Pangs at the First Sign of Fall

Yesterday as we drove across the mountain to Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee where I preach every Sunday, I saw a very small maple tree with most of its leaves that glorious scarlet color that says autumn to me, not July 30.

I thought that maybe the tree had something wrong with it, but as I looked at all the trees, I noticed that many of them have shifted a bit.  I saw lots of browns and bronzes, rusty shades, the kind of color that I first read as too much spraying of herbicide.  But I saw the color on tree after tree, county after county, across state lines, so I think I'm seeing the first signs of autumn, signs so subtle that I would have missed them, had I not seen the scarlet maple tree.

I feel the pang that I remember from summers from a distant past, that pre-emptive mourning.  I know that my pace of life increases in just a few weeks, and I'm enjoying this more relaxed pace that I have now.  I know that come October, I'll be missing these summer days that have less structure.  And this year, I'm lucky to have summer days that have warmth, but not the blazing heat that make me yearn for summer to just be over and done with.

This week is the last week of camp at Lutheridge, and it's the week I'm volunteering as a Bible study (C3ARE) leader for middle schoolers.  I thought I'd be doing it by myself, but much to my surprise, we're in teams this week--and my teammate is a Create in Me friend.  Hurrah!

We are both teachers and have been for decades.  We have the kind of background where we could create an entire curriculum with not much prep time, so I don't feel much stress about it.  Plus, she's been a C3ARE leader with middle schoolers for years now, so she knows what to expect.  The campers will be off site for 2 of our 3 mornings, and camp ends on Friday this week, not Saturday, so it's a reduced load of a week.

Next week is my last week of summer, and it's not even a complete time off--my online classes end on Monday, which means I'll have grading to do.  I am taking advantage of this time of less responsibility and getting in a trip to see my parents in Williamsburg.  When I thought about moving to seminary, I knew that I wanted to see my parents more often, and even though I've moved further away, I still want to do that.  Even though I'm in a bit of denial about my own age, I'm not in denial about their age; I know that we don't have decades of time together.

But this morning, a different kind of time transport awaits--breakfast in the dining hall!  Let me get ready.

Feast Day of the Bethany Siblings

In the decades/centuries before 1969, on July 29, we would have celebrated Saint Martha, one of few named women in the Gospels.  Now we celebrate not only Martha, but also her sister Mary and their brother Lazarus.

In a way, I think it's a shame, as each of these siblings deserves their own feast day.  But today let us ask if we can we learn something from celebrating all of them together?

In many ways, Martha is the most famous of the siblings, and I've written about her extensively.  Many others have written about Mary.  I'm intrigued by the people who go back to the Greek to try to prove that Mary actually had some authority, that the reason that she wants to sit at the feet of Jesus while Martha gets the meal ready is that she had been out and about in the countryside, in the way that the disciples had been sent.

Lazarus, also famous, is one of the few humans brought back from the very dead.  He didn't just die an hour before Jesus arrived.  He had been dead for days.  I've always thought he deserved a story of his own, a follow up.  I'm not the only one who thinks this, of course.  Yeats is one of the more famous writers to revisit Lazarus after the tomb; I should revisit his play "Calvary."

Depending on how you attribute the various references to the women named Mary (all the same Mary?  Who is the sister of Martha and who is the Magdalene?  And then there's the mother of Jesus), Martha gets more space in the Gospels than her two siblings. We see her complaining about Mary not helping her, and we see her scolding Jesus for not coming earlier to keep her brother from dying.

I have always sympathized with Martha, and I still can feel the shock that come when Jesus doesn't.  But in my later years, I see compassion in the words of Jesus when he reminds Martha that she worries about many things.  It's only been in my later years that I see Martha's anxiety in a more clinical way.  It's only been in later years that I see the harm in Martha's behavior, the way that obsessive anxiety for the ones we love can destroy so much.

Do I know what to do about my own obsessive anxiety?  I know a few tricks, sure.  I haven't explored every possibility; so far, I don't take any meds for my anxiety outbreaks.  When I'm in the throes of an anxious day, I wonder if it's time to find a health care provider who can prescribe them.  When I'm having a normal day, I think that I am managing just fine.

In some ways, I see a thread running through the stories of these siblings.  Christ shows up to tell them that they're not doing fine.  One of the siblings, Mary, is open to Christ's message, while Martha is not.  We might think it's too late for Lazarus, but it's not.

Once again, I find myself wanting to know what happens in a year or two or ten.  Does Lazarus return to regular life?  Having lost him once, does his family appreciate him more?  Does Martha ever get a handle on her anxiety?  Does Mary go out to create the first convent?  Or is she so tired of having to deal with her sister that she finds a solitary existence in a nearby desert?  

The Gospels give us such small snippets, but that leaves us room to find ourselves in these stories.  One of the benefits to feast days and lectionaries is that we have the opportunity to return to them periodically to see if we're finding something new.

Each year, I'm reminded that God works in ways that humans don't fully understand, and that we need to resist the impulse to micromanage the miracles.  But even if we don't, God won't go off in a huff and abandon us.

This year, and every year, I'm hoping that humans can also model that behavior.  We're beset with anxiety, as are those around us.  Let us remember that resurrection can still occur.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 30, 2023:

First Reading: 1 Kings 3:5-12

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 29:15-28

Psalm: Psalm 119:129-136

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 128 (Psalm 128 (Semi-continuous) NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:26-39

Gospel: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Today we have a series of interesting parables which Jesus uses to explain the Kingdom of Heaven. I don't think that Jesus is explaining the afterlife, the way that many of us might assume when we hear the word "Heaven." Instead, Matthew uses that word as shorthand for a concept that's closer to "life as God intended."

