Salad Potlucks, First Week Seminary Readings, and Other Delights

In a week where seminary classes are underway, and face to face classes that I teach are underway, and online classes have been underway, and another massive hurricane has come and almost gone, let me record some observations, instead of creating a coherent blog post about one subject.

--I have done the first two seminary writing assignments and turned them in.  My seminary is now using Blackboard Ultra (instead of the older version of Blackboard), so it all feels both familiar and unfamiliar.

--It has been cool to see familiar faces on the seminary class zoom calls.  Some I've only known through online classes, some through onground, and some both.

--Yesterday I went to the quilt group at the church near my Lutheridge house.  We had a salad potluck, which was much more varied than it might seem.  I was surprised by the variety of the salads.  I made the pasta salad I've been making since I first came across it in Mollie Katzen's The Enchanted Broccoli Forest Cookbook.  A pound of cooked pasta, some cut veggies (bell peppers this time), and a vinaigrette of 1/3 C. of balsamic vinegar and 1/3 C. of olive oil, plus dried basil and dried oregano.  So tasty!  Yesterday I had it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

--So far, my seminary reading has been more interesting than I thought it would be--it's been much older theology and church history, which doesn't always thrill me.  As I read about the early church leadership and how canonical texts were chosen for what would become the Christian Bible and what heretical movements were squashed, I was surprised by how much of it I already knew.

--Hearing about my classmates' internship sites made me happy for us all--such a wide diversity of placements.  Our professor reminded us all of the importance of self-care and to remember that we are at our sites to learn, not just to be used as cheap/free labor.

--Hurricane Idalia does not seem to have spewed as much harm as we might have feared, but it will be interesting to see what the final damage estimate is.  Extreme flooding doesn't leave behind as much camera-ready footage as wind damage.

--I got an e-mail from my chair to the English department at Spartanburg Methodist College about what we need to do if we need to be absent.  It was so reasonable.  I was saddened at how refreshing I found the tone, how sad I was that for so many years I have worked for other schools that suspect people of slacking off and shirking if they call in sick and/or arrange an online module when they are away at a conference or taking care of other responsibilities.  

--It is wonderful being at a small, liberal arts college in South Carolina, wonderful to see all the activities that are taking place.  In addition to sports, we've already had auditions for a play, calls for an art show, an ice cream social, a movie night.  And that's just what I see in posters that are up on the walls of the building where I teach and announcements in e-mails.

--I've been hearing so much about the death of higher ed; this week, I've thought, maybe it's not true.  And if it's maybe not true for that institution, maybe it's not true of others, like the mainline Protestant Church.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, September 3, 2023:

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 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.

First Day of Fall 2023 Seminary Classes

 My first seminary class for Fall 2023 semester was last night:  The Ethical Self and Prophetic Witness.  We're meeting virtually, every Monday night by way of Zoom.  I have heard great things about this class, but it's a hard class for me to summarize.  Here's the course description:  

"This course will help students grapple with moral agency in public by inquiring just who is the “self” implied in various accounts of ethics and of Christian prophetic witness, inviting them to consider how traditioned, historical humans can enact moral agency in non-ideal conditions."

After last night, I'm a bit more clear on what the course will cover.  My professor sees that the field of ethics is in serious trouble; the field of ethics traditionally envisions a single person making decisions about what is right and wrong, but that's not a real world vision, at least not these days, if it ever was.  A more real world vision would include the larger community.

So, we'll look at some of the big traditional thinkers in the field of ethics, Kant and Mill, and then we'll move on to more modern writers.  If last night's class is any indication, we'll have rich and interesting conversations.  Another plus:  my spouse might listen in, and we, too, might have rich and interesting conversations.  He has grad level training in Ethics and has been teaching undergrad classes for years, so I was afraid he might be snarky.  Happily, he was impressed, and we drifted off to sleep last night chatting about ethics.

In fact, I had some trouble staying asleep.  In part, it's because I spent much of yesterday at my desk, getting a variety of tasks done.  In part it's because I was excited to be back in school.

Here I am, starting year 3 of seminary.  It's strange to think about the path I've taken.  In some ways, I've looped back:  I started taking classes virtually, then last year I was on campus, and this year, I'm back to taking classes virtually.  Three years ago, I still had my full-time job and my online teaching job.  This year, I'm Zooming in from a different location, and happily, my full-time job is no more.  But I've picked up an in person teaching job, and I'm living in a place with a much cheaper cost of living.  Hopefully it will all work out.

Speaking of those in-person classes, let me go ahead and keep this blog post short.  I need to get my walk in before the rain starts again, so that I can get ready for the commute and the in-person teaching day ahead.

The Feast Day of Saint Augustine in a Time of Various Slow Motion Collapses

Today is the feast day of Saint Augustine.  One of my seminary textbooks called him the most important thinker/theologian in the history of the Christian church.  Not one of the most important--the most important.

He was alive from 354 to 430; I'm always a bit startled when I look up his dates and remember just how long ago he lived.  Other thinkers have had centuries to rival Augustine as the most important thinker, but so far, very few people have come close.

We can trace our ideas about original sin and grace back to him. His thinking about God and God's existence outside of time has been enormously influential. His views of just war continue to be debated. His confessional style continues in writing to this day.

Many people focus on his early days, his sin loving days, and wonder how he came to be one of the leaders of the Church.  But this morning, I'm wondering if his prolific writing about such a wide variety of topics is rooted at the end of his life more than the beginning.

My Church History professor pointed out that Augustine lived until almost the end of the Roman empire, and it's important to remember that the end didn't happen with a bang.  People like Augustine could see what was coming, and he must have had a sense--perhaps a deep, deep sense--of all that was going to be lost.

This morning, I'm wondering if he wrote so much down because he knew how much would be lost, if his prolific writing was rooted in the knowledge/sense/foreboding of upcoming disaster.  And of course, my mind goes to our own time, my own pendulum swings from "I must get everything recorded" to "Why bother?  Humans will not survive this."

Augustine was living in a similar time  to ours;  there had been diseases and political intrigue and invaders coming from all directions, along with upheavals that kept various populations on the move.  I'd like to channel some of his writing energy in response to all of these slow motion collapses.

A New Metaphor for Herds of Sheep and the One Who Goes to Fetch the Missing One

Yesterday I was part of a Bible study group that has members across the southeast U.S.  We're going to look at parables, a plan which has many benefits.  The readings are short, and for the leaders (I'm one of them), the prep time is minimal.  Of course, there's lots of resources if one wants them.  I used this Bible study as a reason to buy Amy-Jill Levine's Short Stories by Jesus.

