Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 4, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 5:1-7

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

Psalm: Psalm 80:7-14 (Psalm 80:7-15 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 19

Second Reading: Philippians 3:4b-14

Gospel: Matthew 21:33-46

Today's Gospel contains a parable that seems to tell the story of Christ, in the vineyard owner's son, who is killed by the tenants. I suspect that when modern readers, many of whom own property, read this lesson, they identify with the vineyard owner far more than they do with the tenants. But what would happen if we thought about ourselves as the tenants?

Notice how the tenants are so stuck in their self-destructive ways that they can't change. Now, as we settle into the season of autumn, as we race towards the end of the liturgical year, it might be useful to do some self-evaluation. What are our habits that get in the way of us living as the people of God? By now, you might despair to realize that these are the same patterns you've wrestled with before. But take heart. As you continue to attempt to make changes and go astray, each time you try to get back to a more wholesome way of living, it should take less time to make the necessary adjustments.

The Gospels that we've been reading give us reassurance that we can go astray, and God will still welcome us back. Now all this talk of going astray may not be the most useful image for us. Many of us have grown up in churches that berated us with talk of sin and tried to make us change by making us feel ashamed. We live in a toxic culture that tells us that we're not doing enough, not earning enough, not buying the right stuff. Many of us spend our days with voices in our head telling us those same messages. Who wants to come to church to hear the same thing? We've tried, we've failed, we know, we get it.

The danger is that we might quit trying to live the life that God envisions for us. God doesn't want us to live the way we've been living. Many of us might agree--we don't want to be living these lives.

So take a different approach. What would a healthier life look like? What would a God-centered life look like? How would it feel?

Now choose one action that gets you closer to that God-centered life. We have a variety of choices. Maybe we'll add one prayer to our day. Maybe we'll donate to an additional charity. Maybe we'll find a way to improve the lives of schoolchildren. Maybe we'll turn off the news and quiet our brains so that we can hear God's suggestions of how to order our lives. Small action by small action, choice after choice, day after day, we can structure a life that looks like the one God would hope we could have.

Of course, there will be times of despair. There will be times of abject failure. Read the lessons again and think about the natural order of horticulture. The land must be cleared occasionally so that new growth can take place. God continues to call to us to work for the vision of the redeemed creation that God gives us.

Remember that God promises that no matter how far away we are from that vision, God will meet us more than half-way. If we're feeling like a rejected stone, remember that God has great plans for rocks of every shape.

The Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

High Holy Days Envy

When I was growing up, I knew no Jewish people. For that matter, I knew very few Catholics. Most everyone I knew was some variation of mainstream Protestantism, albeit usually a conservative variation, since I grew up in the U.S. South. Even during my grown up years in South Carolina, I knew very few Jews.

And then, I moved to South Florida. Now I've met a lot of Jews and gotten to know a few. I’ve been experiencing envy, as I watch my friends celebrate their Jewish holiest days.

My childhood self hated belonging to what I considered to be an easy religion. I wanted kosher laws that I would struggle to keep. I wanted to do penance for all my sins. The concept of grace left me uneasy.

The high holy days of Judaism appeal to me in just that very way. The problem with the concept of grace, the way that many people understand it, is that it leaves people with no obligation to do any kind of self-reflection that might lead to meaningful change. I've seen far too many people knowingly act in egregious ways, so assured are they that Jesus loves them no matter what they do.

The idea of a period of intense introspection enchants me. I also like the idea that it ends. Immersing myself in a period of repenting and atoning, fasting and prayer--that idea has enormous appeal. The idea that God seals the book, absolves us, and we go back to regular life also appeals. Most humans can't live in that kind of intense self-awareness and repentance for too very long.

Does Christianity have a similar time? The period before Easter, Lent and Holy Week, are the closest. I've wondered if every major religion has a similar period that happens once a year. Ramadan is one example, and I'm sure there are more.

I wonder why it's only once a year in most major religions. I'd argue that we could use this time of recalibration during each quarter of the year.

So, today, as my Jewish friends immerse themselves in this holy time, and as I go about my regular life, I'll try to remember to think about God and that Book of Life. I'll think about my current life and where I need some change in its trajectory. I'll pray for all of us who are engaged in a similar time of introspection.

Meditation on Miriam

My pastor put together a sermon series on interesting women in the Bible. Here's the meditation on Miriam that I wrote for our electronic newsletter:

When I sat down to write this meditation on Miriam, I came face to face with the realization that I don't remember much about her. I remembered a song of praise and thanksgiving, but that's not exactly a singular experience. We could do a whole sermon series on songs of praise and thanksgiving and have enough material for more than a season.

I read the Bible passage for this week's worship, Numbers 12, and I began to remember a bit more. Miriam was the sister of Moses and Aaron, those two great leaders that won freedom for the Jews enslaved in Egypt. I did a Google search--Miriam was the older sister. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like to be the older sister to Moses and Aaron. I thought about the parents, what it must be like to have these three children with such very different gifts. My Google search reminded me that all three siblings are equally valued in the Jewish tradition. My memories of childhood Sunday School include Moses and Aaron, but not a word about Miriam.

What a lost opportunity! Imagine a Sunday School that talks about prophetic gifts and includes Miriam. Imagine a Sunday School that trains children to listen for God's voice, to proclaim God's voice, to speak truth to the various people in power, just as Miriam did.