Note the smallness, the almost invisibility, of the first two images (verses 31-33): mustard seeds and yeast. There are two elements which are interesting. One is that these small grains left alone will transform themselves into something bigger--and in the case of yeast, will transform the surrounding elements too. Leave flour alone, and it won't change much in terms of volume. Even if it gets buggy, the bag won't explode. But add yeast and water and a bit of sweetness and leave the bowl in a warm place for a few hours--when you return to the bowl, the dough might be overflowing. Likewise with a seed. Plant it in the earth with a bit of fertilizer, add some water each day, and leave it alone--if you're lucky, you get a shrub or a tree. If we go out looking for the kingdom to be a big, glorious thing, we might miss the Kingdom.

Many people simply don't register the presence of God because they're looking for the wrong thing. They're looking for something huge and powerful. For example, think about the Jews of Jesus' time. They didn't want spiritual salvation. When they talked about a savior, they wanted someone who would kick the Romans out of their homeland. They missed the miracle of Jesus because they looked for the wrong sign.

The next set of metaphors (verses 44-46) talks about the preciousness of the Kingdom and also a bit about the effort required to find it. The treasure/pearl doesn't just fall into the men's laps--they're out looking.

Likewise, Kingdom living requires some effort on our part. God wants to meet us, but we have to go forward towards God. We have to look for the right signs, and we have to make some effort. That effort might be regular prayer, spiritual reading, going to church, turning ourselves into caring people, giving more of our money away.  It might require turning off the constant news cycle so that we can hear God.  

Finding a Kingdom life, the life that God intends for us, will require us to do something different than what we've been doing.  But the end of the Gospel assures us that our efforts will be worth it.  The field will give its hidden treasure; the fishing nets will be full.

The Feast Day of Saint Anne

Today is the feast day of Saint Anne, although in the Eastern Orthodox church, her feast day was yesterday. Saint Anne was the mother of the Virgin Mary, which means she was the grandmother of Jesus.  She's not mentioned in the canonical Bible.  The apocryphal Gospel of James mentions her.  I haven't read that text, but I am sure that the details I want to know are not there--what did daily life look like?  How did Mary and Anne get along?  What did Anne think of Jesus?

Anne is the patron saint of many types of women:   unmarried women, housewives, seamstresses, women in labor or who want to be pregnant, and grandmothers.  She's also the patron saint of educators, which are still primarily women.

As I was researching her this morning, I came across this image from a 15th century Book of Hours, and it's quickly become my favorite:

I love that both Saint Anne and Mary have books in their hands.  According to many traditions, Saint Anne taught Mary to read, and she's often seen doing this.  As I look at those images, I wonder if the artists realized what a subversive image it is:  a woman teaching a girl to read.

Anne is sometimes depicted in scenes of Jesus as a baby, but so far, we have no image of her at the cross.  I suspect that's because so many of this artwork comes from centuries ago, when it would have been very unusual for grandparents to survive to see their grandchildren in adulthood.  Plus, one tradition around Saint Anne has her having Mary when she's very old--another story of the impossible coming out of improbable wombs!

So today, let us celebrate all the miracles which seem so impossible.  Let us ask Saint Anne for protection, the way that Martin Luther did in the thunderstorm that terrified him.  Let us know that all for which we yearn may yet be delivered to us.

The Feast Day of Saint James

 Today we celebrate the life of James, one of the 12 disciples, the first to be martyred (Acts 12:1 tells us by Herod's sword). He's known as James the Greater (to distinguish him from James the Lesser, James the son of Alphaeus). He's the brother of John. He was one of the first to join Jesus, and Jesus chose him to go up the mountain to witness the Transfiguration. He is the patron saint of veterinarians and pharmacists, among others.

Lately, I've heard more about St. James, as more people become aware of the pilgrimage that involves walking to his shrine in Santiago de Campostela in Spain from a variety of starting points. Walkers who cover 100 km or cyclists who cover 200 km get a compostela, a certificate, and a blessing.

St. James is associated with scallops, and if you look at a map, you'll see that the pilgrims arriving from a variety of beginning points to the same end point does look like a scallop shell.  There are now travel agencies that will help pilgrims, but I've been told that it's not hard to set up one's own journey.  There are all sorts of lodgings along the way, all sorts of support.

In May, I finally saw the Martin Sheen/Emilio Estevez movie, The Way, which features this pilgrim's path. I'd love to actually walk part of it, but it seems increasingly unlikely. But life has taught me never to say never.  If I could go on the Santiago or Iona, I'd probably choose Iona, but who says I would have to choose.

I'm not the only one who finds the idea intriguing. In 1985, only 690 pilgrims made it to the end point, the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostela; last year 179,919 pilgrims completed the journey. The most hardcore pilgrims walk barefoot. I would not be one of those pilgrims.

A few years ago, one of my good church friends figured out how to walk part of the Santiago de Campostela, how to make sure her pets and children were taken care of for 2 weeks, and off she went with her husband.  I found her journey so inspiring.  She kept a blog while walking and has continued to keep writing posts in her "regular" life.  

Let us remember that we're all on a variety of pilgrimages, even if we're not leaving the house.  Let us remember that God is with us.

Sunday Sermon Report: Weeds and Seeds

A week ago, I gathered seeds and things that might make a sprout.  I put them in a shallow pan:

Then I covered them with potting soil.  I had hopes that I'd have a pan of seedlings by Sunday, a visual to go along with my sermon about wheat and weeds.

During the week, the pan was saturated with rain water, so much rain water that I thought they wouldn't sprout.  But we poured off the water and waited to see what would happen.  Happily, by yesterday, we had a pan of sprouts.  I put the pan on a small table in the front of the sanctuary:

I delivered two sermons that I thought were strong, both on the idea of seeds and weeds.  I asked questions about how we distinguish between seeds and weeds--how do we know what is worthwhile?  The answer:  we may never know, particularly if we working on cosmic time, God's timeline, not ours.  We keep doing the work and the results shouldn't matter.

