A Prayer for the Last Day of September

Here we are at the last day of September.  I feel like I've lost the whole month of September, and in many ways I have.  Let me offer here a prayer:

God of Changing Seasons,

The storms of September have cast me adrift.  My prayer book collects dust on the bedside table beside the bed where I have not always slept this month.  I resolve to return to a practice of daily prayer in October.

I know that I am lucky.  I have a minimally damaged home, unlike so many others in Texas, Florida, and almost every Caribbean island.  I pray for those who need so much.

I pray for us all who are so exhausted by the tasks at hand and by the tasks that lie ahead of us.

The Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels

Today, the Church celebrates the role of angels in the divine plan, my prayer book tells me (The Divine Hours, written by Phyllis Tickle). Our Orthodox brothers and sisters handle the question of angels better than most Protestants. Most of the Lutheran churches that I've been a member of don't talk about angels much, and based on the ideas of some of my students, many Protestant churches do talk about angels, but with a very shaky theology.

I'll never forget one time teaching Paradise Lost to South Carolina students in my Brit Lit survey class at a community college. One woman seemed particularly confused about all the angels in the story. "How could there be angels," she asked, "when nobody has died?"

It took me a few attempts to understand her question. She knew about angels from church, but only in the sense that we become angels when we die--which is a very recent idea about angels. I explained the more ancient idea about angels, which is that they are a species completely separate from humans. We got into a bit of a theology lesson, but I could see that she wasn't happy with these ideas about angels. She was much more comfortable with the idea of the angels being Grandma and Grandpa who died when she was a child. The idea of angels as a separate kind of entity with no free will? No thanks.

In a way, I understand. Angels are scary. Death is scary. It's rather brilliant to come up with the idea that we become angels when we die--and yet, this shaky theology defangs several concepts which should, in fact, be scary. We will die--and before that, everything we love will die. How do we cope with that idea?

Some of us cope by clinging to the idea that there is a Divine God with a plan and a vision that's vaster than anything we could develop on our own. This God has more power than we can conceive of--including legions of angels, angels that are there for us too.

Let me confess that I don't do angels well either. They seem a bit too New Agey for me, especially with the spate of angel books that were published 20 years ago, books that promised me that I would get to know my angels, books in which getting to know my angels was very similar to enslaving my angels to do my will. Blcch. Giving the angels a mission is God's job, not mine.

I often joked that I should combine two publishing trends and publish a diet book: Your Angels Want You to Be Thin! The Know Your Angels Diet Book. I'm not that mercenary, though (and if you are, feel free to steal my title), not that willing to make money off the real troubles and gullibility of humans. To borrow words from Blake, I don't want to be the one that makes a Heaven off of misery.

But now, years later, I find myself a bit envious of those people who grew up in traditions that had theologically sound approaches to angels. Again and again, I find in the traditions of others something I feel lacking in mine.

Luckily, I'm part of a Lutheran tradition that doesn't insist that we remain closed off to traditions that might enrich us spiritually, even if Luther didn't sanction them. We've seen an explosion of exploration of labyrinths. Maybe angels will be next.

For those of you who want some special Scripture for this high feast day, here's what the Lutheran church (ELCA) recommends:

First Reading: Daniel 10:10-14; 12:1-3
Psalm: Psalm 103:1-5, 20-22
Second Reading: Revelation 12:7-12
Gospel: Luke 10:17-20

Preparing for the Feast Day of Michael and All Angels

On September 29, the Church celebrates the role of angels in the divine plan, my prayer book tells me with the Feast Day of Michael and All Angels.  Do we need to prepare today so that we can celebrate tomorrow?

It's the kind of feast day that could slip right by--especially for those of us in denominations that don't really emphasize angels.  And yet, occasionally the angels come to even those denominations, especially at Advent.

Part of me has a light-hearted approach:  let's have angel food cake.

Or we could create in other ways.  If we created a visual representation of an angel that avoided clichés, what would they look like?

Maybe we just want to think about wings.

Or maybe we want to read.  Gabriel Garcia Marquez offers an interesting vision of winged creatures in the short story "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings."  In "The Dead," James Joyce names his main characters after the angels Gabriel and Michael, which gives the story a resonance and richness.

What story might we create that uses angel imagery with subtlety and nuance?  Or maybe we want a poem about angels moving in the world.

If you need a meditation object to get you ready, here's a picture of a ladder of angels from the 2016 Create in Me retreat:

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 1, 2017:

First Reading: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 17:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-8 (Psalm 25:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16

Second Reading: Philippians 2:1-13

Gospel: Matthew 21:23-32


This Sunday's Gospel continues to explore the notion of fidelity and fairness. People ask about Jesus--who grants him authority?  Jesus gives them a question they're afraid to answer, for fear of getting the wrong answer, and Jesus refuses to answer the question. 

Instead, he gives a parable about two sons, neither of which is true to his word.  One says that he'll go work in the vineyard, and he doesn't.  One says he won't work, but then he does.  Which son represents you?

The lesson of this Gospel is clear: we get credit for our actions, not for our speech. This idea may fly in the face of what we believe to be good Lutheran theology. What about the idea of grace? Many of us were taught that we're such dreadful humans that there's nothing we could do to justify the gift of salvation. God swoops in and redeems us, even though we're fairly hopeless people. That was the message I got from many a church event, Lutheran and otherwise.

