Primary Prayers

Today is the South Carolina primary, which might be a make or break primary for some candidates, if we can believe the pundits and commentators.  Or the way forward may continue to seem muddled.  After all, Super Tuesday is just days away, and I heard one newscaster say that 30% of the delegates will be assigned after Super Tuesday.  Fourteen states vote on Super Tuesday.

Even after Super Tuesday, the way forward may continue to seem muddled.  Maybe the way forward is never as clear as we would prefer--that situation has certainly seemed more the norm than the exception to me.

I can see pluses and minuses with each Democratic candidate.  I'm still not sure who I would vote for.  I know that I would vote for one of the two female candidates if I voted in the South Carolina primary today.

South Carolina has open primaries, which means there might be crossover voting.  People might cast votes in hopes of wreaking havoc.  That's not a new thing--when I voted in my first South Carolina primary in 1988, people talked about that idea.

In 1988, I voted for Jesse Jackson.  I didn't think he had a chance of winning the nomination, although he did very well in the primaries that year.  I didn't think I would ever see an African American as a president in my lifetime.  I am so happy to have been wrong about that.

I have a memory of voting for a Native American woman (the Green party candidate maybe?) while I was a voter in South Carolina, but I think that vote was during a regular election day.  I knew that the state's electoral votes would go to the Republican, so I felt free to vote for people who weren't Democrats.  I knew that my vote wouldn't be counted the way I wanted.  Still, it felt thrilling to vote for a woman, even as I knew that she didn't have a chance of winning.

I took my duties as a voter in South Carolina much more seriously as a voter in the primaries, even back when the South Carolina primary came later in the season.  I wanted to help choose the best Democrat to run against the Republican that would win my state's electoral votes.

Today I live in Florida.  Once I thought that my vote was much more important as a Florida voter.  Now I can't even be sure my vote will be counted properly (see the 2000 election).  Of course, now that's the reality in which most of us find ourselves.

Let us hope that all goes well today in South Carolina.  Let us hope that South Carolinians have clarity of mind and that the poll workers don't face any challenges that they can't handle. 

Let us do more than that.  Let us say some prayers.

Let us see what happens.

Considering Centering Prayer

This week, I finished reading the second book for my certificate in spiritual direction:  Open Mind, Open Heart by Thomas Keating.  This book talks about centering prayer, which is a simple sounding process of sitting in silence for at least 20 minutes a day.  Not talking to God, but sitting in silence--and before starting, one chooses a sacred words so that when one notices stray thoughts, one can say the sacred word and call one's attention back.

The idea that prayer can be sitting in silence for 20 or more minutes was a challenge. I see this practice as meditation, not prayer. But I am willing to admit that I might be limited in my view of prayer. I am realizing how much I feel threatened by silence. I have always felt that silence meant someone was shutting me out and refusing to communicate. I’ve always known this about myself, but reading this book made me realize it again and again. How can we know each other if we’re silent together?

I am willing to admit that the ability to be silent can mean that we know each other more fully, without lots of language getting in the way and obscuring. But I am also realizing how much I rely on language to clarify—and I rely on this clarifying aspect, even as I’m willing to admit/realize how we can’t use language to clarify if we’re not in touch with our feelings—and I think that most of us aren’t deeply in touch with our feelings.

And when I use “we” above, I’m talking about me and anyone with whom I’m trying to be in relationship: God, friends, spouse, other communities. I do think that God is most deeply in touch with God’s own feelings, as well as the feelings of all of us. But I don’t think that each one of us really knows ourselves intimately or deeply. It’s just too hard to do that work, to face our shortcomings, to deal with all the negative stuff. And even if we’ve done that work periodically, it’s hard to stay tuned in to ourselves and each other.

And my other challenge—the despair I feel at trying to find the time to do this.  The book recommends 2 sessions of centering prayer a day, with each session lasting between 20 and 60 minutes.  At the same time, I know it’s because I don’t particularly want to sit in silence. If this book was recommending a collaging technique or a way of coming to know God by stitching fabric together, I’d be out today buying supplies. What does that say about me?

I realize, believe me I do, that finding 20 minutes twice a day should not be that big a deal. I find time to eat and to exercise and to do a bit of spiritual reading and other chunks of time here and there to do other practices that make me happy (like blogging on an almost daily basis and several sessions of sketching and other types of reading). Why am I feeling resistance to this time honored practice of centering prayer?

Is it about the time it takes or the silence aspect of it?

I thought about trying to do this practice for Lent, but I have travels planned--the AWP conference is next week.  But really, that's just an excuse.  There's something in me that just doesn't want to do this.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, March 1, 2020:

First Reading: Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 32

Second Reading: Romans 5:12-19

Gospel: Matthew 4:1-11


This week's Gospel tells us the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness. Notice that Jesus is human in his temptations: he is tempted by the ideas of fame, power, and immortality.

In her book, Things Seen and Unseen, Nora Gallagher points out that Jesus will indeed accomplish these things that Satan asks him to do. Jesus will reverse these days in the desert: he will multiply bread, he will hurl himself from the cliff of his crucifixion and be caught by angels, he will be worshipped, but by humbling himself in service (page 85).

Gallagher says that we face the same kinds of temptations that Jesus did: “Magical powers, helplessness, rescue, fame and power—they beckon me every day of my life. Just around the corner lies happiness; a new lover will provide lasting bliss; if I had what she has then I would be . . . They are the fantasies, the illusions, that suck out my vitality, that keep me from discovering my own rich reality. To come to terms with illusion is one of the great jobs of our lives: to discern what is fantasy and what is reality, what is dead and what is alive, what is narcotic and what is food” (page 84).

