hope in real estate?

I'm stuck on the resilient hopefulness of Jeremiah's words in this week's scripture passage. Barricaded in the the palace during a siege by the Babylonians, he gets a word from God that he should buy a piece of land.

Purchasing real estate when your nation is being conquered is more foolish that buying into SoCal real estate at the top of its "bubble."

For Jeremiah, though, the deed of sale (which he tucks away in an earthenware vessel) represents his faith and hope that the people of Israel will again inhabit the land, establishing houses and fields and vineyards.

There are at least two things that have caught my imagination this morning:

-God's promise may seem far off, but it endures. In the face of simplistic theologies that would say something like "be good and you'll get your reward," Jeremiah is in the midst of hard times, but still holds on to a promise that somehow, sometime, things will get better. (He's certainly not going to avoid some seriously hard times.)

-Jeremiah chooses a relatively simple act that stakes out his confidence in a hopeful future. He marks out what is of value to him (and, here, it seems to be having safe land to work and to give a harvest to sustain life). It is a powerful testimony to those who read this passage.

I wonder what simple acts we might be a part of that would mark out our belief in a different reality than the one that seems to surround us now. I would describe that "different reality" as the world that God intends for us--a place where everyone is safe and well, and has enough and enjoys things of great beauty, together.

On Sunday, we'll share some stories of hope. But we'll also invite you to commit to simple acts that might show this faith to those around us...

tricky parables

Our reading this week gives us another of Jesus' parables. Another tricky one.

In this week's passage from Luke, Jesus tells a story about a conniving businessman. Not the evil CEO, but perhaps someone in upper management... Know he's going to get fired, he fixes up meetings with folks who owe money to the big guy. And forgives their debts. Now, though he's still about to be fired, he'll have some friends.

The question is, why is Jesus telling this story about shady business dealings?

He doesn't end it with a tale of this corrupt man wailing and gnashing his teeth.

Instead, he seems to be suggesting that if clever, selfish people can figure out how to live with a longer view than their present circumstances, and do things that secure their future, why can't we? (Not that we should swindle, but that we should be able to look to a bigger picture and a longer view of what matters.)

Luke puts some instructions at the conclusion of this story: that we cannot serve God and money. The old-school word used for "money" in some English translation is "mammon," as in the name of the street Mr. Burns resides on in the Simpsons world.
This week, I'm caught on the idea that this story isn't primarily about those really-awful greedy people (like Mr. Burns). The parable was about middle management. Or, perhaps even more accessibly, a "servant." It's about us, and how we use what we have to create the world we want to live in.

And, ideally, it's also the world God wants us to live in.

To get there, I think we need each other. As companions who matter, not just as potential assets when we're in need.

A friend in seminary reminded me that "companion" is derived from words that mean "together with bread." (That's pane, and in fancy shops that sell bread like "Con Pane" or "Panera.")

This is exactly what we do when we gather in worship: we seek to be people who see themselves together and share bread.

(Of course, we think it's much more than bread--it's also the body of Christ.)

Know that you're welcome to share bread and life with us.

See you Sunday...

letting things happen

I'm pondering the contrasts among our readings this week--they emphasize both the importance of our own choices and actions AND the power God has in the world.

Jeremiah speaks in the metaphor of a potter's work: God is the potter and we, God's people, are the clay. We are reworked in God's hands. God is doing the shaping. (Although, of course, it's still clear in Jeremiah that we have personal choice, too--we are invited to turn to God, to prevent our destruction.)

Jesus, in Luke, offers difficult and extreme words that challenge us to give up the things we are attached to. Our families, all our possessions. If we are to follow Jesus, it means we must be willing to undertake big changes.

It strikes me as a bit more than ironic that these are the lectionary passages given for this Sunday at the beginning of the fall, which our congregation has designated as "open house" Sunday. When we're to talk about the importance of inviting others to join us, and welcoming them in. These lessons aren't exactly, well, easy.

Maybe it's good truth in advertising. Sometimes, we seek to be so welcoming that we dilute the radical messages that come through Christ. There IS something wild and crazy that happens when you welcome God into your life. (I don't want to sound like a fundamentalist here, but there's gotta be room for some good radicalism...)