I also talked about our judgmental tendencies, particularly of ourselves.  This part near the end came to me as I walked up to the chapel on Saturday,  I prayed, asking God to let me know what the congregation needed to hear.  This paragraph sprang fully formed into my head:

"Like Mary Magdalene, we may be tormented by demons, the voices in our heads and outside of our heads, over and in and through society, voices that tell us that we will never be enough: good enough, rich enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, attractive enough, loved enough. Rest assured, when we hear those voices, we are not hearing the voice of God. When we are convinced that we are weeds, destined for the fire, that’s some other voice. It’s not the voice of God."

My preaching professor would say that it's a message that most people have never heard, and a message that is so important. I agree. 

I ended the adult sermon this way:  

"Even here, in the middle of Summer, The Easter message comes to cast out these demons again and again. Christ reminds us that he’s here, always waiting, always watching, always ready for us. Even if we don’t recognize him, Jesus will not cast us away. It is the voice of Jesus that can silence all of our demons and help us to be at peace. Jesus came to declare, to emphasize the Genesis message—God creates us and claims us and declares us good and very good. Let us hear that declaration today and every day."

I knew that I was taking risks with the sermon.  I subtly (was it subtle?) undercut the judgment imagery of weeds being cast into the fire; I focused on the message of putting judgment aside to let God sort it out, but I also claim that God will not throw us into the fire.  I wasn't sure how it would go over.

I got more positive feedback yesterday than I have so far--most days, I get no feedback at all, aside from smiles and interested looks.

Next week is the set of parables that includes yeast.  I will be baking bread for communion and doing interesting yeast experiments with the children's sermon.  I am so grateful for these sermon opportunities which include inspirations for visual elements and some participatory elements.

And one parishioner told me about a bread baking project in his old church, as he heard me ask if it would be OK if I brought homemade bread for communion next week.  His face lit up at the thought of homemade bread as part of the service.

I have always thought that homemade bread was part of my mission field, and it has been, in so many ways.  I am feeling deeply nourished this morning.

Campus Minister for Digital Media Ministry Job Description

I'm posting this job description here so I can find it again, should I need to after the posting has been taken down (should that happen). It has intrigued me for several days now.  It's at the University of Dayton.

Position Summary:

Align your passions for creativity, spiritual growth, and faith engagement in this digital ministry opportunity. Apply for our Campus Minister for Digital Media Ministry opening today!

The Campus Minister for Digital Media Ministry leads Campus Ministry in the development and strategic execution of ministry across multiple digital platforms to engage and promote spiritual growth among a diverse body of current students. Develops, implements, and assesses digital ministry projects to foster encounters with God through faith formation, catechesis, and religious practice. Shares the story of faith communities on campus that inspire a sense of belonging and faith engagement. This includes having primary responsibility for Campus Ministry's weekly newsletter, website, social media, and 1850 CampusGroups page; coordinating Campus Ministry’s Digital Ministry Committee; recruiting and working with student ambassadors to support the ministry; developing and curating digital media content; taking initiative on faith development projects which could include videos, podcasts and other digital ministry experiences for student faith development.

Minimum Qualifications:

Bachelor's degree
Excellent written communication skills, including copy writing and editing
Experience or coursework in Theology, Religious Studies, Pastoral Ministry or similar sufficient to create faith development content and engage ministerially with students.
Technical proficiency with using major digital social media platforms and management tools including developing and posting content
Ability to develop and advance a creative vision for digital media engagement as ministry for college students across multiple platforms

Preferred Qualifications:

While not everyone may possess all of the preferred qualifications, the ideal candidate will bring many of the following:

Bachelor’s degree in theology/religious studies or graphic design/marketing or similar
Social media leadership for an organization
Technical experience or familiarity with a web content management system, visual design/editing software, and/or video/podcast production
Ability to design using on-brand graphic elements
Experience creating and implementing ministry experiences for a diverse range of college students (prayer, retreats, reflections, educational content etc.)
Experience working collaboratively with students and staff
Ability to recruit, train and supervise student employees
Capacity to represent the Catholic and Marianist character and mission of the university
Practicing cultural competency in ministry with attention to religious, ethnic, and cultural diversity, equity and inclusion
Knowledge or experience in designing ministry content reflective of diverse religious traditions that include Roman Catholic, Protestant Christian, Islam, Judaism, and Hinduism and others represented on campus
Excellent oral communication skills
Attention to detail with the ability to manage multiple tasks and manage deadlines

Special Instructions to Applicants:
To apply please submit a cover letter addressing each minimum qualification and any applicable preferred qualifications that you meet.
Closing Statement:

Informed by its Catholic and Marianist mission, the University is committed to the principles of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Informed by this commitment, we seek to increase diversity, achieve equitable outcomes, and model inclusion across our campus community. As an Affirmative Action and Equal Opportunity Employer, we will not discriminate against minorities, women, protected veterans, individuals with disabilities, or on the basis of race, color, national origin, religion, sex, sexual orientation or gender identity.

The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

Decades ago, many of us might not have heard of Mary Magdalene.  When I went to undergraduate school, in the mid-80's, we didn't know about many women in the Bible outside of Mary, the mother of Jesus.  Maybe we had a vague memory of a woman with demons that Jesus healed.

Now it's a different story.  We've had decades of feminist theology that has opened our eyes and our theology to the presence of women.  Now scholars are doing an even deeper dive into ancient texts.  I'm thinking of Diana Butler Bass's sermon last summer which alerted us to the research of Elizabeth Schrader who is looking at manuscripts and trying to see if Mary Magdalene has been literally erased and written over to transform it to Martha.  