But as a grown up, going back to revisit these passages, I'm amazed at how often God requires more of us than just saying we believe in Christ, more than just accepting Christ as our saviour, more than just having faith. In the words of Luther, faith should move our feet. In the words of James, faith without works is dead.  We don't confess belief in Christ so that we can relax on the sofa.  We confess our faith and go to work in the vineyard.

Our goal each and every day is to be the light of the world, the yeast that makes the bread rise, the radiance that allows people to see God at work in the world.  Notice how small our actions can be.  The yeast is tiny, but from its small actions, flour and water transform into bread.

Ideally we're yeast and light, but the good news of today's Gospel, and many of the others that we read throughout our 3 year lectionary cycle, is that even when we fall short, God will still love us. If we've said we'd do the work, and we fail to do it, we have other days when we can show up. God will still welcome us. The world is full of darkness, waiting for our light.

Shelter from the Storm

We were not sure what to expect when we opened the storm shutters.

We expected to lose our power.

We expected to envy those who got their power restored earlier than we did.

We have stockpiled our books for this time of reading by candles and flashlights.

We grabbed sleep where we could.

We kept our sights on the one who gives us true shelter.

Improv Jonah

Yesterday at our interactive service, we approached the story of Jonah from 3 perspectives: Jonah's, God's, and the Ninevites'. I was in the Ninevite group--this is us, having moved away from the refreshment table which we used to signify our sinful patterns.   Here we are in our sackcloth and mourning faces, hoping to change God's mind and avoid destruction:

The Jonah group told the story of Jonah from Jonah's perspective.  I particularly liked the high school student who played the shrub who sheltered Jonah and then died.

The God group pondered Jonah and his approach to life in much the way a parent of an adolescent child would wonder why the teenager was making the life choices that the teenager did.

I liked this approach to the story of Jonah--it helps us wrestle with the ancient texts in a very different way.  I began the session rather grumpy--we had had a morning of trying to clean up after a roof leak, and as we were doing that, a huge chunk of a tree fell on the car and motorcycle in the driveway.  I was not in the mood for a vengeful God whose mind can be changed or a prophet who doesn't want to be bothered to do his job.

An interval of improv snapped me right out of my mood.  We had a good morning at church across all of the services, as we pondered the modern message of Jonah for our fractured time.  Why is it so hard for us to participate in God's vision of a redeemed world?  Why are we so likely to sit in a snit when the "wrong" people are saved?

Prayer to Go with Today's Gospel

Matthew 20: 1-16

Leader: God, you have promised to provide what we need.
Congregation: We are afraid that there will not be enough.

Leader: God, you invite us all to the vineyard.
Congregation: We are afraid others will get our share.

Leader: God, we often see you as the plantation boss.
Congregation: Let us see you as the one who hosts the party.

Leader: God, you know we often see our work as drudgery.
Congregation: Remind us every day that life with you is a festival.

Post-Irma Update

We finally got power restored on Thursday--we had to have an electrician come out to do some repair work to the conduit/tubing/riser that had come apart.  On Tuesday, the FPL woman told me that we didn't have to do that, that the crew would fix whatever damage they found.  On Wednesday, the crew said no.  I called several electricians--thank God for Facebook and my various communities there who could make recommendations. 

I feel fortunate to have found an electrician who could come the next day, instead of in October.  I feel fortunate to have power and even more fortunate not to have to do battle with Comcast.

During the rain yesterday, the first rain since Irma, we discovered a leak in the laundry room.  I'm trying not to feel overwhelmed by the ever-growing to-do list.

I hope that this week will see a restoration to some sense of normalcy, even with all the repairs we need to make.  I hope to be back to blogging more regularly this week.

Rusty Survivalist

Wednesday, day 10, no power, with the website saying it will be restored by 11:45 tonight. Let me keep my perspective by reminding myself that 2 weeks ago, my spouse and I took a walk and talked about the very real possibility of a category 4 hurricane coming over our house in a more direct hit and what that would mean for our house and posessions left behind (a total loss, we assumed, 2 weeks ago).  Today, 2 weeks later, we don't have power, but we have a house.

Let me remember the very surreal feeling of walking through the house and thinking about evacuation by car or by plane--what would we grab?  Our various documents, our laptops, and some clothes, if by plane.  If by car, a few extras here and there.

As we packed the car on Friday, Sept. 8, I thought about the space that was left, and whether or not to leave things behind to face what we thought would be certain storm surge losses.  Should I do a quick sort of CDs to ascertain what I'd truly miss?  Perhaps pack a few books?

In the end, I left it all, for the most part.  I meant to bring my box of chapbooks, but I didn't.  We almost forgot the fireproof safe that has all of our important documents.  It's become very clear to me that my survivalist skills have gotten rusty.  In this week with no power, I've discovered that I didn't have the stash of batteries I thought I did, and we don't have an alarm clock that works with no electricity.  Until 5 days ago, we had forgotten that one of our radios will work with AA batteries.

Let me not focus on the fact that my house is the only one on the block with no power still.  Let me focus on the survivalist skill that I've kept sharp:  a variety of communities.  Let me sing the praises of people who have invited us over for a meal and who have shared their batteries.  Lots of people have offered their generators or their guest rooms, but we don't need them, because of our very kind neighbor who hauled his revamped 1968 camper with AC down to our driveway--we've had a cool place to sleep.

