Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, February 5, 2023:

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

Psalm: Psalm 112:1-9 [10]

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

Gospel: Matthew 5:13-20


With the Gospel for this Sunday, we get our mission statement from Jesus. We are to be the salt of the earth, the light of the world. It’s an interesting time of the year to contemplate light. If we're perceptive, we can see that we're getting a bit more light each day. The sun is already further away from the horizon, arcing higher as it makes its passage through the sky each day. But for many of us, we're not getting enough light; we're ready for summer and the 12 hours of light that grace that season.

Maybe you read the Gospel for Sunday, and you despair. Maybe you've felt much more like a flickering candle lately. Maybe you yearn for verses about dimly burning wicks and the assurance that God will not extinguish you for your lackluster burning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety and the Body and Anniversaries

 At some point in the wee, small hours of the morning, I jolted awake, convinced I had forgotten to do the Church History assignment due on Saturday.  For a brief moment, I thought it was Sunday morning, or maybe late Saturday night, and I should get right up and do that response that was due.  Then I remembered that I don't have anything due in that class until Thursday.

I have yet to settle into a rhythm for my seminary classes, so I spend what feels like a substantial amount of time re-reading syllabi to make sure I haven't missed anything.  I do have writing due today, Monday, but I have hours to get it done.  I have a short paper on Luther due on Thursday, and I keep reminding myself that I have plenty of time to get that done.

Still, I am feeling anxiety deep in my body.  This morning, I reflected that maybe I'm also feeling some anniversary anxieties still left in the deep recesses of my body.  

Three years ago today, I made the first post on my blog that mentioned the new virus that was circulating in China.  I concluded this way:  

"It's the time of year when I'm reminded of the struggles that come from having a body: post-holiday weight gain that isn't magically vanishing, a cold that wants to take over, achy joints. 

But it could be worse. I'm always aware of how much worse it could be.

With this new corona virus, I hope we're not all about to find out how much worse it could be."

There are days when I'm still stunned at how much worse it turned out to be.  So many people gone.  Whenever I hear/read anyone get indignant about the great case of the disappearing U.S. worker and wondering where the work force has gone, I reply, "Many of them have died."  I don't know of anyone who said, "I hate working, so now, I'm just not going to work anymore.  How will I pay for food and rent?  I don't know.  I'll figure something out."

No.  We've had over 1 million deaths in the past 3 years, just from this disease alone.  Some of those people would have died of something else, but many of them needn't have died at all.

This week will mark the one year anniversary of being severed from my job.  For the most part, I've made my peace with that event--but then I feel this anxiety, and I wonder if I've really let myself process it all.  I know all the reasons why the new owners who bought the school let me go, but what makes it tough was that they let me go just a few months after they led me to think that I had a more secure future at the school than I had been thinking I had.  If it had been a long, slow slide to unemployment, the way that it had been for much of 2021, it would have been easier.  I would not have thoughts that returned to this question:  "What changed?  Why was I chosen and then unchosen?"  I can supply lots of possible answers, but I just don't know.  Most days, I don't care overly much.  Some days, it's still a bit painful, like a bruised shin.

Let me also remember that today, this very day, is the two year anniversary of discovering the program in which I am now enrolled at Wesley Theological Seminary.  It was a Saturday, and I saw the Facebook ad for the DMin program with Arts and Theology as a focus.  I was bummed--the DMin program is for people with different academic credentials who have been employed in a church position for several years.  But as I explored, I realized that the MDiv had the Arts and Theology track too.

As I went back to look at past blog posts from this day, I'm a bit comforted to see that I'm often feeling anxiety at the end of January.  A year ago, I was worried that I was getting behind in seminary classes, classes that had just begun.  Today I am grateful that I have whole days that I can devote to these classes, that I'm not trying to balance class work with online teaching with a full-time administrator job.

Praying Prayers, Counting Sheep

The other day, my brain sprung awake at midnight, after I fell asleep at 8.  I made this Facebook post:  "Well, hello new kind of insomnia.  I've been awake since midnight, which is much earlier than I usually wake up with insomnia.  About an hour ago, I decided to just get up, putter a bit, drink some hot tea, see if I got tired.  Nope.  And now I'm hungry.  Hmm.  I've paired a lovely cinnamon-apple hot tea to go with my Trader Joe's cheese that claims to be soaked in Syrah.  Once the tea cools off enough to drink it, I'll need to slice some more cheese, just to be sure the pairing works.  There's a reason I'm not a wee slip of a girl!"

One of my friends posted back that she usually lies in bed and works her way through the alphabet, naming an animal to go with each letter.  One of my other friends made this suggestion:  "I pray for people in alpha order by their first name. If I'm still awake, I do last name."

Last night, I woke up, and I could feel my brain wanting to shift into high gear, thinking of projects due, books that need to be read for this week's classes, worries that wanted to crowd out my thoughts about classroom assignments.  So I decided to do the prayer version of counting sheep.  Oddly, I also felt the need to preface my prayers by apologizing to God for praying with the intention of falling back asleep, but that my approach didn't mean my prayers weren't sincere.

It worked.  And a few hours later, when I reawakened, I was able to pick up midway through the alphabet, where I left off.  I don't think I got further through the alphabet than the letter T, but then again, I don't have anyone with the first or last name starting with an X, Y, or Z on my list either.

A Time, and a Psalm, for Lament

It's been a week of shocking violence.  There were 2 mass shootings in California, right on top of each other, to the point that when I read about the latter one, it took me a few sentences to process that I wasn't reading about the first one, that there had been a second shooting.

And then there was the release of the footage of what should have been a routine traffic stop in Memphis, the revved up violence of the police, the death of a young black man.  The footage was released yesterday, in the early evening, to give people time to get home ahead of expected demonstrations.

I'm not sure I understand why we need to release this kind of video evidence to a wide audience.  Save it for the court room and then release it if necessary.  There was talk of transparency, but who needs this kind of transparency?  I don't think the parents of the murdered man demanded its release.  Most of us in the community don't need to see it; if the police chief says it's the most sickening thing she's ever seen, I'm willing to take her word for it.

I understand the need for demonstrations, and I'm glad that the demonstrations that happened around the nation last night remained mostly peaceful, from the news coverage that I've seen.  I wasn't too worried about my personal safety, since my seminary apartment is far from where violence would erupt, if it erupted.

Last night, I wrote this Facebook post, which I want to preserve here:  "Somewhere in this seminary apartment building, I hear a baby crying, and a parent singing. On this night when we get another recording that shows us how we can be so brutal to each other, I am grateful for babies who cry and parents who soothe, and I sing my own prayers to a God who can transform all sorts of brokenness into beauty."

I had been thinking of a poem possibility before last night.  In the wee small hours of the morning earlier this week, I had awakened to the sound of someone singing.  Sounds travel in strange ways in this building, so I'm not sure who was singing or why.  I'm fairly sure it was a human singing, not a recording.

This morning, I turned my attention to my prayer book, as I do every morning.  I use Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours, which is rooted in the lectionary that comes to us from the ancient monastic tradition.  One of this morning's passages leapt out at me:  "The Lord executes righteousness and judgment for all who are oppressed" (Psalm 103: 6).  

It's not the first time that a passage seemed chosen for our particular day and time, and I do realize that the beauty of the Psalms rests in the broad scope of them, everything from mourning/lament to joy to anger and all the emotions in between.  

This verse bears repeating:   "The Lord executes righteousness and judgment for all who are oppressed" (Psalm 103: 6).  

Seminary Snippets from Week 1

If you came here hoping for a blog post about International Holocaust Remembrance Day, feel free to migrate to last year's blog post--it even has a poem!

