In this season of Easter, we're going to be reading texts from Acts and from Revelation--following the stories of the apostles as they formed the early church (Acts) and watching as John's wild and divine vision uncovers something true and powerful about what is and has been and will be (Revelation).
This week, we jump into Revelation near the beginning, as the author starts off this telling of his mystical vision by naming God. And John uses a special word: Pantocrator. In English, this word is ofted translated into "Almighty," but has nuance that we're tempted to miss if we just slip into familiar words for God.
Christ as "Pantocrator" implies that Christ is, now, in power, doing everything. It's less about naming what God could do (as in, watch your step, 'cause God could strike you down if you mess up), and more about naming a present reality: Christ is at work in all things. This power is about sustaining and giving life.
Which is exactly what was happening in the midst of the life of the early apostles. They were doing wild things, in Christ's name. Sometimes, it got them into trouble; always, it came from a deep grounding in a new reality.
During this season of Easter, we get to do the same thing those apostles were doing: figure out how to live in this life, in the midst of resurrection power.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Holy Week
We've made it to a big week in the life of the church; this past Sunday, we celebrated Jesus' king-like entrance into Jerusalem, and then journeyed with him to the cross.
There are many ways to share more deeply in the holy week journey this week--on Maundy Thursday at 7:30 p.m. in the sanctuary, on Good Friday at 12:10 p.m. in the sanctuary.
And, in Easter Eve, come join us for the great Easter Vigil--one of the oldest traditions of the Christian faith. We'll mark the vigil with a prayer pilgrimage, encountering stories of salvation since creation, and celebrating resurrection with song and sacrament. Several of you from our worship community have helped design the experience, and it promises to be rich. The "journey" starts any time between 7:30 & 9 p.m., at the firepit on the church plaza.
Then, of course, we come to Easter Sunday--a celebration of resurrection. Of love overcoming everything. Of getting our joy back.
The story begins with Mary doing what she were supposed to: taking care of the body of a friend and teacher who'd been executed by the Roman state. But she didn't find what she expected at the tomb that morning.
Responding first with concern--as if Jesus' body had been stolen--she finally came to realized that something wildly different was happening when Jesus himself appeared, calling her by name.
I love to imagine what that moment must have been like--that "aha" moment when Mary was jolted out of her grief and awakened to the reality of Christ risen. (Usually, I don't like to be proven wrong; I suspect that, in this instance, it would be so worth it...)
Where she expected to find death, she found life--and the living Christ called her by name. My sense is that everything was different on the other side, having been named and known by one whose power transcended death. As if walking from a black-and-white world into Technicolor reality, Mary came face to face--made contact--with a whole new reality.
May it be the same for us this Easter.
There are many ways to share more deeply in the holy week journey this week--on Maundy Thursday at 7:30 p.m. in the sanctuary, on Good Friday at 12:10 p.m. in the sanctuary.
And, in Easter Eve, come join us for the great Easter Vigil--one of the oldest traditions of the Christian faith. We'll mark the vigil with a prayer pilgrimage, encountering stories of salvation since creation, and celebrating resurrection with song and sacrament. Several of you from our worship community have helped design the experience, and it promises to be rich. The "journey" starts any time between 7:30 & 9 p.m., at the firepit on the church plaza.
Then, of course, we come to Easter Sunday--a celebration of resurrection. Of love overcoming everything. Of getting our joy back.The story begins with Mary doing what she were supposed to: taking care of the body of a friend and teacher who'd been executed by the Roman state. But she didn't find what she expected at the tomb that morning.
Responding first with concern--as if Jesus' body had been stolen--she finally came to realized that something wildly different was happening when Jesus himself appeared, calling her by name.
I love to imagine what that moment must have been like--that "aha" moment when Mary was jolted out of her grief and awakened to the reality of Christ risen. (Usually, I don't like to be proven wrong; I suspect that, in this instance, it would be so worth it...)
Where she expected to find death, she found life--and the living Christ called her by name. My sense is that everything was different on the other side, having been named and known by one whose power transcended death. As if walking from a black-and-white world into Technicolor reality, Mary came face to face--made contact--with a whole new reality.
May it be the same for us this Easter.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
stepping in
This Sunday will be special: we are baptizing two beautiful babies into the family of the church.
It's a special joy to get to welcome new people into the family that is the church. We welcome them not only into this congregation, but into the Body of Christ--the church in very time and place.