We are rich in friends.  We are lucky to have a safe neighborhood, where I can sit on the porch at all hours of the day or night to read.  I am happy that I still have my supply books to read--I've been revisiting them.  A collection of books:  I may not have as many batteries as I need, but a supply of books is as important to me.

And we will have power soon.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 24, 2017:

First Reading: Jonah 3:10--4:11

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 16:2-15

Psalm: Psalm 145:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-6, 37-45

Second Reading: Philippians 1:21-30

Gospel: Matthew 20:1-16


I've often thought that these parables that use work metaphors are less useful to those of us toiling in the 21st century--and I've wondered how the contemporaries of Jesus would hear this parable.

Outrage is the classic response to the idea that the workers who toiled all day getting the same wages as those who show up one hour before quitting time. We howl, "But that's not fair."

Some preachers will use this Gospel as an excuse to preach on the classic idea that life isn't fair. Maybe they'll remind us that we're fortunate that life isn't fair (how often do we pray for justice, when what we really long for is mercy?) or maybe they'll give us a real soul-sapper of a sermon about the grinding nature of life. Or maybe congregations will hear about the idea of grace being extended to us all, no matter how long it takes us to acknowledge it.

But the poet in me immediately searches for a new way to frame this parable. What if, instead of toiling in the vineyard, we're invited to a party? Those of us who come early get to drink more wine, eat more goodies, and engage in more hours of intense conversation. We get to spend more quality time with our host. Those who come later will still get to drink wine, eat goodies, converse, and have quality time. The wine won't have soured, the goodies won't have molded, the conversation won't have dwindled, the host won't be tired and wishing that everyone would just go home. The party will still be intensely wonderful. But those who come late won't have as much time to enjoy it.

God does call us to toil in the vineyard. But toil is the wrong word, or at least, in our world, it has negative connotations that can't be easily overcome.

Don't think of it as the kind of work you had to do in that soul-deadening job with that boss who delighted in tormenting you. It's not that kind of work. It's also not the kind of work where it's OK to just show up and keep the seat warm, wondering when it will be time to return home, to the place you'd rather be (which would be Heaven, in this metaphor, I suppose).

Instead, God's work is like that enriching job, the one where you were challenged, but not overwhelmed. God's work engages you on every level and you look up at the end of the work day, amazed at how time has passed and how involved you have become. At the end of God's work day, you're amazed at all you've been able to accomplish.

God calls us to partnership in an amazing creative endeavour. We're called to transform the world, to help reclaim the world for God's vision. In Surprised by Hope, Bishop N. T. Wright reminds us, "But what we can and must do in the present, if we are obedient to the gospel, if we are following Jesus, and if we are indwelt, energized, and directed by the Spirit, is to build for the kingdom. This brings us back to 1 Corinthians 15;58 once more: what you do in the Lord is not in vain. You are not oiling the wheels of a machine that's about to roll over a cliff" (208).

The ways that we can do this Kingdom work are varied, from helping the poor, to enjoying a good meal, to writing a poem, to consoling a friend, to playing with your dog, to painting . . . the list is as long as there are humans in the world. Wright assures us that "God gloriously honors all kinds of ways of announcing the good news" (226).

Do the kind of creating that involves you on many levels, that makes you lose your sense of time, that leaves you unmoored in your wonder at the beauty of creation. That's the work that God calls us to do.

Haves and Have Nots

Today is the day that my good spirits start to flag.  It was fun, the first day or two without power.  We had had a few sunless days, after all, and then it was breezy, as one might expect in a hurricane.  Most people lost power, so we were all camping in our houses.  We went ahead and ate all the food that had been in the freezer.  We chatted with neighbors with whom we rarely speak.  We had leisurely evenings with nothing to distract us.

The sound of generators wasn't as maddening as in past storms--likewise for generators.

Now that some people have power, and we don't, I confess to feeling a bit more dejected.  We are lucky--we should have power by Sunday, FPL tells us.  We have activities planned at our friends' houses.  I am so grateful to have friends who say, "Come over for dinner" and/or  "Stay in our guest room."

Still, it's wearing.

And it's a valuable insight into the way that parts of the world live all the time.  I know that plenty of people in the U.S. can't afford to run the AC, even if they have power and AC.  I know that those same people often live in neighborhoods where it's not safe to open the windows.  I know that although the developing world may have access to electricity more than they did in the past, that the electrical supply isn't reliable.

I know that plenty of people would love to live in my little cottage in the back of the property, even though we haven't cleaned it up from the flooding.  I know that plenty of people would envy me my ability to cook on propane.  I have water that's clean enough to bathe in and drink--much of the world does not.

This week, I have had a glimmer of how it feels to be a Have Not in a world of Haves.  But it's only a glimmer.  I'm only a tourist in this land.  I'll be returning to my home country of the Haves very soon--but I hope to help more people migrate to this land, having been reminded of how tough it is to live on the Have Not side.

