Joy...A kind of wanting.

     This third week of Advent we lit the candle symbolizing Joy.  I am not going to lie; this was difficult considering all that was not joyful in Newtown Connecticut.  However we lit the only pink candle on the Advent Wreath as we blessed the children of our church. We lit the candle in memory of the joy that was, thankful for the joy that is, and prayerful for the joy to come.

     C.S. Lewis, who knew his own grief after the death of his wife, said that "Joy is the serious business of Heaven."  He also said (condensed) "it is the that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than the satisfaction....it is not Happiness or Pleasure, and only holds the desire for more of it in common with them....it might also be compared to grief or unhappiness in its quality---that being an intense kind of want."

     Think of a child; remember yourself as a child, a week before, the night before their/your favorite holiday or birthday.  The anticipation is/was better than the actual event or all the gifts. 

     Joy is the anticipation of fullness, this fullness cannot be bought, and it cannot be wrapped.  This fullness comes from a place bigger than we are but when it settles in us we feel it, it is too big for us making our chests expand as if we cannot contain it. 

This joy is powerful.  In Nehemiah 8:10 --"The joy of the LORD makes you strong.” 

     So how can we speak of joy at a time like this?  We speak of it because we have a deep desire for something more. We pray for a fullness to be felt that will be different from the fullness of yesterday, but one that will be felt with time.  

The Gift of Peace

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you; not as the world gives do I give to you.  Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." (John 14:27) 

     Frederick Buechner reminds us that "in Hebrew peace, shalom, means fullness, having everything you need to be wholly and happily yourself.”

    My fullness and happiness I leave with you, my fullness and happiness I give to you, not as the world gives...Jesus says this even as he knows what he is about to go through. Jesus says this knowing that the disciples have only had a short time to get that what the world has to offer is only temporary and can leave one wanting more.  But the peace of Jesus is long lasting and stronger than all that the world has to offer.

     Christ was born in a time of chaos; we can imagine that night; one with shepherds and angels, tired parents, a crowded inn, a cranky innkeeper and a barn full of animals making room for a much unexpected birth. 

     And speaking of birth, there is no reason to think that Mary delivered quietly.  Christ surely arrived a midst the groaning and pushing and eventual squalling that accompanies most births and yet in spite of the journey, fullness and happiness was surely felt that night.

     This was not only a collective peace, like the image we see on a Christmas card, this was personal.  This is a mother's peace, a father's peace, the peace of a king and a shepherd.

  This was and is personal, the world tries to offer us peace by distracting us with temporary solutions that appeal to our desire for quick fixes; something that can be bought or imitated.  The gift of peace Christ offers will be unique for each of us, we will  may have to journey through some chaos to recognize it and it may require a certain amount of courage and humility to accept it, but once we do....we will know it was so worth the ride.

   If each one of us found ourselves full and happy with whom we are there would be no need to create this fullness or happiness at the expense of another. 

Light of hope.

  

 Yesterday was the first Sunday in Advent--the season of waiting begins with hope.

Emily Dickinson writes:

Hope     

Hope is the thing with feathers 

That perches in the soul, 

And sings the tune--without the words, 

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard; 

And sore must be the storm 

That could abash the little bird 

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land, 

And on the strangest sea; 

Yet, never, in extremity, 

It asked a crumb of me.

I love this image of hope because it reminds us that hope is so very different than a want or a wish--when we hope there is an unspoken sense that we do not know and may not see the end result of our hope. 

     I began to think of the signs of hope that surround us and in doing so I remembered yesterday's church service and the people kneeling at the rail after communion.  These people were praying; praying is literally sending out on wings what has been residing in our souls to God.

     I wonder if when people have "lost all hope" if what they have really lost is their willingness to settle in with God for a good old "one on one".  So this advent I am going to do what I preach and not only pray for others, which is the easy part, but also pray for myself so that hope my live in, through and beyond me.

     What if we began each day with some form of prayer like this?