Numbers 12 reminds us that we must be careful with how we speak that truth. In this passage, Miriam faces punishment for the way that she criticized Moses and his treatment of his wife. The passage doesn't tell us much about why Aaron and Miriam criticized; I see a hint of jealousy, but I may be overlaying my sibling narrative onto a Biblical text. Still, they criticize, which makes God angry and critical, and they are punished.

I'm impressed with Moses, who goes to God to plead their case. I like the story that gives us a framework for restorative justice. Miriam isn't struck dead or defiled forever. She can rejoin the community after some time of isolation.

In fact, Miriam continues to hold a place of importance in the community. Just as Moses comes to be associated with food for people in a wilderness wandering time, Miriam is associated with wells and water. When she dies, the community has no water for a time.

We can hear the echo of Miriam through the ages when we see Jesus at the well, speaking to the Samaritan woman, one of the longest conversations that Jesus has with anyone. He offers her living water that doesn't come from a well, and she asks where she can get this water. One of our sacraments, baptism, uses water as a witness to the power of God working in the world.

During this time of many challenges, let us remember what Miriam celebrated after safe passage through the sea. Let us remember the power of God when it comes to earthly tyrants. Let us remember the promise that Miriam sings, that we will have sanctuary from all of our oppressors.

Piecing, Peacing

I've been doing some sketching/journaling as I read Resmaa Menakem's My Grandmother's Hands.  I was struck by the title of Part II--"Remembering Ourselves." I thought about dismemberment and what it means to put bodies back together--both our individual bodies and groups of people (the body politic, the church body, and on and on I could go). 

For my first sketch, I just tried to capture some ideas:

This morning, I returned to the idea of putting something together with a pattern, and then I added the haiku-like creation:

I had something else in mind, something completely different, but this sketch is the one that came this morning.  That part of the process always intrigues me too.  Later, perhaps I'll explore further.

Compounding Goodness

We are about 40 days away from the election.  I'd been thinking about the number of weeks rather than the number of days, so I was surprised to see this post from Diana Butler Bass that told me that we're 40 days out.

She suggests that we treat these 40 days as a Lenten period.  She implores us to pray.  We could pray for candidates or for the health of the nation.  We could pray for those who vote and for those who are part of the process.  We could also offer prayers of thanks.  And don't forget those prayers of praise:  "Even now, especially now, praise is possible, and it is the song of life. Give yourself moments of wonder."

She reminds us that prayer may not be enough.  She suggests an additional action each day.  That action could encompass a host of possibilities:  lighting a candle, attending a protest, volunteering at the polls.  We could donate money or time.  We could write postcards to voters or postcards to others who need encouragement.  We could write letters to legislators.

It's good to remember that we're not powerless.  We're not living under a dictatorship, although it may feel like it at times.  It's important to take these actions, because, as Bass reminds us, "Heartfelt, even wordless, prayers speak magic into the universe. Small actions add up, daily acts compound goodness."

Go out and compound goodness--just a different way of saying what Jesus taught us long ago.

Trauma Tracing

For many of us, the summer of 2020 has been a season of racial reckoning, of a sort.  We've had story after story of terrible police brutality.  Some of us will think of George Floyd, some of Breonna Taylor--sadly, there's no shortage of these kinds of stories.  It's been a summer of protests across the nation, and from what I can tell, from a distance, those protests have been largely peaceful.

Yesterday I watched the news reports that told me that there would be very little in terms of justice in the case of Breonna Taylor.  There were lots of bullets and one officer who will be charged with some form of reckless endangerment--not for endangering the lives of Breonna Taylor and her boyfriend, but the people in neighboring apartments.

I am both surprised and not surprised.  There will be all sorts of stories in various sorts of media that will explain all sorts of aspects of this case.  My brain returns to the book I've been reading with an online journaling group, Resmaa Menakem's My Grandmother's Hands.  It's a powerful work that explores trauma and all the ways our bodies store trauma--and how that process is different for white bodies, for black bodies, and for police bodies.  

It's not just a book, but also a workbook.  It's full of exercises to help us safely move the trauma out of ourselves--and not just our trauma, but the trauma experienced by our ancestors.  Even if we're protected by our culture now (by our race, by our gender, by our economic status), most of us come from people who have been brutalized, and even if they weren't brutalized, they were surrounded by brutality.  Menakem reminds us, "When you heal historical and intergenerational trauma, you heal the people who came before you. You also heal the generations to come, because your healing means you will not pass on your trauma to your descendants" (p. 180).

If enough people do this work, we can heal society:  “When, over time, enough bodies heal from historical, intergenerational, and personal trauma and learn to harmonize, that harmony can turn into a culture of resilience and flow” (p. 182).  It's not enough to start another book club, although knowledge is important.  Menakem reminds us over and over again that healing doesn't happen in the head.  It happens in your body.

