The Musings of a Traveling Panda

Proper 22A, Pentecost 18

2011-10-17T10:08:00.001-04:00

World Food Day/Harvest Home

Isaiah 45:1-7

1 Thessalonians 1:1-10

Matthew 22:15-22

Today, I'd like to talk to you about “gleaning.”

In Biblical times, “to glean” meant to go through the field after the harvesting was done, collecting up what was left behind. This was often done by widows, as seen in the story of Ruth and Naomi, or others who were, as we sometimes say today, “less fortunate.” Often women, these folks would go through the fields after the harvesters had done their work, and they would gather the wheat, or other crop, left behind, taking it home with them to be their food, as, for whatever reason, they could not buy food in the markets.

But gleaning was not just an act of those who came after the harvest: it was an act prepared for by the owners of the field. In fact, it was commanded, in several different places in Deuteronomy and Leviticus, that one should not harvest to the edges of the field, or go back and collect the gleanings (meaning the bits left behind), or even go back and get a sheaf of wheat if it was forgotten. Those parts, those leftovers, it is written, should be left for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the alien.

Theologically, much can be done with this image of gleaning: It is the opening phrase to images of caring and welcoming all, even those whom society shrugs away. Leaving leftovers in the field shows that all are valued, and all are to be fed. It is providing for those who society says to leave out. In our Gospel reading, before asking Jesus their question, the Pharisees praise Jesus, saying, “we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.” (pause) “You do not regard people with partiality.” None is higher than the other.

And indeed, here at this Table, we know that all are welcome. When we stand around the altar, receiving the Lord’s Supper, there is no head but Christ, there is no pecking order, no elbowing in to get the goods before they’re gone. All are welcome: the harvest feeds everyone.

(pause) We are all welcome at this table and certainly we can, should, and do wrap ourselves in the comfort of the assurance when our lives are battered by internal and external storms. But that doesn’t mean we shut out the needs of others. It doesn’t mean we start harvesting to the edges of the field, and leave nothing for those who already have nothing. When we allow others to go without, that comfort of welcome at the Table serves to remind us that we must respond. When we are fed here, can we take a moment to remind ourselves that there are those we are still unfed?

Here we can find practical application for that image of harvesting the fields, and making sure to provide for the Others among us. We cannot necessarily leave actual food in actual fields: for one thing, we are no longer, on the whole, a farming society. And for another, tractors, harvesters, and combines today are effective. To my knowledge, there is no “leave some behind for the widows and orphans” setting on the dial between “start harvesting stuff” and “stop harvesting stuff.” But are things we can do.

Today, in addition to being our celebration of Harvest Home, is World Food Day. All over, people are being educated about the issue of hunger: locally, nationally, and globally. Becoming educated is a part of the challenge of responding. And so I’ll tell you a bit: In 2009, in the Metropolitan areas of Allentown, Bethlehem, and Easton, 17% reported food hardship. In Pennsylvania, that number was 16%, although, if you look just at households with children the number is 22%, or which is about 1 in 5. Across the whole of the United States, in 2010, that percentage was 15%, and in the entire world, 13%, or nearly 1 in 7 people are hungry. That’s 925 million people who are hungry. (pause) So there’s a bit of education there for you. There’s more to be done, of course, more to learn about the causes and possible solutions for hunger. There are books you can read, blogs you can follow, and if you need suggestions, let me know and I can point you in a starting direction.

Education: learning the scope and depth of the problem. What else? What can we do? Well, there is donating food to food banks, that’s a wonderful act and the bags we have here are welcome, precious gifts, as are financial and other donations and drives that happen, but there is still more. There are local and national advocacy groups which respond to the root causes of hunger and food insecurity. For example, Lutheran Advocacy Ministry in Pennsylvania, LAMPa, is an ELCA public policy office in Harrisburg, working on many different fronts to advocate for “just, sound and compassionate state public policies.” LAMPa, as well as other advocacy groups, often have ways for people to get involved: be it through conversations, letter writing, or other opportunities.

So far we have education, donation, and advocacy. I’d like to point to one more way we can share what is in our fields with those who do not have. And this may be a different idea than you have heard before:

(pause) Know yourself. You are the field. You have been given the gifts, the passions, to do God’s work in the world. Part of this means that you should make sure you are caring for yourself: don’t harvest all you have to the point where you have nothing left to give. And part of this means finding your passion, your gifts. Maybe it’s not hunger. Maybe, your passion is literacy, or fair wages, or fair trade, or working with the disabled, or web design, or teaching, or... anything. Find your passion, plant the crop that will flourish in your field. Know yourself, care for yourself, and find ways to share your harvest with others: it doesn’t have to be hours and hours of time: a half hour, fifteen minutes: what is left in your field? And if you need help finding ways to do that or want to brainstorm ideas, call us: we can help you find ways to plug in, to share your harvest. And be attentive in the next few months as various ways to serve and be involved are lifted up and announced.

(small pause) After all, all we have comes from God. And as Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel reading, we are to “give to God what is God’s.” What we have, what we are, is God’s. And yes, God loves us no matter what, and we are welcome at this Table no matter what. In turn we can say “Soli Deo Gloria,” which means, “To God alone be glory.” In response to God’s harvest reaching us all, we share our harvests with all. Soli Deo Gloria. Amen.

Proper 13A, Pentecost 7

2011-08-01T09:50:00.001-04:00

Isaiah 55:1-5

Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22

Romans 9:1-5

Matthew 14:13-21

HOD: Break Now the Bread of Life, LBW 235

Have you ever seen a small child as they try to get something just out of their reach? The sippy cup on the side table, the cookie jar on the counter… whatever it is, it’s just too far to grab. They stand on their toes, their arms outstretched as far as can go, their little fingers wiggling, trying to grow just that one extra inch…

I love this image because it shows so clearly how we reach for things in the rest of our lives. If we’re not children reaching for a sippy cup, we’re teenagers trying to fit in, or out, we’re reaching for better grades, then a job, then a better job. We reach for perfection in relationships, we reach for perfection in sports, in music, in technology. We are a people who always reach for the new, the next, the good, better, best. Then when we aren’t bombarded by external pressure, we start feeling like we should be “better people” (whatever that means).

Perhaps the disciples were only trying to be “better people” when they suggested sending the people away in our Gospel reading today? It had been a long day of teaching and healing for Jesus, and he’d originally been trying, again, to get away for some self-care. And the people needed food, and rest, and the disciples certainly didn’t have enough to feed them. Best to send them on their way now, before it gets impossibly late, so they can go to the villages, have dinner, and rest. Sounds like a reasonable suggestion… doesn’t it?

But no, Jesus tells the disciples, no they don’t need to go away. Bring me what we have, he tells them. And Christ takes the 5 loaves of bread and the two fish and blesses them, and feeds the people. And God is revealed in this moment, where there is not enough. When the disciples are shown up in their attempt to care for the crowd by Jesus’ own caring act, when there just isn’t enough, there are twelve baskets of leftovers, and God has been revealed.

We live in a world where it often seems like there isn’t enough. There isn’t enough compassion, and so we hear about one man who kills nearly 80 people in Norway. There isn’t enough medicine, there aren’t enough volunteers to respond to need in places like Haiti. There aren’t enough solutions when the economy is affecting real lives. There isn’t enough hope when domestic violence seems the safer option to some, than life alone.

We live in a broken world where there isn’t enough. And when we look at the world and don’t see “enough,” or when our daily lives do not seem “enough” to make us deserving of God’s great love, we too can feel like that small child, wiggling our fingers, wishing to be just enough taller, just enough…

But God doesn’t ask that of us. We worship a God who is more than enough. We worship a God who turns five loaves and two fish into a meal to feed thousands.

In fact, God often reveals God’s self to us in the very places where we may not expect God to be, like those “not enough” places. Or in the mundane acts of our daily lives, which may not seem like “enough,” but to God are everything. Or in the breaking of ordinary bread, the sharing of a simple cup. In water. In the death of God’s Son. In the gruesome, ugly death of one condemned as a criminal, even in that “not enough,” worldly moment, God is revealed.

So then why not in our lives? Why not in the daily tasks of washing dishes and doing laundry? Why not in the conversations at the gas station, the smiles at the Purple Cow, the passing glances at the grocery store, or any of the other moments in our lives when we are doing whatever it is we do, as children of God, whether or not we think we are “enough.”

When Isaiah says, “let all who are thirsty come to the water,” he doesn’t say, “let all who are thirsty and have done thirty push-ups,” or “let all who are thirsty and have been good people,” or “let all who are thirsty come to the water, as long as they have the right theology, read their scriptures every day, and haven’t ever broken God’s law.” No. Isaiah says, “everyone who thirsts, come to the waters.”

Our God is not an “if… then…” God, a God who counts up “enoughs” in a little ledger, with a shake of the head when the numbers don’t add up. Our God is God who is found in the most unexpected, “not enoughest” of places. Our God is not a God who waits for us to be able to reach the sippy cup ourselves, but a God who pushes it towards us, who picks it up, and brings it to us, cradling us in God’s arms while we drink. This is God who brings life everlasting through God’s Son, sent to us, who brings blessing and promise in the waters of baptism: plain water! Who brings healing and forgiveness in the bread and wine on this table: two simple foods. This isn’t a god of bacon-wrapped water chestnuts and triple mocha macchiatos. This is the God of bread, and wine. This isn’t a god who waits for us to be good enough, strong enough, kind enough, smart enough, rich enough, poor enough, happy enough, sad enough, or any other kind of enough. In fact, it is in our very not having enough…whatever… that God reveals God's awesome self and life-giving grace and glory. Whether it’s 5 loaves and 2 fish trying to feed the multitude, or our own shortcomings, failures, and flounderings… it is all more than bridged by God’s love and grace through Jesus Christ.

It doesn’t matter how far we think we have to go, it doesn’t matter if we are barely in reach of the cup, or if we haven’t even gotten in the same room. We can’t reach it ourselves no matter what we do. We’re human, mortal, sinful, and we always fall short, no matter how we wiggle our fingers and stand on our tippy-tippy-tippy toes. But if with 5 loaves and 2 fish, Christ makes a meal to fill the multitudes, AND have leftovers, then just imagine what God is doing with a messy world like ours, with messy people like us.

And while you’re imagining, come to the table. Come to the simple table of bread and wine, the table of forgiveness, of wholeness, of love. Come and know that you are loved, no matter who you are or how you are. Come to the table. Amen.

Sermon Easter 4A

2011-05-15T20:31:00.001-04:00

Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10

The first full weekend in May, I attended the Maryland Sheep & Wool festival. This is a yearly festival, one of the largest of its kind in the US, and I’ve been going with my mom for as long as I can remember, at least the years I’ve been close enough. There are vendors of all kinds: wool, yarn, needles, spinning wheels, […]. There are animals being shown: sheep, sheep, lambs, some more sheep. And there are, of course, competitions. The “sheep to shawl” contest takes relay teams who start by sheering the sheep, then clean, spin, and dye the wool, and finally weave a shawl, all over the course of the weekend, being judged at each stage. My favorite, though, is the sheepdog competition. which tests the training of the sheepdog and the communication between shepherd and sheepdog.

During my day at the festival this year, I was reflecting on our gospel reading for today and thinking about my experiences of sheep. We as church tend to take the images of sheep and shepherd in the gospels and we make pretty pictures out of them. I’m sure we’ve all seen it: Jesus as shepherd, clean white robe, maybe with a nice shepherd’s crook, standing with a tight little group of well-groomed sheep, who are all standing still right next to him.

Well… sheep don’t behave like that, or look like that, usually, and, after a day of working, neither do most shepherds. The pastoral care professor at the seminary, having spent some time as a shepherdess herself, does a discussion-lecture on this very topic, looking at our images of shepherd, and explaining how sheep are, actually yes, animals, who get dirty and messy and by the end of the day running around after them, so too is the shepherd dirty and messy. (Also, that shepherd’s crook? It’s not crooked so you can tell it from your other walking sticks. It helps with the herding.) Sheep and shepherding are images that we have sanitized and they have become almost fairy-tale-like in their serenity and the way it’s exotic to us. It’s certainly not an image you see walking in downtown Philly.

But the images in our readings today are real. Jesus describes the gate and gatekeeper situation as it was, and still is in some places. Thieves don’t enter by the gate. Sheep really do know their shepherd’s voice, usually by a particular song or whistle. The words we hear in scripture are real.

In our first reading, from Acts, we have a description of how the earliest Christians lived and worshipped together. In 1 Peter, we hear a response to a real issue that Christians were having: how to deal with suffering as the church, while being persecuted for following their faith, persecuted in ways that we cannot imagine. And back in the gospel reading, when Jesus interprets the parable to his disciples, we have reality. Not just a nice little story and image, but a truth about who Jesus is in relationship to us, in relationship to those who came before him, and in relationship to his mission. Jesus is the gate, and whoever comes in by the gate will be saved.

