Baby Jesus' Travels: A Special Update

Over the past week, Baby Jesus has continued to make the rounds, visiting a new family each day. There are so many wonderful things he has done over the week that it is hard to say what his favorite memories are of time spent with new friends.

Everyone knows how exciting a birthday can feel, especially if you are still in the single digits! One family helped Baby Jesus to get ready for his upcoming birthday by making special decorations and even singing some Christmas songs to get into the spirit. There is nothing quite as nice as celebrating your birthday all month, and with a new family each day.

Baby Jesus has been so lucky. He has had lots of sleepovers and stayed up late, whispering and talking with his new friends because it was just too exciting to go to sleep. It's nice to have Baby Jesus spend the night because he helps his friends not to get scared in the middle of the night. He has also really enjoyed getting to play lots of fun games. One of Baby Jesus' favorite activities has been coloring. He really likes it when his youngest friends draw portraits of him, often in the abstract, and he doesn't even mind if a little of the colors miss the paper and get him instead.

Most of Baby Jesus' new friends are so sad to see him go to the next house. But, Jesus is always teaching his friends about sharing. He also promises to come back again... and we know he keeps his promises.

Baby Jesus' Travels: The First Week of Advent

Throughout the Advent season, Baby Jesus is traveling around the eastern shore, visiting members of our PCC church family. Baby Jesus (from our church nativity scene) packed stories, games, stickers, and a special prayer journal into his suitcase to share with all of his new friends, and he has been going to a new house each night. Each family that hosts Baby Jesus takes care of him, reads and plays with him, and has an opportunity to write special prayers for this holiday season into the Jesus journal. This is a time for many of our younger members to learn more about the true Christmas story and put hospitality into practice. Every family is encouraged to talk to their children about Jesus' coming, and pick out words the describe the meaning of Jesus' birth. Already, Baby Jesus has made quite a few stops and had numerous adventures.

Here are some of the highlights from the week:

Baby Jesus got to have a special lunch with a group of our younger children from the church. The rumor is that the lunch was an all-girls affair, but that Jesus was allowed to participate since he is so special.

Baby Jesus had a sleep over that included Chinese take-out food and lots of playing. Baby Jesus even helped to wrap Christmas presents to go under the tree. Baby Jesus was given a new blanket by one of his new friends so he can stay warm on the rest of his travels.

Everyone has wished that Baby Jesus could stay an extra night or two, and hopes that Jesus will visit again soon! Tune in for more updates later in Advent!!

Memory for the Future

For the past few weeks I have been putting together this year’s Advent devotional entitled Signs of Hope. Many of you received an email from me inviting you to be part of this project... in some instances over time, the invitation turned to be a little more like a plea for help and a little bribing and begging, but when the real deadline arrived, not the pretend deadline I put in the letter to trick everyone into turning their submission in early, we had the perfect number of entries. You can imagine the great temptation I faced, especially this week as I was visiting with family and friends and away from my computer. I had a WHOLE booklet dedicated to hope written by church members and the task of preparing a sermon for the first sunday of Advent, the day we traditionally celebrate hope. All I really needed to do this morning is stand up and read from the book. It would make a great sermon. Well, that was my plan B if thanksgiving festivities got out of hand. Putting this booklet together, reading your thoughts on hope and having quite a few conversations about hope made me wonder further, to have hope or not to have hope... that seemed to be the looming question. Some of us have known hope well, have felt it palpably pulsing in our veins, and can articulate it easily, while to others of us, hope has seemed a stranger, a gaping hole, an emptiness of something which has been promised but not truly given.

Hope is not just a word used within the hallowed walls of churches and theological communities. It is a concept which has even peaked the interest of science and in particular, neurobiology. Scientists and doctors argue that numerous studies have shown that having an anticipatory consciousness, the ability to imagine and anticipate and even hope for the future, is deeply imbedded in our neurobiology. “Imagining the future depends on much of the same neural machinery that is needed for remembering the past.”

Our memories and the way we understand the past directly impacts our ability to anticipate and imagine the future. One neurobiologist calls this, a “memory for the future.” Those who anticipate the future in the spirit of hope, even coming from difficult circumstances like living with HIV and AIDS, live healthier physical lives. Daily practices of hope result in better, brighter futures. Communities of faith have known this well for centuries, and now science is finally catching up.

Despite these scientific breakthroughs, I must confess when I read Isaiah and Psalm 122 this week, poetic words about a future time when all will join together on the mountain of the lord, praising God unceasingly, my thoughts wandered to the darker side of hope. I thought about hearing these words which speak of peace, of the abolition of war and violence, as a parent who has just lost a son or daughter in Afghanistan or the Sudan or Anacostia. Do these hope-filled words mean anything to one slain under fire or dismembered by a roadside bomb or hidden land-mine? To those who have been lost to the HIV and AIDS epidemic? To family members who have been left behind? In some moments, these passages make hope seem so far- reaching that it doesn’t belong in the present tense or even as possibility of what I might know in my lifetime.

I think about the tension of hope being here and now versus hope being a distant promise when I consider my brother who suffers from a debilitating mental illness which has brought great sadness to our family. For a long time, I have held hope at an arm’s distance. Hope was fine for a distant mountain and I had faith that God would make it possible, but not now, not today, or even in the near future. I could not begin to pray for his healing and renewal in the present tense because I was too afraid that an undesirable answer to prayer would be too much for me to bear. Hope would require me to open my heart, both to the wonderful possibility of his healing as well as the sorrow of his illness remaining the same. I knew that even entertaining hope for his healing would test my faith in God and God’s love for my brother. Therefore, I remained silent. Having any hope for the here and now seemed too difficult for me to risk.

Every year on the first Sunday of new school year, my university’s chapel choir sings a setting of Psalm 122, entitled “I was glad.” Over the seven years that I spent going to school and singing in this choir, I came to expect this song every opening Sunday. It was a kind of renewal for me, a reminder of to whom I belonged. After a long summer, venturing far from my home surviving the mud crawling at basic training or the grueling pace of internships in DC, this reunion with my church community in the chapel choir and our proclaiming these words together was an annual infusion of life and faith. “I was glad, glad when they said unto me, we will go into the house of the Lord.” The first phrase always required full sound and voice, all of us singing our hearts out. In that space which represented love of God and neighbor, the sacred connections of community, my heart would swell and tears would threaten to spill over onto my music.

As much as that song came to represent so much of what I loved during my school years, the first occasion I had to sing this song was far from a happy, hopeful time. Not even a week had passed since my parents had driven me to North Carolina, unpacked the rental van full of my important possessions all variations of the color pink, and driven away, leaving me alone in my freshman dorm. As excited as I was about the possibilities which were at my fingertips, gladness was far from my heart. As the choir belted out, “I was glad” I wanted instead to sing “I was sad.” My tears did not spring forth out of fullness, but from just the opposite, from my deep loss. I had no song in my heart that day, but those who surrounded me in the choir, as much as each one sang for herself, she also sang a little bit for me too. It felt as if this collective effort of praise was carrying me through my own weariness. Because they shared their song, including me in a proclamation of faith though I could hardly part my lips to sing with them, I was reminded of the hope which was present despite the darkness which had closed in on me.