One of the wildest things about Christianity is its insistence that we are all called and empowered to be like Jesus--that we become Christ's presence in the world, together.
This Sunday's scripture passage is a story in which one of the disciples--Peter--finds himself doing what Jesus does: walking on water. But, then, the reality of the moment overcomes him. He begins to sink.
Jesus accuses him of having little faith--but the wild thing is, he'd never lost faith in Jesus. Peter lost faith in himself--in his own ability to do something that looked crazy and impossible.
This week, as we welcome Honor and Orson in baptism, we remind ourselves that we are called, everyday, to do the crazy and impossible things that Jesus did. To dare to feed hungry people, heal those who are sick and broken, and live as people unafraid of even death.
May it be so.
It's a special joy to get to welcome new people into the family that is the church. We welcome them not only into this congregation, but into the Body of Christ--the church in very time and place.
One of the wildest things about Christianity is its insistence that we are all called and empowered to be like Jesus--that we become Christ's presence in the world, together.
This Sunday's scripture passage is a story in which one of the disciples--Peter--finds himself doing what Jesus does: walking on water. But, then, the reality of the moment overcomes him. He begins to sink.
Jesus accuses him of having little faith--but the wild thing is, he'd never lost faith in Jesus. Peter lost faith in himself--in his own ability to do something that looked crazy and impossible.
This week, as we welcome Honor and Orson in baptism, we remind ourselves that we are called, everyday, to do the crazy and impossible things that Jesus did. To dare to feed hungry people, heal those who are sick and broken, and live as people unafraid of even death.
May it be so.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
breaking barriers
This Sunday's gospel lesson is a story about people who refused to see barriers: friends who broke a hole in the roof to make sure a paralyzed man could get to Jesus.
Several years ago, I went to a conference in Seattle, organized by Mustard Seed Associates, called "The Church has Left the Building." A playful reminder of something really important: church isn't about what happens in our building, on our campus, or during regularly scheduled events. Church is what we do every time we go into the world with daring acts of love.
Today, I ran across an artist and activist in England who's planted little gardens inside potholes--seeing in damaged streets an invitation to new life. I think our life of faith is a little like that: an invitation to see ways of cultivating and embodying hope everywhere we turn. And showing the world a little selfless beauty.
This weekend, Elbert is going to be preaching; while you worship on Sunday, I'll be finishing up a meeting with our General Board of Church and Society in Washington, DC. But, really, we're all a part of the same thing: trying to orient our lives around a God of love, and to find ways of making sure that love becomes real in our care for all of creation. So, enjoy worship together, and our work together in the Church.
Several years ago, I went to a conference in Seattle, organized by Mustard Seed Associates, called "The Church has Left the Building." A playful reminder of something really important: church isn't about what happens in our building, on our campus, or during regularly scheduled events. Church is what we do every time we go into the world with daring acts of love.
Today, I ran across an artist and activist in England who's planted little gardens inside potholes--seeing in damaged streets an invitation to new life. I think our life of faith is a little like that: an invitation to see ways of cultivating and embodying hope everywhere we turn. And showing the world a little selfless beauty.
This weekend, Elbert is going to be preaching; while you worship on Sunday, I'll be finishing up a meeting with our General Board of Church and Society in Washington, DC. But, really, we're all a part of the same thing: trying to orient our lives around a God of love, and to find ways of making sure that love becomes real in our care for all of creation. So, enjoy worship together, and our work together in the Church.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
like water for a thirsty soul
This past October, while traveling in Greece, my friend and I found Spili, a charming mountain town in the south of Crete. In the center of town is a fountain, fed by natural springs, that's given water to the community for generations--at least since the Venetians ruled Crete. And, even before the fountain, the springs certainly provided water to thirsty people.
The water was delicious: cool and refreshing.
When we imagine telling others about our faith, do we imagine that we're offering something so life-giving and refreshing?
One of our scripture passages this week tells a story of Jesus that is set at a well where generations have found the water they need for life, and where a woman has come to draw water at noon, in the heat of the day. We get a clear sense that she's feeling thirst: both for the water, and for acceptance. Jesus' conversation with her is itself a life-giving one: letting her know that she is both known (including all the bits she might rather hide) and loved.
Both the quality of the conversation and its content are like water for her thirsty soul.
And yet, somehow, when I think about talking to people about my faith, I worry about being oppressive--of being experienced as judgmental, self-righteous, overly pious or hypocritical. The idea of "introducing someone to Christ" gives me the knots in my stomach that come from experiences where others judged me as being in need of their way of believing.
