Advent and the Issue of Light and Dark

Advent is upon us, and with the season, the problematic language that talks about light overcoming darkness.  Those of us who grew up with this language might not understand why it's problematic.  Those of us who have worked with language know that language matters, and this language has an impact on how we treat people with darker skin colors.  Even those of us who have worked with language can be in a bit of denial.  

We might be in denial about the impact of theological language on modern race relations, but language shapes us, and the theological language of light and darkness is hard to escape during the holiday season, even if we swear we're secular creatures:

I've been wondering what would happen if we rewrote some of that scripture to get rid of light and dark dichotomies.  I tried writing it in haiku, just to see if that changed the reaction to it:

Those of us who use Advent wreaths to help us be more mindful during the season before Christmas may wonder how to avoid these pitfalls.  One of my Create in Me pastor friends, Naomi Sease Carriker, has created a wonderful idea.  It's a reverse Advent wreath, where all the candles are lit week 1, and each week, one fewer candle stays lit from the week before.  

She's even in the process of writing a liturgy.  Here's what she's written for week 1:

International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People

Today my church celebrates the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People.  I wrote the following call to worship, which also works as a prayer, and then I filmed a video segment for the pre-recorded service:

We gather together as people of God
in a pandemic time when we might feel like exiles,
like people kept out of a promised land.


We gather together as people of God
in a time when many of us haven’t seen
far flung friends or family in months.

We gather together as people of God
knowing that this disease means constraints
on our ability to gather, to travel, to make plans
for the future.

We have had a tiny taste of what others have suffered
for years, for decades, even for centuries.

Let us remember this pain.
Let us resolve to be the peacemakers that God calls us to be,
so that we can work towards a vision of a time
when no one suffers
this pain of exile, exclusion, and oppression. 

If you'd like a meditation that's closer to an essay, here's what I wrote for my church's weekly e-mail:

This year, the first Sunday of Advent, November 29, is also the U.N.'s International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People. At first these days may seem to have nothing to do with each other.

And for those of us who have a vision of Advent that's wrapped up with angels appearing with glad tidings and improbable wombs bursting with life, the Gospel reading for this Sunday, Mark 13: 24-3, really seems out of place. It's one of the more apocalyptic passages of Mark, where we're told about stars falling from the heavens and powers in the heavens being shaken along with the sun and moon being darkened.

It's a far cry from Advent calendars with a new piece of chocolate every day. How do we braid these strands together?

Let us begin by realizing that God comes to us in the form of Jesus in a place where we wouldn't expect to find the Divine, a place far away from the earthly center of power, which in that day was Rome. Similarly, if God came to an outcast corner of the world today, it would more likely be a city where Palestinians are kept under tight control than it would be the cities of earthly power, like Washington, D.C., or one of the Asian cities that might soon eclipse the U.S. For some of us, that would feel as unsettling as the scene that Mark describes, all the heavenly spheres completely turned topsy-turvy.

And that message will be one that Jesus preaches again and again. The salvation that Jesus comes to offer is not just pretty baby in a manger kind of imagery. It's a message that will put us on a collision course with the earthly powers that are not interested in looking out for the poor and impoverished, like the Palestinians. Christians are one of the few religions that follow a deity who suffered capital punishment--that should put us on notice that we are not likely to find fame and fortune from earthly powers.

The end of the reading from Mark is a familiar Advent theme, and one that bears repeating. In fact, Jesus does repeat it several times and in several different ways: stay awake, keep watch, don't let your levels of alertness drop.

In our time, when we have more and more distractions coming at us at a higher volume and speed, it's a good message to hear again. Stay alert--pay attention to what's important, even if you don't know what to do about it. Pay attention to those who are oppressed. Stand in solidarity with them. That's where we are likely to meet God.

Advent Eve

Tomorrow is the first Sunday in Advent.  If we're going to adopt an Advent practice, now is the time to make our preparations.  Do you need candles?  Drawing paper?  Fabric?  A book of Advent reflections?  An Advent wreath?

I will adopt the practices I always try:  an Advent wreath with 4 candles that I'll light regularly.  I might not return to my wreath every evening, but several days a week, I'd like to do that.  I have several Advent devotional books.

But this year, I will be continuing my morning devotional broadcast at 5:30 a.m. on my church's Facebook page.  As I've been doing for months now, I'll be reading from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours.  Continuing this process feels like a special Advent practice.

My church is doing an Advent wreath creating event tomorrow--we're not sure what to expect in these days when we haven't been meeting in person.  It was never a hugely attended event, but this year might be different.

I think I will create a special Advent wreath for Morning Watch.  I'm not sure how I'll let it or display it during the time.  But let me try.  Perhaps there are some electronic candles.  Hmmm.  Let me let this thought percolate--the thought about candles, not the thought about creating a wreath especially for Morning Watch. 

For many of us, this Thanksgiving week-end will be a bit different from what we usually would have experienced.  For me, I'm not driving 12+ hours today to get back home from my North Carolina family reunion.  I've got lots of food in the fridge, so no need to do food shopping or food prep.

I'm seeing some time freed up that I wouldn't ordinarily have--I want to put it to good use by getting ready for Advent.

Black Friday 2020

In normal years, some of us would have already been shopping, trying to snag Black Friday specials.  Others would have been avoiding stores at all costs.  People like me would have written posts about what we could support to make our Black Friday shopping more pleasing to God or our shopping more like the Kingdom of God.

For those of you who are wondering, I was likely to recommend supporting groups that worked for charity or justice, preferably by sending money.  For those who needed gifts to wrap, I was likely to recommend organizations that sold items created by local crafters or non-chain stores that need our business.

This year, I have no idea what we might be thinking about Black Friday.  Will people shop?  Many of us never take a holiday from shopping, after all.  Will we see deals that attempt to lure us back into stores or to part with our hard-earned cash?

This year, I've been wondering if I was too judgmental in the past.  Why did I feel that I needed to make pronouncements on people's gift giving or spending or hobbies (shopping as hobby) or annual traditions?  

And yet, I also know that our behavior does have a larger global impact.  If I buy cheap junk from China, am I complicit in harmful labor practices?  In many ways, yes.  If I abstain, will the world change?  Probably not if I'm the only one who abstains.  If more of us abstain, maybe the world will change.

I think back to high school, when I was a lonely vegetarian.  Now we recognize the health benefits, and vegetarians have many more options in terms of available food.  But have farming systems changed so that animals are treated more ethically?  In some ways, yes.  In more essential ways, no.

This year, which has been a year that has taken so much from so many of us, this year I say to celebrate Black Friday in whatever ways will bring you joy if you can do them in ways that you can stay safe.  I believe that God calls us to a life of more joy, not less joy.  If observing Black Friday by shopping brings you joy, then enjoy the joy!

God of the Sweet Potato Pie

Yesterday on my creativity blog, I wrote a long post about pie.  I meandered into a bit of theology, which seems a perfect leaping off point for a Thanksgiving blog post here on my theology blog.