Perhaps it's a good thing to remember that being a part of "church" does mean something--and not just that you don't sleep in as long on Sunday mornings, or that you know some swell people who you get to check in with regularly. Maybe being a part of church invites us to choose letting ourselves be reshaped. In incredible ways.

I've never been fabulous at pottery, though I have always enjoyed the feeling of damp clay in my hands; it speaks of abounding possibilities. At least, it speaks of possibilities as long as it's wet enough. When it dries, it starts cracking and slowly becomes hopeless.

Maybe that's what "church" is about for me--helping me stay Spirit-filled enough to be full of possibilities. Helping me bear just enough water that I can be molded into fabulous things.

I hope you'll come join us this week, as we ponder these things. And, as we pray and sing and share communion. I trust they'll give us enough of the Spirit to fill our community with possibility.

when diy doesn't go so well

The prophet Jeremiah (like most prophets, really) has harsh words for the people. That is, harsh words from God for the people who God has tried to love and care for so well. (Not to mention that whole "brought them out of slavery in Egypt" bit...)

But God names two "evils" they've chosen, in this week's passage: forsaking God's "life-giving water," and trying to make cisterns for themselves.

Maybe it's my independent, do-it-myself streak, but this hits home. In choose to make our own way without God, we end up stumbling twice. First, by turning away from God, and then, because our own attempts to do God-stuff on our own come out pretty faulty. Cracked cisterns, Jeremiah said.

I've been thinking about this. I have a vision for an ad campaign that would target cars parked in the Ikea lot (if only I didn't hate the idea of leaflets on windshields so much): church is for all those times with do-it-yourself gets lonely. Or for all the things in life that can't be flat-packaged.

(Of course, I'm also infatuated with Ikea's pictographs that illustrate many things, from assembly instructions to warnings on flammable objects. If only we had more pictographs in church. But, again, I digress...)

So much in our world tells us that we can have the perfect life if we just buy the right things, or achieve the right status.

Jeremiah reminds us that our attempts at making the stuff that really matters are going to look pretty half-baked. (They won't hold water, to run with his metaphors.)

And then, this Sunday's gospel lesson continues to make this point: if we think we can be cool by inviting the right people, or positioning ourselves in just the right spot, we're sadly misguided. In Jesus' kingdom, the winners are those who humble themselves, and the thing to do is to invite the people who are least cool.

Actually, Jesus says to invite "the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind," which, in his time, would all have been people unable to participate fully in community, and about whom people made all sorts of assumptions about their being sinful people. I wonder who most fits this bill in the culture of our community, and our church. Perhaps we should invite folks with prison records, addicted to drugs, or who lack legal documentation and immigrated here illegally? Or perhaps we should invite people whose politics are contrary to our own? Or who suffer from mental illness?

When we do a good job of welcoming all God's children--of inviting them to the best party we can throw--then maybe we'll find ourselves in the midst of God's kindgom.

stand up

This week's scripture is a story of a healing. And standing back up, tall.

This image, of Jesus urgently attending to a woman who has been bent over for 18 long years, strikes me as a lot like how I feel.

It's like this: I'll let something weigh me down or keep me captive for a good long time and then, as if all of a sudden, I'll be ready to change. I remember that it doesn't have to be this way. And then the healing is urgent.

I wonder if that's what was going on in this woman, and if Jesus could see that. (This might help explain why he felt it important to break Sabbath law in order to heal. I mean, what's one more day when it's already been eighteen years?)

All of which means I have two songs running through my head, which I cast out there. Maybe one is your kind of music:
Bob Marley's "Get Up Stand Up"
and Sugarland's "Stand Back Up"

Bob got the piece about Jesus' grace being meant for this world. When you realize Jesus wants us to know the kingdom on earth as in heaven, you're suddenly ready to make it happen now.

We sick an tired of-a your ism-skism game -
Dyin n goin to heaven in-a jesus name, lord.
We know when we understand:
Almighty God is a living man.
You can fool some people sometimes,
But you cant fool all the people all the time.
So now we see the light (what you gonna do? ),
We gonna stand up for our rights! (yeah, yeah, yeah!)

Sugarland gets the personal courage it takes to say: it doesn't have to be like this, and I want to do what I can to make a change for the better. Then, healing can happen.

