New Year's Eve Gratitudes

Here it is, the last day of 2022, the year I will think of as the year of whiplash or the slightly more positive pivoting.  It was a year of thinking we were headed in one direction, then being yanked in another, in all the ways I don't want to list right now.  It was also a year of considerable blessings, especially when considering how much worse it could have been.

I am thinking of this end of the week news of those who have died, the famous ones, just in these final days of 2022 alone:  Barbara Walters, Pope Benedict, Pele.  I keep looking at these 3 names, seeing connections and distinctions, the ways they broke boundaries or established them, and the ways that various parts of society would use them, shape them and be shaped by them.

I will have a very unusual New Year's Eve--at 5:00 Hawaii time, if all goes well, our plane will depart the Honolulu airport, and we will fly and fly and fly, east to DC.  It's a direct flight, and we land at 7 a.m., so it will be unlike some other New Year's Eve flights we've had.  I'm remembering one flight that took off from Las Vegas, where the people in the seat behind us had already been partying hard while on the ground.  Happily, although they were loud drunks, they weren't combative or vomitous.  I expect tonight's flight to be quieter.

I always say that I can't sleep on planes, but perhaps I will be able to sleep tonight.  If not, if the United in-air entertainment system is working, we should be able to get good movies.  Coming here, while the plane was at the gate for 3 hours, I watched When Harry Met Sally again, and later I watched Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (a bit baffling, a bit intriguing, a lot tiring).  I watched part of Honk for Jesus, Save Your Soul, which I might return to, but I found the characters tiresome, so I probably won't.

I will peek out the window from time to time, watching the ground below, the sky above, the boundaries dark, the blinking.  I will think about stars and navigation, both the Polynesians following the Southern Cross in their impossibly small canoes, the wise men following a new star (Epiphany approaches), the book lists for my seminary classes that bring me joy.  I am returning from a resort vacation for the first time in a long time not dreading what lies ahead:  no soul-draining job awaiting my input (my ongoing online teaching is not soul-draining), no physical therapy (last May's vacation--so grateful for healing from my wrist surgery, so glad I'm not facing that kind of body repair right now). 

I am a lucky woman

Feast Day of the Holy Family

Today we celebrate the Holy Family.  This feast day is relatively recent; we've only been celebrating the Holy Family for the past 300 years or so.  Our idea of family, especially a family unit separate from multiple generations, after all, is really rather modern.

It's interesting to take up this feast day after all these days where we've celebrated Mary, and her decision to be the Mother of Jesus.  It's a great counterpoint to remember that fathers have a role in the family too.

I always wonder if these kind of feast days bring pain to people who grew up in dysfunctional families.  I know plenty of people who have been scarred in ways that only family can do.  What do they take away from these feast day?  Despair in all the ways that families can hurt each other?  Hope that families can really be a sacramental rendering of the love of God?

Below you see a huge sculpture, made from a tree that toppled in a storm, of the Holy Family fleeing Herod's murderous intent.  I think of the Holy Family as refugee family, fleeing danger, with only the clothes on their back.  I think of all the families torn apart or torn away from their homeland because of terrible dictators.  I yearn for the day to come when we will not experience these fissures in the family.

Here is a prayer I wrote for this day:

Parent God, you know the many ways our families can fail us.  Please remind us of the perfection in family that we are called to model.  Please give us the strength and fortitude to create the family dynamics you would have us enjoy.  Please give us the courage to minister to those who have not had good family experiences.  And most of us, please give us the comfort of knowing that the restoration of creation is underway, with families that will be whole, not fractured, when all our members will be accounted for, when no one will go missing.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

  The readings for Sunday, January 1, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 63:7-9

Psalm: Psalm 148

Second Reading: Hebrews 2:10-18

Gospel: Matthew 2:13-23

After all the joy and wonder of Christmas Eve, this Gospel returns us to post-manger life with a thud. In this Gospel, we see Herod behaving in a way that's historically believable, if perhaps not historically accurate, as he slaughters all the male children in Bethlehem under the age of two. Why would he do such a terrible thing? Partly because he's worried about keeping his power; he's worried about what the wise men have told him, and he doesn't want any challenges. Partly because he can; he has power granted to him by Roman authorities, and that power means that he can slaughter his subjects if he sees fit to do so.

Jesus, however, escapes. A power greater than Rome protects him. Warned by an angel in a dream, Joseph flees with Mary and Jesus to Egypt, to safety. But still, the earthly power of Herod turns them into refugees.

Early in the Gospel, we see that the coming of Jesus disrupts regular life. Even before Jesus tells us that the life of a disciple is not one of material ease and comfort, we get that message. Even before Jesus warns us that following him may mean that we're on the opposite side of earthly powers, we see with our own eyes, in the story of Herod and the slaughter of the innocents.

This Gospel reminds us of the potency of power. We shouldn't underestimate the power of the State, particularly the power of a global empire. With the story of Herod, we see the limits of worldly power. Yet even within those limits, a dastardly ruler can unleash all sorts of pain and suffering. Those of us lucky enough to live under benign rulers shouldn't forget how badly life can go wrong for those who don't share our good fortune.

The Gospel reminds us of who has the true power in the story--it's God. The Gospel shows us who deserves our loyalty. And the Gospel also reminds us of the hazards of living in a universe where God is not the puppet master. In a universe that God sets free to be governed by free will, it's up to us to protect the vulnerable. And this story of Herod's slaughter reminds us of what happens when despots are allowed to rule. Sadly, it's a story that we still see playing out across the planet.

If we're not in the mood to see this Gospel in its geopolitical implications, we might take a few moments of introspection in these waning days of the year. Where do we see Herod-like behavior in ourselves? What threatens us so much that we might do treacherous deeds? What innocent goodness might we slaughter so that we can allay our fears and insecurities?

I predict that churches across the nation (and the world) will choose to ignore this difficult text. Far better to enjoy Christmas carols one last time than to wrestle with this difficult text. But Jesus reminds us again and again that he didn't come to make us all comfortable. He didn't come to be our warm, fuzzy savior. He came to overturn the regular order, to redeem creation, to restore us to the life that God intends for us--and Herod stands as a potent symbol for what might happen if we take Jesus seriously.

Herod's Slaughter

 On Dec. 28, we remember the slaughter of all the male children under the age of 2 in Bethlehem in the days after the birth of Jesus. Why were they killed? Because of Herod's feelings of inadequacy, because of his fear. The magi tell him of a new king that has just been born, and he feels threatened. He will stop at nothing to wipe out any rival, even one who is still a tiny baby.

We like to think that we wouldn't have reacted that way. We like to think that we'd have joined the band of wise men and gone to pay our respects. We like to think that we'd have put aside our worries of not being good enough and our doubts.

But far too many of us would have responded in exactly the same way, if we had the resources at our command. You need only look at interpersonal relationships in the family or in the office to see that most of us have an inner Herod whom it is hard to ignore.

If you're old enough, you've had the startled feeling when you realize that the next rising star at your workplace or your congregation or your social group is a generation younger than you. It's hard to respond graciously.

Many of us are likely to respond to our feelings of inadequacy in unproductive ways. If we hear a good idea from someone who makes us feel threatened at work or in our families, how many of us affirm that idea? Instead of saying, "How interesting," we say, "How stupid!" And then we go to great lengths to prove that we're right, and whatever is making us feel inadequate is wrong.

So often I feel like I will never escape middle school, that particular kind of hell, where the boundaries were always fluid. Kids who were acceptable one day were pariahs the next. Many adolescents report feeling that they can't quite get their heads around all the rules and the best ways to achieve success.

Adult life can sometimes feel the same way. We fight to achieve equilibrium, only to find it all undone. Most of us don't have the power that Herod had, so our fight against powerlessness doesn't end in corpses. But it often results in a world of outcasts and lone victors, zero-sum games that leave us all diminished.