Dear God,

Help me to-listen and see.......

Show me- when I am to lead and to follow....

Give me-strength, courage, patience to get me through my difficult times such as....

Heal me--Spiritually, emotionally, physically....

Remove my—doubts of worthiness, lack of confidence……

Let me--accept Your love, Your forgiveness, Your image of me....

I thank You for this time, guide me through my day, my hope is in You.

Give way to God,

Give way to hope,

The earth waits,

We respond;

Prepare the way, prepare the way!

We are the children made warriors, lovers, light bearers,

Created in God’s image,

Good News!  Good News!

     

Good Grief

My Grandmother loved to knit and now so do I.........

        Like many of you, I am experiencing grief this time of year.  I am going through the "firsts", the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas without my grandmother.  The ironic thing is that I have not spent a holiday with my grandmother in many years as distance was issue and yet I am on the verge of tears at any given time.  The Hallmark commercials, the Christmas music, and then the little reminders that surround me every day jolt me suddenly throughout the day.  And of course as we grieve a recent loss, we must make room for the losses that preceded it.

        As a pastor I know the healthy ways to grieve, however I also know that grief has its own plans, shows up, settles in, no invitation required, with no itinerary in hand. 

        I have always been intrigued by other cultures and how they grieve.  There is weeping and wailing, people lay themselves down on the ground there is no question as to how they are feeling.  How much of our own grief could be eased if we screamed it out without care or caution?  What would it mean to dress ourselves in a way that said, "I am grieving", I have no desire for chitchat, I am doing all I can just to be here. 

            Henri Nouwen writes in With Burning in Our Hearts: "But in the midst of all this pain, there is a strange, shocking, yet very surprising voice.  It is the voice of the one who says: 'Blessed are those who mourn: they shall be comforted.'  That's the unexpected news: there is a blessing hidden in our grief.  Not those who comfort are blessed, but those who mourn!  Somehow, in the midst of our mourning, the first steps of the dance take place.  Somehow, the cries that well up from our losses belong to our songs of gratitude."

            In our grief we connect ourselves to the world in new ways.  We understand each other a little better; we join others in a world that is difficult and complicated.  The little things that remind us of those who have passed before us, are the little things no longer taken for granted.  We are given new eyes.  Minutes do not fly by with little notice; we are given insight to the past; the good and the bad.  We take stock of our own lives; gaining a deep desire to live well.

        Our tears of sorrow and longing are truly our tears of being thankful for what was.  I do not grieve a saint, a person made perfect in death, but rather while acknowledging and shedding the imperfection, I reveal and remember all that was good...this is good grief.

Where is the love?

     Recently I was watching the movie Fiddler on the Roof.  I was struck by how similar the struggles of Tevye are to the struggles of many of people of faith today. 

     When asked how the tradition of matchmaking started he responds he does not know.  How many of our own practices, religious or otherwise, are traditions based on an unknown beginning?

     I often refer to the story of a young newlywed preparing to cook a pot roast for dinner.  Her husband comes in and asks why she has cut off the end of the roast, she explains this is how her mother cooks and that it tastes better this way.  Sometime later she is at her mother's watching her prepare a roast for dinner.  When the mother puts the whole roast in the pan the daughter is surprised and asks why she didn't cut the end off to make it taste better.  The mother looks at the daughter and laughs, letting the daughter know that she now had a new larger pan and no longer needed to cut the end off to fit her old smaller pan. 

Where do our traditions come from?

    Watching Tevye react to the changing times with his daughters is heart wrenching.  As each daughter pushes the envelope, breaking the tradition of prearranged marriage, he confronts God with the question "Now what?"

    Repeatedly Tevye is challenged until he finally declares that he doesn't know if he can bend much more, he feels like he might break.  Giving up on traditions can make one feel like they might break, it can feel like a small pinch or like a powerful punch to the stomach. 