When God Doesn't Change the Path of the Hurricane

I told myself I wouldn't get sucked into these kinds of conversations on Facebook.  I had been so good at not engaging.  But then I saw this post from a family member (the fact that it's a family member may make this engagement better or worse, I'm not sure):

"So...there was a massive unprecedented hurricane barreling down on Florida. We all saw the radar and space images. The country went into a panic and many began asking for prayer and millions were praying that God would ease the storm. The storm followed the predicted path but did not cause even remotely the amount of damage or loss of life that was expected. Now there's an outcry that either the media was lying or the scientists were wrong. Why is no one considering the possibility that God answered some prayers and intervened, thwarting the devastating effects of the storm?
COPIED!!!!"

I let it go at first.  If I responded, would I really change any minds?  But in the end, I wrote this:

"Have you seen reports from Key West? The fact that no one has seen pictures makes me worry that it may be truly awful. And Naples is in bad shape. The problem with this theology: did those people pray less well? Why did God thwart devastating effects for me and not for all the island nations? I feel certain that it's NOT because I pray better or are [sic] more deserving."

The FB poster said this: 

"It wasn't a matter of praying better. If Irma had taken the path they said at a Cat 5 then there would have been massive deaths. We don't know with the Keys yet but at this point it seems that most of the deaths in Florida were avoidable. They were either from human mistake (the fall and genator deaths) or human incompatence (the nursing home)"

I wrote this:

"Read that last sentence of your post again--you do seem to be suggesting that God answered the prayers of those praying for Florida after God decided not to answer the prayers of those who prayed for all of those islands to our south. It's crummy theology in so many ways."

Another FB friend responded:

"The main message that I saw in this post was why aren't we giving God the credit for his help with this storm. True, there are so many who were tragically impacted (my daughter is in St Maarten and is living that tragedy now). However, I do believe that God did answer prayers and that it could have been so much worse if He hadn't. My heart goes out to those who were not as fortunate as we were here but I do believe that God should get all the glory for all blessings."

Again, the theology and the logic bothered me, and so I posted:

"I wish that God had answered my prayer to have the storm curve out to sea and not impact any of us at all. I just don't see prayer as working that way--which doesn't stop me from praying, as you can see. I don't blame God, either. I believe that God is there with us in every storm, but not to change the course of the storm. Otherwise, the theology is just unsustainable--why some prayers answered and not others? I don't think that God intervenes in the laws of the physical world that God created in a certain way."

And then minutes clicked by, and my inner voice accused me of a bit of hypocrisy.  It's not hypocrisy, so much, as believing two opposing viewpoints at once.  I posted this:

"But of course, I'll pray regardless. I'm sure that God hears our prayers and that having God by my side is better than not praying. I'm also willing to admit that I'm a very tiny human with a much smaller vision than God's--I could be wrong, and I'm not seeing the long view that God sees. I also think that if God intervenes, it's only when we ask. So, yes, I hedge my bets and pray and pray and pray, especially when the news looks grim."

I am fairly sure we haven't changed any of our minds.  I still don't know how they would explain the many things that prayer hasn't changed--can we rejoice when prayer goes our way, and live with the difficulty of coping when prayer doesn't.

The Facebook exchange above shows how I have wrestled with the issue--and I expect to wrestle with it my whole life.  I would like God to make the changes that I can't pull off by myself.  I would like to control God--and everyone and everything else in my life.

I just don't know that I can buy into that theology that if I pray hard enough, it will all turn out OK.  It often doesn't.  What do we say then?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, Sept.17, 2017:

First Reading: Genesis 50:15-21

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 14:19-31

Psalm: Psalm 103:[1-7] 8-13

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 114

Psalm (Alt.): Exodus 15:1b-11, 20-21 (Semi-continuous)

Second Reading: Romans 14:1-12

Gospel: Matthew 18:21-35

The Gospel for today, at least the first part, is probably familiar to most of us. Peter is looking for the magic number of times that he must forgive--and you can tell he's annoyed, ready to cut off the person who has offended him, but he'll forgive seven times--and you know that he's probably already forgiven that person eight times. Jesus tells him he must forgive seventy times seven.

I remember in fifth grade Sunday school class where we studied this passage. We immediately got to work on the math. And if you were an obsessive child, like I had a tendency to be, you started keeping a list of how many times you had forgiven your sister.

I had unwittingly proven Jesus' point. Peter asks a stupid, juvenile question, and Jesus gives him an answer to let him know how petty he has been. By now, we should all know that Jesus didn't come to give us a new set of legalisms to follow.

Jesus then gives us a parable about the nature of forgiveness. Most of us will need more forgiveness throughout our lives than we really deserve. We are like indentured servants who can never hope to pay off our debt, but we're miraculously forgiven.

Most of us, happily, will never experience indentured servitude in the traditional sense. But in our past years of financial collapse, many of us have discovered a different kind of indebtedness. Many of us owe more on our houses than they will ever be worth again. Many of us owe more on our credit cards than we can ever repay, and we likely don’t even remember what we bought. Because of the lousy job situation throughout the country, many of us are chained to jobs that no longer satisfy. Think of how wonderful it would be if someone came in and relieved us of those debts. Think of forgiveness the same way.

Our task--and it sometimes seems more monumental than paying off a huge financial debt--is to extend that quality of forgiveness and mercy to others.

