A Month of Holidays Comes to an End

 Next week my school returns to a normal work schedule of 5 day work weeks.  My school now celebrates Jewish holidays, and because of how the holidays fall this year, we haven't had a full week of work days in all of September; our registrar said, "We're following firefighter work schedules in Sept."  

We had Labor Day off and then 2 days for Rosh Hashanah.  The next week, we had Thursday off for Yom Kippur.  We finished the last 2 weeks of September by celebrating Sukkot 1 and 2 on the Tuesday and Wednesday of each week.  It's been glorious.

It's also been a godsend.  I've needed the extra time for the selling the house project.  I can do much of my seminary work from anywhere, but I've needed time to get the house ready for market, and then to do additional packing and moving, and that's work that must be done at the house itself.

On Tuesday, I wrote this Facebook post:  "I am home because my school has a Sukkot holiday today. I am writing about Rahab in Joshua 2 while listening to Carl teach Descartes in his Philosophy class. In some ways, it feels like we've fallen through a hole in time, and we're back at Newberry College, filling our brains with delightful Liberal Arts stuff. Maybe after lunch, we'll go over to the theatre and work on the latest set designs. Or maybe we'll do layout for the student newspaper. We'll do it the old-fashioned way, with Xacto knives."

Then I added some bits:  "And tonight, we'll go over to the radio station to spin the latest vinyl: Radio Free Newberry!"  and "Likely the only time that the Violent Femmes were played on the airwaves in South Carolina back in the 1980's."

And then I had this idea:  "If I was an entrepreneurial sort, I'd create a retirement community that would model a liberal arts undergraduate campus, so we could spend our golden years reliving our Liberal Arts undergrad years."

I finished this way:  "I would pay big bucks to live in such a place, but I would rather move into an already existing place than create one from scratch."

Yes, if I could sum up my perfect life:  classes in the morning to stimulate my intellect, retreat style offerings of arts and crafts projects in the afternoons to keep my creative self happy, and good food and companionship throughout the day.  Then I could go to sleep satisfied, happy in the knowledge that I got to get up and do it all again the next day.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 3, 2021:


Genesis 2:18-24

Psalm 8

You adorn us with glory and honor. (Ps. 8:6)

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16


If you read the Gospels carefully, you'll realize that Jesus rarely addresses the pressing social issues of our day. Global warming? Nope, he never talks about it. Abortion? Nope. Homosexuality? Not a word: the Bible verses that may address homosexuality, depending on how one interprets certain Greek words, come mainly from the Old Testament and Paul.

But here Jesus talks about divorce. How curious, especially in light of other chapters, where Jesus seems to downplay marriage and family, where he seems to instruct people to abandon their families to follow him. Here he seems to tell husbands and wives that they must stay together, regardless of the circumstances.

Many scholars see the social justice side of Jesus here, the man who cared for the most outcast of society. Almost no one had fewer options than a divorced woman who lived during the time of Jesus. Then, and to a certain extent now, fewer things were more likely to plunge a woman with children into the bottom economic realm of society than divorce or widowhood.

In today’s Gospel reading, we see the concerns of Jesus with the most downtrodden of society: women and children. As our society becomes more and more stratified, we can all use this reminder.

It’s also a reminder that God wants something better for us. God doesn’t want us in societies that are so stratified that we only see people who are just like us. God doesn’t want our personal differences to drive us apart. God doesn’t want us severed apart from each other, if we can avoid it. Even in situations where divorce is the best option, the legacy is one of pain and a variety of new problems. God wants reconciliation.

God also recommends that we approach the world as well-adjusted children do. I think of some of the delightful children I've met through the years. I love to watch young groups of children dance. Their enthusiasm encourages the adults to join in. I love the phase when children learn to draw and they haven't learned to judge yet. I love that sheer delight in the art supplies.

I imagine God is much the same. We've got a wonderful world here, and we often forget how fabulous it is. We get so hung up on all the ways we think the world has gone wrong that we forget what is right. We spend time creating laws to try to control behavior, when we might do better to simply accept people for who they are, which is a major step towards loving them. We want to see the world in strict colors: black, white, no gray. We forget that the world is variegated. If we can leave the land of Law behind and enter the world of Love, we'll see a world washed in color, all of it good.

We'll know what God knew, way back in Genesis, that the Creation is good, very good.

Meditation on This Sunday's Readings in "A Women's Lectionary for the Whole Church"

The readings for this Sunday, Oct. 3, 2021:

2 Samuel 13:  1-16, 21-22

Psalm 103:  1-17

1 Thessalonians 2:  9-12

Mark 10:  13-16

This Sunday's Gospel will be familiar to those of us who have been going to church awhile.  I think of it as the verses that launched a dozen versions of a sappy picture of Jesus with lots of children gathered round.  In the Sunday Schools of my childhood, those children were dressed in modern clothes.

The ancient world was not a kind or easy place for children, and I know that 21st century children inhabit a harsh world too. Still, I think that modern people have trouble comprehending how much Jesus has come to overturn the various power structures.  Children would have been at the bottom of the power structure of his day--and ours.  And yet, Jesus welcomes them.

The reading from Samuel shows how treacherous the world is when the family structure is set up to protect the powerful.  The rape of King David's daughter is not easy to read, and it's even worse to realize that the rapist is her brother, and the family not only doesn't support her afterward, but the male family members are instrumental in the abuse.  Here, too, modern readers might correctly feel like nothing much has changed.

But the good news of both the readings from the New Testament is that the old order is being dismantled.  God finds us worthy, even if we're like children who have done nothing particularly special, children who have no particular value.  Through this new way, God's way revealed through Jesus, we can find a new family, one who will cherish us and nurture us--just the way that God will cherish us and nurture us.

Sunday's Sermon: The Importance of Reconciliation as Resistance to Empire

My pastor asked me if I would preach yesterday, so I said yes.  We're using the Women's Lectionary by Wil Gafney, and these were the readings:

2 Samuel 11:2-15
Psalm 32: 1-7
2 Peter 3: 1-4
Matthew 5: 21-26

I knew that I would talk about the ways we go astray and the need for redemption.  I did not anticipate that I would utilize the information I got in my seminary class about the Tower of Babel.

That Gospel reading has Jesus saying that if we need to make amends with someone we have wronged, we should go and do it right now.  Even if we're making an offering in the Temple, God can wait--go and make things right with your brother or sister.

I began by asking if anyone needs to leave to go make amends.  I tried to imagine a scenario with the same kind of seriousness:  "You've clocked in at work and remember that you've had a falling out.  You don't wait until after work, you don't clock out, but you leave right away, even if it's a firing offense."

I said that the need for reconciliation is one that Jesus gives us again and again.  And in fact, we see it centuries before Jesus.  Then I said I wanted to bring some information from my seminary class.

