Reflections on Marriage: The 25th Anniversary Edition

Twenty-five years ago today, my college sweetheart and I married each other. It both seems like no time at all and several lifetimes ago.


I'm a Lutheran, and we only have two sacraments: Baptism and Communion. I think Martin Luther was too hasty when he got rid of so many sacraments. I wish he had kept marriage as a sacrament.

Marriage has taught me many things, but the nature of love is one of the most important things it has taught me. Nothing else has helped me understand God's love for me the way my spouse's love for me has. I make mistakes, and he forgives me. He forgives me, even though he knows I will likely make the same mistakes again and again. I do the same for him. He sees me--the best me, the worst me--as I truly am, and he loves me. Largely, he loves me not because of my anything I might say or do to convince him, but because he knows me.

And of course, I do the same for him. And in this daily practice of love and forgiveness, I come to understand God's love for me--and I am able to carry a similar love out into the world.

And by experiencing my husband's love for me, along with his forgiving of me, I've come to understand God's love for all of us just a bit better.

Understand is probably too strong a word. In some ways, we can never understand the scope of love, either the love we have for each other or the love God has for us.

David Brooks wrote one of the better essays about marriage that I've ever read (hopefully you'll find it here, but the link isn't always working). He says, "Few of us work as hard at the vocation of marriage as we should. But marriage makes us better than we deserve to be. Even in the chores of daily life, married couples find themselves, over the years, coming closer together, fusing into one flesh. Married people who remain committed to each other find that they reorganize and deepen each other's lives. They may eventually come to the point when they can say to each other: 'Love you? I am you.'''

He doesn't use the term "sacrament"--after all, he's writing for the secular The New York Times. But he's talking in sacramental terms nonetheless.

He begins to conclude his piece by saying, "The conservative course is not to banish gay people from making such commitments. It is to expect that they make such commitments. We shouldn't just allow gay marriage. We should insist on gay marriage. We should regard it as scandalous that two people could claim to love each other and not want to sanctify their love with marriage and fidelity."

On this anniversary day, I pause to thank God for that love, that love that comes to me not because I'm wonderful, not because I'm perfect, not because I deserve it. I thank God for that love that's so much like grace. I thank God for all the people who love me even though I haven't reached my full potential yet. I thank God for all the people who remember me at my best, even when they're seeing me at my worst--and who love me, despite my less than loveable behavior.

I wish for us all the human love that points us to the love of God.

Blessings of Many Kinds

I still don't have my computer set up at home, and it still doesn't have a wireless network adapter so that's why blogging has been sparser than usual.  I'm hoping to get things more settled in this coming week so that I can get back to some productive writing patterns.

But in the meantime, some random thoughts, collected from the past week:

--Yesterday at church, we had our annual blessing of teachers, staff, and administrators.  I've written about this tradition before, most recently in this post from last year.

--It's taken me a long time to feel like I deserve a blessing too.  At first, I felt unworthy because I teach college, and that's not as tough as my compatriots who teach in public schools.  And then I felt unworthy because I've been teaching less and less.  But now, I realize how much work administrators do to keep things running smoothly.  It's very different from what teachers do--I'll be the first to admit that.  But it's important work, nonetheless.

--I've said this before, but it bears repeating.  I don't think it's just teachers/staff/administrators who need a blessing for the work they do in their occupations.  It would be a cool some Labor Day Sunday to bless all of us who toil outside the home--send us all out blessed to be a blessing.

--Summer seems to end earlier each year.  In some ways, it has.  Students go back to school midway through August.  That means they're not going to camp in August.  Families aren't taking vacations in August, except for the ones who rush away the last week before classes start.

--What will be the future of summer camps, if summer gets shorter and shorter?  I know that many camps are doing more with adult programming during the non-summer months.  Will we some day come to a point where camps don't have much in the way of sleep-away programs?  These ideas may deserve posts of their own, so perhaps more later.

--We not only blessed teachers/staff/administrators yesterday.  We also had a chili cook-off.  Yes, a chili cook-off in August.  We probably need to migrate that event to the winter months.  Maybe have a salad contest in August.

--I was the judge of the chili cook-off.  What fun!  We also judged cornbread too.  I thought I'd be blown away by spice and heat.  I was not. 

--It was good to have that fellowship.  It was good to have a tasty meal in a week of getting back from our great southeast driving trip and continuing to move stuff from the old house to the new house.  It was good to remember why we come together.

Where Would Jesus Live?

In yesterday's blog post, I wrote this post about buying a new house and then coming across the Gospel where Jesus talks about selling what we own and giving alms to the poor.  I've been spending days moving possessions from the old house to the new house.  It's very intriguing to see the difference in the neighborhoods.

