The good thing about having two pastors on staff is that I only preach every other Sunday...and every other Christmas Eve. It's Glenn's turn this year.
Still, I find myself pondering (like Mary, but not really) all these things in my heart.
The other day, while driving about on Christmas shopping and grocery errands, I caught a segment of a public radio story about rebuilding schools in New Orleans. The reporter reminded us that many schools still are not rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina, more than 4 years ago. The story featured (and celebrated) one newly built.
I was thinking how I hear things differently once I've been to a place. I spent a week in New Orleans with high school youth this summer. We did Bible study and church and all that, but we also took a tour of the Lower 9th Ward and other ravaged places. We spent more than four hours pulling weeds and re-setting fallen gravestones in the mostly African-American Holt cemetary.
So, I've been there. And now I hear about that place differently.
Have you noticed this? It's not like, as people of faith, we don't care when we hear news stories, good or bad, about places like Honduras, Gaza, Bagram or Detroit. But if you've been there, everything is different. There's a level of knowing not attained by reading or hearing stories alone.
There's something, then, to Christ coming to Earth in human flesh. It's not so much that God needed to know what it was like to be human. Since God's knowing surpassed our own, I think God could have understood the human experience just fine from a distance. But perhaps God knew that we needed to know that God knows. Because he's been here.
And now, we can hear differently.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
The Visitor
Well, I sure hate to pat ourselves on the back too much. I am a Mid-west raised Lutheran, after all. But the review of Central by church visitor Chris Thompson in an Anchorage Daily news blog is too good not to share. Bottom line: Lutherans can be warm and fuzzy. Who knew?
Read here:
http://community.adn.com/adn/node/145236
Read here:
http://community.adn.com/adn/node/145236
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Suffering, if one dares to speak of it
I'm slightly shocked to find myself writing, blogging and musing on the texts for this coming Sunday...especially since it's only Tuesday. Truly, I'm more of a write-the-sermon-during-Garrison-Keillor kind of girl, but somehow this week I'm early.
And, as is the case lately, another tough, challenging passage from Mark (10:35-45) that reminds me that, like those early disciples, sometimes I just don't get it.
Or maybe I DO get it and that's the hard part. The last few weeks have included heart-warming texts like "poke out your eye if it causes you to sin" and "sell all you have, give the money to the poor" and don't forget "those who would be great must be servant of all." Let me tell you, this stuff does not sell.
This week's text from Mark is the one where James and John argue, with no little irony, about who would sit at Jesus' right and left hand in his glory. I guess they missed the point that Jesus glory was his cross and those spots ended up in the hands of thieves. It reminds me of a joke I heard where a sick priest in DC asked to see two prominent politicians on his death bed (insert politicians of your choice here). When they arrive and held his hands, one asked why those two were summoned. The priest responded he wanted to emulate his Lord Jesus Christ in every way, even dying between two lying theives.
Anyway, turns out what I'm really thinking about isn't theives or the cross or even the Mark text. I'm actually thinking about the Hebrews reading for this week, Hebrews 5:1-10.
This is the one about Jesus being a super-great high priest, even better than Melchizdek (whoever he was) and that Jesus, as high priest, suffered and became our eternal salvation.
Verse 8 has caught my attenion: "Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered."
A Bible commentator I read somewhere said there's a Greek word play here that's lost in translation. Learned is "emathen" and suffered is "epathen" and in the Greek they're closer together in the sentence.
It made me wonder what is learned through suffering. For Jesus, obedience, but what of us? We may learn submission to God, but I'd suggest we also learn. A lot. And then our suffering becomes available for empathy (from epathen), literally, "suffer with." I've noticed I'm often better suited to accompany a hurting person if I've actually been through a similar situation.
What do we learn from suffering?
Is all suffering redemptive?
If not, is it just pointless, empty, meaningless pain? (And why would God permit that anyway?)
And, to carry it further, do those who live as middle class residents of this country even understand what it means to suffer? Suffering is not a plunge in your 401 (k) or noticing that your cable TV line has gone out.
Well, this might be beyond the scope of this post. Others have written volumes on these sorts of theodicy questions.
And I'm still working on my sermon.
So for now, I'll note that at least Jesus' suffering was redemptive. He did learn something. Maybe it was obedience (another loaded word in our time) or maybe it was about the freedom that comes when there's no where else to turn and we are welcomed into the arms of mystery.
And, as is the case lately, another tough, challenging passage from Mark (10:35-45) that reminds me that, like those early disciples, sometimes I just don't get it.
Or maybe I DO get it and that's the hard part. The last few weeks have included heart-warming texts like "poke out your eye if it causes you to sin" and "sell all you have, give the money to the poor" and don't forget "those who would be great must be servant of all." Let me tell you, this stuff does not sell.
This week's text from Mark is the one where James and John argue, with no little irony, about who would sit at Jesus' right and left hand in his glory. I guess they missed the point that Jesus glory was his cross and those spots ended up in the hands of thieves. It reminds me of a joke I heard where a sick priest in DC asked to see two prominent politicians on his death bed (insert politicians of your choice here). When they arrive and held his hands, one asked why those two were summoned. The priest responded he wanted to emulate his Lord Jesus Christ in every way, even dying between two lying theives.
Anyway, turns out what I'm really thinking about isn't theives or the cross or even the Mark text. I'm actually thinking about the Hebrews reading for this week, Hebrews 5:1-10.
This is the one about Jesus being a super-great high priest, even better than Melchizdek (whoever he was) and that Jesus, as high priest, suffered and became our eternal salvation.
Verse 8 has caught my attenion: "Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered."
A Bible commentator I read somewhere said there's a Greek word play here that's lost in translation. Learned is "emathen" and suffered is "epathen" and in the Greek they're closer together in the sentence.
It made me wonder what is learned through suffering. For Jesus, obedience, but what of us? We may learn submission to God, but I'd suggest we also learn. A lot. And then our suffering becomes available for empathy (from epathen), literally, "suffer with." I've noticed I'm often better suited to accompany a hurting person if I've actually been through a similar situation.
What do we learn from suffering?
Is all suffering redemptive?
If not, is it just pointless, empty, meaningless pain? (And why would God permit that anyway?)
And, to carry it further, do those who live as middle class residents of this country even understand what it means to suffer? Suffering is not a plunge in your 401 (k) or noticing that your cable TV line has gone out.
Well, this might be beyond the scope of this post. Others have written volumes on these sorts of theodicy questions.
And I'm still working on my sermon.
So for now, I'll note that at least Jesus' suffering was redemptive. He did learn something. Maybe it was obedience (another loaded word in our time) or maybe it was about the freedom that comes when there's no where else to turn and we are welcomed into the arms of mystery.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Diplomacy
I heard a public radio story about Madeleine Albright, former SU Secretary of State, the other day. NPR fans may have heard it, too. The inteview highlighted her new book, Read My Pins and discussed how Albright used pins to suggest her mood or make small talk with foreign diplomats.
Though the stories of pins were interesting, there were two other comments that struck me most.
Albright said that a US president, in foreign relations, must be confident, not certain. Now, to be fair, she was comparing the past US president to the current officeholder. Regardless of your poliitical persuasion, the contrast between confidence and certainty is interesting.
I'd like to use her contrast to think about faith or even the role of a disciple of Christ. I think it does take a certain amount of confidence to be a follower of Jesus in a world (and state like Alaska) that is pretty foreign -- and skeptical -- of religion. Confidence works, certainty tanks. It's too arrogant, doesn't make way for doubt and leaves others behind.
So I'm considering how to live as a confident follower of Jesus, not a certain one.
Albright's second point perhaps needs no explanation. She was discussin relgion and said it's like a knife. You can use it to stab someone in the back or use it to cut bread.
The choice, of course, is yours.
Though the stories of pins were interesting, there were two other comments that struck me most.
Albright said that a US president, in foreign relations, must be confident, not certain. Now, to be fair, she was comparing the past US president to the current officeholder. Regardless of your poliitical persuasion, the contrast between confidence and certainty is interesting.
I'd like to use her contrast to think about faith or even the role of a disciple of Christ. I think it does take a certain amount of confidence to be a follower of Jesus in a world (and state like Alaska) that is pretty foreign -- and skeptical -- of religion. Confidence works, certainty tanks. It's too arrogant, doesn't make way for doubt and leaves others behind.
So I'm considering how to live as a confident follower of Jesus, not a certain one.
Albright's second point perhaps needs no explanation. She was discussin relgion and said it's like a knife. You can use it to stab someone in the back or use it to cut bread.
The choice, of course, is yours.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Humility and greatness
I was thinking about humility all last week.
The word didn't directly appear in the lectionary, but came twice near the passage from James. Now I'm not really the kind of girl who quotes James, but I am interested in this idea of humility. Here's what James says in 4:6 “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble," verse 10 continues: "humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you.”
The rest of the James passage in the lectionary asks the question of true wisdom verses the wisdom of the world. I keep thinking about what it means to really be humble. Am I humble? Do I know someone who is? Do you?
I don't think God asks us to be a doormat. But I also don't think we ought to work so hard on our humility that we're proud of it.
I read someone else's blog last week that said humility means you have enough self-worth that you don't have to put others down. I like that.
It seems we're lacking this virture in the public realm lately: Joe Wilson's outburst at a joint session of congress, Serena Williams cussing out a line judge and Kanye West grabbing the mic way from another award winner at an MTV awards show. I used these examples in my sermon last Sunday and then added: I can't believe I just said "Kanye West" from the pulpit.
Anyway, I feel like we're losing something as a culture, whether it be humility or just simple human decency. Why is it so hard to be kind?
I tied this talk of humility into Jesus message in last week's gospel (Mark 9:30-37) about the question of who is the greatest. The disicples argue about it, then get emabarrased when Jesus asks about thier conversation.
Jesus doesn't reprimand them, just grabs a little child (a person of no status in Jesus' time) places it on his lap and says, "welcome this one and you welcome me." And of course the reverse is true. Jesus words are about radical hospitality, not some pastoral image of Jesus loving the little children.
I was thinking of all the people Jesus would put on his lap today to make us see what it means to welcome people of low status. Anyone we think beneath us sits securely in Jesus' arms.
The good news, of course, is that we rest there too.
The word didn't directly appear in the lectionary, but came twice near the passage from James. Now I'm not really the kind of girl who quotes James, but I am interested in this idea of humility. Here's what James says in 4:6 “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble," verse 10 continues: "humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you.”
The rest of the James passage in the lectionary asks the question of true wisdom verses the wisdom of the world. I keep thinking about what it means to really be humble. Am I humble? Do I know someone who is? Do you?
I don't think God asks us to be a doormat. But I also don't think we ought to work so hard on our humility that we're proud of it.
I read someone else's blog last week that said humility means you have enough self-worth that you don't have to put others down. I like that.
It seems we're lacking this virture in the public realm lately: Joe Wilson's outburst at a joint session of congress, Serena Williams cussing out a line judge and Kanye West grabbing the mic way from another award winner at an MTV awards show. I used these examples in my sermon last Sunday and then added: I can't believe I just said "Kanye West" from the pulpit.
Anyway, I feel like we're losing something as a culture, whether it be humility or just simple human decency. Why is it so hard to be kind?
I tied this talk of humility into Jesus message in last week's gospel (Mark 9:30-37) about the question of who is the greatest. The disicples argue about it, then get emabarrased when Jesus asks about thier conversation.
Jesus doesn't reprimand them, just grabs a little child (a person of no status in Jesus' time) places it on his lap and says, "welcome this one and you welcome me." And of course the reverse is true. Jesus words are about radical hospitality, not some pastoral image of Jesus loving the little children.
I was thinking of all the people Jesus would put on his lap today to make us see what it means to welcome people of low status. Anyone we think beneath us sits securely in Jesus' arms.
The good news, of course, is that we rest there too.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
ELCA Assembly, better late than never
I'm referring to my comments on the subject, not on the assembly itself. Anyone who reads this blog likely already knows that the ELCA in August voted to allow congregations who choose to bless and publicly acknowledge same-gender, monogamous, publicly-accountable relationships and to call similar clergy if they so choose.
There have been many wonderful, creative, inspiring things written on the subject, as well as comments motivated by fear, malice and just some pure stupidity. I'll hope to err closer to the former. Here's my sermon at Central, preached the Sunday after the assembly vote. The sermon, from August 23, 2009, is based on the lectionary from that week, John 6:56-69, where Jesus says some hard words about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Some turn away from following him; the road is just too hard. Jesus asks if others want to leave. Peter responds, in words we know from liturgy: "Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
-------------------------------
In our text today, those who hear Jesus speak of eating his flesh and drinking his blood have difficulty with his teaching. This is a continuation of last week’s text. Remember? These phrases of flesh eating and blood drinking were particularly offensive to the Jews and, since they lived before the days of Holy Communion, they were not just offended but downright confused. Our text today tell us, a la Paul Harvey, The Rest of the Story.
After Jesus finishes his disturbing sermon, those assembled grumble and say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” The Greek here is skleros logos, a hard word, who can akouo, hear, it? A hard word. Jesus speaks a hard word. Or, perhaps, using the beginning of John’s Gospel (the Word was God and the Word was with God), maybe Jesus is the hard word. Either way, we disciples are left to deal with a hard word.
We are not strangers to hard words. Jesus has quite a few. Sell all you have and give it to the poor, pray for those who persecute you, love your enemies, forgive, follow me and, perhaps the hardest: love one another.
We are not strangers to hard words in our lives as well. Some represent life’s challenges (I’m going to issue a citation, you didn’t make the team, I think you’re an alcoholic) and some are very bad news (the cancer has returned, we’re getting a divorce, he died.) For some this week, the bad news was: It’s time for school!