It's an interesting theory, and it seems like just one more example of how the ancient Church tried to minimize and hide the involvement of women in the life of the first group of believers.  It's not that different from emphasizing the Mary Magdalene of demon possession and/or prostitution, not the Mary Magdalene as the first witness to the resurrection.

As I think of the Easter morning story, I wonder if we’re seeing a vestige of Mary Magdalene’s possessed personality. What drove her to the tomb? I understand the ancient customs surrounding the care of dead bodies, and I understand the laws regarding dead bodies and the Sabbath. But in one Gospel, it’s only Mary who is so deeply concerned about the body of Jesus. What drives her to the tomb?

In Mary’s reaction to the man she assumes is the gardener, I recognize my own demon of anxiety. I watch her ask a perfect stranger about the body of Jesus. I watch her throw all caution and decorum away, so desperate is she to complete this task, as if completing the task will restore the world to right order.

Many of us suffer in the grip of these demons of anxiety, these beliefs that somehow, through our manic quest for control, we can keep the world from spinning into chaos. We might argue for the benefits of medication, and indeed, if it’s a matter of brain chemicals that are out of balance, we would be right.

But all too often, something else is at the root of our modern possession. Maybe we haven’t stopped to grieve our losses, as Mary needs to do in the garden. Maybe it’s the fear of loss that is coming to all our lives. Maybe it’s that insistent hiss from both inside and out that says that we will never be enough: good enough, clean enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, attractive enough, loved enough.

The Easter message comes to cast out these demons again and again. Christ reminds us that he’s here, always waiting, always watching, always ready for us. Even if we don’t recognize him, Jesus will not cast us away. It is the voice of Jesus that can silence all of our demons and help us to be at peace. Christ’s voice calls us to what’s important in our lives.

Video Meditation for Sunday's Gospel

Yesterday, as I was thinking about past meditations on Sunday's Gospel, I came across the video that I made three years ago.  You can view it here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QaEnD28iG1c&t=85s

I remembered making it, filming short segments during my morning walks and stringing them together.  I couldn't do much in the way of editing--the sound quality was what it was.  I couldn't remember much about the specific segments, so I watched it again.  Overall, I was pleased.

I described it this way:  "A different kind of sermon on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43. Part parable, part video meditation, part poetry, part found art, part questions, part ambiguity and mystery, and hopefully some inspiration."  

It's a  much more meditative sermon than many will get this Sunday, and it's much less cerebral, much less of an exegesis.  I think that many people out there would like something more like this, less like the 20 minute+ rambles through a Gospel that many people get on Sundays.

As we think about how to do church differently, thinking about vastly different approaches to the worship service should be front and center.  Are my little videos vastly different?  Or maybe this question is better:  Are they different enough?

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The lessons for Sunday, July 23, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 44:6-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 28:10-19a

First Reading (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 12:13, 16-19

Psalm: Psalm 86:11-17

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 139: 1-11, 22-23 (Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24 NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:12-25

Gospel: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Again this week we have agricultural metaphors--what an intriguing scenario, to have an enemy that sneaks into your fields to sow weeds, instead of just destroying the field outright. And what an interesting response of the owner: to let the wheat and the weeds grow, to separate the useful from the useless later, once the growing is done and the reaping finished.

The traditional response to this Gospel sees this story as a metaphor about Judgement Day. My problem with that metaphor is that weeds don't turn into wheat, and I don't like the implications of that. The parable comes much too close to advocating predestination for my Lutheran sensibilities to be happy with this interpretation.

Luckily, humans aren't solely weeds or wheat. I know that there are some weeks where I'm more of a weed than anything that is of agricultural use. And I'm the pesky kind of weed; I'm not the kind of weed that grows quietly alone; I impede the spiritual progress of others, strangling and choking and making life miserable. I console myself by telling myself that we all have those days or weeks or seasons where our weedy natures take over.

But I can’t take too much consolation. These summer Gospel readings remind us that we don’t get to sleep in the soil forever. We don't get to loll around in our wheatfield, hoping that we're one of the chosen ones and not one of the weeds. At some point, the wheat will be separated from the weeds.

Let us return to the idea of sowing and seeds, a useful metaphor in so many ways. How can we sow seeds now that will blossom into good gardens later? There are as many ways to do this as there are vegetables in the garden right now in many parts of the country.

Maybe we could pray more. Maybe we could resolve to be cheerful, no matter what the day brings. Maybe we could give one or two percent more of our income away. Maybe we could remember to say “please” and “thank you.” Maybe we could turn off the news and reach for something that inspires us.

Our basic task is to shine God's light into a world that's increasingly troubled. How can you best do that?

If you feel disheartened, like your weedy self is too firmly rooted, remember those who have gone before you. One of Christianity's most successful evangelists, Paul, was killing Christians before he converted. If God found a use for Paul, God can use your seedling talents too.

Handbells as Wind Chimes: A Different Way to Play

Last week, I had an interesting experience during opening worship for Music Week at Lutheridge.  I wanted to make a record of it, because it could be useful for many churches.

When we arrived at the chapel, some handbells were sitting up, and others were on their side.  We were encourage to take a handbell that was sitting up and spread out across the worship space.  There weren't enough handbells for everyone, but that was O.K, because not everyone would want to play.  We were told to play randomly as we sang the first hymn, "In a Deep, Unbounded Darkness" (All Creation Sings hymnal supplement/worship resource manual, #1093).  The idea was to create a wind chime effect, which seemed to work.

I thought about how we didn't need to have musical ability to play handbells this way.  We didn't need to read music or keep time.  We didn't need to have a director.

I mention this because I've been a member of a church that had handchimes, with very few people who knew how to use them.  A few of us had some musical ability, which meant that we played the notes that got used more often--or we played versions that our director simplified so that we needed fewer people.  It was hard to find people to commit, even for the streamlined rehearsal schedule that we had.

