Rainy days

Tuesday, July 15

Curled up on an old over-worn loveseat, rain streaming down the boxed windows, the pitter patter of water trickling from the pitched gutterless roofline into the tin pan below left out for the cats, kittens and dogs passing by. Reading the latest page-turning novel with a freshly brewed cup of your favorite coffee in hand…this is relaxation. This is the way I would have loved to spend a day like today.  Hulled up on Mount Dessert Island as the local Southwet Harbor Mainers go about business as usual bringing in their catch, unloading at the docks, ships coming and going from the Harbor just across the street, the smells of ocean breezes and salty air thick and wet as the humidity approaches 100%.  

But at 6:30am this morning when I heard a small, sweet voice calling, “Mommy”, I knew the only pitter pattering I would hear would be Sage’s feet clambering in the kitchen, banging around in the bathroom, climbing and falling off of the furniture, throwing rocks across the room, banging my toothbrush against the toilet bowl, and picking food out of the trash can.  Toddlers hands are small and dirty and sticky and full of mischief.  But these same little busy hands know how to melt mommies hearts too. 

Rising early is usually pretty convenient for these mama’s as we’re up and ready to greet the day by 8am after having fed the little one’s tummy, washed his grimy hands slathered his body with the usual chemicals needed to face the great outdoors.  Dr. Joe says Sage is sensitive and he’s right.  The first few times he was bit by mesquites we took him to the dr. because we thought something poisonouss must have gnarled on his legs or injected some deadly venom into his silky pink skin.  Unfortunately, he is just a sensitive babe with very intense reactions to things.  This sure doesn’t stop him from running, jumping climbing, dashing, falling, rolling on any and every surface, though.  Just yesterday we visited Echo Lake for a swim and Sage was nearly diving into the water headfirst…throwing his body down backwards into the water, practically begging his mama’s to help him float.  This child is fearless…. yet so vulnerable!  

We are constantly taken aback by the amount of trust Sage places in us…he feels so safe, and is ready to meet the world head on when he has his mommy and mama nearby.  Each time we go somewhere whether we’re packing him in the baby carrier, the stroller or he’s waling between us it’s the same thing- roll call: Mama?  Yes, Sage, Mama’s right here.  Mommy?  Yes, baby, Mommy is here too.  Mama?  Yes, baby I’m here.  Mommy?  Hi Sage… this goes on several time throughout our adventure until he is sure that we are there, al three of us, together, and sure of one another… His trust in us doesn’t always mean he willingly accepts our help or is eager to depend on us, but knowing we are there gives him the extra boost that allows him to be the big boy he so desperately wants to be.  

So, today, the opening and closing of cabinet drawers, the throwing of decorative rocks across the wooden floor of the house we are renting this week, the insistence upon sitting in his “time-out” floor space, while laughing and playing as if mocking the whole thing- and he has a point.  Climbing the antique movie/bookcase in search of the sound system, touting his medicine bottles around reaching for kitchen knives, digging for food in the trash, and reading books- lots of books, one or two at a time… but only the books boasting touch and feel kittens with fur that feels like your grandfather’s stuffed fox’s fur.  He also likes the night-night peekaboo book, and I don’t know how he’s not freaked out by the doll inside- even I can’t look at that thing for more than 5 seconds.  Her eyes are as hollow as tree trunks, and her touch and feel hair is truly a piece of burlap.  BUT He is such a little wonder… full of awe and inspired by everything new, his eyes are constantly looking, seeing for the first time, seeing to believe, to receive knowledge and mystery and beauty and surprise… such a wonder.  

Right, so these inside the gloomy, boring house games lasted through the morning hours until mommies were ready to get OUT!  Of course, it rained on, and without knowing where we were going, we were in the car going bye bye.  A quick turning around of the car headed us into the town of Ellsoworth where we were sure to find a solid meal and some place to run around…. oh, and thank God for LL Bean and the rain jackets to face the 80% chance of rain day tomorrow.  

Mediocrity can accurately describe the bites we had in town…such an odd dilemma to find yourself sitting in a bustling restaurant with locals and visitors alike, hands flying here and there, bumping into one another on the way to the ladies room, drinks toppling over and children screaming in the distance… and then to leave dissatisfied… It’s kind of like going to Disney World, battling the long lines, ferocious moms and dads eager enough for their littes ones to meet minnie mouse and get a picture with goofy that they’ll topple over you, push you aside, elbow you in the face, step on your toes and outright tell you to get of the way!  But, you manage because it’s Disney World and you know you there are good times to be had.  So, the Riverside Cafe cannot and should NEVER be compared to Disney World, but let’s just say - lousy food, not great service, an odd sense of almost character and an extreme disconnect with the “local” brand you were looking for.  There’s nothing worse than not liking your meal when you’re out to eat- especially when you’re really hungry and when you aren’t sure you are going to like your next meal either.  