In South Africa, the place that I best witnessed hope was during a funeral. In the township, the busiest place, Saturday after Saturday, was the local cemetery. Each week, thousands would gather around newly dug graves, and they would sing and give praise to God for an entire morning, dancing and clapping around the holes in the ground. Watching this scene and participating in it was the most hopeful thing I ever did. Despite the number of deaths, the seeming finitude, the children orphaned, the wails and tears that were shed, hope managed to emanate from the grave. In the face of death, the message of their songs, of hope in God’s promise of life everlasting through Jesus Christ, rang out louder than the evidence of what seemed to be. The promise of renewal was more significant than the reality of the coffin.

The curious part of this kind of hope is that it is made possible each week through the strength of the hope present in others in the community, those who have come to witness the funeral and proclaim promises of life. Through their song, a message of hope transmits to all who hear, even those who have no song to sing, no hope at all. The community’s singing is a reminder of the life which remains, the hope that still exists, even at this site which symbolizes that which has been lost. When these funeral goers have the courage to sing about promises of life in the midst of death, they reverberate hope into the community often depleted by illness and death. They pave the way for a memory of the future.

It is ironic that I learned how to hope in a graveyard. As I reflected on our gospel lesson though, I realized I should not be surprised. Jesus says, “The Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” In the most unexpected place, where no real hope seemed possible, my own hope was born. It was the hour I did not expect. And, this is the truth which connects the gap between the hope of here-and-now and the eschatological promise of one day. We may not know the particulars, when or where or even how, but we have been promised and then reminded in the meal which we celebrate today, that our Lord Jesus is never tired of coming to our world. We must be ready and watchful, living the kind of lives which pry open our hearts and prepare us for encounters of hope which defy our reason and challenge us to trust what God has been promising us all along-- that he is here and continues to come.

As you meditate on hope during this Advent season, remember that you both pray and hope not as individuals but as a community which spans in every possible direction, young and old, the past and the future, and the here and now. Wherever you are, however you feel about hope, about faith, even about God, rest in this knowledge, the song of hope goes on. It has been sung from the beginning and will be sung until the end. It is a part of all of us, every facet of creation which has been formed and cradled by God. Some days you may be the one to lead the song and other days your song will be choked by tears, but every day, whether you feel it or know it, this song of hope will carry you.

I was glad, glad when they said unto me, we will go to the house of the Lord. Amen

This sermon was preached by Rev. Mel Baars at the Presbyterian Church of Chestertown on November 28, 2010

Time: A means to an end?

The other day, a group of students showed up at the bookstore, wanting to interview someone on the topic of success. They had two questions to ask: What is success, and by your definition, are you successful? The timeliness of their questions about success struck me later as I drove home, still pondering my own answers. A group of church members has been considering the subject of time over the past few weeks. Each of us, from different perspectives and for different reasons, have come to this weekly gathering, hoping, at least in part, to gain some sense of anchoring around the concept of time. Not to my surprise, the more tuned in to time I have become in these weeks, the more ephemeral time seems to have become. As one group member suggested, “It’s like trying to hold on to sand. The tighter my grip, the faster the grains escape between my fingers.”

In our world, time is closely woven with notions of success and productivity. For years, my greatest asset, in my own eyes, was my discipline around time. Depending on the season, a 5:30 wake up began a day that was packed to the gills with every kind of activity from work to pleasure. And, most often, these spheres would overlap. Always, though, there was productivity, something to show for my day whether it was an assignment completed, a scrapbook made, or items checked off the “to do” list for the upcoming charity event. It is interesting how small seeds are planted. I remember very well when my Hebrew teacher told me that the finished product of my translating was not the most important part of my work in her class. Instead, it was the process of translating that I should pay better attention to. Working with the text was a prayer in and of itself, not to be regarded as a means to an end and, certainly, not just another item to tick off my list.

The years I spent in South Africa marked a dramatic shift in my productivity and need for multitasking. At first, I tried to project my own conceptions of time onto the structures and people in my new community. I had clear goals in my mind and a path to achieving them. As the months passed and I honored my own expectations pertaining to time, I discovered that I was missing out on whole pieces of the culture and people that I was among. My time management and the rhythm of the community seemed to be mutually exclusive. If I wanted to move deeper into the fullness of my surroundings, I needed to loosen my schedule. I needed to let go of my need for productivity so that I could experience the life that was happening around me. If I didn’t allow myself to depart, at least every once-in-a-while, from the events I had planned, I was going to miss the moments that would be most transformative.

More importantly, with my attention split in multiple directions, I had a nagging sense that I wasn’t completely honoring the person or family that I had set out to care for. Their illness or loss was at the center of their world, but, for me, it was one of quite a few concerns that I was trying to balance. What I noticed was that I was only able to give my full focus when I made the choice to be engaged. Being present was an active decision, and I had to remember it to make the choice, not just once, but from moment to moment.

Years of social construction have instilled very deeply in me the need to use my time wisely and a drive to keep pushing for the next item on my list. When I have been given reason to pause, I have been humbled enough to see that my need for productivity is strangely self-centered. In a way, I know that I will never be able to fully move beyond it. Nonetheless, as I was trained to think and act in one way, new training over time can set a slightly different course for me. My definition of success has changed over the last few years, and I imagine it will continue to evolve as my training in practices of spirituality and holiness continues. For this, I am grateful.

Leadership is a privilege, so don't abuse it...

A few days ago, I received some unsettling news about a colleague in South Africa. He had stood up to his boss for justice, and in doing so, lost his home. Anyone with a heart would feel compassion for a person in this predicament. I was particularly emotional because I had encouraged him to speak out in the first place. Initially, I was crestfallen at the news, and then my heartache turned to anger. When I ran into a friend a few hours later, I confessed that I was going to sign up for martial arts so that I could inflict wounds on persons larger than me. It’s amazing how quickly one can loose sight of rationale and reason, especially when someone who is vulnerable and powerless is preyed upon.

For the past few weeks, wednesday night bible study has been reading from the book of Ezekiel. The prophet and his forty-eight chapters of preaching to an exiled Israel doesn’t always resonate with a modern audience, and I am not so sure that he was even popular back in the day, either. Nonetheless, after wading through repeating verses about winged wheels on chariots that seem to better belong in a horror movie than in the sacred texts of the Jewish and Christian faiths, I can’t help but recognize the timeliness of Ez. 34: The False Shepherds of Israel. If you haven’t even read it, it is worth your time, particularly in this season of elections. In this chapter, God rails against those who have been given power for leadership, religious and also political, and promises that the victims of their opportunistic greed will soon be rescued by God. The simple message: leadership is a privilege, so don’t misuse it.

