A Different Approach to Mary and Martha

Last night in my seminary class on Luke, we looked at the Mary and Martha story, the one where Martha says she needs help.  It was a revelatory session, so I wanted to record it so I would be sure to remember it.

First we read the text out loud, or, my professor did.  Here is Luke 9:  38-42 (NRSV, updated edition):

38 Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him.[k] 39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’s[l] feet and listened to what he was saying. 40 But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” 41 But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, 42 but few things are needed—indeed only one.[m] Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

And what did we notice?  Martha doesn't specify what kind of help she wants and needs.  For centuries, we've assumed it's some kind of help in the kitchen; for centuries, that's the only kind of work women would be doing.  But that's not what the text says. We also see Mary as a passive figure, a very static part of the story.  She might as well be the lamppost for all that she does.

Another word about Mary's choice.  My professor disagrees with the word choice of better.  She likes a translation that says "Mary has chosen what is good."  It's not a competition.

It's interesting to consider this text in the context of what comes before and what comes after.  In Luke 9 and 10, we've had lots of action:  believers being sent out and coming back to report.  We know that some of these believers were female.

We also have the story of the Good Samaritan just before Mary and Martha, and the Lord's Prayer just after, which the disciples receive when they ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

My professor presented this argument:  perhaps we are seeing Martha's call story.  In Martha, we see the dangers of the Good Samaritan model of discipleship:  serving, and serving, and serving until there's nothing left to give.  And what replenishes?  Prayer.

My professor also suggested we read canonically.  What happens if we consider this passage next to John's text, where we see Mary and Martha and their dead brother.  Both characters are more fully formed and both engage Jesus.  In fact, Martha gives one of the most powerful testimonies to the identity of Jesus in the Gospel of John.

My teacher reminded us that there is some doubt that these are the same women (they now have a brother, and the houses are in substantially different locations), but if they are, they have grown spiritually.

It's an exegesis that makes me so sad to think of the ways we've wasted this story and reduced it to a morality tale that tells women not to fuss over the housework but to shut up and sit at the feet of learned men in our orbit.

Interior and Exterior Castles

 Yesterday was one of those days when I was in a strange mood, not necessarily bad or good, but just strange.  The day was book-ended by e-mails that I wrote, the old-fashioned kind that are more like letters, the kind that brings friends up to date with the pivots of the last month.  I had a video chat with a friend--sobering to realize that she came into my life when she took one of the best classes I've ever taught, the early Victorian Brit Lit class at Florida Atlantic University, a class of only English majors, who did all the reading and had riveting conversations about it.  It's sobering to realize because that was over 20 years ago.

In the afternoon, I had a video chat with my spouse.  In some ways, it was about the purpose of church, the purpose of preaching, social justice and charity.  We've been having this conversation for 40 years, and I'm happy to say we've finally resolved it all.  HA!  We will never resolve these issues, and there are days when I don't fully understand why we care at all.

My spouse was in one of those "the only kind of preaching that should come from the pulpit is THIS kind of preaching."  I was in a mood to remind him that the world is full of damaged souls who can't respond to that kind of preaching, that go out and transform society kind of preaching, because they need to know and hear and believe that God loves them, that they are valuable.  We weren't disagreeing, exactly, but I do feel we were exhausting each other.

Part of me felt snarly, because neither one of us is out there transforming society, doing justice, breaking the bonds of oppression.  I don't feel like I'm in a position to criticize others who are similarly sitting on the sofa, working on other projects, yet taking care in smaller ways.

And then I watched a lecture for World Religions class about Buddhism, which further scrambled my mood.  To clear my mind a bit, I went for a walk.  It was just at sunset, and I was happy to be reminded of how beautiful the light can be.  I watched the lights come on in houses that cost more than I will ever be able to afford.  I checked the moon; I know that Jupiter and Venus are about to be closer in the night sky than they will be again all year, but they weren't visible yet.  I kept walking, and as the sky got a smidge darker, I saw them, old friends of a different sort.

And just to make my mood even stranger, I came home and read this NYT Magazine piece about the COVID oral history project.  I ate some of my baguette, ate pricy cheese and olives, and thought about what a topsy-turvy time we're living in. 

Today I need to sit myself down and focus on some writing tasks.  I've done the fun ones, and now I need to get the Teresa of Avila paper done.  She's not my favorite, but we had a choice of 3 works, and I like the others even less; I am not spending one more minute of my life engaging with Jonathan Edwards, thank you very much.  It's this angry god theology that's got us in so much trouble--and I know if I write that kind of paper, my Church History professor will slam me for it.

So, onward to interior castles and beyond!

Reviving History

I stayed up later than I meant to last night.  I started watching The Chosen a week ago, and I thought I'd just watch another episode last night before turning in--yep, three episodes later, I was still up.  I'm fascinated by this show:  by its approach to the familiar story of Jesus, by its production values, by the ways it leaves the Gospels yet stays true to them, by the way it shows us the larger context of Roman Palestine in a way that seems unique, by the way we see the differences among the followers.  What I'm trying to say is that the men look dirty when they would have been dirty in real life, that their clothes are raggedy, that they come from a variety of ethnicities, that the show feels real to me.  The background music is starting to annoy me, however, that mystical keening whenever there's a long shot of people on the move or a single person musing.

It's interesting to watch this show in the context of a religious revival that may or may not stay localized to a small school in Kentucky, Asbury University.  Two weeks ago, a friend wrote to tell me that she hoped that the revival happening at Asbury would spread to my campus, and that was the first that I had heard of it.  That small undergraduate school is very different from my seminary.  I'm pretty sure we would not be met with leniency by our professors if we decided to stay in chapel for two weeks instead of going to class and turning in work.  But perhaps I am jaded.

One of my fellow students went to Asbury.  I don't know her well enough to have a deep conversation about what she experienced.  By the time she went, thousands of others were there too, which would have changed the dynamic.

In the past week, I've noticed that more people are writing about the revival.  Nadia Bolz-Weber kept tuning into the live stream from the assembly:  

"But there is something in my soul which longs for what I am seeing on these live-streams. Or what I feel I am seeing.

So rather than make big stroke proclamations about what the Asbury Revival is or is not, I’m trying to just pay attention to what longing inside of me is being drawn up in buckets each time I tune in."

In an Opinion piece in The New York Times, Ross Douthat writes about revivals throughout the history of Christianity and concludes:  "And if you’re imagining a renewal for American Christianity, all the best laid plans — the pastoral strategies, theological debates and long-term trendlines — may matter less than something happening in some obscure place or to some obscure individual, in whose visions an entirely unexpected future might be taking shape."

Much like what happened to that original band of people who followed Jesus, the experience that The Chosen captures in such a captivating way.

