New Year's Resolutions

+ Write thank-you notes
+ Pray at least one Psalm each day
+ Keep our bedroom straight; it is my "secular sanctuary"
+ Compliment my husband and son, and at least one other person, each day
+ Say "I can't take this" less and pray "Lord, help me" more
+ Go to the dentist for yearly visit
+ Write a short story
+ Actually take my recommended monthly day for "spiritual rest and renewal"
+ Put (small amount of) savings into high-yield account
+ Cook (really cook--from scratch) at least one meal a week
+ Read the newspaper (or at least skim it) each day
+ Observe Lent
+ Celebrate Easter
+ Take a real vacation again
+ Call friends regularly
+ Eat dark chocolate
+ Carry a canvas bag for minor shopping trips
+ Buy local produce whenever possible
+ Spend more money for organic or earth-friendly products
+ Make and use natural cleaners
+ Replace our lightbulbs with all CFL's
+ Make a scrapbook or two
+ Enjoy something about each day
+ Say "thank you" to God for something each day
+ Remember who and Whose I am all the time
+ And my perennial...seek to be faithful in all things

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Same Song, Different Tune

I am one of those strange pastors that likes to wait until LATE Advent and/or Christmas Eve to begin singing traditional Christmas carols, even though we're hearing them everywhere else. I do this because, when we wait until the very night of Christ's birth to raise our candles as we sing "Silent Night" in the darkenss, I think we feel the amazing gift of the promise's fulfillment more powerfully. If we wait to sing "Joy to the World" until the celebration of the Incarnation (or Jesus' birthday, however you like to think of it), then I believe we can feel the lament of the world, and thus our desperate need for the Savior to come, more fully. I can't tell you how fully I felt the Holy Spirit in our Christmas Eve services because of our faithful waiting. It was amazing. I don't tend to get emotional while I'm leading worship, but I can count on emotion each Christmas Eve at that point.

But this past Sunday, Christmas Eve Eve, I began to worship with traditional carols sung by a traditional congregation with its small choir. The songs we sang all told the story of Christmas: the longing for a savior that is met by the promise of God and fulfilled in the coming of Christ. Matthew's gospel told us how Jesus was born. Then I moved to the next service, where a traditional (and all women's) choir (directed by my husband, the music director of that church) made the beautiful offering of a Christmas Cantata that again told the story of Christ's coming for our salvation through music. All very traditional...powerful, but traditional.

After lunch with my sister and her fiancee and then dropping off our son with my husband's sister and brother-in-law (and their three children), my husband and I then went to experience the same Gospel in a much less traditional way. We went to hear the same song sung to a MUCH different tune.

It is something of a tradition, a tradition we share with my music director (and her husband) in the first church I worship with each Sunday. We all like a band known as the "Trans-Siberian Orchestra," and each year they come to Columbia. We missed last year, but this past Sunday was our third concert. The first part of the concert is the same (except for the lights, staging and pyrotechnics) each year. It's loud, and hard, and definitely a far cry from Bing Crosby. They call it a "Rock Opera," and it tells the story of an angel flying over earth on Christmas Eve to collect an offering for God. The story involves a bar and some clearly not-church folk. The presentation of the story involves some dancing girls in dresses and boots that would make many people in my pews suggest they put on a long coat. But the story is no doubt the story of Christ's coming and his continuing work in the world. I may blog another time about my take on the band's most famous work, called "Christmas Eve: Sarejevo." But for now...

It all has gotten me to thinking...the founder of Methodism John Wesley talked about "plain talk for plain folk", or something like that. The Apostle Paul spoke of becoming different things to different people. I believe the point both men were trying to make was: God has made clear that the divine will is for ALL persons to know the salvation of Christ. If that is so, and if people are so very different from one another, don't we need to tell the story of Christ to each group of humans in language they understand? Different generations have different ways of speaking. Different cultures relate to different imagery. Different groups can listen to different music. What is nonsense to one makes sense to another. What is noise to one is a melody to another. My husband and I seem to exist in more than one generation, language, culture...at least sometimes; maybe we're a bit "bilingual".