I gave the standard interpretation of the Tower of Babel:  humans build a high tower, God feels threatened, God destroys the tower and scatters the people.  But is God really that upset over a tower that's too high?  If they had stopped at 4 stories, would that have been O.K.?

I presented information from my seminary class in the Hebrew Bible.  My professor Denise Dombkowski Hopkins says that the title of this story should really be "The Fortified City."  In her lecture, she talked about the Tower of Babel as one of the signs of empire--people build a tower so that they can see who is coming.  There's an out group and an in group.  God destroys the tower because it lets people create an exclusive society, and God is about inclusivity.

It's also got an anti-empire message.  The stories were compiled by Israelites during the Babylonian Exile, people who had a close up look at the dangers of empire--that only certain people are protected, while others lose everything they love including their homeland.  It's the same lesson of empire that Jesus knew under the Romans, and that we know today.

I tied all of it back to the Gospel by saying that Jesus is always showing us ways to resist these powers of empire, and reconciliation is one of the ways he advocates again and again.  And it's not just reconciliation with like-minded folks.  In a highly polarized era like the one we live in now, in 2021, we need to be reconciling with everyone, even the folks we think of as the ones with crazy, dangerous ideas.  I said, "You know the ones I mean," knowing it might be different for everyone.

I talked, as I usually do, about the inbreaking kingdom of God, the one that we're creating now, not just for when we die.  And reconciliation is one of the primary ways we'll create God's kingdom, right here, right now.

Different Types of Writing for Seminary Class

Along with the seminary classes I'm taking as a student and my administrator work, I'm teaching some English classes online for our local community college.  It's interesting to read the essays written by my students while thinking about my own writing.

I find myself saving every scrap of seminary writing, even as I'm wondering what I plan to do with all this writing.  Some of it makes sense to keep, like the spiritual autobiography I had to write for one class.  But I've also been keeping my Discussion Post responses.

Those of you who teach or take online classes, you already know that the Discussion thread is designed to mimic what happens (ideally) in classroom discussions.  I've been pleased to find out that I have been learning from them.  My own students have a mix when it comes to creating meaningful discussion threads.

At first I saved my responses in case I needed to prove that I did them.  But as the courses have progressed, I've wanted to preserve my insights.  For example, I responded to a classmate this way in a recent thread for my Spiritual Formation class:  

"B___, you used the term 'a seasonal faster' which made me think about disciplines in a different way. I tend to go with the all or nothing approach that several have mentioned in their responses. I wonder if I might have a different experience if I adopted a practice for a season. It would be long enough to see how the discipline meshed or didn't mesh with my personality/life. If it didn't work, I might not beat myself up over it--after all, it was only for a season that I committed."

I'm also thinking about the last time I was in grad school, back when I was working on an MA and  PhD in English.  In some ways, I wrote less during that degree.  We usually had one big paper at the end.  But in my seminary classes, I'm writing shorter pieces, and I'm writing at least one shorter piece per week.  I'm counting my own discussion post as a shorter piece, but interestingly not my response, although I often spend just as much time and brain power and revision time on my response.  

What I like most about these shorter pieces is that it keeps me engaged with the material on a weekly basis.  I don't remember feeling that way in my MA and PhD program--it was racing from one big chunk of reading to another.  We had lots of discussions, but not as much short writing.  If I was taking onground seminary classes, I wonder if I would be doing the same amount of weekly writing.

This past week, I've done a type of writing that I've never done before.  Here was the assignment for New Testament class:  "Make 15 good observations about Matthew 5-7 and 26-28." My teacher went on to clarify:

3. What constitutes a substantial observation?

a. Something that strikes you as important, interesting, exciting, or scandalous (but note: you must explain in detail why it is you find it to be such).

b. A word you don’t understand— though you must express your attempts to figure it out yourself. Don’t just write, “What’s a ____?” An observation must be more substantive than that.

c. A key word or idea that is emphasized or repeated, or perhaps a word mentioned in the section assigned that you know to be a key word or idea for the letter or author. Again, spell out the repetition or emphasis by describing how it functions in the verses under consideration.

d. Something you noticed about the formal or rhetorical elements of the passage.

e. A significant difference noted while comparing English translations.

→ Key point: observations should include more than one sentence and must not leave me wondering what it is you’re observing. Think “substantial.”

I found that this assignment led me to much deeper reading of the Gospel than I might usually do, even though the observation was fairly short.  Here's one of the ones I wrote:

 (Matthew 5:42) Jesus also instructs us not to refuse anyone who wants to borrow from us. He doesn’t specify what is being borrowed. Is this evidence of Jesus wanting to create us to be more communal creatures? Is this practice to help us detach from possessions?

Like I said, the exercise made me think about a familiar text in different ways.  It makes me wonder if something similar could be done for students/texts in other settings.

Well onward to the kind of writing I like least:  my administrator writing of accreditation documents.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 26, 2021:

Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29

Psalm 19:7-14

The commandment of the LORD gives light to the eyes. (Ps. 19:8)

James 5:13-20

Mark 9:38-50

Here we have another Gospel that reminds us again that Jesus is not the warm, fuzzy Jesus that the modern church often depicts. This Gospel is harsh. Cut off my hand? Just because it offended me? What happened to forgiving 70 times 7?

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that we often let ourselves off the hook too easily. We don't require enough of ourselves. How many of us really do forgive 70 times, much less that 7 times more again? Too many of us won’t even forgive once, much less again and again. We refuse to begin the work of reconciliation, which is one of our main tasks in this world.

We're supposed to be the seasoning of the world, but too many of us do absolutely nothing. We close our ears to the cries of the oppressed. We continue to focus on our own agendas.  We tell ourselves we'll save the ones around us--but do we? 

We behave in ways that would make our beliefs unattractive to the nonbeliever. Every time we gossip, lie, cheat, steal, or give in to our darkest natures, the world is watching. Our hypocrisy endangers us all on so many levels.

We move into the part of Mark where Jesus must realize that he's in great danger. He offers challenges to the larger domination system that controls the Earth. Jesus understands how many forces dominate us: both the secular ruling system, as well as the larger idea of a set of powers that keeps us from God's goodness, not to mention our own beliefs which hinder us. Jesus refuses to back down. He must know what will happen. The book of Mark, always apocalyptic in tone, becomes more so.

We see those echoes in the planetary calendar too. We’ve seen a seasonal shift, as we leave summer behind and autumn arrives. Once we drove home from work in broad sunlight. Now we squint into the gathering twilight. The produce sections in our grocery stores offer sturdier fruits and vegetables, like the gourds that remind us of the need to prepare for a harsh season ahead.

We have so many reminders that time is short. Like Ash Wednesday, these times remind us that the years go by quickly and that we must continue to atone for all ways we’ve fallen short. We can be better. We must be better.