Ancient Texts, Dry Bones

Yesterday was a wonderful day.  I did seminary writing of all sorts:  a more formal paper finished for my Queer Theology class, responding to classmates' discussion posts for World Religions class, and a less formal response to the week's material for Church History class.  I watched videos for class and did a bit of reading.  I did some piecing together of scraps of cloth into squares for my quilt.  I made dough for homemade pizza, and then I made homemade pizza.  I took a walk.

Today will be more of the same--hurrah!  There's a chance of snow throughout the day, but right now, the skies are clear.  I should probably go for today's walk sooner, rather than later.

I've already written a poem this morning, so I feel like I've won, even before I've started.  I was feeling a bit blah before the writing, devoid of ideas and directions.  So I turned to my file of abandoned lines and chose these two that were in the file just as you see them below:

She collects silk ribbons in a sea of colors

Ancient texts, vast deserts, ash, dry bones and wombs

I used the first line as the first line.  I didn't use the second line overtly in the poem that emerged, although it did shape my ideas.  I've written three stanzas, which may mean that the poem is done, or it may mean that more will come.

Today's seminary writing is not as much writing I look forward to:  a short paper on Teresa of Avila's Interior Castle for Church History.  I want to have a rough draft done by tomorrow.  I also want to start on both exegesis assignments this week-end:  one for the Luke class and one for the Women and the Preaching Life class.

But first, let me get that walk done, before the snow comes.  You might say, "Wait and go for a walk in the snow."  I am actually anticipating rain, not snow.  So let me get some exercise while the weather is decent, cold but clear.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, February 26, 2023:

First Reading: Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 32

Second Reading: Romans 5:12-19

Gospel: Matthew 4:1-11


This week's Gospel tells us the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness. Notice that Jesus is human in his temptations: he is tempted by the ideas of fame, power, and immortality.

In her book, Things Seen and Unseen, Nora Gallagher points out that Jesus will indeed accomplish these things that Satan asks him to do. Jesus will reverse these days in the desert: he will multiply bread, he will hurl himself from the cliff of his crucifixion and be caught by angels, he will be worshipped, but by humbling himself in service (page 85).

Gallagher says that we face the same kinds of temptations that Jesus did: “Magical powers, helplessness, rescue, fame and power—they beckon me every day of my life. Just around the corner lies happiness; a new lover will provide lasting bliss; if I had what she has then I would be . . . They are the fantasies, the illusions, that suck out my vitality, that keep me from discovering my own rich reality. To come to terms with illusion is one of the great jobs of our lives: to discern what is fantasy and what is reality, what is dead and what is alive, what is narcotic and what is food” (page 84).

We may want to tell ourselves that Jesus could resist temptations because of his Divine side. But I would posit that Jesus' special powers of resistance were less about his supernatural side, and more about his spiritual discipline. He's in the wilderness, making a retreat to pray, when he’s tempted. He resists. Throughout the life of Jesus, we see him hard at work honing his powers through his spiritual practices.

Here's the good news. These practices are available to all of us too. Great disciples are not born, they are created. How? We turn ourselves into great disciples the same way that a doughy person transforms himself or herself into a great athlete, the same way that a creative person becomes a great artist. We show up, day after day, logging the training miles, working on our art. And soon enough, we wake up to find out that we've transformed ourselves into a person with new powers.

The season of Lent begins, that season of penitence and discipline. Now is the time to attend to your spiritual life. What practices will you adopt to become a great spiritual athlete? You’ve got a wide variety to choose from. You could give something up: gossip, worry, sugar, alcohol, excessive Internet time, caffeine, chocolate, speeding, more money to your tithe. You could add something: additional Bible reading, more devotional time, prayer, a creative practice. Spend some time in discernment. What one practice could you choose that would bring you closer to God by the time that we get to Easter?

Ash Wednesday 2023

Sound travels in odd ways in this seminary apartment building.  Somewhere, someone has ambient music playing, the kind you might play if you were trying to block out other noise so that you could sleep.  I hear about every third note, and I find it oddly soothing, so much so that I haven't shifted to my usual morning routine of listening to episodes of various NPR shows that I've missed or the few podcasts that I follow.  I've heard the ambient music before, usually in the middle of the night, and it has lulled me back to sleep then.

Another odd fact of life in this apartment building this term:  we have had weekly water outages.  We get announcements in advance, and it's only for a few hours.  Yesterday was one of those outages, and so I took my shower very early, so I could go to the 7 a.m.  Ash Wednesday service at nearby St. Columba's Episcopal church.

I had planned to go to the grocery store after the service, but it occurred to me that I could go before the service if I left right after I finished the morning watch session that I do every morning for my Florida church.  And so, I did.  I was on foot, and I felt perfectly safe, walking to Wegmans just before 6 a.m.  Lots of folks were walking, but almost all of them were construction workers, walking with their hard hats in hand.  As I left Wegmans and walked up the hill to St. Columba's, I stopped to take some pictures of the sunrise:

I got to St. Columba's early, about 6:43 a.m. for the 7 a.m. service, but the church was open.  I went in and took a few pictures before the service started as people were getting ready:

I was happy that a female priest presided.  As we went up for ashes, I tried to determine who filled the pews:  mostly white-skinned women like me, at the far side of midlife or the early part of their older years, most with sensible hair cuts, most in natural shades of gray.  There was one woman who presented as African-American, one younger woman with pink and green hair pulled back in a ponytail, another even younger woman in an American Ballet Theatre sweatshirt who was there with an older man (they seemed to be father-daughter, but who can be sure?).  There were a few men, but mostly females.

The website said it would be a brief service with imposition of ashes and eucharist.  I was a little surprised to see a bulletin:

The service was brief in that we didn't have music, but otherwise, we covered everything that I want in an Ash Wednesday service.  In fact, I found Isaiah 58: 1-12 so moving that I've decided to do my first sermon for Women and the Preaching Life class on the last verses of the text.

After the service, I took some pictures.  Some of the parishioners looked at me as they passed by me, and I wondered if they thought I was strange for taking pictures or if they thought they knew me but couldn't place me.

I returned to my seminary apartment full of purpose and made this Facebook post:  "As many of you know, I'm an early bird, so this morning, I headed off to Saint Columba's Episcopal Church for their first Ash Wednesday service at 7 a.m., and on my way, I stopped by Wegman's to get a few things. I did grocery shopping, got a longish walk done, and got a visceral reminder of my mortality, all before 8 in the morning!"

I had planned to spend the day doing lots of writing for seminary classes, but I did none of it.  I did some of the work that needs to be done before writing:  thinking about the assignment for my Queer Theology class, reading the books that I'll respond to in a discussion post for World Religions class.  I doublechecked my calendars to make sure I wasn't missing anything.

