Walking the Water Way

New Blog Address

2011-10-11T21:42:00.000-04:00

There is a new address for this blog. We are moving to http://walkingthewaterway2.blogspot.com/ or here. Become a follower at the new site as the story of the pilgrimage continues...

Chapter 4: Packing Matters

2011-10-05T19:41:00.001-04:00

This is the continued story from my journal of the walk from D.C. to Pittsburgh, learning the gospel of John by heart. Here I am still in the preparation phase. It is April, 2008.

Two days ago, I said good-bye to the congregation and my responsibilities for three months, and now I am eager to begin my new work, learning John. The gospel starts out with several paragraphs that biblical scholars call the “prologue,” or literally, “words-before.” I call it poetry, although that’s not technically accurate either. Anyway, this prologue poem is packed with individual words that are heavy with significance. If I were to list some of these weighty words, it would include the following: beginning, word, God, life, light, darkness, witness, testify, believe, coming, world, know, receive, children of God, born, flesh, glory, father, only son, grace, truth, law. These words each have their own poetic color. They are the fringe at the beginning edge of John’s tapestry, inviting my eyes on one end to follow each strand of color as it is woven into patterns throughout the gospel. I know what’s going to happen. These threads will emerge out into the fringe on the other side of the gospel and the other end of my walk, only for me to find that on their way they wrapped themselves into me and me into them.   They have already begun this entangling enterprise, since the prologue has been well-packed into my memory for several months.    Out of my brain’s storage unit, the weighty words keep popping up here and there: on walks, in songs, in a book, inviting my attention.

But practical packing matters are needing my attention too. With the walk only a few days from starting, I have spread out before me on the floor all the items I want to carry in my backpack while hiking. I’ve decided that making a list of what I need to pack each day on the walk is a good precaution. I wouldn’t want to forget anything, like discovering three miles down the trail that I forgot to pack water, for example. Surprised that there is so much on the floor waiting to fit in the pack, here is the current list: several bottles of water, a lunch bag (which each day will carry half a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, a couple of snack bars, nuts, carrots, one hard boiled egg for Chester), hot dog bits for when I need to get Chester’s attention and encourage his obedience, a small metal dish for him to drink water, an extra leash to tie him to a post or tree when I need to have my hands free or walk into a restroom, a whistle in case he gets loose and I have to call him back, plastic bags for dog clean-up and trash, my rain coat and rain pants, Chester’s rain coat, a cell phone, a little money, a trail map, a camera and telephoto lens, an extra camera battery, hiking shoe laces, a small flashlight for tunnels, and three little, soft-bound, plastic albums: one containing the portion of John I am learning, the second, my home-made prayer book with things and people I want to remember to pray for, and the third, a collection of hymn-texts I want to sing and learn. I am taking a pen, but I decide that my beautiful, hard-bound journal with its smooth, rich pages, given to me by the church staff, should stay at the camping trailer. It is heavy, and as my list and the pile on the floor grows, the weight of the pack is becoming an issue; so I take instead a few pieces of paper to jot things down during the walk and later copy into the journal. Depending on the weather, I may be wearing or carrying in the backpack an extra fleece pullover and a jacket.   I have not even named the first-aid stuff yet: there are band-aids, blister band-aids, a pocket-knife, antibiotic ointment, fresh wipes, insect spray, and sunscreen. I think that is all. Oh, yes, a mostly used roll of toilet paper.

Pilgrims are supposed to walk lightly. My backpack, bursting with preparedness, feels on first heft like its weight totally contradicts this maxim. Yet there is not a thing I can wisely do without, except possibly the rain gear on days when the weather forecast is absolutely certain of sun. I refuse to walk without the camera. My back will just have to grow stronger.

Later in the morning I take a break from packing and walk with Chester down Gilbert Road, about three miles. Along the side of the road I see an interesting tangle of thick, bare vines. It makes me think of how John’s gospel weaves the weighty words in and out. There is not one of those prologue words that I can wisely ignore while walking through John’s many chapters. In addition, I will need to leave room for other substantial words that crop up later, like bread and vine and shepherd. My pilgrim memory will just have to grow stronger too.

As I continue walking and mentally going through lists of packing for food, campfires, bedding and cleaning supplies, I am reminded of a recently learned verse from John 8 where Jesus tells the religious leaders: “There is no place in you for my word.”   I smile, knowing the current truth to that statement. There is no place to put some of the things I want to take in the camping trailer. I will have to be selective. I took movies and books over on my last trip loading the camper. Its space is getting crowded. Now I’m realizing that, if I take too much to do, I won’t have the interior space to do what I am called to do: walk contemplatively, listen, be open, and learn John with my heart. It is, in fact, because a pastor’s life is so full of busyness, listening to everyone, but not much listening to God, that I have been granted time away in the first place. Even if my backpack is down to only the essentials, too much in the camper will crowd out space in my evening listening hours too. Why is it pastors are afraid to go anywhere without an array of books? “There is no place in you for my word.” Maybe I should invite God to walk through the camping trailer with me and get rid of a few of the extra things I have packed. At least a lighter trailer will save on gasoline.

    This pilgrim prays:

    God, I am almost packed and as ready as I can be to walk.
    There is a stir of expectancy in me.
    I think I see the fringes of what might lie ahead,
        glimpse where threads of John’s words may be leading.
    But only you can unpack the words into what
        you want me to hear, and see and know.
    Only you can weave its colors into some
        kind of tapestry that catches up strands of my life.
    I will try to be attentive.
    I will try to be open.
    I will try to give you the space you need.
    But I cannot do any of these things apart
        from your grace upon grace,
        unclutching my laden arms,
        sweeping out my clutter,
        weaving your words into me,
        coloring the walk with patterns of you from the very beginning.

To be continued....

Chapter 3; Walking Prayer

2011-09-26T10:57:00.000-04:00

The continued story from my journal of the walk from D.C. to Pittsburgh, learning the gospel of John by heart. Here I am still in the preparation phase. It is October 2007.

When I tell people about the coming walk, they frequently express concern. Are you walking alone? they ask. I assure them that I am walking with my dog Chester and that his trainer is certain he will be the protective canine when necessary. I tell them that Rick will never be too far away: we have cell phones and walkie-talkies, and since the walk is on a bike trail, he can get to me quickly on his bicycle if necessary. But they are silently unconvinced; I see concern in their eyes and hear doubt in their voices. All pilgrimages have risks, I tell them, but their questions prod me into acknowledging I will need to rely on God’s protection on the trail.

I am reminded of that again on this last Friday in October, my last free day to investigate one last campground near Pittsburgh before it closes for the season.   Rick and I have discovered the wisdom of checking out our planned stopping places beforehand, but he is in Seattle for the week, so I have to do this final investigation on my own. Early in the morning I load the dogs in the car and we head west for the day. I anticipate it will be a glorious day: a beautiful drive across the Appalachians in their fall colors and a leisurely lunch rendevous with my son and daughter-in-law near a turnpike exit. I have not seen them for several months, and conversations in person, especially over a meal, are so much better than email.

But I am mindful today of the need for God’s traveling protection, partly because of people’s persistent anxiety about the walk, and also because I have been reading Joyce Rupp’s Walking in a Relaxed Manner about her pilgrimage on the Camino in Spain. She and her walking companion had written a prayer to begin their walk each day. Their walking prayer had included a petition for God’s protection for their daily journey. I have been pondering what prayer I will compose for my own walk and, because of my friends’ concern, have determined that a petition asking God’s Spirit to surround and protect me will be part of it. So while driving, I start working on the walking prayer in my head.

It is cloudy with fog nesting in the mountain crevices. The misty, monotonous gray light mutes the oranges, yellows, reds, browns and deepest greens that quilt the slopes. More mellow in color than if the sun were shining, it is a beauty lovely in its subtle gentleness. Several hours later, on the other side of many ridges, the possible campground is checked out (not a favorite, but adequate) and lunch is delightful. As we leave the restaurant, the gray skies at last rip from the pressure of withholding rain for months of drought. Their downpour drenches good-byes, and we run instead to our separate cars, little ships on a gray parking lot lake. The dogs and I plow back home through turnpike waves, breakers and spray that trucks churn in passing us.

It is harder to notice autumn scenery in sheets of rain, and the driving is less than thrilling. I am growing sleepy in the mid-afternoon, so I turn the car into one of the many pull-outs, give the dogs a treat, and dig into a bag for the iced tea and chocolate breakfast bar. I don’t bother to turn off the ignition for this short pause. Soon we are on our way again, and the chocolate-tea caffeine slowly takes effect. Later I will take note and be mildly surprised that, even with drinking tea at lunch and on the road, I never stop at any of the rest areas we pass along the way. Around 5:30 p.m. we pull into the gas station near home with the gas tank registering empty. While I fill the car with gas, grateful for the station’s shelter overhead to keep off the steady rain, I plan a quick stop at the nearby grocery store for milk and then a quiet evening of reading.

But the car will not start. After stopping and starting at morning rest stops, at a campground, and at a Pittsburgh restaurant, my trusty vehicle has finally had enough. Gas stations are not service stations anymore, and so I must find my own help. In looking for my cell phone, I now discover that I did not even remember to bring it with me on the trip today. All sorts of scenarios start to play with my imagination. What if this had happened? What if that? I chide myself; how could I be so forgetful and unprepared? I now realize how fortunate I am not to have turned off the car the whole way home until here.

Meanwhile, with the aid of the store clerk’s phone, I call a few friends in the area who might possibly help. No one is home except for one family entertaining guests for dinner, and rather than interrupt their meal, I tell them I’ll call back if I’m really stuck. I phone the emergency road service which I have dutifully paid for every year and use about as often. The early evening makes things difficult to see, and while waiting in the dark car I wonder how the number of our close neighborhood friends has dwindled. Has it been because of our busyness? Because my work and new friends are several towns away? Because our children have grown and left home? Strangers keep pulling up to the gas pumps and leaving while I miss the neighbors who have moved away and remember how we used to carry our sleepy children back home after an evening of games and conversation.   My thoughts turn bleaker. If road service cannot start my car and it must be towed away, I imagine walking along the dark, slick Bumblebee Hollow Road for a mile with sixty pound Chester pulling on his leash while I carry the geriatric Elsie. Impossible. We all treasure the I-will-come-help-you-and your fur-shedding-dogs-be-safe-at-any-time-of-the-day-or-night friends.

After two hours of this melancholy thinking, road service arrives and does indeed jump the car battery, warning that it will die again as soon as I stop the car. We are moving once more, and in two short minutes the familiar sound of crunching gravel signals to the dogs we are in our driveway. I finally relax. To be sitting in the car, rain pattering on its roof, dogs panting and fogging its windows, peering at the blackness of my house looming in the night, is much better than any of my anxious projections. The car has died for good until it receives a new battery transplant, but all that can wait until Rick gets home from the airport with his truck. The present silence from motored noise is a blessed benediction. I am home, dogs safe, no milk for cereal, but soon to have a book to read and a blanket to wrap around me.

So before opening the car door, I pause to be grateful and remember my morning prayer for God’s protection and recall how my son at lunch had thanked God for traveling care in the day. God’s care has met me where I have been unable and even unaware enough to protect myself. Of the many places throughout the day where the car could have refused to start and where without a cell phone I would have had much more difficulty making connections and getting home, the local gas station stop has been a gift of grace. The probing questions of my friends, and yes, I do have good friends, about the safety of this walk are valid, aren’t they? Today’s travels simply ascertain with clarity a pilgrim’s constant need for God’s protection. Even Jesus thought his Father’s protection was something he should ask for on our behalf.

Elsie is balanced uncomfortably in my arms as I herd Chester up the porch steps and fumble with keys. Never take for granted, I admonish myself, gathering the three of us through the door, the gift of good friends and a heavenly Protector with us on the way in which we walk.

The beloved disciple remembers that Jesus prayed: “All mine are yours and yours are mine.... Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me....” (John 17:11)

This pilgrim prays:

    My Walking Prayer

    Lord Jesus Christ, my savior and friend:
    You are the way.
    Walk with me in your way today.

    Let your life spring up in me,
    your love flow through me,
    your peace extend to those I meet,
    your surrounding Spirit protect me.

    Plant your word deep in my heart
    that I may know your voice and not wander.

    Give me strength and courage
    for the challenges of this day,
    and joy noticing your grace upon grace. Amen

Chapter 2: Moving In

2011-09-20T14:19:00.001-04:00

This is from my journal, written in 2007 as I was preparing for the "pilgrimage" of walking from Washington, D.C. to Pittsburgh while learning the gospel of John by heart....

When I was in eighth grade, I began memorizing scripture verses. It was the thing to do in College Baptist Church. This was a small congregation, and there were only about four youth close to my age. But there was a group of about thirty college students who attended the worship service. Most of them were part of a campus group called the Navigators. Navigators were known for their seriousness about Bible study and their excellence in memorizing scripture. They carried around little sets of cards tucked into soft plastic cases. On each card was printed a scripture verse. You could get pre-printed sets, and every Navigator would start out memorizing the “basic” verses. And then, if you were really good at it, and went through all the Navigator sets, you could make up your own cards with verses that you liked from your own Bible reading.

I knew all about this because, more than anything else, I wished I could be a college student like them. I wanted their freedom. I wanted to be able to study challenging things like they did at the university. I envied the way they enjoyed being with each other. My family had recently moved back to this town after an absence of a few years, and I was struggling to find a group of friends with whom I felt comfortable. The conversations of the college students at College Baptist were much more interesting than what my friends in school talked about, which seemed silly and trivial.

I couldn’t be a college student, but I bought their sets of Bible verses and learned them with a vengeance. I also poured over a college catalogue and planned what courses I would like to take. It was, I suppose, my way of escaping my own adolescent insecurities, of trying to live ahead into a young adult future. Nevertheless, I worked diligently on my pack of scripture verse cards and learned them as well, if not better, than any Navigator. I still remember many of them, in the King James Version, of course. Here are five verses that quickly come to mind:

    For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. (Romans 3.23) But God commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5.8). If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him. (James 1.5). Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. (2 Corinthians 5.17). For by grace have ye been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast. (Ephesians 2.8,9).

The language sounds stiff to me now, and all those masculine pronouns fit strangely like borrowed clothes! I am grateful for new translations and inclusive ways of speaking and understanding.   It is amazing to me, though, at how those verses are embedded in my memory, and how, at a moments notice, they slip off the tip of my tongue. When as a young teenager I felt out of place and awkward, I was at home when I was learning those scripture verses. Even through it was a language of centuries past, I could sense the loving word of a God who accepted me and gave me a purpose and identity. It is true, however, that after a year or so, I no longer kept on memorizing scripture. Adjustment to being a teenager solidified, a new group of friends was found, and my life moved on to other things.

Who knows? Maybe the seed for learning the Gospel of John by heart was planted when I was a thirteen-year-old sitting on one of the metal folding chairs in College Baptist Church. Now that I am so much older and have gone down many different paths, my brain does not retain as easily or for as long. Until recently I had never heard of anyone who had memorized the whole Gospel of John. Yet it was that Christian “practice” of memorizing the Word as a young person that helped form my spiritual journey, and, in my adolescent search for identity, became part of my spiritual identity as a child of God. Four decades later I am turning back to an old practice.

Why did I choose this task of learning John?   Maybe it is because, after going so many different directions, I long to be grounded again. Maybe, in trying to fulfill the role and expectations of a pastor in a very theologically and intellectually demanding denomination, I have become curious about the single-mindedness of that very young woman who discovered her identity quite simply through some scripture verses that were emblazoned on the walls of her heart. Maybe in memorizing John, I am making my way back to the core of who I am...or who God wants me to be. Maybe I am praying God will move in and find a more comfortable home in me.

The beloved disciple remembers that Jesus said: “Those who love me will keep my word, and my father will love them and we will come to them and make our home with them.” (John 14.23)

This pilgrim prays:

    Moving In

    When I
    see the
    Word on
    the page,

    it is flat...and black...and thin.

    But the Word in
    memory roams my mind
    with substance and shape, though still
    elusive, ever changing, exploring
    the rooms of my soul.

To be continued....

Chapter 1: The Celia daypack

2011-09-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

From my journal about the pilgrimage...

Summer, 2007
Grantham, PA

The coming sabbatical has a vague, abstract aura about it that hardly feels like reality. Until today. Suddenly it becomes more tangible with the arrival of the box delivered by a brown truck with ticking blinkers and a fanfare of barking dogs. I open the package in the kitchen, hesitant about claiming its contents, as if ownership admits this trip is an imminent and serious endeavor.

First I unwrap a day pack from its plastic. For years on my walking adventures I have toted my daughter’s cast-off school backpack: a frayed, blue hand-me-down decorated with her magic marker graffiti. A permanent crumb collection of granola bars and dog treats has settled in its dark corners. It smells like damp leaves and bug spray. But my back, growing old, has begun to complain about its lack of support, so I needed to investigate options that would be gentler on my body and more practical for a long trek of 335 miles. In the catalogue the new “Celia” day pack seemed to meet the requirements.

I now rather sheepishly pull on this more sophisticated and involved piece of hiking equipment. I feel its design molding comfortably to my back and notice how the center of gravity shifts with the waist belt. My husband, Rick, discovers a whole extra compartment under a hidden zipper. My son, Jon, home for the weekend, is curious as well and offers to break in the pack on a hike with a friend. With odd relief I relinquish the “gear” that seems too serious to handle.   Late in the afternoon he returns and shows me a compartment for keys, how the sternum straps slide to adjust, the waterproof cover to slip over the pack when it rains, the way the buckles tighten or loosen to shift the weight when tired muscles ache. My son, the hiking expert, gives his approval.

But that’s not all in the box. A while later, overcoming household distractions, or perhaps just re-gathering determination, I return to the task at hand and pull out a second plastic bag containing folded material patterned with bold turquoise and white daisy-like flowers. It is my rain jacket: water-proof, breathable, light-weight, complete with a hood and adjustable cuffs. Apparently previous catalogue shoppers preferred the plain, solid colors and ignored this bright, garden-bedecked item, now at half price for the taking. I normally am a subdued color personality, especially when attempting to blend into the woods, but my pleasure with a bargain overcame my reticence about flashy outerwear. At least Rick will be able to spot me quickly in the distance down the trail!

Next I pull out my new rain pants, again lightweight, easy to get into and, this time, unremarkably black. I wonder: now that I am so prepared to walk in downpour or steady drizzle, what will my dog, Chester, do? He dislikes rain. Will I have to walk solo those days? That is a problem yet to solve.

Finally, I unpackage my new, multi-pocketed, tan trail pants that zip off into shorts. Clever, huh? With a zip of a zipper (actually two legs, two zips), I am prepared for whatever change a day could bring: damp to dry, windy to dead still, chilly to stifling. It looks like I will be walking with full professional convenience.

This evening Celia leans against the wall in my home office, holding the three soft albums containing chapters of John, ready for a practice hike when I can swing a day off after the hot weather breaks. There is no more denying that change is afoot. It is not just that my back pack and clothing have changed; I am the one changing. I have committed myself to something where I cannot see the end, like a raft pushed out into the river and sucked into the current rushing for rapids.   Folks at church have already sensed a change in me; they have not often seen their pastor so determined to make something happen in spite of objections.    I and many others are working hard in this current to help put things in place for the congregation during my absence, but anxious questions still persist. Some, worried about how much the sabbatical might change me, are even predicting I may not return.

I have already started memorizing the first chapter of John’s gospel. John the baptizer was asked by the religious authorities from Jerusalem, "Who are you?" (John 1:22) He was able to be clear about who he was not. He said he was not the Messiah, not Elijah, not the prophet for whom they were waiting.    "Let us have an answer for those who sent us.   What do you say about yourself?" The baptizer answered in an obscure way, quoting the old prophet Isaiah, "I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: Make straight the way of the Lord." What puzzled the religious leaders, but what John the baptizer was certain of, was that God had called him to this baptizing task, and that his specific assignment was to point out the Messiah when he came. He baptized people day in and day out, waiting for the time when he would recognize God’s anointed one.

In spite of John the baptizer’s determination and clarity, I have always thought it is a little risky to presume to know exactly what God has called one to do. What if I am wrong about this venture I’m attempting? What if I haven’t heard God correctly? After all, God doesn’t mail us our individual job descriptions, so it isn’t as if I have God’s directions in black and white to show everyone as evidence for what I am doing. What if I only think that this is good for me and the congregation, but that in reality I have been blinded by my own selfish enthusiasm?   To some I may seem to have determination, but I am much more hesitant to insist that I have John the baptizer’s God-given clarity. Perhaps that is why, when I see Celia standing in the corner, I feel like I am the raft caught in swift water.

On the other hand, I know there are times in my life when I have to step out in faith, like Peter stepping on the sea to meet Jesus, believing that if I am wrong, God will still in grace grab hold and redirect me. My becoming a pastor in the first place was precisely one of those stepping out times. Now this walking pilgrimage to learn the Gospel of John is another one.

“What do you say about yourself?” the religious leaders asked. With the Celia day pack nearby, I muster a prayerful answer:

Okay, God, this is what I say about myself. I believe you have called me to walk with you many miles and learn scripture by heart. Strange as it is, this journey is the way you have given me to point to the Messiah. But the biggest risk in this venture is not the physical challenge of walking so far, but how the walk will change me. If it doesn’t change me at all, of course, it will have been a big waste of time. But if it changes me too much, how will I find my way back? It could be like paddling that raft upstream, attempting to return over the rapids.

Still unsettled, uncertain, I open my worship book to the time-tested, wise words of Lutheran evening prayer:

    O God, you have called your servants
    to ventures of which we cannot see the ending,
    by paths as yet untrodden,
    through perils unknown.
    Give us faith to go out with good courage,
    not knowing where we go, but only that
    your hand is leading us and your love supporting us;
    through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

                           (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, p. 317)

Looking forward and back again

2011-09-13T19:21:00.003-04:00

There are times in one's life where a pause brings sudden clarity. For me it usually happens after a tediously long time of uncertainty and self-doubt, of not seeing a clear way forward and then finding oneself suddenly across a new threshold. One such pause moved me forward with farewells and godspeed in a new direction to a new congregation. Another pause of clarity came this past Sunday in worship where the same congregation and I celebrated ten years in ministry together; although we have all changed much over the past decade, our mission together is becoming clear and strong and there are more miles to go. All of which has reminded me of another very significant pause that enabled me to get this far---the sabbatical pilgrimage of three years ago. I think it is time to tell the story here over the weeks to come.

Introduction

The moment is a snapshot in my memory. It is November, 2007, and I am walking out of the post office with frost on the ground and a letter in my hand. I squint in the bright sun as I impatiently open the envelope made of heavier quality paper. By the time I reach the car, I am reading the second paragraph and the sentence that will launch me on an adventure, a physical and spiritual journey. I read that I have been awarded a grant from the Louisville Institute for my sabbatical proposal “Walking the Water Way with John.” The plan is for me to walk from Washington D.C. to Pittsburgh on two connecting trails: the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal trail and the great Allegheny Passage Rail Trail while memorizing the gospel of John.

After I celebrate and tell everyone I know, the work begins. I am a pastor and the congregation needs to be prepared and ready, because this is also journey for them as they take on new responsibilities while I am away for three months. My husband Rick must arrange leave from his college administrative job. We work to make sure I am in physical shape, have the right equipment and carefully plan the itinerary. The plan for me is to walk an average of 10-13 miles per day with our dog Chester. Rick will drop us off in the morning and pick us up at a prearranged destination further down the trail in the afternoon, depending upon where there is road access. At night we will stay in our camping trailer in various campgrounds along the way. Finally more than a year later, we are on our way.

What follows is the story of a pilgrimage taken from my journal, a story that spans the preparation, the walking and the return home. It is the story of my doubts and fears. But it is also the story of how the words of scripture breathe renewal into our souls and of how God longs to walk and speak with us. It is the story of discovering many things I didn’t know I was seeking...life, joy and courage. It is the story of walking the water way.

To be continued...

Set free?