     Throughout this story Tevye keeps coming back to love.  He sees love in his daughters' eyes, he questions the love in his own marriage, and he wonders what love has to do with any of this.

     In this week's gospel lesson Mark 12:38-44, the scribes come into the temple with their large sums for offering, it is what they do, it is what they have always done.  This tradition has set them apart from those who do not give and even those who give less.  Along comes a widow who puts in all she has-2 mites. Jesus points out to the scribes that this widow has given more because she gave all she had.  All the proper clothing, all the right words and a lot of money was not enough anymore.

     What allows a person to give all they have?  LOVE! The scribes are not being asked to give up their traditions but they were being asked to recognize something more.

     Traditions can make us feel connected to others, connected to God; they can bring a sense of home and security to our often chaotic lives.  They can also exclude people.   Should we accept without question all traditions?  Is not our God big enough to handle the occasional fist shake at the heavens; the occasional question?  Can we not risk seeing our traditions through new eyes, and ask ourselves "where is the love?"   

There is a Time for Everything

Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us that there is a season for all things, every activity under heaven.  a time to die or uproot, heal and build, laugh and dance, to scatter and collect, to hug and not hug, keep or throw, tear or mend, love or hate, make war or peace.

     Certainly as we continue to receive service people home and send others overseas we can all wonder about the seasons of war and hope for the seasons of peace.  These are thoughts that can take over my mind and time.  Depending on the day my mind may change as to which is best for the our country and the oppressed people of others while always asking where is God in all of this.  What makes the difference is when I think of the countries as a whole or as full of individuals with many opinions and desires much like me. People who have had seasons to their lives just as I have.
     As I gathered with a small group of woman today for a day of prayer and meditation I thought of the woman/friends who have surrounded me in my life. I have friends that have scattered and others I have gathered up after being apart.  I have the friends that know my husband as well as they know me and then I have the friends that he has never met.
    Recently I saw a mom with her young children in the grocery store and I was reminded of that season of my life.  A crazy season but one that was filled with friends.  I think of the mothers I raised my children with. One woman I met after she came to our house after a fire near by and she fell in love with our cute three year old son who was wearing yellow Winnie the Pooh footie pajamas with one of his sister's barrettes clipped in his curls.  Another I met teaching vacation bible school, though we really became friends because of our middle children (they would want me to mention this) and then the third mother walked into our church quilting group and was looking for a youth group.  Together we raised our children, and I mean really raised them.  We spent enormous amounts of time together taking pure delight in our kids. They were our best entertainment, they were the reason we laughed and cried.  They were the reason we fought against wrongs and they brought us together to celebrate victories.

    And yet as close as we were the seasons came and went. We supported each other through divorce, death, and continuing our education. We have scattered some, due to location and circumstance and yet our friendships are strong, and now there is room for old and new friends alike.
     These are not my only friends, just the friends of a season.  I have my coffee friends, my worship friends, friends that have survived time and distance that I see only once or twice a year, heart friends and friends I am just getting to know.  I am fortunate enough to be married to my friend and as our children age they are becoming friend like and as I age my own parents have become friends.
     So what is all this blathering on about friends?  Well I was simply reminded of a time in my life with that young mother and as we have been barraged by all the political ads on t.v. I am aware of one thing---these people--everyone of my friends thinks differently on some issue.  I did not ask anyone of them how they were going to vote as a requirement of friendship.
     I have to believe that there are people in these war torn countries that have been blessed with friends such as I, I also imagine that there were some they disagreed with politically but the love of friendship won in those circumstances.

     Ecclesiastes continues:¹⁰ I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race.¹¹ He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet^[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. ¹² I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. ¹³ That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 

     So today, after a day of prayer, I pray for peace, I pray that every person would be able to be happy and do good (what happens when these basic things are denied a person?).  I assume that I am not alone in experiencing a season of friendships. And I know, as stated in verse 19 As one dies, so dies the other. 
     It is this reality of what we have in common that causes me to pray, Paul Simon wrote "Wartime Prayers" 
Wartime prayers, wartime prayers
In every language spoken,
For every family scattered and broken....