I got other work done.  I called my former employer, the one who severed me from my last full-time job, and asked them to provide me my W2.  It wasn't as awkward as I thought it might be, and I did get the document.  Let me remember how much time it took, the better part of an hour:  I did internet searching, made a phone call, waited on hold, got transferred, waited on hold, got transferred back, took down info about e-mail addresses, sent an e-mail, got a phone call, took down info, got re-registered for Viventium (the site that securely stores all this paperwork), and finally, I got my W2.

I got other writing done, primarily writing in my journal.  I made a casserole that has leftovers that means I won't have to cook later.  I went for a late afternoon walk.  I had a video call with my spouse who is in North Carolina.

I thought about trying to get seminary writing done in the early evening, but I decided that I would do a better job if I waited.  It was too early to go to bed, so I watched a few episodes of The Chosen, which was a much better show than I thought it would be.  I felt slightly less guilty about taking the night off because the show is about Jesus.  I did a lot of sewing on what I'm calling my small pieces collection:

These are the pieces in progress--the double bed in the guest room is covered with finished pieces.  I'm taking advantage of this time of living by myself, keeping supplies close by and every surface draped with fabric:

I won't always have this luxury:  time to write, time to study, time to sew.  I am profoundly grateful.

Ash Wednesday Arrives

  After the pancakes, the ashes.  Yesterday, many of us had pancake dinners, Mardi Gras beverages, all types of festivities:

Yesterday I did not have pancakes, but I did have good lunch with seminary colleagues and later, I went to a pizza place, where I did not eat or drink.  It wasn't an early Lenten fast.  Our Queer Theology class was invited to go for pizza with the Ethical Self and Witness class.  My first thought was dismay about having an evening class.  I decided that I could join them, that I had enough time to walk there and back and to socialize a bit in between.  But I didn't want to drink, because I don't drink when I need to be alert later.  And I wasn't sure I had enough time to order food.  So in the end, I drank water and chatted, which was more a Lent vibe than a Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras vibe.

I was happy to be invited to the kind of event that I thought would be more frequent if I lived on campus--which was both a Mardi Gras and Lent vibe, the happiness of being together with only water to drink.  Many of my fellow seminary students also work at churches, so they were feeling the stress of an Ash Wednesday service to plan and/or needed to head back for Shrove Tuesday events.

I've decided to mix up my usual Ash Wednesday routine--usually I've had to work during the day, so I've gone to evening services.  This year, I'll go to the 7 am service at nearby St. Columba's.  I'm not sure what to expect.  Perhaps it will be drive up ashes, which I've never experienced.  The website does say that there's a short eucharistic service.

Will I go to the National Cathedral for the evening service?  Perhaps.  Let me see how the day unfolds.

Lenten Enrichments

 Yesterday I drove back from my parents' place in Williamsburg after a great week-end with them and my sister.   It was a holiday week-end, so I was not expecting the level of traffic I encountered.  In some ways, I prefer the kind of aggravating traffic I had on Friday--a total stop on the interstate because of a torn apart 18 wheeler and a burned up car--instead of traffic yesterday that zoomed above the speed limit and then 2 minutes later, we were back to stop and go, again and again this cycle.

Eventually I made it back, unloaded the car, and went for a short walk.  I did some school work while I ate, and then I went to my 6:30 class on Luke, taught by way of Zoom.  After class, I was both hyped up but very tired; it's strange how those two states can co-exist.  Deciding that I really needed sleep, I closed the computer.

I had a random thought float across my brain as I was spreading a quilt over the bed:  I wish that Kathleen Norris had a new book out.  And then I wondered if maybe she did--but instead of turning the computer back on, I went to my bookshelf and pulled out Dakota:  A Spiritual Geography, the first book of hers that I read and loved. 

I wish I had been keeping a blog back in the earliest years of this century when I first found this book.  It was published in 1993, which startled me last night when I opened it up for my bedtime reading.  That's 30 years ago!  I flipped to the back, where she gives credit to the publications that first published these essays, places like Gettysburg Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and Massachusetts Review.  I was happy to realize that those magazines are still publishing.

I thought back to when I first read this book, which expanded my view of what an essay could be.  I started trying to write something similar.  I started thinking about how essays could create a book length work.

When I pulled the book off my shelf, I wasn't thinking about the fact that the season of Lent is upon us.  This morning, I thought, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday which means today is Mardi Gras and Shrove Tuesday--if I'm going to adopt a Lenten discipline, the time is now.  And then I turned my attention to this book.  I think I will use this book as part of an increased spiritual study/devotion time--what will that look like?  Stay tuned.

Here is a quote from the book, which talks about the Dakotas both as a physical location and something larger:  "Dakota is a painful reminder of human limits, just as cities and shopping malls are attempts to deny them" (p. 2).  As I write these words, I'm thinking that the season of Lent can also be a painful reminder of human limits.  Our Lenten disciplines can be a way of helping us think about the ways that we want to avoid thinking about these limits and perhaps a way of helping us embrace these limits.

As we eat our Shrove Tuesday pancakes or our Mardi Gras King Cakes, as we indulge and/or plan for how we will avoid indulging, let us plan for our Lenten disciplines.  Or maybe discipline is not the word for our current time--we've had an awful lot of discipline imposed on us for the past few years.  Maybe heightened attention would be better--or here's something I like even better:  enrichment.

Let us plan our Lenten enrichments!

For a more traditional blog post about Shrove Tuesday and Mardi Gras, this post on my theology blog might be what you wanted.  Or maybe you wanted a recipe for a festive cake/bread that's easy; in this blog post, I give you a recipe and photos.

Snippets from Seminary Classes

Let me record a few snippets from seminary classes so that I'll have them in the future.  I like these small snippets; often at the time, I hardly think they're worth preserving, and later I'm so glad that I've captured them.

--I am trying to keep my long term projects in mind as I work my way through the weekly assignments.  In an after-class consult, I said to my New Testament professor:  "My English major brain is in conflict with my Theology student brain.  My English major brain already has a thesis that she's hoping to prove, while my Theology student brain knows the importance of waiting to see what the text reveals to us."  After talking to her, I feel like I'm on a good track and that my two brains can work together.

--In Queer Theology, I am trying so hard not to yammer on and on about what life was like in the days before they were born.  In class, I said that I had seen Paris Is Burning when it first came out, and then amended my statement to acknowledge that I was in the Charleston, SC area so it would have taken awhile to get there.  Later a student talked about having it on as background noise on Netflix, maybe for some sort of Queer History month kind of programming.  Later, I talked about how it's important to remember that this film was made in a time when we didn't all have quality cameras in our pockets by way of our phones.  Camera equipment was expensive and film itself was expensive.  Not just anyone could make a documentary of their own lives, which is why it often took an outsider with access to resources to get it done.

--Tuesday night's Women and the Preaching Life contained a great conversation about the need to help people's imaginations, to help them envision the better life that God calls us to create.  We also talked about calls in general.  So many of my professors are so open about their own call processes, about the twists and turns, and I am grateful for that information.