This morning, I actually made a pie, an easy one, a pumpkin pie.  Other pies require much slicing and peeling and chopping.  As I whipped it together, I thought about my grandmother, who made several pies a week, every week, for much of her life.  My grandfather didn't feel like he'd had a meal if there wasn't a dessert, so my grandmother made a variety of desserts for each day of the week.  Pies were his favorite.  I'm old enough to remember when my grandmother used lard for her pie crusts, and lard really does produce an amazingly flaky crust. 

After my grandfather died, when I still lived in South Carolina, I tried to go see her at least once a month.  I remember a time that she made sweet potato pie.  I thought it was pumpkin pie, and I didn't hide my surprise well.  She interpreted my surprise to mean that I didn't like her pie, and nothing I could say would convince her that it was a perfectly fine pie.  

Sadly, she was the type to remember those things.  Everything she served me a pumpkin pie, she'd remind me of the time that I didn't like her sweet potato pie.  If I could go back in time and redo my actions, I'd have a long list of time travel to do, but one of the stops would be at my grandmother's table with an untasted piece of sweet potato pie in front of me.

This morning, I've been thinking about that pie as a different kind of metaphor.  Some days we get sweet potato pie when we thought we'd get pumpkin pie.  It's fairly close to what we wanted:  same spices, same nutritional profile, same structure.  And maybe, if we give it a chance, we'll discover that we like it just as well or better.

Yes, it's probably a metaphor that's been done to death.  But when I apply it to God, it takes on fresh meaning.

I've been thinking about God as the deity who brings us sweet potato pie.  We might be wishing for pumpkin or apple, but there is God, with sweet potato pie, an earthier cousin to the other pies.  There is God with fresh whipped cream.  There is God with a handmade crust that's flakier than anything we've ever tasted.

We might protest and worry about those 5-10 pandemic pounds we've picked up.  We may think about past Thanksgivings when we had a more athletic physique.  We may think that we can't afford the calories.

I think of God and God's sweet potato pie, all the nourishment that we refuse, all the love in the form of a pie that we think we can't absorb.   

I think of all the ways we make God sad.  Today, let's resolve to make God glad--by celebrating abundance, by giving thanks, by giving ourselves a break so that we can enjoy the treats the day will bring us.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 29, 2020:

Isaiah 64:1-9
Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18 (Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19 NRSV)
Show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved. (Ps. 80:7)
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
Mark 13:24-37

Today we begin a new season, the season of Advent.  This year, many of the Gospel readings come from Mark, believed to be the first of the Gospels written (about 70 years after the death of Jesus).

Advent is a time that stresses that the liturgical year exists often in stark contrast to the calendar year. Stores have been decorated for Christmas for months. Worship planners field many complaints about not singing Christmas carols before Christmas Eve--and yet, we're observing Advent, not Christmas, so technically, Christmas carols aren't appropriate.

The readings for Advent will often seem jarringly out of place with the festive atmosphere one encounters in the secular world. Look at the Gospel for today. What an apocalyptic tone! Stars falling from the heavens and such tribulations as haven't been seen since the beginning of creation. This end times language is how we count down to Christmas?

Yet in many ways, this apocalyptic tone is appropriate. Watch and Wait. That seems to be one of the lessons for the day. Look at how many times the word Watch is repeated in the Gospel. Like a pregnant woman, like Mary, the people of God keep watch for God's presence in the world while we create new life on earth (with God's help). Perhaps we should take a cue from the Gospel and carve some time for meditation during this busy holiday season. We get so caught up in the frenzy and the festivity that it's easy to lose our focus on what the season should mean to us. Watch and Wait. Light a new candle each week as we watch for the Messiah.

Of course, the Messiah has already come--our salvation is assured. The idea of the end being contained in the beginning is part of our Advent readings as well. We hear the story of the preparations for Jesus' birth with readings that are often interpreted as prophecy about a Messiah (found in the Old Testament, particularly Isaiah) along with Bible readings that remind us that Christ will come again.

Christ is coming, as he has come before, as he is present with us now--are you ready? Take some moments this season--quit buying Christmas presents, quit cooking, quit racing from party to open house to family reunion. Listen to the voice crying in the wilderness. Think about the promises that God has made to us, the commitments God asks from us. How can you prepare? For the Kingdom of God is at hand.

To Love Ourselves as We Love Our Neighbor

Last week, I saw this quote on Facebook: 

“The hardest spiritual work in the world is to love the neighbor as the self - to encounter another human being not as someone you can use, change, fix, help, save, enroll, convince or control, but simply as someone who can spring you from the prison of yourself, if you will allow it."

-- Barbara Brown Taylor

I wrote this response:  "It's hard work to love myself that way too--not as someone I have to fix, change, help, save."

I was so intrigued by this quote that I did the research to find out that it comes from An Altar in the World, which I've read several times and loved.  I thought about reading the whole book again, but I've lost that motivation along the way--although Thanksgiving break is coming, so perhaps I'll pull it off the shelf again.

I did read the paragraphs around the quote, just to see if reading it in a wider context gave me further insight, but no, the quote works similarly, whether standing by itself or in the larger context of the book.

I have always had a hard time loving myself.  I'm much tougher on myself than I am on others.  I am much more willing to give others the benefit of the doubt.  I don't treat others as an improvement project, but I can give you many lists of ways that I would like to be a more improved version of myself.

I know that many of us need to do more to love others as we love ourselves, but so many of us have a more essential task:  to love ourselves as the way God loves us.

Southeast Synod (ELCA) Advent Craft Day

I realize that I haven't ever created a post about the Advent craft day I participated in on Sunday, November 15.  One of my Create in Me friends was asked to create a Synod-wide Zoom meeting where we would do crafts together.  They were simple crafts, the type you could do with small children.  We had a supply list, and the supplies were fairly cheap.

By now, most people in the industrialized world have a sense of what a Zoom meeting is like, so imagine that, along with breakout sessions where we actually created together.  

My breakout session group included 2 women with small children, so we didn't make use of the discussion questions provided to us; the mothers had enough to do corralling the wandering attention of the pre-schoolers.

The first thing we made was a prayer jar; we tore tissue paper and glued it onto jars.  I found it much messier than I anticipated.

We were also encouraged to take our popsicle sticks and put activities on there for Advent.  Then we could pull one out of the jar each day and do the activity.  We could do the same thing with prayers, with people/processes to pray for, or Bible readings for each day of Advent (the supply list has Bible verses and possible activities).

Then we did a Zentangling exercise.  I have tried Zentangling before at Create in Me retreats, and I don't find them as soothing and meditative as some do.  Still, I was able to create a zentangle:

Then we did Nativity story stones.  Here's the picture that was sent out to inspire us:

It quickly became apparent that I hadn't chosen stones that were large enough, but I did create one that I really liked:

You might ask what we would do with Nativity Story Stones.  You could carry one with you and meditate on its meaning.  You could tell the story and use the stones as story prompts.  One of my small group members talked about how wonderful it will be to have a Nativity set that children are encouraged to touch; they have an antique set that her children long to touch, but the mom doesn't want to risk the destruction.