So how do we do this work?  We choose clean pain over dirty pain which means choosing integrity over fear.  We let go of what is familiar but harmful.  We find the best parts of ourselves.  We return to the practices that Menakem gives us in his book, exercises that release the pain of generations stored in our bodies:

I highly recommend the book, of course.  But while you're waiting for the book, this interview from Krista Tippett and her On Being show will give you a taste of Menakem's teaching.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 27, 2020:

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

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

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

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

Second Reading: Philippians 2:1-13

Gospel: Matthew 21:23-32


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

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

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

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

Our goal each and every day is to be the yeast that makes the bread rise.  Notice how small our actions can be. The yeast is tiny, but from its small actions, flour and water transform into bread.  No matter how small our actions, our lives are the radiance that allows people to see God at work in the world.

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

There's plenty of work to be done:  weeding out the thorny vines of injustice, tending the the seedlings that can grow to produce good fruit.  We can each do the tasks that are ours to do.  God invites us to be part of a much grander vision.  Let us say yes to that invitation.

Autumn 2020 Approaches

We are just a few hours away from the autumnal equinox.  In South Florida, where I live, one must be very alert to sense the passage of the seasons.  We don't have the change in leaf color, but we do have a shift of the sun as it slips further to the south, making the shadows longer in certain parts of parking lots.

We don't have a change in the temperature.  In some years, we see increased hurricane activity as we get closer to the autumnal equinox, but that marker isn't a clear delineation either.

I used to joke that I knew autumn was upon us when we got the first cinnamon brooms in the produce section of the grocery store, but this year, we've only gotten a few, and they must be left over from last year.  They didn't fill their corner of the store with fragrance. 

Just a few days ago, I did see pumpkins, but they were in a cardboard display box that had once held watermelons.  I know, because the box proclaimed the goodness of watermelon season, a season that has already faded.

We've been able to get apples year round, along with watermelon.  We no longer seem to have seasonal produce, although if you wanted to buy a whole pumpkin in May, in my part of the U.S. you wouldn't find them.

I do try to keep certain activities/foods/decorations for certain seasons, just so that I have some way of marking them.  I now have autumnal table top trees to go with my Christmas ones.  In the off season, as I look up from my work desk to the back of the file cabinet where I store them, it looks like a delightful forest, a different kind of enchanted wood.

During these pandemic days, many of us have experienced the slipping of time, when one day bleeds into the next, when we're not sure if we're supposed to be at work or assisting with school or trying to fall asleep.  Those of us who live in parts of the country where the seasons don't march on with vim and vigor understand this slippage all too well.

Today is a good day to pause and think about the season that's passing and the one that's about to start.  It's a good time to offer some thanks for what the summer season has given us and to reflect upon our hopes and yearnings for the next 3 months.

I have been feeling somewhat scattered--not quite as scattered as I was feeling in March and April, but still not quite settled.  I want to get back to better writing practices:  writing more poems and sending more poems out into the world.  I want to start appreciating the beauty that's around me more:  bouquets of flowers and the birds overhead and the foliage that may not match my autumnal yearnings.  I want to continue with the spiritual practices that ground me (morning watch, sketching) and to keep reading 1 chapter in the book of John each morning--I've felt that practice wanting to slide away from me.

It's going to be a tough quarter or two as we head towards the election and its aftermath, the time when pathogens start to get the upper hand.  Let us hold firm to the practices that ground us while remembering all of our yearnings that are yet to be fulfilled.

The Feast Day of Saint Matthew

Today we celebrate the life of St. Matthew, one of the 12 disciples. Matthew was a tax collector, and that fact should give us all hope.

Throughout the Bible, we see God at work in the world. We see God using all sorts of humans, the kind of humans that a wise CEO wouldn't promote. But God sees their potential, and God calls them.

Sometimes, people protest and remind God of their unworthiness; think of Moses. Sometimes God has to do a lot to get their attention; think of Jonah.

But sometimes, the call comes, and the person responds, dropping everything to follow God's call. In Matthew, we see this example.

Maybe you're in a time of your life where you're feeling particularly unworthy. Take advantage of this day to remember God's grace and God's call.

Here are the Bible readings for today:

First Reading: Ezekiel 2:8--3:11

Psalm: Psalm 119:33-40

Second Reading: Ephesians 2:4-10

Gospel: Matthew 9:9-13

And here's a prayer I composed for today:

God full of grace and compassion, on this day that we celebrate the life of Matthew, help us remember that you have a plan for the redemption of creation and that we have a place in it. Thank you for the witness of Matthew and the disciples. Help us to follow in their example, that we may be a light, your light, in this shadowy world that so desperately needs brightness.

Hagar: Enslaved Women Past and Present

(process note:  my church, Trinity Lutheran in Pembroke Pines, Florida, is doing an autumn sermon series on interesting women in the Bible.  Here's what I wrote for our weekly newsletter.  For a different take, you can watch the broadcast of the service later today on the Facebook page or on the YouTube channel)

In this week's exploration of interesting women of the Bible, we hear about Hagar, slave woman to Sarah, mother of Abraham's child, Ishmael. This story is not an easy one to read. It shows us how precarious it was to be a woman in ancient times, in ways that aren't that different from today.

It's tempting to read this as a story of how a male-dominated, patriarchal society mistreats women, and that approach would not be wrong. Yet as we read the stories of Sarah and Hagar, it's clear that Sarah is more of a problem than Abraham. It's Sarah's idea to have Hagar have Abraham's child, and then when her plan is successful, it's Sarah who mistreats Hagar so badly that Hagar runs away. Hagar returns, and years later, when Sarah has her own child, again, Sarah develops a plan to get rid of Hagar. Abraham shows remorse, but Sarah never seems to see that she's been wrong.