And yet...
I have experienced Christ as life-giving and liberating, as like a tall drink of cool water on a hot and dry day. And so, this week, I've been praying that I would be able to introduce others to that Christ--with the ease that I might introduce friends at a party. That I'd be able to embody--in the quality of my conversation as well as its content--a grace that is free of ignorance and full of love.
May we share access to that fountain freely.
This Sunday in worship, we're going to hear another story of one of our members: Marian. I hope you'll be there to hear of her journey in faith, and to give thanks to God life-giving water.
The water was delicious: cool and refreshing.
When we imagine telling others about our faith, do we imagine that we're offering something so life-giving and refreshing?
One of our scripture passages this week tells a story of Jesus that is set at a well where generations have found the water they need for life, and where a woman has come to draw water at noon, in the heat of the day. We get a clear sense that she's feeling thirst: both for the water, and for acceptance. Jesus' conversation with her is itself a life-giving one: letting her know that she is both known (including all the bits she might rather hide) and loved.
Both the quality of the conversation and its content are like water for her thirsty soul.
And yet, somehow, when I think about talking to people about my faith, I worry about being oppressive--of being experienced as judgmental, self-righteous, overly pious or hypocritical. The idea of "introducing someone to Christ" gives me the knots in my stomach that come from experiences where others judged me as being in need of their way of believing.
And yet...
I have experienced Christ as life-giving and liberating, as like a tall drink of cool water on a hot and dry day. And so, this week, I've been praying that I would be able to introduce others to that Christ--with the ease that I might introduce friends at a party. That I'd be able to embody--in the quality of my conversation as well as its content--a grace that is free of ignorance and full of love.
May we share access to that fountain freely.
This Sunday in worship, we're going to hear another story of one of our members: Marian. I hope you'll be there to hear of her journey in faith, and to give thanks to God life-giving water.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
come together
The old Cathedral in Coventry England, destroyed by bombing in 1940, is a poignant reminder of the scars of human violece; in the shell of the old cathedral, the stonemason found two charred timbers from the medieval roof forming a cross. They were installed on the altar, and the words "Father Forgive" with inscribed on the wall behind.
Our own relationships bear similar scars. The scripture passage we'll read on Sunday--of a moment where Joseph reveals himself to the brothers who'd sold him into slavery many years previously--is filled with reminders of the pain of brokenness we live with. And the destruction it causes in lives far beyond our own.
But Joseph and his brothers are also a story of hope--of reconciliation and restoration. Of integrating this that had seemed to have disintegrated.
They're an invitation to us to find ways of connecting our lives back together--to God and to our communities.
May it be so.
_____________
[I'm sorry to have been away from the blog so long--it's good to be back! We're enjoying Unbinding Your Heart this Lent, and hope you'll read, pray and join in a small group along with us.]
Our own relationships bear similar scars. The scripture passage we'll read on Sunday--of a moment where Joseph reveals himself to the brothers who'd sold him into slavery many years previously--is filled with reminders of the pain of brokenness we live with. And the destruction it causes in lives far beyond our own.
But Joseph and his brothers are also a story of hope--of reconciliation and restoration. Of integrating this that had seemed to have disintegrated.
They're an invitation to us to find ways of connecting our lives back together--to God and to our communities.
May it be so.
_____________
[I'm sorry to have been away from the blog so long--it's good to be back! We're enjoying Unbinding Your Heart this Lent, and hope you'll read, pray and join in a small group along with us.]
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
road blocks
An in-car GPS really shines when you hit a roadblock, especially when you're somewhere unfamiliar. With its guidance, it becomes possible to take any turn, knowing that it will help you find a new way to wherever you were going. Suddenly (assuming your GPS has accurate information) you fall back on a whole network of knowledge that will get you through the present crisis.
Our spiritual lives are that way, too, I think: when we find ourselves stuck at an unforeseen obstacle and it blocks the one path we'd had figured out, God offers new possibilities. Connected to and present in everything in all creation, God can work through anything that comes up in our lives to keep us on the path toward the justice, hope and love God desires for the world. Sometimes, in our detours, we find things we hadn't even known to look for.
This week, we'll read the story of Jesus turning water into wine: when a wedding party hit a roadblock (running out of wine only 3 days into the celebration), Jesus saves the party and begins to show something important about his mystery and power.
We'll also read from the prophet Isaiah, of God's promise of restored hope. With God's assurance, we will no longer be known by our desolation, but by our forward-looking hope.
