stories to tell

At the heart of our church life is a story. Story about God. It's incredible story: about God who becomes human. About God who is love, and who makes a new kind of abundant life possible...

Every week, we gather in worship to remind ourselves of the stories of our faith, and how they fit into the bigger story that's unfolding through us.

This week, we get some help in the storytelling. Or, if you prefer, storySINGING.
Our Chapel Choir is going to share some of Jesus' story with us through the music of Godspell. One of the things I love about this musical is the way its characters come to know the story of Jesus' life as they figure out how to tell it. It becomes their story.

So, we'll hear the Gospel with that 70's groove. And, we'll remember how John ends his Gospel. His testimony is just one piece of the story: there's so much more.

As we seek to worship this week, we're also aware that there's so much more to tell--of God's continuing presence in our lives. And, in our worship together at the Water's Edge. I give thanks that I can share this worship space with you. See you there...

The Psalm for this Sunday is a familiar one--the one that starts "The Lord is my shepherd..." The one that reminds us of God leading us beside still waters.

Like many things I know by heart, this Psalm is one I can say without really thinking about the words. But when I do...oh, it's excellent. It seems like, everytime I do, I hear something new.

Mostly, I speak it at memorial services; it's comfort, both in what it says and in the familiarity of the words. It makes me feel better.

BUT, it doesn't promise that things will be easy. I like how it acknowledges that there's difficulty. It includes the "valley of the shadow of death." This Psalmist knows what's up--that life isn't always easy. This Psalmist knows I have enemies, but reminds me that God makes me a feast where I get to sit down in their presence.

Our other scripture passage, from John's Revelation, makes it even clearer: God wipes away every tear from our eyes.

(This is a nice change from the scariness of much of the rest of the book. Revelation is a wild ride.)

But I'll leave that fun for Sunday. Rev. Elbert is going to preach, and it will be good to welcome him to our gathering. I'll be away, so I trust you'll fill me in on what you figure out when I get back...

This week, we get to share in one of my favorite Jesus stories: the one where Jesus cooks breakfast for his disciples. After he's been resurrected, and after they return to fishing, he appears on the lakeshore and cooks some fish for them.

I love it for a lot of reasons--delighting in good meals, sharing good food with good people, is just one of them.

I also like the gracious hospitality it shows--a risen Christ who sets a feast for us. (And not just the ritual of holy communion, when it happens inside our nice churches--but real, stick-to-your-ribs hearty breakfasts on the lakeshore...)

He had to be disappointed in the disciples. After all they'd seen, they went back to fishing. Not that fishing is, in and of itself, a dishonorable thing: it just meant that they weren't using their lives to follow Jesus.

(Incidentally, I can't think of any time Jesus actually went fishing, for fish. He certainly found disciples when THEY were fishing. And he certainly went onto boats...)

Instead of being mad, instead of showing his frustration at their slowness to let the Spirit's power really infuse their lives and change their futures, Jesus cooks for them.

There's a lesson here, somewhere...

-

And, as is there isn't enough to think about there, we also get to share in the story of Saul's conversion (in which he becomes Paul). Set next to the story of Jesus's breakfast, though, I suspect it might be as much about Ananias's hospitality as it is about Saul's being changed. CHeck it out.

AND, of course, Sunday is Earth Day.
That's gotta fit in there somewhere. Of course, a little better hospitality (like shown by Jesus and Ananias) might not hurt our planet...

witness protection program?

The day after Easter, in this pastor's life, is a day of letting-down; all the details and expectation of Holy Week is over. I get to rest back in Resurrection, which I celebrate as grace and hope. And, I get a little punchy...

So, as I ponder this week's scripture, I'm wondering which is worse: folks who just come to church on Easter (and Christmas, of course), or the disciples, in that they hear and know something of the incredible story and power of resurrection, but then keep it protected, behind locked doors.