Sheep do wander. As 1 Peter reads, “For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.” We go astray, like sheep. We wander, we lose our way, we take care of our own needs, with our heads to the ground: I’ll eat this grass, and now this grass, and – oh! – this grass looks tasty, and I see some grass in the shade over there, and the next thing you know we’re miles from the herd, which, made up of sheep like ourselves, probably doesn’t resemble a tight group of well-groomed fuzzballs anymore.

When I was working on this sermon earlier this week, with my apartment windows wide open to bring in the beautiful spring air, I turned to Handel, and I listened to the section from the Messiah called “All we like sheep.” If you’re not familiar with this piece, it has runs in all directions: up, down, soprano, alto, bass, tenor, notes sliding all over the place, emulating the scattered movements and bleating of straying sheep… and while I was listening to this, I realized that I was also hearing sirens go by on Germantown Ave and at first I could not hear the difference. The baaing of Handel’s choir piece, the baaing of the world around us, blended into one. Our world has gone astray, we have turned everyone to their own way.

Can you hear the bleating? In war-torn places like Libya and Gaza: baa. In the Mississippi River basin, where farms are flooded to save cities because there’s nowhere for the water to go: baa. In homes where violence lurks: baa. In churches, especially in the news here in Philadelphia recently, where clergy abuse their positions and lies are networked to cover it up: baa. In the greed hearts of those who allow others to go hungry: baa. In governments where the next election is more important than care for the people: baa. In our own hearts, in our own lives, we have turned, everyone to their own way. Baah!

It’s true. It’s true that we aren’t pretty clean little fuzzy balls of jumping peace in a serene green field. But we are sheep. We're messy, rolling-in-the-mud, faces in the dirt, animals who without guidance would hide in the thickets tending our own needs until… forever. And it’s easy to turn the bleating “baa” of the sheep into the “bah” of frustration, the “bah” of giving up and looking around at God’s scattered flock with agony and despair. But that’s not our decision to make. We’re just the sheep.

And we do have a shepherd, who does not give up on us. We have God who indeed calls us by name in the waters of baptism
And we have Jesus Christ, who here today has proclaimed himself as the gate through whom the shepherd, the gatekeeper calls us, Christ the gate through whom we are saved.
And we have a sheepdog, who would win any competition, wily and messy and disordered and scattered as we are: the Holy Spirit who runs down into the thickets and herds us back into the fold with a bark that is the Word of God.
And then we are brought, herded, to the table where we eat the true food and are loved for being sheep. No matter how far we have strayed. No matter if we come as a part of a (church) family, or if we wander alone in confusion of heart. No matter if we are poor, or rich, or whether we suffer daily in body, or mind, or spirit, or whether we don’t claim our suffering at all. No matter if we are covered in dirt, shaking from exhaustion of our wandering, wool matted so thick we barely recognize ourselves. Our shepherd calls us, the gate has been made open, and the Word of God is at our heels: we come and eat, and are made whole again.

(But don’t just take my word for it, let’s turn to our hymn of the day, in your green hymnal number 476, “Have no fear little flock,” and let’s sing together of how we are chosen, loved, gathered, and restored…

Lent 5A

2011-04-14T13:18:00.003-04:00

(Links are to the passages on oremus, NRSV)
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:1-11
John 11:1-45

I’d like you to picture the scene with me, as if from a movie, but not a specific one: the young couple who have finally fallen in love are walking down a path under trees. The camera pans up through one green budding tree to the sky, and we see a formation of geese. The camera pans down and the leaves have changed and are falling. We follow one leaf on its downward journey, it lands on a snowman and we see the couple, older now, perhaps with children playing in the snow. It’s the classic was for movies to show passage of time: show change of seasons. Even if the time passing is much greater than just a few months of seasonal change.

There are other things besides weather and trees in our lives which signify change of seasons, the passage of time, even if we don't consciously register them: Candy moves from red and green wrapping, to red and pink, to pink and yellow; snow shovels and winter boots are traded for gardening tools and sandals; beach balls take up store fronts, then school supplies.

In the church, we have other signs: paraments change from green to blue to white to green to purple to white to red; our hymns focus differently depending on what season we are in. All these are signs of the passage of time, the fact that our lives are not stagnant pools of monotony.

In our readings today, we have examples of passage of time as well, but in more literary ways. In Ezekiel, there are dry bones. I picture the stereotypical desert scene: tumbleweeds, hot, dry wind, and the sun-bleached, dry bones, scattered across the valley. Dry bones are not freshly dead bones. In John, the passage of time is four days. Lazarus is not just “mostly dead,” but “all dead.” The crowd is even worry about the smell. He is, to quote, “really, most sincerely dead.”

But in both these stories, for all the passage of time leading to the bleakness and hopelessness of dry bones and a man dead for four days, hope abounds.

In the valley of dry bones, of long-lasting death, Ezekiel is brought. Ezekiel is brought here and told to prophesy. To prophesy, in the land of death, to prophesy the living God.
And there begins a rattling. And bone comes to bone and sinews, ligaments, tendons, and skin appear. And he is told to prophesy again, and breath comes into death and life blooms.

Then we hear again, of a man who has died, and the grief of friends and family, and though even Jesus weeps, there is hope here as well. Approaching the tomb, Jesus calls for the stone to be removed, and calls Lazarus to come out. And he comes out, and goes on his way.

There is more than just physical life and death at stake in these readings.
Ezekiel lived during the time of exile. The whole people of Israel, his nation, had been swept apart, taken from their homelands, taken from their communities, and scattered, like so many dry bones. The house of Israel is not physically dead, but their connections to each other, their sinews, have fallen off so long ago they are like dry bones, brittle, weak, dead.

We see this in our world today, too. In Libya, in Syria, in Egypt: people being wracked by the forces of life which tear them from each other, which put neighbors fighting against each other. On less international scales, we see it here: governments who are supposed to be working together becoming so divided that senators hide out in other states to avoid voting, or we see division so great that shutdown of the government is only avoided by moments. In our schools, in our workplaces, with our friends, our families, and ourselves, we are dry bones. We may not be in physical exile, but we separate ourselves from God, each other, and our own hearts.
And we do this to ourselves. As we confess in one form or another at the beginning of service each week, we “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” We human mortals, who age and will all eventually die, are not able to do any thing else. We cannot come out of the valley or out of the tomb ourselves.

But again, there is hope.

Because there is one who can and does bring us out. In a few moments we will encounter this one in the meal at the table: the Table where our bones are fed and watered, where we are joined as one body with all the other dry bones into the body of him who loves us even as we sin. At this Table, all are welcome, all are called out of the valley into relationship and life with Christ. We are not called because we deserve it, because we don’t. And none are turned away: there is nothing that you can do to be turned away. Here at this table we are one again, one whole body, ligaments, sinews, and all, in Christ.

We are human people. Time passes, we age, we make mistakes, we learn, or do not learn from those mistakes. Hey, we don't just make mistakes; we flat out make the exact wrong choices. Doesn't matter what the season, doesn't matter if it's summer or spring, or Lent, we mess up. We're human, there's no denying it. Doing won’t make it better. Praying won’t make it better. Going to church, giving up sweets for Lent, voting a certain way, acting a certain way… won’t make it better. We were told on Ash Wednesday at the start of this season that we are dust and to dust we shall return. We are dry bones.

And yet, we have the certainty that Christ grieves over our dead bodies, these merely bodies we have, which lead us into sin so plainly, these bodies which die. But Christ died for those bodies, for our sinful selves, and it is not anything that we do or do not do that raises us, but Christ's voice calling to us to “come out!” of our valleys and tombs. As Paul said in our reading from Romans, “though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life… he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.” No strings attached. Amen

Christmas 1A

2010-12-26T12:02:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the morning after Christmas. For most of us, the presents have been unwrapped, the food eaten, the joy shared, the songs sung. Though there may still be visits to make and gifts to share, we wake up this morning, realize there’s work tomorrow, and it is as if life hits the “reset” button: back to reality.

There are a lot of “mornings after” in life. The morning after moving into a new apartment. The second day of a new job or school year. The morning after the honeymoon. The morning after the guests leave. And there are many more examples. These are the times when real life kicks in. This is when daily routine overtakes festival service, though the stores may try to prolong the festivities with “day after” sales. For every big event, there will be the day after.

Our readings this morning portray the big moments in Jesus early life. But what we don’t get to see is the daily life. We know very little about Jesus’ early life, or life at all until the start of his ministry as an adult. We have these few important pieces, and that’s all. I wonder what the “mornings after” were like for the Holy family. The morning after the Magi left, the morning after the escape to Egypt, then again after the return from Egypt. Life with small children is hardly ever routine, and with the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the events that we have heard about this morning, I wonder if daily life ever seemed “normal.”

Because really, there would have been daily life to return to. The most amazing thing about Christmas is that Christ came to earth as a human person, the same as you and me. Chores had to be done, food prepared, clothes washed, school attended. But, we don’t know what the daily life of young Jesus would have been like, or how his parents would have felt after each extraordinary event, to return to daily life.

How do we return? What do we do with our mornings after? After vacation there is often a sense of let-down, a sense of settling back in to routine. Though this can be relief, the language we use doesn’t always emphasize that. After big events we say there is sometimes a sense of disappointment, wishing the excitement could have lasted longer. After Christmas, the world becomes visibly duller, less bright, as lights come down, trees are stripped and removed from the house, and all the dazzle and glitter fades away.

So how do we, as people of faith, react? I can’t help but notice there are not quite as many people here this morning as there were Christmas Eve. At seminary, the Sunday after Christmas is well known: it may the most popular day of the year for students to be asked to preach. It’s a safe Sunday for practicing, because everyone knows that not many people will be there.

What do we do with today, this Sunday that is “morning after?” Do we come to church merely as habit, as routine, or to see the seminarian preach? Do we take down the decorations and start looking forward to the next big event that will stimulate our hearts?

Perhaps we do those things. But this day is no less important to who we are than Christmas Eve, or the Sundays of Advent, or the weeks of Lent. This day we celebrate together Christ’s coming, as we do every Sunday. This day we celebrate together Christ’s work in the world, as we do every Sunday. This day we celebrate together the gift of the grace of God, poured out in the Word, in the waters of baptism, in the meal we are about to share with each other. Each Sunday is Sabbath, is time for gathering, learning, sharing, celebrating. Each Sunday we rejoice in Christ’s advent, in Christ’s birth into this world as “God with us,” in Christ’s death and resurrection. Each Sunday we gather around this table and share in the meal which is the culmination of our celebration. The church year as a whole may follow this pattern, but each Sunday is a reminder of the whole of our faith.

So what now? What do we do today? Do we just settle into the daily grind, remembering fondly the excitement of the past few days and weeks, but with an expectation that we are now doing “just” the normal things? Do we watch as the decorations come down and, though relaxing a bit, sigh a little at the end of the season?

Or, do we carry forward the enthusiasm of Christmas? We are actually still in the Christmas season, liturgically, but soon that will end, too. Jobs, or the job hunts, resume, children go back to school, the tree comes down, and retailers move on to the next big marketing day. And this is good. It would not work for Christmas to last forever, or for everyday to be so full of energy and excitement. We need Sabbath rest, not only in our weekly weeks, but in our months and years and cycles of celebration. The time after the Christmas season, before Lent begins, gives us rest. It gives us a chance to live the lives which are so transformed by the birth of the Christ child.

But that doesn’t mean that we cannot celebrate Christ every day. Indeed, living faithfully into the daily routines of our lives, watching children grow, learning new skills and information as adults, caring for the other and the ones less fortunate in all seasons… doing life things is celebrating Christ’s birth as human among us. We can look with joy at the coming “normal” weeks and see them as a time to live into the promise of Christ’s coming, to embrace our daily lives as ones infused with the grace of God, marked with the waters of baptism, made beautiful, even in routine, by the fact that God has called each of us by name, and has known us all the days of our lives. We can look at our lives, our daily worries and challenges, and remember and rejoice that Christ came down to live among us, to worry and work with us, and we can know that the Holy Spirit continues to worry and work with us.

This morning after is not a let down, it is the continuation of the festival celebration. It is the Sabbath which gives us energy to move through the week. In Philadelphia this morning, in a little church called St Michael’s, a baby girl named Zoe is being baptized. In Iowa, a trombonist named Laura is giving a children’s sermon about how Advent is a purple traffic light and Christmas—and Jesus—were worth the wait. In southern Minnesota, a busy youth director named Dani is taking the day to relax and just worship with her church family. This day is the chance to refill our cups and be sent out to share them with the world. This meal is not dull, it is a feast! There may not be sprinkles or fancy spices, but there is Christ. Christ in this food, because Christ promises to be in this food. This food feeds not only our bodies but our souls. This Sunday morning after Christmas is joy.

So as you return to life, to job hunting or job doing, to school, to routine, remember the hymn we are about to sing: Good Christian friends Rejoice! With heart, and soul, and voice. Now you hear of endless bless, you need not fear the grace! He calls you one and calls you all. Christ was born to save. Not just on Christmas, but this and every day. Amen.

sermon, C8

2010-06-27T12:12:00.001-04:00

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21
Psalm 16
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9:51-62

Have you ever seen a wild herd of horses? While grazing, they may seem to be merely a group of horses who all happened to stop at the same diner for lunch. While on the move, running across country, they look the picture of freedom: manes and tails flowing in the wind, hooves gliding across the earth. And yet, these horses follow a leader, one whose experience and strengths can guide the herd to safety, food, and water.

