Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 4, 2019:

First Reading: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm: Psalm 49:1-11 (Psalm 49:1-12 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Second Reading: Colossians 3:1-11

Gospel: Luke 12:13-21

Here is another Gospel where Jesus tells us how to live, and he does it both directly ("Take heed and beware of all covetousness; for a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions") and through the use of a parable.

In this parable we meet a common figure in Jesus' parables, the person saving up treasures on earth. Recognize yourself? We've moved away, many of us, from needing larger barns, although I've met more than one person who moved to a bigger house, just to have room to put all their stuff. In fact, the average square footage of new construction grows increasingly large, while the US family grows smaller. Barn, silo, house, storage unit--it's all the same to Jesus. And it all goes back to the human need for security. We store up treasures because we're so afraid of the future.

Jesus comes to preach the radical Gospel of sharing. One aspect of his good news is that we have a Creator who will provide for us. That news is supposed to free us up to give away what we have. Not just our surplus, but all of it.

Most of us don't even do a good job of giving away part of what we have. We're not good at sharing. We're good at hoarding, although if you look at the US savings rate, you might argue we're not even good at that. Most of us fill our longing for security by buying more and more and more--and wondering why we feel so empty.

Usually, as we get more money, we want more money. We turn our attention to building our wealth and securing our wealth--and it takes a lot of time and attention. That process takes time and attention away from what matters: our relationship with God and our care for God's Kingdom.

Does that mean we shouldn't save our money? More and more, I've come to think that if we save more than we give to charity, we're on shaky spiritual ground.

Let me be the first to admit. I DO save more than I give to the poor. I'm working towards getting to the point where I give equal amounts to the poor and to my savings account. But I truly think that I'd be better off if I gave MORE to the poor and less to my savings. I agree with Archbishop Desmond Tutu who said that the unequal distribution of wealth across the globe is the greatest moral crisis of our time. I'd like to be a one-woman redistributor of wealth. But I'm not there yet.

Again and again, Jesus calls us to recalibrate our values. Again and again, Jesus reminds us to turn to God. Even if we're not ready to embrace the vision that Christ has for us, even if we're not ready for full throttle Kingdom living, we can move that way. We can boost our charitable contributions. We can leave bigger tips. We can give change to panhandlers. We can invite the lonely over for a meal. There are many ways for us to speak up in support of the poor:  advocate for affordable housing, tell our senators and representatives to fund the food stamp program, and so many other ways.

If we're not ready to let go of our assets, we could think about how our investments could be used to support our values. Instead of giving each other stuff for every holiday, we could think about what it is we really want: maybe we want charitable contributions, or maybe we want to agree to go on a spiritual retreat or a pilgrimage, or maybe we want a prayer partner.

As with all movement, it's amazing how a small change in direction changes our trajectory over the course of a lifetime. At the very least, we can meditate on passages like these, and pray for the strength and courage to trust God and not our money.

The Shadows and the Signs

Maybe we will have a warning message:

Maybe we only sense something waiting in the shadows:

We see the blur but not the bird:

We try to make sense of subtle cues:

We wish we had a clear sign:

But we can take comfort from the glimmers that are there when we look:

Lessons from Saint Martha

Today is the feast day of Saint Martha, one of the few named women of the Gospels.  You may remember her from the story in Luke, where she hustles and bustles with household chores and grows ever more exasperated with her sister Mary, who isn't helping.

For a theological approach, see this post.  I've written about her frequently through the years.  Today, I want to think about Martha and her lessons for those of us who are trying to carve out a life with more meaning.

At first glance, it's counterintuitive.  Martha is not living a particularly creative life or a life with depth.  How can she?  She's much too busy trying to manage and micromanage.  And therein lies the lesson.

Martha scurries around so much that she can't be present for Jesus. How often are our current lives similar? We often get so consumed by the chores of our daily life that we neglect to make time for what's really important.

Keep in mind that even though the story revolves around women, men are not exempt from this paradigm. All humans must wrestle with the question of how to balance the chores that are necessary to sustain life with the other kinds of nourishment that we need so desperately. Unfortunately, often the chores win.

I can hear some of us shrieking by now: "Yes, but those chores must be done!" Really? Are you sure? What would happen if you didn't vacuum this week? What would happen if you wore your clothes an extra time or two before laundering them? What would happen if you surrendered to the dust?

Jesus tells Martha that she worries about many things, and the implication is that all of the issues that cause her anxiety aren’t really important. It's a story many of us, with our increasingly hectic lives, need to hear again--maybe every day.

We need to be reminded to stay alert. Busyness is the drug that many of us use to dull our senses. For some of us, charging through our to-do lists is a way of quelling the anxiety. But in our busyness, we forget what's really important. We forget to take time to work on the creative aspects of our lives that matter most to us.

Give up one chore this week and use that time to return to an activity that matters.

There's one other story about Martha that gives valuable instruction for those of us struggling to find our creative lives.  We also see Martha at the story of Lazarus, her brother, who has been dead in the grave for several days when Jesus comes.  She is convinced that her brother would still be alive if Jesus had gotten there in time.  And she's worried about the smell when Jesus orders the grave opened.  Here she is, about to witness a miracle, and she's worried about the social niceties.  She wants a miracle, but she wants it on her terms.

I see the same thing in many a creative life.  I've had chapbooks chosen for publication, but I yearn for a book with a spine.  When I get the book with a spine, I expect to yearn for something else yet again.  We live in a time where distribution of words is miraculously easy--and yet I often wish that someone else would do the hard work.

I've seen friends who finally get the book deal, and then they complain over items that seem minor to me, issues of copyediting which baffle me as I watch the battles from the sidelines.  I see so many instances of creative types trying to micromanage the miracles coming their way.

I see similar dynamics in many a person's struggle to discern what's important and what's not--and in larger institutions too.  We see churches that wish for more attendance, while neglecting to rejoice in the relationships that a smaller church encourages.  I see people with an idealized view of family life who cannot relax into the family that actually exists around them.  I know many a person who doesn't appreciate a job until it's gone.

 I have hopes that our lives will follow the model of Martha.  Even though she seems slow to understand the lessons of Jesus, he doesn't get exasperated and send her away.  He continues to try to shape her, gently and insistently.  He tells her that she worries about many things, but that her sister sets a good example.

The sister, Mary, is fully present.  My hope for us all is that we, too, can be fully present to our lives, to that which needs us to bring it into the world.

Summer Recedes in Subtle Ways

This morning, I find myself missing church camp.  In my adult life, I've gone to camp more often in a non-summer season, but there's something about seeing everyone's Facebook pictures from camp that ignites a yearning in me.