It's not a stretch to think that there are churches with handbells or handchimes that can't use them.  Maybe no one can commit to rehearsing.  Maybe not enough people can read music.  Maybe people aren't brave--they know they'll hit a wrong note and everyone can hear it, so no thanks.

The beauty of the opening worship experience is that there was no wrong way to play.  No note would sound wrong, and if we happened to ring a handbell at the same time, no matter how many of us did that, it sounded fine.  I am guessing that the director chose the handbells that corresponded to the notes of the song--and maybe some complementary notes.

It seems like a great way to involve children too.  Again, the benefit would be that children don't need to know how to read music.  It's a great entry activity to the world of music, to involve children without the risks of so much that can go wrong that can convince children that they are not musical.

It's a great entry activity for us all.  And it can fit with a variety of approaches.  Handbells as wind chimes seems particularly wonderful for Pentecost.

July 16 Sermon: Seeds and Sowers

Yesterday's Gospel was Matthew's version of the sower who spread seeds on a variety of surfaces.  I was pleased that I could find some different things to say in my grown up sermon (why does a sower do this?  What if the point is not about our hearts being good soil, but about an exuberant, abundant God?  Or maybe it's about our efforts as evangelists--or maybe we need to remember that unlike seeds, we can move to good soil).

I set up a table in the front of the sanctuary, a table with small pots and seeds.  I like giving people something to look at and ponder, but I won't be able to do that easily every week.  Still, when it works, hurrah!  Here's a view from the top of the table:  

I began my children's sermon by asking if anyone had a backyard garden--nope.  Grandparents perhaps?  Two raised their hands.  

We talked about seeds.  I showed them the milkweed seeds.  We talked seeds having potential, just like children have potential.  

I showed them the various pots with materials I assembled before church:  sand (from the outside container where people put out cigarettes which is rarely used these days, some small rocks, some chunks of concrete, and some potting soil).  I asked which ones would be better for seeds to grow.

These children aren't stupid.  They knew it was the potting soil.  We talked about what these types of soil represent in the parable we're about to hear (the children's sermon comes before any of the readings, so it's a good opportunity to speak to us all about what we're about to hear).  I said, " When we talk in the sermon after we hear the text from Matthew, be thinking about what soil represents:  Us?Other people?  Where we live?  How we live?  Something else?"

I invited them to come up afterwards to get a small pot, some potting soil, and some seeds.  I had thought ahead and brought some small, zip lock bags with me.  I was happily surprised that all of the children came forward and seemed enthusiastic.

Now I'm thinking ahead to next week's Gospel:  seeds and weeds.  Let me get some seeds today from the tomato we need to eat, and when I go on my walk, let me look for some dandelions.  I've got potting soil--and a plan!

July 2 Children's Sermon: Welcoming God

Before we get too far away, I also want to record my children's sermon for July 2.  I don't know that I'll document every children's sermon, but I do want to make a blog post when it seems important or when I learn something or when I want to remember.

On July 2, I knew that I would talk about this part of the Gospel, Matthew 10: 40:  “Anyone who welcomes you welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me."  I knew I would talk about treating others the way we would treat God.  

But at the last minute, I decided on a twist.  Usually the children come forward and sit in the front row.  But on July 2, someone else sat on the front row and spread out his belongings.  I wasn't sure there would be enough room for the children.  I looked out across the church and made a snap decision.  I invited the children to join me at the back.

We stood by the door, where we could see the sidewalk leading up to the church.  I asked the children to imagine God coming up the sidewalk.  How would we greet God if God came to our church?

Then we talked about how we would even know it was God--what does God look like?  We know what Jesus might look like, right?  I asked the children to describe Jesus and one looked above the door, where conveniently, we had a picture of Jesus, and it wasn't even the clean-scrubbed, white-skinned Jesus.

I talked about the Biblical convention of entertaining angels and God when people didn't realize that was who was with them.  I talked about the importance of treating everyone the way we would treat God and what a much more delightful world that would be.  And then the children went back to their seats.

I liked changing the routine, and it worked with the children's sermon beautifully as we all stared out that door, imaging God as a visitor to church (at least I hope that's what we were imagining).  It got me out of what was becoming a bad habit, looking too often beyond the children to see how the adults were responding.

And I really liked the message.  It's better than the Golden Rule, I think, the variations on treating others as I want to be treated, which is also an important concept, but a bit too rooted in the self.  I like the idea of treating everyone as if they are God, which means we will honor the holiness of it all and hopefully lead us to treating all of creation in a more care filled way.

Yokes and Burdens and Children's Sermons with Styrofoam

Last night was the last night of my seminary class; I spent yesterday working on writing my final exam essays, which turned out to be easier than I expected.  Indeed, the hard part was choosing the movies I wanted to use to answer the writing prompts.  Once I settled on the three films, the writing flowed quickly.  Hurrah!

Before we get too far away from my children's sermon on Sunday, I want to make a record of it here.  Even better, I'll post a link to the video my mother took while it was happening.  I arrived with my styrofoam yokes, which I put in the front of the church--it's not the usual decorating that I do, but it did generate interest.

I started by asking the children to visualize the huge field next to the church, and then I asked what we would have to do if we wanted to plant a garden.  Yes, we would have to mow!  What would we use to do that?  Yes, a tractor!  But before tractors were invented, what would we use?  Silence--which was fine.  It led naturally to talking about plows and how animals would help us pull the plow and get the job done more quickly.

I read the passage from the Gospel, Matthew 11:  28-30:  “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

In an ideal world, I'd have had a historic yoke to show them, but I didn't.  So I created one out of styrofoam, but I was sure to talk about how a real yoke would be made with wood, and I brought along a heavy board to help them imagine how it would feel around their necks.  Easy?  How?