This morning, I want to write about the last week of seminary, a series of snapshots so that I have some impressions recorded.

--Last night, Church History II covered Martin Luther.  We ended the class by talking a bit about his theology, which I find a bit baffling.  His view of God is so different than mine; his view of God embraces the destructive, angry aspect of a vengeful God, and he claims that this behavior makes way for God's love.  Hmmm.  It's not hard to see how he comes to have these beliefs, but it disturbs me how many of us continue to embrace this view.  Luther's sense of unworthiness pervades so much of his theology.  It's not a surprise to me, but some voice in my head does whisper that maybe it dooms me as a future Lutheran pastor.

--But then I reflect on how many people I'll meet (including Lutheran clergy) won't have any understanding of Luther's core theology, and I think I'll be O.K.  Like much theology of past centuries (and I include Paul here), it just doesn't mesh well with 21st century life.  We don't have to stick with theology that isn't informed by more recent discoveries and ideas.

--For my Women and the Preaching Life class, we had to make an introductory video that talked about times we had either felt our voice was affirmed or silenced, ignored and otherwise disrespected.  I talked about how the ELCA has an abundance of female bishops, but when it comes to being a senior pastor, we don't have nearly as much parity.  If there's a church with a staff, it's a safe bet that the senior pastor will be male.  Here, too, we don't have to stick with theology that isn't informed by recent discoveries and ideas.  In my lifetime, we've gone from lifting the prohibition against women's ordination to our current situation--both a reason for hope and sadness.

--In my Chapel Visuals class yesterday, we walked to two worship spaces on campus:  the main chapel in the administration building, and the smaller prayer chapel in the basement of the oldest dorm.  It was interesting to hear people talk about our senses and the ways we experience worship spaces.

--After class, we walked to the gallery, where the current exhibit, where I have a piece displayed, is leaving.  I took my piece back with me, and I also harvested some of the lettuce that has been growing hydroponically.  It was so delicious.  I had a great salad last night.

--I found out that our Queer Theology class is being taught for only the second time.  Wow.  There's a pastoral care for LGBTQIA+ people, but that's very different from Queer Theology.  I had worried that as the oldest member of the class (and clearly, I am at least 20 years older than my classmates, 17 years older than the professor), that I would be the fuddy-duddy.  So far, I think that fear is unfounded, even though I did read a lot of the important Queer Theory texts, like Judith Butler, when they first came out, and I saw some of the taboo-breaking TV, like first same-sex kisses on network shows, in real time.  In fact, because I've been thinking about these issues, both from a sociological approach and a theological approach for more years than my classmates have been alive, I may be arriving at a different destination, for both better and worse.  In class the other day, as our teacher read a text about desire and the will to create a different life, I raised my hand to ask, "When we say 'desire' here, are we talking about more than just sexual desire?"  Ah, to be young and not realize that we might have a fierce yearning for something that doesn't involve other humans at all.

--I am feeling a bit sad because I am finally feeling more like I belong on this campus (people wave to me, for example), and this campus is about to undergo major change, if construction begins this summer.  It's not change I'll benefit from, since I'll likely be graduated by the time that construction is complete.

--I have had some nostalgic memories as this semester gets underway, memories of the early days of Fall 2022 semester, getting my apartment set up, learning my way around.  Is my nostalgia kicking into high gear because of the possibility of impending demolition?  Or is it because the start of one semester reminds me of the beginning of a different one?  

--It has been a warmer than usual winter in D.C.  That's not to say that it's toasty outside.  But we are about to have one of our years with the latest snowfall on record.  When there was a steady rain on Wednesday, I kept an eye out--it was almost cold enough to snow, but at 39 degrees, not quite.  I have thought that if we had a seriously cold winter, my apartment would be uncomfortably chilly.  There are other places on campus where we prop the door open because it's so hot inside.  This is no way to keep a campus warm, at least not an energy efficient way.

Let me close now and get a walk in before the winds pick up.  Today is likely to be quite chilly, but temps will rise into the 50's this week-end.

Introductions: Asking Good Questions

My first week of seminary classes has come to a close, and I'm still inspired.  Hurrah!

As I think back over these classes, I think of the task of introducing ourselves.  In every class, we've done the basics:  name, type of degree we're pursuing, and where we are in relation to the end of our degree.  But we've also done more.  In one class, it's a fun fact or something unexpected.  In one class, it's why we signed up for that particular class.

In the second half of Church History, we had this additional prompt:  "First, in one sentence, what does the term or idea 'Protestant Reformation' mean to you? And second -- again, in a sentence -- when you hear the three-part tag or slogan Sola gratia, sola fide, sola scriptura ('By grace alone, by faith alone, by Scripture alone'), what does it mean to you?"

Here's how I answered that part:  "For years, 'Protestant Reformation' meant Luther and 1517, so imagine my surprise to discover that others had spearheaded other elements of reformation, although often with different motives (I'm thinking of Henry VIII, for example). When I hear the three-part tag or slogan Sola gratia, sola fide, sola scriptura ('By grace alone, by faith alone, by Scripture alone'), I think of all the ways that people have justified their departure from doctrine--or their adherence to doctrine."

In the class that takes a deep dive into the book of Luke, a class taught by Zoom (so we're all online but meeting at the same time), our teacher asked us to describe a class we'd like to teach.  I thought of a class that I did teach, my all-time favorite.  It was a creative writing class, but we did a number of other creative things too, processes that hopefully led us to the writing.  We collaged, we worked with watercolors, and now I can't remember the other activities.  It was great, and if I could teach those classes every term for the rest of my life, I'd be happy.

I like introductions that have us do more than tell our names and our student details.  I like getting to know a bit more about the people who will be my compatriots in the journey which is a seminary class.  Let me remember these techniques, since they'll be useful in more settings than just seminary class.

Feast Day of the Conversion of Saint Paul

Today the Church celebrates the conversion of St. Paul. Take a minute to imagine how the world would be different if we had had no Saul of Tarsus. There would have been no Saul persecuting the Christians, no Saul to have a conversion experience on the road to Damascus, no Paul who was such a singular force in bringing Christianity to the Roman empire.

Early Christianity would have had some traction even had there been no Paul. Those disciples and apostles had a fire borne of their experiences to be sure. But it was Paul and his compatriots who brought Christianity to populations apart from the early Jews. Without Paul, Christianity might have withered on the tiny Palestinian vine, since the other disciples and apostles didn't have the same fervor for converting people outside the immediate geographical area, and they certainly weren't interested in bringing a new message to Gentiles.

Would someone else have come along? Probably. The Holy Spirit does work in interesting ways. But Paul was a fascinating choice, a man with extensive training, a man who could speak to multiple populations. For those of us who feel we don't fit in anywhere, we should take comfort from Paul's story. The Holy Spirit can use misfits in fascinating ways. The Bible is full of them.

Some criticize Paul's letters for their inconsistencies. I would remind us that Paul was writing to real congregations who were facing real problems. I imagine that he would be aghast at the idea that anyone centuries later would use them as a behavior manual to teach right behavior. It would be as if someone collected an assortment of your e-mails and centuries later saw direct communication from God in them.

For those of us who have found Paul troubling in terms of his ideas about women, about married people, about slaves, I'd recommend Classics scholar Sarah Ruden's Paul Among the People: The Apostle Reinterpreted and Reimagined in His Own Time (Pantheon 2010), which I first wrote about here. She gives a window into the ancient world which I had never really peered through before. Her depiction of sexual relations of all sorts makes me shudder, and more than that, makes me so glad to be alive today. The Roman empire really was a rape culture in all sorts of ways. Viewed through this lens, Paul's ideas on relationships seem radically forward-looking.