Time is short. We don't have much of it on earth, and Jesus always pulls us back to that existential fact. If we don't have much time, we're pressured to make the most of what we have. We have a huge task, one not likely to be completed in our lifetimes. Still, that's no reason not to get started building the Kingdom where the last will be first.

Meditation on This Sunday's Readings in "A Women's Lectionary for the Whole Church"

The lessons for this Sunday, September 26, 2021
from A Women's Lectionary for the Whole Church by Wilda A. Gafney


2 Samuel 11:2-15
Psalm 32: 1-7
2 Peter 3: 1-4
Matthew 5: 21-26


Dr. Gafney notes, "These lessons address transgression, consequence, and repentance." Happily most of us will not transgress as horribly as King David, whose story we get in the lesson from 2 Samuel. We see David watching a woman bathe, deciding he must have her, having her brought to him, and plotting to have her husband killed. It's a disastrous set of circumstances, and it takes David a long time to realize his mistake. Sadly, I doubt that he sees his mistake through the eyes of the wronged woman, who has no choice, no consent. David spends much of his reign seizing what he wants.

It's what monarchs do, after all, and one of the reasons that God advised against monarchy, both in the times before Saul and since then. But it's not only monarchs who transgress.

Psalm 32 reminds us that we can confess our sin to God to get forgiveness, but Jesus tells us that God's forgiveness is not enough. Nothing is more important than the work of reconciliation with our fellow humans; even if we're worshipping God, if we realize that we've transgressed against one of our neighbors, we must go and make it right. We must repair our relationships.

Notice that this directive is different from the forgiveness behavior that Jesus will preach. In this passage, Jesus addresses the one who has transgressed, not the one who needs to be forgiving. Dr. Gafney calls this approach "a disruption of a power curve; it is not up to a victim to demand justice, nor should it be; rather the moral imperative belongs to the one accused of wrong."

Sadly, we do not live in a world where people are eager to make amends so that we can move towards reconciliation. Not only are people not eager, but many people can't even realize the ways that they've ripped apart the fabric of society, in the way of King David. But whether the transgression be huge or small, Jesus is clear that we must work to make things right.

Imagine how the world would be different, if we heeded that call. Time and time again, Jesus reminds us that although our efforts may feel small, that it is these very efforts that will repair the world.

The Feast Day of Saint Matthew

Today we celebrate the life of St. Matthew, one of the 12 disciples. Matthew was a tax collector, and that fact should give us all hope.

Throughout the Bible, we see God at work in the world. We see God using all sorts of humans, the kind of humans that a wise CEO wouldn't promote. But God sees their potential, and God calls them.

Sometimes, people protest and remind God of their unworthiness; think of Moses. Sometimes God has to do a lot to get their attention; think of Jonah.

But sometimes, the call comes, and the person responds, dropping everything to follow God's call. In Matthew, we see this example.

Maybe you're in a time of your life where you're feeling particularly unworthy. Take advantage of this day to remember God's grace and God's call.

Here are the Bible readings for today:

First Reading: Ezekiel 2:8--3:11

Psalm: Psalm 119:33-40

Second Reading: Ephesians 2:4-10

Gospel: Matthew 9:9-13

And here's a prayer I composed for today:

God full of grace and compassion, on this day that we celebrate the life of Matthew, help us remember that you have a plan for the redemption of creation and that we have a place in it. Thank you for the witness of Matthew and the disciples. Help us to follow in their example, that we may be a light, your light, in this shadowy world that so desperately needs brightness.

The Spirit and The Flesh--Seeing Paul with New Eyes

In this early morning, I have been listening to one of the lectures for seminary, for my Spiritual Formation class. I had to write down some of the thoughts of my professor, Dr. Emily Peck-McClain, who got my attention by declaring her love for Paul and calling Paul a gift to us with a liberative message that is not often proclaimed.  She gave me a way of thinking about Paul that I have never heard before.

Many people have trouble with Paul for all sorts of reasons.  It's easy to see him as a prudish kill joy, with his seeming rejection of all the pleasures rooted in the body.  But what if we're interpreting those letters that he wrote in a wrong way?  What if he's not talking about us as individual creatures of flesh, but something bigger?

Dr. Peck-McClain brought us Galatians 5 to consider.  Paul talks about the Flesh.  Many people interpret this passage as talking about our own individual flesh, our bodily desires, particularly the ones that can get us into trouble.  

Dr. Peck-McClain points out that Paul is talking about the Flesh, and her discussion made me think of Paul talking about the Powers.  It's a power outside of us much like sin.  She says that he's not talking about flesh, but about the Flesh, which is opposed to the Spirit--she emphasized the article "the."  The Flesh is a power outside of us, a power that is opposed to the Spirit.  He connects the Flesh, Sin, and Death in a kind of triad.

But we can live by the Spirit.  And what would that look like?  Paul gives us the fruits of the Spirit:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  She reminds us that Paul is writing to communities, not to individuals.  The fruit of the Spirit is born and comes to fruition in community.

The good news is that we don't have to produce all of these fruits all by ourselves.  When the whole community is together, these are the fruits that we see.  We are intended to have all of these fruits together communally.  And then we are equipped to carry on the redemptive work of Christ in the world.

I also thought of us as individual fruit trees, making a beautiful orchard together.  It's that time of year when I'm yearning for apple orchards and pumpkin patches.  What a delight to encounter Paul in this way, to be reminded of this text that has been so important, and to see it in a different way.

Seventeenth Visit to the Spiritual Director

I had Thursday off for Yom Kippur, so I rescheduled my August meeting with my spiritual director for that day.  And Thursday, off I went.  As always, the drive down and back is the most onerous part, and Thursday's drive home included flooding rains on the Turnpike, which makes the drive even more stressful.  Still, it was a good session.

We began by me bringing her up to date with what's been going on.  I told her that I return often to her wisdom about me being on my journey and others being on their journeys, and if I try to intervene and fix too much, I'm interfering with what they need to learn.  I told her that during the last 6 weeks, I had returned to that wisdom again and again, particularly with my spouse, who is not as overjoyed at the thought of selling our house as I am.

She asked me how I'm praying about it all, and I described my morning walks.  Then we talked about my seminary classes, the area that's bringing me the most unadulterated joy these days.

She was particularly interested in the spiritual formation class that I'm taking and the ways that it is similar to the classes that we've both taken to be certified spiritual directors.  We spent a lot of time talking about Covenant Discipline Groups, which is an integral part of the seminary class.  It's a group that takes on certain covenants to be faithful, like weekly church attendance, and meets weekly to hold each other accountable.  We talked about the ways that kind of class might be useful in a parish setting.

As we came to a close, I asked her about whether or not she would be at the upcoming WELCA retreat, and even though she's not attending, we talked about how we would interact if our paths did cross in that kind of setting.  She said she would leave it up to me as to whether or not I introduced her as my spiritual director.