Oh, food, hunger, desire, gluttony, such a luxury to complain about not liking my selection of foods. 

Well, it was a great distraction- the spoiled rainy day that ushered us from Acadia Natoinal Park adventures to Ellsworth C+, cash only burrito bars, boring cafes and crazy kid rooms in bookstores brought us home to an evening of pure yoga, ice cream, and an evening walk in the oceanside breeze.  What more could a baby boy ask for?  Sleep is an invitation to start over again the next day. 

1774

Monday, July 14, 2014

Castine is a lovely little town with pleasant people full of charm, it’s awnings never the same color as the last nor made of the same material…one house down from the Inn displayed a lot-size garden trimmed with marble arches and sandstone pathways.  The hot damp air glistened upon my skin as I walked down the broken sidewalk, a footpath, really, that narrowed near the crossroads and picked back up across the street.  A corner deli boasted the year 1774 proud to have been around longer than the United States of America had been united.  It’s frame was sturdy and tall, an old hospital or nobleman’s chambers I would suppose with an arched entry way, door frames wider than those of that time depicting its wealth and stature.  Now the only thing of noble means coming out of that place was a tiny poodle dressed in 4th of July garb.  No, it wasn’t the 4th of July.  The fireworks had been cancelled the week prior due to bad weather and rescheduled for tonight…how could i be so lukcy? 

As I neared the harbor I could tell that the visitors in town were few as most eyes were tilted in my direction some stares, a wave and a hello, but mostly just blank-stares.  Granted it wasn’t the cool refreshing kind of weather that one would expect for this time in Maine, but a 98% humid day with full sun and not a cloud in the sky.  Mostly, beautiful, but still a hot and humid day that gave way to sitting, watching, sleeping, picking and staring.  

The harbor was small, but boasting the largest ship on this side of the seaboard, the maritime academy training vessel was docked directly in front of the Breeze ice cream stand and public restrooms in the heart of the Castine community.  There were three restaurants in town: Dennet’s is the kind of place that should really just call themselves Denny’s on the water or Fried and dipped, or smells like fish.  It’s a mystery to me, really, how people survive on fried seafood every day….there wasn’t one vegetable listed on the menu, and french fries are a sorry excuse for a vegetable.  Not even the kids menu included a healthy option!  The people were friendly, the view was great and there were plenty of dogs for Sage to wave at and say “dog” over and over and over again.  But the food was just plum nasty.  

On our second night the Pentagoet Inn, located just adjacent to the Castine Inn where we were staying was loud with happy hour chatter, glasses in hand, men and women dressed in their polos and lilly pulitzer sailboat dresses, anticipating a glorious evening together.  Seems to me they were having a large social as they all seemed to know each other.  I’m not usually one to care, but because I hadn’t seem as much as a large family strolling down the streets of Castine I was curious as to who these people were and where they had come from?  The Inn hostess didn’t know either, but agreed that it was some kind of exclusive party.  Needless to say we decided to walk on by.

McFraley’s pub was not even worth mentioning really, but just so you know how bad it was and so that you don’t ever pass by there and need to die early- I’ll give you the details. 

We walked in with an 18-month old in his stroller, granted, and the big huge dude with the tattoos i’m not against tattoos, stared at us not even asking if we would like to sit down?!  We finally asked if we could seat ourselves and he said, “yeah” and made a hand guesture.  Not sure where he was gesturing though because they only appropriate tables that were open were on the outside hallway where Sage’s stroller actually got stuck when were tried to venture towards a seat.  There were other available seats, but two of them were arcade games with twirly red and blue mushroom seats for chairs.  Ugh!  At this point I was just hungry, so 1774 it was!  