That book begins with the parable of the lost sheep--or is it the one who owns the sheep who is lost?  We'll follow the path of the book for the next several meetings:  lost coins, the lost sons, and then yeast.  One thing that never struck me until I read the book:  a man who owns 100 sheep is rich.  A wealthy-ish peasant would own a sheep or two, not a hundred.

I also had never considered how difficult it would be to notice the disappearance of one sheep if you have a hundred sheep.  As we talked about this parable, we created a more modern version.

Most of us in the Bible study group work in the education field, and for some of them, this past week was their first week back.  She talked about the first recess time, when one grade group mingled with another grade group and some of the students who were supposed to go inside with their class stayed outside with a different class.  Because it was the first week and because there were so many students, it was hard to tell by sight who wasn't where they were supposed to be.

Happily it was easily sorted out, and this is where the updating of the parable falls apart.  In the parable, the sheep and the shepherd are in a wilderness area.  When the shepherd goes after one sheep, the remaining herd is in danger, as is the lost sheep.  In the schoolyard and school building, the children were safe.

It was interesting to have this discussion of parables, many of which are so familiar to us to have lost their strangeness.  I feel fortunate to have a group willing to dive in with me.

Brief Reflections on the Second Week of Teaching

I'm feeling tired this morning, and I can't decide if it's a good tired or not--maybe it's a mix of good tired (I did good teaching and preaching this week!  I made mostly healthy food choices and walked every day!) and not-as-good tired (driving!  depressing politics!  no creative writing done!).  Let me record some snippets:

--I have finally gotten the computer in my work office to communicate with the printer, which makes my life much easier.  Hurrah!  It's not a speedy computer, and the keyboard makes writing difficult (it's got a few extra keys, so I hit a backslash button every time my pinkie reaches for the enter key).

--I also got a key to the office.

--I am surprised that it feels easier to teach English 101 than the 102 class, which is the Literature class.  I'm still figuring out the pacing in that class and how many handouts I need.  There's not as much participation as I would like, but it's only the first week of talking about literature so that might change.  And if it doesn't, I'll make adjustments.  I can talk about literature all by myself, even though I'd prefer a discussion.

--I am still loving the ability to feel inspired and/or to find a poem/writing online and to bring it to class.  Finding one poem often inspires me to go hunting after others that I had forgotten that I loved.  For example, I found this New York Times article about hip hop being the answer to poetry malaise, and I wanted some poetry to go with it.  I am not into 21st century hip hop enough to bring in song lyrics, so I went way back and made copies of Gwendolyn Brooks' "We Real Cool."  I tried to think of other great African American poets and went hunting for Natasha Trethewey poems--wow!  She is so wonderful, which I have known since Native Guard was published.

--For the past 3 of my 4 teaching days, I've gotten home and quickly lost any energy that I had.  I have been so exhausted in the late afternoon and early evening, going to bed at 7:15 kind of tired.  I need to figure out how to change that, at least on Thursdays when I am a seminary student in a Systematic Theology class from 6:30 to 9:30.  I suspect that if I don't drink wine and have a bit of iced coffee, I'll be fine. 

--This morning it's time to take the newer car in for an oil change--it's been a year.  Let me bring this blog post to a close so I can get ready to assist.  Then it's time to turn my attention to my other job:  sermon writing awaits! 

Waning Days of Summer

 In later years, when I look back on this blog, will I wonder at what I left out?  For example, there's no analysis of the first presidential debate--in part because one needed cable to watch, in part because it started at 9, but in largest part, because I have no desire to watch this madness.  Another example--will I look back and see the plane crash in Russia as bigger news than it seems today?  I figured that the man who attempted a coup against Putin 2 months ago was a dead man, and it did take longer than I was expecting.

When I look back on these days of waning summer, I'll remember going over to the local Lutheran church to work on quilts for Lutheran World Relief.  Yesterday I looked through the big bins of donated fabric and put together bundles for our leader to assemble into quilt tops.  She says she's no good at this, and that I save her lots of time by doing it.  If I took those bundles and tried to assemble quilt tops, it would take me much longer than it takes her.  It is a good partnership.

I did not bring as many tomatoes home yesterday, but that's not because it was the waning days of summer but because we had more quilters yesterday.  That's O.K., because I got a buy one get one free deal at the Fresh Market yesterday--now we have two huge containers of tropical fruit salad in the fridge.  Well, on Monday we did.

I enjoyed going to the Fresh Market so much on Monday that I went back yesterday.  I have loved the Fresh Market since grad school days, back when they didn't sell cleaning supplies, back when I could scarcely afford much of what was for sale.  But back then, the store offered petit fours, each one costing twenty-five cents.  Sadly, that seems not to be the case these days, at least not at our local Fresh Market.

In these waning days of summer, the course shells for my seminary classes that I'll be taking this fall have opened.  Nothing looks too formidable--hurrah!  I will miss these days that have had a more leisurely pace, but it will be good to move forward with my MDiv degree.

Even though the weather is much more like summer, it's clear summer is coming to a close.  I'm seeing leaf color on trees in the lower elevations.  It seems earlier this year than last year, but maybe I just wasn't paying close attention last year.  I've been picking a handful of blackberries every morning on my walk--those bramble bushes are about at their end, which makes me savor the berries even more.

I am looking forward to seeing how the seasons change on this mountain.  But I am trying to savor the last weeks of this season. 

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for August 27, 2023:

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.

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 see once a week in church? 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?

The Canaanite Woman and the Children's Sermon

I have been trying to create children's sermons that are a bit more interactive, a bit more hands on.  But practical reality (short time and traditional church space) means that I have to intersperse the interactive sermons (yeast in a bowl, seeds in soils and rocks) with less interactive ones.  So, last week, when we had the Gospel with Jesus and Peter walking on the water, which was also our Blessing of the Backpack service, I ordered some brass anchors, very small ones, for students to put on a keychain or in their pockets, so that students could remember what and who anchors them (God/Jesus, their church community, their families).

For Sunday's sermon, which has the Canaanite woman reminding Jesus that even dogs get to have scraps from the table, I thought about setting up a table and putting food both on it and under it.  I thought about a skit.  But then I thought about all the ways it could go wrong.

