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.

Headed Back to Seminary

 Soon I will take the last loads of stuff to the car, the stuff from the fridge and freezer.  Soon I will drive back along the mountains, back to DC, to my seminary apartment.  Soon I will enter the rush of the last 3 weeks of seminary, projects in process coming to completion.

I will try not to think of how I wish it was a different time I was driving back to seminary:  2 weeks ago, with Thanksgiving still to come, or just after fall reading week with beautiful leaves all around.  I am looking forward to what I'll learn in these last 3 weeks, and the tasks are doable.  But this term has been so full of riches, and I don't want it to end.  

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, and now it is over.  Sigh.

And yes, I go through this every year, no matter what I am facing the Monday after Thanksgiving.  I am grateful that I am not returning to the work of hurricane recovery, as we did in 2017 and 2018.  I am grateful I am not returning to accreditation work, as I did in 2016.  I am thinking of 2019, when the world was about to fall out from under us, but we didn't know it yet--I hope we're not at a similar hinge this year.

I am grateful for the goodness that life holds now.  Let me remember that gratitude as I go forward.

Advent Arrives

Here we are, the first Sunday of Advent, when we're still eating the leftovers from Thanksgiving or maybe we're still wondering why no one has put the Halloween decorations away.  I have always liked the Advent rituals that help us stay grounded in a season that can be overwhelming in so many ways.  So before another season gets away from us, let's think about some practices that we might want to adopt.

Read

There are so many Advent readers, ones that are rooted in Biblical readings and ones that give us snippets from a single author.  I've read Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark, which is more secular, but perfect for the season.  Or maybe you want to to revisit an old favorite, Advent themed or not.  Look for the Advent themes, and you can choose any text for your meditative time.

Advent Wreath/candles

You could go to an arts and craft store to buy supplies to make a wreath.  Or you could take 4 candles that you already have on hand and keep the wreath simple.  On the first week, you light one candle.  A week from today, you'll light that candle and another one.  Two weeks from now, 3 candles, and three weeks from now, 4 candles.  In an ideal world, you'd have an Advent wreath moment each day, and you'd spend a few minutes staring at the flickering flame.  But even if you only light the Advent candles sporadically, it's worthwhile.

Advent Calendars

These are no longer for kids, although why not have the kind of Advent calendar that gives you a chocolate for each day of Advent, if chocolate brings you joy?  Some Advent calendars have you open a new window each day, and along with the treat, you get a reading.

In the past, there have been online calendars, and my favorites have been the ones that give us an image from space.  Right now, I can't find the 2022 one, but maybe soon.

Your Favorite Things

Advent is a great time to rediscover your favorite things--what brings you joy?  Can you adopt the practice to a 4 week structure?  Maybe bake a different type of bread every week.  Try to make a different quilt square every week.  Buy a potted plant each week and spend the week thinking about what the plant has to teach you.  Go for an Advent walk in the evening and enjoy the lights that your neighbors have displayed.

Help Those Less Fortunate

We have many more opportunities to do this in the season of Advent.  Donate money, donate a toy.  Help cook a community meal.  Spend time tutoring. On and on we could go--but you know what speaks to your heart.  Do that thing for others.

Take Your Practice Year Round

No need to make this decision now--but maybe you'll want to expand your Advent practice to something that you can do year round.  Invite the sacred into your life.  Cultivate a sense of awe, wonder, and gratitude.

The Year We Didn't Get Salmonella

 Overall, it was a good Thanksgiving:

I don't have any pictures of our Thanksgiving meal.  

It was tasty, but it was served in parts, so we never had the whole spread on the table.  This year, I am grateful for many things, chief among them our ability to pivot when the turkey wasn't cooked all the way through.

I was hungry, the bird had been cooking for longer than the time given as average cooking time, and the juices ran clear--that's my excuse.  We did use a meat thermometer, so we knew that part of the bird wasn't temping high enough, but part was.  We cut into the part that we thought would be done.  The juices did not run clear.  I told my spouse to keep going.  As he put pieces of dark meat on the platter, which were moist, but not in a good way, I said, "We can't serve this."

So since the oven was hot and vacant--because the side dishes were on the table already--we put turkey slices back in.  We ate our sides, then we ate turkey, then we ate dessert.  We washed a load of towels that had cleaned up the turkey mess.  We let the rest of the turkey keep cooking for several more hours, and we ate some more for the evening meal.  As far as I know, no one has gotten sick.

In future years, we will remember that we had a feast, and that we laughed.  I will remember everyone being good natured about it all--I know that there are families that would have had an ugly day with this kind of turkey mishap.  Instead, we had a day of good food, good conversation, games of all sorts, competitions that didn't leave anyone in tears (the little ones are growing up, and the big ones are too smart to be mean to each other).  We even had a Zoom call with the ones who can't be here in person--technology can be a wonderful tool.

Before the turkey mess meal, we had the annual turkey bowl, and while the players went to heroic (painful) lengths to score a touchdown, no one broke any body parts--hurrah.  I made this Facebook post:  "The turkey bowl is underway! It kind of reminds me of the football scene in "The Big Chill," except with a wider variety of ages and a less tortured history between the players. I will confess that "The Big Chill" football scene had a better cinematographer!"

There were other joys:

I stitched intently for part of the day.  I am working on a project that's different for me, working on a smaller scale, working with scraps that I would have once thrown away.

I'm doing it as a final project for a class, but also because it brings me joy.  I'll write more about the project in the coming days, but I am surprised that I am liking it so much.  For so long, I've been working with much bigger pieces of cloth.  Putting together intricate pieces has been such fun.  

For decades, I've said that I didn't like working on such a small scale when it comes to patterns and fabric.  This holiday, I have loved it.  Yes, it does make me wonder what other decisions I might need to revisit.

Thanksgiving 2022: So Similar, So Different

 Early morning, Thanksgiving 2022, in some ways so similar to past Thanksgivings.  Much of my extended family has gathered at the ramshackle house at Lutheridge, the Lutheran church camp where we've been gathering for a family holiday reunion for 27 or 28 years, only missing 1 year because of Covid.  The turkey is defrosting in the sink.  We have collected more desserts than we will be able to eat in the half week that we're together.  I'm up earlier than everyone else, getting some writing done before it's time for family, food, and gratitude.