Our spiritual lives are that way, too, I think: when we find ourselves stuck at an unforeseen obstacle and it blocks the one path we'd had figured out, God offers new possibilities. Connected to and present in everything in all creation, God can work through anything that comes up in our lives to keep us on the path toward the justice, hope and love God desires for the world. Sometimes, in our detours, we find things we hadn't even known to look for.
This week, we'll read the story of Jesus turning water into wine: when a wedding party hit a roadblock (running out of wine only 3 days into the celebration), Jesus saves the party and begins to show something important about his mystery and power.
We'll also read from the prophet Isaiah, of God's promise of restored hope. With God's assurance, we will no longer be known by our desolation, but by our forward-looking hope.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
A GPS for New Life
Check it out: this January, we're starting the new year with direction for new life. Using the metaphor of a GPS, we'll imagine how to negotiate spiritual journeys that are filled with salvation. Hope you'll join us for the rest of the journey!See more here.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
recognition
Jenny Williams, in this article for the Ekklesia Project, lifts up Mary as someone who was faithful to God in, really, a smallish way. It had real and serious, life-changing consequences for her, but what was at work through God was way beyond her. While acknowledging that the Christmas story is about salvation on a cosmic scale, she gives us this provocative quote: "But I wonder if this Sunday is a time to instead give credit to the small acts of subversion that we really don’t see as subversive at all, or that come from places or people who do not see themselves as subversive."
I wonder, along with her, if this Advent, we're called to give special attention to the ways each of us is able to do the work of Mary and Elizabeth. Our scripture, from Luke's gospel, tells of Mary--having just had her encounter with the Angel Gabriel and having just assented to God's mysterious work in her--fleeing for the hills, to be with her cousin Elizabeth. There, Elizabeth recognizes the powerful mystery at work in her.
I think there's space for both kinds of actions: being willing to be bearers of the Holy Spirits work in our world (like Mary) and being willing to name, acknowlege and celebrate the Holy Spirit's work in others (like Elizabeth). Powerful.
Our Christmas stories have so much to offer in terms of hope and possibility. This week, they made me think of a story from Barbara Kingsolver that I read several years ago, and have posted as in the entry below. Enjoy!
I wonder, along with her, if this Advent, we're called to give special attention to the ways each of us is able to do the work of Mary and Elizabeth. Our scripture, from Luke's gospel, tells of Mary--having just had her encounter with the Angel Gabriel and having just assented to God's mysterious work in her--fleeing for the hills, to be with her cousin Elizabeth. There, Elizabeth recognizes the powerful mystery at work in her.
I think there's space for both kinds of actions: being willing to be bearers of the Holy Spirits work in our world (like Mary) and being willing to name, acknowlege and celebrate the Holy Spirit's work in others (like Elizabeth). Powerful.
Our Christmas stories have so much to offer in terms of hope and possibility. This week, they made me think of a story from Barbara Kingsolver that I read several years ago, and have posted as in the entry below. Enjoy!
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Advent Waiting
Since Advent is a season of waiting, and since I hate waiting rooms, long waits and generally have a negative conception of "waiting," I thought I ought to dig a bit deeper in this.
Turns out, "wait" has a wonderfully rich history of definition. Entries on the word span 5 pages in my old OED. The first definition clues me in that something is going on here: "In various phrases with the general sense: To take up a concealed position in order to make an unforeseen attack, or to be in readiness to intercept one's enemy or intended prey in passing; to lurk in ambush."
Perhaps our Advent waiting is more than just killing time until Christmas--delaying the celebration so that we can have had the appropriate (and probably holy) period of restraint.
Maybe the kind of "waiting" that a waiter does is more apt--tending to, preparing for, watching for Christ's coming.
But there are other fabulous definitions of wait. My favorites involve music: first, in 1300, a watchman who would sound an alarm by horn or trumpet. Then, by 1430, a watchman attached to the royal household who would sound the royal trumpets. In 1438, it was used for a small band of wind instrumentalists, kept by a city for festive occasions, often strolling the streets. In 1773, it was used for a band of musicians and singers who would roam the streets near Christmas and the New Year, playing carols and seasonal music (!).
Waiting, in most of the 5 pages of entries, is much more than mere delay. It implies watchfulness and readiness for something big happening. Maybe there's even trumpets.