I also want to address a couple of news items that were, for some, a hard word. Sometimes, a hard word for one might be good word for another. For example, Mayor Dan Sullivan vetoed an anti-discrimination act for the municipality of Anchorage. In the same week, our ELCA Churchwide Assembly met in Minneapolis and took the first steps toward recognizing same-gender, committed, life-long, publicly accountable relationships. Hard words? I want to note that no matter what side of the debate you find yourself, these words are still hard because as Christians we are mandated to love our brothers and sisters in Christ, no matter how wrong we think they are. More on that later.
Back to Jesus and our gospel story. Note what happens after Jesus speaks these hard words to those gathered at the synagogue in Capernaum. Some grumble. Jesus acknowledges that not all believe and that one will betray him. And then it happens: many disciples turned back and did not follow him any longer.
Why did they turn back? They had seen many signs, miracles like the feeding of the 5000, Jesus walking on water and the healing of the sick. Did Jesus words get too tough for them? Was he asking for too much of a commitment? Were those disciples just bored? Was it too inconvenient for them? Why did they turn back?
Notice Jesus’ reaction to their departure. He does not condemn them for leaving. He does not beg those remaining to stay steadfast. He does not back down from a hard word. He simply asks if anyone else would like to go away. Peter speaks up first. I can almost hear him singing the words: “Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Peter adds: “We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”
It’s another example of the upside-down, topsy-turvy nature of the Gospel, like the last becoming first and a king who gets crucified. The hard word is the word of eternal life.
But for some it’s too much. The word is too hard, the cost is too high. And for us? Do we shy from the hard words of Jesus? Would we prefer a Jesus of lambs and rainbows instead of one that asks us to risk loving the stranger or give of our time, talents and possessions? Do we sometimes turn away from the tough parts of Christianity, rather than remaining by Jesus’ side?
Yes. But, of course, our shortcomings are never the end of the story. It’s not our story anyway. It’s God’s, of course.
And God’s story, when we can muster it, looks something like this (point to the altar). God’s story has something to do about coming to the table (at Holy Communion) and then staying at the table with each other, even while hard words are spoken and even when we don’t agree. God’s story also has something to do with wrapping us in boundless love and mercy as we struggle love each other.
Earlier I mentioned the words spoken and decisions made at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly regarding same-sex monogamous relationships. I want to be clear. You are all welcome to agree or disagree with anything the Churchwide office says. It is not the core of what we believe. The message of Jesus Christ, born, crucified and dead will always be the most important Word. So, you can still stay at the table, even if the word is hard. You need not turn away.
I want to be clear on this point, too. There is life in hard words. There is life in staying in relationship and conversation with each other. There is life in loving your neighbor even if you don’t agree with him. There is always life in choosing love over hatred or judgment or fear of something that is different from you.
I want to end not with Churchwide business but with you. Where is the hard word for you? What is the hard word for Central? Who is God inviting us to love? How is Jesus asking us to follow? May we hear the words, remain close to Jesus and stay at the table with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Amen.
There have been many wonderful, creative, inspiring things written on the subject, as well as comments motivated by fear, malice and just some pure stupidity. I'll hope to err closer to the former. Here's my sermon at Central, preached the Sunday after the assembly vote. The sermon, from August 23, 2009, is based on the lectionary from that week, John 6:56-69, where Jesus says some hard words about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Some turn away from following him; the road is just too hard. Jesus asks if others want to leave. Peter responds, in words we know from liturgy: "Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
-------------------------------
In our text today, those who hear Jesus speak of eating his flesh and drinking his blood have difficulty with his teaching. This is a continuation of last week’s text. Remember? These phrases of flesh eating and blood drinking were particularly offensive to the Jews and, since they lived before the days of Holy Communion, they were not just offended but downright confused. Our text today tell us, a la Paul Harvey, The Rest of the Story.
After Jesus finishes his disturbing sermon, those assembled grumble and say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” The Greek here is skleros logos, a hard word, who can akouo, hear, it? A hard word. Jesus speaks a hard word. Or, perhaps, using the beginning of John’s Gospel (the Word was God and the Word was with God), maybe Jesus is the hard word. Either way, we disciples are left to deal with a hard word.
We are not strangers to hard words. Jesus has quite a few. Sell all you have and give it to the poor, pray for those who persecute you, love your enemies, forgive, follow me and, perhaps the hardest: love one another.
We are not strangers to hard words in our lives as well. Some represent life’s challenges (I’m going to issue a citation, you didn’t make the team, I think you’re an alcoholic) and some are very bad news (the cancer has returned, we’re getting a divorce, he died.) For some this week, the bad news was: It’s time for school!
I also want to address a couple of news items that were, for some, a hard word. Sometimes, a hard word for one might be good word for another. For example, Mayor Dan Sullivan vetoed an anti-discrimination act for the municipality of Anchorage. In the same week, our ELCA Churchwide Assembly met in Minneapolis and took the first steps toward recognizing same-gender, committed, life-long, publicly accountable relationships. Hard words? I want to note that no matter what side of the debate you find yourself, these words are still hard because as Christians we are mandated to love our brothers and sisters in Christ, no matter how wrong we think they are. More on that later.
Back to Jesus and our gospel story. Note what happens after Jesus speaks these hard words to those gathered at the synagogue in Capernaum. Some grumble. Jesus acknowledges that not all believe and that one will betray him. And then it happens: many disciples turned back and did not follow him any longer.
Why did they turn back? They had seen many signs, miracles like the feeding of the 5000, Jesus walking on water and the healing of the sick. Did Jesus words get too tough for them? Was he asking for too much of a commitment? Were those disciples just bored? Was it too inconvenient for them? Why did they turn back?
Notice Jesus’ reaction to their departure. He does not condemn them for leaving. He does not beg those remaining to stay steadfast. He does not back down from a hard word. He simply asks if anyone else would like to go away. Peter speaks up first. I can almost hear him singing the words: “Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Peter adds: “We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”
It’s another example of the upside-down, topsy-turvy nature of the Gospel, like the last becoming first and a king who gets crucified. The hard word is the word of eternal life.
But for some it’s too much. The word is too hard, the cost is too high. And for us? Do we shy from the hard words of Jesus? Would we prefer a Jesus of lambs and rainbows instead of one that asks us to risk loving the stranger or give of our time, talents and possessions? Do we sometimes turn away from the tough parts of Christianity, rather than remaining by Jesus’ side?
Yes. But, of course, our shortcomings are never the end of the story. It’s not our story anyway. It’s God’s, of course.
And God’s story, when we can muster it, looks something like this (point to the altar). God’s story has something to do about coming to the table (at Holy Communion) and then staying at the table with each other, even while hard words are spoken and even when we don’t agree. God’s story also has something to do with wrapping us in boundless love and mercy as we struggle love each other.
Earlier I mentioned the words spoken and decisions made at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly regarding same-sex monogamous relationships. I want to be clear. You are all welcome to agree or disagree with anything the Churchwide office says. It is not the core of what we believe. The message of Jesus Christ, born, crucified and dead will always be the most important Word. So, you can still stay at the table, even if the word is hard. You need not turn away.
I want to be clear on this point, too. There is life in hard words. There is life in staying in relationship and conversation with each other. There is life in loving your neighbor even if you don’t agree with him. There is always life in choosing love over hatred or judgment or fear of something that is different from you.
I want to end not with Churchwide business but with you. Where is the hard word for you? What is the hard word for Central? Who is God inviting us to love? How is Jesus asking us to follow? May we hear the words, remain close to Jesus and stay at the table with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Amen.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Victory! (Bible camp)
I confess: I post on Facebook far more than I blog here. Is it the ease of the single line post? Maybe I should Twitter (or Tweet) too? That said, there is something to say for the longer written word. As one trained in journalism, I should know this!
I'm writing from Victory Bible Camp, Mile 95 of the Glenn Highway toward Glennallen. We're somewhere north of Sutton, in a place where I get decent Internet connections but poor cellular service. Ah, technology.
It's the annual Lutheran Summer Camp week here at Victory. We rent out the camp and the staff support us during the week. Our cookie plates at our tables in the cafeteria even say "Lutherans" on them. It's a nice touch.
Victory is nestled in valley. If you hike up, like I did today, you can see sweeping views of both sides of the valley and the Matanuska Glacier in the distance. The trails are shadowed by aspen and spruce and I picked blueberries and raspberries as I hiked.
The camp is divided by age groups: grades 3-6 are called "Alpine" and 7-9 "Koinonia." We share meals in common, as well as opening worship and evening campfire. Attendance is lower this year; we have barely 50 campers, I think fewer. But we have at least 20 high-school-aged counselors. About half of them are youth from Central's Drop-in-Center.
I can't remember if I've blogged on this before but it is incredible to see those young men at work. They've not been confirmed, I think most are unbaptized. But they've grown up at Central's neighborhood Drop-in-Center, then came to camp on scholarship, then as counselors. I would never expect those punk-looking kids in black hoodies to answer my questions about where to see God (in other people, one announced today) or help kids open up Bibles and encourage them during worship. And they do all the hand motions to the camp songs! It's a testament to all the people at Central who have nurtured these kids over the years. I'm really proud of them.
It's early evening now. The younger kids are doing Bible study, the older ones are playing Capture the Flag. There's a light breeze blowing across the lake. It's almost time for campfire.
Our theme this week is "Love to Serve," and today's theme was "Called to Serve." We talked this morning in worship about how camp is a holy, set away place. I wonder how God will speak to these kids this week. God must be saying something. They keep coming back, year after year. I pray they will hear God this week. I pray we all will.
I'm writing from Victory Bible Camp, Mile 95 of the Glenn Highway toward Glennallen. We're somewhere north of Sutton, in a place where I get decent Internet connections but poor cellular service. Ah, technology.
It's the annual Lutheran Summer Camp week here at Victory. We rent out the camp and the staff support us during the week. Our cookie plates at our tables in the cafeteria even say "Lutherans" on them. It's a nice touch.
Victory is nestled in valley. If you hike up, like I did today, you can see sweeping views of both sides of the valley and the Matanuska Glacier in the distance. The trails are shadowed by aspen and spruce and I picked blueberries and raspberries as I hiked.
The camp is divided by age groups: grades 3-6 are called "Alpine" and 7-9 "Koinonia." We share meals in common, as well as opening worship and evening campfire. Attendance is lower this year; we have barely 50 campers, I think fewer. But we have at least 20 high-school-aged counselors. About half of them are youth from Central's Drop-in-Center.
I can't remember if I've blogged on this before but it is incredible to see those young men at work. They've not been confirmed, I think most are unbaptized. But they've grown up at Central's neighborhood Drop-in-Center, then came to camp on scholarship, then as counselors. I would never expect those punk-looking kids in black hoodies to answer my questions about where to see God (in other people, one announced today) or help kids open up Bibles and encourage them during worship. And they do all the hand motions to the camp songs! It's a testament to all the people at Central who have nurtured these kids over the years. I'm really proud of them.
It's early evening now. The younger kids are doing Bible study, the older ones are playing Capture the Flag. There's a light breeze blowing across the lake. It's almost time for campfire.
Our theme this week is "Love to Serve," and today's theme was "Called to Serve." We talked this morning in worship about how camp is a holy, set away place. I wonder how God will speak to these kids this week. God must be saying something. They keep coming back, year after year. I pray they will hear God this week. I pray we all will.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
After the flood
I just have a few minutes to reflect on our youth trip to New Orleans for the National Lutheran Youth Gathering. We're here July 22-26. There are 37,000 Lutherans here, the biggest convention to come to the city since Hurricane Katrina.
Of course it's hot and humid but there are more important things to say. So, a few highlights so far.
The gathering folks divided kids into three major groups (gold, green and purple, Mardi Gras-style). Each group takes one day at each of three activities. The first day we did a servant project, day two we visited the learning centers and day three the interaction center.
For the servant project, we all donned orange T-shirts and went throughout the city doing good, or as best we could. Some visited schools, some built homes, others did yard work or weeding. I cannot imagine the logistics it takes to coordinate 12,000 volunteers each day. And they gave us lunch!
We volunteered at a traditionally African-American cemetary where graves are dug by hand just four feet deep and bodies are buried atop each other. The plot was covered in weeds and stones all akimbo. We spent about four hours yanking up weeds, bagging them, and setting headstones right again. Each stone is a life story, a web of relationships and it was powerful to brush off the dirt and place it right again. We hoped someone would keep working to beautify the plot long after we left it.
More later; it's time to get back to "my kids" as I call them and onto the next event...
Of course it's hot and humid but there are more important things to say. So, a few highlights so far.
The gathering folks divided kids into three major groups (gold, green and purple, Mardi Gras-style). Each group takes one day at each of three activities. The first day we did a servant project, day two we visited the learning centers and day three the interaction center.
For the servant project, we all donned orange T-shirts and went throughout the city doing good, or as best we could. Some visited schools, some built homes, others did yard work or weeding. I cannot imagine the logistics it takes to coordinate 12,000 volunteers each day. And they gave us lunch!
We volunteered at a traditionally African-American cemetary where graves are dug by hand just four feet deep and bodies are buried atop each other. The plot was covered in weeds and stones all akimbo. We spent about four hours yanking up weeds, bagging them, and setting headstones right again. Each stone is a life story, a web of relationships and it was powerful to brush off the dirt and place it right again. We hoped someone would keep working to beautify the plot long after we left it.
More later; it's time to get back to "my kids" as I call them and onto the next event...
Thursday, July 16, 2009
One more night in Brevig
The blog posting keeps getting later and later. It's almost midnight and of course the ATVs (they call them Hondas) are cruising by and I hear kids shouting and laughing. A few members of my Anchorage team are visiting softly. The weather is mostly clear without a breeze and several mosquitos have snuck in and buzz near my ankles.