--In Church History, we've gotten to the Protestant Reformation in England.  I often forget/overlook how the motivations of both Mary and Elizabeth were impacted by the succession question. If the country was not Catholic, Mary was illegitimate; similarly, if the country became Catholic, Elizabeth’s right to the throne was imperiled.

Processing History

I've spent the last week wrestling with this writing assignment for Church History class, which seems like it would work in a variety of settings.  It may be too sophisticated for Confirmation classes, plus I do realize that Confirmation classes are often doing something very different.  It may be much more academic than is appropriate for any church setting--and if that's the case, I feel a bit sad.  

But it may be a perfect approach.  I love the way that it required us to look at a vast swath of history and choose our own focus.  I love the way it required us to respond to each other, but not in a "You're wrong!" way.  I loved that it required us to think about the long term implications of Church History.

Later, perhaps I'll share my answers.  For right now, I don't want to post my answers online, for free of triggering the plagiarism software contained in the course shell.

Here's the assignment:

Most of the reading and lecture materials have focused chiefly on the major reformers and movements in the Reformation (Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, Cranmer).  But there were other, perhaps lesser-known but nevertheless significant, figures.  Some were later-generation leaders, even successors of the early great Reformers (with names like Theodor Beza, Martin Bucer, John Knox, Oecolampadius).  Others were Anabaptists or more fringe Protestant figures (e.g., Konrad Grebel, Thomas Müntzer, Menno Simons).  In addition, we have seen, or will be seeing Roman Catholics who played a key role (Erasmus of Rotterdam, John Eck, Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples, Thomas More, Teresa of Ávila, Ximenes de Cisneros, to name a few).

Select two figures who you see as having played a positive role in the Reformation, and say why.  One may be a major player (such as the three listed above), but at least one must also be a more minor figure.  (If you have encountered a Catholic Reformation / Counter-Reformation figure that you would like to substitute for one of these, you may do so.)  Be sure to state why you believe that the contribution is significant.   In your reference to each, name at least one key event, document, or council related to that person.  This is due by 11:59 p.m. on Thursday, 16 February.

Then, after you post your basic response, reply to one other student (you choose who), and bring it forward to the present:  what lesson or example (this can be positive or negative, either something to imitate, or to avoid) might  the modern Church might one find in one of the two persons that other class member wrote about?  Remember to be courteous in your reply, even (especially!) if you disagree.  (There are two critiques that are out-of-bounds here because they are obvious and I want you to be more subtle and thoughtful: Luther's anti-judaism/anti-semitism, and Knox on women.  Both repugnant -- but choose something else.)  The reply is due by 11:59 p.m. on Saturday, 18 February.

Power and Paper Towels

In my Chapel Visuals class last week, we did an exercise which I haven't had a chance to record here yet.  So, let me do that today.

We arrived to class to see a table, a chair, and 6 rolls of paper towels in front of the classroom windows.  We were told to arrange the objects in a way that said "Power."  One person would make an arrangement, we'd ponder it in silence, and then another person would get up and do the same.  We went in no particular order; we got up as we were moved to do so.

The first arrangement was a stack of paper towels on the table followed by a variation or two.  When it was my turn, I decided to do something different, using the window ledge and latches:

With each turn, we did more and more to think about what we could do.  For example, one person put the chair on the table.  We were deep into the exercise when someone unrolled part of a paper towel roll.  Then I created the following tableau:

What you may not be able to see:  the roll of paper towels that looks like it's suspended in midair is being held by the sheet of paper towels tucked into and around the two upright rolls of paper towels.

I didn't want to take too many pictures--I thought my picture taking might change the dynamic, and I didn't want to risk that.  Also, some of what we did would have been hard to capture.  For example, at one point, I made a tower of paper towels, which I knocked over by holding a roll of paper towels like a bat and whacking the bottom of the tower. 

We then tried to process what we experienced by using "I see ____" "I feel ____" and "I think ____" statements.

I wanted to record this exercise because it seems like one that could lead to some interesting insights with a variety of groups.  Is it a team building exercise?  Perhaps, depending on the dynamics of the team.  Could it lead to interesting writing?  Perhaps.

I also like it because it uses fairly cheap supplies, and it could be tweaked in a variety of ways.  Perhaps we could explore something other than "power."  Perhaps we could work larger or smaller.  Perhaps we could use scraps of cloth and threads and a pine cone.  The possibilities seems endless!

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 19, 2023:

First Reading: Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm: Psalm 2

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 99

Second Reading: 2 Peter 1:16-21

Gospel: Matthew 17:1-9


Here we are at Transfiguration Sunday again. We celebrate this festival on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, and it's such a familiar story that we may feel that we can get nothing new from it. But it's a story that bears repeating.

When I read the Gospel again, I'm not surprised by Peter's offer to build booths and celebrate the Transfiguration in a commercial way. Christ's command to tell no one makes me pause. Why can't we share this amazing moment?

Christ says this often. Go and tell no one--that seems to be a constant command. And it seems antithetical to the task of the Church.

In just a few months, we'll get a very different Pentecost message. Aren't we supposed to go and witness? Spread the good news? If Jesus is our role model, what do we make of his command to stay silent?

In some ways, perhaps Jesus knew the times he lived in. He knew that early fame would undo his purpose. He knew that people would focus on the physical plane--"This man can heal my blindness"--but not the spiritual plane, the one where we need healing the most.

He also knew that people who see visions, who catch a glimpse of something otherworldly, are often shunned by the community. What would have happened if James and John and Peter came down from the mountain and proclaimed what they had seen? How would the community have responded?

Jesus knew that he couldn't appear too threatening to the status quo too early. In the verses that follow, the ones not included in this Gospel, Jesus makes clear that persecution follows those who see visions. And that persecution still persists today. Our culture tolerates those of us who pray. It's less tolerant of those of us who claim that God replies to our prayers.

The life of the believer is tough, and one measure of its difficulty is knowing when to speak, and knowing when to hold our tongues. Sometimes we should keep our counsel. Sometimes we should testify verbally. Always we should let our lives be our testimony.

Christ also might have been wary of the human tendency to rush towards transfiguration. We yearn to be different, but so often, we shun the hard work involved. We might embrace transformation before we stop to consider the cost.

Like Peter, we might want to turn Christ into Carnival: build booths, charge admission, harness holiness. Jesus reminds us again and again that the true work comes not from telling people what we’ve seen, but by letting what we’ve seen change the way that we live. Our true calling is not to be carnival barker, but to get on with the work of repair and building of the communities in which we find ourselves.

Living Sacraments and the Feast Day of Saint Valentine

Here's one of those strange feast days, a feast day that's more popular in the general culture than it is in the church culture that pays attention to saints and their days. 