2011-09-05T12:07:00.002-04:00

(Exodus 11-12) God told Moses to go back to Egypt to set the Hebrew people free from their enslavement and oppression. Moses and his brother Aaron paid a visit to Pharoah and asked that the Hebrew people be allowed to go out in the wilderness to worship their God. Pharoah refused and so was warned that a series of plagues would fall on his nation until he relented. God sent nine plagues, one after another, that hit Egyptian economy, people and animals hard. The plagues included locusts, frogs, a devasting hail storm, boils on the skin and more. After each plague Moses gave Pharoah a chance to relent and after each plague was refused. On the eve of a last plague, where all first born in the land would die, Moses prepared the Hebrew people with instructions for the night's meal: each family would slaughter and roast a lamb, paint the lamb's blood on their door posts, make bread in a hurry with no yeast, and gather as families to eat the last meal. Their bags were to be packed and their shoes and walking sticks ready by the door. During that fateful night they heard the cries of their Egyptian neighbors as death struck every home other than the protected, blood-marked Hebrews. Pharoah himself lost a son that night, so he summoned Moses and Aaron and told them to take their people and go worship their God. Then the Pharoah said a very strange thing, something almost always overlooked....

I feel squirmy every time I revisit this part of the Exodus story. Lamb's blood painted on doorposts. God sending a midnight plague of death upon the firstborn of everyone...except the Hebrew people. In our day of packaged meat and with an understanding that sickness is not a punishment of God, this story is jarring and superstitious sounding. Probably not a story we would read to our 3-year-olds.

No, I don’t like the idea of a plague of death for the firstborn. But neither can any of us tolerate enslavement, cruelty, genocide and oppression done to other human beings. So I understand that freedom wasn’t only necessary for the Hebrews. It was as necessary for the good of the oppressors to stop being the oppressor as it was necessary for the good of the Hebrew people to be set free. Oppression, enslavement, cruelty and torture destroys all who participate. It also can become so systemic that in a broken world it takes radical, and even violent means, to bring it to the end. I think about the Civil War in my own country which was as awful as any death plague in Egypt. For us, that’s what it took for the oppressed and the oppressors even to begin to be set free.

So back to Pharoah's strange request.

“And when you go and pray to your God, pray for a blessing on me too!” begged Pharoah.

That's right. For a brief moment the Pharoah knew where to seek help...from people who called him the enemy. Given his cruelty, it was a brazen thing to request. And yet. And yet. With Pharoah's request for a blessing, was there hope that he too was being set free?   The rest of the story may indicate otherwise, but the Hebrews didn't know that yet. And if they did, would that let them off the hook? No matter which way you look at it, futile or hopeful, the first thing the freed Hebrews were asked to do as they left slavery to worship God in a new land was to pray for a blessing on their former oppressors. Sadly there is no record whether the Hebrews carried out that first request of them as people of God.

And so Pharoah’s begging for a blessing still haunts me. As a Christians, it is not my doorpost, but my heart that has been marked with the blood of Christ. And the communion meal, with its roots in the Passover meal and in which I share, is a remembering of when we became a liberated people---set free from the consequences of death and sin, yes, but also set free to live a new way of life that follows Jesus’ teachings. If I hear Jesus right, that means set free to pray for a blessing even on our enemies.

Do I? Do we? The 10th anniversary of 9/11 is coming.

Burning bush

2011-08-27T20:46:00.003-04:00

In Exodus we are told the story of God getting the attention of Moses who was out in the wilderness herding the goats. How did God manage to do this? With a burning bush that wasn't being burned up! Once Moses got closer out of curiosity, God told him to go tell Pharoah to let God's people go. No small order. We usually quit reading at that point...at least our reading for Sunday does. Too bad, because the burning bush is just the teaser for the real tension of the continuing story: Moses arguing with God. Now, I don't see burning bushes, but I have been known to argue with God...quite frequently, in fact.

Moses gives reason after reason why God's idea won't work: I'm not qualified for the job description. I don't know your name. People won't believe me. I'm a wanted man in Egypt and won't pass the background check. I have a speech disability. And last but not least, I don't want to do it. All accurate reasons. And each time God dismisses the excuse as not a problem or provides a solution. Thousands of years later, many of us know the rest of the story (if not the details of Moses' argument); how God through Moses rescued an enslaved people, gave them a law and a land, and changed the world.

There is an irony. When God calls us to use our gifts in serving others, it is most often meaningful, freeing and bring lots of joy. It can feel like we are doing exactly what God created us to do! But there's irony here too, because sometimes when faced with the challenge of serving with our gifts, for whatever reason, we protest and try to get out of it like Moses.

Jesus knew this irony; in fact he himself in his self-giving struggled with following God to the cross for which we owe our lives. So we, sitting around as recipients of grace and with God-given gifts must listen when Jesus says, "Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it." Moses wanted to save his private life, and live quietly in the wilderness. He lost that life, but with the God-given gift of leadership, he walked into saving the lives of a whole group of people.

In the end, Moses himself was like the burning bush: burning with God's passion to rescue, yet never consumed. His influence is still alive. He either didn't or couldn't refuse, and God was immensely patient through the long argument. But as Jesus seems to warn us, if we refuse to serve with what's been given us, we lose something in our baptismal life. Maybe what we try to cling to, in spite of God calling otherwise, will end up being more like charred stumps. Life and renewal is always where God is calling us, even if it appears at the moment like losing. Why do we, like Moses, have such a hard time believing that?

Noisy Sabbath Prayer

2011-08-20T07:51:00.006-04:00

The practicing of silence before you, God, is difficult. It is difficult precisely because I need it, right? Some of your people call this stillness "meditation." Some call it "contemplation." Some recognize silence as vital for prayer. Not a few call it a waste of time or "new-age." Your psalmists simply say, "Wait for the Lord," and leave it at that.

So I set myself down in a chair, but am immediately restless. (According to Augustine that is to be expected until I learn that my rest is in you.) Something kin to caffeine courses through my mind. The chatter is constant. True, much of the inner babbling has something to do with you or, more likely, the work you've given me to do, or often my family. But I certainly wouldn't say these darting, dodging thoughts are holding a conversation with you at the moment. Nor, more to the point, do they leave any space to breathe and listen to you. These thoughts just barge into the soul's room and say their piece before slamming the door on the way out. Then the next tangle of thoughts come tumbling through an open window. Like I said, the practicing of silence before you is difficult. Be still, jabbering brain.

At least here in the still sitting of my body (if not the mind), I intentionally acknowledge that you, God, are most important. That I wish I could, given the inner crowding, wait for you. That I would like to be able to listen to you. Perhaps, given your patience, you will tune out all this mental noise and hear this body's sitting as a prayer enough.

Overlooking the pearl of great price

2011-07-24T13:09:00.010-04:00

Genesis 29

The Jacob story continues with all sorts of customs that are strange to our 21st century, western minds.

You remember from the previous post that Jacob had to escape from home and journey to his foreign relatives. Today we hear that Jacob reaches his destination. According to the map, he has walked between 400 and 500 miles. In terms of Appalachian Trail miles, which is what I am paying attention to lately, that is like walking from Harper’s Ferry WV, through Maryland, past Boiling Springs and the rest of Pennsylvania, and on to the Hudson River in New York. That’s a long way to walk...the life of one pair of shoes.

Jacob hopes he’s reaching the end when he stops to ask directions of some shepherds at a well. They point out his cousin Rachel coming to water her father’s sheep. God has kept God’s promise to keep Jacob safe and all’s well that ends well. Time to text mom: Arrived safe. Don’t worry. Love, Jacob.

Or maybe not. Suddenly the story is off and running again.   Jacob lays eyes on cousin Rachel, and it is love at first sight. Rachel's sheep need water. In order to ensure that everyone in the community gets equal watering rights in a country that is parched, a very large stone is on top of the well’s opening. It takes the strength of several cooperative men to roll the stone off so the herds can be watered. The shepherds who are present when Jacob arrives are lounging around, waiting for the other shepherds and flocks to get there before they will spare the energy to push the stone away. Jacob wants to make an impression and be helpful to the lovely Rachel, so the macho showing off begins. He ignores the shepherds’ custom of waiting, and with a great show of strength he pushes the stone out of the way by himself so Rachel can water her sheep. Ah, what one will do to impress the beloved!

A month later Jacob has made a deal with Uncle Laban. He’ll work for seven years without a pay just so that he can marry Rachel. Time to text mom: In love. Don’t wait up. Back in 7 years. Jacob. Then the narrator concludes this part of the story like a flowery valentine: And 7 years were like a few days, because Jacob loved Rachel so much.

The next part of the story could be titled, “What goes around, comes around.” Remember how Jacob dressed up like his hairy twin brother Esau in order to trick his blind father into giving him the oldest son’s blessing? Well now who’s tricking who? Jacob thinks he is marrying the love of his life, but Uncle Laban has tricked him, helped (we suppose) by lots of feasting, too much wine, the custom of veiled women and no electric lights in the tents. That’s pretty much the only way we can explain the fact that Jacob wakes up in the morning and finds out that his new wife he has just slept with is the older, less attractive sister Leah! Jacob laments to Laban, “Why did you do this to me? We made a deal. We agreed on Rachel!” (Can you hear echoes of Esau lamenting to dad after Jacob made off with his blessing. “Dad, don’t you have a little blessing left for me too?”)

Well, in arranging the marriage, sneaky Uncle Laban conveniently neglected to tell love-struck, birth-right stealer Jacob about the oldest daughter’s birthright....that she must be married off before her younger sister. Laban gambles that Jacob will stick around to pay off Rachel’s bride price too. Our story has a twist of poetic justice; perhaps Jacob gets what he earned. Meanwhile imagine the text home: Rachel pearl of great price. Be home in 7 more years. Jacob.

But, of course, there is heart-breaking, humiliating tragedy in this uncomfortably patriarchal story: Rachel may be Jacob’s pearl of great price, but Leah is not. Oldest daughter Leah is only the pawn Laban uses to ensnare Jacob into another seven years free service. After the bait and switch marriage and a week of Jacob’s obligatory attention, Leah is promptly ignored by her new husband while he spends most of his time and all of his love on Rachel. Leah laments. Yet as our story ends today, the character who has the privilege of being at the heart of God’s concern is not Jacob, not Rachel, but the very one who is unloved---Leah. God takes notice of Leah and does something about it.

Leah apparently sees enough of Jacob to become pregnant while Rachel remains childless. Leah is the character in the story that has a running conversation with God. She both laments to God about her loneliness and expresses her hopes to be valued in her marriage every time she has a baby. So she names her first boy “Reuben, which the bible says means: “The Lord has taken away my sorrow; now my husband will love me.”     When she gives birth to a second boy, she names him Simeon, which means “The Lord has heard that my husband doesn’t love me.” She gives birth to a third son and names him Levi which means, “Now my husband will hold me close.” And then she had a fourth son and named him Judah because she said, “I will praise the Lord.”

Rachel was certainly the pearl of great price for Jacob, but Leah was a pearl of great price to God. God works so that Leah becomes the first matriarch of the sons of Jacob. Not only that, even though Rachel will eventually give birth to Jacob’s two favorite sons, Leah is the one who is the great-grandmother matriarch of Jesus. Once again, God treasures and values those who are often overlooked by others.

Move to the 21st century: I am reminded of a story I heard at synod assembly in June. A village on the coast of south Asia was wiped out by the 2005 tsunami. When Lutheran World Relief got involved, no one in the village could smile and only the men of the village did the talking. The women remained silent. While relief aid came to help all get back on their feet, it was realized that the women were often overlooked. So LWR went to work to help the women of the village start a new business.

Near where they lived was an area good for harvesting crabs. So the women were taught how to fish for the crabs, how to run and maintain the boats, how to do accounting, how to handle a business. They learned how to prepare and ship the crab meat to market. Yes, the men at first laughed at them learning to handle boats and thought they would never be able to do it on their own. But the group of women proved them wrong. The crab business is booming and for the first time in their lives the women are valued in a new way. Now, the whole village, men and women and children have new energy..and the women talk out loud when the village gathers.

I am glad that a tiny portion of our congregation's offerings goes to LWR and invested in these women, like investing in a pearl great price, giving hope and value to people, like the biblical Leah, who have not been valued before.

Jesus said: "The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of find pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it."

God has so loved, so valued the world that God gave all...God's only son...to gain the world. God values what is lost and overlooked, and that’s what the kingdom of heaven is like. Jesus’ pearl of great value metaphor keeps expanding. As we are valued by God like a pearl of great price, we too want to become part of the kingdom of heaven at work. So, like the God we are learning to treasure, we begin looking around us too.

Who around us is being overlooked? Who doesn’t have a voice? Who is lamenting? Who is unloved or ignored by the community or the powers that be? Whoever they are, they are exactly the people that the kingdom of heaven is working to find and value with God’s love in Christ. Will we search for them?

Laying one's head on a stone...or one's life on a promise

2011-07-17T21:03:00.004-04:00

Genesis 27-28

Have you ever taken things into your own hands and ended up making a mess out of everything? Or have you noticed a problem festering in a relationship for a long time; suddenly something was the last straw and the whole relationship blew up?

In this story several fires were festering. 1) Isaac and Rebekah played favorites with their twin boys. 2) Two brothers were very different and both were jealous of the other. 3) A culture dictated that the oldest son, even if a twin and the oldest by only few minutes, got a bigger portion of inheritance. 4) A society believed that a last blessing from a dying father could predict and set a son’s future... something which we post-modern westerners have a lot of trouble with.

All of these smoldering troubles led Jacob (the youngest twin) with the help of his mother to manipulate his future through deception and lies. He dressed up like his brother and tricked his blind father into giving him the oldest son blessing. He took things into his own hands to get what he thought he deserved and it all blew apart.

Before the twins were even born God had told Rebekah the younger would be the ancestor of God’s people. So did Jacob really need Esau’s extra inheritance to make God’s plan happen? No. Did Jacob need to pretend to be Esau in order for God to work God’s purposes out? No. Isn’t it true that one of many temptations for us humans is to thinking we can be in control and to prefer our means of getting things done to God’s ways? Yes.

With cheated Esau planning his brother’s murder, Jacob had to run for his life, leaving parents, friends, even the birthright and blessing he had manipulated to get. Everything was left behind, and for the first time in his life he was really alone. He was on a long journey through wild country to a place that he had never seen, to relatives that he had never met. If anyone was scared and uncertain about his future, it was Jacob that first night when he laid his head on a stone and tried to sleep.

Sometimes we have to be scared, desperate, lonely or uncertain about the future, before we can hear God. It’s that human nature thing again. That night with his hopes shattered, Jacob finally heard God’s message to him. The dream of a ladder to heaven was certainly strange (stone pillows will do it every time) and makes good illustrations and camp songs. But it’s God’s message that is really profound:

Jacob, I will make your descendants live in this land you are lying on.
I will bless all the people’s of the earth through you and your descendants.
I am with you now and I will keep you safe on your journey. I will bring you back home one day. That's my promise to you.

So Jacob didn’t need a birthright after all, or a father’s blessing, or tents and herds or any of that. He needed to know that God was his God, not just his father's God. He needed God’s blessing and God’s promise, not his scheming. He didn’t start realizing that until his lonely night under the stars.

Centuries later we know that one of Jacob’s descendants was Jesus our savior. We, on the other side of the world and most of us not even Jewish, have inherited that profound blessing through Jesus. The blessing of baptism is like the blessing of God for Jacob that night he slept with his head on a stone pillow, because at our baptism God says to us:

You are mine. You are forgiven, even forgiven the ways you try to control things without me. You are not alone. My son died for you, and now you belong to the family of Jesus Christ. I will never leave you on this journey and I will keep your life.....forever.

That’s God’s promise in case we have been overwhelmed with the journey this week and simply forgot.

A born leader? No way!

2011-07-10T12:21:00.003-04:00

Genesis 25:19-34

We have high expectations for leaders. But what would we expect of a leader of a new nation (called Israel) being formed to live according to God’s ways, a theocracy, a nation to worship the one God instead of all the other little local deities? What would it take to lead a nation that was supposed to become a model for justice and truth to the whole world? What would we expect of its founding leader? Truthfulness? Fairness? Strength of character? Charisma? Integrity? Trust in God? Probably.

But what if we found out that the leader of God’s new nation was not anything like what we would expect.

And so the story continues from last Sunday. Isaac and Rebekah, the couple with the match made in heaven, had waited 19 years for Rebekah to get pregnant. Since Isaac had been a miracle baby himself, he had grown up hearing stories of his parents, childless and aged, being promised by God that they would have a son. Having learned from his father Abraham, Isaac knew what to do. He prayed for Rebekah to have a baby.

This time God answered with miracle twins...NOT identical twins, but two very different brothers who didn’t get along. Esau, the older, was athletic, "hairy," with a passion for hunting, an expert marksman and the apple of Isaac’s eye. Jacob, the younger twin by a minute, was a homebody who enjoyed hanging around the tents with the women and servants and children. He learned how to cook and had developed this great recipe for bread and hot lentil stew.

But Jacob wanted more.

Perhaps because of all the attention Esau got from his dad over hunting, Rebekah had consoled younger Jacob by telling him what God had once told her when she was pregnant and scared: that Jacob the younger would be the one to lead God’s new nation. Was that the impetus behind Jacob’s idea of exchanging some of his mouth watering stew for Esau’s birthright? (The birthright was an extra share of inheritance of the family’s wealth along with the right to be the clan’s leader.) When Esau came back one afternoon, tired and hungry from an especially long hunting trip, Jacob saw his opportunity: he drove a hard bargain with his famished, impulsive brother in order to get a bigger slice of the family pie.

So who would you choose for a leader? Esau, the older one, the famed hunter, the strong but impulsive one? Or Jacob, the younger, wily, quietly manipulative homebody? Or maybe neither of them? Do either of them have the characteristics of truthfulness? fairness? integrity? trust in God?
Neither seems to take after grandfather Abraham! If you think their leadership potential is questionable now....wait until you hear what comes next! (Next week)

But let’s leave Esau and Jacob for a moment, because this story ultimately isn’t about them and their leadership qualities anyway. It’s about God’s crazy grace in spite of the qualities they don't have. It’s about God choosing people not because they are worthy or deserving, but because God is gracious. It’s about God starting a nation with ordinary people with deep flaws, with people that we wouldn’t expect to turn out to be leaders. While we might have expected God to start a nation with someone who had a little more potential in the honesty and faith category, God doesn’t take the easy way.

Which leads to the bigger story that our lives are caught up in. The gospel is always more about who God is, not who we aren't. It is about what Christ has done, not what we are going to do. It is always about God's generous grace and faithfulness working in our lives in spite of us.

So check in occasionally in the weeks to come as we continue to visit the book of Genesis and see how God’s generous grace unfolds.

Wordless

2011-06-29T16:18:00.006-04:00

I didn't go to VBS tonight and mingle with children of the community. Nor did I show up to help clean the corner room for the Head Start program that is moving into the church building soon. Instead, I rather irresponsibly drove into the city and attended an organ concert. It was my first in a long time.

The regional convention of the American Guild of Organists is in town and pipes are humming. I found an empty parking space, walked a few blocks in stifling evening air, and stepped into a cooler sanctuary space filled with hundreds of people who love to play and listen to this strange and demanding instrument.

Organists are an unusual lot. Whether or not they want to be, they are part of the church or synagogue because that is where their massive instruments reside. That makes for an uneasy co-existence at times because it is usually not theology that draws them. It is not speech that persuades them. Instead the passion of their life is in the mystery of worship. Their relationship to an awesome God is expressed in their art...without words.

I know, because I was once a professional organist until God called elsewhere. Tonight it was good to return and sit in their midst, not speak, just listen. Good to eavesdrop on their conversations about registrations and church windows as they waited for the concert. Good to watch their upturned, eager faces as they looked for the recitalist in the rear balcony. Good to feel them settle into familiar, meditative concentration as the sounds danced around the room and the lowest pipes shook the floor. Good to hear them laugh at the subtle humor of an ending chord--only a musician would get the joke. Most of all, it was good to sense worship happening in a language too deep for words.

For me, an ah-hah moment: so this is where I learned how to pray without needing words! All those years on the organ bench gave birth to that strange and silent contemplative person that resides in the garb of a pastor. I don't for a minute regret the change of vocation, but I think tomorrow night I'll escape again to another wordless recital...or is it an hour of silent prayer.

Going home

2011-06-10T22:06:00.002-04:00

Sometimes it is helpful to look back and see where one has been. It might lead to gratitude. It might lead to wisdom. Or it might lead to getting back on course if one has strayed.

So last Tuesday I looked back quite physically. I donned the pack and hit the C&O trail for a good portion of the day, the trail I walked three years ago for seven weeks while learning the gospel of John by heart.

Some things hadn't changed. The river still tumbles over the rapids at Harper's Ferry where some of the oldest homes in the country cling to the hillside. On the trail poison ivy menaces and mosquitoes bite. Cottonwood trees still shed their "cotton." After nine miles my body was aching as much as it had three years ago. And I was relearning John's first chapter in rhythm with the pace of walking. In more ways than one I was walking and looking back to where I had been.

Gratitude? Oh, yes, as I was reminded on Tuesday's walk of all I had seen and learned before. I was also grateful for the day away to spend walking. Wisdom? Well, maybe not so much in me, but certainly I had once gleaned much wisdom from this unusual gospel, the wisdom from a beloved disciple that had been hammered into my bones, step by step. It was good to be walking with John again.

Strayed? Of course. It has been a difficult three years since that time, and I certainly have not lived up to all I once learned on that pilgrimage. I am older, more worn and scarred, less certain about many things, including myself. Tuesday's walk served to sharpen some of those images and words I had once ruminated on for miles at a time: words like light, life, grace, witness, truth...and that's just in the first half of the first chapter. But for this one day, these words were enough to walk with. These are words that are good for a person (and in my case, a pastor person) to live with. They are very different from words like success, fulfillment, security, accomplishment, health. I think I came walking to be assured of that.

Looking back, one more thing has not changed in the three years. It doesn't officially show up until the third chapter of John, but I know it's there...and that is the profound love of God. That's obvious, you say? Not really. Every day with each challenge, I have to relearn what it means to live loved by God. My first instincts are defensive. My failures are usually because I have forgotten to live receiving and responding in God's deep love. Somehow on the trail I remember it more quickly. It's a bit like going home.

Winged seeds

2011-05-30T21:53:00.006-04:00

This past week the silver maple let loose its helicopter pods. At every puff of breeze a shower of seeds whirled and landed with a pattering in sundry places. Some on the sidewalk where they quickly turned from green to brown. Some cradled in the thick grass where their little bulbous bodies couldn't reach through the carpet to the soil. And a few settled in prime real estate: the potted plants sitting on the deck. Today I pulled out several, already sprouted trees, a good three inches high.

Today I was also taking a 24-hour silent retreat at home, unplugged to computer and phone. I needed to do some serious listening, not to the flying seeds (or so I thought), but to God and God's word. In the middle of congregational fray there are all sorts of decisions that have to be made. This past week I had started to make poor decisions because I simply wasn't listening to the One who has priority. Hence today's silence and a return to John 1: "In the beginning was the Word."

What beginning is it for me? Beginning of summer? Beginning of a quiet listening day? What else? And have I been listening to the Word?

A bit at a loss, I read from Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation, chapter 3:

Every moment and every event of every [person's] life on earth plants something in his [or her] soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of [people]. Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost because people are not prepared to receive them: for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the good soil of freedom, spontaneity and love.

This is no new idea. Christ in the parable of the sower long ago told us that: "The seed is the word of God." We often think that this only applies to the word of the gospel as formally preached in churches on Sundays.... But every expression of the will of God is in some sense a "word" of God and therefore a "seed" of new life. The very changing reality in the midst of which we live should awaken us to the possibility of a uninterrupted dialogue with God. By this I do not mean continuous "talk," ...but a dialogue of love and choice. A dialogue of deep wills.

I think I've been missing the dialogue of love, choice and deep wills part. That gentle awareness of God's love. The quiet nudging of the Spirit. So how does this loving dialogue of noticing the will of God happen? Merton says:

Even where there is no other more explicit claim on my obedience, such as a legitimate command, the very nature of each situation usually bears written into itself some indication of God's will. For whatever is demanded by truth, by justice, by mercy or by love must surely be taken to be willed by God....

