Moving to Higher Ground

Today is moving day.  As I look around, it will probably not be the last moving day.  Today is the day we move the big furniture, the kind we need a truck to move.  My spouse's brother will help us.  Because we are moving to a condo, we can't just move in any day we want.  We decided to pay the extra $100 to be able to move on a Saturday.  We have a 3 hour window.

We had a plan.  We got the U-Haul yesterday, and my spouse had planned to load the van while I was at a conference.  I needed to stay at the conference until 4:15 yesterday afternoon to get my CEU credits.  But my spouse could get a lot done without me, with just himself and the dolly.

The condo we're moving to has a landlady who lives states away.  We've discovered the locks to the balcony aren't working like they should, so we've spent the week trying to arrange to have a locksmith come in.  Yesterday, the plan was that my spouse would take an hour out of packing to go meet the locksmith at the condo.  

Well . . . the day didn't go as planned.  The locks weren't easy to change, and in fact, the guest room door to the balcony appears to be permanently locked.  The sliding glass door won't lock, and the master bedroom door has a lock that's not exactly fixed, although the door can now be opened.  The condo is on the sixth floor, so it's not as big a security problem as it would be if we were lower, but long story short, my spouse lost 5 hours of his day.

And then, when he was positioning the U-Haul in the driveway, he hit the gate--no damage to the truck, but the gate will likely need to be replaced.  He lost another hour trying to fix the gate.  

By the time I got home from the conference, my spouse's spirits had sunk.  We ordered a pizza and reassessed.  We went to the condo and tried to strategize.  I've been liking the condo more, as we've seen it empty.  When we first saw it, back in June, just after we had signed the lease, I felt despair.  Two guys were living there, and nice as they were, the condo looked so different than what I had imagined from the pictures.

I am not sure we will love living there, as we will have some irritations, like the parking garage.  But it will cut our housing expenses in half.

It's not like when we made our last move in 2013.  Back then, we were sure our quality of life would improve.  I remember feeling terrified about the finances of it all, and the house needed lots of work.  Now it's just the reverse.

I was less worried about climate change, although I did know that our old house was in a higher spot in Hollywood, literally 6 feet above sea level, not 2 feet.  But at the time, I thought we might be able to retire in the new house.  But here we are, moving back to higher ground.

The new report on global climate change comes out on Monday.  It's going to be grim.  I do feel like we're getting out in the nick of time, and I will feel more that way once we get the house sold.  The condo building was constructed in 2007, so it will be the first place we've lived in South Florida that's built to modern hurricane codes.  It has never lost electricity during our storms--it's on the same part of the grid as a local hospital.

We're not sure what the future will bring, as I start seminary in a few weeks.  So we'll keep our housing options open and a bit cheaper.  And we'll get to experience a different aspect of South Florida living.  We'll be across the street from the Hollywood Arts park, which is the focal point of several streets of wonderful restaurants, cafes, and bakeries.  

It's probably not what we want for the rest of our lives, but it will work for the next few years--or if it doesn't, we'll figure out what to do next.

A Manuscript of Sunrises

Last week, I got a note rejecting my poetry.  In some ways, that's nothing new, nothing unusual.  I get more rejections than acceptances.

But it was from my dream poetry press, the one I would choose if you said, "We can have any publisher produce your book of poems--just tell us which one."  Again, that's not unusual.  They've rejected me before.  But this time, they kept my manuscript much longer than the last times that I submitted to them.  In this way, I got my hopes up.

Come to find out, they kept my manuscript longer because they got more manuscripts than they usually do.  Sigh.

On the day that I got the notification of rejection, I went for a walk, as I usually do.  I go before sunrise, and I usually get to my little neighborhood lake in time to watch the sky turn colors as the sun rises.  It's usually glorious, and each morning is different in its glory.  Even an overcast sky turns interesting in the face of a sunrise.

I thought about God and sunrises.  If God assembled a manuscript of sunrises, what would be included?  If that manuscript was rejected, would God feel sad?  One thing is certain:  God would keep creating sunrises.

Since I've spent the last month sorting, sorting, sorting, I thought about God and rough drafts.  Does a sunrise have a rough draft?  Does God keep all the rough drafts, and later look through them, looking for inspiration for new sunrises?  Does God keep them thinking there might be a day to return to them and improve them?

I realize I may have pushed this metaphor too far, but it did make me happy to think of God creating sunrises, morning after morning, offering us something different each day.  And it made me feel better about my own rejections.