Today was our last day of VBS and we were pretty exhausted when it came time for evening devotions. Good thing no one got up until after 9 am. Well, I got up a little earlier and went on a run to the dump and back. Hey, don't knock in 'til you've tried it! It's also the only long stretch of gravel road. It's too difficult to run on the beach.
It was less windy this morning than yesterday so I got in about 35 minutes, maybe 4 miles. The hills behind Brevig were clear. I like my alone time in the morning with the land and with the sea.
The kids had another good day of crafts and coloring, skits and songs. I love hearing them sing "At the Cross" at the top of their lungs, though it's often more a scream than a song. We made fish and glued them to a mural to hang on the church wall. The kids got pretty creative with their decorations. It's a very good mural with a few starfish too.
Susan and I went visiting just before Bible school started. I went to visit a woman I have known from my years here. She was the mother of the baby who died earlier this year and who I had visited at the native hospital in Anchorage. What a lovely hostess and what a beautiful story of faith despite difficult times. I was blessed by her sharing her story of her baby's life and death and how her faith held her fast. I was moved by the experience and her honesty.
Speaking of being moved, I got a surprise when one of the older teens called today and offered to lead Eskimo drumming and dancing tonight. I had seen him earlier in the week and made the request but he seemed evasive. So he came, along with a bunch of others, some to drum, some to dance, many to to watch.
The drums are just circles of skin stretched across big wooden hoops. The sticks look so frail but the sound is powerful, intense. I love the sound of the singing. It's repetitive, booming, haunting.
I love watching the leader, Travis, sing and play the drum. I'm not sure how old he is now, but when I first came in 2004 he was a middle school-aged kid who followed us around like an eager puppy. Now he's a man, the leader of the drummers, and one of the VPOs (village police officers). I'm so proud of him and it moves me to see him as he is now.
I could mention we also had our VBS program and community meal. A good time, always, but a smaller attendance this evening. Pastor Brian's wife Ginger said there was another meeting in town at the same time. Also, we'd forgotten to put up posters. Still, we fed at least 75 (that's adults and kids) so word does travel fast in the village.
Enough for tonight. The house is finally silent and I'm ready to turn in.
Today was our last day of VBS and we were pretty exhausted when it came time for evening devotions. Good thing no one got up until after 9 am. Well, I got up a little earlier and went on a run to the dump and back. Hey, don't knock in 'til you've tried it! It's also the only long stretch of gravel road. It's too difficult to run on the beach.
It was less windy this morning than yesterday so I got in about 35 minutes, maybe 4 miles. The hills behind Brevig were clear. I like my alone time in the morning with the land and with the sea.
The kids had another good day of crafts and coloring, skits and songs. I love hearing them sing "At the Cross" at the top of their lungs, though it's often more a scream than a song. We made fish and glued them to a mural to hang on the church wall. The kids got pretty creative with their decorations. It's a very good mural with a few starfish too.
Susan and I went visiting just before Bible school started. I went to visit a woman I have known from my years here. She was the mother of the baby who died earlier this year and who I had visited at the native hospital in Anchorage. What a lovely hostess and what a beautiful story of faith despite difficult times. I was blessed by her sharing her story of her baby's life and death and how her faith held her fast. I was moved by the experience and her honesty.
Speaking of being moved, I got a surprise when one of the older teens called today and offered to lead Eskimo drumming and dancing tonight. I had seen him earlier in the week and made the request but he seemed evasive. So he came, along with a bunch of others, some to drum, some to dance, many to to watch.
The drums are just circles of skin stretched across big wooden hoops. The sticks look so frail but the sound is powerful, intense. I love the sound of the singing. It's repetitive, booming, haunting.
I love watching the leader, Travis, sing and play the drum. I'm not sure how old he is now, but when I first came in 2004 he was a middle school-aged kid who followed us around like an eager puppy. Now he's a man, the leader of the drummers, and one of the VPOs (village police officers). I'm so proud of him and it moves me to see him as he is now.
I could mention we also had our VBS program and community meal. A good time, always, but a smaller attendance this evening. Pastor Brian's wife Ginger said there was another meeting in town at the same time. Also, we'd forgotten to put up posters. Still, we fed at least 75 (that's adults and kids) so word does travel fast in the village.
Enough for tonight. The house is finally silent and I'm ready to turn in.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A dark and stormy night
It's windy and cold tonight in Brevig, but of course not actually dark. There'll be no darkness here for weeks but the twilight is nice, too.
Today was day three of Vacation Bible School and we seem to be getting the hang of it. More kids today, since some have come back from the reindeer corral up river. I asked a few little ones if they'd helped and several said they had wrestled reindeer...hmmm. One told me they took the horns off some and put ID tags in others. It's an interesting world where you wrestle reindeer one day and go home the next to cable TV and internet. How do they toggle between two worlds?
Today's Bible story was the "lost and found" parables. Well, just the lost sheep and coin from Luke's gospel. The lost son is its own story. We acted out the skit to endless giggles from the audience. They liked watching the "shepherd" chasing the ever-evasive Lawrence (aka lost sheep). It's good to hear them laugh and hopefully get something out of the Bible story. Susan was played Jesus in the skit today and she said how good it was to get to tell the children many times that Jesus loves us and seeks out the lost. It is good. We (Christians) should say these things more often, I think, rather than trying to carefully outline the way others mess up.
Seemed like death became a topic of discussion again today but I don't mind. Helen is doing a paper for an academic program on the 1918 flu epidemic that struck Brevig (then Teller Mission). I had heard only bits of info on this in recent trips so I've appreciated learning more history.
In 1918 a flu epidemic swept through the Seward Peninsula, killing 72 of the 80 residents of Brevig. In 1951, a researcher from Europe came and dug up the mass grave to see if he could learn about the flu virus from the remains. Turns out permafrost preserves bodies and information was extracted from the lungs of the victims. Researchers returned in 1997 to dig again and isolate the virus from the victims. The name of the virus: H1N1. It's been said that perhaps the knowledge gained from the digs here can inform the researchers of the recent H1N1 outbreak. Pastor Brian was here during the 1997 dig and said, "I helped save the world!" One never can tell.
A few of us went to the school library to see some photos of the digs and learn more about the epidemic. Then we went to the cemetary to see the site of the mass grave.
There were other graves too. There were graves of two elders I had met, who died a month apart in early 2007. There was a grave of man who committed suicide this past April. His kids are attending Bible school. Then there was a grave of a 4-month-old, whose mother I had visited at Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage last fall. I didn't know the baby had died.
It's all here, life and death. Tonight in devotions, Susan asked us to consider our losses. Then she asked us to consider what we had found. Life and death, lost and found. It is our story, these narratives make up our lives.
Now it's almost midnight and the house is quiet. The clouds drift quickly to the east. The seas are still choppy. I'm hoping for stillness that will allow us safe passage to Teller and back to Nome on Friday. It is, as always, unpredictable to live in the village.
Today was day three of Vacation Bible School and we seem to be getting the hang of it. More kids today, since some have come back from the reindeer corral up river. I asked a few little ones if they'd helped and several said they had wrestled reindeer...hmmm. One told me they took the horns off some and put ID tags in others. It's an interesting world where you wrestle reindeer one day and go home the next to cable TV and internet. How do they toggle between two worlds?
Today's Bible story was the "lost and found" parables. Well, just the lost sheep and coin from Luke's gospel. The lost son is its own story. We acted out the skit to endless giggles from the audience. They liked watching the "shepherd" chasing the ever-evasive Lawrence (aka lost sheep). It's good to hear them laugh and hopefully get something out of the Bible story. Susan was played Jesus in the skit today and she said how good it was to get to tell the children many times that Jesus loves us and seeks out the lost. It is good. We (Christians) should say these things more often, I think, rather than trying to carefully outline the way others mess up.
Seemed like death became a topic of discussion again today but I don't mind. Helen is doing a paper for an academic program on the 1918 flu epidemic that struck Brevig (then Teller Mission). I had heard only bits of info on this in recent trips so I've appreciated learning more history.
In 1918 a flu epidemic swept through the Seward Peninsula, killing 72 of the 80 residents of Brevig. In 1951, a researcher from Europe came and dug up the mass grave to see if he could learn about the flu virus from the remains. Turns out permafrost preserves bodies and information was extracted from the lungs of the victims. Researchers returned in 1997 to dig again and isolate the virus from the victims. The name of the virus: H1N1. It's been said that perhaps the knowledge gained from the digs here can inform the researchers of the recent H1N1 outbreak. Pastor Brian was here during the 1997 dig and said, "I helped save the world!" One never can tell.
A few of us went to the school library to see some photos of the digs and learn more about the epidemic. Then we went to the cemetary to see the site of the mass grave.
There were other graves too. There were graves of two elders I had met, who died a month apart in early 2007. There was a grave of man who committed suicide this past April. His kids are attending Bible school. Then there was a grave of a 4-month-old, whose mother I had visited at Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage last fall. I didn't know the baby had died.
It's all here, life and death. Tonight in devotions, Susan asked us to consider our losses. Then she asked us to consider what we had found. Life and death, lost and found. It is our story, these narratives make up our lives.
Now it's almost midnight and the house is quiet. The clouds drift quickly to the east. The seas are still choppy. I'm hoping for stillness that will allow us safe passage to Teller and back to Nome on Friday. It is, as always, unpredictable to live in the village.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
On the beaches of the Bering Sea
I'm writing from Brevig Mission, a small Inupiat Eskimo village north of Nome. I come here, with members of my congregation, for a week each summer. We lead Vacation Bible School and generally hang out in the village. This is my fifth year doing the trip.
It's about 11:45 at night right now. The dogs are yelping outside and the sky to the south is all light pinks and blues. I hear an ATV cruising past and the blinds rattle when the wind blows through. I think everyone in this house is in bed or on the way. And the residents of Brevig are still moving about. Some will still be awake when I get up for my morning run. And there it is, a soft peal of laughter comes from outside.
Every year is different, and though I recognize the kids, they're getting older and taller. Some get more graceful, some a little more awkward, some get jobs and move away. I feel a little like I come home when I return to Brevig.
Bible school was quiet yesterday, day one. Some kids were gone fishing and others were helping with a reindeer corral up river. Today there were more kids and more chaos. We acted out the story of the Israelites and the Egyptians at the Red Sea. Then we helped the kids make instruments (shakers and tamborines and such) and did the skit again. The kids loved it both times; they were on the edge of their seats and then followed me (as Miriam) around the sanctuary with their instruments, praising God or maybe just yelling in a loud voice.
Yesterday I went visiting. I took a few oranges and bananas and one of our team members and visited an elder of the village. She welcomed us warmly and we chatted about this and that. As we chatted, her three greatgrandkids ran about, jumping and showing off. They were all under 4 years old. She's one of the primary caretakers. I wonder how old she is. People are younger than you think here. The lifestyle is wearing, it seems. What a fantastic woman.
The smell of salmon just hit me, full on. Pastor Brian, my collegue and friend here, just came into the kitchen to take a bunch of canned salmon out of the pressure cooker. He said he does about 60 jars a summer. Red salmon, with beautiful flesh. We ate one tonight, hours old. It is one of the best things about being here in summer. The day before yesterday, I saw Brian and an elder named Janie cutting fish and hanging it near the beach. She used only an ulu, sliding the tool through the belly with a steady hand and hanging the fillets over driftwood racks. It was so sunny that day and the fish swung gently in a light breeze.
So things are well here in Brevig. It's so peaceful just now that I'm reluctant to change the mood of this entry, but my heart is heavy for the folks back in Anchorage. A member of our congregation died this morning. I will miss Allan Tesche. He died a few days after major heart surgery. I'm aching for his wife and kids. I don't have many more words right now. Just that Allan was incredibly bright and cared about people. He was serving as church council president (no problem after serving on Anchorage assembly for years). He pushed our council to move forward with measurable goals that match our vision. He was a team player, a cheerleader and knew how to stir folks up to move an issue.
He loved his family and his work. I'll miss him.
I just looked out the window again at that pretty twilight sky. Right before it is a field of white crosses. Every time you look out the window of the parsonage here, there's that little cemetary, a constant reminder of our fragile lives and the presence of pain and grief. And just beyond, there's that beautiful, God-given sky, and mountains as far as I can see.
It's about 11:45 at night right now. The dogs are yelping outside and the sky to the south is all light pinks and blues. I hear an ATV cruising past and the blinds rattle when the wind blows through. I think everyone in this house is in bed or on the way. And the residents of Brevig are still moving about. Some will still be awake when I get up for my morning run. And there it is, a soft peal of laughter comes from outside.
Every year is different, and though I recognize the kids, they're getting older and taller. Some get more graceful, some a little more awkward, some get jobs and move away. I feel a little like I come home when I return to Brevig.
Bible school was quiet yesterday, day one. Some kids were gone fishing and others were helping with a reindeer corral up river. Today there were more kids and more chaos. We acted out the story of the Israelites and the Egyptians at the Red Sea. Then we helped the kids make instruments (shakers and tamborines and such) and did the skit again. The kids loved it both times; they were on the edge of their seats and then followed me (as Miriam) around the sanctuary with their instruments, praising God or maybe just yelling in a loud voice.
Yesterday I went visiting. I took a few oranges and bananas and one of our team members and visited an elder of the village. She welcomed us warmly and we chatted about this and that. As we chatted, her three greatgrandkids ran about, jumping and showing off. They were all under 4 years old. She's one of the primary caretakers. I wonder how old she is. People are younger than you think here. The lifestyle is wearing, it seems. What a fantastic woman.
The smell of salmon just hit me, full on. Pastor Brian, my collegue and friend here, just came into the kitchen to take a bunch of canned salmon out of the pressure cooker. He said he does about 60 jars a summer. Red salmon, with beautiful flesh. We ate one tonight, hours old. It is one of the best things about being here in summer. The day before yesterday, I saw Brian and an elder named Janie cutting fish and hanging it near the beach. She used only an ulu, sliding the tool through the belly with a steady hand and hanging the fillets over driftwood racks. It was so sunny that day and the fish swung gently in a light breeze.
