Finding Jesus Irritating in a Surprising Way

Back in January, at the onground intensive for my spiritual direction certificate, one of our leaders suggested that we read a book of the Bible for the next year, a chapter a day, and when we got to the end, we start over again.  He suggested the book of John, the book of Psalms, or a specific Paul letter, but I can't remember which one.

I chose John.

I have now read through the book of John several times.  It takes me about 3 weeks.  After I read through the book of John once, I decided to also add another Gospel.  I've made my way through all 3 gospels, and now I'm back to Mark.

It's been interesting reading the gospels this way.  I've been interested to see how each writer structured the story, interested to see both the similarities and differences, interested to see how the familiar lectionary readings are as we read them in context.

I expected to be interested in those ways.  But here's what I didn't expect.  Lately, I've been battling the feeling that I don't really like this Jesus very much.

The book of John has never been my favorite.  I expected some irritation, and indeed, it's there.  For me, the mystical Jesus in the book of John is speaking in nonsense babble most of the time--I differentiate this Jesus from the Jesus who speaks in parables.

And I find myself getting irritated with Jesus for his habit of going against authorities--I didn't expect that.  The fights he picks seem less consequential to me:  lots of going back and forth about working on the Sabbath for example.

And yes, I understand why he chose these battles.  Taken out of context, it seems brave.  But in context, I'm not seeing lots of other battles, the ones I thought he fought.

He just irritates me somehow.  Yes, I realize that probably means my mindset is closer to those of the Pharisees than Jesus, and yes, that concerns me.  For almost a decade now, I've been aware that I'm more of a Pilate than I am any of the other characters in the Jesus story, and yes, that bothers me.

I really didn't expect to be so irritated by Jesus.  I wanted to record it here, because it's such an unexpected part of reading the gospels over and over again.  I want to remember that I felt this way.

I want to see if my feelings change as this experiment continues.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, May 3, 2020:

First Reading: Acts 2:42-47

Psalm: Psalm 23

Second Reading: 1 Peter 2:19-25

Gospel: John 10:1-10


In this week's Gospel, Christ mixes metaphors a bit, talking about sheep and calling himself a doorway for the sheep to find pasture. He also warns of thieves and robbers, and we might ask ourselves who are modern day thieves and robbers? Who are the ones who would lead us astray?

Well, there are lots of contenders, aren't there? But the ones I'm finding most insidious these days are all the electronic activities which steal so much of our time away from us. I see more and more people bent over their phones, oblivious to the world around them.

You don’t believe me? Try an Internet fast and see what happens. Could you go for a day without logging on? Could you go for a week?

These days, many of us rely on the Internet as we shift our work and education activities to be online so that we can work remotely.  In some ways, it's a wonderful thing.  In some ways, it robs us further of time and attention.

We might tell ourselves that we use our online time to stay connected to family and friends, and I will admit that it’s easier to stay in touch with some people via Facebook than it was with e-mail or old-fashioned paper letters. But most of us don’t post very deep thoughts on our Facebook accounts. A brief status update is better than nothing. But often, I find myself wondering how my friends are REALLY doing.

But do I take the time to write a Facebook message to ask? No. I’m too busy racing off to the next Internet diversion.

We might tell ourselves that the Internet allows us to stay current with what’s happening in the world, and in some ways, it’s a wonderful thing. I can read newspapers from all over the world, often for the price of my Internet connection. Not only that, I can read the opinions of others about those articles. In some forums, I can trade ideas with people. But all of that staying current comes with a price: it takes time away from other activities. Some of those displaced activities might be trading ideas with real people in a real conversation.

Very few of us will find real community via the Internet. We often think we don't have time because we're all very busy these days. But what is really sucking away our time? For some of us, it is, indeed, our jobs. For many of us, it’s our Internet lives: we’ve got a lot of stuff to read, videos to watch, plus games to play, plus status updates, and all the information we can Google now, and so we do (whereas before, if it required a trip to the library, many of us would have stayed ignorant). And if you’re like me, once you’ve spent so much of your day staring at screens, you may find it hard to reconnect to humans at the end of the day. You may feel your brain gone fuzzy. You may find yourself irritable at these humans who demand that you respond. You may withdraw before you ever have/take/make time to reconnect.

The Internet also takes time away from our relationship with God. I’ve found useful websites that allow me to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, but for the most part, I’m not noodling around the Internet looking for ways to enhance my relationship with God—or with anyone else, for that matter. I suspect that if I’m brutally honest, even my relationship with myself suffers when I spend too much time on the Internet.

Now the Internet is not the only tool and resource that allows us to sidestep the hard work of relationship. Some of us narcotize ourselves with television or with spending more hours at work than the work requires or with the relentless pace of the activities that our children do (and need us to drive them to) or any of the other countless activities that humans use in ways that aren’t healthy.

These activities can not only keep us from relationship with humans but can deafen our ears to the voice of that shepherd that goes out looking for us. Our Bible tells us over and over that God yearns to be in relationship with us. But if we’re too busy for our families and friends, we’re likely not making time for God either.

So, try an Internet sabbath, even if it’s just for a few hours a week. Try doing it every week. Make a phone call to someone you love who can't come to you. Read a book. Play an old-fashioned board game. Listen for the voice of God who calls to you across space and time. Answer.

Should Churches Get Stimulus Money?

Last week, some of my friends had a friendly conversation about churches getting stimulus money.  One of my friends said that he would be fine with churches getting stimulus money if they paid taxes.  While I agree that he has a point, overall, I disagree. 

Here's how I really feel:  in the time of the largest worldwide crisis since World War II and/or the Great Depression, we shouldn't limit who gets stimulus money.  We need to help a variety of institutions survive.

I am one of the people who was not outraged to discover that some large restaurant chains got stimulus money, so I'm coming from a different viewpoint than most people.  Those chains have payroll too, and they don't have business right now.  I don't assume that they have pots of money stashed away for a time of pandemic.

My church applied for a PPE loan and got it.  Most of it will go to pay the small number of our employees:  the pastor, the organist, and the woman who cleans the church.  I realize that many people who contribute to a church don't want their offerings to go to payroll.  When I was younger, I felt this way too.  Now that I'm older, I realize that parts of the church like the food pantry won't exist without payroll.

I know that many people who hear about churches getting money are thinking about megachurches, the Shake Shacks of the church world.  My church is about as far away from that vision as it's possible to be.  The non-festival Sundays when we have more than 75 people in the pews are few and far between.  Most of our members are elderly and poor.  Frankly, I'm amazed we make payroll at all.