I'm also in a yearning mode because it's the time when many camps will be closing down for the summer.  Many camps will have their last week this week or next--or they just finished their final week.  It seems early to me, but our students will be back in school the week of August 12, which is just around the corner.

For two years, my spouse and I made a car trip to Lutherock this time of year.  He was on the Board, and they had one of their meetings at Lutherock, which is not an easy drive for us.  The last few hours are on windy mountain roads.  We can make it to Lutheridge or Luther Ranch in one long day, but I don't know that we could make it to Lutherock in a day.

I remember being on the mountain top and seeing the first leaves changing color, even though it was August 1.  I miss those early signs of a change of season.

Yesterday I thought the quality of the light was slightly different.  I thought it might just be my imagination.  It's July, still, which for most of us in the northern hemisphere means we still have some summer season yet to go.

And yet, for those of us who are observant, the signs are all around.  The sun rises slightly later in the morning.  Our friends with children buy school supplies.  The light comes through the window at a slightly different angle.

The shifts remind us that no season is forever, but we still have some time.  Let's make the most of summer days we have left.  Maybe there are summer foods we have yet to eat; I haven't eaten any corn on the cob yet.  Let's enjoy every dip in the pool. The length of the day gives some of us more of a chance to get additional walks or workouts into the day.  We won't always drip sweat the way we do during these dog days.  Let's enjoy the heat while we have it.

Quieter Epiphanies Part 2

Another Tuesday night, another discernment phone call--this time to the person who is the director of the spiritual direction certification program at Southern Seminary.  What a delightful conversation!

I learned one key piece of information.  The website made me think that the on-campus intensives were held at Lenoir-Rhyne University in North Carolina.  Actually, they're held on the campus of Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina.  The director said it's a better place to think about spiritual direction because they have a labyrinth and not one but two chapels.

We lived in Columbia for several years during grad school, and it's still close to my heart.  When I think of resettling to higher ground inland, that's one of the places that calls to me.  I have friends there, which means the subject of housing during the on-campus intensives won't be as hard to figure out.  Columbia is within easier driving distance which gives me an option that Lenoir-Rhyne really didn't.

I asked about the reading load, which also wasn't clear to me from exploring the website.  It averages to about one book a month--very doable.

I asked if any of the classes would transfer if I decided to go to seminary.  As I expected, they won't.  After all, it's a certificate program, not a graduate program.  That's fine with me.

He asked if I was considering seminary, and I explained my trajectory.  He said that some of the seminary professors worked with the group getting certification, so I'd get to know them.  That would be neat.

He asked me about my favorite authors, and I told him some of them.  I said, "I know that the minute I hang up the phone I'll think of a lot of others."  He said, "You can call me back."

In short, he was warm and encouraging, and I've decided to apply.

Seminary still calls to me, and going through this door doesn't mean the door to seminary slams shut.  This program's on-campus intensives are at times that are doable for me, in a way that others aren't.  Luther Seminary's online program has 2 week intensives, which would be tough with my current job.  Not impossible, but not easy.

I also worry about my ability to do some of the work that seminary would require.  I'm spooked by Luther's requirement of both Greek and Hebrew--spooked and intrigued.  I don't know why I'm spooked.  I've always been good at languages, but I've only done French and Spanish, which were familiar in ways.  Perhaps I'm spooked because I had trouble attending to Spanish class while I was teaching full-time.  I wonder if it would be different as an administrator?  It would probably depend on what else was going on.

So, let me keep thinking about the logistics of seminary--and in the meantime, let me get my application together.  It's due by November, which will be here before we know it.

Quieter Epiphanies Part 1

Earlier this month, I had a phone appointment the woman in the Florida-Bahamas Synod of the ELCA who is in charge of candidacy committees.  For those of you in different religious groups who wonder what a candidacy committee is, in the ELCA, a candidacy committee is the way the larger church both vets candidates for ministry and supports them.

It was a good conversation, although I didn't have an earthshattering epiphany.  I didn't really expect to have an earthshattering epiphany.  While I know many people who have the Saul on the road to Tarsus type of epiphany, I know many more who spend much of their lives wondering if they've heard God at all.

As I dialed the number, I thought about how this scene would play if in a movie--or how I might think about it later in my life.  Would this be the phone call that set me on a new path?

It might be, but not in the movie kind of way.  I got lots of good information, but at the end of the call, I wasn't any more clear on my future than I had ever been.

I had just about decided to start working on a certificate for spiritual directors when I found out about the new trend of Lutheran seminaries' commitment to having seminarians graduate with no debt.  That knowledge made me second guess everything--or rethink.

There are no Lutheran seminaries with a track of theology and the arts, the way that United, a UCC seminary, has a track.  I could go to a non-Lutheran seminary and emerge a Lutheran minister, but it would be more complicated and expensive.

As I was talking on the phone, I still felt tugged in two directions.  I really like the idea of being a spiritual director, and it does sound like that would be a good path for me.  But I also want to be able to consecrate bread and wine.  At this point in the Lutheran church, I need ordination in Word and Sacrament to do that.

But it's not just going to seminary that gets me to service in Word and Sacrament.  I would also need to serve 3 years as a parish pastor, which is not the type of pastoring that most interests me.

So, if I could figure out a way to go to seminary full-time, that would be 4 years and then 3 years in the parish.  And could I go full-time?  There are parts of my life that I want to preserve, and so I was thinking of part-time, which means it would be at least 10 years before I had more options.

Of course, I could get the spiritual director certificate and then go to seminary.  It doesn't have to be one or the other.  I am afraid that the chance to go to seminary tuition-free might disappear in that space of time.

Earlier this week, I had a phone conversation with the director of the spiritual direction certification program at Southern Seminary.  More on that conversation tomorrow.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 28, 2019:

First Reading: Genesis 18:20-32

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 1:2-10

Psalm: Psalm 138

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 85

Second Reading: Colossians 2:6-15 [16-19]

Gospel: Luke 11:1-13


This Sunday's reading shows Jesus teaching the disciples to pray.  Many of us have been praying since childhood, so we may have forgotten, or never known, how radical this idea would be:  we're allowed to talk directly to God????!!!!!

And then the next question might be:  what should we say? 

Jesus knew what he was doing when he gave us this prayer. Anyone who knows humans knows that we do better when we don't have to make everything up as we go along. Most of us have memorized this prayer as children. In fact, I know grown up children of non-religious parents who were taught this prayer--perhaps as a sort of spiritual immunization? I imagine parents saying, "Learn this prayer--you never know when you might need it."