I invited my spouse up to show how a yoke with 2 animals would work.  What happens if the animals want to go in different directions?

We had planned to have the yoke split, but we weren't sure what would happen.  We couldn't rehearse without destroying the prop.  But it worked just the way we wanted--it was dramatic and got everyone's attention.

I finished the sermon by talking about God, who invites us to be part of the ongoing creation of the world.  I talked about how much easier it is to get a job done when we have help and when everyone moves in the same direction.   

As I watch the video, I can see places where I could have done more.  But overall, I think this may be my best children's sermon yet.  You can see much of the video here, although my mom didn't start recording until after I had talked about mowing and plows and yokes in general.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, July 16, 2023:

First Reading: Isaiah 55:10-13

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 25:19-34

Psalm: Psalm 65:[1-8] 9-14 (Psalm 65:[1-8] 9-13 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 119:105-112

Second Reading: Romans 8:1-11

Gospel: Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

This Gospel returns us to one of my favorite metaphors: the seed. When I first read this Gospel lesson as a child, I read it as an indictment of the seeds. Clearly some were just bad or worthless. Now, as an adult, I see this Gospel as being primarily about the ground. We've all got lots of potential, but some of us just aren't in the right kind of ground to flourish.

Unlike seeds, we can move. I'm not necessarily talking about a literal move, although the idea of moving to be near a great religious community doesn't strike me as absurd, the way it once did. Many of us move for much more stupid reasons.

But let's be realistic.  We have obligations:  mortgages, jobs, families. Many of us are as rooted as huge trees. However, there are still many things we can do to enrich the soil in which we find ourselves.

We are living in a time of all sorts of online opportunities, and many of them are free. We could spend all of our Sundays--and a good part of our Mondays--watching various religious services that have been livestreamed and then recorded for later viewing.  We can attend all sorts of conferences virtually, and many of those conferences are offered for free or at substantially reduced rates.  We can watch great musicians play their instruments at close proximity.

For those of us still commuting to our jobs, there's the time in the car that we could put to better use.  Spend time with something that calms you (a CD, a podcast, a tape). Get something that reminds you of who you're supposed to be. I've noticed that when I'm listening to Godspell, I'm less likely to curse my fellow drivers, and the lyrics stay with me through the day.  I get a similar effect when I turn off all the noise and have silence for my drive.

No matter where we're working--or not working--we can build mini-retreats into our days: find some green space and go there to pray; read something inspiring, if you can't leave your desk; find web sites with inspiring material and visit; close the door to your families, don't answer the phone, and practice deep breathing. 

This may be a time where fertile soil for soul building seems hard to find. We may feel like we're marooned in sand or concrete. But if gardening teaches us anything, it's that soil can be redeemed, and often by small efforts, day after day, just a few minutes each day.  Within a season, we can find ourselves with good soil that will nourish our souls, getting them ready for new growth.

The Children's Preacher as Poet and/or Teacher of First Year College Students

My writing time is a bit short today--between Lutheridge Music Week festivities and my final essay exam for my seminary class due this week, my writing time might remain short.  Still I hope to record a few insights here and there.  No, I hope to write some in-depth posts, but if not, I'll hope to make note of a few insights.

Yesterday, on the way over the mountains back from the church in Bristol where I am a Synod Appointed Minister (SAM), my spouse and I talked about sermons, as we often do on the drive back.  He is wise enough to be gentle in his critiques of my sermons.  Of all the humans I know, he has the most interest in a sermon that's intellectually rigorous.  My adult sermons sometimes hit that mark for him--well, at least, parts of my sermon do.

He is more approving of my children's sermons than I expected.  With a children's sermon, I've had less training and less experience seeing them in action.  Most of the churches I've attended in my life haven't done them, and so far, my seminary studies haven't included a class in how to craft a children's sermon.

So, I study the Gospel for the day, and I look for part that is most important for a child to hear and remember.  In a later post this week, I'll say more about some specific content from my past 6 weeks of children's sermons.  But today, before I go up the hill to the chapel for morning worship, let me record what I'm realizing.

My training and experience as a poet is serving me well as I try to create memorable children's sermons.  Just as when I'm creating a metaphor for a poem, I do the same in a children's sermon:  I'm trying to create something that makes people see the world differently, to see an object or a concept in a way that they never have before, and that each time in the future, they'll think of what I did in the poem or the children's sermon.  

My training as a teacher of first year college students is also serving me well, and it's training that goes back to my days as a drama kid.  I've always been good at improv and thinking on my feet.  I've always been good at projecting my voice and finding ways to engage the people watching me.  I'm good at making connections which often only come to me as I'm teaching or presenting the material.  I am happy to make a fool of myself if it will lead to memorable moments in teaching or preaching--because if I don't care what people think about me, I'm more likely to reach people, and it's more likely that I'm not going to make a fool of myself.

So, if that means putting my head through a styrofoam yoke to make a point about easy yokes and light burdens, I'll do it.  If that means having children move to a different part of the church, I'll do it.  And I suspect the adults watching may be learning just as much as the children.

Fourth Festivities Week

It's been an interesting week to have a house in the mountains--in all the good ways.  This past week has felt like summer has finally arrived, but it's the type of summer that I remember from my first two decades of life, where it's warm/hot during the day, but it cools off at night.  It's also felt like summer because Lutheridge (the camp where my residential community is located) celebrated the Fourth of July, which at times, felt like falling into a Norman Rockwell painting--in a good way.  There were decorated cabins, people wearing festive clothing and body decorations, and a parade (but everyone was on foot).  One of our neighbors who has a beautiful back yard, invited us all over for barbecue and other treats, like homemade ice cream.

Photo taken by Sally Lingle

Here is a picture of the parade, taken from a far enough distance that people's privacy is protected.