But we do have a building, and we've tried to steward that resource.  We have others using the space as much as we can, and they contribute towards expenses.  So far, some of those groups are still contributing, even though we're all sheltering in place with gatherings larger than 10 people banned.

As we think about the trillions of dollars that are being disbursed, I realize we can have voracious disagreements about who should get that money.  I realize that not every recipient will be deserving.

But I believe that churches offer lots of community support in a variety of ways, ways that are often unseen by the larger majority of the community.  I'm happy to have stimulus money go that way.

Third Visit to the Spiritual Director

Saturday I went to my third meeting with my spiritual director.  Our first meeting was scheduled for early February, but I rescheduled because I was sick with a nasty cough, and one night I had a fever and shivering that woke me up out of sleep.  At the time, I thought it was just a nasty cold.  I still think it was just a nasty cold, but I don't usually have a fever or chills, so I confess, as I've read theories about COVID-19 spreading earlier than once thought, I have wondered.

Anyway, we rescheduled for late February.  The first meeting was really a getting to know you meeting to decide if we thought it would be a good idea to enter into the spiritual director relationship.  At the time, we didn't really discuss the pandemic, as I recall.  I talked about issues at work; we'd just launched a midquarter start session of classes, and the intense focus on that start had left the management team stressed. I remember talking a bit about that.

We decided that we would enter into a spiritual director-directee partnership (and my seminary teachers back in January would remind me that there's a third entity there, the Holy Spirit).  In late March we met again.  I was stressed for a very different reason--this session was the one where we talked about ways to cope.  My director suggested that I breathe in focusing on one word and breathe out focusing on a different word.  I modified that practice using just one word.  It has helped me fall back asleep at night when panic shakes me awake.

Yesterday, I met with my director again.  She remembered a lot--note to self that I should make notes after sessions, for the time when I am the director in the relationship.  She remembered that I had wanted to do more sketching, and in fact, I have been doing that, as I've recorded a Morning Watch devotional each morning.

At one point yesterday, she asked how I would sketch my feelings, if I sketched them.  It was a cool question.

Yesterday, I realized I'm in a better psychological place.  I'm getting used to this new normal.  A month ago, I still wasn't sure what to expect as we moved to a different way of delivering classes.  A month ago, I wasn't sure if we'd have access to grocery stores--I wouldn't have been surprised to be ordered inside and to have the military patrolling the streets.  Happily, our new approach to classes is going well, and we have a different sort of quarantine.

My spiritual director often moved our conversation back to where we're finding God in these times.  It's a great question for spiritual direction.

At one point, I told her that I didn't believe in an all powerful God.  She wasn't as shocked by that as she might have been.  We talked about what we believe that God can and cannot do, and about how people respond.  We talked about the megachurch who had a pastor who declared that God would protect them when they met in person--but he died of the virus.  What do his parishioners do with that outcome?

I keep trying to think about how this process is and is not similar to psychotherapy.  I've known therapists, but I've never done therapy.  In some ways, this relationship is not what my therapist friends would describe.  We are both Lutherans in leadership positions at church, so we have conversations at points.  And each of my sessions with my spiritual director has lasted 75-90 minutes, so that would be very unusual in the therapy world.

I don't know if this time frame is usual.  I don't look at my watch while I'm there, and she doesn't have a timepiece either.

As I drove away, I thought about how I felt and how it was similar to how I feel after a yoga class.  It's a significant time commitment in a way--it takes an hour to drive down, an hour to drive back--unless it's a day like Saturday, when the Turnpike was completely shut down. 

But at this point, it's worth it.  I'm learning a lot, both about myself and about how to be a spiritual director.

Pandemic and the Protections Needed

After reading this article by  Kristen Kuempel, the Lutheran (ELCA) bishop of the Northwest Intermountain synod, I begin to wonder if it will be wise to gather in larger groups (20+) until we have a cure or a vaccine.  I had already been thinking about what might be needed in terms of sanitizing.  I hadn't thought about insurance and liability issues, and not only for the immediate group but for all who use the facilities.

If someone comes to our church and later has COVID-19, can liability be proven?  Can others who were exposed have a lawsuit?  Would a letter that releases liability hold up in court?

This sentence got my attention:  "Please keep in mind that pastors AND council members can be held personally liable for any decisions they make in this area, risking not only the congregation’s financial security, but their own."

Long ago, I helped change insurance policies for our church, but I couldn't tell you much about liability, beyond the safe space regulations that we needed to make sure we had in place to keep people of all ages safe from predators, primarily the sexual kind.

I'm fairly sure that our church insurance policy doesn't cover pandemic and the protections needed, at least not in a specific way.

Sketching Hope

My morning schedule got out of whack, but in good ways:

--I slept a bit later--until just before 5 a.m., which is unusual, especially these days.

--I did more with sketching this morning.

--We had some rain which disrupted my plans to walk.

--My spouse and I had coffee on the porch and watched the rain.

--And then, the rain cleared, and we took a short walk.

I will leave you with the sketch I did.  In case the quote isn't readable, here it is in a more accessible format:

"Hope is not something subjective due to an optimistic or sanguine temperament, . . .  .  It is a light force which radiates objectively and which directs creative evolution toward the world's future.  . . .
hope is what moves and directs spiritual evolution in the world."  Valentin Tomberg

What the Create in Me Retreat Means to Me

Yesterday, a seminary student wrote to me to ask if she could get some information from me about the Create in Me retreat.  Of course I said yes. 

She sent this e-mail:

I appreciate your help! I just have four questions and would love to hear any basic information about you as well (family, involvement with church, involvement with camp, etc.).

1. How has the retreat affected you personally?
2. How have you seen the retreat change over the years?
3. Have you seen the retreat's planning or execution affected by either current events in the United States or the politics/happenings of the ELCA?
4. Can you describe any major changes that come to mind between the early years and current retreats?

Thank you again so much! Feel free to answer as many or as few as you feel like answering.

I really liked my answer, and so I'll post it here.  I realize that those of you who read this blog faithfully may feel like you've already read a variation of this answer, and you likely have.  It's good to remember why this retreat is important.

---------------------------------------

What great questions. My plan is to write a response this morning, and I may write a follow up e-mail in the next 24 hours. I could write a whole book about this retreat.

