Back Porch Notes

"Summer of the Bible"

2011-06-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

So what are your plans for the summer? Come along with us at PCC for the "Summer of the Bible." Over the next 13 weeks (until the end of August) we'll be reading our way through parts of the Bible - from Genesis to Revelation. Each week a "sample" of texts from different parts of the Bible will be available. I'll post them here ... and they'll be available for download at our website: www.pcchestertown.org. Come join the journey!

SUMMER OF THE BIBLE - Readings for Week 1 (June 5-11)
Background on the Book of Genesis, chapters 1-11 (from “The Year of the Bible” by Dr. James E. Davison, p. 2 - Louisville, KY: Bridge Resources):

These first 11 chapters of the Book of Genesis deal with the “prehistory” of Israel. “They are the stories that place Israel within the context of world history as a whole. As you read, try not to get caught up in how these events relate to modern science. It is more useful to ask yourself what these stories would have meant to the children of Israel as they heard them told many times. The nations surrounding Israel believed in many gods. For them, the sun, the moon, and the stars were divine. Observe that, in the story of the creation of the heavens and the earth in Genesis 1, a basic point is that there is only one God. This God is above all things, and all things have been created by God.
“The implications for the religious beliefs of other nations are clear. Notice that, even though light is created immediately by God, the sun and the moon and the stars are not created until much later. For our scientific understanding, that sounds strange; however, it is a very good way of pointing out that the gods worshiped by neighboring peoples are not gods at all.
“Likewise, the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis 2 and 3 shows us what human nature is like. It tries to explain in a simple manner that God has not brought evil into the world. Humans are responsible for perpetuating evil. This and the later stories in this section [chapters 1-11] attempt to show, in a way that is clear to all generations, how God first interacted with human beings, how evil increased rapidly in the world, and how, because of that, God pronounced judgment on human beings.”

SUMMER OF THE BIBLE – 2011
Readings for June 5 – 11:
· Genesis 1 & Genesis 2 – two versions of the Creation
· Genesis 3 – 4:16 – “East of Eden: Sin and its consequences”
· Genesis 6:5-7 – a “Grieving God”
· Genesis 6:9-14 and 7:6-12 and 8:6-12, 18-22 and 9:8-17 – Noah and the Flood and God’s new way upon the earth
· Genesis 11:1-9 – the Tower of Babel

Questions for reflection:

What do we learn from having two different versions of creation – one in Genesis 1 and one in Genesis 2?
What do we learn about humanity … and about God … through the stories of Cain and Abel, Noah, and the Tower of Babel?
How does God’s intention that creation be good persist in spite of human wrongdoing?
What do you think that means for us living in the 21st century?

The Road to Emmaus

2011-05-13T14:05:00.000-07:00

From last week's sermon on the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35):

While the 2 of them were pouring out their despair to the stranger on the road that day, they used what may be the four saddest words in all of Scripture: “But we had hoped …”. You can almost feel the yearning in their words: … But we had hoped that this Jesus whom we had seen healing, whom we had heard teaching, whom we had followed for so long … we had hoped he would be the one to redeem us.

But for all that they had hoped before, now they could only pour out their questions, their disappointment, their despair to the stranger they met along the way.

But we had hoped ….

When have you wanted to say that? We had hoped that … this would be the relationship; our child would get better, this would be the job … this move would make us happy ….

For anyone who has been listening to the news from Pakistan or Afghanistan or even the tragedies still emerging from the rubble of tornados, for anyone who has worried and questioned and struggled over children or grandchildren, over marriages, or jobs, or health … those same 4 words become our own protest that this is not the way we thought it would be. They become the watchwords of our own longing and lament: but we had hoped….

And when those are our words, that’s when we find ourselves walking down our own road to Emmaus. The end of the road at the end of a tragic and long, disappointing day.

But do you notice what happens next?

What in fact has actually been happening ever since that morning at the tomb? Maybe it would be easier to see if we had been reading right from the beginning of the chapter, right from the beginning of that Easter morning.

When the two angels spoke to the women at the tomb to announce the resurrection, unlike in the gospels of Matthew and Mark, they don’t tell the women to go tell the others to hightail it back to Galilee to meet the risen Christ there. Instead, they tell them to “remember” all that Jesus had told them.