I didn't get pictures of the fireworks.  My phone isn't as good as the ones that others have, so my ability to take pictures at night isn't great.  Plus, we didn't stay long.  I remember finding fireworks enchanting as a child, but as an adult, they seemed noisy.  We drove down to the lake, which seems unwise in retrospect--too many pedestrians on very dark streets.  Next year we'll go up to the loft to see what kind of view we have from our very high windows. 

My favorite memory of yesterday may end up being this one:

What on earth?  We were making props for my children's sermon on Sunday.  The passage talks about yokes being easy and burdens light.  I don't have an old-fashioned yoke, so I asked my spouse if he had ideas.  He gazed at the pile of construction debris in the back yard.  Soon we were cutting the styrofoam that had recently cushioned the ceiling fans that we just installed.

Another significant event from yesterday that has no pictures:  I chose our new health insurance plan.  We got notification that the group that offered the plan we had, Friday Health, would be pulling out of the state, so we had until August 31 to choose a new plan.  I had thought of putting off that decision, but yesterday I found myself on the website and decided to proceed, while it was all working (website, internet, brain).  So far, I've found the Healthcare.gov website much easier to navigate than I expected.  And so far, we've gotten health insurance coverage that has cost us far less than it cost when I was getting insurance through my employer.  Thanks, former President Obama!

Speaking of former employers, I found out that City College has discontinued its Vet Tech program and rather suddenly.  I'm not going to say much about it here, but it's news that my brain comes back to periodically.  The program was very expensive to run, but once upon a time, it was the most popular program, the one with a waiting list.  Post pandemic, I don't know the statistics as clearly.

I am grateful to be here, up on the mountain, safe from the heat that is scorching most of the planet.  I feel lucky to be part of this community here.  I feel lucky to have the opportunity to preach at the church in Bristol.  In a few hours, we'll leave to meet my parents in Bristol.  They're going to church with us tomorrow on their way to Lutheridge for Music Week.  More gratitude for this abundance.

Delivering the Mail and So Much More

 A few months ago, our residential community had a request for a volunteer to be the mail delivery person to campers for the summer.  So many of us volunteered that we're sharing the work/joy.  This week has been my turn, and I'll deliver two days next week, and then the following week.  

Above is a picture of me leaving Pioneer A, the cabins for elementary school kids.  I was a camper there once, with terrible homesickness, finding comfort from reading a book under a tree.  It was The Little Prince, a book my mom packed in my suitcase for a surprise. 

Originally, I thought I would walk the mail route and get my exercise that way.  One of our residents has said that we can  use her golf cart each week.  This week, with the end of my Social Justice and Cinema class for seminary, using the golf cart makes sense.  Plus, it's so much fun driving the golf cart!

So far, this week, we've had mail that I could have carried by hand, but if there are packages, the golf cart makes even more sense.  But really, I'm just justifying my desire to drive the golf cart around camp.  It makes me want to buy one of my own, a yearning which really makes no sense.  We don't work year-round at the camp.  We don't need a gasoline-free way to zip from place to place.

Still, I must confess that I've gotten a sense of deep peace as I've zipped from place to place, leaving mail for campers in each cabin's mail box, seeing this camp from a slightly different perspective than the one I've enjoyed across decades.

On Tuesday, I could hear the faint strains of music as I drove away from Wilderness, the area of camp closest to the pool.  Could it be?  Yes, it was John Denver singing "Country Roads (take me home, to the place, I belong)."

Not for the first time since moving here did I think, yes, I really have come home:  home to a place where my mom was one of the first camp counselors, where my grandparents' church came for a summer Sunday picnic, where my dad saw the job advertised in the Columbia newspaper (that a Music Week participant gave to him) that would become one of his more long-lasting jobs and the last one, to the place where my family has gathered for Thanksgiving family reunions for almost 30 years, to the place that has nourished and sustained me when I've come for retreats.  I am lucky indeed.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 9, 2023:

First Reading: Zechariah 9:9-12

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

Psalm: Psalm 145:8-15 (Psalm 145:8-14 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 45:11-18 (Psalm 45:10-17 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Song of Solomon 2:8-13 (Semi-continuous)

Second Reading: Romans 7:15-25a

Gospel: Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30


In this week's Gospel, we see the mystical Jesus, the one of bizarre stories and metaphors that confuse. The first part of this week's Gospel has those strange comparisons calling us children in the marketplace, and then Jesus reminds us that he and John are the latest in a long line of people sent by God to get our attention. And then the Gospel ends with that strange bit about easy yokes and light burdens, when the very definition of yoke and burden encompass experiences that aren't easy and light.

Maybe in these days of rising prices, you're feeling the more traditional definition of yoke and burden, a strangling and a crushing sensation. Maybe you're weary of the world's problems and the inability of governments to even attempt to solve them. Maybe you wish for a savior to show up in our troubled times. But then you'd have to wonder if we'd even notice, in our world of noise and distraction.

Sometimes, when I feel most bleak, I like to return to the words of the Old Testament prophets. It's good to remember that no matter how terrible our historic age seems, it's not really a new situation. This week's reading from Zechariah commands us: "Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope."

That command is our burden and our yoke. We must be prisoners of hope. We are called to commit to resurrection. That doesn't stop with our belief in a resurrected Lord. That's just one sign, among a galaxy of signs, of a God who creates and recreates the cosmos daily.

In our deepest despair, we must remember that we're Resurrection People. To me, that's one of the beliefs that separates Christianity from the other major religions. We don't believe in a fixed universe. We don't believe that we're doomed. We don't believe that we have to accept our lot with stoic resignation and wait for a better life--in a future lifetime, in Heaven, but not right now.