I have mostly ignored politics in the last few months. If I am honest, I know that one of the reasons I have avoided politics in these months is that I have been too disappointed in the leadership I have witnessed over the last few years to give it a chance. And, as I have been living overseas in South Africa, my disillusionment has very little to do with politics in the US. For the last two years, I witnessed on a microcosmic level, how tyranny is bred. The recipe seemed easy enough: find a battered people, speak promises, no matter how empty they may be, ensure that no one around feels like an equal, make them believe that compensation for their loyalty is coming, and extinguish in whatever way possible, any voice of opposition. In my most cynical moments, this is what I feel I learned best in Africa, and not just through observing the government but sadly, also in the church. The truth of corruption has been a bitter pill for me to swallow, but I know that this abuse if not particular to Africa or any specific individual there. After all, there is a reason we have Ezekiel 34. Leaders, entrusted by God to guide and direct the vulnerable masses, have hardly ever lived up to the honor and privilege.

These days, streams of negative attack ads pervade every cable station. I heard this morning that over a billion has been spent on these “ads” during this election season. I find myself feeling ill over this waste. What are we thinking? I have yet to find one person who appreciates these ads, and yet with each election season, it just gets worse. If I have to hear one more threat about getting ready for 2012, I may go back to the martial arts idea. What about living presently and dealing with the issues of today? The ratio of “campaign” time to “actual work” time must be incalculable because of the gross imbalance. Is there any way to stop this train or are we truly forced into uncomfortable acquiescence of this unacceptable use of our precious resources? Therefore, when I come to Ezekiel 34, I read it even more hungrily.

To those false leaders, God says,

“You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd; and scattered, they became food for all the wild animals.”

But to the scattered flock, God says,

“I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.

Perhaps, my own wilderness has enhanced the poignance of Ezekiel’s message. And, to my surprise, it is not because I see this chapter as evidence that bad leaders will face the consequences of their abuse. Instead, these words remind me that those who have been led astray and left to be ravaged by some ill, are not left alone in their suffering. God’s promise to all those who have been harmed because of false shepherding lingers with me, even after I have turned the page. And so, at my wits end, whether at home where we drown in attack ads and talking heads or abroad where the carnage of greed is most visible in empty stomachs and sickly bodies, and when I can’t envision any other answer, I get on my knees in prayer. In moments like this, my only rest is found in God’s word.

This chapter is a reminder to any person who has been given the privilege of leadership, in the church or elsewhere, that the task of shepherding should never be taken lightly. For any of us, who either gladly or reluctantly accept the mantle of leadership, be watchful and listen well to these words, for the stakes are high and getting higher every day.

Here is the sermon from Sunday, October 17 - on Luke 18:1-8:

I can’t help thinking of the Chilean miners as we all watched in awe this past week as all 33 of them … against almost impossible odds … emerged safely from the mine. People around the world watched and cheered … and prayed for their safety… as we did last Sunday in worship and on Tuesday night at the Session meeting.
Was it the prayers that made the difference?
If that’s so, then what about the 20 Chinese miners who died on Friday in an underground explosion?
Or what about one friend who is declared cancer-free … and someone else we know and love who is not?
Does God really answer all our prayers this way?
For many of us, prayer is not like drawing answers out of a hat any time we want them. Instead it is more often a lifetime of asking, seeking, knocking, waiting for an answer and growing impatient … even sometimes angry … with the silence.
An elderly black minister read this parable and gave a one-sentence interpretation: “Until you have stood for years knocking at a locked door, your knuckles bleeding, you do not really know what prayer is.”[1]
So when the Gospel tells us not to lose heart, that God will answer our prayers and bring justice quickly … sometimes our own experience tells us: well, maybe that’s true … but maybe not.
There is a dissonance here for people of faith – and there always has been as prophets like Habbakuk and voices like that of Job wonder why it is that the unjust prosper and the righteous suffer.
The answer was … and still is: I don’t know. But be patient and trust and be faithful.
Which is never a very satisfying answer … at least for those of us, and I count myself among them, who want to have all our questions answered and problems fixed – as quickly as possible.
Which is why I’ve always liked this parable of the “persistent” widow. She knows how to get things done – and won’t give up until it happens. She is the Erin Brockovich of the 1st century … she could be the lobbyist for hungry children or unemployed workers or widows on pensions pounding on every door in Congress until she’s heard and justice is done.
There’s a great little story of Mother Theresa visiting Edward Bennett Williams – a Washington lawyer who at one time was the lawyer for Frank Sinatra and Richard Nixon (among other notable … and sometimes notorious people) and for a time he was the owner of the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles. Mother Theresa was coming to ask for a donation for her hospice in India – and Williams was not inclined to give it to her. So before she got there, he agreed with his partner that they would hear her out, then politely refuse.
Which they did – hear her, that is, then decline to give a donation … whereupon Mother Theresa said simply, “let us pray.” After she had prayed, she started over and gave her pitch for the hospice once again – word for word as before. And again Williams said no … whereupon Mother Theresa said again, “let us pray.” And Williams, exasperated, looked up at the ceiling and said, “all right, all right. Get me my checkbook.”[2]
Maybe that’s the widow in our parable. Someone who should be insignificant, yet who by her faithful persistence can change the mind of even those who are more powerful than she.
Even this judge. There is not a lot to like about this judge. He makes no secret of the fact that he has no time for God and basically doesn’t like people. By refusing to hear her case he violates every command in the Jewish Law where judges were charged with the responsibility of hearing all complaints fairly and impartially. Let alone there is in Scripture a clear expectation that special regard and protection should be given to widows, orphans and foreigners.
But our judge seems to have had no regard for any of that.
And by the end of the parable, he hasn’t changed his mind either. He has no more regard for God than he did before and he could still care less about anyone else – and he doesn’t mind saying so. He has simply gotten tired of this woman coming to his court every day demanding justice.
Now, Luke tells us this parable is meant to show the disciples they should always pray and not give up, which might lead us to think that if we simply pester God long enough and hard enough, our prayers will be answered.
But parables … and life … are never as simple as that.
Several weeks ago on the Fox Network’s hit series “Glee,” which is all about a high school glee club, they actually tackled the topic of prayer. The series loves a good satire – and they had great fun poking at our idea of God as a god who gives us whatever we want. The high school football star creates his own theology of prayer when he thinks he sees the face of Jesus in his grilled cheese sandwich and then imagines that Jesus magically grants his every wish. It was all very silly and had to make you laugh at ourselves and our own expectations of prayer sometimes.
But while they never really resolved the issues of prayer (how could they, really in a 1-hour episode of a comedy show?) – still I have to give them credit: …they did not hesitate to raise the questions that youth and adults have every day:
what happens when our prayers are not answered,
and what happens when they are?
What difference does it make when we believe in the power of prayer …
and even when we don’t?
We pray for peace … but the world hasn’t changed very much.
We pray for healing … but sometimes there is no cure.
We pray for direction … but find no clear answers.
We pray for our children … but that doesn’t guarantee we can protect them or that they will make good decisions.
Is it simply a matter of pestering God long enough and hard enough … or is there something more?
This is where I think it helps to hear again the message throughout the gospels: that we are to ask and seek and knock, we are to remember that if God’s eye is on the sparrow then it is also on each one of us. For the parable is not comparing God to the unjust judge. God doesn’t need to be pestered into paying attention to us. After all, Jesus has taught us to pray asking each day for what we need … for daily bread and forgiveness and for God’s will to be done.
If that is so, then Jesus here is simply reminding us that if even such a man as that judge will see that the widow gets justice, then how much more will God hear us and care for us and see that justice is done … even if the answer is long in coming … even if it is not what we asked for.
It’s not about having the right prayers, or praying for the right things … it’s not always even about asking for anything. But over time, prayer is about building a relationship with the living God, who created us and sustains us in love and who cares for every details of our lives.
In the end, all of our prayers – our complaints, our requests, our praise, our thanksgiving, our confession … all of it is part of our relationship with God.
Like the widow we keep asking, seeking, knocking until prayer becomes the ongoing conversation between us and the One who made us.
“Then,” someone said, when we have that ongoing conversation with God … “we will never come away empty-handed from prayer, because even if we wind up with none of the things we thought we needed, we will always wind up with God listening, attending and answering our prayers in ways we hadn’t [even] imagined.”[3]
When the author Madeline L’Engle was waiting for results from a biopsy, she says that she kept praying: “please, don’t let it be cancer. Don’t let it be cancer.” And she says her friends kept telling her that was the wrong prayer – it was either cancer or it was not and praying would not make it otherwise.
But she insisted that praying for it not to be cancer was what was in her heart, therefore it could not be a “wrong prayer.” She needed to pray as her heart needed to pray – nothing more and nothing less.
When the biopsy results came back and she learned her cancer was terminal, she wondered if her prayers had been wasted, but she decided:
“Prayer is love, and love is never wasted…. Perhaps there will be unexpected answers to these prayers, answers I may not even be aware of for years. But they are not wasted. They are not lost. I do not know where they have gone, but [she goes on to say] I believe that God holds them, hands outstretched to receive them like precious pearls.”[4]
I find great courage in believing that prayer is never wasted and I have come to trust in the fact that throughout our lives there are times we will struggle with faith and with God … because it is in our nature to wonder, to doubt, to believe, to question, to hope even when we know only long periods of silence and to trust even when we see only in part.
Maybe Jesus is telling us this parable not to show us how God answers prayer, but rather to show us how we are to live … in faith … like the widow, faithful enough to keep:
- praying
- to keep asking, seeking, knocking … and doing it with boldness
- never giving up, never losing heart
- and trusting that each and every day, in every circumstance – God is there, persistently seeking us. Always desiring goodness, wholeness, and justice for all creation.
Even for us. Even for you. Even now.
May it be so. Amen.