After scouring the menu we decided on shrimp baskets- how could anyone mess that up?  We placed our orders with the young girl waiting on us, and realized that she was the ONLY person working in the whole restaurant.  After taking our order she disappeared behind the large half wall extending through the middle of the restaurant.  We could hear her, though, no the phone.  She said I need help, Send Kevin.  Then, again, we heard heard on the phone saying, I need two shrimp baskets, and then, “we don’t”?  OK..  She approached our table as if we hadn’t just heard her entire conversation and tried to gently put it to us that they didn’t have any shrimp right now.  That would be fine, we ordered something else… 

After another minute we heard her speaking to nobody, answering her own questions, asking and answering…. realizing that she was again on the phone.  Not sure how all of that worked, but within minutes I had a pulled pork sandwich in front of me, with coleslaw on it- not a fan and was feeding Sage a greesey grilled cheese sandwich.  And again, not a vegetable in sight!  

Castine was very interesting….not sure that I’d go back, but thankful for the slow-pace and the experience of light-filled people and places. 

Sermon: Easter 2, Year A, April 27, 2014 - Holy Humor Sunday

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Easter 2, Year A, April 27, 2014

Happy Holy Humor Sunday!  

- Read Shel Silverstein's "The Missing Piece" for Children's Time - 

History informs us that churches in the fifteenth century Bavaria used to celebrate the Sunday after Easter as Risus Paschalis (‘God’s Joke,’ or ‘the Easter laugh’).  Priests would deliberately include amusing stories and jokes in their sermons in an attempt to make the faithful laugh.  After the service, churchgoers and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, told jokes, sang and danced.  It was their way of celebrating the resurrection of Christ – the supreme joke God played on Satan by raising Jesus from the dead.

The observance of Risus Paschalis was, unfortunately, officially outlawed by Pope Clement X in the seventeenth century.  Perhaps people were having too much fun.  Well, I was planning today to put Rick in a dunking booth this morning, but alas he is out of town, so we will have to postpone that fun for another day. 

But, In honor of Holy Humor Sunday, though not a comedy, but on the “lighter” side we are going to encounter a children’s story this morning.  So at this time I’d like to invite the children to come forward to hear this story…Maybe you have read this book, The Missing Piece, by Shel Silverstein.  It’s quite remarkable really how much you can learn from a few lines, a circle and a triangle.  Let’s hear now from Shel Silverstein, and listen for God’s words in these words...

READ BOOK

This story reminds me somewhat of my own childhood…perhaps this will resonate with you as well.  How many of you remember middle school?  Right, exactly, those of you not raising your hands are lying you just don’t want to remember middle school… 

So, when I was in middle school there was a big emphasis on having a Best Friend…You weren’t accepted in the “popular group” unless have a best friend…And no, not just a good friend, or a group of friends, but a BEST friend.  And, rather than just hanging out with this friend all of the time, sitting by them on the bus, in class, talking after school, going on sleepovers, etc.,  everybody else had to KNOW who your best friend was too, so what we did was we bought these little necklaces. They were heart shaped and said “best friends” on them, and the weird thing about them was that they were broken hearts.  So my best friend and I would wear these necklaces; hers being one half of the broken heart and mine the other half of the broken heart. The idea, of course, being that when you put them together they’d say best friends.  Like this- (show broken heart pieces)

Well, it was fine for a little while… but the problem was that after a few weeks or even days, in middle school, right, you’d get tired of spending all of your time with this one other person, this best friend and you’d want that other half of yourself, or your heart, back.  In the world of middle school teeny bopper drama there would be a meltdown and you would say, “Give me back my heart,” or “I need to roll on my own for a while”.  Then, you’d roll along and find another best friend and give her the heart and on, and on and on… until the whole school had at one time or another been your best friend….  or maybe i’m exaggerating, but you get the point.  For those of you who didn’t raise your hands I “get it” I wish I could forget that ridiculousness too!  

So why all of this foolishness about broken hearts and missing pieces? 

Well, in the letter of 1 Peter, the author writes so eloquently, lifting up the idea of inheritance, which I think beautifully illustrates this idea of “trying to fill something that is perceived as missing”.  This inheritance, he says, has been shored up for those believers in this community by the resurrection of Christ, promised them at the end of their lives, and we read that under this resurrection inheritance which is “imperishable, undefiled and unfading”, they are being “protected, now, by the power of God”, “through [their] faith”, for their salvation which is ready to be revealed in the last days.  

What is an inheritance, really?  Lutheran Pastor, Peter Marty reminds us that the Bible makes more than 250 references to inheritance, a clear sign that legacy during ancient life was part of everyday conversation and an important aspect of familial relationships.  

Here are just a few of the texts throughout the entirety of scripture dealing with this issue: 

In Matthew 21, we read “This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance”, 

In Luke 12, “Someone in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me’”.   

Proverbs 13:22, “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children, but the sinner's wealth is laid up for the righteous.” 