So I had the children imagine their favorite meal, and they were given only enough for them.  Then I took them through different sharing scenarios.  As expected, they would share the meal with a good friend and with family.  They would share their meal with their dog.  They would even share their meal with a dog from down the street that they didn't know very well.

I anticipated this, so I asked, "Would you share your favorite meal with a squirrel?"  Lots of heads shook fiercely.  And then I tried to bring the point home, to tell them that they'd be hearing about a Canaanite woman telling Jesus that he could be doing more than he was, that he could share his meal with more people.

It was a bit simplified, but the children's sermon needs to be.  I try not to oversimplify it too much, and on Sunday, I think I was successful.

Yesterday's Sermon (best so far?)

My spouse is very demanding when it comes to sermons.  He has years of training in Philosophy, which gives him certain expectations when it comes to critical thinking and lines of argument/support for a thesis.  

So, when he said that the sermon I delivered yesterday impressed him, I took that seriously.  He didn't say it was my best sermon so far, but he's never praised my past sermons in the way that he did yesterday's.  The idea about the Canaanite woman causing Jesus to pivot and expand his ministry was something that stood out (and it's an idea I got from one of the writers of the Feasting on the Word commentary).

So, without further ado, here's my sermon manuscript for August 20, and it's fairly close to what I delivered:

 

The Gospel:  Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

 

 

Once again, this Sunday, we have a chunk of text that seems to be in two parts that don’t exactly go together.  In the first chunk, Jesus talks about what goes out of the mouth as being more important than what goes in—a clear swipe at purity laws (or at least, that’s what it seems at first).  Then in the second chunk, we have Jesus seeming to be needing to be mindful of his own teaching, when we watch him interact with the Canaanite woman.  In between, we have disciples reporting that the Pharisees aren’t very happy with Jesus.  We could almost visualize him retorting, “Well, I’m not very happy with them and the way they haven’t been teaching well!”

 

This issue of purity isn’t one safely settled in the past, of course.  We’ll see it again in Acts, as the disciples try to decide how to adapt their new branch of Judaism, especially as they go to cultures that aren’t predominantly Jewish.  Peter has a dream about eating unclean meat and getting the message that nothing is unclean in the way he’s been taught.  We see it through the centuries:  real Christians believe this way or that way—and we see very blood wars break out when people can’t agree.

 

It's interesting to look at each story to see who is delivering the truth:  Jesus, in his preaching about what defiles, the Pharisees, who have been studying the law for much longer than most people, the disciples who report back to Jesus, or the Canaanite woman.  In the first chunk of the Gospel, Jesus gets the last word, delivering the truth.  In the second chunk, it’s the Canaanite woman who speaks truth to the one in charge.  Both passages have people asking questions.  Both passages are concerned with what is right and proper.  Both chunks have a certain amount of messiness—that might be a comfort or we might feel anxious about it.

 

The second chunk of text is the one that has always made me feel the most anxious.  Why on earth does Jesus speak to the Canaanite woman this way?  This is not the expansive, inclusive, savior of deep love and compassion. 

 

Some Biblical scholars and preachers will try to tell us that Jesus delivered these words in a joking tone—he’s only kidding.  To which I say, “Give me a break!”  That’s what all bullies say, isn’t it?  “I was only kidding.  Lighten up.  Don’t take everything so seriously.”  Some of us might blame the Canaanite woman for not knowing her place, for causing a scene.  Ouch.  How many of us have been told that we’re too much, that we should take it down a notch, that we’re being too loud.

 

Let’s not sugarcoat this issue.  Frankly, this depiction of Jesus shows me a savior that I’m not sure I’d like to meet in person:  he’s grouchy and pretty close to abusive with that reference to dogs.  It’s one of the clearer ways to support the parts of our creed that say that Jesus came and was fully human.  He’s fully human right down to his dismissiveness.

 

 

What happens if we accept this picture of Jesus?  Here’s some background which makes it easier.  Jesus and the disciples have left their home territory of Galilee.  They are in the district of Tyre and Sidon—in other words, alien territory.  And here’s a woman shouting at them—she’s out of line, and she won’t go away when Jesus and the disciples try to ignore her.  But it becomes clear that they will have to do something—she keeps shouting.

 

Maybe Jesus is gentle at first when he explains the limits of his mission.  He’s not here for her.  And then there’s that reference to dogs—ouch.  Let’s be blunt—Jesus is talking to her in a way that’s not acceptable.

 

I admire her tenacity, her ability to talk back to Jesus, to answer his argument with one of her own.  “Even the dogs get crumbs.”  And so, once again, we get a parable where a woman with great faith gets rewarded with health (remember the bleeding woman from a few Sundays ago?).  Again, we get an encounter where Jesus learns an important lesson from a woman.  And here, it’s a woman from an outside culture—in terms of purity, he shouldn’t be speaking to her.  But she changes his mind.

 

Wait—did you get that?  Jesus changes his mind?  For those of us who want to believe that God is all knowing and all powerful, we might feel uneasy.  If God knows what’s best, why would God change?  And yet we see that happen throughout our sacred scriptures, the Old Testament and the New Testament.  Does that mean that God can’t foresee the future?  Does that mean that God might not know what’s best? 

 

Is God relying on us to point out where we see a need for change?  If you believe in the concept of free will, then that’s exactly what God does.  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.

 

Even as I don’t like the way that Jesus speaks to the Canaanite woman, I like that he listens to her and changes course.  He doesn’t punish her for her impudence.  The way he has done so many times, he responds to her cry of “Help me!” 

 

Does this encounter change Jesus’ sense of his mission?  It certainly seems to.  A few weeks ago, in Matthew 10, Jesus sends the disciples out to the lost sheep of Israel, giving them instructions NOT to go to the gentiles, not to go to the Samaritans.  By the end of the Gospel of Matthew, the instructions are different:  “Make disciples of all nations.”

 

If you read all of the Gospels, you’ll find a different sense of mission in each of them.  In Mark, for example, Jesus seems to be figuring out what he’s been sent to do; in this Gospel, his sense of mission comes late (and you might argue if it comes at all—at least in the way that we understand his sense of mission).  In Matthew, Jesus seems much more sure of his mission.  But the Canaanite woman appears to let him know that his idea is much too small.  In some ways, she demands that he have a bigger vision.  And he does.  And we do.  Think of how successful she is in terms of changing Jesus’ mind.

