September Eve

 We make our way on a path once clear, but now more dimly lit:

September, once the month of settling into school and studies which now seem distant:

We know that seasons shift, each one bringing its own blessings and challenges:

We pray for grace as we continue to do the work of transformation:

We know that slow and steady can win the race:

Let us remember that we are chosen, marked as God's own forever:

Reading Racism

  Like many people, I have spent the summer reading books about racism.  Is that the best response to the killing of George Floyd and the demands for justice?  

I do understand the frustration of people who take to the streets while the rest of us read a book.  Maybe we intellectual types should be running for office if we don't want to demonstrate in the streets.  But I am also aware of how much our consciousnesses might need to be raised, and so, when the opportunity came to be part of a book group, I joined.

My pastor started a book group in July to read Lenny Duncan's Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the US.  I was excited to read it--I had heard lots of good things about it.  I liked it well enough, but it didn't tell me much I didn't already know.

Some members of my book group were much more inspired by the book than I was, and some of the material was new to them.  Will it change our local church?  Our church is one of the least white Lutheran churches I've ever been to, and we all live in one of the most multicultural parts of the U.S., so the book seemed pitched to people in a different place, both regionally and in our collective head space.

My critique of this book is the same as I had for the Ibram X. Kennedy's How to Be an Antiracist, the book I've spent 3 weeks with in my online journaling group.  Both books are a mix of memoir, analysis, and call to action.  Both books read like a memoir thin on ideas mixed with ideas that started out as magazine articles that the author has tried to expand to book length.  Both books have nuggets of inspiration, but it takes a lot of reading through other stuff to find them.

I feel this strange guilt for saying this.  I've spent time this summer analyzing myself.  Why don't I like these two books as much as others in my book groups have liked them?  Is it an inner resistance to discovering my own racist tendencies?  Does each book make me feel threatened in some way?

I honestly don't think it's that.  Both authors feel like guys I might have gone to school with, and both books have a tone, at times, of the kind of late night discussions one might have during college days.  Both books also have a tone of the kinds of discussions one might have in a really good Sociology class.  And perhaps that's why I wasn't as moved by these books--I've now spent decades having these kinds of discussions.

As part of the Sealey Challenge, yesterday I returned to Claudia Rankine's Citizen.  I read it years ago, when it was all the rage. Back then, I liked it well enough, but then, too, I felt like I was missing something.  I didn't fall in love with it, the way it seemed that others had.

Yesterday I was struck by the artistry of it, the way it combines all sorts of genres, along with some visual art.  I'm still not sure I'd call it poetry, although it was a finalist for the National Book Award in poetry.  It feels more like a hybrid form that doesn't have a name.

I circle back to the question of whether or not reading about racism can help dismantle racism.  As an English and Sociology major, I'm a firm believer that reading helps us see the other person's point of view, helps us see the problems that other experience.

And in a perfect world, reading helps us develop solutions and the resolve to see those solutions through.

A Perfect Prayer for a Stormy Time

Last night felt like a wild and stormy night.  We saw the menace of a category 4 storm headed towards the Texas-Louisiana coast.  That section of the country spent the night with a storm that should be a once in a century kind of occurence--except that for the past several years, we've had this kind of storm once a season (Dorian, Michael), and sometimes more than once a season (Maria, Irma).  

I was most concerned with Hurricane Laura, so I wasn't following the other storms. But there were plenty. 

There was the Republican National Convention, which you may or may not see as one of the storms.  The campaign season certainly feels stormy to me, regardless of our political stance.

There's the ongoing protests about racial injustice, most lately in Kenosha, Wisconsin; I completely missed the story about the white male teenager who felt he needed to take his long gun out into the streets where everyone was out after curfew; he shot several people at close range.  Across multiple sports, professional athletes refused to play last night to protest injustice.   Games were postponed.  I have never seen this kind of solidarity from so many athletes.

I am holding my breath in fear, yes, but in wonder and in hope for a more equal world to emerge on the other side.  At the same time, I know what we're up against.  

And there's the ongoing storm of a new corona virus which is finding plenty of places to spread--such a contagious creature, and we're lucky it's not more deadly.  That said, the death rate is more savage than the flu or other contagions that sweep across our societies on a regular basis.

I thought of writing a prayer, but then I saw a Facebook post from my friend, the Bishop of the Southeastern Synod of the ELCA.  He posted this prayer, a prayer perfect for this stormy time:

Merciful God,
when the storms rage and threaten to overtake us,
awaken our faith to know the power of your peace.
Deliver us from our fear and ease our anxiety.
Help us to endure the time of uncertainty
and give us strength to face the challenges ahead.
Give us the assurance of your presence even in this time
so that we can cling to your promise of hope and life shown to us
through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.
(Evangelical Lutheran Worship: Occasional Services for the Assembly, page 394)

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 30, 2020:

First Reading: Jeremiah 15:15-21

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm: Psalm 26:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45b

Second Reading: Romans 12:9-21

Gospel: Matthew 16:21-28


This Gospel shows us a picture of Jesus who knows that he's on a path to rejection and death. With clear sight and clear mission, Jesus warns his disciples of what's ahead.  But he promises that this sacrifice comes with great reward.