Now on the road, the stranger calls the two travelers to remember everything that the Scriptures had said about the Christ.

And then, seated at the table that evening, they finally remember.

Maybe it was when they sat down to eat that it starts to come back to them. Maybe they start to remember other meals they’ve shared together – that bread-and-fish picnic when the 5000 were fed or that last supper in an upstairs room just days before. Surely, it starts to come back to them.

We don’t know how it happened, maybe the way he broke it, or in the familiar words of blessing … but there was something that made all the pieces fall into place. It was in the breaking of the bread that they remembered when they have met this man before. And their eyes are opened and they recognize him. They are brought back from the despair and shadows of death and they realize that life has won.

Remembering can do that to us, can’t it? At first, everything may seem like bits and pieces, random background “noise” with no rhyme or reason. Yet in our remembering something happens that can make it all seem so clear.

Thinking about those disciples at the table with Jesus has sent my own memory roaming back to communion services over the years when I have seen bread broken and shared the cup with others. And I remember …

· As a 6th grader, finally able to take communion and sitting beside my father in the pew while he held the communion tray to pass it to me;
· I remember the large pans of the special recipe of unleavened communion bread my grandmother would bake … almost like shortbread, but not sweet. I still remember the taste of it.
· I remember once (a long time ago, of course) getting my tongue stuck in a communion cup. My best advice: Do not try to get the last drop out of the cup. Trust me, it’s not worth it.
· I remember the first time serving communion at the J.L. Zwane Church in South Africa when I realized that it was the custom for the pastor to fill the small glass communion cups (like we use) at the table in front of the congregation using a large, wide-mouthed pitcher. More of it ended up on the table, on me and splashed all over the trays than actually ended up in the cups. (Later, I bought them one of the devices like we use that help fill the cups a bit more easily.)

I remembered all the places I’ve had communion.

I’ve shared communion at a TB hospital and in shacks in squatter settlements in South Africa. I’ve had communion on top of Mt. Sinai and in grand cathedrals in Europe, and a Greek Orthodox Church in Jerusalem. I’ve joined in communion with a thousand and more people at a Presbyterian General Assembly and then again with just a handful of people in small rural churches in north Florida, at a prayer service for the opening of Congress in D.C., at retreat centers and presbytery meetings, in nursing homes and at bedsides, in the intimacy of someone’s home … and many, many times here with all of you.

Pita bread, rye bread, wafers, my grandmother’s special communion bread, gluten-free, whole wheat, unleavened and even Wonder Bread white.

And each time, just like that evening in Emmaus, there has always been the same things: a spoken word, a bit of bread that was broken … a sip of wine (or, being a good Presbyterian, more often … a bit of grape juice) … all very simply things … and yet, each time, somehow my eyes are opened and I know Christ has been in our midst.

In a world that seems to be spinning out of control, when on any given day we have hoped it might all be different those things seem absolutely inconsequential. Yet somehow it is in the small things … a spoken word, a bit of bread, a sip of wine that we remember that Christ is present, that life can still come out of death, that the wounded can be made whole, that swords can still be turned into plowshares.

As I’ve been thinking about and remembering all those communion services, I’ve realized what it was I was really remembering. It wasn’t the place, nor whether it was wine or grape juice served in a common cup or in little cups, nor even the kind of bread we had.

It was the community, the people … that I remember: gathered around the table, telling old, old stories, sharing the feast, sharing how our lives had been touched by God, and I remember.
When we do it right, that’s what church looks like and that’s how we can know Christ is present: sharing meals around this table … or a potluck table, crying together at the funeral of a friend, lifting prayers in weekly worship, telling and re-telling the stories of scripture, feeding those who are hungry, sheltering those who have no home, rebuilding communities, serving together for our community and our neighbors near and far, and witnessing with the way we live and the choices we make that there is another way to live.

That road to Emmaus happened a long time ago … and we still walk along it even today.
Emmaus helps us remind each other that we can still have hope.
Emmaus helps us remember that God still walks alongside us in our confusion, our doubt, our hope and our faith ….
Emmaus invites us to expect God to meet us where we are … on a street corner or in an office, at school or on the sports field or at work, at 4-H or Chorale or in AA, at the detention center or prison, in a circle of knitters or by someone’s bedside. Wherever lives are shared, comfort given, support provided, injustice challenged … Christ is there.