Joshua 14:9, “And Moses swore on that day, saying, ‘Surely the land on which your foot has trodden shall be an inheritance for you and your children forever, because you have wholly followed the Lord my God.’”

1 Kings 21:3, “But Naboth said to Ahab, 'The Lord forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers.’”       

Colossians 3:23-24 ”Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”

So Inheritance, in some of these instances points to a kind of security or insurance policy if you will for which some were even willing to kill. A security, for them, that would sure up their lives on Earth, with wealth, prosperity, a future, a lifestyle probably unlike they had known before. The kind of security, even, that a little girl could wear around her neck, showing others, that she too had a place in the social order of her cultural milieu, that she did, in fact, have a best friend. 

In other cases we heard of a different kind of security…the one echoed by Peter, an inheritance that comes from God that promises to restore one’s soul rather than their bank account or social status…an inheritance that will not be fully realized until the last time.  This kind of inheritance is what left our friend, the big piece, looking for more…rejecting the “completeness” of being filled by the missing piece that presented itself before him ready to fill his emptiness.  The Big Piece, seeking to fill himself, instead, with something other than the physical, visible, tangible, “Picture perfect” pieces that were eager to be his quick fix. Rather than rolling away with the short straw in hand, desperate for earthen treasures-an idolatry of possessions which he would then bury and sit atop waiting for the first train to gold-paved streets-he sang his song, danced under the sun, rolled up and down the mountains with ease, all the while piece-less, inherit-less yet poised for the security of God’s unfading, imperishable, undefiled inheritance- in the last days.   Living under the wings of this kind of inheritance, writes Peter, “You rejoice” even if in the past or even now in the present you have suffered greatly, or find yourself longing for completeness, in this promise you rejoice.  Why?  Because of your faith. 

The inheritance-vs 4, the protection-vs 5, the refining-vs 7, the joy-vs 8, the salvation-vs 9……all point back to faith…he says which leads to the salvation of your souls…the singing and dancing and praise always on our lips.                                                                              It is important to note that The author of 1 Peter, in this letter, was writing to Christians, probably both Jews and Gentiles, who were outsiders-sojourners, women, and some have even characterized them as slaves, who as a result from the Assyrian and Babylonian captivities had been scattered across the Asia Minor region now dispersed and living among the Greeks…Therefore the receivers of this 1 Peter message were living as Pilgrims in a foreign land.  Described as “people at the very bottom of the social pyramid they inhabit,” Elizabeth Johnson says “because they violate the prime virtue of espousing the religious practices of the heads of their households, their friends, neighbors, and family members also consider them to be antisocial, rebellious, even “atheistic,” since they refuse to honor their families’ gods. They defy traditional family values by refusing to obey the head of household, and they jeopardize community welfare by insulting civic religion.”  So, the idea of inheritance meant life for them…they had no earthly inheritance coming of which to speak and suffered constantly the scorn and contempt by their communities because of their FAITH.  So hearing this new promise of HOPE that through their faith, they would be protected by God, cared for, that they had been given a new birth rite through a living HOPE through the resurrection of Jesus…that would be their inheritance…their lives depended on believing it… as should ours. 

I am sure that many of you heard the story of the 9 year-old boy, Willie Myrick, who was kidnapped earlier this month from his own driveway outside of Atlanta, GA.  He described having been taken from his home by a man who had lured him away from his house by scattering money throughout his yard, and then grabbing him and throwing him into the back of his car.  For the next three hours Willie said he “sang praises to God” singing the gospel song, Every Praise by Hezekiah Walker, over and over and over and over again.  He sang it, he says, “Until the man threw me out of the car”.  Willie told reporters that the man got tired of hearing him sing that song..so he threw him onto the street…where he was finally able to call for help. 

While you and I aren’t likely to be the next abductees in the headlines of the Paper or even scorned with contempt for our beliefs in God or in a resurrection HOPE, we can be certain that our faith is being, and will continue to be tested by fire- as we read in 1 Peter 3:7, “so that the genuineness of your faith- being more precious that gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire-may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when JesusChrist is revealed.”  The question for us on this post-resurrection Sunday is whether or not our faith, as gold, will hold-up through the flames.  Even though we do not see him now, Do we love him, do we live as if our lives depend, as young Willie’s did, on the HOPE that is ours in Christ…rejecting the inheritances clothed in “shiny pieces” everywhere ready to fill us with a false sense of completeness that IS perishable, fading and defiled?  Will we open our lives to God, and accept the inheritance that is ours through faith, and which will lead us to a salvation for our souls in this life and the next?  