Maybe we all need to become "multilingual" in order to tell the story. It's always the same song we sing, with saints and angels. We just need to learn a few different tunes to tell the story of Christmas and Easter. The babe born in Bethlehem is counting on us to make sure the whole world, and all the children therein, hear of his love and his gift to us. Can we sing the song so that everyone will hear? Can we preach the gospel to everyone at all times, using words if necessary, as St. Francis said? The shepherds went to tell everyone everything they had seen and heard. I pray that we all can do the same.

If anyone's still reading...

You may want to know, if you didn't see it, that I wore ripped jeans and fuzzy red slippers with snowmen on them to host our "Annual Parsonage Christmas Drop-In" this past Thursday. I didn't do it to make a fashion statement; I did it because I ran out of time to get properly dressed. But the food was out, the fruit was sliced, and the cake was cut. And everyone had a good time (I think--we did), with one notable exception I'll talk about in a minute. THANK YOU if you were one of the ones that made my frantic run worth it by (1) coming and (2) enjoying watching my child (who by the way had on no shoes or socks but was still adorable--again, no time for shoes) and (3) eating the food and telling me it was good (even if it wasn't) and (4) telling me the house looked good (because it was indeed a miracle that you could even walk around in the living room--less than 1 1/2 hours before people arrived my son thought that a whole big box of packing peanuts needed to be dumped on the floor).

Anyway, two things I want to share about this drop-in.

One: The fact that I didn't have on proper clothes and my son had no shoes is symbolic of my life each Advent. Though my husband and I work "our fannies off" to get the necessities accomplished, there is never enough time to get to other important things (like blogs :-) or nice slacks or shoes). But if we're lucky, and if we're open to God's Spirit that always flows around us, we'll be able to simply enjoy the blessings of Christ's coming in the midst of fellowship with friends and family anyway. We'll also be able to stop and simply worship, and just enjoy the fact that our Lord is present among us because of the Incarnation that we celebrate in this season. So forget about the shoes and the ripped jeans--just enjoy Jesus and come as you are to the party of the kingdom of God, whether you're frantic or bored or whatever!

Two: God showed us yet again at our drop-in that the divine has a way of re-directing our attention to what's truly important in the midst of our frenzy to do what we think is essential. Don't get me wrong: God did not cause one of my elderly members to become ill enough for us to call 911 that evening, but when it happened, God certainly intruded and focused us on being there for him and his wife in their need. The Holy Spirit was there as I silently prayed with my hand on his knee. The Holy Spirit led several people to get wet cloths for him, to put their hand on his wife's back, to hold them up, to drive his wife to the hospital and stay with her until their daughter and granddaughter arrived. Don't worry, he is much better now, home from the hospital and re-hydrated and his old self. He told me in the hospital Friday that they had all decided I had put something in the cider...

Anyway, my prayer for all of us is that, in the midst of the Advent frenzy and the Christmas clean-up, we will let God stop us and focus us on what's most important: Christ our Lord and the salvation-gifts--of healing, hope, family, abundant & eternal life, and friendship & reconciliation with God and other humans--that he was born to offer us. And as we do so, I pray that we'll forget about the things that don't really matter in the kingdom of God (like what you wear or whether all the food is presented right...)

Merry Christmas!

Advent 1

I was exhausted last night. After two worship services I'll tell you about in a minute, then a coaching session, then cheering for our kids from one church riding our float in the town Christmas parade, then going to that same town's Christmas tree lighting service sponsored by our Ministerial Association, then rushing down the road 18 miles to the other church (which I live beside) to eat soup, fellowship, and "prepare" the greens (since we cannot be in the sanctuary to actually HANG them), I was tired.

I think waiting in felt silence (see post "The Sound of Silence" below), and exhausted, are good stances to assume at the beginning of the season of Advent. Only when we're waiting in silence and exhausted are we in a position fully to acknowledge that we're helpless to save, control, or help ourselves. Only when we're waiting in the silence, and exhausted, are we needy enough to ask Christ to "come" for us again to save and help and heal us, and then to embrace him truly when he arrives, letting him change us.

Our worship yesterday took a very different form from your typical Sunday service. We began it by adopting a spirit of worship before the God who has promised to come and be present with us. We then acknowledged just how desperately we need what only a Savior can provide by praying for the needs of the world, as individuals led us in prayer for those suffering from HIV/AIDS and other diseases, for victims of violence and natural disasters, those in military service, the leaders of nations, and others.