 

Of course, she’s not looking to bring the word of salvation to every land—she just wants her daughter back.  She’s lucky.  Every time there’s a story of healing, I’m mindful of all of us who might feel deep sadness in the times that our faith could not cure our loved ones.  God doesn’t always come through in ways that we demand or expect or yearn for.

 

But the good news that Jesus proclaims is one of incarnation; God wants to know us so deeply that God comes to us in any number of ways.  Maybe that way will be one of healing.  But even if it’s not the healing that we expect, walking with God will restore us to wholeness.  And our wholeness can extend outward; our wholeness can enable the wholeness of others, God’s table expanded to include lost sheep and teachers who already think they know it all and irritable people and pushy outsiders who demand a place at the table and all the dogs who would happily settle for scraps and crumbs, but can have a seat at the table too.

Feast Day of Saint 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?

Poetry and Climate Change and an Acceptance

 In a week where southern California is under a tropical storm watch, with storm Hilary expected to dump as much rain in 2 days as some parts of the southwest get in 2 years (2 years!!!), and wild fires continue to blaze across northern Canada, and a heat dome will break all sorts of records across the nation--I began this week of historic weather by getting my contributor copies of this book, Dear Human at the Edge of Time:  Poems on Climate Change in the United States:

I'm very pleased that "Higher Ground," one of my Noah's Wife poems was selected.  When I read this poem, I remember clearly its genesis:  the flood of 2019 just before Christmas that wiped out one of our cars that was parked on the street.  There wasn't a tropical system or any warning at all.

This week was also the week where another one of my Noah's Wife poems was chosen for publication:   "Noah's Wife Gets to Work."  One of the joys of blogging is that I have an easy way of looking up my writing process, at least for this poem.  This blog post tells the genesis of this poem, the day in January of 2020 when my boss insisted that the registrar put unqualified/uninterested students in classes so that we would meet our ARC goal, which brought the wrath of Corporate on us, which made our boss enraged, an unpleasant day all the way round.

I look back and think about the ways our lives and our school were about to unravel, all of the power struggles that would mean so little in the end, as the pandemic unspooled, and new owners arrived to change the school in ways that meant that very few of us would still be employed there.  I think back to days like the one in January of 2020, and I'm amazed that I could tolerate that work situation as long as I did.

But back to the current publication.  I am pleased with the variety of poems that are included in this book.  One contributor and poet friend of mine, Dave Bonta, made this Facebook post, giving this review, an elegant expression of the beauty of this book:  "I got my contributors' copies of this, and have been extremely impressed by the variety, including poets from various walks of life, not just the usual suspects - everyone from a high school kid to a climate scientist to the current US poet laureate. It's also fun to share space with social media pals like Caitlin Gildrien, Kristin Berkey-Abbott, and Lesley Wheeler, not to mention folks I've met through qarrtsiluni and such. The topic is dire, but the fellowship is real. I suppose there's a lesson in that..."

Here's the poem that appears in the book:

Higher Ground


On the last day of the year, Noah’s wife waits
for the insurance adjuster.
She thinks of the Christmas flood
and the larger flood before it.

Her husband’s god speaks
in terms of measurements and building
instructions. Her husband’s god gives
out directions and punishments.

Noah’s wife has always heard
the subtle messages, the daily
communications that the men
ignore: how to feed
the family, how to comfort
the forsaken, which breaches
need repairing.

Noah’s wife studies
real estate listings and elevation charts
while she waits
for the insurance adjuster.
She should be researching
vehicles. She already knows
what the adjuster will tell
her about the drowned car.
She seeks answers
to the larger question
of how to find
the higher ground.

Mimosa Mass and Other Ideas for a Different Church

 All week, I've been thinking about something I wrote in my last reflection for Church History.  Here was the question:

"For the third part, a little background: Archbishop Desmond Tutu (Anglican, South Africa) has said that he father would tell him, "Don't raise your voice; improve your argument." A number of you have commented about how dispiriting it can be to read about the endless debates, the power plays and politics, the intolerance and bigotry and violence that populates so much of the landscape of history -- and church history is not, sadly, an exception. Hopefully, though, you have also gotten plenty of glimpses of the faithful, the sacrificial, the courageous, and the heroic -- often on the part of ordinary believers and rank-and-file faithful with little or no power or status, in their vast numbers. With that in mind, come back to Tutu's remark, and look ahead a little bit. Where might be a place where the Christian enterprise would serve its mission, not by "raising the voice" but by "improving the argument" and how?"

Here's the part of my response that my brain keeps coming back to:

I think that Christianity can “improve the argument” by moving away from our more common message of sin and unworthiness, and moving to a message of the inherent goodness of all creation, the creation that God proclaims “good and very good” (Genesis 1: 31, NIV). So please join me in worship at the First Pelagius Lutheran Church where we will have a Mimosa Mass every Sunday at 11:00 a.m. and a Creative Arts Worship experience every Wednesday at both 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. (this last sentence is just a dream at this point, but if you should find such a church, I’d love to know about it—and so would lots of other people, I’d be willing to bet).

I've spent much of summer wondering how Christianity would be different if we focused on the Christmas aspect, the wonder of incarnation, God with us, instead of the crucifixion aspect, the God sacrificed for our sake.  It probably wouldn't be worse.

Nourishment: Quilt Groups and Tomatoes

Yesterday, I made my way back to the quilt group that's part of the Lutheran church that's closest to my Lutheridge house.  This group meets every Wednesday to work on quilts for Lutheran World Relief.  They have a space that would be the envy of many--it's made of two portable type buildings, which means there are larger rooms and smaller and bathrooms.  It means we can work without disrupting the preschool that occupies much of the church during the week days.  It means we have plenty of storage for all the fabric that people donate.  It means we have lots of tables set up in configurations that make it easy to assemble the quilts that are 60 by 80 inches.

When I first joined the group in the spring, they had lots of assembled quilts that needed knotting.  I was happy to help.  Yesterday, we had lots of material that needed to be assembled into quilt tops.  I can do that too.  Yesterday I used one of the sewing machines so that it would go faster.  

It's the fanciest machine I've ever used.  As with many fancy things (the computer, our new stove), it has all sorts of functions that I don't know exist, functions that I wouldn't use, even if I did know that they existed.  

