tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79091081369076373362024-02-02T05:15:57.431-08:00Thoughts on the SermonPastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-3216833796520968932016-07-27T10:39:00.001-07:002016-07-27T10:39:05.505-07:00My Silent Retreat<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Somewhere around the first of the year, one of my <i>de facto</i> Spiritual Directors – one of the several people who help me discern which of the many “voices” that vie for my attention are of God and which are not – came to me with a brochure from the Monastery of the Holy Spirit outlining the retreats they offer. He had circled one and told me un-ceremoniously that I needed to go to it. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was titled “The Spirituality of Imperfection.” I chuckled and said, “Me? What in God’s name would make you think I have issues with imperfection?!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being gracious, he said something to the effect of, “I just chose it because it is in the middle of the week; far enough “out” that you probably don’t have anything on your calendar for that time, yet; I know the monk who’s leading it and he’s great; and yes…you could use a little refresher on the fact that imperfection is actually one of God’s greatest gifts!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, in the middle of July, I drove 4+ hours to Conyers, GA for a 4-day SILENT retreat (Yep…That’s right! The only talking was during each “session” and if outside of the monastery building, but before 8:30 p.m., after which all were to observe the “grand silence,” until 4:00 a.m. – like anyone is going to want to talk at 4:00 a.m.!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The very first thing I noticed when I walked into the retreat house was that the AC was obviously not working properly. Immediately, “my knee-pits” started dripping sweat. Thankfully, I was wearing <span style="text-transform:uppercase">long pants</span> so the fabric just absorbed and locked in the sweat (Yeah…The brochure states that “dress is casual, but please no shorts.” It was soon obvious that I was among the only ones there thoughtful enough to follow the “no shorts” request!). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, to recap: the first thing(s) I notice are <b><i>not</i></b> the beauty, silence, calm, peace of the place, but my sweaty knee-pits and the fact that some of my fellow retreatants (yes, that’s a word) were obviously not as “holy” as me, walking around in their dis-respectful, though really cute, shorts!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Plastering on my most benevolent smile, I went to the receptionist. She went over the schedule, making note of the hours of prayer that we were welcomed to take part in (4:00 a.m., 7:00 a.m., 12:15 p.m., 5:20 p.m., and 7:30 p.m.) and pointing out that Brother Mark (who looks exactly like a Hobbit) asks everyone to be sure to be present at the first session because there is some “housekeeping” stuff to go over. Then she pointed down the hall toward the dining room, “The dining room is down there. The meals are silent. If you <i>have</i> to talk, you can eat in this room (she showed me where).” Then she gave me my room assignment – Room 209 (BTW, the key to 209 will not work in Room 207, the room I tried for 1 full minute to open…Thankfully, whomever was assigned to that room was not in at the time.), told me that Vespers would start in about 30 minutes and showed me the way to get to the abbey church. Then she said, “Retreatants may sit in the space just to the right of the monks. Worship books will be laid out for you. It can kind of be hard to follow, so just stand when they stand and sit when they sit.” She must have seen that I was less than comfortable with my sweaty knees and frustration at my shorts-wearing colleagues, because then she smiled warmly and said, “It will be fine.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here are some of the notes and thoughts I wrote down while I was there:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“House-keeping session” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l3 level1 lfo1"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Brother Mark: “If you need to make confession while you are here, go to Father Thomas (? can’t remember his name). There is a sign-up sheet outside of this room. When you go, be on time, be quick and be gone. This isn’t a counseling session, and Father Thomas (?) is quite old.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l3 level1 lfo1"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>“Please know that you are welcomed and encouraged to come to any and all of the ‘hours of prayer.’ We do a lot of chanting. You are welcomed to join in, but we tend to go flat when we chant, so be patient with us.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Day 1: <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l4 level1 lfo2"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Carl Jung said: “Do not trust anyone who doesn’t have a sense of humor.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l4 level1 lfo2"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>“Perfect” is an illusion.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l4 level1 lfo2"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>“God uses our gifts to reach <i>others</i> and our imperfections to reach <i>us</i> (Maybe one of my favorite insights.)”.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Day 2:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>My own thought: If, as Br. Mark suggests, I cannot fully love others or God without loving myself, can I at least <i>practice</i> loving self and God by loving others?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Jesus is never upset with sinners, only with people who pretend they are<i> not</i> sinners.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>I don’t remember who said this, but I really like it. When asked why they pray, someone responded: “I do not pray so much as I just breathe God in and hope somehow to learn how to breathe God out, as well.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Perhaps our greatest commonalities are our imperfection and our loved-ness by God.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Perfectionists don’t tend to celebrate theirs strengths – instead, they focus on their weaknesses.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Day 3:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l2 level1 lfo4"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Awareness of our own imperfection opens us to grace.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l2 level1 lfo4"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>“Be perfect” (as in Matt. 5:48) – bad translation…Better “Don’t give up”; “Keep at it”; “Be mature;” and note the context…Work toward “maturing-never-giving-up” love.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Day 4 (Final session):<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo5"> <![if !supportLists]><span style="font-family:Symbol"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><![endif]>Br. Mark: “As a rule – even if you think you know the answer to someone’s problem, don’t give it while they are still talking.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To sum up:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since the bells which call to worship will have already woken you up, you may as well get out of bed and go to the prayer hour called “Vigils,” which is at 4:00 a.m.…Don’t worry, nobody cares what you look like at that hour (I even wore a pair of running shorts on the last morning – but I changed before breakfast)…But do take note that for the 30-minutes of silent meditation that happens in the middle of the service, the lights will be turned off. So, if you want to move to a different place for this 30 minutes, be careful not to trip, the abbey church is very dark at that hour! Just sayin’. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Breakfast is not served until after morning mass (7:00 a.m.) – there’s even a sign in the refectory that says so.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monks make really good coffee.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eating in silence is really pretty neat.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">People who wear shorts at monasteries are cool, too (temperature-wise and personality-wise).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s easier to “unplug” and be silent than you imagine.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Each time you become aware of your imperfection is an opportunity to thank God for divine grace.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Give yourself a break: It is not only the case that the way you treat <i>others</i> is the way you treat Christ (ala Matt. 25. 31ff), but also the way you treat <i>yourself </i>is the way you treat Christ.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before you leave, remember to thank the receptionist who told you that everything would be fine.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">p.s. you should check out the pictures of the monastery. Go to <a href="http://www.trappist.net">www.trappist.net</a><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-55786282735402510942016-05-10T10:07:00.001-07:002016-05-10T10:07:03.726-07:00Living Love<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “There’s one for every year I’ve known you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They were from my “other” daughter.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Roses were waiting in the entryway when I came in from church on Mother’s Day.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She didn’t leave a note but, since Cliff and the kids had already given me my gift…I got suspicious! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I texted her and asked if she had anything to do with them. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She texted back, “Oh, good! The cat didn’t get them!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She came by yesterday (Monday). Sometimes she just drops by.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We were eating dinner (her timing is impeccable – like any single young adult!). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cliff said, “Are you hungry?” She said, “Yes.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He put food from his plate onto hers, and she ate.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I pointed to the roses I’d put in a vase and asked “Did you see them?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “Yep! There is one for every year I’ve known you.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hadn’t counted them. But her math was accurate.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We met when she was 12 or 13 y/o. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Back then, I didn’t really have any idea that she was paying attention. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Apparently she was.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her mother was the director of the preschool in the church I served in Asheville. By osmosis, she just “gets” children.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometime after she was old enough to drive, she became our “nanny,” and – although there was no ceremony – she became an adopted member of our family.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Years later, when we moved from Asheville to Charlotte, it wasn’t long before she moved here, too.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, she is a professional nanny (it’s just in her blood).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her “nanny-family” lives fairly near us…So, from time to time she comes by, lets herself in, hollers “hey” to the kids, pours herself some apple juice and we chat.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t think she’s ever missed one of our kids’ birthday parties or Halloween. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Friday is Henry’s 10<sup>th</sup> birthday. She is making the cake and playing laser tag with him and his friends (so that I don’t have to!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lucy will soon be the same age that she (our <i>other</i> daughter) was when we first met…And Lucy is paying attention.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What she sees is someone who is glad to see her every time she sees her.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What she sees is someone who knows her name and her hopes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What she sees is someone who listens and celebrates and takes her seriously and laughs with her and shows up when she says she will. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The congregation I serve, just received a “recognition” from the Center for Community Transitions (CCT). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">CCT is an organization that facilitates the transitioning of formerly incarcerated men and women back into their families, work and society. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, in addition to that, the CCT also ministers (my word, not theirs<i> – although I know that the director sees it as a ministry</i>) with the families of <i>currently</i>-incarcerated folks (in my short-sightedness, I never gave them much thought). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Every third Tuesday, the CCT hosts a dinner for these families. “It’s really all about the kids,” one person says. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A year or so ago, the CCT changed locations and needed a new place for these Third Tuesday Dinners to take place.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We had the space. So, now they are here. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been just a couple times to the dinners. But, there is more joy in that room than most anywhere I go. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m not really sure why we received any recognition…We just said, “Sure, we have space,” and opened our doors.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It makes me kind of sad, that that seems to be a big deal.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s the same thing with our Drop In Center – our ministry with the mentally ill, where once a month we open doors to about 60-80 mentally ill men and women for the morning – they eat and laugh and get a little food to take with them, and are something other than their label for the day.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Folks have been coming for decades to be part of it! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s not that big of a deal – except that it seems to be.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A place where there are folks who are glad to see you every time they see you.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Who know your name and your hopes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Who listen and celebrate and take you seriously and laugh with you and show up when they say they will. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our mission statement is: “St. Luke’s Lutheran Church – Living and Sharing God’s Love.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Apparently, even though it doesn’t seem like it, that’s a really big deal. And the <i>extra-</i>cool part is that folks are paying attention…And as simple as it is, simply opening your door and sharing love changes lives (Granted, you may not come home to more than a dozen roses – but your life will be changed and so will the lives of others!