So things are well here in Brevig. It's so peaceful just now that I'm reluctant to change the mood of this entry, but my heart is heavy for the folks back in Anchorage. A member of our congregation died this morning. I will miss Allan Tesche. He died a few days after major heart surgery. I'm aching for his wife and kids. I don't have many more words right now. Just that Allan was incredibly bright and cared about people. He was serving as church council president (no problem after serving on Anchorage assembly for years). He pushed our council to move forward with measurable goals that match our vision. He was a team player, a cheerleader and knew how to stir folks up to move an issue.
He loved his family and his work. I'll miss him.
I just looked out the window again at that pretty twilight sky. Right before it is a field of white crosses. Every time you look out the window of the parsonage here, there's that little cemetary, a constant reminder of our fragile lives and the presence of pain and grief. And just beyond, there's that beautiful, God-given sky, and mountains as far as I can see.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
God must be doing something
I preached on Mark 4:26-34 on Sunday June 14 (Second Sunday after Pentecost). This gospel reading is two short "kingdom of God" parables of Jesus to his disciples (that's us too!)
I'm still thinking about them...and about how/if/when the kingdom (working) of God is moving in our world. Here's my sermon.
PS- If you don't want to read the whole sermon, skip to paragraph 5, which starts with "there's a story." It basically captures the essence of my thinking on God's kingdom these days :)
------------
I’ve been thinking about these parables from Mark all week. This is the question I’ve been pondering: What is God up to in our world? Put another way: Where is God working? Or, on a more basic (honest) level: Is God doing anything in this world where people fight, kids don’t get enough food or love at home and those darn prices of gas keep going up? What is God up to in our world?
Sometimes I ponder these things late at night, when the sky is dark, or not, and I wonder what’s in God’s heart as God looks upon our brokenness? Sometimes it seems like nothing is happening. Even more, if people of faith struggle with these questions, how do we proclaim a God of power and might to a world that, I’m convinced, is truly desperate for something in which to believe?
I wonder if Jesus can speak to our questions when he speaks of the kingdom of God. These kingdom parables are all over the place in the gospels and two of them are in our text from Mark today. If you’ve hung around Lutheran churches long enough, you might have heard that we understand the kingdom of God not just as a heavenly home by and by, but a reality that breaks into our world now and then. The kingdom of God is more about relationship that a geographic location. We get little glimpses of God’s kingdom from time to time. We sense the presence of God, we receive the love of Christ through another or we discern the Spirit working. Yes, the kingdom of God is here now, but of course not fully here yet.
So if the kingdom of God is breaking into our world, God must be working. But why is it so hard to tell?
There’s a story (this one borrowed from Pastor Karen) of a group of friends who found a bunch of wild mushrooms, prepared a feast with them and spent and evening eating their fill. They also fed some to the dog. Late in the evening of good food and wine, they noticed the dog looking sick. The animal looked sicker and sicker and the friends began to panic. They rushed to the hospital and had their stomachs pumped. When the ordeal was over, they came home to find the dog was doing well and had delivered a litter of puppies.
Why is it so hard to tell what God is up to? Why is it so hard to tell when God is working?
Jesus uses the parable of the growing seed to speak of the kingdom. It’s a simple story, really, and many of us have done just the same. We scatter seed (or maybe more carefully plant in furrows) and sleep and rise to find that it has sprouted and grown. And we do not know how. Oh yes, we understand there are complex biological processes at work, combined with soil conditions, water, sun and fertilizer, but really, do we really know how it works? Isn’t there some part that still is a wonder, that’s still a mystery? I don’t know about you but I marvel every time something green sprouts from earth. I wonder at every new birth. I stand in awe when some life situation that looked dead suddenly comes alive once more. Maybe this parable reminds us that God is God and we are not. When it comes to the working of God in this world, we really cannot know, plan, predict or dictate. The mystery will always be there, ahead of us and beyond.
Yet. Yet perhaps you want more of an answer to where God is working. Me too.
So then, we turn to the mustard seed parable, a more well-known parable. Jesus says the kingdom of God is like this: a mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds, grows to be the greatest of all shrubs and birds make nests in its large branches. Jesus is no horticulturist, we might argue, for the mustard seed is not the smallest and its branches don’t really grow large enough to support feathered friends. So why a mustard seed? Maybe because in 1st century Palestine, the hearty mustard seed grew everywhere, a common, ordinary weed. Think of it as the dandelion of the Middle East. The kingdom of God is like a dandelion? Maybe we’re onto something now: the kingdom of God might very well be as plain but ubiquitous as a dandelion. Everywhere, persistently growing no matter how much Roundup we squirt. Perhaps we sometimes look for God’s kingdom in the wrong places. Are we looking up for trees with large branches for nesting, or shall we look lower, in places more ordinary and plain?
Whether we see the kingdom of God working or not, the good news is that God has promised to move in this world and God is working. God is moving and working in all kinds of ways that are just not obvious to us right now. In our text from Ezekiel today, God says these four words: “I will accomplish it.” God, not us. God is working. God is moving. God keeps God’s promises, even when things appear to be in shambles. As a friend of mine once said: when everything is an absolute mess in your life, you can be sure that the Holy Spirit is working.
So, thank God, our job isn’t to usher in God’s kingdom or try to coerce its growth. God works and grows and moves very well in spite of our willingness to play director. We might ask ourselves: are we wiling to wait for God to do what God certainly will do? We might also ask ourselves: what keeps us from growing? What keeps our congregation from growing? Are we hindering the growth God has planned for us?
One more story. Two men are shipwrecked on a desert island. They wait several months; no one comes to the rescue. Finally, the first man pours his energy into fashioning a house. He works for days to engineer wood and weeds into a remarkable shelter and the two enjoy their new home. One night, the second man starts a fire that gets out of hand. The entire shelter goes up in flames. The first man is furious and yells all sorts of unkind insults to the second man. About an hour later, a boat pulls onto shore. “Hi there!” shouts the boat captain. “We saw your fire signal. We’re answering your call for help.” Amen.
I'm still thinking about them...and about how/if/when the kingdom (working) of God is moving in our world. Here's my sermon.
PS- If you don't want to read the whole sermon, skip to paragraph 5, which starts with "there's a story." It basically captures the essence of my thinking on God's kingdom these days :)
------------
I’ve been thinking about these parables from Mark all week. This is the question I’ve been pondering: What is God up to in our world? Put another way: Where is God working? Or, on a more basic (honest) level: Is God doing anything in this world where people fight, kids don’t get enough food or love at home and those darn prices of gas keep going up? What is God up to in our world?
Sometimes I ponder these things late at night, when the sky is dark, or not, and I wonder what’s in God’s heart as God looks upon our brokenness? Sometimes it seems like nothing is happening. Even more, if people of faith struggle with these questions, how do we proclaim a God of power and might to a world that, I’m convinced, is truly desperate for something in which to believe?
I wonder if Jesus can speak to our questions when he speaks of the kingdom of God. These kingdom parables are all over the place in the gospels and two of them are in our text from Mark today. If you’ve hung around Lutheran churches long enough, you might have heard that we understand the kingdom of God not just as a heavenly home by and by, but a reality that breaks into our world now and then. The kingdom of God is more about relationship that a geographic location. We get little glimpses of God’s kingdom from time to time. We sense the presence of God, we receive the love of Christ through another or we discern the Spirit working. Yes, the kingdom of God is here now, but of course not fully here yet.
So if the kingdom of God is breaking into our world, God must be working. But why is it so hard to tell?
There’s a story (this one borrowed from Pastor Karen) of a group of friends who found a bunch of wild mushrooms, prepared a feast with them and spent and evening eating their fill. They also fed some to the dog. Late in the evening of good food and wine, they noticed the dog looking sick. The animal looked sicker and sicker and the friends began to panic. They rushed to the hospital and had their stomachs pumped. When the ordeal was over, they came home to find the dog was doing well and had delivered a litter of puppies.
Why is it so hard to tell what God is up to? Why is it so hard to tell when God is working?
Jesus uses the parable of the growing seed to speak of the kingdom. It’s a simple story, really, and many of us have done just the same. We scatter seed (or maybe more carefully plant in furrows) and sleep and rise to find that it has sprouted and grown. And we do not know how. Oh yes, we understand there are complex biological processes at work, combined with soil conditions, water, sun and fertilizer, but really, do we really know how it works? Isn’t there some part that still is a wonder, that’s still a mystery? I don’t know about you but I marvel every time something green sprouts from earth. I wonder at every new birth. I stand in awe when some life situation that looked dead suddenly comes alive once more. Maybe this parable reminds us that God is God and we are not. When it comes to the working of God in this world, we really cannot know, plan, predict or dictate. The mystery will always be there, ahead of us and beyond.
Yet. Yet perhaps you want more of an answer to where God is working. Me too.
So then, we turn to the mustard seed parable, a more well-known parable. Jesus says the kingdom of God is like this: a mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds, grows to be the greatest of all shrubs and birds make nests in its large branches. Jesus is no horticulturist, we might argue, for the mustard seed is not the smallest and its branches don’t really grow large enough to support feathered friends. So why a mustard seed? Maybe because in 1st century Palestine, the hearty mustard seed grew everywhere, a common, ordinary weed. Think of it as the dandelion of the Middle East. The kingdom of God is like a dandelion? Maybe we’re onto something now: the kingdom of God might very well be as plain but ubiquitous as a dandelion. Everywhere, persistently growing no matter how much Roundup we squirt. Perhaps we sometimes look for God’s kingdom in the wrong places. Are we looking up for trees with large branches for nesting, or shall we look lower, in places more ordinary and plain?
Whether we see the kingdom of God working or not, the good news is that God has promised to move in this world and God is working. God is moving and working in all kinds of ways that are just not obvious to us right now. In our text from Ezekiel today, God says these four words: “I will accomplish it.” God, not us. God is working. God is moving. God keeps God’s promises, even when things appear to be in shambles. As a friend of mine once said: when everything is an absolute mess in your life, you can be sure that the Holy Spirit is working.
So, thank God, our job isn’t to usher in God’s kingdom or try to coerce its growth. God works and grows and moves very well in spite of our willingness to play director. We might ask ourselves: are we wiling to wait for God to do what God certainly will do? We might also ask ourselves: what keeps us from growing? What keeps our congregation from growing? Are we hindering the growth God has planned for us?
One more story. Two men are shipwrecked on a desert island. They wait several months; no one comes to the rescue. Finally, the first man pours his energy into fashioning a house. He works for days to engineer wood and weeds into a remarkable shelter and the two enjoy their new home. One night, the second man starts a fire that gets out of hand. The entire shelter goes up in flames. The first man is furious and yells all sorts of unkind insults to the second man. About an hour later, a boat pulls onto shore. “Hi there!” shouts the boat captain. “We saw your fire signal. We’re answering your call for help.” Amen.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Vines and branches
"I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit...Abide in me as I abide in you. just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me." John 15:1-2,4
This lesson from this Sunday's lectionary must have been in the back of my mind while cooking dinner later that night.
Earlier in the week, I'd bought some tomatoes on the vine from Fred Meyer. Saturday, I found luscious, organic basil at the farmer's market. Add a some fresh mozzerella, ground pepper, olive oil and salt and the result is truly divine.
I noticed, as I prepared to chop tomatoes, that one had fallen off the vine. I chose that one first, then gently eased another off the vine. I put my fingers to my nose. I inhaled. I know of few sweeter smells than fresh tomato vine. It is the smell of my Iowa childhood and the promise of flavor.
I must digress here to say that I find it difficult to buy and eat tomatoes here in this frozen state (corn too!) The red orbs are just not the same as those heated by the hot Iowa summers. So I settle for those on the vine from Freddie's most of the year and then wait anxiously for local heirlooms later.
Anyway, I cut into the tomato that had fallen off the vine. It yielded to my knife and I diced it into the waiting bowl. I slipped a small sliver into my mouth. It was okay, nothing spectacular, a tomato-in-waiting. It would have to do.
I cut into the second tomato, the one that I had to pull from it's vine. It too became a diced pile in my bowl. I tasted one of the segments. Of course it wasn't garden fresh, but it was good. Very good. Full of flavor. It was (or at least close enough) to what at tomato should be.
Then I thought of that passage from John again. "Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me."
What was Jesus talking about? Some might say that those who aren't connected to the vine deserve nothing more than a toss into the fire (see John 15:6). That's one way to read the passage.
But perhaps it's not so much that those fallen-off-the-vine tomatoes (er, people) are worthless. I did still use that tomato. But it just wasn't what it could be. It wasn't its full tomato-y self. It wasn't all I knew the tomato could be. Sure, you can eat a tomato long since disconnected from the vine. It's just not the way a tomato was intended to be used.
Perhaps that's true of us. Lots of people live long lives and experience happiness apart from the vine of Christ. But it's just not the way we were intended to be. There's a certain sweetness missing, a certain fullness and ripeness.
The salad tasted good, by the way. As summer unfolds, I have faith it will get even better.
This lesson from this Sunday's lectionary must have been in the back of my mind while cooking dinner later that night.
Earlier in the week, I'd bought some tomatoes on the vine from Fred Meyer. Saturday, I found luscious, organic basil at the farmer's market. Add a some fresh mozzerella, ground pepper, olive oil and salt and the result is truly divine.
I noticed, as I prepared to chop tomatoes, that one had fallen off the vine. I chose that one first, then gently eased another off the vine. I put my fingers to my nose. I inhaled. I know of few sweeter smells than fresh tomato vine. It is the smell of my Iowa childhood and the promise of flavor.