But feelings of inadequacy can have lethal consequences, especially when played out on a geopolitical scale, the powerful lashing out against the powerless. We live in a world where dictators can efficiently kill their country's population by the thousands or more. Sadly, we see this Herod dynamic so often that we're in danger of becoming jaded, hardened and unaffected by suffering.

Now as the year draws to a close, we can resolve to be on the lookout for ways that our inner Herod dominates and controls our emotional lives. We can resolve to let love rule our actions, not fear. We can also resolve to help those who are harmed by the Herods of our world.

Thinking of Herod might also bring to mind the flight into Egypt, the Holy Family turned into refugees. We remember the Holy Family fleeing in terror with only the clothes on their backs -- and we remember that this story is so common throughout the world.

As we think about Herod, let us pray to vanquish the Herods in our heads and in our lives. Let us pray for victims of terror everywhere, the ones that get away and the ones that are slaughtered.

The Feast Day of St. John

 The day after we celebrate the life of the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen, we celebrate the life of the only one of the original 12 disciples die of natural causes in old age. Tradition tells us that John was first a disciple of John the Baptist, and then a disciple of Christ, the one who came to be known as the beloved disciple, the one tasked with looking after Mary, the mother of Jesus.

There is much debate over how much of the Bible was actually written by this disciple. If we had lived 80 years ago, we'd have firmly believed that the disciple wrote the Gospel of John, the letters of John, and the book of Revelation. Twentieth century scholars came to dispute this belief, and if you do scholarly comparison, you would have to conclude that the same author could not have written all of those books.

Regardless, most of us remember St. John as the disciple who spent a long life writing and preaching. He's the patron saint of authors, theologians, publishers, and editors. He's also the patron saint of painters.

Today, as many of us may be facing a bit of depression or cabin fever, perhaps we can celebrate the feast of St. John by a creative act. Write a poem about what it means to be the beloved disciple. Write a letter to your descendants to tell them what your faith has meant to you. Paint a picture--even if you can't do realistic art, you could have fun with colors as you depict the joys that God has to offer.

Here's a prayer for the day, from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Wintertime: 

"Shed upon your Church, O Lord, the brightness of your light, that we, being illumined by the teaching of your apostle and evangelist John, may walk in the light of your truth, that at length we may attain to the fullness of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

The Feast Day of Saint Stephen

Today we celebrate the life of St. Stephen, the man who is commonly known as the first Christian martyr. What does it mean that we celebrate the life of a martyr so soon after we celebrate the birth of Christ? After all, it's not like we know the birth day or the death day of St. Stephen. Our ancient Church parents could have put this feast day anywhere. Why put it here?

If you pay attention to the Lectionary readings, you will see that the issue of death is never far removed from the subject matter. Time and time again, Christ is quite clear about what may be required from us: our very lives. And we'd like to think that we might make this ultimate sacrifice for some amazing purpose: rescuing the oppressed from an evil dictatorship or saving orphans. But we may lose our life in the midst of some petty squabble; in some versions of St. Stephen's life, he is killed because of petty jealousy over his appointment as deacon, which triggers the conspiring which ultimately ends in his martyrdom.

Many of us live in a world where we are not likely to die a physical death for our religious beliefs. What does the life of this martyr have to say to us?

We are not likely to face death by stoning, but we may face other kinds of death. If we live the life that Christ commands, we will give away more of our money and possessions to the destitute. We will end our lives without as much wealth and prosperity--and yet, we will have more spiritual wealth. If we live the life that Christ commands, we may have uncomfortable decisions to make at work or in our families. We will have to live a life that's unlike the lives we see depicted in popular culture. That's not always easy, but in the end, we can hope the resistance to the most damaging forms of popular culture will have been worth it.

And history reminds us that events can unfold rather quickly, and we might find ourselves living under an empire that demands us to live a life different than the one Christ calls us to live. We may face the ultimate penalty. Could we face death? Could we pray for the empire that kills us? As Christians, we're commanded to pray for our enemies, to not let hatred transform us into our enemies.

Let us take a moment to offer a prayer of thanks for all the martyrs who have come before us. Here's a prayer for the day, from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Wintertime: "Almighty God, who gave to your servant Stephen boldness to confess the Name of our Savior Jesus Christ before the rulers of this world, and courage to die for this faith: Grant that I may always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in me, and to suffer gladly for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

Shortest Sermon Ever

Wishing everyone a joyous winter holiday, no matter which one you're celebrating, and a joyous day if you're not celebrating. Of course, my hope is that every day brings joy and reasons for celebration. But my Foundations of Preaching class is over, so I'll step away from my pulpit.

A Look Back at Fall 2022 and the Whole Year

For some of us, it's the time before Christmas where we feel the full-on crush of Christmas needs.  If we have friends and family members employed by churches, this is a high-stress time.  I imagine it's similar for people working in retail.  For me, this year, the bulk of my work is done, and I'm at the stage where I'm checking to see if my professors have turned in grades yet.

Let me make a list of what I want to remember about this term, Fall 2022, my first term living on campus.  Some of it I've already mentioned, I know.  But it's worth looking back, at this point in time:

--The only grade I've gotten for the Fall term, the grade for the whole course, not individual grades on assignments, is an A for Church History I.  That grade was not assured--for my first short paper, I made an 80, which is the lowest grade I've made post-undergrad studies.  It was a paper full of proofreading failures (my spell-check changed Perpetua to Perpetual, and I missed a few times it did this--grrr).  I also misspelled my professor's name.  It was not the first impression I wanted to make, and I spent a restless night wondering if I should drop the class.  I decided not to drop the class and to write an e-mail apologizing for misspelling my professor's name and poor proofreading; even if I ended up making a B in the class, I could be OK with that.  But I thought that if I worked intently, I could make an A- or maybe, maybe, an A.  

--I realized that the kind of writing that often works for classes wouldn't work for Church History I.  In my first paper, my professor was sharply critical of me bringing my 21st century views to judge the martyrs of the early church.  I had suggested that the early church may have championed martyrdom to make it more palatable to believers who were going to be facing the ultimate penalty by the state.  As I reviewed for the final exam, I thought about my early beliefs about martyrdom and how there were aspects to it that I resisted.  In fact, it's still hard for me to shake my belief that the early church turned martyrdom into the best kind of virtue because they couldn't make the empire stop killing believers.

--My Church History I class pushed me to do different kinds of writing, and so did my Foundations of Preaching class.  My teacher expected us to do a depth of exegesis that I was never quite capable of doing.  But attempting to do it pushed me in good ways.

--My Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class introduced me to new practices, along with pushing me to go deeper in forms I already knew.  Some people might think I got a good grade for doing what I'd already be doing in terms of creative stuff, but that's only partly true.

--Let me also record some memories of housing.  When I first arrived in my apartment and started getting settled, I wasn't sure what my spouse's housing plans would be in terms of where he'd be spending the most time.  It turns out that it was easier for me to come to him in North Carolina than for him to come here.  At first, I felt this guilt, like I had given misleading information in the housing application that I filled out back in March.  But then I realized that there were still 2 bedroom units empty, so I decided to stop feeling weird about claiming a 2 BR apartment for myself.

--Still, it took months before I moved anything onto the top of the dresser that would have been my spouse's if he lived here, his side of the closet.  I still haven't much.  Our housing still feels unsettled, with a house under reconstruction in North Carolina.

--Of course our housing situation is still unsettled because of the seminary's plan for bulldozing older buildings and putting in a high rise.  The seminary president will have an informational meeting by way of Zoom on Jan. 5.  I hope he has more specific information about timelines and costs that will help me make plans for next year. 

--I have so enjoyed living right on campus.  It has been great to be just steps away from my apartment when evening classes end, not half a mile or further away.  I have loved neighborhood walks.  I have loved being able to leave materials spread out without feeling like I'm in anyone's way. I have loved being able to set up a schedule that's best for me, without it impacting others too much.

--My spouse and I have had a video chat by way of Facebook once a day--it is a game changer.  So much better than talking on the phone.