You could do something similar with popsicle sticks and markers.  I created one of the 3 kings:

We spent two hours together, in virtual space, creating together while still staying distanced.  In fact, we were very distanced, as we had people Zooming in even outside of the southeastern states of the U.S.  It was a cool experience.  And because it was a Zoom meeting, it was recorded.  Go here to see the recording.

It was good to be reminded of how we can use technology to enhance our lives, our spiritual development, our fellowship opportunities, our creativity.  I hope we remember once we are no longer as constrained by the pandemic.

How to Keep One's Faith in One's Fellow Humans

A friend of mine asked me how I was maintaining my faith in people.  At first I responded this way:  "I still have my faith in regular people--never had a lot of faith in politicians, so there's not much faith to lose there. Let me give a little more thought about how I'm maintaining my faith in regular people. More in the morning."

This morning, I decided that the question deserved a much more nuanced answer, and so I wanted to explore that idea in a blog post.  

--As a general rule, I don't click through on the links to stories that people post on Twitter and Facebook, especially if the story appears to be generating outrage.

--I don't have cable, so I can't watch a lot of the news shows that generate outrage.  I don't watch the local news either, since the local news is fueled by stories of people behaving badly.

--When I'm on Facebook, Twitter, and other types of social media, I look for ways that we have things in common, regardless of how much we might have different politics, values, beliefs, etc.  Most people love their children (and grandchildren) and want what's best for them, and we have wide agreement on what's best.  Most people want to leave a better world for the humans coming after us, and there's a measure of agreement on what that would look like.

--I keep in mind that stories of outrageous bad behavior get their wide coverage because the behavior is so egregious, so outside the norm.  Stories of people behaving nicely don't get ad revenue, don't get clicks, don't get comments.  But if we're aware, we see lots of examples:  the teacher who stays later to tutor, the students who help each other, the colleague who brings pumpkin bread to share, the nice notes we send each other.

--I try to be that person who sends encouraging notes, who lets people over in traffic, who smiles at the cashiers and the cleaning crew.  That kind of energy attracts similar energy, so I'm more likely to notice when other behave in affirming ways.  I firmly believe that our behavior sets an example and that others are likely to follow.  I'm putting as much positive energy out there as I can muster in the hopes that it gives others permission to do that too.

--I'm a Lutheran, so I believe in grace, and I try extending it to others.  I keep in mind that people can behave badly, but that doesn't necessarily mean that they will always behave badly.  People can have meltdowns and reassemble themselves into better people.  People can revert to bad behavior, but reform themselves again.

--I'll even let politicians have a second chance.  I remember all the times when politicians have disappointed me, and then later, they've created legislation that redeemed themselves.  Legislation or peace treaties or foundations or institutions--yes, even some of the most problematic politicians can do good, even if they've been insipid or downright evil.  Will we see the same with Donald Trump?  It's hard to believe that we would--he's significantly older than every other outgoing president, so it's hard to see that he has time to change in ways that are different from how he's behaved the rest of his life.

Welcome New Piano!

 Yesterday afternoon, we welcomed a new instrument into our household of many instruments:  a piano!  Our friends were moving and needed to find it a new home.  They had gotten the piano from another mutual friend who was moving across the U.S. and couldn't take it with him.

I have wanted a piano for a long time.  When my grandmother moved into an assisted living facility, I wanted to bring her upright piano down to me, but it didn't work out that time.  When my mother-in-law lay dying, I got a Casio keyboard, but that wasn't exactly what I wanted--I could never get it to sound like a piano.  I never found a stand for it, so to practice on it, often I leaned over a coffee table.

I like a piano for many reasons--it stays set up, so practicing here and there should be easy.  It's not like they keyboard where I'd need to pull it down, dust it off, plug it in.  I'm hoping that I'll practice the piano even if I only have 10 minutes.

It's a smallish piano, an upright that's not as tall as most uprights.  It doesn't take up nearly as much room as I expected that it would.  I need to talk to my musician friends to get a reference for a piano tuner, but even out of tune, it's got a good tone.

I hope that having a piano that's in tune will make it easier to tune our other instruments, particularly the mandolin.  My spouse has several digital tuners, but I don't find them very easy.

But most of all, I want to play again.  I took several years of lessons as a child, so I can read music.  I can play the right hand easily, less so the left, and putting both hands together is a challenge--but a fun challenge.

I love the idea that I'll be challenging my brain in a way that's more fun for me than Sudoko or learning a foreign language (although I do want to learn a foreign language).  I love the idea that I'm getting in touch with something my younger self knew how to do.

It's a bit battered, but I find that to be part of its charm.  Much of our furniture has history, so it fits right in.

Welcome new piano!  I am so glad you've found your way to us.

Mepkin Abbey Reopening

This week, I got an e-mail that let me know that Mepkin Abbey is open to retreatants during the month of December.  I'm assuming that they're trying this approach in December, and if it works well, they'll continue to offer private retreats into 2021.

But it's going to be a very different experience.  Meals will be brought to retreatants, which will be eaten in each retreatant's room.  I could adapt to that part fairly easily, although I did like the feeling of being part of the monastery community when I ate in the refectory back in the pre-pandemic days.

The monastery chapel is still closed to all but the monks.  Eucharist, Lauds, and Vespers will be streamed to the library conference room. The actual elements for the sacrament of eucharist will be brought to the library entrance.  I've been in the conference room before, and worshipping there would be very different from being in the chapel.  I would REALLY miss the Compline service.

One set of rules that I read said that masks must be worn at all times on the grounds except when eating.  The thought of wearing a mask as I walked around the grounds--well, it would be December, so it wouldn't be as miserable as during the warmer months. 

Clearly, it will be a very different retreat experience.  I think back on all the reasons why I've loved going to Mepkin Abbey on retreat, and some of those reasons would still be there.  I have loved having time to focus on writing and reading, and that aspect would still be there.  I've loved having time to ramble around the beautiful grounds, and for the most part, that opportunity would still be there, although I do wonder if the experience would be different while masked.

But one of the aspects I have always treasured is the opportunity to be part of every worship service, all 7-9 of them.  I love the way the rhythm of the Psalms sinks into my brain because I spend so much of every retreat chanting them with the monks.  That aspect will be reduced and perhaps eliminated.

When I went to quilt camp, I knew that one of the advantages I would have is that I hadn't been to quilt camp before.  It was going to be a different quilt camp regardless.  Previous quilt camps had been offered during the same time that Asheville hosted an enormous quilt show, so there were trips to the convention center.  This year, the quilt show was cancelled.