As pilgrims ourselves navigating life’s obstacles amidst suffering and uncertainty, struggling to walk this resurrection path in an unreconciled world where security and stability seem to be the only assurances in this life, we are faced with no easy task, my friends.  But Nurturing a faith that can muster praise in the face of fear, Hope amidst the twirling chaos of suffering and steadfastness in the hull of defeat is, for us, the salvation for our souls. Let’s take hold of it, even now, today, as we sit in the presence of God within our an incredible community of spirit-filled people.  Look around this room, and receive the blessing that is yours through his great mercy, a new birth, into a living HOPE through the great mystery and power of resurrection life.   

May it be so this day, and all of your days.  Amen. 

Sermon: Maundy Thursday, April 17, 2014

Maundy Thursday, Year A

April 17, 2014

This week I was listening to a podcast out of Luther Seminary about the Maundy Thursday texts and one of the presenters described the Judas material- vs. 18-31a, which as you may have noticed has basically been cut from the lectionary, as being all about betrayal… she said “look around the room, at the people your life, your family, friends, the world… who among you is the betrayer?… who doesn’t really believe?

I sat with this for a moment and then quickly shook my head because betrayal is not always laced with embittered embers of disbelief in the “other” like perhaps we might expect. I think the root of even Judas’ betrayal of Jesus handing him over to the authorities in exchange for 30 pieces of silver- rather than being about his unbelief or disloyalty to “Jesus”, was more about self-betrayal, a fear-based rejection of self which ultimately led to The Unwinding of not only his own soul, but eventually just as the powers and principalities had so deemed, became a ticking bomb and just like explosives, created collateral damage: the life of Jesus of Nazareth included…

Betrayal is no lonesome party of one, however, as it rides on the coattails of our allegiances, waits patiently dancing over our shoulders just in time for the ‘big reveal’, the inescapable truth that our loyalties are only as authentic as our word is good. Betrayal and the new commandment to Love one another… These themes traditionally at odds with each other could be no more incestuous to us than in these very moments when we find Jesus gathered at table with his closest of allies, indisputably loyal to the rabbinic lifestyle…people of deep and formed GRIT, having left their families to learn from their great teacher and friend, the self-proclaimed Son of Man, gathered even now as players in a game of moral aptitude, “Are you in or are you out?”  

I think the truth about betrayal could include a rewinding of this text, a re-make even where rather than handing the bread to Judas… Simon Peter whispers to the Beloved Disciple, coaxing him to ask Jesus “who is it”… and Jesus with tear-filled eyes, looks away and then directly back into the eyes of this one called Beloved and says, “My brother, it is you.”  Or perhaps, he would lean across the table dragging his sleeves through plates of food, offering Peter himself a piece of bread dripping in his own life-giving blood… “It is you, Peter, who will betray me”.  I can see myself seated at this table with my friends, my family, those I know and don’t know… those I would easily deem unworthy, and capable of betrayal… and then, without warning before me, upon my plate, the bread freshly dipped in the cup.  

Of course this evening meal, the gathering and sharing of love and friendship is not about finger-pointing or character assassination for Jesus, but truly it is about busting wide open the seems of limited understanding to the kind of love necessary to carry on the work of reconciling the world in love to one another, carving out space and time for love to fully grow. Bringing light to the low-lit spaces of their lives where greed, envy, uncertainty, anger, fear, and doubt had the potential to further unravel these men and women from the inside out…where relationship decay was as threatening to this community as the very cross upon which the Body of Christ would hang. Jesus knew the importance of humble transcendence as it was the gateway for his lived life and ministry, an opportunity for a force greater than the evil that befell the church under the guise of Roman authority to turn the tides.  Thus, taking on the very nature of a Servant he humbled himself and… as we witnessed earlier, he washed the feet of those he believed could endure in his stead.  

In his book, The Unwinding: An inner history of the new America, George Packer, a staff writer for the New Yorker describes a similar kind of self, and communal betrayal, the kind that would bleed the conscience from our country relying so heavily upon corrupt institutions to feed our insatiable appetite to consume. The kind that would drive us to disavow our communal allegiance to our moral and ethical commitments of being human, one to another…

He writes,

“No one can say when the unwinding began- when the coil that held Americans together in its secure and sometimes stifling grip first gave way.  Like any great change, the undwiding began at coutnelss times, in countless ways- and at some moment the country, always the same coutnry, crossed a line of history and became irretrievably different.  