I also find it helpful to remember that Paul expected that Christ would return within the lifetime of everyone hearing or reading his words.  He wasn't writing guidebooks for the centuries.  He would be astonished to realize that we're still reading his letters--much the way that I would be if someone from 2000 years in the future told me that future communities treasured my blog posts or e-mails.

Here is a prayer for today:

Triune God, you work in truly wondrous ways. Thank you for the ministry of Paul and all the ways that we have benefited from his missionary fervor. Let us use the life of Paul as inspiration for our own lives. Let us trust that you can use our gifts in all sorts of ways that we can't even imagine. Give us the courage to follow your calling to the far reaches of whichever empires you need to send us. Give us the words that congregations need right now. Grant us the peace that comes from having partnered with you.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, January 29, 2023:

First Reading: Micah 6:1-8

Psalm: Psalm 15

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:18-31

Gospel: Matthew 5:1-12

Here we are again, at one of the touchstones of our faith, the Sermon on the Mount (alternately called The Beatitudes). Those of us who have been going to church for many years have likely heard it so often that we zone out at the reading of it. We might say to ourselves, "Yeah, yeah, blessed, blessed, got it."

Now is a good time to revisit this text. Now is a good time to use that old technique from the ancient practice of lectio divina: sit with this text for some time and take note of what jumps out at you. That might be God talking to you through the text.

You could also use a similar technique from literary analysis. In my literature classes, I often ask, "Which character speaks to you?" Here I would ask, which verse speaks to you?

Are you that person who mourns? Are you hungering for righteousness? Are you making peace?

Maybe you have a darker glimmer: maybe you're not the person who is working for peace (perhaps in the politics of your office or your family). Maybe you're the one standing in the way of peace. Maybe the text is calling you to revolution, that turning around, in the way that St. Paul turned around.  In church calendar time, we celebrate the conversion of Paul on Jan. 25. It's a valuable time to remember that God has a use for us, no matter how ferociously we've been undermining the vision that God has for humanity and creation. 

The text reminds us of how to treat ourselves and others: with mercy, with compassion, with comfort. The text reminds us that just because we follow Jesus, our path will not be easy. On the contrary, we will likely face persecution. But Jesus doesn't let us off the hook. This text tells us how we are to act and what we are to value.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that God's way is not the world's way. Read this text one night as you watch T.V. and marvel at the difference in values. The world worships wealth and power. The world worships beauty and power. The world worships those who boss the rest of us around. The world worships those who ship our jobs away, those who buy low and sell high, those who ignore the rules and succeed.  The world exalts those who trample on others to get what they want.

Our Gospel this week reminds us of God's rules, the way that we succeed in God's eyes. Our Gospel this week gives us God's promise that we will be comforted, that even though we may be meek in the eyes of the world, we will be filled with good things.

Sacred Texts, Past and Present

I was on a Zoom call on Saturday, two Zoom calls actually.  The second one was a Bible study with my old South Florida church, a Bible study published in Gather magazine that looks at the ten commandments (yes, those ten commandments in the book of Exodus).  We talked about the language in the text, the language that suggests that we follow these commandments so that God doesn't wreak vengeance on us and on our descendents.

As you might expect, our talk turned to the difference between this depiction of God and the God we meet through Jesus in the New Testament.  The leader said, "Kristin, you're in seminary.  How are you learning to talk about this?"

I talked about the ancient arguments about the status of the 3 members of the Trinity; it was clear that some of my congregation has a view that God came first and then created Jesus, which was a view hotly debated, a debate that led to the Nicene Creed which claims that Jesus and God are equal and have existed together since the beginning.  I didn't linger on this statement, but jumped to the point I feel is most important.

We have a variety of views of God in the Bible, and they don't all mesh well.  Instead of thinking about the Bible as the one, true view of God, the unified story of God, it's better to view the Bible as a record of ways that various people in various places and times have seen God.  Rev. Sarah Locke has called the Bible "fan fiction," which is an interesting way to approach the Bible, which is a different way of saying something similar. 

One thing that I didn't mention is that I think that other pieces of writing can do much the same thing.  I have learned more about God through the works of Madeleine L'Engle than through the works contained in the Bible.  I didn't want to push people's boundaries too much on Saturday, particularly not in the context of a Zoom Bible study.  I'd love to be on a retreat where we talked honestly about the idea that modern theologians might be a better way of understanding God than an ancient text like the Bible.

I know that many of us are taught that the Bible has the truth, that it's one truth, not a collection of truths.  I pointed out that it's impossible for one book to have a complete picture of God.  I said, "Imagine how big that book would have to be to contain the totality of God."

I don't expect people to change their concepts of God or the Bible based on a few comments.  But I'm glad to be part of a group that won't shun me for having a more expansive concept of God and the Bible.

Pope Francis on Silence and Sermons

This morning, I saw a tweet about a presentation by Pope Francis where he expounded on the importance of silence and short sermons.  I read the full address by the pope, and then I did a bit of searching, just to make sure it had actually happened.  It's easy enough to create a fake document after all.  But I found some newspaper sources which corroborated the tweet and the linked document.  The news sources focused on the pope's suggestion that lay leadership have more of a part in worship planning or on the request for more silence.

Pope Francis says that the space of quiet should come before the worship service starts:  "And finally, I urge you to cultivate silence. In this age, we talk, we talk… Silence. Especially before the celebrations – a moment that is at times taken for a social gathering. We talk: 'Ah, how are you? Is everything going well? Why not?'. Silence helps the assembly and concelebrants to concentrate on what is to be done. Often sacristies are noisy before and after celebrations, but silence opens and prepares for the mystery: it is silene [sic] that enables you to prepare for the mystery, it permits its assimilation, and lets the echo of the Word that is listened to resound. Fraternity is beautiful; greeting one another is beautiful, but it is the encounter with Jesus that gives meaning to our gathering, to our coming together. We must rediscover and cherish silence!"

I don't disagree; I have often felt that worship was too noisy, but I've often been talking about the overamplification of the instruments.  From an access angle, I understand why we need to use sound systems for human voices, but it's hard for me to see why we need to amplify instruments that were designed to be played acoustically.

What I found even more interesting was what Pope Francis had to say about sermons, which he calls the homily:  "And here I will say something that is linked to silence, but for priests. Please, the homilies: they are a disaster. At times I hear someone: 'Yes, I went to Mass in that parish… yes, a good lesson of philosophy, forty, forty-five minutes… Eight, ten, no more! And always a thought, a sentiment and an image. Let people take something home with them. In Evangelii Gaudium I wanted to emphasize this. And I said it many times, because it is something that we end up not understanding: the homily is not a conference, it is a sacramental."

Ten minutes max for the sermon--it's a compelling idea.  For better or worse, most people can't focus for more than 5-10 minutes, at least not in the way we usually present the sermon:  the pastor at the podium talking and talking and talking and talking.

I also like the suggestion to present a sentiment and an image.  Again, it's not a new idea.  Anyone who has ever taught effective essay writing will see a familiar approach, the theoretical idea grounded with specific examples which ultimately prove/support the thesis.

Pope Francis also refers to awe, to the sense that the whole worship service should inspire.  I have found it's easier to inspire/feel a sense of awe with a shorter sermon.  Longer times of silence, however, make me feel increasingly uneasy.  But perhaps that's because periods of silence inserted into a worship service are so very unfamiliar to me.  Even when I'm at a monastery, a place where I expect to have more silence than in most aspects of my life, silence in the worship service makes me anxious.

I don't have a pithy way to conclude; I'm not a priest who will need to decide to pay attention to the exhortations of my pope or not.  But I did want to capture these ideas--the sermon is not an academic presentation ("a conference"), and we need more silence, not less, on the road to awe.