So where is it and how is it that we see Christ among us even now?
May our eyes be opened and so remember.
Amen and amen.

Saturday of Holy Week

2011-04-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

From Sara: This is a version of what I posted LAST YEAR on the Saturday of Holy Week. For those of you who may have already seen it, or for those of you who haven't ... it still rings true for me.

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? 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) and guests about to arrive ... 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 is turning out 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)

Good Friday

2011-04-23T05:32:00.000-07:00

Thoughts from Sara:

"What language shall I borrow
to praise thee, dearest friend,
for this, thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine for ever,
and, should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to thee.

"O Sacred Head Now Wounded" words attr. to Bernard of Clairvaux, 12th century; translated (English) James W. Alexander, 1830

Palm Sunday at Clairvaux Farm

2011-04-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

Here is a report written by our own Casey Roberts about the Palm Sunday Youth trip to Clairvaux Farm ... [Clairvaux Farm is located in Cecil County, MD and is part of the ministry of "Meeting Ground" serving families who are experiencing homelessness. This was the second trip by PCC youth to sponsor a party for the children on the Farm.]

Casey Roberts April 22 at 12:01pm Report:

Egg hunts? Flower pot painting? Egg dying? What does this remind me of? Hmmm…oh yes! Clairvaux Farms! There was so much to do! The older boys had the most fun hiding the eggs. For the older kids, they would just throw them around the hiding field randomly, seeing who could throw farthest. We really got to know the kids at our flower pot decorating station, though. The little girls and boys had fun painting the boxes-and us- and pouring in the soil. It was so fun to see them laugh in happiness as they worked. All of the youth handled the children so well! I think Emily -and friend Anna- had the most fun with one little girl they met. The rest of us had fun talking to the older kids or playing with the little boys. After a fun egg hunt, we all entered the dining hall to eat cookies and dye eggs. When it was our time to leave, we saw happy faces, bags of candy, pretty pots, and even more special; Gods love resting in the air around us. It was honestly a beautiful trip, and I cannot wait to go back!

Photo by Sara Holben taken on Palm Sunday. April 17, 2011 at Clairvaux Farm

Thursday of Holy Week

2011-04-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

Thoughts from Sara:

For the past 10 years, our Maundy Thursday service at PCC has been in the Fellowship Hall around the supper table. A fellowship supper has been a part of the communion service as we gather in our own "upper room." This year instead of a fellowship supper we made our Narthex a "Jerusalem Marketplace" with different stalls of oranges, melons, dates and figs, cheeses and yogurt with honey, baked goods and spices all around the Narthex. The palms from Palm Sunday graced the tables reminding us what week it was. The aroma was wonderful, the fellowship a joy, and we moved from the Narthex streets of Jerusalem into our fellowship hall for communion, maybe the way the disciples had walked through the streets amid the noise and vendors and aromas of spices and maybe even stopped for a bite to eat in the old city of Jerusalem before they had their own "last supper."

One of our elders, whose vision of the marketplace helped make it come alive, told me that for her Maundy Thursday was very special because it made her think: "if this were my last meal I can't imagine a better place to spend the time than here at church with my friends."

A Holy Thursday indeed.

Wednesday of Holy Week

2011-04-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

Thoughts from Sara:

What a gorgeous spring day today in Chestertown. In the 80s, the pink dogwood outside the sanctuary is in full bloom. My tulips look terrific. It MUST be almost Easter having this much "spring" around.

But conversations with Mel Baars over supper about South Africa brought me back to remember ... of course this is Holy Week and Easter in the southern hemisphere too ... where it's already autumn and approaching winter.

Easter without trees in bloom and tulips and hyacinths and all the rest?

Yet, there is something about Easter on the threshold of winter that perhaps we need to see as well. To remind us that God is not just with us in those new signs of hope, but God is there as well – through the suffering and on the cross. Christ’s Resurrection is not just a glorious triumph, but it has meaning BECAUSE of the crucifixion. It brings a depth of meaning to the Resurrection that we might not see in the light of spring.
The challenge of Easter in autumn is great – but in some ways it is even more profound. For it allows no easy victories, no simple answers.

And maybe it also helps us to see that Christ’s resurrection still bears deep within it – sometimes where no one can see – the seeds of promise and hope.