But in many ways this Thanksgiving is different.  Let me count the ways.

--This year, my spouse and I own a house near by.  So, last night, when dinner prep was under way, and we discovered we needed olive oil, instead of running to the crowded grocery store, we went back to our house and brought a bottle back.  We no longer own a house in South Florida--our travel time has changed radically this year.

--This year, one of our family units has moved too far away to be able to come to us.  We hope to do a virtual meet up tonight.

--It's still somewhat shocking to me to look around the room and see teenagers instead of little children.  Happily, these teenagers are willing to be involved with us.  We have played a variety of games.  I still remembered how to play Yahtzee, but it took a lot of rule reading to remember the intricacies of Backgammon (and I'm still not sure we had it right).  Apples to Apples is almost as much fun as a spectator sport as being a participant.

--I spent time yesterday learning how to turn my phone into a hot spot.  It turned out to be surprisingly easy.  However, I hope not to do this trick too often, because it really does use a lot of data, and we don't have an unlimited data plan.

--I don't have as much seminary work to do as last year.  Part of that is a trick of timing, since Thanksgiving comes so early this year.  I'll still have 3 weeks to complete work when I get back.  Part of that is because I'm no longer working my full-time job, so I don't have to take advantage of every scrap of spare time.

--In the past year, I've been severed from my full-time job, and I've had my first bone break (my broken wrist).  The idea that Europe will always be at peace not war has been shattered.  Lots of breaking in the past year.

--But as I've reflected on the changes in my personal life, I do feel less stressed.  I am so grateful to be able to focus on my seminary classes.  I am so grateful that I'm not preparing for any upcoming accreditor visits, annual reviews, or the other minutiae that consumed my administrator life.  I am so grateful that we sold our house in flood and hurricane prone south Florida.  I am so grateful to be able to gather in this way and so aware that all our circumstances could be very different by next year's Thanksgiving, which enlarges my gratitude.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, November 27, 2022:

First Reading: Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm: Psalm 122

Second Reading: Romans 13:11-14

Gospel: Matthew 24:36-44


So, here we are preparing for Christmas, and we get this apocalyptic Gospel. You might have been expecting a passage about the angel Gabriel visiting Mary. You might have thought you'd hear some prophecy about the coming of the Messiah. You would have even settled for those strange passages from John which talk about the word becoming flesh and moving into the neighborhood (as Eugene Patterson paraphrases it in his The Message paraphrase).

But in some ways, an apocalyptic tone makes sense.

Again and again, our holy scriptures remind us that we need to stay alert and watchful. Again and again, our holy scriptures warn us that God is coming and that God won't always take on the shape we expect. Sometimes, our spiritual ancestors are lucky, as Abraham was, when he invited the strangers into his tent, and found out he was having dinner with God. Sometimes our ancestors aren't as lucky. Think of all those contemporaries of Jesus, many of them good, observant Jews, who were on the lookout for a different kind of Messiah. They wanted someone to deliver them from oppressive Roman rule. What did they get? A baby in a manger.

We think that we wouldn't have been so stupid. We would have recognized the Divine, as Christ moved among us.

But think of our own lives. Many of us are so busy that we can't even adopt traditional practices that move us closer to God, practices like regular prayer or tithing. Would we really recognize God in our lives, especially if God took on an unexpected form?

We might adopt another ancient spiritual practice for our Advent discipline. We usually think of Lent as the season of discipline and denial, but Advent cries out for a similar rigor, especially in our culture that goes into hyper-consumer-overdrive this time of year. This year, practice seeing the Divine in difficult people. It's easy to look at a little baby and to see God looking back out of that face. But for a few weeks, practice treating difficult people as if they are the embodiment of God. Your evil boss? Your difficult teenager? The homeless guy at the corner who won't take no for an answer when he asks for money? Your sad mother-in-law? How might things change if we treat these difficult people as the embodiment of God, as Christ incarnate?

Our changed approach might change their difficult behavior. However, let's be realistic. It probably won't change their behavior permanently.

But hopefully, if we approach everyone as God moving in the world, our attitudes will change. But even if they don't, this adjustment in perspective is good training. Again and again, Christ warns us to stay alert and aware. We live in a culture that wants us numbed (from too much TV, too much spending, too much drinking/smoking, too much working, too much, too much, too much). We need to adopt practices that train us towards a different way.

Advent is a good time to get started.

The Feast Day of St. Cecilia

Today is the feast day of St. Cecilia, patron saint of church musicians. She is often shown playing the organ, as in this painting by Claude Vignon:

So, if you're a church-going sort, celebrate this feast day by thanking your church musicians. Many of them are working for small salaries (or for free), and they probably don't hear many words of thanks.

St. Cecilia is also the patron saint of music and musicians of all kinds.  It seems appropriate to celebrate this feast day by listening to music.

Here's a picture by Botticini; are they playing instruments?


I love the idea of Saint Cecilia inspiring all sorts of music festivals throughout the ages; she continues to inspire musicians today.  Her Wikipedia article's largest section covers the many ways that artists in the last half of the 20th century wrote music inspired by her.

I am less comfortable with the idea of her fierce dedication to her virginity.  As a feminist scholar and theologian, I’ve grown a bit uncomfortable with virgin saints, like Cecilia.  She's more interesting than many, as she was married, and convinced her husband to accept her virginity.  She's one of the virgin saints not martyred because of her virginity.

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.

Perhaps instead of celebrating this feast day with music, we might want to support a social justice organization that helps modern women in patriarchal countries where they have few rights.

But of course, we don't have to choose:  we can support women in less-developed countries, and we can support our local musicians.  Let's do both on this feast day of Saint Cecilia!

 

Quilt Theology

I have been reflecting on the feedback that my seminary professors give me.  I am impressed over the time and care that they take.  Having spent my adult working life among teachers, I know that solid written feedback is not always a given.

I've been enjoying writing a weekly journal entry for my Church History I class.  In this writing, I can do the kind of writing that I like best, which is not the kind of writing that is stressed in the more formal papers where I need to demonstrate that I know and understand the history, without inserting my 21st century values.