My background: my mom was one of the first camp counselors at Lutheridge; she worked there in one of the first summers the camp opened. It was important to her, and we came back as a family. I went to Lutheridge as a camper, and then again, in college for retreats. I never worked at Lutheridge because the year I applied, they had already filled positions by the time they got to my level (they started hiring with those who had finished the most college, and the year I applied, I had just finished one year). My family has come to Lutheridge once a year for a family reunion, almost always at Thanksgiving. We started doing this because it was the one place my grandmother would travel (her church in Greenwood, SC always came to Lutheridge for a Sunday picnic once or twice a year). We've continued gathering at Lutheridge even after my grandmother's death.

I've been going to the Create in Me retreat since 2003, and I've only missed 2 years before this year, when the retreat had to be cancelled because of the pandemic. This retreat has been one of the more important things in my life--it has grounded me and inspired me and nurtured me in a way that few other things have.

Lutheridge, too, as a place and as a group of people and as an idea has been one of the important things in my life.

Let me start with some of the easier questions.

#4 and #2 seem similar. The biggest change in the retreat came with the Faith Center. Before the Faith Center, we'd do the various drop in stations at different buildings across the Lutheridge campus. With the Faith Center, all the afternoon drop in stations are in the same space. This change leads to more fellowship, as we work in closer proximity. It also leads to cross-pollination, both in terms of ideas and materials. We've seen supplies from one drop in station migrate to another--and it's never planned, to my knowledge. It's just the serendipity of having materials nearby. There's also the serendipity of having people nearby--it makes asking questions and getting guidance easier.

#3. When I first started coming to the retreat, it was before the sexuality statement. It's been wonderful seeing people more able to be themselves. Before the sexuality statement, I could see people being careful not to reveal too much about sexuality or home life--this was particularly true for rostered people. I am not rostered, so I had more freedom, but I was still careful about not outing others. It's been great to see people be able to relax and to be honest about their situations.

In terms of the political situation, most of us seem to be left of center, and that hasn't changed. Some of us are more concerned about climate change than others, some of us have other issues that concerns us, but we all seem to be similarly situated when it comes to peace and justice issues. Most of us don't seem to be at the very edges of that left margin--closer to the center than the radical edge. Most of us are older, and most of us are in a precarious economic position--but not precarious enough to give us that reckless abandon one might see if we were truly poor. In other words, most of us have a lot to lose, and therefore, we're not as radical as we might have been in our youth.

I do realize that people with right of center politics may not be as open with someone like me who is left of center. I realize that they may come to the retreat and not come back.

I think that many of us have muddled politics too--we're left of center on some stuff, right of center on others. But most of us are part of ELCA denominations, most of which are less likely to be right wing. But most of us are coming from the southeast, where we're more likely to have some right leaning sympathies. For example, I'm not as anti-gun ownership as some of my more liberal friends.

#1. The retreat has affected me personally in so many ways. I'll list some here, and then I may write more later:

--I've made friends, many of them intense friendships. I feel like some of these people understand me in a way that few others do, even though we only see each other once a year, maybe twice, if we're on the planning team or come to Lutheridge for other reasons. I feel like I don't have to explain as much. In my regular life, I have friends who are religious/spiritual and friends who are creative/artistic, but few friends who understand/know the intersections. My Create in Me friends understand the intersections.

--Some of those friends have helped me at major transitions. We changed churches in 2008. I was very unhappy with our old church, and one of my Create in Me friends said, "You know, you've been talking about this for years now. When will you make a change?" There's a group of us who have been interested in seminary, and then in various certificate programs in spiritual direction. It's been wonderful not traveling that discernment road by myself.

--I've tried a variety of practices. With some, like the pottery wheel or a weaving loom, I say, "Well, I'm glad I didn't buy that piece of equipment, thinking I would love it." With some, I've kept up the practice (like spiritual sketching with Copic markers).

--I've brought ideas home. I teach English and writing of all sorts on the college level, and I often come home with ideas for the classroom. But more interestingly, I come home with ideas for how to do church differently. And happily, I'm now in a church that's open to some of these ideas. And my church is becoming known for its creative experiments. Because of that work, I've been asked to play a bigger role in Synod Assembly. Last year, I helped with the prayer chapel. This year, if we have Synod Assembly, I'm in charge of the prayer chapel, and I'm leading a workshop.

--I've also been a retreat leader at several women's retreats--I've used ideas I got at this retreat.

--But for me, the most important part has been the various human connections I've made. I've gotten support and inspiration. I've had rich conversations about how people are living their lives. I've realized how many ways there are to live a satisfying life--I'm not sure that many people have the opportunity to have that realization.

If I think of more, I'll let you know. And you can get far more information than you can likely use (and pictures!) if you go to my blogs and type Create in Me in the search box:

my creativity blog:

  

https://kristinberkey-abbott.blogspot.com/

my theology blog:

http://liberationtheologylutheran.blogspot.com/

And if you have any other questions, please feel free to write back.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 26, 2020:


First Reading: Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm: Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17 (Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Peter 1:17-23

Gospel: Luke 24:13-35

Today we read of the sojourners on their way to Emmaus. This story gives us an important window into the lives we are to have as Christians, particularly when it comes to the sharing of a meal, and our basic obligations when it comes to hospitality.

That hospitality is the often overlooked side of the Emmaus story. The travelers have walked seven miles together. For those of you who are wondering, that might take the modern walker, walking at a fast clip, a bit over two hours; in Biblical times, with unpaved roads with poorly shod feet, I'm estimating it would take half a day. When they get back to their house, they don't say to Jesus, "Well, good luck on your journey."

No--they invite him inside. What remarkable hospitality. They share what they have. They don't say, "Well, I can't let you see my house in its current state--let's go out to dinner." No, they notice that the day is nearly done, and they invite a stranger in to stay the night. They don't direct the stranger to the nearest inn.

Those of you who have read your Bible will recognize a motif. God often appears as a stranger, and good things come to those who invite a stranger in. For those of you who protest that modern life is so much more dangerous than in Biblical times, and so it was safer for people like Abraham and the Emmaus couple to invite the stranger to stay, I'd have to disagree.

Without that hospitality, those strangers never would have known their fellow traveler. We are called to model the same behavior.

But what does this mean in our new time of pandemic?  Once I would have suggested that we share more meals.  Now most of us won't be sharing meals with people outside of our family groups for awhile.