Then we heard the promise of God, through the Prophet Isaiah, that a Savior will come to bring healing and peace. We celebrated that promise in song and prayer. Only then could we "hang the greens" and thank God for the first fulfillment of that promise in the coming of Christ into the world, remembering with each "green" an aspect of Christ and his kingdom. Celebrating his first coming, and the beginning of God's promise being fulfilled, led us then to hear from Christ himself (in Matthew's Gospel) about the day of his second "advent", or coming, on which the promised day of peace will finally fully come.

At that, we heard from Paul's letter to the Romans how we are to prepare for that day by "living in the light," and we committed ourselves through song-prayer to being people of the light. Finally, through sharing at Christ's table of sacrifice and victory, we were empowered to live as people of the light, prepared for Christ's return, acting as his body until he comes again. We were sent forth to live that reality.

Maybe because I didn't preach (trust me, this was just as much work :-)),this service for me was a beautiful remembrance of God's promise, and the fulfillment of that promise, that we celebrate and await in this season. I hope I wasn't the only one who was touched by God in the sharing. And by the way, if you were one of the people who led a prayer or read a scripture in that service, THANK YOU for helping me to pray to God and hear the Lord's Word.

Betty Visits The Methodists

BEWARE! This may offend some of you. "Betty Butterfield" is looking for a church home, and "she" has visited ours... There's some not-so-churchy language here, too. But it's a hilarious look at how we Methodists just might be seen by others... We need to laugh at ourselves sometimes. At least I do.

The Sound of Silence

11 days. That's how long it's been since I posted anything.

I can't stand it when I check other people's blogs faithfully because I really want to hear what they have to say, and they don't post for a long time. So, I apologize to you if you're like me.

I could blame the long absence on simple busy-ness, and that would not be untrue. It wouldn't be the real reason, though. The real reason has more to do with what I've given as the title of this post.

I don't know about you, but sometimes my mind, heart, and life get so full that I no longer know what to think, much less what to say. I hear so many voices that I can scarcely hear the voice of God speaking TO me, much less THROUGH me. I feel so much that I don't know what to feel, and I sort of go numb. And in those moments, all I hear is silence. I do and think and say and feel what I have to do and think and say and feel at any given moment. And that's all I can do or think or say or feel. And then when I don't have to be feeling, or thinking, or saying, or doing anything, I shut down. That's where I've been, I guess, for these past 11 days.

It's not that I haven't sensed God's presence or felt intense emotions or glimpsed the holy during these days. Quite the opposite. It's hard not to feel profound grief and the gentle touch of the Holy Spirit while praying with family members whose son/grandson/brother just died in his sleep at age 19. It's hard not to feel profound joy and the embrace of Christ while baptizing a new child of God. It's impossible not to feel God's peace while surrounded by beloved family and abundance of food at Thankgiving, offering praise to the Father. I have certainly laughed and felt tremendous gratitude to the Creator when my son has said some of the funniest things I've ever heard. (The other day, when on his Bob the Builder DVD one of the characters said "So let's drink a toast to..."[yes this is a toddler's video], my child [almost 3] said: "That's silly what Wendy said. We don't drink toast!")

Perhaps it's the intensity of each moment that has gotten me. Perhaps it is the busy-ness. Perhaps its the long list of things I have to get done at some point, but clearly not today. Perhaps it is the "going through the motions". I don't know. Whatever the reason, I've not been able to think of much to say; I haven't had much clarity.

But maybe that's the very best way there is to enter the season of Advent. Waiting for clarity. Waiting to hear God speak. Waiting to understand. Waiting for everything to come together. Waiting on the Savior. Waiting...while knowing that God is faithful. Waiting...while knowing that God will come. Waiting...in silence.

On Baptism

Everything comes in waves, it can seem. In small, stable or slowly-growing churches, baptisms can be that way. There have been entire years that passed at one of my churches without a baptism. Sad, huh?