Here's what I wrote a week ago:

It’s also interesting to think of the varieties of Christian expression while I’m at a retreat surrounded by quilters. I’m thinking that if you gave any of these quilters a pile of cloth, the same cloth in the same amount to the each quilter, we would end up with vastly different quilts. It seems like a great metaphor for so much: all the controversies that have consumed so much church time, all the ways of experiencing the Divine, all the ways of telling the same story, on and on I could go. It is a shame that we can’t simply admire each quilt without ripping it into shreds to prove that it’s not as valid as the quilt we like best.

And here's how my professor responded:

On the last, I take your point; but on the other hand, if someone were to bring in things that were single printed sheets rather than joined segments, and that were joined to their backing with superglue rather than stitching, and without the use of batting of any kind, someone might (reasonably) object that those things, whatever they are and however nice they might be, aren't really "quilts." In considerations either of transmitting the faith faithfully, or defending it against error (whether that error is something distant from us like Eutychian Chrisology, or something rather nearer like white nationalism), it's important to be clear about what it is, and what it isn't.

Back to me, writing this blog post:

I've continued thinking about my professor's response.  I admired how he gave an alternate view without making me feel stupid.  I spent the day thinking about his comments, realizing how I both agreed and disagreed with him.  

I'm grateful to get feedback that makes me feel like my writing has been read and evaluated in a deep way and feedback that stretches me and makes me think about new ways to improve.  The feedback from my seminary professors has helped to remind me that we don't all need to agree on our theology, and that wrestling with these issues can help us define our beliefs in a much deeper way than many believers will.

Winds of Metaphor, Winds of Change

I woke up in the middle of the night and realized the wind had picked up.  I puzzled about the meaning of this wind in a night where no storms or weather systems were predicted.  Because I am me, my brain went to instances of wind in the Bible, and how I find wind threatening, despite the teaching of the Bible.  Holy Spirit as wind?  Let's change that metaphor to make my hurricane scarred soul happy.

After an hour of not sleeping, I got up, as I often do when I can't sleep.  I discovered that although I thought I had canceled my website, it seems to have billed me for more months of service.  I went to the site, tried to cancel my account, and wrote some e-mails to be sure.  Will it be canceled?  Who knows.  At some point, the credit card company will take care of it, if I keep getting erroneously billed.

As the wind howled, I thought about all the ways I have tried to make my way as a writer in the world:  build a website, develop a presence on various social media sites, try to publish everywhere, try to have a series of readings/presentations, slog, slog, slog.  Because it was the middle of the night, I wondered if I could have done anything differently, even though I know the stats about sales and who is making a living from their writing (not very many people).

And if we're being honest, in many ways, I'm glad I'm not relying on any of my creative endeavors to pay the bills.  I am astonished at the ways that people hustle to try to sell their work, and I know all the ways that the various hustles would be hard for me.  And statistically, it's hard these days to sell enough work to pay the bills.  Lots of people out there competing for fewer readers.  I'm glad that I can write what I want to write without worrying about marketability.

Of course, I might have written more in the last decades, had my finances depended on it.

Now it is time to turn my attention to more mundane tasks:  the eating of porridge, the getting ready for church.  I bought oatmeal on sale yesterday:  2 pounds, 10 oz. of store brand oatmeal for $5.84, down from $8.84.  Yes, for oatmeal.  In the past, the most I have ever paid for that size container of oatmeal, for a name brand, was $3.50, when the store brand that cost $2.70 was sold out.

In some ways, that's still a cheap price for a product that will make many breakfasts.  I bought salmon for $8-ish a pound, which is the same price I've always paid for salmon.  There are many things that I don't understand about our current state of inflation.  Salmon should cost more than it does, while oatmeal should cost less--in terms of what it takes to produce the food, to transport the food, to pay the workers along the way.

There are many reasons why I'm glad I'm not relying on my creative output to pay the bills, and many reasons why I worry that my other options to pay the bills may be going the same direction.  But for now, let me not worry too much about geopolitical winds I can't control.  Let me eat my very pricy porridge and hope for the best.

Centuries of Creeds

I've heard many pastors say that theology courses in seminary challenged their faith, shattered their faith, and/or exposed them to ideas that changed their faith for better or worse.  So far, I haven't had that experience, but I do come to seminary having read a wide expanse of theology.

But Church History I class has been an interesting window into the theological ideas that have split Christian communities/nations asunder, often in very bloody ways.  And from the distance of thousands of years, some of those ideas seem like splitting hairs--the positions aren't really that different from each other.

At Quilt Camp, I walked up the hill from my house towards the Faith Center.  I was thinking about Isaiah, because a passage from Isaiah will be the text for my final sermon in my Foundations of Preaching class.  I had been doing reading for Church History I class, and I was also thinking about the slow decline of the Roman empire, about the controversies that divided people, about their view of God.  

I thought of how often civilizations have embraced the idea of God as the ultimate judge, the one who will come to smite most of us.  I thought of the view of many women that I've met on retreat, that God sends us experiences, some of them quite difficult, to teach us something and by this process, to make us better humans.  I thought of my own view of God, as a Divine creator who loves us deeply.  I thought of how our views might change if we DON'T see God as omnipotent or omniscient.  Can we believe in such a God?  Which God deserves our loyalty?

I had spent some time reviewing the Arian controversy, which led to the Nicene Creed, where we declare that Jesus is equal to the Creator/Father, not a part that came later.  We could have been professing the Arian Creed for centuries, had disputes turned out differently (and yes, I am grossly simplifying to get to my point).

It's sobering to me, to realize how many different views of God we could have, and how we could justify many of those views with sacred texts, the work of theologians, and/or experience (ours or others).  How can we be sure we're right?

We can't.

So, should I drop out of seminary now?  No, of course not.  But I do think it's important to realize how hard it is to be sure of knowing anything.  It's especially important for me, as I can get very impatient with people who have a view of God that I see as negative.  They may be right.  I may be right.  

The Divine truth can probably encompass all of our negatives and our positives.

Reasons for Giving Thanks: the Seminary Perfect Day Edition

 Yesterday was a wonderful day at seminary.  I went to chapel, as I try to do every Tuesday.  Yesterday we celebrated international students, so 2 of our students, one from the Democratic Republic of Congo and one from Angola, led us in the singing of "Tambira Jehova."  We had 3 readings, and each person read in English and then again in a different language.  Then the Rev. Canon Jan Naylor Cope, a Wesley alum and the Provost in the Washington National Cathedral, preached on Esther, reminding us that we, too, have been called for such a time as this.  It was a sermon that felt like she crafted it just for me.  Throughout it all, the Sumi-e artist Yoshiko Oishi Weick painted on rice paper.