We may want to tell ourselves that Jesus could resist temptations because of his Divine side. But I would posit that Jesus' special powers of resistance were less about his supernatural side, and more about his spiritual discipline. He's in the wilderness, making a retreat to pray, when he’s tempted. He resists. Throughout the life of Jesus, we see him hard at work honing his powers through his spiritual practices.

Here's the good news. These practices are available to all of us too. Great disciples are not born, they are created. How? We turn ourselves into great disciples the same way that a doughy person transforms himself or herself into a great athlete, the same way that a creative person becomes a great artist. We show up, day after day, logging the training miles, working on our art. And soon enough, we wake up to find out that we've transformed ourselves into a person with new powers.

The season of Lent begins, that season of penitence and discipline. Now is the time to attend to your spiritual life. What practices will you adopt to become a great spiritual athlete? You’ve got a wide variety to choose from. You could give something up: gossip, worry, sugar, alcohol, excessive Internet time, caffeine, chocolate, speeding, more money to your tithe. You could add something: additional Bible reading, more devotional time, prayer, a creative practice. Spend some time in discernment. What one practice could you choose that would bring you closer to God by the time that we get to Easter?

Ashes, Carbon, Cactus, and Prophetic Promises

Here we are, the day after Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday, the day that marks a particularly penitent time in the Christian calendar.  It's Ash Wednesday, the day that reminds us of our ultimate destiny:  we are dust and ash, the detritus of stars, but ultimately dust and ash, a bundle of carbon and other elements.

Last year, coming home from Ash Wednesday service, I had these thoughts on the brain, and I was stopped at a train crossing, with a particularly lengthy train.  I grabbed my camera and experimented with taking pictures of myself in a rearview mirror.  A cross of ash, a rearview mirror, a long train--I should think about a poem.

Earlier parts of last year's Ash Wednesday's service were more traditional. 

I had forgotten how many cactus elements were part of the sanctuary last year:

Later, one of these cactus pots would hold the baby Jesus as he waited out the Advent season, waiting for his debut on Christmas Eve:

Throughout the service, I worked on this sketch:

Let us remember the promise of the ancient prophets:  "Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt" (from the 58th chapter of Isaiah).  Let us dream about the best way to rebuild our ruins!

Mardi Gras Musings

Today will be my usual Mardi Gras, which is fairly blah: get up, go to work, come home, go to bed. No festive drinks, no parade, no interesting foods.

In some ways, I'm more of a Shrove Tuesday kind of gal--but I don't celebrate that holiday usually either. One year I did make pancakes all by myself, which led to a good poem, but a lonely meal.

Today is Mardi Gras, and it's also Shrove Tuesday, which may lead some of us to ponder if these holidays have anything in common or how we came to have them. It's the day before Ash Wednesday, the day before Lent begins. The holidays of Shrove Tuesday, Carnival, and Mardi Gras have their roots in the self-denial of the Lenten season. These holidays are rooted in the fasting traditions of Lent and the need to get rid of all the ingredients that you'd be giving up during Lent: alcohol, sugar, eggs, and in some traditions, even dairy foods.

Mardi Gras and Carnival, holidays that come to us out of predominantly Catholic countries, certainly have a more festive air than Shrove Tuesday, which comes to us from some of the more dour traditions of England. The word shrove, which is the past tense of the verb to shrive, which means to seek absolution for sins through confession and penance, is far less festive than the Catholic terms for this day.

In the churches of my childhood, we had pancake suppers on Shrove Tuesday. I wonder if churches still do that in other parts of the country.

I wish I could say that I went to an early morning Shrove Tuesday pancake breakfast.  I did not.  I did not make any sort of festive bread; if you want an easy festive bread recipe, see this blog post--it's even got pictures.

I have a balsamic-brown sugar-shiraz syrup reducing on the stove.  I've gotten a head start on dinner--broccoli cut up, brown rice begun, sweet potatoes baking in the oven.  I will look forward to this food all day because I am a grown up without an Instant Pot or Mardi Gras plans.

I realize this post might seem a bit sad, but I want to remember that I've had a good morning.  I've gotten some work done on some poems, and I've enjoyed getting a head start on dinner, and I had a good spin class.

Happy Mardi Gras, everyone. May you have a nourishing, creative day.

Transforming the Altar for Transfiguration Sunday

Yesterday was Transfiguration Sunday, a festival day where Christians celebrate Jesus going up a mountain with a selection of the disciples. While there, his clothes and face glow, and Moses and Elijah (dead prophets) appear.  We hadn't really talked about doing much to change the sanctuary for this day.

When I got to church, the altar was still set up the way that it has been since we changed it for the baptism of Jesus, back in early January:

I asked my pastor if I could transform the altar for Transfiguration Sunday.  He said, "Sure.  Have fun."  It's one of the things I love about my church--I am allowed to play and experiment.

I hadn't brought anything with me, but we had some elements on the altar, primarily the gold fabric.  I covered the various structural elements (the bowl, the blocks, the pitcher), added some shimmery yellow fabric and silver florists' wide ribbon, and a few more candles.  I'm really pleased with how it came out:

I did worry about some of the fabric parts catching fire, but I kept a close watch.  Here's a longer view:

Later, I created some haiku-like creations and did a sketch around them.  Here, too, I was pleased:

I love mornings like this at church that make me feel that I've had a creative encounter in a spiritual setting.  May we all be transformed and transfigured!

Poetry for Transfiguration Sunday

In many Protestant churches, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday is Transfiguration Sunday (other Christians celebrate Transfiguration Sunday on August 6).  Here's a great quote for Transfiguration Sunday. 

"The human journey is a continuous act of transfiguration." - John O'Donohue

It comes by way of a tweet by Diana Butler Bass.

If you want more poetry, here's a poem that I wrote years ago.  It was  published in The Healing Muse. It's part of my series of poems where I imagine Jesus moving through our modern lives (going to spin class, playing putt putt or softball, helping with hurricane clean up).