Peter has a typical reaction to the difficult part of the future that Jesus reveals: "That will never happen." Peter reminds me of today's prosperity preachers, who deny the ugliness of the world, the difficulties of life, and the mission that Jesus calls us to do. Forget all that, the prosperity preachers say. Believe in God and God will shower financial wealth on you. My inner cynic wonders what Bible verses those preachers have been reading.

My inner cynic is perhaps too dismissive too quickly. I am just as likely to lose the larger arc of the Gospel narrative.  If God appeared in my study this morning, God would say, "But I have a larger vision for the world. I have a different definition of the word rich. I'm creating my Kingdom not just in Heaven, but right here and now, on your planet, and I want you to be part."

We'll have all kinds of crosses to bear, Jesus warns us, and we'll lose our lives in all kinds of ways. But we'll get wonderful rewards.

It's important to stress that Jesus isn't just talking about Heaven, or whatever your vision is of what happens when you die. If Jesus spoke directly, Jesus might say, "You're thinking too small. Did I give you an imagination so that you let it wither and waste away? Dream big, dream big."

In Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church, N.T. Wright stresses that Jesus doesn't just announce a Kingdom in some Heaven that's somewhere else. On the contrary--the appearance of Jesus means that God's plan for redeeming creation has begun. And we're called to help. Wright says, ". . . you must follow in the way of the cross, and if you want to benefit from Jesus' saving death, you must become part of his kingdom project." (204-205). 

For many of us, the most difficult part of Jesus' mission that he gives us will be the willingness to believe that the arc of history bends towards justice, as Martin Luther King reminded us. The arc of history also bends towards beauty and wisdom and love and mercy. Some of us are so beaten down that we forget. Some of us would have no problem being crucified for our faith, but it's much harder to believe in God's vision of a redeemed world and to work to make that happen. But scripture and thousands of years of theology makes it clear; as Wright says, "We are called to live within the world where these things are possible and to agents of such things insofar as they lie in our calling and sphere" (248).

We'll lose our current lives of bitterness, fear, hopelessness, and rage. But we'll find a better one as we become agents of the Kingdom.

The Violent Femmes Go to Church

I remember the first time I heard the Violent Femmes.  In 1984, I flew to Memphis to see the boyfriend who would later become my current spouse.  On our way back from the airport, he popped a cassette tape into the car's audio system saying, "You gotta hear this."

It was the Femmes' second album, Hallowed Ground, that intriguing mix of what we would come to call Americana and punk.  Lyrically it was a strange mix of songs that talked about throwing a beloved child in a deep, dark well and songs that could have come from Sunday School, songs about Jesus walking on the water and Noah building an ark.

It took me awhile to adjust, but I came to love the group as much as my spouse.  And yesterday, we brought our love of the Violent Femmes to church.  Our church choir agreed to do "Jesus Walking on the Water" (to see the group do the song more recently, see this video--you'll notice the guy playing the barbecue grill, a DIY/make a way with what you've got ethic that's been with the group from the beginning, albeit manifesting with different instruments through the years).

I joined them, even though my voice isn't the greatest.  That's one of the things I love about punk music--one's voice doesn't have to be the best.  And while I'm not crazy with how my voice sounds in the recording we made, I like the overall sound.

I love my pastor's approach to the music that's part of the recorded worship services he puts together.  We've got a wide variety of music, from solos with minimal instrumentation, to Christian rock, to groups of several variations.  On a typical Sunday, we might hear Christian Contemporary, classic hymns, bluegrass, or gospel--or punk Americana.

I realize I'm fortunate, how very fortunate.

Planning and Praying for Fall

In the same week-end where I saw a Facebook friend was planning for a virtual pet blessing service, I got an invitation to my church's drive through pet blessing service.  My first thought was to marvel at the fact that it's late August and time to plan for fall.

I don't envy any of us in our planning for fall.  For us, summer was easy--we wouldn't be gathering outside in the South Florida heat, and it certainly hasn't been wise to be inside during this spike in COVID-19 cases.  For us, fall won't be too different--it's still fairly warm for outside services, and it's still not wise to gather in a group.

And here's an interesting observation:  we have more people participating in creating the pieces of our worship service that get assembled into a coherent service, and we have more people watching than we used to have attend live services.

All too soon, it will be time to plan for Advent.  It feels very far away and of course, right now we have no way of knowing for sure where we will be in terms of pandemic or politics or paychecks.  Should we plan for virtual Christmas pagaents?  Virtual Christmas Eve?

I realize that in much of the country, we won't be able to worship outside much longer.  My church was built for a much bigger congregation than we have now, so we could sit our entire congregation properly spaced out in our building, but I realize that not every church can do this easily.

My church is lucky too, in that we seem fairly united in what is the best way to be church right now.  We are not breaking into factions demanding different kinds of worship:  in-person, remote, or some variation.

Let me take a moment on this Sunday in August to say a prayer for us all as we make our way in this new landscape.

Shepherds and Swamp Guides

Earlier this week, the readings in Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours revolved around shepherd imagery.  Her wording of Psalm 92:2 talked about God's "faithfulness in the night season."

Later I was thinking about the imagery of shepherds and how that symbolism may not be most relevant to modern listeners.   I have been feeling mired, less like a sheep wandering astray than someone stuck in a swamp of despair.  I thought about transposing the language of shepherds into something else.