[1] Cited by Fred Craddock, Luke (Interpretation Commentary – Louisville, KY: John Knox Press), p. 210.
[2] Cited by Rev. Dr. Thomas Long in “Praying Without Losing Heart,” found at the website: http://www.csec.org/csec/sermon/long_5101.htm
[3] “On God’s Case,” by Stephanie Frey, The Christian Century, July 13, 2004, p. 17.
[4] James C. Howell, The Beautiful Work of Learning to Pray (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), p. 31.

I will..... with God's help

In the wake of our church’s recent baptisms, I have been particularly grateful for my own baptism and that my parents made the decision years ago to present me before our church, formalizing the covenant between God, the church and its members. When I was home this past weekend, my mother brought out the extra-large Tupperware container of my childhood keepsakes. Somewhere wedged between saved birthday cards and pictures from the first day of kindergarden was the bulletin from my service of baptism, some twenty-seven years ago. As I held it in my hands, looking to see if there were any markers that the service was especially significant, I noticed that the liturgy focused on the communal action of the church body in the sacrament of baptism. My name wasn’t even listed. As personally important the service was to me, the emphasis was on the promises made by that congregation to raise me and direct me in ways which honored Jesus.

Perhaps, as I have grown to a point that I realize saying the words, “I will,” carries great weight and responsibility when asked of me, I wonder what those questions posed to a congregation during a baptism really require. Pondering this, my thoughts often drift to a friend I have from the church I attended during high school. Though her children had graduated from our youth group, she was one of the main adults that participated in our various activities from lock-ins to driving the van to camp every summer; we all secretly fought over who would get to ride with her. As we graduated and departed for college, the military, and other more distant horizons, I wondered if sheer geography would mean the end of her involvement with us. Ten years and many different zip codes have proven otherwise. And, it’s not just me who she has managed to guide and nurture.

There were two girls from another family in our church who lost their mother when they were very young. When their father remarried, they were lost in the shuffle, left in many ways to weather their lives alone. Over the years, I have marveled at the significant and palpable ways that this friend has walked alongside these girls. She has helped them move house, buy cars, struggle through difficult break-ups, stay in school, and learn how to manage adulthood. There have been ups and downs, frustration, tears, and, on many occasions, also heartwarming joy. I ran into one of the girls while I was visiting my hometown, and she commented that whenever she encountered a challenge which seemed more than she could handle on her own, this friend was the first person she thought to call.

I don’t know if my friend was present when these girls were brought before the church for their baptisms. I can’t help but imagine, though, that every time she has said, “I will,” to those questions, whenever they have been asked of her, she has taken them to heart. Certainly, her actions, her willingness to be enmeshed with so many of us, live up to those promises made, again and again, whenever baptism is celebrated. My friend is not the only person I know who has lived out these vows with intention. She, along with others who have said, “I will,” and on many days remembered, have been enabled to act through the grace of Christ.

Ultimately, it is the church as a whole, a community of both givers and receivers, that upholds the baptismal covenant. None of us acts alone. When we say, “I will,” we do so knowing that God has gone before us, is there with us, and will continue to be present until the end of time. As we are woven further into a community of faith, we are reminded that in our binding, with God and neighbor, we live not through our own power, but as a part of a larger story. Being baptized does not ensure that God will love us more deeply, for God’s love for each of us exists regardless of baptism. This covenant is, however, a reminder of a promise between God, the church, and its body, which names aloud God’s sign and seal over us.

As stated in the baptismal liturgy found in the Book of Common Prayer,

There is one Body and one Spirit;

There is one hope in God’s call to us;

One Lord, one Faith, one Baptism;

One God and Father of all.

Fall Reflections

This Devotion was written by Elder Marti Hawkins and shared with the PCC Session at our meeting this past Tuesday night. With Marti's permission ... here are her reflections:

I am not a biblical historian, but I can’t recall a single passage of scripture that embraces the beauty of fall. Did David write any psalms about vibrant autumn color? Were Mary and Martha busy before Jesus’ visit, raking leaves that accumulated at their doorway? Was Solomon’s temple adorned with jack-o-lanterns?

This time of year is transitional between the growth and bloom of summer vegetation, and the winter dormancy of flora and fauna. As many creatures hibernate and refresh their bodies until the spring renewal, others migrate to the eastern shore to become reinvigorated. I have been thinking of hibernation and migration in a spiritual sense, how do these activities relate to human life?