Transfiguration Sunday on the Cancer Ward


He waits with them because who knows
better how disconcerting
it is to discern one’s disjointed bones
dissolving into water. He remembers
how it feels to be forsaken.
He remembers feeling life flow out of him,
only a husk of his former humanity remaining.

Here, he can’t do much.
In a world of free will, cancer cells can multiply,
bright sons of the morning who would rather reign
in hell than serve in heaven.
Here on the cancer ward, he can’t do
much, but he does what he can.

He brings ice chips and water to those annoyed
by their drought desert mouths.
He offers consolation to the woman who complains
that she can see all her bones through her translucent skin.
He offers tales of transfiguration,
and holds out the hope of resurrection.
He reminisces with those who are too far
gone to remain on the earthly plane much longer.
They trade tales of what they’ll miss most:
crisp sheets on a fresh-made bed,
long lingering meals,
birdsong in the morning,
the change in light that signals a new season,
homemade bread,
the soft rains and gentle sunsets,
a perfect bottle of wine.

Unexpected Blessings

I need to start reading the second book for my certificate program in spiritual direction.  I will try to make progress on that in the next few days.

In the meantime, I've gotten feedback on my reading response that I wrote for the first book in the program.  As I thought about this program, it didn't occur to me that we'd get this kind of feedback.

In fact, I don't think I've ever gotten this kind of feedback on anything I've written, and that includes my thesis and my dissertation.

I remember turning in a rough draft of my thesis (or was it my dissertation?), but I was sure I was close to finished.  The comments that I got made it clear that I was nowhere close to finished.  I was crushed.  In retrospect, I shouldn't have felt so crushed--it was part of the process, and my committee members were exceedingly gentle with me, even as they were clear that they would be requiring more of me.

For my current certificate program, we write a response to our reading and send it to our group leader.  The response is supposed to be no more than 2 pages of single spaced type, and we have some questions to guide us, questions like "What were your biggest "take aways" from the book?" and "What most challenged you?"

I had no trouble analyzing the book, and although I worried I might be too verbose, that, too, turned out to be a non-issue.

Yesterday, I got the feedback from our group leader.  I read it quickly, between work tasks that were leaving me drained and irritable.  Reading that response was like having a cup of tea and a delicious scone with a friend who knows me deeply.  Wow.

This certificate program has already offered me so many gifts that I didn't expect to receive.  Yesterday's feedback was yet another gift.

A Different Sort of Prayer Bead

Last week, I came across an artist who is doing a stitch meditation each week; she's trying to use up scraps of silk that are left over from fabric dying projects.  Later, I may write more about the idea of stitch meditations and fabric dye.  Today I want to capture a different idea.

Inspired by that artist and by scraps of wool that my friend was snipping off of a shawl she was finishing for her daughter, I started a project of my own.  I looked forward to sewing with metallic thread.

I didn't have a chance to finish the project, so I left it on my desk.  Throughout the week, I've found my fingers returning to it.  I like tracing the looping tracks left by the thread. 

I like touching the tangles that I left on purpose.

I've wondered if my experience is what others experience as they pray with a rosary.  I know that rosary beads are there to remind us of where we are in a prayer sequence, but I've always found them to be soothing in terms of touching them too.

I've started wondering about creating a different sort of prayer bead.  I have a vision of a collection of fabrics and threads sewing into some sort of ball or bead.  Would they work if strung together?  Do I want them strung together?  I have begun to collect objects in jars as an art project.  That's a possibility too.

My experiment with stitching has also made me think about stitching labyrinth shapes onto fabric--and then they could be finger labyrinths.

Let me continue thinking about this.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, March 1, 2020:

First Reading: Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm: Psalm 2

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 99

Second Reading: 2 Peter 1:16-21

Gospel: Matthew 17:1-9


Here we are at Transfiguration Sunday again. We celebrate this festival on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, and it's such a familiar story that we may feel that we can get nothing new from it. But it's a story that bears repeating.

When I read the Gospel again, I'm not surprised by Peter's offer to build booths and celebrate the Transfiguration in a commercial way. Christ's command to tell no one makes me pause. Why can't we share this amazing moment?

Christ says this often. Go and tell no one--that seems to be a constant command. And it seems antithetical to the task of the Church.

In just a few months, we'll get a very different Pentecost message. Aren't we supposed to go and witness? Spread the good news? If Jesus is our role model, what do we make of his command to stay silent?

In some ways, perhaps Jesus knew the times he lived in. He knew that early fame would undo his purpose. He knew that people would focus on the physical plane--"This man can heal my blindness"--but not the spiritual plane, the one where we need healing the most.

He also knew that people who see visions, who catch a glimpse of something otherworldly, are often shunned by the community. What would have happened if James and John and Peter came down from the mountain and proclaimed what they had seen? How would the community have responded?

Jesus knew that he couldn't appear too threatening to the status quo too early. In the verses that follow, the ones not included in this Gospel, Jesus makes clear that persecution follows those who see visions. And that persecution still persists today. Our culture tolerates those of us who pray. It's less tolerant of those of us who claim that God replies to our prayers.

The life of the believer is tough, and one measure of its difficulty is knowing when to speak, and knowing when to hold our tongues. Sometimes we should keep our counsel. Sometimes we should testify verbally. Always we should let our lives be our testimony.

Christ also might have been wary of the human tendency to rush towards transfiguration. We yearn to be different, but so often, we shun the hard work involved. We might embrace transformation before we stop to consider the cost.

Like Peter, we might want to turn Christ into Carnival: build booths, charge admission, harness holiness. Jesus reminds us again and again that the true work comes not from telling people what we’ve seen, but by letting what we’ve seen change the way that we live. Our true calling is not to be carnival barker, but to get on with the work of repair and building of the communities in which we find ourselves.