But then I'll have several at one time. At the end of September, I performed two baptisms in two weeks in one of my churches. And now at the end of November, I'll be doing it again--two baptisms in two weeks, one for each church this time. There have been no baptisms at all in the intervening weeks. Waves.

Waves are something I think a lot about whenever I baptize. One of the reasons for this is that I always use a seashell in the service. I then give that shell to the newly-Baptized as a keepsake. The shell, an ancient symbol of Baptism, to me serves as a reminder of not just the water of baptism and of life, but also of the beauty and uniqueness of each child of God.

I also think of waves when I baptize because I think of the waves of God's grace and love that overflow for us and flood us with mercy, power, and newness of life when we are brought into Christ's family the Church through the Sacrament of Baptism.

There is so much symbolism and depth to Baptism. It bothers me when it gets cheapened or simplified. That's one of the reasons I love being Methodist. We allow all the symbolism to be preserved in our choice of modes of baptism. As of this Sunday's first service, I will have baptized using all three.

I did my first baptism by immersion (or, as the teenagers called it, "dunking") this past July. I had to get tutored in the mechanics by a Baptist colleague first, but it was a powerful experience to hold someone as she fell into the watery depths and died with Christ, then to be raised up to new life and a new family, dripping wet and crying. Every time I "sprinkle a baby," I think of their little hearts and lives being "sprinkled clean" by the blood of Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit. And I look forward to my first "pouring" baptism for an 11-year-old this Sunday, in that same fellowship hall where I want to have all my Services of Word and Table now.

The different sort of worship space demanded a different sort of Baptism. And so Sunday, I will pour out the water from my beautiful pottery pitcher, the same one used each Communion to pour out Christ's blood in the juice. I will pour out that water over the head of the young lady who will just have made her profession of faith. As I do, I pray that she and everyone else in the room feels the Holy Spirit poured out into her heart and life, to drown our sinfulness and to pour grace, mercy, and power to live as God's children into us.

What a beautiful thing to preserve all the modes of baptism. In doing so, we preserve the depth of meaning the Sacrament has, and perhaps, too, some of its mystery. God does a lot through the water and the Spirit, more than any of us could ever fully understand. Who wants to minimize that?

I Joined Facebook Today

One of my fellow clergypersons, a good friend, invited me in. I'm amazed at who I found there! I'm amazed at how many people choose to share and to connect this way. And it got me thinking.

I guess we're all always looking for convenient ways to connect. The key word there is "convenient." I wonder if we, in our fast-paced world, are looking for mock-community. I wonder if that's because we don't know how to live in true community. We want community, but we don't know how to have it. We think autonomy and independence and privacy are the highest virtues. Don't get me wrong; I as much as anyone think e-communication has its place, and can be a very good thing (why else would I be blogging?) Still, hear me out...

As a pastor, I keep secrets from my parishioners all the time. All clergymen and women do. I'm not speaking of my own secrets necessarily, though I do keep my private life as private as possible (why?). The secrets of which I speak now, though, are the ones whispered to me across my desk through tears, when no one else can hear. They are the secrets church-people don't want anyone else they worship with to know.

How sad. How sad it must make the Lord that his followers can't be real with one another. How sad it is that we refuse to share our darkest secrets with our brothers and sisters in Christ, to invite them to pray with us through our trials and help us to conquer whatever would destroy us. How sad that we just can't discuss certain things, for fear of judgment or retribution or exclusion. How sad that we prize the convenience, autonomy, and privacy of virtual-relationships and over the work and reward, and maybe even saving power, of authentic, one-to-one, flesh-touching-flesh, voice-speaking-to-heart, truth-in-the-open, share-everything, forgive-and-walk-beside relationships.

I don't believe it will be so in the kingdom of God. So I have a "modest proposal" (as a fellow United Methodist Pastor writes in our conference's newspaper). What if we in the church tried to find more and more ways each day for people to really connect in authentic and deep ways? What if we invited ourselves and others to share truly, from the heart? What if we invited each other into our home lives, our family relationships, our checkbooks, our secret worlds? Could we then maybe help each other be more fully alive to God and to each other? Could we maybe then move toward the day when all are in full communion with the Lord and each other? What would our church look like then? What gift might we have to give the world? I don't know. It's just a thought.