Merton's Old Seeds Feel Like New Seeds

One of my online groups has been making our way through Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation; we meet once a month, and we read several chapters for each session.  I am struck by how each of us routinely says that we're no good at contemplation--but these people are some of the more contemplative people I know.

We think of contemplation as a time alone, in an isolated place, a time of sitting, a time of emptying our minds, a time of listening for God.  And contemplation may be these things--but it may be something else completely.

However, varieties of contemplation aren't what interested me this week.  In chapter 37 of Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation, I was struck by this passage:  One of the worst things about an ill-timed effort to share the knowledge of contemplation with other people is that you assume that everybody will want to see things from your own point of view, when as a matter of fact, they will not" (p. 271).  He goes on to say, "Often we will do much more to make men contemplative by leaving them alone and minding our own business--which is contemplation itself--than by breaking in on them with what we think we know about the interior life" (p. 272).

In other words, we need to shut up.  There are many reasons why I found this idea so refreshing.  I found it a profound relief to hear Merton say that we're not required to share every element of our faith journey with others, that in fact we should not do that. 

In this time period where everyone takes to all sorts of social media platforms to bellow about what they believe, with the assumption that their beliefs are all encompassing and correct, I wanted to weep with joy at Merton telling us of the damage that we do, of Merton telling us to be quiet and tend to our own business, rather than inserting ourselves into other people's lives.

Of course, I'm not always good at that, particularly when my loved ones are suffering.  I want to manage their depression; I want to figure out a way to alleviate what's aggravating them. I want to believe that I don't bully them about their beliefs about God, but perhaps my troubleshooting and idea generating feels that way.  

One of my online group members noticed that Merton talks about God in passive voice--an interesting choice.  Again, it's a very different belief than one that many people have in a God that swoops in and behaves in action verbs:  rescue, save, damn, judge, on and on I could go.  That God doesn't seem to be the God that Merton has met.

Another group member noted how much Merton talks about the joys of God.  When I think about Merton and God, joy is not the word that comes to mind.  But that may be rooted in the ways that society viewed Merton, not in Merton's writing.

I find myself wanting to read Merton's journals, which I haven't explored much of, if at all.  I've always been more of a Henri Nouwen or Madeleine L'Engle kind of journal reader.  Of course, for the next few months, I won't have much time to read much of anything outside of seminary reading.

I'm grateful for this online group which has been meeting for 4 or 5 years, reading texts I might not read or revisit, thinking about these texts in new and different ways.  It's a different kind of community, but it is one nonetheless.

Harmonies

Yesterday, when I heard about the death of David Crosby, I thought about my dad and I on Saturday, listening to the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album Deja Vu, pulling out the LP as we listened to the music on an old cassette tape, the kind that came in a pack of blank tapes so that a person could record whatever they wanted.  My dad used to record music shows on public radio channels, and listening to those again had this charm, perhaps a lo-fidelity charm, perhaps an artifact from the not-so-distant-but-very-gone past charm.

This morning, I thought about a conversation I had with a college friend, long ago, maybe 1985 or so.  It was that late night kind of conversation, the kind that seemed so essential then, like we were uncovering the secrets of the universe.  We talked about which groups did harmony the best.  I stayed solidly committed to Simon and Garfunkle.  My friend argued for much older folk groups like the Kingston Trio, and he shocked me by claiming those earlier groups were better than Peter, Paul, and Mary, better in every way.  

We didn't discuss any of the music that I now remember as important to me in the 1980's:  U2 or the Alarm or Bruce Springsteen.  There was interesting harmony in those groups, but it was between singer and instruments, not individuals singing to create a harmonic sound.

This morning, I'm thinking of how rare it is, still, to hear groups that can sing in harmony, to have groups that sing in harmony come to prominence.  Lately, when I shop in stores that have music in the background or scan the radio dial, I'm struck by how much modern music seems to be composed/created/collaged with the opposite effect in mind, to have components mash in ways that are not harmonic.

It's easy to have that kind of mashing, but much harder to achieve harmony.

This morning, I am also thinking of the death of Jeff Beck, who did so much to prepare the musical ground for the work I would love.  I am thinking of the deaths of Charles Simic and Russell Banks, authors I have not yet read.  Well, I tried to read a Russell Banks novel once, after seeing a movie made out of one of his books (which one?  can't remember), so I likely won't return to his work--life is short, and my reading time ever more in short supply.

I am wishing I had more conversations like the kind I had in college.  That may be one reason why I'm loving seminary so much.  We're not talking about the best harmonies of the 1960's, but we are talking about stuff that feels vital, but overlooked by much of the population.

Calamitous Centuries Past and Present

I am listening to the Throughline episode that explores Omar El Akkad's novel, American War.  I read the book in 2017, and I remember it as a searing experience, searing in a good way.  It begins with a discussion about the past and the future, about sci-fi and futuristic fiction (will it be hover cars or will it stay rooted in the conflicts of past ages?).  It's a great conversation.  When I finished it for the first time, I listened again.

As I drove to Williamsburg, I listened to an episode of On the Media about the brave new world of Artificial Intelligence, followed by news of devastating weather crashing into California.  I thought about the century we're in, the 21st century, and I thought about the decades that will unfold.  I think that if humanity survives, we will use the word "calamitous" to describe the 21st century, much the way we use it with the 14th century (see Barbara Tuchman's A Distant Mirror) or the collapse of the Bronze Age.  

Yes, I think there will be spots where we marvel at how humanity solved one problem or another.  Maybe it will be the vast fields of solar panels (and we will wonder why humans didn't attempt this sooner, maybe staving off the climate catastrophes that cascaded through the 21st century) or the ways we've learned to vanquish some diseases.  Some of us won't perceive the century through a lens of disaster and catastrophe.  Many of us won't survive long enough to think about the 21st century at all.

My mom and I spent a lot of time over the week-end returning to the issue of the future of church, both The Church (the institution) and the Sunday service itself.  My thoughts have continued to circle around the various developments I learned about in Church History I, the times when the Church could have become something else, could have championed a different set of values and beliefs.

I find myself thinking about the emphasis on personal salvation vs. the salvation of societies.  When we face threats that are more existential, does the Church abandon the personal salvation/substitutionary atonement theories?  Or does society give up on church altogether, thinking that if there's a hope for salvation, it won't be coming from The Church?

The coming decades may illuminate these questions, if any of us have leisure time to reflect on them.

Back to School

Yesterday I got my hair professionally cut for the first time since 2020, cut and highlighted.  The hair stylist also blew it completely dry and straight, which is unusual for me.  I was surprised by how much lighter and bouncier my hair felt when we were done.

As with all activities that I once did pre-Covid but never resumed, it felt a bit odd to be back.  It was a morning appointment, so it wasn't as packed as it could have been.  There was plexiglass around the hair washing stations, which I hope they keep.  The woman next to me coughed, and it was nice not to worry about that.

While I waited for the highlights to sink into my hair, I read Celeste Ng's latest book.  Later, when I finished it, I made this Facebook post:  "If you need a novel that reminds you of the power of words and language, that convinces you that you do believe in the power of words and language, I highly recommend Celeste Ng's latest, "Our Missing Hearts"--it also will remind you of the power of love, the power of perseverance, the reasons why librarians may yet save us all, and how poetry can surprise us. And it's an interesting commentary on modern life, even as it reads like a dystopia, in the time honored tradition of Margaret Atwood and Octavia Butler."

It is an amazing book.  I read it because my mom had checked it out from the library and saved it for me, knowing I would be here and could finish it.  I'm so glad I did.  One of the main characters is a poet, the kind of poet that most people are, having one slim volume of poems published by a very small press, not much in the way of sales--until it all blows up in so many unpredictable ways.