Maybe the Divine is like a pair of good boots that can help us out of the muck.  Or maybe it's the daily practice that's the swamp boot.  Maybe the Divine is more like the swamp guide who says, "I have a kayaak.  I brought water and snacks.  Climb on in.  We can go faster together.  Here's a paddle--let's go."

I've thought about these ideas all week; God as shepherd, God as swamp guide.  I created this sketch:

Later, I created this sketch, still in progress.

Today is likely going to be one of those stuck in the swamp days.  Let me hope my boots are up to the challenge.  Let me be on the lookout for the swamp guide.

Feast Day of Bernard of Clairvaux

Today we celebrate the life of the 12th century monk, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. What an amazing man!

Those of us interested in monasticism owe a debt to St. Bernard, who was responsible not only for founding his own monastery, but for sending monks out to establish monasteries or to rescue already-formed monasteries from heretical directions. We give him credit for the founding of hundreds of monastic communities.

Bernard was also responsible for helping the church avoid schism at several key points. He also defended the church against various nobility who wanted church holdings.

We could give Bernard credit for moving the church towards a more personal faith, although I imagine he would be horrified at the manifestations of those ideas of a personal relationship with Jesus that many of us have. He's also responsible for elevating the status of Mary within the church.

I confess, as a Lutheran, the veneration of Mary always mystified me. Then I visited Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist order of monks. I found the references to Mary soothing, and the Compline service which included prayers to Mary as we faced a stone statue (very abstract in style) surrounded by candles helped me sink into a deep sleep.

As I research these monastics of older centuries, it's intriguing to me to see how ideas that we associate with later centuries were present even in medieval times. We see medieval thinkers wrestling with an emotional/mystical approach to faith (like Bernard of Clairvaux) and with an intellectual/rational approach to faith (like Peter Abelard). Throughout Christianity, we still struggle with the best way to integrate these two approaches.

Most people I know still wrestle with the the issue of how to live an authentic life, one where all our values are in sync. In an earlier age, we might have found sanctuary in an abbey. Monastic communities are some of the most successful incarnations of intentional communities--how could we follow their models if we want to live an integrated life?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for August 23, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 51:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 1:8--2:10

Psalm: Psalm 138

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 124

Second Reading: Romans 12:1-8

Gospel: Matthew 16:13-20


In this Gospel reading, we find Jesus asking some of the basic questions. “Who do men say that I am?” “Who do you say that I am?” It’s a curious exchange that has Peter proclaiming Jesus as Lord, and Jesus instructing him not to tell anybody about himself.

We see in this text Peter getting the kind of affirmation that many of us crave. Jesus tells Peter that he will be the cornerstone, the rock.

I think of Peter and imagine that in times of frustration, he must have looked back at this moment with Christ. What a comfort that memory must be. Or maybe it's irritating on those days when he feels more like a pebble than a rock.

I spent much of my younger years longing to be sure that I was doing what God put me on earth to do, as if I had only one destiny, and I might be missing it.

My parents, in their wisdom, kept reminding me that God can use me no matter where I am. God is the original collage artist, taking bits and pieces that don’t seem to go together, and creating them into a cohesive whole.

It might be worth thinking in poetic terms about this Gospel. If Peter is the Rock, who are you? Some of us are willow trees that bend with storms but don’t break. Or maybe you’re sand, having been worn down by those storms, but still valuable. Maybe you’re soil made rich by the compost of circumstances. Some of us are grass, that steady groundcover that makes the larger plants possible by holding the soil in place.

I could go on with these metaphors, but you get the idea. The Gospel wants us to wrestle with these questions. Who are you? And who is the triune God in relation to you?

What part does Jesus play in your life? A guy you think about once a week on Sundays, the only day you tend to your soul? A fellow traveler? Comforter? Savior? Someone you don’t know very well because you just don’t have the time? Co-creator of a joy-filled life? Reason for living?

More importantly, can people see who Jesus is to you by the way you live your life? How is your life a testament, like Peter’s? 

How can your life be more of a testament? What changes can you make today?

Revisiting a Sermon

My Mepkin online journaling group is working its way through Following the Mystics through the Narrow Gate.  It's a conference featuring Richard Rohr, James Finley, and Cynthia Bourgeault.  We did the first unit in July, an overview of mysticism through the centuries given by Rohr.  I could hardly rip my attention away--I drank cold coffee when I wanted hot because I didn't want to stop the presentation.

I'm not feeling that way right now with the second session.  It's got some good nuggets, but it's not as fascinating.

It's interesting now that we're doing recorded church that we can go back to see/listen to old sermons.  After we watched the church service recording Sunday morning, my spouse spent some time looking at old services.  We watched the one for Father's Day where I preached.  I have no memory of what I preached or how I approached the process leading up to my sermon.  I found it compelling to watch--as if June Kristin had preached a message of hope in an arid time that desiccated August Kristin would need to hear.  You can go here to watch and listen.

As we watched me read the Gospel for the day, Matthew 10:24-39, my spouse said to me, "You often get the readings that are tough for your sermon days."  I don't see that as a pattern necessarily, but it is interesting to think about the Revised Common Lectionary and ask why some of these texts are there at all.