 Those of us in religious circles might spend some time thinking about this feast day and the ways we celebrate it, both within our religious cultures and in popular culture.  I've often thought that marriage at its best is sacramental:  it demonstrates to me in a way that few other things can how deeply God loves me.  If my spouse's love for me is but a pale shadow of the way God loves me, then I am rich in love indeed.

I use the word marriage cautiously.  I don't mean it the way that some Christians do.  I mean simply a love relationship between adults that is covenantal and permanent in nature, as permanent as humans are capable of being.

I realize that this day is fraught with sadness and frustration for many people. I went to elementary school in the 1970's, before we worried about children's self esteem. If you wanted to bring Valentines for only your favorite five fellow students, you were allowed to do that. So, some people wound up with a shoebox/mailbox full of greetings and treats, and some wound up with very little.  I was in the middle, but instead of focusing on how lucky I was to have love notes at all, I compared my haul to those of my prettier friends.  I'm still working on remembering the wisdom a yoga teacher told me once:  "Don't compare yourself to others.  It won't help your balance."

I still worry about how this day might make people feel excluded.  I worry that as with baptism, we don't support people in their covenantal relationships in all the ways that we could.  I worry that a day that celebrates love in this way makes people who don't have a romantic relationship feel doomed.

To me, this feast day is essentially a manufactured holiday, yet another one, designed to make us feel like we must spend gobs and gobs of money to demonstrate our love.

Every day, ideally, should be Valentine's Day, a day in which we try to remind our loved ones how much we care--and not by buying flowers, dinners out, candy, and jewelry.  We show that we love by our actions:  our care, our putting our own needs in the backseat, our concern, our gentle touch, our loving remarks, our forgiveness over and over again.

And sustained by the love that sustains in our homes, we can go out to be a light that shines evidence of God's love to the dark corners of the world.  Every week, we are reminded of the darkness, and some weeks it intrudes more than others.  We must be the light that beats back the darkness.

On this Valentine's Day, let us go out into the world, living sacraments, to be Valentines to one another, to show a weary world the wonders of God's love.

A February Wedding

I was expecting something a bit more wintry when I woke up this morning, but so far we have rain.  Actually, we have a break in the rain, although the radar shows unsettled weather all around us.  There was talk in the winter weather warning/advisory of gusty winds, but so far, they have not arrived.  The upside:  we still have power, heat, and internet.  The downside:  still none of the winter weather that warms my heart (the kind that doesn't linger but looks pretty as it drifts by the window).

Because I knew of the threat of wintry weather and potential outages, I finished my seminary work that is due over the next few days, and I've done the weekly reminder e-mail to my online students.  Whether or not we go to church may depend on what kind of wintry mix arrives in the next few hours.  I don't want to risk icy roads, and I can't really tell what's happened overnight.

Happily, we were able to get to the wedding of a dear Create in Me friend yesterday.  Her wedding was at 4, which is a perfect time.  The reception was a delicious meal of tacos, followed with cupcakes.  We had a variety of wines from Michigan, where the bride and groom lived originally.

Long ago, they went to high school together, although they weren't together then.  They reconnected at a 45 year high school reunion, and relationship has deepened in the last 5+ years.  I didn't know the bride, my Create in Me friend, when she was married to her first husband, but I do remember a conversation before she reconnected with the man who is now her husband, a conversation where she despaired of ever finding love.

As I watched them make their vows, I thought about what a different station in life I'm in now.  Once, I went to several weddings a year, but now it's a much more rare occasion.  In some ways, that made yesterday even more joyous.

I will say that this wedding is the first where we have celebrated communion, and the bride and groom did the pouring of the wine from the chalice into each person's tiny up.  I was impressed with their compusure.

In fact, one reason, apart from the weather, that I'm not as worried about going to church this morning is that the wedding service yesterday had the important parts of worship, along with joining of two lives together.  In some ways, it seems a fitting metaphor for what worship should do every time we participate:  join lives together in a larger, deeper mystery.

A Quick Trip back to North Carolina

Yesterday I got up at my usual early morning hour and brewed a pot of coffee.  But unlike other mornings, I poured the coffee in a thermos, put my contacts in, and headed down the road.  I am making a quick trip to North Carolina this week-end for the wedding of one of my Create in Me friends.

Happily, her wedding is at 4 today.  We're under a winter weather advisory, but it doesn't start until 7 p.m.  The church is less than a mile from our house, so we'll be O.K.  We probably won't leave the house tomorrow though:  I'm expecting a wintry mix, and given the state of automobile related purchases and repairs in the country right now, I don't want to risk having an accident.

Because there is a winter weather advisory, I've packed more books than I usually would.  Because the high on Monday is forecast to be in the 50's, I don't really expect to be snowed in here for very long.  But if I am, I'm ready to work on projects that don't require internet access.  

I may leave later than usual on Monday, just in case there are icy patches--again, I don't want to risk car repairs/replacements.  Happily, my class on Monday is at 6:30 p.m, and it's by way of Zoom, so I have flexibility.

It was strange, reflecting on the possibility of wintry weather; when I put my suitcase in the car yesterday morning at 4:45 a.m., the temperature was in the 60's.  It was perfect traveling weather:  overcast but no rain or fog.  I drove, alternating between NPR and various radio stations playing various songs.  I was thinking about "Should I Stay or Should I Go," by the Clash, wondering whether I will ever get to a time when I hear the lyrics and don't think about that indecision as a perfect summary of my current life circumstances.  In the past, it's been about a job more than any other circumstance.  As I drove to my North Carolina house, I had seminary housing on the brain, wondering when we'll lose that building, what the course schedule for fall will look like, and how the North Carolina house renovations are proceeding.

When we moved into the house, we were intrigued by the fact that it has no front door.  And now, it does:

My spouse also built a small deck, so that it's easier to get in and out--here's a view from the side:

And here's the original view of the house before it had a front door:

Now let me get some of my seminary homework done, just in case we lose power and/or internet with this winter storm.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 12, 2023:

First Reading: Deuteronomy 30:15-20

First Reading (Alt.): Sirach 15:15-20

Psalm: Psalm 119:1-8

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 3:1-9

Gospel: Matthew 5:21-37


Last week's Gospel looks easy in the light of this week's Gospel. Light of the world, salt of the earth: check. We know how to do that: feed the poor, be kind to everyone we meet, clothe the ragged, make sure that the oppressed are taken care of. Not easy, to be sure, but easy compared to this week's Gospel.

This week, Jesus tells us that our inner landscape must match our outer actions. Righteous actions aren't good enough. We must work for purity of heart and brain too.

Everyone I know seems to be wrestling with a variation of this question: how can we live a life of integrity, a life that's in synch with our values? The Gospel gives us some fairly serious instruction along these same lines, as Jesus directs us to be sure that our insides and our outsides match. Apparently our current struggles with living a life that's in balance are not new to our time.

We all know what happens if our lives get out of synch. We become hypocrites, and most of us would say we don't want that.