Tuesday of Holy Week

2011-04-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

Thoughts from Sara:

So what did Jesus do during Holy Week? I went looking in the Gospels.

Each one, of course, is slightly different. Matthew, Mark and Luke have him clear the Temple of the "money-changers." (Ooops ... so much for having chocolate eggs available for a donation this past Sunday and Malaria Nets for Mother's Day this coming Sunday!)

Matthew and Mark agree that Jesus is anointed at Bethany (it happens some other time in both Luke and John). Jesus spends time in the temple grounds (remember the widow and her two "mites"?).

But mostly Jesus talks and he teaches. And he continues to tell his parables and some of these are the hardest and most thought-provoking of all the parables ... especially when it comes to all these parables about "keeping watch," the Last Judgment (about the sheep and the goats) and preparing for the return of the Son of Man. This is where all those passages are embedded we often hear during Advent about Christ's return.

But what surprised me, because it never shows up in the Lectionary during Holy Week, is that according to Matthew and Mark's sequence of events, one of the things Jesus taught during Holy Week is the Great Commandment: "Which commandment in the law is the greatest?" a lawyer asked him. Jesus said to him: "'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."

Out of all the other things that crowd our preaching and teaching agendas during Holy Week, maybe we should simply remember that it was in his last week that Jesus taught us what is the most important of all.

Not a bad thing to remember on Tuesday of Holy Week.

P.S. An aside: During the month of March for the past several years, our congregation has hosted the Samaritan Emergency Winter Shelter for people experiencing homelessness in Kent County. This year the shelter included a 9-year old and her mom and sister. Volunteers told me that at supper each night, she would ask to give the blessing and would read the words that are painted as a mural on the wall of our Fellowship Hall: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind ... and your neighbor as yourself." ... Amen and amen.

Photo by: Sara Holben ... Abbey of Iona, Scotland - June 2009

Monday of Holy Week

2011-04-18T13:22:00.001-07:00

The morning after Palm Sunday I find myself shifting into "Holy Week Mode." For me that means finishing all the bulletins from all the services this week, making lists of what needs to be done, setting up files for every service so that I can just toss anything that comes up into each one and maybe, just maybe, I'll find things when I need them.

So that's what I did this morning, on Monday of Holy Week, April 18, 2011. Maundy Thursday bulletin done. Lists started. Appointments for home communion made. Easter bulletin started. Gave thanks for John Ames working on Good Friday service and Sunrise Service! ... Check, check, check ... it feels good to take things OFF the list.

But all day long I've felt unsettled ... but finally realized this is the way I always feel when Holy Week begins. It's not because there's a lot to do, although there is. But rather I think what it feels like is entering a "time apart." Yes, work goes on. Life goes on.

But I think for me it feels like I'm entering a "thin place" this week ... one of those places and times where I feel more directly and most intimately God's presence. It's almost like my skin is sensitive to the touch of the Spirit and I wait, holding my breath, for what is about to happen. And what will happen? In and around worship and conversations, in silence and prayer, at the store or over breakfast ... where will I see God this week?

So I start walking into Holy Week with this prayer from "Common Order", Panel on Worship, Church of Scotland (1994):

Lord Jesus Christ,

in this sacred and solemn week

when we see again the depth and mystery of your redeeming love,

help us

to follow where you go,

to stop where you stumble,

to listen when you cry,

to hurt as you suffer,

to bow our heads in sorrow when you die,

so that when raised to life again

we may share your endless joy.

Amen.

Sara

"Lift up your Hearts"

2011-03-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

For weeks after leaving Chestertown, I have avoided going to church on Sunday morning. I have touted a long list of excuses. I am exhausted after a week of 4:30 AM wake-up calls and Army reveille. More than this, in chaplain school, we pray multiple times each day, and listen to daily sermons. Doesn’t that somehow count toward Sunday worship? When the weekend rolls around, the last thing I want to do is force myself to pray and worship in a way that doesn’t feel authentic to my own tradition. There are no Iona worship booklets or hymns from the Scottish hymnary, or even any hymns from a hymnal. Most of the worship available on post is geared toward a more contemporary, evangelical audience. I do love a well played guitar, but, throughout my entire life, Sunday morning has been reserved for something else, something different. In my heart, of course, I know that I have been avoiding Sunday worship so that I might avoid the heartache I feel over moving away from home and being separated from my church family.