So imagine all those seeds floating down, some hitting the sidewalk, a few landing in my soul and inviting me to care for this or have mercy on that. I have a clue about a few sprouts in the congregation. There are, I trust, never too many seeds for me to attend to but enough to keep me coming back for another day of quiet listening.

Church of the green grass

2011-05-15T17:48:00.004-04:00

This past week I have witnessed and listened to a lot of weary people. The world around us can be cold and stony. Selfishness can be rapacious and unfair. And people are scrambling to keep jobs with more hours and fewer staff and resources. The pressure is on, and people are weary. One, threatened by eviction from her apartment, called me on the phone. Others of those weary people dragged themselves into worship this morning.

Where we heard:

The Lord is our Shepherd....
He makes us lie down in green pastures.
He leads us beside still waters.
He restores our soul. (Psalm 23)

Yes, I know I changed the pronouns to plural. And then we heard Jesus say:

I am the gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out and find pasture. (John 10, The Message)

So what if we stopped focusing on our individual selves as the recipients of the green pastures every time we hear this psalm? What if we expand things? What if we would hear the church, Christ's visible presence on earth (sort of), to be the place of green pastures and still waters and restoring souls? What if we truly knew ourselves as the place where people could come in and out, hear their name called by the shepherd himself, and be made whole?

Would it make a difference in our self-understanding if our congregation changed its name to "Church of the Green Grass" or "Still Waters Lutheran Church"? Could what we call ourselves refocus how we thought of our mission? Because I am wondering if that is how our Shepherd is beginning to think of us...a possible green-grass-still-waters site.

After all, in spite of our own weariness, the congregation is indeed helping the shepherd Christ restore souls. Bit by tiny bit, it seems like it is becoming a place where people keep showing up, coming in and out, being restored.

Not everyone. Some are bored. Some are frustrated. Some our fed-up with the institutional church altogether. But one by one, a few by a few, they come out of nowhere it seems or return out of a distant past, seeking green grass or still waters.

For this past year several in our congregation, who for many years had never thought of themselves as teachers, especially teachers about God, have welcomed children in our one room Sunday school. They have opened the doors of their hearts and played with our children who look forward to coming back.

Some have been traveling into the roughest part of the nearby city to refinish and polish the sticky, uncomfortable pews of our sister congregation. Why? So that in the swelter of summer this congregation can welcome their neighbors in Jesus’ name in a more comfortable place (sort of like green grass) without folks sticking to the aged varnish.

Some went to a friend's home a few days before she died and sang hymns with her. If that was not leading a person beside still waters, I don’t know what is.

Some invited friends to "Prayer Around the Cross." Weary and hurting people walked through the unfamiliar doors into a place of quiet worship and prayer where burdens were lifted and shared.

Last Sunday two-year-old, wiggling, squirming Abby was baptized. As the water poured over her head, she suddenly became still, shut her eyes and leaned back in her mother's arms. Bath time. Still waters.

In the gospel of John, a crowd followed the weary Jesus out into the countryside because they were even more weary and needy. He had them sit down "because there was plenty of grass in that place" and fed the large crowd with five loaves and two fish. Jesus fed. But the grass helped.

So what if our congregation saw ourselves, not as a place of duty, not as a struggling "main-line" denomination, not with a theological or moral heritage to protect, but as a “Church of the Green Grass” or “Still Waters Lutheran Church”? Open space. Spirit's breeze. A place for all to come and go. Stories of the shepherd calling their name. Anointing and healing. A meal. Restored souls. God's work place. Still waters. Green grass.

Too crazy to hope?

2011-05-01T21:08:00.002-04:00

Tsunamis and earthquakes on one side of the world. On this side of the globe dozens of tornadoes wrecking havoc and death. In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, alone 300 died on Wednesday night from a deadly twister, one of many in the southeast US. In Mississippi a whole town was wiped out. And many who haven't suffered tornado strikes have had severe flooding.

I kept waking up throughout Wednesday night, the wind blowing my bedroom porch door open and the thunder driving the dog under the bed. I was constantly thinking about my son camping out and exposed to the elements on the high trail somewhere in North Carolina, closer to the worst of it. Fortunately, an email the next morning said that he had walked off the trail and stayed in a town while the storms and tornadoes barreled through the night. I was relieved, if tired, and took six detours because of flooded roads or downed trees to get to work that day.

Nature can do terrible damage to life and structures.

In fact, the biblical view of creation is that it too needs saving and healing as much as we humans do. While one scripture writer speaks of a new heaven and a new earth, the apostle Paul writes more in terms of renewal. He says all creation anticipates the day when it will join God’s children in being freed from death and decay. Well there sure is a lot of death and decay after the storms of the last few weeks. Creation, as much as I love it, needs freeing from something!

Was it only last Sunday that we read about an earthquake in Matthew's gospel? Here the earthquake was not destructive at all. This earthquake was on the side of life and moved the stone covering the tomb where Jesus had been laid to reveal that her Lord was raised from death and decay.

Amazing, isn't it? The possibility that Christ died not just for human's healing, but for creation's healing too. The possibility that all creation has a vested interest in Christ’s resurrected, life-giving power. That there will come a day when polluted bays, and endangered species and contaminated soils and compromised air quality will be renewed. That the resurrection is about all of life, even a renewed life for the quaking earth. At least, that seems to be the apostle Paul's view of things.

I love the world we live in, and so as you and I care for creation, we are actually participating in God’s resurrection purpose to make all things new. Participating like the stone-rolling, tomb-side earthquake. Participating like the women running off to tell the good news of Christ risen to the others. Participating on the side of what is to come. Yes, God’s life-giving power has broken into the world, is still breaking into the world and things will never be the same. One day the full force of what God is doing to restore and redeem will be known in full.

But now I don't fully know what God's up to and am living in hope that perhaps there will be a day when we can watch in fascination and awe as tornadoes always and instinctively jump over towns and sleeping hikers on the trail, like a dance. If it were true, I would sure sleep better at night. Is that too crazy to hope?

Swift Days

2011-04-21T15:28:00.008-04:00

A few more hours and the worship of "The Three Days" begins: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Saturday Vigil and Easter Sunday. Lent is coming to its 40-day finish, but I have not yet learned the 6th and last hymn by heart. (Learning hymns has been my attempted Lenten discipline.)

This hymn is a newer one. The text is by Herman Stuempfle, Jr.

How small our span of life, O God, our years from birth till death;
A single beat within a heart, the catching of a breath,
A drop within the ocean's deep, a grain upon the shore,
A flash of light before we sleep to see the sun no more.

And yet our speck of life is spanned by your infinity;
Our tick of time on earth is caught in your eternity.
While suns and stars spin endlessly through depths of cosmic space,
While aeons roll and ages pass, you hold us in your grace.

O Christ, you left eternity to plunge in time's swift stream.
To share the shortness of our span, our mortal lives redeem.
You filled your cross-closed years with love; you loved us to the end
And touch us with your risen life that ours may time transcend.

We thank you, God, for kindling faith that lights our transient years,
Illumining our pilgrimage through mists of doubt and fears;
For hope that sees a life beyond the swiftly passing days;
For love, both human and divine, that lifts our hearts to praise.
---Evangelical Lutheran Worship, #636

For those of you who are musicians, the words are sung to the tune of "Kingsfold."

The images in the first stanza invite me to listen to my body and watch the world around me and notice how "small a span" my life is when looking at the whole picture. But also it is sobering to realize that I am one heartbeat away from death, one breath away from dying. The author says it well.

Another phrase that grabs my attention is that of Christ plunging into our time. I can't even imagine what it is like to move from what must be a many-dimensioned space into human time-bound living. Christ shared the shortness of our span, and I realized, singing this hymn, he died far younger than I am now. "You filled your cross-closed years with love" has a powerful sharpness in those words especially as we move into Good Friday. And of course, I am reminded to pray for my son now walking through the rainy mists, the violent spring storms and, yes, the bears of the Smoky Mountains when I sing "illumining our pilgrimage through mists of doubt and fears."

But mostly I cherish this hymn because it is a favorite of my friend who is in her last stage of leukemia. This is almost certainly her last earthly Easter. If there ever was one who sees a life beyond her swiftly passing days, it is she. If there ever was one who can praise in the midst of difficulties, it is my friend. She by example is calmly teaching me to sing this hymn with trust, peace, love and humor. So, no, I haven't learned it by heart yet. It is being learned in a different way as I, with an aching heart, pray her through this last bend of her pilgrimage on earth.

On discovering the fifth hymn

2011-04-12T22:54:00.008-04:00

Well, the fifth hymn for me to learn this Lent made itself known yesterday. This time I discovered it by flipping through the hymnal. How unoriginal! Why did I stop here at number 782? In fact, the main reason is a bit too intuitive and personal to post on a public blog. So I'll offer up second reason by saying that this was a choral piece I sang in high school, which is true. I've always loved the harmony, and when I sing it now with my laptop on my knee and the hymnal propped beside me, I can feel the whole Blacksburg high school chorus around me, breathing, shifting weight on risers, eyes fixed on the director as the lower parts, altos and myself included, extend and linger together on the final words, "...but like a child at home." An arrangement by Gordon Jacobs, I think.

"My Shepherd, you supply my need" has had its text updated, so now I stumble over my memory a bit as I relearn it. The hymn text, written by Isaac Watts (1674-1748), is a paraphrase of the familiar Psalm 23. The last two lines grabbed my attention. In fact, I'll admit I like these lines better than the last lines of the good psalm itself:

Here would I find a settled rest while others go and come;
no more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home.

Surely we have all had times when we are uncertain that we belong, when we have not fit into whatever was expected. Then, somehow, chalk it up to grace, the word that we are God's child trumps the lostness that threatens. The search is over without our having to look. Our home address is announced without our moving anywhere. The embrace is God's, and it's powerful, and everything about us fits into place.

And so does learning this hymn this week.

Singing 40 days

2011-04-09T10:26:00.003-04:00

I set a goal for myself to sing my way through Lent this year, to learn by heart the text of a hymn each week. We've completed four Lenten weeks, and I've worked through four hymns.

Bless now, O God, the journey (Sylvia Dunstan, 1955-93) is a hymn that tells how no matter where our life's path may take us---in the desert, on mountains or by still waters---Christ meets us on the road, not in some place of destination. Faith is found in the present moment, not the future. Dunstan says it much better than myself. This hymn has encouraged me as I pray for my son and friends journeying out on the long hiking trail.

Tree of Life and awesome mystery (Marty Haugan, 1950-) has some lines that grabbed my attention. "We the river, you the sea" reminds me that, carried in the Spirit, all our life is flowing towards and bringing others towards God. "Every person lost and broken wears the body of the Lord" calls us to notice those around us and care for them as if we were caring for Christ himself.

I bind unto myself today is attributed to Patrick, bishop of Ireland (377-422). There is something arresting about singing an ancient hymn, to hear the words of those who lived only a few centuries after Christ and were still trying to put into words the mystery of God as Trinity, of the gospel story that is basic to our faith. But what I like best is how Patrick was connected to the land. One stanza containing the "the whiteness of the moon at even" seemed appropriate to learn after my husband and I had been out watching and photographing the recent full moon that was passing closer to the earth.

Amazing Grace (John Newton, 1725-1807) arrived on my list to learn after worship last week where in John 11 we heard the blind man, healed by Jesus, say to his questioners: I was blind, but now I see. Actually, I mostly knew the five verses, so this was more a review. We heard on Sunday how Newton, a former slave trader, learned without a doubt how incredible God's grace and forgiveness was in order to rescue him from his wretched actions contributing to slavery and the deaths of fellow human beings. The hymn has already found its way into two home/hospital visits this past week.

Two more hymns to learn. What will they be? Somehow they make themselves known. Meanwhile, with the ones I do know, it is time to go and softly sing myself through a walk with the dogs.

Bequeathing an inheritance

2011-03-31T20:26:00.004-04:00

Tonight I write as a mother. I feel like I have bequeathed an inheritance to my son. But not in money. And certainly not deliberately. But, as so often happens in life, one thing does lead to another.

My son, Jon, is hiking the Appalachian trail, a journey of 2181 miles. He is traveling alone, except for the prayers of his wife and his parents and all those who love him. It will take him 5 months. He has to carry all he needs for food, clothing and shelter on his back. (Food can be replenished along the way.) It is perhaps, at least partially, my fault. Or maybe, it is just in the family's genes. Or maybe, hopefully, God has something to do with it in spite of genes and chromosomes.

For those of you across oceans who are not familiar with east coat of the USA, the Appalachian Trail runs along the crest of the Appalachian Mountains stretching from the Georgia to Maine...and a lot of states in between. If you want to follow his progress or know why in heck he is doing this, you can check out his blog, "There and Back Again" at http://appalachianalpenglow.blogspot.com/

Why is it my fault? When he was a boy, I used to take him hiking on the trail where it passes near to our home in Pennsylvania, the halfway mark. But that's not all. Three years ago I went on my own walking pilgrimage from Washington D.C. to Pittsburgh...not nearly as strenuous, not nearly as long, but just as focused on listening to God's direction and guidance. I subsequently wrote an account of that walk, spiritual as well as physical, which he read and has taken to heart. Now he has written his own walking prayer. He has set his own goals He has set up his own blog. He has taken off on his own journey for his own reasons.

I remember the feeling of excitement, the miles of sameness, the endless trees, the crises of fear, the surprising joy of meeting new people, the rhythms of living according to light-dark-sun-moon that will most likely be part of his adventure as well. I remember walking in the moment, surrounded by God's living presence in all creation.

I pray for all that wonder to be with him...and with his dear wife, Tera, who is sending him off by driving him to Springer Mountain, Georgia, as I write this, and then driving many hours back to her job as a resident director at a Christian college. None of us can travel through life without the support of others. Thus, separated by miles, Jon needs Tera.

What they are doing defies common sense. Yet pray for them both, that God will be shaping them for their vocation to help others know Christ. Ever since Abraham, Moses, and even Jesus, God has used walking and journeying to form people into followers of faith.

A way to respond

2011-03-20T16:37:00.002-04:00

It seems like in the last few weeks we have gone from one upheaval to another: from the earthquake in New Zealand, to the uprisings in the Middle East, and to the latest catastrophes in Japan. It's the magnitude of the latter that is overwhelming.

The world is too dangerous for humans when tectonic plates shift and turn into earthquakes, when the oceans rock with tsunamis. It seems scandalous that such massive destruction occurred to human life. A person in my congregation told me this morning that, while working out at the gym next to her, a fellow exerciser stated sadly how he couldn't understand how God could let this happen. Who can blame the question?

We can explain it geologically, but that explanation leaves us empty. Some call such things acts of God, but I refuse to say God was in the earthquake. On the other hand, as New Zealand bloggers have noted last month, can we say that God is totally absent from these violent aspects of God’s creation? Who created it?

I cringe when I watch the news and see where whole towns are smashed. I have no words, so what I am about to say is not an answer to our questions. It is only an act of prayer.

While all the world focuses on Japan in grief and horror, all the world has also been drawn to pray for them in whatever way people know. Imagine all those prayerful thoughts coming from all directions...Haiti, South Africa, New Orleans and Gulf states, New Zealand, Libya, Russia, Indonesia, and my congregation's town, New Cumberland. I try to visualize those prayers streaming from around the planet to center and land on Japan’s people.

For Christians, we say that God was in the crucified Christ, the one who knew and even now knows suffering, bringing healing to the world. Jesus speaks of his crucifixion this way: And I, when I am lifted up [in death on a cross] will draw all people to myself. (John 12:32) When I turn towards Japan and pray with others from around the world, I am trusting that my eyes are being drawn to God who is already there, suffering in the wreckage, death and grief. I trust when I pray for Japan's healing, I am pulled to where the crucified Christ is already present and at work.

Like I said, this is no answer to the unanswerable doubts. It is only a way to respond. And God has always seemed to me to be more interested in ways of responding than in supplying me with answers to my "whys."

Purple again

2011-03-12T19:33:00.002-05:00

It's purple again in church. Purple slipped in with Lent and with a helpful worship committee person. The cross, the altar, the pulpit are all draped in purple cloth now. Why purple? It's supposed to be a more penitential color...at least, that is true about the deep purple hanging around the worship space.

But I'm not convinced. Last week, as I pulled out of my driveway to go to the Ash Wednesday service, I noticed that the crocuses had sprung up overnight. They never fail to set me grinning because they are the first perennials in my yard to bloom. Their shade of purple stirs my excitement; winter has finally lost its hold. Their kind of purple does not make me feel the least penitential.

In fact, there's not much somberness in me at all this week. Too much life is stirring around me. The church may not be able to pay its bills, but there are people whose faith and prayer life is suddenly growing strong. We may be short a paycheck in our household, but we still have a roof over our heads and food on the table. I may have struggled with one fractured and one dislocated elbow, but I'm back to walking the dogs. I may have faced too many of my fears, failures, disappointments and limitations this past year, and was plenty somber and full of lament as a result. Only a few months ago I was immersed in reading about the "dark night of the soul," and every word that I read echoed with the lostness and unknowing I was thinking and feeling. Many of the painful challenges have not gone away, but in the end they have caused me to trust God in new ways. And that in itself is amazing. For the moment, it no longer feels like the soul's dark night or a personal winter.

So I am out of kilter with the deep purple Lent and the serious reflection it invites. Instead, I'm well into the fragile, but grinning, crocus side of things. Fragile, because an ice storm could still crush the small blossoms in my yard. Fragile because hard challenges looming ahead could still push me into a muddy discouragement. But for now, I just want to relish the growth God is bringing again. I'll grin at crocuses, laugh (and weep) with the people excited about their faith, greet new friends walking into the congregation, breathe in gallons of spring air, sing my way through the deeper purple and by God's grace keep trusting day by day.

Fiery Furnace 3: Conclusion

2011-03-09T12:07:00.001-05:00

Here's another connection between the fiery furnace (Daniel 3) and Ash Wednesday.

Today, Ash Wednesday, we hear we will die. Actually we are told to remember that we are dust and to dust we will return (God's words in Genesis 3). When Shadrach, Meshah and Abednego were thrown into the furnace they knew they were as good as dead dust. Except for this: into the death dealing fire comes the holy life-giving presence.

And here comes the resurrection hope, the reason this story is in the Easter Vigil. Into the deadest and dustiest places of our lives, a savior Jesus comes to give us life. Jesus went, not into the fiery furnace, but into the terror of crucifixion, so that he might unbind us and give us life. When our hopes have died, he comes with life-giving promise. He is not finished yet. Into our dustiest failures, he comes bringing new strength that can withstand the heat and help us breath. Into our lives bound up with grief or disappointment or fear, he sets us free to walk through the hard times.

Are we feeling like parts of our world are about to turn to dust? Don’t stop trusting, don’t stop believing. Instead pray today with other people who follow Christ, people with dusty, repentant hearts that have encountered rough times this past year, but who have an incredible hope: Christ is our life in the midst of our death!.

Lord, bring life into the ways we fail you.
Bring trust into the places we fear you.
Help us treasure you and your sustaining love more than anything else in the world.

Fiery Furnace 2

2011-03-06T20:02:00.001-05:00

So this is a continuation of the last post tying together the fiery furnace story of Daniel 3 and Ash Wednesday.

One of my colleagues suggested that repentance is a common theme. Sure enough, on Ash Wednesday we acknowledge our sin and need for God, asking for mercy. Is there any repenting in the fiery furnace story? In a strange sort of way, yes, there is.

King Nebuchadnezzar in unadulterated conceit has ordered that a golden statue of himself be made and worshiped by all in his kingdom. Everyone is willing to go along and humor him, except three Jewish young men who knew their ten commandments. No way were they going to worship a statue, they politely said. They would only worship the one true God, even when Nebuchadnezzar threatens them with being thrown into the fiery furnace or kiln. The men (Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego) continue to refuse, are thrown into the furnace but are seen by the king walking around in the flames of the furnace with a fourth holy figure. The astonished Nebuchadnezzar calls them out of the fire and proclaims their God the One people should serve. In a way, the conceited king repents. And one point of this story, written down when the Jews were facing persecution in the 2nd-1st century B.C., is that standing up for one's faith in God is a witness to the nations of the world, who might repent even and serve God.

The story ends with some tongue in cheek humor though. King Nebuchadnezzar in an about face proclaimed that all people in his kingdom should now worship the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. But his new faith, if one can call it that, didn't soften him any. In true despotic fury he threatened that anyone who did not serve the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego would be torn limb from limb! Old habits die hard.

Which, of course, is why year after year we come to Ash Wednesday. Old habits die hard and sin never quite goes away, does it? There is always some repenting business to take care of.

Fiery Furnace

2011-03-04T16:14:00.005-05:00

So what do Ash Wednesday and the fiery furnace of Daniel 3 have in common?

Ashes, you say? Works for me. On one hand,cold ashes on the forehead. On the other hand, the hot ashes of whatever and whoever burned in that great Babylonian furnace...an ancient government's idea of capital punishment.

For Wednesday nights in Lent, pastors from nearby Lutheran churches are reading and talking about the great stories of the Easter Vigil (Saturday night before Easter). The stories are creation, the flood, Abraham's test, the crossing of the Red Sea, Ezekiel and the dry bones, Jonah and the big fish,and the fiery furnace. Here's the great part: each pastor takes one story and goes to five different congregations leading worship with that one story. The congregations get to hear five stories and five pastors. The advantage to my colleagues and me is obvious: there is only one message that needs to be prepared by each pastor. Not only that, but the congregations get to hear someone else talk for change.

My assigned story that I will be traveling around with is "The Fiery Furnace." It's a favorite of mine, but sadly my congregation won't hear it. So I have concocted a plan. Why not use the fiery furnace story on Ash Wednesday when I am with my congregation? Then---you got it---I won't have to do a completely new sermon on Ash Wednesday either. Now how pragmatic and efficient can one get?

Did I just say I was going to change an assigned text? Hopefully, the liturgical police are not reading this blog.

But there is more than my pragmatism going on. The fiery furnace story is so delightful that no one should miss hearing and reflecting on it. It has suspense, drama, repetition, humor, heroes...it's got it all! Besides,my creative teaching juices are churning, rising to the challenge of fitting the two together---Ash Wednesday and the fiery furnace. Can the combination really help us at all to mark the beginning of a season that prepares for Easter's celebration? Or am I stretching things.

I threw the idea out there to a few colleagues. We came up with the connection of Ash Wednesday and repentance (yes, the bad guy repents in the story). Another connection between the two is life in the midst of death. Yet another idea is the connection between what we treasure (see the Gospel reading in Matt 6:19-21) and what the three men about to be thrown into the furnace truly treasure.

There you go. More specifically, what do Ash Wednesday and Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego walking around in the fiery furnace have in common?Read Daniel 3 and weigh in with your ideas. I want to start working on it on Saturday.

.

Prayer journal: week 6, day 3

2011-02-19T10:03:00.033-05:00

Oh, what a howling wind today! Chester, our dog, dislikes the wind and was decidedly restless last night. He refused to sleep in his usual spot but roamed the house and at some point ended up underneath our bed. On the drive to work this morning, my substantial car was swaying around its lane. The crows looked comical making no headway in their attempt to fly into the wind to make the next tree.

This morning the "Unbinding the Gospel" prayer journal invites us to read Ezekiel 37:1-14, the story of Ezekiel's vision about the dry bones scattered on the ground. God calls on Ezekiel to prophesy-speak-declare to the wind-breath-Spirit for the bones to live. And in dramatic fashion, they join together and become living people. Then God promises Ezekiel and the people of Israel: I will put my Spirit-wind-breath within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the LORD, have spoken and will act!

We were invited in the journal to think of our church and the whole Church, praying that the Wind-Breath- Spirit would bring the "driest, deadest, boniest parts to life." What would you pray for?