Today I head back to my seminary apartment, where I hope things have not blown up in ways either predictable or unpredictable.  I'm taking a heavy load of classes, so I will spend this whole semester continuing to hope that I can avoid things blowing up.  I want to take these classes while I have the opportunity.  Life has taught me that these chances won't always be here:  faculty leave, courses are scuttled for a variety of reasons, and my life as a student could change (will I live on campus or near by?  Will I have to forgo some classes so that I get requirements done?).

This week has been the one where courses are opening up in Blackboard, and I'm getting the first look at syllabi--I am so thrilled!  The course titles and book lists led me to believe I would be thrilled, and I'm happy that the syllabi continue with the promise.  Although Wesley Theological Seminary is back in session today, I don't have Wednesday classes.  I'll make my way back to my seminary apartment, put things away, get organized, and go for a walk or two.

It is a good life, although it does feel like a sabbatical from "real life," even as it also feels like a preparation time for a different "real life."  I know that I am a lucky woman.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, January 22, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 9:1-4

Psalm: Psalm 27:1, 5-13 (Psalm 27:1, 4-9 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:10-18

Gospel: Matthew 4:12-23

Here we are this week, still in the early days of Jesus' ministry. We see him call the disciples with that famous offer to make them fishers of people. He goes out to preach and teach.

But notice that early on, he's also ministering to the physical needs of people. He's not here to talk to them about their spiritual ailments. He tells them that the kingdom of heaven has come near, but he doesn't go around haranguing people about their selfish natures and the need to pray more.

Notice that his fame spreads, and it's probably not because of his brilliant teaching or a glimpse of heaven on earth. People will come from far and near if one of their physical ailments can be lessened.

Jesus also addresses, at least indirectly, their emotional ailments. As he heals and teaches, he's creating a community. It's exhausting work. But again, he knows that people aren't going to overthrow their established way of doing things unless they get something substantial in return.

Notice that Jesus doesn't talk in terms of eternal salvation, at least not in this part of the Gospel. He doesn't promise a place in Heaven if people will just endure their ailments during this life. He doesn't tell people that they'll be popular in Heaven to make up for being outcast on earth.

No. He creates a community and includes all of these people.

His ministry addressed the very real, the very physical, the very present needs of the people around him. It's an example we should keep in mind, as we order our own lives, and as we think about the future of our individual church and the larger Church.

As we think about outreach, we should keep the example of Jesus in our mind. We should ask ourselves what our lives show others about Christian life. As we think about our individual lives and about what God has called us to do, we should keep God's example in mind. What is our larger purpose? How can we effectively minister to a broken and hurting world?

Many of us aren't comfortable talking about our faith, and perhaps that's for the best. Nothing turns of an unbeliever more than someone who inserts faith into the conversation too early ("Hi, I'm Cindy, and I'm saved. If you died tonight, could you be sure you'd be going to Heaven?"). Instead, we can help out our coworkers who need it. We can invite lonely people over for dinner. We can be the person who always has a smile ready. We can be the person who's willing to listen. We can donate money/time/attention to worthy causes and projects.  We can be the light of the world that God needs us to be--and that the world needs us to be.

"Evil Is Not the Totality of Who We Are as Persons"

Yesterday, we watched one of the Sunday political shows on TV before we headed to church.  I stitched a bit while listening to people argue over each other on TV.  I thought about how different this TV medium is from my usual news delivery source, NPR, sometimes on the radio, sometimes by way of internet.

My thoughts also turned to Martin Luther King, who was born on January 15, yesterday his true birthday.  I wrote a blog post about it yesterday morning, so it was on my mind.  I thought about how unlikely it was that he would get a federal holiday dedicated to him, such a short time after his death.  I marveled at the fact that I was alive when it happened, and how much further away we are from his death.  Now he has a monument in the heart of the nation's capital, so for many people growing up today, he seems like a mythic figure, not someone who walked the earth not very long ago.

Today I am listening to this episode of The Ezra Klein Show, a deep dive into King's thoughts with Brandon Terry.  For me, it's a great way of celebrating this holiday.  I am visiting my parents, so it doesn't feel safe (in terms of respiratory disease) to gather in large groups, working close together to do works of social justice.  It will be too cold to go to a parade.

It's interesting to think about King's trajectory.  In his lifetime, he did substantial work to reshape the nation into one that is more just.  Most of us will admit that there is still work to do.  When I was young, before there was a national holiday, we read his work in school.  Granted, it was often the work that was shorter and easier to understand.  Now we read his work in one or two sentence memes that circulate on social media.

Maybe it's better than not hearing these ideas at all.  But his work was so much deeper, and as I look around me, it's clear that most people have not done this level of deep thinking about the risks of violence, the benefits of non-violence, the best way to live a life in an empire that doesn't care if you die and in fact, may prefer you dead to alive.

I feel like we once did more of that, both as individuals and as a society, but perhaps it seemed that way to me because I was a college student, where more of us were wrestling with these questions.  In an ideal world, I'd be able to find this kind of questioning community in a church, but that's not always the case.

I am listening to this podcast (the one I mentioned above), which mentions his darker days, the ones where some of his allies abandoned him for his stance on the Vietnam War, where he was drinking more.  I imagine that many of us don't know this side of King, and I wonder if we might have more forgiveness of ourselves, along with more strength to persevere, if we knew of this.  King's trajectory is often taught as if his wins were a sure thing, much the way that those signers of the Declaration of Independence were sure to win.  But those wins were very much not a sure thing.  It's astonishing that anyone who has fought for a more just world has had any win at all--the forces of empire are very strong, and they are not forces easily bent to justice.

I am grateful that we have this holiday, even if its one that is easily manipulated in ways that King would not appreciate, in ways that many of us wish would be different.  It is good to be reminded that  those of us working to bend the arc of the moral universe to justice may not see the work done in our lifetimes--indeed, almost certainly, we will die, and there will still be work to be done.  It is good to be reminded "that evil is not the totality of who we are as persons" (Brandon Terry's words)--or as a society.

Martin Luther King's True Birthday

 Today is Dr. Martin Luther King's true birthday; Monday is the day when many of us get a holiday. We will likely hear many people declare that this week-end should be one of service.

As a Lutheran and a social justice person, these declarations make me grumpy. Every week should be devoted to social justice, and that's one of my spiritual goals, to make sure I do some work of social justice and/or charity each week.

Of course, I realize that the rest of the nation could stand to be reminded periodically of the necessity of service and social justice work. It's a dark time, in many ways, and I find the words of King still inspiring, still consoling, still hopeful: "Here and there an individual or group dares to love, and rises to the majestic heights of moral maturity. So in a real sense this is a great time to be alive. Therefore, I am not yet discouraged about the future. Granted that the easygoing optimism of yesterday is impossible. Granted that those who pioneer in the struggle for peace and freedom will still face uncomfortable jail terms, painful threats of death; they will still be battered by the storms of persecution, leading them to the nagging feeling that they can no longer bear such a heavy burden, and the temptation of wanting to retreat to a more quiet and serene life. Granted that we face a world crisis which leaves us standing so often amid the surging murmur of life's restless sea. But every crisis has both its dangers and its opportunities. It can spell either salvation or doom. In a dark confused world the kingdom of God may yet reign in the hearts of men." (from this post on The Writer's Almanac).

Years ago on the NPR program Talk of the Nation, Tavis Smiley and Cornell West discussed King's legacy. They talked about the fact that when King died, he was not the beloved person he is today. Smiley said, "King's life was really about three things: justice for all, service to others and a love that liberates people. Justice for all, service to others and a love that liberates. Sometimes, when you have that as your agenda, you're not popular. You're not understood." The whole interview is well worth a listen or a read (go here).