No, our burden and our yoke is that God calls us into partnership in this remodeling of the world into one that is more in line with God's vision and plan. Could God just step in and order it to be so? Perhaps. But God didn't create that kind of universe. For whatever reason, God found it much more interesting to design a world in which we have free will. We can put our necks into the yoke that God offers us and discover that what appears to be a burden is, in fact, a blessing that transforms us as we transform the world.

Our Lives, Our Fortunes, and Our Sacred Honor

It's Independence Day, the Fourth of July, a day that sits differently with people.  I understand the despair, the anguish, the anger--and yet, I still find this holiday hopeful and a reason for hope.  I am always inspired by those men who signed the Declaration of Independence on this day in 1776. They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, so great was their belief in what they were doing.

I realize that those men were committed to freedom for a much more narrow section of society than many of us would want to believe. It's good to remember how slowly those freedoms came for the majority of us, a good day to remember how much effort (and money and blood) it took. It's a good day to think about our commitments, our values, what we hold most true.

It's also a scary day, to be sure.  It's hard to sit with the fears that we're sliding back to a past that most of us don't want to relive.  Sure, angry people might make us believe that a majority of our fellow citizens would vote to reinstate slavery along with a variety of worst practices from the past, but that's simply not true.  Angry people are very loud in our current society, and it's easy to neglect those of us doing good work to make a more inclusive society, the way we always have done.

It's the kind of day where we might wonder if we're headed to armed insurrection, which hasn't been unknown in our country, which, after all, was born out of an armed insurrection.  I don't think that we are.  Some might argue that we're already in a state of armed insurrection, with mass shootings a daily occurrence now.  But that kind of violence is different than a civil war, different than a war to fight off colonizing imperialists.

I also know people with collapse-of-Rome fears.  But the collapse of a civilization usually comes much more slowly than one person's lifetime.  I do think we're headed to a very different future, but will it be a post-U.S. future?  Not any time soon.  I am much more worried about what climate change is going to do to countries and empires, but most people won't be talking about that future on this day.

I can't resist posting this picture of me and my dad, dressed up as colonist and British soldier, standing in front of a painting of British soldiers:

I have always been amazed that the rowdy colonists could pull off this defeat of the greatest empire in the world at the time. I don't think it's only that they were fighting on their home territory that helped them win. Plenty of people fight to defend their homes and don't win.

My reading of history has always taught me that the unexpected might happen--and yet, it often doesn't.

For all of the attempts to divide us, communities have found ways to stay together.  For all attempts to shred the Constitution, we've been knitting it back together again. May we continue to do so.

The Fourth of July in a Small Country Church

Over the past week, I've been a silent observer as my social media sites blew up over the question of flags in church and patriotic music on the Sunday before the Fourth of July holiday in the U.S.  I've seen one post of outrage at the pledge of allegiance as part of a worship service.  Apparently, some pastors preached a revolutionary message, but it was about the colonists who decided to become Founding Fathers, not the Gospel message of Jesus.

I had wondered how the little country church where I am preaching every Sunday would handle the Fourth of July, but we had no patriotic songs, and my sermon was about Jesus and his instructions about hospitality.  I did not tie the message to the Fourth of July.  I had decided that if the worship planning team had chosen patriotic music, I would let it slide.  If I had been in charge of worship planning, the most patriotic that I would get would be "God Bless Our Native Lands," but I was not in charge.

Happily that team did not choose patriotic music.  Even if they had, I am more understanding than some.  I don't see those choices as supplanting God.  We're not worshipping our country.  If our allegiance was truly tested, I hope that most of us would choose God.  But even if we didn't, I am sure God would extend grace.

And some of that patriotic music has a distinct theological theme that I could make work.  At least, the ones in the hymnal do.

About half the women in the church wore red, white, and blue, and the other half seemed to be wearing variations of peach colors.  The men wore what they always wear.  We all had sandals or sneakers on our feet.  It's summer, and it's a holiday week-end, so the attendance was lower.

I am liking the vibe of this church more and more.  I wonder if the vibe would be different if I was their full-time pastor, not a synod approved minister who will only be with them for a short time.  I am grateful that it is working well so far.

Writing in the Remodeling and Rewiring

Today I will head over the mountains to Faith Lutheran Church in Bristol, Tennessee, as I've done for the past four Sundays.  But this morning, I'll drive by myself.  My spouse will stay here; his sister and her electrician fiancé are here for a few days to help us rewire the house and install lights and ceiling fans.  Going to Bristol takes a significant amount of time, so I will go, and they will stay here to make progress.

They are an amazing team, so I'm happy to head out by myself and leave them to the work at hand.  Yesterday they got the undercabinet lights installed, along with some of the overhead lights.  They figured out a strategy for hanging the ceiling fans in the two bedrooms where there is no existing overhead light.  They made initial cuts.  They ran wire.  My spouse did some framing in the loft where we hope to add a half bath.

They were done in time to have dinner and play a few rounds of Sequence, the game that is both a board game and a card game.  Then they headed back to their hotel, and my spouse and I collapsed into sleep even before it was fully dark (not an unusual bedtime for us).

The more we work on this house, the more amazed I am at what a solid house it is, probably the most well-constructed house we've ever had.  Why is this amazing?  In part, because it was built to be a summer cottage at a church camp, which is the kind of house where builders might have been on a budget.

I can't really help in many of these home repairs, so I sat at my desk yesterday, working on my sermon for today and on my class paper and Powerpoint presentation for seminary class on Wednesday.  I am amazed at what I was able to accomplish.  And yes, I did sleep a bit better last night, in part because of my sermon being done and printed.

I am looking forward to today's drive across the mountains--such beautiful country I drive through every week.  I am looking forward to some alone drive time--it feels like it's been forever since I did that, even though it's only been 6 weeks.  I am looking forward to being with the congregation.  And I'm looking forward to coming home to see all that has been accomplished without me.