What does hospitality mean in a time of social distancing?  Many of us have already been finding our way there:  we call each other more often, we set up meetings in ways that technology opens for us, we offer encouragement by way of various social media platforms, in addition to the more traditional ways.

Jesus calls us to a sacramental life, which requires a major readjustment of our mindset around the issues of food, drink, time, and hospitality. Consider the Capitalist/Consumerist model that our culture offers us, and the invitation from Jesus looks even more attractive.  This pandemic time is helping some of us move towards Christ's model even more quickly than we might have in past periods of our lives.

In this time of upheaval, let us be ever on the alert for ways to practice the radical hospitality modeled by Jesus.

Sketching with a Bit More Color

I continue to sketch almost every morning--sometimes it's brief, just a few minutes.  Other times, it stretches out.  We are in the final week of an online journaling class that's not only sketching but reading our way through Cynthia Bourgeault's Mystical Hope:  Trusting in the Mercy of God.

This morning, I decided I wanted to do something different than my usual sketching of swoops and swirls.  So I started with dots.  I ended by combining some of them into a sun or a star:

I've been using the same color markers for a month:  3 shades of gray and a violet.  This morning, I decided to add more, so I used 2 markers from a past journaling group, the blue and the gold. 

I had this Thomas Merton quote from the Bourgeault book on my brain:

"It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish altogether."  (quoted on p. 83)

This quote describes Merton's mystical experience on a Louisville street, the corner of 4th and Walnut, where he sees all the faces of his fellow humans and has insight into the nature of God by realizing how much he loves those humans (I'm oversimplifying, I know).

So I created a haiku-like thing out of Merton's words:

Points of light converge
Making meanness evaporate
Face and blaze of sun

I'd been having a few days of unsatisfying sketching.  It was a relief to have a morning that felt like a return to vital practices.

Yesterday's Sermon: Visions and Revisions

Yesterday, I wrote this blog post about the sermon I planned to deliver.  I planned to briefly talk about Thomas and his doubt and then shift to Jesus breathing on the disciples.  Then I planned to shift to modern takes on parables--the community (Kingdom) of God is like a virus.

I did worry about how the idea would come across to parishioners, but I was prepared to run with it.  But when we got to church, I got the idea for a different end to the sermon.  I ended up talking about not 1 metaphor for the community of God, but 2.

I learned that the choir would be singing "The Old Rugged Cross" after my sermon, and I was thinking about ruggedness.  And then, it came to me:  the community of God is like the Internet.  I thought about the article in The Washington Post that I had read about how the original folks who created the Internet had planned for it to work precisely the way that it does.  One part of it can go down, but the other parts will fill in the gaps. 

The Internet is designed to work if there should be a limited nuclear war--not Armageddon, like The Day After or those other 80's films, but something that takes out part of the network, but not the whole thing.  Information packets get delivered by way of the nodes that make the most sense.  It's a very durable system--much like the Kingdom/community of God.

I was much more pleased with this ending.  I hope that in the coming weeks, when people hear news of the virus or when people hear about all the ways we're living online now, I hope that they'll think of the Kingdom/community of God and make interesting new connections. 

I hope that we'll be enriched in this way.

For those of you wishing you could hear the sermon--or watch the whole service, you can still see it here on Facebook.  If you only want to hear the sermon, at minute 15ish, I come up to read the gospel, and the sermon is after that.

Corona Virus Kingdom of God

A few days ago, my pastor asked if I wanted to preach the sermon today.  I said sure.  He'll do the rest of the liturgy, the skeleton crew of a choir will sing, and I will preach.

The easy route would be to talk about Doubting Thomas, to be smug about how we didn't see Christ in person, but we believe, and we're so much better than Thomas.  I will not be taking that route.

What leapt out at me as I read it was verse 22, where Jesus breathes on the disciples.  How will we react to the lack of social distancing?

I've decided to create a parable; if Jesus walked among us right now, Jesus would use the virus as a teaching moment, a symbol.  I want to talk about the Kingdom of God as a virus.

Many of us will react the way that Jesus' contemporaries reacted to Jesus saying that believers are like yeast.  Today we love yeasted bread.  In fact, many of us are exploring the possibilities of yeasted bread in ways we haven't done since the 70's.  But to Jesus' contemporaries, they would see yeast as something wild, an outside influence, that contaminates the dough.

How might Jesus use the idea of a virus to teach us about God?  How can we be like a virus?

Many of the parables of Jesus start in a place of smallness.  Think of the mustard seed, or any seed--the tiny thing that grows at first with no one noticing, and then it becomes a huge tree.

When I first went to the Johns Hopkins website that tracks COVID-19 cases, there were just over 6,000 cases in the U.S.  This morning, there are 733, 287 cases.  Imagine what the world would look like if, instead of spreading sickness, the ethics of Jesus were sweeping across the planet.  Imagine how our world would be different.

The last few months have taught us a math lesson that some of us never learned.  We've seen the power of exponential growth.  But we've also learned a lesson about the power of personal contact.

The virus can't spread on its own.  It depends on human contact, on close proximity.  Likewise, the Kingdom of God depends on us to spread it.  And it's not necessarily just by words.  Like a sick person can spread the virus even before there are symptoms, we can spread the Good News that Jesus gives us just by living our lives according to those principals.

But just like a virus can be stopped, the Good News of God's Kingdom can be stopped too.  Some times, it's the actions of those who proclaim, when the behavior doesn't match the values professed.  Some times, the attractions of non-Kingdom life win our attention.  Some years, we're too steeped in grief, loss, and hard times for the Kingdom to bloom fully.

Let us return to the Easter message.  Let us remember that death doesn't have the final answer.  We'll learn a way to vanquish this virus.  But unlike the virus, the Kingdom of God expands, often in ways we don't see or don't understand when we do see them.  In this way, we're like Thomas with all his doubts.

But Thomas gets a second chance when he thrusts his hands into the wounds of Jesus.  God comes to be with us, in all of our human messiness.  We, too, get second and third and fourth chances, as many as we need.

Again and again, the Kingdom of God commits to resurrection.  We're invited to do that too.

Virtual Church

I woke up this morning thinking about communion, the Eucharist kind of communion.  I was thinking about how we might do communion when it's safe to assemble again, but when, I assume, we will still have to keep our physical distance from each other.  Will we distribute with masks and gloves on?  Will we have people bring their own elements from home, so that they are the only ones who have touched the items?  If we can consecrate from a distance, then how far a distance is too far?