Turns out, "wait" has a wonderfully rich history of definition. Entries on the word span 5 pages in my old OED. The first definition clues me in that something is going on here: "In various phrases with the general sense: To take up a concealed position in order to make an unforeseen attack, or to be in readiness to intercept one's enemy or intended prey in passing; to lurk in ambush."
Perhaps our Advent waiting is more than just killing time until Christmas--delaying the celebration so that we can have had the appropriate (and probably holy) period of restraint.
Maybe the kind of "waiting" that a waiter does is more apt--tending to, preparing for, watching for Christ's coming.
But there are other fabulous definitions of wait. My favorites involve music: first, in 1300, a watchman who would sound an alarm by horn or trumpet. Then, by 1430, a watchman attached to the royal household who would sound the royal trumpets. In 1438, it was used for a small band of wind instrumentalists, kept by a city for festive occasions, often strolling the streets. In 1773, it was used for a band of musicians and singers who would roam the streets near Christmas and the New Year, playing carols and seasonal music (!).
Waiting, in most of the 5 pages of entries, is much more than mere delay. It implies watchfulness and readiness for something big happening. Maybe there's even trumpets.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Just a glimpse
This week, we mark the end of our Christian year as we celebrate Christ the King Sunday. Which we like to catch a glimpse of the much-better work we think possible through God. As we were peering into God's Kingdom...
Which, really, is a little like what we tend to do on Thanksgiving every year: share in a meal that looks like the kind of eating we'd always like to do. It gathers together extended and often separate family and friends, plenty of nourishing and delicious food, and is as lovely as possible. And, as far as I can tell, it's the one day when more of us are more likely to take time to pause and give thanks for the good stuff we enjoy. Even if these things don't happen every day, maybe we do them once a year to remind us that they're possible.
The thing is, this Christ the King Sunday celebration is even better: it gathers together a wild and diverse assortment of people and is open to the whole world, the sacrament of Holy Communion sustains our souls and is divinely beautiful. As usual, we pass time in worship giving thanks, confessing our failures, and seeking to be remade in God's image.
And, most importantly, it reminds us that we belong in a reality even bigger, more powerful and important that the perfect Thanksgiving holiday feast.
(This is very good news for those of us whose Thanksgiving feasts won't look like the pages of Martha Stewart Living. Nothing against Martha; I just know that distance from loved ones, grief over those missing from the table, budgets that are already stretched and cannot include the foods or decorations we might rather have, work schedules, ongoing interpersonal conflicts and tensions and many other things get in the way of our "perfect" holidays.)
We're reminded this weekend that Christ is Alpha and Omega, A-through-Z. God's power is bigger and more amazing than anything else. And, though it's not always fully obvious in the midst of our current troubles, God's truth is on a whole 'nother level. It means justice, peace and life for all creation.
So, come help us peek ahead to the kingdom, and get a glimpse of the other world that is possible.
Which, really, is a little like what we tend to do on Thanksgiving every year: share in a meal that looks like the kind of eating we'd always like to do. It gathers together extended and often separate family and friends, plenty of nourishing and delicious food, and is as lovely as possible. And, as far as I can tell, it's the one day when more of us are more likely to take time to pause and give thanks for the good stuff we enjoy. Even if these things don't happen every day, maybe we do them once a year to remind us that they're possible.
The thing is, this Christ the King Sunday celebration is even better: it gathers together a wild and diverse assortment of people and is open to the whole world, the sacrament of Holy Communion sustains our souls and is divinely beautiful. As usual, we pass time in worship giving thanks, confessing our failures, and seeking to be remade in God's image.
And, most importantly, it reminds us that we belong in a reality even bigger, more powerful and important that the perfect Thanksgiving holiday feast.
(This is very good news for those of us whose Thanksgiving feasts won't look like the pages of Martha Stewart Living. Nothing against Martha; I just know that distance from loved ones, grief over those missing from the table, budgets that are already stretched and cannot include the foods or decorations we might rather have, work schedules, ongoing interpersonal conflicts and tensions and many other things get in the way of our "perfect" holidays.)
We're reminded this weekend that Christ is Alpha and Omega, A-through-Z. God's power is bigger and more amazing than anything else. And, though it's not always fully obvious in the midst of our current troubles, God's truth is on a whole 'nother level. It means justice, peace and life for all creation.
So, come help us peek ahead to the kingdom, and get a glimpse of the other world that is possible.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
daring prayer
This week's scripture, from 1 Samuel, tells another story of a faithful woman; here, Hannah is a model of a faithful, prayerful follower of God.