Or consider flocks of birds. You know, those giant migrating flocks in the spring or fall of hundreds of starlings, moving with respect to the rules of the flock, forming an intimidating whole. They are also free, but also following.

(pause)

In our readings today, we hear both about following and about being free. Elisha seeks to follow Elijah, various people try to follow Jesus, and yet at the same time we hear Paul talk about freedom. So what is the connection between following and being free? Are not the two somewhat in disagreement with each other?

John Denver has a song about following which has a line that says, “Follow me where I go, what I do and who I know. Make it part of you to be a part of me.” That sounds like a fairly solid definition of “to follow,” but where is the freedom?

Most of our concepts about freedom are about individuality and the ability to make one’s own choices: school children are “free for the summer” and “freedom of speech” means you can say whatever you want. Following, which tends to indicate submission, is usually not in the freedom definition.

So let us turn to these conflicting readings. In First Kings, Elijah throws his mantle over Elisha, calling him to follow. Elisha requests to say goodbye, which he does, and then he “sets out and follows Elijah, and becomes his servant.” In the Gospel reading, we have two folks who ask Jesus if they can follow him. This… is a little different than the way things usually go. Usually, we see Christ doing the asking.

Where do these people think that Jesus is going that they want so badly to follow him? We have just heard that he has his face so set toward Jerusalem that the folks in a Samaritan village wouldn’t receive him. WHERE did they think he was going?

For that matter, where do WE think he’s going? We often use the phrase “following Christ.” It’s something we strive for, something we work for.

These folks were asking to follow him when his face was set toward Jerusalem, toward the cross. They probably did not realize that this was the destination they were trying to reach by joining Jesus. But then, this is often how God works: through revealing God’s self in the exact opposite way that we expect. It is what Martin Luther called the “revelation of God under the appearance of the opposite.” Jesus is headed to the cross where God will be most ultimately revealed in that way which is absolutely contrary to expectations.

I do not think that pain, humiliation, and death, were what those people in our reading were intending to ask for. It’s certainly not what I usually have in mind when I think about following Christ. Social justice, beautiful liturgies, Christian community, a moral code to live by… these are the things that are associated with following Christ. In other times, in other places, following Christ really has been associated with humiliation, pain, torture, and death. This even happens today. This past November marked the twentieth anniversary of the brutal killings of eight Christian leaders at the University of Central America in San Salvador. But, to our ears those situations seem foreign, martyrs are heroes of the church, but more like legends than actual people. And in the Baltimore metro area, there is perhaps less of a chance of becoming martyrs, at least in the physical sense. Where is it that these people in our Gospel think Christ was headed?

Yet, even so, even though we cannot comprehend the path Jesus was taking that day, nor the paths Christ leads us on today, we use following language and we do aim to follow Christ. And we use language of freedom, of Christ setting us free from the Law, free from the old, given new life in resurrection.

So we strive to simultaneously follow and be free, but… we are continuously held back from both by our captivity to the places where we lay our heads. To our own ideas of what the path should be: who should be consumed by fire, who SHOULDN’T receive heartbreak, illness, disease, and disaster. We make following into our own ideas, taking our freedom instead of living in the freedom that comes from Christ, from that very path to the cross, to death, that we shy away from. Without the cross, there can be no resurrection. Yet we are held back by our own foxholes, nests, and homes. These things which, Jesus points out to us, he doesn’t have. The Son of Man has nowhere to put his head. Well, neither do ten thousand people in Maryland, or 650 thousand in the United States total. What might Jesus have said if the man was not asking to bury his father, but instead had said, “well, just let me finish building my house so the poor can live in it while I’m gone?”

But that’s not the kind of question we ask when we go to follow Christ. Because we name the things we do as part of the following. We decide what must be done to be considered a follower. Yet Christ makes none of these demands. Even Paul’s list of works of the flesh doesn’t come partnered with a list of “things you must do.” The fruits of the Spirit are, like freedom, results of the following. They are fruits. Fruits come after the planting, and are not themselves the planting.

The planting is the Word of God, proclaimed in the Gospel, broken and shared in the Lord’s Supper, poured out in the waters of baptism, as will happen to Lucy today. This is the planting, the promise of the coming of the fruits, the promise of the one who is revealed in the most unexpected ways, the most opposite, contrary ways. The planting, which happens to each of us, regardless of what we do or say. Because it is what God does, it is what the Spirit does. And the fruit flows from that.

And so we follow and are made free. We are made free and follow. To quote Luther in his treatise “Concerning Christian Liberty,” “A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none; a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to every one.”

Remember the horses and the birds? Perhaps the most free creatures of all, one on land and one on air, and subject to none. Yet also subject each to each other, to the common flight, to the common path.

“If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.” If we are made free in Christ, let us also be followers in Christ. These two are not opposites, but compliments. We are free to follow Christ, who gives us that freedom. Free from the “have to’s” to enter into the fruits of the planting. “If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.” Amen.

Triduum 2010, part III: Easter Vigil

2010-04-04T07:03:00.002-04:00

Holy Saturday is a nebulous festival in the eyes of many people. It's that random little day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, where presumably God is doing stuff, but we don't really know what to do.

And isn't it actually the case that we are impatient people, especially when we are waiting for others do something?

Consider for a moment that God is indeed working, actually always at work, in your life, my life, and all the other lives. So take a day to reflect on that, to remember your baptism, where God poured out the Holy Spirit on your form. Reflect on God's work today, even though you may not be seeing it now, for the effects are long lasting.

Triduum 2010, part II: Good Friday

2010-04-02T20:51:00.000-04:00

Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power;
Your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour,
Turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

See Him at the judgment hall, beaten, bound, reviled, arraigned;
O the wormwood and the gall! O the pangs His soul sustained!
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; learn of Christ to bear the cross.

Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; there, adoring at His feet,
Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete.
“It is finished!” hear Him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die.

Early hasten to the tomb where they laid His breathless clay;
All is solitude and gloom. Who has taken Him away?
Christ is risen! He meets our eyes; Savior, teach us so to rise.

Triduum 2010, part I: Holy Thursday Sermon

2010-04-01T12:03:00.000-04:00

In 1582, Charles IX changed the calendar. Previously, the new year was celebrated the last week of March, culminating in a celebration on the first of April. Charles IX adopted the Gregorian Calendar, which, among other changes, moved the start of the year from April first to January first. Because of the lack of continuity in communications at the time, the word of the change took years to reach some places, and even then, there were some who refused to change the date of the new year, and would continue to celebrate on the first of April. According to tradition, these confused folks were called April Fools, and would find themselves recipients of pranks, including invited to nonexistent “new year’s” parties. This April Fools Day tradition is believed to have evolved into the prank playing festival that delights children and adults even today.

[Pause]

As we enter into the end of this Holy Week, the culmination of our Lenten journey, does any of this start to sound like an elaborate April Fools joke? This person who had no hope of ever meeting us, at least not physically, died for us. And, to make it even better, this person is GOD. This is Jesus, God’s own self made human, kneeling before us, washing our feet, feeding us the ultimate food. [looking around] April Fools?

I wonder how confused the disciples were that day. They may have been used to things like, "Go into town and follow the man with the water and ask the owner if we can stay there." But then, in the middle of the meal, after such an exciting entry into the city earlier in the week, while maybe expecting Jesus to start teaching as usual, things take a turn. “This is my body given for you.” “This is the new covenant in my blood.”

Say what, Jesus?

Perhaps we are foolish ones. We eat bread and drink wine and call it the body and blood of God. We go through our mortal lives, living in the world, suffering the sufferings of the world, believing in a God who has done the same.

In First Corinthians, just a few chapters before our reading today, Paul writes, “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” [pause] Now, Paul was writing specifically to a church whose default secular position was that Jesus was a wimp for serving others and being killed, and that any god who would become human and suffer was surely also wimpy. But Paul’s message holds true still today. The message of salvation in the cross has power for us who “are being saved.”

Consider that phrase. “We who are being saved.” [In the Greek, that verb is a present passive participle and translating would be a lot easier without it. But our lives would be nothing without this grammatical construction.] We are not people who were once saved, or people who will be saved, or who might be saved IF we do “our part.” We are people who are being saved. Right now. Being saved. [pause] That makes this meal we celebrate and share something quite different than a foolish celebration of things past and a God who once was with us. This is the meal of the God who is being with us.

The foolishness is the world’s view, not ours. The world teaches us that we look out for ourselves. IF we do this, IF we do that, IF we just show up, push forward, reach the goal, get the work done, check off our list of things to do, THEN we will be successful, justified, righteous.

But, this is the world’s view. We are, at every moment, by God’s boundless grace, being saved. And we know this misalignment between these two views. We are aware of our situation from the world’s view and we see it, too. We question the foolishness, we continually ask “What does this mean?” as Martin Luther does in the Small Catechism. And we question for ourselves the rationale behind bread and wine, because that is our nature as worldly creatures.

[pause]

So what does this mean, this shared meal that the world finds incomprehensible? What does it mean living in the world and finding things a little odd from time to time ourselves? Do we see the foolishness, or do we ignore the world’s promptings? What does it mean to proclaim the “powerful message of the cross”?

[pause]

It means that we are sinners! We cannot simultaneously proclaim that Christ died for us, and take on the world’s view that we are not in need of salvation, or that we can get salvation done on our own. We fail. There is no such thing as “good enough” for God, except through God’s own marvelous gift of grace, through God’s incarnation, through God’s sharing of this meal with us.

We sin. We are April Fools. We fail to recognize the God in front of us. No, I take that back. We cannot stand the God in front of us. We plot to kill the God in front of us.

[PAUSE]

So here we are, Holy Thursday again, only a few more days until the Easter rush: baskets, candy, family, feasting. And we know what's coming next. Tomorrow’s Good Friday, then there’s Saturday and then Sunday, Easter, when we celebrate. We know the routine by now. Death, then resurrection. Death, then resurrection.

Do we still not see our own foolishness? To believe, year after year, that though we DIE to sin, we come BACK TO LIFE because of Christ's sacrifice? Is this not the most foolish of foolishnesses?

And Yet. This IS the God that we worship. This is what we celebrate, Sunday after Sunday, year after year, foolish though it may be to the world, because within its very foolishness, the cross brings all forgiveness and redemption. In a few moments we will share together the Lord's Supper, the most foolish meal of them all on this day that we remember especially the first Last Supper. We will receive, into our very physical beings, Christ, who died for us.

Right here, we heard it just a few minutes ago: He says "This is my body given for you." For you. YOU. And you can't tell in the English, but that's a plural YOU. In Greek class we translate it “y’all.” This is given for y’all. You ALL. Not just the people next to you, not just those who do “enough” or help out the most or sit in the front, not just the ones who pray the hardest, read the Bible the most, smile the best and most often. For each and every single one of us.

[pause] And we find ourselves asking, “What does this mean?” [pause]

It means we are forgiven!

We who continually turn away, who can never DO enough, who KILL the God in front of us, are forgiven, by that very God’s grace. Not because we do anything but because that is what God does through Christ. God. Loves. Us. God Forgives. Us.

This is not mere foolishness, it is the foolishness that comes with a grace that only God can give, a grace that surpasses all human understanding, a grace that we do nothing to deserve, a grace that we celebrate, a grace that we eat.

Because we are April Fools. The world tells us that we are stuck in foolishness, that the calendar has changed: Christmas is toys, Easter is rabbits laying rainbow eggs, salvation is success and the things we do. But the cross says NO! to the world and that method of redemption and so we embrace that which the world calls foolish: a God made human, dying for us on the cross. And we eat of bread and wine that is God’s Word, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Post Christmas Sermon

2010-01-04T15:36:00.001-05:00

December 27, 2009
Lessons and Carols Service

First Reading: Isaiah 60:1-6 (The Epiphany Prophecy)
Carol: The First Noel, vs. 1,3, and 5

Second Reading: Matthew 2:1-12 (The Visit of the Wise Men)
Carol: We Three Kings of Orient Are

Third Reading: Luke 2:22-40 (The Presentation in the Temple)
Carol: I Wonder as I Wander

Fourth Reading: Colossians 3:12-17 (The New Life in Christ)
Carol: Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

Fifth Reading: Luke 2:41-53 (The Boy Jesus At Jerusalem)

Carol: Hark the Herald Angels Sing

In the front of the sanctuary of the chapel at the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia there is a commanding stained glass window depicting the scene from our last reading today. In the foreground is a young Jesus, conversing with several authoritative adults. In the background are Mary and Joseph, worried expressions on their faces, rushing through the door from their three day search for the boy. It is an interesting choice of scene for an educational environment, and many a professor has preached on the various layers of meaning that this window has for our community.