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-25711245763868452712016-02-22T09:14:00.001-08:002016-02-22T09:14:27.887-08:00I owe my husband a public apology.<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">I owe my husband (Cliff) a public apology.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay – back story…For Cliff’s birthday (which was in December), I gave him tickets to a Yanni concert – because for years I have heard of his, what I labelled “quaint?” “cute?” “sweet?” “ridiculous?”, love of Yanni. Then, anytime I was within earshot when his friends asked what he got for his birthday and he said, “Yanni tickets,” I would jump into said conversation with something like “Yeah…Just shows you how much <i>I love my husband</i>. I am going to see Yanni…YANNI for ‘Sweet Betty’s sake!’” Accompanied with a <i>truly impressive</i> eye roll (one that would rival my 11 year-old daughter’s!). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yanni…a hair-slinging wannabe pianist! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know…great attitude. “Oh the sacrifices I make for love!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I carried that attitude with me all the way into the auditorium last night and even into the first song as Yanni (all 108 pounds of him!) made a grand entrance accompanied by his orchestra and purple/pink lights, throwing kisses and flinging his hair (Full disclosure…I also thought shameful things about the 1500-2000 people in the auditorium with us!)!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, resigned to the reality of my life for the ensuing 2-2 ½ hours, I actually started listening. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">About 30 minutes into the whole thing, I actually took out my phone “googled” Yanni…First “designation” listed is “composer.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my head: “He wrote all this stuff?...Seriously?!?!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, I found out that he doesn’t read music – but uses some kind of “shorthand” (You should check it out…crazy/amazing). That’s not proper!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, on stage the harpist (also long-haired) is going crazy making a harp sound like a grand piano and drum all at the same time. I mean, like nothing I’ve ever heard!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, a violinist (bald) plays with absolute virtuosity and then a trumpeter with clarity that cuts to my heart (at this point I’m feeling pretty stupid about the whole eye-roll, “my great sacrifice for love” stuff!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then he (Yanni) starts introducing his orchestra…And there are musicians from Greece, Paraguay, Asia, Russia, Venezuela, the US, Armenia, Canada and Cuba. The UN of orchestras!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The text for the sermon yesterday was Luke 13:31-35, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s the thing, I am convinced that the statement, “See, your house is left to you,” is simply a statement of fact (not a threat or even a judgment per se)…“Come together my children,” Jesus says, “or you will destroy yourselves.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t exclude, separate, point fingers, call names, build walls (!)…just come near to my love…or you will destroy yourselves.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are living that reality right now, aren’t we?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are separating more and more all while Jesus (<i>in red letters</i>) is saying “come together,” and we are not willing, and we are seeing the signs of our own destruction. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So sad. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So wrong. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So unfaithful.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Really cool to see embodied on stage last night the beauty of “children gathered,” working together across culture, language, gender, age, “proper musical training,” and, no doubt, religion.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s a quite annoying “chant” that our kids are fond of (from some lovely TV cartoon – you may be familiar with it)…It goes a little something like this: “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it all along. You just wouldn’t listen. I was right and you were wrong!” Thank you my dear husband for simply loving the concert, loving me and not chanting the “I knew it” chant for all the world to hear! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I apologize for the eye roll!<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-57171674745045206582015-11-16T18:42:00.001-08:002015-11-16T18:42:18.049-08:00Lord, have mercy...<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed (Mark 13.7).”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Following the attacks on Paris, my Facebook page, just like yours, had comments to the effect: “I think this is the beginning of World War III”…The beginning of World War III…Rumors of wars…Nation against nation and kingdom against kingdom. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes it happens so remarkably, that it is hard to believe…that the assigned reading for the day coincides so incredibly with the events of the day. It reminds me of the call to “do theology” with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. It happened this week (assigned gospel, Mark 13.1-8).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This past Friday, I was on my way to help lead a retreat for 100 confirmation students, when I heard – on the radio – that 19 people, in Paris, had been killed in attacks by ISIS. By Saturday morning, that number had risen to 129…Wars and rumors of wars…200+ killed in an airline bombing attributed to ISIS…40-some in Beirut…Wars and rumors of wars. Do not be alarmed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Really, Jesus? Are you serious?!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am unsettled…I am disturbed…And, if I dare admit it, I am alarmed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am looking with my most-intent eyes to see where in the world is any evidence of “birth pangs” (Mark 13.8) out of which new life is promised, and I am hard-pressed to see any. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And yet…and yet…I hold on to what I confess…that the promise of life is eternal and permanent. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hold on to what I know, Emmanuel – God with us. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hold on to the cross of Christ and the empty resurrection-tomb…I hold on to new life in the face of death and horror (the promised birth of verse 8, perhaps, which my eyes – but not God’s – cannot yet see?). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I hold on to what I have promised – to serve and to love all people in every situation. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I choose that despite the alarm that I admit, I will not cease loving and serving. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I choose, <i>I make the conscious decision to choose</i>, to not allow my alarm to keep me from what I am (as you are) called to be about – loving and serving and striving for justice and peace in all the earth. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I do not pretend to know what the right response is to this horror. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I do not pretend to know what must be done when there seem to be no sin-less options, and so I return, with you, to the worship that is part of the rhythm of my life and together we sing or speak (or whisper, or weep): <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“In peace, let us pray to the Lord…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the peace from above, and for our salvation (and the salvation of the world), let us pray to the Lord…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the peace of the whole world; for the well-being of the Church of God; and for the unity of all, let us pray to the Lord…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For this holy house, and for all who offer here their worship and praise, let us pray to the Lord…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Help, save, comfort and defend us, Gracious Lord.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Amen.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">…and I rub my eyes and wipe my tears and pray for the grace and courage to embody, in my life, the love of Christ with which I have been covered and in which I abide – hoping beyond hope that in my life, and in my living, there may be some small evidence of the birthing of the promised coming life…and I rest in confidence that when I do not know how to pray, the Holy Spirt intercedes with sighs too deep for words (Romans 8:26).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">p.s. Although, once I’ve preached a sermon, I do not listen to it again…Some have said that this past Sunday’s sermon may be worth a listen…if you’d like, go to the church’s website (<a href="http://www.stlukeselca.org">www.stlukeselca.org</a>) and click on Pastor’s Sermon…Wars and Rumors of Wars on the home page. <o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-84049656710827034962015-09-16T12:55:00.001-07:002015-09-16T12:55:13.465-07:00Quick Ears and a Slow Mouth<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">I was presumptuous and didn’t let her get a word in edgewise. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She sent me an article whose title I found offensive – something about the “Black Dilemma,” with the added comment by her, “Amen!!!” (with THREE exclamation points!)…I was angry before I even read it! I received the article from her in an email that I got the night before I was to go to lunch with her. As soon as I saw her, the next day, I told her that I needed to cancel our lunch date, but that I would like to talk to her, please, when she had time. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She had time almost immediately. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I asked: “Why would you send me an article like this?!?!” And “Why would you write ‘Amen’ with <b><i>not one</i></b>, but<b> THREE</b> exclamation marks?!?!?” And “It made me cry!” And “How could you think you know me and send me something like that?!?!?!” And “Did you know that that article was originally posted on a website that is sponsored by a white supremacy group?!?!?” Then I proceeded to not listen to a single thing she said in response!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That was TWO MONTHS ago…Two very long months during which we have barely made eye-contact.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I found out the other day, that she is looking for a new church.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I talked to her today, and told her that I understand that she is looking for a new church…and I said that I pray that she will find a place where she can feel blessed and continue to grow. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She told me that she just couldn’t stay where she no longer felt that she had a pastor. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We talked briefly about the meeting we had together following the email with the article in it…and her “Amen!!!” (with THREE exclamation points). She talked about how she had cried for three days after that meeting and how hurt she was that I had essentially called her a white supremist. She used my own words: “How can you think you know me, then think<i> that</i> of me?!?!?” “And “I don’t feel like I have a pastor anymore.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It was the ‘Amen!!!’ that I couldn’t understand,” I said. Then, continuing to exhibit diarrhea of the mouth, I continued: <i>“We are called to <b>figure this out!</b> To figure out how we can live together without blaming the other for being ‘other,’ or insisting that ‘they’ become like ‘us.’”</i> (my voice had THREE exclamation points and italics).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I agree,” she said (but, again, I didn’t listen).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I just kept plowing ahead with something about the Kingdom of God, common good, whatever. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, she said it again: <b><i>“I agree with you.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said something to the effect that “Well, it <b><i>isn’t</i></b> working, is it?” And “We’ve got to figure out how to make this work.” And “<b><i>That’</i></b><b><i>s</i></b><i> </i>what the ‘Amen’ was about.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh, what a fool I have been. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh, what a gracious, gracious woman she has been in her mercy toward me. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She may well still seek another pastor – one who not only <i> preaches</i> about listening and gentleness and love and on and on and on…but who actually<i> practices</i> those things.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What was it that James said: “Be quick to listen, slow to speak.” (James 1:19)?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">God, grow in me the gift of quick and sincere listening and slow speech…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-56642148639307923522015-07-10T08:16:00.001-07:002015-07-10T08:16:23.877-07:00It Just Takes Courage<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">The youngest one at our gathering said, “It just takes courage.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A dozen members of St. Luke’s, most of whom have been attending a series of forums sponsored by Mecklenburg Ministries, called “Let’s Talk” (a weekly gathering which began after the massacre of the Emanuel Nine), came together last night in our living room to talk and share and dream and discern what it is we are called to do about healing and building and bridging and addressing issues of racial tension and inequality in our families and community and world…wanting to raise our children and grandchildren to do and be better.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We were three black and nine white. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We shared stories and sadness. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We shared perspective and grief. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We spoke of hope and resurrection.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We started from love and grew from there.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I asked “Why are you here?” And we took turns answering. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we began to know one another.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A retired white pastor, slight in build and soft spoken, shared that he had been in Mississippi in 1964 (or 1965?) registering black voters. He shared a story about how the car he was travelling in was tailed by a pick-up truck whose passengers carried shot guns and “escorted” him, and those he was with, out of town. Then he said, “I haven’t done anything in a long time. I need to do something again.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A retired black nurse shared a story about having to take her SAT exam, for entrance into nursing school, in the hallway because she wasn’t welcomed into the testing hall where the white candidates sat. She shared that, when she needed to wash her hands, a janitor had to be found to open the janitor’s closet – the only place she was allowed to use the sink. “I don’t know what would have happened if I’d have needed to use a toilet.