Just think how profoundly our society would change if more of us devoted our lives to these three things: justice for everybody, service to others and love that liberates. There's a worthy goal to keep in mind, not just this week-end, but every week-end.

Creative Days, Creative Ways

 My Covid test this morning is negative, so I'm heading down to Williamsburg to spend a long holiday week-end with my parents.  I don't have any symptoms, but with this new, more transmissible variant of Covid running wild across the planet, it seems wise to test.  I haven't been in contact with many people since returning from vacation and doing some grocery shopping, but since the Montgomery county library system has free rapid tests, there's no reason not to test.

I do wonder if we will ever get to a point where I don't feel this need to test, where I'm not aware of disease risks.  Of course, I was aware of disease risks even before this latest pandemic.  Between disease risks and the risks of violence that come with being female in a patriarchal society, I'm often deciding to stay in.

For the past few days, as I've decided to just stay put and do some quilt piecing, I've wondered if I'm really just lazy.  Yesterday there was a steady wind that just cut right through me, so I decided to abandon my plan of going to the MLK site in downtown DC, as it is an outdoor memorial.  I thought about a museum, but getting there requires a fair amount of walking on either end of the Metro ride.

Through the magic of technology, my spouse and I watched movies together, and I worked on quilt pieces of various sizes:

 

I'm going to keep creating these, as they delight me.  Eventually, I'll create a quilt out of them all, with long strips between the panels, much like this quilt:

displayed at October 2020 Quilt Camp at Lutheridge

At some point, I also need to get back to doing the actual quilting on my other quilt project.  Winter is a great time to have that weight draped over me, as I work on doing the quilting.

The nice thing about having projects of varying sizes is that one is more portable.  I stashed some of the smaller pieces in my backpack, with my tin that contains a set of small scissors and spools of thread.  

It's also nice to have a variety of projects that feed my creativity.  I began the day writing a poem, and in the middle of the day, I sent some poems out into the world.  Then I finished with stitching.  Ah--heaven!

So, it's not laziness keeping me home in these long, cold days of winter--it's the appeal of a creative day, in many creative ways, in my snug seminary apartment.

Exhibition Participation

Yesterday was a much better day than Tuesday.  I went on 2 walks, and I didn't feel as tired as I did earlier in the week.  I did some sewing that made me happy.  My spouse and I had good conversations on our video chats.  I had an evening Zoom session where I reconnected with friends from the Create in Me retreat.

One of yesterday's highlights was seeing a Facebook post from the Luce Center for Arts and Religion.  The exhibition which includes one of my pieces is up and open to the public!  Here's my work in context with nearby pieces:

And here's my work up close:

I will confess that it was not a juried show.  One of my instructors is also responsible for these exhibitions in the gallery space, and she asked our class to submit pieces.  I thought about creating something new, but it was the end of the term, and I didn't really have time or resources.

I submitted this piece because I have it here with me, and it's one of my favorites. I haven't seen the whole show yet, but I am betting that there will be fewer fiber artists, so I also liked the idea of having this kind of work as part of the exhibition.

If I hadn't been living on campus, I wouldn't have taken the in-person class that gave me this opportunity.  I'm grateful for this time here, even as I'm unsure what the future of on-campus housing holds for me.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, January 15, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 49:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 40:1-12 (Psalm 40:1-11 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:1-9

Gospel: John 1:29-42

Today's Gospel continues the story of Jesus' baptism, and it has lessons for each of us. Notice that Jesus doesn't get baptized and go home to sit on the sofa. He doesn't say, "Well, I'm glad I got that spiritual landmark over with. Now I don't have to do anything else until I die and get to go to Heaven."

No. Jesus goes out and tackles his mission. What is his mission? The same as ours: to proclaim that the Kingdom of God is revealing itself right here, right now, that God is breaking through our mundane daily life to transform us into better people in a better world.

But notice that Jesus doesn't go around yakking about this all the time. He's not the type of guy that drives most of us crazy, all talk and no follow through. When people ask about his mission, he says, "Come and see."

And what will people see? They will see a man healing the sick, comforting the poor in spirit, feeding the poor in wealth, eating with the outcast, and supporting the lowest people in society's social stratum:  women, children, demon possessed, tax collectors, the diseased, and the like. They will see a man who sacrifices his social life and prospects for a long life so that other lives will have improvement. They will see a man of constant movement.

What do people see when they look at our lives? People pay attention to our actions. If our actions don't match our words, people don't accept our words. But it's worse: people see us as hypocrites, one of those Christian types they hate so much. But wait, it's even worse: if our actions habitually don't match our words, people begin to assume that ALL Christians are hypocrites.

It's tough, this mission of being God's hands in a world that needs so much.  So, let's start with a simple approach.  Each morning, ask God to help you be the light of the world today. Remember that the world watches you, waiting for your light. Remember that when your light shines, other people see it. Forgive yourself for days when you're a dimly burning wick (to use the words of Isaiah's, in last week's readings) and remember that God does not extinguish a dimly burning wick.  Even a dimly burning wick is better than no flame at all.

Martin Luther said that faith should move your feet. We are called to be Movement People. And even the smallest movements can lead to great changes down the road.

Video Sermon on the Baptism of Jesus

Yesterday, through the wonders of technology, I was able to preach the sermon at one of my church homes in South Florida, even though I'm in my seminary apartment in Washington DC. And through the wonders of technology, you, too, can hear/see it on my YouTube channel; go here to see it.  To read it, go here.

My pastor asked me if I would read the weekly reflection that I wrote on the baptism of Jesus as the sermon for Sunday, and I was able to do a bit more with photos and the recording.  It's shorter than most of my video sermons, but I decided not try to expand.

I watched the worship service live, which I don't always do, and it was interesting to watch, as my pastor asked the congregation what had stood out to them.  I'm not sure they got exactly what I was trying to say, or maybe they couldn't believe it.  God loves us as we are?  Before we transform ourselves into the people God wants/calls us to be?  But they were intrigued by the idea.

My pastor said he was blown away by this part:  "God loves you the way you are right now, not the future you that will be better adjusted, thinner, more accomplished, more worthy. Some theologians would go further and say that God created you because the world needs the you that you are right now, in all the ways you are so original and the ways that you are imperfect."

Our imperfections could be our strengths!  I was listening, and I thought about where I first came across that idea, in Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time.  I've known this idea since 5th grade, and I still don't always believe it myself.

As we enter into the 4th year of this pandemic, another year of polarization on all levels, it seems ever more important to believe:  God loves us, right here, right now.  We are uniquely equipped to transform the world into something more like what God intends.

Epiphany Ramblings

When I saw that the National Cathedral was having an Epiphany service at noon, I decided to rearrange my plans and go to the National Gallery after the service.  I had planned to see the Vermeer exhibit.

In retrospect, I could have walked back to my seminary apartment after worship and been just as happy.  The worship service was perfect for the day.  When I knelt to take communion at this rail, I looked at this vast carving behind the altar, with stained glass windows above it, and I felt my spirit soar, just as the architects and artists intended:

Then I walked to the Metro stop to go downtown.  I got a bit turned around, but happily, I had my phone and Google Maps was able to direct me.  I went straight to the National Gallery, where I expected to walk right in to the Vermeer exhibit; after all, it's been here since October.

I got there at 2, and the woman staffing the Information desk told me there was a 4 hour wait.  I can't think of anything I'm willing to wait in a 4 hour line to see, so I went to the other exhibit I wanted to see:  Called to Create: Black Artists of the American South.  Some of the artists are still alive, and they all lived and created in the 20th century.  Many of them lived in Gee's Bend, but the scope is much larger.