After chapel, most of us went over to the Refectory for a Thanksgiving dinner.  We had what you might expect:  turkey, green salad, yams, rice, mac and cheese.  We had what you might not expect:  iced tea punch (like carbonated iced tea), cake (no pumpkin pie alas), salmon.  I ate 2 helpings and then took salad and cake for later.

This week's Pastoral Care and Counseling in Context class was easier than last week's class.  Last week we talked about pastoral care in the face of natural disaster--lots of feelings and a deep, cleansing weeping after class.  You might say, "I think you have some unrecognized grief about climate change and the decisions it forced you to make," to which I would reply, "No, I'm deeply aware of this grief, thanks."  This week we talked about grieving, trauma, and responses.

Then I popped over for an in-person presentation on the round nave churches of medieval England:

Imagine this picture on a big screen, with all the lights out in the conference room--beautiful.  The lecture by Dr. Catherine E. Hundley was fascinating.  The lecture had a different academic vibe than much of my seminary work; it made my Brit Lit PhD self happy.  I sometimes forget that my Brit Lit PhD self is still there--reading Mary Shelley and the Brontes while drinking tea, no doubt. 

I had thought that the presentation was Thursday, but one of my lunch companions said it was Tuesday.  I wouldn't have looked it up to double-check, so I was doubly thankful for lunch.  I was the only student there, but I felt welcome.  It was a small group gathered to hear the lecture, so I didn't feel out of place.  On a day of dreary weather that turned into cold rain, I was glad that I didn't have to go far.

I finished the day by going to my Foundations of Preaching class.  It was wonderful, as always, but towards the end, I was really struggling to stay awake.  I thought about reading news articles about Trump's announcement that he will run for president again--but why ruin a nearly perfect day with that ending note?

Similarly, we got an e-mail from the Wesley president.  It's ostensibly good news, with the announcement that building plans have been approved.  But that news means that at some point, my campus apartment building will be torn down for the new building.  

For now, I've got a cheap-ish place to live while I do seminary work.  Should that change, I'll make a new plan.  I sound very grounded and sensible, don't I?  For now, for now.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The Readings for Sunday, November 20, 2022:

First Reading: Jeremiah 23:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 23:1-6

Psalm: Psalm 46

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Luke 1:68-79

Second Reading: Colossians 1:11-20

Gospel: Luke 23:33-43

This Sunday we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, which is the last day of our liturgical calendar. The readings are familiar: we're back in the land of Good Friday, with our king crucified on a cross. Perhaps not the image we'd expect for Christ the King Sunday, but those of us who have been reading through this cycle, either for the first time or for the umpteenth time, will be familiar with these strange twists of imagery, with the upheaval of all our expectations.

I have always loved the cyclical nature of the lectionary, with its readings that loop around and remind us that all of life is cyclical. When I'm having a bad day (or week or month), it's important to remember that everything can change. When I'm having a good day (or week or month), it's important to express profound gratitude and to try not to dread the next downturn too much. With every downturn comes an upturn. The life of Christ shows us this.

Christ's life shows us that being king requires something different for a believer. It's not the worldly experience of kings, who are venerated and obeyed. Being a Christian king requires humbling ourselves and thinking of others before we think of ourselves. But our rewards are great. If we could emulate Christ's behavior, we'd have a wonderful community here on earth, and whatever we might experience in the afterlife would just be icing on the cake. We'd have already had a taste of heaven right here on earth.

I do realize that living the way that Christ taught us is often easier in theory than in practice.  Maybe we feel grumpy as the holiday season approaches. Maybe we've had a season of sorrow, and we can't quite manage to feel festive. Maybe we're tired of humbling ourselves and we'd like someone to humble themselves for us.

Well, here's some good news. Someone already has. Maybe in this season of thankfulness, we can concentrate on our good fortune, even if we don't feel it. We're alive to see the sunrise and the sunset, some of the best shows on earth, and they're free! Even if we don't have as much money as we wish we had, we probably have enough to share. If we give some of our money away, we won't feel as constricted about money. If we are having trouble keeping everything in perspective, maybe it's time to volunteer at a food bank or an animal shelter--or if we're not into organizational activities, we could do our part to pick up litter. We could smile at the janitorial staff. We could thank them for cleaning the communal bathrooms in the places where we work and shop.

If we start working on our spirit of gratitude, the gift of generosity often follows. If we pray for those who need our prayers, our hearts start to open. If we work on forgiveness, our spirit soars. And soon we realize what it means to celebrate Christ the King Sunday.

Praying for Those Who Have No One to Pray for Them

On Friday, one of my fellow Quilt Camp participants told me that my prayer petition on Thursday had moved her to tears.  She said she had never thought of praying that way.  I thanked her for letting me know.

So what was so profound?  We lifted up people who needed prayer.  We said their names out loud or in our hearts.  Some people made brief mention of why the person needed prayer.  Into the silence, I said, "And for everyone who has no one to pray for them."

I've been offering this petition for years.  Back in the pre-COVID times, our church had a big book in the back of the sanctuary where people could write in the names of people who needed prayer, and the book would be brought forward for the prayers of the people near the end of the service.  When I was the part of the prayer team, I would always offer the petition, "We pray for those who have no one to write their name in this book."

I have tried to remember to pray this petition with every opportunity.  I find it meaningful, and it seems important to pray for those who don't have a network, who don't have support, who don't have the minimum support of someone who will pray.

And on Friday, it was cool to discover that someone else found it meaningful too.

A Quick Look at Quilt Camp So Far

  I will soon go to the Faith Center so that I can spend the day sewing long, straight seams.  But first, let me record a few impressions with a few pictures.

--We had feared a more ferocious tropical storm than the one we got.  Instead, it was just a rainy day.  Happily, we hadn't come to camp to go backpacking.  We had planned to stay inside and sew.  And that's what we did.

--I've been using the window shutters in a way that planners probably didn't anticipate.  But it's a great way of seeing how my long panels work together.