Let me close (for now) by admitting that I am thinking back to this time last year, when it looked like my job might not end, but it did, when we were beginning to feel despair that we might never actually sell our house, but we did.  In so many ways, this Fall 2022 Semester leg of my seminary journey has been similar to how I imagined it (the immersion, the opportunities) but in some ways, so different with not as many people living on campus as I imagined, with fewer extracurricular opportunities.  And a year ago, I had no idea that my dream of owning a house at Lutheridge was about to come true.

What a strange time it's been, this past year, full of pivots and whiplashes, and so many blessings. 

The Feast Day of Saint Thomas and the Winter Solstice and Our Long Season of Doubt

Today we celebrate the life of Saint Thomas. It's also the Winter Solstice. It's the time of year for doubting, as we finish another year full of doubts and dread, a year that many of us thought would bring some kinds of closure (in terms of politics, in terms of disease).  But here we are, at the end of the year, dealing with disappointments and changed expectations and more pivoting to be done. Those of us in the northern hemisphere may feel that the dark will never recede. It's a good day to celebrate the most famous doubter of all.

Who can blame Thomas for doubting? It was a fantastic story, even if you had traveled with Jesus and watched his other miracles. Once you saw the corpse of Jesus taken off the cross, you would have assumed it was all over.

And then, it wasn't. Thomas, late to see the risen Lord, was one of the fiercest believers, legend tells us, Thomas walking all the way to India.

I wonder if Thomas is near and dear to the heart of the more rational believers. We're not all born to be mystics, after all. I worry about our vanishing sense of wonder. We've all become Thomas now. We don't believe anything that we can't measure with our five senses.

We've spent significant amounts of time recently even doubting what we can measure with our five senses. We've spent even more time arguing about what it means to measure. We seem to be in a time when we can't even agree on some basic truths, let alone more complicated information.

The more I read in the field of the sciences, the more my sense of wonder is reignited. I continue to be so amazed at the way the world works, both the systems we've created and the ones created before we came along. The more I know, the more I want to shout from the rooftops, "Great show, God!" (long ago, when my friend had small children, they would shout this refrain whenever they saw something beautiful in nature, like a gorgeous sunset; I try to remember to shout it too).

So today, in the Northern Hemisphere, as the earth leaves its darkest time and inches towards light, let us raise a mug of hot chocolate to St. Thomas, who showed us that we can have doubts and still persevere. Let us raise a mug of hot chocolate to solstice celebrations and all the ways that the natural world can point us back to our Creator. Let us pray that our rational selves live in harmony with our sense of wonder. Let us also offer a prayer of gratitude to those around us, Divine and ordinary humans, who don't cast us away for our inability to believe, to trust, to accept.

Here's a prayer from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Winter for this day:

"Everliving God, who strengthened your apostle Thomas with firm and certain faith in your Son's resurrection: Grant me so perfectly and without doubt to believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and our God, that my faith may never be found wanting in your sight; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel, Christmas Day

 The readings for Sunday, December 25, 2022:

Choice 1:

First Reading: Isaiah 62:6-12

Psalm: Psalm 97

Second Reading: Titus 3:4-7

Gospel: Luke 2:[1-7] 8-20

Choice 2:

First Reading: Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm: Psalm 98

Second Reading: Hebrews 1:1-4 [5-12]

Gospel: John 1:1-14

In my younger years, I'd have guessed that the Christmas story would be one of the easiest to preach.  What could go wrong when you had a story this great?  Now that I'm older, I see many pitfalls to preaching the Christmas story.

First of all, there's the fact that many people only go to church around Christmas.  This may be the only story that they hear.  For many of us, Christmas is our favorite holiday.  But it's a sanitized Christmas that we often love.

Think of the parts of the story that are left out (or not emphasized) most years:  the yoke of empire bearing down on this young couple in many ways, from the trip to Bethlehem to the fleeing Herod when the wise men launch Herod's wrath.  Think about this young couple, with so few resources, pulled into this story of God breaking though into this prison of a world.

Many Christmas sermons will focus on that sweet baby, but that approach, too, is fraught with problems.  In a Facebook post in a previous year, one of my female minister friends reminded us to "please be aware that the imagery of holding a new born is not comforting to those who have not had those dreams fulfilled this year...or worse, by those who carry the great, but silent, grief of fetal loss."  She reminds us that we might not know of these losses, since often they are not discussed.

Many people I know are having trouble believing the good news that the angels sing.  It's a hard world we live in, and this year, many of us have suffered brutal losses.  It may be the intensely personal loss of horrible health news or the death of one we love.  It may be the larger loss, the suffering that drives people from their homes into perilous journeys.  We may see that we live in a world of dangerous dictators, a world where empires afflict people or refuse to act, and we may wonder where, exactly, God is breaking through.

But it is precisely in these times that we must have fortitude.  We can choose to live as people of God. We do not have to weep in the ruins of our cities. Advent has promised us that help is on the way, and Christmas gives us the Good News that the redeemer has come, and in the most unlikely circumstances.

That’s the way redemption works—not in the ways we would expect, but in surprising ways that take us where we could not dream of going, and sometimes faster than we would expect. If we could travel back in time to tell the people of 1985 that the Soviet Union would soon crumble and South Africa would be free of white rule, the people of 1985 would think we were insane. If we could travel back to the first century of the Roman empire to tell of what the followers of Jesus would accomplish, those people would laugh at us—if they even knew who Jesus was.

I'm thinking of a previous time that Christmas fell on a Sunday, in December of 2011, when the world lost many great leaders, among them Nelson Mandela and Vaclav Havel.  I'm remembering a celebratory essay in The Washington Post by Madeleine Albright, who said of Havel: “He declared himself neither an optimist (‘because I am not sure everything ends well,’) nor a pessimist (‘because I am not sure everything ends badly’) but, instead, ‘a realist who carries hope, and hope is the belief that freedom and justice have meaning . . . and that liberty is always worth the trouble.’”

Christians, too, believe that freedom and justice have meaning and that liberty is always worth the trouble. And if we believe in the Good News that surrounds us at Christmas, we can be wild-eyed optimists. We know that things will end well; we have a multitude of promises and plenty of evidence that God will keep those promises of liberty for the captives.

Holiday Choirs

Yesterday morning, I hopped in the car and headed south to Williamsburg, Virginia, where my parents live.  Their chorale had an afternoon concert, and I wanted to see them.  And since I was heading down, and they would be at both church services, why not join them for the 11:00 service at St. Stephen Lutheran Church?

My mom warned me that there would be no sermon, that it would be something the children of the congregation put together.  Even better!  It's been years since I've been at a church that had enough children to do something in place of the sermon.

It was both a children's choir concert, and parts of a Christmas pageant--think cute children in simple costumes coming down the aisle to stand with the choir.  It was all of that, plus percussion.  I am convinced, now, that if we want more children's involvement in church, and easy way to do that is to put drums around the worship space.  The children continued to migrate to them, even as the service progressed.

It was a delightful service, and I'm glad I made the effort to go.  My mom played piano for part of the service, which I didn't know about beforehand.  I'm always happy to have a chance to hear her play.

The concert by the Chorale was delightful too.  My mom asked me if I'd ever heard The Messiah, and I assume she meant the whole thing, not just parts.  In fact, one of my earliest memories of choral music is from childhood, when she and my dad would sing The Messiah with a local group every year, and my sister and I would hang out in the childcare area while they practiced.  And through the years, I've been to hear many groups sing or play it.  

I do realize that most people don't hang out with classical musicians in the way that I have done.  Yesterday the conductor asked how many of us in the audience were hearing the music for the first time, and a substantial number of people raised their hands.  I continue to see it as a good sign for the future of humanity, that people are still willing to come out to hear their friends and relatives sing music they've never heard of.