It surprises me how often we probably need this prayer. It's good to have prayers pre-written for us. There are times when we try to pray, and we can't come up with what to say. This prayer that Jesus teaches us covers many of the concerns that we would bring to God, if we didn't feel so muted.

We pray for our daily sustenance. We pray for forgiveness. Some translations interpret this passage as a kind of debt relief ("forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors"). Marcus Borg notes that these two aspects--food and debt--would have spoken to Jesus' followers in the first century, who often found themselves short of bread and currency. Many Jews found themselves in a downwards spiral as they leveraged their land, and eventually lost their land, to pay an increasingly heavy tax burden imposed on them from Rome.

Modern people increasingly can relate.

We pray not to be led astray. I like the language "save us from the time of trial," but all the variations speak to me. I often pray an expanded version of the Lord's Prayer and include them all, praying not to be led into temptation, to be delivered from evil, and to be saved from the time of trial. Sometimes I meditate on the fact that I expand and focus on this part of the prayer, while I tend to assume the regularity of my daily bread. I suspect that people in other countries would focus on other aspects of the Lord's prayer.

Notice that Jesus doesn't tell us we have to be in a certain mood to pray. We don't have to wait for the right time. We don't even need to come up with the language for ourselves. Christ provides it.

And then at the end, Jesus gives us imagery to teach us how God will listen to us:  as a loving neighbor or better yet, a parent.  Jesus once again reminds us that our God is a loving God. We are to ask for what we need. We should not be afraid to yearn. God has not abandoned us to our own devices. We have chosen to partner with a powerful force when we pray--and yet, it's not a distant force. God loves us, the way a parent loves a child, offering love and protection and comfort.

Jesus gives us a simple prayer. Most of us have already memorized it. But how many of us pray it outside of church?

Maybe it's time for a mid-year resolution, something simple. Try praying the Lord's Prayer daily. Maybe twice a day. Pray when you wake up, and say a quick prayer, asking God to help you become your best self throughout the day. Pray before you fall asleep, and say a quick prayer of thankfulness for your many blessings. You'll be amazed at the change in your attitude by Christmas.

Modern Metaphors for the Spiritual Life

I often think of the Bible and how to convey concepts in language that will make sense to modern readers.  This summer, we've been reading our way through Acts in my church.  The turmoil over the idea of being able to eat any food must be baffling to some of our congregation.  How to convey that concept to modern minds?

Maybe by way of gluten?  But that metaphor might only make sense to those who are gluten intolerant.  That metaphor might be as difficult to understand as keeping kosher.

I thought about that on Sunday, when I made the gluten free communion bread.  I made it in my grandmother's yellow mixing bowl.  Although she made rolls every day in that bowl, she would likely never have baked the communion bread.  Those were the days of tasteless wafers that stuck in a gummy way to the roof of one's mouth.

I wonder what my grandmother would make of gluten intolerance.  My grandmother did not always have sympathies for the maladies of modern life.  She might have talked about the Depression era when people didn't have food at all and couldn't afford to turn up their noses at perfectly good food.

Could I create a poem somehow?  Is there a larger metaphor?

I've also been thinking about drained batteries.  Yesterday I opened the car door and realized the morning was not going to be as I planned.  The light in the car was weaker than usual, and when I put the key in the ignition, the car told me to check my battery.  The car wouldn't start.

The problem with the drained battery metaphor is that it's too obvious.  Yes, we often feel that life leaves us as energized as a drained battery.  That metaphor doesn't engage us.

It's also troubling in other ways.  Yesterday I had to buy a new battery--but that doesn't seem to work as a metaphor for the spiritual life.  What would that represent?  Recharging the battery makes more sense, but these days, we more often just need to replace the battery.

Just these small thought experiments make me more appreciative of what Eugene Peterson was able to do with his project to put the Bible into language that his parishioners would understand, the project that resulted in The Message.

The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene: All the Demons that Possess Us

On July 22, we celebrate the life of Mary Magdalene. Take a minute with the reading for her feast day: John 20:1-2, 11-18.

There are many approaches to Mary Magdalene.  Some people focus on her notorious past, while a variety scholars remind us that she might have been painted with the brush of prostitution to discredit her.  I often find my mind returning to her demon possession.  Was she mentally ill?  What does the idea of demon possession have to say to modern people?

I am thinking metaphorically, not literally.  I do not believe in demonic possession, at least not in the ways depicted by modern popular culture.  But I have seen so many varieties of demons who drive us that I can't dismiss the idea by saying it's all mental illness.

One traditional approach to Mary Magdalene is to see her as one of the many healed by Jesus.  She's not the only one with demons flushed away, but she is the most famous.

I wonder if she missed the demons, once Jesus cleaned them out of her. As anyone who has wrestled with modern demons knows, our demons are comfortable, which is why it’s often hard to let them go.  I imagine Mary Magdalene, in the quiet of the night, having trouble sleeping, missing the hiss of the demon who told her she wasn’t good enough.

It’s strange company, the demons that we keep inside us, but it’s often better than the loneliness of no company.

I think of Mary Magdalene, as I imagine her: always ready to let go of the annoying demon of feminine expectations, but who wishes she could summon back the demon of compulsiveness. I imagine her finding it hard to get anything done without that devil driving her ever onward.

As I think of the Easter morning story, I wonder if we’re seeing a vestige of Mary Magdalene’s possessed personality. What drove her to the tomb? I understand the ancient customs surrounding the care of dead bodies, and I understand the laws regarding dead bodies and the Sabbath. But in one Gospel, it’s only Mary who is so deeply concerned about the body of Jesus. What drives her to the tomb?

In Mary’s reaction to the man she assumes is the gardener, I recognize my own demon of anxiety. I watch her ask a perfect stranger about the body of Jesus. I watch her throw all caution and decorum away, so desperate is she to complete this task, as if completing the task will restore the world to right order.

Many of us suffer in the grip of these demons of anxiety, these beliefs that somehow, through our manic quest for control, we can keep the world from spinning into chaos. We might argue for the benefits of medication, and indeed, if it’s a matter of brain chemicals that are out of balance, we would be right.

But all too often, something else is at the root of our modern possession. Maybe we haven’t stopped to grieve our losses, as Mary needs to do in the garden. Maybe it’s the fear of loss that is coming to all our lives. Maybe it’s that insistent hiss from both inside and out that says that we will never be enough: good enough, clean enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, attractive enough, loved enough.