I believe we all need a time of renewal, an opportunity to cleanse our spirit, rest our body, and reflect. Perhaps this renewal represents a hibernation from the hectic demands of our world, an opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with our God and our faith.

Migration, such as our Canada geese habitually engage in, is a little trickier to apply to our lives, but it may suggest a shift from a focus on self to a focus on others. Or it may be the symbol of passages in our life…as we age and mature, our love for family and friends deepens, our trust in God migrates from childhood to adulthood as the ultimate and constant source of strength.

Therefore, we can fulfill a need to energize our souls as we rest and hibernate. and like the geese we can pursue invigorating change by migrating on our faith journey. May we follow our instincts along the path to salvation, and praise our God from whom all beauty and blessings flow.

This was Sunday's sermon from October 10, 2010 - Title: "10/10/10" ... for those of you who might be interested!

Until the year 2012, each year there will be one day, like today, where are all the numbers are the same – May 5, 2005 – or 5/5/05; or September 9, 2009 – 9/9/09. You get the idea.
People pay special attention on a day where all 3 numbers are the same – expecting it to be somehow uniquely special … or at least simply unique. After all, they only come around once every 100 years.

But, to be honest, I fully expected to find dire, apocalyptic warnings about today being 10/10/10. After all – there is something about the number 10 that lends itself to this kind of thinking. It’s fairly basic in our lives. We count by tens. Most of us have 10 toes and ten fingers.

In the Bible, the number “10” often symbolically represents divine order or completeness. There were 10 plagues that Moses called down upon Pharaoh and Egypt. There were 10 maidens with their lamps burning in Jesus’ parable about being ready for his coming. And of course, there is the idea of a tithe – or a gift of 10% that is to be returned to God. And just in case you thought I had forgotten the most obvious - there are 10 Commandments.

With all of that symmetry and order – of course there must be massive conspiracy theories out there expecting something that would happen at 10 min. 10 sec. after 10 a.m. on 10/10/10. After all, that’s going to be not too long from now (and this is one time during a sermon that the preacher won’t even mind if you check your watches).

So, where do you go if you want to find out what strange and curious things might happen on 10/10/10?

Well, a random search on the Internet actually turned up … not much.

Other than the fact that if you’re in a store that sells clocks – you might notice that they’re usually all set to 10 minutes after 10.

And yes, there is the rumor of a massive Internet virus that will crash all computers at 10:10 this morning. But since in every 24 hours there are over 60,000 pieces of malicious software that are launched – one security engineer wondered why anyone would worry about today in particular?[1]

I did learn that Bride’s magazine is reporting that more than 30,000 couples will be married today – about 10 times the normal number reported for any other day.[2]

For a while I muddled my brain with all those “zeros” and “ones” from today’s date, trying to figure out how to convert from a binary system into a decimal system and I remembered why I didn’t major in math. But I did find out that 101010 in binary code converts to the number “42.” For those who know the classic science fiction book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, they will quickly recognize that the number “42” is the answer to life, the universe and everything.[3] There’s definitely a sermon or two in that.

But overall … I found no global-apocalyptic-cosmic cataclysm-conspiracy theory for 10/10/10.

In fact, I learned from one website that, even when taking into account the differences between the Gregorian and Julian calendars, nothing significant appears to have happened a thousand years ago during the year 1010 nor did anything significant appear to have happened two thousand years ago during the year 10.[4] Their point being: so why would we expect something significant to happen today?

The closest I got to any worldwide conspiracy is simply that the Gospel Lesson for today in the Revised Common Lectionary – used by most American Protestants and Roman Catholics – is indeed about the 10 lepers who were healed.
I have to wonder if the Lectionary Committee had a good chuckle about that one. Or maybe they didn’t even notice.

Which may be part of the point.

I have always read this healing story as a lesson in gratitude.
So just as the Samaritan who turned back, so we are to become a grateful people who live each day in thankfulness to God. That seems simple enough.

But the more I sit with this text, it seems to me to be more than simply a call to be thankful, as important as that is.

After all, there is nothing in the text that would lead us to believe that the other 9 men were not thankful – my guess is they were very thankful indeed to be healed and they ran as fast as they could to the priests in order to start to live a normal life again.

But the difference came in what they saw – or did not see. What they noticed … or did not notice. Ten men are healed – but only one sees what has happened. And that seeing makes all the difference.

In fact, Jesus is always teaching his followers – then and now – that faith is not just a matter of believing certain things, but it is also about seeing – about seeing and naming God’s presence and work in our lives and in our world … and helping each other to do the same.

Someone once said that in fact, what we do in worship each week is “cataract surgery” because every week we need to have our sight restored and our vision clarified.[5]

During any given week there can be so much busyness and doubt in our day that it can be difficult to sustain faith in a loving God. A day or two of things going wrong at work; tensions with our children; bad news from the doctor … as someone said, “even though our faith might be sure and confident on Sunday morning, by the following Friday – and … some weeks it’s by Monday afternoon – we need to have our faith rekindled.”[6]

And so every week, and sometimes every day, we need to be reminded that even when our vision becomes cloudy, Jesus still sees us in whatever confusion or clutter our lives and our world might be in – and God reaches out to us first, to make us whole.

Time and again, we need one another to help clarify our vision and restore our eyesight, so that we are ready to recognize that moment of grace when it comes.

This past month when we have been busier than I ever knew we could be – with anniversary events and Malawi friends to host, I have felt like one of those 9 lepers. I was so relieved to be “healed” that I was the first to run off, ready to get back to “normal” – whatever that is.

At times when life is at its busiest, I can find my senses dulled as I simply check things off my list, and my nerves stretch to their limit and I’m consumed by anxiety and everyone else’s expectations, let alone my own pettiness and distraction. I wouldn’t recognize a moment of grace if it came up and hit me. It’s all I can do some days to simply keep moving.

But when I’m at my best, even if I’m at my busiest … when my eyes are opened, like that 1 Samaritan’s were … I find that grace is all around me. I can look back now and see how I almost missed it these past few weeks – but grace and God’s presence have been there all the time.

I’ve been learning that I have to practice this kind of seeing – and I’ve actually tried “exercising” my ability to see by taking an assignment for a day – by telling myself to notice one thing all day long: like one day it might be the color orange; the next day it may be to notice shoes. I’ve learned it doesn’t matter what the thing is I’m supposed to notice – simply that I’m practicing learning to pay attention – it’s the discipline of being “mindful” about what is happening.

And I find that when I am “mindful” … I start to be aware of God’s presence in any number of ways during the day … in shared conversations; in the routines of the day; in the simple beauty of the garden, and the sound of the geese overhead. Instead of simply being only annoyed and angry with the failure of politicians and leaders the world over to make peace and act justly, I find myself praying my way through the news of the day – seeking God’s wisdom for us all. I become more aware of God’s presence in answered prayers – and even when prayers go unanswered. I am less likely to take the good in each day for granted.