In DC, I could have gone to hear The Messiah in any number of settings--but I'm so glad I made the effort to come down to Williamsburg to see my parents sing.  I am aware that we won't always have these kinds of opportunities.  Perhaps they will make it into their 90's, still singing The Messiah every year, and perhaps I'll be able to make the trip to see them more regularly.  But if not, I'm glad that I got the chance to do it this year, so many years after first hearing them sing The Messiah when I was in elementary school.

The Last Exam of Fall 2022

 I spent time reviewing for my Church History I final exam, although it was open book-open notes.  And thank goodness it was.  I thought I knew all the information, but the objective section of the final exam drilled deep into the depths of particulars.

We had 53 multiple choice questions, and an hour and a half to take the objective part.  For the essay part, which we could take separately, thank goodness, we had the choice of 4 questions, giving us a wide choice of topics to address--but we only had to choose one.  We had an hour and a half to write that part.

I did the objective part late in the morning yesterday, while I was still feeling rather fresh.  It was grueling.  Even when I was fairly sure of the answer, I looked up each one.  I am grateful to a small group member in another class who told us about his experience putting all the weekly lecture notes into a single Word document, which made it searchable.  I did that, and thank goodness I did.  I didn't end up with much extra time once I was finished.  I got a 51 out of 53.  I missed three questions, but got all the extra credit questions.

I took a break, took a shower, ate some lunch, and then settled into essay writing mode.  There was a question about church heresies, one question about art/architecture, one question about 3 important female figures, and one about monastic pioneers.  You might think I would choose the question about women, but nope.  I went with monastic pioneers.

I felt fairly wiped out after writing the essay, but I felt good about the essay.  I hit "submit" and went for a walk.  I spent the rest of the day watching the mid 1990's version of Little Women with Winona Ryder.  In some ways, it's a perfect Christmas movie.  I made this Facebook post:  "Today's stop on Kristin's tour of Christmas movies: "Little Women," the one from the mid-90's with Winona Ryder. Jo has just sold her hair, and Amy says, "Your one beauty!" And I'm thinking of the scenes that revolve around a hair cut in "Fleabag" almost 2 centuries later. And I'm loving Marmee's hard-earned wisdom. Come for the Christmas bits, stay for the feminism!"

I went to bed early and fell into a much deeper sleep than I've had in a long time.  It was the first night in ages that I didn't dream about all the seminary work I was doing.  I didn't wake up extra early worrying about all the grading I have to do or the seminary work that needs to be completed.

Soon, I head to Williamsburg for a day with my parents, including seeing them in a Christmas Chorale Concert.  It will be a delightful way of settling into the one time a year when I don't have work piling up:  grades are turned in, seminary work is complete, and I don't have a full-time job making demands.  I won't always be this lucky, but this year I am.  Let me settle in and enjoy this good fortune.

Poets Walking in the Woods

Earlier this week, I got an e-mail from blogger and poet Dave Bonta that ended this way:  "Just wanted to mention that I'll be in DC for 12 days starting tomorrow night, on the off-chance that you're still in town and able to get together for a walk and/or chat."  We exchanged possibilities for a walk, with yesterday being the day that was best for both of us.

So much was fortuitous:  we didn't choose Thursday, a day of relentless rain.  Dave had 12 days, which gave us lots of flexibility.  I was at the end of the term, so scheduling a walk was more possible than it would have been in, say, November, when we would have had to schedule around my classes and paper due dates and travelling that I was doing.

Even though we've never met in real life, I've known Dave for over a decade through his blogging, poetry, photography, and online presence on Facebook and Twitter.  We've e-mailed off and on and worked on some projects together; one of the early ones was a celebration of the birth of Emily Dickinson (in 2010?).  One might protest that we don't really "know" anyone virtually, but I would say that long-form blogging is a different way of knowing someone than one would by way of tweets.  We also have mutual friends in the blogosphere and beyond.  

In short, I felt more comfortable going for a walk with Dave than I would with someone I knew from class.  I wasn't too worried that Dave would turn out to be a serial killer--and yes, I am aware of all the serial killers who have managed to hide their true selves for decades--and yet, they didn't blog or post poems and photography, so there's that.

DC is a city full of greenspaces and parks and trails, so we met at Glover Archbold Park, at a spot where several trails meet.  I got there a bit early, which was fine, because I had a chance to take pictures of this tree and to wonder who had decorated it:

Shortly after I took this picture, Dave and his friend arrived.  We made our way down to the trail and started our walk.  

At first, the trail was easy, wet but not treacherous.  In places, we had to go more slowly because of wet leaves and mud, but that was OK.  Along the way, we talked about poetry and technology and politics and science, both climate science that tells us of a difficult future approaching (so glad we sold our South Florida house!) and the science that gives us a glimpse of what formed the land.  We hiked on top of aging sewer pipes cased in concrete.  We crossed major DC streets and descended back to the trail. 

We did not try to go across the stream, even though in my younger years, when I had better boots and had never broken a bone, I would have fearlessly forged across all sorts of obstacles.  Not this year.  I was grateful that we were all in agreement about not taking risks.

Dave had me stand next to a tree that was so tall that he estimated it was over 250 years old.

We walked for a little over an hour, and then it was time for me to head back to studying for my Church History I final that I take today.  Dave and his friend headed south to continue their rambles.  On Massachusetts Avenue, Dave's friend took this picture of us with the trail entrance behind us:

I am so glad that I had this opportunity to meet Dave in real life, glad to be reminded that if I get along with people online, I'm likely to have a pleasant time in real life.  I'm also glad that we took a trail that I probably wouldn't have been brave enough to explore on my own; it seems mysterious and less passable when viewed from the street/sidewalk than when viewed at trail level.  I'm also glad to be reminded that although I'm older than I once was, I'm more steady on my feet than I sometimes fear.

Now let me go on one of my walks that is more usual for me, a walk around the seminary neighborhood, enjoying the holiday lights.  And then, let me get ready for my final exam and take it.

Screen Time

My sister wrote me to say that if the temperature had been a bit colder yesterday, we'd have gotten a ton of snow.  Indeed--something was falling out of the sky all day, literally, yesterday.  It was mostly rain, with a bit of sleet and ice.

Happily, I didn't need to leave my seminary apartment, so I didn't, except to go downstairs to the laundry room to do one load of clothes.  I was surprised at the end of the day to find out how tired I was.  Of course, sitting in front of the computer screen all day is not exactly renewing.

You may wonder why I was in front of the computer screen.  My spouse and I had a consult with Anderson windows in the morning.  My spouse met the Anderson rep in person at our North Carolina house, and I was able to join them by way of a Facebook video call.

In the afternoon, I went to my last class of Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class, which had to be converted to a Zoom call.  While I was happy to be able to have the class, it would have been better to meet in real life.  It was the day we were presenting our final projects, and I'd have liked to have seen the projects and my classmates in person.  But a Zoom call is better than nothing.

In between I was watching a movie.  In the morning, I felt a bit tired, so I started watching Ammonite, another bout of staring at the computer screen.  I finished watching it in the afternoon.  I had thought about watching Little Women in the evening, but I was tired, and opted for an early bedtime.

Ammonite is a great movie.  Kate Winslet is amazing--and has been for decades.  She is our Emma Thompson, our Judy Dench.  I loved the depiction of 19th century life--made me more deeply appreciative of our 21st century.

In the late afternoon, I tried to study for my Church History I final exam.  That's how I discovered how fried my brain felt.  I'll do studying both this morning and afternoon, and a bit more tomorrow morning before I take the exam.  I've got until 11:59 p.m. tomorrow, but of course I'm not going to wait that long.

Wintry Mix

My grades for the online classes I've been teaching are due at noon.  Happily, I've already turned them in. As I watched winter weather advisories being issued yesterday, I thought, let me get these grades done, while I still have power and internet access.  And so I did.

This morning, looking out my window, I think I'm seeing rain, not the sleet or freezing rain that was forecast.  I have power and internet.  I am not unhappy that I turned in grades.  On the contrary, I'm amazed I was able to get it all done.  A week ago, I looked at my gradebooks and wanted to cry.  So much grading still to do--and now it's done!