I've been beaten up and bruised,
I've been kicked right off my shoes,
Been down on my knees more times than youd believe,
When the darkness tries to get me,
Theres a light that just wont let me,
It might take my pride, and my tears may fill my eyes,
But I'll stand back up...

What are you ready to be set free from, so YOU can stand up, tall?

vineyard

A confession: I'm a little bit afraid that my obsession with gardening is making my sermons too agricultural.

But, then, there are those scripture passages. This week, I'm caught on the poetry of Isaiah, who writes a heartbroken love song about a vineyard. This piece of Isaiah brings us another image of God, a bit reminiscent of last week's. Then, God was worn out by our hypocrisy, and sick to the stomach for the ways we make elaborate show of our religion but fail to care for people in need in our midst.

This week, Isaiah continues, using the metaphor of God as a vineyard-owner who lovingly planted and prepared his vines, only to discover that they bore bitter grapes. Wild grapes.

And, even with my fears (see above), I can't resist this agricultural image. I give thanks for God having tended to us and our world. And I, too, have tasted those bitter grapes.

If you were interpreting this passage (follow the link and check it out yourself), what would you say these metaphors describe in our own time? How has God "tended" to us? What are our "wild grapes"? And, what would be good grapes?

Sinead O'Connor sings this passage on her new album, "Theology." The track is "If You Had a Vineyard." Check it out. Good stuff.

commonwealth

I know I'm a bit of an idealist, but I'm always energized by scripture like this week's passage from Luke. Especially the bits about how we can live in community. Sharing in a commonwealth, if you will. Not just because it's good now, but because it connects us to God. Because it makes us ready for God's kingdom, which is coming at any moment.

(I also like the part about making "purses that don't wear out," because I've been imagining up some handbags I could craft out of recycled cloth. But I think that's missing the point. I digress...)


Certainly, remembering that "where our treasure is, there our hearts will be also" is good self-analysis.

I wonder what you'd learn about my faith by looking at my bank statement. Or credit card bill. Or what a careful analysis of how I spend the hours of my day would tell you about how Jesus has my heart.

I don't mean to get too pushy or uncomfortably confrontational. We're not supposed to talk about money, I know.

But I have this sense--this dream--that thinking and talking about these things more clearly might free us from a lot of heartache. Might remind us that there's a better, more life-giving way to live than can be purchased with the right level of income.

I read a story in the New York Times this week about millionaries in Silicon Valley who feel like they need to keep working 80-hour weeks because they're not rich enough. Makes you wonder.

Perhaps remembering the things that make our lives rich, the things we share together, might release us from a whole lot of drudgery that is making us miserable.

What makes your life rich?

in prayer

This week, our scripture is all about prayer. Which makes this as good a time as any to spend some time together thinking about--and doing--prayer.

Often in worship, we speak the "Lord's Prayer;" it is a prayer Jesus taught to the disciples when they asked to be taught a prayer.

I look forward to being together, to spend some time with these ancient words of prayer. We usually say them quickly, but they are deep and rich.

But, of course, we'll also want to think about new ways to pray--that connect our own time and place to God.

So, be thinking about your favorite ways and places to pray. We'll enter into conversation with God, together.

Why do we make things so hard?

I've been enjoying the contrast between this week's lectionary selections and last week's. Last week, the message seemed to be that living into our Christian discipleship can require some difficult steps.

This week, we get the story of Naaman from 2 Kings. Naaman was a successful general for an army that was victorious in battles over Israel, but he suffered from a skin disease akin to leprosy. He heard of a prophet of the Israelites who could heal and he set out to meet him. Naaman was offended when Elisha would not come out to meet him and instead sent word for Naaman to wash in the river Jordan seven times. He was angry and not willing, at first, to follow the prophet's direction. But a servant said to him: "if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?"

How many times in our lives, how many ways do we make things harder than they need to be?

Just last week were in Paul's letter to the Galatians that the law -- those things we are to follow -- can be summed up in a single commandment: "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." We talked last week about how even that seems difficult at times.

And then there's grace, freely given, ours to have and ours to share through our life in the world, but sometimes we even make grace hard.

The lesson from Naaman seems to be to try the easy ways first, especially the easy ways offered by God.

What are ways we can make our lives easier?

Let's talk about it Sunday.

this "being a christian" stuff is pretty hardcore

Jesus wasn't messing around. He was committed. Convicted. Hand-to-the-plow (with no looking back).