I chose fairly large panels in browns and autumnal colors that went together, and went to work sewing them together.  I worry a bit about my ability to measure and cut, but I came close to the measurement requirements.  If it's not quite square, we can fix that when we assemble it.  With the exception of a few annoying moments in measuring and cutting, it was so, so, so satisfying to put together a quilt top in just over an hour.

I put it in the cabinet where we put quilt tops, and I admired the colors of another one.  The leader of the group said, "You put the fabrics together for me, and I assembled it.  Don't you remember?"  I do not.  I do remember several sessions where I spent a wonderful afternoon going through fabrics and putting them in bundles.  I didn't realize that our leader was doing the next step.  

She showed me another quilt top assembled with fabrics that I had sorted and put together more recently.  I did remember that group.  I was happy to see that the fabrics did match each other in ways that I envisioned.

I tend to assume that anybody could put fabrics together, even though I know it's not true.  As with so many of my skills, I assume that everyone can do what I can do--and that they can do all the things I cannot, which means there's something wrong with me.  It's good that I know this tendency of my brain, but annoying that it can take me some time to realize the dynamic at work.

It's great to work in fabrics that get stored somewhere else.  It's great to work on projects that will head out into the world to do good:  people use them as quilts, but also floor coverings and room dividers and protection of all sorts.  It's great to make friends with women I might not get to know in any other setting (many of them don't go to the church that gives us space and time).  

And I returned home with tomatoes!  The quilt group leader brought the surplus from her garden, and I was happy to take them home with me.  They are delicious in ways that make me remember the good gardens of my youth.  And quilting with this group also makes me remember other good quilting groups, both the ones quilting for charity and the ones that had us working on our own quilts.  What a blessing those groups have been for me, what nourishment.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, August 20, 2023:

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 unchanging? Do you see God as never making mistakes?

If so, perhaps you should re-read your Bible, especially the Old Testament. Throughout the Scriptures, we see God changing course, often influenced by humans. God does not command us to be passive and just accept whatever comes our way--whether it be from God, powers and principalities, other humans, or Satan. That theological idea that we have to just accept our lot in life in the hopes that we'll get our reward in Heaven--it's a major misreading of the Scriptures and of theology.

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 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 acts that way very often, if at all.

In today's Gospel, we see a tired, irritable Jesus. It's a terrifying idea (I'd prefer a divinity 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. Her behavior is much more Christlike than Christ's.

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.

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 Feast Day of the Assumption of Mary into Heaven

Today is one of the many Marian feast days. Today we celebrate Mary's Assumption into Heaven. Here are the readings for today:

First Reading: Isaiah 61:7-11

Psalm: Psalm 45:11-16 (Psalm 34:1-9 NRSV)

Second Reading: Galatians 4:4-7

Gospel: Luke 1:46-55


When I was very little, I was taught about the two Old Testament people who got to go to Heaven without dying (one was Elijah, and I can't remember who the other one was). We were taught that very good, very righteous people got to go to Heaven without dying--but interestingly, our class of little Lutherans was not taught about Mary's Assumption into Heaven. Mary, the mother of Jesus--why was she left out?

My childhood Lutheran churches didn't mention Mary much at all, outside of the seasons of Advent, Christmas Eve, and the post-Christmas Sundays. As I've gotten older, I've felt a bit of mourning for all the celebrations and richness that we've lost in our Protestant traditions that were so eager to show how different we were from the Orthodox religions.

I remember hearing about the possibility of Assumption into Heaven, and I remember as a child wanting to be good enough for that eventual reward. Clearly, my childhood self was not well-schooled in the concept of grace.

I understand that Mary has often been used as a tool of sexists who want to dominate women and convince them to deny their wants and needs. But as I look around and see the consequences of a whole nation devoted to selfish consideration of ONLY their individual wants and needs, I wonder if it's not time to return to the models of the saints, the prophets, Mary, and Jesus.

You might protest, "We haven't left those models. What do you mean, return?" But for most of us, we're surrounded by so many examples of bad behavior. For example, it's difficult to watch TV and come away feeling enriched. The news is full of bad behavior, and many a reality show rewards bad behavior. It's time to start adding good role models back to our lives. As a Composition teacher, I know that a lot of us do learn best when we have a model to follow. And many of us need lots of models.

Mary gives us a wonderful model of how to structure our religious lives. Today is a great day to go back to read the Magnificat, Luke 1: 46-55:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour;
he has looked with favour on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed;
the Almighty has done great things for me and holy is his name.
He has mercy on those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm
and has scattered the proud in their conceit,
Casting down the mighty from their thrones
and lifting up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.
He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,
to remember his promise of mercy,
The promise made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and his children for ever.

What to Wear to the Mass Extinction

Tomorrow I go back to the classroom to teach English classes.  I've been teaching all along, but my online classes are very different from what I'm  about to do.  My online classes are asynchronous, meaning that we don't have a Zoom session or required weekly meetings online.  There are modules, and while students can work their way through at their own pace, there are parts where they need to respond to classmates, primarily with discussion threads.  I am available to answer questions and give feedback, but I don't create curriculum.  Often, my primary role is that of grader.

Tomorrow I meet my classes at Spartanburg Methodist College.  It began life as a junior college, but now it has some bachelors degrees.  A fair number of students still take classes and then transfer to a bigger college, so in that way, it's similar to a community college.  But the campus is huge and aesthetically beautiful, unlike most community college campuses.

I have more freedom in teaching these classes than I have ever had.  For example, I get to choose my own books.  People outside academia might think that faculty always get to choose their own books.  But for a variety of reasons, that's not usually the case, particularly with part-time faculty; book orders often have to be finalized before faculty are hired.

I have the syllabi printed, ready for copying at the campus tomorrow.  I have no limits to how many copies of classroom materials I can make--that, too, is different.  I will get the key to my office, which I share with another person.  I will have a key and my own desk!  That, too, is a very different set up than many adjuncts have.

Even though I'm in a much safer place, in terms of where my house is located, I've continued to read and research climate collapse, which I'm convinced is happening much faster than I once thought it would.  It's sobering to think about the fact that all it takes is a summer of fires like this past one, releasing so much more carbon into the atmosphere, undoing any momentum we had, which was fairly minimal.

At one point, I thought that much of the grimmer climate collapse stuff would happen after I died, but now I'm not sure.

It's strange to think that we're staring at a mass extinction event that will likely include humans, a slow moving mass extinction event, and here I am, finishing syllabi, thinking about what to wear tomorrow, buying shoes that can be worn with skirts in the winter.  It's no wonder that humanity isn't very good at risk assessment.