True Communion

Until now, I have neglected to mention that one of my churches is worshiping in our relatively small, but very beautiful, fellowship hall. We are doing so with gratitude, and without complaint, while a construction company repairs our sanctuary building. The sanctuary, you see, was built in 1950 without enough structural support to keep in standing forever. So now it's having orthopedic surgery, I say. It's getting some steel implants, and then it will be as good as new.

So this past Sunday, All Saints Sunday, we had our first service of Holy Communion in the Fellowship Hall. The setting is already much more intimate than our sanctuary is, now add tears and sniffles as we remember the saints. Then throw in that we receive communion completely by intinction in that church. Add, too, the fact that in the intimate worship setting we're in this month, there is no altar rail, so in order to offer the body and blood of Christ into His peoples' cupped hands, I and the cup-bearer had to stand literally behind the Lord's Table and serve from there. Put it all together, and you get the most real, authentic, Holy Communion I've ever celebrated.

As people came forward, you see, they were brushing the knees of the choir and their friends in the front pews who had already received. They came with tears in their eyes; they came sensing the presence of the saints we had just named walking with them. And then they got to shake a hand or pat a knee. They got to smile and laugh and chat with their brothers and sisters in Christ, so close to them they could feel one another's breath, while they filed up to the Lord's Table to receive the good gifts, the holy food, offered there to all of us.

At first the extra noise bothered me. Didn't they know this was a holy moment, a kairos moment? Why were they talking to each other?

And then it hit me. This was the feast of remembrance AND the victory banquet. This was not my table, but God's. And at Christ's table in God's eternal kingdom, we bring our tears and our laughter. More importantly, we talk, and we touch. We listen and we receive. We are in relationship, intimately, with the Lord and with each other. There will be a lot of talking, I think, and a lot of touching, at God's eternal banquet table. This Communion was real. This Communion was like it always was meant to be. And now I want to move into the Fellowship Hall for every first Sunday of the month for Communion. Maybe Baptism will feel more full there, too. Who knows. At any rate, I thank God for the taste of intimacy and authenticity I was privileged to experience on All Saints Sunday. I pray that all of us may experience the same truth in some way each day.

Surrounded by Saints

First, read Tim McClendon's blog entry on All Saints Day.
The link to his blog is at the left, and his entry is "Great Cloud of Witnesses".

Now consider my All Saints Sunday. I began it by leading worship in a church that lost three saints, two very active members who were also well-known and loved in the community. As I preached, as we lit candles while naming these names, as we listened to the bells on the memory banner, I could sense the sadness. I could hear the tears. I watched three grieving families know that their loved ones are missed by not just their families, but by the whole family of Christ. Then I moved to lead worship in a church family that lost two of its saints, one much too young and one after a long battle with debilitating illness. Again, we gave thanks to God for their witness and love, and we grieved the loss we feel so deeply.

Then this afternoon (after some last-minute preparation), one of my churches hosted ten or so others in a "cluster" charge conference. We worshiped together in a packed sanctuary, we conducted business briefly in individual rooms, and we fellowshipped. The sanctuary was packed with people and bursting with Charles Wesley's hymns of praise. I wish that sanctuary looked and sounded that full each Sunday at 11:15!

In everything, in this All Saints week, I could sense the presence of the great "cloud of witnesses." They joined us at Christ's table. Their voices mingled with ours as we sang eternal praise to our Lord. They dried our tears. They cheered us on.

It is an amazing mystery, this communion of saints, this being surrounded by those who have preceded us in faith. They are at once with us and in Christ's nearer presence. They are at once present with us and gone from us. And we at once grieve our loss and rejoice in our hope and God's promise. Thanks be to God for All Saints' Day, and for all the saints who have shown us the way of faith, and who still cheer us on as we run the race of a faithful life. Thanks be to God for Hank, and Gene, and Bobby, and Vicki, and Ronnie. Thanks be to God for the gift of the Holy Spirit in each of us. Thanks be to God for the promise of eternal life, a life that begins now, and never ends. Thanks be to God. Amen.

The World Is A House

St. Paul taught us we're a household, a Temple. Jesus described his followers as brothers and sisters. We talk a lot about the "human family." And if you look at pictures taken from the moon, our earth looks so tiny, like one spherical house.