If you were born around 1960 or afterward, you have spent your adult life in the vertigo of that unwinding.  You watched structures that had been in place before your birth collapse like pillars of salt across the vast visible landscape- the farms of the Carolina Piedmont, the factories of the Mahoning Valley, Florida subdivisions, California schools.  And other things, harder to see but no less vital in supporting the order of everyday life, changed beyond recognition- ways and means in Washington caucus rooms, taboos on New York trading desks, manners and morals everywhere.  When the norms that made the old institutions useful began to unwind, and the leaders abandoned their posts, the Roosevelt Republic that had reigned for almost half a century came undone.  The void was filled by the default force in American life, organized money.

The unwinding is nothing new. There have been unwindings every generation or two”, writes Packer.  “The unwinding brings freedom, more than the world has ever granted, and to more kinds of people than ever before— freedom to go away, freedom to return, freedom to change your story, get your facts, get hired, get fired, get high, marry, divorce, go broke, begin again, start a business, have it both ways, take it to the limit, walk away from the ruins, succeed beyond your dreams and brag about it, fail abjectly and try again.  And with freedom, the unwinding brings its illusions, for all these pursuits are as fragile as thought balloons popping against circumstances.  Winning and losing are all-American games, and in the unwinding winners win bigger than ever, floating away like bloated dirigibles, and losers have a long way to fall before they hit bottom, and sometimes they never do.”

So, why wash the feet of his disciples?  Why worry with getting his hands dirty with feces and excrement, dirt…and disgust? Why lose bigger when his losses could not be trumped? -His fate determinably held by the illumined artifices of dominion and organized money, co-opted by a system infested with greed and ravaged by corruption —of such an unwinding that neither ancient allies nor loyal conspirators could superimpose a new way in the face of such incredulity. Why not spend his last moments organizing his political allies, forming a coup, throwing stones at the one whose betrayal would cost him his life, fighting back?  Why not?   

Jesus’ commitment to love, for the sake of peace and justice drove him, probably obsessively so, to a place of all-consuming compassion- where his sole focus was to impart an incarnational sustenance that could sustain a beloved community of people, across oceans of betrayal, one after the other, after the other after the other…. the kind of spiritual sustenance that would outlast the deceptive forces at work, breeding self-betrayal and desertion, in spite of the fact that his very last breath was both cause and cost of the inevitable unwinding of humanity, the kind of life-giving love that could change the course of history … So kneeling in the dirt that night, around the dinner table, he demonstrated, instead, a new way to be human, a new way to be clean.

As George Packer insists, in the unwinding “everything changes, and nothings lasts, except for the voices”…the voices of the community, remembering together, persevering together.  These voices- he says, are those “alone on a landscape without solid structures.  [They] have to improvise their own destinies, plot their own stories of success and salvation.”- not unlike those 12 gathered at table with Jesus that night.

Well, there are more anecdotes out there to success and happiness than we care to give credence, I know, but I think at the heart of all of these self-help strategies, or personal salvific formulas, lies a common element, an intrinsic belief that within one’s spirit and “person” lies the potential for something greater.  Potential to be “more” than who we are living into.  More than what our lives reflect, just “more”… no matter whether the more is for everyone of a spiritual substance or not, a deep well-like source of our atomized energy, a mindfulness, a physical or chemical underutilized property, or something else entirely, most would agree that gaining access to this “more” is only possible with an authentic belief in it’s existence, as a source for life, for overcoming self-betrayal and ultimately betrayal of creator and community.  

In the grand scheme of our lives I believe that “belief in this more” is vitally important to our overcoming the forces that both killed Jesus and that kill us every day, the self-betrayal that that tells us we are less than who we are rather than inviting us to a deep pursuit of living more fully into Jesus command, to love one another as I have loved you.  Judas, a follower of Jesus, a man committed to learning and studying, giving and serving, teaching and preaching, listening and “trying”, over and over and over, again…. showing up when you or I may not have.  The vulnerability of this man speaks not of an evil indwelling as the texts reads, giving an obtuse evil entity the power to control his life, our lives, but more readily points to the susceptibility of a Jesus follower, one striving for covenantal relationship, one bathed in the rites of Christian practice, baptized in the waters of the Jordan, and washed with the very hands of his teacher and beloved Lord, Jesus himself- a susceptibility to selling out to the powers that be, to the lie that seeks to permeate our lives even now, telling us that we are all right, that living for ourselves, in pursuit of our dreams without being inconvenienced is the height of our calling…regardless of the collateral damage along the way.  