At a time when few trusted in the mess that was their political and religious structure, Hannah's personal life is full of struggle, too. Unable to bear children, she's taunted by her husband's other wife, and haunted by her own desire for a child.
So, she does a bold thing: she prays about it. Fervently, and without the help of a priest or the interceding powers of an offering. Her prayer is so wild that the priest assumes she's drunk; after they talk, though, he affirms the power of her genuine, deep, whole-hearted prayer.
She doesn't behave as though she's entitled to what she wants; she is willing to make promises and sacrifices, too.
When her child, Samuel, is born, she sings another bold prayer. It tells of the power of a God who turns things around and upside down, inverting everything we think we know about the world.
As I read Hannah's prayers--the one where she pleaded and bargained with God and the one where she sang God's praises--I'm struck by how genuine they are. They are authentic, unmitigated, heartfelt expressions of herself. They need to polishing, no professional's help, no gold-embossed typesetting. They are real.
Perhaps this is what God is asking of us: that we would come to God with our pain and our joy, trusting in and celebrating connection to a God in whom all things are possible.
At a time when few trusted in the mess that was their political and religious structure, Hannah's personal life is full of struggle, too. Unable to bear children, she's taunted by her husband's other wife, and haunted by her own desire for a child.
So, she does a bold thing: she prays about it. Fervently, and without the help of a priest or the interceding powers of an offering. Her prayer is so wild that the priest assumes she's drunk; after they talk, though, he affirms the power of her genuine, deep, whole-hearted prayer.
She doesn't behave as though she's entitled to what she wants; she is willing to make promises and sacrifices, too.
When her child, Samuel, is born, she sings another bold prayer. It tells of the power of a God who turns things around and upside down, inverting everything we think we know about the world.
As I read Hannah's prayers--the one where she pleaded and bargained with God and the one where she sang God's praises--I'm struck by how genuine they are. They are authentic, unmitigated, heartfelt expressions of herself. They need to polishing, no professional's help, no gold-embossed typesetting. They are real.
Perhaps this is what God is asking of us: that we would come to God with our pain and our joy, trusting in and celebrating connection to a God in whom all things are possible.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
widows and heroes
This week, we get the end of the book of Ruth--a beautiful (if a bit racy) story of faithfulness and redemption. Having risked the little she had left in following her mother-in-law Naomi back to Judah, she now follows Naomi's direction, using the small window of opportunity she had available, and secures not only a husband for herself, but a future for Naomi, too.
Where there seemed to be very little opportunity no hopeful future, a new way forward emerged. It relied on the goodwill of Boaz, Ruth's new husband, but also on the planning and action of the two widows in the story: Ruth and Naomi.
In our gospel lesson from Mark, there's mention of more widows: first, as the scribes are called out for preying on them, and then as one humble, faithful widow gives all she has to God--her last dollar.
I love that in all these stories, we're taught important values: that we should give care to the vulnerable in our midst. It is sinful to take advantage of those who are poor.
But I also love that the most vulnerable in these stories--the "have-nots"--also show themselves to have a whole lot: a power to proclaim something important about how God works in the world. No mere recipients of abuse or of care, these widows are agents in the world, showing us all how to live.
This makes we wonder who I should be looking to for lessons on faithfulness...
Where there seemed to be very little opportunity no hopeful future, a new way forward emerged. It relied on the goodwill of Boaz, Ruth's new husband, but also on the planning and action of the two widows in the story: Ruth and Naomi.
In our gospel lesson from Mark, there's mention of more widows: first, as the scribes are called out for preying on them, and then as one humble, faithful widow gives all she has to God--her last dollar.
I love that in all these stories, we're taught important values: that we should give care to the vulnerable in our midst. It is sinful to take advantage of those who are poor.
But I also love that the most vulnerable in these stories--the "have-nots"--also show themselves to have a whole lot: a power to proclaim something important about how God works in the world. No mere recipients of abuse or of care, these widows are agents in the world, showing us all how to live.
This makes we wonder who I should be looking to for lessons on faithfulness...
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
remembering the saints
This Sunday, we celebrate All Saints' Day.
Our worship is always a special time--besides getting us together in God's presence, it also becomes a way of transcending our own time and place. I think worship is more than a little like time travel.
Only, unlike the Land of the Lost kind of time travel, worship doesn't transport us to some distant past. It's projects us forward to the Kingdom of God, where the whole of God's community--all through time and space--is gathered together. Worship is a glimpse into the future that God holds, and it's a good time...