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A young white woman shared a memory of a time she was told not to follow-up on a resume, because the name on it sounded like the person might not “talk right.” “ I didn’t do anything about it. I should have.” Then talking to the black sisters present, she said: “ I am sorry.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A 78 year-old white woman said, “I’m old! Something has got to be done about this before I die! So, let’s get on with it!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another young white woman responded “I know…But what about when the racism is in your own family?” “I love my family…what do I do? I don’t want my children to be like that.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s when the youngest one present – a young woman who just graduated from high school and is heading to Duke in just over a month, and who happens to be bi-racial, said “It just takes courage.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It took courage to admit that something ‘just isn’t right.’”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It took courage to go to those forums.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It took courage to admit that many of us have been blind.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It took courage to say ‘help.’”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It took courage to come here tonight.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And it will take courage to tell your family that you are coming again next week.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“…And we will cheer for you and love you and hold hands with you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we prayed for the courage.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are not completely naïve…We know that many will say, “The confederate flag came down…What else is there to do? Let’s move on.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, we pray for courage to continue.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Next week we will gather again…This time to make plans to do some “actionable” thing (or things). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe to just get kids sharing their experiences. And adults. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we will begin to know one another…And we will come to share love and grow from there.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we will have courage.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“For you did not receive a spirit of slavery (or cowardice) to fall back again into fear, but you received a spirit of adoption…[So, be of good courage!].”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">~ Romans 8:15 (with a slight emendation)<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-7046312667083932152015-03-02T09:06:00.001-08:002015-03-02T09:06:15.970-08:00We are Village People<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">On Saturday, Henry and Lucy received their “Black belt recommended” for tai kwon do. That means that they actually get to wear a black belt and work to keep it over the next 6 months or so. So, it is not a “real,” their-name-sewn-on-in red-and-a-single-stripe black belt…yet. Even so, we took pictures and posted it all online. Their very first tai kwon do instructor (Ezekiel Delfino…“Seky” to us. “Mr. Delfino” to the kids.) came to cheer for them and took pictures, too…And posted them, too. Within hours, there were hundreds of “likes” and “way to go’s” and “AWESOMES!” from people we knew and people we didn’t know at all! People from Argentina (where Seky is from), whom we have never met (and likely never will) and whose language we do not speak posted comments to Seky’s photos (on which we were “tagged”), congratulating our kids and encouraging them to continue to work hard. Before she tied their belts on, their current instructor – Ms. Granieri – asked them if they were ready for the <i>real</i> journey to black belt. They said, “Yes ma’am.” “Good…because I believe you can do it.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It takes a village.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t remember exactly how long ago…maybe 6 months – maybe longer…I was sitting in a hospital waiting room with Carrie. Her son had had a minor procedure, but had an unknown latex allergy. His throat closed and we didn’t know whether he would survive (he has). Carrie is the nearly 80 year-old matriarch of a very large African American family, as well as the matriarch of the subsidized housing complex near our church (although she has been unceremoniously temporarily displaced from her apartment…too long a story for this blog). In many ways, Carrie’s family fits every stereotype of an African American family living in subsidized housing. I can never remember how many sons she has – but one or two have been killed and all have been in jail or prison. In her terribly over-cramped apartment, you will find children, grand-children, great grand-children, nieces, nephews and neighbors. She hosts “back-porch ministries” where she gives food to her neighbors from her back porch (different churches and companies give her their “day-olds.” Thank you <i>Trader Joes</i>). Some while after literally escaping from an abusive husband, she was instrumental in the start-up of Samaritan’s House (a house where homeless folks can go after they’ve been hospitalized…<i>a need I had never considered</i>. If you are homeless and have surgery, where do you go when you are discharged? Back under the bridge? Ahhh…all the things I take for granted.), and active in civil rights issues in the Charlotte area and beyond.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I asked her how she overcame the obstacles that surrounded her.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “My auntie…”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“My auntie believed in me and cheered for me and told me that I could do great things…important things…things that would change the lives of others.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“My auntie was the only person who told me those things…But she told me...every time she saw me. Everyone else either thought I wouldn’t amount to anything, or assumed I didn’t need to hear it.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“My auntie believed in me <i>and told me so</i>.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My children have people all around the world cheering them on.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Carrie had one.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Villages come in all shapes and sizes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Never imagine your encouraging word doesn’t matter. It could change lives who will change lives who will change lives. <o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-50578198566860466222015-02-10T08:00:00.001-08:002015-02-10T08:00:28.119-08:00Love Boats, Life Boats, Glitter and Marriage<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Quoting from an article called “Lasting Love” by Frank Honeycutt: “In his classic book <i>The Road Less Traveled</i>, M. Scott Peck writes: ‘Of all the misconceptions about love, the most powerful and pervasive is the belief that “falling in love” is love.’” Frank goes on to say “Falling in love is nice. Romance is fun. But it alone won’t sustain a marriage. All too soon one learns things about a new husband that weren’t known before – things that will drive a person nuts if you think about them too hard. All too soon one discovers wacky facets of a new wife’s personality that were never really noticed when dating.” The article continues: “Just before he died, Jesus gave some powerful advice to his disciples. It’s about the best advice that couples can hear too. Jesus said: ‘I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another’ (John 13.34) The little word ‘as’ in this context may be the most challenging in the entire Bible. The love Jesus describes here is less like a Hallmark card and more like a cross. The best marriages in know are marked by a love that looks quite a bit like a cross – love that is sacrificial, that gives to another from the very core of your being, love where a spouse is willing to die for the other. A strong marital relationship is less about elusive and ever-changing ‘feelings’ and more about actions: a willingness to set aside my agenda, my need to be right all the time, my hesitancy to forgive.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Frank’s article appeared in the <i>The Lutheran</i> magazine in June 2003. I still have my original copy of the magazine. I quoted from the article for the first time at Melissa & Larry Hall’s wedding. The pages are brown now and have glitter stuck to them (I distinctly remember glitter at Melissa & Larry’s wedding). I quote from it at just about every wedding where I preach. It’s powerful. It’s honest. Marriage is challenging…no matter who you are. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Today, Cliff and I have been married 13 years. I don’t know whether or not there is an appropriate gift for a couple’s thirteenth wedding anniversary…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Depending on the day, perhaps a “Love Boat” extravaganza cruise (with Gopher, Isaac, Capt. Stubing, Julie, the whole gang! And glitter!)…Others days, a lifeboat would be the most appropriate gift. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I still have a lot of work to do; especially on that “set aside my agenda, and need to be right all the time, and hesitancy to forgive” part. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think of my less-than-stellar-at-all-times service as wife (makes me think of how Christ must feel as “spouse” of the church…That’s in scripture somewhere, isn’t it?), and I thank God for all of you who have cheered, and supported and prayed us through to this point in our journey. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mostly though, I thank God for Cliff and for his sacrificial love and his continual forgiving of the “wacky facets” of my personality that keep surfacing. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">May the glitter of our wedding day stick to the pages of our life and love through the best and worst of all that is to come.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-75411350346624638352015-01-13T09:55:00.001-08:002015-01-13T09:55:59.092-08:00Confessions of a Borderline Cynic<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay…Here’s one…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My secretary (my “protector”) stuck her head through my door about a week ago and said something like: “There is a man out here who would like a moment of your time.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said, “Who is it?” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What does he want?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know…Wants to talk to you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My first (cynical) thought is that someone has come seeking assistance…and (I am embarrassed to admit) that I had to take a deep breath followed by an audible sigh before I said, “well, okay.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then she said, “Oh yeah! He’s the father of one of our preschoolers.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I thought, “Oh no…I knew it was always possible! An estranged father who wants to get/nab/take his kid! What is the protocol? What is the protocol?” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I took a deeper breath…“Okay…I’ll come to him” (That way I wouldn’t get trapped in my office.).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was more than a little flustered. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He said, “Hey, Pastor. We’ve never met. But my son Thomas (who goes to your preschool) has been coming to VBS here for a few years. My wife and I always wanted to make a donation to that ministry…we just never could. But, we came into some extra blessings. So, here!” And he put a check in my hand for $500.00.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s another…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, the weather was horrid (it is today, too!)…But I had promised I’d make a visit to Mary. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I sat in my car in the parking lot of the skilled nursing/rehab center where she is, I was finishing up a conversation on my phone. While I was in<i> that</i> conversation, my phone started ringing with <i>anothe</i>r call. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I hung up with the first, got out of the car, called the second while I was walking in to see Mary and said, “I’m just calling to ask if I can call back in about 30 minutes…I’m just walking in the door to do a visit (“do a visit”…as if it is something I bestow/distribute/hand out/control! Pitiful. Cynical.).” <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said, “It will be real quick!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">An hour and a half later, I walked out with a goofy-shaking-my-head kind of look on my face. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mary is very weak and very small and old. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I can’t remember now, but I think she took a fall that landed her in the hospital, then subsequently into this rehab facility. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As a younger woman, Mary was a concert pianist. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She graduated from the Oberlin Conservatory. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her hands are gnarled now…But she loves to talk about her favorite/least favorite/most challenging piece of music/professor/conductor/performance. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her hands have been unusable since I’ve known her. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve never heard her play. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That makes me sad. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In any case, when I went in she let me know that, the day before, Marilyn brought her a Worship Bulletin from church. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “Baptism of Our Lord…” I bet it was beautiful! <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said “It was” (and it was).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I looked on her bed-table and saw it, then said, “Did Marilyn bring you this new <i>Word in Season,</i> too?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “Yes, but I can’t hold it. And I hate to ask a nurse to just read it to me.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said, “I’ll read it” (even though...cynical…I don’t read<i> Word in Season </i>with any regularity…I always imagined it too “quaint” for my sophisticated palate! Ends up…I was wrong…Shocking!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I took another deep breath (secretly feeling like I am being a good and benevolent pastor…Cynical <b><i>and</i></b> condescending!!! Nice.) and read yesterday’s (Jan. 12) entry. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t “pre-read,” I just took off reading. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <i>very first</i> thing on the page: “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “Read that again.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, she chuckled and said “I know how that feels.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I finished the day’s reflection with the prayer that is provided: <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Keep me connected with the things that matter today, and don’t let fear (or, in my case cynicism) keep me from extending my heart in love. Amen.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This time<i> I</i> chuckled!