I am not going to wade into the fierce battles being waged over whether or not we can consecrate virtually--not right now.  I can see both sides, as I often can.  I do miss the sacrament--but I try to live in a sacramental frame of mind, where I see God as present in all sorts of every day elements and/or when I look at every day elements of life and let them point me to God's presence.

Many of us lead lives stripped of sacrament, stripped of mystery, stripped of meaning.  And now we've had one more thing taken from us.  One of my Mepkin journaling friends called this time a "Eucharistic fast."  I like that way of thinking.  I like the word fast--we've given up the Eucharist for a larger good.

And yes, I realize we can argue for the rest of our lives about whether or not it is a larger good.

This morning, in my Internet ramblings, I came across this wonderful interview with Phyllis Tickle in 2014.  At about minute 14, she starts to talk about Internet church--there's an Anglican community of 8000 who meets every Sunday to worship in the online world of Second Life.  I wonder if it still exists?  I'm guessing that if it had 8000 members in 2014, then it's still fairly strong.

Phyllis Tickle sees it all as a wonderful development, a tributary in the river that is Christianity, which is part of an even larger river of spirituality.  I get the idea that she would approve of virtual Eucharist--but she would also be supportive of those who are horrified by the idea.

I am wondering if we will continue to see a flowering of online opportunities of all sorts, the flowering that has been forced by this pandemic.  I suspect that we will.

My dad asked me the other day if I would keep doing my online version of Morning Watch (you can view this morning's version here).  I found myself completely unable to answer because of so many unknowns.  Will spin class resume again?  Will day old bread/treats be available if I'm willing to get them from Publix?  Will people still view the recording?  Will I be too exhausted to get up early enough to do it?

I will likely keep doing it, but the time might change.  I like that it forces me to do it.  And it's free to do it on Facebook, so there's no down side at this point.

That approach may be how many of us exist virtually as church, once this pandemic allows us to gather in person.  If it's free to continue to offer a virtual version, many of us will likely do it.  If it's easy, like streaming what we'll do in person, many of us will likely do it--and I do want to acknowledge that most of us are not finding it easy to do the technology for all sorts of reasons.

Will we keep doing it when the reasons for doing it aren't as compelling?  For the sake of those who find it a lifeline, for the sake of those who have always needed a virtual church, I hope so.

A Sketch Exploring Holding and Pouring

One of my online journaling groups has been reading Cynthia Bourgeault's Mystical Hope:  Trusting in the Mercy of God.  This week, my thoughts kept coming back to this idea:

"IF only we could understand this more deeply!  If only we could see and trust that all our ways of getting there, all our courses over time--our good deeds, our evil deeds, our regrets, our compulsive choosings and the fallout from those choosings, our things left undone and paths never actualized--are quietly held in an exquisite fullness that simply poises in itself, then pours itself out in a single glance of the heart.  If we could only glimpse that, even for an instant, we would be able to sens the immensity of the love that seeks to meet us at the crossroads of the Now, when we yield ourselves entirely into it" (p. 64-65).

As I thought about what to sketch, my brain kept coming back to the idea of pouring and holding.  I began with this kind of flowing line:

I added to the sketch on Wednesday.  I first began with the idea of a braided basket, but I like that it can also look like cut glass or crystal or even, perhps, wood:

And last night I added an edited version of the quote, so that in later years, I'd be sure to have it:

I thought about adding more to the sketch, about making a list of all the good deeds, the evil deeds, the opportunities missed, the choosings and the things left undone--but I didn't want to depress myself, and I wanted to leave the sketch with some room for mystery.

Unlike the last time I sketched with this Grunewald Guild group, I'm not creating a new sketch every day, although I am sketching every day.  Unlike last time, I don't have as many chunks of undistracted time in my schedule.  But it's good to do what I can--and these sketches remind me that it doesn't take huge swaths of time.

Of Canceled Retreats and Other Ramifications of COVID-19

Today is the day that I would have gone to the Create in Me retreat, if these were normal times.  I feel some sadness about that canceled retreat, but the thought of traveling right now is just unfathomable to me.  I'm glad that we had no choice in the matter.

I would have seen friends along the way, and I'm sorry that I won't get to see them.  I may plan a consolation trip where I go to see them anyway.  It feels hard to plan anything right now.

Today is the day that I would have met up with my parents at the Create in Me retreat.  In retrospect, I now know that meet up wouldn't have happened, even if the retreat had gone on as planned, even if there had been no pandemic.

Let me be happy that my parents are still with me on this side of the grave, that the prognosis is good, that I can expect to see them again.

Let me also be happy that we live in an age where we can connect by way of technology.  Last night I had my Mepkin journaling group by way of Zoom meeting.  Tomorrow, I will join a different online journaling group by way of Zoom.  On Saturday, there will be yet another Zoom meeting with a Create in Me group.  And earlier in the day, a few friends from my grad school era tea and crafting group may try to connect online--we are a far-flung group with one of us in England. 

I am lucky that I am nourished by these online connections.  I'm also aware that these connections nourish me in part because they first nourished me in person.  I'm grateful for nourishment wherever I can get it these days.

I'm also thinking about this kind of nourishment, even as we go back to whatever normal is going to look like.  As churches and retreat organizers, should we be offering this kind of nourishment more often?

What would our lives look like if we had monthly or weekly opportunities, not just a once a year trip to the mountaintop of inspiration?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 19, 2020:

First Reading: Acts 4:32-35

Psalm: Psalm 133

Second Reading: 1 John 1:1--2:2

Gospel: John 20:19-31

This week's Gospel returns us to the familiar story of Thomas, who will always be known as Doubting Thomas, no matter what else he did or accomplished.  What I love about the Gospels most is that we get to see humans interacting with the Divine, in all of our human weaknesses. Particularly in the last few weeks, we've seen humans betray and deny and doubt--but God can work with us.

If you were choosing a group of people most unlikely to start and spread a lasting worldwide movement, it might be these disciples. They have very little in the way of prestige, connections, wealth, networking skills, marketing smarts, or anything else you might look for if you were calling modern disciples. And yet, Jesus transformed them.

Perhaps it should not surprise us. The Old Testament, too, is full of stories of lackluster humans unlikely to succeed: mumblers and cheats, bumblers and the unwise. God can use anyone, even murderers.