We could see this as a story of how women don't support each other, of how patriarchy poisons female relationships, and again, we wouldn't be wrong. But it also shows us the dangers of a stratified society. Sarah sees Hagar as disposable. We would do well to think about where we see that dynamic in our current society. We don't have to look very hard to find whole parts of populations that are disposable.

In the time of Sarah and Hagar, as in our own time, the people who live in the margins of society don't have anyone to advocate for them. Hagar is a female slave; only a slave child would have less status, less protection. We may feel that we're better as a society because we have laws against slavery, but many employment practices keep people enslaved in other ways. And of course, there's the very real condition of human trafficking.

We say that we have criminalized slavery, but in many ways, in all of human history, it's never been easier to own a slave, than it is right now. Our time has fairly porous borders, technology that makes it easy to fake paperwork, and people who are willing to sell you any type of person you might want.

It's enough to make us weep--the world that God envisions for us seems so far away.

When we approach this story from a different angle, we can move away from weeping. The stories of Sarah and Hagar show us that God can make something good out of the most abject human misery. We see Hagar in the desert, out of water and seemingly out of luck, when God opens her eyes so that she can see a well of water. They survive, and Hagar gets credit for being the mother of the 3rd great religion that comes from Abraham's descendants; Hagar is the mother of Islam.

We see that God keeps the promise made to Abraham, not just in the son Isaac, but in all of Abraham's descendants. God doesn't get bogged down in the legal details. God doesn't say, "The deal is off because you had sex with a slave woman." Instead, God expands on the vision--nations for both children!

If God can transform the brokenness of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar, we should take courage in that. No matter how spectacularly we have failed, God is there, showing us the well of water in the times of our lives that feel most like the barren desert. God is there, promising new life where it seems impossible to find life at all.

A Keen Loss: Ruth Bader Ginsberg

 Ruth Bader Ginsberg has died.  I've spent the last several months thinking of other deaths that might complicate the election--we have the two oldest candidates in history running, and I don't know what happens if one of them dies before election day.  I didn't think about the death of a Supreme Court justice this close to the election and what might happen.

If I had thought about it, I'd have assumed it would be one of the others.  Ginsberg seemed indestructible.  But of course, none of us is indestructible.

I will feel her absence keenly.  I loved how outspoken she was, how fierce.  She not only blazed a path for those of us coming behind her, but she took a power saw and hacked all sorts of hazards out of the way.

We're in a time when the path ahead seems overgrown again.  Ginsberg's death will remind us that the election of a president has far reaching implications.

There are writers out there who will remember her life more eloquently than I can.  There are those who will write about the implications with words more poignant than those I have now.  One of those is Pastor Katy Stenta, who writes in this blog post:

"We here on earth are praying that you are hatching a plot with the company of saints, I know you are sitting with God and John Lewis and Chase Boseman.

And while you are plotting we pray that you are hanging your collar in the stars, so we might see, and remember how justice shines in the dark.

Help us in our grief to cry and rage, and then find ourselves in your work we pray."

The Improvement Projects of God

I got home last night to a house simmering with unpleasantness.  My spouse had attempted a variety of projects, all projects which should have been easy, all projects which went astray, which left my spouse ever more frustrated, and by the time I got home, he was in a foul mood.

Luckily, the dinner he had made was delicious, so there was one thing that worked.  

This morning, I used his experiences as I closed morning watch on my church's Facebook page.  I always end morning watch with a benediction of sorts.  I'm intrigued by how I use the stuff of life in my closing.  This morning, I talked about hoping that we all find meaning in our work, that we have at least one piece of it that comes to successful completion.

And then I took a leap.  I reminded us that we are God's projects, that God is seeing us through to a successful completion, even though we may be at the point where we don't see how we will ever be a successful project of God.

I love this idea of humanity as a home repair project.  I will spend some time thinking about that.  And then, after morning watch, I had a different thought:  what if we're not home repair projects, but God's self-improvement projects?

I know that many of us see God as perfect and complete, unchanging.  Why would God need a self-improvement project if God is perfect?

But I like the idea of God as taking on projects that might lead to a better version of God.  I'm intrigued by the idea that God's creation can help God do that.

The Feast Day of Hildegard of Bingen

 Today is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen.  I forgot, and now morning watch* is over, and I can't mention that it's the feast day of one of my favorite medieval mystics.  In so many ways, that seems a metaphor for my modern life:  I get essential stuff done, while sometimes forgetting aspects of what's important to me--so far, the forgettings have not been earth shattering, but my forgetting bothers me nonetheless.

I have written poems inspired by Julian of Norwich and Brigid, my other two favorite medieval mystics, but nothing inspired by Hildegard of Bingen.  I feel some ideas percolating, so perhaps tomorrow or the next day, I'll attempt it.

Hildegard is one of those medieval women that makes me feel like an utter failure.  We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

And it's no wonder that I feel like I don't measure up.  During these times when I feel like I'm accomplishing NOTHING as an artist, it's easy to convince myself that I've peaked, as much as I was going to peak. It's easy to sink into a spiral of self-pity and despair: "I should have worked harder on this project, I should have followed through on this contact, I should have taken this job, I should have moved to that place." On and on I can go in this way.