Modern Beatitudes

I have been reading the Gospel of John side by side with the Gospel of Mark.  Every day I read the next chapter.  Earlier in the year, I read a variety of translations.  Once I made my way through the Gospel of John, I decided that I like The Message best.

I've been thinking about what we gain and what we lose when we read the Bible in a more modern translation/inspiration/illumination.  The Message is probably what's most familiar to the widest variety of Bible readers, but I've found myself thinking about Nadia Bolz-Weber's translation of the Beatitudes into a text with more modern examples.

Here's what leapt out at me a few weeks ago when I came across this reading:  "Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are those who make terrible business decisions for the sake of people."

Throughout my administrator life, I've been criticized for thinking about the plight of adjuncts instead of profits.  I've been criticized for going with 2 small sections instead of combining them into one large section:  from the point of view of profits, I'd make a different choice.  In terms of better learning, I'll always be convinced that small classes are better than larger ones.

And yes, you would think that I work in education, so I shouldn't have to spend so much time arguing that student learning is our highest priority.  You would be wrong.

And the sad thing is that we don't save much money when we combine sections; we're not talking tens of thousands of dollars.  Sigh.

I've returned to this translation of the Beatitudes every several days, and I find it both a comfort and a rallying cry.  In these times of strange messages from the larger culture, it's marvelous to be reminded of a different vision of right behavior:  God's vision.

Yesterday's Sermon for Justice Sunday

Yesterday I was in charge at church, which means I preached the sermon.  It was a Justice Sunday, which we do periodically, so the service was set up with several speaking opportunities for others before I preached my sermon.  So I tried to keep my sermon short.

I started my sermon by saying that we had heard about our justice projects, and I was going to talk about justice and God and Valentine's Day.

I talked about my spin class friend who on Friday, talked about the flowers he bought his wife and how he would take her out to dinner.  I asked him, "What are you doing March 14?"  He said, "What's March 14?"  I said, "Exactly," and gave him a brief sermon on allowing the forces of capitalism to dictate to him how he showed his love for his wife.

I talked about how much we spend on Valentine's Day and about whether or not that's how we want to show our love.  Maybe we want someone to make an extra mortgage payment; maybe we say, "I love you" by keeping a roof over our heads and a door that locks.

I talked about how God wants us to show love, or how we've thought that God wants us to show our love for God.  If we were ancient people, we'd save our money to buy the biggest beast we could, so that priests could slaughter it and burn it.  But we have the text from the prophet Isaiah that tells us that God doesn't want burnt offerings.

Through the ages, we might have been taught that right behavior is the way to show our love for God.  What that right behavior is has changed through the ages:  attending church every Sunday, avoiding premarital sex, avoiding alcohol, supporting missionaries, becoming a missionary.

I talked about Jim Wallis of the Sojourners community reading the Bible through various lenses and counting references.  There are about 12 references to homosexuality in the Bible, but thousands about economic injustice.

I talked about God's vision of the world, and that it's not the world we currently live in.  I talked about God inviting us to be part of creating that world.  I talked about God's desire to be in relationship with us, and that it's through these relationships that the work gets done, the work of creating the world that God envisions for us.

Returning to Resurrection

We will soon leave the time of epiphany.  We will trade the star and the angel messengers for ashes on our foreheads.

We may not have realized that the time of epiphany stretched on beyond January 6.  We might not have recognized the wise ones and the gifts they would give us.

We may have already been living in the land of ash.  We may feel that our frozen surfaces will never thaw.

We cannot fathom how we will stitch the fabric of society back together again.  Our arthritic fingers throb with pain even before we have started.

 But if we look closely, we can see that the birds have begun their great migration to return to us.

The first flowers push through the hard earth.

The world returns to resurrection.

Flannel Board Memories

One of my Create in Me friends made this Facebook post:

"In Children's Ministry last night, the kids were designing the order of worship for the services they'd lead for the preschoolers. When discussing the Message, E said "We could laminate a poster and then laminate character pieces and put Velcro on them, and use them to tell the story."

My kid just invented the flannel board."

Her post took me back to my elementary school years.  I went to a Presbyterian school, and my memory is of one year when the lady with the flannel board came every week.  We also had chapel every week, complete with fire and brimstone preachers, all male, who asked us to take Jesus into our hearts so that we wouldn't burn in hell for all eternity.

I spent every Friday of 5th grade asking Jesus to be my Lord and savior and live in my heart.  I spent a lot of time worrying that maybe Jesus hadn't heard me when I asked before.  I often prayed myself to sleep inviting Jesus into my heart.

The lady with the flannel board had a different vibe--no high pressure, scare tactics, just good stories and figures that seemed to stick magically to the flannel board.  The flannel boards were tri-fold affairs perched on a big easel.  The board offered a setting of surprising dimension.  

Do I remember the actual stories?  No, but my impression is that they were mostly Old Testament stories--certainly there's more to choose from in the Old Testament.

Occasionally, a lucky student was chosen to be the flannel board lady's assistant.  I don't remember it happening often--the flannel board lady didn't have all day, after all.  I do remember after her presentation being allowed to stick the figures to the board.

I also remember wondering if I could create a flannel board set of my own.  I don't remember attempting it.

I wonder if there are modern flannel board ladies, using modern technology to do the teaching.  My spouse went to a faculty development session where he learned how to use animation software, Powtoon.  He came home and made a video for his Philosophy students.  Is this kind of animation the flannel board of our time?

I know that many people in faith communities spend a lot of time thinking about how to best reach and train children, but my current church has very few children.  Most Sundays, I am one of the youngest people there, and I'm 54 years old.

I often think about the best ways to reach people, and I'm not sure that it breaks down by age.  Maybe it's time to bring back the flannel board!