Of course, having these texts can take us to interesting places, places we wouldn't leap towards without the text.  I talked about the sparrows and the human need for heirarchy, but that God is calling us to a more egalitarian place.  I talked about a God who knows all the hairs of our head, and how some of us are more familiar with our hair than ever before, thanks to a season of lockdown.

But more than that, I talked about hinge moments in history and where they may lead us.  As I look back over my own theology, my own view of the arc of history, I see how often I circle back to the idea that we're almost always at a point where two or more paths diverge, (and yes, often in a wood--I'm an English major, after all), and we can move towards a better world for more of us, or we can move towards a vision that's not as inclusive and likely won't end well for most of us.

I wish I could stay in that hopeful place all the time--perhaps my inability to stay in that hopeful place is part of my theology too.  While I am inspired by all the ways that ordinary citizens have transformed their societies, I am also haunted by all the lives wiped out during non-hopeful times, the lives constrained by those with power, the ones who didn't live long enough to see the change so desperately needed.

We are in a political time where various people are going to compete for our ability to dream, compete for our visions for our world.  I hope we're listening deeply, discerning the movement of the Holy Spirit, in this season of Pentecost.

Prayers and Benedictions for a Return to School in a Time of Pandemic

I spent part of the week-end writing prayers for our next Sunday service.  In the past, we've spent Sundays in August blessing backpacks, blessing students, blessing teachers, and blessing everyone who works in a school setting.  I have wondered if we would do some sort of blessing this year, particularly when we're all in need of blessings.

Our worship service is now recorded and assembled in advance.  My pastor sends out pieces for people to read and record.  I volunteered to write prayers and benedictions for people to read.

As I was writing them, I thought they might be useful to others.  If you'd like to use them in a worship/blessing setting, feel free.  And of course, if you need words as you pray for those of us in school settings, here are some to use:

Prayers


God of every wisdom, be with us as we head back to school, and stay with us on our journey towards graduation. Grant us open minds, ready to be filled with new knowledge.  Open the hearts of all of our teachers.  Be a comfort to all who support the students and teachers.  Spread your protective wings over us all to keep us safe as we learn.

Creator God, be with us when we’re scared.  We know that we will often come to you as  whimpering, tired, stressed out creatures in need of restoration.  Let us remember that we are loved.  Let us love others the way that you love all of your creation.

God of renewal, when it feels like we're stuck in a never-ending season, send us signs that new life is sprouting.  During this time when life feels increasingly precarious, let us remember that you steer us towards a brighter future.  During times when we feel that no one appreciates our efforts, remind us that we are cherished in a larger way.

Comforter God, be with us as we start a school year that may look like nothing we wanted to experience. Help us to adapt.  Be with us as we make all the necessary adjustments.   Let us be open to all the moments of grace that will come our way. 

Dear God, we ask you to be with teachers and students.  May teachers remember the precious lives they hold in their hands.  May students be able to understand the wisdom of their teachers and to see the illumination lying underneath.  May teachers and teachers learn from each other.

Nurturing God, today we pray for those who work behind the scenes to keep schools running smoothly.  We pray for all the administrators who keep track of all the metrics.  We pray for school board members.  We pray for those who create lessons for children they will never meet.  We pray for parents, grandparents and other adults, many of whom are doing tasks they were never trained to do.  Keep them all focused on the work that is so vital and so rarely fully appreciated.

Electrifying Creator, we pray for all the infrastructure, which is even more necessary this year.  We pray for all the people who keep the electricity flowing and the parts of the internet connected.  We pray for those who must pay the bills for the technology that keeps distance learning working. 

Comforter God, our lives contain so much which makes us anxious.  Help us to partner with you so that we can harness our energies to channel them away from anxieties and towards the transformation of the world.

God our greatest teacher, there are too many days when we do not seem filled with knowledge.  Remind us of your grace.  Help us to accept the teaching of others.  Sanctify us so that we may be full of goodness.

Lord God you have promised to deliver us from all our fears.  Let us always look to you with shining faces.  Let us always dine on your wisdom and declare that the Lord is good.

God, you know that we are stooped over with heavy burdens.  Help us to shoulder the load.  Help us to bear one another’s burdens.  Let companionship lighten the load, and let us be gentle to each other.

 

Benedictions

As we learn to navigate in new ways, may we remember that we have all sorts of guidance.

May we see new possibilities, even as we adjust to situations that are less than ideal.

When our eyes are tired because of staring at too many screens, may we remember to take a break.

May we all have patience as we deal with challenges and disappointments.

When we’re exhausted, may we remember to rest.  May we always look for ways of renewal to refresh us.

May we all remember the wider ways of learning that are open to us now.

When we’re terrified by fears large and small, may we remember that a powerful God holds us and protects us.

May we be inspired to create new worlds in new ways.

When we miss our friends, may we remember that there are other ways to stay connected

May we all be reminded that our work is vital.  May we have the energy to do it.

God our greatest teacher, there are too many days when we do not seem filled with knowledge.  Remind us of your grace.  Help us to accept the teaching of others.  Sanctify us so that we may be full of goodness.

Lord God you have promised to deliver us from all our fears.  Let us always look to you with radiant faces.  Let us always taste of life and declare that the Lord is good.