I'm thinking of two ways we (me certainly included) tend to do this:
One is that we discover how cool life in God is, so we join church. We fill up on the Holy Spirit every week, we find meaning for our lives, and we find it good. But then we just keep that to ourselves. Lacking good models for how we might share our faith (that is, in a way that is not judgmental or pushy or, well, really annoying), we just keep quiet about it.

Our organist at the church, Bob, has talked about how people who find a great new restaurant will eagerly mention it to others, but how relatively reticent we are to talk about something that feels our souls...

The other way this can happen is when we get afraid. John's gospel says the disciples hid behind locked doors because they were afraid. Could be a lot of things that bring us fear, but the one I feel most crippled by these days is the fear that we'll lose what we have. We, in the church, treasure what brought us here, and therefore fear change--the kind of change that might, actually, allow us a more-full experience of the divine.

So, we frown at people who don't dress right, or who belong to the wrong associations, or who seem like they might make us listen to music we hate. (Or, they might do something CRAZY like play a kazoo solo on Easter Sunday. But I digress...)

I'm still haunted/enchanted by a story Doug Pagitt
told at an Emergent Church gathering a couple of years ago, in which he talked about adopting children into his family. They didn't invite the kids in, show them a list of activities the family was planning to participate, and tell them they'd be welcome anywhere. (That would be absurd.) They made them a part of the family, and let everything they'd do be shaped by their presence.

If we, the church, are the family of God, shouldn't we do the same?

And I think we (the water's edge people) need to remember this as much as anyone. We're getting good at being family together, but I'm feeling the Spirit pushing us to share this good stuff we have with others. People who might not find any church to call home, except that they feel at home here. Because we're seeking after being authentic to the Spirit's witness in this place.

As we ponder how we're being (re)defined by resurrection this year, maybe it's a good time to ask how our witness to the outside world looks.

What do you think?

before sunday...

there are lots of chances to worship together this week:

On Wednesday, there's a Family-Friendly Vespers worship, at 5:30 in the sanctuary. There'll be an organ duet featuring 10-year-old Justin (on a familiar tune called "Jesus Loves Me") and, best of all, a chance to share in communion with folks of all ages. Afterwards, there's a simple dinner and activities for families of all ages, shapes and sizes.

On Thursday, there's Maundy Thursday worship, at 7:30 p.m. in the sanctuary. It's the day we remember Jesus' Last Supper, and so we gather again at that communion table, this time with a special drama.

On Friday, there's noontime worship for Good Friday. It technically starts at 12:15, but there'll be music to be had starting before then. Worship with our community as we mark Jesus' death.

And, the piece I'm most excited about: a new kind of Easter Vigil.
With experiential ways to interact with the Holy Week stories, this is a rich new way to begin the Easter Season. And, new though it may be to us, it builds on way-ancient traditions of the Easter Vigil. (The Vigil just happens to be one of the most ancient Christian traditions we know of!) Plus, we will be baptizing adults--welcoming new sisters and brothers in the family of God. So, you'll want to be there. Start in the Chapel, anytime between 7:30 and 9 p.m.

this sunday: resurrection

We get to celebrate Easter this week. Everything made new. God's eternal life triumphs over the ugliest of human violence. And, even over death. There's nothing to fear. We belong in God, who is everything.

When Mary encounters Jesus in that garden about what had seemed to be his tomb, she's not ready to recognize him. She, along with the other disciples, is STILL not prepared for what's going on in God. It's not until he calls her name that she realizes it's him--that she's speaking with the one who she mourns. (And, it's not just magical thinking.)

He tells her not to hold onto him.

I think Resurrection is like that: you just can't hold onto it BUT it changes everything.

I've been trying to figure out how to imagine that--an image for this.

There are many good ones that've been thought of before: the freedom and lightness of a butterfly (transformed from it's previous life as a caterpillar, after a time in that tomb-like cocoon), the grace of Easter lilies. The precious and stunning display of sunsets--light transformed in an instant to reveal colors previously imperceptible.