I don't consider them dry and bony, but I pray for our youth ministry as we pray for what form new leadership will take. Come Wind-Breath-Spirit, and shape it the way you intend. (Coincidentally, a 50 mph blast just hit the window as I type.) I pray for the new venture "Prayer Around the Cross" in a few weeks; Holy Spirit-Breath-Wind, draw people you want to come into that circle of prayer for healing. You, Spirit, know who is in the driest,deadest and boniest situations and who needs to be surrounded with healing prayer. (No joking, the wind just did another powerful blast against the window :-) This past week the office administrator and I were trying to go through the lists of inactive members...now that truly feels like the driest, boniest task to me. Breath-Spirit-Wind, come into that conversation. I think of the people that have been mentioned in our Unbinding group, people with whom we have contact and are searching for God. Holy Breath-Spirit-Wind, blow opportunities for conversations or invitations into our times with them.

But now, I wrap a blanket around me, and a message for tomorrow must be written on a very different scripture text. Whether or not I sense any windy inspiration, I must start. I have to trust that by tomorrow morning the Wind-Breath-Spirit will make whatever typed manuscript is forth-coming into more than dead bones!!

(Why do I keep saying Wind-Breath-Spirit? Because the one Hebrew word means all three. Only context can dubiously suggest which to emphasize when translating it into English. How's that for confusing and absolutely marvelous! And by the way, a tall hemlock tree from across the street blew down and snapped the power lines. Guess Chester was pretty astute after all.)

Valentine interlude: week 5, day 5

2011-02-14T16:55:00.011-05:00

On my day off last week I went to see "The King's Speech" at the Midtown Theater. While I waited for the showing, I sat down at one of the tables and picked up a book the cafe has lying around instead of the usual magazines. It was a collection of Emily Dickinson's poetry. This poem was in the section called "Love" and seems to have some connection to the day.

Enjoy, but it takes reading several times. I still only grasp pieces of it. That's what is great about poems: you chew on them and turn them around and sleep on them. Which, for those of you who are working through the "Unbinding" prayer journal, is a bit like what we are doing with scripture.

Proof

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.

That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.

Prayer journal: week 4, day 3

2011-02-07T20:59:00.008-05:00

Isn't there somebody somewhere who talks about God being hungry for us? Or God is hungry for our love? I'm sure there is, although I can't place it right now.

Anyway, we were invited in "Unbinding the Gospel" to read John 6 about Jesus feeding the crowd of people and then to ask Christ which hungry people he would like us to feed: Salvation Army, homeless shelter, food bank, Heifer Project, etc. I checked off what I had already done this last month. OK, Lord, anything else?

"But I'm hungry for you."

Huh?

In our group's commitment to read scripture, reflect with the prayer journal and pray for one another for 40 days, I suppose we are doing it with an assumption that it will be good for us, good for the congregation and we will get a blessing out of it...and because the pastor asked us to do it. But as much as the John 6 crowd seemed to be hungry for bread out in the middle of nowhere, Jesus seemed hungry for his disciples' understanding and partnership.

So, again, what if the Lord is so hungry to be with us that he can hardly wait for us to sit down, open up our Bible and open up our lives and our hearts?

Prayer journal: week 3, day 4

2011-01-31T19:41:00.008-05:00

Lutheran Christians love to sing! Singing in worship has been our heritage and one of our contributions to the Reformation. Martin Luther was the one who introduced congregational singing into the German church; before that, it had been the sole responsibility of a choir. But in order for the people to start singing in worship again, new hymns had to be written.

That means not only was there a time when “A Mighty Fortress” was new to the congregation, a congregation singing at all was new and strange! Words had to be learned and not everyone could read. Did Luther’s congregation find it difficult to get that 3rd line of “A Mighty Fortress” where the melody jumps around a bit? Maybe it was the enthusiasm about the new things God was doing that carried them over the learning curve.

So in keeping with our Lutheran tradition, St. Paul’s has taken the plunge to learn a new setting of the liturgy. Each week we gradually are singing with more confidence. Great work, St. Paul people! (Remember: the word “liturgy” means the “work of the people.”) But at the last minute, one whimsical addition to our singing has been to sign (ASL) some of the liturgical words to help our children get involved. Our signing hands help us remember and sing the words “glory,” “peace,” “hosanna,” “lamb,” “God,” and “mercy.” As I've taught the signs to the children and older folks, we've noticed that the signs visually help explain what these words mean.

What does this have to do with prayer?

Even if I might look a little strange signing from behind the altar, this is what I’ve re-learned. The part of the liturgy that we sing (and now sign) is a prayer---active, dynamic, dancing prayer. The words are not something we “get through” in order to go on to the next thing. When we finish the sign for “hosanna,” our uplifted hands are in the exact position I use to pray the eucharistic prayer; our song and spoken prayer are one and the same. When I physically reach up and sign for God’s drops of mercy to fall down on us, we are asking with our whole bodies for God’s undeserved mercy now in our communion meal! The lovely sign for “glory” (like little sparklers) grabs my attention and imagination to how wonderful God's works truly are. Remember the ooh's and aah's at a fireworks display? That's how we look at God in worship.

Yes, we are Lutheran Christians and we love to sing...especially when our singing becomes more like the active, praise-filled conversation with an awesome God. That's the kind of prayer that it was always meant to be.

Prayer Journal: week 3, day 2

2011-01-28T17:11:00.008-05:00

My brother posted on facebook today and quoted C.S.Lewis:

How glibly I can pray something like "Make me an instrument of Your peace"; how spiritual I can sound to my friends. But I confess here and now that I am no such instrument, and in my most spiritually astute moments I rather doubt I really want to be one.

"I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through"--C S Lewis

True, very true, so very very true, Professor Lewis and brother...about all of us.

Last week as part of our prayer journaling in "Unbinding the Gospel" we were invited to try an experiment. Take an hour, any hour in our day. In everything we did during that hour, we were to ask God first what God wanted us to do. Should we get out of this side of the bed or that? Should we eat oatmeal or raisin bran? What should we wear? It sounded a bit ridiculous, but we were encouraged to just have fun with it.

The day I tried this, I started out with the first morning hour. I sort of assumed that God didn't care whether I ate raisin bran or not, but I asked anyway. It was a silly game, right? However, when I turned to the sink piled high with dishes, a quick question of "what should I do?" ended up in my rinsing and putting things in the dishwasher...without complaining about it. There where a few other things that I think I did because I asked God first, like reading scripture before turning on the computer and checking email.

But I learned the most from this exercise, not by those things I did or didn't do when I asked God about it. I learned the most from my own response when I looked at the time and noticed that my hour was up. This, would you believe, was my first thought: Thank goodness that's over. Now I can do what I want!

LOL! Professor Lewis, how right you and my brother are! I haven't had the courage to try the exercise again yet.

Prayer journal: week 2, day 1

2011-01-21T13:10:00.015-05:00

"Those who wait for the Lord, shall renew their strength.
They shall mount up with wings like eagles.
They shall run and not be weary.
They shall walk and not faint."
Isaiah 40: 31

I was thinking about the "waiting for the Lord " part. What does it mean? Sometimes scripture talks about waiting "on" the Lord too. I would have to do some digging around in Hebrew to see if there is any real difference in meaning. But until that gets done (or not), here's what I think about waiting for/on the Lord.

Sometimes waiting for the Lord means not running ahead of God. I might get an idea and immediately want to run with it. Wait! Did I talk to God about it first to find out if this is just my idea or something that God has put on my heart? This is hard. It requires taking time to pause and, yes, pray first.

Sometimes waiting for the Lord means I feel like I'm standing still (figuratively) and am waiting for God's help, waiting for the next step. Will healing happen? Will I ever get a job? How long does this grieving go on? When will I see clearly what to do next? This is hard; it requires faithfulness, perseverance and trust when I don't see anything happening.

Sometimes waiting on the Lord means being attentively ready, focusing on what God might want next. Perhaps I've been watching too many Masterpiece Theatre's butlers and maids whose whole focus is serving the master/mistress. My focus should be God and what God is doing. That happens most clearly when I read scripture or am in worship that is God-centered. The butler/maid waiting analogy eventually breaks down since God-focus is not just a job...it's love.

I don't think the Bible talks about waiting with God...not exactly. But I remember the story of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane asking the disciples to stay awake with him. He invites prayerful watchfulness and waiting. I think I wait with God every time I ask for world peace, every time I long for something that God is longing for. Waiting with God means being a companion with God, sharing the same hope, the same prayer.

Isaiah's promise is this: when we wait for the Lord, our strength is renewed. How could it not be? If we do much waiting for the Lord, we'll end up discovering that the Lord is always hanging around, and has been waiting on, waiting for and waiting with us first--before we even were aware of it. Realizing that can keep giving me energy for a long time.

Prayer journal: week 1, day 5

2011-01-17T19:28:00.004-05:00

Baptism makes partners.

...[B]e of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others." Philippians 2: 2-3

This is the scripture for the prayer journal today, which is partly to help our "Unbinding" group start thinking about prayer partners. But I heard it differently, maybe because I had just been to the installation of a pastor in a neighboring Lutheran church, and because I am becoming more aware of how congregations are subtly competing with each other in an age of limited resources and of easy mobility for parishioners looking for one thing or another. We don't mean to compete, but it is easy to get stuck in our own circle of interests. We avoid the humility it takes to look to the interests of other congregations as well as our own.

Individually we may need prayer partners, but for the sake of mission and gospel we need more congregation partners where the strengths of one congregation can be shared with another. One may have dynamic bible studies. Can it be shared? Another have an efficient quilting group for Lutheran World Relief. Can others join? Another is good at organizing mission projects. Could we work together for the interests of all rather than just our own interests? Can we humbly admit where we are not strong and need help?

Prayer journal: week 1, day 4

2011-01-16T18:55:00.004-05:00

Today the "Unbinding the Gospel" prayer journal invited us to notice how much Jesus was on the go walking from one place to the next. It was suggested that we go walking for our prayer today.

Now I love walking, but by the time I get home on a Sunday afternoon I am a bit of a zombie. I usually want to curl up with a book until I quickly fall asleep. But because the "unbinding" group is praying for one another, and because we are trying to make a commitment to follow through with our prayer journals, I dragged myself and the two dogs outside for an afternoon walk.

Feeling the bright, warm sun was good. Breathing in the chilled air help clear out the ache in my head. Breathing out some of the worries I brought home with me left me more balanced. Counting the weeks until spring brought hopefulness. I actually had the thought that I should walk and pray on more Sunday afternoons. It helped put the morning to rest and set steps for the coming week.

Actually "putting the morning to rest" is not true. After all, the morning was full of good worship and God's word. Why would I want to put that to rest when it is supposed to be guidance and strength for the week? So let me reword this. The walk helped me sift God's gifts of the morning from the more trivial worries that clutter up my focus and blind me to the grace in this day. The walk helps me bring the heart of worship into the coming week. There!

Prayer journal: week 1, day 3

2011-01-15T09:34:00.008-05:00

Today in the "unbinding the Gospel" prayer journal, after reading about a weary Jesus' compassion for the crowds (Mark 6:30-44), we were invited to check out the news and pray for someone we read or heard about. So I prayed for the 13-year old boy in Australia swept away in the flood when he told rescuers to take his younger brother first. And I pray for the younger brother who will grow up knowing the preciousness of sacrifice. I pray for the Pakistani government official who will not back down in speaking against the blasphemy law (punishable by death) and for advocating free speech, although his life is now under a death threat. And I listened fascinated to NPR's featured recording about to be released ("Bach: A Strange Beauty" performed by Simone Dinnerstein), and was reminded how healing music is. So I prayed for musicians during these hard times, that their song would encourage. And I pray for music at St. Paul, that it too will bring healing, hope, and renewal of faith.

I cannot do anything about the Australian floods or the danger in Pakistan. But maybe it is time to tune the autoharp and begin to take it around to home visits like I used to do. And maybe it's time to practice piano again; my husband has ordered some euphonium/piano music that is in route from California. Making music can be an act of compassion, just as a weary Jesus stepping off the boat into more crowds was an act of compassion as well.

Prayer Journal: week 1, day 3

2011-01-15T09:33:00.000-05:00

Prayer Journal: week 1, day 2

2011-01-14T09:50:00.004-05:00

Today we read Matthew 4: 17-22: "From that time Jesus began to proclaim, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.' As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea--for they were fishermen. And he said to them, 'Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him."

So, as the journal ("Unbinding the Gospel") suggests, I closed my eyes and prayerfully tried to put myself in the story. Imagination is required. (Isn't it Ignatius that teaches to read scripture this way?) Well, I just couldn't see myself in one of those fishing boats, too much of a guy thing maybe, so I ended up standing on the beach awhile, watching Jesus yell out to the men. I found myself hoping that he would notice me too. He turns away from the boats coming ashore and starts walking towards me. He stops, looks at me and grins, but doesn't say anything, just stands there and waits! I pluck up some courage and ask, "Can I come? I could help with things, run errands...." He answers, "Do you like listening to stories? And we are doing a lot of walking. Can you teach us songs we can sing along way?" I'm puzzled; is this a yes or a no? He laughs, "Go find a friend to come with you. We'll meet under that tree later this morning." Immediately, I race off ( a younger me is in the story) to find my friend.

The journal asks: What do we need to leave behind to do this? I need to leave behind my anxiety about the future. If I follow this band of disciples, I will have to trust day by day that my needs, the needs of my family, and the needs of the congregation will be provided for.

40 days of prayer: week 1, day 1

2011-01-12T21:56:00.006-05:00

Ten people in our congregation are doing a 40 day prayer journal as we read through "Unbinding the Gospel'' by Martha Grace Reese.

Week 1, day 1 invites us to read Psalm 103 which starts: "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless God's holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits...." At first reading I was struck with how I usually have a number of complaints and concerns that distract me from really blessing God with all that is within me! I focus way too much on myself. I suppose, though, on days where there simply isn't much within me to give, any tiny mite of blessing that I can offer is a good thing. On those days it is "bless the Lord with anything I've got."

Meanwhile the journal asked the question: Do you remember a specific time in your life when you blessed God with all that is in you? Do I?

Well, what came to mind happened 4 years ago. I remember it because for a whole hour I totally lost track of myself except for my amazement at being present. I remember it because it felt like all creation was blessing God and I, small human that I am, was witnessing something much bigger than myself. I remember it because it was so incredibly beautiful. I remember it because my daughter was there with me. Tonight the journal's question made the connection that what I had experienced that evening was "blessing the Lord with all that is within me." Truly. Now, if I could only practice blessing the Lord that joyfully on more ordinary days.

I wrote about it at the time:

Evening Prayer on the Rio Grande

We had come to the day of silence on our Epiphany pilgrimage to New Mexico. After enchiladas in the pueblo, experiments with pottery making, studying ancient Indian carvings on volcanic rock, learning new songs to sing, and absorbing the story of the magi who followed a star in search of the Christ child, our group would have a time to rest from human words. Yes, no talking for a day. We would have space to be still, listen and reflect on our week’s journey.

A day of silence was new to my daughter who had accompanied me on this pilgrimage, so I invited her, silently of course, to join me for a walk. We put on our thickest socks, our walking shoes (we wished for snow boots), grabbed packs with journals, and we two pilgrims trudged out into the cold, maturing afternoon.

Shadows stretched blue across the white snow. I led the way to the place I had discovered in the morning. One pilgrim behind the other, our feet crunched in the path of earlier seekers of the day’s sun and sky. If I lost my daughter’s shadow hovering around my feet, I knew to slow my pace and honor her city gait, less familiar with nature’s slippery pavement. Finally we branched off the snow-tramped way of other walkers and headed into the Basque, an area of aging cottonwood trees along the Rio Grande. This is where the four-legged ones make their home and playground. Our feet plowed snow past a fallen tree with white bark weathered smooth and through reddish stems standing bare from a former season of flourish. Our footprints mingled with those of swifter, lighter jackrabbits. Beyond stumps that served fishermen as campfire seats, the river reached from left to right, horizon to horizon, moving, breathing, faintly singing if one listened closely enough. Its glassy, turquoise reflection slipped through the ribbons of snow bank on either side.

Without needing to talk, we dug out comfortable hollows in the snow and placed our cushions on the frozen ground. We strangers had apparently arrived in time for evening prayer. A few others had gotten there before us, such as the family of Canadian geese who moved farther out into the water to give us plenty of room to watch the Sandia mountain. Sandia means watermelon, and this mountain imposingly rose above the land beyond the river, absorbing the remaining yellow warmth of the afternoon sun. The mountain was said to change colors at sunset. One or two at a time, ducks flew in and took their seat on the calm water. Some had black plumes on their heads, others a white streak and rusty chests. They chatted, fussed and laughed with one another over matters beyond my comprehension.

More geese in a variety of species and formations circled the sky. Occasional ducks had joined these geese lines, filling in the gaps within the flying V-patterns, a remarkable cooperation of diversity. As they glided in for a landing, their whir of wings whipped air only a few feet over our heads and fanned prayers of awe from deep within me. The birds were, in fact, so close I could look up and see individual feathers on their bellies. The sun drew nearer to the distant mesa behind us, and the crowds flying in intensified. Sand Hill cranes coasted from a nearby nesting site, their legs draping like long sticks behind gray bodies. They added their distinctive quawking harmony to the river’s rising prayer of honkings, quackings, chirpings, flutterings, and splashings. The congregation had assembled and the liturgy was underway.

The temperature dropped quickly in this desert land while the praise of the winged ones swelled and the mountain’s yellow folds opened into the rose, watermelon glow for which it was named. We watched and listened, transfixed and shivering, for a long while. Amid all this noisy prayer, the sun slipped silently away from the congregation’s worship. For a brief moment the reddened mountain and the translucent, pale river each held onto the sun’s parting gift of illumination. It was as if the two of them, mountain and river, had together swallowed the last bits of sunlight whole and then, internally radiant, had turned to bless the creatures with their own version of hillside and watery light. Their blessing pulled me to my feet in gratitude: I felt tears ice on my cold face.

But we mindful pilgrims needed to retrace the unfamiliar path before dark. The chorus of river folk continued in full voice as we wistfully left this place of prayer early. Even while we re-crossed the Basque, late cranes continued flying into the gathering. We heard lively songs echo off the river waters while we once again were slipping our way back along the frozen ruts pounded into the snow by human feet. The sharp wind rustled the cottonwoods, shook lingering leaves that hung black against the twilight. We sank deeper into our coats and hoods and even deeper down into our souls, full of what we had witnessed.

Our now hurried presence startled a lone goose dallying in the irrigation ditch along the path. He must have had his reason for missing the river prayer, but he rose wearily at our passing and, in the encroaching darkness, veered east toward the river to join his brothers and sisters as the night’s great silence began.

January 7, 2007

On books turning to movies turning to books

2011-01-02T21:27:00.002-05:00

One of the last things I did in 2010 was say goodbye to son and daughter-in-law as they headed across 600 miles back to their world of work and play. One of the next-to-last things I did in 2010 was go to see "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" with them.

I am always a bit skeptical about a beloved book (in this case, published by C.S. Lewis in 1952, a very good year, I might add) being portrayed on the cinema screen. After living with my own mental pictures of the Dawn Treader and Reepicheep for years--no, for decades--I hesitated to entrust myself to someone else's imagination. I am wary of the shortening, the rearranging, the conflating and the rewriting that must happen in order to make a story accessible for an audience eating popcorn in a theatre.

But this is what I especially loved about the movie. The images of the sailing Dawn Treader and the rolling wave at the end of the world; the affection that grows between the ornery Eustace and the courageous talking mouse, Reepicheep, (emphasized to great effect in the movie); the way the ship's crew is helped and even rescued by the Eustace-turned-dragon in a number of ways (movie liberties taken). Yes, I will purchase the movie and watch it many times.

But there is something in the book that I missed in the movie...missed so much that I re-read Voyage yesterday and today to check my memory. Thus it has become my first read book of 2011 :)

I missed Aslan taking the dragon skin off of Eustace. I missed Aslan throwing the tender, newly peeled Eustace into the pool to heal and become a boy again. That was without doubt my favorite part in the whole book. So when it didn't appear in the movie, I had to re-read the book again, a bit indignantly, to find out how the movie could have possibly ignored it.

What I discovered on the re-read is that the book never did have the reader "see" how Aslan changed Eustace from a dragon into a boy again. The book only has Eustace telling one of his companions what Aslan had done to him. In the book the conversation is several paragraphs; in the movie it is just a few sentences. Unfortunately the sentences that are left out in the movie are what had captured my imagination the most.

Eustace is a totally self-centered, obnoxious and greedy kid...a picture of any of us on an especially bad day. It gets him changed into a dragon. (By the way, if you want to know the details of how boy Eustace became a dragon you'll have to watch the movie or read the book yourself...both versions are great.) But life as a dragon, when you were created to be a boy, is very lonely. As Eustace tells it, Aslan, the lion king from the east, shows up at Eustace's most desperate moment and indicates that Eustace needs to have the dragon skin peeled off of himself. Eustace tries peeling the reptile skin off three times, and underneath there is only a new younger dragon skin. Then Aslan (a lion has claws) goes to work on Eustace, pulling deeper and harder and more painfully than Eustace ever dared. It works. With the disgusting skin lying on the ground (think 'sin' and 'old nature'), Aslan throws Eustace into a pool of healing water (think 'baptism'). Eustace is changed back into a boy. But more importantly, Eustace is freed, not perfectly, but considerably, from his ornery self-centeredness. Everyone on the Dawn Treader notices the difference.

And that's the part, my favorite part, that I missed in the movie.

Go see the movie. But don't forget to read the book and praise God that Christ can peel off our dragon skins.

Winter solstice 2010

2010-12-24T08:40:00.012-05:00

The moon plunged into
the solstice to save us,
knew we were blinded by
gazing at the sun too long,
knew we had lost our night vision
miles back while we obsessed on
dreams of white sand and sun tan oil,
knew, too, that we, frenzied, were
senseless to the subtleties needed
to navigate the deepest darkness as
whole people.

So she rose full breasted and beckoned
us to look up while she gleamed her way across
the empty blackness that scares us;
a mother playfully coaxing her children,
she threw twig shadows at our feet,
and slipped behind our own ponderous shadow
to change into copper until we whispered
''how beautiful" and fell asleep
on her lap.

When next we stirred, cold
but braver about the waiting
into a day with still no dawn,
we found our eyes could
note the slightest turn
of ebony into late cobalt,
of fading star into sparse mist;
that turning, or rather,
an eye to notice that turning,
the kind of sight birthed in the longest
night's caverns, is what some call
hope.

there she was again,
almost gone and grinning
at our new way of seeing, her
creamy circle of silk parachute
sinking in slow motion below
the trees into somewhere
we could not follow..,.
but look! here in our hands,
ready for our next night,
she left some shavings of
copper.

A blessed Christmas and a hope-filled New Year to you!

Little tree

2010-12-19T13:54:00.005-05:00

This is a poem by e.e. cummings. The poem is lovely, but when set to music by Steven Heitzig for chorus and harp, it becomes exquisite. What is it about the wedding of good texts with music by sensitive composers that make both the music and texts even richer than if they stood alone? Anyway, "little tree" has become a favorite of mine, and so yesterday I had a mini-20 minute retreat: sitting in the car by the creek, watching a mockingbird in the once beautiful, but fading hemlocks, and listening to "little tree" several times over, performed by the Dale Warland Singers on December Stillness (1995).

On the surface it is a poem about choosing and decorating a Christmas tree. But the music helps you slow down to notice more. This is what I heard: the innocence of a child's love and care, the loss that comes with leaving a place, the attention to detail, the beauty of the moment, sacrifice, the loveliness of appreciation, the giving of life for the joy of praise, the "noel" that keeps singing long after the song and poem have ended in silence.

I failed to find (or didn't know enough to find) a good recording of this to post, so I can only share half of the experience. But we can grab a thermos of coffee anytime, head for the park and I'll play it for you.

little tree by e.e. cummings

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

A week before

2010-12-18T09:27:00.012-05:00

Praying my old walking prayer a week before a new Christmas:

Lord Jesus Christ, my savior and friend...

...and son of David. In Matthew 1 we hear you named through a long genealogy as a descendant of King David, and so we call you "king" and "son of David." But my genealogy is English, German, Danish, Scottish and Irish. Yet you have named me a sister to the "son of David," and so through you I am adopted into a tradition I really know little about. You have welcomed me across barriers that divide. Therefore when I name you as the son of David, I too must welcome across the gaps that divide people from people. I must do for others what you have done for me.

You are the way. Walk with me in your way today...