Exile and Redemption in a Time of Plague

My pastor has been planning a September where we will look at themes of exile and restoration.  I'm intrigued to see where he goes with this.  He is planning worship on Sunday and a midweek study of some kind delivered by Zoom.  He asked me if I wanted to do something before worship on Sunday, something that incorporates a creative activity.  Of course I said yes, but I do realize that our South Florida COVID spike may put those plans on hold.  Where will we be by September?

I can get a bit lost in despair as I think about these plans.  Is it too early to look at themes of exile and redemption?  I thought we were almost to the place of redemption when it comes to this disease.  I knew we had work to do to get the vaccine to all the globe, but I thought we were on track in the industrialized nations.  And now, again, we are not on any kind of track I want to be on, as disease levels spike in the U.S.

My pastor asked me if I had any Bible passages that are my favorites when it comes to these themes.  My brain immediately went to Psalm 126, with its language of God restoring the fortunes of Zion and those who go out weeping will come back in joy.

Lately, though, my go-to Psalm has been Psalm 91, with its images of disease and pestilence at all times of the day and night and the promise of protection.  Psalm 91 is used as part of Compline at Mepkin Abbey, and last March, during the worst of my pandemic insomnia, those were the phrases that came to me, in Plainsong no less. And yesterday morning, as I was writing, Heidi Rodrick-Schnaath's post came across my feed; the end has references to other sacred texts that have given me solace today, and the post itself is a reminder that I am not the only one feeling this exhaustion and fatigue.

So yes, let me look to September.  Let me remember the promises of these ancient texts.  There is protection, there is redemption, no matter how lonely and extensive the exile.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 8, 2021:

First Reading: 1 Kings 19:4-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.):

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33

Psalm: Psalm 34:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 130

Second Reading: Ephesians 4:25--5:2

Gospel: John 6:35, 41-51

Now we enter into that time of bread, where Sunday after Sunday, Christ uses that metaphor. Many of us are hungry, physically, but we're not sure what we hunger for. Bread makes a great metaphor, as it sustains us in our daily life, but it stands for so much more. Think of the miracle of bread: water, yeast, and flour, at its most basic level. But given time and attention periodically and an oven, it's transformed into so much more.

We, too, are hungry for transformation, but like those people who followed Christ from shore to shore, hoping for a free meal, we often don't know what we hunger for. Perhaps this explains why so many of us shop compulsively, eat compulsively, scroll through our screens compulsively, consume mind altering substances compulsively. We want to do God's work in the world, but there's so much work to do, and we're so tired before we even get started.  We're so tired doing the work for pay, the work of caretaking of our loved ones, that we often don't have the energy for God's work.

Our Scriptures remind us in both the Old and New Testaments that God provides. God gives us both physical food and spiritual food. But we must be receptive. God won't open our mouths and chew for us.

We are in such desperate need of spiritual renewal. We need communion--and I use that word on all sorts of levels.  In our increasingly fragmented world, it's hard to find true communion.  In these long days of summer, it's easy to fall into a funk and forget all the ways to find that communion.

But of course, the Gospels point the way out of these spiritual doldrums.  Perhaps it is time to return to a bread baking regimen. We can watch the yeast work its magic and contemplate the work of the Holy Spirit in the world. We can share that bread with others and take a moment to catch up. We can end the day with a Psalm, a bit of bread, a prayer of thanks. We can add some prayer to my morning.  As we bathe or shave, we can remember my baptism and pray, "Preserve me with your mighty power that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord" (found throughout the 3 volume set The Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle).

It’s essential to remember that we are the leaven in this loaf that is the world.  Connection, both to God and to others, is what makes our yeast bubble and transform the flour and water of our days into something nourishing.

Altarscape for Bread Month

I was in charge of church on Sunday, and all went well; for notes on my sermon, see yesterday's blog post.  

While I was happy about the sermon, what made me even happier was my altar design.  

A week or two ago, when I realized that this was the August of bread year for the lectionary, I thought about changing the altar.  I remember as a child hating summer at church, "the long green season," as a long-ago pastor called it.  I loved the Advent/Christmas season for many reasons, but mainly it was because the church of my childhood changed all sorts of worship factors that shook up the stuff that makes it so boring for children, and adults too.

I thought about bread and grain and did a bit of browsing on various web sites, looking for fabric or wreath elements that would evoke bread.  I found a great deal on 100 stalks of wheat, so I ordered it.  I wasn't sure of what 100 stalks would translate too--would it be enough?  Would people at the back of

the church be able to see it?  I think it's a success from that standpoint.