And when I am here in worship every Sunday, I find my spirits lifted, my heart stretched and strengthened because we have been together to pray and listen to God’s word, to sing and even be silent. My sight is restored for now because we have been together … and I can recognize that by the grace of God and the presence of Christ in this community I too have been made whole.

These are moments of grace … and I find myself filled with praise.

When the 1 man who had seen what was happening had turned back to praise God, Jesus said to him: Rise and go …

And so do we … we turn to praise, and then we rise and go, ready to see and notice and to help each other see that God is still at work in the world and in our lives – God sees us and in Jesus Christ, God keeps making us whole … at 10:10 on 10/10/10 and on the 11th and the 12th and every day hereafter.

Maybe that is the answer to life, the universe and everything.
May it be so. Amen.

[1] As reported at: www.abcnews.go.com/Technology/101010-interent-virus-hope-rumor/ – “Rumors of a 10/10/10 Internet Virus …”
[2] Also from the same www.abcnews report.
[3] The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams.
[4] From the website: http://hubpages.com/hub/How-to-Interpret-101010-Sunday-October-10-2010.
[5] These ideas are from an article, “Cataract Surgery,” by Dr. David Lose on the website: www.workingpreacher.org.
[6] Ibid.

Take, Eat, and Remember

I have a distinct memory of the very first Sunday I took communion. I wish I could say I remember it so well because I caught a glimpse of the holy wonder of Jesus through participation in this timeless sacrament or that I had some recognition of what this mystery meant. I should confess, however, the memory has little to do with Jesus. I was in the backseat of my father’s car, sitting surreptitiously behind the driver’s seat so that he could not see what I was up to.

My father, a faithful Episcopalian and Eucharist partaker, had decided that that Sunday was the first Sunday that I would take communion. Because my mother was at home with my younger, sick brother, it was up to him to impress upon me the importance of this day and this meal. I, on the other hand, had a different agenda in mind. With my mother distracted with illness and my father focused on imparting Eucharistic wisdom to his impressionable daughter, I saw this car ride as a unique opportunity to try out the red lipstick I had stashed away in my white, paten-leather purse the previous Easter. As my dad eloquently spoke of Jesus’ life, death and last meal with his friends, armed with a pocket mirror and Estee Lauder, I proceeded to paint the lower part of my face bright red. It was a least two days before my face returned to its normal hue. But, after a vigorous scrubbing in the bathroom and many amused looks from those who witnessed my make-up artistry, I joined my father at the communion rail, cupping my hands in the sign of a cross, ready to receive the bread of life. I will never forget that morning.

Our celebration of World Communion Sunday was a reminder to me of the great diversity of those who are hungry to be fed. From the youngest ones who join the meal without care or pretense to the ones who have come to the table, again and again, year after year, growing in the knowledge that this food, which binds together saints of the past, present, and still to come, is the only food which truly fills us. That’s not to say that there have been some seasons in my life when taking communion has felt less significant to me. I have often thought fellowship meals and coffee dates on random afternoons which help relationships to grow into intimate, close friendship, are even more important than any ancient tradition of the church. In part, I may have even been right. But I don’t think one precludes the other. Perhaps they go together, hand in hand, our holy meal which celebrates the love of our Savior providing the framework for all of our other encounters. Coming to any table to break bread is given deeper meaning because we have been taught how to commune rightfully with one another with unconditional love, respect, and care.

When we celebrate holy communion, we acknowledge that this morsel and drop of bread and wine are a foretaste of the fulfillment of God’s promises to us and to the whole world. Last Sunday, from East and West and in every tongue, we joined with countless others to be reminded of the abounding hope found at the Lord’s table. With this memory fresh in our hearts, we are sure to experience this hope elsewhere, around other tables, holding hands and saying grace, or even as we marvel at the signs of the season’s shifting. God’s presence abides with us-- in our worship and in our world, always steadfast, faithful, and true.

Leave-taking

“I am better at hellos” quipped Karen Blixen in one of my favorite scenes from Out of Africa, when she discovers that her husband is, yet again, leaving her alone on their Kenyan farm. I would imagine many of us would relate to Karen when the time comes to say good-bye to the ones that we love. It’s never easy, even with the assurance that one day, in one way or the other, we will meet again.

As we prepare for leave-taking with our Malawian friends, I have thought of the great difficulty I have had with saying good-bye over the years. The day before leaving is always the hardest. Emotions seem to run high and low. I always end up in a colossal argument with my mother on the way to the airport, dissolving in tears and my resolve to never allow her to drive me to the airport again. It is as if we are refusing to face the truth of our sadness at leaving by conjuring up some other pain as a distraction. Days later, once resettled in our respective lives, we remember how we have learned to love each other even at a distance.

At times I have wished to corral my family and friends into one place, keeping them safe and close. But, I know this is impossible, that we must learn to hold each other in our hearts, and envision new ways of relationship and care which transcends space, time, and geography. We can even teach ourselves to be grateful for the few hours we are given, an impromptu coffee date along an interstate thoroughfare. I realized I was getting better at coming and going when I viewed an hour conversation with an old friend not as too little time but instead as simply a gift. Despite the moments when I wish I would have stayed safely tucked in my original home community, I know it is impossible to prevent life’s movements-- friendships shift, people move, and loved ones pass away. None of us are immune.

For the past two weeks, our church community has been given a gift of face-to-face time with our Malawian brothers and sisters. We have smiled and laughed a lot, encountering parts of our home with them as if it were our very first time. We have been reminded of our unity even in the midst of our different cultures. We have come together, making a patchwork of memories which all of us, on both sides of the ocean, will cherish dearly. Saying goodbye to friends who live 8,000 miles away seems rather stark, worthy of tears to say the least. Yet, we do not know what future gifts of encounter await us. We do not know God’s ways or plans, but that His faithfulness endures. With this leave-taking, we give thanks for the gift of time that we have been given with our friends, and trust that in a myriad of ways, even from afar, our relationships will continue to grow and strengthen through the power and love of Jesus Christ.

Leave-taking Prayer

By: Saint Thomas More

If the heart grows heavy

As an adamantine stone

May some lost lark find refuge there

And a lilting song intone.

And if sadness sits upon your winter face

And heavy knits your brow

May spring descend with flowers bright

And laugh upon the broken bough.

If the road leads to deserts sere

And the soul is on sorrow's brink

May you find old Jacob's ancient well

And drink, and drink, and drink.

Reflections on our Anniversary

As I have reflected on our 25th anniversary service last Sunday and all the events that have surrounded it so far, I feel stumped for words to describe what a joy and privilege it is to be a part of this church community during this special time. As I looked around the sanctuary during the worship service, I wondered about the threads of life represented in the room. Some threads seem bold with color, while others have begun to fade ever so quietly. All are woven into our life tapestry, giving it strength, wisdom, and vitality. As a newcomer, I realize that I have not even scratched the surface of our stories of joy and sorrow and faith, each individual contribution making up the layers of our foundation.