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I finished reading, she said, “Would you mind reading another?” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I ended up reading all the way back to the beginning of the year…All the while, my mind vacillating between the thoughts: “Oh, my word…This is Holy, <i>holy</i> ground! Be present to this blessing. Be present to this blessing!” and “Sara, you are such an obnoxious, cynical idiot! Thanks be to God for Mary’s fingers that forced you to stop and be care-full!” Then I started thinking about the place in scripture where I think it is Paul who says something about ‘God’s power being made perfect in our weakness.’ Something like that anyhow. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could recall at least a dozen more cynical-shattering moments over the past week (I need a lot of them!)…but this blog is already getting too long…So, come visit, and we’ll share a cup of coffee and swap stories.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we were watching the National Championship game last night, Cliff (my husband) – for no reason that I can remember, probably a commercial that came on, or something – said something like, “How do you keep from being <i>constantly </i>cynical” (Notice…he did not say, “How do you keep from being cynical?”… but “How do you keep from being<b><i> constantly</i></b> cynical?”)? I chuckled again.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here is my confession, dear reader(s): I preach a really, really good sermon on the persistence of light shining in darkness…But, sometimes, the darkness seems so deep…and – if we are honest – easier…right? (I don’t know if that makes sense.). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s just easier to assume the worst. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s just easier to have defenses up all the time. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s easier to fall into cynicism.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I answered Cliff, “I don’t know.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I remembered that the man who came in to give me that check, used an Ohio State check (big ol’ buckeye watermark thing on it!), and I remembered that I had forgotten to tell Cliff about that day! So, I told him.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, I said, “I don’t really know…I guess I get paid to be constantly on the lookout for God (probably a cynical sentiment). It’s a pretty good gig if you can get it!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then that blasted <i>Word in Season</i> prayer fell into my head again: “Keep me connected with the things that matter today, and don’t let fear (cynicism) keep me from extending my heart in love. Amen.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Some days are easier than others, you know. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And some days, it takes gnarled hands to show us the light. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Strange isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-73197809138923257602014-10-22T21:35:00.001-07:002014-10-22T21:35:18.566-07:00Into the immediate more immediate embrace of God<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">A while ago, we “adopted” this song as our Family Song.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">How We Love ~ Beth Neilson Chapman<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Life has taught me this<br> Every day is new<br> And if anything is true<br> All that matters<br> When we're through<br> Is how we love<br> <br> Faced with what we lack<br> Some things fall apart<br> But from the ashes new dreams start<br> All that matters to the heart<br> Is how we love<br> <br> How we love<br> How we love<br> From the smallest act of kindness<br> In a word, a smile, a touch<br> <br> In spite of our mistakes<br> Chances come again<br> If we lose or if we win<br> All that matter in the end<br> Is how we love<br> <br> How we love<br> How we love<br> I will not forget your kindness<br> When I needed it so much<br> <br> Sometimes we forget<br> Trying to be so strong<br> In this world of right and wrong<br> All that matters when we're gone<br> All that mattered all along<br> All we have that carries on<br> Is how we love<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At about 9:45 tonight, Mom fell into the more immediate embrace of God’s Love. Dad and all three of her children were with her ~ loving her, just like she taught us.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-31496920727150981512014-10-22T13:59:00.001-07:002014-10-22T13:59:38.923-07:00The Narthex of Heaven and Thin Places<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Two weeks ago today, the cadre of family who were in town, made the trip to the doctor’s office to get the latest “scan results.” We sat together as the doctor told my mother (who was sitting in a wheelchair and holding my father’s hand): “The medicine isn’t working anymore.” We all knew it was coming. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When my mother asked, in slurred speech, “that means I’m dying, then?” the doctor answered “Not today…but yes.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hospice contacts were made, and a couple days later, we moved Mom out of rehab and back to her and Dad’s apartment. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When the hospice bed arrived, dad had it set up in their bedroom. We raised it to the same level as “their” bed, and took the inside guard rail down, and now they sleep as they have for more than 56 years…side by side.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My siblings and I have been taking 48-hour shifts, sitting together with Dad through this end-of-this-life journey. Talking about the privilege of it all and noticing all the “thin spaces” between heaven and earth.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, my friends Sue and Peter came and visited my folks…Later in the day, Sue emailed me and said that “Tommie is in the narthex of heaven.” (Translation? “Tommie is in the foyer of heaven.”). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sue is the one who reminded me of “thin spaces.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see them everywhere right now.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see thin spaces in my siblings who have simply been present, daring to walk right into the face of death and carry patient, gentle, exhausted, enduring, no-matter-what love.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see thin spaces in my children – who climb in bed beside Granny and rub her head and, in their quietest “library voice” tell her about their day, with absolute tenderness and “naturalness” – even though she doesn’t respond. “But, mom she can still hear us.” I see thin spaces when my children sing “Up above my head…I see Jesus in the air…and I really do believe there’s a heaven somewhere.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see the thin space between heaven and earth in the choreography that my husband is doing (laundry, cooking, cleaning, homework) – just so I can spend all the time I possibly can in this inexplicably peaceful place – where love is truly, truly being embodied…heavenly…Heavenly…HEAVENLY love. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mostly, of course, I see the thin space between heaven and earth in the way my father is with my mother (not really much different than he has always been)…wise, gracious, tender, faithful, gentle, intentional, courageous, open, encouraging, soft, strong.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Hospice Social Worker told us, earlier today, that Mom has about 12-48 hours left in this place. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are all (my mom and dad and brother and sisters and I) together…Walking mom into resurrection. Letting go as she walks first through the narthex of heaven and then through the thin place of separation and finally into perfect, total no-matter-what, the-end-amen Love. <o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-27145169036077897432014-08-27T08:26:00.001-07:002014-08-27T08:26:36.676-07:00Peeling Paint, Splinters, and Thanksgiving<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">My family and I were on vacation a couple or three weeks ago. We had saved and saved and saved money every month for more than a year so that we could rent a place at the beach (I am learning more and more what a luxury it is to actually be able to save money!). We’d packed up on Friday and Saturday (check list in hand) and had the truck loaded, bikes on the rack and were ready to head out as soon as worship was over on Sunday. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Spirits high, kids happy, sun and fun and beach ahead, we drove and sang along to the radio…very lovely! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Three hours later, spirits still high, we pulled through the gates of the beach “community,” and – filled with anticipation – got directions to the address of our place-for-the-week. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We pulled into the driveway and parked…And before we even entered, my head went “What the what, what?!?! You’re kidding me!!!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Paint peeling, cobwebs dangling, wood on the steps just waiting to impale its splinters into my children’s, or worse <i>my </i>feet! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My jaw obviously clinched, and my husband patted my hand. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we opened the door and went inside, it just got worse (Anybody remember the Deena Carter song: “Did I Shave My Legs for This?”…That’s how I felt!)!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now…You need to know that I pride myself on being a “responsive” person (<i>frustratingly</i> so according to some folks who would rather I be more “reactionary”), but all thoughtful responsiveness flew out the door, and my reaction was pretty immediate and somewhat/pretty/<i>quite</i> negative. For a couple minutes, I refused to unpack anything…“We’re not staying here!!! Did you walk across the floor??? The wood is coming up!!! One of the kids is going to fall through!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was so bad, that my husband did something that I don’t remember him <i>ever</i> doing before…He took me into the nasty, cramped, dark kitchen and said, “You have got to get it together!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well you’d better call someone, <i>or else I will</i>!” I said. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll call,” he said. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I stayed in there and fumed for a few moments; then hollered at the kids to get down to the truck and start hauling things up…They did. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I very reluctantly unpacked a few things and threw them (literally) into cabinets, trying to ignore the peeling shelf paper. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I finally came out of the kitchen, Cliff and the kids were standing there with their bathing suits on. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Come on Mom! We’re going to the beach!” I shot lasers out of my eyes straight at my husband…the kind that say, “I am not ready to <b><i>not</i></b> be fuming!!!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While I got dressed, they went outside and found the bike helmets and pumped the tires up. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When found our way to the beach<i> (which, I noted loudly, was farther away than advertised), </i>one of the kids said, “Mom, can we get in the water!” I grunted at them, unfolded my chair, slammed it into the sand, opened my book and promptly buried my snorting nose in it.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Needless to say, <i>before I could even start reading</i>, two soaking wet, squealing, sand-covered kids ran up to me and said, <i>“THIS IS AWESOME!!!!”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perspective (haven’t I already posted a blog about that?).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I told someone the other day that <i>I am tired of learning life-lessons</i>…You’d think that, by the time I’m as old as I am, I’d have learned them all!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We came to know the maintenance folks for the “house” pretty well (they had to come every…that’s right EVERY day to work on the AC…eventually just putting in a window unit and bringing more fans!)…And, yes, we did get a hunk of our money refunded. But, it would have been so easy for me to miss out on love and laughter and “awesome” and blessings and grace and on and on and on.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My friend Kelly B. took on someone’s 7-day gratefulness-challenge (or something like that). Quite honestly when I hear about these “gratefulness” challenges, I always think they’re a little hokey…a little Pollyanna-ish, you know? But, maybe there’s something to it. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perspective…Maybe a little more thankfulness…Maybe a little more focus on the presence of love and blessings and God’s kingdom even in the midst of peeling paint and worn, splintering (dare we say, “cross-shaped”) wood.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-31089825120210292812014-07-24T15:45:00.001-07:002014-07-24T15:45:54.542-07:00Mustard Seeds and St. Bernards<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Most of you know that we have two Saint Bernards in our family – both rescued dogs. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dinah was rescued from the pound (I know…a real, live Saint Bernard in the <i>pound</i>!).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We brought her home about 1 week after our first Saint Bernard (Tendai) died…after swearing that we would wait at least 6 months – okay – 3 months – okay – one month before we got another dog! It’s just that Tonka (our other living Saint Bernard) was soooo lost after the first dog died. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, in our home are two giant throw-rugs of dogs! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m fairly sure we spend more money feeding the dogs than we do the kids (on the <i>good</i> side – and there are several good sides – at least their shedding hair…the dogs’ not the kids’…gathers in clumps so large it creates hazardous conditions around the house, which force me to vacuum on a fairly regular basis, thus maintaining my image of not being a <i>completely </i>worthless housekeeper!!)!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They are getting older though – for dogs so large. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tonka – the surviving member of the original twosome, is about 8 ½ or 9 years old (we adopted him from a St. Bernard Rescue thing. His owner was being deployed overseas with the military and couldn’t take Tonka with him). He’s had an ongoing urinary tract infection (now, THAT’S an experience!!!!). Trust me, it is no small puddle that a dog that size creates when he just can’t hold it any longer…Think small to medium sized pond. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The only thing worse than bolting out of bed in the middle of the night at the sound of dog-urine hitting the thankfully hardwood floor, is the surprise of having slept through the deluge, and stepping into it as soon as you get up in the morning! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tonka recently finished <i>another</i> round of antibiotics. I took him back for his follow-up urinalysis (<i>God love the vet tech who gathered that!</i>), only to receive a voice-mail the next day stating that there was a mix-up in the transfer of his urine sample to the lab!!!! Could I bring him back so they could get another sample (I drive a PRIUS for goodness’sake!)