In Defense of Martha

    As I hurried around this week playing administrator for the majoity of my time, I kept thinking of Mary and Martha, oh how I wish Mary came first for me.  However the reality is that I am a Martha first.  I balance checkbooks at home and given some downtime at church you might just find me creating a chart to depict our giving or attendance over the year.  I like charts, I follow guidelines, meet deadlines and follow the straight line to completion.
     I was made aware of this part of myself during a bible study.  In this study the participants shared with each other what the gifts they saw in the other.  Almost everyone in the study said I had the gift of administration.  Administration!  Were they serious, I was once a Dead Head (someone who follows the Grateful Dead), I couldn't believe it, I loved poetry, and reading scripture, writing and pondering great thoughts.  Administrator?

 
Oh how I would love to have Mary be first for me, first at home to walk in the kitchen after dinner, she would walk right by those dirty dishes and straight over to some cozy spot with candles and devotionals.  At work, well at work Mary would make sure that visitations weren't the first thing to get pushed to the side when the furnace breaks.  The truth is that there are few clergy that answer the call to ministry as a Martha, Mary definitely answers the call but... well if you are me, Martha gets her foot in the door without hesitation.
     In Luke 10:42 Jesus tells Martha, after she has complained about her sister not helping with the dishes "Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her" 
    
  How comforting is this for us?  We have a choice, we have a choice to spend time in prayer, in fellowship, in community....we get to chose.  Our tendencies, our leanings, our genetics, our culture and our bias can all be overturned by choice.  We have a choice and when we chose Jesus that cannot be taken away from us.
     So I have learned to embrace the Martha in me, and while I may often feel like Dr. Dolittle's pushmi-pullyu, literally pulling in two different directions, I am a conscious participant in the struggle.  
     And finally in defense of Martha, if Mary had done just a little of the cooking , Martha might have found herself at the feet of Christ even if she was planning the next meal while she was there.

    In a class once a professor set a glass half full in front of the class and asked us to just write about the glass of water.  There were no directions other than to write what we saw.  Now you can imagine the writing that followed once the complaints about the vague directions died down.  There were people who wrote about the glass be half full or half empty.  There were those who wrote about the glass representing all of those who had access to water as opposed to all of those who do not.  There were the literalists who wrote about a glass measuring so many inches tall with a certain amount of water in it sitting on a table.
     Then there were those of us that wrote about the properties of the water itself and or what water represented to them.  Words like: cool, refreshing, cleansing, calming, healing, sacred, soothing and peaceful described what we saw.  Rivers and oceans, ponds and streams came to life as some wrote about where the water came from, seeing the beginning of its journey before arriving in the glass.
    I think of all that was written about a simple glass of water and then I rethink the words of Jesus: 

"Why anyone by just giving a cup of water in my name is on our side.  Count on it God will notice."  Mark 9:41 (The Message)

     Jesus isn't saying we need to share miracles to be a part of the mission, the mission to love God with all our hearts, minds and souls, to love our neighbors as our selves. We just need to share a cup of water.  One word, one bit of awareness, one action.
     Whenever we think of our beginnings, whenever we are conscious of others needs, conscious of what we have to share, whenever we dispense healing and kindness through words or action, God will notice. 
     

Fall is just around the corner....

 

Delicious autumn!

My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird

I would fly about the earth seeking successive autumns.    

George Elliot

 

               I have begun my fall cleaning, yes fall cleaning.  Though all our children are grown and there is less debris from the summer… clean up is necessary.  Closets no longer bust open with old water shoes with holes in the toes, outgrown bathing suits, deflated floaties and chewed up noodles (don’t they always end up looking like someone chewed them?), and of course the summer league grass stained baseball pants; yet still I have my own messes.

 Let’s face it, spring cleaning is all about dusting up the cobwebs so we can get out and play, open the windows to bring the outside in.  But autumn calls us back into the house.