...as I check off the places I need to be and things I need to do. There's a sermon to write, cards to mail, greens to hang, gifts to buy, and I am getting squeezed by the expectation of the looming holiday. Yes, I meant looming. I've already been a disappointment lately to quite a few folks in my life. How much more damage will I do? And as for you, I have had little time to notice whether you are walking beside me or not. I wonder, as I wait in yet another line with chirpy music blaring, if I have taken a wrong turn.

Let your life spring up in me...

...because I know deep down that what we call the "good life" with all the perks we wish for and all the tinsel that is shining is so different from the life you talk about.

your love flow through me...

...especially when I am so self-protective that I am not open to the ways you want to love people through me.

your peace extend to all I meet...

Can you extend peace through me when I am so tense and tangled inside? Can you help me stop being so hard on myself, to offer a little peace to myself?

your surrounding Spirit protect me...

...mostly from myself.

Plant your word deep in my heart, that I may know your voice and not wander.

Actually, you may have to shout, because my hearing is not too good lately,and the anxiety volume in me and the world around me has been turned up to high.

Give me strength and courage for the challenges of this day...

...especially when I see the challenges as road blocks and inconveniences, instead of opportunities that you want to be involved in, opportunities for you and me together to put this faith thing into practice. You know like Joseph saw the roadblock of a pregnant Mary and was offered the opportunity of naming and raising your son.

and joy in noticing your grace upon grace.

In the end, joy is a gift, always and only your gift...very different from our own happiness and satisfactions. If I could only open my eyes, I would see the great and gracious things you are doing. If I would only stop listening to my fears and frustrations, I would hear your joy hovering around the fringes, eager to step into my awareness. Please come on in and take a seat. You would be the best gift for all of us this Christmas.

Emmanuel a-singing

2010-12-11T10:28:00.015-05:00

To us, to all in sorrow and fear
Emmanuel comes a-singing.
His humble song is quiet and near,
yet fills the earth with its ringing....

These words are from the middle stanzas of a newer hymn by Marty Haugan, Awake! Awake, and Greet the New Morn. I have enjoyed the hymn's dancing tune for several advents now, but I must not have been paying attention to the words, the heart of the song. As too often happens, I can only sing the first few lines. (OK, can you, for example, sing the second stanza of Hark, the herald angels sing? Well, some of you can, but not most, I'm guessing.)

Last week I was flipping through the Advent section of the hymnal, searching for something that I could not put into words. Maybe I was searching for some way to connect to this Advent-Christmas season when this preceding year has been so strange and taxing. Maybe I was searching for spiritual nourishment when so many words around us are trite. Maybe I was simply searching for God. Sometimes songs give us words to pray, or courage to hope, or wisdom to guide, or a way to re-look at what seems jaded.

Awake! Awake! is where I stopped and began to read more slowly. What caught my eye and imagination was the picture of Emmanuel comes a-singing. Now I have thought of Jesus walking, teaching, healing, dying, praying. Thanks to active speculations about end times, I've considered clouds, thunder and "the trumpet sounding" as a possible part of the return package.

But the song invites me to imagine Jesus himself coming down the road singing. I like that. Laughing and walking into my anxiety with a kid's camp song. Singing away my doubt with my mother's favorite old hymn. Teasing me into courage with a rousing ballad. Teaching me a tune that begs latent joy to burst into the open and feet to dance.

This picture of Emmanuel singing is sort of a pied piper image, isn't it? I love how music outside is spacious and subtle. Others step out from behind doors that lock in the fear, sadness and loneliness. We peer in all directions for the source of this "quiet and near" singing. We spot the singing Emmanuel and his "humble song" grows, maybe as we start singing along with him---if we can remember the words, that is. In the meantime, I'm going to have to work on learning this second stanza by heart, and the third...

In darkest night his coming shall be,
when all the world is despairing;....

A few cold nights ago, I was awakened by a horned owl's soft call in the nearby woods. It repeated every half minute or so. I distinctly remember the peacefulness I felt at the sound. I remember being grateful for warm covers. I remember feeling glad about living in this human community on the edge of an owl's world. Peace. Gladness. Gratefulness. Now I wonder: whose song was I hearing anyway?

Waiting out the arctic wind

2010-12-09T20:00:00.012-05:00

Stiffened with attention. Necks taut. Normally soft ears pressed into starched triangular folds. Unblinking eyes watching.

I looked up from my cup of Irish Breakfast and from the scripture reading for the coming Sunday to discover my dogs were staring me down. Bemused, I went back to reading. A few minutes later I looked up again as I poured more tea into the cup. The dogs still had not moved. One was sitting erect on the couch; the other poised in the most professional "sit" a trainer could hope for. I knew what they wanted, but had never noticed them quite this desperately attentive before.

They were willing me to take them for a walk, ready to jump at the first movement that I might be rising to get walking shoes. Their attention was in vain, I might add. My psyche has not adjusted to the early arctic freeze, and I simply couldn't manage to let canines with fur drag me into the 15 degree (Fahrenheit) chill. I let them out into our little browned back yard instead. Long after I left for work, I still imagined their fixed eyes waiting.

I feel like I've been a third dog in the house, poised and anxious, waiting in vain to have something to write on this blog. I have paid every attention to my surroundings, but in vain, it seems. Nothing emerges as something to write about or something I can write about. Yet as I watch for the least stirring of a blog subject, I'm convinced that this is not a "writer's block" experience.

Instead, it is a matter of the scarcity of resources in one human. There is only so much creativity to go around. Work and life in general is sucking every ounce of available creativity I have. This is not necessarily a bad thing, because I am doing creative things throughout the day...negotiating relationships, adapting worship, encouraging the despondent, fostering new spiritual growth, planting dreams and even singing Christmas carols on the autoharp. At the end of the day there is little creativity left in me for the task and art of writing.

The arctic wind will change and blow warmer from the southwest. Walking the dogs will resume. The intensity of pastoring will settle down a bit, and my waiting at attention for the least movement of words will end up being posted here.

You, my child

2010-11-25T11:06:00.030-05:00

I once studied in a community that sang morning prayer together every Tuesday and Thursday. The last song of morning prayer was from Luke 1:68-79, the song of the old priest Zechariah as he held his new baby son. In Luke's story the angel Gabriel had announced the coming birth to Zechariah, saying that the child would prepare the way for the coming messiah. Zechariah was skeptical, mostly because he and his wife were childless and quite old. But don't question an angel if it is Gabriel; Zechariah was struck mute until after the baby was born. Later, his voice restored and son in his arms, he praised God and sang about the child's destiny:

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel;
you have come to your people and set them free.
You have raised up for us a mighty Savior,
born of the house of your servant David.
Through your holy prophets you promised of old
that you would save us from our enemies,
from the hands of all who hate us.
You promised to show mercy to our ancestors
and to remember your holy covenant.
This was the oath you swore to our father Abraham:
to set us free from the hands of our enemies,
free to worship you without fear,
holy and righteous in your sight all the days of our lives.

In the community we sang this song so frequently, we knew it by heart. We belted it out with enthusiasm, mostly because lunch was next on the schedule. But before we hurried outside, there came the final part of the song, reserved for one person only to sing. The rest of us would have to hush and stand in silence with growling stomachs while we heard the words of Zechariah to his baby John, the future "baptizer" and eater of locusts and honey:

You, my child,
shall be called the prophet of the Most High,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God,
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Then, song finished, we darted out the door, often oblivious to what had just happened: that we, not just baby John, had been commissioned as prophets. For centuries, the Church has picked up Zechariah's song and for centuries has sung it to her children, whether they listen or not. She sings so that they, like the prophet John, would go before the Lord to prepare the way, that they too would tell others about the good news of forgiveness, that they too would bear the light of God in the corners of darkness and death where their friends or neighbors are hiding, that they too would extend God's peace to others. Yes, however hungry to move on, however inattentive, our morning prayer community was held for a moment, silenced, and commissioned by Zechariah's words.

"You, my child...." Who? Me? On Sunday the congregation and I will be held and addressed by Zechariah's words in our service of lessons and advent carols. Never mind that a chaotic, consuming, competing "holiday" season swirls around us; God will stubbornly commission us anew as advent prophets to buck the frenzied system and, instead, spend these next few weeks telling the good news of Jesus, persisting in forgiveness, shedding light to the depressed and making peace with the anxious. This commissioning is counter to the bad news, distrusting, despairing, worried current around us. If we should dare think ourselves an unlikely choice for this "prophet" thing of preparing the way, remember this: it was highly unlikely for Zechariah and his wife to have a baby in their old age. Yet God always has had a way of choosing the unlikely things. Unlikely or not, God is choosing us.

A home

2010-11-19T11:00:00.017-05:00

A friend lost her home last week. When I spoke with her on the phone, the weariness in her voice was penetrating. Though her health is fragile, yet I have experienced her trust in God to be like a deep lake. Her home has been a place I return to for refreshing wisdom and encouragement.

But last week she was trying hard in our conversation to find her footing through shock and indignity. She is staying temporarily with family. Her church is moving mountains to find a place for her to live. Meanwhile she was hanging onto words from John's gospel that her pastor had read to her: that our Lord prepares a dwelling place for us and we do not have to be afraid.

God's home is wherever we are. My friend knows that. However, it's one thing to know it; it is another thing to live it in a strange bed. Jesus answered, "... my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them." (John 14:23) I can vouch for the fact that God's home is in my friend's heart; I step into a sense of God's presence every time I talk with her. But tonight she needs to know deep down that her home is in God. It is probably only the Holy Spirit that can assure her of that through this long night.

Meanwhile, here in the States the question of the week is: Are you going home for Thanksgiving? Many will travel back "home" to parents or grandparents, maybe even back to the house where they grew up. My daughter and her husband, for example, are coming "home" to our place.

And yet, if the temporary house is taken away, would we be able to trust our home is always in God, or would those words sound like sawdust? Or if we have no one to go home to this week, will loneliness be louder than the words that God is always making a home in us? I can't answer, because this year I have a house in which to live and children coming to share some meals here.

But pray for my friend, and for all those who in these financially hard times have lost their homes this year, and even for all those who have lost people with whom they once shared a home. May God be a lavish homemaker in their lives. And may the rest of us not get so buried in our houses and preparations that we forget to extend "home" in God's name to others.

2010-11-02T19:00:00.005-04:00

By Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are all, quite naturally,
impatient in everything to reach the end
without delay.
We should like to skip
the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being
on the way to something unknown,
something new,
and yet it is the law of all progress
that is made by passing through
some stages of instability-
and that it may take a very long time.
And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually –
let them grow,
let them shape themselves,
without undue haste.
Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today
what time (that is to say, grace and
circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make you tomorrow.
Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you
and accept the anxiety of
feeling yourself in suspense and incomplet

Thank you, Shalem, for posting this on your site.

Present and well-proved

2010-10-29T22:39:00.010-04:00

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Psalm 46:1

October 31st is Reformation Day. Psalm 46 and Martin Luther's hymn, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, that is likely (but loosely) based on the psalm, are both up for this Sunday. So our Tuesday and Wednesday discussion groups spent time comparing the psalm and hymn and seeing if we could figure out what some of the connections were. But, of course, we have also been listening for what might be the connections to our daily life.

Thanks to www.workingpreacher.org, I was reminded that the Hebrew word translated "present" can also mean "well-proved." God is a very present help in trouble, but God is also a well-proved help in trouble. Two great meanings in the space of one little word! Probably the author's intention.

If God is a present help, then right now at this time and in this place God is helping us. In fact, God is not just present, God is "very present." It seems like the psalmist wants us to be sure about this promise of God.

But if God is a very "well-proved" help in trouble, then that implies that God has proved God's help in other troubled situations. Of course, to the people of Israel for whom this psalm was written, the big story of God's well-proved help was their journey out of slavery in Egypt and crossing safely through the wilderness.

As followers of Jesus, the big, good news story is that Jesus died to heal us and God raised him from the dead to be our strength and refuge always. That is a huge,well-proved help. Therefore when we are in the middle of trouble, we have only to sit down and recall the ways God has helped in the past to be encouraged that God will help again. It is true that sometimes we get so distracted by the trouble that we forget what God has done in the past.

So take a minute. How has God proved God's help to you in the past? Then look around you now: what present trouble needs the present help of a faithful God.

Book Review: A 30 Day Retreat by William C. Mills

2010-10-25T19:14:00.004-04:00

Vacation is a good time to catch up on reading and writing projects. One of those projects has been to read A 30 Day Retreat: A Personal Guide to Spiritual Renewal by William C. Mills (Paulist Press, 2010) for which I was asked to write a review. Here is a little bit about the book and why I think many of you would be interested in reading it.

The book begins with an introduction suggesting ways to read and use the book as a guide. Then thirty short chapters follow, one for each day of the retreat. Each day focuses on a different topic, such as confession, peace making, forgiveness, loneliness, neighbors, or meeting community needs. The chapter begins with a scripture reading on which one is encouraged to spend time reflecting. Following the reading, there is a short devotional in which the author uses engaging and practical examples to help us understand how the scripture interacts in our daily life. The examples may touch on things like deleting things from the computer hard drive or an episode of Narnia. Finally there are questions for further reflection and further scripture readings if one wants to explore the topic further.

The topics chosen by the author, who is a priest in the Orthodox Church, focus on qualities and practices that have been characteristic of Christians throughout the ages in many different Christian traditions. The topics answer the question: What does being a sincere follower of Jesus Christ look like? The book is a guide to some of those characteristics that scriptures indicate God wants to grow in us, and it certainly helps for us be intentional about following Christ’s lead. Because of the author’s simple explanations, this could be a good book to read by those who are considering becoming Christians. Yet it is also a good review for those of us who have been Christians for longer, since these practices are so basic we always need to relearn them in new ways and in new situations of our lives.

If one is interested in following the suggested pattern for a 30 day retreat, it will require setting aside time everyday to read the scripture, the author’s meditation and prayer. Daily scripture reading is certainly an excellent practice to develop, and a 30 day study is a good way to start. Reading the book this way may be helpful during Lent, Advent or maybe in the summer when schedules are less demanding. Perhaps another option would be to do a chapter a week, reading the assigned scripture a number of times as well as the extra readings. That would also gives more time through the week to think about the questions and how they might apply personally. A third suggestion is to work through the book with a Christian friend or a small group. Many readers could benefit by having someone with whom to discuss the readings and discussion questions, a partner on the spiritual journey. This could easily be a fall to spring commitment for a group who wishes to deepen their spiritual lives.

I am grateful to have read the book and grateful to the author who helps us think through what it means to grow as followers of Christ in the 21st century.

Sabbath 6: Reminder to myself

2010-10-23T19:20:00.011-04:00

Before the sun gets a running leap,
make sure you breathe the cobalt blue,
and bless the One who kept your
heart beating through the night--
yours and those you love
and those you don't
or won't yet.
Who knows?
Perhaps in
the blessing, the
Holy One may stretch
your rousing soul as wide
as sun is high by noonday;
what once you scorned could cradle a new friend.

Sabbath 5: Uncertainties

2010-10-21T08:08:00.005-04:00

Sabbath 5: Day of Uncertainty

Tastings: Texas shrimp braised in butter over a campfire, fresh curried trout broiled over coals, stewed tofu, roasted carrots, oriental rice crackers.

Still learning by heart: Isaiah 30: 21 “...This is the way; walk in it.”

It was a rainy morning so we headed out of the campground into town to do some window shopping and ended up at an international grocery as large as our local supermarket. In fact, the produce section was even bigger with many vegetables that I have never seen before. We stocked up on peppers--sweet red and jalapeno. The meat section included quail, chicken feet, goat, three kinds of chorizo (Mexican, Argentinian, Salvadoran) and much more. We settled for fresh shrimp and trout, pulled from the ice and butchered in front of us. We walked around the world looking at varieties of flours, rice, beans and canned goods, uncertain how to prepare or serve most of these items. Down each aisle we heard different languages. There was a reasonable amount of American food, but I have to admit the hot dogs seemed rather mundane next to their international competition. This shopping experience was an adventure, and I expect we will make a semi-annual trip down this way to stock up on items to expand our cooking menu. But we will also need to investigate recipes in order to be more certain how to use some of the new ingredients.

Our world is changing so quickly, and an large international supermarket is a delightful result, even if I am uncertain what to do with much of the food I saw today. On the other hand, change is also difficult; our uncertainty leaves us uncomfortable, even afraid, about the next steps to take. This is true in many churches, particularly in North America and Europe. This is true of the congregation where I serve. There is much of which I, as its pastor, am uncertain.

But I am not the only one. The word “uncertainty” resonates with so much that I see around me. I have noticed that this very word “uncertainty” has started popping up in faith discussions: a blog here, a lecture there, a conversation with another pastor over coffee. Many congregations struggle with attendance and finances, but not many seem certain about how God is leading the church differently. A few charismatic and innovative leaders have seemed to buck the difficult trends; sometimes we try to imitate them, but in the long run, it doesn’t work. The rest of us ordinary, but trying-to-be-faithful ones are uncertain about where it leaves us as leaders. And uncertainty, at least in our society, is portrayed as failure.

Nevertheless, today I wonder: what if God is actually calling people to walk the way of uncertainty for a time, and, in doing so, to have a radical trust and faith that God has something planned that we cannot see yet. To walk the way of uncertainty and yet remain certain that God’s goodness is guiding...now there is a challenge for Christ’s Church.

But he is the one who said, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3)

It seems, then, that if God’s people are being blown down a path by the Spirit, there is bound to be some uncertainty with it. After all, who knows which way the Spirit will nudge us? Even though uncertainty can be disconcerting, especially to those who, like me, prefer to plan in advance and to see measured progress, uncertainty also has a positive flip side; it can invite a necessary openness to what new thing God might be doing.

Isaiah 43:18-19: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness...

This was a verse I memorized 45 years ago. At that time I was fairly certain of a lot of things as a Christian. Now I admit readily to much I don’t know. But I now suspect that I am not out of the wilderness of uncertainty after all; instead, I’m still looking for the new thing God is doing. So when God tells me and others that “This is the way; walk in it,” I wonder if that way has a big orange road sign labeled, “Caution: Uncertainty ahead.” If so, it is better to know it in advance, I think. Being certain that uncertainty is coming sheds a little more courage on the path.

Sabbath 4: A word behind

2010-10-18T11:14:00.007-04:00

Sightings: A great blue heron flying a few yards past us, the canal towpath in fall colors instead of the familiar spring, a HUGE poison ivy plant, a little boy and his dad fishing in the river, a very crowded and lively book store on a Sunday night.

Learning by heart: Isaiah 30:21

“And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, you shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”

It was a delightful autumn afternoon, so we loaded up the bikes and returned to a part of the towpath that I had remembered as particularly scenic. Rick was not disappointed; I gently tossed a few pebbles into the canal and a great blue flapped wings and took off a few yards beyond the photographer.

It’s hard to take a wrong turn when biking here. Going to the left will land us in the river; going to the right will toss us in the canal. There’s only one way to go: straight ahead (or turn around and go back.) But while going straight ahead, I did think about Isaiah 30:21 and what it means to “hear a word behind you.” This is what it does not mean in my experience: God sitting on my shoulder whispering the next step in my ear. I may wish it were that “easy” sometimes, but it’s not.

So what does “a word behind you” mean? Returning to the towpath where I did the 335 mile sabbatical walk, behind me by 2 and 1/2 years, reminds me of the many things I learned, things that God taught me. Much has happened in my life and the life of the congregation in that time. The words I learned that are “behind” me still stand though; I need to pay attention to how they apply in new situations. For example, with the recession, our family’s financial situation has changed significantly. I learned much two years ago on the pilgrimage about traveling lightly. Seems to be “a word behind me” that applies now.

But I also note that my return to learning scripture by heart gives God space to use God’s favorite language with me. It is scripture that I have heard on a Sunday or learned in the past that helps guide the next step when I don’t have a canal and river on either side to do the obvious guiding.

But this is the hardest part: sometimes the next step is so filled with uncertainty, that even after praying, listening and still not knowing, I must take a step anyway, trusting that God will stop me if I am going off in the wrong direction. Often some time later, there seems to be a “word behind” saying, “Yeah, that’s it; you made a good choice. Keep walking.” Must be God’s sense of humor.

Sabbath 3: Returning

2010-10-17T18:20:00.003-04:00

Sightings: A young girl returning home across her yard, her head bowed over a book she was reading; people in Cambridge, MD, returning for more crab soup, bratwurst and sauerkraut, and Octoberfest beer; two eagles turning and returning over the salt marsh, my dog Winnie’s bumped up nose after slamming into the screen door she didn’t see while returning up the trailer steps.

Learning by heart: Isaiah 30:15 “In returning and rest you shall be saved (healed)...”

Rick and I returned to the Maryland eastern shore for the day since the place we wanted to explore was only two hours from our campsite. We ate crab soup and drank pumpkin ale accompanied by Bavarian music, checked out a possible campground for the future (it flunked the test), and stretched our legs at Blackwater Wildlife Management Area where we saw the eagles.

On the quiet drive back to camp, I had plenty of time to think about “returning.” You can return to a task after taking a break or after being interrupted. You can return something borrowed, like a library book. You can return to a place after a long time and find that everything has changed, that you have changed too. I suppose a potter re-turns a pot that isn’t quite the right shape...well, maybe a potter re-throws. And sometimes you return to a relationship that has been broken.

So how would you describe returning to God? Maybe this is how Luther would do it. He talks about how sin is a turning in upon oneself; in that case, returning to God would be more like an uncurling, a straightening up and looking at the world and at God instead of oneself.

But today I am keeping it simple. I am returning, but returning to the simple practice of learning scripture by heart. Just verses here and there though, not the whole gospel of John like before. And as you may have guessed, I am starting with a few from Isaiah 30.

Sabbath 2: Day of the turtle

2010-10-14T12:33:00.003-04:00

Sightings: Stars before dawn, tumbling river (Great Falls), 3 blue herons, a turtle floating in the canal, autumn-red Virginia creeper with blue berries on it (and I’m from the state that gave the creeper its name but still didn’t know it grows berries), 2 mules pulling the canal boat, 7 stink bugs sharing my shower, my 1st much belated campfire of 2010.

Learning by heart: Isaiah 30:20 “...but your eyes shall see your teacher.”

Gleanings: I think it was the turtle sighting that grabbed my attention. The slow, silent, sun-basking creature was floating in the shallow canal, her nose pointed above the water’s surface, catching the sun. Though there was not a trace of movement, she was highly attentive; she flicked underwater at the sound of Rick’s camera.

Much folklore attributes wisdom to the turtle. For a number of years, I have seemed to run into turtles at the most pivotal times in my life when I am in sore need of wisdom. The initial encounter was with a pair of box turtles during the day of silence at a spiritual leadership conference. It struck me then, as now, how the turtle’s ease with being slow, often still, and mostly silent is a picture of “waiting on the Lord,” an attentiveness to the presence of God, a silence in listening to God’s word, the source of Wisdom.

I have been doing way too much talking (explaining, planning, exhorting and persuading) lately without enough quiet waiting on God. Even now on vacation, my head, if not my mouth, is chattering away about things to be done or said. I doubt that it is a coincidence that my teacher, by way of a turtle, showed up to nudge me into stillness.

Sabbath 1

2010-10-11T20:02:00.009-04:00

It is vacation and play time...2 weeks of it! With all the extra work getting ready to leave, some of you have noted that it's been over a week since I posted anything. Don't give up on me. Finally I have locked the office door. Finally the bikes, the books and the food are all packed into the camper for an early departure. Depending on my playful writing mood and our finding a place with wireless to hang-out, I might check in with gleanings from reading or photos from simple adventures. Meanwhile, here's a quote from a funny litle book a friend gave me (Some Kind of Ride by Brian Andreas):

I only do this until I get dizzy
& then I lay down on my back &
watch the clouds, she said.

It sounds simple
but you won't believe
how many people
forget the second
part.

God's peace to you this fall evening.