Who needs your forgiveness? Have you told those people that they're forgiven? Do they know it by your loving actions? To whom do you need to repent? What's keeping you from doing it?

And now, for the part that might be even harder for many of us—have you forgiven yourself? I've gotten fairly talented at forgiving my loved ones, but I'm still not good at forgiving myself. I'm still angry and annoyed when the struggles I thought were past me resurface. I'm still hard on myself for my shortcomings, even as I acknowledge that my shortcomings could be worse.

Fortunately, God has a higher opinion of me than I do of myself. God is willing to forgive me for my shortcomings--even as I fall short again and again.

Let us model ourselves after God's capacity for forgiveness.  And if our capacity to forgive isn’t at 70 times 7 yet, let’s pray for an expanded ability to forgive. Let us also remember to pray for our enemies, both the personal ones and the political ones, the inner voices that berate us, the outer voices that shrilly defeat all peace initiatives, all the enemies who would undo us.

Irma Update

It is 7:35 EDT on the southeast coast of Florida--Hurricane Irma's eye is at Key West right now.  It's still a category 4 storm, and sadly, it has slowed down. 

Here, 17 miles inland, in the northern part of Broward county, we still have power, so I thought I'd write a brief post. 

We had a lovely day yesterday, helping our friends with the last of their storm prep--I was grateful to have a place to stay, so I was glad to be able to help.  Actually, my spouse did all of the heavy-duty help.

In the evening, we kept hearing about tornado warnings.  These are not the scary midwestern kind of tornadoes. Plus, many of us have impact resistant glass and/or shutters. These baby tornadoes really aren't much of a worry for me.

I'm more worried about flooding, but I'm seeing local news crews standing on wet but not flooded streets near the coast. I'm continuing to hope for the best for the east coast of Florida and to hope for unexpected good news from the Keys and the west coast.

The storm surge warning was lifted for our coastline, so if we get flooding, at least it won't be that kind of flooding. 

We've had a few storm bands, but we still have power. So far, so good. It will be a long day, but others will have a much worse day.

The Day Before the Day Before the Hurricane

Our days of watching and waiting and hoping and cursing and praying are coming to a close.  Hurricane Irma arrives at some point in the next 24 hours.  When I look at the radar, it seems we'll feel some bands later today or tonight.  I think (and desperately hope) that we'll have a storm that arrives in daylight.

My spouse did much of the hurricane prep on Thursday, but some of it must be done at the last minute.  Yesterday, I made some raspberry streusel bars, in part to use up the frozen raspberries, in part because they make good breakfast food.  My spouse and I plotted out the day.

I made a quick run to the bank to deposit my spouse's paycheck while he started working on installing the last hurricane panels.  I got back and helped, but I'm really not much help.  For every wingnut I installed, he installed 4.

We had made several lists of what we'd take with us, but it was surprisingly hard to finish the work.  When we were preparing, the projected track was right up the middle of the state.  Should we protect our possessions that we left behind against the wind or against the floods?  Probably both. 

I knew that I'd be leaving some stuff in the dryer--it's off the ground and well protected.  We put some framed family pictures in the dryer, but decided to leave the photo albums on the shelf.  Once I have to go back to work, I want to have those clothes, so I added them to the collection, along with my work sandals that are in better shape.

I still had room.  I put all of my poetry rough draft legal pads in there, my sketchbooks and expensive markers, and then I called it done.

I put the handwritten journals that are most important to me into the dishwasher.  It's never been connected, so I didn't worry about water backing up into it.  I was surprised by how much writing is left.  I hope I don't lose it all, but if I do, I've protected the important stuff that's not already digitalized.

Then it was on to the food decisions.  Since we would be evacuating to our friends' house, I didn't want to arrive with no food, but I wanted to be mindful that they wouldn't have room for all of our perishables.  I had some salmon in the freezer; it stayed because my friends don't eat fish much, and I didn't want to cook fish there and put up with the stinky fish wrappers through the storm. All of our non-perishables with any nutritive value fit into several bags, so they came with us, along with a cooler of food for the freezer and the fridge.

We loaded the cars, which was a sobering moment.  I looked at everything that was left behind?  Should I try to cram all the CDs into every nook and cranny of the car?  I was tempted, but I didn't.  I moved some of our items up off the floor, and we unplugged everything.  Then we put shutters over the last door and drove away.

We were worried about the traffic on major highways, so we took Highway 1 north.  I was flooded by memories:  there's the furniture store where we bought our sleigh bed which may or may not be there when we return.  There's the Riverfront Hotel, where we stayed the very first time we visited Ft. Lauderdale.  There's the Hustler Store that used to be the last Peaches Records in the U.S.  I remembered meeting friends at various restaurants along the way.  I felt somewhat desolate, but I didn't cry.

We are lucky to have friends who were sincere when they offered us shelter.  We unloaded the cars, relaxed, and played cards all afternoon, just waiting for the 5 p.m. advisory.

The 5 p.m. advisory was good for us, but terrifying for the Keys.  The track has shifted west again.  We will stay put, because we're still on the outer edge of the cone, and it's a huge storm.  We're still looking at hurricane force winds, but they'll be a category 1 or 2, not the category 4 that the Keys will feel.