I often wonder if those medieval mystics in charge of abbeys and monasteries chafed at those responsibilities. Did they wish they had more time for contemplation?  And not the contemplation of how to keep everyone fed and clothed?  Did they have a creative masterpiece that they never quite finished because people kept interrupting them?

And yet the sum of their days shows what can be accomplished even in small snippets of time.  So let us use this feast day to recalibrate our efforts and commit to what's important.

*I broadcast a 15 minute morning devotional time over my church's Facebook page each morning at 5:30 a.m.   

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 20, 2020:

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

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

Psalm: Psalm 145:1-8

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

Second Reading: Philippians 1:21-30

Gospel: Matthew 20:1-16


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Litany of Lament from St. Mark's Lutheran in Conshohocken, PA

Yesterday, a Facebook friend made this Facebook post, which included a powerful liturgy.  It was what I needed this morning, so I'm posting it here.  Others might need it too--and I'm likely to want to return to it.

What an effective lament the folks of St. Mark's Lutheran Church, Conshohocken, PA, used this morning. How much we have lost. Have much we are grieving. At the same time, God is faithful and present.

Invocation

Blessed be the holy Trinity, ☩ one God, who creates, redeems, and sustains us and all of creation. Amen.

Litany of Lament

God, we raise our voices to you this day, joined with the songs of Scripture, to pray for peace in our hearts and minds. Lord grant us this mercy. For a lost sense of community, For closed in-person worship, For unsung hymns, For unspoken prayers, For meals not had, For memories never made. Loving God, We Lament.

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit. (Psalm 51)

For those who are missing family and friends, For those longing for company, For those who cannot be together, Loving God, We Lament.

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

For lost wages, For those missing work, For those furloughed and laid off, For shuttered businesses, For those facing closure and bankruptcy. Loving God, We Lament

For canceled concerts, For dances dropped, For empty stages, For games and matches not played, For truncated or lost seasons, performances and tours. Loving God, We Lament.

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

For misunderstandings, For fear and distrust, For confusion and disillusionment, For frustration and stress. Loving God, We Lament

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

For those facing death, For those in isolation, For those battling illness, For those who have died. Loving God, We Lament

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

For those who are exhausted, For those working extra hours, For those feeling weak, For those desperate for rest. Loving God, We Lament

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

For we know you are a God of steadfast love and you do not abandon us in times of trouble. When Noah faced the raging storm in the ark You were there!

When Moses journeyed through the wilderness towards the Promised Land You were there!

When Daniel faced the lions You were there!

When Jonah went to Nineveh You were there!

When Esther faced her captors You were there!

When the disciples faced the raging storm You were there!

When the disciples gave up hope on the road to Emmaus You were there!

When Paul was in prison You were there!

When the world seems to unravel You ARE here!

Restore to [us] the joy of your salvation, and sustain in [us] a willing spirit.

Feast of the Cross

Today marks the Feast of the Cross, at least in many Christian churches. To those of us more outside of the Orthodox traditions, it must seem a strange tradition, with its veneration of the cross itself. And the history of the day seems beyond belief, to those of us thousands of years away from the actual events of the Crucifixion. Early legend has it that St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, discovered the cross upon which Jesus hung when she was in Jerusalem in 326.

Skeptics will ask, "How could she know it was the cross of Jesus and not one of the other crosses used in the Roman system of capital punishment?" Helena was so convinced that she commanded a church be built on the site, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which was dedicated 9 years later, with a portion of the true cross kept inside.

The Persians took that cross fragment in 614, according to legend, and in 628, the Byzantine emperor Heraclitus got it back, and in 629, the fragment was returned to the church.

Many of us worship in Christian traditions that tell us that the cross is the vehicle of our salvation, but the veneration of that cross may seem strange, even if we're part of that tradition. After all, the cross was a unique instrument of torture. Why gaze upon it lovingly?

Even those of us who don't accept the Anselmian theology of atonement can benefit from thinking about the cross today. Crucifixion was the punishment reserved by the Romans for enemies of the state. What is it about Jesus' message that so threatens the Roman Empire? Is it still threatening today? Are we living that message in a way that puts us on a collision course with the forces of Empire? If not, why not?

Here are the readings for today:

First Reading: Numbers 21:4b-9

Psalm: Psalm 98:1-5 (Psalm 98:1-4 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 78:1-2, 34-38

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24

Gospel: John 3:13-17

Here's a prayer for the day from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Summertime:

"Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross that he might draw the whole world to himself: Mercifully grant that we who glory in the mystery of our redemption may have the grace to take up our cross and follow him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen."

Sarai/Sarah and the Perils of Living in a Female Body

Our exploration of interesting women in the Bible brings us to Sarai who becomes Sarah. She's the wife of Abram, who becomes Abraham. For the sake of simplicity, I'll refer to both of them as Sarah and Abraham.

If Abraham is the father of 3 major religions, then she is surely the mother. But I confess to having an excruciating dislike of Sarah. My memory of her revolves around the way she treated Hagar, whom we will talk about next week. Sarah can't have a child, so she wants Abraham to impregnate her slave, Hagar. My brain has recoiled at this approach since I was a child.