Constructing a Marriage

 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. That church was in Greenwood, South Carolina, a church I continued to attend through the following decades as I visited my grandmother regularly.  I felt family history every time I was there.

On this day in 2023, my spouse and I will go across the mountains to the church in Bristol, Tennessee, the church that is a descendant of the first church my grandfather served.  When he graduated from seminary, in Columbia, South Carolina, he went to serve 5 parishes in East Tennessee, and that's where he met my grandmother.  Later, those five parishes would consolidate into two parishes.  I took a picture of the picture that hangs in the pastor's study of Faith Lutheran, the church where I serve as a Synod Appointed Minister:

The church in the above picture is one of the churches where my grandfather served.  I wonder if the building still exists.  Probably not--it would be very old by now, and while those buildings were built to last, most of them don't.

After today's service, which will include the Blessing of the Backpacks, we will have a sandwich and ice cream sundae event--it's an annual event to celebrate the end of summer and the start of the school year.  Even though it has nothing to do with our anniversary, I like the idea of celebrating that way.

If we have enough energy afterward, we may go over to the Birthplace of Country Music Museum.  They have an exhibit about women in old time music that will close soon.  

At the end of the day, we'll return to this house, the fifth house we've owned, the fifth house that we've renovated.  It's a work in progress, as are both of us, as is this marriage, as is every relationship.  This house is the most well constructed house we've ever owned, and I have hopes that as we head into the future, we'll be able to say the same thing about this marriage.

Collecting Children's Sermons

A quick post before turning my attention to my sermon.  I need to write it this morning, before I leave Virginia to drive back to North Carolina, so that I can drive to Tennessee to deliver the sermon tomorrow.  I'm not exactly a circuit rider or an itinerant preacher, although this week-end it may feel that way.

Last night, my mom suggested that I make a book of my children's sermons.  And my sister suggested I write a how to book--how to write children's sermons.  My first thought was that I'm not expert enough to do that.  

My second thought was to wonder if it's been done before.

And my next thought is to continue to do what I'm doing, collecting them, writing them up, hoping I continue to be as inspired as I have been these past few weeks.

The Feast Day of Saint Clare

Today we celebrate the life of St. Clare of Assisi, one of the first followers of St. Francis, and founder of the Order of the Poor Ladies (more commonly called the Poor Clares).  She wrote their Rule of Life, the first woman to have created such a thing, a set of rules for the life of a monastic order.

The Poor Clares lived a life committed to poverty, what St. Clare called a "joyous poverty."  Why joyous?  Because they felt they were following Christ in a much more authentic way and because they more vividly felt the presence of Jesus because of their lifestyle.  Throughout her life she faced pressure from church officials to abandon or weaken this commitment to poverty, and she resisted.  The order still exists today, which tells me much about her accomplishment.

She was also instrumental in assisting St. Francis of Assisi, and many give her credit as one of his earliest followers.  Her order was based on his intentional community, and again, Franciscan strains of spirituality not only exist but are strong today--a testament to their work.

In these days of increased tensions of all sorts, the life of St. Clare seems to take on fresh importance.  Let us take a moment to say a prayer of gratitude for her.  Let us remember the poor.  Let us vow to be joyous about reduced circumstances, should we be facing them.  Let us meet our savior as we minister to each other.

Love as Fabric Hearts

 When my parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, I wanted to get them a special present, but I was a grad student with very little money.  I was rich in fabric scraps, so I created 25 hearts, sewed them onto a piece of muslin, and did some quilting.

Fifteen years later, I made another panel.  Ten years later, I made another panel.  Yesterday, I finished another panel that celebrates their 60th year of marriage.  The last panel includes some hearts made out of crocheted yarn.  When I started this project, my sister wasn't crocheting, but now that she is, I thought it would be cool to include hearts from a different kind of fiber art.

I planned to assemble the quilt when I visited in May, but her crocheted strips were delayed in the mail.  When they arrived, my mom sent them to me in North Carolina, but by then, our home repairs had reached a messy phase, so I didn't want to risk working on the quilt in that construction zone.  So, earlier this week, I bundled it all together and brought it with me to complete.  Yesterday, I took advantage of a quiet afternoon, and voila!

I have been touched that my parents have treated this project as a work of art and a treasure.  It has always had a place of prominence on their walls.  Here's how it looks in the larger context of their bedroom:

Yesterday I reflected about how I have learned to work with the heart shape in fabric.  It's not an easy shape, with its curves and points.  Here's an example from 1987:

And here's a later one:

I love these little hearts as a metaphor for love and long term relationships.  Some of them are made of traditional calico, while others are made out of fabric with different patterns and shapes, and later ones are made of crocheted yarn.  Some of the hearts are bigger, some smaller, and others are a bit disfigured.  But when we look at the quilt, they fit into a standard pattern.  Some of the quilting is erratic, some of it is elegant, but all of it functions the same way:  holding the quilt together.

All of this can work well in any number of metaphorical ways, as a way of exploring what and how we believe about love.  It's also an interesting way of thinking about time, especially as I approach my 35th wedding anniversary on Sunday.

My spouse texted, "We've been married for 7 rows."  Wow.  May we continue to have the luck my parents have had, luck that keeps love strong and relationships intact.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for August 13, 2023:

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.

Feeding a Congregation, Feeding Five Thousand

Yesterday at Faith Lutheran, we talked about the feeding of the 5,000.  I had an idea for a children's sermon, which involved several small loaves and the  children trying to feed the whole congregation.

The bread dough rose and rose and rose. We didn't make matters easier by overfilling the small loaf pans on Saturday when we baked.  So, in some ways, there was plenty of bread to feed the 20-25 adults in the congregation of this small church in Bristol, Tennessee.  Everyone who wanted bread got a small chunk, and there was enough for seconds.

If I do this again in the future, I'd do some discussion beforehand.  "Is this enough bread to feed everyone?  How do you think we should try to get everyone fed?"  Yesterday, I just let them puzzle it through on their own.  I had thought they might consult with each other, but they did not.

It was interesting to watch them distribute the bread.  Some of them tried to measure out the chunks that they tore off.  One girl tried to keep most of the bread.

I didn't comment on their process.  I just noted how our task was different than the ones the disciples faced.  Feeding 20-25 people at church is very different than feeding 5000 in the wilderness.  As with every children's sermon (and adult sermon and teaching session, if I'm honest), I can't be sure what they came away with, what they will retain.