We ended our session, as we always do, with her praying out loud for me.  It's becoming one of my favorite parts of our sessions.  

And I know that she continues to pray for me between our sessions, which is also something I treasure more and more.

Social Justice Meetings and Prayers -- on Zoom

 Last night, I met with my church group that works on justice issues.  In the past, we would have met at someone's house or in the church fellowship hall.  Now, because of the pandemic, we met on Zoom.

In some ways, it was better to meet by way of Zoom.  I was able to be at the meeting in one room, while my husband taught his Philosophy class in the next room.  I didn't have the half hour drive each way.  It was good to see everyone.

My church is meeting in person, but I don't feel like I really catch up with people.  I'm trying to stay distanced, physically.  But since we discontinued our interactive service, I haven't felt like I really catch up with people.  Sigh.

At the end of the night, our group leader asked if I would do the closing prayer, as the person in the group who's most likely to be a pastor in a few years.  I said, "Sure.  Unless someone else wants to."  No one else did.

As I prayed, with no pre-planning, I found myself wishing we had been recording the meeting and the prayer.  So let me try to recreate it here:

Creator God, we thank you for this ability 

to come together in this safe space.

We pray for those who do not have safe spaces.

Give us the courage to keep fighting

for all of those who have no safe space to sleep tonight.

Give us the wisdom to create

a world where everyone has a safe space.

And later tonight, when we lay down

in our own safe spaces,

give us the rest that refreshes,

so that we can rise in the morning ready to continue

the work of transforming the world.

A Lectionary for Our Current Time

For the next several months, our church will be using the newly published A Women's Lectionary for the Whole Church.  Why switch to a new lectionary?  Hasn't the Revised Common Lectionary been good enough for all these years?  What can the new one do that old ones haven't?

Some of you might be asking a more basic question:  "What's a lectionary?"  It's simply a grouping of religious readings for any given day in the religious year. It's a way to ensure that communities of faith hear a variety of readings, and it's a wonderful feeling of solidarity, knowing that a majority of communities are considering the same texts on any given day.

In an ideal world, having a common lectionary is a way to make sure that religious texts aren't used to wound others.  We know it hasn't always worked that way.

So why switch to this new lectionary?  The introduction to the book says it best:  "What does it look like to tell the Good News through the stories of women who are often on the margins of scripture and often set up to represent bad news?  How would a lectionary centering women's stories, chosen with womanist and feminist commitments in mind, frame the presentation of the scriptures for proclamation and teaching?  How is the story of God told when stories of women's brutalization and marginalization are moved from the margins of canon and lectionary and held in the center in tension with stories of biblical heroines and heroes?"

Here's an example, taken from my seminary class this week.  Most of us grew up hearing the story of Adam and Eve, where Eve was presented in a variety of ways, none of them good.  Eve was stupid or ditzy or conniving.  Eve was the one responsible for bringing sin into the world; Eve was responsible for the fall of all of humankind, and therefore all women must be punished, century after century.

But what if we told the story differently?  What if we saw Adam as the passive one, the one who just did what he was told, while Eve was the one who took an active role in managing the Garden, talking to the animals, considering their arguments.  Let's take it one step further.  What would happen if we saw Eve as being convinced by the serpent, not as being tricked?  Perhaps Eve made a decision to eat the fruit, deciding to risk the possible downside to get more knowledge.  Perhaps Eve decided that a life with more varieties of knowledge would be better than being a manager in God's garden.  Maybe Eve was trying to better herself, to improve her situation--who among us cannot relate.

Of course, that's not usually how the story is told.  And we see the result:  centuries of oppression of women, often brutal oppression.  The world is a worse place because of the version of Eve that we have proclaimed. 

A Women's Lectionary for the Whole Church isn't a hack effort, created by feminists who are trying to hijack the mission of the church.  Wilda C. Gafney, the creator, is a Hebrew biblical scholar--the translations we'll be reading are hers.  Along the way, she's spent time in careful consideration of word choice; I know that she has because I've been part of a Facebook group made to support her and the work.  I loved seeing her progress and being a part when she would ask us which word made the most sense.  I can attest that Dr. Gafney has done this work with love and a fierce loyalty to the larger Christian community.

It will be interesting to see how this work shapes our individual community and the larger world.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 19, 2020:


Jeremiah 11:18-20 or Wisdom of Solomon 1:16—2:1, 12-22

Psalm 54

God is my helper; it is the LORD who sustains my life. (Ps. 54:4)

James 3:13—4:3, 7-8a

Mark 9:30-37


This week’s Gospel reminds us of the order of things in God's kingdom. In the world that most humans inhabit, the rich are first; everybody else gets along as best they can. In our modern world, as was true during most of human history, the lives of the non-rich feel increasingly precarious.

Jesus comes to proclaim that God is making a new creation, right here and right now, where the situation is reversed.

Many preachers will focus on the warm and fuzzy angle of children in this Gospel. While I do think Jesus loved children, I don't think that's why he refers to them here.

Children are some of the most vulnerable members of society. Many people have said that we can judge a society by how it treats its most vulnerable members, who are often children, the elderly, the ill, the mentally unstable, the poor. Many Bible stories remind us that we, as individuals, will be judged by God based on how we treat the most vulnerable. The child in this Gospel is a metaphor for all of the most vulnerable. We are judged by how we receive these people.

We live in a world that doesn't value the vulnerable. We live in a world that worships power, fame, and wealth. Look at any magazine on any given week or month, any news show on any given day, any newspaper on any given day--who makes the decisions that shape society? It's rarely the poor and the destitute. Most of us have social media feeds that make us feel that our lives are inadequate compared to everyone else's.  Look at advertising--it's designed to make us want power, whether that come in the shape of controlling government or being the boss or being the richest, the prettiest, the thinnest . . .

Those of us who have worked to adopt the servant ethos can tell a different tale. Those people might talk about how good it feels to serve, how their own desires disappear in the face of those that are needier than they are.

But there is a bigger reason why we're called to serve: God hangs out with the lowly. Go back to your Scripture. See how often God shows up with the poor, the outcast, the lowest people in the social structure. We serve, so that we meet God. We serve, so that we serve God.

This Gospel reminds me of the 25th chapter of Matthew, where humans are separated depending on whether or not they fed Jesus or clothed him or visited him while sick or in prison. And the ones headed to eternal punishment say, "When did we ever see you hungry or naked or sick or in prison?" And we get the classic rejoinder in verse 45: "Truly I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me."

We serve God by serving. Leaf through the Gospels and let yourself be struck by how much of the message of Jesus revolves around this message. We are called to serve. We elevate ourselves not by making ourselves better, but by serving others, by serving those who have the least to offer us.