I decided not to buy any fabric once I realized that the piece I had my eye on was similar to a table runner that I have; it's in the picture above.  I looked around my office and realized that the little tea pot I rarely use has a grassy theme that can work with wheat:

I also brought with me some of the baskets that I have in the office.  I had a friend who was downsizing several years ago, and I came to look around her house to see if I could use any of her discards.  I took as many baskets as I could fit in my car, and hardly a week goes by that I don't use them.  But this may be the first time I've used them in creating an altarscape.

I was putting away the AV equipment after the service, and I overheard a parishioner say, "The altar is so pretty."  I'm calling this one a success.

Sermon Notes: August 1, 2021

On Sunday, my pastor was out of town.  Months ago he had asked if I would lead church when he was gone, and of course, I said yes.  When it got closer to time, and I saw the readings, I was happy--bread month!

As I listened to the Gospel being read, I was struck by the people asking God for a sign.  I started there, asking "What more of a sign do people want?"  From there, I went back to Psalm 78:  23-29, which we had just sung responsively.  I talked about how manna had come to the people on the run from Egypt, that at first they were grateful, but then they complained about the lack of variety.

I talked about how we're not any better, and I referenced a poem I once wrote that began with the line, "She would complain about the taste of pies in Heaven"--and that's all of us.  Then I made my way back to the Gospel, with Jesus telling the people to hold out for the true bread, which is him.

I asked us to think about what nourishes us.  Society will give us specific answers, answers usually designed to sell us stuff.  I talked about Richard Rohr's book Falling Upward, and his theory about the two halves of a human life.  For the first half, we work towards the milestones that our society tells us we should want:  the education and degrees, the job, the spouse, the children, the house.  Then we might get to the midlife and wonder what it has all been for.

If we're lucky, we come to the question of what nourishes us, and we start sorting that out.  If we're really lucky, we move towards a life that really matters.

I said that the past 18 months had triggered some of that for many of us, and that the next few weeks might offer additional challenges.  I pointed us to verse 34, and introduced N.T. Wright's idea that this line would make a good prayer:  "Give us this bread always."  I challenged us to use the influx of bad news as the monasteries use bells--to remind us to pray.  So that every time we hear a piece of bad news, we should use that as a reminder to pray:  "Give us this bread always."

Along the way, I talked about the inbreaking Kingdom of God, not as a place that happens after we die or in the far, far future, when we've had a chance to transform society, but it's happening right here, right now, shimmering just behind the surface of what our society tells us is real life.  And we have a chance to be part of it.  We need to ask not only what we nourishment we need, but what our society needs.  And then we can pray that Jesus gives us that nourishment always and in all ways.

Bread Month Begins

Welcome to bread month! Over the next four weeks, the Gospel lessons will return again and again to this common New Testament symbol. We will be offered many opportunities to think about the meaning of this symbol.

I often tell my literature students that they can tell when something in a story might be a symbol because it shows up again and again, taking on an unusual significance. Our lectionary creators want to make sure we understand the importance of bread in the ministry of Jesus.

You might say that you already know. You take communion every week. You've heard that story of the loaves and fishes multiplying. Maybe you even pay attention to the bread that you buy each week as you choose the most nourishing loaves. Maybe you savor some bread and wine with your cheese on any given week-end, and you contemplate the life-giving properties of your snack. Despite all the recent attacks against carbs, most of us know that some variation of grain has kept most of human civilization alive more reliably than any other foodstuff.

The Gospels this month, however, remind us that there is much more to life than sustaining our all-too-human bodies. We hunger and thirst and we crave anything which might guarantee that we'll never hunger or thirst again. Jesus reminds us that it's natural for humans to want bread, but he tells us that we sacrifice so much if we stop with physical bread. Jesus reminds us of our larger purpose, which is communion with God.

In the language of economics, we need to pay ourselves first. We can't possibly do the work that God calls us to do if we're starving for spiritual bread.

Somehow, create some connections so that you can develop spiritual habits to go with your other habits. Pray while you're brushing your teeth. Listen to the Bible (via CD, tape, or download) as you drive to work. Have some spiritual sustenance delivered to your e-mail inbox every day. When you call your mom, check in with God when you hang up the phone. When you update your Facebook status, remember that God wants some facetime with you too. When you eat food, say grace, even if it's a snack and not the meal that you crave.

We are created for so much more than our earthly eyes can see, so much more than our cramped brains can comprehend. Spiritual habits and disciplines start to crack open our vistas so that we can enlarge our possibilities.

Over and over again, our spiritual texts ask us why we hunger for that which is not bread. Let's start training ourselves to hunger for the true nourishment.