               I prefer my autumn cleaning, in the midst of window washing, summer picture sorting, and swapping out clothes for the season; I drink hot pumpkin coffee.  Autumn is when I actually will sit down with a cup of coffee and think.  Think about nothing, think about family, think about cooking again and think about what it means to lose something with the promise of restoration.  As I sit and ponder, my actions become a bit more deliberate.

               In the spring I am impatient as I wait for the bulbs to bloom, the last patch of snow to melt, and for flip flops to become my shoe of choice.  The fall teaches me patience, who wants to rush the last leaf to fall off the maple tree in the back yard only to expose its bare limbs for months to come? 

James 3:13 says “Who is wise and understanding among you?  Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom.”

            This seems like fall to me, as our homes and clothing becomes more “cozy” so may our hearts and minds.  Wisdom is celebrated with the start of a new school year.  Children arrive to refreshed teachers; parents can still walk their children to school if possible.  Hands are held, hugs and kisses exchanged and new parents watch the bus pull away or peek in a window to watch their young one navigate a new classroom.  

               The old soul of autumn shares with us its wisdom, gently leading us into winter.  We will live less extravagantly as we prepare for the soon to come fuel bills.  Gardens will be harvested with thoughts of how they can be improved next year.  Clothes will be bought with the intent to last, unlike the disposable purchases of summer.  The thought of future snow storms allow us to look at our yards and homes with a practical eye.  Our backs may even begin to ache a bit as we imagine shoveling, raising the question  “is it time to pay someone else to do this?” 

               As we draw back inside our homes let us celebrate our good work, recognizing that our wisdom gives birth to gentle actions. 

As the leaves drift slowly to the ground, the oak remains dignified.

 

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones may break your bones but words....well actually...

James 3:1Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.

 It seems appropriate this time of year to be talking about the importance, the responsibility of being a teacher.  How many jobs allow someone to hold a captive audience for 40 minutes or more?  How many jobs allow that same person to prepare a lesson or sermon with no prior review?  

I have been fortunate enough to experience some really wonderful teachers in my life.  One I remember so well, Mrs. Gutman.  She was my teacher in fourth grade and I loved her instantly because she had once been my father’s teacher as well.  She was an amazing woman who not only taught me academics but social responsibility.  As a Jewish woman she reigned in my new found Christian dos and don’ts.  Ahhh…you see at the ripe old age of 10 I thought I knew enough to teach as well.  Certainly we can all be teachers at any age, but she taught me that I better be ready for the questions that come with teaching, especially questions such as: “you say this but you do this.”

          Mrs. Gutman had the unique ability to make me think more.  I can remember walking down the hall with her at the end of the day and often those conversations would end with her gently asking me “Why do you think that?”  I never stopped asking myself that question.

          I have had other great teachers but not as many as one might like to think, considering there were more than twelve years of school to follow.  The teachers that made a difference were the ones who loved what they taught, and wanted others to love learning as well. 

          As a parent and teacher I am aware of the power a teacher’s words hold. I have seen an 80 year old man’s eyes well with tears as he recalled the treatment he received from an elementary school teacher.  Often the treatment one receives in school colors their opinion of school well into adulthood.  The parent that does not show up for parent teacher conferences may be the very person who associates the school experience negatively.

          One word, one action, one bad day can hurt enough to be remembered a lifetime.  This goes for pastors and churches as well.  I have been blessed by the gifts and talents of wonderful clergy/teachers, these people like Mrs. Gutman taught me to ask the question “why?”  However as a pastor I also know that many people cannot come back to a church that hurt them in the past.

          James continues to say: “look at ships: though they are so large that it takes strong winds to drive them, yet they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs.”

          At some point in our lives we all will teach. Whether it is teaching someone how to change a tire, tie a shoe, use a new tool, a computer, or even about scripture; how we teach and the words we use are powerful.  Words can inspire in subtle or fantastic ways, they can challenge us to be better people, to look at how we live and to ask the questions that encourage growth or they can discourage us and stunt growth.