Stained glass windows have long been used as teaching devices in the Church. The educational tradition surrounding these windows is believed to have begun as a tool to educate a mostly illiterate population. While no longer serving this goal, church windows still depict everything from Biblical scenes to abstract moral concepts to historical moments, scenes important for the worshipping community to pass on to future generations.

The cathedral at Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, which contains nearly sixty-five hundred square feet of stained class, portrays over a thousand figures from the Bible. The nearby Chartres Cathedral, with 21,000 square feet of glass, contains images from the lives of the saints, as well as large windows illustrating such scenes as Noah and the flood, the Life of Christ, and the passion. Just down the road at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC, stained glass windows immortalize various and diverse events from the life of Mary the Mother of Jesus and the last judgment to Maryland state heritage, the Lewis and Clark expedition, and the lives of two Civil War generals, Robert E Lee and James “Stonewall“ Jackson, to humanity’s landing on the moon complete with an actual piece of moon rock.

Here at St John’s we have our own scene-filled windows. Not only aesthetically pleasing, their images, from the Christmas story to Luther translating the Bible to the building of the first American Lutheran church in 1646, educate parishioners and visitors alike of the events that are important to this congregation. These are snapshots from scripture and history that tell of the journey that has led to this place.

And that is what we have here in our readings today. Snapshots of Jesus’ early life. And this is pretty much all we have, this conglomeration of events from different Gospels that is put together to form our story.

It begins before His birth with the prophecy found in Isaiah. Like a sonogram picture, this snapshot is the promise of things to come, and, like some sonograms, it’s a little blurry, indistinct, and can be difficult to comprehend.

In some ways, Isaiah’s prophecy sounds a lot like the modern view of the Christmas season: “your children shall come from far away… the abundance of the seas shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you.” Is Christmas not often celebrated today with families coming together and gifts being brought from around the world? But if we look closer, the deeper Christmas message is shouting itself from these words as well. The message of the coming of the light and the glory of the Lord. The message of the promise of light shining through the darkness, the gifts of gold and frankincense, all proclaiming of the praises of the Lord.

And the searching, the Christmas searching for the Christ child. How many generations have been hearing these words of Isaiah, hearing the promise in this snapshot, and searching, and hoping? And how do we today, hearing these words and this promise, search and hope for His return?

[PAUSE]

But let us turn to our next picture. The wise men. Here we have the traditional snapshot of the visitors that come to see the new baby bringing gifts and praises.

These visitors, however, are not your typical group of friends and family that may gather around the latest familial addition. These are scholars-- strangers from far away, carrying the prophesied gifts of gold and frankincense, searching for the king. The king who has been foretold of as a shepherding ruler, from a little town called Bethlehem, much like King David, the celebrated shepherd monarch of Israel. So they looked for him, following his star, to honor him.

And does this not sound so similar to our own searching? Our own quest for the “overwhelming joy” of finding the Christ Child, our own faith journeys, our own inquiries of others on how to find the way? Our own efforts to please the king and to praise him?

[PAUSE]

Our third picture: Jesus being presented in the Temple. Here we hear not only of an important religious milestone in young Jesus’ life, but of two devoted believers, who had been waiting for the Messiah. First, Simeon, a man who had been promised to see the Christ before his death. Second, Anna, herself a prophet, who praises God and spreads the word about Jesus to fellow seekers. The pronouncements here are prophecies of a similar strain to those in our earlier Isaiah reading. Except that now these prophecies have a being, a person, this young child.

Anna and Simeon are both typically portrayed as being elderly, although in our text only Anna is given a specific age. These two waited lifetimes to see the Savior. Lifetimes. In today’s rushed society, with commercial breaks every fifteen minutes encouraging shorter and shorter attention spans, in these days how long do we wait? We have been given a promise no less sincere, no less inspired, no less revelatory than Simeon’s. How long will we search?

[PAUSE]

Which brings us to our final picture. An annual family trip to Jerusalem, and a literal, physical search for a boy gone missing. The snapshot we are given is brief, and does little to describe the fervor with which his parents must have been searching. For three days they searched. Three days. And when they found him with the temple teachers, listening with understanding, not just answering questions, but asking them as well, when they found him their astonishment was echoed by his own: “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

Church father and writer Origen of Alexandria reflects on this scene with the following:

“Not for nothing was it written: Your father and I have been looking for you anxiously. The search for Jesus must be nether careless nor indifferent, nor must it be only a transitory affair. Those who seek in this manner will never find him.

We must truly be able to say: We have been looking for you anxiously; if we can say this then he will reply to our wearing and anxious soul in the words: did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

So. Do we search anxiously, or do we allow each Christmas to pass, with celebration and joy, but no search, no quest for the Messiah, no anxiety. Christmas season comes each year, December the twenty-fifth will be there, right between the twenty-fourth and the twenty-sixth as it always is. So what do we search for, and how? And how does Jesus respond to our astonishment at discovery?

You may have noticed that our last two snapshots ended with similar phrases: “And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor.” These may be all we have, but they are short stories, brief scenes from Jesus’ early life, and they don’t tell the whole story. They try, by filling in the time with a few phrases about growing and becoming strong, finding favor with God and being obedient to his parents. Eventually the words stop, though. But the story goes on.

The story goes on as our searching goes on. The stories don’t end with the end of our reading; no snapshot captures the whole picture. Ever notice that on Easter morning we say “Christ is risen”? Not “Christ was risen,” or “Christ was raised,” but “Christ is risen.” The story, the search goes on because we search for what we already have, what we continue to have, yet we cannot see it. We struggle to “lift up our eyes and look around” as Isaiah encourages us to do. But though we feel we are in darkness, Isaiah promises that “the Lord will arise upon [us] and his glory will appear over [us].”

As Isaiah’s hearers have been searching for the Messiah, as the wise men journeyed to the king, as Anna and Simeon waited lifetimes to see the promised one, and as Mary and Joseph scoured the city for their lost child, so do we search and journey and wait for the Christ, who is indeed in his Father’s house, whose story cannot be confined to the edges of a stained glass window or a selection of words on a page.

The story, the search, doesn’t end here, it didn’t end this past Friday night, it doesn’t end on Good Friday, it doesn’t end on Easter morning or on Pentecost. The story continues. Through the conversion of Paul on the window here in the front, the conversion of Constantine one down, throughout the Reformation events portrayed in the windows on the other side. The story continues. Through the invention of the Gutenberg Bible by the side door, through the building of the first American Lutheran Church across the aisle, through the formation of St John’s Lutheran church in 1920, second window from the back, through you and through me, through Christmas year after year, through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, and through, as Paul writes in our reading from Colossians today, through teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom… through all this, and through all else, the search goes on, the story continues. Amen.

Johannine Creed

2009-12-17T16:30:00.001-05:00

For John, I have taken a bit of a different approach. Following are two scanned images of what I turned in. First, is the creed itself, in the form of a flow chart, with illustrations. Second, is a reduced copy of the flow chart, with explainations of the illustrations. Enjoy! (And remember that you can click on the images to see a larger view.)

essay + hat = essat

2009-12-17T12:18:00.005-05:00

How to Write an Essay in the Style of Knitting a Hat

With smaller needles, CO 100 stitches
This is your thesis. You are establishing size and scope of your essat. If your essat will use multiple colors, you CO with your main color. Use a provisional CO so that you can come back and add a fancy border to your thesis if desired.

Join to begin working in the round, being careful not to twist.
This is where your essat truly begins. Your CO is all well and good, but it needs to relate to itself. Be careful not to twist, or you’ll end up with a useless essat, and when it comes time to decrease for the top, you’ll be in a world of hurt.

Set-Up Rows
Here you are getting ready. In the essat, this is commonly referred to as the “introduction” or "brim" or "hem." You are not to add anything to the thesis during this time. That would make your essat pucker at the beginning. You are to ensure that all aspects of the thesis are mentioned. Dropping stitches also troubles your essat.

Body: Switch to larger needles.
You are now working on the main part of your essat. Ideally, your essat will have three sections, as alluded to in your CO and set-up. In this case, and especially if your sections are based on changing colors or viewpoints, make sure your transitions between sections are smooth, and no puckering occurs when a new color or pattern section begins. You want a smooth line between all sections of the essat. Make sure to use all your stitches, although occasionally, for the sake of the pattern, it may be useful to slip a stitch until the next round.

Crown shaping:
This is where it all comes together. Ensuring that you are still maintaining the pattern set forth in the set-up rows, begin to bring your main points together. Ensure that, in decreasing, you are still paying mind to your thesis, and do not decrease unevenly around the essat.

Break yarn and draw through remaining stitches. Pull tight.
These are your final few sentences. What are you going to say that will tie it all together, so the whole piece doesn’t unravel, yet is still made from the material of the essat?

Weave in ends.
Go over your essat, checking for any loose threads or pulled stitches. If you used a provisional cast on, go back and put a tidy edging on. Tuck everything in, make it neat and tidy.

Preparing for Preparation

2009-11-29T16:36:00.005-05:00

Ever notice that you're never ready for Advent? You get your wreath out, you change your paraments (if you have paraments, or a blog that dresses according to the season), you begin to think of shopping and holiday travel, relatives and when you'll get the tree.

But these pre-Advent thoughts differ from the thoughts that happen during Advent. During Advent you think about the look on their faces as they open the perfect gift. You wonder if there'll be snow, and hope there won't be ice. If you're a student, you calculate how many pages you have left to write before Christmas. If you're a parent, you calculate how many times you'll hear questions about Santa, how many times they'll request to hear the same Christmas song again, how soon is too soon to put fresh sheet on your student's bed before they come home.

Today starts Advent, and, as usual, it hits with surprise. Even though we prepare for it, we are never really prepared for it. You show up for church in the morning and Boom! everything's blue (Lutherans use blue for Advent), the readings are from a different Gospel (each of the liturgical years follow a different Gospel: the year we just began is Luke), and suddenly we're singing Christmas songs and "People, Look East," and where did the time go? Now all those Advent questions have to be thought on. When will you get a tree and where will you put it? Who's coming over and when and what will they eat? And it's not just Christmas to prepare for, but winter. (Unless you're somewhere *cough*Iowa*cough* that already is wintered.) Do you have salt or sand in all the cars? What about emergency hats and gloves and such? If you get snowed in, do you have enough yarn?

Advent is my favorite season because it is the season that most reflects our lives. (Us being Christians.) We live in expectation that Christ will come again. In Advent we celebrate that expectation by remembering and celebrating the fulfillment of hope that was the first Christmas, and we look forward even more fervently to Christ's return. That's why so often in the lectionary the Advent readings are preparation-heavy. We "look east" and talk about John the Baptist advising us to prepare the way.

This Advent is a new adventure for me because I'm in a new preparation phase of life. We are all so often preparing for things. We spend the first 18 years of our lives "preparing" by going to school, learning social customs, language, and behavior. And we continue: we prepare for new family members, we prepare for the next holiday, we get dressed in the morning (prepare for the day), we prepare for the next big meeting, the next paper, the next performance, the next product update, the next big thing.

This is my first Advent while officially preparing for my career, and, as it's a career related to Advent, it's interesting to think about the connections between Advent and seminary.

But Advent's just starting, so they're young reflections and connections. Because the joy of Advent is that it isn't just four-ish weeks of preparation for Christmas, it's four-ish weeks of reminding us to prepare, daily, not just for who we want to be, but who we already are as children of God.

Luke/Acts Creed

2009-11-23T09:30:00.000-05:00

Here is the creed for Luke/Acts. In case of screen resolution/width issues, I have put it in first as the form I composed it in (it ought to look like an angel), and second in typical format. It is again an acrostic.

God: God:
Glory Glory
Oh Lord Oh Lord
Obedient Obedient
Disciples we are believers
Do hear us as we pray to you do hear us
Receive our prayers and
Restore in us life to serve
Even as we are reminded to love you as
Each other and    as ourselves    we are commanded
Celestial beings bring word message from God
Cherubs and angels glorify God bringing hope.
Evil is fought and    overcome by interpretation
Evil is the pain of    a society which binds members
“In him is gladness, all bonds he breakest” and so now
In response to his calling, we now break away bonds
Vocation: we are called to worship, to prayer
Vocation: we are called into all the world
Entering the world we are sent out
Entering the world we go out
Spirit-led and guided we
Serve our neighbor with love
Giving ourselves and our lives to
God who we glorify and praise each day
Life and love and peace and hope we find
Look, he teaches us and now we must proclaim
Oh Lord, we pray to you to guide our voice and
Oh Lord, send us your Spirit that your message will
Resound throughout the earth as we interpret and teach that
Reality is divine action in the world though not all may see. We say:
Yes, to God we give praise, we pray, we sing, we dance, we pray, we proclaim
Yes, he meets us on the road, he breaks the bread, he opens our eyes, he lives!