--I've enjoyed seeing other people's projects.  These Christmas trees speak to my soul.  

--I have a vision of trees for each season, using this pattern.

--We've also been creating hearts, which we'll use in our closing worship.  

--I like them because they're allowed to be imperfect.  You may be familiar with these kinds of hearts, because apparently, it's a whole movement, creating these quilted hearts and leaving them in places, like hospitals and schools, where they will cheer the people who find them.  

--What will today bring?  More sewing!  Will I assemble a quilt top before it's done?  Stay tuned!

Veterans Day 2022

Pre-dawn of another Veterans Day, rainy remnants of Hurricane Nicole which will be moving through the southeast today. Before today was Veteran's Day, it was Armistice Day, the day that celebrated the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I. In some ways, it's not a hard holiday to celebrate. Any event that restores peace in our time is worth some sober meditation.

However, those of us who know our history may be chastened by the knowledge of what was to come. The end of World War I planted the seeds that would blossom into World War II. World War I brought carnage on a level never before seen--but World War II would be even worse.

Why is it so hard for humans to remain at peace? There are whole series of books that address this question, so I won't attempt it here. Still, today is a good day to offer extra prayers for sustained peace in our time. World War I and all the other wars of the 20th century offer us vivid examples of the horrible consequences of the lack of peace.

Those of us lucky enough to live in a land that's not currently wracked by war might think about our luck. We might strengthen our resolve to quit wasting time and to start/continue/finish the work we were put on this earth to do. History shows us that we can't always or even often count on peace. The world plunges into war for the flimsiest of reasons: an archduke is assassinated, and the world goes up in flames.

So if we have stability now, let us seize the day. Let us not waste time on Facebook, bad movies, wretched television, or any of the other countless ways we've devised to waste our freedom. Generations of humans have laid down their lives to secure us this precious liberty; let's resolve that their blood hasn't been shed just so that we can fritter day after day away.

If we haven't always done a good job of shepherding our talents, let's declare an armistice. Let's forgive ourselves for every opportunity we haven't followed. Let's see if any of those doors are still open to us. And if not, let's rest easy in the assurance that there will be new doors if only we stay alert for them.

For those of us who are activists, we might think about how to use our talents to create a world where we practice war no more. Or maybe we want to raise funds for those who are damaged by war. On a day like Veterans Day, it seems appropriate. We can be the voices for those who have been cruelly silenced.

For those of us who teach, we might want to think about how artists and writers might speak to current generations, many of whom do not know any veterans. On Veterans Day, which began as Armistice Day, you might bring the work of Wilfred Owen into your classrooms. You can find some poems at this site; I particularly like "Anthem for Doomed Youth." Pair this poem with some artistic works, perhaps the works of Picasso that look at war, a work like "Guenica" (here's a site with the image). For this generation of instant access to facts and information, it would be worth discussing whether or not creative explorations enrich our understanding of war and its aftermath. Is photography and documentary film more worthwhile? Will there be another kind of art that will inform us about 21st century war?

For those of us who are spiritual, we could spend time today staying mindful of the older holiday of Armistice Day, and the modern incarnation of Veterans Day. We can remember to give thanks for the sacrifices of so many who have made my domestic peace possible. We can pray for the government leaders of all our countries, in the hopes that they'll continue to avert catastrophes of all sorts, from the economic to the armed conflict to the planet destroying variety.

Journey Back to Quilt Camp

 When I left Quilt Camp back in April, I had plans to get my quilt top finished and the quilt pinned together by the end of April.  Then I fell and broke my wrist on April 15.  It's only been in the last month or so that I could sew at all, and even a month ago, I had more trouble threading a needle than I did last night.  It's been a slow recovery, but I'm grateful for the recovery.

Yesterday morning I left DC early and headed to North Carolina.  Since I have a house at Lutheridge, I'm staying in it, instead of paying for guest housing.  I got home, unloaded the car, enjoyed lunch and some time with my spouse, and then went over to the Faith Center to get set up.

My set up is much easier than some people's.  I sew by hand, so I didn't need to bring a sewing machine.  I don't iron much, so I left the iron and the ironing board--well, I'm not sure where our iron is.  I did sort through the big box of fabric for my current quilt, and I wondered if I had a plan once upon a time.

I don't really need a plan, so I started putting strips of fabric together and sewing. It was so soothing.  Later, I look forward to looking at everyone else's projects.  Here's the view from my work table; there's a window behind me:

I will be doing a bit of seminary work while I'm here, but I got the bulk of what needs to be done for this week done earlier in the week.  I just need to tweak my Isaiah exegesis a bit more before I turn it in, respond to a Church History discussion post, and write a journal entry for that class.  I'll also do a bit of work for the weeks to come.

It's sobering to realize how little time is left--not because I have a lot to do, but because it feels like I just moved my stuff into my seminary apartment a week or two ago.  It's also sobering to think about the last time I was at quilt camp and how much has changed since April:  broken wrist, big move to North Carolina after purchasing a house here, big move to my seminary apartment, finishing some seminary classes, and almost done with others.  Wow.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 13, 2022:

First Reading: Malachi 4:1-2a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Isaiah 65:17-25

Psalm: Psalm 98

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Isaiah 12 (Isaiah 12:2-6 NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Gospel: Luke 21:5-19


This week's Gospel finds us back in the landscape of apocalypse, a landscape where we find ourselves periodically in our Bible readings.

In a way, these readings offer a kind of comfort. To be sure, it's a hard consolation, since these readings promise us that hard times are ahead. But surely we knew that. If we've lived any amount of time at all, and we're the least bit observant, we see that hard times will always come on the heels of good times. We're currently in one of the longest economic expansions in our living memory, and yet a recession will surely come at some point. And a long economic expansion isn't good news for the majority of citizens. We see people engaged in all sorts of social justice struggles, some of which we're fighting all over again. The cycle of history can feel like a torture wheel--but that's not a new feeling.

We read the words of Jesus, the words that warn we'll be hauled in front of harsh governments, and this indignity we'll suffer once we've lived through famine and pestilence and any other portent of doom. Our families will abandon us, and our friends will desert us. Many of us reading these words this Sunday may not perceive the threat. We're convinced we're safe, that we live under a Constitution that will protect us. But those of us who study the cycles of history know that we're very lucky and that we can't necessarily count on that. Millions of humans thought they were safe, only to find out that in short order, the hooligans were at the gate.