Again and again, Jesus reminds us that the world at large is not the world we're to emulate. We're called to create the Kingdom where the least will be first, where we each serve each other.

Writing that Makes Us Feel Hope for the Future

We are in the 3rd week of seminary classes, and it's been 4 weeks of technology hell at work.  For years, I assumed that the technology set up at work was the most solid and secure, so it's been strange to find myself in the new condo where the internet connection is so solid.  I'm grateful and realizing I'm lucky.  I'm tired of lugging my laptop everywhere, while also realizing that I'm lucky to have one to lug, and I know that if anything happens to it, I can replace it fairly easily.  It has not always been this way for me, and I do understand how I am speaking from a place of privilege.  

I don't want to rant about work, at least not today.  I spend much of every work day these days letting others rant to me about these tech issues I can't solve.

Today I want to talk about a comment that my professor made in one of my seminary classes last night.  We were wrapping up the Zoom session, and the professor was talking about the assignments we've turned in, and her grading process.  She said she'd been feeling down lately, but then she started reading our assignments, and she felt so inspired and so hopeful about the future of the church.

For those of you who have lost track of the progress of my life, a quick digression.  I'm in my first semester of classes at Wesley Theological Seminary, where I'm working towards an MDiv degree, which is the degree required by my Lutheran denomination (ELCA) to be a pastor.  Almost every student is headed towards some sort of career in the Church, which I'm using as shorthand for Protestant Christian organized/institutional religion space.

Back to my seminary professor, who is feeling hopeful about the future of that institution because she's reading our writing.  I watched her tell us this and watched her get a bit choked up as she told us how much we had made her feel better.

I confess that I did go back to the course shell to scroll through our Discussion posts.  I had a different, though related, response--I feel relief, like I have found my people.  Last night, as our professor was instructing us about how she wanted us to approach the Bible, I felt a similar relief.  She mentioned that she'd had students in the past who approach the Bible as inerrant, unchanging and dictated from God, and she always advises those students to find a different seminary, because Wesley is not that seminary.  Again, I felt relief, because I would not do well if Wesley was that kind of seminary.

When I looked at the various specialty tracks that Wesley offers, tracks like my chosen one of Theology and the Arts and but also Public Theology, Urban Ministry, and the African American church, I couldn't imagine that Wesley would be a conservative place, and so far, the theology I've found has matched what I could see myself proclaiming.

I think about what my professor told us last night, and I, too, feel hope for the future.  And I also want to remember this moment as one of the better pieces of writing feedback that I've gotten so far--if I can write anything that makes people feel hope, that's a piece of writing that has fulfilled one of my writing goals. 

Crafting a More Inclusive Christianity

Yesterday, I heard about the death of John Shelby Spong.  I'm fairly sure that I read a book or two of his long ago.  I can't remember which ones, and whether or not they had a significant impact on me.  I remember that he seemed to scandalize people, long ago in the 1980's or 90's when I was first aware of him.  I remember picking up whichever book was scandalizing people--did I pick it up from someone's book shelf?  More likely the library.  I remember shrugging and wondering why we were arguing over this stuff.  But I can't remember exactly what the stuff was.

Was he one of the first contemporary male thinkers to propose that God is not anti-gay?  I can't remember.  That would have scandalized plenty of people in the 1980's and 90's.

I vaguely remember that he argued that we didn't need to worry too much about the creeds, and that scandalized people.  He probably also argued that we didn't need to take the Bible literally, which seems obvious, since chunks of the Bible contradict other chunks of the Bible.  How can both be true?  But still, people were scandalized.

As I read about his writings now, in 2021, the items that scandalized people in the 1980's and 90's don't seem as extreme to me today.  And yet, I realize that many of his beliefs would still be dealbreakers among a significant amount of the Christian population.

While his work didn't influence me, I'm grateful that he had an impact on many of my contemporaries who have gone on to craft a more inclusive Christianity.  Many of the testimonies I've been reading have mentioned Spong's books as the ones who broke a restrictive world open for them and made them glimpse what might be possible.

For that, among many other reasons, I am grateful to Spong.

Progress of All Sorts

Portrait from a life in progress:  bread dough rising in my biggest bowl on the kitchen counter at the condo we're renting, and soon we will head back to the old house to do the last minute spiffing up for the open house that will be later today.  Tomorrow, the house goes on the market, but we hope it won't be for long, because we hope we will get offers today.

Will I be at the open house?  Oh my heavens, no!  We have a realtor, someone who is professionally trained to do these things.  I would say the wrong things if I was one of the hosts.

I do wonder if I should bring some bread dough over to bake as we do the spiffing up this morning.  Or would that smell class with the other smells that we've tried to infuse into the air?  I think that I will not risk it.  I'll bake the bread later today.

We spent much of yesterday at the same task--tidying, straightening, touch up painting, getting the old house ready for market.  It was a strange way to observe the September 11 anniversary, but in a way it felt appropriate.  Let us clean up our messes in the hopes that someone else can come along and appreciate what we've built/created.

In the middle of the day yesterday, I did a bit of driving, taking stuff back to the condo, getting us lunch from Taco Bell.  I listened to a radio special called Blind Spot, about various events that led up to September 11.  It's a condensation of a nine part podcast.  I thought about listening to the whole thing, but that would be quite a time commitment.  Besides, much of the information was not new to me.

Later in the day yesterday, I watched the livestream of the installation of the first transgender bishop, Rev. Dr. Megan Rohrer, bishop of the Sierra Pacific Synod of the ELCA.  Wow.  What a moving service, and the liturgy nerd in me appreciated how the service was constructed and how the elements worked together.

The beautiful thing about a livestream is that we can still access the service, even after it's over.  I may go back to watch parts of it again; if you'd like to do that too, go here and scroll down.

I was so happy to see Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, the bishop of the whole Lutheran church, presiding.  Lutheran church leadership has not always been leading the way when it comes to issues of inclusivity.  I am hopeful that change is on the way.

I am hopeful that this moment of inclusiveness will lead us all to dream bigger than we've been dreaming, that those who have been outcast and marginalized will have a powerful hope for the future, that we can all move forward to that future that will be welcoming, safer, and full of promise of what can be accomplished for us all.

But now, back to more mundane issues.  There is bread dough to be shaped into loaves, and a final straightening to be done.

Bishop Installations on Grim Anniversaries

Today, in the midst of September 11 remembrances, the Sierra Pacific synod of the Lutheran Church (ELCA) will officially install the first openly out trans bishop.  As far as I can tell, it's an even larger event; I am almost sure that this installation will be a first across denominations.  And because of the power of technology, we can all witness it by going to this site for the livestream (you'll need to scroll down).

I spent some time earlier this week reading the worship materials, which can be accessed here, and it looks like it will be a beautiful service, full of meaning.   Ideally, of course, every worship service would be beautiful and full of meaning, but that's not always the case.