Palimpsest on faith

2010-10-01T20:06:00.018-04:00

I learned this week that a palimpsest is a manuscript from which an earlier text has been scraped away and the vellum or parchment reused to write something else. It was a common practice before the invention of paper when vellum (made of animal skin) was costly; in fact, sometimes the vellum was used more than twice. What makes palimpsests fascinating to historians is that, as the manuscript with the second (or even third) overlay ages, the original writing begins to be decipherable again. The original text is often discovered to be quite ancient. Some of the oldest manuscripts that we have of the gospels or early Christian writings have been palimpsests, as I discovered reading The Sisters of Sinai by Janet Soskice.

Imagine trying to read two (or three) manuscripts one on top of the other. What a challenge!

The palimpsest became a metaphor on faith for me this week as I worked through Habakkuk, one of today's worship readings. Studying Habakkuk helped me realize that one's faith can express itself in very different ways at different times, or even at the same time, for that matter. It's like different texts being written over each other on one manuscript...the manuscript being me or Habakkuk or you, if you want. Sometimes these varying ways of trusting God all mingle together: each true, each genuine, sometimes contradicting one another, and sometimes hard to decipher as faith when one is in the middle of trying to trust God. I may think I have no trust at all when actually the mustard seed of faith (to use Jesus' metaphor) is quite sufficient. In case you're totally confused, maybe I should explain Habakkuk better.

Habakkuk (chapter 1) cries out and challenges God about all the violence and corruption around him. He laments that those who ignore God are flourishing while the few righteous struggle. His lament, though, is really an act of faith: by his crying out and challenge, he actually is linked with God’s own concern over injustice and sin and disease and death.

Habakkuk wrote something different about faith (chapter 2). After lamenting, Habakkuk sat down on a high lookout and waited to see what God would do. How long he sat there, we don’t know, but while he waited for God, he was told that God still had a plan that would become evident when the time was right. God’s plan would not lie; in other words, God would keep all God's promises. God told Habakkuk, "If my plan seems to take a long time, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay." It’s true, isn't it, that we can only see a tiny part of what God is doing at any given time?

Finally something else is written (chapter 3) that really amazes me. Habakkuk says that, no matter what the circumstances, he will rejoice in God who saves him. Listen to it:

Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will exult in the God of my salvation.
God , the Lord, is my strength.

Like a layered palimpsest, faith had been written onto Habakkuk in 3 texts..written into my life too. At any given day (or hour) the voice of one faith text may be more prominent than another. But thanks to Habakkuk, I am recognizing all three of these texts for what they are...faith. Lament is not skeptical doubt. Waiting is not inertia and lack of leadership. Rejoicing is not foolishness. Instead, sometimes faith laments because, as God knows, what is wrong needs to be changed to good. Sometimes faith waits because God's plan comes in God's own time. Sometimes faith rejoices in God no matter how bad the circumstances because being known and loved by God is worth absolutely everything.

Generous

2010-09-25T20:03:00.009-04:00

Roberto Juarez: "Sweet Potatoes at the Table," 1987, at the Denver Art Museum.

Generous. It is such a wonderful adjective. I can't locate my dictionary at the moment, but my thesaurus uses related words like open-handed, giving something of value, hospitable, bountiful, unselfish, free-giving. I think about generosity and the times I have received it, and my first response is to take a deep breath and relax. Good memories. My second response is to laugh and celebrate.

In the struggle to flesh out what it means to "love one's neighbor," when love tends to be a word superficially overused, generosity surfaces as a unique quality. Generosity is a practical way to give love space to grow. I suspect that generosity is the currency of love.

I know this: God is over-the-top generous with us.

Maybe that's why the writer of 1 Timothy says that wealthy Christians should be reminded to be generous and share what they have. (1 Tim 6:6) My guess is all human beings are called to be generous, but those who have a lot of possessions need extra reminding. We are susceptible to financial preoccupation, caution and even, oh dear, stinginess. I say "we" because by biblical standards I am wealthy by virtue of being a North American middle class person. There is plenty in the scripture readings for this Sunday to warn me and those like me not to be trapped by money and possessions. Maybe some people respond well to negative warnings, but dire predictions succeed in making me tense. Or they set me to rationalizing them as not relevant to my situation. I tend to close the book...or my ears.

But invite me to be generous? Now that sounds like it could be fun. You've got my attention, God. That sounds like there could be a celebration around the corner. One can be generous in a lot of ways; with time, with money, with sharing, with feeding, with gifting, in playing, even by being lavish in a readiness to forgive. There is creativity in generosity.

What do generous people look like? They look joyful. They look outward. They look complete in the midst of their giving away. They look like they are alive. They look like Jesus.

Have you seen any generous people at work recently? Isn't it amazing to watch? My guess is if we asked God to show us opportunities to be generous, we would be more joyful and content people. What do you think?

Blogger quiz

2010-09-22T20:58:00.006-04:00

We have hit a stretch of scriptures in our worship that all have to do with money and what we do with it, and there's no way to get around it. And there are uncomfortable words like temptation, trapped and destruction in the texts too. Money was one of Jesus' favorite topics to talk about in one form or another. But not mine. We live in a culture where one's finances are are taboo subject, too private except with a financial adviser (if you have enough to be advised about) or with the IRS. There's something awkward (for me) about talking money to those who voluntarily pay my salary...seems self-serving somehow. Well, tomorrow is sermon writing day, and I'll just have to plunge in...

But first, for those who like a bit of a challenge, a few money/wealth saying have been rolling around my musings: Which 3 statements are not said by Jesus or the apostle Paul? (You can look in Luke 16 or 1 Timothy 6 for the answers.)

1. Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much.
2. You cannot serve God and wealth.
3. We brought nothing into the world; we can take nothing out of it.
4. God helps those who help themselves.
5. The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.
6. Money is the root of all evil.
7. Take hold of the life that really is life.
8. If we have food, clothing, shelter, health care, education, transportation, a job, and live in a safe place, we will be content with these.
9. Be rich in good works, generous and ready to share.

Have fun with our taboo money talk.

Green Mountain update

2010-09-15T21:05:00.005-04:00

One side of Green Mountain is still green, and my brother's house is spared from the wildfire. The wind decided not to do its predicted dangerous attack from the NW today. The "hot-shots" have done their fire fighting exceptionally well. My brother says neighbors are moving back into their homes and emptying refrigerators of spoiled food. Wish I could book a flight out and help throw a thanksgiving party under the trees around his cabin. Guess it will have to wait a year or two.

Keep us mindful, God, of those who did not fare so well from this season's fires. And all God's people said: "Amen."

Perch from Green Mountain

2010-09-13T17:51:00.010-04:00

I watched this mountain bluebird perch on the peak of my brother's home, guarding a nest under the eaves. Take my word for it: what this bird sees looking off Green Mountain, across a reservoir and up to snowy Long's Peak is breath-taking. For the better part of a morning, my back was turned to all this magnificence. Instead, I played with my husband's new camera and decided to concentrate and practice on the little things. That was in May.

I wonder where the bluebird is now. There is a wildfire on Green Mountain today according to the news. Helicopters and fire fighters compete with heavy smoke and roaring orange flames. I watch posted videos of what's going on in these Loveland foothills to the Rockies. A phone call to my sister-in-law says that they were able to evacuate their cat, Mo; that they found their neighbors safe at the local shelter, that they are grateful for the hard-working and determined fire fighters but wanted them to stay safe; that after all is said and done, it is only a house...not a life.

It's not even my home, but I love the place for the cherished, but too infrequent (1600 miles away), family gatherings that it has embraced: conversations, meals, rest and mountain walks. And then I begin to recognize the smallness of my concerned gaze. The news reported 160 homes burned in a Boulder wildfire only a few days ago, and I hardly blinked an eye. But today, because the new wildfire 30 miles up the Colorado road affects those I know, I can't stay off the internet and have a hard time concentrating on my work.

I wonder how many disasters and tragedies around the earth fall under God's gaze at the moment. It boggles my mind. In the end, God's global vision and my sister-in-law's graciousness open up my prayer tonight. I don't just pray frantically that their mountain home is spared. I also thank God that Mo was rescued, that neighbors are safe, that wild creatures will find shelter, that neighbors become better friends, that folks shift priorities from place to people, that fear turns to sharing, that human foolishness (which may have caused the fire) is somehow redeemed, that workers remain safe, that people's trust in God may grow through the challenge, that the gift of God's creation is valued even more tenaciously, and...well, you know me by now...may the bluebirds find a safe home.

While Green Mountain is still burning, that's the watchful view from my new-found perch...at least until I can see more clearly.

Marked with the cross

2010-09-03T20:44:00.006-04:00

How many crosses do you see in this photo? I don't know this plant's name, but what you see are the stems that are left after the purple blossoms have fallen off. I saw them last week on a hike into the Glacier Wilderness in Washington state.

You could spend a long time counting all the pink stems that in our eye's vision are crossing over one another.

"Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple," said Jesus in Luke 14:27 on his way to Jerusalem and a real cross of death.

The bared pink stems cross and recross, and it's a wild stretch to imply that Jesus' statement and this spent plant could possibly have any shred of something in common. And yet...

Lutheran Christians, after baptism, are traced with the sign of Jesus' cross on their foreheads with these words: "You have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with cross of Christ forever."

If we look out at the gathering of baptized people on any given Sunday, we could picture them them following Christ's path to the cross in many different ways. One is compassionately caring for aging parents. Another is concerned about the health of neglected children in the local school. Still another continues in dialogue with folks who have prickly responses to any overture of understanding. The act of laying down our lives for others in the name of Christ's love can take its cross shape in a myriad of ways, a collection of cross upon cross.

It is impossible, perhaps, and unnecessary to sort out all the ways that we bear the cross of Christ's self-giving love into our worlds. Yet I find it hopeful to note that the effect of, not one, but all of our cross-shaped lives together might be a living witness of Christ to someone who passes by on the trail.

Can people see the loving cross of Christ in you?

Walking the labyrinth

2010-08-29T19:37:00.007-04:00

I'm home again after traveling about 2800 miles: by air, rented car, boat on the 3rd deepest lake in the U.S. and finally a school bus up a winding mountain dirt road to Holden Village. Holden is a Lutheran camp on the edge of the Glacier Wilderness Area in the Cascade mountains of Washington. Just getting there is an adventure in itself. Remaining there with no cell phone service and no internet access was challenging...no way to check in with dear husband back in PA.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. Was it necessary? Much more than I knew. You see, even pastors have doubts about the direction they are being called to go at times. (No, really?) Even pastors need to be taught, to sink back on the bench in evening worship, to listen instead of preach, to have conversations with people who have no expectations but who instead offer gracious hospitality. And at Holden there was room to walk and walk and walk...and as many of you know, that is how I hold my most honest conversations with God, both of praise and heartache.

Heartache is how I would describe what's happening in my corner of Christ's Church: people leaving the ELCA over issues arising from differences of scriptural interpretation. The distress and disagreement has been stirring in neighboring congregations, but it has finally seeped into our own congregation. I have tried hard to be an example of how in disagreement we can listen respectfully to each other and still worship together, still serve together in mission; yet, a few are walking out the door, and others are thinking about it. These are people who teach, pray and read their Bibles faithfully, who have been strong examples in our congregation. I arrived at Holden more weary and discouraged than I knew.

God is no soft cushion to lean upon. God's tough. There were some restless nights, some hard truths about myself to face, an abundance of unbinding grace, and in the end God's invitation to trust like Abraham: "hope against hope" in God's promise. (See Romans 4.) After all, God has promised that the Church will remain until Jesus comes again. God has also promised in baptism that I am called by name. No struggles of the Church negate the invitation for me to carry out my calling with joy and life and courage, all God's gifts. Even the ability to trust ruthlessly is a gift of God's grace.

As I lingered over a last cup of coffee (always available in a Lutheran dining hall, remember) before boarding the bus to begin another 2800 miles home, a new friend sat down beside me. He has been working as a spiritual director at Holden. I told him I was about to get on the bus to go home, to face (hopefully with trust and hope against hope) the painful challenge our congregations are going through, and, once home again, of saying good-bye to friends in the congregation who were moving on. This is what he said to me, and I paraphrase:

"I often watch people walking out in the field in Holden's prayer labyrinth. As they make their way to the center of the labyrinth and then back out again, the labyrinth has twists and turns. Sometimes people together in the labyrinth appear to be walking near each other; other times the part of the path they are on turns them away from each other; they may pass each other in the labyrinth going opposite directions. But they are all on the same path. All praying. All walking. All moving toward Christ the center, our home. All being sent out again in mission. It is that way for you."

Thank you for those words, Holden friend.

So, to all my long-time friends who will be walking out the church door to follow, for the time being, Christ's path in a different direction, I wish you God's blessing. One day we will find ourselves in the same center...wondering what all the fuss was about. Meanwhile there is no need for me to doubt God's promises when I see myself walking a different way. If I haven't been able to hold everything and everyone together...well, that wasn't my job in the first place. Only God can do that. I can only do what God has called and equipped me to do all along: sing and preach, write and pray with life, joy and courage about God's grace in Jesus Christ.

Yes, I'm back home.

Playing with fire

2010-08-10T19:03:00.005-04:00

Okay, all you people who will worship at St. Paul, NC, on Sunday (and any others of you):

I'm giving you a heads up. We're mixing up the lectionary (i.e. scripture readings assigned for a given Sunday by the larger Church). Jesus will talk about fire (that dangerous part is in the lectionary); but the intruding renegade story is about Elijah playing with fire. And the big question is: What do the two readings have in common?

If you want to get a head start and give me your opinions, the Elijah story is found in 1 Kings 18:17-46 and Jesus' words are found in Luke 12:49-56. So what's similar about Jesus and the Elijah story?

And if you get stuck, each day I'll add a clue to the comments...unless, of course, your ideas beat me to it.

A piece of millennia

2010-08-08T21:06:00.006-04:00

"Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens." Maybe it was the thought of water on a shriveled day pressed flat with heat. Maybe it was the thought that in a city (Washington D.C.) heavy with a million marble blocks and world power there could be a place where color was tossed about freely. At any rate, we cruised the byways searching through a slightly shabby neighborhood, not knowing what to expect. What we didn't expect were iron gates to be chained closed at 4:15 p.m. Disappointed, back we wove through one way streets to our lodging in the historic Capitol Hill district, headed off to the local corner restaurant for barbecue chicken and cornbread, then burned off some of those carbs with a stroll past the Supreme Court.

The next morning we were the first customers in yet another corner establishment attempting to wake up over tea and coffee. Buses roared by. A meteorologist boomed out the heat index for the day. The ceiling fan stirred our plans into life. The gardens---we must try again! We drove through an onslaught of rush hour vehicles and reached its open gates before 8:00 a.m.

Grabbing camera and bottled water, we headed down a pebbled path that insisted on slipping stray rocks into our sandals. That was the only price we paid for something far more than we expected. Emerging from the trees--oh my!--was a feast for the eyes. Several acres of ponds held an assortment of stately lotus in various states of development: wide leaves shading frogs, tall stems topped with tightly wrapped buds, bursts of silky petals swaying in the wind, pods like shower heads ready to spray their seeds. A medley of water lilies floated in other pools, each colored variety having its own distinct looking lily pad: bumpy, striped, burgundy, green.

The NPS folks took delight in it all: pointed out the secretive green heron, waded into a patch of bare water to transplant a gangly lily leaf several feet wide, excitedly directed us to the unusual bloom of the morning, and generously chuckled about the beaver that would sniff out and devour any yellow (American) lotus they would stealthily try to plant. Humans, wild creatures, plants--reveling in a piece of river swamp that had managed to escape elimination under the compulsion at one time to drain Washington D.C.

Hours later we drove back into narrow streets between sweltering marble, full of a few centuries of history for which I am a grateful citizen. But the tidal swamp and the lotus and the heron piercing a fish are what I seem to have brought home with me: part of the history of millennia for which I am an amazed child of God.

"All creatures that on earth do dwell, sing to the Lord with cheerful voice..."

Food for Thought

2010-08-05T06:16:00.002-04:00

Here's some food for thought on a blog I follow: http://debradeanmurphy.wordpress.com/2010/08/04/quitting-religion/

Have you ever felt like quitting church because of the people? Why did you stay? (...if you did) How do you articulate to others that the church does not live up to what Christ has called us to be? Or does it?

Circling ways

2010-08-04T17:42:00.004-04:00

Today I was on my "way" to visit older friends from the congregation who haven't made it to church in a while, mostly because in summer we are only having one service at 9:30 a.m.---too early for them to get moving. Driving there to bring them the Lord's supper they've been missing, I was thinking about the "way" and that Jesus is the Way. What does it all mean?

"Lord, prepare the way," I prayed. "Let me follow your way into their home and hearts."

Then quickly the prayer shifted as I shifted lanes in traffic, "Lord, let me prepare your way into their hearts." Who's preparing whose way? A circular process.

Once there, my friends and I talked for a while, longer than any of us meant. We talked about family (theirs and mine) and the congregation...all things that we have been praying about. (I know these two Christian friends take prayer very seriously). And I prayed for them before we shared the Lord's meal. Only it didn't stop when I said "Amen." One of my friends jumped in and prayed for me! (That's not something that often happens in my home visits, although I need prayer; that's for sure.)

So who prepared the way for whom. I'm thinking that a lot of circular ways were prepared, but certainly my friends prepared the way for the Lord to enter my heart today.

Thinking on the way

2010-07-29T22:13:00.009-04:00

I am reading "The Jesus Way" by Eugene Peterson. After reminding us that Jesus said he was the "way," Peterson talks about how "way" can be a metaphor for so many things.

So how does "way" as a metaphor fit into my life?

I have a way ( route) that I go to work in the morning (Route 15) and a different way home in the afternoon (Lisburn Rd).
I have a way (transportation) to go to work...in my Chevy Impala.
I have a way (routine) to get ready in the morning: I feed and walk the dogs, water the plants, eat my breakfast and take a shower.
I have a way( trait) of encouraging people and a way of trying to see things from different points of view.
I have a way (style) of preaching, and a way of getting my work done.
I have a way (method) of interpreting scripture which is sometimes different from how other (Lutheran) Christians interpret things.
I have ways that I care for others.
I have a way of eating, a way of shopping, a way of studying, a way of praying, a way of handling the dogs, a way of hoping for the best.
And I have a way of failing God (and others) time and time again.

In other words, there are many different "ways" that make up our lives: ways of habit, preferences, places, means, belief, behavior and attitude. We are who we are by this unique combination of ways through which our lives move.

What then does it mean that Jesus claims to be our way? The way to turn? The way to live? The way to love? The way to imitate? The way to believe? The way to God? The way to understanding?

What do you think? What does it mean to you that Jesus is the way?

Send some rain

2010-07-23T12:27:00.001-04:00

On Sunday we will hear Luke 11:1-13 when Jesus' followers ask him to teach them to pray. He gives them an example of prayer and then tells a short story about being audacious in our asking. Our 'Abba,' he says, would only give us good gifts.

In response to my knocking on my friend's door this week, she reminded me of the words to a song on Nichole Nordeman's album, Woven & Spun. The words are what I didn't know to ask for, but exactly what I've needed:

Send some rain, would You send some rain?
'Cause the earth is dry and needs to drink again
And the sun is high and we are sinking in the shade
Would You send a cloud, thunder long and loud?
Let the sky grow black and send some mercy down
Surely You can see that we are thirsty and afraid
But maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case . . .
(Chorus)
We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to thirst for You
How to bless the very sun that warms our face
If You never send us rain.

Daily bread, give us daily bread
Bless our bodies, keep our children fed
Fill our cups, then fill them up again tonight
Wrap us up and warm us through
Tucked away beneath our sturdy roofs
Let us slumber safe from danger's view this time
Or maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case . . .
(Chorus)
We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
A lesson learned to hunger after You
That a starry sky offers a better view if no roof is overhead
And if we never taste that bread.

Oh, the differences that often are between
What we want and what we really need...

So grant us peace, Jesus, grant us peace
Move our hearts to hear a single beat
Between alibis and enemies tonight
Or maybe not, not today
Peace might be another world away
And if that's the case . . .
(Chorus)
We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace
But Jesus, would You please . . .

Cracks and fissures

2010-07-12T21:30:00.001-04:00

Kathleen Norris in her book Acedia & Me (p.169) writes:

We may look to physicians or therapists when our lives go off track, or we may pray the psalms, or seek solace in a favorite novel. But in a sense we are all seeking the same thing. We want to prepare a good soil where grace can grow; we want to regard the cracks and fissures in ourselves with fresh eyes, so that they might be revealed not merely as the cause or the symptom of our misery but also as places where the light of promise shines through.

Truth Telling

2010-07-10T21:22:00.001-04:00

There are times when telling the truth is hard:
~When telling the truth will bring us our deserved punishment.
~When in telling the truth we must reveal our vulnerability or stupidity (use your own word for it).
~When truth telling is going add the igniting spark to overly charged dynamite.
~When telling the truth will hurt someone deeply.
~When truth telling, however just, may bring a response of anger and cost us (job, friends, etc.)
~When one knows that telling the truth is only my perspective of the truth, and that another will argue and interpret the same circumstance in different ways.
~When it brings back painful memories.
~When it is falling on deaf ears.

Can you think of times when telling the truth has been hard for you?

Jesus in the gospel of John talks a lot about truth. Of course, one of his most familiar statement from that gospel is: I am the way, and the truth, and the life.

Jesus also says: And you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.

Certainly Jesus reveals the truth about God and about God's passionate self-giving love for God's children. Jesus reveals the truth about me and who I am: weak, sinful, precious, finite, gifted--all of these things in one. He reveals the truth about what he has called me to do and be, which means that there's no need to put on a show for him, just be my honest, truthful self.

And discerning the truth from what others are saying can be a challenge as well. Who's telling the truth? Who's slanting the facts? In a culture that doesn't seem to value truth anymore, I can at least count on Jesus' truth.

Truth telling is still hard. I'm truth telling this week, and would like to run away from it. But if Jesus is where the truth is, and I believe he is, then that's a pretty compelling reason to stick around the truth. And if truth sets us free, and we all want to be free, I might even be able to say the truth out loud, come what may.

Have any truth telling coming up? Prayers are with you.

Ask what you can do

2010-07-02T14:17:00.002-04:00

The 4th of July weekend is here! Fireworks, picnics, games and friends...and, of course, celebrating the freedoms that have come about with the birth of this nation. With all its problems and mistakes, I am thankful that I live in this beautiful place.

When July 4th falls on a weekend, there are expectations that our worship services give a nod to the celebrating. Some churches get more involved then others. Lutheran Christians are a little subdued, mindful of the blindness of the church-state collaboration that occurred in Nazi Germany. But we certainly give thanks to God for the freedom to worship in the way we choose, and pray for our country as well as the whole world.

This July 4th feels different. The frustration and devastation of the oil spill in the Gulf waters continues. One section of God's creation, for which we as a nation are the caretakers, is being harmed. The photos are heart rending. The toll on wildlife and people's livelihood is immense. I am so thankful for the freedoms we have in this country, but with those freedoms comes grave responsibility.

We all remember the words of President John F. Kennedy: Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country. When we gather to worship on Sunday, I sense a responsibility to offer more than thanks for our freedom and wishes for people to have a happy holiday. As people of faith and children of a merciful Creator, what can we do for our country in this time of crisis? What responsibility can we shoulder in honor of this nation's birth? Is there more to be done than watching fireworks?

On Sunday we will have a series of scripture readings and prayers related to the oil spill crisis: prayers for scientists and engineers, prayers for forgiveness for the greed that makes us incautious, prayers for people out of work as a result of the spill, prayers for recovery to land, sea and wildlife, prayers for wisdom for leaders. We will receive a letter to ELCA congregations from presiding Bishop Mark Hanson.

In prayer God begins to change us, perhaps giving us ideas about how we can help. In prayer we are connected through Christ's presence to the neighbors in other parts of the world, including the Gulf coast. Through prayer in Christ's name, God has promised to work. And so if there is one thing we can begin to do for this nation on July 4th, it is to pray together.

Hope to see you on Sunday. Bring your ideas about what we can do to help.

A legion of chains

2010-06-23T20:24:00.001-04:00

I keep thinking about the story in Luke 8 that we read last Sunday: the man named "Legion" who lived in the cemetery, ran around naked in the wilderness and the townspeople couldn't keep him in chains. He was possessed by evil and sickness, and Jesus healed him in spite of his protests. The evil spirits that had possessed him then invaded a herd of pigs who ran off a cliff into the sea and drowned.