I must digress here to say that I find it difficult to buy and eat tomatoes here in this frozen state (corn too!) The red orbs are just not the same as those heated by the hot Iowa summers. So I settle for those on the vine from Freddie's most of the year and then wait anxiously for local heirlooms later.
Anyway, I cut into the tomato that had fallen off the vine. It yielded to my knife and I diced it into the waiting bowl. I slipped a small sliver into my mouth. It was okay, nothing spectacular, a tomato-in-waiting. It would have to do.
I cut into the second tomato, the one that I had to pull from it's vine. It too became a diced pile in my bowl. I tasted one of the segments. Of course it wasn't garden fresh, but it was good. Very good. Full of flavor. It was (or at least close enough) to what at tomato should be.
Then I thought of that passage from John again. "Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me."
What was Jesus talking about? Some might say that those who aren't connected to the vine deserve nothing more than a toss into the fire (see John 15:6). That's one way to read the passage.
But perhaps it's not so much that those fallen-off-the-vine tomatoes (er, people) are worthless. I did still use that tomato. But it just wasn't what it could be. It wasn't its full tomato-y self. It wasn't all I knew the tomato could be. Sure, you can eat a tomato long since disconnected from the vine. It's just not the way a tomato was intended to be used.
Perhaps that's true of us. Lots of people live long lives and experience happiness apart from the vine of Christ. But it's just not the way we were intended to be. There's a certain sweetness missing, a certain fullness and ripeness.
The salad tasted good, by the way. As summer unfolds, I have faith it will get even better.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Spirit, spirit...
As the warmer winds of spring swirl through the Anchorage Bowl, I've been thinking about the Holy Spirit.
Most Lutheran churches don't say much about the Holy Spirit, or raise a suspicious eyebrow at those who would mention her movement.
Early Christians had fewer reservations. A walk through the book of Acts shows time after time how the Spirit shows up and invites early Christians into places they could not have imagined. The Spirit breaks the rules, blows down dividing walls and welcomes those deemed unwelcome-able.
Then sometime during the Enlightenment (this info courtesy of Pat Keifert, Luther Seminary) intellectuals became suspicious of the Spirit. She wasn't rational, couldn't be proven or tamed into submission. We're still in this post-Enlightenment attitude. We distrust this Spirit that we cannot understand.
Yet the Spirit keeps moving, breathing life into us, when we let her. What if we opened ourselves to the movement of the Holy Spirit? What if the Spirit has already given us all the gifts we need?
This summer at Central, we move to one worship service, 9:30 am. It's a good time -- the church is (usually) full and we move into a more relaxed worship setting. Before we worship, we'll host a Bible study of the book of Acts, starting at 8:15 am. Will you join us? I look forward to learning how the Spirit will lead you...and all of us at Central.
Most Lutheran churches don't say much about the Holy Spirit, or raise a suspicious eyebrow at those who would mention her movement.
Early Christians had fewer reservations. A walk through the book of Acts shows time after time how the Spirit shows up and invites early Christians into places they could not have imagined. The Spirit breaks the rules, blows down dividing walls and welcomes those deemed unwelcome-able.
Then sometime during the Enlightenment (this info courtesy of Pat Keifert, Luther Seminary) intellectuals became suspicious of the Spirit. She wasn't rational, couldn't be proven or tamed into submission. We're still in this post-Enlightenment attitude. We distrust this Spirit that we cannot understand.
Yet the Spirit keeps moving, breathing life into us, when we let her. What if we opened ourselves to the movement of the Holy Spirit? What if the Spirit has already given us all the gifts we need?
This summer at Central, we move to one worship service, 9:30 am. It's a good time -- the church is (usually) full and we move into a more relaxed worship setting. Before we worship, we'll host a Bible study of the book of Acts, starting at 8:15 am. Will you join us? I look forward to learning how the Spirit will lead you...and all of us at Central.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Easter Message
Easter's a season, you know. We hear about post-resurrection appearances in our lectionary readings and consider how we might, like the earliest Christians, go and tell the good news.
I'm still pondering some of the themes I talked about in my Easter sermon. So I'm posting it here, if you're interested.
-----------
Easter Sermon, Rev. Lisa A. Smith, April 12, 2009, Central Lutheran Church
Easter Joke: Ole died. So Lena went to the local paper to put a notice in the obituaries. The gentleman at the counter, after offering his condolences, asked Lena what she would like to say about Ole. Lena replied, “You just put ‘Ole died.’” The gentleman, perplexed, said, “That’s it? Just ‘Ole died.’” Surely, there must be something more you’d like to say about Ole. If it’s money you’re concerned about, the first five words are free. We must say something more.” Lena pondered for a few minutes and finally said, “O.K. You put, ‘Ole died. Boat for sale.’”
I had two choices for sermon texts this morning. I could have preached the Easter story from John’s gospel or the one we just heard from Mark. John’s version is the one where Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb, mistakes Jesus for a gardener, Jesus says her name, she rejoices and goes and tells everyone. And they lived happily ever after.
We like happy endings: like the happy ending of the final episode of “Friends” over the controversial-left-you-hanging end of “The Sopranos.” I know people who only go to movies with happy endings.
I considered that but then I thought about you. I saw your faces as I stared at the blank computer screen. Some of you are living some happy endings but most of you are struggling and waiting and see how it all turns out. Some of you are trying to get over some very unhappy endings. I thought about you and I thought about Mark’s gospel story that leaves us hanging: They went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Of what the women were most afraid? After all, they were standing in a cemetery (a good start) and the body of their friend had gone missing. If you showed up at Anchorage Memorial Gardens in the same situation, you’d be afraid too. Perhaps they were afraid because they just met a talking angel. Or maybe they were afraid because they had just been given a job to do (go and tell) and that seemed like more work than they were up to on a Sunday morning. After all, Sunday is a good day to sleep in, maybe do the crossword or get coffee.
Whatever those women feared, it had something to do with resurrection. It certainly wasn’t part of their plan. Even though Jesus in Mark’s gospel makes three clear passion predictions (I will suffer, die and be raised in three days) none of Jesus disciples really get it. They didn’t count on Jesus death so they didn’t count on a resurrection. Now the women make the best of what they think is all that’s left: they go to anoint the body.
The problem with Easter, aside from too many Peeps, is that it asks us to believe the fantastical: God brought his crucified Son back to life. The resurrection happened. It’s hard to believe something that we can’t prove. When we hear about resurrection, we too might react by being afraid. Or skeptical. Or indifferent.
One of my running buddies pulled me aside recently religion chat. He said he wasn’t sure if he believed in the divinity of Jesus anymore. He listed the broken places in his life: divorce, children in crisis and financial concerns. I didn’t say much, just listened. Later I kept thinking, gosh, if Jesus isn’t divine, if there wasn’t a resurrection, none of us have any hope. The question we can ask ourselves is this: what is God’s deepest desire for us -- despair or hope? And then how shall we live?
Online recently, I came across a blog by a woman living in Los Angeles. She blogged about getting a tattoo of a phoenix on her right arm (www.drybonesdance.typepad.com) The phoenix, as any good Harry Potter fan knows, is an ancient, mythical symbol of resurrection. After a time, the bird is said to burst and burn into flames, nest included. A new bird soon rises from the ashes.
The woman gets the tattoo because she says it symbolizes a re-birth in her own life and gives her hope for the future. She also notes she’s almost 40, a professional, listens to NPR and must be out of her mind.
When she gets home from the tattoo parlor, only then does she notice the date on the calendar: Ash Wednesday. She writes: “I don’t know if Jesus died on the cross for me or for anybody or if he just died. I don’t know if I am saved but I do know that I believe in death and resurrection. I believe that sometimes you have to live as if something is true before you are entirely sure about it.”
We have all been there. We have all, like the women in Mark’s story, stood in the cemetery, afraid and not entirely sure about it.
Yet we have heard the good news, the words spoken to the women at the tomb by the young man dressed in white: He has gone ahead of you, to Galilee, there you will find him, just as he told you. This is the good news: the resurrection means that Jesus is on the loose and has gone ahead of us. Galilee was the hometown of many of Jesus’ disciples and probably the place they fled after Jesus’ death. So the angel is saying, “Go home, Jesus is there!” And he’s waiting for you. And you will see him, just as he promised. If the angel wanted to be snarky, he would add: just as he promised in Mark 14:28, which you clearly haven’t read.
The good news is this: Jesus goes ahead of us. Not just to our homes in Anchorage or wherever, but Jesus goes ahead of us into the future. We need not fear the future in life or in death. Jesus goes ahead of us. He is waiting there for us. We will see him, just as he promised. This is what the resurrection means: he is with us, ahead of us, always.
One more thing about the woman with the phoenix tattoo. When she and her friend were looking at designs, the friend came upon the winner and said: “That’s cool. The phoenix is coming from the flames and it is the flames.” And in the picture I could see it was true. You could barely tell where the bird ends and the flames begin.
The woman also about how much it hurt to get the tattoo. Which I would say is the same thing about resurrection. You don’t get it without the crucifixion. The blogger writes: “Transformation doesn’t mean that the pain all goes away. Bad things happened. Bad things still do. Some things that are lost are never found again, and I will always have a few broken bits in my psyche. I have holes and scars, but those can be a part of me, and even made beautiful, until you can’t really tell the flames from the feathers.”
May we live in the hope of the resurrected Christ – loose in the world, ahead of us now, with us always. Amen.
I'm still pondering some of the themes I talked about in my Easter sermon. So I'm posting it here, if you're interested.
-----------
Easter Sermon, Rev. Lisa A. Smith, April 12, 2009, Central Lutheran Church
Easter Joke: Ole died. So Lena went to the local paper to put a notice in the obituaries. The gentleman at the counter, after offering his condolences, asked Lena what she would like to say about Ole. Lena replied, “You just put ‘Ole died.’” The gentleman, perplexed, said, “That’s it? Just ‘Ole died.’” Surely, there must be something more you’d like to say about Ole. If it’s money you’re concerned about, the first five words are free. We must say something more.” Lena pondered for a few minutes and finally said, “O.K. You put, ‘Ole died. Boat for sale.’”
I had two choices for sermon texts this morning. I could have preached the Easter story from John’s gospel or the one we just heard from Mark. John’s version is the one where Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb, mistakes Jesus for a gardener, Jesus says her name, she rejoices and goes and tells everyone. And they lived happily ever after.
We like happy endings: like the happy ending of the final episode of “Friends” over the controversial-left-you-hanging end of “The Sopranos.” I know people who only go to movies with happy endings.
I considered that but then I thought about you. I saw your faces as I stared at the blank computer screen. Some of you are living some happy endings but most of you are struggling and waiting and see how it all turns out. Some of you are trying to get over some very unhappy endings. I thought about you and I thought about Mark’s gospel story that leaves us hanging: They went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Of what the women were most afraid? After all, they were standing in a cemetery (a good start) and the body of their friend had gone missing. If you showed up at Anchorage Memorial Gardens in the same situation, you’d be afraid too. Perhaps they were afraid because they just met a talking angel. Or maybe they were afraid because they had just been given a job to do (go and tell) and that seemed like more work than they were up to on a Sunday morning. After all, Sunday is a good day to sleep in, maybe do the crossword or get coffee.
Whatever those women feared, it had something to do with resurrection. It certainly wasn’t part of their plan. Even though Jesus in Mark’s gospel makes three clear passion predictions (I will suffer, die and be raised in three days) none of Jesus disciples really get it. They didn’t count on Jesus death so they didn’t count on a resurrection. Now the women make the best of what they think is all that’s left: they go to anoint the body.
The problem with Easter, aside from too many Peeps, is that it asks us to believe the fantastical: God brought his crucified Son back to life. The resurrection happened. It’s hard to believe something that we can’t prove. When we hear about resurrection, we too might react by being afraid. Or skeptical. Or indifferent.
One of my running buddies pulled me aside recently religion chat. He said he wasn’t sure if he believed in the divinity of Jesus anymore. He listed the broken places in his life: divorce, children in crisis and financial concerns. I didn’t say much, just listened. Later I kept thinking, gosh, if Jesus isn’t divine, if there wasn’t a resurrection, none of us have any hope. The question we can ask ourselves is this: what is God’s deepest desire for us -- despair or hope? And then how shall we live?
Online recently, I came across a blog by a woman living in Los Angeles. She blogged about getting a tattoo of a phoenix on her right arm (www.drybonesdance.typepad.com) The phoenix, as any good Harry Potter fan knows, is an ancient, mythical symbol of resurrection. After a time, the bird is said to burst and burn into flames, nest included. A new bird soon rises from the ashes.
The woman gets the tattoo because she says it symbolizes a re-birth in her own life and gives her hope for the future. She also notes she’s almost 40, a professional, listens to NPR and must be out of her mind.
When she gets home from the tattoo parlor, only then does she notice the date on the calendar: Ash Wednesday. She writes: “I don’t know if Jesus died on the cross for me or for anybody or if he just died. I don’t know if I am saved but I do know that I believe in death and resurrection. I believe that sometimes you have to live as if something is true before you are entirely sure about it.”
We have all been there. We have all, like the women in Mark’s story, stood in the cemetery, afraid and not entirely sure about it.
Yet we have heard the good news, the words spoken to the women at the tomb by the young man dressed in white: He has gone ahead of you, to Galilee, there you will find him, just as he told you. This is the good news: the resurrection means that Jesus is on the loose and has gone ahead of us. Galilee was the hometown of many of Jesus’ disciples and probably the place they fled after Jesus’ death. So the angel is saying, “Go home, Jesus is there!” And he’s waiting for you. And you will see him, just as he promised. If the angel wanted to be snarky, he would add: just as he promised in Mark 14:28, which you clearly haven’t read.