GOD RECEIVES GLORY

God:
Glory.
Oh Lord
Obedient
Disciples we are believers
Do hear us as we pray to you do hear us

Receive our prayers and
Restore in us life to serve
Even as we are reminded to love you as
Each other and as ourselves: we are commanded
Celestial beings bring word: message from God
Cherubs and angels glorify God bringing hope.
Evil is fought and overcome by interpretation
Evil is the pain of a society which binds members
“In him is gladness, all bonds he breakest”# and so now
In response to his calling, we now break away bonds
Vocation: we are called to worship, to prayer
Vocation: we are called into all the world
Entering the world we are sent out
Entering the world we go out
Spirit-led and guided we
Serve our neighbor with love

Giving ourselves and our lives to
God who we glorify and praise each day
Life and love and peace and hope we find
Look, he teaches us and now we must proclaim
Oh Lord, we pray to you to guide our voice and
Oh Lord, send us your Spirit that your message will
Resound throughout the earth as we interpret and teach that
Reality is divine action in the world though not all may see. We say:
Yes, to God we give praise, we pray, we sing, we dance, we pray, we proclaim
Yes, he meets us on the road, he breaks the bread, he opens our eyes, he lives!

Matthew

2009-11-09T12:00:00.001-05:00

This is part 2 in the creed series: Matthew. Where as the Markan Creed was written to be read aloud, in a rushing, rhythmic pattern, Matthew is of a more relaxed pace.

Gathered here, we are
Gathered for one purpose:
Goodness, and
Guidance
Oh Lord who has called us,
Our deepest questions answered;
Oh Lord who has challenged us,
Our deepest beliefs realigned;
Do not leave us,
Disciples we have been
Don’t stop guiding us now that we are
Disciples no more, but apostles.

Under new authority: to
Us has been given the authority
Using us for God’s will
Us, who Jesus taught
No longer learners
Now we have been taught
Now we are sent out
Now we lead
Into the world:
I am we and we are light.
Individuals joining to be groups:
I am we and we are salt
To serve or not to serve
To obey or not to obey
The choice belongs
To all and all must choose
Every person has the choice
Every being has the ability
Each choice we make turns toward or away.
Even now we are called to be
Salt, we are
Salt, required for life;
Salt, we are called to be
Salt.

Professing repentance,
Proclaiming the only Father, God
Prophets and law guiding,
Praying even for our enemies.
Enemies and even evil which is temptation
Evil turns away from God’s will
Evil, the Evil, can be held back
Each must turn to the
One who is the Son of God,
Only He is our teacher,
Only He rose from the dead
Only He did we meet in Galilee.
Prescribed for us on the Mount, we
Pray as we have been taught, we
Pray as even He did that Night for God’s will, we
Pray for relationship, to be ourselves
Light, we are
Light required for life;
Light, we are called to be
Light.
Each of us is called
Each of us: to be leaders now
Each of us is called
Each of us: to do God’s will

A silly little ghost story

2009-10-31T23:01:00.001-04:00

Once, up on a thyme, there were three young fireflies. It is not well known, but true nonetheless, that young fireflies like sitting on thyme because it's good for hiding. For this story takes place not only in thyme, but on All Hallows Eve, a dangerous time for all young creatures.
Now this particular thyme was special, for it was an ancient plant, and had traveled long distances to reach its current situation near the fireflies’ home. In the outdoor section of the Ancient Museum there is a new exhibit being prepared for display. It is the exhibit of Ancient Plants, featuring those plants that were of various importances to the lives explained inside the museum. And this particular plant, housing our firefly friends, had come all the way from the Mediterranean. Being fireflies, though, they did not know of Mediterranean, or Museum, only of the odd changes in the wind that had led them to seek shelter.
“Is it done?” asked the first of the three, Luce, of Svet, who stood look-out.
“I’m not sure,” came the reply, for Svet was not looking-out as much as standing nearest the open sky with closed eyes.
“Wonder, wonder,” muttered Phos, “I feel so brave, so brave!” His voice grew as he inhaled the thyme, growing indeed in courage.
“HUSH,” whispered the other two, as loudly as they could, for a shadow fell at that moment over their hiding spot.
Indeed, they looked up, and through the cover of thyme they saw a horrid shape, wrapped in cloth, moving as if it couldn’t remember how. The three fireflies, though frightened, found courage in the thyme’s scent, and moved forward to watch the creature, whose scent had so frightened them originally.
It was moving about the plants in the exhibition, slowly, slowly. As it moved about, it called the plants by name, and whispered, “Myrrh, no… no…Seker, guide me. Cotton, no… no…Athor, give me strength…” Indeed, every few steps it stumbled, and then renewed its search ever more intently.
At last it came upon the thyme plant, with our friends still inside. So entranced were they that they could not move, even as the strange voice uttered triumphantly, “THYME! My destruction! My preservation!” And with that, the creature leaned toward the plant and began harvesting, leaf by leaf, so carefully and cautiously that the fireflies, retreating toward the center, were shocked by the gentleness. At last, when nearly all the leaves were gone, and our friends were hiding only by digging into the soil below, the creature stopped.
“Why…” started Phos, before he could be quieted.
But the creature paid no mind, and started only to ramble away. Svet flew forward, looking after the creature, while Luce and Phos looked around.
“No leaves. Where are the leaves?” Luce started to panic, “did he eat them?” For indeed, no remnants of the plant were left around.
“He wore them,” said Svet, softly. “Tucked them in and walked away.” For that is what had happened, and as Svet watched the creature tumble away, he could see the green poking out from beneath his bandages.

They flew straight home after that, no longer in the mood for All Hallows Eve tricks or treats. They were to spend the night together at Luce’s house, which suited them, for none wanted to fly home alone. Luce’s mother, Lux, noted their anxiety in their quickly flitting wings, and tucked a special herb under their pillows as they prepared for bed, to ward away bad dreams, and could not understand why they would not enter the room.

Thyme was used by many cultures for many different purposes. The ancient Greeks burned it as incense, believing it would provide courage. The ancient Egyptians used it in the embalming process. The ancient Romans used it under the pillow, to ward away bad dreams. Seker is the Egyptian god of light and guides souls to the underworld, while Athor is Ra’s daughter and the goddess of light.

Mark

2009-10-15T18:00:00.000-04:00

So we have an assignment in my New Testament class involving each of the four Gospels. We are studying each one in turn, and as we finish each, we are to write a creed from the point of view of the specific Gospel writer. So, we just finished Mark, and I wrote a Markan Creed.

Go now,
   Go and follow,
Go preach what has been heard:
Out with the old
Out with dusty prayers
Out with rigid divisive laws
Demand change
Desire the kingdom
Demons, sickness, and death can no longer stand

By meeting Jesus
   By seeing him even crucified
By acting, seeing, following, there is
Resurrection!
Redemption!
Rejoice!
Expect now apocalypse
Expect now newness
Expect now salvation
Abandon your old life
   And move forward
And preach repentance
Knead dough worthy
   Knead dough not of Herod or Pharisee
Knead dough of Christ
Sown now are the seeds, though
Seeds fall on different soils, and
Soils determine the harvest.

Tell others
   Teach what he taught
Tell all the world what he has done:
He spoke in parables
He healed, he taught, he gave,
He goes ahead to Galilee
Run to
Run towards
Run forward
Onward, followers
Onward believers,
Onward seekers!
Unbelief, if ye have it, cast aside!
Unbelief will be your downfall
Unbelief keeps you from healing
Go ahead
Go forward
Galilee brings the promise:
Hope given for change;
He waits ahead for us
He promises the reign of God.

Good Friday

2009-04-10T10:19:00.001-04:00

Ever notice the importance of the elements of nature in the Christian narrative?
We've got trees, water, wheat, grapes, gardens all over the place...

Our narrative starts with a garden, and a tree that humanity uses to cause all sorts of problems.

And then, at the end, our narrative ends with a garden, and a prayer, and a tree that God uses to solve all sorts of problems.

Really vs Actually

2009-04-09T21:37:00.000-04:00

At church today, the first reading was the Exodus Passover story. And I got caught up wondering about religion and "actually."

Did Noah actually sail the ark?
Did Moses actually glow so much he had to wear a veil?
Did the Nile actually turn to blood?

And then I realized that it doesn't matter. Because to those who believe, the answer is yes:

Noah really did sail the ark.
Moses really did glow.
And the Nile really did turn to blood.

I know we talked about this in one of my classes this year, so it's something that's been talked about before, but I'm talking about it now. Because it's hitting me now.

In the hearts of believers, all the facts of faith really happened. Actually goes out the window. If it actually happened... who cares? Who cares if I actually brushed my hair or if I combed it or if I just woke up with perfect hair? Who cares if Bob actually mailed the package? If Bob gave it to Jim and Jim mailed it, then the package was really mailed by Bob.

I'm not making my point.

Actually is fact, is 100% provable proof that X happened just as X describes.

Really is truth. 100% or not, Really is real.

Does a three-year-old care that his stuffed crocodile doesn't have a pulse? Croodee is still Real. He's not an actual crocodile. But he's real. Actual doesn't matter. Real does.
And if Leo the cocker spaniel puppy isn't actually a lion... he can still really be one.

Take that, Jesus Seminar.

Holy Week

2009-04-05T09:08:00.000-04:00

Well, it's Palm Sunday. How's your lent been?

As we enter Holy Week, I want to take a moment to reflect on a few things.

Holy Week is sort of an eclectic time for the Church. We celebrate, we dine, we mourn, we don't know what to do with ourselves, and then we celebrate again. This year, which Holy Day resonates with you?

Are you a Palm Sunday person: Do you cheer the triumphant Jesus, entering the city on a stranger's colt, even though he has warned you that he's going to die here? Do you follow the Spirit's advice, even when unsure of the results?
What do we do with this day of celebration, when we know the trials to come?

Or maybe you're a Maundy Thursday person: The meal, the community, the doubting of those you have travelled with. The fear that you are the one accused. The knowledge that you are the one accused.
What do we do with the meal, when we've been accused?

Or Good Friday: Do you deny? Do you follow the crowd along the way, on the fringe, afraid to really join for what others will say, but you can't pull yourself away? Have you done that along the Way? Do you stand at the foot of the cross, watching, waiting? And what do you do in the evening, when all is said and done, but morning, mourning, has yet to strike?
What do we do with a day called "Good" where we only blame ourselves?

And what about Holy Saturday: Do you live in the in-between? Are you resting before the celebration, or are you collapsed after the suffering?
What do we do with the day Before?

Preparing for Lent

2009-02-24T08:56:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and I want to take a moment to reflect on what that means, for me, but also for us as [what I see as] the Church in general.

Tomorrow we enter the desert with Jesus, on a forty-day pilgrimage toward the resurrection. We enter the desert to fast, to be tempted, to purify ourselves, to prepare.

What are you going to enter the desert with?

Today, I'm preparing to fast tomorrow. I had a good breakfast and have plans for good, healthy lunch and dinner. Partly this prepares me because it means if I eat three meals in the caf tomorrow I won't have enough meals for the rest of the week. Partly, this prepares me in that it nourishes me for the fasting tomorrow. I'm filling my canteen for the journey.

I'm also spending a good deal of today in physical preparation, outside my body. I'm cleaning and organizing my room, reorganizing my music lockers, and doing laundry. I'm finishing up paperwork and organizing and simplifying my to-do list. I'm simplifying my backpack for the journey.

Tomorrow we don our ashes and begin our trip. What will we take with us into the desert? What is our desert?

People often give something up for lent. They give up sweets, recreational computer use, watching television. Or they add something of importance to their lives: free reading time, daily devotionals, lima beans. My lenten journey this year is going to be somewhat different, and I hope to come out the other side carrying with me what I have learned. I have a list of twenty-some small tasks. For the most part, these are little things ("wake up early enough to wash my face every morning"), little things that I want to add (or remove) to my lifestyle. Some are daily ("practice!"), some are weekly ("laundry"), some are general, some are specific, but I've divided up the list into small components, and will add one every other day-ish. A big task, perhaps, but I'm about to enter the Real World, and I want to enter it to the fullest of my potential.

What is your desert going to be? What are you going to enter it with? I know couples or groups of friends that are going to enter lent together. Together they are going to do daily devotionals, give up sweets, whatever.

Isn't that what we, as Church, do anyway? We enter lent together. We no longer don ashes in the privacy of our homes and wear them into public. We recieve ashes in the public of the sanctuary and walk home with them. We don our shame, our sin, opur humanity, together as one people and take our shame into the world beyond.

Whatever you take with you into the desert, remember that you do not take it alone. For Christ is in the desert already, waiting for us.

Also, remember to close your eyes when you're being ash-ed. Keeps it from getting in your eyes.

today's thoughts: ecumenism

2008-09-13T23:11:00.000-04:00

What does it matter what a person believes or not? We are saved by grace through faith. Works DO NOT MATTER. Through faith. Crap. Does that mean what a person believes does matter? But what is doctrinal belief than the written works of men to quantify and qualify God into understanding? FAITH is not work. A set of bleliefs is HUMAN WORK. Faith can BE work. But it is not WORKS. Beliefs are works. Works like opuses. Works like dissertations. Works like... well, works like college, really.
Faith takes work but is not a work.
Beliefs systems are works. They are defined by actions, by words (which are works, actions), defined by humans and human things. Faith is of God. Works, bleiefs systems, denominations, sparations, deliniations, sects, synods, religions, separations, schisms, and all else in between... those are human inventions for the comfort of human ways. And yes, while they are indeed sometimes necessary for the continuation of human faith (faith without expresion dies), and the deliniations mayeven be holy Spirit-inspired... separation is NOT of God. God is like a herd of wild mustang roaming across the plains... doesn't know or care if they are in Wyoming, Utah, or Nebraska... it's all the same field. We are all the same people to God. Expressed in different ways, or, better put: VIEWed in different ways.