Let me stress that I don't have control over the curriculum.  I plug in dates, I do grading, I shepherd the students through the assignments that course designers have created.  I don't have the power to say that a certain class has so many assignments that it should be offered in a session that only meets for 6 weeks.

One of my classes has only been meeting since late October, and that class has so many assignments.  They aren't complicated or long, but they take time, time for students to do them and time for me to grade them. Even if I only have to click a few places, it takes time.  For example, students have to turn in a response sheet for using the online tutoring.  It should be an easy grade, but for each submission, I have to click on the submission and "grade" it, meaning I enter a number, the same number, for the grade, and then I click "publish."  It takes longer than you would think.

But I'm done--hurrah!  And the campus is closed because of the potential wintry weather.  I'll still have to go to class by way of Zoom, but somehow that feels like it requires less of me.  I'm not going for a walk this morning--too much danger of ice and slipping.

So, the whole morning opens up.  My plan is to make some poetry submissions to literary journals that close for submissions on Dec. 31.  That won't take long--I don't want to spend much in submission fees, so there aren't many journals left that take submissions without a fee or for the same amount that postage and printing would take.  I'll do some laundry.  I'll do some writing.  I'll turn some turkey bones into soup.

It will be the perfect day!

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 18, 2022:

First Reading: Isaiah 7:10-16

Psalm: Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18 (Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19 NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 1:1-7

Gospel: Matthew 1:18-25


The Gospel for the Sunday before Christmas Eve gives us an angel appearing to Joseph in a dream. It's interesting to think about our lectionary, which moves in 3 year cycles and leaves out part of the story each year. This year we read about Joseph; other years, we see the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary and to Elizabeth before her. This week, on Christmas Eve, we'll hear about angels appearing to shepherds.

Notice the responses of these people. They give themselves to God's will. They don't protest, the way that some of our spiritual ancestors did--think of Moses, who tried and tried to get God to go away.

It's important to note that God always gives us a choice, although God can be notoriously insistent. Joseph could have gone on with his plans to divorce Mary quietly; notice his unwillingness to shame her publicly, as would have been his right in a patriarchal society. But the angel appears to give Joseph a fuller picture, and Joseph submits to God's will. Likewise, Mary could have said, "Mother of the Messiah? Forget it. I just want a normal kid." But she didn't.

During this time of year, I often wonder how many times I've turned down God. Does God call me to a higher purpose? Am I living my life in a way that is most consistent with what God envisions for me?

The readings for this time of year reminds us to stay alert and watchful. This time of year, when the corporate consumer machine is cranked into high gear, when so many of us sink into depression, when the world has so many demands, it's important to remember that God's plan for the world is very different than your average CEO's vision. It's important to remember that we are people of God, and that allegiance should be first.

What does this have to do with Joseph? Consider the story again, and what it means for us modern people. Maybe you're like Joseph, and you're overly worried about what people will think about you and your actions. The Gospel for this Sunday reminds us that following God may require us to abandon the judgments of the world and accept God's judgment.

Notice that Joseph is the only one in the story who receives an angel visitation in a dream. What is the meaning of this fact? Perhaps this route was the only way that God could reach Joseph. Many of us are so used to having our yearnings mocked or unanswered that they go deep underground, only to bubble up in dreams and visions. Convenient for us, since we can discount things more easily when they appear in our dreams.

God will take many routes to remind us of our role in the divine drama. Many of us won't notice God's efforts; we're too busy being so busy. This time of year reminds us to slow down, to contemplate, to pay attention.

The Feast Day of Santa Lucia

December 13 is the day that Scandinavian countries celebrate Santa Lucia day, or St. Lucy's day. There will be special breads and hot coffee and perhaps a candle wreath, for the head or for the table.The feast day of Santa Lucia is one that’s becoming more widely celebrated. Is it because more Midwestern Scandinavian descendents are moving to other climates? Are we seeing a move towards celebrating saints in Protestant churches? Or is it simply a neat holiday which gives us a chance to do something different with our Sunday School programming and Christmas pageant impulses?

I first heard about St. Lucia Day at our Lutheran church in Charlottesville, Virginia. As the tallest blonde girl, I was selected to lead the St. Lucia day procession when I was in my early teen years. The grown ups placed a wreath with candles on my head and lit the candles. The younger children carried their candles. I walked up the church aisle and held my head very still.

I still remember the exhilarating feeling of having burning candles near my hair. I remember hot wax dripping onto my shoulders--I was wearing clothes and a white robe over them, so it didn't hurt.

It felt both pagan and sacred, that darkened church, our glowing candles. I remember nothing about the service that followed.

A year or two later, Bon Appetit ran a cover story on holiday breads, and Santa Lucia bread was the first one that I tried.

A picture from that cover story

What a treat. For years, I told myself that baking holiday breads was a healthy alternative to baking Christmas cookies--but then I took a long, hard look at the butterfat content of each, and decided that I was likely wrong. I also decided that I didn’t care.

I still bake that bread every year, and if you’d like to try, this blog post will guide you through it. If you’re the type who needs pictures, it’s got a link to a blog post with pictures.

As a feminist scholar and theologian, I’ve grown a bit uncomfortable with virgin saints, like Santa Lucia. Most sources say we don’t know much about her, which means that all sorts of traditions have come to be associated with her. Did she really gouge out her eyes because a suitor commented on their beauty? Did she die because she had promised her virginity to Christ? Was she killed because the evil emperor had ordered her to be taken to a brothel because she was giving away the family wealth? We don’t really know.

The lives of these virgin saints show us how difficult life is in a patriarchal regime. It’s worth remembering that many women in many countries don’t have any more control over their bodies or their destinies than these long-ago virgin saints did. In this time of Advent waiting, we can remember that God chose to come to a virgin mother who lived in a culture that wasn’t much different than Santa Lucia’s culture: highly stratified, with power concentrated at the top, power in the hands of white men, which made life exceeding different for everyone who wasn't a powerful, wealthy, white man. It's a society that sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Or we can simply enjoy a festival that celebrates light in a time of shadows.

I love our various festivals to get us through the dark of winter. When I lived in colder, darker places, I wished that the early church fathers had put Christmas further into winter, when I needed a break. Christmas in February makes more sense to me, even though I understand how Christmas ended up near the Winter Solstice.

So, happy Santa Lucia day! Have some special bread, drink a bracing hot beverage, and light the candles to light up the darkest days of the year (in the Northern Hemisphere).

Video Sermon on Isaiah 2: 1-5

 About a month ago, my pastor from my South Florida church asked me if I wanted to do an Advent sermon; it would be recorded, of course, because making a trip to South Florida isn't feasible in these days of the end of the semester.  At first I said no, but then I realized I was creating a sermon from the Advent lectionary (on Isaiah 2:  1-5) for my Foundations of Preaching class--so I proposed that I deliver that sermon, only a bit later than it comes in the lectionary.  My pastor said yes.

I had in mind that I would read at my laptop, recording, and that would be that.  But as I worked on the sermon for class, a theme emerged.  The sermon went from leaves in their full autumnal glory

to leaves slick and slimy on the sidewalks

to birds' nests visible in trees with no leaves.

I thought about the types of sermons I used to create, me speaking over images.  I had a bit of extra time yesterday, and I thought it wouldn't take that much more time to create a sermon with images to enrich the words.

What I didn't count on is that the Windows Video Editor has changed, so it took me awhile to make the sermon.  Then I thought of some changes I wanted to make, so I made a second draft. I could keep making draft after draft, but it was time to be finished.  I have other work to do as the semester keeps marching towards the end.

If you would like to experience my work, which will take less than 8 minutes of your time, you can go to my You Tube channel and watch my sermon on Isaiah 2:  1-5.

Church History Timeline

 I have a variety of assignments due as the seminary semester comes to a close.  Some are expected, like having to preach a sermon for Foundations of Preaching or create a final creative project for my Religion and the Arts class.  I have a few papers due, standard grad school stuff for me.