You cannot own, control, or hold too tightly to these.

But, this morning, I'm thinking even more of sandhill cranes.

It's crane season back home in Nebraska--those incredible days when millions of cranes gather in a narrow stretch of the Platte River. There, they gather strength by gleaning grain from the cornfields. They sleep in the river to stay safe. And, best of all, they dance.

Each night, just before sunset, they return to the river en masse, singing and dancing (and hoping to attract mates). For that brief period of time, these days in late March and early April, the beauty of the cranes (usually distributed halfway around the world) is visible in overwhelming glory, in one place. Fragile-looking and wonderful. Resilient and full of life.

What images would you give to resurrection life?

No-Palms Sunday

Periodically, I ask myself what our worship might look and sound like to someone who hadn't been going to church all their life.

I know, I know: I ought to ask this all the time. We're meant to offer this Gospel message and the liberating grace of God to those outside the church, and it'll never work if we just use our clever codes that take years of getting-used-to. I'm working it on.

This week, though, as we head into Holy Week, the big celebration of Christ's death and resurrection, we're confronted with a particular challenge:

Our scripture for Palm Sunday has NO PALMS in it. It's the same story: Jesus' entry into Jerusalem. But in Luke, people spread "garments" on the ground, not palms, as Jesus enters in bizarre theatrics that look royal, but with several key differences. (He's on a donkey rather than a horse, for one...)

Maybe it's time to think about this story with a bit of freshness. The gospel (what with its omission of mention of the very objects our Sunday is named for) demands that we look a little more closely.


James Ensor painted this reimagining of Christ's triumphant entry--making him ride into 19th Century Brussels instead of 1st Century Jerusalem. (You can go see it at the Getty Museum. It looks much more incredible in real life. It's big.) And, he invites us to ask: what would it look like for Christ to ride into our lives/culture/nation/world?

That donkey ride began a week of intensified confrontation between Jesus and Rome. It made clear that Jesus' life-giving, transforming, grace-filled, resurrection power wouldn't work with Roman attempts to powerfully keep control in the world.

SO: come to worship this Sunday. We'll see if we can't make it "just another" Palm Sunday. Jesus' entry demands more. And, after all, even if we fail, the rocks themselves will speak for us. (It's in Luke. I don't make these things up.)

more extravagance

In case the prodigal love Jesus talked about last week wasn't enough...

This week, we get another extravagant act of love. In John's gospel, this story of Mary (here the Mary of "Martha's sister" fame) tells of how she used a whole bottle of expensive perfume to pour out on Jesus' feet.

And, in case that doesn't seem extravagant enough, she then used her hair to wipe those feet.

This is big stuff. Bold, improvisational, daring, extravagant stuff. As if Mary were trying to find a way, within the limitations of our bodies and the stuff of the world, to demonstrate the depth of the love she had for Jesus.

In Isaiah, the lavishness of praise for God gets even wilder (in a literal way). Here, jackals and ostriches get in on the action. (Now, what's more fun than imagining how an ostrich would praise God?!?)

Because of the gracious, life-giving things that God is doing in the world, and through Jesus, people want to pour out praise. And love. And perfume. God, whose love, as it turns out, cannot be contained by the limitations of bodies and worldly stuff. (That is, Jesus is about to die, but that's not gonna be the end...)

I guess that invites us to ask how we will use our limited bodies to praise God.

I have the sense that doing so might just connect us to something truly extravagant.

get our your banjo and rosin up your bow...

It's time for another foot-stompin bluegrass Sunday.

(the picture doesn't quite capture the joy our band will spin into music, as we celebrate the return of a lost son and the bigness of God's love.)

Karen's preachin'. The band's a playin'. It'll be a good time!

So, invite your friends and come on down to the waterin' hole. (Specifically, the Cove at FUMCSD on Sunday at 9:30.)

a risky re-translation?