The good news is this: Jesus goes ahead of us. Not just to our homes in Anchorage or wherever, but Jesus goes ahead of us into the future. We need not fear the future in life or in death. Jesus goes ahead of us. He is waiting there for us. We will see him, just as he promised. This is what the resurrection means: he is with us, ahead of us, always.
One more thing about the woman with the phoenix tattoo. When she and her friend were looking at designs, the friend came upon the winner and said: “That’s cool. The phoenix is coming from the flames and it is the flames.” And in the picture I could see it was true. You could barely tell where the bird ends and the flames begin.
The woman also about how much it hurt to get the tattoo. Which I would say is the same thing about resurrection. You don’t get it without the crucifixion. The blogger writes: “Transformation doesn’t mean that the pain all goes away. Bad things happened. Bad things still do. Some things that are lost are never found again, and I will always have a few broken bits in my psyche. I have holes and scars, but those can be a part of me, and even made beautiful, until you can’t really tell the flames from the feathers.”
May we live in the hope of the resurrected Christ – loose in the world, ahead of us now, with us always. Amen.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Good Friday- Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem
Lutherans of Anchorage hold a joint noon Good Friday service each year. This year, we did 8 stations of the cross. I did the reflection Jesus meeting the women of Jerusalem; it's copied below. Safe travels from Good Friday's night to Easter's morn.
“A great number of the people followed Jesus, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” Luke 23:27-28
We don’t know much about these women, these daughters of Jerusalem. We don’t know if they were the standard, professional Jewish mourners at death or if they are genuinely grieving for Jesus.
Does it matter? Have you ever noticed those who weep at funerals and memorials? Often they barely knew the person who just died. They weep for other losses, for loved ones gone long ago, for broken hearts or in anticipatory grief of someone still living. They weep, they wail and they beat their breasts, just like these daughters of Jerusalem.
Jesus tells them not to weep for him but to weep for themselves. Jesus knew there were other reasons to weep. Historically, the city and temple of Jerusalem would fall in the year 70 AD. Jesus also could have reminded them of their situation in life. He could have added: “Weep for yourselves because the guys who wrote the Bible won’t bother with your names. Weep because you live in a world where your gender makes you less of a person. Weep for your children’s children, because two thousand years later, too many still die from war, disease, hunger, and neglect. Weep because there are still executions and sometimes we don’t know the guilty from the innocent.
New York Times foreign correspondent Dexter Filkins spent years covering Afghanistan and Iraq. He recently wrote a book entitled The Forever War. Here is an excerpt:
----------------------
The men with guns led the blindfolded man from the truck and walked him to midfield and sat him down in the dirt. His head and body were wrapped in a dull gray blanket, all of a piece. Seated there in the dirt at midfield at the Kabul Sports Stadium, he didn't look much like a man at all, more like a sack of flour. In that outfit, it was difficult even to tell which way he was facing. His name was Atiqullah, one of the Taliban said.
Atiqullah had been convicted of killing another man in an irrigation dispute, the Talibs said. An argument over water. He'd beaten his victim to death with an ax, or so they said. He was eighteen.
By this time a group had gathered behind me. It was the family of the murderer and the family of the victim. The families were close enough to touch. Sharia law allows for the possibility of mercy: Atiqullah's execution could be halted if the family of the victim so willed it.
"Please spare my son," Atiqullah's father, Abdul Modin, said. He was weeping. "Please spare my son."
"I am not ready to do that," the victim's father, Ahmad Noor, said, not weeping. "I am not ready to forgive him. He killed my son. He cut his throat. I do not forgive him."
The families were wearing olive clothes that looked like old blankets and their faces were lined and dry. The women were weeping. Everyone looked the same. I forgot who was who.
"Even if you gave me all the gold in the world," Noor said, "I would not accept it."
Then he turned to a young man next to him. “My son will do it,” he said.
One of the green hoods handed a Kalashnikov to the murder victim's brother. The crowd fell silent.
"In revenge there is life," the loudspeaker said.
The brother fired. Atiqullah lingered motionless for a second then collapsed in a heap under the gray blanket. I felt what I believed was a vibration from the stands. The brother stood over Atiqullah, aimed his AK-47 and fired again. The body lay still under the blanket.
--------------------
There are daughters of Jerusalem crying at every moment, somewhere in this world. They weep because we still keep thinking we can crucify the wrong sorts of people and that will be the end of it. They weep for the world that is and the world that should be and the long road between those places.
We weep for these reasons too.
Luke says the weeping, wailing women were following Jesus. Perhaps they still are.
“A great number of the people followed Jesus, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” Luke 23:27-28
We don’t know much about these women, these daughters of Jerusalem. We don’t know if they were the standard, professional Jewish mourners at death or if they are genuinely grieving for Jesus.
Does it matter? Have you ever noticed those who weep at funerals and memorials? Often they barely knew the person who just died. They weep for other losses, for loved ones gone long ago, for broken hearts or in anticipatory grief of someone still living. They weep, they wail and they beat their breasts, just like these daughters of Jerusalem.
Jesus tells them not to weep for him but to weep for themselves. Jesus knew there were other reasons to weep. Historically, the city and temple of Jerusalem would fall in the year 70 AD. Jesus also could have reminded them of their situation in life. He could have added: “Weep for yourselves because the guys who wrote the Bible won’t bother with your names. Weep because you live in a world where your gender makes you less of a person. Weep for your children’s children, because two thousand years later, too many still die from war, disease, hunger, and neglect. Weep because there are still executions and sometimes we don’t know the guilty from the innocent.
New York Times foreign correspondent Dexter Filkins spent years covering Afghanistan and Iraq. He recently wrote a book entitled The Forever War. Here is an excerpt:
----------------------
The men with guns led the blindfolded man from the truck and walked him to midfield and sat him down in the dirt. His head and body were wrapped in a dull gray blanket, all of a piece. Seated there in the dirt at midfield at the Kabul Sports Stadium, he didn't look much like a man at all, more like a sack of flour. In that outfit, it was difficult even to tell which way he was facing. His name was Atiqullah, one of the Taliban said.
Atiqullah had been convicted of killing another man in an irrigation dispute, the Talibs said. An argument over water. He'd beaten his victim to death with an ax, or so they said. He was eighteen.
By this time a group had gathered behind me. It was the family of the murderer and the family of the victim. The families were close enough to touch. Sharia law allows for the possibility of mercy: Atiqullah's execution could be halted if the family of the victim so willed it.
"Please spare my son," Atiqullah's father, Abdul Modin, said. He was weeping. "Please spare my son."
"I am not ready to do that," the victim's father, Ahmad Noor, said, not weeping. "I am not ready to forgive him. He killed my son. He cut his throat. I do not forgive him."
The families were wearing olive clothes that looked like old blankets and their faces were lined and dry. The women were weeping. Everyone looked the same. I forgot who was who.
"Even if you gave me all the gold in the world," Noor said, "I would not accept it."
Then he turned to a young man next to him. “My son will do it,” he said.
One of the green hoods handed a Kalashnikov to the murder victim's brother. The crowd fell silent.
"In revenge there is life," the loudspeaker said.
The brother fired. Atiqullah lingered motionless for a second then collapsed in a heap under the gray blanket. I felt what I believed was a vibration from the stands. The brother stood over Atiqullah, aimed his AK-47 and fired again. The body lay still under the blanket.
--------------------
There are daughters of Jerusalem crying at every moment, somewhere in this world. They weep because we still keep thinking we can crucify the wrong sorts of people and that will be the end of it. They weep for the world that is and the world that should be and the long road between those places.
We weep for these reasons too.
Luke says the weeping, wailing women were following Jesus. Perhaps they still are.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Redemption
We find ourselves at the crossroads of Lent and Easter, the meeting place of suffering and rejoicing, the joining of death and life.
It's Holy Week.
It's also break up time in Alaska, the stores overflow with Easter candy and our economy keeps heading south.
In the midst of this, I heard the word "redemption" in a public radio broadcast today. I keep thinking about it. So here's the context. Perhaps in the story, there's a connection with our lives.
Private First Class David Sharrett, of Virginia's 101st Airborne Division, died in northern Iraq during a fire fight. His father, David Sharrett, senior, later discovered the whole truth: his son was accidentally shot and killed by a lieutenant from his own division. Even worse: after the gunfire, the lieutenant hopped on a chopper and left Sharrett behind. Since Sharrett wasn't wearing a locator beacon (the division leader didn't give the men time to put them on), he wasn't found until more than an hour later.
The army wasn't forthcoming on this portion of the story. Sharrett, a high school English teacher, had help from reporter and former student James Meek, who writes for the New York Daily News.
The story is compelling on its own. We remember how seconds matter, how the unexpected happens and how the fog of war turns the world upside down. We know that sometimes power doesn't speak the truth. We know people make mistakes.
What does Sharrett have to say about the lieutenant's behavior, now that some time has passed?
"I have compassion for him, I have compassion for his family," said David Sharrett, senior. "I want somewhere in the midst of all of this, for there to be redemption out of this."
What is redemption in this case? Perhaps it's that the elder Sharrett and reporter Meek found out the whole story. And now they can tell it. Sharrett said the reason for the research and publicity is to give his son a voice. Perhaps now he can rest in peace.
Where does this narrative meet our Holy Week world?
We know the resurrection redeems the horror of Jesus' crucifixion. It doesn't diminish the pain of Jesus' death but it makes something to rise from the ashes of tragedy.
It's a story, it's a narrative.
We are people of story, people of narrative. We need to keep telling our stories. Of course the Easter story, but perhaps our own stories of redemption too. There are other tales that need our voices. There are other powerful examples of ways God has redeemed a broken situation or person.
Perhaps this is our Holy Week invitation: tell the story of redemption.
It's Holy Week.
It's also break up time in Alaska, the stores overflow with Easter candy and our economy keeps heading south.
In the midst of this, I heard the word "redemption" in a public radio broadcast today. I keep thinking about it. So here's the context. Perhaps in the story, there's a connection with our lives.
Private First Class David Sharrett, of Virginia's 101st Airborne Division, died in northern Iraq during a fire fight. His father, David Sharrett, senior, later discovered the whole truth: his son was accidentally shot and killed by a lieutenant from his own division. Even worse: after the gunfire, the lieutenant hopped on a chopper and left Sharrett behind. Since Sharrett wasn't wearing a locator beacon (the division leader didn't give the men time to put them on), he wasn't found until more than an hour later.
The army wasn't forthcoming on this portion of the story. Sharrett, a high school English teacher, had help from reporter and former student James Meek, who writes for the New York Daily News.
The story is compelling on its own. We remember how seconds matter, how the unexpected happens and how the fog of war turns the world upside down. We know that sometimes power doesn't speak the truth. We know people make mistakes.
What does Sharrett have to say about the lieutenant's behavior, now that some time has passed?
"I have compassion for him, I have compassion for his family," said David Sharrett, senior. "I want somewhere in the midst of all of this, for there to be redemption out of this."
What is redemption in this case? Perhaps it's that the elder Sharrett and reporter Meek found out the whole story. And now they can tell it. Sharrett said the reason for the research and publicity is to give his son a voice. Perhaps now he can rest in peace.
Where does this narrative meet our Holy Week world?
We know the resurrection redeems the horror of Jesus' crucifixion. It doesn't diminish the pain of Jesus' death but it makes something to rise from the ashes of tragedy.
It's a story, it's a narrative.
We are people of story, people of narrative. We need to keep telling our stories. Of course the Easter story, but perhaps our own stories of redemption too. There are other tales that need our voices. There are other powerful examples of ways God has redeemed a broken situation or person.
Perhaps this is our Holy Week invitation: tell the story of redemption.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
God says yes!
This is the third and final posting about the trip to Taize. Any more would stard to feel narcissistic...and blogs are too much like this to begin with!
I digress.
The theme for Bible study during our week was "God says yes." In French: "Dieu dit oui."
Our daily study was led by Brother Benoit, who was, of course, French and had lived at Taize for only a few years. He was young, funny, charming and passionate about the gospel. I liked him instantly, of course.
Brother Benoit quipped that we were going to read the whole Bible in one week. Well, a brief overview, anyway. He began in Genesis on Day 1 and ended Day 6 in Revelation with some pretty heavy editing in between. The theme of "God says yes" wove throughout the week.
It was so life affirming! God says yes to who we are and who we will become. Brother Benoit started with the two creation accounts and shared insights from the Hebrew language. He moved fluidly through the exodus story and into Elijah and God's still small voice. He challenged us to look beyond what God is calling us to do; rather, who is God calling us to be? How is God speaking and what do we hear?
On Day 4, Brother Benoit moved to the New Testament (Jesus arrives on Thursday, he said) and we studied Jesus healing the sick and Jesus washing feet. In Jesus, God says yes to our humanity; the savior is a servant.
The last day featured passages from Revelation. I seem to remember this day best-- because it was the best or because it was the last? Either way, two images stand out.
One: Rev. 3:20 when Jesus stands at the door and knocks. Brother Benoit asked us to notice that Jesus knocks. He will not kick down the door. Brother Benoit illustrated this by climbing up on a bench and doing a mock karate kick. Then he raised his eyebrows and said in a French accent: "Jesus is not a bad guy."
The second: Based on Revelation 21 where God comes to dwell with us, Brother Benoit discussed how God guides us. He said God is like a GPS, which, if you make a wrong turn will not tell you "You are a bad boy!" Rather, the GPS will reconfigure the way and keep giving you directions to get to your destination. Everytime to you take a wrong turn, it will keep giving you options to get you there by the shortest way possible. The GPS will never force you.
I'll close with a portion of "Letter from Kenya" written by Father Alois, the abbot of Taize, from his recent trip to Africa. The letter was also used as a discussion springboard during Bible study small groups.