The Easter message comes to cast out these demons again and again. Christ reminds us that he’s here, always waiting, always watching, always ready for us. Even if we don’t recognize him, Jesus will not cast us away. It is the voice of Jesus that can silence all of our demons and help us to be at peace. Christ’s voice calls us to what’s important in our lives.

Shapes and Shards

We can't tell where this staircase will lead us.

We can see a shape just beyond the gate.  It neither beckons nor invites us.

Some of us love the labyrinth.  Some of us reject the circuitous ramble.

We want to know that we are supported during our steps.

But life, like that river, runs with unseen currents.

We go step by step, trusting that we won't be swept away, knowing that although we may be broken, we are not shattered into shards.

Moon Walks and Memory

In my part of the world, you'd have to be living under a rock not to know that today is the 50th anniversary of the footstep on the moon.  There have been news stories and documentaries and all sorts of retrospectives.

I would have just turned 4 on July 20, 2019.  I have a memory of my parents waking me up and bringing me downstairs to the black and white TV.  I have a memory of their friends being there and saying, "You'll want to remember this."

I don't remember seeing the actual footage.  To be fair, I'm not even sure that the memory I have of that night is correct.  My parents never seemed like the type who would shake us awake for a historical moment on TV. 

This week I've been thinking about the space program and how it may or may not have changed the way we see the world--and the way we think about how the world came into being.  These discoveries did not shake my spiritual beliefs, but I could see how that would be possible.

I'm also thinking this iconic photo from an earlier mission:



I was born in 1965, so I don't remember a time before this photo. I don't remember what it was like not to have this vision of our planet photographed from a distance. I know that many have theorized that the environmental movements of the 70's were made more likely by this photo that reminded us of our blue and green planet floating above the inhospitable habitat of the moon.

I hope that the festivities of today remind us of the fragility of it all--and that we feel inspired to attempt great things in the future.

Thinking about Resistance on the 40th Anniversary of the Sandinista Success

Forty years ago today, the Sandinistas deposed the Nicaraguan dictator Somoza.  I have no memory of that particular moment in 1979.  When I think of 1979's most important historic moment, I think of the takeover of the U.S. embassy in Iran.

Both of those events had profound influences in the 1980's and beyond.

I could make the argument that the events sparked by the Sandinista victory led us to where we are today with the humanitarian crisis on the border between the U.S. and Mexico.  I have distinct memories of President Reagan trying to make us all scared of Communists swarming up from the South and taking over Texas.  At the time, most of us assumed that Reagan envisioned an armed invasion, not the kind of movement that we see today of people looking to build new lives in the U.S.

I had no doubt that Texans could have taken care of that kind of armed attack.  I often wonder if the Sandinistas hadn't won, would Reagan have been able to manipulate our fears as easily?  I don't think so, but humans are easily manipulated by fear, so I could be wrong.

I've been thinking about our current moment of resistance and past time periods too.  I'm writing a dystopian novel that takes place not far in the future, but I have a vision of exploring past resistance movements too.

On Tuesday, I was delighted to come across this article in The Nation about the Pledge of Resistance in the 1980s (do an Internet search for Pledge of Resistance, and you'll discover that there have been several).  I remember signing the pledge, but would I have really followed through if Reagan had launched a military strike?  I was a college kid, so I might have; in many ways, college kids have less to lose and less of a sense of consequences, and in that, I was no different.

The Pledge of Resistance was different than past pledges.  The article says, "But the Central American Pledge of Resistance was unique in linking disobedience to an invasion that had not yet happened. By providing a threat of future action, the pledge bore resemblance to the strike votes taken by unions to show unity and demonstrate workers’ readiness to walk off the job. 'The innovation in the ’80s was that the pledge had a trigger event,' explained Jeremy Brecher, a social movement historian. 'It was a very creative way of establishing a nonviolent deterrent.'”

This social justice movement of the 1980's accomplished amazing things, which so few people remember.  It was peaceful and less heirarchal than movements of the 60's--and those two factor probably contributed to the success of the movement.

How do I define success?  After all, you could argue the fact that we have so many people fleeing those countries in 2019 is because of the failure of the 1980's.  I could point to any number of government policy failures that have led us to this moment; are social justice movement failures more to blame than the various governments that have failed in so many ways?  I would argue no.

In fact, I would argue that without the social justice movements of the 80's, our current situation would be worse.  We might be involved in a decades long hot war, the way we are in the Middle East, if the Pledge of Resistance and other movements hadn't convinced the Reagan administration to back off on threats to invade Central American countries.

As a student in the 1980's, I remember wondering if we made any sort of difference as we protested, as we resisted, as we supported those who did more, like Jubilee Partners who got Central American refugees safely to Canada where they were more likely to win their asylum claims.  When I moved to South Florida and had a chance to talk to some of those people who had fled Central America in the 1980's, people who had gone on to build better lives here, I concluded that we did make a difference.

Hopefully future generations will look back on these days of the Trump administration and be able to take courage from what we managed to accomplish.

Canoeing Mountains and Other Places that Are Difficult to Navigate

I have spent many years reading about ways to grow the Church--I think of it as a genre of books.  For years, I was part of the leadership of a different Lutheran church, and we spent lots of time talking about how to get bigger, how to find members, what to do.

Then as now, I often turn to books when I'm looking for answers.  And there were plenty of books written on the subject.  The huge one of the time was Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life, which was a best seller--but he also wrote a book called The Purpose Driven Church.  I read both, and we did all sorts of exercises, which were enlightening, but in the end, the church membership stayed the same.

At some point in the past few years, I declared a moratorium on improving the church books.  But I'd heard such good things about the book I just finished that I decided to make an exception.  Plus, I loved the title:  Canoeing the Mountains: Christian Leadership in Uncharted Territory.

Tod Bolsinger has written a great book, but I have the same complaint as I usually have about these books.  I've read it, but I still have no idea what to do.  I have insight about what may help and what may impede, but no clear strategies.

It's got some interesting insights about life in general.  He's got great suggestions about how to get clear on conviction by asking these questions:  What are we passionate about?  What do we have the potential to do better than anyone else?  What will pay the bills?  (pp. 129-130).

The book has lots of good advice when it comes to leadership.  It talks about the good leader as having the ability to be a click or too calmer than everyone else, which allows people to dial back their own anxiety; as Bolsinger reminds us again and again:  "For leaders, this is the point to remember about anxiety:  People who are overly or chronically anxious don't make good decisions" (emphasis Bolsinger's p. 145).

Here's a quote (originally from Ronal Heifetz) that I triple underlined:  "Leadership is disappointing your own people at a rate they can absorb" (p. 172).  The book reminds us "Part of the dynamic at play here is that not only does everybody have a constituency but everybody also wants to be a hero to their constituency" (emphasis is Bolinger's, p. 158).