But Jesus offers us encouragement: "This will be a time for you to bear testimony. Settle it therefore in your minds, not to meditate beforehand how to answer; for I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which none of your adversaries will be able to withstand or contradict" (verses 13-15). Yes, we might lose our lives. But we will gain so much more.

In this time of gloomy news, it's important to take some deep breaths and remind ourselves of what's important. Our friends and families won't always be with us. We can appreciate them while they are. We may be facing trouble at work, but at least we're employed. Even if we're not employed, if we live in the U.S., we have a lot of advantages that we wouldn't have if we lived in many parts of the world, like North Korea.

Once, my friend John told me about talking to an older black man who came into the state park where John was working. John asked how his Christmas had been. The man said, "Well, we had enough food and no one took sick. So, it was good." Now there's some life wisdom, especially as we turn our thoughts towards the upcoming holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas and as we await news of election results.  It's an interesting emotional time, these different sorts of anticipation.

As we get ready for this season, let us remember to be grateful. Let us remember to say thank you, especially to people who might not hear it very often. Let the prophecy of apocalypse from the gospel remind us of our ease of life now and remind us of those who are not so fortunate. Let us keep perspective and remember that we're called to a higher purpose.

Inspirations from the Labyrinth

 The labyrinth at St. Columba's has been finished for several weeks, and I've been meaning to go over and walk it.  But for the last several weeks, I have been walking later in the day, when the church is busier, the streets are busier, the temperatures warmer.  Plus, there have been such lovely Halloween decorations to see.

This morning, as I went out at the new sunrise time, I thought I'd wander over and see how it felt to walk the labyrinth on the day before election day.  Even though there were some people walking by, and we could see each other, I didn't feel self-conscious.  Occasionally I heard traffic noises, but it wasn't too invasive.

I didn't have much in the way of insights, except for that it's hard to be meditative when thinking about selfies and camera shots.  But I did feel some of my anxiety sink away.

Last night I realize that my computer wasn't saving documents the way that it should.  And I found out when I loaded a document to a class, only to realize it was the wrong one--and it's the class where I can't unload it.  It's happened before, so I wrote to my professor and e-mailed it to him.  I do wonder what he thinks of me, having this issue twice.  Of course, he didn't fix the issue with the course shell.  Sigh.

So, all of that was making me anxious, along with my other anxieties that are never too far away.  In some ways, I'm less anxious, now that I don't have a job where I have to manage people.

As I walked back, thinking about how the leaves falling reveals birds' nests, I got some ideas for the sermon on Isaiah that I'll be writing once I get this exegesis done.  Is it because I walked the labyrinth?  Let's say that it is, so that I'll have motivation to keep walking labyrinths.

La Nuit de Temps, and Other Types of Apocalypse

I have had apocalypse on the brain for many reasons.  In part, because it's the week where we've had Halloween, All Saints and All Souls.  I've seen the faces of collapsed jack-o-lanterns and wilting Halloween decorations.  The wind blows many of the remaining leaves off the trees, and the mist obscures the moon.

Our Foundations of Preaching class has moved to preaching from Hebrew Scripture texts, and I chose the Isaiah 2:  1-5 text, beating swords into ploughshares.  Of course, it doesn't seem like we'll be doing that anytime soon.

Last night, I found myself at various nuclear war sites, and I watched the first chunk of Threads, the scariest nuclear war movie ever.  And then I had the best night of sleep that I had all week--what does that mean?  Am I just exhausted or is there something about a worst case scenario that lulls me to sleep?

My Church History I class has arrived at the fall of Rome, which was really more of a slow motion collapse than a quick fall.  On Thursday night we talked about Augustine, who was alive for much of the end times.  Our professor talked about Augustine being able to see what was coming and asked if we had ever thought about what that might be like.   I wanted to say, “Every single day.” I feel like we’re at a hinge point of history where things could go terribly wrong, but there’s a slender chance that we might shape a better future. I wonder if Augustine had similar thoughts, a hope that he knew was naïve, but he still wanted to cling to it.

Our teacher gave us the French term for the Dark Ages: La Nuit de Temps.  I know why many historians don't use the term "Dark Ages."  I wonder if the French term is equally problematic.  The ancient prophets remind us that we've had many a dark age.

Thursday night my professor referenced the book One Second After. I could hardly believe it. I read the whole trilogy in August after a college friend mentioned that he had taken a side trip to Black Mountain during a vacation to Asheville because the book had so impacted him. He described it to me, and I couldn’t resist. What a great book! I have thought of it often as Putin has made his nuclear threats throughout this autumn. I want to believe that he wouldn’t attempt something like a high level EMP, or any other kind of nuclear explosion, but I know enough about war (and life) to know that things can go wrong/escalate, especially when rulers think they’ve got the whole situation under control. We have certainly seen evidence of that in the history we’ve covered in Church History I.

As my professor talked about an EMP, I thought about the age of my classmates and how they had probably never thought about all the ways that electronics rule our lives.  Your car won't start (and may come to a sudden stop) without electronics.  I think about my first car, the mighty Monte Carlo, a 1974 model that I kept a few years longer than perhaps I should have, because it didn't have an electronic ignition.

This week's big possibility for apocalypse:  election day on Tuesday.  What's more likely is that we won't know much this week.  I voted weeks ago, as did many people in this country.  I know many people who claim that there is voter suppression, but it's much easier to vote now than it was when I first applied for an absentee ballot, back in 1984.  I had to prove that I was out of town and couldn't get back to my polling place.  It was easy enough to do, since I was a college student.  But it took more effort to get an absentee ballot in 1984 than it did this year.

Are we in a night of time or just a hinge point--or both?  As an old boss of mine used to say, "More will be revealed."  These days, I find myself thinking, or it won't be revealed.

Artistic Responses to Habakkuk 1: 1-4 and 2: 1-4

 It's been an interesting week, a mix of writing for seminary projects and noodling on a more creative project for this assignment for Thursday's Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class:  "You are to create an original visual art piece for next class inspired by the following scripture, Habakkuk 1: 1-4 and 2: 1-4. Create a visual art piece using whatever materials you like."  That assignment was always bubbling in my brain, and yesterday, we all brought our creations in for evaluation.