Father Alois writes: "Yes, God is present in every person, whether they are believers or not. From its very first page, the Bible describes in a beautiful and poetic way the gift that God makes of his breath of life to every human being. So let us consent to what we are or what we are not; let us even take responsibility for all we have not chosen but which makes us who we are. Let us dare to be creative even with what is not perfect. And we will find freedom. Even when overburdened, we will receive our life as a gift and each day as God's today.
Amen!
I digress.
The theme for Bible study during our week was "God says yes." In French: "Dieu dit oui."
Our daily study was led by Brother Benoit, who was, of course, French and had lived at Taize for only a few years. He was young, funny, charming and passionate about the gospel. I liked him instantly, of course.
Brother Benoit quipped that we were going to read the whole Bible in one week. Well, a brief overview, anyway. He began in Genesis on Day 1 and ended Day 6 in Revelation with some pretty heavy editing in between. The theme of "God says yes" wove throughout the week.
It was so life affirming! God says yes to who we are and who we will become. Brother Benoit started with the two creation accounts and shared insights from the Hebrew language. He moved fluidly through the exodus story and into Elijah and God's still small voice. He challenged us to look beyond what God is calling us to do; rather, who is God calling us to be? How is God speaking and what do we hear?
On Day 4, Brother Benoit moved to the New Testament (Jesus arrives on Thursday, he said) and we studied Jesus healing the sick and Jesus washing feet. In Jesus, God says yes to our humanity; the savior is a servant.
The last day featured passages from Revelation. I seem to remember this day best-- because it was the best or because it was the last? Either way, two images stand out.
One: Rev. 3:20 when Jesus stands at the door and knocks. Brother Benoit asked us to notice that Jesus knocks. He will not kick down the door. Brother Benoit illustrated this by climbing up on a bench and doing a mock karate kick. Then he raised his eyebrows and said in a French accent: "Jesus is not a bad guy."
The second: Based on Revelation 21 where God comes to dwell with us, Brother Benoit discussed how God guides us. He said God is like a GPS, which, if you make a wrong turn will not tell you "You are a bad boy!" Rather, the GPS will reconfigure the way and keep giving you directions to get to your destination. Everytime to you take a wrong turn, it will keep giving you options to get you there by the shortest way possible. The GPS will never force you.
I'll close with a portion of "Letter from Kenya" written by Father Alois, the abbot of Taize, from his recent trip to Africa. The letter was also used as a discussion springboard during Bible study small groups.
Father Alois writes: "Yes, God is present in every person, whether they are believers or not. From its very first page, the Bible describes in a beautiful and poetic way the gift that God makes of his breath of life to every human being. So let us consent to what we are or what we are not; let us even take responsibility for all we have not chosen but which makes us who we are. Let us dare to be creative even with what is not perfect. And we will find freedom. Even when overburdened, we will receive our life as a gift and each day as God's today.
Amen!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The worship and the stillness
This is the second posting of brief reflections on our trip to Taize. For those of you who have been there you know there's something about the worship that pulls people, engages them and quiets them.
Maybe it's the sound of dozens of brothers chanting in unity or the sight of their uniform white robes. Maybe it's the 10 minute period of silence where you can connect to God, yourself, or the God of your own understanding. Or maybe it's the repetition -- three times a day, whether you feel like it or not. And that last statment is from one of the brothers!
Taize draws thousands of people each year; summers draw thousands each week. The majority are young people. Let me say quite plainly: they're not coming for the food.
Why do they come?
Yes, it's a place for seekers but it's also a place where the Gospel is proclaimed. No, not in a sermon, but in Bible studies with a brother and small group conversation to follow. There's also gospel in the proclamation that everyone is welcome, everyone is accepted. No denominational card checks. No dogma screens. You are welcome and God loves you. That's what I heard. Again and maybe for the first time.
There is something about silence. My group members said it felt too long at week's beginning at too short at it's end. I tend to agree.
I used the space at first for my own agendas, thoughts, plans and fears. Then, slowly and with no particular intention on my part, I felt something soften. I loosened my grip.
And the prayers came naturally...for the brothers, for the volunteers, for the group I'd brought from Alaska, for members of my congregation...
It was a profound spiritual experience, to sense the Spirit move through me and stirring me to look upon others with love.
It is interesting to me that silence can be so powerful.
Maybe it's the sound of dozens of brothers chanting in unity or the sight of their uniform white robes. Maybe it's the 10 minute period of silence where you can connect to God, yourself, or the God of your own understanding. Or maybe it's the repetition -- three times a day, whether you feel like it or not. And that last statment is from one of the brothers!
Taize draws thousands of people each year; summers draw thousands each week. The majority are young people. Let me say quite plainly: they're not coming for the food.
Why do they come?
Yes, it's a place for seekers but it's also a place where the Gospel is proclaimed. No, not in a sermon, but in Bible studies with a brother and small group conversation to follow. There's also gospel in the proclamation that everyone is welcome, everyone is accepted. No denominational card checks. No dogma screens. You are welcome and God loves you. That's what I heard. Again and maybe for the first time.
There is something about silence. My group members said it felt too long at week's beginning at too short at it's end. I tend to agree.
I used the space at first for my own agendas, thoughts, plans and fears. Then, slowly and with no particular intention on my part, I felt something soften. I loosened my grip.
And the prayers came naturally...for the brothers, for the volunteers, for the group I'd brought from Alaska, for members of my congregation...
It was a profound spiritual experience, to sense the Spirit move through me and stirring me to look upon others with love.
It is interesting to me that silence can be so powerful.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Taize, first impressions
I've just returned from the week in Taize. It was not quite and yet everything I expected and desired. It was, in sum, a deeply spiritual experience.
I didn't blog on the trip, mostly because I was in my own world of reflection. But I'd like to share a few things with anyone out there in blog-land.
It's challenging to describe a powerful experience or trip with words, especially when you just return. Perhaps the effects come slowly, they evolve as we do.
My first impression of Taize was that I'd walked into a French Bible camp. Lodging, grounds, food, bathrooms, everything was simple and in some cases primative. Some pathways were paved but most were dirt and gravel. We sat on the floor in worship. We sat on simple benches with no backs at meals. We ate small portions of simple foods. No bathrooms had any hand towels or hand-dryers.
These things might enhance the spirituality of the place, or they might hinder the experience. I think for me it was mostly the former.
My initial reaction to the schedule was that it was busier than I'd expected. Worship was three times a day for at least 30-40 minutes. Meal times took a while because there was always a line. Everyone was expected to do chores, usually at least once a day. Then there was large group Bible study and small group reflection. There were also special workshops and presentations. Oh, and tea-and-cookie time. So the time passed swiftly. We found that if additional reflection and quiet time was needed it had to be taken intentionally.
There's more I want to say. I want to say how the worship impacted my life. I want to speak of the Bible studies. I want to say what this might have to do with you, all or any of you reading this missive.
I'll say those things later. Until then, I'll just remind myself and you that we're in the season of Lent. It's a time for an inward focus, a look deeper and beyond, a time for centering. I did that in Taize but it happens everywhere.
What does it take for you to
pause?
I didn't blog on the trip, mostly because I was in my own world of reflection. But I'd like to share a few things with anyone out there in blog-land.
It's challenging to describe a powerful experience or trip with words, especially when you just return. Perhaps the effects come slowly, they evolve as we do.
My first impression of Taize was that I'd walked into a French Bible camp. Lodging, grounds, food, bathrooms, everything was simple and in some cases primative. Some pathways were paved but most were dirt and gravel. We sat on the floor in worship. We sat on simple benches with no backs at meals. We ate small portions of simple foods. No bathrooms had any hand towels or hand-dryers.
These things might enhance the spirituality of the place, or they might hinder the experience. I think for me it was mostly the former.
My initial reaction to the schedule was that it was busier than I'd expected. Worship was three times a day for at least 30-40 minutes. Meal times took a while because there was always a line. Everyone was expected to do chores, usually at least once a day. Then there was large group Bible study and small group reflection. There were also special workshops and presentations. Oh, and tea-and-cookie time. So the time passed swiftly. We found that if additional reflection and quiet time was needed it had to be taken intentionally.
There's more I want to say. I want to say how the worship impacted my life. I want to speak of the Bible studies. I want to say what this might have to do with you, all or any of you reading this missive.
I'll say those things later. Until then, I'll just remind myself and you that we're in the season of Lent. It's a time for an inward focus, a look deeper and beyond, a time for centering. I did that in Taize but it happens everywhere.
What does it take for you to
pause?
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
On the way to Taize
In about 12 hours I'll board an airplane bound for France with a small group of Lutheran young women. We're travelling to Taize, an ecumenical retreat community in the southern portion of France. As I told my congregation, it's farmland, not beach.
Taize was founded in 1940 after World War II by Brother Roger, a Swiss man who wanted to provide a place of safety for refugees traveling home after the war. Eventually, Taize grew to attract more than 100 brothers of varying deonominations. Thousands of pilgrims come to Taize each year; a large portion are young adults. Taize worship is chant-based, simple and includes a period of silence. There is no preaching and everyone else welcome. More info at www.taize.fr/en
I've long desired to spend a week in Taize. Days include three worship services, a Bible study with one of the brothers and a time of service in the community. We'll stay there March 8-15 with guests from all over the world.
There are seven traveling from Anchorage. Please keep us in your prayers. As time and access permits, I will update this blog. Now, off into the Lenten journey...
Taize was founded in 1940 after World War II by Brother Roger, a Swiss man who wanted to provide a place of safety for refugees traveling home after the war. Eventually, Taize grew to attract more than 100 brothers of varying deonominations. Thousands of pilgrims come to Taize each year; a large portion are young adults. Taize worship is chant-based, simple and includes a period of silence. There is no preaching and everyone else welcome. More info at www.taize.fr/en
I've long desired to spend a week in Taize. Days include three worship services, a Bible study with one of the brothers and a time of service in the community. We'll stay there March 8-15 with guests from all over the world.
There are seven traveling from Anchorage. Please keep us in your prayers. As time and access permits, I will update this blog. Now, off into the Lenten journey...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Regression Nation
There might be a deeper problem embedded in our nation's financial crisis, said Dr. Michael Kerr, Director of the Bowen Center for the Study of the Family, at a conference at Pacific Lutheran University, Feb. 12-13. The problem? Chronic anxiety that has led to regressive behavior.
I heard Dr. Kerr speak last week at the conference celebrating the 40th anniversary of Consulatation to Clergy in Region 1, a resource for ELCA and Missouri Synod clergy and congregations. Kerr is an expert in Bowen family systems theory that looks at how an individual functions within a system. It's very a helpful system for learning more about self and how we function in families and congregations. I've been through a Bowen family system theory workshop; I do not exaggerate when I say it has totally re-shaped how I relate to my family and congregation.
Anyway, Bowen theory has several concepts. One of them is regression: "If chronic anxiety escalates in a relationship system, the system becomes dominated by less thoughtful and more reactive ways of interacting that are older in an evolutionary sense than the advanced complex behaviors of a well-functioning relationship system."
In other words, when we get anxious, our brains shift into neutral and we react more emotionally, less rationally. Ever seen this in someone? How about yourself?
Regression isn't just for indivuduals, it happens to larger groups, like a whole nation. Kerr suggests the US is in a period of regression. He points to manifestations of emotoinally-driven regression: violence, we-they factions, polarizations, litigation, teen pregnancies, focus on rights, fundamentalism, quick-fix legislation, and terrorism. While statistics for these may vary on the month or year, these concerns have been part of our national reality for some time.
What causes a regression? Some suggest a period of abundance. Consider this example from the Galapagos Islands. During an El Nino deluge of rain one year, the islands produced an abundance of caterpillars which were eaten in abundance by ground finches. The finches behavior changed at this good fortune. Researchers said "the birds went crazy" and there was a "copulating frenzy." Females produced more eggs than they could care for, "teen" females were getting pregnant, males staked out poor territories but got females anyway, some females abandoned their eggs, and other manner of odd behavior.
Apparently, the birds couldn't handle the abunance. They failed to self-regulate.
Our country has been in a period of abundance. How did we handle it? Did we indeed fail to self-regulate?
Fear not, I'll not leave this post on such a downer. What's the cure for chronic anxiety? Well, perhaps it's not a cure but there is a way to mediate anxiety. Physician, know thyself! Seriously, it's time for a little introspection. Get quiet. Get thoughtful. Bowen theory suggests the way to deal with anxiety is to connect to the self, the deeper self and operate from that place.
I heard Dr. Kerr speak last week at the conference celebrating the 40th anniversary of Consulatation to Clergy in Region 1, a resource for ELCA and Missouri Synod clergy and congregations. Kerr is an expert in Bowen family systems theory that looks at how an individual functions within a system. It's very a helpful system for learning more about self and how we function in families and congregations. I've been through a Bowen family system theory workshop; I do not exaggerate when I say it has totally re-shaped how I relate to my family and congregation.
Anyway, Bowen theory has several concepts. One of them is regression: "If chronic anxiety escalates in a relationship system, the system becomes dominated by less thoughtful and more reactive ways of interacting that are older in an evolutionary sense than the advanced complex behaviors of a well-functioning relationship system."
In other words, when we get anxious, our brains shift into neutral and we react more emotionally, less rationally. Ever seen this in someone? How about yourself?
Regression isn't just for indivuduals, it happens to larger groups, like a whole nation. Kerr suggests the US is in a period of regression. He points to manifestations of emotoinally-driven regression: violence, we-they factions, polarizations, litigation, teen pregnancies, focus on rights, fundamentalism, quick-fix legislation, and terrorism. While statistics for these may vary on the month or year, these concerns have been part of our national reality for some time.