I had seen a larger exhibit of Gee's Bend quilts back in 2004 or so.  I have mixed feelings about them as works of art.  I could make the claim that some of them, like the above, are both art and bed covering.  But some of them, like this one, are not:

The big panels of fabric don't seem like an artist intent on breaking the rules--it speaks to me of someone who wishes she didn't have to do this.  There's no quilting on the piece.  I'm not sure what holds the layers together.  The stitches on the edges are loose, which again, says to me that the creator was not delighting in the process.  It's very unlike this quilt which has intricate stitches and quilting done by hand:

It wasn't all quilts.  There were interesting works of assembled pieces that some of us wouldn't even see as art materials:

There was painted and welded metals:

I was most captivated by the works of Thornton Dial, who assembled all sorts of materials into works of art.  Here's one that uses a frame of mattress coils (what mattresses used to contain as their core) as the base of the art:

This one of Thornton Dial's, called "Refugees Trying to Get to the United States" has a message, with its pink, yellow, and brown headlike objects in the center, but I'm not exactly sure what it is.

After I took in the special exhibit, I wandered through the other gallery that had selections from the Gallery's collection of works of art from the first 5 decades of the 20th century, mostly paintings.  It was strange to look at the works of Picasso and Miro after seeing the works in the special exhibit.  They seemed flat and dull, even though I understand how they broke new ground, making it possible for works like those in the special exhibit.  I also understand that they had different resources and different objectives and lived in very different life circumstances at a very different place and time.

I returned home a bit worn out, which makes sense--my phone tells me that I walked almost 7 miles yesterday.  For much of the afternoon, even if I wasn't walking, I was on my feet.  After my video call with my spouse, I read for a bit and went to bed extra early, even for me.  I was asleep before 8, and I slept until just after 5, and it was a sound sleep.

In an hour, I'll leave to go see my 16 year old nephew at a swim meet.  It will be a different day, but I'm looking forward to it.

Epiphanies Past and Present

Today is the feast day of the Epiphany, a holiday that celebrates the arrival of the wise men who have been studying the stars when they notice a new one.  They travel, looking for the one whom the star heralds.  They consult a ruler, Herod, and they inadvertently trigger Herod's jealousy, which sets into motion a series of horrible events, the murder of every child under the age of two in Bethlehem.  Jesus isn't there--in a dream, Joseph has been warned to flee with his wife and baby, and he obeys.

I've been looking through my Epiphany posts for the last few years, and I am struck by how much my life has changed.  In 2020, after writing a paragraph where I talked about how I wished I could keep Epiphany,  I wrote, "Instead I will go to my workplace where I will get ready for the term that starts on Wednesday, do some accreditation writing, and then have a New Student Orientation. I'm tired just thinking about it. There's shopping to be done (supplies and food for New Student Orientation) and paperwork--lots and lots of paperwork. Sigh."

Ah, the good old days, before that school was bought by people who changed the academic calendar and severed most of us from our jobs.  The good old days, before the pandemic, when that school still had students and faculty and the hope of increasing enrollment.

This year, I am in a very different place.  I thought about being at seminary and how strange it is that we have no Epiphany worship today.  Then I wondered if the National Cathedral might be having worship this evening.  Did I want to be out and about this evening after going downtown to catch the Vermeer exhibit which leaves after Jan. 8?  

Lo and behold, the Cathedral is offering a noon Epiphany worship with the Eucharist--hurrah!  So I've rearranged my schedule.  I'll walk to the Cathedral for the service, then I'll walk to the Metro stop that's an hour away.  I'll head downtown, and if all goes well (which it should), I'll still have plenty of time for the Vermeer exhibit.

Let me close this post by remembering past Epiphanies that revolved around one of my favorite poems I've ever written.  In 2019, I had been listening to news stories about various immigration crises, and I thought about the 3 Wise Men and if they had come to the U.S. Border.  I made this sketch:

And then I started thinking about a poem with multiple strands:  Epiphany, a current crisis on the border, the crisis between east and west that ultimately led to the taking down of the wall between East and West Germany, a bit of the underground railroad.  Ultimately, this poem arrived, and Sojourners published it in 2020.  It's a perfect fit.



Border Lands


I am the border agent who looks
the other way. I am the one
who leaves bottled water in caches
in the harsh border lands I patrol.

I am the one who doesn’t shoot.
I let the people assemble,
with their flickering candles a shimmering
river in the dark. “Let them pray,”
I tell my comrades. “What harm
can come of that?” We holster
our guns, and open a bottle to share.

I am the superior
officer who loses the paperwork
or makes up the statistics.
I am the one who ignores
your e-mails, who cannot be reached
by text or phone, the one
with a full inbox.

When the wise ones
come, as they do, full of dreams,
babbling about the stars
that lead them or messages
from gods or angels,
I open the gates. I don’t alert
the authorities up the road.
Let the kings and emperors
pay for their own intelligence.

I should scan the horizons,
but I tend the garden
I have planted by the shed
where we keep the extra
barbed wires. I grow a variety
of holy trinities: tomatoes, onions,
peppers, beans, squashes of all sorts.
I plant a hedge of sunflowers,
each bright head a north star.

Scraps into Squares

Back in the busier days of December, I knew that I would have a stretch of unstructured time in January.  How would I fill the time?   I dreamed of writing poems, maybe making a few submissions.  I knew I would fill some of the time with reading.  I thought it was likely I would do some quilting, since it was the activity I turned to in December as I had "free" time.

For much of yesterday, I spent my time sewing small scraps together into larger squares.

I'm using scraps that I would ordinarily have thrown away as too small to continue creating with them.  It's an interesting continuation of a process I started at Thanksgiving.  At first, I was creating a log cabin pattern, but now I'm open to other possibilities.  At first, I wanted to pay no attention to color, but now I let myself do that.  Some squares will be created because I had fabric that fit the shape, and some because I cut fabric that would match the surrounding pieces.  

The goal, however, remains to end with a square of roughly 12 inches.

As I have stitched, listening to NPR or podcasts or watching a movie for free on Amazon (The Devil Wears Prada, which I loved when it first came out, but now I find myself cringing for several reasons:  toxic workplace, young writer abandoning her ideals, young workers set up to fail).  Part of me feels guilty--shouldn't I be doing something more productive?  I have more quilts than someone living in an age of global warming will ever need.

But it's creative and it's calming and I'm enjoying it.  I know that it won't always be this way;  I won't always have time/interest/motivation/space.  Decades of creative life have taught me that when I am feeling pulled into a creative activity, I should follow that impulse.  There will be plenty of days to come when I will look at my fabric piles and shrug.  Now my fingers itch to sew. 

I have plans to go to a museum or two, but yesterday I decided to stay put because it was supposed to rain buckets.  I have written a poem and made a submission.  I'm not passing up on money-making opportunities to sit and sew.  I'm not neglecting my responsibilities.  Yet still this sense of guilt nips at me.

I'm ignoring that nip of guilt.  I need to create 30 squares for the quilt top that I have in mind.  Let me sew scraps together, while I can.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, January 8, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 42:1-9

Psalm: Psalm 29

Second Reading: Acts 10:34-43

Gospel: Matthew 3:13-17

This week's Gospel finds Jesus at the beginning of his ministry, a ministry that shows what a difference to world history a year or two can make. Notice that Jesus begins with baptism. I love the fact that the Revised Common Lectionary returns us to the baptism of Jesus to start every year. What a difference from the secular ways we start the year. In today's Gospel, instead of harsh resolutions, we get the words of God: "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased."

We tend to see Jesus as special. We can't imagine God saying the same thing about us. But in fact, from everything we can tell, God does feel that way about us. God takes on human form in its most vulnerable, as a little baby. How much more of a demonstration of love do we need?