But what I loved most about the book is its rootedness in the Lewis and Clark expedition.  The title comes from the expedition's original purpose, to find a water route across the continent.  That results in this kind of language:  "Be Meriwether Lewis and find your William Clark" (p. 167) and  "Last, make it a conviction to stay calm and connected so you can stay on course.  Endure.  Stick with it.  Be dogged and determined.  If you stumble onto the Great Falls of Montana, find a way to go around them, even if it takes you thirty times longer than expected.  If you find yourself facing the Rocky Mountains instead of a river running downstream, ditch the canoes and find horses.  And if someone starts to sabotage what you have already been doing, consider it confirmation that you are exactly in the right path" (p. 178).

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 21, 2019:


First Reading: Genesis 18:1-10a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 8:1-12

Psalm: Psalm 15

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 52

Second Reading: Colossians 1:15-28

Gospel: Luke 10:38-42


Ah, the Mary and Martha story, another story that's familiar to many of us who have been going to church through the years. It's one of those stories that provokes howls of rage from people. Like the story of the Prodigal Son, it may trip our "That's not FAIR!!!" switch. It's easy to see how the Good Samaritan is the model for our behavior. The Mary and Martha story prickles us more.

Many of us were probably raised to be the Martha. I have a friend who won't let herself even exercise until her household chores are done, so engrained is the idea of "work first, play later" into her psyche--unlike some of us, who see exercise as one of the daily chores that must be done before we can play.

Think about the last time that someone visited you. If you're like many of us, you spent the days and weeks before the visit getting ready: cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, laundry, restoring order. By the time your guests arrived, you may have been too exhausted from getting ready for them to be fully present.

That's the story we see in this week's Gospel. Martha scurries around so much that she can't be present for Jesus. How often are our current lives similar? We often get so consumed by the chores of our daily life that we neglect to notice the Sacred in our midst.

Keep in mind that even though the story revolves around women, men are not exempt from this paradigm. All humans must wrestle with the question of how to balance the chores that are necessary to sustain life with the spiritual nourishment that we need so desperately. Unfortunately, often the chores win.

I can hear some of us shrieking by now: "Yes, but those chores must be done!" Really? Are you sure? What would happen if you didn't vacuum this week? What would happen if you wore your clothes an extra time or two before laundering them? What would happen if you surrendered to the dust?

Jesus tells Martha that she worries about many things, and the implication is that all of the issues that cause her anxiety aren’t really important. It's a story many of us, with our increasingly hectic lives, need to hear again--maybe every day.

We need to be reminded to stay alert. Busyness is the drug that many of us use to dull our senses. For some of us, charging through our to-do lists is a way of quelling the anxiety. But in our busyness, we forget what's really important. We forget to focus on Christ and living the way he commanded us.

Give up one chore this week, and return to the Gospel. Notice that Jesus never--NEVER--focuses on the household chores. Jesus doesn't say, "Blessed are those who keep a clean house, for those have already possessed the Kingdom of God."

You may think that Jesus said, "Cleanliness is next to godliness." Jesus did not.

All of our busyness takes our focus away from God. God will not appear with white gloves to assess our spiritual progress by way of household upkeep. The assessment of our spiritual progress will focus on much more serious issues than those.

All those chores keep you away from your earthly relationships. Jesus called on us to care for the poor and the dispossessed, not the dusty objects that clutter our houses.

Jesus reminds Martha that Mary has chosen what’s important: listening to God. What are you choosing today?

Ways to Shatter Worlds

On this day, in 1945, we entered the nuclear age for real. On this day, in 1945, the United States exploded the first nuclear bomb in the desert of New Mexico, and launched us all into a different world with different mental landscapes.

I'm always a bit in awe and horror of those scientists, who exploded their bomb without being fully sure of what it would do. Some of the scientists worried that the explosion might harm the atmosphere irrevocably. But they went ahead anyway.

Humans are full of this kind of hubris. Many of us never seem to think about worst case scenarios, and in some instances, this optimism is infectious and admirable. Unfortunately, we've spent a long time assuming that scientists will be able to solve all the problems that our progress creates, and we've probably propelled ourselves into a new climatological age; if you don't believe me, Bill McKibben makes a compelling case in his books Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet and Falter.  David Wallace-Wells makes a much darker argument in The Uninhabitable Earth.

Oppenheimer claims that he thought of lines from The Bhagavad Gita: "I am become Death, the shatterer of worlds." If I had to choose a motto for the twentieth century, with its genocides and mass slaughters and illnesses and technology run amok, I could make a strong case for that line.

Unfortunately, I don't see much of a change here near the end of the second decade of the twenty-first century. Those of us who are Christians, however, must keep working towards a better care of creation. We are charged to be good stewards of the earth, and today, the anniversary of the explosion at the Trinity site, is a good day to ponder that mission.

Dog Days of a Spiritual Life

It's the time of year again:  hot, endless days of summer.  I find myself yearning for a different season:

How to maintain spiritual health in a time of drought?  Perhaps by returning to nature, the river that runs deep:

Perhaps we will find the secret in the cool catacombs of a library:

Maybe by approaching an art form from a different angle:

Let us sit quietly on the porch:

We will cultivate our gardens in the belief that rains will come again:

Bastille Day Bastions

If you're not ready to stop celebrating the human drive for freedom from tyranny, you're in luck!  Today we have another chance to celebrate the human thirst for liberty and to ponder who gets to enjoy equality and who does not. It's Bastille Day, the French equivalent (sort of ) of our Independence Day. I see this historical event as one of many that launched us on the road to equality. It's an uneven success to be sure. More of us in the first world enjoy more liberty than those in developing nations. But that thirst for freedom and equality found some expression in the French Revolution, and I could argue that much liberation theology has some rootedness in that soil (yes, it would be a problematic argument, I know).

I am afraid that today we may have reason to reflect on the nature of government.  We're told that ICE agents are planning raids today in 10 cities to find people with deportation orders.  We might argue that people with deportation orders must be forced to leave.  We also know that these raids find many people who are awaiting due process, and they often get deported too.

So it's a good day to think about the storming of the Bastille, about what happens when the powerful abuse the powerless for years and centuries and the powerless finally decide they've had enough.

Bastille Day is the French Fourth of July, and you could make a strong case that both revolutions should be celebrated in tandem. The French began their revolution in the decade after the American colonies broke away, and for the next century, maybe 2, abusive leaders worried about the example set by these revolutions.