One of the final projects for Church History class, the timeline project, has made me consider all of the course materials, all of the information, the whole term from first one angle, and then another.  It's a wonderful assignment, so I want to record it here, so I don't forget it:

a.   From readings, lectures, and class discussion, select a total of 10 items that you think are important to include, in each of the three categories: a) people, b) movements, and c) events.  These 30 (total) items should be divided evenly between 500-year periods: 10 from AD 50-500, 10 from AD 500-1000, and 10 from AD 1000-1500.  Place all 30 events on your timeline.

b.   Attach an annotated list of items organized in categories a), b), and c) above.  Next to each item, identify the item in 1-2 sentences and include its date(s).

c.   Select the 5 most important items on your timeline and write ½ to 1 page for each item, explaining its significance and relationship to the whole sweep of the church in history.

Note that there are three distinct parts to this assignment: (a) the graphical presentation; (b) the annotated list of 30 items; (c) the “Top 5” items you have chosen, with ½ to 1 page for each.

Back to me.  I made my first 30 choices, and then I set out to be sure I had chosen the "correct" 30, even though I know that there's not a correct list.  I could justify the 30 that I chose.  But of course, I could make 30 different choices and justify them.  And after that, I could make 30 new choices, complete with justifications.

Finally, I've decided to just go with the 30 choices that make the most sense to me.  Because of our Discussion posts, I know that my classmates will make different choices.  It's been good to read them and to have a glimpse into the reasons why people might be upset over this heresy or that conflict, even as I don't feel the same stir of emotion.

The whole project is due at 11:59 p.m. today, so let me get back to it.

Benediction from a Professor

Tuesday was the last day of my Tuesday classes.  I realize I say this often, but how can it be December already?  I have been trying to be observant of the passage of each day so that I don't lose a moment, so that I appreciate every scrap of time that I'm here, a seminarian, which in a way is existing out of the regular rhythms that most 57 year olds experience.

But yesterday was indeed the last day of Tuesday classes.  It seems like just yesterday that I came into the classroom, the first in-person class of my first week of Fall 2022 term, just yesterday that I was grateful for the air conditioning during a DC heat wave in late August.  I watched my professor wrestle with the technology, and I thought, OK, it's not just me who has trouble with the classroom technology--different campus, same struggles.

My professor soon captured my imagination, and that class, Foundations of Preaching, has never let me down.  I'm always happy to have attended; I always leave enriched.  Last night was no exception.

Last night concluded our second round of sermons.  I feel like we've really come into our own, or as our professor says, "You've all found your preaching voice."  One of my classmates preached her first sermon in English just six weeks ago.  Last night, you would never have known she was so new to preaching in English, as she preached again.

Our professor had some final words, and then she said, "I wasn't going to say this, but it came to the surface, so here it is:  God did not make a mistake in inviting you to do this work."  I started writing down her words, and she repeated them.  I let my tears well up and spill over as she said, "You are not here by mistake."  I was not the only one--many of us wiped our eyes.

She had advice for us as we fulfill our call.  She said that one of the most prophetic things we can do is to tell our people that God loves them just as they are.  She said that we might be surprised how many people have never heard that God loves them.  She concluded class by saying, "Never miss an opportunity to tell them" (her emphasis).

I left the class feeling blessed in all sorts of ways.  I felt like I had gotten a specific benediction and a blessing, a laying on of hands without the actual laying on of hands.  But I've also been blessed in other ways.  Our professor has a wealth of experience and expertise, and I feel blessed (in the sense of lucky) to have been in her presence for a semester.

And the wealth will continue.  Next semester I will take her Women and Preaching class, an upper level class.  I can hardly wait! 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, December 11, 2022:

First Reading: Isaiah 35:1-10

Psalm: Psalm 146:4-9 (Psalm 146:5-10 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Luke 1:47-55 (Luke 1:46b-55 NRSV)

Second Reading: James 5:7-10

Gospel: Matthew 11:2-11


Here again, in this week's Gospel, Jesus reminds us of the new social order--the first will be last, the last will be first. Since many of us in first world churches would be categorized as "the first," this edict bears some contemplation. What do we do if we find ourselves in positions of power? Are we supposed to walk away from that?

Well, yes, in a sense, we are. Again and again, the Bible reminds us that we find God on the margins of respectable society. Again and again, we see that God lives with the poor and the oppressed. Nowhere is that message more visible to Christians than in the story of the birth of Jesus.

We get so dazzled by the angels and the wise men that we forget some of the basic elements of the story. In the time of great Roman power, God doesn't appear in Rome. No, God chooses to take on human form in a remote Roman outpost. In our current day, it would be as if the baby Jesus was born on Guam or the Maldives. Most of us couldn't locate those islands on a globe; we'd be surprised to hear that the Messiah came again and chose to be born so far away from the most important world capitals, like Washington D.C. or London, Beijing or Moscow.

God came to live amongst one of the most marginalized groups in the Roman empire--the only people lower on the social totem pole would have been captives of certain wars and slaves. Most Romans would have seen Palestinian Jews as weird and warped, those people who limited themselves to one god. Not sophisticated at all.

God couldn't even get a room at the inn. From years of Christmas pageants, we may have sanitized that manger. We may forget about the smelliness of real hay, the scratchiness, the bugs, the ways that animals stink up a barn.

God chose a marginalized young couple as parents. Did God choose to be born in the palace of Herod? No. We don't hear about Joseph as a landowner, which means that his family couldn't have been much lower on the totem pole, unless they were the Palestinian equivalent of sharecroppers. God does not choose the way of comfort.

Again and again, Jesus tells us to keep watch. God appears in forms that we don't always recognize. God appears in places where we wouldn't expect to find the Divine. Jesus reminds us again and again that there's always hope in a broken world. God might perform the kind of miracles that don't interest us at first. The Palestinian Jews wanted a warrior Messiah to liberate them from Rome. Instead they got someone who healed the sick and told them to be mindful of their spiritual lives so that they didn't lose their souls.

Many of us experience something similar today. We want something different from God. God has different desires for us than our desires for our lives. We ask for signs and miracles, and when we get them, we sigh and say, "That's not what I meant. I wanted them in a different form." We turn away.

The John the Baptists of the world remind us to turn back again. Repent. Turn back. Forswear our foolish ways. Go out to meet God. Your salvation is at hand.

The Feast Day of Saint Nicholas

 It is the feast day of Saint Nicholas, and I don't have much to offer in terms of my own decorations.  I do have a new picture:

I am not sure if these blow up creatures are supposed to go together.  Is there some new movie I don't know about?  Lyle, Lyle Crocodile Saves Christmas?  Is that Lyle the Crocodile?  Clearly the other character is Santa, the character derived from Saint Nicholas.

It's always a bit of a surprise to realize that Saint Nicholas was a real person. But indeed he was. In the fourth century, he lived in Myra, then part of Greece, now part of Turkey; eventually, he became Bishop of Myra. He became known for his habit of gift giving and miracle working, although it's hard to know what really happened and what's become folklore. Some of his gift giving is minor, like leaving coins in shoes that were left out for him. Some were more major, like resurrecting three boys killed by a butcher.

My favorite story is the one of the poor man with three children who had no dowry for them. No dowry meant no marriage, and so, they were going to have to become prostitutes. In the dead of night, Nicholas threw a bag of gold into the house. Some legends have that he left a bag of gold for each daughter that night, while some say that he gave the gold on successive nights, while some say that he gave the gold as each girl came to marrying age.

Through the centuries, the image of Saint Nicholas has morphed into Santa Claus, but as with many modern customs, one doesn't have to dig far to find the ancient root.  I don't have many Santa Claus ornaments or decorations, but I do collect favorite pictures.  Here's one my grad school friend posted years ago to her Facebook page:

I love the ecumenical nature of this picture of Santa: Santa statues coexisting peacefully with Buddha statues. And then I thought, how perfect for the Feast Day of St. Nicholas!

