Blog on Vacation until Next Week

This is actually a picture of Hawaii, not the North Carolina mountains where I'm headed. But I like its mixed image of desert-like rock and green.

Off I go, hoping to return refreshed!

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

This week's meditation comes a bit early, because I'm soon off to Lutheridge for the Create-in-Me retreat! There's still room, so if you're in the Asheville, NC area, come join us, for the whole retreat or just for one day (go here for more details).

The readings for Sunday, May 3, 2009:

First Reading: Acts 4:5-12

Psalm: Psalm 23

Second Reading: 1 John 3:16-24

Gospel: John 10:11-18

In this week's Gospel, we see one of the most persistent metaphors for Jesus: Jesus as shepherd. Even in these non-agricultural days, we understand this image, probably because it has been so widely used during 2000 years of Christianity.

It's interesting to think about the other side of this metaphor. If Jesus is the shepherd, who are the sheep? We are, of course. Those of us who haven't grown up around sheep probably think of them as delightful, fuzzy creatures. But they're not. They're big and smelly and not especially bright--that's why they need a shepherd. On my bleak days, calling humans sheep seems like an apt metaphor. We tend not to act in our self-interest. We tend to stand in place with a blank look on our faces. If no one comes along to guide us, we'll just stand there, blinking. If we get knocked over, we need someone to pick us up. I could go on and on like this, but I'll let you Google the word sheep and consider all the poetic possibilities.

What I found most interesting about this passage which is so familiar is verse 16: "I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd."

I'm of two minds about this passage. I read it with the knowledge of all that has happened in the last two thousand years, and all the ways that this kind of Biblical language has been used coercively and hurtfully to imply that only Christians are the ones with the Truth. I'm aware of the disastrous actions that can follow that kind of belief.

But this larger vision of Jesus does interest me. It interests me because it's in the Gospel of John, which was the last Gospel written. Earlier Gospels don't have this same kind of expansive vision, this vision of Jesus as the shepherd of all people. Is it there because of the spread of Christianity that the writer who composed the Gospel of John had seen? I'm fascinated by the differences in the Gospels.

As a poet, I'm also interested in the power of this metaphor. Here we are in a world where few of us have seen a sheep, and yet, this metaphor still speaks to us. Most of us are likely moved by the idea of a shepherd who would sacrifice all to save one sheep. You find a similar narrative in many romantic love stories--how desperately we want to believe that someone can love us that completely.

That's the Good News of the Gospels: we are loved that completely. Someone believes that we're worthy of that effort. We will not be sacrificed for the good of the flock. The Good Shepherd will sacrifice all for the individual sheep. We can rest secure in that knowledge.

Church as a Personal Trainer

A few days ago, in The New York Times, I read an article about why normal people likely need a personal trainer to achieve their athletic best. It made me think about how we are a do-it-yourself culture, and how little we like to rely on the expertise of others.

The article points out that most people don't have the foggiest idea of how to go about training on their own. This point made me think about whether or not a similar dynamic is at work for people who claim they are "spiritual, but not religious," or people who just aren't into organized religion.

I'd like to think that our do-it-yourself culture can train itself, but if it's not true for athletics, it's likely not true in other areas. The evidence of people's lack of ability to train themselves is all around us--how many of us are carrying an extra 20+ pounds? Look around--you'll see heavy people at all sides.

I suspect that if we carried our spiritual failings in the same kind of obvious way as we carry our extra pounds, we'd see that most of us are failing to train ourselves spiritually.

Now, yes, I know that bad churches abound--I've been part of them. But most of us live in communities with a plethora of churches. If the church you're attending isn't working, consider changing churches.

I spent many years sticking with a church that wasn't working for me, and I had some good reasons for doing it. You might too--maybe your family likes your current church more than you do. Maybe you really want to stay with a particular denomination, and you'd have to drive too many miles to find an option. Maybe you're hoping that you can be an effective agent for change. Several years ago, I found this post on a blog, and it gave me comfort. Maybe you'll get some comfort too--and some ideas for how to survive a less-than-optimal church.

As in sports, even if we're having a sub-optimal training experience, having some training experience often means we'll achieve more than if we didn't. Just as being part of an exercise group keeps us accountable, being part of a church keeps us accountable and reminds us of our purpose.

Detritus of a Liturgical Half Year

Last week, I needed to clear out the back seat of my car. I don't usually let it get so cluttered. I'm not sure how this happened. Lately, I've been dreaming about having to do impossible tasks, like having to teach 5 classes in addition to my 40+ administrative hours or donate my inner organs while still living, but how hard is it to take my stuff inside?

I found bulletins from mid-Advent to Christmas Eve to Easter and many Sundays in between. I found several palms from Palm Sunday. I found Labyrinth related material. I found a faded tie-dyed shirt that I planned to tie dye at a school event--several months ago. I found some playbills: A Chorus Line, The Vagina Monologues, Drinking in America.

Last week I gave blood at church and filled out the 2 page questionnaire about my habits. I felt so boring: no strange needle habits, no sex with Africans, no travel to exotic places, no fascinating food explorations. Granted, I'm healthy, especially for a 43 year old woman, healthy in a way that I might not have been, had my past behavior meant I had to answer those questions differently. My inner voice sneers, healthy, but dull.

Cleaning out my car showed me a different side. It made me wonder about God, and how differently God sees us from how we see us. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: we would be such healthier, happier people, if we could only adopt God's view of ourselves.