In Luke's Gospel, he leads the disciples, correcting them and showing them what he means when he says "follow me."

(That's what this "being a Christian" adventure is all about, right?)

First, he shows us how to be intentional about the direction we're taking. He "sets his face" to Jerusalem. And, there's some trouble along the way--some Samaritans who won't welcome him in.

Having noticed that Jesus seems to be connected to a God who's pretty powerful, they suggest a little vengeance--some fire from heaven to destroy those un-hospitable Samaritans.

But that's not what Jesus wants. He's got other plans.

As he goes on, more folks want to follow him, as soon as they take care of some things. Things that sound reasonable. Jesus has time for none of that.

Following him means giving up everything: security, family, home.

I wonder what holds us back from really following Jesus today?

And, speaking of security, family and home (a list that sounds a lot like "mom and apple pie" to me), our celebration of July 4 is approaching. A good time to think about freedom.

Paul had some good things to say about freedom in his letter to the Galatians. (You can skip all those verses about circumcision and worse.) For Paul, we are called to a freedom that makes us slaves. This is peculiar.

This is not "go to the desert for the weekend" freedom like we have here in San Diego, full of things that make us (alone) happy and get us out of the sight of any law-enforcing authorities. This is a strange freedom that lures us to choose our own bondage.

A preacher I heard this past week (Phil Lawson, to be particular) suggested that the opposite of slavery isn't freedom, but community. This is big. Slavery is oppression. It's sinful relationship in which one has power over another. Community, in contrast, demands dignity for all who are a part of it. This feels more like the kind of freedom Paul must have meant--not freedom to do whatever they heck we want, but the freedom to choose to belong in a community that values others.

I think that's the kind of freedom I'm excited about celebrating and working for this year.

jumping in

This week, we get a good story from the Gospel of Matthew.

(OK, so mostly I think we get good stories. But this week is ESPECIALLY good.)

And, we get some good story tellers!

I'll be away at Annual Conference, our annual (but you'd guessed that), regional meeting of United Methodists, both clergy and lay. Karen will be there, too. Hopefully, making good connections and sharing dreams and vision with other church folks from around So-Cal, Hawaii (plus Guam and Saipan...).

Randy's going to host worship. And some of y'all are leading prayers. The music team will be there, as always. And, we're using a clip from a cool video called Nooma, by a pastor and writer named Rob Bell. I think you're gonna like it.

Among other insightful things, he's going to take you out with Peter and the disciples in a boat, when Jesus comes walking across the water. And, like Peter, perhaps you'll dare to think you can do the things Jesus does. May it always be so.

I'm not sure who reads this blog regularly, but if you're someone who comes to worship with us occasionally, I hope you'll choose this week. I am really excited by the folks who are stepping in to make worship special this week. When I'm around, it's too easy for me to just do everything (and, hey, I like doing things...). So, I'm particularly excited about a variety of ways our worship will be community worship this weekend. "Liturgy," which is the fancy name for church worship patterns, literally means the "work of the people." That's what it's gonna be.

Of course, the even BIGGER task is to make the whole Gospel the "work of the people." ;)

Speaking of which...I hope you're having fun with your "portable church" postcards and tasks--if you missed worship you can find them thru the link on the right-hand side of the page.

lavish forgiveness

In this week's scripture lesson from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus demonstrates lavish forgiveness, even in the face of disapproval from other presumably faithful folks.

I bask in how good this story feels, when I read it imagining myself in the place of the woman forgiven. Jesus seems to have no boundaries to the grace he wants to share. It is inspiring and empowering. In response, the woman is moved to come up with whatever generous outpouring of love she can offer.

How beautiful to know such a gracious God.

When I read it as one of the presumably faithful folks who disapproved of this action--who depended on defining people as "sinners" or as righteous and worthy of Jesus' company, it challenges me. It demands that I see things in new ways. That I open myself to new possibilities.

Which also, I suppose, is good and beautiful (if, more often than not, uncomfortable.)

I give thanks that, even when I sit in this place of those whose actions are exposed as less faithful, the worst case is that I end up recipient of Jesus' actions toward "sinners."

That is, I find myself bathed in grace.

May it be so.