?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Urinalysis re-taken…Infection gone…But his kidneys are not functioning as they should be. He’s getting older…slowing down.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we told the kids (3 ½ years ago) about the first dog’s death, Lucy literally wailed. Henry wept and walked around aimlessly.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m not really sure why I share this…Maybe to be reminded that <i>everybody</i> is dealing with something. You and me and that annoying person you work with…Some relatively small “somethings,” and some pretty big “somethings.” But<i> all of us have something going on. </i>And none of us knows all the stories of the hearts of those around us. And all of us are seeking some control of some aspect of our lives…and these constant pee-puddles (or whatever the equivalent is in your life) force us to realize that any control we may assume we have is really just the <i>illusion of control.</i> So, we need to be gentle with each other.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This upcoming Sunday’s gospel lesson includes the parable of the mustard seed…It was a nuisance plant…a weed…like kudzu, you know (the mustard plant). That it was sewn in a field is a result of its seed being so small and indiscernible mixed in among the “proper” seed. So, no one expected to see the plant growing. The Kingdom of God can be a nuisance sometimes (ala the Mustard plant/weed). Way easier to be cynical and judgmental with others – rather than being gentle and “open.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I focus, sometimes (more often than I like to admit) only on what I <i>expect</i> to see…I don’t sleep well, and am exhausted…worried that a UTI-infested dog may wake up and need to be rushed outside (that’s what I expect…okay, so it may not be the beautiful field of pure crop that the scripture alludes to – but it <i>is</i> what I expect) and so in my frustration, I miss the grace-lessons that this very frustration offers. Maybe an analogical stretch – I’ll grant you that – but even in this frustration, I am being prepared to have patience with others who are also exhausted for whatever reason. I am being prepared to care for those who are aging and losing control of their bodies. I am being prepared to raise children who know love and inevitable loss and care and gentleness. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mustard seeds and dog-pee…The presence of the Kingdom can be inconvenient…The lessons of grace – even when others have to help us discern those lessons – remind us that God grows in us and brings us to places of peace and compassion and love. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-6721703612431216982014-04-23T09:37:00.001-07:002014-04-23T09:37:11.604-07:00The Kingdom of God in Bojangles Coliseum<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">About a minute-and-a-half after the athletes started coming in, <b><i>I wanted to knock Ethan out</i></b>…He’s our Minister of Youth & Families. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was standing right beside me, and his constant “whoop-whooping” poured down on me from his 6’2” height and echoed throughout the entirety of the Bojangles Coliseum. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A bunch of us from the church went to support Ben – St. Luke’s own Special Olympian (check out <a href="http://www.especiallyben.com">www.especiallyben.com</a> ). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyhow, Ethan’s excitement and enthusiasm were, quite honestly, more than a little annoying – <i>at least at first</i>. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m fairly certain that every person there could hear him…which, of course, was the point. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He made sure that every Special Olympian processing during the Opening Ceremony on Tuesday knew that they were supported, respected, seen, and cheered for. And before long everyone around, <i>including me</i>, took up his cause – whooping and whistling and shouting and waving <b><i>for every single athlete</i></b> (all 1,200 + of them) – like a bunch of crazy, star-struck fans just hoping that one of the athletes might look our way! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At one point, I realized that I was laughing out-loud at the same time that tears were rolling down my cheeks…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I know this sounds a little “hallmark-ish,” but I was experiencing (<i>if that’s the right word</i>), or sitting in the middle of, or being overwhelmed by irresistible and inexplicable <b><i>joy</i></b> (<i>truly, truly</i> inexplicable – so, please forgive this feeble attempt at making it explicable)! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There, right before my eyes, <i>the Kingdom of God took shape in Bojangles Coliseum</i>. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There, the world was turned upside down. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There, the ones society calls the least and last, were now the first - the heroes and stars and champions. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we <i>just wanted to be part of it</i>! The love and joy and excitement were <i>palpable</i>. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There was not the slightest hint of misplaced sympathy or condescension in the air – not one utterance of “that poor child,” not a single insinuation of pity. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There was just Ethan (who recognized the Kingdom faster than I did) jumping up and down, waiving furiously, whooping until we all could not keep from joining in – celebrating the love and the joy and the inclusion of us all together in the presence of the Kingdom. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-56660319816546677082014-04-09T08:28:00.001-07:002014-04-09T08:28:12.173-07:00I Didn't Think Anyone Was Paying Attention...I Was Wrong<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t think anybody was paying attention (You have to hear that with the “pitiful,” “woe is me” tone with which I felt it.). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My secretary (okay – let’s be honest…my “brains”) is over-run with allergies, which are threatening to become bronchitis. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her name is Sandra, and I can’t afford to be without her…So, on Monday when she started “hacking,” about 5 minutes AFTER she was supposed to go home, I hollered: <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">“Isn’t it time for you to get out of here…in a loving Christian way?” (I figure, if I end comments or questions with “In a loving Christian way” then I get a “bye.” Kind of like when southern folks say “God love her,” or “Bless her heart,” as a license to make – hmm….how to say it…”pointed” comments). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She responded by saying: <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">“Yes it is. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in">By the way…Isn’t it time for you to get something to eat...in a loving Christian way?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I just smiled and laughed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then I said, “Yes it is. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Most days, she is the one who keeps me sane. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She feeds me information on who is where and needs what. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She reminds me what I can and cannot do for people…helps me stay strong in my resolve to say “no” when that is the faithful thing to do, and is a constant resource to help me figure out how to make the “yesses” actually come to pass (I’ve needed her to bail me out on that, more than once). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She takes things “off my plate” when my pile is too high. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And she makes sure that I eat, as she feeds me a steady diet of love, accountability, God-talk (she is better at this than I am), grace, coffee and the occasional “something” that she just baked at home and thought we – in the office – might like. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She puts warmed up left-over-from-the-youth-group pizza in front of me and makes sure that I know when the soup is ready for the “Soup and Study” group – and tells me: “You’d better get in there and get some before it’s all gone!”…And she’s not even Lutheran!!! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Without meaning to (or maybe she is aware of it), she reminds me that I among the sheep that Jesus shepherds…That I need to be fed…That I am one of those he calls to who is “Weary and carrying heavy burdens” (Matthew 11.28). That I need to go and hide sometimes in a deserted place without feeling guilty or like I am not doing my job or being productive.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we head toward Good Friday and the cross next week – may we ALL die to the illusion that we are any better than Jesus (who went away to pray or just be alone well over a dozen times in his ministry – and those are just the ones that are recorded!). And having died to that illusion, may we allow ourselves to sit in the silence and soak in the presence of the One who sits with us in the tomb of our “deaths.” May we allow ourselves to be fed (left-over pizza or communion bread) by those who are being Christ to us and who <i>are </i>paying attention, even when we feel like no one “sees” our tired-ness. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And may we all know that none of us has to accomplish everything by ourselves…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">May we all know that <b><i>we</i></b> are loved and precious and sheep of the shepherd. And may we all be blessed with a Sandra (who is feeling much better, Thanks be to God!).<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-68825558194914740852014-03-18T09:05:00.001-07:002014-03-18T09:05:17.298-07:00It's All About Attitude<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">A couple Saturdays ago, our daughter, Lucy (Lou), had her first audition for a play! <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was for the Jungalbook (the stage adaptation of Jungle Book). I wasn’t allowed into the actual audition. But, when the director came out afterward, she said, “Oh my word! She is soooo creative!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said, “I know, right?!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She said, “I <b><i>definitely</i></b> want her in this play!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said (in my most nonchalant voice), “Cool.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When Lou got a call-back for the part of Mowgli, she just about lost her mind!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And while I did do the good mother thing of helping her understand what a privilege it is just to be <b><i>part </i></b>of the play, <i>regardless</i> of what role she might get, <i> in my mind</i> I thought…HOLY COW my child is going to get the starring role in her <i>very first play</i>!!!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning, she decided to take her “script” with her to church. “No offense, Mom – but I don’t actually pay a lot of attention in church…I can practice my lines.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cliff took her to the call-back because I had Confirmation that day. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I got the blow-by-blow when I got home. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She and a couple others read for Mowgli (in my mind – again – I thought, “Others?!?!? Why in Sweet Betty’s name should any other child read for <i>my </i>child’s role?!?!”). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The cast list was promised to be emailed by 7:00 that evening.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Needless to say, 7:00 came and went. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So did 8:00 (at which point, Lucy was in bed). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And 9:00.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Around 10:00 my email “ding-ed”…It was the cast list.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There it was right, first name on the list, written right beside the character name MOWGLI…SOME OTHER CHILD’S NAME!!!!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t believe it!!!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was heartbroken.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I kept looking down<i> further and further </i>on the cast list. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surely they wouldn’t send this to me if my child didn’t make the play <i>at all</i>!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally under “snake,” there is her name – <b>one of FOUR</b> parts of the snake!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, there is her name <i>again </i>– under “vulture.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then a<i> third</i> time – under “monkey.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning, Lucy sat up in bed, and the first thing out of her mouth: “Mom did you get the email?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh…how to break it to her? <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’d been worrying about it all night.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I took a breath. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sat down beside her on the bed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Pulled her up to sit on my lap. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And just came out with it: “Lucy, you are part of the snake, a vulture, and a monkey.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Immediately, she leapt down from the bed, spun and jumped and squealed…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><i>”NO WAY!!!! I get to do THREE costume changes!!!!”</i> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">“Let me see…let me see…let me see! <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Oh Mom…Look! There’s my name! THREE TIMES!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">“And look, Faith got the part of Mowgli. I’m so happy for her. <i>She did such a GREAT job!”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are about a dozen kids in the play.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lucy has already started designing a sock doll (her current crafting specialty) for every person in the cast – a doll that looks like whatever role they are playing. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess there are some kids who will get three different dolls. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, please don’t throw away your old socks…Send them to us. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If it’s all about attitude (<i>and I suspect it is</i>), then I have a lot to learn from my daughter. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><i><span style="font-size:9.0pt">“If one member is honored, all rejoice together with it” (1 Cor. 12.26b).<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-15115420572959039402014-02-04T12:10:00.001-08:002014-02-04T12:10:38.849-08:00Learning to Be a Patient Pastor<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Whenever someone shares an observation about the struggles or whatever in their congregation, I always tend to think: “Well, maybe the people in<b><i><span style="color:red"> </span><span style="color:black">your</span></i></b><span style="color:red"> </span> congregation feel that way…but not the ones in <b><i>mine.”