I have seen some concern about the fact that this service takes place on September 11, and part of me understands.  But the larger part of me likes having life-affirming events take place on days of grim memories.  I know people who decided to get married on this day for just that very reason, and again, I understand that some people find the thinking problematic.

But on this day, I plan to celebrate the movement to a more inclusive church, and the hope that this movement will help create a world where planes don't fly into skyscrapers in an act of terrorism.

Outreach in the Form of a High Holy Days Box

Before we get too far away from Rosh Hashanah, I want to document a cool experience that happened at work, of all places.  It happened last Thursday afternoon, when few of us were there, as classes had ended and grades had been turned in.

I heard a man's voice talking to one of our faculty members.  She brought him to me asking how many Jewish people we had working on the campus.  We could only think of one, and she was working from home where the internet was stable.

The man held a stack of boxes.  He handed us one, along with his card, and asked us to give it to our colleague:

When our Jewish colleague returned on Friday, we were all interested to know what the box held.  It had a picture of a shofar, so that's what I was expecting.  But no, it was a delightful collection:

There was a sweet cake, a small jar of honey with a twirler, a small cup, and a stress ball in the shape of an apple.  Underneath it all, under the blue cardboard, was a game for kids and some information about the holiday.

I always wonder how people respond to this kind of outreach within their own religion.  Does a gift box like this seem overbearing or insulting in some way, like one can't be trusted to find their own ingredients for a significant celebration?  Our Jewish colleague was charmed and touched.

As someone who has done community outreach for a church, I loved the idea of the box, but I wondered about the cost.  I also wondered why the rabbi decided to stop at our nondescript building.  Did he load up the car with boxes and stop at every workplace along the way?

I also wondered how he was received elsewhere.  I like to believe that South Florida is a crossroads kind of community, the intersection of many different types of cultures.  I want to believe that this kind of intersection leads us all to be more tolerant, but I know it's not always true.  I know that antisemitism is on the rise, and I worry about what it means for the safety of us all.

I'm glad that people will still show up with a good will gesture like a box of treats for the highest holy days.  May we all be blessed and have a sweet new year.

Grad School Kristin, Seminary Kristin

 Over the past few weeks, as I've been returning to school, I've been reflecting on the differences between grad school Kristin who was earning an MA and then a PhD in English between 1987 and 1992 and seminary Kristin who is earning an MDiv and already thinking about a DMin after that.  Let me make a record:

--Seminary Kristin is more confident in her writing.  I've been writing a lot longer than grad school Kristin.  Unlike many people, I got the PhD and then spent the next 30 years writing in a variety of genres.  But getting the PhD also gave me confidence in both my writing, my navigating a committee skills, and in myself as a person who could make her ambitious goals come to fruition.

--Seminary Kristin has a lot more on her plate:  I'm teaching more classes in addition to my full-time administrator job and my seminary classes.  But at this point, I'm less stressed than grad school Kristin.

--Perhaps I'm less stressed because I have more money.  In grad school, summers were especially rough because my assistantship was only for the school year.  Last week I was in the Fresh Market, which was one of my favorite stores when I was in grad school.  In grad school, I could hardly afford anything in that store.  A week ago, I thought, I could buy anything I wanted; I wish more would leap out at me.

--Seminary Kristin has computer resources that thrill grad school Kristin.  But we're both using the computer as a fancy typewriter more than anything else.

--Grad school Kristin waited until the last possible minute to turn her work in.  I am now training myself to do the smaller tasks and post them as I finish them.  Yesterday I finished a discussion post for my online class and I thought about waiting until it was closer to the Saturday deadline.  But I had already polished it, and I knew that in the days to come, I wasn't likely to make it significantly better than the draft before me.

--Of course grad school Kristin really only had one large paper per class, usually 20 pages.  In seminary, taking online classes, I have a wide variety of assignments and so far, most of them are much shorter than my usual word count.  Teaching myself to scale back is different than when I was in grad school, where I often had about 7-10 pages of something to say, and I had to learn how to develop those ideas to meet the requirements.  I often added more outside sources instead of developing my own ideas.  I didn't trust my own ideas in grad school thirty years ago.  I worry that Seminary Kristin might trust her own ideas too much and not be open to new ideas.  I'm hopeful that by articulating the danger, I can avoid it.

--Thirty years!  Can it really be 30 years since I got my PhD in 1992?  Wow.

--I'm still with the same partner, but we're not doing fun, cheap stuff like going to the zoo or going to movies.  Maybe that will change when we finish all the work that has to happen before the house goes on the market.

--Grad school Kristin moved to an apartment closer to campus and closer to 5 Points, a cool part of town that had festivals and a Gourmet Shoppe and the Joyful Alternative, a cool store that stocked items like interesting clothes and a variety of tarot decks.  Grad school Kristin had a mixed record of taking advantage of all the interesting stuff happening.  Like grad school Kristin, seminary Kristin has also moved to a condo closer to downtown.  I am hopeful that we'll do more, but I also realize that we have less time, with all the other stuff we're doing.  This week, my spouse just accepted another handful of adjunct classes to teach. 

--Both grad school Kristin and seminary Kristin share the same set of emotions:  happy to see plans coming together, fretful that it's too late, but hopeful that it's not.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 12, 2021:


First Reading: Isaiah 50:4-9a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Proverbs 1:20-33

Psalm: Psalm 116:1-8 (Psalm 116:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 19

Second Reading: James 3:1-12

Gospel: Mark 8:27-38


I can only imagine how much the Jesus in today's Gospel must have baffled people--Peter even goes so far as to rebuke him. It's important to remember that Jews during the time of Jesus weren't looking for the kind of spiritual savior that we have in mind when we use the term Messiah; Jews during this time period expected their Messiah to be a great warrior who would kick the Romans out of the homeland.

And here's Jesus, talking about being rejected by everyone and being killed and rising again; he mentions crosses--in that time, the only ones picking up a cross were those on their way to their own brutal public executions because the Romans saw them as traitors to the state.

This Gospel was written during a later time of social upheaval and written about an earlier time of social upheaval--the reason the Gospel of Mark sounds so apocalyptic is because the Christian community feared attack from various quarters. This Gospel is written both to calm the community, as well as to give them strength to face what is coming, and the courage to do what must be done. The last chunk of the Gospel shows this motivation clearly. What good is our earthly life if, in preserving it, we lose our souls?

An intriguing question, even today--a time of social upheaval, where there are plenty of events to frighten us. Notice the language of Jesus. Following him is a choice. Crosses don't just fall on us out of the sky; we choose to pick them up when we follow Jesus.

It's a marketing scheme that you would never find in today's "How to Build a MegaChurch" model books. Emphasize suffering? Why on earth would people want a religion like that?