By the end of the day, with all the physical labor and the worry, I was exhausted, but I found it hard to fall asleep.  I was worried about the people who are under much more severe threat than they were this morning.  I worried about the homeless people that we had seen along the way.  I worried about the ability of all of us to weather two major hurricanes in a month.  I tried to pray.  Eventually, I drifted off.

We are as prepared as we can be.  When we emerge on the other side, we'll see where everyone stands, and we'll recover.  I'm ready for this storm to be over.

Hurricane Irma Approaches

It feels like a very long time ago that I first started to monitor the progress of Hurricane Irma.  I have considered at every possibility, and now it looks like we will get the worst one for the state of Florida, a track right up the middle of the state for a major hurricane.  The only saving grace is that we might only be looking at a category 3 through most of the state, instead of a 4 or 5.

My mood has swung back and forth.  At some times, I am so terrified that I feel the blood race through my body.  I go to an alert like this one, and I wonder why we're even bothering to secure our properties when all of the buildings will collapse and we will all die.

But then I saw some information that made me hopeful--and I saw it on the local news, of all places. One of our weather experts showed a graphic of maximum expected winds in our county--105 mph, which we've survived before. It's much better than the 150 or 180 that I was terrified we might see. I also saw a graphic that I saw divides the storm risk surge into 4 categories, and we're at the lowest risk. Southern Miami Dade county and points south are at the highest risk.  In my home county, Broward, we have deep ocean out there, unlike a lot of other coastal areas, so the water will have some place to drain to. 

My mom and dad listened to our state governor's press conference on Wed--I'm not sure what that man said exactly, but boy, did it make them feel panicked. Yesterday, my mom said that if we'd get to Orlando today, she'd pay any price for our plane ticket to get us out of here.  We both searched for tickets, but there's not an empty plane seat today in any airport in Florida. 

Yesterday was a typical pre-hurricane day:  I woke up at 2, and decided to check the 11 p.m. advisory.  I wrote this Facebook post:  "I am sure that when people talk about the dark night of the soul, they are not talking about the sinking feeling that comes from waking up at 2 a.m. and reading the 11 p.m. National Hurricane Center advisory. Doing some laundry, pondering how far west is far enough to get away, hoping that the hurricane ultimately goes east of the Bahamas, far, far east."

I stayed awake for awhile, and around 3:38 a.m., I decided to go on a quest for gas.  We likely had enough to get through the storm and its aftermath, but we have had such a run on gas stations that it made me anxious.  At a convenience store nearby, I found pumps--no premium gas left, but I don't need that.  So, I filled up one car and then the other.

My car tells me how many miles are left on a tank, so when I saw I could go 430 miles, I had a brief span of time when I thought about loading up the car and driving north.  Later, my spouse and I looked at track maps and decided that everywhere we'd want to go would be in the path of the storm.  And we know that the roads get increasingly crowded as everyone feels jittery and decides to make a run for it.  Tough as it might be to ride out a storm here, it would be even worse--and likely deadly--to be stuck in the car on the Interstate.

I spent the rest of the morning before I went to work doing a bit of storm prep.  It is strange to wander around the house thinking about losing it all--and even stranger to think about how little I would miss most of it.  I don't really like most of our furniture, for example. 

I felt the most despair when I looked at the refrigerator and freezer.  I try not to stock up on perishables during hurricane season, but we still have a lot of food.  I felt this despair well up, and I thought, what is this about?  I'm feeling more despair about replaceable food than I am about other possessions?  But I realized that the largest part of my despair comes from what the food represents:  normal life, when one can buy and cook food.

As we finish our preparations today, I'll try to think about flooding.  I'll move things that are valuable to me, like a box of journals, to a higher spot.  I'll put some things like photo albums in the washer, dryer, or dishwasher.  I'll wrap some things in plastic.  One friend suggested I wrap all my books in plastic, but I don't have that kind of time--or plastic.  And frankly, if all my books were ruined, I'd only feel sad about some of them.

So, Home Depot will open momentarily.  Let me go see if I can buy some wing nuts that we need to attach the shutters to the doors (the windows have the very convenient accordion shutters) and some algaecide for the pool.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017:

First Reading: Ezekiel 33:7-11

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm: Psalm 119:33-40

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 149

Second Reading: Romans 13:8-14

Gospel: Matthew 18:15-20

The Gospel readings from the last several weeks have shown us Jesus trying to prepare his disciples to take over his mission, once he's no longer physically there to lead them. Here we see him address issues of conflict management, and his advice seems to hold true, even centuries later: try to work out the conflict privately and go through increasingly public discourse.

The last verse is one of the more famous Gospel verses, the one that tells us that we only need two or three to gather in the name of Christ, and he'll be there. But what does this verse mean for the larger church?

This morning, I'm thinking of the modern church, which seems focused on numbers and growing large.  This morning, I'm thinking of this passage and wondering if Christ calls us to be small.

I think of all the articles I've read that talk about the declining numbers of people who affiliate with a church.  I think of all the people who remember the glory days of the U.S. church, back in the middle of the 20th century, back when stores were closed on Sundays, and it seemed that everyone went to church.  When church leaders talked, communities listened.

Of course, the sociologist and historian in me also knows that many vulnerable members of the community were not heard in those days.  I would not go back to 1959, even if more people went to church on Sundays. Too many people led restricted lives--no thanks.