I love the passage from Isaiah 55 that we'll read this Sunday. It's all about God's abundant goodness--and how God intends us all to be well and to enjoy the rich simplicities of life.

But I always cringe at the first word.

In the Bible we use, the NRSV, this grace-infused passage begins: "Ho!"

Ho?!?

Whether I associate it with Santa, gardening, or something more promiscuous, this word hardy prepares me for what's to come.

So I looked up the Hebrew. You can, too. And I propose a new translation. (At least, for So-Cal readers, turle-lovers who've watched "Finding Nemo" or for people who watch Lost and love Hurley.)

We need a quick interjection that catches our attention and prepares us to hear the word-encrusted gems of God's abundance.

I propose "Dude."

Now, at the risk of sounding irreverant or trivializing, I think it's a good choice.

To say, "Dude!" is to call attention--to say "No, really! Check this out!"

I also like that it is unpretentious, and disarming. This isn't the message of sophisticated folks who have it figured out, pinned down and diagrammed. This is a poem that asks us to realize the grace that's all around us, that comes when we share the good stuff of life.

Beautiful, dude.

Our passage ends with verse 9, which reminds us, with gratitude, that we don't do or understand things like God.

Which, in my humble opinion, prepares us to hear the harsh words Jesus speaks in Luke's gospel this week: we have to repent.

Not because we are unworthy, or wretched beyond hope, but because none of us is God. And, all of us (individually, and together) are a whole lot better of when we remember, daily and in every moment, to turn towards God.

Repentance is about big things. (Last week, as we lamented together, we thought of big stuff like hunger, war, child poverty...) But all of these "big" things also begin with little, individual, daily movements toward God's grace.

So, oddly, we find ways to celebrate the joy to be found in life, as we remember to repent. It's good stuff.

crosses and other difficult things

Lent is never an "easy" season; I feel it working on me, trying to refine me and get rid of my imperfections. That burns.

So, even while I see so many themes that I agree with, I find plenty in our texts for this week that makes me pause. And think about what it means for me, now.

In Philippians, Paul contrasts the people who are like him (Paul) to those who are "enemies of the cross of Christ."

Today, this caught me.

Enemies of Christ are one thing. Enemies of the CROSS of Christ...well...that's a whole 'nother thing. It seems to me that Paul is reminding us that faithful living is a difficult thing. It requires suffering--even crosses.

Ironically, incredibly, those who are "enemies of the cross of Christ" are the ones who end in destruction. Logic would seem to say that the way to avoid destruction would be to avoid crosses.

Clearly, this is a different kind of "cross"--a different kind of suffering--that we're being invited into.

It makes me think of a powerful song by Bernice Johnson Reagon, which she sang with Sweet Honey in the Rock. She starts with an old Afro-American spiritual, "Ain't that Good News", and then preaches a sermon in the middle. She says it's good news, but hard times we're called to. We're called to "lay down this world, shoulder up the cross," and that's the good news.

If I didn't know how rich life feels when I'm doing what I believe God to be calling me to, I'd say she was crazy.

Somehow, though, this cross-work IS good news. And, even better, it leads to our belonging. "Citizenship" in heaven, as Paul names it. Jesus uses the image of a mother hen gathering her chicks in safety to tell about how we belong in God's good news, in Luke's gospel.

When I look at the world, it seems like there's plenty of suffering already--we don't need to be taking up new crosses. But, I wonder, what might happen if we did a better job of sharing in carrying the suffering of the world?

If we are, after all, like Paul suggests, citizens of heaven, perhaps we share together in bearing the world, with all its hopes and all its pain.

known by heart

Today, as I post this, is Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday happens to be just about my favorite day in the Christian year. I suspect my love of this day has something to do with its simple, honest grace.

During Lent, we are invited to turn our hearts to God. To do so, we turn our hearts away from everything that has been distracting us from God...

This can be tough, but it's so good--because we know that God's response is loving and gracious. We don't have to wonder, because we know God is loving and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. (I didn't think that up. I just stole it from the Hebrew scriptures.)