There's lots of things I love the tradition of painting the images of saints on the walls of churches. Mostly, I love the way it reminds us of our belonging in this really big community, and that our church life today comes along with the blessing and spiritual presence of our ancestors in faith. "A cloud of witnesses," Paul called them, in his letter to the Hebrews.
When I visited Crete recently, with the World Council of Churches' Faith and Order Plenary, we worshiped on Sunday at the Cathedral of Kastelli-Kissamos on western Crete. Though the Divine Liturgy was ancient, the cathedral building is modern, and some of the frescoes were still being painted. Which left this set of saints toward the back of the main nave:
Some others and I wondered if these were left here as in invitation--a sort of "if you were a saint, your picture could be here." An invitation to church to remember that we are among those called to be witnesses to Christ's love in a way that has power even after our deaths.
This week, we'll read a story from the Hebrew Bible of a woman who made a powerful choice for belonging with another, as we begin Ruth's story. And, we'll remember the law that's at the heart of our life in the church: our command to love God and neighbor.
In all this, we'll also be remembering the saints in our midst--members of our congregation, families and community who have died in the past year. And, as always, we'll gather at the communion table in a feast that connects us to them, by the mystery of God.
Hope to see you there.
Our worship is always a special time--besides getting us together in God's presence, it also becomes a way of transcending our own time and place. I think worship is more than a little like time travel.
Only, unlike the Land of the Lost kind of time travel, worship doesn't transport us to some distant past. It's projects us forward to the Kingdom of God, where the whole of God's community--all through time and space--is gathered together. Worship is a glimpse into the future that God holds, and it's a good time...
There's lots of things I love the tradition of painting the images of saints on the walls of churches. Mostly, I love the way it reminds us of our belonging in this really big community, and that our church life today comes along with the blessing and spiritual presence of our ancestors in faith. "A cloud of witnesses," Paul called them, in his letter to the Hebrews.
When I visited Crete recently, with the World Council of Churches' Faith and Order Plenary, we worshiped on Sunday at the Cathedral of Kastelli-Kissamos on western Crete. Though the Divine Liturgy was ancient, the cathedral building is modern, and some of the frescoes were still being painted. Which left this set of saints toward the back of the main nave:
Some others and I wondered if these were left here as in invitation--a sort of "if you were a saint, your picture could be here." An invitation to church to remember that we are among those called to be witnesses to Christ's love in a way that has power even after our deaths.This week, we'll read a story from the Hebrew Bible of a woman who made a powerful choice for belonging with another, as we begin Ruth's story. And, we'll remember the law that's at the heart of our life in the church: our command to love God and neighbor.
In all this, we'll also be remembering the saints in our midst--members of our congregation, families and community who have died in the past year. And, as always, we'll gather at the communion table in a feast that connects us to them, by the mystery of God.
Hope to see you there.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
For such a time as this
When I was a kid, I used to spend hours reading stories from the Old Testament. I loved them--all those vivid accounts of God interacting with his people; all those fascinating characters.
Esther was always one of my favorites... As a little girl, I loved to read about the beautiful woman who became a queen, and who dared to bend the rules and save her people from destruction. See, Esther started out as just another girl, but God used her to deliver an entire population from death. Talk about being in the right place at the right time.
This week, we'll hear a little of Queen Esther's story, and how she was able to use her influence to stand up for a people who didn't have a voice. We're continuing our theme of laying a foundation of good, solid life lessons, and this week's is just that: to speak up for those who can't speak for themselves, even when we might catch some flak for doing so.
Our lesson from Mark gives us more solid advice about dealing with people weaker than ourselves. It's vivid--maybe even a little shocking--but sometimes we need this kind of wake-up call. We're called to be the salt of the earth... And if we don't fill that role, then who will?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
It doesn't all revolve around you.
If last week we learned to bite our tongues, this week, we get another lesson for good living from James: remember that it doesn't all revolve around you.
We're to let go of jealousy and selfish ambition, and to take up a "gentleness born of wisdom" that comes from God. And it will be a good life.
And I agree that I'd like to live in a world free of hypocrisy, selfishness, judgmentalism and the like--it's just scary to be the one to start, sometimes. I mean, really: it's hard to be considerate all the time, especially of inconsiderate people.