Living Sacraments of Love

Here's one of those strange feast days, a feast day that's more popular in the general culture than it is in the church culture that pays attention to saints and their days. For those of you in search of a meditation with photos, you might enjoy this post from last year.

Those of us in religious circles might spend some time thinking about this feast day and the ways we celebrate it, both within our religious cultures and in popular culture. I've often thought that marriage at its best is sacramental: it demonstrates to me in a way that few other things can how deeply God loves me. If my spouse's love for me is but a pale shadow of the way God loves me, then I am rich in love indeed.

I use the word marriage cautiously. I don't mean it the way that some Christians do. I mean simply a love relationship between adults that is covenantal and permanent in nature.

To me, this feast day has morphed into a festival that is essentially a manufactured holiday, yet another one, designed to make us feel like we must spend gobs and gobs of money to demonstrate our love.

Every day, ideally, should be Valentine's Day, a day in which we try to remind our loved ones how much we care--and not by buying flowers, dinners out, candy, and jewelry. We show that we love by our actions: our care, our putting our own needs in the backseat, our concern, our gentle touch, our loving remarks.

And sustained by the love that sustains in our homes, we can go out to give this love to the world which so desperately needs it, to be a beacon that shows evidence of God's love. 

On this Valentine's Day, let us go out into the world, living sacraments, to be Valentines to one another, to show a weary world the wonders of God's love.

Valentine's Eve 2020

Here we are, the day before Valentine's Day, a holiday that has always left me queasy. When I was young, in elementary school, in the years before teachers leapt in to make sure that no one felt left out, Valentine's Day was a clear indication of who was in, who was out. I got my fair share of Valentines in the shoe box that I made into a "post office box," but no declarations of undying love.

Now that I am older, I see this day as essentially a manufactured holiday, yet another one, designed to make us feel like we must spend gobs and gobs of money to demonstrate our love.

If you want to show me you love me, don't spend thousands on a bauble. Go ahead and pay down the mortgage. It may not seem romantic on its face, but what could be more romantic than ensuring that I have a roof over my head and a door that locks.

And there's a larger social justice element, even beyond the question of how we spend our money and the best use of that money. This blog post reminds us of how many of our Valentine's Day traditions are built on the backs of abused workers--and not just abused workers, but enslaved workers and children: "70-75% of the world’s chocolate comes from cocoa beans harvested in West Africa, where almost 2 million children work under violent and hazardous conditions. Many of these children are kidnapped or sold (some as young as 7 years old) and forced into such labor." The statistics are similar for our roses, our diamonds, our technology, and our stuffed animals.

I do understand why people want a holiday in the long winter months to celebrate love. But I also understand how this holiday is painful to many: those who have lost the loves of their lives, those who have never experienced the love for which they yearn, those who love in a different way. After all, this holiday doesn't celebrate all love, but one certain kind of love, and the societal hype reinforces ideas that may get in the way of a realistic approach to relationships.

Every day, ideally, should be Valentine's Day, a day in which we try to remind our loved ones how much we care--and not by buying flowers, dinners out, candy, and jewelry. We show that we love by our actions: our care, our putting our own needs in the backseat, our concern, our gentle touch, our loving remarks.

I think that in America we do a bad job of learning how to manage our emotional lives. We think our feelings are real. We forget that the emotion we have today will likely be gone by tomorrow. We forget that our bad feelings are often triggered by all sorts of things that have nothing to do with how we really feel. Low blood sugar has caused many a fight--and probably more divorces and break-ups than we like to think about. Many of us go through daily life fatigued. We think our boredom and sadness are caused by our families or our friends or our jobs--and that might be the case--or we might just need more sleep.

So, as we begin the mad rush to Valentine's Day, let us take a moment to remember the gift of being able to love each other.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 16, 2020:

First Reading: Deuteronomy 30:15-20

First Reading (Alt.): Sirach 15:15-20

Psalm: Psalm 119:1-8

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 3:1-9

Gospel: Matthew 5:21-37


Last week's Gospel looks easy in the light of this week's Gospel. Light of the world, salt of the earth: check. We know how to do that: feed the poor, be kind to everyone we meet, clothe the ragged, make sure that the oppressed are taken care of. Not easy, to be sure, but easy compared to this week's Gospel.

This week, Jesus tells us that our inner landscape must match our outer actions. Righteous actions aren't good enough. We must work for purity of heart and brain too.

Everyone I know seems to be wrestling with a variation of this question: how can we live a life of integrity, a life that's in synch with our values? The Gospel gives us some fairly serious instruction along these same lines, as Jesus directs us to be sure that our insides and our outsides match. Apparently our current struggles with living a life that's in balance are not new to our time.

We all know what happens if our lives get out of synch. We become hypocrites, and most of us would say we don't want that.

I could make the argument that the hypocrisy of Christians do more to hurt our Gospel mission than anything else. If you know any non-believers and you ask them why they don't believe, they won't often bring up the fact that belief in God requires a faith beyond their senses, a faith beyond what is scientifically proveable. 

No, most non-believers will bring up the hypocrisy of Christians, from the smaller hypocrisies, like the Christian who pretends to be a friend to your face but spreads ugly rumors about you, to the huge hypocrisies, like all the sexual predators employed by the Church through the ages. How can they believe in the God of those types of people?

And if you ask the non-churched why they don't go to church, they will almost always bring up hypocrisy. Many outsiders look at churches and wonder why they don't do more with the resources that they have. Most people know the Gospel message about caring for the poor and dispossessed. Outsiders wonder why we aren't doing more.

Those of us who have served on church councils have some inside information.  We know that many churches struggle with the questions of how to best use our resources.  We may be rich in land, but poor in cash flow.  We may have lots of great ideas, but very few volunteers.  We may be struggling to conserve the legacy of those who built our local churches while moving forward into this brave new century.