I remember very few dates without having to look them up to be sure, but I do know that the storming of the Bastille happened in 1789--and by reversing those last 2 numbers, I can remember that Wordsworth and Coleridge published Lyrical Ballads in 1798. I can make the case that both events forever shaped the future.

Today is also the birthday of Woodie Guthrie, an artist who always had compassion for the oppressed.  I find Guthrie fascinating as an artist. Here's a singer-songwriter who doesn't know music theory, who left behind a treasure trove of lyrics but no music written on musical staffs or chords--because he didn't know how to do it. For many of the songs that he wrote, he simply used melodies that already existed.

I think of Woody Guthrie as one of those artists who only needed 3 chords and the truth--but in fact, he said that anyone who used more than two chords is showing off. In my later years, I've wondered if he developed this mantra because he couldn't handle more than 2 chords.

I love this vision I have of Guthrie as an artist who didn't let his lack of knowledge hold him back. I love how he turned the deficits that might have held a lesser artist back into strengths. I love that he's created a whole body of work, but his most famous song ("This Land Is Your Land") is still sung by schoolchildren everywhere, and how subversive is that?  The lyrics are much more inclusive than you might remember, and there's a verse that we didn't sing as children, a verse that talks about how no one owns the land.

If I could create a body of poems that bring comfort and hope to activists, as well as one or two poems that everyone learns as schoolchildren, well I'd be happy with that artistic life. If I could inspire future generations the way that Guthrie did, how marvelous that would be. I could make the argument that artists like Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and the members of U2 would be different artists today, had there been no Woody Guthrie (better artists? worse? that's a subject for a different post).

So, Alons, enfants de la patria!  There's work to do and people who need us to do it.

Lights for Liberty: Pembroke Pines, Florida

I wasn't sure what to expect last night.  I liked the idea of being part of a nationwide group of people saying, "We do not approve of this administration's immigration policies which result in immigrants held indefinitely in substandard conditions which result in human rights violations."  But I also knew that my church had only been part of the group for a few days.

I thought we might have the 10-20 people from the congregation who feel strongly on this issue and are able to drive at night, along with a few community activists.  We're fairly close to the Homestead site where unaccompanied minors are being held (45 minutes if the traffic is running smoothly, but the traffic is rarely running smoothly), so I thought the bulk of the community activists would make the trek down there.

Imagine my surprise when we got to church and took the last parking space.  Even on most high holidays, like Christmas Eve, we don't completely fill the parking lot.

The time before the 9 p.m. candlelit vigil was surprisingly inspiring--I had worried it would be dreary/horrifying, like a newscast but with real humans speaking.  Instead we had singing, poetry, and a reading of the words of children being held in awful conditions.

My pastor asked people as they came in to be part of the reading, so the voices were varied, which gave the readings a more genuine feeling.  We also had a period where a woman read the names of children who had died in custody followed by a bit of information about each child.  Then one of our choir members rang a hand chime so that a bell tolled for each child.

The time went quickly, and soon it was time to light candles.  We processed with our lit candles to the front of the church which is at the intersection of two busy streets.  There, too, we sang songs, and one woman had thought to bring a sign.

Traffic zoomed by, with some cars honking.  I want to believe that they honked in support.  And then we blew out our candles, and most people went home.

Some of us lingered, and we had a delightful time with a child and musical instruments.

 My spouse had his violin with him, and she's had lessons.  She could play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," which seems to be the first song that most children learn on the violin. 

In so many ways, this picture sums up the evening:  a mix of ages, genders, religions, beliefs, but finding intersections of solidarity:

As we all interacted, I did think about how lucky we are to be assemble peaceably, light our candles, sing our songs, and criticize our government.  I have always assumed we would always be able to do this, but the current administration does give me pause.  But I also believe it's important to resist--if we just cave in, if we obey in advance of even being asked/ordered to succumb, evil will take complete control.  As Timothy Snyder says in On Tyranny:  Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century, "Anticipatory obedience is a political tragedy."

Last night's demonstrations around the country, and the expressions of support from those who couldn't make it to vigils, tells me that although we're in danger, we may survive.

Shelter from the Various Storms of the World

Earlier this week, I had a different vision for our cottage.  One of my friends asked on Facebook if we knew any South Florida resources for a trans teen kicked out of her home.  She's got friends to stay with right now, but that situation can't be permanent.

Before I go any further, let me mention Project Safe, which has many more resources for South Florida than I do.

I am aware that I have a tendency to want to rescue people, so I want to proceed cautiously.  Taking in a homeless Florida teen seems to come with lots of possible legal ramifications, so again, I want to be cautious.

I thought back to a night in 1994 when I watched the episode of My So-Called Life when gay teenage student Ricky is kicked out of his home for being gay.  He's been beaten up, and the audience assumes that it's his family who beat him up before they kicked him out.

I remember watching that episode and weeping and wondering what the larger community could do.  I remember understanding why Angela's parents are reluctant to help.

This morning I also thought of That 70's Show, which has a different troubled teen who finds himself homeless.  That situation is more comic, but it's still depicted with sensitivity and the awareness of a deeper issue. In that show, the homeless teen Steven moves into the basement of his friend Eric, who has an intact nuclear family.  It's not a great bedroom, but it's better than his other options.

When we've thought of the cottage, we've thought of the temporary shelter program that our church participates in, where homeless families who are in the process of getting permanent housing stay in a church for a week.  We've wondered if we could be a shelter.  But we're not a great location for families with children:  our cottage is small, and we have a pool that doesn't have the proper protections to keep children inside the fence from drowning.

I've thought of giving shelter to refugees, maybe even working with the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services group.  There, too, we might not be the best option, although the rustic nature of the cottage might not be a dealbreaker for refugees.

I've thought of providing Section 8 housing, but there are long-term implications and agreements that make me uncomfortable.  I've wondered if there's another way to find people who would be good renters of property for people of low to moderate income levels.

Until last night, I hadn't thought of other groups of people who might need housing resources.  Teens who have been kicked out of their houses for their sexual status:  hmm.  Let me think on this further.

Praying for Social Change: the Immigration Edition

For those of you distressed about the immigration situation at the southern border of the U.S., this Friday is an important date.

I found myself thinking about what I'd do if I lived in one of these border towns that held a detention center.  I tend to think about those towns as hot and dusty and in the desert.  Then one morning I realized that one of those centers is in Homestead Florida, which is one county away from me.

These past few years have given me many reasons to revisit what I thought I knew about the years leading up to the Holocaust.  As a younger person, I always wondered why German citizens did nothing.  Now I know that they did do things, but a powerful government has efficient ways of crushing opposition.