I wouldn't have that advantage of not having expectations if I returned to Mepkin.  But I have wondered if Mepkin would ever reopen, under any circumstance, so I am grateful to see that they seem to be on that road.  I am also grateful that they are still protecting the health of the monks, many of whom are quite elderly.  

We need those monks praying for us.  We may not all realize it, but we do.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, Nov. 22, 2020:

First Reading: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

Psalm: Psalm 95:1-7a

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 100

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:15-23

Gospel: Matthew 25:31-46

This week, the liturgical year comes to a close with Christ the King Sunday. In some churches, this will be a high festival day that celebrates the power of Christ. But the Gospel reading makes it clear that Kingdom power is not the same as worldly power.

We might expect a Gospel reading that reminds us that Jesus transcended death. We might get a Gospel reading that tries to scare us with a vision of Christ at the next Coming, descending in glory to judge us. Well, in a way, we do.

But the vision we get is not the one that we might expect. We might expect to be judged and found wanting because of what we've been told are sins: our drinking, our gambling, our bad sexual choices. We might expect to be judged for all the Sundays we decided we'd prefer sleep to church. We might expect to be judged because we've been lazy, and we didn't go for that promotion at work.

This Gospel reminds us of how God will judge us. Did we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, visit the imprisoned? If so, then we have been attending to our royal tasks.

And why do we do this? The Bible is full of stories of the Divine showing up in circumstances where we wouldn't expect to find God. The Bible tells us that God prefers to hang out with the poor and the marginalized. If we want to find God, we need to go there. We have a history of thousands of years of Christians whose lives support what the Bible tells us--we will find God in the meekest of places. 

Next week, we begin the season of Advent, where we remember one of our central Christian stories: God comes to be with us two thousand years ago, but not in the power center of Rome. No, God comes to us in one of the outposts of Roman civilizations, and God lives with one of the groups of people that the worldly, dominant power structure of the time despised.

This Gospel also reminds us that we are to see God in everyone. It's easy for me to see God in the eyes of my husband as he looks at me lovingly. It's harder for me to see my difficult coworker as Jesus incarnate. In any given day, we are besieged by people who aggravate us, from our family members to our colleagues to strangers who drive the road with us or shop in the same stores or send their children to the same schools. By forcing myself to treat everyone as Jesus-in-Disguise, I will transform myself into the Christian that I want to be.

Jesus was the model, after all. Jesus had dinner with the outcast. Jesus treated everyone with love and respect, even people who were out to sabotage him. I could let myself off the hook by saying, "Well, yeah, he was God incarnate. I could do that too, if I was God incarnate."

No, you can do it, because Jesus did it. Jesus came to show us the full potential of a human life. Jesus came to dwell among us and to show us a better way to live. It's not the way the world tells us to live. The world would scoff at a king who sought out the poor and dispossessed, who sold his possessions so that he would have more money for the poor.

But Christians know that our power lies in our compassion. We don't achieve compassion by sitting in our homes, working on being more compassionate. We become more compassionate in the same way that God did, by getting involved in the world.

And we're not doing this for some after-death reward, although many preachers will use this Gospel to lecture on that. We do this because God has invited us to be part of the redemption of creation--not in some far away time, but in our very own. We don't have to wait for Jesus to come again. When we model Jesus in our everyday behavior, Christ re-enters the world.

We're not here to make money, to have a good retirement, to accumulate stuff. God has a greater purpose for us, one that will leave us infinitely more satisfied.

The Feast Day of Saint Hilda of Whitby

Today is the feast day of Saint Hilda of Whitby (614-680).  We know of her primarily through the writings of the Venerable Bede, who said, "her wisdom was so great that even kings and princes sought her counsel," and "all who knew her called her Mother, because of her distinctive piety and grace."

Whitby is on the east coast of England in North Yorkshire.  Whitby is famous for many things, but in church history, perhaps most famous for the Synod of Whitby in 664, which ironed out some differences between Celtic and Roman practices in Christianity, including how to figure out the date for Easter.  Hilda was a Celtic Christian, and yet, when ordered to do so, she began to adopt Roman ways.  She is remembered as a reconciler of the two traditions.

She founded several monasteries and was trained five men who later went on to become bishops.  The monasteries that she founded were centers of education and the arts, and through the work done there, the monasteries also preserved knowledge.

For those of us who are English majors, we might be most grateful to Saint Hilda for her encouragement of Caedmon, one of the earliest English poets who makes it into anthologies; some call him the first British poet.  Many give her credit for encouraging the stories from the Bible put into song and spoken stories in ordinary language of the people who would hear it.

Hilda is one of the patron saints of learning and culture, including poetry.  We remember her as being of key importance in the shift from paganism to Christianity in England.

As with many of these ancient Christians, I am in awe of what they both created and preserved in times that must have been more difficult than ours, in harsh landscapes.  With Saint Hilda, there's the added aspect of her gender--she accomplished so much in a time when women weren't given much in the way of opportunity.

And these days, when the U.S. seems so bitterly divided, I find my brain returning to her ability to reconcile and also lead.  Modern people might not realize the depth of these church divisions, like the one between Roman Christians and Celtic Christians; indeed, one group left the Synod of Whitby and went to Iona and later Ireland, which at the time would have been even more savage landscapes.

These days, I think about Saint Hilda and remember that it is possible to reconcile huge differences.  I remember Saint Hilda and hope that more of us can channel her.

For a more developed essay that has wonderful photos, I recommend this blog post.

My Video Sermon on Elizabeth, the Kinswoman of Mary, the Mother of Jesus

Yesterday's post talked about the joy that comes from leading morning watch on my church's Facebook page.  I want to make sure I record another joy from last week too.

I was able to create a video sermon, the kind I've been creating since Pentecost.  I love creating short videos that I string together.  I love the ways that I'm inspired as I take my early morning walk.  This week's sermon had some videos where it was hard to hear my voice because it was so windy.  I'm pleased with how I worked around that. 

The video is too long to insert here, but you can view my sermon on Elizabeth at my YouTube channel

What We Treasure

As I was thinking about what to write this morning, I looked up some older posts trying to remember when I used to post links to my video sermons--was it the day of church or was it after?  But what really interested me was this post from July that talked about a changing sense of call--and what was more interesting was the Facebook interchange that I recorded. 

I wrote this:  I'm ready to be called to a different kind of ministry--perhaps the director of virtual creative encounters with the Holy. Hmm. Let me dream about that for a time."

These days, I'd edit that to be both virtual and live.  I repeat this vision here, because I want to keep remembering it.  This afternoon, I'll attend a virtual session that will be similar to those I want to create in the future, an Advent Crafts workshop offered by one of my Create in Me friends for the Southeastern synod of the Lutheran (ELCA) church.  I'll write more on this workshop later.