Being a part of this church, however briefly, has felt like a homecoming. The feeling of family which seems to extend not only to those within our walls, but also to those beyond it, is as palpable as my most cherished memories of family around the thanksgiving table. This feeling of family is significant to me as it has been ten years since I have lived at home with my parents, and almost that long since I have been able to participate in the daily moments of family life like birthdays and anniversaries.

Being geographically separated from home has been a source of sadness for me at times, particularly when I have been unable to make the journey to join holiday celebrations or hospital gatherings to witness the passing of the lives of my grandparents. My calling and the responsibilities that have come with it have pushed me to travel to distant communities, and, in a way, discover family wherever I have found myself.

Sometime last winter, when I was living in Cape Town, I experienced a moment which brought this truth to my greater awareness. A dear friend from my church choir was scheduled to have a hip replacement surgery, and she and her husband had asked me to come and pray with her as she was preparing to go into the operation. The pre-operation room housed six beds, and around most of the beds, family or friends were present. Her parents were hours away in another region of the country and her siblings even further in Germany and the United States. It struck me that then, in that moment, I was family for her. She had given me the privilege of standing next to her in a most vulnerable and anxious time, a privilege that is most often reserved for a parent or child. I may not have been able to be present for my own parents as they have dealt with stress or sickness because of my geographic vicinity, but I could be there for this woman, offering myself and my love as if I were her own daughter. I pray that others will stand in for me for those whom I love that are too far for me to reach with my own touch.

This kind of offering, these kinds of relationships, are just what the church is founded upon. In our baptism, through the love of God which has been infused in us, we are able to reach out and be mothers and fathers, siblings and children to those who we meet sitting next to us in the pews, right before our eyes. It may not be what we thought we needed or wanted, but in God’s way of providing for us, it is enough. As we celebrate this 25th anniversary, we are reminded that our stories are inextricably bound with one another. Through our peaks and valleys, in our times of light and darkness, we walk with one another, offering who we are and what we have. It is manna in the wilderness-- not too much or too little, but just enough.

Sitting with Jesus

A Reflection on Luke 10:38-42

I have spent the better part of this week with Mary and Martha’s story on my mind. No doubt, Sara’s sermon on the gospel of Luke planted a thought-provoking seed. As one embodying many of Martha’s personality traits, it’s easy to imagine Martha’s actions in the story. The cleaning, the cooking, the fixing, and constant do-gooding was all well inspired by a call to serve Jesus. What’s harder for me to envision are Mary’s actions and behaviors in this tale. We know that she is praised for setting aside responsibilities and protocol so that she can simply sit, or be, with Jesus.

I have wondered what sitting with Jesus really looks like for us in our everyday lives. Just who or what is enough to stop us in our tracks, to cause us to pause from the tasks at hand and be fully present. I wonder if Jesus wasn’t criticizing Martha’s actions so much as he was reminding all of us to honor encounters with the Lord, even the ones which take place without recognizable importance. These moments of holy wonder are our burning bushes, and if we aren’t watchful, we may miss them altogether. Jesus hardly ever appeared with fanfare, but almost always showed up in the unexpected margins-- dirty feet, stale bread, sour wine-- mundane banality turned precious. It’s easy to miss Jesus, even when He is sitting beside us.

The last moments I shared with my grandmother, a few weeks before she passed away, seemed insignificant at the time. In the middle of a whirlwind visit home, when I was attempting to share a meal with every friend I ever had while also preparing to leave for South Africa just weeks later, I made a thirty minute window to stop by her home and say hello. I was distracted by my own many tasks, the piles of fundraising letters I needed to send and the “to do” list which was pages thick. I was preaching the next morning in a local church and two attempts to write a sermon had fallen flat. The last thing I had time for that day, that week, and that summer was a drive to the other side of town without a productive purpose in mind. I did try to act present as I sat down to visit, but my grandmother was too perceptive. She saw right through me.

“You don’t have time for me, today,” she said. I tried to convince her otherwise, but with a quiet, firm raise of her hand she continued.

“It’s ok. I am happy just seeing you for a moment.”

We ended up having a good visit. When she died unexpectedly, just weeks later, it struck me how blind I was not to recognize the sacredness of a such a visit, what a blessing it was to have a living grandmother who cared to spend time with me. I almost missed those last moments with her. In my haste, I nearly neglected to take the sandals from my feet and honor this sacred ground. In these two years, I have often wondered if she realized that visit would be our last. Her grace for my harried disinterest has lingered with me, particularly on the days in ministry when the last thing I want is an interruption in my productivity. Just as I begin to maneuver away from whomever it is hoping for a longer audience, because I have a deadline breathing down my neck, I remember my grandmother’s face the last time I saw her alive. Now, I cannot fittingly show her how much she meant to me, or tell her that I value time with her more than any task I have ever accomplished. Yet, every time I pause to be present with someone else who is longing to be seen and heard, I know I honor her.

To sit with Jesus is simply to sit with another, old or young, rich or poor, empty or fulfilled, and to experience a shared and holy humanity. This may look like everyday stuff, lacking importance, grandeur, or significance, but this is just how God appears to us. For Moses, it was noticing God in a bush as he tended his flock. For Mary, it was pausing to sit and be with Jesus, in the midst of preparing for a party. As we tend to our chores, as we go about our frenetic lives, may we be tuned in enough to turn our head, pause, and witness the divine presence wherever it burns. May we take the time to stop and sit a while with Jesus, in whatever place we find Him.

PRAYER for EASTER MORNING

Holy One, at the first light of dawn

on the first day of the week

we gather to greet the risen Lord:

firstborn of the dead.

Keep us faithful as your people,

the first fruit of your Holy Spirit,

until you gather us at last

in your realm of endless light;

through Jesus Christ, Alpha and Omega.

(prayer from www.pcusa.org)

Photo taken by Sara Holben, May 2009: Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem.

We know what happened on the other days of Holy Week ... but what about Saturday? It doesn't say anything about Saturday. What did they do that day? What do we do? Well, of course it was the Sabbath for them ... so they DID know what to do, or not do, as the case may be. But what about us? What do we do with this day of waiting?

Since becoming a pastor 22 years ago, I know what to do with Saturday before Easter: finish the sermon, check and double-check the "list" of what needs to be done and by when on Sunday morning (sunrise service comes awfully early and then things happen very quickly!), in general, Saturday is very simple: stay as focused as possible on Easter so that it all comes together. For those of you with children and grandchildren (and nieces and nephews) ... it's also a day for finishing Easter baskets, planning Easter lunch (or dinner ... whichever it is for you), and on a spectacular spring Saturday (like today promises to be) ... enjoy the outdoors.

It's easy to fill up a Saturday ... any Saturday ... with errands and tasks and work to do (whether sermon or household chores). But maybe Saturday is simply meant to be a day to ponder the mystery of it all.

So on whatever "Saturday" list you have ... add to it: "ponder the mystery of God's gift of life" ... and if you can spare a few minutes, watch this YouTube clip (put together by some folks at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, MN. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c2inXKD6PI

Easter IS Coming. Thanks be to God.