I had Sunday school teachers who taught this story as a morality tale, as a way that things can go terribly wrong when we try to micromanage the miracles that aren't coming in the way we anticipate. Sarah is unable to conceive, but Abraham has been promised that he'll have descendants. So Sarah comes up with a plan that ultimately results in a pregnancy--but also in mistreatment and expulsion.

I'm repulsed by the treatment of the enslaved woman Hagar, who has no say in the matter. I'm repulsed by Sarah's actions, by her inability to live with the consequences. I'm repulsed that Hagar must leave--and then come back!

I wasn't able to articulate these ideas in my childhood Sunday School, and perhaps that's for the best. As a much older woman now, I am able to see the story differently. As I look at the book of Genesis, I'm struck by how hazardous the world was for women. I'm struck by the fact that not once, but twice, did Abraham claim that Sarah was his sister, not his wife. In Egypt, that lie results in Sarah being taken as wife to a Pharaoh, while Abraham amasses great wealth. Later, they face a similar circumstance. Each time, they are berated by powerful men for not telling the truth.

We might see this story as a cautionary tale about the importance of telling the truth--or we might look at all these story lines and see how difficult life was for all of these women--and indeed, for all but the most powerful men. Sadly, in many parts of the world today, our bodies are not our own, no matter where we live on the gender spectrum.

As I look at the last part of the story, I'm struck by the age of Sarah and Abraham, by how long they had to wait for God's promise. I'm struck by the fact that the fulfillment of the promise leads to the banishing of Hagar, a woman in an even more precarious position. It's hard for me to read this text without thinking about slavery, both the kind in the 19th century and the kind we see today--more on that idea next week.

I wish that Sarah was an easier old woman to love--she's no Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist and cousin of Mary, the mother of Jesus. But maybe the fact that I can't like her is important too--God can use many types of humans in the creation of a better world.

I have said more than once that if you were choosing a team, you wouldn't choose many of the people that God chooses--and here we see that's true for some of the women as well as many of the men that God chooses. But that's good news for imperfect people like you and me. We may send people into exile and make any number of other catastrophic choices--and still, God can utilize us for the fulfillment of the promise.

Seventh Visit to the Spiritual Director

 Yesterday I made the long drive down to Cutler Bay for my seventh visit to the spiritual director.  I had originally scheduled my appointment for 2 weeks ago, but I rescheduled because I expected to spend that afternoon going over accreditation reports with my boss.  But that day, my boss was let go.

We talked about the difference in my work environment with my boss gone, and then we talked about my sponge like capacity to absorb the moods of others.  We talked about my need to be the good girl, the effective worker, the one who does the work that pleases others.  Those desires are rooted in my desire to solve problems--and we talked about the fact that those problems aren't always mine to solve.

I also talked about my fears of being a spiritual director and watching people suffer and not being able to help.  I've been having second thoughts of a sort about this career path.  I've been worrying that it might be more like being a psychotherapist than a retreat director.

My spiritual director said that she sees her role as a holy listener, as someone who can ask a pertinent question here or there, but not someone who's trying to solve problems or even help people solve problems; instead, the director and directee are trying to discern the presence of God.

As we often do, we got to a deeper discussion.  Yesterday, we talked about our beliefs that we are the way God works to improve the world--God's work, our hands, right?  But why do we believe the world is so fallen, so broken, so in need of ongoing redemption?

We could spend the rest of our days talking about these theological ideas, but it's not a seminary class, it's a spiritual direction appointment.  We talked about the need for us to get out of the way so that God can fix things.

We talked about an idea made popular by Al-Anon, about detaching with love.  I often feel like if I'm detaching, even with love, that I'm leaving people to flounder, suffer, and fail.  But what if, by my detachment, I leave space for God to move in and get to work?

I resisted the urge to bring up free will-- how does God get to work if we believe in free will?

We ended by talking about how we might pray differently.  Instead of praying with folded hands and bowed head, the way we were taught as children, she sat with both feet on the floor and a hand on each thigh.  In this position, we prayed for those for whom we are concerned.  Then we turned our palms up and prayed, "Into your hands, we commend all for whom we pray, trusting in your mercy."

We also talked about the posture of holding one's hands up above the head, so that the whole body is shaped like a chalice.  My spiritual director talked about the image of God drinking out of the chalice of our prayer.

And then we finished, as we always do, with prayer--this time, we tried the postures with our hands.  I like a posture that reminds me of a larger vision, and this one works for me.

Let me hope that I remember to use it so that I don't forget it.

Sacred Imagery when the World Burns

This morning, I got to the last page of my sketchbook, so I flipped back through the pages.  I'm always struck by how many of my images look like tongues of flame, even when I think I'm sketching something else, like a descending dove.

As I've been watching pictures from the U.S. west, pictures that look like they come from a different planet in the midst of apocalypse, I've been thinking of our traditional religious images and wondering how they might shift, or whether we might choose different images to emphasize.

I'm writing after a day of flooding rains, which made me think of a different set of traditional images.  How do we see baptism in an age where we'll be fighting off the hungry seas that want to wash us away?

This week I started a new sketch not sure of where it would go--I was surprised when a hen emerged from my random swooshes.