For those of us who are big believers in affirmations, we should print out those words and paste them on our bathroom mirrors. What does it mean, if we believe God is well pleased with us?

Many of us dwell in the land of self-loathing this time of year. Maybe we've spent too much money on our Christmas festivities. Maybe we've eaten too much in that time between Thanksgiving and New Year's. Maybe we've already broken our New Year's resolutions. We look in our mirrors and see multiple reasons to hate ourselves.

The world looks at us and feeds us criticism: too fat, too plain, too wrinkled, too odd, too tall, too short. A diet of that commentary quickly leaves us malnourished. The world looks at us and judges us in terms of all the things we haven't accomplished yet: no child or children who don't measure up, lack of business success, a house that's too small or in the wrong neighborhood, no publication credits, no worthy creative products, the wrong kind of degree or no degree at all. Seeing ourselves through the eyes of the world means we compare ourselves to others and hold ourselves to impossible standards.

No one wins this game.

Try a different practice for a week or two or 52. Look in the mirror and see yourself not as the world sees you. Look in the mirror and know that God loves you. God chose you. God delights in you.

God chose you. God delights in you. God loves you.

God loves you the way you are right now, not the future you that will be better adjusted, thinner, more accomplished, more worthy. Some theologians would go further and say that God created you because the world needs the you that you are right now, in all the ways you are so original and the ways that you are imperfect.

We've lived in the land of self-loathing long enough. Why cripple ourselves with this kind of thinking? There's work to be done, and the world cannot afford for you to waste time feeling bad for all the ways you've failed. Begin the day by remembering that you are perfectly made and return to that thought regularly throughout the day--perhaps as you say grace before you eat.

God loves you. Love yourself as deeply as God loves you.

Slow Returns

This morning, I feel more off-schedule than most mornings. That may be because I am off schedule.  Last night, I didn't get to bed until 10 p.m. (very late for me), although I did have a nap.  I didn't sleep well, but I did sleep until 5:15 a.m., which is late for me.  Let me collect a few thoughts here.

--Before sunrise this morning, it was 65 degrees in the mountains of Asheville.  Very strange.  It was warm enough yesterday to be out and about in shorts in Washington, D.C.  In fact, I was tempted to turn on the AC, but I didn't.  This week is unseasonably warm, while last week, it was unseasonably cold.  I do realize that using the word unseasonably implies that we can predict these things, but in a world of rapid climate change, past seasons won't look like current seasons, which won't look like future seasons.

--Long ago, I got a Kindle Fire 7, because I needed to be able to take videos of students to support the social media person's efforts at the school where I worked.  I never was able to make it work as a video camera, but I kept it, thinking that at some point in the future, I might want a reader of some sort.  A few days ago, when my spouse expressed a wish for a reader, I handed him the Kindle.  He's spent some time trying to figure out if it can be the kind of reader he wants.  I'm not sure how it will all turn out, but it does make me glad I kept it--even though I realize it may result in us buying something more flexible, like an iPad.

--My spouse and I have had a very good time together during this time of his visit.  I'm trying not to feel sad that he's not living here with me, full-time, the way we had planned when I was severed from my job.  It's good to have a house that is ours, in a place near Asheville where I want to live long term. And these past weeks have not been my usual seminary life, since he arrived once my Fall 2022 classes were over.

--We've done a bit of exploring of the neighborhoods that border the seminary.  Yesterday, we decided to get a pizza from a local chain, Pizza Boli--it was one of the best Greek pizzas we've ever gotten.  We've made several trips to Wegmans, including one last night.  I felt very grown up, driving after dark.  I don't drive much these days, except for longer trips.  It's a very strange turn of events, especially when I consider distant days of on ground teaching, where I would drive from location to location to location.

--It's also strange in that I don't return to class (the ones I'm taking and the ones I'm teaching) until late January.  In past years, I've leapt right back into working life in the first week of January.  I have never had this much time off for Christmas break.  I could get used to this.

--As we've watched T.V. (by which I mean we're streaming stuff and watching it on the T.V.), I've stitched smaller and smaller scraps together.  It's too hot to have my other project draped over me as I quilt.  The small stitching reminds me of the counted cross stitch that I used to do.  My plan for these small scraps stitched together is to end up with 12-16 panels that are roughly 12 inches square.  And then I'll fashion them into a quilt top--and then, a quilt.

--As in the past, I've read more fiction during the break than I usually have time to read.  And I can look forward to a few more weeks of reading fiction.  What a joy!

--In the next few days, I want to do some serious thinking about my approach to mornings.  For a long time, I've been aware that I spend too much time internet surfing first thing in the morning, and it's usually not nourishing.  I know that I wrote more and read more in the past, before I had a laptop that went with me everywhere.  I submitted more creative work and was more widely published back then too.  Let me think about realistic ways to replicate that setting.

 

Returning to the East Coast

Here I am, back on Eastern Standard Time, except that I'm really not.  I'm still at the point of jet lag where I have to stop to think about what day it is.  On Saturday, December 31, we began our long trek back from our very strange vacation in Hawaii.

We had to check out of our resort villa at 10 a.m., but our flight didn't leave until 5 p.m.  So we ate a last Hawaii meal at the better restaurant that's part of the resort, and then my spouse waited with me and my parents, while the other half of the family vacationers  made their way to the airport.  Then we went to the airport, spent some time at the airport lounge that's a perk of the resort, where we were the only ones.  It's not the kind of lounge where there's free food and alcohol, but it was a relief to be away from the huge crowds of people in the airport.

The flight back was easier than the flight to Hawaii.  We didn't sit at the gate for several hours for one thing, and the trip back took two hours less than the flight there--both direct flights.  The in-flight dinner was strange.  We were asked if we wanted vegetarian pasta or chicken.  I chose the pasta, which was not awful, as far as airplane food goes.

I thought back to my earliest flying days, the mid-80's, where even on short flights, we often got a meal, if the flight happened over a meal time.  I would call ahead to secure a vegetarian meal, which was often a baked potato with a cheese topping or a pasta with a tomato sauce.  Saturday's meal was pasta with a white triangle that seemed to be tofu, not cheese.  There was a bit of salad on the side, and everything had some sort of vinaigrette.  There was a hard roll and butter.  The highlight of the meal was the packet of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.

I did get some sleep on the overnight flight.  I also watched 2 movies, one at the beginning of the flight, and one at the end.  I started with Top Gun Maverick, which I wanted to see when it came out.  It was about what I expected.  Then I went back to the original Top Gun, which has not aged well at all--I couldn't finish it.  

After several hours of restless sleeping, I watched Reality Bites, another movie which hasn't aged well.  At one point, I thought it perfectly captured my life, but now, I'm not so sure.  At one point, I thought it was witty and smart, but now I'm not so sure.  It is an interesting time capsule, a society without smart phones, a young woman making a documentary with a bulky camera instead of her phone, AIDS as a death sentence.

The plane landed, we got our luggage, and off we went to retrieve our car.  My spouse and I returned to my seminary apartment, where he'll stay until tomorrow when he catches a plane back to North Carolina, where we hope our little house has withstood the challenges of last week's deep freeze.  It may have been a great time for him to be away, with power and water disruptions.  Hopefully the pipes didn't freeze and the new HVAC system will still be just fine.

We went for a late afternoon walk around my favorite streets of the neighborhood.  I am happy to see that many of the holiday decorations and lights are still up, and in fact a few more have been added.  We napped, read a bit, drank some wine, ate some cheese and crackers.

Today we'll try to map out a schedule for the remaining home repairs/improvements.  We'll take a walk to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather.  We'll do more of what brings us joy before getting back to the work that must be done.