Last weekend, while I was visiting the town where I went to college, I decided it was time to break my streak of church skipping and face reality. My college minister is a rector at a local Episcopal church and though it wouldn’t be the same as going to church at home, reconnecting with her and my liturgical roots, would be special. I arrived as the service began and the announcement was made that my friend, the priest, would be away on a Sabbatical. I had a split second to stay or leave. As disappointed as I was not to see this friend and worship with her, I had a feeling that I had come into that sacred space for another reason altogether.

I spent the first half of my life in the Episcopal church. The prayers, creeds and liturgy drawn from the Book of Common Prayer are the first words I learned to articulate God and faith. Each week, from the time I was old enough to escape the nursery, these prayers were grafted upon my heart before I knew what any of it meant. “Lift up your hearts,” “Walk in love,” and “Send us now into the world in peace...with gladness and singleness of heart,” these phrases, and many more, are the threads which have bound my faith from childhood, and no matter how I may have grown as a follower of Christ, no matter how many other words I have learned, these first ones remain a part of me.

I was reminded of my own enthusiasm for church when I was a young, as I watched a pre-schooler take part in the liturgy of the Holy Eucharist. Throughout the Great Thanksgiving she stood intently in the aisle of the church, pretending, herself, to be the priest. Facing the altar, she made priestly gestures as the prayers were read-- the sign of the cross, a raised hand, and a dramatic bow as the bread was blessed. She may not know the details of what it all means, but she knew that whatever it was taking place in these moments, it was sacred.

As we all gathered around the Communion rail, small, smooth hands as well as the older, wrinkled ones, reaching out for a bit of the bread of life, a taste of that spiritual food, the sacrament of body and blood, I realized why I had come. Participating in this meal was just the reminder I needed. No matter where I am in the world, home is only as far as the pilgrims who gather to break bread and share cup around God’s table. I found this table long ago. Before I even understood what it meant, I lifted my hands to be fed, knowing whatever was taking place around this table, it was a means of finding fuller life. I am grateful, even through my homesickness and tears, to remember this and find my voice again so I can give God thanks and praise.

Binding Our Hearts

2011-02-07T21:28:00.000-08:00

“Bind them upon your heart always; tie them around your neck.” Proverbs 6:21

The day of my ordination, two friends gave me a bracelet as a gift for the occasion. Inscribed upon the bracelet was the “Shema Israel,” a passage found in the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy. For two years, while I was in South Africa, I wore the bracelet every day. Often, when I was in lengthy worship services, struggling to understand or stay tuned into prayers and songs in a language that was not my own, this bracelet was a saving grace. I would look down at the Hebrew words which wrapped around my wrist, and I would recite their meaning in silence.

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem* on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” Deuteronomy 6:4-9

It was a reminder of where I had come from and of what was required for faithfulness, even thousands of miles away from home. Whenever I was called upon, to preach or pray, particularly in the wake of the death of a church member, or right before I walked into a house full of mourners, I would touch this bracelet, and I would find a little more courage to follow its instruction, despite my fear.

While most Christians know the Ten Commandments, many are not familiar with the Shema. They don’t know that these verses follow on the heels of the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy, the chapters juxtaposed next to the other, or that observant Jews begin and end each day of life praying these words. At the time of death, these verses are often spoken as a last affirmation of faith in God. These words are at the very heart of the Jewish faith. Remember when Jesus was asked to name the greatest commandment, he recited the words of the Shema. If the Torah could be paired down into a “thesis statement,” many would argue that these verses would be the answer.

I wonder what it would be like to pray these same words every day throughout life, after waking up and before going to sleep, these verses becoming the bookends to whatever else the day might hold. I imagine that once this prayer becomes a habit, once it is grafted upon a person’s heart so well that nothing can erase it, reciting this prayer is like taking a breath. Whether or not we are aware of our breathing, as long as we live, our breath exists. We can count on it. For some, faith may follow a similar pattern. Just as our body breathes instinctively, without constant reminder, praying this prayer no longer requires memory. Instead, over time this prayer becomes an underlying refrain in one’s life, and in some seasons louder than others. But, always it is an echo of the faithful from other times and places.