I started by reading the passage.  I interpreted the first chunk as a speaker complaining to God about how society has fallen apart and the second passage as God saying to be patient while God takes care of things.  I thought about what I might collect, while collecting leaves and looking around my apartment.  I thought about collecting newspapers, but quickly decided that would be too complicated, in part, but also, I made an artistic choice that I didn't want to be too didactic.

I decided that I'd use an oatmeal container as the structure for the base, and that I'd use the piece of canvas to disguise it.  I had a vision of a rubber band attaching the canvas and holding spools of thread.  I had in mind that I would sew cloth to the canvas, but in the end, I took an approach that was born out of both laziness and artistic vision:  I would use safety pins. 

I thought of the inside of the oatmeal container as the first chunk of Habakkuk and the outside as God's response.  I thought about adding more items (like newspaper headlines) to represent the decay of society, but in the end, I thought that it would be better to let viewers make their own associations.  I originally had more pine needles attached to branches and more red leaves visible, but decided not to rearrange when I got to class.

Instead of critiquing each other's talent, we did what our teacher calls a "liberatory critique."  

We went through 3 statements one at a time:

I see . . .

I feel . . .

I think . . .

I found it revelatory, both to participate and to hear what people said about my work.  

When I viewed the work of others, answering the questions (we took 3-8 minutes with each question) helped me to see deeply.  Hearing others respond helped me see things I might not have seen otherwise.

  

The questions built on each other to help us think about the meaning of the work and the way the work tried to respond to the text without being ugly about the skill of the artist.

When I first arrived, I felt bad about my piece, that it looked like the work of a first grader compared to my peers.  I've hung out with artists, and a traditional critique might have eviscerated me.  

But this process allowed my peers to consider what I might be doing.  They commented on the fact that the work looked impermanent, but that the impermanence might be intentional, that it looked hastily put together, but in fact, there was a method.  My peers got the interpretation exactly right, which made me happy:  the draping and colors of the cloth that suggested elements of the earth, as did the canvas underneath and the many colors of threads at the top.  They noted that leaves and the acorn tops did suggest that new creation/life/growth was possible out of the decay of existence--hurrah.  If I was creating it again, I'd add some needles to those spools.

Community Prophecy, Community Salvation

 I chose Wesley Theological Seminary for just one reason:  it had a track in Theology and the Arts, which very few MDiv programs offer.  For example, no Lutheran seminary offers that focus for the MDiv.  Maybe I won't graduate into a crowded career field.  But I'm not terribly worried about my future career.  I just want a chance to study the intersection of creativity and spirituality as part of my theological training, and I didn't want to have to create my own independent study.  I've been creating my own independent study opportunities for over 2 decades now.

It was only later that I researched the academic training of the faculty and the approach to the Bible that the campus takes.  Before I enrolled, I went to a Zoom meeting with the academic dean, who told us that Wesley took the Bible seriously but not literally; if we came out of a Bible literalist tradition, we'd be welcome, but we'd be expected to think about other approaches.  I do not come from a Bible literalist tradition, and I took a moment to think about how I hadn't even considered the theology of the school I selected before the academic dean's Zoom session.

I thought of these moments last night in my Foundations of Preaching class.  We spent the first half of the class getting ready to write a preach a sermon based on a New Testament passage.  Now for the hard part--a sermon based on a Hebrew Scripture passage.  Our professor uses the Revised Common Lectionary for the weeks we'll be preaching.  In some ways, that's a great approach--we're not preaching on hand selected passages.  This year, the timing makes for an interesting element:  we'll be preaching on Advent texts.

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.

So far, the conversation didn't seem terribly radical to me, but based on my professor's comments, I realize it might be very different for other students.  And based on her comments, I'm guessing that some past students went ahead and preached Jesus as Messiah foretold by Isaiah, a mistake I would not risk making, even if I believed it, which I don't.

Our teacher talked about Jesus, who steeped himself in ancient scripture.  She said that he lived into Hebrew Scripture so intently that first century Christians came to believe that casting him as the Messiah is the only way possible to see and understand him.  Who else could he be with this behavior?  He had so many opportunities to choose another path, and he stayed consistently on the ministry path that made sense to him and had a chance to change our sense of God at work in the world.  [when the recording of last night's session gets posted, I'll go back to check and make sure I've captured what she said].

We also talked about what those ancient prophets were doing, which was not forecasting a distant future which is why I don't believe that Jesus is the Messiah foretold by Isaiah--a Messiah, yes, but the ancient prophets had a different agenda.  Those ancient prophets were talking to a community.  We tend to think of prophecy as about a certain individual, especially if we come from some church traditions.

The prophets were talking to a whole community, not a subgroup that needed to change.  It was a whole society that needed to change.

I raised my hand near the end of class, and I said, "Maybe in a way that we've been getting ancient prophecy wrong, in thinking it's about an individual and not the larger community, maybe we've also been getting salvation wrong.  We say that Jesus died for each one of us as an individual.  But maybe Jesus didn't come to save my individual soul.  Maybe Jesus came to save the community by showing us how we need to transform it."

My teacher was nodding as I spoke, and when I was finished, she said, "Absolutely right."  After class, she said, in an aside to those of us still taking some extra moments to collect our things and file out, she said, "I can see it now--next class I'll have to reassure students that I actually am a Christian.  The born again kind."

She is the kind of professor who gives lectures that I spend days thinking about, giving us nuggets of wisdom that I return to again and again.  I know how it could have been otherwise.  I know how lucky I am.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 6, 2019:

First Reading: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm: Psalm 149

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:11-23

Gospel: Luke 6:20-31

This Sunday we celebrate All Saints Day. It's a strange time of year for us Lutherans. We celebrate Reformation Day, we celebrate Halloween, we celebrate All Saints Day. To celebrate All Saints Day, we have the Gospel reading about the actions of Jesus which most frightened and disgusted some of his contemporaries. Would his actions have left modern people similarly outraged?

Think about his actions and your current life: what would make you feel most threatened? Jesus healed the sick, and most of us would be OK with that, especially if we're the sick people. We tend not to worry too much about technique or qualifications, if we feel better.