What causes a regression? Some suggest a period of abundance. Consider this example from the Galapagos Islands. During an El Nino deluge of rain one year, the islands produced an abundance of caterpillars which were eaten in abundance by ground finches. The finches behavior changed at this good fortune. Researchers said "the birds went crazy" and there was a "copulating frenzy." Females produced more eggs than they could care for, "teen" females were getting pregnant, males staked out poor territories but got females anyway, some females abandoned their eggs, and other manner of odd behavior.
Apparently, the birds couldn't handle the abunance. They failed to self-regulate.
Our country has been in a period of abundance. How did we handle it? Did we indeed fail to self-regulate?
Fear not, I'll not leave this post on such a downer. What's the cure for chronic anxiety? Well, perhaps it's not a cure but there is a way to mediate anxiety. Physician, know thyself! Seriously, it's time for a little introspection. Get quiet. Get thoughtful. Bowen theory suggests the way to deal with anxiety is to connect to the self, the deeper self and operate from that place.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Living the Questions
(The following comments are from my sermon at Central, preached Sunday, 2/01/09)
When I was thinking about going to seminary, I asked a pastor who was also a mentor if he learned the answers to complex theological questions. "No," he replied, "I just learned to ask better questions."
Sunday's gospel (2/01/09) from Mark 1 finds Jesus in a synagogue teaching with authority, not like the scribes, Mark is careful to point out. The lecture is interrupted by a man possesed with an unclean spirit. Jesus casts out the demon and everyone is amazed. They start asking, and kept asking, questions. "What is this? A new teaching? With authority!"
There are a lot of questions floating around out there. I saw a Thrivent (Financial for Lutherans) representative last week and he said he's getting questions like, "Why didn't we see this [economic downturn/recession] coming?" As if he knows the answer! The recession leads to tough questions: How much longer must I postpone retirement? How do I deal with the anger of losing %40 of my investments? What do I do when I can't pay the heating bill/mortgage/credit card?
We've been asking tough questions at Central lately. Can we afford four full-time staf? Can we afford a full-time youth director? (We've decided yes, at least for now, but these questions were asked during the budgeting cycle.)
Other questions rise up: Why is our attendance dropping? How can we attract more young people and families? Why do people sometimes feel disconnected from each other at Central? Why is it so hard to find volunteers? Why is everyone so busy?
Back to our gospel. The man with the unclean spirit clearly had a problem but didn't ask Jesus for help. Maybe he was so possesed that he couldn't find the words. Yet he dared bring his unclean self into the holiest place in Capernaum on the holiest day of the week. He made no request. He just placed himself in front of the Son of God. And Jesus healed him, restoring the man not just to health but back into community.
When we question God, each other, ourselves or our mission as disciples, I wonder if we can be so brave: place ourselves in front of Christ. Could we do so even without agenda or expectation? Could we come before God in quiet hope, in open desire to follow?
Perhaps this is the way, as the poet Rilke says, to "live the questions." Rilke continues: "Try to love the questions themselve, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not look now for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself expereincing the answer, some distant day."
Amen.
When I was thinking about going to seminary, I asked a pastor who was also a mentor if he learned the answers to complex theological questions. "No," he replied, "I just learned to ask better questions."
Sunday's gospel (2/01/09) from Mark 1 finds Jesus in a synagogue teaching with authority, not like the scribes, Mark is careful to point out. The lecture is interrupted by a man possesed with an unclean spirit. Jesus casts out the demon and everyone is amazed. They start asking, and kept asking, questions. "What is this? A new teaching? With authority!"
There are a lot of questions floating around out there. I saw a Thrivent (Financial for Lutherans) representative last week and he said he's getting questions like, "Why didn't we see this [economic downturn/recession] coming?" As if he knows the answer! The recession leads to tough questions: How much longer must I postpone retirement? How do I deal with the anger of losing %40 of my investments? What do I do when I can't pay the heating bill/mortgage/credit card?
We've been asking tough questions at Central lately. Can we afford four full-time staf? Can we afford a full-time youth director? (We've decided yes, at least for now, but these questions were asked during the budgeting cycle.)
Other questions rise up: Why is our attendance dropping? How can we attract more young people and families? Why do people sometimes feel disconnected from each other at Central? Why is it so hard to find volunteers? Why is everyone so busy?
Back to our gospel. The man with the unclean spirit clearly had a problem but didn't ask Jesus for help. Maybe he was so possesed that he couldn't find the words. Yet he dared bring his unclean self into the holiest place in Capernaum on the holiest day of the week. He made no request. He just placed himself in front of the Son of God. And Jesus healed him, restoring the man not just to health but back into community.
When we question God, each other, ourselves or our mission as disciples, I wonder if we can be so brave: place ourselves in front of Christ. Could we do so even without agenda or expectation? Could we come before God in quiet hope, in open desire to follow?
Perhaps this is the way, as the poet Rilke says, to "live the questions." Rilke continues: "Try to love the questions themselve, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not look now for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself expereincing the answer, some distant day."
Amen.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Lament on a day of joy
Jan. 20, 2009: The inaguration of Barack Obama as the 44th president of the United States, Washington, D.C.
Jan. 19-21, 2009: ELCA Preaching conference on lament, Cannon Beach, Oregon.
Good thing I'm Lutheran and can hold two opposites in tension. While for some, this day may be a day of sadness (McCain supporters, Republicans, etc) for me this was a day of joy, hope and pride in our nation. I'm gathered in this Oregon beach town with 100 or so Lutheran pastors to discuss how to preach in times of lament and sadness (a theme picked a year ago for this conference). I'm glad the speakers at least acknowledged the irony, as many of us are very happy to see this day come.
We watched the inaguration and Obama's speech together on a big screen in our conference room. I've never seen Lutheran pastors sit still for so long. People nodded and said "Amen" as Obama spoke. I wept. We clapped and stood when it was over. We clapped some more for the poet and the preacher who followed Obama.
Then, instead of delving back into Jeremiah and the Psalms of sadness, we talked about how joy and sorow, lament and praise often go together. Our Psalms do suggest this: most lament psalms have at least a few verses of praise, usually at the end. We know it's true in our own lives. Sometimes we curse and thank God in the same breath. We find ways to be joyful even on dark days.
So we passed a microphone around and talked about where we saw joy and lament collide this day.
One person noted that Obama listed our nation's lament. He acknowledged the pain in our nation: people losing jobs, fighting two wars, those who have lost their homes. Someone else pointed out that the opening and closing prayers had aspects of repentence and confession, which are lament-like but lead to new life and new hope.
Another pastor acknowledged that while many people in our congregations feel like an 8-year lament is over, others strongly feel a period of sadness is beginning. How do we stay at the table and honor their words of lament over a change of power in the administration? Someone else also mentioned the grief and lament that George Bush must be feeling.
One thought I'm left with: my generation (X) and the one after it (Y) have little experience with corporate lament or corporate joy. We felt this first at 9/11 when we mourned together. I think many of us feel the shared joy now at this promise of new hope in our country's leadership. Perhaps the best part is that we feel it together. May this national pride lead to unity of purpose and maybe, just maybe, a small step away from our tendancy toward so-called "rugged individualism."
Jan. 19-21, 2009: ELCA Preaching conference on lament, Cannon Beach, Oregon.
Good thing I'm Lutheran and can hold two opposites in tension. While for some, this day may be a day of sadness (McCain supporters, Republicans, etc) for me this was a day of joy, hope and pride in our nation. I'm gathered in this Oregon beach town with 100 or so Lutheran pastors to discuss how to preach in times of lament and sadness (a theme picked a year ago for this conference). I'm glad the speakers at least acknowledged the irony, as many of us are very happy to see this day come.
We watched the inaguration and Obama's speech together on a big screen in our conference room. I've never seen Lutheran pastors sit still for so long. People nodded and said "Amen" as Obama spoke. I wept. We clapped and stood when it was over. We clapped some more for the poet and the preacher who followed Obama.
Then, instead of delving back into Jeremiah and the Psalms of sadness, we talked about how joy and sorow, lament and praise often go together. Our Psalms do suggest this: most lament psalms have at least a few verses of praise, usually at the end. We know it's true in our own lives. Sometimes we curse and thank God in the same breath. We find ways to be joyful even on dark days.
So we passed a microphone around and talked about where we saw joy and lament collide this day.
One person noted that Obama listed our nation's lament. He acknowledged the pain in our nation: people losing jobs, fighting two wars, those who have lost their homes. Someone else pointed out that the opening and closing prayers had aspects of repentence and confession, which are lament-like but lead to new life and new hope.
Another pastor acknowledged that while many people in our congregations feel like an 8-year lament is over, others strongly feel a period of sadness is beginning. How do we stay at the table and honor their words of lament over a change of power in the administration? Someone else also mentioned the grief and lament that George Bush must be feeling.
One thought I'm left with: my generation (X) and the one after it (Y) have little experience with corporate lament or corporate joy. We felt this first at 9/11 when we mourned together. I think many of us feel the shared joy now at this promise of new hope in our country's leadership. Perhaps the best part is that we feel it together. May this national pride lead to unity of purpose and maybe, just maybe, a small step away from our tendancy toward so-called "rugged individualism."
Monday, January 12, 2009
One-line wisdom
Seen on a shelf at a parishioner's home: (paraphrase)
There is one holy call in life: not to make life harder for other people than it already is.
There is one holy call in life: not to make life harder for other people than it already is.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Christmas in Botswana
Sami Oeser, a member of Central, has been serving in the Peace Corps in Botswana for nearly 2 years. She's working at an orphanage with kids whose lives have been changed by HIV/AIDS (either from infection themselves or orphaned when parents died of AIDS). Here are some excerpts from Sami's Christmas card this year. Enjoy!
Sami writes:
I have learned some valuable lessons from living in Africa, though I'm not sure how applicable they will be in Alaska.
* Always shake out your shoes before putting them on. (You don't even want to know what might be hiding inside!)
* Don't sit under a palm tree (Falling palm nuts are big and heavy!)
* Don't park a car under any tree (goats will climb up on the hood and roof to reach foliage, leaving behind hoof indentations)
* Don't drink any fluids within 10 hours of a journey by bus (The buses have no facilities and don't stop!)
* If it looks like it tastes nasty, it probably does.
I am not alone:
In case any of you think I may be lonely living by myself in Maun, Botswana- fear not. Besides a steady stream of neighbors (especially children, last Friday during a rainstorm, I had 28 kids drawing pictures in my 300 sq. ft. house) I currently reside with 5 cats, several dozen spiders, a score of lizards, myriad cockroaches, beetles, flies, mosquitos, moths, crickets, mopani words and thousands of ants who materialize out of thin art if any scrap of food is left out, and then disappear just as quickly after consuming it. Fortunately, because I live far from the river, and there is little vegetation in my yard, I do not have a snake problem.
Christmas in Maun:
Christmas here goes by almost unnoticed. There are no Christmas trees, no lights and no decorations, save for one lone "Merry Christmas/Happy New Year" sign in teh window of a shop owned by a Hindu couple - go figure). There is no Christmas music and no sales pitches to buy presents. Chrsitmas cards and wrapping paper are very difficult to find. Ribbon is non-existent. But then, most people in my village can't afford to exchange gifts anyway. And instead of snow covered trees, I will be looking out on sun-baked sand.
But just like last year, I will put up the 10-inch Christmas tree that I made from green construction paper, and the African creche I assembled from wood carvings. I will play christmas music (thank goodness I remembered to bring some CDs from home), drink Christmas tea, eat some chocolate (life is good) and thank God for the wonderful support and love I have received this past year from my family and friends.
I hope to see each of you next summer.
Blessings,
Sami
---
If you want to check out the orphanage where Sami works: www.banabaletsatsi.com
Or write to Sami:
Sami Oeser
c/o BBL
Private Bag 114, Suite 55
Maun, Botswana
Sami writes:
I have learned some valuable lessons from living in Africa, though I'm not sure how applicable they will be in Alaska.
* Always shake out your shoes before putting them on. (You don't even want to know what might be hiding inside!)
* Don't sit under a palm tree (Falling palm nuts are big and heavy!)
* Don't park a car under any tree (goats will climb up on the hood and roof to reach foliage, leaving behind hoof indentations)
* Don't drink any fluids within 10 hours of a journey by bus (The buses have no facilities and don't stop!)
* If it looks like it tastes nasty, it probably does.
I am not alone:
In case any of you think I may be lonely living by myself in Maun, Botswana- fear not. Besides a steady stream of neighbors (especially children, last Friday during a rainstorm, I had 28 kids drawing pictures in my 300 sq. ft. house) I currently reside with 5 cats, several dozen spiders, a score of lizards, myriad cockroaches, beetles, flies, mosquitos, moths, crickets, mopani words and thousands of ants who materialize out of thin art if any scrap of food is left out, and then disappear just as quickly after consuming it. Fortunately, because I live far from the river, and there is little vegetation in my yard, I do not have a snake problem.
Christmas in Maun:
Christmas here goes by almost unnoticed. There are no Christmas trees, no lights and no decorations, save for one lone "Merry Christmas/Happy New Year" sign in teh window of a shop owned by a Hindu couple - go figure). There is no Christmas music and no sales pitches to buy presents. Chrsitmas cards and wrapping paper are very difficult to find. Ribbon is non-existent. But then, most people in my village can't afford to exchange gifts anyway. And instead of snow covered trees, I will be looking out on sun-baked sand.
But just like last year, I will put up the 10-inch Christmas tree that I made from green construction paper, and the African creche I assembled from wood carvings. I will play christmas music (thank goodness I remembered to bring some CDs from home), drink Christmas tea, eat some chocolate (life is good) and thank God for the wonderful support and love I have received this past year from my family and friends.
I hope to see each of you next summer.
Blessings,
Sami
---
If you want to check out the orphanage where Sami works: www.banabaletsatsi.com
Or write to Sami:
Sami Oeser
c/o BBL
Private Bag 114, Suite 55
Maun, Botswana
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)