How does this happen? The story of Thomas gives us a vivid metaphor. When we thrust our hands into the wounds of Jesus, we're transformed. Perhaps that metaphor is too gory for your tastes, and yet, it speaks to the truth of our God. We have a God who wants to know us in all our gooey messiness. We have a God who knows all our strengths and all our weaknesses, and still, this God desires closeness with us. And what's more, this God invites us to a similar intimacy. Jesus doesn't say, "Here I am, look at me and believe." No, Jesus offers his wounds and invites Thomas to touch him.

Jesus will spend the next several weeks eating with the disciples, breathing on them, and being with them physically one last time. Then he sends them out to transform the wounded world.

We, too, are called to lay our holy hands on the wounds of the world and to heal those wounds. It's not enough to just declare the Good News of Easter. We are called to participate in the ongoing redemption of creation. We know creation intimately, and we know which wounds we are most capable of healing. Some of us will work on environmental issues, some of us will make sure that the poor are fed and clothed, some of us will work with criminals and the unjustly accused, and more of us will help children.

In the coming weeks, be alert to the recurring theme of the breath of Jesus and the breath of God. You have the breath of the Divine on you too.  In our time of a new respiratory virus and staying safe distances away, it will be interesting to see how we respond to this imagery.

But God's breath transforms creation in ways that viruses can only dream of.  God's breath can transform us too.

Season of a Sketchbook

Yesterday, I started a new sketchbook.  As I closed the last one, I realized that the last sketch was done on Easter.  I started the sketchbook on Transfiguration Sunday.  I don't usually have a sketchbook that begins and ends this way, perfectly synced with the season.

Here's the Feb. 23, 2020 sketch that opens the sketchbook:

I also wrote some haiku.  The last one leapt out at me:

Tale of two mountains
Stay here in God's presence.
Golgotha summons.


Little did I know--even then, the new virus was making its way into new parts of our country.

When I got to the last page of the sketchbook, it was the Saturday before Easter.  On Saturday, I created this sketch:

I have experimented with small dots and dashes in the past, but never crosses.  I had Good Friday on my brain.

On Easter Sunday, I added a bit of color. 

I'm taking an online journaling class, and we're working with a limited palette, so that's why I don't have the kinds of colors that my sketches usually have.

I have not been writing much haiku in these past weeks.  Maybe I'll start doing that again.

The Strangest Easter

Yesterday was a very strange Easter--but then again, I don't have a usual Easter.  Some years, we've spent much of Easter at church.  Other years, we haven't gone at all.  One year we created our own service on a rocky beach in Hawaii.  One year, I was on my way to Mepkin Abbey, where I would return to the Easter readings more often than I have before or since.

Yesterday I didn't wear any Easter finery--but then again, I often don't wear finery, either Easter or any other kind.  I helped with the Easter Sunday livestream.  We had some technical difficulties, but we worked around them.  I did spend the whole service worrying that I would touch something on our pastor's iPhone and bring the whole service stream to a crashing halt.

Before the 10:00 service, my spouse had choir rehearsal at 8:30.  I made a few cloth masks.  I was making one to send to my parents, and two of my friends who are in the choir asked me to make them one.  So I did.  I'm not making masks to last--I use pinking shears to minimize the sewing I have to do.  I sew a panel of flannel to the interior of the mask which holds the layers together.  I sew two fabric ribbons to the sides; I gather the two corners together to make pleats of a sort.

I didn't do much sketching yesterday, but I did make bread.  I wanted to do some sort of hot cross bun, but I didn't have time before our church duties.  As the afternoon progressed, my spouse proposed we make bunny bread.  I'm not sure what trick of photography makes my spouse's hand look so strange in the photo below, as he placed carrots on the bread to make a face:

We both grew up with our mothers making a bunny cake from two round cakes, so it was the perfect way to celebrate for us:

The bread was really tasty, but much healthier than a bunny cake would be--and we didn't have to go to the grocery store for ingredients.

We ended the day by listening to some great music; we kept returning to this recording of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken?"--such talent gathered together!

It seemed perfect for Easter and for what made this Easter particularly strange:  it was the 15th anniversary of my mother-in-law's death.  It was both good and strange to sit together watching great gospel music delivered by some of country music's finest musician.  I think she would have liked the way we remembered her:  church in the morning, bunny bread in the afternoon, and gospel music as the day faded.

Easter in a Time of Plague

The Gospel of Matthew tells us that the Easter story begins now, "towards dawn, on the first day of the week." I have been awake since 4:45 a.m. EDT, keeping watch for the mystical, staying alert for signs of resurrection.

For most of us, this will be an Easter unlike any other.  Most of us have never experienced Easter under stay at home orders.  Most of us have never been isolated the way we are now.

For some of us, this particular Easter may feel more like the tomb than like resurrection.  We are still waiting.  We don't know what the outcome will be:  will this new virus mutate and become worse?  Will our favorite schools, businesses, social institutions survive?  What will the new normal look like?  Can we bring some of our favorite aspects of the old normal with us to the new normal?

In many ways, these questions are the essential Easter questions.  Life changes, and often faster than we can process the information.  We're left struggling, grasping for meaning, refusing to believe the good news that's embodied right before our eyes.  We don't recognize the answer to our prayers, our desperate longings, even when it's right before our eyes.  We're stuck grieving in the pre-dawn dark.

The situation of this Easter may lead us to see the story in new ways.  What does resurrection demand of us?  How can we fulfill the promise of our lives?  How can we help transform the world we live in to be more like the world God envisions for us?

Something new is being born, and we are here to help shape it.  Alleluia!

Morning Watch Update

For almost 2 weeks, at 5:30 a.m., I've been livestreaming a morning watch on my church's Facebook page; it's recorded so that people who don't get up as early as I do can watch it later.  When I first started thinking about doing this process, I thought that I would choose the Bible verses.  But then I wondered why--after all, we have a daily lectionary.

So I've been using Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours.  I don't read all the selections, just a few of the verses from the Psalms, the Gospel reading, and the concluding prayer.  I also give time for sketching.

Here's how it usually works:

2-3 readings from Psalms

1 reading from the Gospel

1 reading from Psalms (usually a longer passage)

5-8 minutes of quiet, which I use to sketch--others might journal or meditate or do centering prayer or stretch or do yoga, . . .

concluding prayer

some sort of benediction and closing

I am really enjoying this time, and a few others tune in every day, either live or by watching the recording.  I enjoy that it makes me do the readings myself and to take time for sketching.  In the benediction, I send out words of hope, words I need to hear myself.