But, then, I guess it's not an easy work we're called to. As I was pondering this, words of an good ol' hymn popped into my head. (The third verse, so I confess that I had to Google to get 'em all right...) They come from "This is My Father's World" (with apologies for having only masculine images of God):
We're to let go of jealousy and selfish ambition, and to take up a "gentleness born of wisdom" that comes from God. And it will be a good life.
And I agree that I'd like to live in a world free of hypocrisy, selfishness, judgmentalism and the like--it's just scary to be the one to start, sometimes. I mean, really: it's hard to be considerate all the time, especially of inconsiderate people.
But, then, I guess it's not an easy work we're called to. As I was pondering this, words of an good ol' hymn popped into my head. (The third verse, so I confess that I had to Google to get 'em all right...) They come from "This is My Father's World" (with apologies for having only masculine images of God):
This is my Father's world.
O let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!
So we also rejoice in the words of Psalm 1, which imagine our faithfulness as infinitely stronger and more "real" than the ways of evil.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
God's ReCreation
This fall, we're celebrating God's ReCreation for several weeks in worship. (We thought that after spending the summer tearing down walls of injustice, it'd be good to spend some time in re-creating the good stuff, in collaboration with God.)
There will be many good and meaningful things to come, and this week it all begins. Our scripture lessons for the week set us off in the right direction, with some basic ground rules and perspective to help in our work.
James admonishes us to watch what we say: our words can be dangerous weapons against each other and God. But, then, they also have great potential for life-giving power.
Psalm 19 lays a much more lovely vision--it sings of the beauty of God, as present in creation and in God's law. Both are deliciously sweet. (As sweet as the honeycomb's drippings, it says.)
Which is to say, I think, that it's in our power to bear sweetness or only sour. So hold your tongue. Save it for the sweet stuff...
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Passing Judgment
We've all seen him--that old, scruffy guy in the intersection holding a cardboard sign emblazoned with a plea for mercy: "Unemployed, anything helps", it might say, or "Disabled, please help". And while we might roll down our windows and hand over a couple of dollars, or the change in our ash tray; while we might offer to walk over to the nearest 7-Eleven and buy him a sandwich, sometimes less-than-generous thoughts pass through our minds. We think, "Man, just get a job" or "He'll just use the money to get his next fix."
In this week's scripture from James, we are warned not to pass these kinds of judgments on the poor, because God can work through them--bless them--just as he can the rich. He loves us all as his children, rich or poor, and wants us to love each other the same way.
Jesus' ministry was all about this kind of love. We'll hear the story this week of how he met a Gentile woman who was begging for the kind of mercy that only he could give: her daughter "had an unclean spirit", and she knew that Jesus could heal the little girl. Jesus had a strange reaction--he told the woman that "it is wrong for the dogs to eat the food that was meant for the children." She responds by saying that "even the dogs eat the scraps that the children leave behind".
Instead of being affronted, she responds to Jesus with humility. She has a need, and she is not ashamed to beg for Jesus' help. Jesus has pity on her and heals her daughter, even though she is a Gentile.
We are called to this same generosity, but often we fall short. What are some judgments that we pass on those who ask it of us?
We'll use your replies in worship this Sunday, so please post your thoughts in the comments!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
love song for God
This week's texts might seem pretty far from each other: love poetry from Song of Solomon and a story of Jesus challenging the Pharisees and calling them out on hypocrisies.
But really, perhaps, they're not so disconnected. See if you agree:
The love poetry gives voice to what it's like to be caught up in the ecstatic joy of God's amazing love. It's an experience that's really indescribable--as incredible as the fresh beauty of springtime flowers.
When we forget this enchantment--when we lose the life-giving joy of our faith--it's easy to fall back on the lifeless forms of rigid, empty rules. And get all caught up in how other people are breaking them. How other people aren't doing the right things.
Jesus challenges the Pharisees: it's"the things that come out of you are what defiles."
Back in the springtime love poetry, all that comes out are words of love, grace and beauty.
But really, perhaps, they're not so disconnected. See if you agree:
The love poetry gives voice to what it's like to be caught up in the ecstatic joy of God's amazing love. It's an experience that's really indescribable--as incredible as the fresh beauty of springtime flowers.
When we forget this enchantment--when we lose the life-giving joy of our faith--it's easy to fall back on the lifeless forms of rigid, empty rules. And get all caught up in how other people are breaking them. How other people aren't doing the right things.
Jesus challenges the Pharisees: it's"the things that come out of you are what defiles."
Back in the springtime love poetry, all that comes out are words of love, grace and beauty.
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