</i></b><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I can be sooo obnoxious like that (My sister, Leslie, if she is reading this, has just ejected milk – or water, or whatever she is drinking – out of her nose!)!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This past Sunday’s gospel lesson was Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes (Matt. 5.1-12). In the sermon, I spent some time talking about blessings (shameless plug…you can always listen to the sermons at stlukeselca.org). Then I tried something I had never done – I took the time to stand in the center aisle and just kind of turn from one area to another and look at people and say “You are blessed.” I just said it over and over and over. Slowly and deliberately. I don’t know how many times – but I looked people in the eye and just said those three words. And I pretty much ended the sermon that way. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I really didn’t think all that much about it – and wouldn’t have done it, if I hadn’t read one commentator (David Lose) who said that <b><i>people have no idea</i></b> that they are blessed…and he “challenged” preachers to do it...to tell them. I thought: “Maybe people in <i>your</i> congregation don’t know they are blessed…but<i> mine </i>know<i>.”</i> Then, just to prove my point, I did it. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My business administrator (who is an active member of the church and was in church on Sunday) came into my office on Monday and said: “We need to change the sign out front to say: You Are Blessed.” I said, “Really, Pete?” He said, “Yes, that was great.” He started to walk out of my office, turned and said, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is so much I take for granted…So much I assume people already “get.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think I need to back up. Not make so many assumptions. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My preaching professor is constantly saying (present tense…he STILL says it when we have lunch together), “People need a clear and unapologetic proclamation of God’s love (and blessing) for them…NO MATTER WHAT!” I smile and nod and say, “I do that.” Apparently, I do not do it enough. I assume people already know those things…So, let’s move on. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, here’s the thing…They <i>don’t</i> know them…Maybe you don’t, either. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I’m going to work harder at telling you. And you can tell me. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The late Henry Nouwen, in his book <i>Letters to Marc About Jesus</i>, says: “The most important thing you can say about God’s love is that God loves us not because of anything we’ve done to earn that love, but because God, in total freedom, has decided to love us. At first sight, this doesn’t seem to be very inspiring; but if you reflect on it more deeply this thought can affect and influence your life greatly. We’re inclined to see our whole existence in terms of quid pro quo…<i>I think it’s this mentality that lies behind a lot of anxiety, unrest, and agitation</i> (italics mine). It’s as though we’re forever on the go trying to prove to each other that we deserve to be loved. The doubt we harbor within us drives us on to ever-greater activity…in order to not drown in our ever-increasing lack of self-respect. The enormous propensity to seek recognition, admiration, popularity, and renown is rooted in the fear that without all this we are worthless…If we had a firm faith in God’s unconditional love for us, it would no longer be necessary to be always on the lookout for ways and means of being admired by people; and we would need, even less, to obtain from people by force what God desires to give us freely and so abundantly.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the white board in my office I have these words (I think they are from Eugene Peterson – not sure): “Be a patient pastor.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I need to work on that, too.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My problem is, I see so many people working so hard to be loved…spending so much energy trying to appear cool or whatever <b><i>(more adults than kids!)…</i></b>and I just want to say, “Get over it!” “You are loved, already!!!” “Stop working so hard!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not patient. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see so many other things we could be spending our energy on (for example: This coming Sunday’s Old Testament reading is from Isaiah 58. Verse 9b says – my paraphrase – “Stop pointing fingers at one another, and saying mean things, so that you feel better about yourself…There are hungry people to be fed and afflicted people to be cared for!”), it is easy for me to forget, that we need to spend energy on ourselves first. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess that is what Jesus was getting at when he said, ”As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love” (John 15:9). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wish “abiding” looked more productive…And I wish God worked on my timetable! <o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-76191053534347953432014-01-27T08:56:00.001-08:002014-01-27T08:56:29.348-08:00The Body of Christ in Our Basement <div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t <i>think</i> we are completely crazy! <i>But, maybe.</i><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are in the midst of a Great Experiment!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This Wednesday we will – for the third week – host midweek worship at our house. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I keep thinking that it will get “smoother,” or that we’ll get the hang of it. But, I’m beginning to think that this is just the way it is going to be...chaotic, noisy, crowded, up close. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We used to meet at the church, in the Fellowship Hall. It was a cavernous setting for what, in reality, is more of a small group. So, in <i>complete selfishness</i>, we moved to our house; where we don’t have to pack up the kids, after school and homework, and rush from home to church and back home by bedtime (if we’re all going to participate…Otherwise, Cliff and the kids stay home and don’t participate, which is no fun!). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cliff makes a couple pots of soup and some grilled cheese.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We mop the floor downstairs (Okay – for purposes of full-disclosure, <i>Cliff</i> is the one who mops it!)…He waits to do this until Wed. afternoon because, inevitably, sometime during the week, one of our dogs has pee-ed down there…And they are <i>Saint Bernards</i>…The result is nothing short of a lake. And the best we can do the rest of the week, is to pile some towels on the wetness. Not particularly hospitable! So, Cliff mops while the soup cooks.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first week, we met in our living room (big, cushy furniture, nice coffee table – perfect spot to set up communion). At 22 people, we were too many. And the stairs to the entry made it difficult for some folks to make it in, easily.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, last week, we moved to the bottom floor (where the basement would be, if we had one)…bought some pea gravel to re-mark the walkway from the drive that enters on that level (no stairs to negotiate), and flood lights to light the way. Moved the empty bags of dog food from the patio area, so no one tripped on the way in. Scrubbed the dog drool off of the glass doors. Got some folding chairs from the church. Set up the space heater (it can be a little cool downstairs). Moved some pillows to the fireplace hearth for more seating. Cleaned off Lucy’s craft table, so we could put some food there. And cleared off the Lego table – new communion set-up spot.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We tell folks that food will be ready at 5:45. When the first person showed up at 5:00 (while Cliff was outside blowing off the driveway and I was chiseling the drool from the door), we asked if they wouldn’t mind taking a walk around the neighborhood for a few minutes. When the second person showed up 10 minutes later, we just gave up and had them help set up. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This week, we’ll have to move the Lego table out of the way to create <i>more</i> space (which means that the communion will be set up on a TV tray…I’m sure there’s a sermon in there, somewhere). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the middle of the crazy-ness last week, I just laughed out loud and said, “What a beautiful gathering of the Body we have here!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A retired bank executive; a man who lives in a homeless shelter; another who takes the bus to get to our home; two high school students, their single mother and her father and step-mother; a woman who has been a member of the church for 70 years; a retired pastor and his wife; a young African American woman; a former Baptist (or two); a Vietnam Veteran; our kids – who make intermittent appearances throughout the evening; and about 10 others. Not a lot. And while there are a couple of “regulars” (who used to come when we met at the church) who seem to have dropped out, we have added several who never came to the church for the midweek service. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, for <i>this </i>season at least (during Lent we will move back to church…after that, who knows?), it a Great and Glorious Experiment in and<i> <b>Experience of</b></i> hospitality (and a study of worship in the early church).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are looking together at Acts 2.42: “They (those brave folks who gathered together to learn how to do this “Christian-life-in-the-world” thing) devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We straggle in, find a place to sit, get some soup, a sandwich, some sweet tea or water. Whoever happens to be up, gets re-fills. We talk and laugh and ask after each other’s health, and at about 6:15, Linda (who eats her soup from the piano bench) starts the music. Last week, we started with “I’ll Fly Away.” Cliff heard the music, hurried downstairs (he was upstairs in the kitchen, flipping some more grilled cheese sandwiches), grabbed his guitar, took up his position beside Ethan (who also brings his guitar to play), Linda hollers out “We’re in the key of G,” and off we go. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we put the kids to bed later, they are still humming: “I’ll fly away, Oh Glory.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-76102606393433393422014-01-14T15:21:00.001-08:002014-01-14T15:21:07.185-08:00Seeking Signs of Life<div>"What are you looking for?"</div> <div>That's the question Jesus asks the two disciples who are following him (John 1.38). It is, in my opinion, one of the most provocative questions a person can ask, <i>or be asked.</i></div> <div>What are you looking for?</div> <div>I'm not sure that any of us can answer that...not for ourselves, and <i>certainly</i> not for anybody else.</div> <div>What are you looking for?</div> <div>Love? In all the wrong places?</div> <div>Answers?</div> <div>Meaning? </div> <div>Significance?</div> <div>Purpose?</div> <div>Confidence?</div> <div>Forgiveness?</div> <div><br> </div> <div>For me...right now, <i>at this moment (</i>tomorrow, I may answer differently), I am looking for signs of life. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>I know, right? <i>Such a little thing!</i></div> <div><br> </div> <div>It seems like it has just been building...</div> <div>It all started about 2 years ago, December 29 (my husband's birthday!) when our dog, Tendai died. We were visiting my in-laws, in Charleston, when it happened (which ended up being a great blessing, as they could keep the kids while we were at the vet's). We had to have him put to sleep. Telling the kids was so hard. Lucy wailed. Henry wept.</div> <div><br> </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Before too long, not only did we have another dog, we also had the first of four new furry friends...all in the form of hamsters. We only had one at a time. That's right...if we've only had one at a time, that means that we have "gone through" three. Over the course of two years, we have managed to let three hamsters die (I prefer to say we "let them die." To say that we <i>killed</i> them sounds even worse!). They survived anywhere from 2 weeks to 308 days (Lucy, our daughter, has kept track). The fourth, and the one who is <i>still living,</i> is named "Hope," for obvious reasons. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>The summer after Tendai died, my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV adenocarcinoma. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>In the middle of cancer diagnoses and dying hamsters, one of whom we are fairly certain died as a result of a brain trauma suffered after Cliff, my husband, "flung" him off of his finger into the bottom of the cage (to be fair, the hamster had bitten Cliff), we got our son, Henry, a bearded dragon, because we were <i>not</i> going to have another <i>furry</i> friend in the house. Henry's bearded dragon is named Mr. Fluffypants! </div> <div><br> </div> <div>When we acquired Mr. Fluffypants, our friend, Beth, suggested that we try "growing" our own meal worms (bearded dragons <i>love</i> meal worms). One of her kids' teachers "grows" them in the classroom. <i>How hard can it be? </i>asked the family who has seen the demise of three hamsters (amazing that Petsmart keeps selling them to us!). We set up a terrarium, and her son's teacher supplied all we would need. Who knew we weren't supposed to feed the beetles to Mr. Fluffypants? He enjoyed them. Within two weeks, there was no sign of life in the terrarium.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>Somewhere, in the middle of all of this, my mother has a scan that reveals, what the oncologist calls, an "angry tumor" on her thigh...it's causing a lot of pain. Probably some kind of sarcoma (that's not good). She is treated with radiation...miraculous results. No pain...apparently "dead" tumor.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>Back to the mealworms...Since we seem to have fed the "life-source" beetles to the lizard, we put about a half-dozen "store bought" meal worms in the terrarium and didn't touch them, hoped, and prayed. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Before too long, I could see that three of the store-bought meal worms seemed lifeless...fat...unmoving...stuck in a corner. "You have got to be kidding me! Why cant we keep <i>anything</i> alive?!" </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Back to my mother.</div> <div>Six weeks ago, my mom had another "scan." It showed a new "growth" in her lung (the one that was - before then - tumor-free). "Are you serious?!" This among the dying mealworms!</div> <div><br> </div> <div>"Let's not panic," said her oncologist, whom we <b><i><u>adore</u></i></b> (Kathryn Mileham). "We'll do another scan in 6 weeks...keep a close eye on it." </div> <div><br> </div> <div>I go home and look in the terrarium...I should really get those three lifeless mealworms out of the there...bad mojo, you know? But who wants to dig them out? Not me.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>Mom has her "follow up" scan this past Thurs. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>The cancer seems to have "taken off." Most likely, the "angry tumor" come back to life.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>She is in the hospital for two days. At the end of each, tired and weary, I go home and look at the dying mealworms. Even fatter...turning brown, at this point. Little "nubs" protruding out of their sides.