I spent this morning at a clergy orders gathering for our conference. The focus of our time together was the HIV/AIDS crisis we are facing in the world. As the speaker talked about individuals in sub-saharan Africa who are dying or orphaned because of the disease, as he told stories of men and women from the United States to Haiti to Thailand to Zimbabwe, I began to think about the world as one big house.

Think about it. God has really given us one big house, with lots of rooms in it. In my house, three people live. We have a kitchen where the food is, a bathroom with clean water to bath in, bedrooms with clothing and beds. One of our rooms does the duty of an office, a place to think and work. There's a medicine cabinet, too, where if I'm sick I can find something to help me heal. Everything we need to survive is somewhere in the house, and we all share it. Everything in the house belongs to all of us, though we all have our own space.

It's so simple, isn't it? God has given us everything we need as a human family to survive and thrive. In one room (part of the world), the land produces crops to feed us. In other rooms, there is plenty of fresh water to quench our thirst and keep us healthy. In other areas, we find offices full of people smart enough to figure out how to enable us as a family to share what's in one room with people whose bedroom is down the hall. All over the whole house, we find things we all need to share.

Perhaps I'm thinking too simply. Perhaps the earth and its people shouldn't be thought of as a home, a family. Maybe God didn't expect us to share, but rather to hoard our belongings like selfish brooding kids who just want their world to be their own bedroom, and never mind anyone else in the house. Maybe finding out how to get things from one room to another is too complicated, too.

Maybe. But then I wonder why the Scriptures talk the way they do, if I'm wrong. What do you think?

What Happens to Bad Pecan Trees

For four-and-a-half years, I've had a bad pecan tree in my parsonage back yard. I mean, it hasn't produced one decent pecan in the past four seasons, that anyone could find. The pastor who lived here before me told me it was a bad tree before I ever moved in. The tree looks sickly, even.

Imagine my surprise then, a week ago today, when I stepped on a supposedly "bad" pecan shell lying on the ground, only to see inside it a large, beautiful, and tasty pecan. A good pecan from a bad tree was a find, for sure. Of course, I went looking for more good pecans on the tree. And guess what? I found some! Quite a few GOOD pecans were just waiting to be shaken down. There were still some bad ones, too, but still...

I am reminded of Jesus' parable about the man who had a fig tree that didn't produce fruit for three years. He ordered the gardener to chop it down. But the gardener begged for one more year to care for the tree, to hopefully make it healthy enough to produce figs. (Luke 13: 6-9).

Four four-and-a-half years, I've looked at that pecan tree and seen only a waste of space. How often do we look at the world that way? How often do we look at an individual, a church, a nation, or a group of people and see only something that doesn't produce good fruit? How often do we then think it isn't good for anything but to cut down?

I'm surely glad that the Creator sees something else in us supposedly "fruitless" or "bad" creatures. Who knew that, with time, the parsonage pecan tree would give me tasty treats? I guess sometimes there's more to "bad" people, churches, communities, nations, or groups than meets the eye. Perhaps sometimes, we must exercise a little patience and wait to see what the Good Gardener can do with some faithful TLC.

For four-and-a-half years, I've lived with a bad tree. Now I'm eating good fruit. Who knew? Well, Someone did. Thank God.

Finding Peace

On the night of this past July 6, when my little boy was almost exactly 2 1/2, I finally discovered what soothes him when he's distressed, in pain, or sad (not tantruming, mind you--that's another story). We were in the car driving to the airport to pick up my husband from his band's high-profile gig in Canada, where they had been asked to play for the U.S. Embassy's Independence Day gala. It was about 11:00 p.m. The plane had been scheduled to land at 6:30 p.m., a perfectly reasonable time for a toddler to be in the car. Delays had changed those plans, and I had unfortunately had to put my sleeping son in the carseat at 10:45 p.m. and drive the 45 minutes to pick his daddy up. I was praying that he would be able to sleep fine in the seat for that time, but those prayers were not to be answered.