But why should I be surprised?  Granted, I'm part of a religious tradition that has emphasized descending doves, not nesting hens.  But in my quest for more feminine images of God, so rare in the Bible, I have come back to that one over and over.

Times of societal shift often bring an interesting shift in imagery of all kinds.  One hundred years from now, what imagery will we emphasize?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 13, 2020:

First Reading: Genesis 50:15-21

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

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

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 114

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

Second Reading: Romans 14:1-12

Gospel: Matthew 18:21-35

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Messages Going Astray, Messages Finding Their Way

On Saturday, I saw a new-to-me feature in the new Facebook interface:  the New Message Request feature, which somehow is different than an Instant Message (?).  I found a message from back in December, from a RevGals moderator who wanted to use my image from this post.

I felt all sorts of dismay, but they all boiled down to this essential:  how could I have missed this message?

I wrote to the person who wrote it:  "I am so sorry. I think I am just now seeing this message. When I changed to the new FB platform, it showed up in a Message Request area. Of course, it's possible that I did see it and respond. I can't easily see old messages in FB messanger. Nonetheless, I wanted to send belated thanks for your appreciation of my work, and I am so sorry that I didn't see this message earlier--I would have said yes."

She wrote back almost immediately:  "Thank you for the reply. It seems to me that Facebook occasionally tries to create a hide and seek game with some of its features. I looked back at your blog post, and I still find that sketch provocative. Perhaps there will be another occasion when I will ask your permission to share it."

Well, you don't have to educate me the same way twice (I hope).  I wrote to her:  "I'd be happy for you to use it, so I'll go ahead and give you permission now. Thanks for your reply--I saw your message, and my heart just sank. It does make me wonder how many other messages go astray. But I'm glad that I saw your message belatedly. Again, thank you for being so gracious."

And lo and behold, she used it today!  Here's the text that accompanied my sketch:  

DAILY THREAD - Prayer Requests and Check-Ins - Monday-Tuesday September 7-8

Doors can be open, to provide access; they can be closed, to create a barrier. What doors are open or closed in your life today? Here is a thread to share your hopes, your fears, your reflections. How can we pray for you today?

Photo: sketch by RevGal Kristin Berkey-Abbott, used with permission. Created as an Advent reflection last year, it makes me think about congregations now making decisions about opening the door to in-person worship.

Pandemic Grocery Shopping

 Yesterday I left the house early for a Saturday--time to restock the supplies.  An hour later, the friendly cashier said, "I can tell you're a good cook by all the things you've bought."

I'm a little surprised that she didn't say, "What kind of disaster prepper are you anyway?"

Yesterday's trek was to the WalMart Neighborhood Market.  I do have some qualms about shopping at WalMart, but I have those same qualms about most of the ways I shop, qualms that come back to this basic question:  are the workers being treated fairly?  Unlike other places I might prefer to live, here in South Florida, we have no small farms to support and very little in the way of locally owned stores of any kind.

Because I went to WalMart Neighborhood Market, I wasn't just buying food for our meals.  I bought 3 bottles of aspirin because I haven't been able to find generic aspirin all summer, and finally, the aspirin shelf was stocked.  I bought paper towels and Kleenex and nicotine tablets.  But I also bought a lot of food.

I have almost always keep a full pantry:  canned goods, dried beans, grains, baking supplies.  I don't always keep a lot of perishables.  I remember having friends over one evening in January, and one of them said, "You have the fridge of a single person."  I had just cleaned it thoroughly because it was so empty.  Eventually, I restocked.

In these pandemic days, I don't let our supplies get quite as low as I did before.  I am still expecting some supply chain disruptions as colder weather comes and people get sick and now we've all been told to stay home even if we just feel sniffly.

I am a good cook--it made me feel inordinately happy when the cashier said that--so much better than looking like a maniacal disaster prepper.

Dried Up Markers and Chief Cornerstones

 In 2016, I started buying Copic Sketch markers, even though they're more expensive than just about any other art supply I've ever used regularly.  One of their selling points was that I could buy containers of refill ink that would keep the expensive markers useful for much longer than a regular marker with no refills.

In the past year, the refill ink seems to have vanished from U.S. markets--or they cost so much that I can't decide that they're worth the price.  I thought I might just buy a replacement marker.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed that some of the markers that I bought in the last year (or 2?) seem to be drying up, even though I'm not using them as much as some of the first colors I bought.  Do I want to replace them?

I tend to buy markers in bold colors that make me happy--and then when I need to sketch in some sand, I wish I had a beige marker.  But paying for beige?  I miss paints that are more blendable, even though I'm more likely to use markers because there's not much clean up.

I am sketching more these days because it's part of my morning devotions time that I broadcast from my church's Facebook page.  Part of me wants to buy more markers to celebrate and to keep my interests up.  Part of me wonders why I am bothering; I'm not a professional artist after all.

It's easy to spiral from there into complete self-loathing--I'm no good, no one will ever pay me, I'm too old/running out of time to learn to be better, why do I even bother?  These days, I'm noticing that I often slide down this difficult hole in my writing too.