I could make the argument that the hypocrisy of Christians do more to hurt our Gospel mission than anything else. If you know any non-believers and you ask them why they don't believe, they won't often bring up the fact that belief in God requires a faith beyond their senses, a faith beyond what is scientifically proveable.

No, most non-believers will bring up the hypocrisy of Christians, from the smaller hypocrisies, like the Christian who pretends to be a friend to your face but spreads ugly rumors about you, to the huge hypocrisies, like all the sexual predators employed by the Church through the ages. How can they believe in the God of those types of people?

And if you ask the non-churched why they don't go to church, they will almost always bring up hypocrisy. Many outsiders look at churches and wonder why they don't do more with the resources that they have. Most people know the Gospel message about caring for the poor and dispossessed. Outsiders wonder why we aren't doing more.

Those of us who have served on church councils have some inside information. We know that many churches struggle with the questions of how to best use our resources. We may be rich in land, but poor in cash flow. We may have lots of great ideas, but very few volunteers. We may be struggling to conserve the legacy of those who built our local churches while moving forward into this brave new century.

Jesus wants us to be more than surface Christians. It's easy to go to church service each week, to sing the hymns, to hug each other. It's harder to live our Christian values the rest of the week. Go back and reread all of what Jesus tells us to do, both in this Gospel and throughout the Gospel texts. Can we really live like that? We're called to forgive each other more times than we think we can. We're called to make peace with our neighbors before we head to church. We're called to give away our money to those who have less than we do.

The world watches to see how we live our lives.

On Campus Joys

 Yesterday was the kind of day where I was happy to be on campus, the kind of day I couldn't have had if I hadn't been able to be on campus.  Let me record the ways:

--Last week, at a lunch and learn panel, I found out that one of my favorite professors is on the ordination path, in addition to her work as a seminary professor, a job she doesn't plan to leave.  I went up afterwards to say that I'd like to hear more about that path, and she suggested we go for coffee the following week.  Yesterday we followed up and went for coffee, and it was every bit as delightful as I thought it would be.  We talked about a variety of teaching possibilities and other types of ministry possibilities.  The coffee was delicious; we went to Compass Coffee, which was new to me.

--We got back from our coffee and went to the MLK Lecture.  Rev. Dr. Teresa Fry Brown gave an amazing speech entitled "The Power of Dreaming Out Loud."  She talked about Martin Luther King's dreams, both those in the famous speech and earlier and later versions.  He went to wide awake engagement, dreaming out loud.  She asked us to think about what we have envisioned lately and what are we doing about it.  Near the end of her speech, she said, "Use the words that you have and do the work God has given you to do." 

Here's a photo taken by Lisa Helfert (and all photos are taken by her):

The University of DC Chorale sang three times, and they were amazing:

After her speech, we went to the refectory for a Lunch and Learn.  Even though she had given a rousing speech, she was still energized when she talked to us.  It was revelatory, hearing about her career, about how doors didn't open, and she just kept doing what she knew God had called her to do.

I had to leave to go to class, but I wrote down the last things she said.  She told us about her work as a historiographer and told us to write everything down.  And she said we should be able to do more than one thing; she's 71 years old, and she's in law school, even though she has other career options at this point.

--The rest of my day was delightful too, but they are the delights I get to have every week:  Queer Theology class and Women and the Preaching Life class last night.  In the evening class, we broke into small groups.  We were each given the chapter of a book that we were discussing.  We had to write a 4-5 sentence summary and a marketing slogan.  It was an interesting way of thinking about the material, and it was a good way to get to know my classmates a bit better.  I always feel a bit of dismay when a class splits into small groups, and I was happy to have my fears allayed.

Incarnation and Other Rules of the Universe

Once I am done with today's seminary classes, I will have completed my third week of the semester.  It feels like I've been enrolled in Spring 2023 semester much longer.  Let me record a few thoughts.

--As always, I do wonder if I could get almost the same intellectual growth if I just read the books on my own.  But I also have weekly writing assignments in most classes that force me to engage with the books in a different way than just reading.  Sure, I could do that on my own.  But I'm happy to report that interacting with my classmates, whether in class or on discussion boards, also helps me learn.  I have insights that I'm convinced I would not have had without that interaction.

--Could I have found that interaction outside of graduate classes?  Theoretically yes.  In practical terms, no.  In the non-seminary world, it's hard to find people with similar interests, with reading time, who will make time for deep discussion of books on a weekly basis.

--I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about incarnation, God taking on human flesh, which is not a common trait across religions.  I had been reading Queer Theory and Queer Theology, and the texts we have been reading want to celebrate bodies and sex and carnal pleasure and fluidity.  We've come across startling ideas, like God as Divine Orgy (a metaphor used to describe both the Trinity and the relationships that this Trinitarian God has with creation).

--But so far, we haven't read any Queer Theory or Queer Theology that wrestles with the ways that aging impacts our theory, thoughts, and theology.  Does it exist?  Perhaps we haven't read it because everyone in the class is much younger.  Perhaps we haven't read it because it doesn't exist.

--What if we've gotten incarnation all wrong?  What if God didn't take on human flesh to show us how to be a human or to redeem us, but for some other reason that has been lost to us through the ages?

--And now I'm wondering if there's a theology of aging (regardless of gender, sexual desire, relationship status) that I don't know about.

On to other subjects:

--I went back and looked at the birth narratives of both Luke and Matthew.  I'm struck by the fact that Matthew has the Divine plan revealed in dreams, while Luke has angels, both individual appearances by Gabriel and the angel choir that appears to shepherds.

--In last night's Luke class, we talked about the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness.  Our professor pointed us to a text for class that I had read, but I had missed the importance of a nugget as I read quickly to get ready for class.  Jesus is on earth, not all powerful, but hemmed in by rules established by God--and here I am back at Trinitarian theory, wondering how/if that conversation happened.  And then I thought about that eternal question;  why does God allow bad stuff to happen?  Maybe there are rules that God has to obey.  And if there are rules that God must obey, for whatever reasons, can we really say that God is all powerful? 

--I have become comfortable with the idea that God is not all powerful, for whatever reason.  But I know that I will meet people who are not comfortable with that idea, and I wonder if presenting it as a rules-based universe that limits what God is allowed to do--would that idea be easier?

--During our visit to the mosque, one of the leaders of the mosque talked about the separate worship space for women.  It's a space without walls, but it is behind the men.  The leader explained that the placement was out of respect.  They don't want men looking at the women as they bend and kneel.  They don't want women to feel exposed.  My younger self might have been outraged by this approach.  My older self wishes I had more space where I didn't feel exposed as a woman or as a human.