The poor little man woke up fully by about 10 minutes into the trip. He began to whimper. Then he began to cry. Then the wailing started. All my soothing words fell on deaf ears. But then something (the Holy Spirit?) told me to sing "Jesus Loves Me." And I began, softly and tenderly to sing: "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so." By the time I got to "little ones," my son had stopped crying. When I got through the song, he said: "Sing it again." By the middle of the next round, I could hear him singing with me, his sweet little voice chiming in a "Jesus," or a "me" or "strong" here and there.

I recently received, not for the first time, an e-mail story about a retired pastor in his 90's who returned to preach at a church he'd served for decades. Instead of a sermon, he told the congregation that, of all the messages he'd preached as truth and of all the things he'd learned in seminary and ministry, the one truth with the most value was "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me..."

Here is the truth: every day I sit with people who are dealing with chronic illness, or who are facing death. Every day, we all see news stories about people around the world who are suffering. Every day, pastors everywhere counsel people whose families are falling apart, for whom addiction is a demon, or who face abuse or trauma. Every Sunday, I preach to a sea of faces, faces of people whose loved ones are at war, who are grieving the loss of parents, who are widowed, who are trying to figure out how to deal with rebellious teenagers, who are confused or afraid or lonely.

Sometimes in our lives, as we whimper or cry or wail at our reality, we simply need to listen to hear the voice that sings "Jesus loves me..." Sometimes in life, we are the crying toddler. The Lament Psalmists came before us as those who suffered, and they give us permission to join them, as they cried out to God while also acknowledging that they knew the Lord was there, heard, cared, and would give them strength and peace in the storm. As the secretary of one of my churches has posted by her desk: "Sometimes the Lord calms the storm. But sometimes the Lord lets the storm rage, and calms His child."

And sometimes in our lives, when we have peace, we are called to be like the mom I was in the car, singing it for others to sooth them and dry their tears. Maybe they will join in the singing with their sweet voices, too. Always in life, we can rest in the truth that because "Jesus loves us" (all of us), Christ will get us through the valleys of the shadow of death and will lead us to still waters and green pastures. May those of us who know Jesus' love always be singing about it for ourselves and others. May this be the way we find peace, for us and for the world.

When A Plan Comes Together

"I just wanna know--where does this food come from?"

The question was a challenge, and I wasn't up to it. I just got frustrated. It was late, and I was tired, and I was leaving the next day for Duke University Divinity School's annual Convocation and Pastor's School. We were at a leadership team meeting at one of my two churches. I was, for the nth time, trying to get them to consider partnering with Angel Food Ministries to provide low-cost perishable food once a month to the community from our facility. Still, no one was coming forward to lead the effort, and now this question: "Where does this food come from?"

Little did I know that my frustration would be turned to agreement with his incredulity over the next few days. Little did I know that when the Assistant Dean for Continuing Education at Duke Div. said "This convocation has the potential not just to change your mind, but to change your life," she would be right.

As the star of one of my mother's favorite shows from the 80's used to say: "I love it when a plan comes together." (The A Team, if you're wondering). But just whose plan was coming together? Well, I believe that would be God's.

This past week, I had the amazing privilege of learning from Biblical Scholar Ellen Davis about how God speaks of creation-care and true wisdom through the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). I sat in wonder at the truth about humanity's and the earth's precarious position at this point in time as told by scientist Wes Jackson. And I was moved to contrition and repentance by the poetry and words of Wendell Berry. All of them spoke of how we've forgotten the implications of praying "Give us this day our daily bread," as we hoard unnatural foods that were shipped from nations away and were produced by people we don't know, whose treatment we can't verify as just. All of them explained the restraint, trust, generosity, and justice God calls for in his people. All of them spoke as prophets. In addition, as if I weren't feeling contrite enough, As I flipped through the cable channels on Tuesday night (enjoying the plethora of channels we don't have at home), I got stuck on Blood Diamond on HBO. This violent film has a powerful purpose: to open our eyes to see how our desire for nice things, in this case diamonds, has terrible implications for other human beings sometimes, in ways we'd never imagine.