Jesus wants us to be more than surface Christians. It's easy to go to church service each week, to sing the hymns, to hug each other. It's harder to live our Christian values the rest of the week. Go back and reread all of what Jesus tells us to do, both in this Gospel and throughout the Gospel texts. Can we really live like that? We're called to forgive each other more times than we think we can. We're called to make peace with our neighbors before we head to church. We're called to give away our money to those who have less than we do. 

The world watches to see how we live our lives.

The Onground Intensive: A Look Back with Pictures

This week-end, I spent some time finishing the first book for the spiritual director certificate program, The Practice of Spiritual Direction by William A. Barry and William J. Connolly.  I've written my first response paper and sent it back to our small group leader.  I've also spent time thinking about the time in January, and as I've looked back over my January blog posts, I realized I didn't ever do much with photographs here (perhaps because I made some Facebook posts with photos, and I didn't want to repeat).

So, let me do that now.  It will give me joy to look back on that time.  Just a few weeks ago, I was getting packed and ready to hit the road.  On January 15, I'd get to campus a few hours before check in time, and to my great happiness, I was able to check in early.  For this intensive, I stayed in a historic house:

There were four bedrooms upstairs, and each bedroom had 2 twin beds:

My favorite part of the house was the converted sunroom.  My mind has often returned to this spot where I wrote and sketched:

My favorite part of the campus was the library, which seemed to have every book on Christianity that I could ever want, as well as beautiful spaces to spend time reading:

The above is an upstairs reading nook.  Here's a view of the main floor:

The chapel is a beautiful example of modern design (modern for the 20th century--will it seem modern in 30 years?  I have no idea):

The cross had amazing carvings:

We spent a lot of time in this meeting area in the Voight classroom building:

My small group met here:

One of the seminary buildings, Alumni Hall, had works of art by John August Swanson and He Qi--numbered prints, not just framed posters.

I was stunned that the building was open, and anyone could wander in.

 I spent some time in contemplation there, thinking about how rare it was to be able to be that close to art of that quality with no guards hovering by.  Below is a picture of the outside of Alumni Hall:

I love being on a campus where we're greeted by this statue of a merry Martin Luther.

I love a campus that has a chapel on one end and a library on the other end--I love the idea of balance that the architecture implies.

What a treat to spend time away, time focused on something besides the metrics of the modern workplace (cost-benefit ratios, budget to actual spreadsheets, retention rates and completion rates and examination scores).

Pictures from a Service in Celebration of World Interfaith Harmony Week

I confess that I haven't been aware of the United Nations World Interfaith Harmony Week before my church celebrated with a service on Sunday Feb. 9.  I went to church not quite sure what to expect.

I knew we would have breakfast:

I knew that we would have visitors from our mosque down the street.

I knew there would be some singing--would we all know the same songs?

Happily the songs that we chose have a lot of repetition, so they taught themselves.  Besides, many of us know songs like "This Little Light of Mine" and "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands."

We had prayers, both in English and in Arabic.

We had meditations on harmony from both the Christian and Muslim faith.

And then we anointed each other's hands with oil.

The pastor of our church said words of blessing, like "Blessed be your hands that reach out to your interfaith neighbors."

I took 133 pictures yesterday morning, but the pictures of our hands moved me the most.

A Muslim-Lutheran Breakfast in Celebration of Interfaith Harmony Week

This Sunday, February 9, 2020, our Lutheran congregation has a special opportunity: we will share a meal and conversation with our neighbors from the mosque down the street.

Think about how miraculous this statement is. We're Lutherans--a minority Protestant variation in most of the country, although we are still mainstream Protestants. In most parts of the country, the non-Lutheran pockets, there aren't many Lutheran churches to choose from.

Muslims are even more of a minority in the U.S. Yet here we are, about to have breakfast together.

I think of South Florida as a non-religious place, but we have a variety of religions. We even have a Hindu temple. But how often do we have breakfast together?

We aren't going to try to convert each other. It's not going to be that kind of breakfast. There are many ways to God. There are many ways to live a good life. On Sunday, we'll hear more from each other about that.

It won't be a typical Sunday morning in a Lutheran church--but how wondrous that we live in this time where we can stretch our boundaries in this way.

So come join us in this moment of hospitality. We'll have a good meal, good conversation, and we'll glorify God in this way.

If you're so inclined, come celebrate Interfaith Harmony Week with us at 10:10 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 9, at Trinity Lutheran Church, in Pembroke Pines, Florida, on the southeast corner of Pines Blvd. and 72nd

What I'm Sketching

Yesterday I took some time to sketch.  The night before, I'd been reading the first book for my spiritual direction program, and I had been thinking about the idea of talking to God.  When I've thought of spiritual direction, I've thought about listening for God, but less about talking to God the way I might talk to a friend.

The book has also made me think about how I talk to friends/family/spouse:  what do I share and what do I keep deep inside?  And do I keep things so deeply inside that even I don't know that they are there?

As I was thinking about the reading and about what I wanted to sketch, I created a haiku.  And then the idea of a fountain came to me.  And so, I started to sketch:

I'm pleased with this image.  I like the energy of the water.  In fact, it reminds me of a sketch that I did on Saturday:

Lots of energy in that sketch.  I like the colors, the swirls, but most of all, I like the energy.

The Faith Lives of the Members of Congress

On this day when we'll hear much about Senator Romney's lone Republican vote to find President Trump guilty, I have a whole set of questions that might not be reflected in the news media.  I'm interested in Romney's faith and how that may have strengthened him to make this stand.

I also have questions about the faith lives of those who did not find Trump guilty, but that might be a post for another day--or maybe I don't want to spend time with that kind of negative energy.

No, I'm much more interested in the faith lives of those who do the unpopular thing, but the morally upright thing.  I'm interested in Romney's faith community right now, as well as the faith communities that surrounded him (or didn't surround him) as he grew up.  What I'm really saying:  how often does he go to church?