Which is all well and good, but what does that mean for ecumenism? What does that mean for Christian unity (or human unity for that matter)? There is the key question.

But what really is the questions is: what is the point of ecumenism. What is the goal toward which unity is aimed. It is NOT an option to try to make one, single relion/denomination out of the entire world. That's just ridiculous. There are too many cultures and languages and classes and systems and.... well, it would take a god to bridge all those layers into one whole. Oh, wait. God does.

But what is the point? For, me, I see the point as tolerance. Tolerance, tolerance, tolerance. Not ignorance, not people saying "well they believe such-and-such, which is WRONG!" Because what does "wrong" mean in a religious context. Well, usually (from what I've seen), it means that the person who is wrong is going to hell.
And, for that matter, what is "heresy" except the A's saying the B's have got it all wrong and are going to hell for it. So the A's kick out the B's, burn their villages and corner them in a castle for two years until they all walk into the fire, just because they couldn't agree on a silly little thing like how much money to give the leader of the A's, or whether or not B women could hold religious positions.

I'll say this once, and I'll say it again:

JUST FREAKING LOVE EACH OTHER ALREADY PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sermon (the first)

2008-05-23T12:49:00.001-04:00

So... I probably should have posted this ages ago, but I guess I always thought that I did and never actually did. Anyhow. It's the first sermon I gave this summer, way back in June.

The readings were:

1 Kings 17:17-24

Galatians 1:11-24

Luke 7:11-17

A few weeks ago as I was talking to a friend on the phone, we began to discuss her husband's interesting antics. He was busy wrestling a 20 lb bag of Tidy Cat into a backpack. As she watched him struggle in this endeavor, she and I discussed what possible reasoning he could have for doing this. Was he testing the size and the strength of the backpack? Was he planning to kidnap the cat to his office for an extended period of time? Finally, he explained that he was simply going out to exercise and needed the extra weight, and that with the backpack zipped, only his wife and I would really know what he was carrying.

How often do we find ourselves doing exactly that? How often do we take something unsightly or embarrassing or painful and hide it away in a bag that we carry with us? How often do we pack away the hurt of being in a relationship that just doesn't seem like it's going to work? Or the confusion of feeling alone or abandoned? How many lost dreams do we shove to the bottom of our bags, convincing even ourselves that they don't exist? How many times do we close away our grief, pretending we have recovered from a loss, even when we haven't?
In our scripture readings today we heard the stories of two grieving widows who lost their only sons.
In our gospel lesson, Jesus and his disciples were headed to a small town that really isn't known for much of anything, and they were stopped by a funeral procession. They probably felt much the same way that drivers do today when having to stop for a funeral. They may have been wondering how long it would take for them to get on the road again, how much would this delay their schedule, and so on. And maybe they begin pushing their way through… when Jesus stops. Probably not too happy with this further delay, I can almost picture the disciples trying to urge Jesus along so they can make it to their destination before it gets too late. And then Jesus says, "Do not weep." What? Come on, Jesus, it's just a funeral, they happen all the time, what makes this one so special?
Here we have a woman, known only to us by her position as a mother and a widow, who has lost her only son. In those days, a woman was taken care of by her father until she was married, and then by her husband. If she was fortunate enough to have a son that could take care of her once her husband died, her son then became her supporter. This woman had lost her one last support, and would most likely become impoverished, alone, and excluded from society. What sort of burdens was she carrying down the road that day? Loneliness? Grief? Fear? Jesus saw that in her. "Do not weep." A wisp of hope for her to set her burdens down on. And a command that would probably have been reacted to with confusion.
Why not weep? She just lost her only son, she has no support… of all the people in that funeral procession, she has every reason to cry. And then Jesus doesn't just give her words of encouragement, he takes away her reason for weeping. Jesus raises her son from the dead, giving her back what she had lost, restoring her sense of balance in the world, easing the burdens from her shoulders. Because God in Jesus knew her burdens and knew what those around her could only imagine. It would be well known to the other mourners in the funeral procession how difficult life would be for this woman, and presumably they were sad at the loss of the young man as well. But only Jesus could really know what she was carrying with her to the full extent that it was affecting her.
God knows what hurts us. The difficulties we carry in our hearts, the burdens we haul in our backpacks and what rain storms have drenched us, adding more weight than we ever thought we'd have to carry. God sees us walking down the street in a crowd of people and knows what inner turmoil we bear and what each forward step means to us and costs us.
Yet what about the other widows that day? What about the mothers whose sons stayed dead? What about the funeral processions that Jesus didn't run into? What about the burdens that went uneased? What does the story of the widow of Nain mean for them? For us? Is it telling us, oops, sorry, you missed it, Jesus isn't exactly walking around in a robe these days, you'll just have to deal with your backpack on your own? No, not at all. The widow of Nain is both a reminder of the past and a hope for the future.
Our first reading today told nearly the same story: a widow looses her only son, only to have Elijah, a messenger of God this time, and not Jesus who is God, raise him from the dead and restore hope. The people Luke wrote his gospel to would have been very familiar with the stories of Elijah, including this one. Our gospel is a retelling, a remake of a favorite movie, reminding us of the God who sees and knows, of the God who restores and heals. Our gospel is also a promise for the future: a foretaste of the cross when a different son will die and rise. A promise that God does see into our backpacks and the into smallest corners of our hearts and God hears our silent cries and knows our deepest pains. It's a promise that our God who sees and knows will restore and heal each and every one of us of each and every grain of sand we carry.

I am here at St. Paul's for an internship this summer as a part of a program designed to help young adults figure out if they want to be pastors. I am learning by participation and observation what exactly it is that pastors do all week. And while this is now only my second Sunday here at St. Paul's, I have already learned quite a bit about what a pastor's life is like.
Once, what now feels like long ago, I thought that pastors just spent their entire week writing a sermon for Sunday, visiting and meeting with people and committees, and maybe writing an article for the church newsletter. And yes, all that definitely happens, but there are also electrical, air conditioning, and elevator people to talk to, youth group trips to plan, vacation bible school to organize, and always the random but not infrequent other crisis to handle. I will admit that I spent quite a bit of time sitting at a desk this week. (Sermons aren't all that easy to write, it turns out.) But any previous ideas I had about pastors sitting in their offices all day have gone. Pastors are busy people. And I, at least, think it's pretty cool.
Jesus stopped outside Nain to comfort a widow. Any day there might be a widow of Washington who needs comforting. Or a runaway youth. Or any other burden-bearer who sees our steeple and seeks solace. And that's what your pastors do all week in and around and during the "other stuff" of air conditioning repairs and summer event coordinating.
And that is really what we are all called to do. Jesus stopped on the streets outside a city to comfort a woman in pain. Would you stop on your commute to comfort another person? To ease the weight of their journey?
God doesn't sit in the office all the time either. God doesn't only hear about the rest of the universe through lonely phone calls or the internet. God doesn't watch someone else's interpretation of events on the television or TiVo screen. God doesn't just watch the news or report on the news; God is the news. God is where the news happens and God is where secrets hide and where tears are born and where hugs begin, God is where grief is masked and where Tidy Cat is hidden in backpacks.
It turns out that my friend's husband is getting ready for a backpacking trip with his brother and needed the extra weight to get ready for the trip. His backpack is making him stronger, and making him able to be a help for others on the trip. We don't ask to haul around incredible loads that make travel difficult. But we have them, nonetheless, and we hide them. By bearing these loads and not giving up, and by helping others to bear theirs, and by remembering and relying on God's promise of hope and comfort, we become stronger. Because God does know. And God does hear. And God does raise up. Amen.

Religious Intolerance, part I

2007-11-02T21:56:00.000-04:00

I've decided that one of the things in life that I absolutely cannot stand... the thing that I hate more than peanut butter, lima beans, sticky fingers, and false love... the thing I hate as much as I love spring rain, the sound of an orchestra tuning, hymnals, the smell of appledirt, and a good friend's hug... the thing that makes my skin crawl and my blood pressure rise (which is hard to do!)... the thing that I would do anything to completely eradicate from the planet, solar system, and entire universe if I could... is religious intolerance.
Why? Why do you hate someone just because they believe something different from you? Why are you so sure that what you believe is right, is right? Are you just that full of yourself? Or has the higher power spoken to you and told you that you are right and everyone else is wrong? And, if the later is the case, how sure are you that you weren't just hallucinating? How can you so absolutely judge something that you know nothing about? Take a walk in their dogma for a few moments, will ya? Maybe you'll understand that what they believe is just plain what they believe! It's got nothing to do with you and your god.
Now, I'm not just talking about the idea that "my religion is right, and everyone who doesn't believe what I believe is going to my idea of hell." I'm talking about "we believe that your religion is a cult," and "we believe that if you don't believe what we believe, then you are not only going to hell, but we are going to make fun of you and torment you and exclude you. Because my idea of heaven forbid that I try to welcome you because we don't want any of your kind sneaking in to our idea of heaven." JERKS!
Want to know how many hymns are shared among the major denominations these days? Hey, do you even want to know how many of "your" (and, for the moment, I'm addressing the mainstream Christians out there) hymns are sung by Mormons, Unitarian Universalists, and "fundamentalists"? Yes, that's right, the Mormons have "A Mighty Fortress" in their hymnal. Can you Lutherans shut the front door about them being a cult, now?
What is a "cult" anyway? Dictionary.com defines it as "a particular system of religious worship, esp. with reference to its rites and ceremonies." Well, then. You are all members of cults! Second definition (same source) is, "A religion or religious sect generally considered to be extremist or false, with its followers often living in an unconventional manner under the guidance of an authoritarian, charismatic leader." Ah, well, that's a little harder to pin on Christianity.
But let me interject a story.
Once upon a time, there was this dude. Let's call him Joe. Joe was a pretty charismatic fellow, who attracted some pretty interesting sorts into his group. Got thieves and prostitutes and women who slept with other women's husbands to hang out with him. Got them to change their ways and become "good, upstanding citizens." Then Joe got together a group of followers to live with him. He traveled around, never staying in one place, ate funky stuff, and required some fairly unconventional acts from his cronies. Joe and his peeps didn't really follow the normal pattern of beliefs and were considered quite extremist and false. Sound like a cult? Sound like we could rename Joe as Jesus and be talking about a rather familiar fellow?

You may think that religious intolerance isn't a big deal today, and especially not here in America. I mean, we're not witnessing people getting burned at the stake or crosses being lit on fire or whole television specials making fun of an entire denomination... oh, wait. There was that special on the Phelps family. What are they doing to you? Well, okay, the protests at soldier's funerals is a bit extreme, I'll give you that. But that's religious intolerance, too. They are intolerant of you, so you scream about how stupid it is to be intolerant. Welcome to "I'm rubber, you're glue."
Another story.
So there was an accident on a deserted state highway. And this guy in his car is in a ditch. He got run off the road by some maniac in a yellow sports car. And the lady with the "love Jesus" bumper sticker drives by, 'cause she's late to Bible Study, you know. And the teacher with the cross around his neck, well, he's gotta be up early in the morning... someone will stop for the car. Besides, the guy's already got help on the way with his cell phone, right?
Hours go by. He's stuck in his car, can't reach the cell phone, and it's getting late, and cold.Then
he feels the door next to him open, and hands feel for his pulse, he tries to talk, but his throat is too dry. He drinks the water offered to him, relaxes as he hears the word, "it's okay, buddy, help's on the way. Mind if I offer a prayer while we wait here?" He nods, the best he can. He'd promise to listen to an hour of bagpipe music, just to not be alone anymore. He hears an odd sort of praying, multiple voices... speaking in... tongues? No, that can't be right. And the voice that belongs to the water-giver, praying "Mother Earth you give us life, sustain us here..."
His rescuer, a group of college-age Wiccans, each praying in their own style, and the one next to him stays with him the whole ride to the hospital, calling his wife for him, making sure he's okay, returning the next day to ensure his comfort...

Band Devo

2007-11-01T23:54:00.000-04:00

I'm going to talk about fear today.

What were you afraid of as a child? The dark? Spiders? School?

What about high school? What were you afraid of in high school? Bad hair days? Embarassment? Not getting into college? The dark? Spiders?

What about now, in college? What are you afraid of? School? Spiders, the dark, bad hair days, grades?

I have a theory that all fears can be traced back to the fear of being alone. Embarassment, the dark, failure... variations on a theme, yes?

So what are you afraid of in band? Being out of tune? Coming in late? Coming in early? Getting it right, getting it wrong?