In our old neighborhood, all sorts of people wander through, and many of them are down on their luck.  Others look like they might be threatening; I assume that the thuglike appearance buys them some protection, but I am the middle-aged, white woman who will cross the street when thug-looking people come down the sidewalk.  I'll avoid confrontation if I can, and I'll give myself a head start if the pedestrian traffic looks scary.

However, I'm also aware that God often appears in the middle of the poor, destitute, and outcast.  As I've travelled from neighborhood to neighborhood, I've asked myself, "Where would Jesus live?"

I suspect my old neighborhood--plenty of people in need of his ministrations in my old neighborhood.  I feel somewhat guilty for fleeing to a better neighborhood and living in what I hope will be a better housing investment.  I doubt that Jesus would be thinking about the appreciation of houses.

This morning it occurred to me that Jesus might resist having a house at all.  The Gospels show us a Messiah who is constantly on the move.  I think of that poignant passage where Christ talks about the son of Man having no place to lay his head.

I think back to the interchange Jesus had with the young, rich man, where Jesus tells him to sell his possessions, and the rich man can't.  Am I that person?  Does Jesus want me to take up my shopping cart and walk beside the poor?

Those of you who have been reading this blog know that I routinely wrestle with these social justice issues, and I expect that I always will.  I can justify my comfortable existence by saying that I can do more to advocate for the poor from my middle-class perch, but that's a cop-out, and I know it.

I continue to idealize all those communities who live in solidarity with the poor.  I want to be Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker movement who did so much to house the poor.  But I want comfort too.

I don't have easy answers.  I wish that I did.  I will continue to pray for all of those people, so many humans, who don't have my housing options.  I will continue to do what I can to move towards a future where everyone has a safe space to stay.  I will continue to look for ways to be an advocate for the poor and dispossessed--because God mandates those options, and because when God took on human form, God sought refuge there.

Weekly Gospel Meditation

The readings for Sunday, August 11, 2013 (Lectionary 19)


Complementary Series

Genesis 15:1–6
Psalm 33:12–22 (22)
Hebrews 11:1–3, 8–16
Luke 12:32–40

Semicontinuous Series
Isaiah 1:1, 10–20
Psalm 50:1–8, 22–23 (23)
Hebrews 11:1–3, 8–16
Luke 12:32–40


In past years, I’d have written about the part of the Gospel where Jesus tells us to sell all our possessions. I’d have written about how important it is to keep our eyes on what is important.

I’d have written something like this: “Again and again Jesus warns us not to trust in earthly treasure. He's clear: earthly treasure will always, ALWAYS, fail us. That's not the message the world wants us to hear. The world wants us to rush and hurry, to buy more stuff, to build more barns for our stuff, to accumulate and hoard and lie awake at night worrying that we won't have enough. The world wants us to pay attention to our bank accounts. Jesus wants us to be on the lookout for God.”

This year, however, I’m a woman who has just bought a house. Instead of selling what I own, the one house, now I have two. Have I ignored all of what I believe to be true when buying a new home? Should I have sold the old house and given the money to the poor?

I return to the Gospel, to see what pieces I’ve overlooked. My guilt about being able to buy a new house when so much of the rest of the nation can’t afford the houses that they have—that guilt may have blinded me.

I return to that first line, the one about having no fear. Oh, how I need to hear those words, again and again. I am so very fearful.

The rest of the Gospel reminds me that although I’ve got some treasures on earth, I can’t rely on them. The Gospel reminds me to rely on God, who wants to give me all sorts of good things.

The Gospel reminds me that God is the purse that can’t wear out. Over the past few years, it’s the rare person who hasn’t seen how earthly institutions can fail us again and again. We put our trust in our retirement accounts, only to see them dwindle. We pour our efforts into a house, only to see its worth drain away. We place our bets on the sure job, only to realize that our industries have shifted away right out from under us.

I write these things, and I wonder if I’ve made a dreadful mistake, buying a house in this economic climate. But honestly, the past half decade has only made painfully clear what wise ones amongst us have always known. If our treasures are only earthly, we’re bound to be betrayed.

How can I make the indestructible purse, the unfailing treasure? It’s time to return, again, to the practices that the wise ones have told us are important. We can keep watch for God. Our traditions remind us that God will often appear where we don’t expect to find the Divine.

Does that mean that because I’ve moved to a better neighborhood, I won’t find God there? I’ll keep watch, for one never knows.

I’ll continue to share what I have. My cash flow will be tighter, at least until we sell the old house. But I will continue to give alms—most immediately, all of my possessions that don’t fit into the new house will go to a ministry that runs a thrift store to fund other ministries.