A few days ago, I was talking to a young woman about going to church. For years, she had avoided the faith of her upbringing, finding other things to fill her days and other ways to connect with community. But, the birth of her daughter changed her heart. For her child’s sake, it was time for her to be serious about church. It was as if she was responding to the words of the Shema. Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Though her daughter is still young, she recognizes that binding this little girl’s heart with God, inscribing the ways of faithfulness into her genetic fabric, begins at birth, in the morning and at night, at home and while away.

Over the coming weeks, we will continue reading Brian McLaren’s book, Finding Our Way Again, and we will discuss the practices of our faith with help us bind our hearts to God. Following God’s statutes is not, in the end, what saves us. God’s grace and love are solely responsible for that. We are reminded, though, that God’s instruction is food for the journey. When practices, like prayer, fasting, Sabbath, and others, become a daily part of our lives, they further bind our hearts with God. Proverbs speaks of practicing these commandments saying, “When you walk, they will lead you; when you lie down, they will watch over you; and when you awake, they will talk with you. For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching a light, and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life (Pro. 6:20-23).” May we cherish this gift of light and use it well, making our way home again.

Finding Our Way

2011-01-27T09:35:00.000-08:00

A friend asked me the other day what I thought was the most important thing that every person needed for their journey of faith. I attempted to answer his question in the moment, but it has lingered with me over these days as I have thought about my own faith journey and the integral pieces which have brought me further into life with God. When I consider what has made much of the difference for my own faith, a patchwork of faces and moments shared with incredible mentors always comes to mind. I remember times of great anxiety or uncertainty when an encounter with one of these friends helped me to re-cast my anchor into the sea of doubt that surrounded me and threatened to capsize my boat. Often answers to the great questions were not the object of our discussions. Instead, across the table, in the presence of a trusted companion, I had the chance to reorient and find my bearings. In these conversations, I was reminded that Jesus choose the tumult of a great storm to walk through crashing waves and extend a hand to his friends whose faith had been shaken, saying, “I am here. Do not be afraid.”

I have always appreciated the metaphor of faith as making a journey. Our lives with God require us to travel a path with very few signposts or visible markers which point us in the right direction. Instead what we have are stars which shed just enough light to help us through some rather dark times. These light bearers come in many forms. Often mentors and friends have taken time to share their light, holding lanterns along my path so that I may better find my way. Those who have walked this bit of the road before and taken time to mark this place are a reminder that no matter how lost I may feel, someone else has felt this lost, too. One particular practice of pilgrimage is for the traveler to leave stones in different places along the way as a reminder to those who follow that this ground has been already tread. In our wildernesses, where darkness, doubt, and low-visibility reign, even mounds of stones are a welcome symbol that we are never far from God or one another, even when all evidence points to the contrary.

For the next few weeks, our Thursday night small group is going to be reading a book which offers light and aid for our spiritual journeys. In his book, Finding out Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices, Brian McLaren discusses Christian faith as a way of life. He urges those of us who call ourselves Christian, followers of Jesus, to understand faith not as a system of beliefs but instead as a refining process which requires our whole life and being. Each week, we will be reading, discussing, and praying about our own journeys of faith, and we will seek to discover the mounds of stones which have been left for us to learn from by those who have walked the road before us. In this process, we may even leave a few stones of our own to share with the pilgrims who are sure to follow.

I am thankful for every lantern and stone which has appeared on the scene just when I needed them. As I have grown older, I have also realized that the time has come for me to put extra oil in my own lantern and look around to notice where other travelers may need the light of a star to guide their way. Learning and sharing, this dance shifts back and forth until the destination has been reached. In memories and words, in stories and traditions left for us like mounds of stones along the path, we find our way home.

Following the Star

2011-01-11T14:35:00.001-08:00

From the Sermon by Sara this past Sunday, 1/9/11 - a day when we remembered the journeys of the 3 Magi ... "A Word to the Wise":

In the wave of post-Christmas news reports about shoppers standing in long lines to return their unwanted or mis-sized Christmas gifts, I caught a news report that the giant Internet store of amazon.com has received a patent for a new service they are adding to their online store. It seems that they have figured out a way to convert that unwanted Christmas fluorescent red and green necktie from Aunt Sara into something you might actually want or even perhaps use.[1]

The customer can place a standing “conversion” order so that I could tell them: if anyone tries to send me an “Albert Einstein Action Figure” please convert it into a gift card or a sweater … or something else I might actually like to have. And so the original unwanted gift won’t be sent … and the new one will.