All of this to say, God made everything from Sunday through Wednesday come together for a plan...for me and my family to live more as God intended on the earth, as best we can, as we seek to be "in the world" but not "of the world." Have you shopped at a farmer's market recently? Have you put in some Compact Flourescent Lightbulbs in your house? Do you ask your jewelers to prove to you that the diamond you're about to buy is not a "conflict diamond?" Do you know how the animals that are now your meat were treated? Do you recycle? Do you tend a garden? These are just some of the questions I believe God wants us to ask ourselves. Then we might just make a beginning of living as Christ intended, of "exercising mastery among" creation (Ellen Davis' translation of the Hebrew in Genesis 1) rather than "domination over" it (as we've traditionally understood that same Hebrew phrase).

Don't you love it when a plan comes together?

The Week's Highlights

Everyone within 30 miles of Salley, SC (I realize that's not many people :)) really must try the Hilltop Restaurant. It is indeed like something out of a movie. It looks like nothing but an old abandoned wooden structure on the outside, except if you pass by it at lunchtime...then you'll see the yard filled with pick-up trucks and a random car or three. When you step inside, you'll find an eclectic mix of tables and furnishings, and lots of working-class men (my boys and I went with another couple, and we were the only two women there, besides the women who run it). When you sit down, you'll be brought a plate full of food by one of the three women who run the place. There is no menu; you just get the two meats and four sides plate, whatever they're fixing that day. And I guarantee you'll love it, no matter what it is! Thanks, David, for introducing us to the Hilltop. It was wonderful food, and quite an experience. That was Wednesday.

Also on Wednesday, I got all riled up about President Bush's veto of the SCHIP expansion legislation. I got so riled up, in fact, that I actually e-mailed all the parishioners in my address book and asked them to prayerfully consider contacting our representative, as a justice and faith issue, to ask him to vote to override the President's veto. I was fully cognizant of the fact that our representative, who habitually stands with the president on every matter, had probably voted against the measure to begin with, and that my/our plea may very well fall on deaf ears. Still, I believe the Holy Spirit can and does change people when they are open, and often the Spirit speaks to one human being through other human beings, so I felt God leading me to contact him myself and invite my people to do the same. I've only gotten one reply from parishioners, and the reply I received from Representative Wilson was, of course, a form letter explaining why indeed he had voted against the measure to begin with, as I suspected. Something about fewer people smoking so the source of funding for the expansion shrinking, and about illegal immigrants being able to access the program if it's expanded (as if I would think that's a terrible thing)due to lack of adequate identification requirements. I think these are pretty weak reasons not to cover more uninsured children. If the cigarette money dries up, then legislate a way to cover the cost when needed! Haven't we every heard of faith in God to provide when we are faithful to working with God on the justice and mercy things in society? Anyway...

I've spent the last two days in a Coach Certification training for the conference. I think becoming a certified coach may just change the way I do ministry and even relate to my friends, family, and pretty much everyone else. My husband has already said at least once. "I know what you're doing. Don't coach me. (Smile)" I look forward to seeing where this goes in our conference. It, like Natural Church Development, has the potential to be extremely transformative. Another work of the Holy Spirit? You just can't stop that guy (or gal, whatever perspective you have).

I look forward to World Communion Sunday. I'll blog more on that later.

Stepping on Toes

Well, this morning I think I did just that in my sermon. My own toes even feel sore! If you heard the reading of I Timothy 6 and Luke 16, you know what I mean. Check out the "Global Rich List" link at the left to see just how world-wealthy you are! I was stunned, and shamed that I ever complain about wanting more.

It helps to know that the web makes it easier than ever to reach out and give aid to persons who desperately need to know someone cares and wants to change the fact that they have nothing, or close to it, by worldly standards. With us, they are children of God, and the body of Christ has a duty to be Christ to them, to bring healing and redemption. I have added links (all to the left) that I find helpful to keep up with what's going on in the world, and to do what Christ has asked us all to do on his behalf...bring hope. I will continue to add to this list as I find websites that I think will enable us all to reach across the chasm that separates rich and poor to touch "Lazarus at our gates."

A Beginning

As I have read the blogs of other pastors and families, I have thought:
Wouldn't it be nice if our family had one, too? We pastors (and our families) often say that no one can understand the life we live without living it, but perhaps blogs are one way we can invite others into the journey with us...to pray with us, to share with us, to walk with us as we all seek to be more and more faithful each day.
I pray that this blog will be just that, an invitation to share the journey of faith.