I made this Facebook post on Sunday afternoon, which sums it up:  "For today's children's sermon on the feeding of the 5000 (plus women and children), I arrived with small loaves, and the children went out to the congregation to feed them. Did we have 12 baskets of left overs? No, but the bread did go around, with plenty to spare. Did we learn about miracles? Maybe. Did we learn about our God of abundance? This minister hopes that's what they'll retain, if nothing else."

Thinner Bears and Thinner Leaves

 Yesterday I took my walk as usual; what wasn't usual was the black bear that I saw just a few yards from me.  I should say, this kind of bear sighting isn't usual for me; this time of year, in this part of the North Carolina mountains near Asheville, bear sightings aren't unusual at all.  In fact, it's becoming a bit too routine for comfort.

I say that, not as someone who is scared that a black bear would attack me.  They don't usually do that, unless someone gets between a mother and cub(s).  I do worry that we're all getting too used to each other; I worry about the loss of wilderness and wildness.

My house is in the residential section of Lutheridge, a church camp that's on 600 acres of undeveloped land (plus a few acres of developed land), so we're more likely to see the occasional bear than our nearby neighbors who live in much more paved over places.  So far, I've seen a bear three times, counting yesterday.  On Thursday, I helped my spouse pick up our garbage that a bear spread across the pavement on trash day.  We may have thought that the Tzatziki sauce was much too beyond the May pull date to eat, but the bear did not.

In short, I knew that bears have been active, but we've also been active at camp, so I don't worry too much.  I try to stay alert, but that's a given for me--how nice it is to be on the lookout for bears and foxes, not for human predators.

Yesterday I was headed up the hill that leads to the chapel, when I saw the bear up ahead crossing the lower road to the chapel.  For a brief moment, I thought I was seeing a large dog, but my brain quickly made the connections, and I backed away.  Then I stood still, looking around to be sure there wasn't a mother bear nearby; I thought I was seeing a much smaller bear.

I stood watching, expecting the bear to emerge from the brambles closer to the the parking lot at the top of the hill near the chapel.  I didn't hear or see any movement at all, so I was surprised when the bear emerged from the undergrowth much closer to me.  He stopped and stared at me.  I backed away a few steps, and then turned to walk swiftly down the hill.  I turned a few times, and he was still staring at me.  But finally, I turned, and he was gone.

It was a bigger bear than I thought I had seen, taller, yet also thinner.  I had thought I saw a cub whose back was as high as my knee, but this was probably an adolescent bear, with a back up to my waist, but not filled out like a fully grown bear.  Of course, this is just me speculating.  It could have been an adult bear that needs to bulk up more before hibernation.  I did not try to get any closer to be sure.  I also didn't have my phone with me, so no pictures.

I kept walking; no need to go racing home, since I wasn't likely to see the bear again.  There were people around, including a man with a leaf blower, so I didn't expect to see more wildlife, and indeed, I didn't.  My startle response stayed in high gear for a few hours.  At one point, I thought I was seeing a bear in the backyard, but it was a car further on beyond the trees.

I am startled, too, in these early days of August, by how much thinner the leaves are.  I look out from the deck, and it's still green vastness.  But when I look more closely, I can see more of the mountain range than I could just a few weeks ago.  The sun is setting in a different spot.  There is a seasonal shift, for those of us paying attention.  

Last Week of Summer Camp

Some day in the future, I may wonder why I didn't write about the historic Donald Trump news that happened this week, the indictment; of course, future readers may have lost track of indictments or knowing what they know, may think I was wise.  But in truth, it's because I'm weary of Donald Trump, and I don't want to spend too much more energy on this man at this point in time (maybe later, who knows).  But I'm also weary this week for other reasons:  it's been the last week of summer camp, and my most intense volunteer week of the summer.

I am glad that my time as C3ARE leader (what Lutheridge calls Bible study, but it's more) happened later in the summer, when I wasn't taking a seminary class.  When I agreed to be the Bible study leader, I naively thought, how hard can that be?  It left me more tired than expected.

Some of the C3ARE leaders did a lot more with their campers.  I would have liked to go to the craft lodge with them, but they only had one or two craft sessions, at times when I couldn't go.  My campers were part of the Outdoor Adventures Program (OAP), so they were offsite zip lining and white water rafting.  While I might be interested in those activities, I didn't want to go with middle schoolers; I worried about being a drag on their fun.

I did go to the campfire festivities, which were more skits and songs, and much fewer s'mores than I would have liked.  And when I say songs and skits, there was more shouting than I expected.  I went to breakfast each morning and dinner before the campfire, but adults and campers eat at separate tables in the dining hall.  

My commitment was less than it would have been with other campers or other weeks.  Our camp week ended on Friday, not Saturday, which meant that we didn't have an evening of watching campers while the counselors had their own Vespers service. Our OAP campers were off site, so we only led Bible study 3 mornings, not 3.

In short, I don't know why my volunteer week left me so exhausted.  Part of it was my need also to be doing the work that comes with teaching:  grading for my online classes and getting ready for the in person classes that will start August 15.  I was also trying to schedule doctor appointments with my new health insurance, and we spent Wednesday afternoon at the dentist.

Even though I was more tired than I expected, much of the tiredness was a good kind of tired, the kind that comes from leading middle schoolers and keeping them on task and feeling like we succeeded to the best of our abilities.  So, depending on my summer circumstances, I would do it again.

It's the kind of work that we will never know how it may take root and sprout.  I'd love to be able to see these campers twenty years from now, to see how our ideas about God's love shaped them.  But it's also the kind of work that is worth doing, even if it doesn't take root and sprout in any noticeable way.  It's work that not only affected campers but also counselors and those of us doing the work.  

I'm grateful to have had the time and resources to do it.

Extra Yarn and Beads and Prayer Bracelets

Last night, the Bible study leaders at camp were in charge of Vespers.  We were given very little in terms of guidelines; from what I can tell, leaders use a variety of approaches to this service at the end of the day.  My co-leader had a book she wanted to use, but we didn't have it, so we used a different one:  Extra Yarn by Mac Barnett and illustrated by Jon Klassen.

It's a charming tale of a girl who finds a box of yarn that never gives out as she knits and knits and knits:  sweaters for all!  But we needed a bit more than just the story--we were supposed to create a Vespers experience that lasted 20-30 minutes.