Or, I can also tell them to stop any gift from a particular person. So if Aunt Sara is known for sending you things you don’t want – like bedroom slippers with bells on them or “how to” books to improve your life – you tell amazon.com: “Whatever Aunt Sara tries to send me, please DON’T SEND IT and instead convert it into …” and you can tell them what you want the gift to become instead of whatever Aunt Sara wants to give me.

And, for an additional cost of course, I can also have Amazon.com send a thank you note to Aunt Sara thanking her for the original gift she wanted to give me so she would never know (unless of course she comes to visit and asks where it is … amazon does not have a service for that, at least as of now). Although for those who might feel a tad guilty about this deception, you can have amazon.com send Aunt Sara a note thanking her for the original gift, but letting her also know you converted it into a gift card or whatever.

While Emily Post and Miss Manners did not have many kind words to say about this, our college-age nephews, when I asked them, thought this was awesome … which may explain why gifts from Aunt Sara and Uncle Bob now come in the form of dollar bills.

But let me take an informal poll this morning: how many of you think this is an awesome idea? How many of you think it’s an awful idea? [NOTE: an overwhelming response by our congregation was in the AWFUL category … but there were some who agreed it was awesome … and I wonder if people were afraid to raise their hands to say it was a terrific idea! Lots of peer pressure in worship … ]

An informal online poll at National Public Radio had 65% of people responding saying it’s awesome and 35% saying it’s awful.

Given that up to 30% of gifts given are returned each year – the costs to the retailers run in the millions and perhaps billions of dollars to process a returned unwanted gift and then exchange it for something else. In our challenged economy I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone figured out how to do this to save money. I can understand and even applaud the cost-saving idea behind this, even as I line up on the awful idea side of this one.

Yet, as all of us struggle to figure out what to do with all the “stuff” we have, most of which we no longer want or need … maybe this isn’t as heartless and callous as it first sounds, but is actually a step toward good stewardship for both the giver and the receiver of the gift.

I can understand the enthusiasm of our nephews: What if we only got what we actually wanted?

But that’s the real question, isn’t it?

What if we only ever got what we actually wanted?

And not just getting that new book we’ve been wanting to read or a sweater that fits … but to get everything we want: peace on earth, let alone peace of mind, or healing for our loved ones and answers to the questions that keep us up at night. What if we could send back everything in our lives that we don’t like?

My “convert this gift” list could be endless.

But we know that life is not like that and we do not always get everything we want.

That was clearly brought home to me as I read the journals that have traveled with our 3 wise men these past 2 weeks. I had asked those who had “hosted” one of the wise men overnight to share what wisdom they had learned in their lives and what words they would use to describe their own journeys of faith.

It became very clear to me that no one has ever found that they had always gotten everything that they wanted – but along the way they found that they had received gifts that they could never have imagined … the kind of gifts that unfold and surprise us over time. Again and again, people spoke of learning along the way that in whatever circumstances, even in adversity, they also found hope, comfort, trust, contentment, courage, they learned to live with mystery and to experience doubt as a partner with faith.

In the end, maybe that’s what we are to remember each year at Epiphany. For the word “Epiphany” simply means “to reveal” … as Jesus Christ is revealed as Savior and Son of God first to the wise men from the East … but then to all generations and to each of us. So we continue to receive from God’s hands, through Christ, gifts we may never have asked for, but which continue to surprise us … and sustain us … for our own journeys along the way.

We are met here with the gift that is nothing that we could make happen. A gift that is the fulfillment of more than everything we could have hoped for or dreamed of.

A Gift that continues to be revealed to us in all of its mystery – in Word made flesh, in cross and resurrection, and in countless ways throughout our lives as God’s Holy Spirit makes a home among us, and within us, and through us.

So in honor of Epiphany, I want to send you home today with a gift. (At this point in the service, the Ushers distributed the offering plates with paper stars in them … with words written on them.)

There is no return or exchange policy on this gift … and unlike amazon.com, you can’t convert it into something else. And, while you certainly have the option to refuse it, I hope that you will consider receiving it instead.