For the church, the Judas material… is not only the “it” of this Maundy Thursday passage, but is the “it” in our lives as well, the anecdote for our understanding of reconciliation, of the fullness of God’s love for us, for this community, for our families, for the world…for this New America…. On this night Jesus not only demonstrates this love for us by being servant among all servants, but he challenges us to accept it through self-examination congruent with that of the man who one minute took bread from the very hand of God and sold his soul to the devil the next…

Whether our prescribed treatment for self-betrayal is to hide beyond a wall of success- bartering the very lives of those around us for personal gain, to loathe those who live just under the bar- feeding ourselves the lie of comparison, or to give up before even attempting to live life….or maybe we’re “trying” harder and harder each day to live into this new commandment…Regardless, we will all find ourselves at one time or another with a pocketful of silver, faced with an opportunity to live and love, or fall victim to the lie of the powerful forces at work within the unwinding of humanity, one person at a time.  

The truth of Maundy Thursday, the message Jesus was willing to die for wasn’t about eternal life, wasn't about power and victory or prestige and honor… it was about dirt.  The dirt on your feet and mine, the dirt that became life that holds our bones in the ground even now, the dirt that threatens to keep us from a life of hope and joy and peace.  The dirt that he said, would never keep us from God’s love, the dirt that would become for us a pathway to forgiveness and grace.  So, let’s Embrace the dirty…let Jesus wash it away and be clean, my friends, for life is more than what we have done, or where we have walked… this life, this promise of life is about the voices, your voices and mine, which are left standing today on a lonesome landscape with only the beloved community of God’s children at our side, and it’s’ about where we are going next… Come, let us go there together.

Thanks be to God! Amen.  

A Morning Psalm

Daily Lectionary; The book of common worship

March 24, 2014

MORNING PSALM 119:73-80

⁷³  Your hands have made and fashioned me;
          give me understanding that I may learn your commandments.
⁷⁴  Those who fear you shall see me and rejoice,
          because I have hoped in your word.
⁷⁵  I know, O LORD, that your judgments are right,
          and that in faithfulness you have humbled me.
⁷⁶  Let your steadfast love become my comfort
          according to your promise to your servant.
⁷⁷  Let your mercy come to me, that I may live;
          for your law is my delight.
⁷⁸  Let the arrogant be put to shame,
          because they have subverted me with guile;
          as for me, I will meditate on your precepts.
⁷⁹  Let those who fear you turn to me,
          so that they may know your decrees.
⁸⁰  May my heart be blameless in your statutes,
          so that I may not be put to shame.

So, who knew that a 33 year-old could get heart palpitations?  I mean, the kind that flutter and beat, dance around like there's no tomorrow and then steal away taking the very last breath you worked so hard to muster up with it!  

At least I know now that I'm not actually on the verge of having a heart attack, I mean, I know I have a flare for the dramatic at times, I have absolutely "zero" risk factors for having a heart attack.  So, what then?  After three days of this sort of odd pressure, flutter, difficulty breathing thing... and then my wife's late night freak-out assuring me that death was imminent and that if I loved my child I'd go to the ER- well, I didn't go to the ER, but I did go to the doctor the next day- only to find out that there's really nothing wrong.  I am probably not getting enough sleep, might be too stressed, need to relax (she recommended getting more massages), and chalk it up to hormones.  I wanted to scream at that, of course, I mean here is a female physician throwing hormones around as if I were a pubescent teenager in need of some happy drugs.  So, nonetheless, I have heart palpitations, and they're uncomfortable and sometimes a little scary. 

Anxiety much? You ask... well, not a lot, but I do have a one year-old who is always on the verge of falling, choking, not breathing in his sleep, drowning, getting some rare disease, getting autism from his vaccines............. and the list goes on. So, am I anxious, maybe a little?  

This morning's Psalm represents the prayer of my heart most days.  

An acknowledgement to God that I am not my own, and though I tear and roar about as if I were more than I am as if the world deserves my thunder  I silently seek the Lordship of another to calm my soul and deliver me into a humble refuge. Reflecting the prose of a life lived under the wing of Grace is more than I can hope for, but really where my heart wants to lie...barren yet covered with enough to keep me.  Prayers for latitude amidst the divine conversation, where knowledge of a God and a knowing of a companion are closely related yet worlds apart.  I know that bewilderment for me would be a world without this motivation to rise above ourselves to seek only what the Earthen lands can give, so I think, I am resolved to pray and to continue seeking this wellspring that has been the rescuer I always known- may I not be put to shame.  