Let me post this sketch that I made the other day.  It's a potent reminder of why we shouldn't give up in the face of rejection (both internal and external):

God as Mindful Mender

Yesterday's verses from the Morning Office (in Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours) spoke to me.  Psalm 86:11 says, ". . . knit my heart to you" and Psalm 84: 2 has imagery of a sparrow making a nest beside the altar.  I decided to make a sketch:

This morning I created a haiku (with the caveat that I understand it is a haiku primarily in syllables, not in the true Japanese form that stipulates imagery and mood):

Knit my heart to you.

Make a nest for my lost heart.

Mending frayed edges.

In my closing remarks for morning watch, I talked about the idea of God as a knitter, God as a mender, God who can take our unraveling edges and the parts of our lives that are coming apart at the seams and repair them.  

I like the idea of God as a master mender, a mindful mender.  I needed this reminder.  I am always grateful when morning watch speaks to me too.

Reclaiming Eve

This week, my pastor begins a multiweek exploration of the interesting women of the Bible.  I hope to continue writing a meditation each week for our church's electronic newsletter, and when I do, I'll post them here.  Here's the one for this week:

This week we start a multi-week exploration of interesting women of the Bible. What better place to start than Eve? In so many ways, Eve is one of the most problematic women of the Bible--or more precisely, the reaction to Eve has been intensely problematic.

Eve gets the blame for bringing everything into the world that we don't like; traditionally, we'd call it sin. And because so many have blamed Eve, that blame has spilled over into all women.

Traditionally we see Eve as unable to do as she's told, unable to constrain herself, too willing to listen to outside agents--unfaithful. And thus, traditionally, humans have assumed that all women are this way, and thus, they need a heavy hand to keep control. Often that heavy hand has been a violent hand, a control through use of violence or the threat of violent.

We could spend lots of time wondering why God put that tree in the garden. We could also go back to the first chapters of Genesis and read them again--and then we might be surprised to realize that there are 2 creation stories. In the first one, the oldest one, there is no expulsion from the garden. God rests on the 7th day. And then the story starts again, with many more details. The second chapter of Genesis is a later story, one influenced by other creation stories from other cultures. Here is where we see the version of Eve who can't obey the simple rules, the one who has to have the forbidden fruit.

Let's look at Eve through a different set of eyes. Instead of seeing her as disobedient, why not see her as intellectually curious? She's the first to ask why the rules exist--and by breaking the rules, she brings us a new sort of freedom.

We have great thinkers across a variety of disciplines who would tell us that unquestioning obedience brings all sorts of evil into the world. We have artists who would tell us that the innocence of childhood, the innocence that we assume Adam and Eve had in that first garden, keeps us underdeveloped. Psychologists would tell us that with experience comes full adulthood.

Perhaps God put that tree in the garden precisely so that humans could become more fully developed. Some creation stories present God as lonely. Puppet creatures who do exactly as they're told don't make for very interesting company for very long.

How might our human history have been different if we had accepted and celebrated Eve's intellectual curiosity? How might our future be different if we celebrated knowledge, not kept it for the privileged few?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 6, 2020:

First Reading: Ezekiel 33:7-11

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

Psalm: Psalm 119:33-40

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 149

Second Reading: Romans 13:8-14

Gospel: Matthew 18:15-20

The Gospel readings from the last several weeks have shown us Jesus trying to prepare his disciples to take over his mission, once he's no longer physically there to lead them. The last verse of this Gospel is one of the more famous Gospel verses, the one that tells us that we only need two or three to gather in the name of Christ, and he'll be there. But what does this verse mean for the larger church?

This morning, I'm thinking of the modern church, which seems focused on numbers and growing large. This morning, I'm thinking of this passage and wondering if Christ calls us to be small.  This year, I'm thinking of the text in a new way, in light of the past 6 months, when so many churches (and schools and families) have had to wrestle with what it means when we can't gather in close physical proximity.  What does it mean to be a digital church?

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

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

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

It's good to remember that church doesn't mean the building. During these past 6 months of the pandemic, most of us have had a crash course in some different possible meanings of church.  If we all help put together a video for worship on Sunday, if we all send in bits and pieces, that might be a more interactive experience than the days when we'd sit in pews and watch other people put on a show.  

And offering a digital experience that can be accessed when there is time and space and electricity might mean that more people worship.  The old way of offering one worship service, or several services, on a Sunday morning excluded many people:  those who are to sick to leave the bed, the disabled, essential workers of all sorts.

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

These days, we're going out into the world in new ways, across airwaves that many of us had never tried to access before.  The Holy Spirit is loose and moving in new ways, and we know what to expect--the world will be transformed!

Pruning and Protecting

 Here we are at the first day of September.  Traditionally, September might be a month of change:  summer shifts into the school year, and we sense a change in the seasons.  But for 18 years, I've been on a different schedule, in a school that has an odd quarter system, down in South Florida where we are still months away from cooler weather.

It's still a fine time to think about a shift, a time to make new resolutions, a time to think about what's working and what still needs some attention.

This morning at the end of the morning watch broadcast that I do from my church's Facebook page, I invited us to think about God as a gardener, pruning away the dead branches and protecting the new growth.  Unlike some of the language of parables, I don't like the idea of our lives being dead trees that need to be thrown into the fire.

I prefer to use the idea of pruning as a way of thinking about our lives.  What needs to be pruned away?  What needs to be protected?  What fertilizer do we need?  How can we get enough water for that which wants to sprout in us?