This morning, I want to remember that I've gotten positive feedback for the morning watch sessions I've been leading each morning at 5:30 a.m. through my church's Facebook page.  I have trouble figuring out how to interpret the statistics that Facebook gives me as the administrator of my church's Facebook page.  What exactly is an engagement?  When it says that x amount of people have been reached, what does that mean?  I'm guessing that an engagement means a certain amount of time that people have lingered--or does it mean that people have clicked to make the video play?

I always go back to check the comments that people post to morning watch.  From the comments and from the people who I can see watching as I do the live broadcast, I know that at least 4 people tune in regularly.

At the end of Friday's morning watch, I talked about thinking about what we want more of and what we want less of--I talked about the delights of my sketch book and the value of doing a sketch every morning for five minutes, often the only time I'm sketching.  I talked about what delights us also delighting God, that God put us on earth not to finish our chore list.  Does it bring us delight?  That's a good barometer--what brings us true joy?  I talked about treasuring the time to do morning watch and the time to sketch each day.

One of my constant viewers said, "I also treasure Morning Watch."  Another one wrote, "For me as rewarding as Church."

I wanted to record this feedback here, because finding past material on Facebook isn't always easy.  I want to remember that what I'm doing is worthwhile.

Ninth Visit to the Spiritual Director

Yesterday was one of the days when I wished that my spiritual director lived closer to me.  She's down in south Miami, just above Homestead, and I've never made it to her house in less than 45 minutes.  Yesterday there was more traffic than there has been, along with rain and road construction.

We talked about my week of tiredness, about how each night I've wanted to go to bed around 7 or 7:30--how I feel weird about that, like I'm wasting time somehow.  I also talked about how I feel guilty if I'm awake in the middle of the night, and I pray myself to sleep.  It's a similar dynamic, worrying that I'm not being present in my relationships.

In the case of going to bed early, I'm not sure that being awake improves my relationship with my spouse.  We'd often just be watching blah TV, which is why I'm often ready to go to sleep.

We also talked about how I'm getting through the days if I'm not feeling rested.  My spiritual director asked me how I prayed, and I realized I'm not really praying much in the day.  I talked about my morning practice and how I feel grounded and connected to a spiritual source in the morning, and how I feel like I lose that connection through the day.

I also wondered out loud if people who work in a more spiritual place, like a church camp, feel similarly or if being in the more spiritual place keeps them grounded.  I feel like there's a level of spiritual evolution that I haven't achieved yet, where I could stay connected to the spiritual source all day, regardless of what's happening.

We talked about my sketching practice, both in the morning, and these sketches that I make each day:

I probably didn't explain well enough why I make those kinds of sketches.  I started doing it when we had students coming back to campus in May.  We have each visitor to campus fill out a symptom sheet that has their name and date, and I knew that people would ask me the date.  So I started making a sketch with the date on it.  I've really enjoyed making the sketch and seeing it throughout the day.  And I also enjoy seeing the pile of them, because of course, I've kept them all.

We talked about making a sketch or noting a word in a small notebook in the morning and carrying it with me throughout the day.  My spiritual director suggested adding to the sketch throughout the day.  It would serve as a journal of sorts.  I have a variety of small notebooks that I haven't used.  I plan to start this during the coming week.

We finished by talking about the value of rest, which Bible verses speak to me about rest.  I thought about Psalm 91, the one about the plague that flies in the night, the pestilence in the day, and how God protects us from whatever seeks to harm us.  I also said, "Be still and know that I am God."  My spiritual director talked about the Gospel passage about the yoke being light, "come to me, and I will give you rest."

My spiritual director walks me to the door each time I leave, and she often comes outside and watches me drive away.  I noticed that yesterday she didn't have her usual cheerful look on her face.  I'm going to resist the temptation to think that it's about me, but my first thought was to worry that she's getting tired of hearing me drone on and on about my spiritual stuff.

I want to record it so that I remember this as I launch my own spiritual direction practice.  It's also good to remember regardless--let me remember the value of a smile, a smile as people come to my presence, a smile as people leave.

Particles and Waves, Galaxies and Cells

I've been in another online journaling class offered by the Grunewald Guild.  It follows a similar pattern as the others:  we're reading a common book, we're sketching and putting our sketches online in a private Facebook group, and we meet periodically in a Zoom session to talk about it all.  This class is making our way through Barbara A. Holmes' Race and the Cosmos.  We're using the second edition, which Holmes tells us (in a foreward) that she's completely redone in the wake of revelations/discoveries in the 20 years since the first edition was published.

Some of us immediately started doing watercolor galaxies--a quick "how to" search will show you that creating watercolor galaxies is quite a thing right now.  I watched one of the videos that had inspired one of our group members, and I wasn't inspired to do my own watercolor galaxy.  However, as you will see, I'm doing an approach to galaxies of my own.

On pages 80-82 of the book, there's some interesting theology that mixes cosmic dust, communion, and the cosmos.  There's this quote by David Toolan on p. 82 that gives you a taste of the larger material:  "Swallow this, Jesus effectively declares, I am God's promise for the elements, the exemplary inside of nature, its secret wish fulfilled.  Assume my role.  Swallow me and you will have taken in what God imagines for matter--that it be spirited and at peace."

So to the sketch above, which I thought of as a moon or a planet, I added the cross in the middle that made me think of the eucharist host, the disc of bread, the wafer.

I really liked the effect of the white acrylic ink mixed with the colored markers, so I continued to experiment with the next sketch:

I also wanted to do something to illuminate this quote from Barbara Brown Taylor:  "God is the web, the energy, the space, the light--not captured in them . . . but revealed in that singular vast net of relationship that animates everything that is" (quoted on p. 81, original quote from Taylor's work, The Luminous Web:  Essays on Science and Religion).  I added the thin, black lines thinking I was creating a web, but I also liked the stained glass effect:

For my next sketch, I wanted a smaller, white circle.  I was still thinking about communion and the wafer, but also the cell, also an embryo:

I added the dots because I was also thinking about this quote from David Toolan:  "the everlasting desire of cosmic dust to mean something great and God's promise that it shall be so" (p. 82).  I also wrote a haiku-like thing:

Desire of dust
God gathers the scraps of stars
Secret wish fulfilled

I liked the small, white blob, so I wanted to do something with a larger circle in my next sketch.  By this point, the book was talking about particles and waves, so my brain went in that direction.  I love the overall sketch, but I really love seeing what each black marker can do:

It's been a fun series, and I don't think I'm done yet.  I love when sketches speak to each other, when the work of others in a journaling class start talking to each other, of how we can respond to a book in this way.

As Barbara A. Holmes says, "When we are fully alert in spirit, mind, and body, we are more than we imagine and can accomplish more than we suppose" (p. 45).