In a moment, while we sing our next hymn, the ushers will be passing baskets among us. Only you won’t put anything in the basket. Instead, you will take out something: a star – one per person.

On one side of each star is a word … a word that is a gift to you for this coming year. Take a star … without looking at the word first … and let it be a gift to you to remind you throughout the year of God’s continuing presence in your life.[2]

It may be obvious from the moment you look at it what the word means to you … or maybe not. Maybe its significance has yet to be revealed and it will only take on new meaning for you over the coming days and months.

I encourage you to put the star somewhere where you will see it and over this year I would love to hear from you what the word means for you in your journey.

But for today - simply receive this word as a reminder of God’s presence in your life. And to remind you of our generous, giving God who keeps giving, and keeps breaking through our darkness … one star at a time.
May it be so. Amen.

NOTE TO READERS of the Blog ... Because of the randomness of selecting a "star" if you would like a "star word gift" - please email me at: pastorsara@verizon.net and I'll send you a word ... randomly chosen of course!
*****
[1] There are numerous articles online about this new patent. Articles can be found online at The Washington Post (http://www.washingtonpost.com/ – online article by Michael S. Rosenwald (12/26/2010) “Amazon patents procedure to let recipients avoid unwanted gifts”); or at National Public Radio (http://www.npr.org/ – online article and recording of radio news report by Mark Memmott (12/28/2010) “Amazon Could Let You Return a Gift Before It’s Sent”). A search online will turn up other business news articles about this new patent.
[2] This is modeled on the “Star Gifts” of East Woodstock Congregational Church in East Woodstock, CT, shared in the journal Reformed Worship no. 93, p. 36-38.

Baby Jesus' Travels: A Special Update

2010-12-13T08:16:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-05T17:22:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-04T20:39:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-11-18T10:43:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-11-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-19T17:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-15T12:40:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-12T22:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-01T10:05:00.000-07:00

“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

2010-09-24T10:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-15T10:12:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-04T01:04:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

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)

2010-04-02T14:36:00.001-07:00

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.

2010-03-31T12:50:00.000-07:00

(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)

2010-03-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-24T08:17:00.000-07:00

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."

2010-02-27T15:38:00.000-08:00

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]

2010-02-27T08:59:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T07:47:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-19T16:01:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-19T13:08:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-02-17T12:58:00.000-08:00

Well, the "Thin Mint" Girl Scout cookies providentially showed up last night - on Mardi Gras. I've never been very good at "giving up" something for Lent - particularly when it involves chocolate. So I won't even pretend that I won't eat my favorite cookies in the whole world during the next 6 weeks. But it does remind me that God has a sense of humor ....

In the meantime, here it is once again - Ash Wednesday - and we begin our journey through Lent.

This morning in the Mission Yearbook of Prayer (http://www.pcusa.org/missionyearbook/) the Rev. Jeffrey Lawrence said: "Today we begin the holy season of Lent, a time of self-examination, a time when Christians are challenged to make changes in their lives as they remember the passion of Jesus Christ. The heart and soul of Lent is to admit our failings humbly, to seek God’s forgiveness, and to make a fresh start. We have a choice. We can go on with life as usual, continuing in our unhelpful patterns and believing the lie that there’s not a thing we can do about our weaknesses and shortcomings .... Or we can, with God’s help, make a fresh start. The ashes we receive today are a stark reminder that we will someday die and return to dust. They remind us that we have a limited time in which to act — to make a choice about how we want to live. So, day by day in this Lenten season, rely on God for assistance, and with a loving and peaceful heart, honor your commitment to change as you await the coming of Easter. "

So I begin my Lenten journey asking myself what I will change this season as I wait for Easter? What is it you want to change?

Let the journey begin.

2010-02-06T11:03:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the Back Porch! Our congregation (the Presbyterian Church of Chestertown, Maryland) started as a small group of folks gathered on a back porch in Chestertown, and imagined the day there would be a Presbyterian congregation in our town. Twenty-five years later we are here - "planted deep, growing strong, reaching wide" - and celebrating our 25th anniversary this year.

My hope is that this new "back porch" can be a place like that first one ... and also like a lot of back porches everywhere ... a place to gather, to talk, to share stories and ideas, and to explore our questions of faith together.

Come along and spend some time on the Back Porch with us.