So, today, we're invited to turn toward God, and ask for repentance.

The best part, though, are the words we say as we mark each other with ashes: "Remember that you a dust, and to dust you shall return."

Somehow, this is just the grace I need. Right now and every year. I am a connected part of God's good creation. I am dust, just as everyone and everything else is. The world is not on my shoulders. I can savor each day.

Usually, it makes me more able to savor the goodness of the natural world, too: after all, it's dust just like me.

But I digress:
This was supposed to be about this coming Sunday.

During Lent, we're going to think about what it means to "know by heart" and to be "known by heart." Our suspicion is that this "heart" stuff is critical: it helps us remember what it means to belong to God.

You may have heard that Rev. Earl Kernahan, who has been a part of our community for the past two years, died early this Monday morning. In his 93 years of life, and lifetime's worth of ministry, he has shown many of us--near and far--a beautiful witness of what it means to live your faith "by heart." Working for racial reconciliation, for social justice, for the strengthening of communities, against gambling, he lived his deep faith.

When I talked to him recently about the Bible, he had one clear favorite sentence memorized: "God is love."

So, this Sunday in our 9:30 worship, we get to think about how, this Lent, we might get better at living that love.

I also want you to know that you're very welcome to come share in celebration of Rev. Earl's life--we'll gather for a memory service at 12:30 on Sunday, in the Cove.

mountaintops

The Water's Edge is moving to the mountains this week! So, if you're joining us in worship, don't go to the usual place in San Diego; go to Camp Cedar Glen in Julian, at 10:30 in the Chapel.

Although it seems a bit sketchy that the "water's edge" should be in the mountains (perhaps it's the mountain spring, the source of the water?), there's certainly precedent for going to the mountains to be a part of something holy.

And, as if by God's grace, this week's scripture passages are about just such events.

In the midst of his earthly ministry, Jesus took three disciples with him, and went up a mountain, where he was "transfigured." That is, he got his glow on. He "shone like the sun." And God reminded those disciples that Jesus was special, and that they should listen to him.

Sometimes, I wish for clarity like that--glowing lights that help me see what is holy, and what I need to pay attention to. But it turns out neon signs are not necessarily God-indicators, and, ironically, I find the dark night of the mountains--far away from the city lights--to give greater clarity.

It's not just Jesus who has a glowing, mountain-top experience, though: our other scripture lesson tells of a time Moses shone brightly , even AFTER coming down from the mountaintop where he received God's law.

So, I'm hopeful that this weekend's time on the mountain will help us glow. Or, at least, remind ourselves how good it is to be together in God's presence. And, perhaps, it will be apparent to the world...

on the level

It may not be as hip as Gwen Stefani this week, but I'm still fixating on words and phrases.

This week, it's about Jesus "leveling" with us.

See, in Matthew's gospel, Jesus gives this famous set of teachings that we often call his "Sermon on the Mount."

In Luke's gospel, we get a set of teachings that start in remarkably similar ways, but this time, we're told, he "came down with them and stood on a level place." A level place. (Not a mountain.)

Perhaps he used riffs of the same sermon twice. (Some of the greatest preachers today also have a set of stories they use over and over...) Or, perhaps the gospel writers used artistic license in telling the stories. Or maybe one gospel-writers "level place" is another gospel writers "mount." Who am I to say.

I'm just enjoying the idea of Jesus going to a "level" place, and leveling with the folks there: telling them some true things about God's reality. Like that the poor are blessed. And so are the broken-hearted, the down-trodden, the outcast and those who suffer hate.

And then, unlike Matthew, he goes straight into more, flip-side, true things about God's reality: "Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation." Woe to the full-up, the comfortable, the popular.

Here again the wisdom of the scripture tells us things are flipping over, getting up-turned, and all changed around.

