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.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
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 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.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, October 26, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 12, 2007
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 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?
Friday, October 5, 2007
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.
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.
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