It's interesting also to reflect on Jesus' words at the close of this chapter--are we ashamed of Jesus? Do people know we are Christians by our actions? If they ask us about our faith life, are we able to speak coherently (or at least openly) about it?

We live in an empire much like the Roman empire, one that’s deadly in so many ways.  Our faith equips us to be the ones that have strength for the ordeals that we can see headed our ways and for the trials that will blindside us.  Our community counts on us to have the courage of our convictions.

The Long Reach of Justice

On Sunday, our church returned to a theme of justice.  Our church is a member of BOLD Justice, a network of religious groups that works on 1-3 justice issues throughout the year.  On Sunday, one of our members reminded us of all we had accomplished in the past 15 years.  Year by year, it often feels like so little.  The evil in the world that oppresses so many remains so powerful.

And yet, we have helped so many people that we can't even count them all.  From more affordable housing to more dental care to jobs that go to Broward residents first to making it possible for minors who commit non-serious offences to avoid having a criminal record, we've made life better for so many.  

But what's more important for me to remember is that we've helped in ways we don't even know.  Later in the day on Sunday, we met some friends to strategize selling our house.  Then we talked about other things.  We've included these friends in BOLD Justice events.  We have lots of friends who approve of a justice agenda, even if they are not members of a faith group.

Our friend told us about a client of hers who is struggling with an issue that BOLD Justice addressed, and our friend printed off the sheaf of paperwork provided by BOLD Justice to give her client as a resource.  I've thought of the BOLD Justice documents as being educational, so I'm not sure why I was surprised to see them used this way.  But I was--surprised and pleased.

It's important to remember that when we do the work of justice, we open up all sorts of possibilities.  It's transformative work, and the reach of that work is long.

It's easy to feel despair in a world where so much remains to be done if we are ever to see a more just world.  It's important to remind ourselves that we are having an impact, and it's likely a larger impact than we perceive at any given moment.

Dust, Of History, Of Humans

Most mornings, I would be out for my morning walk.  But most mornings, I would not have spent the day before on my hands and knees trying to restore the luster of hardwood floors.  As I scrubbed and dried the floors, I tried to remember how the house got so grimy.  I last cleaned it deeply in April of 2019, before the visit of my sister and nephew. 

I used to clean more rigorously and more regularly back when we had overnight visitors spread throughout the year.  In between those visits, I'd do the basics to keep toilets and surfaces clean, but I wouldn't get on my hands and knees to dust/scrub the more hard to reach places on the baseboards and furniture.

We haven't had overnight visitors during the pandemic, and I've just let things slide.  Now we're getting the house ready to put on the market, so it's time to get everything cleaned and presentable.  It's exhausting, and we haven't even started on restoring the cottage.

But I'm also not walking because it's been a slow morning in other ways:  a frozen/sloggy computer, a sloggy body, and my wanting to do some reading and writing.  Earlier this morning, I wrote this Facebook post:  "Oh dear. I've discovered an ancient apocalypse I never really took note of before: the end of the bronze age. I was going to write a blog post about my map quiz for seminary class, and I can't stop reading articles about the collapse of the bronze age. Rev. Dr. Joelle Colville-Hanson tweeted this yesterday, and I haven't been the same since: 'Everyone thinks it’s all going to go down like the end of the Roman Empire. But what if it’s more like the collapse of the Bronze Age civilizations?'"

I wanted to sit and read and contemplate.  I wanted to write about my first quiz in seminary.  Instead, I've been zipping around from website to website, wondering why I haven't thought about the collapse of the Bronze Age before and trying to figure out how the history overlays with Bible stories I spent the last week in seminary reading.  I am thinking, but I am not sure, that the collapse of the Bronze Age made it possible for the Maccabees to overthrow their oppressors.  According to one of the lectures I viewed this week for New Testament class, they ruled so badly that the Romans came in and offered to take over, and they just said, "Sure."  I need to find a website that gives good timelines.

It is sobering to me to realize how much I still don't know, especially when it comes to the time before the English literature that I spent so much time in grad school studying.  Actually, my studies became more solidified as I taught the British Literature survey classes early in my teaching career.  But I never taught anything much before Chaucer and Beowulf, so those time periods are much hazier to me.

The maps are hazier too.  I spent this past week looking at a variety of maps to get ready for my first quiz in seminary.  I had blank maps that I filled in as a study guide.  I searched source maps looking for those city names that are familiar to me from Bible stories I'd been hearing from my youth:  Nazareth, Bethlehem, Nineveh.  I thought about the Fertile Crescent and that land between the Tigris and Euphrates.  I looked at ancient names and tried to figure out their current names, just to get my bearings on a map.  I thought about that wide swath of humanity, all dust now.

Yesterday morning I took the map quiz, which was harder than I thought it would be.  Or maybe it's more accurate to say it was hard in different ways.  I knew it would be a multiple choice test, so at least I wouldn't be grading on my map-making skills.  Still, I felt like I prepared for a calculations type of math quiz, but had to think in terms of word problems:  "You are going from this city to this city.  Which route is most direct?"  Happily, I was able to make the adjustment and complete the quiz.  I scored a 95, which made me ecstatic.

This first official week of seminary classes has been a delight, and there's a bit of weird grief-like stuff too--what took me so long to do this?  What all have I forgotten that might be coming in handy?

Let me not get too lost in hindsight.  We're all dust, all too soon.

Erasures: Poems, Hymns, and Prayers

Yesterday, I wrote a blog post about my experiments with erasure poems and collaging, and I posted the link to the blog post on Facebook.  One of my FB friends said that she once did the same thing with hymn lyrics to create prayers and that she found my process notes helpful.  So, I thought I'd include the helpful post here:

I have experimented with erasure poetry before, and I'm in awe of poets who can make that work.  In the past, I haven't created an erasure poem that I like, but the process has sometimes sparked a more traditional poem for me.

Until I saw the work of Sarah J. Sloat, I hadn't thought of combining erasure poems and collage.  I loved her book Hotel Almighty, the erasure poems with collage that Sloat created from pages of Stephen King's Misery, and it made me want to do something similar.  But this past summer hasn't been a great time to do that, what with getting ready to move, then moving, then having art supplies in various places.

And there's the issue of intentionally destroying a book.  I don't have that many books I don't care about.  I thought I might use John Naisbitt's Megatrends, once I glanced through it again to see if it had been correct about its predictions.  But when I saw my notes from so many years ago, I just couldn't damage the book.

So, I made a photocopy of a page that had potential.  I blocked out some words that seemed to go together.  And then I clipped some pictures from a December copy of Oprah magazine.  I arranged and glued:

I love that I was able to find an image of a fountain pen for a page that deals with information and how we distribute it.  I love a beautiful pie for a page that talks about economy and how we sell things.  And the watch symbolizes so many things--same for the glasses and the jewel.