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 15, 2020:

First Reading: Zephaniah 1:7, 12-18

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Judges 4:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 90:1-8 [9-11] 12

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 123

Second Reading: 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

Gospel: Matthew 25:14-30

This week's Gospel gives us the parable of the talents. One servant turns his 5 talents into 10, one turns his 2 talents into 4, and the servant who buries his one talent in the yard doesn't create any new capital. It's easy when reading this Gospel to focus on the word "talent." It's natural to think of our own talents, to wonder how we're investing them, and how we're wasting them by burying them in the yard.

The parable makes it clear what will happen to people who bury their talents. Now, I know that many of us are blessed with a multitude of talents. We do have to make judicious choices about which talents are worth cultivating. I hope that we won't be the servant cast into worthless darkness because we pay attention to one set of skills over another.

But let's look at that parable again. Let's look at that word, "talent," again--in the time of Jesus, it was an economic term, not a personal development term. Read the parable substituting the word gold blocks for talent.

It's worth noting that a quantity of 5 talents, according to my Bible footnote (and my Bible is published by Oxford University Press, so I trust the footnote), is worth 15 years of wages of this laborer. In an article from The Christian Century, James Howell, a Methodist minister, points out that the servant who got just one talent would be receiving more money than most of us get in a lifetime of work: "This amount would stagger any recipient and send him into utterly uncharted territory. A Mediterranean laborer wouldn't have any more of a clue about how to invest five talent than the guy who bags my groceries would about $74 million (even if I and all my friends tried to advise him)."

As I read this week's Gospel again, I forced myself to think about the fact that this parable really is about money. It's not instructing me to return to the piano keyboard at the expense of the computer keyboard. And it's an unusually Capitalist message from Christ. I'm used to the Jesus who tells us to give our money away. I'm not used to the savior who encourages us to make wise investments of our money.

I'm not used to thinking of money management as a talent. But this parable makes clear that it is. Jesus makes clear that money is one of the gifts we're given, and the verses that follow (31-46, ones that aren't part of this week's Gospel) show that Christ is not straying from his essential message. The verses that follow talk about treating the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner as if those people are Christ incarnate. God has a vision for how we'll use that gift of money.

The servant who was cast into out darkness was cast out because the talent went to waste buried in the ground. How would he have been treated if he had given the money away to the poor, the sick, the stranger? I suspect he would NOT have been cast into outer darkness.

Our collapsing Capitalist paradigm often doesn't take community into account. Not making enough money in America, where workers have unreasonable demands like a living wage and safe working conditions? Just move your industry to a country that has less oversight. Sure, you rip apart the social fabric, but at least you're making money.

God calls us to a different vision. Our God is always obsessed with the poor and dispossessed. And we're called to be part of that obsession.

The ways to help heal the world are endless, and God invites us to join in this creation project. We can donate money, time, skills, prayers, optimism, hope. Doing so is one of our most basic Christian tasks.

Veteran's Day, Armistice Day, and Grace Extended

 It is Veterans Day, and chunks of the nation fight over election results.  I envision election officials who continue counting, as they surely must be, because all the votes must be counted, even when they won't change the results of the election.  I worry about the long-term implications of all of this, but at the same time, the country has suffered many an assault and survived.  It's not as orderly as I would like, but the older I get, the more I find myself muttering such things.

It is Armistice Day, and I think of everyone who survived World War I, the veterans, those left behind, the grieving, the landscape itself.  I think of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.  I think of all the scorched earth that we must repair.  I have loaded the towels in the washing machine, the towels that I put in the sills of all the windows that leak, the towels that were necessary because of a tropical storm in November.  I wish that we could sign an armistice with the climate, but here, too, it's probably too late.  The planet will survive, but will we recognize it in a few decades?

Today I am thinking about a different November 11, a week-end that feels very long ago now, when I was at Mepkin Abbey.  On the Sunday of that 3 day week-end, the Abbey buried its former abbot, Abbot Francis Kline, who had been taken early by leukemia, a tough blow. Part of one of the services was out in the monks' cemetery, and all the retreatents were invited out with the monks.  It was access to the private area that retreatents almost never get.

The cemetery was simple, as befits a monastery.  I was struck by the way that the simple crosses reminded me of the French World War I cemeteries:

I took the above picture from the visitor side of the grounds, but it gives you a sense of the burial area.

Later that Sunday, there was a concert and a reception for donors who keep the monastery going.  It was a bit jarring, to see the shift from a monastery that's silent so much of the time to a party atmosphere.

This year, when it seems like so much of what we could count on has crumbled into dust, it's good to remember the monastic traditions.  It's good to remember that institutions can survive despite long odds.  It's good to remember that institutions that seem out of step can actually be important in securing what has been important to civilization.

Of course, we may not fully understand the implications at the time.  We may not know what's being saved.  We may not see who is doing the saving.  But we can rest in the knowledge that the important work is being done.

Do I really believe this?  Most days.

I'm a person who believes in the idea of grace, the idea of salvation that's freely offered, even before we think to ask for it.  Most days, I interpret that concept through a theological lens, a narrow, theological lens.  These days, I'm hoping it also has wider implications.

Remembering the Faithful and Those Who Wait by Every Sort of Tomb

Last week, I wrote a Call to Worship for our pre-recorded worship service.  We've been celebrating the lives of women in the Bible, and last week, we focused on Mary Magdalene.  But I made the call a bit more general and inclusive.  It can also function as a prayer.

Below is the video, and below the video, the words.

We remember the lives of those who have served faithfully, those to whom the church hasn’t always shown the same fidelity.

We celebrate those who make sure the necessary tasks are done: the cooking, the cleaning, the caring, the chores that get us to the place where we will meet God.

We honor those who wait by every sort of tomb, those faithful who are hollowed out by grief.

We know that there is more than one way to be faithful to God’s calling. We pray for discernment and wisdom.

What to Say After the Election Winner Has Been Declared

My pastor, Keith Spencer of Trinity Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Pembroke Pines, Florida, posted these wise words yesterday after Joe Biden was declared winner of the presidential election.  I found them so moving that I'm posting them here:

"I’ve been quiet on the election, not wanting to add the the rage and pain of others and the toxic divisiveness that has become its own plague upon this nation, but know how disquieted my soul has been, how anxious my heart. No healing was possible with Trump’s re-election. The nation’s most vulnerable would suffer. Those seeking a new life would face this administration’s pathological hatred of immigrants and asylum seekers.

Now the LGTBQIA+ community will wake each day in a Biden administration with much more hope and respect for their personhood. People of color will live with expectation and rightfully demand accountability that issues of racism will be taken more seriously and solutions sought.

Those who voted for four more years of a Trump Presidency had their reasons. Our visions of what constitutes a more perfect future for our children apparently diverge. Perhaps we can all re-double our efforts to listen rather than rage and mock.

May these words from CNN be prophetic:

'Biden's victory means that Trump's rage-filled presidency — powered by his nationalism, toxic racial appeals, incessant lying and assault on democratic institutions — may come to be seen as a historical aberration rather than a new normal.'”