More recently, a new favorite Saint Nicholas image, courtesy of my cousin's wife:

In this image, Santa communicates by way of American Sign Language. As I looked at the background of the photo, I realized Santa sits in a school--the sign on the bulletin board announces free breakfast and lunch.

The photo seems both modern and ancient to me: a saint who can communicate in the language we will hear, the promise that the hungry will be filled.

In our time, when ancient customs seem in danger of being taken over by consumerist frenzy, let us pause for a moment to reflect on gifts of all kinds. Let us remember those who don't have the money that gifts so often require. Let us invite the gifts of communication and generosity into our lives.

Isaiah, Jesus, and the Issue of Prophecy in an Advent Season

I knew that going to seminary would challenge my faith in all kinds of ways.  I knew that a seminary education might make it hard for me to have conversations with people who had different kinds of learning/training.  But Advent has challenged my faith in ways I didn't expect--so far, nothing earthshattering, but strange, nonetheless.

I wrote an earlier post about the Foundations of Preaching class approach to preaching the ancient prophets:  "Several times our professor reminded us that if we're preaching the Hebrew Scripture passages, the answer to the prophets question is never Jesus. In other words, we think that Jesus is the Messiah foretold by ancient prophets, but those prophets would not have thought that. The first Christians knew that something earthshattering had happened in the ministry of Jesus, and to make sense of it, they turned to their scripture, which would have been the Hebrew Scriptures. They had to decide if they were at a hinge moment when they created a whole new approach to God that would require abandoning past scripture or if they could use what they had been taught to make sense of it."

My Hebrew Bible class (what an earlier generation would have called Old Testament class) professor said something similar.  Isaiah, to whom we turn in many an Advent reading, is not predicting Jesus.  Prophecy is not fortune telling, not future forecasting.  I understand why so many people think the prophets who lived hundreds/thousands of years before Jesus were telling everyone that Jesus would arrive, Jesus specifically, not a general savior.  I was taught that too, in Sunday School, by people who had never heard differently, kind, older people who taught the classes based on what they were taught.  These same Sunday School teachers of my youth thought/taught that the Gospels were factual histories written by people who were there to witness it all.

So far, my seminary studies haven't challenged my faith here.  I came to seminary accepting parts of  the Bible as truth, but not fact.   I see sacred texts as inspired by God, not dictated by God.  And I see more sacred texts than just those collected in the Bible.  I have assumed that those of us who have gone to seminary in the past 10-20 years will have come across these ideas.

So it's jarring to hear Advent sermons and blogs and tweets that still talk about Isaiah as predicting the coming of Jesus.  I accept that older theology and music will have those ideas.  But if you've gone to a mainline seminary recently, why are you still preaching that the Hebrew prophets told us about the coming of Jesus?  Why are you preaching that Isaiah was talking to us in the 21st century?  The ancient prophets were concerned with the people in their own time, not centuries into the future.  The salvation that concerned them was not my personal salvation--or anyone's personal salvation--but the salvation of the whole community.

As I said, not a huge deal, and certainly the larger church community would not see this as particularly interesting.  But it's leaping out at me this year, in part because I had to preach on a text from Isaiah, and my professor was very clear that if we made the classic mistake of saying that Isaiah was predicting Jesus, we would fail the assignment.  

Here's the one reference to Jesus that I kept:  "In this time of Advent, I encourage us to think about Jesus who comes to tell us that the kingdom of God is inbreaking, happening right here and right now. . . . In this time of Advent, as we prepare ourselves to welcome the inbreaking kingdom of God, let us develop a prophetic imagination for our own day. Let us walk in a world illumined in ways that dictators can’t imagine."

(I will be recording this sermon for my S. Florida home church, so more will be coming soon).

Annunciation in Fabric

 On Thursday, we had our last working/creative day in Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class.  It was supposed to be fabric day, and it was.  We had material:  felt, tulle, satin, and canvas, along with black t-shirts.  We had twine and rope, both in natural color and blue, green, and deep purple.  We had two sewing kits, massive sewing kits with tools and thread spools in every shade.  We had scissors and hot glue guns and paint.

It was interesting to see what people did with the materials.  One classmate started embroidering with the thread.  One stretched out a length of canvas, plugged in a hot glue gun, and started affixing twine to it.  One stared at the materials, waiting for inspiration.  One took the paint and spread it on her hand, which she then used to make hand prints on canvas.

I took a selection of fabrics and twines, along with a pair of scissors.  I thought I would make the kind of fabric art I used to make, something with layers and the tulle spread over it.  But I didn't like the way it looked.  I cut shapes out of felt in two colors of blue and arranged them on the pink.  I sewed them all together, but the sewing was only to keep them in place, not to preserve them for history.  

Here's what I ended with:

Annunciation, Month 3

When I first started, I had a vision of rivers, but that quickly became a descending dove kind of feel.  But something about the shapes and the Advent time we're in made me think of the Virgin Mary, of pregnancy, of Jesus as a fetus.  So, if it's important to know what the artist thought she was creating, that tulle-wrapped blob at the bottom is baby Jesus in utero.

The blue shapes to me represent Mary, mother of Jesus, partway through her answer of yes, the agreeing to be part of God's plan in the invitation that the angel Gabriel conveys.  I like the shapes, the way they have an energy, the way they suggest both power and a drawing in conservation of that power.

I have really enjoyed this class, and part of me is sorry to see it come to an end.  I've enjoyed all the exploring we've done, and the books we've discussed.  I am so looking forward to the next class that I'm taking with this teacher, Chapel Visuals--that anticipation makes it easier to say goodbye to this class as the semester comes to an end.

Women in Late Mid-Life: The Future of the Church

I was with a group of seminary students on Thursday night, along with 2 of our faculty members, and the subject of why young people aren't going to church and what should we do about it.  One of our students who is from the Democratic Republic of Congo posed the question, in the context of what surprised him about the U.S.  

I decided to listen, even though I have opinions.  I should have opinions, since I've been hearing people talk about this issue for much of my life.  The answer never really changes, but the specifics do.  Clearly, we're not offering what young people want, since they're making other choices.  On Thursday night, some people talked about what church represents (homophobia, racism, sexism) and why young people reject that.

If we had had more time, I might have asked if young people had ever been interested in the institution of church--or the practice of church.  Outsiders might ask why we care so much, and the standard answer would be something along the lines of young people being the future of the church.

Demographically perhaps they are--they have more years to be alive than I do, after all.  But lately, I've been wondering if we're asking the wrong question.  Maybe young people aren't the future of the church--maybe the people who will take church into the future, maybe those folks belong to a different demographic.

Before I go further, let me say that I realize I have some biases; I have some dogs in this fight.  I don't have children, so I don't spend time agonizing over why they don't want to go to church.  When I was younger, I didn't want to go to church either.  As an adult, I sometimes don't want to go to church.  Maybe the problem is church--but that's a different blog post.

When I think of The Future of the Church, I think of women in late middle age.  I know that I've probably written something similar here before; I decided not to bring it into Thursday night's conversation.  I'm fairly sure I was the oldest person in the room.  The one faculty member is having a 40th birthday party, which he invited us to, which is how I know how old he is.  The other faculty member talked about her experience being part of a focus group of people who were 18-35 years in age.

So many women in my circle are headed to seminary right now, at a time when we might be more likely to be settling in our last few working years before retirement or grandmotherhood (am I really that old?  Yes, it's quite possible for me to be a grandmother now, if I had had children right away who then didn't delay in having children).  When we talk about The Future of the Church, that's the change that comes to my mind.

What changes will we be able to make?  I have no idea just yet.  And a darker question:  will we be allowed to make changes?  I am sure that we will have to force some changes, and I don't know that it will be a bad thing.

The fact that younger people aren't interested in church makes me think that the changes that older women will make might be the ones that younger people have been waiting for.  They will certainly be the changes that I've been waiting for. 