As I hear myself, I wonder how I sound to others.  I feel like I sound like a 70's PBS show, if Bob Ross had ever decided to do morning devotionals.

Will I continue to do this if life returns to some semblance of normal, and I'm going to spin class?  I have no idea--so much depends on so many unknowns.

But I'm happy to be doing it now--it's a small joy in this pandemic time of fear and grief.

Good Friday: Power so Precarious

Today is Good Friday.  Much of the Christian world will consider this man hanging on a cross.  Will we think about Good Friday differently in a time of plague, in a time of economic collapse caused by this pandemic?

Christians have had some fairly common approaches to the Good Friday story.  Most Christians say that Jesus had to be sacrificed because of the sin of us all.  Some of us have been deeply uncomfortable with that narrative:  what kind of God would require that kind of sacrifice?  Some scholars point to the temple sacrifice traditions to explain this narrative.

Some Christians focus on the role of empire in this story.  They point out that crucifixion was the death used for those who were seen as enemies of the Roman empire.  A far more common form of capital punishment would have been stoning.

These days, I approach the Good Friday story by seeing lots of people in the grip of something they don't understand, working within power structures they can't control, power structures that are spiraling away from what people thought they understood towards chaos and pandemonium.

Once we might have thought of the chief priests and Pilate as the ones having the power.  Now I think about the larger sweep of history, and even Rome's power seems fleeting.  These actors have political power, true.  But political power can be so precarious.  The last few months and years have reminded us of that fact over and over again.

The story of the Crucifixion reminds we all suffer--even God who comes to be with us suffers.  There are some Christians out there who would tell us that if we just pray hard enough, we can avoid the sadness that's out there: our illnesses will go away, wealth will fall into our laps, prosperity of all kinds await us if we just trust in God enough.

The Good Friday story tells a different tale. Even God must suffer in the most horrible ways. God comes to earth to show us a better way of living our human lives, and in return, the most powerful earthly empire at the time crucifies him.

It's good to remember on Good Friday, and during all of our Good Friday times, that God can make beauty out of the most profound ugliness, wholeness out of the most shattered brokenness.

This year, that message resonates more than ever.

Maundy Thursday in a Time of Pandemic Plague

This is probably not the first Maundy Thursday in a time of pandemic plague, but for most of us, we probably weren't alive for any of the past ones.  Perhaps a few of us remember the great flu epidemic of 1918--did that impact Holy Week?  And we weren't alive for the huge scourges of the past (bubonic plague in the middle ages and subsequent centuries, the smallpox plagues that wiped out most of the native populations in the Americas when Europeans arrived).

This is not the first Maundy Thursday we've spent in isolation, but most of us haven't experienced it.  Certain populations have always spent the holiest days in isolation:  the sick, the elderly, those cloistered for other reasons.

Most of us have experienced the sadness of a holiday that isn't what we expected it to be.  Most of us understand the loneliness we feel when we can't be with our beloved communities.

Some of us are luckier than past generations:  we can be together virtually.  We can see each other when we speak by way of technology, if we have the technology.  We can have screen to screen communication.  My church will do a livestream of a stripped down Maundy Thursday service.  There are lots of resources out there, and many of us will have access to them.  It could be worse.

But it will be strange.  And maybe we will discover that the feeling of strangeness helps to enrich our experience.

Those of us who have been worshipping for years may have become inured to the power of these Holy Days.  In past years, the familiarity of the readings may have helped us zone out.

This year, nothing feels familiar.  This year, many of us feel broken open in new places.  This year, perhaps the Holy Spirit will move in us and through us in new ways.

Meditation on the Readings for Holy Week

Those of us who are alive for this Holy Week have never seen a plague sweep the planet the way that corona virus COVID-19 has done.  How will these Holy Week readings seem different during a time of pandemic?

Think of our Maundy Thursday texts that show Jesus washing the feet of the disciples, instructing them to care for others in a similar way.  Will we focus on the sanitizing aspect?  Will we wonder how the disciples will wash their own hands after touching someone else's body?

There's the famous handwashing of Pilate, the flogging and crucifixion that can't be done from a safe distance, the kiss that started it all.  Violence requires a closer connection.

The Holy Week texts show us a variety of betrayals, betrayals that were as common then as they are now.  There's the betrayal of the ones we love.  There's the betrayal that we feel when leaders don't behave like we expected, and there's the variety of ways we might react to that.  We see both in the Holy Week texts and our own newsfeeds, the betrayals of leaders.  When our lives are upended, whether by economic implosion, disease, or by loved ones, we may even wonder where God is in all of this.

There's the hiding, the fear, the cowering behind closed doors.  The disciples must have wondered if the authorities would come for them next.  We, too, wonder who will be next.

There's the tomb where Jesus rests.  We, too, may feel like we're in sealed tombs.  We may wonder what will come next. Will we be consigned to the grave forever?

Like Mary, we might ask questions regardless of who stands before us.  We might mistake the teacher for the gardener.  We might not be able to believe the evidence that's presented to us.

God has promised resurrection.  God has promised that death does not have the final word, and the life of Jesus shows us what that resurrection life might look like.

We will leave the tomb of this time to a world transformed by this experience.  Now, more than ever, is the time to ask where we see ourselves in this story.  Now, more than ever, is the time to live like the resurrection people God calls us to be.

Sketching God's Hands

Yesterday, as I read the Palm Sunday passages for my Morning Watch Facebook broadcast, I was struck by the idea of palms, both the planted kind, and the ones that are part of our hands.  Throughout the morning, I made this sketch:

Can you see the hand shape behind the palms?  Look for the purple marks.

The hands of God have been on my brain.  About 10 days ago, I made this sketch for my online journaling class:

In some ways, I felt weird about these fingers of God.  But I did like the flame shapes made by the negative space.  I liked that the finger shapes also reminded me of descending doves.

And yes, of course I realize my flimsy attempts to anthropomorphize God.  I realize that God doesn't have hands in the way I would understand hands.  I like the idea that humans are the hands of God sent out to do the work of God.

But I also like these sketches.

Precarious: Palm Sunday in a Time of Pandemic

Today is Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week.  For most Christians, this Holy Week will likely be one of the strangest we've ever experienced.

We begin by knowing that we won't be together, physically gathered in one place.  We no longer need to feel guilt about all the worship opportunities we will miss.  Maybe we will remember this hunger when we are able to gather in person again.