Do we feel threatened by Jesus forgiving sins? Probably not. We've had two thousand years to get used to the idea, after all. But if one of our contemporaries started traveling around, telling people their sins are forgiven--well, that's a different matter. Even if they make these pronouncements in the name of Jesus, we might feel queasy.

The action of Jesus that really seems to send people of all sorts into orbits of anger is his habit of eating with the outcasts of society. Most of us are prone to that discomfort. If you don't believe me, take a shabbily dressed person to a nice restaurant. See what happens. Suggest that your church operate a soup kitchen where the destitute will eat lunch every day; suggest that lunch be served in the sanctuary. See what happens. And it's not just your fellow church members--your local government might also chime in about what can and cannot be done on church property.

Here's the Good News. Jesus saw the value in all of us. Jesus especially saw the value in the least of us. When you're feeling like a total loser, keep that in mind. If Jesus came to your community, you'd be the first one invited to the table.

That's the good news about All Saints Day and Reformation Day. We tend to forget that all the saints that came before us were flesh and blood humans (including Jesus). We think of people like Martin Luther as perfect people who had no faults who launched a revolution. In fact, you could make the argument that many revolutions are launched precisely because of people's faults: they're bullheaded, so they're not likely to make nice and be quiet and ignore injustice. They're hopelessly naive and idealistic, so they stick to their views of how people of faith should live--and they expect the rest of us to conform to their visions. They refuse to bow to authority because they answer to a higher power--and so, they translate the Bible into native languages, fund colleges, rescue people in danger, insist on soup kitchens, write poems, and build affordable housing.

The world changes (for the better and the worse) because of the visions of perfectly ordinary people--and because their faith moves them into actions that support that vision. If we're lucky, those people are working towards the same vision of the inclusive Kingdom that Jesus came to show us.

The Feast of All Souls

Today is the last day of our autumn triduum. "Triduum" is a Latin word for 3 days, and it's most commonly used for the time between Good Friday and Easter. But the days of Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls are deeply linked, and in similar ways.

Halloween is the shortening of an earlier name for the holiday: All Hallows Eve. In some cultures, it would simply be the night before the Feast of All Saints, a rather benign feast. Other cultures see this time as one of the thinnest spaces, when it's easiest for souls to slip between worlds--and thus, we see the variety of holidays designed to ward off evil spirits, appease the ancestors, and protect the living--in various combinations.

Most of us understand at least some of the symbolism that comes with Halloween. Those of us who are church going folks have probably celebrated our dearly departed in early November. But what about the overlooked Feast of All Souls?

The Feast of All Saints was originally designed to honor the saints, those who had been beatified. Official saints, canonized by the Pope. Some scholars point out that in many countries it was a feast day that honored those who had been martyred for the faith, and that some of those worship services might have been somewhat jarring, with disturbing stories and perhaps an artifact or relic on display.

All Souls Day, celebrated the day after All Saints, was designed to honor everyone else who had died. I've also heard it described as the day that honors those who had died in the past year. In the medieval Catholic theology, those souls would still be in Purgatory, and special prayers would be offered for them on the Feast of All Souls.

Those of you with excellent memories of your English major days may remember that Sir Gawain left for his adventure with the Green Knight on All Souls Day. Medieval audiences would have read a lot into that date of departure. They would be expecting that next year, Gawain would be one of the souls prayed for on this feast day.

In most of the U.S. and Europe, we live in a culture that tries every way possible to deny death and the fact that we are all here for a very short time. But this triduum reminds us not only to honor our dead loved ones and spiritual heroes, but also to take advantage of every minute that we have because we don't have very many of them.

Many of us won't have a chance to worship today, but we can take some time to think about the mystery enfolded in this triduum. We could remember our loved ones and the stories they would have told us. We can think of what we'd like to accomplish in our remaining years.

We are already skating down the corridor which takes us to Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's a time of breathless pace for many of us. Let us take another day to remember the souls of those gone before us. Let us think of our own mortal souls which will not be on this earth for a very long time. Let us resolve to strengthen our spiritual lives, so that we serve as saints for those coming after us.


Here's a prayer I wrote for today:


Comforter God, you know that we miss our recently dead. We do take comfort from your promise that death will not have the final word, but there are stages of our grief where it is difficult to believe. Please forgive us our unbelief and doubt. Please keep reminding us of your love and care. Please strengthen us to be able to provide the same quality of love and care to those around us who are grieving loss. Please keep our creative imaginations focused on the redemption of Creation, where you have promised we will not have any reason to cry anymore.

The Feast of All Saints

For many of us, it's been a difficult autumn. We've had a severe storm, Hurricane Ian and other lesser storms, and for some of us, those storms have reminded us that everything we build is more precarious than we thought. We've had continuing violence of all sorts: gun violence and political violence chief among them. Antisemitism is on the rise.  Hatred in general is on the rise.  And then there are all of our individual losses.

Even in years when we aren’t surrounded by constant examples of how short our time here can be, All Saints Day comes around to remind us. We don’t have long on this side of the grave. It’s a good festival to take some time to think about what we’d like to get done while we’re still here.

It’s a good time to think about those who have gone before us. You might spend some time on this feast day thinking about the great saints who have helped to form Christianity through the centuries. How can we be more like them? For what would we like to be remembered in future centuries?

If you have relatives and friends who have served as models of a life well lived, this would be a good time to write a note. We won’t be here forever. Write to them now, while they’re still here and you still remember. On a future All Saints Sunday, you might light a candle in their memory. But in the meantime, you can tell them how much they have meant to you.

In many cultures, this feast day becomes a family time. Think of the Mexican tradition of taking picnics to the graveyard. Now would be a good time to record your family memories. Write them down while you still remember. Make a video. Assemble those records.

But we should also use this All Saints Day to look forward. For many people, this day is bittersweet. We’re reminded of our losses. It’s hard to think of transformation.

But dream a little on this Feast of All Saints. If you could create a new life out of the threads that you have, what would you weave? Or would you start again, with different yarns and textures? What is your dream of a renewed life?

Jesus invites us to be part of a Resurrection Culture. We may not always understand how that will work. Some years the taste of ash and salt water seem so pervasive that we may despair of ever tending fruitful gardens of our lives again. But Jesus promises that death will not have the final word.