God, you know that we are stooped over with heavy burdens.  Help us to shoulder the load.  Help us to bear one another’s burdens.  Let companionship lighten the load, and let us be gentle to each other.

 

Video Sermon on Matthew 15: 21-28

 I created the sermon for today's recorded worship.  I did it the way I have done it since May when I put together my sermon for Pentecost.  I spent a few days thinking about the Gospel as I walked in the morning.  I thought about what I would want to say, and as I walked, I planned my video strategy.

Then I spent a few days walking with my camera and creating the video segments while I talked.  I don't write out what I'm going to say, and I don't read it.  I have a sense of what I'm going to say, and I just go with the flow on any given day.

My past 2 sermons done this way were less connected, less like a regular sermon.  Today's sermon is in some ways like a traditional sermon:  I'm trying to unpack and make sense of the Gospel message, Matthew 15:  21-28.  But I'm not standing there and talking from a pulpit.

My video is too long to embed here.  Here's the beginning segment:

To see the whole sermon, go here.  If you want to see more (sermons, book trailers, an introduction to my students), go to my YouTube channel.  

Olive Trees and Eagle Wings

 The morning readings in The Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle have been speaking to me more so than usual this week, which has left me inspired as I've ended the Morning Watch devotional that I've been doing for my church.  Let me record some of those thoughts.

On Thursday, I read Psalm 52:8:  "I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever" (p. 377).  I found the idea of a green olive tree delightful, and when I searched online for images, I was struck by the twisted together nature of the trunk and how sturdy it looked.

I was also struck by the fact that the tree seems to be one that can live and thrive in conditions that would adversely affect other trees.  This tree likes drier soil.  And I liked the versatility of the fruit:  olives can be used to give flavor and sodium and even more protein than other plant based food (I should look it up to make sure this is true).  Olive oil can be used to cook with and to moisturize skin and hair.

As I concluded Morning Watch, I encouraged us all to be like olive trees, sturdy and rooted and offering shelter to a lot of creatures, bearing good fruit that's versatile.

This morning, I was struck by the end of Psalm 103:5, which promises that God will renew our youth like eagles.  How I need some eagle strength right now, and I do miss my youthful vigor.

I'm working on this sketch, still in progress, of the house of God and the olive tree:

At first I thought I was creating stained glass windows, and maybe I am, although in some ways, I've put windows in what could be the roof of the temple structure.  Or maybe it's the top of the building.  Or maybe it will just be the tree that's more realistic--and I'm using that term very loosely.  I am interested to see where this goes.

As I concluded Morning Watch this morning, I talked about doing things over the week-end, like cooking or reading, that would renew vigor, keep us rooted, and provide nourishment (both literal and figurative) for the coming week.  I encouraged us to remember that God is there too, our nourishment, our olive tree roots, our eagle wings.

Let us go forth, to be nourishment to the world, to be rooted like the olive trees in the face of all that may be coming, let us use those eagle wings to soar.

Wedding Anniversary #32

  On this day in 1988, I'd be getting ready to be married in the same church where my parents were married in 1962, the same church where my grandfather was pastor for many years before he died.  Here's one of my favorite pictures of that early morning:

Yes, that's my grandmother ironing my wedding dress so that I'd be suitable.  The dress was not wrinkled; I have no idea why my grandmother decided she needed to iron the dress.  She was the kind of woman who believed in ironing.  I am not.  But I can still appreciate the efforts that people make for me to make me more presentable.

I appreciate them more now, 32 years later.  Then, I'd have wanted to spare my grandmother the hassle of ironing a dress that was just going to be rumpled anyway. This morning, I'm amazed at the fact that anyone on this planet is willing to iron a wedding dress. My grandmother had ways of showing love that I didn't appreciate at the time.

We got married at 11 a.m.  We had friends and family members with a long drive home, so we wanted them to be able to get an early-ish start.  We had a short honeymoon in Asheville, N.C.  That first night, we went out to eat.  We shared a slice of cheesecake with blueberry topping, and we each got our own cup of coffee.  That felt like an extravagence, not sharing a cup of coffee.  Then we got back home in time for our grad school classes.

For the most part, we've been happy together. He was a Philosophy major, and I was an English major: temperamentally we're suited. We come at social justice issues from a similar direction. We're artistically suited.   I know how lucky we've been.

I look back on that day when we got married and shake my head. I was convinced I was so grown up; I had just turned 23. But really, what do any of us know when we enter into such a union? We think we know all that we need to know, but we will learn so much more.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 16, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 45:1-15

Psalm: Psalm 67

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 133

Second Reading: Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32

Gospel: Matthew 15:[10-20] 21-28

I don't like this picture of Jesus that today's Gospel represents. He treats the Canaanite woman rudely, with a complete lack of compassion. What do we make of this vision of Christ?

Part of the answer may depend on your view of Jesus/God. Do you see God as completely formed? Do you see God as never making mistakes? We see Jesus change his mind in today's reading. It's an interesting idea of the Divine.

I like the idea of God who allows us to disagree--and a God that sometimes agrees that we are right in our disagreement. I like the idea of a God that is being shaped and changed by creation, just as we are being shaped and changed by creation--and by God.