Testimony

Our first "portable church" postcard is ready. We gave 'em out on Sunday. You can play along by reading it, and doing it. Follow the link on the right-hand side of the page for more info.

story

This summer, we're going to spend some time thinking about how we do "church." Thinking, of course, that it might have to do with things we can find ourselves doing all through the week, wherever we are, and not just for an hour on Sunday, in the Cove.

For our first Sunday of this adventure, we start with the sharing of story.

For many Christians, this is called "testimony." Or "witness," as in "Can I get a witness??!" But that's just loaded with church-y expectations and predispositions. (Some of which, I admit, predispose me to not want to listen to folks who come 'round to my door in the interest of "witnessing.")

I'm interested in how we ARE called to share our stories--our lives of faith. I suspect that we are, somehow.

Of course, I also love how St. Francis said it: "Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words." It saves us from hyprocrisy--by letting our actions "preach" more loudly than our words.

But still...

Words can be good, too. (I love words. And dictionaries, and am fond of books and crossword puzzles.)

I've been shaped in faith by the words of many who shared their own experiences in faith in ways that opened me to God's possibilities in this world.

This week, as always, we have some words from scripture to share. In Galatians, we get a quick summary of Paul's testimony. And I'm caught on the way that his story matters in his telling of the Gospel.

He has to talk first about his own tranformation. Then, the Gospel can make sense.

It seems like this is significant: we have to locate ourselves in the story, first, and then God's story can make sense.

What piece of the story (God's story) would you tell, and how does your story put you in a place to do that?

spirit

This Sunday, we celebrate Pentecost. Which is a pretty exciting thing--and gives me hope as I think about the challenges we live with as we seek to be the church in San Diego in 2007.

It's sometimes called the "Birthday of the Church." But, I don't want us to get to thinking we should celebrate it with cake, candles and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. (Wait: that's old fashioned. It's a bounce house these days, right?)

Actually, maybe the candles would be good.

At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit--GOD--descends on this wild and diverse gathering of people. Maybe "gathering" is overstated; they weren't really hanging out together, on purpose. They just happened to all be together in the city that day. They were from all different places, and spoke all different languages. Mostly, they just happened to be occupying the same physical space.

The Spirit comes to the disciples, and is visible to them, and tangible. Like a burst of strong wind. Like tongues of fire, that rest on each of them.

And the Spirit enables them to speak in languages they do not know. Which means the crowd gathered is enabled to hear--to comprehend and know--the Gospel message. All of them. In their own languages.

The Spirit connects them together in this powerful experience of God. It looks like a mess. So much so that others suggest they must be drunk.

It's understandable to want to try to explain away a powerful spiritual experience. But I give thanks that many of those there didn't let this experience get dismissed and explained.

Instead, it became a powerful beginning of the Church.

By empowering those disciples, that day, God's Spirit demonstrated its presence in and with us--enabling us to do the incredible work of sharing God's Gospel--the good news of life and love with God.

This Sunday, we also get to welcome the class of Confirmands who will join our church. They've been studying and discussion together this year, and are ready to commit themselves to the work of the church.

It's always cool to get to receive new folks into the church community. It's especially cool to receive young people.

Will you join me in praying that their spirits will help bring the Holy Spirit to our church and, even more, to our community and world?

not what you expect

This week's scripture from Acts is a rollicking take of the adventures of those first folks who were figuring out how to be "church."

Paul and Silas are living the adventure of a life of faith, with intensity.

Do the stuff of "church": healing people and being living testimony to the power of the Gospel. And, as they do these things, they end up doing things that are not what the world expects.

Sometimes it gets them into trouble, and sometimes it makes them friends. It's definitely not what people expect. It's casting out spirits, getting thrown into jail, being freed by earthquakes and not running. And, about finding yourself breaking bread with the person who'd been charged with keeping you in chains.

This week, as you may know, we had a fire at our church building, in a room below our sanctuary. Fortunately, no one was hurt, and the damage was fairly contained. I've been inspired by a spirit amongst our church leaders to not only persevere, but to be strengthened by this.

There have been overwhelmingly gracious offers of help from people--individuals and other churches and communities of faith. That people want to help us recover this beautiful church building is a blessing.

And, while I am glad for all this, I also wondering if it's not an occasion to remember what "church" really is: the gathering of those of us who are trying to be Christ's body in the world. Maybe now's as good of a time as any to remember that "church" happens most wondrously when we're out in the world.