The Seventh Story (and the Stories before the Seventh)

The following came to me in today's e-mail from Richard Rohr.  I wanted to remember it, and these days, creating a blog post is a way both to store ideas digitally and to be able to find them again more easily than my older way of printing and storing paper.

Practice: The Seventh Story

According to CAC faculty member Brian McLaren and our mutual friend Gareth Higgins, six narratives have been driving forces in human history:

• The first was the story of patriarchal domination
• Oppression provoked the emergence of a revolution story
• Others simply withdrew, believing in the righteousness of their own group, called to an isolation story
• In the purification story, all the troubles of a powerful group were blamed on a minority  
• Some people retreated into trying to possess as much as they could: living by an accumulation story
• Some people began to define themselves by what they had suffered, developing a victimization story  

However, Brian and his friend Gareth Higgins recommend a “Seventh Story.”

But in The Seventh Story, human beings are not the protagonists. Love is.

We are not [rulers] of “our” domain, but partners in the evolution of goodness. As René Girard wrote, “What Jesus invites us to imitate is his own desire, the spirit that directs him toward the goal on which his intention is fixed: to resemble [Love] as much as possible.” [1]

The Seventh Story invites us to be participants in a great play about the evolution of the story of love. To be friends, not enemies, no matter what anybody else is doing. Not us versus them. . . .

Many of us are so immersed in the six stories of separation, selfishness, and scapegoating that some decisive action is required. . . . We invite you to the following commitments:

1: Pay attention. Alongside considering the wider world, pay attention to your soul, your neighborhood, your local and regional stories, and find others who do the same. Nurture your personal well-being and that of your community, otherwise you will neither thrive in a challenging world, nor be useful to the service of the common good.

2: Don’t pay attention. Don’t fund the six stories of separation, selfishness, and scapegoating: withhold your attention and the money you steward from any media outlet or public figure that uses fear to build an audience. . . .

3: Seek mentors who will help you discern a personal sense of calling to the common good. Your gift is connected to your wound, and the world’s great need. Serving from the place where these three intersect is the best way to heal yourself, and offer healing to others.

4: Tell the truth. In a world of competing information sources, seek wisdom above propaganda. Enlarge your frame: see the whole world as your home. Learn the difference between headlines and trendlines.

5: Learn spiritual practices that heal and offer resilience: clearings, accountability, shadow work.

6: Open yourself to seeing things through “the eyes of the other.”  Seek a friendship with someone with whom you disagree politically. Look for things to praise in others, even when they vote differently. Learn about building equitable community in which everyone has a fair stake. Don’t contribute to polarization.

7: Join or help start a circle of friends committed to the Seventh Story. Don’t journey alone. Encourage others to do the same.

[1] René Girard, I See Satan Fall like Lightning, trans. James G. Williams (Orbis Books: 2001), 13.

Adapted from Brian McLaren and Gareth Higgins, The Seventh Story: Us, Them & the End of Violence (Brian D. McLaren and Gareth Higgins: 2018), 124, 171‒173.

"Midlife Spells" for Days of Distraction

I found it hard to concentrate in these days after the election; I suspect I was not alone.  But I did get to our new faculty member's class; our accrediting agency requires that new faculty hires be observed in their first 30 days.  And while I was there, I got an idea for a poem, which I will start this morning.

It's not the first time that I've been observing a class and gotten an inspiration.  

For today, let me post a poem that got its birth in a different way.  On January 6, 2019, I made this sketch:

Careful readers may have already noted that January 6 is the Feast Day of the Epiphany.  Other readers will note the houses made of gingerbread and either think of Christmas cookies or Hansel and Gretel.

I went on a hunt to figure out which came first, the poem or the sketch.  I was surprised to see how many baked goods are in my poetry drafts at the end of 2018 and the beginning of 2019, all kinds of baked goods and crumbs of baked goods.  I still haven't found the original poem.

I almost always write my first drafts on purple legal pads.  I make revisions and then I make additional revisions as I type the poem into the computer.  I did type this poem into the computer on January 7, 2019, so it's probably older than I thought.  I almost never write a first draft and type the next day.

Still on my quest for the origins of the poem, I went to blog posts and found this one.  Now I have the glimmering of a memory.  I think I wrote the poem on scrap paper at church.

And now the poem has found a home in the literary journal Adanna.  I'm always happy when that journal accepts my work.

It seems a good poem for this day when so much remains uncertain.  And lately, every day feels like a day when so much remains uncertain.

Midlife Spells 



Some see the new star as they study 
the skies each night. Some find 
a trail of crumbs made from inedible 
heels and crusts, or larger meanings in the detritus 
of daily consumption. Angel choirs 
will sing to a few, but most of us 
will hear no message. 

Study the texts, the ancient 
ones and those composed 
by your compatriots. 
Pray the words in your ancestors’ 
book, a litany in words both strange 
and familiar. Write the codes 
on the soles of your most rugged shoes. 

Collect your treasures, the buttons 
from your grandmother’s blouse, her ring 
that fits on your slimmest finger. 
Keep the best recipes and the best photos. 
Cast away the clothes that never fit. 
You can have one shelf of books. 

Winnow your possessions down 
to your favorites and your constants. 
Avoid the houses made of gingerbread 
and all the traps the world will set. 
Make your way through the forest 
of enchantments with the protections 
only you can carry.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 8, 2020:

First reading and Psalm
Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25
Psalm 78:1-7

Alternate First reading and Psalm
Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16 or Amos 5:18-24
Wisdom of Solomon 6:17-20 or Psalm 70

Second reading
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Gospel
Matthew 25:1-13

How mystifying, this parable of the wise bridesmaids with more than enough oil and the foolish, unprepared bridesmaids! I would have expected Jesus to make a different point, one about those with abundant resources sharing with those who have a lack.

But once again, Jesus is full of surprises. It's not a parable about sharing. And if you reread it again, you may realize, as I did this morning, that it's not a parable about staying awake either--all of the bridesmaids get drowsy and sleep.

Through his parables and more importantly, through his life, Jesus shows us that we're allowed to have down time. We're allowed to sleep. Jesus retreated periodically to recharge, and we should do.

But those foolish maidens aren't going on a women's retreat at a nearby church camp. No, they have come to their task unprepared. It's not like the task was unknown. I assume that one of the basic job requirements of being a bridesmaid is to have oil for the lamps.

Or maybe it's not one of the basic tasks. Note that the bridegroom is delayed. Maybe the foolish bridesmaids assumed the wedding party would come by the time it was dark. Maybe their fault lies in not anticipating the unforeseen.

So, what does this parable tell us for modern life? For those of us who are waiting and watching, what does it mean?

Too many people will read this text and see the wedding party as a metaphor for Heaven. Perhaps it is, although I imagine Jesus would have had a very different idea of Heaven than that of 21st century folks. Too many people will focus on the possibility of a second coming in our lifetime, and that's why they keep the lamps ready.