(Didn't we just get this in Advent, when Mary was singing her Magnificant, and when the tenor in the choir sang Isaiah's words from Handel's Messiah about those valleys being exalted and rough places plain?)

OR...perhaps...

Jesus is preaching to us about how he's flattening out the distinctions we've been using to compare ourselves to others, to remind us how we might be different/better?

On a plain, Jesus plainly speaks the good news that God is making our heaped-up differences and divisions, well, flat like a plain.

Makes me think of how much fun it is to play broomball. You take a group of people, preferably ones who have already decided which of their group is talented at athletics, and which folks are cool, and you throw them into an ice rink. With shoes on. Suddenly, the playing field is leveled. (!) Everyone's lousy at hockey when they slide around on the ice in their silly shoes. Everyone looks silly. And, usually, everyone has a good time. (It helps that youth groups can usually only afford ice time in the middle of the night.)

In the Nebraska plains, we play in our socks on the basketball court. That works, too.

My question is: how can we, as the church, model this making-level that Jesus preaches? In a world filled with divisions, what will bring us to a level spot?

-

And, this week in worship, we'll keep thinking a bit more about resurrection. Not that we'll figure it all out. Paul will have some more words.

hollaback girl?

Ok, I admit that I've been allowing myself to enjoy a king-sized follow-the-tangents trail as I explore this week's scripture.

It all starts with the beautiful story of Jesus calling Simon, James and John to follow him. Jesus shows them that he has power--and knows to they can catch lots of fish--and Simon immediately recognizes Jesus' deeper authority. And they leave everything to follow him.

This is incredible enough.

But then, my thought continues through a question raised by Karen at a staff meeting this week: are we teaching and showing people that God is calling each one of us today? Sure, we talk about preachers, and maybe even church musicians being "called." But are we open to the callings and promptings God puts on each one of our lives?

Deep stuff.

Then, my thoughts take a sharp detour. I start thinking about the work "call." As in "I just called to say I love you," and "You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I'll come running." Phone calls, call-backs, and call-and-response singing. Which, naturally, reminded me of my foray onto urbandictionary.com to see what it means for Gwen Stefani to (not) be a Hollaback Girl. (I know, I'm slow. It's been years since Gwen first went b-a-n-a-n-a-s.)

My favorite explanation was that Gwen was riffing on accusations from Courtney Love that Gwen is a "cheerleader." And everyone knows that cheerleaders have some folks who start cheers, and some folks who lead the response (or, the holla-back girls). So, perhaps, Gwen wanted to say that she may be a cheerleader, but she's the top banana cheerleader?

In any case, I then started thinking about the older tradition of call-and-response preaching and singing. A leader calls out the first line, which brings a rousing response from the people. I know it best from our African-American musical tradition. It's the kind of singing that would lift spirits in church, and while doing back-breaking work together. It relies on a shared community knowledge, and a beautiful interplay of leadership and following.

Which made me wonder if Gwen isn't distracting us from the point: perhaps there is rich blessing in being willing to "hollaback"--especially to God. To continue the story God has begun, and to pass it along to others?

In any case...

I hope you're thinking about how God has called and is calling you.

-

And, as a bonus this week, we'll consider the question a couple of you asked about what resurrection means. (We won't, however, cover this topic completely...) ;) Check out Paul's first letter to the folks in Corinth for more thoughts in preparation for this...

think about what this is saying...

Reading the scripture passages for this week, my mind jumped to thought of the Yes Men. These guys have made a little career out of posing as representatives from institutions they want to criticize, using a kind of mockery that goes beyond what I've seen before... Posing as World Trade Organization representatives, they've shown up at REAL conferences, after people who visited their mock website invited them. They give presentations on utterly shameful, taken-to-the-extreme, ethically bankrupt ideas.

The amazing thing is that people think they're real. They get away with it, because no one seems to be ready to question them.

All of which makes me think how far we've come from the sharpness of that crowd Jesus talked to in Nazareth. (Or, perhaps, how easy it is to trust someone with a good website and a nice suit?)