I love the freshness and boldness of the faith Paul and Silas lived. Their faith (with the help of that earthquake) was rocking the world.

What do you think that would look like in San Diego, today?

A friend sent me the link to an article about a virtual church in the online world of Second Life. And, recognizing that I'm posting this on a little blog we call "virtual cove," I have to wonder at the distance between this kind of "church" and Paul and Silas's church. Both were a bit unconventional: one in a jail cell, and one in thousands of homes in front of computer screens (and with people, presumably, still in their pajamas. I am as I write this, after all...)

What I love about Paul and Silas and those other early Christians is that their faith lacked tenuousness, and certainly didn't have any of the buffers and safety barriers online life does. They weren't playing at being new people in Christ, trying on a different persona with the option of turning the computer off and becoming their old selves again. They were doing it, with the help of others.

I'm not saying that what we do in our church buildings on Sunday morning is a good recreation of Paul and Silas's lives of faith, either. (God knows that pantyhose and neckties were not part of their dress when they preached in that jail cell...)

I guess I'm just hungry for interaction, as the community of faith, that pushes us toward that vitality, joy and bold invitation.

rivers

We continue to read the end of the story this week, with another passage from This the end of Revelation. And it's got a river in it.

The river of life, it says, which comes through the middle of the city.

Since our church buildings are right in Mission Valley, in the very midst of the San Diego River floodplain, it seems like we're in a good place to be thinking about rivers coming in the midst of things. Too often, in spring rains, especially, the river reminds us that we are in its territory, as it floods streets we count on.

I, however, am caught enjoying the way this river of life, in this beautiful vision of God's incredible and fulfilling end to things, comes right in the city. And it nourishes a tree, which bears fruit in every season, and which has leaves that heal the nations.

I wonder what it would take for us to see ourselves as that tree--planted as we are in the midst of Mission Valley, at the edge of the San Diego River.

How might we be healing for our community, and for the nations? What "fruit" will we bear?

happy endings

When things seem stressful around the office, I like to remind people not to worry: I read to the end of the book, and it turns out well. (I stole this line from someone else, but can't remember who.) This week, we read part of that fabulous ending.

I love the last chapters of Revelation. This week, we read from Chapter 21. It's beautiful: one day, all our tears will be wiped dry. Our thirsts will be met with the abounding refreshment of the water of life.

The rest of the book of Revelation is a wild ride through sometimes horrifying, dramatic descriptions of an end-time; it's horror would look familiar to many who suffer the oppression, deprivation, violence and injustice of our world. But, then, at the end, this beautiful new reality emerges from the midst. Incredible.

So good, even, a band called Bad Religion can get it right: There will be sorrow no more.

I love imagining a better world. I love Micah's vision of vines and fig trees for everyone to sit under and, I suppose, feast on. (So much so that I planted kiwifruit and a fig tree in my own backyard this week...) I love how Isaiah told it, what with wolves and lambs hanging out together, and all being well.

This week, I was talking with some people about that vision of Isaiah's, about the wolves and lambs. It only works if everyone learns new ways of behaving. Otherwise, they can't hang out together. It won't end well. The harmony will be short-lived--maybe only 'til the photo op passes.

I wanna believe that this vision can last. Not just for a moment, for eternity.

I suppose that's why the makers of our lectionary, the three-year cycle of Bible readings we use on Sundays, paired Revelation with a story from Acts, in which we learn that Peter has learned a new way of behaving.

He's confronted by other religious people--folks who were concerned (to say the least) about his having totally blown the rules about eating "clean" things, with appropriate people. Peter, we learn, had not only eating off the holy diet, but he did it in the home of Gentiles. This is bad. When the people of Israel have disregarded holy rules like this before, they've ended up in exile for years.

Peter has a good answer: the Holy Spirit led me to do it. And it led that Gentile to invite me in, and to hear the Gospel preached, and to receive and be changed by that message. Then, he gets the best line in: If God did for them what God did for us, "like I'm going to stop God?!?" (That's my translation. Not official anything translation.)

The Spirit is at work in our world, making real this wild vision of God's future. Of a time when our tears are wiped away, and when we all have plenty of water of life to drink.

And, sometimes, it moves in such amazing ways that the best we can do is stay out of the way...

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...