I think that many of us grow up knowing the right thing to do.  Change the rules of the game with little children if you don't believe me--they have a fierce sense of fairness, and they will let you know when you have behaved unjustly.  Is it possible to keep that sense of fairness as we grow older?  Is it possible to keep that sense of fairness and justice when money is on the line?

For most of us, it's hard to do that alone.  And it's hard to find people who will support us when we do, especially when money is on the line.  In an ideal world, our faith communities will do that.  In an ideal world, our friends of all belief systems will also do that.  In an ideal world, we've been formed by our families too.

Clearly, we're not living in that ideal world.

I'd love to see a work of journalism that explores the faith and attendance patterns of those who serve in higher office.  How often do they show up at houses of worship?  Are they a participating member of those communities?  Do they serve on the governing bodies of those communities?  Do they go to potluck dinners and holiday pageants?  Do they sing in choirs or do interpretive dance?  Do they stay for coffee hour?  Do they stay to do the clean up after coffee hour?  Do they count the money?

And then I'd like a deeper dive into the data, a dive informed by history, sociology, and psychology.  It's not a book I want to write, but it's one I'd like to read.

Meditation for This Sunday's Gospel

(a note:  yes, this is the same meditation as last week--I got my dates confused in the Revised Common Lectionary.  But the message is one that's worth repeating).

The readings for Sunday, February 9, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 58:1-9a [9b-12]

Psalm: Psalm 112:1-9 [10]

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 2:1-12 [13-16]

Gospel: Matthew 5:13-20


With the Gospel for this Sunday, we get our mission statement from Jesus. We are to be the salt of the earth, the light of the world. Maybe you read the Gospel for Sunday, and you despair. Maybe you've felt much more like a flickering candle lately. Maybe you yearn for verses about dimly burning wicks and the assurance that God will not extinguish you for your lackluster burning.

Jesus tells us that we are to let our light shine, but he doesn't tell us how hard it will be some days. As a child, I always thought that once the light was lit, the hard part was over. I would just shine and shine and not hide my light under a bushel and not let Satan pfff it out (as that old song goes).

I did not anticipate the days and months I would feel like I had no light at all, no wick to light, no oil left in the lamp. I did not anticipate the days that I would wish I had a flicker, a guttering flame.

How do we keep our light from going out? I suspect it's in the various disciplines that we adopt to strengthen our spiritual lives: praying, journaling, reading the Bible, reading other spiritual literature, being in nature, fasting, feasting, tithing, charitable giving, working for social justice, practicing gratitude, caring for those who need us, noticing the wonders of the world.

It's important to realize that we can't keep our lights lit if we see this activity as a once-a-week duty. I suspect that even a once-a-day duty isn't enough. We need to develop disciplines that reorient us throughout the day. We need to build in breaks throughout the day to attend to our wicks and lights.

Maybe we could tie these spiritual disciplines to other breaks we must take during our days. You've probably done this practice at one point in your life: we could say a prayer of gratitude before we eat. We could listen to spiritually uplifting books or music during our commutes or workouts. As we wash our hands throughout the day, we could remember our baptismal promises. Many charitable activities force us to keep to a schedule.

It’s important to remember that we are often the only light of Jesus that many people will see throughout the week. How would our attitude and behavior change if we saw our lives through this prism? We are the instruments and tools that God uses to deliver God’s light into the world. How can we make ourselves better at the task?

Some of us think that we need to lead people to Jesus by talking to them about our faith. But our lives and our actions have already done all the talking before we ever open our mouths. Keep that in mind as you interact with people. Let your life do the shining. Be the salt that adds savor to everyone’s surroundings. Glorify God in this way.

When Your Cold Strikes Back

I had thought I had one of those lesser colds--a mildly annoying thing which makes me more aware of my various sinuses, but not really much of an impact.  I have had a cough that comes and goes.  Some days I've thought that the cold was on the run.

Last night as I drove home at 6:30, after observing a class, I noticed that I was shivering.  I took my temperature which was 99.6.  I thought I might have used the thermometer wrong.  I continued to shiver as I watched a bit of T.V.

I got into bed just before 8 p.m.  I was wearing flannel pajamas, and I was under lots of covers, but still I shivered.  I drifted off to sleep.

At 9:15, I woke up and knew I better get to the bathroom.  I can count on one hand the amount of times I've thrown up during this century (and perhaps during my whole adult life)--last night was one of those times.  At least I didn't make a mess.  I went back to bed.

My spouse came home from teaching, and I told him my cold had taken a turn for the worse.  And then I slept and slept.

I wanted to wake up to be completely recovered, but I have a pounding headache this morning, along with a back ache.  Still, at one point in the night, I was dizzy and had trouble holding my head up.  At least it's not going to be that kind of day (she says with hope in her voice).

I've taken aspirin and Mucinex for the cough.  I'll take a shower and head to work.  Despite a few tough moments through the night, I did sleep over 10 hours, so I don't feel as bad as I might.  If I took a sick day, I don't know that I'd need it to recover--so why waste it?

The Feast Day of Saint Simeon

Today is the feast day of Saint Simeon. Those of us who celebrated Candlemas on Feb. 2 will remember this man as the one who had been told that he would see the Messiah before he died. When he held Jesus, he said the words that many of us still use as part of our liturgies: "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation 31 that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, 32 a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."

It's a brief appearance, but if we go back to read the Gospels, we may be surprised to realize how short these texts are. Very few people get much space on the pages.

We honor Saint Simeon because of his faithfulness. We don't know much about him, so we project a picture of steady belief, even as he gets ever nearer to death. But I suspect that part of his outpouring of words comes from having some doubts along the way.