Eyes on the Progress Prize

Here we are, World AIDS Day, in yet another year of our no-longer-new pandemic, a disease that's much easier to contract than AIDS, a disease that like AIDS preys on the more vulnerable in our society.

Maybe all diseases target the more vulnerable.  And our epidemiologist friends would remind us that diseases don't have emotions or calculations.  Diseases infect where they can, and in vulnerable populations, diseases have more opportunity.

AIDS is still a fairly fierce disease, even though we have medications that can keep people alive for decades--that's still a lot of disease management, which isn't a cure.  According to this site, there are still more than 17 million new AIDS cases each year.  Every week, more than 13,000 people die of AIDS related diseases.

At this moment in time, COVID-19 isn't killing as many of us.  But it is still a disease to be reckoned with, a disease that leaves lots of wreckage in its wake.  Like AIDS, many of us assume that COVID-19 has been tamed or disappeared.  But like AIDS, some of us are more protected than others.

Dec. 1 is also the anniversary of the day in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white passenger. This act is often given credit for launching the Civil Rights Movement, but what many forget is that various communities had begun planning for the launch, even before they could see or know what it would look like.

In fact, for generations, people had prepared for just such a moment. They had gotten training in nonviolent resistance. They had come together in community in a variety of ways. They were prepared.

Someone asked me once how I had come to be such an optimist. I've always had an optimistic streak, but frankly, my whole world view shifted when I watched Nelson Mandela walk out of prison. I fully expected him to be killed, but again, my worldview shifted when I watched South Africans stand in line for days (days!) to elect him president. And he was ready to be president because he had spent those decades in prison thinking about how he would run the country and making plans.

I have seen enormous social change happen in my lifetime--in the face of such evidence, I must agree with Dr. Martin Luther King, who said the arc of history is long, but it bends towards justice.  

Some years, that arc seems so long and the bending so difficult to discern.  Diseases show us where we need to bend that arc towards justice, where there's still opportunity for progress.

On this day of grim disease statistics, let us also remember what various social justice movements have taught us.  If we can harness the will of a group of people towards a similar goal, we can make great strides.  I am heartened by our class of sermons on Tuesday night--many of us referenced the great social justice warriors of the 20th century; I talked about Vaclav Havel and another classmate referenced Archbishop Tutu.  In many ways, they defeated the forces of evil with optimism, a tool that we can all adopt.

Those of us who work towards social justice and human dignity for all know how long the struggle might be. We are similar to those medieval builders of cathedrals: we may not be around to see the magnificent completion of our vision, but it's important to play our part. In the words of that old Gospel song, we keep our eyes on the prize, our hands on the plow, and hold on.

Second Sermon for an Academic Grade

Last night, I gave my second and last sermon for my Foundations of Preaching class.  For our first sermon, we had a choice between several of the New Testament lessons that were upcoming in the Revised Common Lectionary.  For our second sermon, we had a choice between the Hebrew Bible lessons from the upcoming Revised Common Lectionary.  Each possibility allowed for only 4-5 students to choose it.

For the New Testament choices, my top choices had already been taken.  In some ways, that was great, because I approached the text without ever having spent much time with it.  For this next/last sermon, I felt overwhelmed by the choices; I liked them all similarly.  I chose Isaiah 2:  1-5, the passage about beating swords into ploughshares.

I enjoyed the exegetical work, once I knuckled down and did the work.  For each sermon, I feel I had a richer sermon, in part because of the exegetical work, in part because we had a strict time limit.  For the first sermon, we couldn't go over 7 minutes, and for the second sermon, we had 10 minutes as our max.  Having that time limit meant that we focused on what was essential.

I also gave a sermon from a written manuscript, which I wrote about in an earlier post.  I had never done that before, and I am willing to admit it makes for a better experience for me as the sermon giver--which probably means it's a better experience for the listener.

Last night, I felt calm and prepared; I volunteered to go first.  Note to self:  in the future, always volunteer to go first.  Because I have no printer and can't seem to master the way we print on this campus (there's an app that I can't get to work), my manuscript was a bit scribbled on, and I did get tripped up in one place.  I was happy that I was able to think on my feet and reassemble the sentence into something that made sense.  I don't think that anyone listening realized I made a goof.

As I walked back to my seat, my teacher said, "Kristin sounds like a prophet, doesn't she?"  I assure you, that comment was a compliment.  Later, she said that I had a perfect use of illustration.  Perfect!  This teacher does not hand out praise as if it's cheap candy.  I wrote down her comments, and I'm preserving them here.

At the end of class, our professor talked about what a good job we had all done, how we had set the bar high.  Hurrah!

I am so grateful for this class.  While I may not have time to do this kind of exegesis for each sermon, I am grateful to have had this experience.  Much like a creative writing class, I've learned techniques that will come in handy in a variety of ways.  These are techniques that I likely wouldn't have bothered to teach myself. 

I am also grateful for the example of my professor who has a wealth of information to share with us, who is so generous--and who demands that we do increasingly better.  She takes her obligation seriously, to make better preachers who will continue the important preaching work that she has done her whole life.

I'll be making a recording of the sermon for my home church in South Florida, and I'll post it to my YouTube channel in a week or so.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 4, 2022:

First Reading: Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm: Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19

Second Reading: Romans 15:4-13

Gospel: Matthew 3:1-12


Today's Gospel continues with the Advent theme of watching, waiting, and listening for the call. Today it's John the Baptist who tells us of what's to come.

The real, living Jesus was not who John's listeners expected. Many of them probably thought that John was talking about himself; after all, first century Palestine was full of self-proclaimed Messiahs, and I expect many of them spoke of themselves in the third person telling (or warning) of the deeds they would do. Many of John's listeners probably had no idea what he was talking about; humans seem incapable of thinking in terms of metaphor and symbol for very long. Many of them probably expected a Messiah that would come in a form they'd recognize: a warrior to save them from the Romans, a temple reformer to get rid of corrupt priests, or maybe someone who would lead them into the wilderness to set up a new community.

Are we not the same way? How many of us read the Bible literally, expecting specific answers to social or political issues that would have been unheard of thousands of years ago when the Scriptures were written? How many of us would welcome salvation when it comes? We go to church, we sit in our pews, we wait for God to appear. We wonder why we don’t feel the presence of God, as we go home to take a nap and gear up for our secular week ahead. We scurry through the rat race of our lives, substituting other things for God. We worship at the churches of Capitalism, buying things at the mall or on the Internet, which means we have to work overtime to pay for those things. We wonder why we feel unfulfilled. To try to fill that emptiness, we do more of the activities that leave us with gaping holes in our Spirit. We hear that voice, the voice of the Spirit--maybe it cries or maybe it whispers. It scares us, so we eat some more or flip through ever more cable stations or go to bed early--because we can't deal with the implications.

John warns what happens to those of us who don't listen: "His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire" (verse 12). Some of us don't like this vision of a God with a winnowing fork in hand. How does this mesh with a God of grace and love?

I think of parents I've seen recently at family gatherings, parents that warn their children of the danger of bad choices.  I think of all the ways we make bad choices, both as children and as adults.

I return to John's fiery language and the idea of winnowing. I visualize God as a loving parent, wishing we would do what's good for us. God doesn't have to do much winnowing. Our lifestyles are already punishing us. Many of us are already feeling that unquenchable fire.

The good news is that there is time to change our ways. There is still time to "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." (verse 3). Advent, traditionally a time for getting ready, is a good time to think ahead. How could we make the next year to be our best spiritual year ever?

Choose just one simple action, whether it be keeping a prayer journal or making gratitude lists or learning to play or sing sacred music. Choose just one action and attend to it faithfully.

In this way, you will be in a much stronger spiritual place a year from now. You will be bearing fruit. God will call, and you will hear. God won't have to go to such great lengths to get your attention. Your deepest yearnings, the ones you didn't even know you had, will be filled, as you move towards God--and God moves towards you.