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>I look closer...they are "resurrecting"...they are becoming beetles...life-sources. They are brown and moving and the "nubs" are becoming legs. We will not feed them to Mr. Fluffypants. They will "birth" mealworms. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>"What are you looking for?" Jesus asks. I am looking for signs of life.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>Who knew such simple things as mealworms could remind me that "<b><i><u>life wins!</u></i></b>"?</div> <div><br> </div> <div>May your eyes be quicker to see signs of life than mine have been...And may all of us be quick to point out signs of life to our sisters and brothers who feel bombarded by death.</div> <div><br> </div> <div><br> Sent from my iPad</div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-12503064943471521102013-12-11T09:38:00.001-08:002013-12-11T09:38:16.699-08:00Someone Cue the Baritone<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not preaching this Sunday – The choir is offering Vivaldi’s <i>Gloria</i>, and we are building the rest of worship around that<i>.</i> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I <i>am </i>singing with them, but have only rehearsed with them in bits and pieces…And I haven’t even <i>heard </i>all of the pieces yet. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I was surprised, and quite honestly disappointed, when I saw the bulletin yesterday and noticed that our cantor does not have a solo (actually, there are <i>no</i> male solos in the <i>Gloria</i>. You probably already knew that. I didn’t.). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jan (boy-Jan), our cantor, is an incredible musician…a very accomplished pianist and organist and an outstanding choir director. He also happens to have been the Baritone soloist for Opera Carolina as well as for the Charlotte Oratorio singers for a period of time. And, oh my word, I cannot describe how it is to hear him sing. In fact, I am holding my breath for the next couple weeks, until he sings “Some Children See Him” for the children’s Christmas Eve Service. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyhow – so I was quite disappointed when I realized that he wasn’t/isn’t singing a solo on Sunday…BUT I will get to hear him on Saturday. He will sing the <i>Lord’s Prayer</i> (Malotte’s version) at a wedding for which I am presiding and he is music-ing. When he gets to “…for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glo-ry…<i>for<b>-ever</b></i>” someone will just have to pick me up off of the floor; because it is usually at that point (in whatever service I am blessed to hear him), that I come face to face with the reality that I haven’t been worshiping very well, at all – and have got all caught up in the choreography and “what not” of making the service “work.” But, when he sings – I have <i>not one thing to do</i> but listen. And, listening, my ears that had been “stopped” by the busy-ness of “running” the service, suddenly are un-stopped and I can hear. And oh my word, what a blessing as waves of beauty and comfort and peace wash over me.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like I said, I am not preaching on Sunday – so, I haven’t done a lot of studying on the Isaiah text for this week (Isaiah 35.1-10). But, it talks about a remarkable home-coming, where the people who had been in exile (and, let’s be honest – that is an easy one to preach to folks today, right? I mean, we all are experiencing<i>, or have experienced</i> exile from time to time…Periods of disconnection – real or imagined, and hopelessness, barrenness and futility, anger and fear, and desperation, and too much choreography…All those things that keep our eyes blind and ears stopped-up)…And here, Isaiah talks about how the exiled-ones now rejoice and parade home strengthened and full of <i>shalom-peace</i>; that is, not just the <i>absence </i>of violence, but the <i> presence</i> of fullness and plenty and beauty and gentleness and comfort for ALL (kind of a Mandela-esque vision of peace). The kind of shalom-peace-parade where we are confronted with the ways that we stop our own ears from hearing the music that surrounds us – and then almost <i>celebrate the confrontation</i>, as our ears are un-stopped (sometimes by a tragedy…and sometimes by something so overwhelmingly beautiful that we cannot ignore it any longer, like the baritone soloist – as it were singing - “for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever”) and we are washed in the beauty of the sounds and sights and shalom of those parading near us…Make sense?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">An interesting thing – the wedding that Jan and I are music-ing and presiding for this weekend, is for a deaf couple. A first for me…But one of the most enjoyable pre-marital counseling journeys that I have ever had as a pastor…Truth is, they have so much helped <i>me </i>hear better…Their physically “stopped” ears have helped open my perfectly good ears (“perfectly good” according to the audiologist, anyhow). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">May we each be blessed with those moments when we can stop worrying about the busy-ness of the choreography, those times that we have absolutely not one thing to do but listen (with our perfectly good ears, or with the ears of our hearts)…And listening, may we be washed in shalom-peace, our ears un-stopped and our eyes opened as we peace-parade our way, side by side, through the world.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-3258560288793971382013-12-03T14:59:00.001-08:002013-12-03T14:59:47.007-08:00Death, Lock-downs, and Fuzzy Blankets<div>For, perhaps,only the second time in my entire life, I, this afternoon, went into a fabric store and purchased some fabric and thread. I was driven to this endeavor by my daughter, Lucy, who could not stand to see and hear her brother crying so mournfully last night. His loss, admittedly minimal in the grand scheme of things, was the third and final "tragedy" of the day...and the <i>only</i> one that I had any power to address. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>At bedtime last night, the reality became clear...Henry's "blankie" was gone, lost, probably thrown away by whomever likely found it (and, <i>understandably</i>, mistook it for a rag) in the parking lot of Harris Teeter.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>To a seven year-old, a tragedy is a tragedy. And for Henry, this was tragic (He has never slept without it, since his birth...and has been carrying it, concealed, in his is backpack to school ever since he's gone to school)...and it was the third tragedy of the day.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>On Wednesday of last week (the day before Thanksgiving) we received word that Grier, a boy in Lucy's third grade class, had died after a 7-year battle with neuroblastoma. Giving her that news was hard. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Even though he had only come to school a few times this year, Lucy came immediately to love and care for him. We cried and hugged, and she told my husband and I that she was sure that Grier is the champion at fighting cancer. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Over the next few days of the Thanksgiving break, she would bring Grier up in conversation from time to time, but life took up its more usual rhythm...until Sunday night, when the thought of returning to school knowing that Grier was dead overtook her. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Her biggest concern was for her teacher (Mrs. McDonald), whom, Lucy was sure, would cry as she talked about Grier (Lucy is a natural "comfort giver," and this was a little too big for her). She got to sleep and headed out to school Monday morning full of resolve and courage. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>That was yesterday's first tragedy.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>Then, last night, I didn't answer my cell phone when it rang during a Personnel Committee meeting...but did notice that the call was from the kids' school. After the meeting, I listened to the automated message from the principal. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>He was calling to let the parents know that the school had gone into "lock-down" during the day...and <i>it was not a drill.</i> A "strange man" had been reported on campus. He assured parents, in his is message, that within minutes the school was completely locked-down and the CMPD was quick to arrive. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I started shaking and getting angry, having come face to face with the reality that such "real" lock-downs are part of <i>my children's</i> lives (It ended up that it was just an electrician working behind the school, who had failed to sign in at the office when he arrived.). </div> <div><br> </div> <div>When I got home, Cliff had received the same message on his phone. We asked the kids about it. "Yeah...I got over in the corner, on the floor like this. Then there were too many of us in one place, so we crawled with Mrs. McDonald to another corner and kept our heads covered (poor teacher, a death and then a threat to her students...this is not why she went into teaching.). </div> <div><br> </div> <div>That was the second tragedy.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>So, when it came time for the kids to go to bed last night, and blankie was nowhere to be found (the third tragedy), we were all just stunned. Yes, Henry is old enough to not carry his blanket everywhere...but, why, <i>on this day,</i> with all of the other hard things, did he have to lose it?! </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Too much reality in one day. Too many endings.</div> <div><br> </div> <div>So, last night, just before she closed her eyes Lucy (the comfort-giver) came up with a plan...If I would go buy some fabric today, she'll make Henry a new blankie. And right now, even as I type, dear reader, the baby blue fuzzy fabric and backing are spinning in the washing machine, soon to be moved to the dryer, so that it will be ready to be cut out and sewn together when the rest of the Ilderton brood return home from karate. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>It <i>will not </i>be a pretty blanket...I assure you. </div> <div>But <b><i><u>it will be beautiful,</u></i></b> and will return some sense of control to the reality that such control is only an illusion. </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Someday, the level of comfort will be beyond Lucy's ability to give it...<i>but not today.</i></div> <div><i><br> </i></div> <div>For the Sundays of Advent, I'm preaching on the assigned passages from Isaiah. This coming Sunday's (Isaiah 11:1-10), is about life springing up in surprising places (like from an old dead tree stump). </div> <div><br> </div> <div>Don't get me wrong. I do not live under the illusion that a homemade blanket will bring life where there is none...but following the death of a classmate and the reality of elementary school lock-downs, a fuzzy love blanket, is pretty life-bringing. </div> <div><br> Sent from my iPad</div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-85015439483953243432013-11-20T12:53:00.001-08:002013-11-20T12:53:45.016-08:00Would Somebody Please Put Me Back Together?!<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">“Then [the thief] said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jesus, remember me.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Remember language” always makes me think of the story of Noah and the flood – more precisely, God’s words regarding the rainbow (Genesis 9:13-17). Whenever God sees the bow in the clouds, God remembers the covenant…More precisely, God <b><i><u>re-</u></i></b>members it…Whenever God sees the bow, God puts the covenant back together; even though <i>we</i> continue to tear it apart.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jesus, re-member me.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jesus, <i>put me back together.</i> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s interesting to me that on this Christ the King Sunday – the last Sunday in the church year, we get this story of Jesus hanging on the cross, promising to put this <i>thief </i>back together (Luke 23.40-43: “Then the other [thief said…] ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’”). Another equally valid translation of that last part is, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in God’s garden.” It’s an end-time vision of<i> new</i> creation. I think that is what Paradise is about. I think it’s about creation – or, Creation…And I think it necessitates <b><i>re-</i></b>membering. Because we have been dis-membered. We have been torn apart.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is what I’m trying to get at. The biblical witness is very clear that we have been created in the image of God (Gen.2)…the VERY IMAGE of God! But that image has been torn and marred and beaten and buried under mounds and mounds of hurt and anger and fear and self-doubt and greed and war on and on and on. <o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The very image of God is one of creation and peace, not destruction and war. The image of God is love and compassion and forgiveness, not hate and indifference and grudges. The image of God is plenty and inclusion and grace, not poverty and exclusion and pay-back. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The image of God in us has been dis-membered, and we can<b><i> feel</i></b> it. To be re-membered is to be all that God created us to be. Does that make sense?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <i>second</i> lesson assigned for Sunday is from the book of Colossians. The author has this to say, that I think is instructive (Colossians 1.16-18): “…for in [Jesus] all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and<i> for</i> him…and in him all things hold together (I suppose one could say, “In him all things are ‘membered.’” – but that’s playing pretty “loose” with the text.). Instructive, because it is painfully obvious that thrones and dominions and rulers all around us do <i>not</i> behave (in any <i>apparent</i> way) as though they were created <i>for</i> this Jesus, the very image of God (Col. 1.15) – who, as we just agreed is about creation and peace and love and compassion and forgiveness and plenty and inclusion and grace. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think the thief’s dis-memberment (and mine too, for that matter) has precisely to do with the fact that the kingdom of<i> this</i> world (which – now I’m just being redundant – was created for and through the God of <i>love</i>) has lost its way (My friend Hutch, who makes up an excuse to drop by my office every 3-5 weeks – he has the heart and training of a Spiritual Director – and I suspect, that he shows up when he can feel that my spirit needs a little boost – Anyhow, he just left my office. He says that we are living in Exile from our true selves…in exile from the Paradise God intends for us.). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I get asked fairly often, “if God is all-powerful, then why can’t God make us behave?” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The question of God’s all-powerfulness <i>aside</i> (which is a question which necessitates a glass of wine – or, at least, a cup of coffee), I believe that to <i>force </i>someone – or a whole creation’s-worth of “someones” to behave a certain way is a form of <i>abuse</i>. And <i>God refuses to be abusive</i>…Therefore God allows us to make really lousy choices; as evidenced by our lost-ness and the exilic nature of the kingdom of this world as opposed to the Kingdom of Jesus – where even thieves are re-membered and made whole to live and love and be what and who God created them (Us??? Me???) to be. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jesus, re-member me – that I may glimpse Paradise now, and show it to others, as we move toward creation and peace and love and compassion and forgiveness and plenty and inclusion and grace.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-2217356736168440812013-11-14T12:40:00.001-08:002013-11-14T12:40:13.311-08:00Stand Up and Raise Your Heads<div class="WordSection1"> <p class="MsoNormal">Part of the gospel lesson assigned for Sunday, November 17, (Luke 21.5-19) has this to say: “…there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues, and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.” Then a few verses after the assigned reading concludes there is this (21.25-28): “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I cannot read that without thinking about our sisters and brothers in the Philippines…signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and confusion caused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I cannot read the first part of the lesson (21.5-6) where Jesus talks about the great and seeming permanence of things (in this case the temple in Jerusalem) being revealed as an illusion, without seeing images of the buildings in that island nation lying in ruins: homes and churches and shops destroyed by the confusion of the roaring sea. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I read this: “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, <i>stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near”</i> (21.28), and I think of the faces of those I see on the evening news coverage…Faces of people standing up, with heads raised, in the midst of the disaster. And I am left wondering just what it is they are looking at. Or maybe, they are not looking <i>at</i> anything – they are rather (perhaps) looking<i> for</i>. For what? Signs of life, to be sure…signs which may promise food, help, clothing, water…signs of sanity in a world rocked by confusion and chaos? I imagine them (i<i>f by any chance they are familiar with this particular bit of scripture</i>), shaking their fists at God, flailing their arms toward heaven and demanding to know “Where is the promised redemption that is supposedly drawing near?! Because this looks only like hell!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A pastor friend of mine, here in Charlotte, serves a congregation whose membership is made up of quite a number of Montagnard refuges from Vietnam. Two grown men in her congregation, brothers, came to Charlotte just before their father was arrested and imprisoned (about three years ago) for refusing to bow down to an image of the president and instead professing his allegiance to Jesus. No trial, no term of sentence no specified length of imprisonment. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">No one had heard from him in quite a while. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Several weeks ago, the brothers were contacted by their sister, still living in Vietnam. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Out of the blue, their father had called her from the prison. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Speaking Vietnamese, he told her that he was “doing fine and will be okay.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She hung up the phone, thinking it odd that he did not speak the language of his Montagnard tribe. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She concluded that her father must have been forced to call and speak the language that the prison guards could understand. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just as she came to this conclusion, the phone rang again. This time one of the guards spoke, telling her that her father had just died. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Most likely he was killed for refusing, still, to bow to another’s image. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is hard for me to wrap my mind around the kind of suffering I hear about. “Confusion caused by the roaring seas and waves.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Being hated or put to death because of the name of Jesus” (21.16-17). <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is hard for me to fully appreciate how it is that folks keep on standing up, over and over again, <i>despite the complete lack of evidence that any redemption is drawing near. <o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The closest I can come to grasping it, is when I am paying close enough attention to notice that the arms that flail, flail toward heaven…despite all evidence to the contrary, calling out – as if by instinct – to something bigger than this pain, before they slump to the flailer’s side and absent-mindedly clasp the hand of the child beside them, urging them on...helping that smaller one to stand <i>nonetheless.</i><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The closest I can come to grasping it, is when I see the eyes of my pastor friend fill with tears of frustration – shaking her head and saying among the safety of other pastor friends – “I swear that I’m going to smack the next person who comes up to me and complains that American Christians are persecuted for their faith!” just as she asks if any of us can serve at the soup kitchen in her congregation’s fellowship hall. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">These are models of faith, whose model most will never see nor know about…<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those who hold hands and not only continue to stand up – but who reach out to others to help them stand as well…And who, standing, embody the reality of the coming redemption, in their presence that is persistent even in the face of death.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-3356357762215439602013-11-06T05:01:00.001-08:002013-11-06T05:01:23.826-08:00I Can't Breathe! <div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Is it just me</i>, or does anybody else feel like they are having a hard time breathing these days? </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Maybe it's the change in the weather. Maybe it's allergies. Maybe it's the time-change. Maybe it's the fact that we just finished with Halloween, and already the Christmas decorations are up. </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don't know what to attribute it to, but I know that literally, physically, <i>and</i> psychically, I'm having a hard time breathing, and Benadryl doesn't seem to be helping. Add to that, the seemingly daily reporting of gun-violence, the wavering economy, the increase in pettiness, politicians smoking crack, clergy-people, who claim to follow the same Jesus I follow, who at the same time are justifying their building of million-dollar homes, and <i>I just cannot breathe! </i></span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So...maybe it's just me.</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In any case, you have been warned, dear reader, that I am not taking full, deep breaths as I approach the scripture readings for <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">the upcoming Sunday</a>!</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am cynical and frustrated by what looks like pettiness in the <i>extreme</i> in the gospel lesson (Luke 20.27-38...<i>You should really read it first, otherwise nothing I say here will make any sense.)</i>. Not surprisingly, the Sadducees come to Jesus and challenge him. I'm pretty sure that there is nowhere in scripture when the Sadducees approach Jesus with anything <i>other than </i>a challenge...<i>but this time, </i>Jesus looks like he gets drawn into the prettiness! Bad form Jesus (I warned you that I am grumpy!)! </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They get into this long discussion about leverite marriage, a method that, while it is presented as a means to ensure that women are not left destitute when/if their husbands die, it really seems that it is (also) a process that keeps women in the position of being nothing more than chattel to be traded from one man to the next (please don't feel the need to correct me on this...I know the basis of leverite marriage...still feels like horse trading to me!). And they are using the whole argument to discuss (debate) the reality/validity of the resurrection...<i>which is already a confusing enough topic..</i>.let alone when you try to couch the discussion in terms of marriage, etc. <i>What, in Sweet Betty's name, does this have to do with the resurrection?!</i></span></div> <div><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </i></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I can imaging my sister telling me, at this point in my rant, that I need to spray some saline in my nose, take three deep cleansing breaths, try to find my "happy place...," and then look again. Okay, say it with me: "Clear blue ocean. Clear blue ocean." </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My sister is so smart!</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Here's what I <i>really</i> think this is all about...the Sadducees don't really give a flip about the resurrection they just want to make Jesus look like a fool...and Jesus uses their own argument against them, which he does on a fairly regular basis (so, if I offended you by saying"bad form, Jesus," I apologize).</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is what I think he is saying, "Really, Sadducees? Can't you think any bigger than that? Don't try to draw me into a discussion about resurrection, then limit resurrection to your silly legalisms! Don't you get it?! </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Resurrection is NOT just a continuation of the way things are! </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It is not the status quo forever!</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It isn't even a going back to the "good ol' days" when women were traded about among the brothers...<i>neither is it a reality where there would need to be care for the welfare of women. </i>Think bigger! </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Think <i>totally different! </i></span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Think something COMPLETELY NEW!</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Think relationships. </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Think wholeness and happiness and joy and plenty and welcome!" </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> </span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now, I'm fairly certain that that is <i>not</i> what the Sadducees wanted to hear (In fact it is, most likely, just that very type of thinking/visioning/talking/hoping/etc. that had them wanting to humiliate Jesus in the first place.)...But, while it may not be what they wanted to hear...<i>it is definitely what I want to hear.</i>..because if the resurrection comes with all off those things (wholeness and happiness and joy and plenty and welcome, then it probably also comes with clear sinuses and easy breaths - which, I guess, is really pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things.)!</span></div> <div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> <br> Sent from my iPad</span></div> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br> Sent from my iPad</span><br> <br> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Sent from my iPad</span></div> Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7909108136907637336.post-23218667262194184482013-10-16T13:20:00.000-07:002013-10-16T13:25:33.540-07:00No Girls Allowed!<div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>So, this coming Sunday is Lutheran Men in Mission Sunday at the congregation I serve. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>Truth be told, I’m not 100% sure just what that means…but I <b><i>am </i></b>100% sure that I have <i>no idea</i> what to expect (except that there are “no girls allowed.” How fun to serve in a congregation where the absence of female leadership in worship is unusual!)! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>I met with the two gentlemen who will be the primary leaders for worship on Sunday, and I was reminded of something that I was told in seminary. It was something like: “Remember, you do this pastoral thing all day, almost every day…Not everybody else does. It will become natural to you…It won’t be for everyone.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>At their request, I met with these two remarkable, and very accomplished, men for about an hour…looking at the bulletin; figuring out what to take out and what to leave in; deciding who was going to stand or sit where, and when; what lesson(s) to preach about; what hymns to sing; etc., etc., etc. It was, in all actuality, very humbling for me. I don’t remember what Earl has retired from – something to do with TWA (someone who is reading this may be able to help me on that), but Ralph retired from an executive position with Estee Lauder – both of them are world-travelers. These are strong and wise men, who reminded me that what I do is sacred…holy…different, and not to be entered into lightly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>Their concern over doing the absolute best they can do for God and for the people of God, caught me up short – and convicted me of being (at least occasionally) unaware of the impact worship has on folks’ lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>It also reminded me that I do not do nearly as good a job <i>as I like to think I do</i> of reminding folks that my ministry (or calling) as a pastor is no higher or better than anyone else’s…just different. That, in fact, their//your <i>life-ministries</i> (I think I just created that hyphenated word…I like it) stand a far better chance of impacting “un-churched” folks than mine does. After all, they//you spend more time “out there” than I do. It reminded me that I need to do a better job of helping folks worship with every breath they have…doing their absolute best for God and for the people of God in every moment they have. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>I think that Ralph has decided to preach on a different gospel lesson than the one assigned – I told him that I thought it would probably still “take,” even if it is not the one assigned for this week in the lectionary. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>But the <i>assigned</i> gospel reading (if anyone’s interested) is from Luke, the 18<sup>th</sup> chapter. I didn’t really get any farther than the first verse. It says, “Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Lord knows that we are living in times that threaten to make us loose heart…How wonderful to be reminded, by this unlikely duo of men, that God hears the prayers of all people: seminary trained and drop-outs, young and old and world-travelers and homebodies and executives and those who speak in front of people easily and those who struggle to put words together and those leading worship and those who will never set foot in a church. And how wonderful to have lips other than mine speak those prayers and model lives of intentional worship. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>I am looking forward to being able to sit with my family in worship this coming Sunday…And I thank the Lutheran Men in Mission men for that blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>And I am eager to see how God will use these men, with and through their wisdom and their nervous concern and their determination…how God will use them to change me and to change the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Pastor Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17438507249318656098noreply@blogger.com4