 Our words can get away from us, causing us to rush for damage control, and of course that is only when we are aware of the fire we have set.  Or they can get away from us the way Mrs. Gutman’s words did.  Words that would motivate a 50 year old woman to write about her fourth grade teacher, forty year old words that encourage me still to ask “why”.  Words that taught me well that what I say can hurt or heal.

Don't tell, well just yet anyway....

Our first child was almost born at home.  There was quite a bit of excitement as we realized what was happening, doctors were called, the car started in the dead of winter, and me laying in a snow bank during a contraction.  It was a crazy night, 21 minutes later we were holding our daughter in our arms, stunned, amazed and thrilled.

Over the next weeks we would tell each other the story of her birth as if we were hearing the story for the first time, we couldn’t stop talking about it.  Of course we loved sharing the story with each other, but I think back at that time and I am sure we bored those who had never had children to tears.

How could they relate to the experience we just had?  Those who had experienced childbirth listened eagerly, those who were attached to us by relation listen lovingly and then there were those who just didn’t care.  I am not sure I can blame them, we were over the moon!

Mark 7:36--Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. 

          How many times does Christ say “go-your faith has made you well, but hey, don’t tell anyone” I don’t know for sure, but I do know it is more than once or twice, to those healed of illnesses, afflictions, and emotional distress.  These same people also revealed or discovered their faith.

          I know that I have often struggled with the thought of Christ telling those so full of the spirit, so full of healing not to talk about it.  How do we grow the body if we don’t talk about it with others?

          We can think of this from the point of Christ-“don’t tell anyone because I can barely make it from town to town as it is.  I have some things to do and all this news about me healing people is slowing me down”

          Or we can think about how we might actually sound once we have had an encounter with Christ---over the moon!  How do we sound when we are speaking with our feet off the ground?  Well…the words, rambling, unfinished sentences, with lots of ‘you knows’ in between, come to mind.

          And what if those words, excitedly spilling forth from our mouths fall upon the ears of someone who has not known healing?  Has never encountered Christ, never experienced new life? 

          Maybe Christ was just giving good advice, don’t tell, let this be between us for now and when you have had time to settle down, to think, to really own your story, then tell it and tell it well.  Tell it with a love that need not boast but would rather share. After all it is about relationship.

Are you listening?

James 1:19--¹⁹You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger;

When I read this scripture I am reminded of my best friend’s grandfather, Grampy Toumajan, he was a very slow speaker.  As we follow the lectionary for this Sunday the Gospel of Mark reminds us of all that is and isn’t important about tradition.  The Tomajan house was full of tradition one being Grampy’s long slow talks.

                Every Sunday we would arrive at Grammy and Grampy’s ready for the homemade rice pilaf and boereg (bear-egg…the best!).  After every meal we would go into the living room with Grampy and he would tell us stories of life.  The truth is that he spoke so slowly that we often missed his message.  We were teenage girls after all with a lot to do.  We had places to go, people to see and while we would never be disrespectful to him, our feet would tap eagerly, we would look at each other with unspoken questions in our eyes such as “Is he done yet?” or “Can we go now?”  Today when my friend and I meet we often ask “What was he saying?” and then we quickly follow with “I wish we had listened.”

                Why do we wish that we had listened?  Because everything about Grammy and Grampy’s life has led us to believe that they had something valuable to share.  Their life, their traditions, their love was worth passing on.  I was not a blood relative of these people but loved I was.  Their eyes lit up every time we showed up on their steps, which was often and most times without warning. 

                As my friend and I would head out to run with our phys-ed class for a morning run, the class would go one way and we would head another.  Our jog would take us to Grammy and Grampy’s and Grammy in her robe with her long morning braid swung to one side, would open the door with a delighted exclamation of “Girls!” and then breakfast would follow, English muffins with cottage cheese.  It strikes me that they never asked us why we weren’t in school, they just opened the door.  If we were bored, hungry, happy, sad, their home was often the place to be. 