I know it's not as comforting as what many of us were taught in Sunday School. I know we'd rather believe in an absolute God, a God who has all the answers. We don't want to believe in a God who gets tired. We don't want to believe in a God who doesn't have absolute control. We want a God who can point and make magical changes, even though everything we've experienced about the world doesn't suggest that God does that act very often, if at all.

In today's Gospel, we see a tired, irritable Jesus. It's a terrifying idea (I'd prefer a God of infinite patience), but it's the best support to show that God did indeed become human.

The Canaanite woman is much more Godlike than Jesus in this Gospel. Here's a woman who is desperate to help her child. When Jesus rebukes her, she stands up to him and argues her case. And she persuades him. She demands justice, and because she stands her ground, she wins.

She has much to teach us. We are called to emulate her. When we see injustice, we must cry out to God and demand that creation be put right. Many theologians would tell you that if you want God to be active in this free will world that God has created, that you better start making some demands. God can't be involved unless we demand it (for a further discussion of this concept, see the excellent books of Walter Wink). If God just intervened in the world, that would violate the principle of free will which God instilled in creation. But if we invite God to action, then God has grounds to act.

I would argue that some of the most sweeping social changes of the twentieth century were grounded in this principle of crying out to the wider world and to God to demand that justice be done. Think of Gandhi's India, the repressiveness of the Jim Crow era in the USA, the South African situation decried by Archbishop Tutu, the civil wars in Central America, the Soviet occupied Eastern Europe: these situations horrified the larger world and the movements to rectify them were rooted in the Christian tradition. True, there were often external pressures applied, economic embargoes and the like, but each situation prompted prayer movements throughout the world.

We are in a similar time--perhaps humanity is always in a similar time. The world is full of injustice that should make us cry out, especially since much of the injustice will not easily be fixed by any one of us. Cry out to God about the plight of refugees, the racism that has such deep roots, the economy which keeps so many so desperate, the warming of the planet, and the list could go on and on.

Let the Canaanite woman be your guide towards right behavior. Let the actions of Jesus remind you that even if you're snappy and irritable, you can change course and direct yourself towards grace and compassion. Let your faith give you hope for a creation restored to God's original vision of a just and peaceful Kingdom.

The Next Online Journaling Class

 I am part of another online journaling class offered by Vonda Drees and the Grunewald Guild.  For the next 3 weeks, we're reading Ibram X. Kendi's How to Be an Antiracist.  This past spring and early summer, I felt like I was seeing this book mentioned everywhere, so I was happy to have a chance to read it, and to read it in a group.

So far, it's been hard to know how to approach the book with my usual sketching practice.  The language is not evocative, so far, to my sketching brain.  My intellectual brain, yes.  But how to put this all in a sketch?

I decided to sketch one of the ideas that captured me when I started the book Sunday night. It's near the bottom of p. 17, after he talked about theologian James Cohn. 

Here's the longer quote: "If we don't do the basic work of defining the kind of people we want to be in language that is stable and consistent, we can't work toward stable, consistent goals."

So far, I'm enjoying the book, but it's not as revelatory as I had expected that it would be.  I'm guessing that for someone who hasn't thought much about these issues since college, it might be.  Still, it's good to be reminded, and good to see what some of the nation is reading.

A Possible Quilting Retreat for Fall

 It looks like we will have a quilting retreat at Lutheridge this October.  I'm trying not to get my hopes up; this time period has taught me that much can change with very little notice.  Still, the thought of Lutheridge, the mountains, October, a chance to quilt--oh these ideas make me very happy.

It will be a very different quilting retreat, but since I never had a chance to go to previous retreats, it won't be as much of an adjustment for me.  We'll be required to wear masks indoors, so when we're at our sewing tables, we'll be masked.  That will be an adjustment for me, but I'm hoping that I'll be encouraged to get up and get outside periodically.

The even bigger adjustment will be the way meals will be done.  Meals will come to us at our sewing tables.  We're told it will be the same food.  I will miss the dining hall experience, but I understand why it can't be the way it was with a pandemic still blazing through the world.  Maybe I'll eat moderately.

When I made my reservation months ago, I requested a private room, so that won't be an adjustment for me.  And I'm a solitary sewer, so I wasn't planning to share equipment.  I just want to sit and stitch by hand and have room to spread out--which I will have.  I'm hoping to get the whole quilt finished, but if I can't, then I'm hoping that I can get the center part done.  The edges are easier to do without a quilting table.

I'm looking forward to a chance to be away and grateful that Lutheridge is willing to go forward with this retreat.  I am guessing that we may need to run retreats this way for several years, so it will be good to be part of a group that helps Lutheridge and other camps figure out the best way(s) to move forward.

Long National Nightmares Past and Present

When you think of World War II, which battle do you think of as most important? Many people would say the invasion of Normandy--but I do wonder if it's because it's the one that most people can remember by name, the one that makes it into the movies more often. I've heard some historians say that the battle of Stalingrad was more important. You might argue that the dropping of the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki saved lives by making it possible to avoid these kinds of grueling battles.

On this day in 1945, just after 11:00 a.m., the U.S. dropped its second atomic bomb on Nagasaki. President Truman said, "I realize the tragic significance of the atomic bomb... It is an awful responsibility which has come to us... We thank God that it has come to us, instead of to our enemies; and we pray that He may guide us to use it in His ways and for His purposes."

