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.