Maybe your inner critic is kinder than mine. But nonetheless, it's important to remember that your inner critic--well-meaning or harsh--is not talking in the voice of God. God loves us with a completeness that we only grasp incompletely. God doesn't see us as a bundle of faults or risky behavior. God doesn't see us as boring. We're the ones who cast a harsh light on our past. If only we could stop.

Becoming a Better Godparent--Give Periodicals

So, you say you'd like to send your godchild something on a monthly basis, but you just don't have time. Give your godchild a subscription to a periodical, and let someone else do the work for you.

My mom bought my nephew (who is my godchild) a subscription to The Little Lutheran, which is also published as The Little Christian, and it's a periodical that would appeal to most mainline Christians (go here for more details). I suspect that most denominations have a similar publication.

My sister reports that my nephew LOVES this magazine. They read it obsessively each month as it comes in. It makes me happy that my nephew is both learning to love to read and to love God with this gift. And of course, since he loves the magazine, he returns to it again and again.

Some of these magazine subscriptions might seem pricey, especially compared to adult subscriptions. The Little Lutheran costs $24.95 for 10 issues. Yet that's less that $3 an issue, which is a pretty good price for a monthly gift.

So, give your godchild a year-long subscription to a periodical and let the periodical and the U.S. Mail service do the rest.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, April 26, 2009:

First Reading: Acts 3:12-19

Psalm: Psalm 4

Second Reading: 1 John 3:1-7

Gospel: Luke 24:36b-48

In this week's Gospel, we have another post-Resurrection appearance story, and what an odd story it is. In the post-Resurrection stories, Jesus has taken on supernatural capacities that he didn't really demonstrate before his crucifixion. Here, he suddenly appears (a few verses earlier, he has vanished after eating).

The disciples quite logically assume that they're seeing a ghost. Their senses, rooted in the rational world, can't make sense of what they're seeing and hearing. Those of us who spend our secular lives surrounded by people who are disdainful of the mystical might find ourselves more sympathetic to their plight.

Perhaps we've felt the same way. It's not hard to accept the pre-Resurrection stories of Jesus, at least most of them. We're not unaccustomed to hearing about humans who can do almost superhuman things: human rights crusaders, charismatic politicians, the fabulous doctor that we'd hate to lose. Just think of Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa, Desmond Tutu, and Aung San Suu Kyi, and all those other people who might make us feel inadequate for just living normal lives. Some times, we lump Jesus in with those kinds of people, and we forget about the spiritual side of the Gospel. Even when Jesus performs spectacular miracles, they don't seem outside the range of possibility in our current day and age.

But these post-Resurrection stories don't let us dance away from Jesus' identity. We might know of someone who has been declared dead, maybe for a few minutes, and returned with stories of white lights and floating above one's body. But to die and lie in a tomb for 3 days and then come back to life? So far, no human has ever done that.

I like how these post-Resurrection stories, shrouded as they may be in mystery, are also still rooted in the earthy body-ness of Jesus. Jesus appears to people, and then he asks for food, which he eats. This evidence shows that he's not a ghost or a spiritual presence; doubters can't explain the post-Resurrection sightings with this claim. Jesus is still God Incarnate. His body still needs all the things our bodies need: food, liquid, sleep, a bath.

In this week's Gospel, Jesus again shows us a useful way of inhabiting our human bodies. He shows his scars, which might lead to some exchanging of stories, if the disciples didn't already know the story of how he got them. He shares food with them. He reminds them of their higher destiny and calls them to greater things.

Jesus is still here, reminding us of his scars and of the capacity to overcome those things that scar us. Jesus is still here, waiting to share a meal with us. Jesus is still here, reminding us that we are witnesses, that we are called to a far greater destiny than our tiny imaginations can envision.

Walking the Labyrinth Alone

Last night, I walked the Labyrinth alone. I was running early for a 7:30 poetry reading at Broward College, which is just across the street from my church, so I decided to walk the Labyrinth. In the past year, I've either walked it as part of a group, or walked it while a group was near by. Last night, I was totally alone.

At first it felt weird. I've been reading more news stories lately about violence against women, so I've been more skittish these days. Plus, there were rain clouds rumbling across the sky.

But soon, the Labyrinth worked its magic, and I began to feel calm and centered. Then I started to notice some things. Two more tiles were broken, for one thing. I could have replaced them, but I was in my dress up clothes (coming to a poetry reading from work), so I decided not to. I came across a child's notebook in one of the spirals, a small thing the size of a playing card, with a Peter Rabbit on the cover. I picked it up, but it was waterlogged from recent rain. I put it back down. I also noticed what looked like some palms from Palm Sunday, although down here in South Florida, they could have blown in from some palm tree. But there they were, in the shape of a cross.

Once again, the Labyrinth reminds me of the value of slowing down. I've spent the last several days swamped at work; we discovered that we're losing a classroom, which has meant that I've had to rework the whole Summer schedule of classes, a job I thought I was done with months ago. Grr. But the Labyrinth reminds me of the circular nature of life; we're never really done, are we? We're just at a different place in the path.

And the Labyrinth reminds me of all the ways God winks at me during the course of a day. Often, I'm too busy or too irritable or too exhausted to notice. Happily God will keep trying to get our attention. And if we can find spiritual practices that help us to pay attention, so much the better.