I am struck by Truman's intriguing reference to God here. My brain spins at the idea of God using nuclear weapons in some redemptive way.  But why should that be?  I've spent much of my life believing that God and humans can take the most horrible circumstances and find redemption.

Still, that bomb killed 70,000 people.  The scale of death in World War II is still somewhat difficult to fathom.  I fear we may be saying the same thing about the new corona virus.  COVID-19 has now become the 3rd leading cause of death behind heart attacks and cancer.

Today is also the anniversary of the resignation of Richard Nixon.  As Gerald Ford took over, he said, "My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over. Our Constitution works; our great republic is a government of laws and not of men."

And now we find ourselves in a different long national nightmare.  What positive possibilities might come out of our current time of turmoil?

God as Jazz Musician and Other Benedictions from Morning Watch

I have been doing Morning Watch since late March; when the technology is working, at 5:30 a.m., I broadcast live from my church's Facebook page which is then recorded.  I read many of the readings from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours.  Then we take 5-7 minutes of quiet time for sketching, journaling, meditating, or whatever grounds us--I work on a sketch each morning.  I close with the last prayer, which Tickle calls "The Concluding Prayer of the Church," and then I say some encouraging words.

Some days, the encouraging words are similar, some version of "God is with us, walking beside us, cheering us on."  Other days, I say something different, just to keep it interesting, for both me and those who tune in.

On Tuesday morning, I was feeling tired and sloggy.  Just before Morning Watch, I had gone outside to look at the moon, which wasn't the gorgeous full moon I wanted to see, but something obscured.  At the end of Morning Watch,  I talked about looking for the full moon, which sometimes is gorgeous, or might appear as a glowing disc beneath clouds--not exactly what we were looking for, but beautiful anyway.

And then I had a new idea.  I talked about God as jazz musician in our band, master improviser.  I talked about God as the one who could lead us through unexpected twists and turns, that we could create something more beautiful than anything we had planned.

Yesterday was the feast day of the Transfiguration, along with being the 75th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.  I talked about all the ways we long to be transfigured.  I also talked about danger of letting those longings for change make us want to bomb everything to rubble and start over, the way that public policy seems to do these days.  

Some days, I make up a benediction as we close.  Yesterday, I said that I wished for all of us that we would find ways to be transfigured and ways to go out and transfigure the world to make it closer to what God intends for us all.

Most days I end with that kind of benediction, regardless of the words that I choose to express it. 

Transfiguring Atoms

On this day, 75 years ago, the world was about to change in dramatic ways that we likely still don't fully comprehend. On this day, 75 years ago, the first nuclear bomb was used in war.

The effects of that bomb obliterated much of Hiroshima--and vaporized some of it. There were reports of people fused into pavement and glass--or just vanished, with a trace remaining at the pavement. The reports of the survivors who walked miles in search of help or water are grim. And many of those survivors would die of the effects of radiation in the coming years.

In a strange twist, today is also the Feast Day of the Transfiguration in Catholic, Orthodox, and Anglican churches, the day when Jesus went up the mountain with several disciples and becomes transfigured into a radiant being. Those of you who worship in Protestant churches may have celebrated this event just before Lent began, so you may not think of it as a summer kind of celebration. Pre-Reformation traditions often celebrated this day in conjunction with blessing the first harvest.

I find it an interesting conjunction, and of course, I've written a poem about it.


Ides of August


We long to be transfigured in the Holy Flame,
to harness atoms to do our will.
At the thought of what they attempt,
leaders and scientists tremble.
On the other side of the planet,
people vanish into the unforgettable fire,
wisps of cloth pressed into concrete,
the only sign that they existed.

We cling to the Ancient Lie
of the violence that can redeem
us. We purge and plunge whole
landscapes into the land of ash and smoke.
The sun rises over a steamy swamp
of decimated land and decapitated dreams.

Like Peter, we long to harness Holiness,
to build booths, to charge admission.
Christ turned into Carnival.
No need to do the hard, Christian work:
repairing community, loving the unloveable.
No, we seek redemption in the flame.

We pin our hopes on the nuclear
family, small units than can withstand the fission
of everyday stresses and detonating loss.
We cast away thousands of years of human
knowledge; we forget the wisdom of the pack.
We head for our hermitages in the hills,
hoping to be transfigured into hardy-stocked survivors.


Today is a good day to think about what distractions, atomic, cosmic, or otherwise, take our attention away from the true work. Today is a good day to think about mountaintop experiences and how we navigate our lives when we're not on the mountaintop. Today is also a good day to meditate on power and how we seek to harness it and how we use power once we have it.

Today is a good time to spend with the texts for the day, to carve out some time for quiet contemplation. Go here for readings, complete with links, so that you can read online, if that's easier.

Today is also a great day to celebrate the transfiguring possibility of power. After all, not all uses of power lead to destructive explosions. Some times, we find redemption.

Meditation for This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for August 9, 2020:

1 Kings 19:9-18
Psalm 85:8-13
I will listen to what the LORD God is saying. (Ps. 85:8)
Romans 10:5-15
Matthew 14:22-33

This week’s Gospel reading reinforces the themes we found in last week’s lesson. The disciples are in the boat and Jesus walks across the water to them. They don’t recognize him; indeed, they’re terrified. When they realize who it is, Peter, always enthusiastic, asks Jesus to bid him to come, which he does. Peter walks across the water with no problem, until he realizes what he’s doing and starts to sink.