But the spiritual discipline that calls most clearly to me right now is the one that demands that I put away the world’s anxieties. That’s the spiritual discipline that’s hardest for me. I worry about bills, I worry about what happens if I lose my job, I worry about health crises that haven’t even happened yet.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that God has already provided for us everything that we need. Again and again, Jesus calls us to put away our fears.

Again and again, I resolve to do that. It’s easier for me to share my money than it is for me to rest assured in God’s abundance. Again and again, I will try.

"Heaven on Earth" Finds a Home Again

Last week, I got a phone call from the poet laureate of Virginia.  She's putting together a book of the favorite poems of Virginians, and she wants to use one of mine.

Oh, let me be completely honest here.  My dad wrote in and nominated my poem.  I am so lucky to have such supportive people in my life.

I am amused and amazed at how many people have liked this poem.  Of everything I've written, it seems to resonate the most with people.  I'm amazed at its ability to connect with such a diverse group.

I'm amused because I almost didn't write it, and when I did, I almost didn't send it out.  It felt dangerous to me.  I could see how people would see it as profane, even though I was trying to comment on the down-to-earth ministry of Jesus using modern metaphors.

I've read advice that says that if a poem scares you, you shouldn't run away.  I'm glad that I've sent the poem out into the world to see where it goes.  Garrison Keillor read it years ago on The Writer's Almanac--that was a highlight of my writer's life so far.

So, here again, for your reading pleasure, my poem "Heaven on Earth."  It first appeared in Coal City Review, and I included it in my first chapbook, Whistling Past the Graveyard.


Heaven on Earth

I saw Jesus at the bowling alley,
slinging nothing but gutter balls.
He said, “You’ve gotta love a hobby
that allows ugly shoes.”
He lit a cigarette and bought me a beer.
So I invited him to dinner.

I knew the Lord couldn’t see my house
in its current condition, so I gave it an out
of season spring cleaning. What to serve
for dinner? Fish—the logical
choice, but after 2000 years, he must grow weary
of everyone’s favorite seafood dishes.
I thought of my Granny’s ham with Coca Cola
glaze, but you can’t serve that to a Jewish
boy. Likewise pizza—all my favorite
toppings involve pork.

In the end, I made us an all-dessert buffet.
We played Scrabble and Uno and Yahtzee
and listened to Bill Monroe.
Jesus has a healthy appetite for sweets,
I’m happy to report. He told strange
stories which I’ve puzzled over for days now.

We’ve got an appointment for golf on Wednesday.
Ordinarily I don’t play, and certainly not in this humidity.
But the Lord says he knows a grand miniature
golf course with fiberglass mermaids and working windmills
and the best homemade ice cream you ever tasted.
Sounds like Heaven to me.

Reminders of God's Good Creation

A week ago, at our Church Council meeting, we were giving our highs and lows, as part a variation  of the Faith Five exercise we've begun to do at the beginning of each meeting.  Our pastor talked about his high being a chance to get out into nature and take some of the nature photographs that he loves.

We had a brief conversation about living in an urban setting and still finding plenty of nature.  Our pastor talked about different butterflies he's seen in the southern part of the county to our south and his amazement that he doesn't find them here, not even 70 miles away.  We talked about the parks and the green spaces.

We talked about the families of foxes that lives between the community college and the regional airport.  I expressed my amazement that foxes would want to live so close to humanity (some 40,000 students, as well as other community members) and roaring airplanes.  We talked about all the hidden spaces that are there, places that would look good to foxes.

It was a good reminder that we have evidence of God's creation everywhere, even if we live in places that seem determined to pave over all of it.  We can make our own spots of resistance, places that will attract wildlife. 

A butterfly garden is easy to plant, and the sight of butterflies gives most people great joy.  Our church has planted a butterfly garden, and we've given our members encouragement and extra supplies so that we can plant a home garden too.

As we shift into August and begin to make plans for the season to come, now might be a good time to think about how we can encourage nature and heal the planet.  A simple flower garden or butterfly sanctuary is a good place to start.

In Praise of Church Camps

Now we enter the end of summer, for all intents and purposes, the time when church camps will be having their last week or two of campers.  Soon, the dining areas will go back to being empty, just waiting for the next time of fun and fellowship.

Let us take a minute to say a prayer of thanks for church camps, for all the ways they nourish both us and the next generations.
They've offered us challenges that we never thought we could master.

They've taught us many a new craft (below, fun with fiber!).

We've had a chance to explore our performing passions.

Church camps let us make friends of all sorts.

But most important, church camps foster a love of both God and the community of believers that will stay with a camper long into adulthood.
In fact, one of the variables that separates grown ups who go to church regularly from those who don't is an experience at church camp.

And so, today, let us say a prayer of thanks for all those camps.  Let us praise the counselors and the camp directors.  Let us continue to pray for the campers, and for all of us who must come down from the mountain, back to real life.