Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God. To the saints who are in Ephesus and are faithful in Christ Jesus: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. The Letter of Paul to the Ephesians 1:1-2
And so it begins. Paul, the sometimes cantakerous and always wordy fellow, begins his letter to the Christian church in Ephesus. I've always loved this letter. Our Episcopal lectionary brings the Letter of Ephesians to our Sunday consciousness at Epiphany. It is a letter that brings tidings of hope and celebration.
Scholars are divided as to the authorship of the Letter to the Ephesians. Was it Paul himself who wrote the letter or one of his followers? Ephesians is regarded as a "circular letter" that was not written specifically for the church in Ephesus, but distributed to the churches in Asia Minor. There are significant differences in the writing style and content within the Letter to the Ephesians from works attributed definitively to Paul. Such differences lead scholars to believe that the letter was written by a follower of Paul...someone who had access to Paul's correspondence. If that is the case, so be it. Yet, something in me likes to think that Paul was the author of this letter---at least, the author of the original draft of the letter. For scholars do think, that if Paul did write the letter, he did so at the end of his life while he was in prison.
As one reads the Letter to the Ephesians, the hope and celebration leap off the page---and this is even more palpable when one considers that Paul is writing these words in a jail cell at the end of his life. I find that the Letter to the Ephesians speaks to me when I am particularly feeling in a prison of sorts--often a prison of my own devising. The letter speaks to me when I find myself stuck in some way.
As we begin the New Year 2010 together, I'd like to use the Letter to the Ephesians as a scriptural text for our wondering about hope and celebration in a difficult time. I hope you'll join me in this journey. Add your comments if so moved. Or just come along as you are able. Grace to you and Peace. Martha+
Monday, January 4, 2010
Monday, December 7, 2009
Prepare the Way of the Lord
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.
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, 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?
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