Pictures from the past surrounded us in every room. When their children and other relatives visited you here could hear English and Armenian being spoken at the same time.  There were stories from their past that I did not understand until I got older, we do not teach about the Armenian genocide in high school.  As a 50 year old woman I can better understand why Grammy had a hard time sleeping, I can still picture her sitting looking out the window late at night. Given an opportunity I would love to ask her what were you thinking, remembering?  I would also thank both of them for holding on to their traditions; they mattered so much to me.

Visiting Grammy and Grampy remained one of my traditions until Grampy passed and Grammy moved south to be with her family.  My husband and I, and eventually our daughter, would come from Maine to N.H. and a trip to the Toumajan house was always on the schedule.  We would arrive to hugs and food and then the long slow talk in the living room, if there was a baby in tow Grammy would be rocking and singing to her in the other room while we listened.  Because if it wasn’t stated before, often Grammy was out of the room for these talks, my husband would often be tapping his foot looking at me with eyes that asked the same questions my eyes once asked, but on these visits I never felt rushed, they were the place I wanted to go, the people I wanted to see. 

My children have never had homemade pilaf or boeregs, we did not do a traditional Armenian dance at our daughter’s wedding, these traditions were not my ancestral inheritance, but they have their own memories of the people who have loved them well.  And isn’t that the point, the miracle is not in the actual food but in the love behind it.  

Clean-up

So I was taking communion with some colleagues, friends, and we broke bread after our lunch and conversation.  I was struck by the image of our leftovers, the slung over napkin, an empty coffee container, a mug and a soda can. A bouquet of Black-Eyed Susans, the loaf and chalice are in the mix as well.  Beauty and truth lay within the image.  Carrie Newcomber’s lyrics to Betty’s Diner came to mind:

Here we are all in one place  

The wants and wounds of the human race

Despair and hope sit face to face

When you come in from the cold

Let her fill your cup with something kind

Eggs and toast like bread and wine

She’s heard it all so she don’t mind

It makes me think of Christ looking down a long table with friends and searching for the bread, then reaching for the cup, as in the image, one among many for sure.  Communion can be a messy business; we arrive with our leftovers from hours, days, weeks or even years. And yet when we join in this tradition, this sacrament we join together as God’s children.

There is an understanding as we collect ourselves for communion that there is more than meets the eye, faith is just that, understanding, believing there is value in what is unseen, that there is more.  Just as in the photo there is value in the unknown, the grace said before the meal goes unheard, and the fellowship as we satisfied our hunger cannot be felt, the sweetness of chocolate chip cookies is missed.  Is it not unfortunate that often what we see first is what needs to be “cleaned up” from an event? 

 Would it not be ironic that Christ looked around the table and decided to “clean-up” a bit?  As he grabs a loaf he is struck by the image of a whole loaf, somehow surviving the meal, and he sees himself in this as well as the loaves that have been broken throughout the supper.  A few moments later, with “clean-up” fresh on his mind, he finds the cup filled with red wine, he is struck again by what is about to happen. 

He looks upon his friends, the debris, the messes and the joys; he looks upon them with love, knowing there is so much more to their stories and his. He looks at them “despair and hope sitting face to face” and he says, “This is the sign of the new covenant, the forgiveness of sins” the ultimate cleansing---remember me whenever you drink from this cup.

Safe Sanctuary

           

When our boys were little they were allowed to take one of their first bike rides by themselves.  They were in elementary school and I let them ride up and around the block.  As I waited anxiously for their return home, I saw them come down the road and I could tell from their approach that something was amiss.  As they got off their bikes Nate shared that Chris had fallen off his bike and was bleeding.  I looked at Chris’s patched up knee and asked who took care of him and Nate replied “The church ladies.” 