I googled "the opposite of fear" and you know what I found? Not courage or bravery or fearlessness. But hope. And in band speak, that's CONFIDENCE. Because I think "hope" is sort of a wishy-washy word. You can hope to do something, or you can know that you are going to do something. You can hope that you are going to do your best in band today, or you can be confident and do your best.

If our goals are up there (point to goal arrow near the top of the very high ceiling), how confident do we have to be in order to get there?
If Doc got up here and conducted like this (conduct timidly), how would that affect our playing? How does it affect our audience when we play "wimpy wimpy wimpy" (done in hefty commercial voice)?
What difference would it make if Doc conducted like this? (Conduct strongly, confidently) What difference does it make to our audience when we play hefty hefty hefty Confidently?

How do you want to be heard today?

Pillow V. Backpack

2007-10-13T17:35:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: MINE! Written around, oh, say... April? May? Ish? Some year in high school.

I’ve been cheating on my pillow with my backpack.

Pillow found out and has been treating me coldly ever since. He’s threatening to leave—I don’t know what I’ll do! I can’t sleep without him, and now I’ve gone and messed the whole thing up.

I remember the first night I spent with Backpack. Oh how smart he was, so strong and so full. I didn’t realize I had spent the whole night until my alarm went off and I hadn’t seen Pillow at all.

It was like that the first few times—I’d be so engrossed in Backpack’s smooth talking that I’d lose all track of time. Then, slowly but surely, every time I was with Backpack, I’d think about Pillow. The late night meetings weren’t as fun, and all I could concentrate on was how Pillow had treated me. Pillow had been so kind, so nurturing, always supporting me and helping me relax after a long day. At first, Backpack was exciting, and could offer me the things Pillow couldn’t—trips to far away place, amazing pieces of trivia, sometimes even food and money!

But eventually he turned abusive. Oh the fool I was! I thought he truly cared! Really he is just a dead weight on my shoulders. He hounds me with his constant hunger, and keeps me from my family and friends. He even tells me what to wear when I’m around him. See, he can’t handle my bare shoulders, And the physical control! If I try to move him the wrong way—well, let’s just say I’ve got enough sore muscles and bruised limbs to last a lifetime.

Oh Pillow, why didn’t I stay with you? I was such a fool, could you ever take me back? I… I’ll find someway to break it off with Backpack. He’s leaving for three months soon anyways, and when he comes back… Don’t worry Pillow; nothing will ever come between us again.

The Lass from the Low Countree

2007-09-28T22:07:00.000-04:00

Note: This is my own personal story. There is NO factual basis for this to be the backstory of this piece. If you wish to use this story, contact me for permission. That being said, you might want to read up on your smallpox and cowpox facts before beginning. Also, a note: it's not quite all that beautifully polished, but you'll get the idea easily enough.

“Annabel, get your head out of the clouds.” Oh, how often had she heard those words lately? She wasn’t focused, she wasn’t practical. How did it matter to them where her mind went while she peeled potatoes? Alright, maybe she missed a few spots here and there, but a little potato skin wouldn’t harm a person. That sickness she had heard Him speak about… now that would do some harm.

“Father’s never going to send you back to the market, you know. Not after the way you’ve been dreaming your days away since he let you go last week. Jane’s been having to do nearly all of your chores over again.” Her sister, Clare, the eldest of the three, was prone to exaggeration, and was always trying to look after young Jane. Clare had more practical matters to think of, as she was to be married in a year. Her future was set, no more time for daydreams. How could she understand Annabel’s love of the village, where so much happened… where He was? “What happened last week that you are so far away?” But no, Annabel smiled simply and shrugged, moving on to the next task, ignoring Clare’s question, resolving to focus more on her chores.

For she had similarly resolved not to tell her family what events had transpired at the market last week. She was sure that they would worry and fret. Hadn’t He warned the crowd of the sickness spreading across the land? Her parents would simply hold her and her sisters close to home, and then she might never see Him. They wouldn’t believe the most important part. That as their handsome Lord spoke to the crowd, warning them to stay away from the nearby villages that the sickness had already been to, he had looked straight at her and promised to do his noble best to keep their tiny village safe and healthy. He promised to keep her safe. Well, perhaps he didn’t say that, exactly. But oh, he meant it. She could tell. How often did Father say one thing and mean another? It was just the same.

A dusty cloud on the horizon, moving quickly. She continued her sweeping of the porch, using her curiosity to slow down, reasoning that she was simply taking the time to make sure she did her job well. A few moments later, she identified the little bay pony as her uncle’s and the rider as Robin, her cousin. Adorable little Robin had grown up to be quite the adventurous young man, although usually her uncle did not let him go so far from home on his own. It was a shame that they lived too far away to visit more often. Still, they were close to enough to see once in a while… her heart froze. Robin was dismounting and she could see the shadows in his eyes. No, there were shadows in his face, too. She was frozen. She couldn’t move. It didn’t matter. His too-thin body, worn from more than just the long ride, had swept past her, calling out for her mother. She could hear them moving around, her mother gathering up herbs and having Robin repeat back her instructions, word for word.

Before she knew it, Robin and his little bay were racing away again, and her mother was standing on the porch steps, watching him disappear over the horizon. When not even a speck of dust trail was visible, she turned back toward the house, giving Annabel a weak smile and saying, “finish soon, dear one, then come help me with dinner,” before disappearing herself into the house once more. Father would be back from the market with Jane soon, and at dinner they would all surely find out what Robin’s hasty visit was about.

Annabel sat numb as her mother recounted Robin’s visit. Her father then spoke of the market, how everyone was afraid of any strangers. And how, living so far from the village himself, many had regarded him with veiled fear in their eyes. At least Jane had been spared that, for she had been at her singing lesson and then with her friends at the dressmaker’s shop. A simple comment that they had had no visitors at home lately had spared her the fear that Father had been victim of.
“You didn’t mention His Lordship speaking last week, Annabel,” Father was asking her. She should have realized that he would have heard about it this week. She should have mentioned it, for then maybe Robin wouldn’t have come in the house. But no, had was just tired from the ride, he couldn’t have brought the sickness to her home. Everything would be fine. She swallowed her own fear and replied that she had noticed a crowd, but had been trying to finish her shopping and not return home late, so she had not paid much mind. Jane looked at her oddly, for she had always been able to tell when Annabel was being untruthful, had always been able to tell what she was really thinking. A quick glare and Jane turned back toward her food, as Father began speaking of other events of the day, people he had run into and the price of flour, allowing Annabel’s mind to wander.

He would come to save her soon. He said he would. He would come—“…will be making his spring tour of the country this week,” Father was saying, looking at each of his children in turn, as Annabel’s attention snapped back toward reality, “so be sure you mind your manners should His Lordship stop by here.” He was coming. A tour of the countryside was a perfect excuse to come take her away. Oh, to even see him again would bring her such great joy. The rest of the night’s chores were only half-done at best, as Annabel’s mind thought ahead to the coming week, when he might arrive, and all manner of other dreams.

The next day Mother collapsed in the yard. Thankfully Father was at home, working in the barn, and he picked her up and carried her into the house. He sent Jane out to the barn, as if the cows would keep her safe. Although, perhaps it was true. Jane did love the animals so much. Then again, Jane had been sick with the cowpox only a few months ago, and was perhaps not quite recovered yet. Father instructed Annabel and Clare to continue about their chores as usual, and he cooked dinner, and cared for Mother so carefully. Jane slept that night in the barn.

The next day Clare stayed in the house. She tried to get her work done, but Annabel found herself working harder than ever to make sure everything got done. Father had not gotten up yet, and was sicker than Mother had been. When Jane tried to come in and help with the chores, Annabel gave her some quick food and sent her back out to care for the animals. If she was harsh with Jane, it was for her own good. No sense in them all taking ill, now.

The sun rose merrily on the fourth day after Mother’s collapse. As the fields filled with the golden rays, and Mother was able to get up and help a bit with the chores, Annabel began to feel a bit of hope. Until she noticed the rash on herself. She kept quiet about it. It was probably just because of the new fabric her dress was made of. Mother would never notice, since her eyesight seemed to be failing a bit since she had taken ill. And she was only so tired because she had been working so hard for the past few days. A little extra sleep and she would be fine. But why was it so cold?

Annabel took a few extra moments while sweeping again, this time to try to absorb some of the sun’s warmth into her body. She had been chilled all night, and the day’s light wasn’t helping her to feel any warmer. The realization that Father was not going to get better only added to the cold seeping into every part of her body.

Another dust cloud bloomed on the horizon. Robin again, she mused, and returned to sweeping. When she next looked up, however, she realized that the horse and rider couldn’t possibly be Robin. It was, instead, a full-grown man, on a magnificent white stallion. Only a person of high birth could have such a glorious horse. Oh, joy of joys! Him! Could it really be him? And, of course, it was.

Horse and rider slowed and stopped just inside of speaking range of the horse. He stared at her in calloused indifference as she curtsied, smiled, and spoke to him. “Oh, good sir, how good of you to stop by our quiet home. My Father is not able to come speak with you right now—" but he was turning away, quickly. Annabel called after him, “No, wait! I can come with you, I’m not sick, only Father—" but it was too late, he was gone. How could he leave her so harshly, so quickly?

As she turned back toward the house, her legs gave out from under her. Jane was there, quickly, quietly, giving her a warm drink, and singing a quiet lullaby. She struggled against her younger sister’s arms, but Jane had always been able to tell what was she was really thinking, and no amount of protest would convince her that Annabel was just tired. As Jane helped her into the house, still singing, Annabel wondered if the flowers were sleepy today, too, or if the wind was singing with Jane, or Jane with the wind.

Father and Annabel were buried next to each other in the meadow behind the house. Annabel used to love to sit out where the flowers grew free and talk to them. Maybe they could hear her, for they always seemed to be answering, nodding in agreement, or shaking with laughter. Clare recovered except for some scarring, and when her fiancée was taken by the sickness just before the wedding, she moved in with his family, to care for his aging parents. Mother’s eyesight never did return fully, and I stayed with her, caring for her, and singing to her as often as she asked. His Lordship never did get the sickness, and he ruled fairly, but without sympathies, to the full extent of his days. Annabel never told me specifically how she felt about him, but then again, I always was able to tell what she was really thinking no matter what face she put on to the world.

Oh, he was a lord of high degree,
And she was a lass from the Low Countree,
But she loved his lordship so tenderly!
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.

One morn, when the sun was on the mead,
He passed by her door on a milk-white steed;
She smiled and she spoke, but he paid no heed.
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.

If you be a lass from the Low Countree,
Don't love of no lord of high degree;
They hain't got a heart for sympathy.
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
(Song by John Jacob Niles)

endings

2007-09-26T22:27:00.000-04:00

Endings are hard to write. Especially when your narrator dies. It makes writing the ending a bit difficult. But I think I have figured it out.

See, I have this piece that I'm working on in my voice lessons that's a folk song. However, I haven't been able to find out if there is any specific backstory on it, so I wrote my own.

Unfortunately, the line "now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod," means that I can't just have it end all happy-peppy. Hmmm..........

I'll probably post the story up here when it's all finished and polished. For now, go Google the lyrics to "The Lass from the Low Countree" by John Jacob Niles.

How I feel on... ...the war in Iraq (part I)

2007-09-17T21:34:00.000-04:00

Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone,
Young girls picked them, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young girls gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young girls gone,
Gone to young men, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young men gone,
Gone to soldiers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Gone to graveyards, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the graveyards gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Gone to flowers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind

When you find that 1960s protest music has started being applicable again... what does that say?

what you wear

2007-08-21T10:18:00.000-04:00

I never used to think about what I wore. I wore clothes that were comfortable, looked good on me, and that was it. But now, thanks to the metro, I think about it a bit more. Example: I was wearing an old Youth Encounter event t-shirt. One that said something like, "In Christ there is a new creation," and had a picture of a stick dude jumping through a cross made of water. Now, wearing it around campus means next to nothing: I'm part religion major, on the music and worship committee, and so it makes sense. But wearing it on the metro the other day, I was highly aware of the message I was sending about myself. I mean, whenever I see someone on the metro or at 6 Flags or such, wearing anything churchy or Jesus-related, I automatically assume they are trying to be outspoken about their faith. But maybe they're just like me and just wearing whatever's clean and comfy. Either way, if I make those assumptions about people, I should also assume that other people will make those assumptions about me. There have been a couple of different shirts that i've seen, at walmart or whatever, that I've thought were cute and wanted to buy, but realized that that isn't the message I want to send to the world.
By noticing what I notice about people, I realize what I should pay attention to in myself more.

How I feel on... ... homosexuality

2007-08-09T17:47:00.000-04:00

In response to what I think was a postponement on the decision of the blessing of same-sex marriages by the ELCA Churchwide Assembly, a postponement that, I think, includes not allowing said blessings until the 2009 Assembly makes its decisions, I'm going to post my feelings on the matter. (If anyone has more acurate information/deciphering of what the assembly voted on, please, let me know. I read through the report of the memorials committee, but can't make heads or tails of it, since it includes "no" memorials and DC Metro's "yes, and make a liturgy, too, please" memorial.)
So we begin.

How I feel on...