I am pleased to see resistance movements still going strong in the U.S., but I wish I could do more.  I've thought of driving down to Homestead--but then, to do what?  To stand in silent witness?  I know that this administration might be energized by that witness to do more evil.  I'd like to deliver supplies, but I know those haven't been accepted.

Friday night there will be candlelit vigils across the nation.  Some of those will be at the detention centers, but there will be other options.  Some will be prayer vigils.  Some will be educational.  Some will be rallies.  All will end in candles.

If you go here and scroll down, you'll see all the locations.

If you're in South Florida and you can't get to the Homestead site, let me offer my church in Pembroke Pines, Trinity Lutheran, on Pines Blvd, just to the east of the South campus of Broward College. We're a congregation that embraces radical hospitality--all are welcome. 

I know that many have been wounded by The Church, but not all churches are like the ones that have done harm.  My church has welcomed a huge variety of people, from the man who was transitioning to a woman, to a Muslim woman, to several homeless people, to doctors, to educators--I could go on and on.  We are one of the few ELCA churches with a diverse racial and cultural population that mirrors our community.

The larger question might be:  what is the good of all of this?  Why pray?  Why light candles?

I have several answers to this question.  It's good self-care, for one.  It's hard to be a witness during these times.  It's hard to be an activist.  We need to remind ourselves that we are not alone.

It's important to remind those with power that we have demands that this power be used responsibly, and we are not going away with these demands.

It's good to show the wider world that we do not support the evil that this administration does.  We are not approving these human rights violation.  We need to let later generations know too.

And we pray because we believe in a God that has an expansive vision, but God has given us free will.  If God intervenes, it's because we lament and demand action.  Will God comply?  That's a larger theological question than I have time to answer this morning.

I return to the work of theologian Walter Wink. 

For those of you who would sneer at the idea of resistance working in our evil, evil world, I would say that nonviolent resistance can bring mighty social change.

Walter Wink, writing in 1993, notes, “In 1989 alone, there were thirteen nations that underwent non-violent revolutions. All of them successful except one, China. That year 1.7 billion people were engaged in national non-violent revolutions. That is a third of humanity. If you throw in all of the other non-violent revolutions in all the other nations in this century [the 20th], you get the astonishing figure of 3.34 billion people involved in non-violent revolutions. That is two-thirds of the human race. No one can ever again say that non-violence doesn't work. It has been working like crazy. It is time the Christian churches got involved in this revolution because what is happening in the world is that the world itself is discovering the truth of Jesus' teaching, and here we come in the church, bringing up the rear.” And of course, more lately we can point to a variety of revolutions, in the former Soviet Union and the Middle East, some of which have fairly peacefully gotten rid of dictators who had been in power for decades.

Maybe we are not up for the task of resistance, which can be scary and can lead us to unexpected places. At the very least, we can pray. We can pray for those people who are doing the heavy lifting of resistance. We can pray for those who are transforming their societies for good, whether they live in our country or on the other side of the planet. We can pray for the softening of the hearts of the hard ones. We can pray that we have the wisdom to recognize evil when we see it. We can pray that we have the courage to resist evil in whatever forms it comes to us.

Let's all do this on Friday, July 12.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 14, 2019:


First Reading: Deuteronomy 30:9-14

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 7:7-17

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-9 (Psalm 25:1-10 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 82

Second Reading: Colossians 1:1-14

Gospel: Luke 10:25-37


This week's Gospel presents one of the stories that even non-Christians are likely to have heard before: the story of the Good Samaritan. Those of us who go to church have heard it so regularly that we may have lost sight of the message. The fact that we hear it so regularly should tell us how important the message is.

We could focus on the fact that it's the lowly Samaritan (a foreigner!) who helps the victim, not the priest and the Levite, who hold high status in the Jewish society. We could focus on the victim, who, after all, invited trouble by traveling alone. In the details of how the Samaritan doctors the victim, binding his wounds with oil and wine, we see the foreshadowings of Christ's crucifixion.

But go back to the story again. Note the first few verses of the Gospel; in many ways, these verses sum up the whole Bible: Love God and love each other more than you love yourself. Most of us, when hearing those commands, say, "Great. I'm on target. Love God--check. Love other people--yup, most of the time." The story of the Good Samaritan is told to demonstrate what Jesus means when he gives us the Great Commandments. And here we see the size of the task that Christ gives us.

Many of us think of Love as an emotion, something that we feel. Here Jesus shows that that kind of emotional love is cheap, and not at all what he has in mind. We show our love by action, what we do for those who need us. It's not enough to see our fellow humans and think about how much we love them. Frankly, many of us can't even do that. Monitor your thoughts and feelings as you drive around town, and be honest. Are you really feeling love? Most of us are lucky if we can pull off feeling benign neglect. Many of us go through our days feeling murderous rage. Many of us go through our lives numbed by depression and pain, and trying desperately not to feel anything.

There's a way out of this pit. We must go through life behaving as if we love each other. We can behave ourselves into love. We don't have to start out by stopping for every crime victim we see. We don't have to start out by giving away our money. 

Although these are worthy goals, we can start where we are. When someone cuts you off in traffic, offer up a prayer for them. Smile at your snarling comrades at work. When someone wants some sympathy, offer it. Leave the waitstaff a more generous tip. Help out, even when you don't have to. Stop keeping track of who has done what, and you must stop right now, if keeping that list makes you feel aggrieved, because you've done so much more than everyone else. Instead of keeping track of your losses, keep track of gratitude. Share what you have, and it's especially important to share what you have with people who haven't had the lucky breaks that you have had.

In this Gospel, it's easy to see the Good Samaritan as a Christ figure: the outsider who stops to help, who takes charge of the victimized who have been left to bleed to death by the side of the road, the one who finds care for the victim and pays for it. We often lose sight of the fact that we are called to be Good Samaritans to the world. 

Once you start looking for opportunities to bind the wounds of the world, you'll find it easy to do that task daily. And then you'll fulfill the greatest commandment. God makes it clear that we show our love for God by loving each other.

Poetry Tuesday: "Modern Abolitionist"

In this time of turmoil at immigration points at the southern U.S. border, I've been thinking about a poem I wrote during a different time of immigration crisis, at the turn of the century, during the George W. Bush administration.  There was talk of prosecution of those who helped immigrants in the desert.  I couldn't imagine what the charges would be, and no one was prosecuted during that time.

I was teaching the Survey of American Literature class at the University of Miami, and the history of slavery and the people who tried to help runaway slaves was in my head.  One day I wrote a poem,  "Modern Abolitionist."