But God did not create this planet just to wreck it out of displeasure. Absolutely not. The Good News that Jesus gives us again and again is that the redemption of creation breaks through into our daily lives.

If we wait for a distant Heaven, we've missed the point. The Good News is that we don't have to wait. It's happening right now, in all sorts of ways.

But many of us will miss it, because we're not looking or we're not used to seeing God in our daily lives. Perhaps instead of keeping a gratitude journal or instead of asking how our days have been, perhaps a better question would be, "Where have you seen God today?"

In this way we'll keep our oil replenished and our lamps ready. We will know the bridegroom, because we will have gotten in the habit of seeing him.

A Prayer for the Day after an Election Day that Declares No Winner Yet

And so we awake on the morning after election day to find out that no winner has yet been declared.  I should clarify--no official winner, decided officially.  Trump has declared himself a winner, as he said he would do.  But the counting continues, and I have no idea who is likely to be a winner at the end.  Right now, it feels like we're all losers on the cusp of losing something even more essential--like gamblers who have lost more than they could afford to who then decide to make one last huge gamble, to bet all the remaining money one last time.

But let me pull back from my catastrophic thinking.  Let me take the long view as I compose a prayer for the morning after election day.  Let me think about the cosmos in an attempt to calm myself.  Here's a sketch I made:

I'm in a Grunewald Guild online journaling group; we're reading our way through Barbara A. Holmes' Race and the Cosmos.  The above sketch is a response to the book, not to the election, a sketch I made while thinking about what the sacrament of communion would look like, if informed by quantum mysteries.

This morning, I'm using this sketch to remind myself that while we live in perilous times, it's not like humans haven't lived in perilous times before.  For now, there's nothing to do until we know the outcome of this presidential race, and we may not know the outcome for days.

I say there's nothing to do, but let me compose a prayer, a prayer I didn't anticipate needing.

Creator God, we come to you on a day of uncertainties, a day with ballots still to be counted, a day of waiting, a day of difficult emotions.  Be with us as we practice patience.  Be with those who don't have skills in practicing patience.  Remind us of all the many larger pictures that we often don't see as we get mired in our daily lives.  Remind us of the peace that can be ours.  We pray to find a way to bind the wounds and create a world that is closer to the one that you intend for us.

Posts and Prayers for Election Day

One of the advantages of keeping a blog for over 10 years (over 10 years!) and writing almost daily is that I see cycles that others might not see.  When I went to look at the posts that I wrote for other election days, I was struck by how similar they are. 

For example, I wrote this for election day 2016:  I am an optimist at heart. I see this election season as a hopeful one, even as it has driven so many of us to despair. With a decision this stark, we have been forced to think about what we want. It's not like past elections, where we basically had to choose between 2 men of similar temperaments who existed at the center of the political system.

I wrote this for election day of 2012:  Most of us have similar values. We really do. We want our children to be safe. We want the future to be better than the present. Everyone I know from every part of the political spectrum believes that we'd have a stronger society if people's basic needs were met. I've yet to meet anyone who thinks that anyone deserves to go to bed hungry.

And now, here we are on an election day which feels so different, an election day in a time of plague, a time of what will likely be the biggest recession since the Great Depression of the 1930s, a time of social upheaval that may leave many of us scarred in ways we can't anticipate right now.

When I look for what makes me hopeful, my brain came back to my neighbor's driveway.  At some point over the past week-end, I noticed a golf cart in my neighbor's driveway.  It had a tarp over it, but I didn't think much about it, since our forecast called for rain.  On Sunday afternoon (Nov. 1), I noticed that it had been decorated for Halloween:

But wait, it gets better.  At night, the lights glow and twinkle: 

I need a better picture, but you get the idea.  

Here are prayers that I wrote 8 years ago, but they seem just as relevant today:

Prayer 1: Just and merciful God, on this day help us to be wise as we cast our ballots. Keep us from the dangers of despair. Remind us of the times when the oppressed have been set free, and help us to be part of that process. Give us the courage to do what must be done.

Prayer 2: Generous God, as we head to the polls, help us stay mindful of those who have gone before us, those who didn't have the privileges that we enjoy. Guide us as we choose our leaders. Help us to discern which candidates will help bring to fruition the world that you envision for us.

Prayer 3: Triune God, remind us that no matter what happens today, the sun will rise tomorrow. Remind us of all the leaders who seemed a disastrous pick at the time but who went on to bring about important changes that we'd have never dreamed possible. Remind us of the leaders with hard hearts that softened. Remind us that you are a God who can make all sorts of dreams come true. And remind us that we have a part to play too.

Prayer 4: Creator God, on this Election Day, we pray for our country and for all countries. We pray for our leaders, those of the past, and those we elect today to lead us toward the future. We pray for all citizens, that we may be involved and not passive.

The Feast of All Souls in a Time of Plague

Some of you already know the difference between the Feast of All Saints and the Feast of All Souls.  Some of you may already be saying, "It's the Feast of All Saints and All Souls."  Some of you may think we're already all saints, while some of you know that becoming a saint takes a canonization process that most of us would not pass.

Briefly, in an earlier time, the Feast of All Saints on Nov. 1 would celebrate all the dead, while the Feast of All Souls on Nov. 2 would celebrate the people who had died in the past year.  I always think of the medieval poem "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight"; when Gawain leaves for his appointment with the Green Knight on Nov. 2, it would have a resonance for medieval readers that it doesn't have for today's students.

In many ways, this past year has made medievalists of all of us--after the events of 2020, most of us are much more conscious of death and the fragility of life than we have been, although probably not as much as we would be if we lived in the medieval age.  Perhaps we are more aware of life's precarious nature--more aware now than we might have been in 1996, say, and more than your average medieval person.  Most of us have experienced a much wider range of options than your average medieval person, and we might have once believed that the precarious nature of our options was a feature of an earlier time, not ours.

I know that my losses are small, compared to those that so many others have suffered.  My loved ones are still with me on this side of the grave.  My academic programs (those I take, those where I teach, those where I'm the chief administrator) are still intact--different, but intact.  I still have employment and a house, as do those I love.

On this Feast Day of All Souls, let me amend the traditional prayer:  "May the souls of the faithful departed and all of our souls through the mercy of God rest in peace."

The Feast of All Saints: Call to Worship (Video)

If you are hoping for a more traditional approach to this Feast Day of All Saints, you've got lots of possibilities on this blog in terms of past posts.  This one is one of my standard meditations on the Feast of All Saints. 

Today I'm going to post the Call to Worship segment that I wrote and recorded for my church's pre-recorded service that will air at 10:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.  Below the recording, I'll post the words to make access easier.

We worship here in the company of those who have gone before us: 

the ones whom we miss every day,

those who served in ways both big and small,

the ones who showed us what it means to live a life of faith,

the wones who showed us how to persevere in times of struggle and doubt.

We worship here, dimly burning wicks or blazing lanterns.

We worship here in the company of all the saints.