I had a vision of tying in to the yarn and having the campers create something they could take with them to remember camp, to remember to pray, to remember that we will pray for them throughout the year.  I thought of a prayer bracelet or something they could keep in their pockets.

I went to the resources room and got a variety of possible supplies:  yarn, ribbon, beads, and more beads.  I spread them out on the table so that it was a focal point:

After we read the story, I said that we would make something out of yarn and ribbon, a bracelet or a necklace or a key chain.  I suggested several strands, woven together, with beads that would represent something to them:  fellow campers, God, prayers that they wanted to remember, elements of nature.

It seemed like a great idea when I thought about it before the campers arrived.  But as my partner read the story, I worried that the creation part of Vespers would fall flat--the campers are in middle school, and they can default into the "I'm too cool for all of this" mode fairly easily.

Our group of campers had their closing celebration before coming to us, which also made me worry.  How would that energy flow into Vespers?

It all went much better than I was worried that it would.  The campers all entered into the spirit of the exercise.  I had brought small plastic bags, and everyone was eager to fill them with beads, yarn, and ribbon.  As everyone was creating, there was a meditative quality to it all that I didn't anticipate, but was so happy to witness.

We closed with prayers of thanks to God who weaves us together, with prayers of requests for a peaceful night that would restore us, and with gratitude for our good experiences together.  I went home with a sense of wonder and a hope that I remember that people are more often open to spiritual encounters than I might think.

Getting to Know You Exercises

 We used several getting to know you exercises during our sessions with middle school campers at Lutheridge this week.  I thought I'd make a record of them here so that I can remember later (like in 2 weeks, when I go back to teaching in an onground classroom again).

Moving around the Room Based on Interests

The first day, we came up with a few categories that were likely shared by most of the campers:  has a pet, plays a sport, things like that.  So, first we asked, "Who has a pet?"  Everyone had a pet.

We said, "If you have dogs, stand here," and gave them a minute to move.  "If you have a cat, come to this side of the room."  And then, to finish, "If you have more than one type of animal, come over here."

I was surprised to find out that every camper played a sport, and what a wide variety of sports!  One camper has a black belt in martial arts, and another will earn his later this month.  Very cool.

Tell Us Your Name

The next day, we realized we had forgotten the basics:  we had told the campers our names, but not asked them theirs.  So, we did that, and then moved into the next type.

Three Things that Might Surprise Us but Show Similarities

We handed out index cards and had everyone write 3 things about themselves that might surprise the rest of us.  I used one of my own details for an example:  "I was born on an Air Force base in France on Bastille Day."  We decided to do something different from the directions that came with the curriculum, instructions that told us to read an item from the card and have everyone guess who wrote it.

We collected the cards and went through them, reading one thing from the card.  We said, "Stand up if this describes you."  It was good to realize that we might have more in common than we thought.

I worried that people might overshare, which is why we read the cards.  Happily, no one told us any trauma.  No one gave us someone else's medical details ("My grandma has a fake leg") that might need to be kept a secret.

In the past, I've also used a Bingo kind of exercise at retreats (go to this post and scroll down for details and a picture).  That might be fun too, but it requires more work in terms of assembling the Bingo card. I might do that in the future, when I know the students and the campus better.  But for my classes that start in less than 2 weeks, I think I'll be using the index card example.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for August 6, 2023:

Isaiah 55:1-5
Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22 (Psalm 145: 8-9, 14-21 NRSV)
You open wide your hand and satisfy the needs of every living creature. (Ps. 145:17)
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:13-21

The story in the Gospel lesson is familiar; indeed, a version appears in each Gospel, which may mean it’s more likely to be a factual reporting, or it may mean that each Gospel writer realized the significance and implications of the story and couldn’t bear to leave it out. Jesus preaches to the multitudes, who grow hungry. Jesus commands the disciples to feed them, and they protest that they only have five loaves and two fish. But miraculously, not only are the thousands of people fed, but the disciples gather basket after basket of leftovers.

Christian approaches to this story are varied, from share your resources to rely on Christ for what you need. But today, I'm interested in the human response to the miraculous.

Look at the behavior of the disciples. Jesus commands them to feed everyone, and they protest that they can’t, that they don’t have enough food. They’ve followed Jesus for some time and they’ve seen him perform many miracles, including making dead people come back to life. But their first response is that they can’t possibly do what Jesus expects.

This story tells us an important lesson about the human resistance to the miraculous. We limit God, and our fellow humans, by our inability to dream big visions. We assume that we’ll always have hungry people, oppressed nations, and what can we do? We only have so much and it will only stretch so far. But we forget how much is possible—how much we have already seen with our own eyes.

For example, imagine we could time travel back to the year 1985, not so very long ago. Imagine that we told the people of that time that in a few short years, the Berlin Wall would come down. Not only that, but Nelson Mandela would be released from prison and free elections would follow five years later. Not only that, the Soviet Union would soon be no more.

The people we encountered would not believe us. The people of 1985 would have been convinced that Nelson Mandela would die in his South African prison and that his nation would disintegrate into civil war. The people of 1985 would have been convinced that the Soviet Union would always be a part of the geopolitical landscape, and that there would always be a literal wall that separated east from west.

To talk about how these miracles happened would take a much larger space than I have here, but it’s important to remember that one reason is that ordinary people dreamed of something different. For example, in numerous interviews that I’ve heard, Desmond Tutu, gives credit for the fall of apartheid to the governments, institutions, and individuals who fought for divestment from a corrupt regime. And even when the call for divestment was not successful, those calls started an important conversation.

Desmond Tutu also always gives credit to the believers throughout the world who prayed for a peaceful way out of an insolvable situation. Even if you didn’t own a solid gold, South African Kruggerand, you could participate in the process of mercy and justice.

And don’t let my emphasis on political miracles keep us from remembering the other miracles that surround us: health restored, relationships repaired, the student who suddenly understands an impossible subject, the hungry fed, the homeless who come in from the inhospitable climate.

I know that for every miracle, someone has suffered the pain of loss:  the cancer that didn’t go into remission, the job loss that leads to other losses or a weather catastrophe from which we cannot recover. For every South Africa, there are countless countries that collapse and can't recover.

But we are called to keep our eyes towards a different reality. The Kingdom of Heaven is not just after death, Jesus declares. It is among us, here and now. And we can be a part of that glorious creation.