Palm Sunday has always reminded us that life is precarious, but for many of us, life has never felt more personally precarious than right now.  We're told that the unemployment rate will likely surpass that of the Depression--we are now where we were in the depths of the Great Recession.  We know that many hospitals were at capacity before the pandemic began.

This morning as I journaled, I thought about palms, both the tree and the part of our hands.  I remembered one of my favorite images of God, from Isaiah 49:15, which tells us that our names are written on the palms of God.

Palm Sunday offers us some serious reminders. If we put our faith in the world, we're doomed. If we get our glory from the acclaim of the secular world, we'll find ourselves rejected sooner, rather than later.

But Holy Week offers us a different vision than the one the world issues.  Holy Week recognizes that although we may suffer, God has promised resurrection.

God promises that all the deaths of this world will not have the final word.  That's true, even in a time of economic implosion and a plague that's on the move.  

Palm Sunday Doors and Other Ways to Stay Engaged from a Distance

Our pastor is doing a great job keeping us all engaged online.  He started posted people praying The Lord's Prayer, and it's been great to see people again this way.  Plus, we see them in all sorts of settings; most pray in living rooms, some in cars, some outside. 

My pastor has been doing evening prayer, along with a midday Bible study.  I've been doing Morning Watch; I use parts of Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours, along with time for sketching.

Last week, my pastor put out a call for pictures of palms decorating our doors.  We live in South Florida, so there's no problem procuring palms.

My spouse had ripped a small palm right out of the ground because it was growing too close to the house, so we had palm branches to spare.  We have an iron grid around the little window that opens, so we had a place to put them.

I had a vision of a weaving of small Palm strips, but I liked my spouse's arrangements just as well.  So we've left it as big branches.

As dusk moved from twilight to dark, I thought about the ways that doors are part of springtime religious festivals.  The Jewish festival of Passover features doors most prominently, but Christians consider people hiding behind shut doors as we move from Maundy Thursday to Good Friday to Easter.  I don't have a tradition of decorating the door for Holy Week, but this year, it seems to fit.

Drained Not Drowned

Here is how I am feeling today:

I am trying to believe that if I'm drained, it means I'm not drowned, not flooded.  But goodness I am tired.

Yesterday was one of those trying days that helps me understand why ancient people might believe in evil spirits:  each hour brought a new piece of bad news, from the emergency surgery of a faculty member to people who were locked out of accounts to an online new student orientation with technical difficulties and mid-afternoon, my campus lost internet/server connection.

Some days, I just want to give up and go home.  I try to channel my inner Winston Churchill, but refusing to surrender doesn't mean I feel like I'm winning--or making any progress at all.

I continue to sketch each day as part of the Morning Watch broadcast that I'm doing for my church.  I am sketching as part of an online journaling group; some days I am staggered to think at how much our lives have changed since I signed up for this class.

Here's my favorite sketch of the week:

One of my co-journalers posted her picture of a tree with a knot on the trunk, which put me in mind of children's Easter eggs, where you look in a hole and you see a whole other world. That's what I tried to capture here, a mystical world in the knot hole of a tree.

I know that at some point I'll look back and see gifts from this time period.  Some of those gifts, like the sketching, I recognize right now.  Some I won't know for years.  Let me stay open to the gifts and the graces.

Summer Cancellations

And now, the summer cancellations have begun.  The Wimbleton tennis tournament will get more publicity, but today I read the email that told me of the cancellation of June onground intensive for my certificate in spiritual direction.  We will meet again in January of 2021, and we will keep reading our way through the book list.

Part of me is not surprised.  I am surprised that the decision was made this early, but I know that there may be some larger issues of which I would be unaware.  Or maybe it's out of an abundance of caution.  There was also going to be a shift in oversight of the program, as the director was going to retire in July. 

Now I guess we may not see him again.  Or maybe he'll come back in January to say good-bye.

In the realms of losses, mine is a small one.  It's a delay, after all, not an outright cancellation.  I can wait an extra 6 months to get the certificate.  I can keep doing the reading and stay connected in all the virtual ways we're creating/using now.  I was not depending on this certificate to make a pivot to a new job.

I think of all the other gatherings this summer:  what will be cancelled?  Political conventions?  Synod Assemblies?  Church-wide gatherings?  Summer camps?  Conferences?

These are strange times we live in.  I know that, but every so often, that knowledge hits me in the soft parts of my body, and I can scarcely breathe.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Palm Sunday, April 5, 2020:

Liturgy of the Palms    

• Psalm
  • Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
• Second reading
  • Matthew 21:1-11

Liturgy of the Passion    

• First reading
  • Isaiah 50:4-9a
• Psalm
  • Psalm 31:9-16
• Second reading
  • Philippians 2:5-11
• Gospel
• Matthew 26:14-27:66 or Matthew 27:11-54

This Sunday we will celebrate Palm Sunday. How will Palm Sunday change or stay the same in the midst of a pandemic?

Palm Sunday reminds us of the cyclical nature of the world we live in. The palms we wave traditionally would be burned to make the ashes that will be smudged on our foreheads in 10 months for Ash Wednesday. The baby that brings joy at Christmas will suffer the most horrible death--and then rise from the dead. The sadnesses we suffer will be mitigated by tomorrow's joy. Tomorrow's joy will lead to future sadness. That's the truth of the broken world we live in. Depending on where we are in the cycle, we may find that knowledge either a comfort or fear inducing.

Palm Sunday offers us some serious reminders. If we put our faith in the world, we're doomed. If we get our glory from the acclaim of the secular world, we'll find ourselves rejected sooner, rather than later.

Right now, we live in a larger culture that prefers crucifixion to redemption. For some of us, we see a brutal world that embraces crucifixion: no second chances, perhaps no first chances. Right now, a planet-wide pandemic reminds us that if one population isn't safe, no population is safe.

It's at times like these where the scriptures offer comforts that the world cannot. Look at the message from Isaiah: "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him that is weary. . . . For the Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been confounded; therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near" (Isaiah 50, first part of verse 4, verse 7, and first part of verse 8).

God promises resurrection. We don't just hope for resurrection. God promises resurrection.

God calls us to live like the redeemed people that we are. Set your sights on resurrection. We are already redeemed--it's up to us to fold the grave clothes of our lives and leave the tomb. Turn away from the cultures of evil and death that surround us.

Now more than ever, it's important that people of faith commit to redemption and new life. From the ashes, let us build the community that God wants for us.