In Luke's gospel, when Jesus spoke in Nazareth, he proclaimed, plain and clear, in the words of the Hebrew prophet, Isaiah, what he was about: bringing good news to the poor. Setting the captive free.

Then, the people quickly turn on him. They're quick to see the implications of what he's saying. It's bold and it challenges.

Perhaps the didn't look like the prophet they imagined. Maybe they could sense that he really meant it.

So he has some tough words for them, suggesting that he's not coming for their comfort, but for the lost and marginalized people. This doesn't make them any happier.

But, then, when did Jesus promise a life of easy happiness?

Which brings us, naturally, to our second text, from First Corinthians. This text may sound familiar. We often read it at weddings.

(Which, by odd coincidence some people believe might just be the happiest moments in their lives...)

It's all about love. Not just the love between husband and wife, either: it's the love that's to be shared in the Christian community. And it's not all white doves and flower petals... It's patience and it insists on the truth. It requires that we avoid arrogance, boastfulness, rudeness. I'm still working on these things.

This love, when you read the fine print, is hard stuff. I wonder if we should react more at the boldness and craziness of it all?

power and love

This week, we get to welcome a special guest to help us worship: Lori Persons. Lori is one of our congregation's Covenant Missionaries--which means that we covenant with her to share support. Lori and her husband, David, have been missionaries on our behalf for, well, quite a while. They have spent all that time in the Congo, where they are leaders at in a place called Mulungwishi. She is director of the Women's School of the Faculte Methodiste Theologie in Mulungwishi, Katanga in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

Lori will speak with us and lead us in conversation. I suspect that her life of serving God in the Congo gives her rich perspective as she imagines what God might be ready to say to us, back here in the States.

I invite you to consider what Paul wrote in 1 Timothy as we get ready to boldly welcome Lori:
"I am grateful to God--whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did--when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindly the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline."
-1 Timothy 1:3-7

You are God's beloved

This week we consider the baptism of Jesus, and as we do, we reflect on our own baptism.

Molly's back, fresh from the shimmering waters of Hawaii, and will be talking about the role of water and Spirit in the baptism of Jesus and in ours.

The scriptures this week are
Isaiah 43:1-7
Acts 8:14-7
Luke 3:15-17,21-22

The last verse of the passage from Luke about the baptism of Jesus tells us: "the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.'"

It is a beautiful moment of the presence of God, the Spirit and Jesus.

The words apply to us, too. We are God's beloved children, in whom God is well-pleased.

That is the gift of grace.
And, it is an awesome gift to live into.
What can we do to help our faith in God grow nearer to God's faith in us?

(I'm hoping Molly isn't anywhere near a computer this week, but if she is and wants to repost this, have at it.)

Resolutions

We gather together this Sunday on the morning of New Year's Eve.

Many of us take a moment or more at the turn of the year to reflect on the year past and to project hopes on the year to come.

As Christians, we enter into these reflections in the aftermath of the joyous celebration of the birth of Jesus.

My question is this: What is our response to that gift of grace embodied in the birth of the infant Jesus and realized in his resurrection? What gifts can we share as our response to God's gift of grace to us?

Our scriptures this week offer some suggestions.

The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us in Ecclesiastes 3:1-13
that there is a time and place for everything and our response is to find joy in all things -- all things. Given the litany of things there is a time and place for, though, this is a bit of a challenge for me.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus
provides a description of discipleship: feed the hungry, provide drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the imprisoned.

Often with New Year's resolutions, we set goals for ourselves that are hopeful but not necessarily realistic. However, we each have gifts that we can draw from as our response to the gift of grace we experienced in the arrival of Jesus. Realistically, what gifts can you resolve to share in the coming year as a response to God's gift of grace?

a nativity

The father of a dear friend helped install this nativity scene at his United Methodist Church in Claremont, CA.

Christ's birth may not be what we expect.