...homosexuals, in general.
I feel the same as I do about people who eat peanut butter. I, personally, don't like peanut butter. But, I'm not going to condemn everyone who does. Whether I was born not liking peanut butter or it was a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. I just don't like it and that's the way it is.
Some people do like peanut butter. Whether they were born liking it, or that's a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. They like peanut butter and that's the way it is.

...marriage.
"I used to believe that marriage would diminish me, reduce my options. That you had to be someone less to live with someone else when, of course, you have to be someone more." (Candice Bergen)
"A good marriage is one which allows for change and growth in the individuals and in the way they express their love." (Pearl Buck)
"That is what marriage really means: helping one another to reach the full status of being persons, responsible and autonomous beings who do not run away from life." (Paul Tournier)
Marriage, to me, is the public annoucement, religious celebration, and private covenant declaring that this relationship is True, Deep, and Love. A homosexual couple can still raise children (little Max at LP is adorable, and has two awesome dads), and while I know that I pay too much attention to making sure I don't do anything differently I certainly don't mean to, or want to. (I did it with the women at LP too... encountering something new, and focusing too much on not reacting made me feel constantly like I was reacting.)

... ordination of folks in committed, same-gender relationships.
I was baptized into the priesthood of all believers. I know and understand that in order for the church to accept the ordination of practicing homosexuals, it first needs to let them get married. (Otherwise you come up against all the people who "are for it, except that they are practicing sex outside of marriage.") And while I sometimes entertain the thought of it, I am certainly not one to say, "well then just don't be a practicing homosexual." Because denying who you are is denying who God created you to be. Because denying who you are is denying the gifts God has given you. Because denying who you are is opening the door (or perhaps a sign of the open door) to self-hatred... and that is so not cool.

Some quotes about love... (of any kind)
"Love is... Let's see, how can I define love? I can't. Love is. Love is, youngling, love is."
"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." (Karen Sunde)
"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." (Anton Chekhov)
"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." (David Viscott)
"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence." (H. L. Mencken)
"Gravity. It keeps you rooted to the ground. In space, there's not any gravity. You just kind of leave your feet and go floating around. Is that what being in love is like?" (Josh Brand and John Falsey)
"Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more." (Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman)
"You can't love anyone until you understand that you can't love everyone." (Real Live Preacher)

Sermon

2007-07-31T09:42:00.000-04:00

In June, I attended the funeral of my high school’s campus minister. When the time came in the service for the Lord’s Prayer, a young woman in her late teens approached the podium. With no music, and no accompaniment, she began to sing. Our printed bulletins being no help, as all they said was “Lord’s Prayer” and the girl’s name, we the congregation abandoned our attachments to prescribed order, and slowly, but steadily gaining and growing in conviction, joined in. It was the “good old version” that somehow nearly everyone knew. And by the time we reached “for thine is the kingdom,” the whole assembly was praying with fullest strength of heart. It was powerful. It was prayer.

There’s a religion professor who said in class once, “God, thank you for this rain, for it helps us appreciate the sunshine.” That’s prayer. A child prays with his parents before bed each night, a teenager murmurs a quick, “God, help me,” before an exam, a Bible study group closes by reading a psalm together, a homeless person cries a wordless appeal toward heaven. It’s all prayer. At my college I’m a member of the Chapel Choir, where we close each rehearsal by singing the first verse of “Go, My Children,” and I play in the Band, where we close each concert by playing “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and singing (yes, our band sings) “The Lord Bless You and Keep You." That’s prayer. An artist picks up brush and paint and pours out his soul onto canvas. That can be prayer.

For, what is prayer but communication with God? And wow, it seems there are a lot of ways to communicate with God. Words, music, colors, body language, laughter, tears, joy, anger. So many ways to pray. And with so many ways to pray… is there a right way to prayer? As a church music major, I wonder… is it better to chant a psalm , or to sing a hymn by Martin Luther? Is worship accompanied by an organ better prayer than three friends mumbling a quick blessing before a meal? Is a prayer full of praise and thanksgiving better than a prayer full of sorrow and accusation? Perhaps to answer those sorts of questions, we must first ask, why do we pray?

We pray in church as worship. We do “PTA” prayers: Praising, Thanking, Asking. We pray for good weather on vacation and for rain for farmers. We pray for guidance for our leaders and we pray for the health of our children. But why? Who does prayer benefit?

Is prayer for us? Like in the Gospel, we tell God what we want, and then we’ll get it, right? Luke tells us that if we ask God for an egg, God’s not going to hand us a scorpion. But then again, I can easily picture God as the mom who would very likely hand me a plate of broccoli if I asked for a cookie. God watches out for our health—in all areas of our lives—not just what we think we want and what we say is best for us.

So who is prayer for? Is it for God? Do we have to keep God up-to-date so that God doesn’t loose touch with what’s happening in the world? But… God’s with us, so doesn’t God know already? Oh! Maybe it’s like the dad who gets the call from the principal: “Your child was fighting in school today…” but when the school day is over, he still asks, “so, how was your day… anything you want to tell me about?” Or what about the accident you see on 495 and go home and look up on the news to see what happened—even though you were there. God knows what happens… but still wants to hear it from us simply to hear it from us. The human element. How we saw what happened. So who is prayer for?

Jesus and his disciples were hanging out and Jesus goes off to a “certain place” to pray. I can imagine the disciple watching him from a distance, asking each other, “how does he do that?” Or perhaps, “what’s he praying that takes so much time? Why does he do it so often? How can we be like him in how we pray?” So Jesus comes back over and they ask him: “Lord, teach us to pray.” And Jesus says, “Oh, something like this…” But then he doesn’t stop after what we now call the Lord’s Prayer. He keeps going. He tells a parable that ends with further prayer instruction. Ask. Seek. Knock. Be persistent.

I imagine that the disciples were probably just as baffled by prayer as we are today. To dare to talk to the divine. Even Abraham was cautious in speaking to the Lord. How can we, mere mortals that we are, approach the Holy? For that matter, how can the Holy understand us? Maybe that’s why the disciples approached Jesus about prayer. As Paul says in our second reading today, “For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.” Jesus bridges that gap between Holy and human. In Christ there is communication between crowned and crippled, understanding between creator and created, and relationship between eternal and mortal. Lord, teach us to pray.

There are so many ways to pray: in a congregation, by yourself, with a congregation, leading a congregation, singing, speaking, writing, drawing, prayers that are already written, prayers you pray as your heart thinks up the words, already written prayers that you make into a new experience as you go along—like my experience at the funeral in June.

Lord, teach us to pray. What is the right way to pray, we want to get it right. Well, unfortunately for humanity’s desire for a simple, straight answer from God, we’re not going to get one this time, either. As so very often happens in matters of God and theology: there is no black and white.

So let’s get back to: who is prayer for? Prayer, defined by Luis de Grenada as “any raising of the heart to God,” is for relationship with God. To pray—to communicate with the divine—is to open yourself up to the possibility of a deep, profound relationship with God. A relationship so strong that nothing—not even death—could ever break it. And so the question becomes how to build that relationship. How do we pray in a way that cultivates our relationship with God and makes prayer two-way deal? We are human, we are aware, painfully even sometimes, of that gap that Jesus bridges. We need relationship with God because we need God. Prayer is for both sides. Prayer is that relationship with God. So how do we do it?

Lord, teach us to pray.

How about the key to making any relationship “successful”? Honesty. They told us at freshman orientation at college it was the way to get along with a new roommate. It’s what they told me at the beginning of the summer was how to have a good internship experience right here. Be open, be honest. If there were a straightforward answer to “what’s the right way to pray?” I think that “be honest” would be it. If we are honest with God (and that involves being honest with ourselves!), our relationship with God will grow and deepen and bear fruit. Whether that honesty is a psalm, a hymn, a shout of joy, an argument of frustration, or a silent sigh of despair.

So we are back to, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Lord, helps us to be in a relationship with you. Help us to find the means—be it words, music, crayon, paint—help us find the means to be honest with you. Encourage us to tell you when we’re joyful, when we’re doubtful, when we’re angry. Be patient with us as you were patient with Abraham. Be gentle as with a frightened child. Lord, teach us to pray. Guide us ever into fuller relationship with you. Give us the courage it takes to be honest. As the disciples asked Jesus so long ago: Lord, teach us to pray. Amen.

amen

2007-07-21T22:04:00.000-04:00

I want a cat. I know that I haven't been too good at keeping my violet happy, but it doesn't let me know when it is sad. A cat, I firmly believe, will not just sit on the windowsill and sulk until I notice it. Hungry, a cat might check its food bowl to see if there is food. Siniy just sat there, moping. (She seems to be recovering... there is hope!)I want a cat.

Polyanna

2007-07-10T00:09:00.001-04:00

Well. Traveling today has been yuck.
For one, and most annoying, is that while I have free wireless internet in this lovely hotel room that I have to stay in because I'm stuck in Cedar Rapids and the airline wouldn't even pay for it, my computer is a piece of shine and won't let me stay connected for more than two seconds at a time. Grr. I need a new wireless adapter. Grr.

But I'm managing to see the light in some moments.
Example: the new airline I heard of today. Aliegant Air. (Giggle) Try it. Say it out loud. Confuse those around you. Aliegant Air. Or, as it sounds when said aloud, especially over the PA system in the airport: Leigonair. Like the mold spores. Hee.
And the internet SSID for this place is called Innflux.

Or how 'bout the fact that I'm paying over a hundred dollars for this shiny room... which has two queen size beds. And there is totally only one of me. Argh.

Or something I am actually smiling about: they almost sent me to Atlanta to get to Baltimore. Instead I'm going through Cinncincati. Random.

But it's late, and it will probably take me awhile to get this actually posted. All I want is to have this trip finished!

But hey: at least I'm not at the Krawl Inn!

four miles walked

2007-07-01T21:24:00.000-04:00

It turns out that the DC metro runs two hours later during the weekends than it does during the weekdays. Which is fine, unless you're trying to get to church early and don't know about this schedule delay. And you walk to your metro stop, see that it's closed, and think "Oh, I'll just keep going on Connecticut Ave, and either hit an open metro, or the church." Which is entirely true, and would have happened. If I had actually turned on Connecticut instead of staying on my faithful L street.
Oops.
So I got lost in a part of downtown DC that a young female probably shouldn't go getting lost in, even at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. And then I called my dad and got directions to Dupont Circle, which was nearby, has its own metro stop, and has Connecticut Ave on it. At the Dupont Circle metro stop I find out that the first train doesn't run until 7:30. It was 7:03 at the time, so I decided to keep walking. I ended up waiting fifteen minutes for the train at the next metro stop I got to, because by that point I could barely keep standing, and I needed to get to church in time for services.
I left "home" at 6:20, and made it to church at about 8. It's normally a forty minute trip. Four miles I walked, not including the return trip, which adds on about a mile. Four miles. In heels. Very uncomfortable heels.
So I now have several beautiful new blisters and I'm going to sleep very solidly.

Reflections on my first week

2007-06-01T08:12:00.000-04:00

I really love my job. I really really do. It's awesome.
Now, I've only been working at it for two days, and we haven't been all that busy yet. And I do know that things are only going to get busier. For example, Sunday. Sunday's going to be like those crazy days back in high school. We have a baptism at each service, acolyte training, baseball game, and a book club thing. I think. It'll be busy, whatever it is that we're doing. And then Monday's got some stuff, Tuesday's not to bad. Wednesday we've got some meetings, and then synod assembly starts on Thursday, goes to Saturday and then I preach on Sunday. Afterwhich there's talent show, and in the evening it's the Sunday school teacher's appreciation dinner at the house and we get to cook for it. Then it's the week before the youth trip and the next week, I think, is VBS. But I'm thinking I need to get a planner or something before that happens... it may sound like I know what's happening next, but I'm sure that there's a lot more happening that I'm not remembering.

I'm home right now. Took the train, spent the night. I've got some errands to run today. Hopefully I'll get them all done in time to pick dad up from work and go to post with him.

See, the thing is, (and yeah, I'm only two days into the summer, so it's early to be thinking for results right away), I really enjoy my job, and I really feel comfortable at St. Paul's and all this... but I know that there's a difference between a specific job at a specific place that one finds enjoyable and that one finds fulfillment at... and the career that one is called to do. But oh well. We'll see. This summer will be an adventure, no matter what happens.

Oh, and the thing that a goldfish and a laser have in common is that neither one can whistle.

Until the next

Welcome

2007-05-28T21:05:00.001-04:00

Welcome to Traveling Panda, blog 2: Musings.
The blog description (see at the top) pretty much says it all, plus I'll add that you can look forward to a more conversational tone, less historical fact, more blah blah blah.
If this were a movie trailer I'd be telling you to look forward to poems written while at Buchenwald, reflections on May term in general (but my professor gets first dibs on reading that), my sermon(s?) that will happen this summer, once they happen, and a whole host of other fun things. But this isn't a movie trailer, so I'll not tell you about that. ;)

So, since I can't tell you about all those things, I'll tell you a joke.

What do a goldfish and a laser have in common?