The reaction of the healed man? Gratefulness and love for Jesus. He asked Jesus if he could go with him.

The reaction of the townspeople? Fear. When they saw the healed man sitting clothed and in his right mind, they told Jesus to go away and leave them alone.

Many times deep healing comes with a cost. Drowned pigs. Chemotherapy. AA meetings. Truth and Reconciliation hearings. A crucified savior. Many times we are afraid, aren't we? It is easier to stay the same. The path of least resistance is to let the chains stay on.

In Galatians 4 and 5, Paul sides with the healed man. He writes: Formerly, when you did not know God, you were enslaved to beings that by nature are not gods....For freedom Christ has set us free....For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters, only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence...

Here are what some of the chains of self-indulgence look like according to Paul: idolatry, sexual impurity, drunkenness, (hold on, it gets closer), jealousy, anger, quarrels, factions, envy...and the laundry list goes on (Galatians 5: 19-21). Any of those things, and many others, can bind and chain us, prevent us from loving in healthy and self-giving ways.

On the other hand Paul invites us to live by and be guided by the Spirit and suggests what we will see the Spirit grow in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. When we are healed by Jesus, we are set free to let God grow these things in our life.

However there is a cost in letting the Lord break our chains, and sometimes we are simply afraid. We all have a bit of the wild man, Legion, in us. And we all have a bit of the people's fear in us too. We might prefer the chain of holding a grudge to letting God's love flow through us. We might choose the chains of casual sex rather than the gift of faithfulness. We might decide that setting aside the label "enemy" in order to offer God's peace is more than we can risk. We mistakenly think our chains protect us and make us feel better rather than possess and enslave us.

Are there chains Jesus wants to break for me? For you?

Jesus knows our reluctance, and that's why I go back to the story of Legion. He was a person enslaved and possessed, afraid of the pain and cost of healing, yet Jesus made him whole. I can guarantee that each one of us is enslaved and possessed by something or other. We likely fear what the Spirit changing us would look like. Yet, afraid or not, in Christ we are promised God's power working to make us whole. It may not happen all at once, but a legion of chains can't stop our Lord, especially if we (and others on our behalf) ask him for help.

Meanwhile back at my heart, I'm desperate for all that you are,
undo me and take me apart
meanwhile back at my soul,
mend me, Lord, please make me whole
you know just where to start
back at my heart, back at my fear, back at my brokenness
Lord, meet me here.
Though I was lost, I'm not afraid anymore.

lyrics from Natalie Grant: "Back at my heart" from Relentless

Tiny fervor

2010-06-21T20:06:00.001-04:00

I always thought hummingbirds hummed. At least the ones here in the East hum gently as they flit from flower to feeder.

But last month I met the Colorado variety which takes the concept of "humming bird" to a whole new level. In fact, "humming bird" is much too tame a name for these high energy, noisy creatures. Rick and I were walking a path along the Big Thompson river, heading towards a morning meadow in the mountains. The grass was in shadows waiting for the sun to lift above the sharp ridge when the sounds of tiny engines, brittle and sharp, whizzed past us. We would search for the source with our eyes in the dim light, but couldn't see much--a blur here or there. Occasionally one little motor would pause on a branch of a ponderosa pine for a few seconds. The burring sound would help us locate it. Then it would be off again. So much energy! Scores of intense creatures darting for a few servings of wildflowered breakfast scattered here and there among the sage.

I had expected the massive snowy mountains to stand silently aloof. I had expected the rushing roar of the Big Thompson to stir a chilled air. I had seen and felt their grandeur before. But I was more startled, dazzled and, yes, undone by the unforeseen: these tiniest of birds who insisted on making their noisy, busy, unflappable presence known within this largeness of space.

Some dear people are like that too.

Collision with Grace

2010-06-13T18:36:00.001-04:00

I had a collision with Grace yesterday.

At least, that's what the presiding bishop of the ELCA, Mark Hanson, called it when he spoke about Saul at our synod assembly last Saturday. This Saul was on the road to Damascus to hunt down and arrest Christians when he was confronted in blinding light by the risen Jesus. In the end Saul was baptized and became the great spokesperson for the good news of Jesus' forgiveness. Why? His collision with Grace.

The bishop preached of the widow walking beside the bier of her dead son when Jesus and his party of disciples intercepted the village funeral procession. She wasn't expecting someone to raise her son to life, to change her hopelessness into joy, but Jesus did both. A collision with Grace.

Then the bishop spoke of his own collision with Grace during a family therapy session. The therapist apparently turned to him at some point and kindly but bluntly said (I'm paraphrasing) that as a bishop he talked a lot about grace, but in his own life full of high expectations he sure didn't seem to accept Grace for himself.

At the point of the bishop's honesty with us, Grace collided into me. I abruptly understood how in a circumstance past I have clung to "I wish I had done this differently," and "I should have done that" and "I have failed in...." I have not forgiven myself for what I didn't see or was too busy to see. It is a lingering burden that for years hasn't gone away. I have not extended grace to myself, nor have I thought to allow God to do so.

That is, until yesterday when in the midst of a bishop's prophetic truth-telling, I heard my own truth. Actually I heard God's truth, that God has accepted the past I haven't been able to accept. That God has long since forgiven the things I failed to do at the time. That for years I have been carrying around a bag of dead bones. The collision with Grace has knocked those drying bones to the ground where they should remain unless, God forbid, I try to pick them up again. Grace, however, says let it be; let God fix what I no longer can undo.

It is one thing for a pastor to pronounce forgiveness for others week after week. It is another to receive it for herself. The collision was quiet except for tears rolling down my face that I hoped my neighbors seated beside me wouldn't notice. My internal earthquake is allowing a basic question to emerge: what right have I to hang on to what God has declared forgiven? What right have I to take back what God is creatively taking into God's own hands? Better to leave the bones lie, isn't it?

Have you held onto old bones? It is a sure thing, as our bishop said, that in Jesus' presence we encounter Grace---a grace that shatters our expectations of ourselves, whether too high or too low. Sometimes it requires a collision.

Marriage Learning

2010-06-07T09:19:00.001-04:00

There are times when one needs to step back and learn from those whom we have taught. That happened yesterday in worship when our youth and young adults helped us think about Christ's hope in the midst of devastation. They led us in singing through songs they love. How good it was for me to walk into worship and learn from them.

But I want to write about how I have also learned much from the young adult generation in my own family, specifically how I have learned about marriage. Sure, I/we have 36 years of married experience, but that doesn't mean I can't learn more.

When my son and daughter-in-law were married 5 years ago, they each knelt down in all their wedding finery and washed one another's feet...something Jesus did for his disciples and commanded they do for one another. Now, in our congregation we wash feet on Maundy Thursday, but admittedly we only reluctantly follow our Lord's lead and argue among ourselves that Jesus didn't mean for it to be taken literally. But what does it say about a marriage when husband and wife begin their lives together by washing one another's feet? What kind of gentle humility and service is prayed into that marriage? How does a priority of mutual gentle humility and service work itself out in the daily practicalities of married life? I ponder and learn.

When my daughter and son-in-law were married last year, it was in the Philadelphia Zoo in the "tree house" with peacocks strutting outside and the reception in the lobby of the rare little monkeys who watched the eating and dancing in the midst of their play. For us older folks, these two modeled a joyful playfulness about their marriage. Yes, marriages often become bound in burdens, responsibilities and expectations; it's a part of life. But what if we are always able to honor a space for play and delight in our marriages? How does an openness to play melt defensiveness and lighten the stress?

When my nephew and new niece-in-law were married 10 days ago, it was in a YMCA chapel with the front window overlooking peaks in the Rocky Mountain National Park. There in the wedding ceremony, we learned that for the last 2 years they had written a letter to each other every night...this is after they have usually talked on the phone for a long time. A letter every night? My nephew is a quiet person. People looked at one another in surprise. There is only so much one can say, we laugh. Or is there? And so from my nephew we learn that probably all of our marriages can dig a little (or a lot) deeper at communication.

What do you think are the chances of a lasting marriage for a couple who writes to one another every night? What do you think the chances are of a lasting marriage for a couple who loves to laugh and play together? What do you think the chances are of a lasting marriage for a couple who has tenderly washed one another's feet?

See? We learn from our children.

Hand-me-down prayer

2010-06-05T13:11:00.000-04:00

Sometimes hand-me-down prayers are the best. Sometimes we don't have the energy to pray our own words. Sometimes the way our brother or sister addresses our Lord teaches and pulls us into prayer in spite of slow-of-heart selves. The important thing, whatever the words we use or don't use, is that our hearts turn Godward.

So amid all the distractions (previous post) on the Colorado trip, I found myself praying a prayer passed down from a woman who lived in the 12th century. Her name is Hildegard of Bingen and here is her prayer:

Holy Spirit,
giving life to all life,
moving all creatures,
root of all things,
washing them clean,
wiping out their mistakes,
healing their wounds,
you are our true life,
luminous, wonderful,
awakening the heart
from its ancient sleep.

This made a good Colorado prayer as you can see by the photos on the right.

Distractions

2010-06-03T12:16:00.000-04:00

I'm back! As of now, I still don't have my Colorado pictures (some of which are taken by my husband's amazing new camera) loaded onto my computer. So instead, I will first blog about what God taught me about distractions during this week of sabbath rest and family celebration. You wouldn't want to see photos of the distractions anyway.

Distraction #1: My cold has morphed into a pounding sinus balloon by the time we get on the plane bound eventually for Denver. Truly, I do not feel well. I am majorly medicated with antihistamine, cough medicine and cough drops. Tissues bulge my pockets. I hope against hope I will not infect those who travel near me. The change in air pressure plugs my ears and hurts my ear drums. My husband and a lady in the terminal where we board the connecting flight try to teach me tricks to open up my ears. Never mind, this is my coveted week of sabbath rest after six intense months of work. Surely God's sabbath blessings are right around the corner...

Distraction #2: No time to find food at the Newark airport where we walk off one late flight and into a moving line to board another. Therefore when somewhere over the midwest the flight attendant offers a microwaved turkey dog, I hungrily accept it. Bad mistake. Thirty minutes later a vicious attack of cramps cannot be assuaged by Rick's pack of antacids. On the list of pain, one to ten, I am at 8.5. Sinuses and stomach are making me into a whining, squirming mess. Maybe the woman seated next to me doesn't notice. Just let me off this plane soon so I can catch a breath of God's sabbath blessings

Distraction #3: Hidden costs are suddenly revealed at the economical car rental. Patience grows notably thin, but the pain has simmered down to around a 6. Take a deep breath, look at the Rockies in the distance, and God's sabbath blessings are right around the bend in the road...unless we mistakenly get on the I-470 toll road without the proper car equipment and have to pay $25.

Distraction #4: Morning at the Denver Art Museum where I fall in love with a series of six works, small watercolors done on a rafting trip down the Colorado River, one painted each day. Later, while resting tired feet and eating my first real meal since the infamous turkey dog, my nose starts to bleed and doesn't want to quit. Antihistamines and dry, mile-high altitude have done their work. My ego feels fortunate that I am sitting facing a wall and don't have to look at people staring at my predicament. Thirty minutes later I am looking at people staring at me anyway as we walk a dozen city blocks back to the car, a wad of napkins held firmly to my face. Never mind; we are heading up into Estes Park! God's sabbath blessings are in those mountains.

Distraction #5: The day of our nephew's wedding. The family meets for a hearty breakfast, and we are revved up to hike what my brother assures us is an easy-moderate climb to "Gem Lake." Since I am a lowlander (we are at 8000 feet), I stop to catch my breath frequently and brush at my uncontrollably watering eyes (no more antihistamines allowed). Yet the blessings of bright sun, blue sky and laughing family are abundant. At the top of the trail I move along the water's edge to take a picture of the family sitting on a boulder. Turning, I then become so enthralled with taking a photo of a twisted tree root that I trip over a rock. My right elbow breaks my fall, for which my face is grateful. However, I can barely lift, pull or push with the joint that is quickly swelling and turning a bruised color. Remember, my left elbow is already out of commission and is forbidden to lift, pull or push for another week because of its dislocation a month ago. This is going to be an interesting, somewhat painful walk down the mountain, but surely God's sabbath blessings are back at the parking lot. If I can only keep from slipping....

Distraction #6: I wake coughing in the middle of the night, arm throbbing, nose bleeding. I am a basket case. I start catastrophizing about how can I ever fly back to Harrisburg with all my luggage by myself. (Rick will be flying to a conference in Minnesota.) I panic. But the Big Thompson River keeps rushing by, not ten feet from my open window. And as if celebrating the joy of the newlyweds, the moon, full and silver, beams light on any who are awake or not to notice. Even through the thick branches of the ponderosa pine, the glint of moonlight manages to find me, worried and tensely curled in my bed. The steadiness of pine, the moon, the river, the husband beside me---surely all these are God's sabbath blessings, if I will only notice. The rest is just distraction.

Drifting

2010-05-24T19:38:00.000-04:00

This afternoon I sat on a canoe launch eating a very late lunch of take-out won ton soup. No, I didn't have my canoe with me, but I did begin the process of easing into a week's vacation. Easing in while currently on empty, that is. May has brought hours of physical therapy for the elbow, not sleeping well from a sore throat and cough, organizing worship for the congregation's centennial celebration, two funerals of two dear church friends, concerns for some who are seriously ill, an energetic confirmation Sunday, and a self-imposed daily project of reading, writing and praying about evangelism.

But this afternoon I began to lay those things aside, and I watched particles drifting in the current: young sycamore leaves abandoned too early by mother trees, a sole dandelion seed with its tiny mane of fuzz, browned fronds shed from locusts, blades of grass shed from lawns, an army of wild primrose petals. While my eyes followed nature's debris coasting towards the river, my mind begged to join in with the disconnected drifting too...for a few days.

So I will. Even in the midst of planned activities and a nephew's wedding, there can be quiet moments and a quiet mind. How convenient that my nephew's family loves the outdoors. Yes, I am going to lean back and float, listen to the Big Thompson River, and allow a seven day sabbath to seep some energy back into me. Even God needed a sabbath. See you when I get back.

Betty's cinnamon buns

2010-05-21T20:09:00.000-04:00

Betty is known in our congregation for her desserts, cakes, and cookies. She has a gift (surely baking for God's people can be a spiritual gift) because when Betty has something to do with our Sunday morning coffee hour, no one wants to miss it. For years her delicious food gifts have contributed to the hospitality and fellowship among us.

Betty died a week ago. We miss her. I just got home from her funeral.

Yesterday I put aside writing her funeral sermon and picked up our congregation's newest cookbook that was put together this past year. It contains one of her recipes, a favorite of the congregation: Betty’s cinnamon buns. I left the office, drove to the local grocery store to buy ingredients (I rarely bake anymore), and burst into my kitchen with determination to make for the first time in my life cinnamon buns in her honor. Betty would be proud.

I mixed several ingredients: flour, butter, sugar, vegetable oil and yeast. Then I set them in a warm place, the yeast went to work and the dough started to rise. Hurray; beginner's success! After a courteous wait, I rolled the dough out, slathered it with butter and cinnamon, rolled the dough up again, cutting off round swirls, and placing them in a pan coated with brown sugar syrup.

I made some mistakes and readjusted, but finally the baking aroma of yeasty bread was wonderfully soothing. I started thinking how there is no way I could separate the ingredients back out of these cinnamon buns. There is no way I could take the yeast out again. The flour, sugar and butter had been transformed by the yeast into something delicious, if I could keep my finicky oven from burning them.

Betty, like any good Lutheran, would be one of the first to tell me that she has had failures, that she is a sinner, like I am. But she and I both know that when we are baptized into Christ, when God’s word and promises are mixed into us, when we share in communion together and receive Christ’s forgiving presence into us, when we actively trust God in faith, (even when we are in nursing care and are kept from baking), a transformation begins to happen. Christ has been mixed into us and there is nothing that will separate him back out of us. Not even our dying. Not even Betty’s dying.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life...nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8.38-39

The uneven, over-heating oven did its best to burn the batch, but I watched like a hawk. Enough cinnamon buns were rescued to bring along to Betty's grandchildren at the funeral today. Making her recipe has made me more thankful for the gift of Christ’s hospitality and nurture. I thought about having cinnamon buns for the communion bread...but didn't go that far. But I carry this with me: where Christ is, there we are too, being transformed and changed. The fact that the yeast of Christ's love has transformed Betty into a new life is good reason to celebrate on a day such as this. And we who are left on earth today celebrate Christ being mixed into our midst, changing us and making us strong for the weeks and months to come when we don't have Betty and her gifts nurturing our community.

Desert teachings

2010-05-15T10:13:00.000-04:00

The desert keeps crossing my path. My brother sends me fascinating photos from his desert hiking in Utah. I read a book (Belden C. Lane: The Solace of Fierce Landscapes) on how the scarcity and harshness of desert shaped the monastic fathers and mothers in early Christianity and what it can teach our own faith journeys. I watched a movie about Georgia O'Keeffe which reminded me of my own brief foray into the desert of New Mexico. And I have been thinking and reading a lot about Moses and his leadership as he struggled to lead a group of people through a desert. Like the Sahara desert that keeps encroaching on surrounding territory, thoughts of desert keep stepping into mine.

I have no plans to visit a desert any time soon, but I am curious about what a stint of living in the desert would teach me. How would it be different from how the sabbatical walk shaped me two years ago? Then I walked along rivers, dealt with floods and mud, pounding thunderstorms, and an abundance of water. Life--plant and animal-- was plentiful, abundant and magnificent. The sound of the wind was always accompanied by the swish of leaves, grasses, and bending branches. The sky was not big and bare, but always partially hidden by the thick woods, revealed only in pieces. The road was always clear and marked: I didn't always know what was around the next corner, but I could not get lost.

What did I learn in the river land? The richness of God. The gift of playfulness. Travel lightly. Walk beside the Lord and listen. Welcome strangers. Take one's time. That there is a "spring of water gushing up to eternal life." The river walk shaped my faith, hence the name of this blog.

Still, those who have been in the desert have learned some things I need to know. As Belden C. Lane put it in the most recent issue of Christian Century (May 18, 2010), the early desert monks "learned the scarcity of water, a simplicity of diet and an enduring hunger for relationships." With the desert harshness and indifference they learned not to care or depend upon the approval and recognition of others. They also found much to love. They came to value the true self--their own and that of others--without working at making an impression, but freed in humility to love fiercely.

It seems, now that I think about it, that the desert and God taught Moses much of the same things. Maybe in order to counter the abundance of water...

...I need a good long walk in the desert.

Chinook Goes East

2010-05-08T21:36:00.000-04:00

All right, I should have been working on a sermon, but it was such an unusual, windy day. And I am reading too much David Whyte and Mary Oliver (poets I admire). Lethal combination. This is my last poem for awhile.

Chinook Goes East

My rocky mountain brother
posted a warning:
not much sleep
last night,
chinook howling
down
through rattlesnake
park,
imagined ponderosa
crashing
in.

That was two days ago.

She must have
raked the prairies
in record time,
dashed up allegheny
ridges and then,
before
plunging into
our wide and gentle valley,
dragged with her
an explosive
morning sun
to stir things up a bit.

Oh, what a day!
People made
excuses
to be outside,
breathed the moving,
light-drenched energy,
climbed on bicycles
and ladders,
shed clothes
for bathing suits,
hefted canoes
into eager waves.
Nearby
the goose,
twisted and lowered
his neck like a
cobra
ready to strike.

Chipmunks squealed
in mock terror
when the wagging dog
caught a current
of nest scent
under the lamp post.
The shorter dog twitched
with the electricity of
wind in every cell
of her body,
ears flapping alert,
muzzle quivering
to a rising waft
of sun-browned pine
needles that made one’s
heart want to sink
down
right here and sky gaze.

While the tiger
swallowtail
hung onto the grass
for dear life,
petals and pods soared
with the hawks, and
honeysuckle tossed
arms so high that gusts of air
whipped them back
over the creek
like a roller coaster
plunging.

Leaves
on the looser side of things
didn’t bother hanging on
but simply let go, free
fell into swirls,
and rolled together on the green grass.
Even the aged
opened eyes wide
and smiled.

It was such a day
that allowed no room
for regrets,
planned no precautions
for the next.
Risk of death
and
revel of life
were the same.
Wild joy
of the it-is-good creation type
was enough for the time being.

That was two hours ago

before western
clouds swarmed swiftly
over the ground folks,
the breeze shifted cold
and an ash tree fell
on a friend’s house.
Paradise lost,

but for one crazy chinook
moment
we had known absolutely it still exists.

One night after work

2010-05-06T22:26:00.000-04:00

The wind, roaming and ranting all day,
finally collapses exhausted into the grass,
and curls herself into a little ball,
relinquishes with a sigh the evening into
stillness to showcase the stars unhampered.

So did I, collapse that is, on my balcony
in the spreading gleam of a spring night,
allowing my eyes to unravel three threads:
from a blinking human coach to a coasting
satellite to stars of dippers and belts.

Ah, the stars. Here I am, tethered to
planet, soul reaching, caught in a longing
that peers beyond the edge of universe to
something. I can't explain star dust
or earth dust. I just breathe or try to
breathe living galaxies into human lungs

and hope a glimmer enters the ordinary.
Meanwhile I'm caught hanging, wishing
the street lights and airports to recede, wishing
the hosts of heaven to be polished clean,
every invisible one of them, in desert bare brilliance,
stripped bright and gliding naked

across light years to me. So where are you, all stars,
and who am I to ask? Two worlds mingling or
perhaps not, dim (for my eyes) sky fire and
grounded clay, two existences so vast, so far
apart, yet each so utterly beloved by one Maker
that the wind rolls over and grins in her sleep.

Vision

2010-05-05T20:28:00.000-04:00

"Vision." It's quite a word. It has all sorts of power and mystery wrapped up into it. It's a word of openings, clarity, direction , prophecy...or of simply being able to put one foot in front of another without a guide, and even that is a profound thing.

Yes, "vision" has three meanings. The first is physical sight. Vision is what enables us to see the world around us: where to drive the car, how to read the paper, how to recognize the faces of those I love. I have eyeballs and cornea and retina and optic nerves and a brain that works...I can see. When my vision isn't perfect, I can get glasses or contacts so that I can see better. I can also use microscopes or telescopes to expand my vision, to see things that are too small or too far away for the human eye to see. Eyes have vision; our bodies follow.

"Vision" also carries the meaning of a long-range plan, a hope or a direction. A vision guides into the future. A President has a vision for a the well-being of a country. A CEO has a vision for the growth of a corporation. A college president has a vision for an educational institution. Leaders have vision; the rest of us respond.

Finally, "vision" has the mystical connotation of a dream, often a holy message sent by God to provide insight or guidance. I am most familiar with the visions of Hebrew and Christian scriptures. Jacob's ladder to heaven. Ezekiel's dry bones. John the Seer's revelation of God's reign with the Lamb. Peter's tablecloth with 'unclean' animals. And then this Sunday's reading from Acts 16: Paul's vision of a Macedonian man begging him to come from the middle east and tell him the good news.

Visions still happen, I suspect. Not the drug-induced or mentally imbalanced triggered hallucinations, but those efforts of a God to use all means possible to communicate with humans whose attention is hard to get. I have no strong grounds for saying this, although the history of Christianity is sprinkled with such showings. The few who receive these visions are often reluctant to presume they understand, and are at times even more hesitant to discuss them. The visions, however, serve to open eyes to God's activity around us, to encourage one to follow faithfully, to help a disciple pay attention.

So it was with Paul the apostle in Acts 16:9-15. He had a vision one night of a Macedonian man (present-day Greece) begging for someone to come and bring the good news of Christ. The amazing thing to me is that Paul didn't hem-haw about if this were simply a dream caused by indigestion. No, he knew that the vision was God's vision (2nd meaning) for the spread of the gospel. So did his companions, Luke and others. No doubt the vision fit with what they had been praying about, with the scriptures they had been reading, with their understanding of mission.