Now, most of us probably haven’t had experiences where we’ve suspended the laws of nature, but most of us can probably relate to what Peter experiences. When I first learned to type, I got to the point where I could type at a very fast speed—until I thought about what I was doing. If I just let my fingers go and didn’t look at them, if I did what I knew I could do, I’d be fine. I’ve had similar experiences in learning foreign languages and in learning to play the mandolin or the ukelele; if I play the notes without double checking both my fingers and the chord charts and music books, I find out that I really can play—still more haltingly than I would like, alas.

This story is also about God’s presence and our inability to recognize the Divine all around us, as well as our trouble accepting the miraculous. One of the narrative arcs the Bible is God’s desire to be with God’s creation, to know everybody, to be fully present in our day-to-day lives--to the extent of becoming human. And God has to go to great lengths to get our attention—bushes burst into flame, oppressive governments release the captives, loaves and fishes feed thousands, people rise from the dead, God goes so far as to take on human form—miracle after miracle, and still humans don’t understand and don’t want to accept God’s daily presence.

Even when we do let ourselves glimpse the sacred and divine, even when we experience the miraculous, how quickly we forget and let the mundane swamp us. Psychologists would probably tell us that our approach is a coping mechanism, that if we let ourselves be that open to God, we’d go insane, or at least we’d look insane to our fellow humans. I’m not sure I agree. Maybe we’d be better witnesses, better disciples.

Be on the lookout for God in your daily life. Maybe it will just be a wink from the Creator, like a tree full of butterflies. Maybe you’ll be in the presence of the full-blown miraculous, and all doubts will vanish—the tumor shrinks, the passengers escape the burning plane, the hurricane curves out to sea.

Or maybe you won't get the miracle you think you want, but the miraculous comes as you learn how to cope and you learn that coping leaves you more open to the presence of God.  Watch for God, listen for God, be alert. God is there, by your side, both during the times of the miraculous as well as the mundane, in the times of catastrophe, drudgery, or luminous.

Holy Resilience, Holy Resistance

I spent a part of last week-end both taking photos and loading them to the computer.  I finished this sketch and took a photo:

When I went to upload it, I realized that I had misnamed earlier versions--not Holy Resilience, but Holy Resistance.  I like the idea of Holy Resistance too.  I've spent some time wondering if you can have one without the other.

To be resilient, one must have a certain amount of resistance to whatever events are making us need to be resilient.  And most of us have likely been surprised to know how many years/decades/lifetimes we're going to spend in resisting whatever evil has reared up to fight back.  That takes resilience.

So much resilience required--right now, many of us feel like we're running on fumes.  Let us commit to ways that we can strengthen and build up our reserves of resilience so that we can continue with the work of resistance.

Sixth Visit to the Spiritual Director

On Friday, I went for my sixth visit to the spiritual director.  So far, every visit has been somewhat different, so I try to go without expectations.  Each time we begin with prayer, and this time, we used a guided meditation app on my spiritual director's phone.  It was lovely.

The meditation asked us to think about times we had been afraid, and we discussed that idea.  These days, it's easier to make a list of what I'm not afraid of than of what makes me scared or anxious if I let myself really think about those things.  

The meditation asked us to think about God's protection, so we talked some about that.  In the past, we've talked about my belief that God is not a fix-it God.  I don't believe that if we just pray hard enough or in the right way, God will put everything to rights.

My spiritual director also knows that I want to fix everything for everyone, so we talked a bit about my intense need to fix, coupled with my belief that God doesn't have that same need.  I admitted the contradiction.

We talked about anxiety in other ways too.  I said that I could see myself getting anxious and worked up, and I could usually talk myself back from the edge of anxiety, but so far, I hadn't learned how to not let myself get anxious in the first place.  We talked about how having the anxiety feels like I've failed.

I suggested that I use it as a way to remind me to pray, to get centered again.  We talked about anxiety being like a cathedral bell, back in the days when cathedral bells rang regularly throughout the day, a bell tolling to remind us to pray.  We both agreed that we liked casting the anxiety this way--not as a personal failing, not as a reason to beat ourselves up, but as a cathedral bell tolling to remind us of a better way.

I have used that idea in at least one or two poems, but it's not original to me.  On Friday, I couldn't remember the poem that had first inspired it.  Could it have been the one about "Ask not for whom the bell tolls?  It tolls for thee"?  No--the one I'm remembering is Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale," near the end, where the speaker snaps out of the spell of the nightingale's song:  "Forlorn! the very word is like a bell / To toll me back from thee to my sole self!"

We closed by comparing notes about where we are in our getting certified to be spiritual directors.  I had thought she was done with her program, but I think she's only just now finishing.  That's fine with me; I like having a spiritual director who's just a bit ahead of me.  And of course, she's been a pastor for most of her career, so this kind of mentorship isn't a brand new thing for her.

We ended with prayer, as we always do, and I made the long drive home.  As I drove, I let myself enjoy the peace that comes with this appointment that I keep.  And the lovely thing about a Friday afternoon appointment is that the peace lasts into the evening and through the next day.