--In our Women in the Preaching Life, we began with a ceremony.  Our teacher made an altar out of a table:  with a cloth, a statue, some candles, and a bowl of small rocks.  We went around the room describing a woman (or two or three or more) who had been important in helping us discern our call to the preaching life.  Many of us talked about our mothers.  But we also talked about teachers.  And a few of us talked about a fellow worshipper who made time to listen.  It reminded me never to doubt that there are many ways to be a force for good in the world.  We took a rock to remind us of the people who have believed in us.

Fibers and Fragments as February Begins

 I am feeling anxious about all that I need to do today, even though I have plenty of time before my first commitment, my class on Luke that starts at 6:30.  In part the anxiety blossoms because of all that I didn't do yesterday--although I did write a short paper from start to finish to submission and did some reading and attended a mandatory student housing meeting.  I did not achieve my usual level of productivity because I spent much of the week-end in class, but my anxiety is taking no notice of that.

So, let me just collect a series of brief observations and captured Facebook posts and get on with the work of the day.

--Yesterday I was on The Chronicle of Higher Education website scrolling through job postings for English faculty, and I came across this posting for someone to teach quilting and fiber arts.  Why was this posting in the English section?  I have no idea.  But I did spend the rest of yesterday thinking about it.  There are all sorts of reasons why I'm not qualified.  The ideal candidate would have "Knowledge of African American, Latinx, or other quilting traditions outside of European and European-American traditions."  That's not me.  I don't have "Professional experience in fiber arts," although I have done more than just quilting, another wish of the department.  The ideal candidate needs to do hand sewing and machine sewing.  For most people, the hand sewing would be a deal breaker, but for me, the machine sewing is something I don't do.

--I am surprised by how many full-time jobs there are at Virginia community colleges.  Several of them are still within an easy drive of DC.  I am in the process of applying to them for a variety of reasons that I may blog about later.  I don't need additional part-time work, but a full-time job is attractive for many reasons.  I'd be willing to take fewer seminary classes if I had the stability and joy of a full-time faculty job.

--It's been the kind of week where I've had reminders of the joys of teaching.  On Tuesday, I made this Facebook post:  "We had a great Queer Theology class today. Even more interesting to me, I'm seeing works of Queer Theory referenced, and I'm thinking about reading some of them, like works by Judith Butler, when they first were published back in the 90's. But even more interesting, during that same decade, I was teaching David Henry Hwang's 'M. Butterfly' in my first year Intro to Lit classes at a community college near Charleston, SC, and we were having fascinating discussions about gender fluidity, long ago and far away."

--I also saw a photo of some colleagues from that community college, colleagues who are still meeting for meals even though many of them have retired.  I left this comment:  "Some of the best colleagues and friends I've ever had."  In fact, many of the best friends I've ever had come from schools where I've been teaching and before that, from schools where I've been taking classes.

--I am not interested in any sort of academic administrator job.  Too much stress.

--Last week, I did some of my writing in the library.  I needed the page numbers for my Luther assignment, and the online version of the book didn't have them.  So I went to the library to use the reserve copy of the paper version of the Luther text.

--While there, I made this Facebook post:  "My seminary's library is small compared to the libraries at large research universities. There's a smell that's comforting and familiar, a smell I remember from undergraduate days in the library at Newberry College, the smell of old paper and the knowledge of the ages held in precious containers. Back to finishing my paper on Martin Luther's view of sacraments and the 'Pagan Servitude of the Church' (what a title! My paper will not have that kind of zinger of a title)."

--I wonder why John Dillenberger, the editor of the Luther text, didn't use the more common title of the essay:  "On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church."

--Our seminary apartment building has had the water turned off once a week for the last few weeks.  It's only for a few hours at a time, but it makes me conscious of needing to plan.  I fill up the empty gallon pitcher with water, and later, I use it to rinse.  So far, I've never needed it for a cup of tea or a drink or to flush.  Today is another outage, so let me go take a shower.

Seminarians at a Mosque

Yesterday was a 9-5 day for my World Religions class.  This hybrid model works well:  2 week-ends during the semester with a Friday night class and an all-day Saturday class, with online modules in between, including discussion boards to keep us connected.  I'm glad we met for one of our week-ends before doing discussion boards.  I've never had hostile encounters in a class discussion board setting, but I know it's possible.

Each Saturday, we meet for a morning of instruction and discussion, followed by lunch, and then a field trip.  Yesterday's field trip was to a mosque.

Come to find out, it's the oldest mosque built by US born people--there are older mosques in the US that were built by immigrants.  This mosque is the oldest mosque in the U.S. built by descendants of enslaved people.

The mosque was once a Nation of Islam mosque, but it has since become a Sunni mosque.  The building has a community center or a reclaimed gym kind of feeling, but that's probably because of the curved ceiling:

  

Here's a longer view:

The mosque is open for prayers during 5 times a day, with an extra prayer time on Friday.  We were there to observe the prayers at 3:11 yesterday afternoon.  The leader asked each man where he was from:  Ghana (3 people), Ethiopia (5 people), Turkey (1), another East European country I didn't quite catch the name of (1), Pakistan (1), and 3 from the District of Columbia. The 5 leaders were also from DC. They do have women members, but none were there for 3:11 prayers.  The men prayed shoulder to shoulder on these rugs:

My class is half women, and we had been told in advance that we would need to cover our hair, so we did with scarves that we brought.  I thought we looked lovely.  I didn't feel oppressed particularly; the men who gathered for prayer also wore headcoverings.  Plus, I had a Muslim friend in grad school who explained why she covered her hair.  The idea that she reserved part of herself just for her husband to see made sense to me and felt less oppressive than the other explanations that had been offered by non-Muslim media that I had read.

We were all asked to wear masks, which makes sense to me, and everyone did.  People who arrived without a mask were offered the box of masks to take one, and no one protested.  On Friday, the synagogue had a section of seating reserved for those who wanted to wear masks and not sit next to unmasked people.  Two people sat there, clearly together, and one woman removed her mask part the way through the service.

At the mosque, we were offered bottles of water and a snack, which came in a globed container (see above).

The snack was some sort of bean cake, which was slightly sweet, with the moist texture of a very firm pudding.

At the end, we took group pictures, but no one has sent those to me.  When they do, I'll circle back here to post one.  I was touched by the men in charge of the mosque who wanted pictures and wanted to assure us that we're always welcome to return, either as a group or individually, for any reason.

In short, it was a great afternoon, and just the kind of opportunity I hoped I would have if I was able to take classes at the seminary, instead of only from a great distance.  I feel very lucky.

Seminarians at a Synagogue

I am taking a World Religions class this term.  It's experiential, meaning that we go places and interact with people of different faiths, in addition to reading about the different faiths.  It's the kind of opportunity that might not always be mine to seize:  the professors might not always teach it, the hospitality from other faiths might not always be extended, and I live on campus, which makes it easy in a way that it might not be in the future, if the class is offered again.