Nevertheless that vision granted to a faithful heart was the spark that sent Paul and company down to the boat docks in the morning to find passage on a ship going west. Maybe God did not want to take any chances that their prayer meeting, the discussions, or the apostles' long-range planning went on too long. Something slightly but significantly new was about to happen and God didn't want them to miss the boat: the gospel was about to be told in Europe for the first time. The first European converts would be baptized in a fortnight's time. The story is getting closer to home for some of us, isn't it?

So what does "vision" have to do with St. Paul Lutheran? Most of us have eyes that can see, at least a little, even if not good enough to drive. We have vision according to meaning #1. Some of us have long-range plans, meaning #2, for what we would like to see happen at St.Paul. It is unimportant that no one of us is likely to have the kind of vision/revelation/dream Paul received that night.

Yet, even if God sends no one a vision (#3) like God did for Paul, does God still have a vision (#2) for St. Paul Lutheran in New Cumberland? That's the real question for us. How do we know what's on God's heart? That's all visions are: a picture of God's heart and intentions that God shares with us. We don't want to "miss the boat"? Will we know what direction to go? Will we know who is longing to hear the the gospel? Is it two blocks over? On the other side of the river? In the work station next to us? How will we get there with the good news?

Obviously, this discussion isn't over yet.

Dislocation and open space

2010-04-30T19:59:00.000-04:00

We went different ways, my dog Chester and I, and so did my elbow. He charged, I fell, the elbow dislocated, and I could feel a hollow space at the joint where something was missing.

And so the real dislocation this past week (yes, it has been a week ago that I was in the ER) has been the disruption to the ordinary routine. I have been forced to stay home most of the time, and have missed much: worship, Bible study, meetings, hospital visits, home visits, etc. My whole work has been dislocated. My body has been here in my upper room instead of in the office and traveling in the car to places I'm expected to be.

Friends picked me and my relocated elbow up for coffee conversation a few days after the accident. They teasingly reminded me that I had been longing for some time to get some reading done. They were right.

I've read "The Solace of Fierce Landscape" by Belden. I've started a slow, meditative journey through "Unbinding the Gospel" by Reese. I've delighted in the first chapters of "The Manger Is Empty" by Wangarin. I've written a poem, then discovered its meaning. I found a few new blogger friends, ate breakfast with Missouri friends, ate lunch with a best friend and ate dinner with dear former colleagues in a job we loved.

But mostly, being dislocated from the routine, I've had some quiet, listening time with my best Friend. And I think that he has been trying to communicate much about the congregation where I serve, much about what he is calling me to do. I just haven't had time to listen. Thus, the hollow space in my elbow has made an open space in my listening, and the dislocation has given space for possibly one of the most productive weeks of the year.

I am grateful, and I am healing, but does God have to be quite so dramatic?

Dogwood in April

2010-04-26T19:25:00.001-04:00

I could count each pale disk
if I wanted, open faced
and unabashedly
defying the creeping dusk

which relentlessly renders
indistinguishable one
branch from another leaf,
blending all into a black

mass of slumbering growth.
For awhile they hang, petal
by petal, an earthbound spangle
of milky way in my yard,

the last to cling to light,
the last to look for the moon’s
reflection, that the night
might not swallow them whole.

The forecast is for rain.

Wondering about Avatar

2010-04-25T09:56:00.000-04:00

I haven't seen Avatar yet---too much going on. But I love the idea of 3-D and am curious. When I go to movies though, I like to ponder the characters and listen for what is being said underneath a good story.

That's why I was intrigued today by what Kelvin Wright, Anglican Bishop of Dunedin, New Zealand, wrote in his blog, Available Light. If you have seen the movie, I'd like to hear what you think, especially about stereotyping too easily and about the irony of the viewer being part of the problem.

The presence of my enemies

2010-04-22T20:00:00.000-04:00

The psalm this coming Sunday is a familiar one: Psalm 23. This morning I was chewing on this one verse: You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
I have been puzzling over what the psalmist means. Here's a few possibilities I've thought about:
1) God is going to spread a feast before me, and my "enemies" will just have to watch me eat and be envious...Na-Nana-Na-Na.
2) In spite of my personal demons and sinful ways, which are enemies in a different sense, God feeds me, body and soul, physically and spiritually, graciously and richly. Thanks be to a merciful God!
3) Anyone whom I have ever considered an enemy, a problem, or an annoyance is going to join me at the table God prepares. There all of us will be reconciled to one another, and we will have a blast as one family at the feast God gives us. God is awesome!

So which option makes sense to you?

No fish

2010-04-20T11:38:00.000-04:00

After he appeared to his followers in Jerusalem, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberius; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin. Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, "I'm going fishing." They said to him, We'll go with you." They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach, but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No!" (John 21:1-5)

How does Jesus appear to us? Well, a lot of different ways. In scripture. In the meal. In the gathering of the Body (the people of God). In baptism.

Yet I was struck by the leading phrase, "...he showed himself in this way," and how it sets us up for what's next. What's next, before the picnic on the beach, before they recognize Jesus, before even the catch of fish, what's next is only an empty net, no fish. The story suggests that a prelude to Jesus appearing to us might be difficult times when we are running on empty: no fish, no wisdom, no bright ideas, no resources, no answers to persistent questions, no job, no whatever it is we are searching for. We look up from whatever short-comings and gaping needs that surround us, from whatever emptiness has carved itself into us, and there he is--present, watching us, waiting for us to notice, ready to give help, give of himself.

Don't jump to the net too soon. Don't let the mouth start watering over grilled fish and baked bread yet. Jesus shows himself in this way: he shows up when we are empty. That means that no-fish times are opportunities to look up for the Lord.

At the moment I'm in a "no fish" place. Guess that might be a good thing if I start looking up.

Pillow Day

2010-04-18T17:25:00.000-04:00

Today was one of those early service worship days when I thought I was working hard at communicating a reasonable sermon, but it felt (to me) like my words were bouncing back off an invisible wall. So I worked harder to try to grab strands of interest, but I think it got worse. Everyone looked so tired. Eyes were closing and yawning mouths were opening. In fact, most people looked plain exhausted. And they are. They are working hard to keep their jobs, and they are dedicated to participating in their family activities, and even in the congregation they are trying to get things cleaned and ready for the big Centennial event in May. What more can they do? Maybe today they just needed someone to pray for them, give them the Lord's supper and send them down for coffee or home to a pillow.

Yes, that's what I wish I could have done. After all, even Jesus would sometimes tell his disciples to drop everything and come away for awhile to pray and rest. But I didn't do that, and some weary people left worship just as weary as when they walked in. Of course, I've had days like that too. Here's praying that some of those exhausted ones get the good rest and renewal they so desperately need. Only then can we think about what walking the water way with our Lord Jesus means for tomorrow.

Wet redbuds and damp robins

2010-04-16T20:24:00.000-04:00

Such a balmy evening! I ate supper on the side porch stoop: gazed at the emerald green , freshly mown lawn, at the redbud branches flung crazily hither and yon, laced with elegant purple. Then on an impulse I moved to the upstairs porch, brought down from the attic a folding table we use for camping, then retrieved a folding LLBean chair a friend gave me for my birthday last year, fetched a peach rug from its winter hibernation in the spare room. This is the evening closing a day off. Precious, very precious, but only because I love my work and therefore desperately need my rest too.

I cheated today: did some work-related email and finished off a sermon. I had home chores too: bills, laundry, grocery shopping, lawn mowing, all unglamorous. But I played too: saw yellow winter cress, yellow violets, and held my face up to a hot yellow sun. I listened to a brown thrasher at noon, marking his territory with rare song. I rubbed the bellies of my panting, thirsty dogs. And I settled in my summer chair on the upstairs porch, my summer room, while I relished the fact that the tipping globe sends milder air. Now I can dwell outdoors in this high perch, eye level to swallows catching insects.

No sooner had I sat down and snapped a few photos of the redbud across the drive, when the wind whipped furiously, and storms clouds chased one another, and the rain began to pelt for awhile. I ran with my laptop inside.

Twenty minutes later, it is quiet again and ten degrees cooler. But before I head to my outside room, with a blanket this time, I want to say what I am deeply grateful for.

In the work email that I read, but shouldn't have read on a day off, I learned that four people have stepped forward. They have volunteered their energy and enthusiasm in various tasks where their help is desperately needed in our faith community. I am in awe of God's provision and their dedication and offering. Christ is indeed risen and showing up at unexpected times and doing surprising things. I guess one of the best gifts a pastor can receive on a day off, is to know that the Holy Spirit is in control...not me.

Now, back outside to wet red buds and damp robins.

Thinking towards Sunday

2010-04-15T21:08:00.000-04:00

On one of the favorite blogs I follow, Kelvin Wright, an Anglican bishop in New Zealand, has some amazing photographs. But even better, he tells thoughtful stories about living as a follower of Jesus. Recently he wrote about an interesting happening over Easter when some visitors showed up (go to "Angels", Friday, April 9, 2010).

His experience reminds me of the story of Ananias and Paul (Acts 9:10-19) which we hear this Sunday. Ananias listened to God, obeyed God's risky directions, and in trust depended on God for protection. The result? He met and baptized a man who would become an outstanding evangelist...and the rest is history, our history if we are Christians.

So I've been thinking: how were the "angels" that Kelvin Wright talks about being challenged to listen and to trust like Ananias? You'll have to read the blog link and get out bibles to answer that one.

Opening day

2010-04-10T21:16:00.000-04:00

Perhaps you can explain it to me.

Last Saturday was the opening day of trout season. I drove to the park to walk the dogs along the creek, but it was so crowded, I couldn't find a place to park. Another location closer to home was still crowded but at least I could park in my own driveway. I have to admit it looked fun: grilling breakfast (no fish yet, since the magic hour hadn't struck), lawn chairs and blankets, children and grandparents and everyone in between. It was a festive fishing reunion.

Today, a week later, the weather is chilly but gorgeous, yet the creek bank is empty. Where are the fishermen that waited hours, some overnight, to start fishing at the opening minute? Surely the fish are still swimming, plenty of those big ones that got away last week. But no one is there to cast. No families are gathered to teach the young folks. No hot coffee being shared. The path is silent except for cardinals and woodpeckers; the water gurgles softly. The newly greening trees have the place to themselves.

We humans like our entertainment and hooplah, the crowd and the celebration. But day to day ordinariness, solitary patience that is non-glamorous, a dedication for the slow process of casting and reeling in and deciding on the fly (is that the proper terminology?) of the day, well, the restraint required of a true fisherman must be more rare to us. Thus the creek on the week after opening day is stripped bare of humanity.

Come to think of it, following Jesus is not so different. Like opening day, the crowds pour into churches for Easter or special events or for a charismatic personality. But what about the faithful, persistent discipleship that keeps on serving quietly when others have long gone? I suspect the risen Christ is better known in those out of the way places rather than the center of busy crowds. Followers of Jesus are in it, not because of the excitement of the crowds, but because they love the ordinary day to day of following their Lord...even if they only number a few on the riverbank.

Perhaps you can try to explain that to me too.

Easter eyes

2010-04-07T10:46:00.000-04:00

An empty space...that’s all the women found. They had come back to the tomb because that’s where they had watched the body of Jesus being placed after his crucifixion. There was nothing. Empty space.

Then two messengers with a strange message. “Why are you looking?” “To anoint a body.” "Why are you looking for the living?” “We’re not; we are looking for the dead.” “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” “Where’s his body?” “He is not here, he has risen.”

But the women did not see the risen Jesus himself at first, only the empty space where he had been. Later they would see him, but at first all they had was a word, a message that there was no more a dead body, that an alive Christ would meet them and be involved in their day to day history. They left the empty space with eyes of faith and passed the message on...far beyond, into our present.

Like the women, we, the church, are learning to look for the risen Jesus with eyes of faith. In fact, I spend a lot of time looking for the risen Jesus. And we catch glimpses of him, often realizing afterwards that he’s been here orchestrating something all along.

If I had to pick a few times when I’ve seen him most clearly in the last months, I would mention last October when our older members gathered for a reunion dinner: all the energy, joy and love in seeing one another; their delight and appreciation for the younger folks serving them food. The risen Christ was at work feasting and serving.

The risen Christ has been among us as we’ve learned about loving God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and loving our neighbor as ourselves. People have shared powerful stories on Wednesdays nights during Lent, and it is evident that the risen Jesus has been at work.

Without naming names, Christ has brought about significant spiritual changes in some lives over the last year. But the risen Christ has also been involved in some building and painting projects and having a good time while doing it. And did you see the eyes of our boys when one was baptized and another received communion for the first time? Christ is among us!

This week I received an envelope in which one of our children writes:

I can do many things to help out. I help out because God loved me first. So I want to share what God has given me. My school’s food bank starts tomorrow. I promise that I will bring in as many cans as I can. I will bring them in ASAP. I don’t want people to suffer anymore. I really do want to make a difference.

This is not an empty space. Look with eyes of faith. The risen Christ’s footprints are all over the place....not in a metaphor, not symbolically, but his true risen presence here in this community. Alleluia! Christ is risen.

40th day of Lent

2010-04-03T22:07:00.000-04:00

Lent is over. It ended tonight at the Easter Vigil. Somewhere during the readings (creation, the flood and the ark, crossing the sea, Ezekiel and the dry bones), Lent just slipped away. Actually, if I had to guess, Lent made its final exit during the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego being thrown into the fiery furnace (Daniel 4). It was all I could do to keep from laughing during the excellent reading. Try reading it out loud sometime and hear the repetitions and feel the rhythms and be surprised by the exaggerated details.

The topic, faithfulness to God and God's faithfulness to us, is quite serious. But King Nebuchadnezzar wins a prize for the comic figure. He, as many of you know, orders that everyone in his kingdom worship the golden statue; punishment for not doing so is to be thrown into a fiery furnace. But when the three Jewish men refuse to bow to the statue and survive the furnace through God's protection, the amazed Nebuchadnezzar makes a new decree: anyone who does not worship the God of the Jewish people will be torn limb from limb. He doesn't get it.

And so as Lent was leaving with chuckles, Easter came in quietly, too, and slowly filled the candlelit room. Before I knew it, Jesus was saying Mary's name in John 20, and she turned in surprise--and so did I, realizing the church year has turned as well and now we proclaim Christ risen every chance we get.

So, goodbye Lent. You have given me and the congregation time and space to consider loving God with our whole heart and soul and mind and strength. You helped us take seriously loving our neighbor as ourselves. We'll take what you've taught us into this season of celebration. Christ is risen. He calls our name. Alleluia!

Day 39 and 1/2 of Lent

2010-04-02T20:46:00.000-04:00

"Where you there when they crucified my Lord?"

All the atoms that momentarily make up my body were here and there on this shaken, darkened earth that very afternoon when my Lord was crucified. But more than that, before I was born, I was already known by the God and Son unbound by time. Yes, I was there.

Where you there when they nailed him to the tree?"

My failures to heed God's voice heard the pounding nails. My hiding from God held me watching from nearby hills, yet my hurtful retaliations held the smashing hammer. My judgment of others quipped theories at why he could not save himself, but my fear of grace, like the souring wine, could not quench a thirsty heart. Yes, I was there.

"Where you there when they laid him in the tomb?"

The women, my ancestors in faith, were drawn by love to the hungry tomb, marked where to return with spices and were the first to discover an empty space. Their love passed on the news that Love was risen: passed it from woman to woman, from child to man to child, until Love reached me. Yes, I was there.

Day 38, Maundy Thursday and Day 39, Good Friday

2010-04-02T07:47:00.000-04:00

...God in mercy saw us fallen, sunk in shame and misery,
felled to death in Eden's garden, where in pride we claimed the tree;
then another tree was chosen, which the world from death would free....

Bend your boughs, O tree of glory, your relaxing sinews bend;
for a while the ancient rigor that your birth bestowed, suspend;
and the Lord of heav'nly beauty gently on your arms extend.

Faithful cross, true sign of triumph, be for all the noblest tree;
none in foliage, none in blossom, none in fruit your equal be;
symbol of the world's redemption, for your burden makes us free.

from "Sing, My Tongue," text by Venantius Honorius Fortunatus, 530-609

36th and 37th days of Lent

2010-03-31T08:56:00.000-04:00

No walk yesterday with all that wind and the rain. But this morning Winnie, Chester and I glimpsed a barred owl fly onto a branch nearby, pause 5 seconds and fly off again through the trees.

Other than helping me take a deep breath of surprise, seeing the owl has nothing, really, to do with my task of the day: which is to listen to the gospel for tomorrow evening, Maundy Thursday. For the last 37 days of Lent we have been reciting, "Love your neighbor as yourself."
Now, according to John 13, on the night of his arrest Jesus tells the disciples to love one another just as he has loved us.

Well, that certainly takes loving one's neighbor to a new level! How in the world can we love others in the way Christ loved us? Jesus gave his life on the cross to bring us back into relationship with God. We can’t do that. Is this an impossible command to follow?

"Love one another, just as I have loved you." How?

Among many things, Jesus is an amazing teacher. Right before he gave this "new commandment," he demonstrated what he was talking about. Like any creative teacher, he showed us a very simple illustration we wouldn't forget easily. Jesus got down on the floor from the supper table and washed his disciples dusty feet. For him, love means no one is too good or too important to serve another in a very humble, simple way.

"Love one another just as I have loved you."

Are any of you really comfortable with this foot washing thing? Peter speaks for most of us, "Lord [or pastor, sister, brother], you will never wash my feet!" Whether Peter thought it was inappropriate for his fearless leader to be doing that task, or whether Peter was embarrassed to have someone wash his feet, he definitely was not comfortable and wanted no part of it.

I almost decided not to have foot washing at the service this year. Why? Because many people are not comfortable with it. To be honest, its out of my comfort zone too. (My feet don't win any prizes after all the hiking.) But I still couldn't bring myself to cut it from worship this holy week, because it occurred to me that our discomfort is part of the Teacher's point.

Loving others in truly self-giving ways will often pull us out of our comfort zones. Those who are washing feet may be uncomfortable touching someone's feet. Those who have their feet washed may be uncomfortable being that vulnerable. Those who watch from our pews may sense the discomfort that keeps us seated.

All of that discomfort with foot washing is a great gift from our Teacher. Instead of fighting the discomfort, instead of feeling guilty about the discomfort, just notice it. Don't judge it; don't suppress it. Let it teach us. We likely have that same feeling of discomfort at other times when God calls us to humbly serve others because it appears ridiculously simple, or inconvenient or beneath us. We can be stonewalled by our hesitancy to leave our comfort zones. The humble simplicity of loving as Jesus loves us is a difficult lesson for us all. But, of course, the kind of loving leadership Jesus exhibited on the cross was in no way comfortable either.

So on Maundy Thursday whether sitting in the pews, or kneeling on the floor, or untying shoes, we will once again let our Teacher imprint this picture in our minds. We need once again to remember Jesus stooping to wash our feet and inviting us to do the same for one another. Despite our squirming, this is a pragmatic, visible sign of love.

We might find ourselves understanding new ways of following this commandment on the other 364 days of the year. It could mean the vulnerability of going to counseling with one's spouse. Or taking communion to a homebound brother or sister. Or taking on someone's chores when it is not our turn. Checking on a neighbor we haven't seen for awhile. Baking communion bread on a busy weekend. Sitting at a different table at coffee hour to meet someone new. Add to the list.

Whether watching, or washing or being washed, take time to give thanks to a Savior who washes our feet and carries a cross. Consider what it looks like for us to love and serve in down-to-earth, simple ways. Ask God to help us to step out or down from our comfort zones to love as Christ has loved us.

35th day of Lent

2010-03-29T18:21:00.000-04:00

In between rain, work and worship responsibilities, I managed to take the dogs for a much needed walk this afternoon. The purpose was twofold: to diffuse their pent-up energy and to clear my head. Three short sermons and a funeral meditation loom ahead. I found a verse of a hymn a friend posted as humorously encouraging.

This child through David's city shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, though heavy, dull, and dumb,
and lie within the roadway to pave his kingdom come.....

Humorous because I can see myself like a stone lying in the street, wave after wave of worship gatherings roaring by. The reason that I might feel like a heavy, dull and dumb stone, is that there is not much time to breathe and collect thoughts in between each gathering of the faithful this holy week...a problem for musicians and preachers who are expected to creatively inspire.

The truth is, though, one of the reasons I am a Lutheran is because I am mesmerized by the holy week liturgy. It is a vivid portrayal of both God's great work in Christ as well as the reality of our faith journeys.

So here we are. I took a good deep breath with the dogs and in the quiet walk there were no stones shouting out a sermon to me. But I heard the first lawn mower of the spring, the rush of the flooded creek, a great horned owl, a nesting goose, a pileated woodpecker and a gregarious bluebird. Good enough for the time being. No sermons for tomorrow, so God has more time to speak to this dull stone.

32nd, 33rd, and 34th days of Lent

2010-03-27T15:50:00.000-04:00

In the passion account according to Luke (23:49) we read: "But all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things."

In the other gospels, the disciples have fled; only the women watch from a distance, or in John's gospel just a few women are at the foot of the cross with the one beloved disciple. Here in Luke's gospel there is denial by Peter and betrayal by Judas, but there is no sense of Jesus being abandoned by everyone, no locked rooms of fear. In Luke all of Jesus' followers are watching the horrible thing that is taking place to their teacher and leader...from a distance.

The distance, as Luke presents it, was not just physical. The distance between themselves and their dying Lord was their incomprehension. There was a huge gap, a great distance between the defeat and failure they thought they were seeing and the saving work of God's forgiveness for the world. They had no idea what God was doing, no idea of what was being enacted on the cross before their very eyes. Three days later when a few women reported that they had seen the empty tomb and angels, the band of followers wouldn't believe them. Not until their risen Lord personally appeared to them breaking bread and explaining scriptures would the distance between what they thought and what God had truly done begin to close.

Unlike his followers that day, we know what is going to happen. Unlike his followers, we know what the scriptures tell us, because they wrote it down for us. That doesn' t mean we never struggle with doubts. That doesn't mean that there aren't times we feel distant from God in spite of the good news of scriptures. It does mean, however, that like them none of us can truly comprehend the mystery of what God did that day.

"But all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things." Here is how we are most like those acquaintances that day. They stood at a distance because there was nothing they could do to help. Events had spun out of their control, and they couldn't prevent their Lord's inevitable death. They could do absolutely nothing except watch the horror unfold.

In the end, neither can we. We are as helpless as those acquaintances standing at a distance watching Jesus die on a cross. We watch from the distance of time, of centuries. Still, like the followers then, we can do nothing about saving ourselves from inevitable death and ever present sin. We cannot reconcile ourselves to God. We cannot save ourselves. We cannot free ourselves. We cannot make ourselves exist beyond death. This is only God's doing. All of us, whether we realize it or not, are totally dependent on God acting on our behalf every day of our lives.

And so we stand at a respectfully human distance, watching--and praying and singing and thanking--because God is on the cross; because in a way we cannot fully grasp, God is acting with love and forgiveness on our behalf. God, and no other, can do that. Thanks be to God.

30th and 31st days of Lent

2010-03-24T21:48:00.000-04:00

I think I've decided that posting everyday is probably not for me, although I have surprised myself by realizing that when I just start typing, not sure of what to say, something comes out that I hadn't thought about before. The daily grind helps me, if no one else.

Nevertheless, if any of you have been reading everyday, I am slowing down a bit.

Tonight our congregation finished our Wednesday night series on loving God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength and loving neighbor as ourselves. We considered how saying these two commandments has not only helped us live them more deeply, but ironically, it has caused us to realize how frequently we fail to live up to them...how frequently we fail to love God and neighbor with heart, soul, mind, and strength. Saying these 2 commandments throughout the day is double pronged: pointing out failure, but encouraging more than we thought we could do.

It's all typical of disciples like Peter, this funny mix of failure and spiritual growth, so we shouldn't be surprised. But after a few weeks of telling stories about how the "Jesus Creed" was helping us live our lives differently, tonight we simply acknowledged how saying the "Jesus Creed" also reminded us of how we have failed to do so as well.

And that's the funny mix of being followers of Jesus. Growing in Christ means being able to admit failure as much as accomplishing new growth.