The thoughts I've had during recent Advent to Candlemas seasons have revolved around the old people who are part of this story. I'm guessing that in most churches, the emphasis is on the young people: the Virgin Mary, the baby Jesus. We watch our children act out the stories of characters not much older than they are.

Recently the story of the older cousin Elizabeth really leapt out at me from the Advent stories. I have a number of friends who are in their 50's and older. I'm 53. We've seen our bodies betray us in a number of ways, but pregnancy is not on our list of expectations. If I'm honest, most of us would not see a late life pregnancy as miraculous news, but we don't live in the same kind of culture as Mary and Elizabeth did.

And now, with the Candlemas story, we see old people again, Simeon and the prophetess Anna. The churches of my childhood didn't spend much time on the old people in any story. The lectionary readings focus on Jesus and the disciples, who are often presented as men in the youthful prime of their lives.

I'm forever grateful to feminist scholars who have returned to these texts and given them a new spin as they imagined what would happen if we moved women to the center of the narratives--or, if not the center, at least out of the marginal shadows.

I feel a need to do something similar with the stories of the old folks. Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna are great places to start.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine.

Poetry Sunday: "Song for Anna"

Today is Candlemas, where Christians celebrate the presentation of Jesus at the Temple, and pagans long ago celebrated the goddess Brigid (and the feast day of St. Brigid was yesterday), and some Wiccans today will be celebrating at Imbolc, or a variation of any number of pagan holidays. It's also Groundhog's Day. It's one of those times when we can almost perceive the shifting of the seasons. It's not spring yet, but it will be soon.

Candlemas is a feast day that speaks to me. Candlemas celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. It's the last feast holiday that references Christmas. We could see it as the final festival of Christmas, even though most of us have had the decorations packed away since even before Epiphany.  In fact, some traditions tell us that whatever decorations we don't have packed away by the end of Epiphany on Jan. 6 have to stay up until Feb. 2.

Finally!  A reason to be leisurely putting away the trees and twinkly lights!

One year I preached on the topic of the presentation of Jesus at the temple.  I focused on Simeon and Anna, another set of elderly people who begin at the perimeter of our Christmas stories and move to the center.  Most churches focus on the youth--the fiery younger prophets, the Virgin Mary, the young Jesus, the energetic Paul.  Most churches approach the youth as the future of the church and the elders as people who get in the way.

For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, there are Bible texts that tell a different tale.  Last year, I created several poems that centered around Anna, and then I made this sketch a few days later:

Here is one of the poems.  It's in the form of a villanelle, which often feels forced to me.  Nonetheless, one the rare occasions when I finish one, I do feel like I've accomplished something major:

Song for Anna

In this temple of white whiskers, old bones, and setting sun,

I water the plants, feed the cats, and sweep the stone floor.
The work of a prophetess is never done.

The length of tasks can leave one stunned.
For novices, I make a list of every daily chore
in this temple of white whiskers, old bones, and setting sun.

In the afternoon, there is wool to be spun,
and other work that tends to bore.
The work of a prophetess is never done.

For high holy days, the purifying war must be won.
We will find every unclean spore
In this temple of white whiskers, old bones, and setting sun.

We don’t even think of having fun.
If we stop this work, we will be shown the door.
The work of a prophetess is never done.

The background noise makes me want to run.
The children cry, the animals bleat, and the elders roar.
In this temple of white whiskers, old bones, and setting sun
The work of a prophetess is never done.

The Feast Day of Saint Brigid and This Moment in Time

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid*, and we are fighting off colds.  We are trying to cough quietly because we have people sleeping in the front bedroom.  I think of monastic vows of hospitality, especially when I wish that our guest room was more luxurious.  This morning, our guests are sleeping 4 mattresses high, with boxes piled around them.  But it's a place to sleep, with clean sheets and a relatively clean bathroom.

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid, and we have a moving van parked outside.  My sister-in-law begins moving out of the cottage today with the help of her significant other (sleeping in the front bedroom) and his brother (sleeping in the cottage).  The weather forecast calls for thunderstorms, some of them intense, so I'm not sure how this impacts her plans.  They will likely hit the road later today or tomorrow.  I think of those Celtic Christians who moved through the world in their little boats or on foot.

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid, the day after the Senate effectively finished their impeachment trial.  It is a good day to remember that the nation has survived many challenges, and this one is not the worst.  It is a good day to pray for deliverance from those worse times.

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid, and there is news from abroad that makes me anxious:  the British have finally formally left the European Union, the new corona virus continues its blistering approach, glaciers continue to melt faster than we thought they would.  It's a good day to follow the model of Saint Brigid, to care for those who are closer to our orbits.

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid, in a week where a friend looked into my refrigerator and said, "This looks like the fridge of a single person."  She meant that there was no food and that it was clean.  Because there was no food, I had scrubbed the shelves the day before, the first time I scrubbed the shelves in a long time (years, if we're being honest).  I've wiped them, but I rarely take them out and thoroughly clean them.  Now I have clean fridge shelves and the rest of the house is a bit grubby, a constant state of affairs.  I like to think that saints like Brigid probably had better skills than I do in terms of balancing the daily tasks with the larger work, but I suspect there were times when Brigid looked at the abbey she had founded and wondered why it was so hard to keep clean.

It is the feast day of Saint Brigid, which is also the day before the Super Bowl in Miami tomorrow.  I will leave my house to go to church tomorrow, but other than that, I'm staying put.  I have a vision of time to read; I started Nell Freudenberger's Lost and Wanted last night, and it's amazing.  I have a vision of doing some sketching.  I'm not creating a focused book of illuminations, like Brigid did with her Book of Kildare, but the work feeds me.  I have a vision of doing some cooking, of channeling Brigid's abundance by baking bread or a huge casserole or a sour cream coffee cake.

*To find out more about Saint Brigid, go to this blog post; it also includes a poem of mine.