The second day, I started the blacking out.  I had thought about using different colors of markers, but in the end, I started with black ink, and I found it very soothing to keep using the marker.  The two lane road around the margins I added last:

I also made a PDF by scanning the image, which I can't figure out how to include here.  I still don't have the right camera for capturing my sketches and collages.  Sigh.

Here are the words:

Megatrends:  The Information Economy Is Real

concrete terms

Without answers, 

Documenting       is difficult.

part of a job

study

skeptics

err

I will return to Megatrends again--I'm interested to see if I keep finding delight in erasing and collaging.  Even if I don't end up with something as satisfying as this first creation from the book, the process is really satisfying.

Clouds and Descending Doves in the Predawn Sky

When I look back on this summer, perhaps I will think of it as a summer of seeing signs of God's presence in nature.  On some level, I've always seen God's presence in nature, especially when I see something particularly delightful, like the blaze of autumn leaves or a spectacular sunrise, something that makes me reach for my camera if it's near by. 

But I'm talking about something even more specific, like feeling despair during a walk, turning around, and seeing a rainbow.  Yesterday, during my predawn walk, I had a similar experience, although it was less a response to my mood.

I got to the tiny neighborhood lake and looked at the sky.  I was struck by the swirls of lighter blue against the much darker sky; I know that I'm far enough south that I will never see the northern lights, but the effect was similar.  The light blue looked almost fluorescent against the midnight blue.

As I looked up, I thought of my sketches of a descending dove, and I realized that the light blue had a similar shape to the descending dove that's the outside frame of this one:

I continued to stare at the sky, thinking of the Gospel stories of the baptism of Jesus, and those words from God expressing pleasure with Jesus, even before Jesus has begun his ministry.

You may wonder why I haven't posted a picture of the clouds.  I don't walk with equipment, and I'm one of the last people in the U.S. who doesn't have a smart phone that can take great night shots.

I still can't figure out what made those clouds swirl that way and appear to be that vibrant blue.  It wasn't related to the soon to rise sun.  I've never seen the clouds reflect the street lights in that way before, and I've been taking lots of predawn walks.  

I realize the folly of seeing messages from God where there may be none.  But I also like these reminders of God's presence everywhere, if we had eyes to see.

First Week of Seminary Classes

I have come through my first week of seminary classes--they officially started on Monday, but I've had access to the course shells for over a week.  I've done a lot of reading in books that are very interesting.  I've studied maps to get ready for a map quiz later this week. For the past two nights, I attended the synchronous class meetings, meaning that we all gathered in a Zoom meeting.  In some ways, the classes were similar to other Zoom meetings, particularly religious church meetings.  We began in prayer and moved to the business of the evening.  

I had worried about Zoom burnout, or being distracted by other internet delights, so I closed all the windows that send me beeps:  no Facebook, no e-mail, and I kept the Zoom window on full screen.  In retrospect, I was so focused on showing that I was present and paying attention that I worry that I looked like a grinning idiot.  And yet, it was sincere.  I am so happy to be here in this virtual place.

Last night, I thought about the first online journaling class I took with the artist Vonda Drees, through the Grunewald Guild in November and December of 2018.  We read a book together, and we shared our sketches, and we met once a week in a Zoom session.  It was transformative, and in many ways, it set me on the road to where I am today, sitting in seminary classes.  Attending the first onground intensive for my spiritual direction certificate program was similar.  I walked on the campus of Southern seminary, and I realized how much I missed all the aspects of that traditional educational experience.

I have loved that certificate program, and yet, along the way I've thought, this is interesting, but it's not seminary.  I was able to handle the pace and the readings, and it made me think I could do something more rigorous.  

In the interest of being completely honest, I'm also in a phase of my administrator work life where work has become less demanding as the campus has been shrinking and various programs have been in the final phases.  I feel sad about that fact in some ways.  When I came to this job, the campus was growing so fast that we had trouble finding space for all the classes that we need.  Now, because of decisions above me and because of the pandemic, that process has been reversed.   And it's not just my little campus.  It's become clear that a change is underway in higher education, a change in part because of a declining birth rate that started in 2007 or so, coupled with immigration restrictions.

I still feel somewhat precarious, like my life has become a huge balancing act, and I must not let myself get distracted, lest I fall or drop something precious into the abyss.  I will remember what a wise yoga teacher taught me, to keep my vision focused on a point further away, to not compare myself to others, to slow down.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 5, 2021:

First Reading: Isaiah 35:4-7a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23

Psalm: Psalm 146

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 125

Second Reading: James 2:1-10 [11-13] 14-17

Gospel: Mark 7:24-37

Many people find this Gospel's depiction of Jesus disturbing, but I find it refreshing, even as it disturbs me. I grew up with an idea of an inclusive Jesus, a Jesus who came for all of us. The Jesus of my childhood was never angry (except perhaps for that incident in the temple), never irritable, never tired.

The Jesus of the Gospels isn't the Jesus of my childhood. If we read the Gospels carefully, we can see that the view of Jesus shifts as the community of faith continues to interpret the meaning of Jesus and to define what happened to Jesus and the first community of believers. Many us grew up thinking that the Gospels were written by the first disciples, but with discoveries that have happened in the last 70 years, scholars are fairly sure that they were written by people who came along later.

One early view of Jesus was an exclusive one, the one that says that Jesus came for the Jews. As the early Christian community expanded to include non-Jews, we can see chunks of the Gospels written with this development in mind. The story of Jesus and the Greek woman may be part of that mission.

Or perhaps we're seeing something more basic. I notice that a running theme in this Gospel is Jesus' attempts to get away, to move anonymously. It doesn't work. Everywhere he turns, there are the people who need him. We've all had those weeks at work or in our families where it seems that people need more and more of us and we can't get away from those incessant demands. We know how cranky that can make us. Maybe we're just seeing a Jesus who is tired and irritable. I like the idea of a snippy Jesus who can be reminded of his mission and who can soften his attitude. I like the idea that we can be occasionally cranky and not ruin our mission, just as Jesus was occasionally cranky, but managed to change our world so radically.

I also find the Greek woman to be refreshing. Here's a woman who fights for her daughter. Here's a woman who is told no, I didn't come for you--and she fights back. She presents a good argument, and it works.  For those of us who work on justice issue, it's a potent reminder.

I like the idea of a Jesus who can change his mind. I like the idea of a Jesus who listens to an outsider (a Greek, a woman) and becomes more inclusive, more just.  

Often the Gospel reading gives us a picture of Jesus who seems more divine than human. This Gospel shows me a refreshingly human Jesus, with traits (irritability, a desperate need for rest) that I recognize. I see a divine presence who might really understand me, since he's been under stress himself.

And this time, through this Gospel, I am happy to be reminded that a Divine answer of "no" may not be the final answer.