Those times have turned into these times, and man did go on trial for helping people lost in the desert.  I was heartened that he wasn't sent to jail.  I am still despairing that the federal government would even bring charges.

The other day I thought about this poem and wondered how it would speak to this current day.  I think it holds up well, and so I'll post it here.  It was first published in the South Carolina Review and was part of my larger chapbook, Whistling Past the Graveyard. 



Modern Abolitionist


Two hundred years ago, we would have stitched
cloth, hung our quilts on the line to give guidance.
We would have sung songs, whispered directions,
left lamps burning in strategic windows.
Then, as now, we would have helped with the herding north.

Now we hang flags of blue plastic
above water stations in the desert. We patrol
these tanks to make sure they never run dry.
Dryness means quick death for those who make the daily
dashes towards freedom. We position
these water stations in national parks
under telephone poles that stretch high above, a sure sign
even during dehydration induced hallucinations. The flags whip
in the wind, a dry rustle above the rattlesnakes.

I keep extra food and water in the truck. When I see
parched refugees, dusty and sunburned, I offer
these meager rations. I’m not above
giving folks a ride. There’s no Fugitive
Slave Act to make me cower in fear.

Some mornings I find a few of them in the fields
or huddled against the garage, the barn.
Unlike my neighbors, I don’t threaten
them with my gun or call the law.
I’ve learned enough broken
Spanish to invite them to breakfast.
Eggs and toast translate to any language.

I wish I could fully claim my Abolitionist
heritage, instead of just dancing on the edge of lawlessness.
But I am no Harriet Tubman to safely lead
people out of slavery, no John Brown
to plot uprisings and raid munitions bunkers.
Alas, I don’t have the eloquence of Frederick Douglass.
All I can offer is a glass of water, a bite
of food, substandard shelter, and a ride north.

Camp Counselors and a Prayer for VBS

We have camp counselors sleeping in our storm ravaged cottage.  One of them was here 2 years ago--I had this moment of staggering loss when I thought about how different everything was 2 years ago before Hurricane Irma came and put almost a foot of water in the cottage where it stood for days.

I feel like I shouldn't feel this loss.  At some point, I may look around and say, "Hey, our main house is better now.  The hurricane damage forced us to get on with what we needed to get done in terms of house renovations."  But it's hard to imagine getting the cottage repairs complete.  I have hopes that at some point I'll look up and say, "Hey, we finally did this."

I say that the cottage is just fine for the counselors.  It's clean, and although the walls are lined with boxes, there's space to sleep and space to sit.  It's better than the tents they might have slept in at other camps.  It's better than the cabins with campers in some ways.

Two years ago, the cottage had a TV.  This year, we haven't replaced the TV yet.  Will we?  My spouse thinks it needs a TV; he worries that counselors will be bored out there.

The camp counselors are here because they're leading our Vacation Bible School.  Let me remember that they're not here for a resort vacation.  I have a vision that their days will exhaust them.  My spouse, as I said, thinks they may get bored or feel pushed away out there.

Last night while I was waiting for them to arrive, I thought about my own family of origin and all the times we had college kids stay with us.  I remember when I was in 5th or 6th grade, a chorale group from a Lutheran college came to give a concert, and students stayed with the various members of our congregation.  It was the first time that I remember hearing about college and feeling like I couldn't wait for that time period.  Before that, as I played with dolls, I imagined the future in terms of a husband and children.

It is also the first day of Vacation Bible School.  Let me compose a prayer for the start of VBS:

Nurturer God, please be with our VBS this week:  the children, the counselors, the other workers, the parents who entrust their children to us.  Let the work be full of good fruit.  Let the play be peaceful.  Let us all have a glimpse of your Kingdom, as it will be, as it can be right now.

Broken but Beautiful

Brokenness surrounds us.

Even when we place our cemeteries away from sight, death haunts the landscape.

But again and again, our sacred texts remind us that brokenness can be transformed into beauty.

Nature reminds us of the transitory nature of life.

Even when we can't see with the full spectrum of light, let us remember the full range of beauty that we can embrace.

A Prayer for a Time of Transition

I began this morning as I usually do by scrolling through my Facebook feed.  I have been trying to start the day differently, getting back to the Liturgy of the Hours, using the prayer books by Phyllis Tickle.  The past year discombobulated my routines.  I need to get back to a better routine.

But I'm not there yet, so back to me this morning scrolling back through my Facebook feed.  I came across a post from a pastor friend who is leaving his position at the national headquarters of the Lutheran church (ELCA) to become bishop of the Southeastern Synod.  He's not only going through a major job change, but also moving from Chicago to Atlanta.

From a distance, I see this all as marvelous and exciting.  This morning, he posted this prayer that he feels he should be praying every hour:

“O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
When things are going well, we need this kind of prayer--and of course, when things aren't going well, we need this prayer.

And it's good to be reminded that everyone has a life that includes good elements and difficult elements, and it can all be scary.  It's good to have a prayer like this one.

Celebrating Independence

Today, while there is still time before cooking, before parades, before fireworks, let us think about the meaning of this holiday that celebrates independence and the birth of the U.S.

If we don't live in a place that has preserved colonial history, or if we live further west, Independence Day may seem a distant holiday. But today is a good day to remember the high stakes that those signers of the Declaration of Independence faced. It's good to remember how much they valued the idea of freedom, even if they didn't extend those freedoms to all.

It's a good day to think about what liberties we hold most valuable. Those signers pledged their lives, their fortune, and their sacred honor--what would you pledge?

You might think that the freedom to practice my spiritual faith is most important to me, and I do value that. But having access to information might be even more important to me. If I had to choose my favorite right from the Bill of Rights, it might be freedom of the Press.

I like the ability to read just about anything that comes my way. But maybe the ability to create is even more precious to me. Unlike Chinese artists, I don't have to worry about being arrested and sent to jail.  I am concerned about the poet who was arrested after he read a protest poem, but I'm heartened by the groups that are advocating on his behalf.  I have faith that the Bill of Rights will prevail--faith mixed with a bit of fear that rights will be stripped.  But that fear is a good thing--it shows that people are raising alarms and not just sitting idly by.

I like the freedom of movement we have in this country--granted that's not a freedom that we find enshrined in our founding documents. But the other freedoms lead to that freedom of movement--both physical movement and the movement of our minds.

I like being able to follow the path, wherever it leads. I want to leave some light as I go along to lead a way to others.

Let us also remember those who are not so lucky.  Today let us pray for those who are oppressed by tyranny of any kind. Let us pledge allegiance to our God who sets us free.