A Light on the Hill

Daily Lectionary Reading, Mark 4: 21-34, Book of Common Worship 

21He said to them, "Is a lamp brought in to be put under the bushel basket, or under the bed, and not on the lampstand? 22For there is nothing hidden, except to be disclosed; nor is anything secret, except to come to light.23Let anyone with ears to hear listen!" 24And he said to them, "Pay attention to what you hear; the measure you give will be the measure you get, and still more will be given you. 25For to those who have, more will be given; and from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away."

Our congregation is launching it's second capital campaign in just over ten years.  The campaign theme

seemed to just emerge as conversations about needs and wants continued within the the congregational leadership, 

A Light on the Hill.  

Reflecting on today's daily lectionary text from the Book of Common Worship I am reminded of the true position that 

light holds in our lives, not hidden beneath the surface, not falsely illuminated through our good deeds or self-

righteous acts, but above all of those things light gently rises to the top for all to see.  Of course, we struggle, 

constantly, with allowing the light, in it's true form, to shine boldly atop our egos, to display the inner splendor of our 

souls- instead, battling to put forth our very best, to reveal only the beautiful, the pleasantries of our lives, contrived 
as they may be, that expose us for more than we are.

Light has another form, though, doesn't it?  It plays a dueling role to the widow of the night. While the intensity of the 

moon's light is graceful and unassuming the main source of our light and heat come from the sun whose source  
is still somewhat a mystery.  Her warmth is far-reaching, her touch all-consuming, and what she presents on the 
outside is directly connected to the fabric of her insides.  This ball of light that gives life to so many each day- never 
sleeping in, never staying up too late...she knows who she is and unabashedly shares herself with the rest of us. 

I think we all have a little bit of this sunshine within ourselves; able to bring light to a world that needs life yet 

mysteriously fading away when darkness threatens our position. During this Lenten journey my hope is that I can let 

go of the charade, one day at at time, and live more fully exposed sharing the light from within, as a blade of 

grass standing tall as if lying down were not a choice. 

Grace and peace.

the unknown

I think it's true that we are most afraid of what we don't know.
At least I am.  It's hard to ever admit fear, actually, but feeling it and acknowledging it are most likely to occur when the object of fear is a mystery.  It's more about the anticipation, expecting the worst that insinuates fear and ultimately leads to a paralysis of the mind which drops you smack in the middle of that fear and whether realized or not you are stuck there...living the fear.

Why all the dreary?

The barometric pressure in the air? The forecast? Maybe my subconscious perceives an intended threat to my equilibrium?  Maybe i'm just getting older and, thus, freaking out more regularly about potentially life-threatening scares facing my family members.

So my dad is the strong, quiet type...the kind of man who has worked hard his entire life... i mean really worked- growing up on a small dairy farm working the tobacco fields, birthing baby calves, picking, growing, stripping, harvesting- from sun-up to sun-down.  As a father he didn't let up, working in the elements, scaling walls, hundreds of feet in the air on scaffolding- in cranes- beneath the surface of the earth, inside mines and on top of enormous structures... he was superman- my superman.  He was prepared to meet the world's challenges head on, ready for anything, never too tired or too busy, never gave up, never even considered it.  This dad, my superman, has never been really sick, never missed work, never slept in, never stopped going...like a race without a finish line, he knows one speed.

This week he received some rather questionable test results, and of corse, my sick mind immediately jumped to his death bed, envisioned his last days, his last moments...skipping, entirely, the test results, the optimism that honors his lifetime of commitment and work ethic.  I would be lying if I said I didn't worry about my parents health or that I was prepared to deal with any major life-altering circumstances.  I don't know that one is ever prepared, and I guess I can't honestly say that I don't halfway expect to get phone calls of this nature on a daily basis, but I think those are just paranoid benign thoughts that keep our feet on the ground rather than 6th sense-type feelings that give us a leg up on equipping ourselves for the worst.  I really don't ever want to be prepared for the worst, though because i've seen it, I have walked alongside of it and have prayed to get as far away from is as possible yet still facing it day after day until it gets the best of us, all of us.

Faith.  I'm thankful that my faith is strong enough today to lend me a deep breath, a clear throat, a quiet head and a night's sleep.  May the grace of God surround us all amidst the worries of our lives whether as real as the blood tests reveal or as insignificant as the mind strings of deceit would warrant.  May grace extend far and wide this day and every day.