone will be available when we need them. When we have an urgent e-mail ( and what we define as urgent is always up for examination), we hope that our e-mail recipient is on-line at that moment, ready with an answer. It's as if the world is just waiting for us and our questions. When we are under a good deal of stress due to time pressures (which are almost unrealistic on occasion) or personal issues, it is easy to get frustrated.
I continue to be transfixed by Kathleen Norris' book on Acedia. In it, she talks about waiting. In particular, she shares a time when she was in charge of keeping financial records for companies. Her new software added amazing feats of organization, yet, in order to save her time as a bookkeeper, she had to wait a few seconds for the computer to do its task. One day, she became frustrated at the wait. She decided to time the wait. The wait was 10 seconds! 10 seconds! There have been instances when I've felt the same way. When you sit down, pause and think about it, it seems ridiculous. Yet who of us hasn't felt that way?
Norris writes about how this has always been the case. When the zippy stage coach was invented, some folks bemoaned the loss of days on horseback or foot--when there was time to smell the roadside flowers or speak to a fellow traveler resting under the tree. The stage coach led folks to expect to get to Philadelphia in one day instead of two. Expectations increased. Frustration with slowness abounded.
When I am in Western Maryland and am working, I do check our Sunday bulletins and publications. I come to the library once a day. Sometimes I don't get an answer right away on a question or two. Sometimes I am not available for a question. Is it really that important? Sometimes I get anxious about my inability to be present at all times, yet is that ever really neceaary for any of us? Communication does work at this mountain pace. I think about my usual week--when I am running between meetings, checking bulletins and goldenrods. Is there a calmer way to live and still get the information out? Is waiting such a bad thing? The prophet Isaiah tells us that those who wait on the Lord renew their strength. Good advice.
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