Last night, our class went to the nearby Washington Hebrew Congregation, which we learned is one of the largest ones in the U.S. and the world.  We celebrated Shabbat in the smaller worship space, which is larger than many movie theatres in terms of seating.

Before we did that, we went to a Torah study that happens for a half hour before worship every Friday.  What a treat.  Here is the passage we studied, Exodus 13:  17-18:   "17 When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, “If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.” 18 So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea.[a] The Israelites went up out of Egypt armed for battle."  There was a larger portion on the handout, but that's all we had time for.

We talked about how the people's hearts needed to change, otherwise they would go back to what was safe and familiar, even if it was a state of slavery.  We talked about how we are not unlike those ancient people.

Then we filed into the worship space and I did my best to follow along.  I did not try to sing, even though I had a sense of what we were doing in the prayer book.  I couldn't make sense of the Hebrew words on the page and the sung words.  I enjoyed it, and spent perhaps too much time wondering if the musicians were paid professionals and if this music would be the music I would hear at a Shabbat service at a different synagogue.  The service had familiar elements:  a sermon, readings, music, time with children, praying for those who needed prayers, offering up our joys.

There was food before and after the service, and not just food, but several tables full of serving stations of hot food, a table of non-hot food (crackers, cheese, fruits, veggies), and a tureen of soup (last night's soup was carrot ginger, and it was delicious).  There was also a full bar, including hard alcohol, with lots of choices.  It felt amazing to me, and I asked the rabbi if they eat like this every week.  He said, "We try to."  

After the service, my seminary group met with the rabbi for a bit of conversation about the differences between Jews and Christians.  We focused on the order of the books of the Scripture.  The highlight of the night, though, is when the rabbi took us to the much larger worship space and showed us the Torah scroll.  Here's where they are kept.

And here's one of the scrolls rolled out.

The glowing aspect above is because of the lighting and my older cell phone camera--but I kind of like the effect.

And here's the tool used to help read the Torah:

The rabbi said that Moses went up to the mountain, talked to God, and what did he come down from the mountain with?  I said, "A sunburn," an answer which surprised everyone.  The correct answer was the stone tablets.  It was such a correct answer that I thought it was too obvious and went with my sunburn reply, which I just blurted out without really thinking about it.

We asked a few questions, and then we adjourned for the night.  It was so fascinating I could have stayed and talked for several hours, despite the fact that it was past my preferred bed time.

Today we have time in the classroom this morning, and this afternoon we go to a mosque.  Tomorrow, I'll report back.

The Feast Day of Anna and the Feast Day of Simeon

Today we celebrate the lives of Simeon and Anna.  Yesterday was the feast day that celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple 40 days after his birth.  Simeon was the priest at the temple that day.  God had promised Simeon that he would not die without seeing the Messiah, and at the end of Simeon's life, God fulfills the promise.

When he held Jesus, he said the words that many of us still use as part of our liturgies: "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."

On this day, we also celebrate Anna the Prophetess, who was also there for the presentation.  Like Simeon, she's at the end of her life, and she's spent much of her life in the temple, doing the support work that keeps religious work running smoothly.  It's interesting that I assume she did the support work--the text says she spent her days worshiping God and fasting and praying.  My brain filled in the rest:  that she did the sweeping and the care of the candles/lamps and the feeding of everyone.

We have the song of Simeon; I wonder if Anna sang a song?  I wonder what it would be?

I am fairly new to this pair of feast days; in fact, I only realized a few years ago that Anna and Simeon share the same feast day.  I love feast days that celebrate humans at the end of life, humans who haven't done anything particularly remarkable--although staying faithful for a lifetime is fairly remarkable.

The churches of my childhood didn't spend much time on the old people in any story. The lectionary readings focus on Jesus and the disciples, who are often presented as men in the youthful prime of their lives.

I'm forever grateful to feminist scholars who have returned to these texts and given them a new spin as they imagined what would happen if we moved women to the center of the narratives--or, if not the center, at least out of the marginal shadows.

I feel a need to do something similar with the stories of the old folks. Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna are great places to start.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine.  And if we're faithful to the best of our abilities, we may find out we've been holding the Divine in our hands all along.

Holidays Halfway through Winter

We are at the halfway point of winter--halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Today is Candlemas, where Christians celebrate the presentation of Jesus at the Temple (also known as the Feast Day of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple), and pagans long ago celebrated the goddess Brigid (and the feast day of St. Brigid was yesterday), and some Wiccans today will be celebrating at Imbolc, or a variation of any number of pagan holidays. It's also Groundhog's Day. It's one of those times when we can almost perceive the shifting of the seasons. It's not spring yet, but it will be soon.

Candlemas is the feast day that speaks to me. Candlemas celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. It's the last feast holiday that references Christmas. We could see it as the final festival of Christmas, even though most of us have had the decorations packed away since even before Epiphany.

Some churches and monasteries will bless the year's supply of candles. I love this tradition. Today would be a good day to light a candle and to think about our own lights. Are we dimly burning wicks? Take heart--the Bible promises that we can still be useful. Does our light burn pure and true? Take care to protect that flame.

This morning I tried to sketch a basket of candles, and then a haiku-like poem-like bit came to me:

Basket of candles

Waiting to be blessed today

Year of light to come

The holidays of early February (Groundhog Day, Candlemas, St. Brigid's Day, Imbolc and Oimelc ) remind us that the light hasn't really left us. Spring will be here soon.

Saint Brigid's Cross in Cloth

 In the past, I've felt sad as feast days come and go, and I have no time to do much more than a blog post (and often, it's a reposting of what I've done before).  If you were hoping for that kind of reading, head over to this blog post, where you can also enjoy a poem.

This year, as I thought about the feast day of Saint Brigid, I thought, I could make a woven cross.  Sure, I don't have reeds or rushes, but I have cloth.  I have so much cloth.  Just a year ago, I didn't have enough to even think about a small project, much less a bigger one.  But now I have enough cloth for several large projects and any small project I might want to do.  I used the directions here to walk me through it.

I cut 9 strips of cloth--in the end, I would need 12 strips.

I began weaving--so far, so good, although I did think that a stiffer reed or straw would make the weaving easy.

I was glad that I had the foresight to use pieces of cloth from across a wide range of colors:

Here's my finished project.  

And a close up of the middle of the cross, the knot, which is not nearly as tidy as it would be if I had used straw:

Now the question:  what to do with this cross?  I know that the traditional answer would be to hang it over a door, but to do that, I'll need to get something to stiffen the cloth:

I realize it's not over the door, but it's the only hook I had.

I am glad to have had this experience, although it took longer than I thought it would, about an hour from start to finish.  I tried to do it meditatively, giving thanks for women like Saint Brigid, who founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare.  She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination. 

Now let me go out for a walk.  We got our first dusting of snow last night, and it's beautiful to look at from inside.  Let me go get a closer look.