The “accident” had happened by the church we attended and Nate saw the door open and brought Chris in for help.  There were several women in the parish hall cleaning and of course when they saw our boys they stopped everything and patched up the wounded knee.  Nate saw the church and knew it would be a safe place to receive help and the door was open.

What does it mean to have a safe sanctuary?  I think for many years it was just assumed that a sanctuary would be safe, but we have come to realize that this is not necessarily the case.  It is not in our best interest or in the interest of children to assume that they or we will be safe anywhere without guidelines and built in plans of protection.

One of the ways in our church to assure safety is to change our locks and issue new keys.  And after a recent theft we even had to lock our sanctuary.  A locked sanctuary—who’d thought it?  Gone are the days when a church was open all day and even all night, gone are the days when a homeless person slept in a pew and snuck out in the morning, gone are the days when most pastors lived next door to the church and were available any hour of any day.  Gone as well though are the community’s desire to stop in and talk to the pastor or to seek comfort in the sanctuary.

            At first all this talk about locks and keys can make one feel unsure about what we are doing as a church, it can make us feel sad that we cannot leave our doors open to the public on the other hand it may move us outside of our church into the community.  Maybe now is the time for us to go into the community, to move outside the comfort of the church into the places that can make us uncomfortable.

            I love that our sons knew the church was a place for them to go for help, I love that they knew the women that assisted them.  I also know that if they knew where each  of the 5 or so women lived they would have had that many more places to go for help.  Change can be difficult, but so often it is just what we need, it can be the springboard to increased courage and strength.  Change allows us to rethink old ideas and embrace traditions like they are new again. 

            Ephesians 2:19-22
19 Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household, 20 built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. 21 In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. 22 And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.

            Walls cannot contain the Spirit and locks cannot keep the Spirit out.  Our sanctuary will continue to be a place of worship, a place where we are strengthened on Sunday mornings.  Our children will be taken care of responsibly and parents will know that we consider ourselves blessed to help their children grow in faith.  And yet the message will be the same, the same one that Christ hit the road saying “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 

            So on Sunday morning look around the sanctuary, really look, who is your neighbor?  And then when you shut and lock the door look again at the world around, really look, who is your neighbor?

Who me?

I am not preaching on the Old Testament this Sunday but it is one of the scriptures that can remind us of a soap opera; 2 Samuel 11:26-12:15.  This is scripture continues the life of David who is taken up short when he realizes that Nathan, who described a horrible person, who had much and stole from his neighbor who had less, was been talking about him!

David says:  “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die; ⁶he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.” ⁷Nathan said to David, “You are the man!” (2Samuel 12: 5-7)

            Years ago my neighbor and her young daughter, who was and is adored, came for a visit.  While my friend and I talked about an incident that happened at the preschool I taught at, her daughter sat in a corner playing with some toys.  We were unaware of her listening to our conversation when suddenly she looked up at us and asked with a stunned look on her face “Me?  Are you talking about me?!”  Somehow this cute little two year old realized that there may have been something she had done that might cause us to speak this way about her.  How had David lost this innocent awareness? 

            I imagine David lost it the way most of us are in danger of losing it.  We get busy; we are distracted by the desires and standards of the world.  We acquire too much or too little, both causing us to make choices and decisions that can stress our better judgment at times. 

            It is not always easy to see ourselves through the eyes of others especially when we are made aware of less than desirable actions.  It can leave us speechless, ashamed, stunned and even defensive.  David was left humbled and having to face significant consequences.

            My little neighbor, who is now a young woman, had the courage and nerve to ask “Are you talking about me?”  She wanted to know!  I think for many of us learning what others think of us could be an uncomfortable event whether the news is positive or negative. 

            Most of us do not like talking about ourselves yet it is through difficult self evaluation

that we are able to fully embrace this life.  When we see and allow God’s grace as our own then we know that it belongs to others as well thus it becomes possible to see our cup as running over due to the pastures that surround us and the waters that run beside us. (Psalm 23---author David)