Still, those of us who have inherited the churches that were built during those glory days might be spending a lot of time wondering how to support those buildings with our smaller memberships.  We look for ways that the building can be a blessing to many groups, not just ours.

It's good to remember that church doesn't mean the building. This Sunday, many Lutherans who aren't experiencing a hurricane will be having God's Work, Our Hands events.  We will see the power of small groups working on a project.  As Texas has been coping with Hurricane Harvey, I've been impressed with how the ELCA Bishop of the Synod and various pastors have helped coordinate clean up efforts.

I am working on this meditation as the most powerful Atlantic storm in history, Hurricane Irene, batters the islands to my south.  I am praying for those people in the path of the storm.  I take comfort remembering that church groups often come to the aid and rescue of those who have been battered by natural disasters--and they'll often stay long after the attention of the nation has wandered somewhere else.

Jesus promises that the presence of God will be with us when only two or three gather.  And we've seen from the lives of the earliest Christians, the transforming power of what happens when groups of two or three go out into the world together in the company of the Holy Spirit.

A Prayer For Those Who Are in the Path of the Storm

Another week, another storm. I'm keeping a wary eye on Hurricane Irma, and I'm hoping for the best for those tiny islands with residents who can't evacuate.

I have always felt weird about praying about the path of hurricanes.  For one thing, I'm not sure that God gets involved in the laws of physics that way.

But for another, I'm aware that if I'm saved by the hurricane going elsewhere, it means doom for someone else.

 In Oct. 2106, I came across a way to pray about hurricanes.  The rest of this post is from a Facebook post written by Mary Mappus Finklea, who has given permission to share:

-------------------------

"Grant weather that nourishes all of creation."

 This petition from Holden evening prayer has always been particularly moving for me. Especially after staying at the Lutheran Seafarers Hostel in NYC and meeting a sailor who said it drove him crazy when everyone just wanted the storms to go out to sea. He said there are people there too to care about. I've also liked this petition because it's not "me-centered" as in 'get the storm out of MY front yard and send it up north to be some other guy's problem'. And the petition keeps in mind the welfare of plants, animals, livestock, etc.

So my prayer this morning is "Grant weather that nourishes all of creation."

(a Facebook post from Mary Mappus Finklea)

Labor Day Contemplation and Prayer

How will you celebrate this Labor Day?

Will you spend today putting away your white clothes and your sandals?  I will not.  I wear sandals year round, and I have one white skirt that I'll wear until October or November.  But I am old enough to remember a time when we were not allowed to wear white to church after Labor Day.  It was just not done in the traditional states of the U.S. South where I spent my childhood--even though the hot weather would continue well into September and October.  Back to school meant that feet went back into closed shoes--no more sandals.

Most of us will probably not participate in Labor rallies, picnics put on by our unions, or civil disobedience designed to bring more benefits to workers.

Sadly, for many of us, it's just a day off of work.

It's a good day to celebrate all of the work we do, the work for pay, the work that feeds our creative spirits, the volunteer work that bolsters the spirits of so many.  How can we honor the work that nourishes?  How can we devote more time to that kind of work?

A prayer for Labor Day:  Oh God of labor and rest, we pray today for all who work in various fields.  Let the work be nourishing.  Let the compensation be consistent and fair.  May all of our colleagues be easy to work beside.  We also pray for those with no jobs.  Let them find the work they need.  We pray for parents who toil without pay, and everyone else who works a similar job.  Mindful of your example, we also pray for rest on a regular basis.

Towards a Photo Theology of Work

We labor in our various workplaces.  Gone are the mines and the mills, for the most part.  But our offices can be just as demanding:

Work even invades our bedrooms and other spaces that should be sacred.

In our quest for a theology of work, perhaps it is time to go much, much further back:

I envy the monastic schedule, with its balance of work, prayer, study, meals, and rest:

As we labor, let us remember that it's not only the worth of the work that gives our lives meaning.  Let us honor the ones that walk beside us:

Let us resolve to do the work that nurtures what is holy.

Poem for the Clean Up: "Strange Communions"

Here's a Facebook post I wrote yesterday, which I post here to preserve it:

"I understand why people are upset with Joel Osteen--although, if you read his books or watch his show, he is walking his particular Prosperity Gospel walk, which does not include caring for the poor. But lately I've seen a bit of grumbling about other Houston churches and their perceived hypocrisy--tax exempt status, so whey aren't they doing more? Having helped restore a church after a less damaging hurricane, it's not hypocrisy when you decide not to open your church as a shelter. It's not good hospitality to say, "Go sleep on that sodden, ruined carpet, and in the morning, we'll all eat spoiled food together." That's not walking the walk, talking the talk either."

That post, along with pictures posted by Bishop Mike Rinehart of the ELCA churches in his Synod beginning the hurricane clean up, took me back to the time after Hurricane Wilma.  The church to which we belonged sustained massive damage. I spent much of the next 6 weeks cleaning up that church. It was a church of older people, and there weren't many hands to do that work.

One day, about a week into the recovery time, I had spent the day hauling wet carpet to the curb after ripping it out of the floor, and I was wet, dirty, and bloody. The Bishop of our Synod appeared, dressed in casual clothes, an assistant by his side. I said, "Are you the carpet guys?" Oops.  The men bristled a bit.