(Photo taken by Sara Holben - May 2009, outside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem)

Today during our Good Friday service, Parish Associate Rev. Dr. John Ames (how's that for an official title!) said something I've been thinking about all afternoon: "We cannot explain the cross - all we can do is point toward it."

Maybe that's what I've been feeling today. When it comes to Good Friday, all theology fails me. It simply is ... God's love which triumphs over everything else, including death. That's more than enough to contemplate on this Friday. A day which I began in prayer, and keep finding myself praying as go about the routines of the day. I invite you to join me:

Prayers of Intercession ...

God, in your great mercy you have sent your Son to save the world from death. In remembrance of his suffering, let us pray:

• for the earth and all that God has created,


• for the church in every land and for our own congregation, its leaders and members,


• for the peoples of the world, for governments and leaders, for peace and justice,


• for the sick and the dying, for those who mourn, for those in distress,


• for our friends and family that they may have your guidance, that they may have health and hear your words of encouragement,


• for ourselves, that we may lead faithful lives, giving thanks for our baptism into Jesus' death and our rising with Jesus into new life.

In the name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.

[Prayer from: Season of Ash and Fire, by Blair Gilmer Meeks (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), p. 127.

Photo: taken by Sara Holben - May 2009. Outside the Ethiopian Orthodox Chapel, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem.

(picture taken May 27, 2009 ... by Sara Holben. Candles in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem, beside the site named as "Gologtha")

Wednesday of Holy Week ... March 31, 2010. This week always feels a bit "suspended" in time for me. Lots to do to get ready for worship services over the next few days. Yet, it feels in some way as if time is standing still. I know that it's my mind playing tricks on me, of course. And yet, in another sense, it seems as if all that is important in time comes pressed in upon these few days. Maybe that's what "kairos" - God's time - feels like.

So on this Wednesday, the day before Maundy Thursday ... I pray:

Christ our Savior,

on the cross you embraced all time

with your outstretched arms:

Gather all the scattered children of God into your realm.

Jesus, Lamb of God, have mercy on us.

Jesus, bearer of our sins, have mercy on us.

Jesus, redeemer of the world, grant us peace. Amen.

(from: Book of Common Worship, p. 266 ... Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993)

Last night was the last of our Lenten series on learning to pray. The group was very kind in their comments, pointing out that perhaps the blog didn't work as I intended it to, since I didn't get to it each week. The term we used was that I became "blogged down" with other things.

And yet, in our discussion, we decided this back porch can still be a place for us to continue our conversations not only about prayer but about life and faith and how we put it all together.

So I won't give up on blogging ... although I still have a lot to learn about how to do this well. And I'll ask some of the others in our "Thursdays @PCC" to share in it. The value of this study series on prayer was evident for all of us - we are all learning; we never arrive at some "perfect" place where we've "learned" prayer; and we are grateful for the companions we have met on the way.

We'll see what the future brings. Keep coming back ... we're still here!

Sara

Maybe it's because it's starting to feel like spring that I'm spending less time in front of the computer ... or maybe it's just that it's getting closer to Holy Week and time seems to be shorter.

For whatever the reason that this blog has been quiet for several weeks, let me just share what I said at last week's mid-week community Lenten service. As background: our yard (at home) is "daffodil heaven" - we have lots and lots of daffodils that are early bloomers. So our flower beds are filled with dozens upon dozens of daffodils of all kinds that are blooming already.

"I take great pleasure in watching these early spring flowers [daffodils] emerge from under 3 feet of snow with their green shoots and brilliant yellow blossoms. Just when you think winter will last forever, the daffodils appear. That’s part of the joy of planting them, in the anticipation that some day, when I least expect it … but in the last gasp of winter, when I most need them, those daffodils will come along and surprise me.
"Isn’t that what God is in a habit of doing with us? Of taking something that was planted long ago … our hopes, visions, dreams … and finally bringing them into bloom? Or, perhaps, in the midst of our winter season, those same hopes and dreams are planted deep within us, yet we may not see them come into bloom for months or seasons yet to come? Still, inevitably, and faithfully, they will bloom in the hands of the Gardener who plants grace and mercy and hope in our lives and in our world every day. The gifts of a God who always provides abundantly for a world in need."

The "Thursday night group" is reading along in the book by James C. Howell - The Beautiful Work of Learning to Pray (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2003). This book is written as 31 short chapters - each a brief essay on learning to pray.

The group gives the book a "thumbs-up" ... and especially appreciates how normal it makes them feel: that learning to pray is not easy, but we can learn to do it; that it's never too late to learn; that it takes practice, practice, practice; that we begin by praying as we can, not as we can't. But as one group member noted, it also reminds us that learning to pray is also taking a risk ... that in developing our relationship with God through prayer we might indeed be called and invited to change.

This past Thursday night from our reading of the first few chapters, Howell encouraged us to think about when in our lives have we been doing something that becomes a prayer?

We also considered what it is we do that renews our spirits ... would we be willing to call those things prayer? What is it that we know nurtures our spirit but have not done in a long time?

Great conversations ... great group! For those reading along in the book ... chapters 6 through 12 for next Thursday.

I'm learning about this blog thing and the group has told me that unless they have a special email account for gmail or yahoo or some other such things that they can't comment on the blog. My apologies for all of you who might want to do that and can't - so feel free to write to me via email or Facebook!

Sara

Diana Butler Bass on Lent & Dying To Self [HQ]

From a Facebook friend, I saw this brief (3+ minute) video clip ... food for thought on the back porch this Lenten Saturday:

Diana Butler Bass on Lent & Dying To Self [HQ]

Sara

One of the things our discussion group talked about last Thursday was the questions we all have about prayer.

As children, some of the questions we might have had included: Where is God and how can God hear all the prayers all at once? How will I know if God answers my prayer? Does everyone pray?

As youth, our questions about prayer became: Why bother? Why pray when it doesn't seem to change anything? Why are some prayers answered and some aren't?

As adults, our questions don't go away, and often include the questions we had growing up. In addition, our questions also become: What if I'm praying for the wrong things? How is prayer more than just "saying" prayers? Am I just trying to persuade God to change his mind or is prayer more than that? How do I pray without "ceasing"?

So what question would you add to the list?

Our group meets again tonight ... join us in the conversation.

Sara

Psalm 51 – David Carr | Isaac Everett

Psalm 51 – David Carr Isaac Everett

As I work on this coming Sunday's worship service, we'll be taking a look at Psalm 51 - traditionally read for Ash Wednesday, and the beginning of Lent. For a background on the Psalm and a very different way of hearing it, check out this "Emergent Psalter" by Isaac Everett.

Sara

Our Thursday night group met last night for our first "Lenten study" on learning to pray. We all come from a variety of backgrounds and from religious traditions so we began last night talking about our experiences with learning to pray ... so I will ask you as well ... (and invite members of our discussion group to post some of their answers, too):

Who taught you to pray?
Were you taught to memorize a prayer? What was it?
As you were growing up, who did you see pray - and where?