Like I said, I'm fairly sure they were dressed in casual clothes. If the bishop had come wearing his purple shirt and his impressive cross, I'd have known he wasn't the carpet guy.

Later it occurred to me to wonder why I should be expected to know what the Bishop looked like, to recognize him by sight. He had never graced the church with his presence before. And unlike the South Carolina synod conventions, which don't cost much to attend, our Florida synod conventions are astonishingly expensive. Even though I was church council president of that church, I never went because I knew the state of the church's books. We could barely afford to send the pastor.

The Bishop looked at our damage, took notes, and left us with a case of bottled water and some tarps.

At the time, I remember wishing for a bit more help with the physical labor, as I went back to ripping up carpet and hauling it to the curb.
But later, I got a great poem out of it. That poem was published by North American Review.

It's part of a series of poems that imagines what would happen if Jesus came back in our current world and moved amongst us today. Long ago, a Sunday School teacher asked us what we thought would happen if Jesus came back today (today being 1975). Little did she know that I'd still be playing with that question decades later:

Strange Communions


Jesus showed up at our church to help
with hurricane clean up.
“The Bishop was so busy,” he explained.
“But I had some time on my hands,
so I loaded the truck with tarps and water,
and came on down. What can I do?”

“Our roof needs a miracle,” I said.
“Do you know a good roofer?”

“I used to be a carpenter.
Of course, that’s getting to be a long time ago.
Let me see what I can do.”

I set to work ripping up the soaked
carpet in the sanctuary.
As I added a piece of dripping padding
to the pile, I noticed Christ across the street,
at the house with the fallen
tree that took out both cars and the porch.
He walked right up to the door to see
how the household was doing. I dragged
sopping carpet, trip after trip, while Jesus sat
on the porch and listened to the old woman’s sad
saga. The rough edges made my hands bleed.

Good smells made me wander down the dark
church hall to our scarcely used
kitchen, where I found Christ cooking.
“I found these odds and ends and decided
to make some lunch. Luckily, you’ve got a gas stove.”
I shrugged. “Why not? Otherwise, it’s just going to rot.”
How he made the delicious fish stew and homemade
bread out of the scraps he found
in our kitchen, I couldn’t explain.
We went out together to invite
the neighborhood in for a hot
meal, even though they weren’t church members.
We all spoke different languages,
but a hot lunch served by candlelight translates
across cultures.

I dragged drywall, black with mold, to our dumpster,
and noticed Christ walking by the cars in line
for the gas station on the corner.
When I got closer, I noticed he handed
out fresh-baked cookies and bottled water.
“Have some sweetness.
Life is hard when you can’t get necessities.”
Some drivers stared at him, like he was one of those predatory
scammers they’d been warned against.
“What’s the catch?” they growled.
“No catch,” he said with that convincing smile.
“Just a gift of grace, freely given. You’re free
to accept or refuse.” A strange communion.

Jesus left while there was still
much work to do: new carpet to be installed,
drywall to be hung, fencing to be constructed
around church grounds. I watch him drive
his empty truck, followed
by some of the neighbors, away from the church.

The next time it rained, I noticed
that the long, leaking roof had healed.

Strange Communions


Jesus showed up at our church to help
with hurricane clean up.
“The Bishop was so busy,” he explained.
“But I had some time on my hands,
so I loaded the truck with tarps and water,
and came on down. What can I do?”

“Our roof needs a miracle,” I said.
“Do you know a good roofer?”

“I used to be a carpenter.
Of course, that’s getting to be a long time ago.
Let me see what I can do.”

I set to work ripping up the soaked
carpet in the sanctuary.
As I added a piece of dripping padding
to the pile, I noticed Christ across the street,
at the house with the fallen
tree that took out both cars and the porch.
He walked right up to the door to see
how the household was doing. I dragged
sopping carpet, trip after trip, while Jesus sat
on the porch and listened to the old woman’s sad
saga. The rough edges made my hands bleed.

Good smells made me wander down the dark
church hall to our scarcely used
kitchen, where I found Christ cooking.
“I found these odds and ends and decided
to make some lunch. Luckily, you’ve got a gas stove.”
I shrugged. “Why not? Otherwise, it’s just going to rot.”
How he made the delicious fish stew and homemade
bread out of the scraps he found
in our kitchen, I couldn’t explain.
We went out together to invite
the neighborhood in for a hot
meal, even though they weren’t church members.
We all spoke different languages,
but a hot lunch served by candlelight translates
across cultures.

I dragged drywall, black with mold, to our dumpster,
and noticed Christ walking by the cars in line
for the gas station on the corner.
When I got closer, I noticed he handed
out fresh-baked cookies and bottled water.
“Have some sweetness.
Life is hard when you can’t get necessities.”
Some drivers stared at him, like he was one of those predatory
scammers they’d been warned against.
“What’s the catch?” they growled.
“No catch,” he said with that convincing smile.
“Just a gift of grace, freely given. You’re free
to accept or refuse.” A strange communion.

Jesus left while there was still
much work to do: new carpet to be installed,
drywall to be hung, fencing to be constructed
around church grounds. I watch him drive
his empty truck, followed
by some of the neighbors, away from the church.

The next time it rained, I noticed
that the long, leaking roof had healed.