Twinkle, Twinkle...

(with apologies to those who have already read this one...)

She was 4, a pixie-child with short hair, half curly and half straight.  She climbed up on the chair, pushed her glasses up on her nose, took a deep breath, and began to sing:

    Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are

    Way up in the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky

    Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are

    Way up in the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky

    Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are

    Way up in the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky

    Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are

    Way up in the sky so high, like a diamond in the sky

    Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are…

 

      The rest of her family was gathered around for the concert, waiting to clap.  We’d had the Twinkle, piano version, cello version, and probably teenage mutant ninja turtle version...and the vocal version was the climax.  Then, and only then, could we get to opening Christmas Eve presents.  The nightmare began when the song would not end.  Every time the song should have ended, it just circled back on itself and started again.  The child’s face began to reflect concern, then consternation, then crisis.  She could not escape the twinkles.

     Ultimately, the giggles and guffaws from a loving family gave way to singing together the final line tune and ending the concert.  Presents were opened and eyes were closed at the end of a long Christmas Eve.  But every time I hear the Twinkle song, I think back to that most significant twinkling star.

     There we are, thinking we could sing our songs and save our souls, and as we try over and over to get out of the mess, we just get in deeper and deeper.  No matter how hard we try or how simple it would seem to be, we cannot escape the repetition of our sinful nature.

    So we look to the Star and we celebrate joining the heavenly chorus that lifts us out of our cycles of despair and into the hope of Christmas.

Home for the Holidays

It's a season that makes us think about home.  "I'll be Home for Christmas,"  "Home Alone," decorating our homes for company or family...all these things take extra significance during the holiday season.  I don't know if it's Christmas, or if it is the fact that so many holidays converge in a 40 day period, or if we are just crazy, but we get home-phobic in all kinds of ways.  So I started thinking about homes we have lived in--and unlike many people, we have lived in a lot!

Our first apartment was a second-floor, west-facing, 1940's  house in Altus, OK.  The whole west side of the house was windows.  We lived there in the summer of 1980...average temperature outside 115, average temp inside, 100.  We put foil over the windows, shiny side out, to try and reflect some of the sun.  An air-conditioner, three fans and a water mister ran all night in our bedroom.  The kitchen was in the hall.  Open the oven or the frig and no one passed through.  The bathroom was broken for the first week of our lease and we had to go to Carl's parent's house to shower. 


Our first apartment at the seminary my husband decided to attend at the very last minute was the one no one else wanted.  It had been built probably in the the 20's. One bedroom, lineoleum floors that would not come clean, holes in the wall in the kitchen from the previous tenant's dart board.  (I considered maintaining the dart tradition with a picture of my husband, but decided that was petulant and I wanted to be the martyred party in the relationship.)  The bathroom was so grim I don't even remember it.  Ancient screw-open windows lined the entire front of the apartment, but they neither cooled the apartment in the summer or kept in the winter heat.  We were thrilled at the end of that first year when the school built new apartments and we were allowed to live in one...except, the new carpet had some kind of toxic allergen and we were sick for weeks.  I have never sneezed so much in my life.  The dog we got to protect us from the homeless guys that slept on our back porch ate the corners off the kitchen cabinets and the doorbell rang every Saturday morning at 7 am so the Jehovah's Witness could attempt to save the lost Presbyterian souls. 

 We lived in a couple of church manses (church owned homes for those of you not familiar with weird church words).  I will not pontificate about those, wishing to protect the innocent.  We bought our first house in Houston.  We took down fabric from the walls and scrubbed the paneling with Brillo pads to remove the nicotine.  When we moved in, you could see the outline of the gun collection on the wall in the family room.  We nested there with chimney birds.  Yep, the only house we ever owned with a fireplace was in Houston, TX.  Nice place to raise birds, not so nice for a fire.  Somehow it just didn't seem right to run the air-conditioner so we could watch flames flicker.

When we moved to Nebraska, we discovered wonderful things about our house -- things that were so good, the previous owners didn’t tell us.  For example,  we had a potential ice skating rink in the living room.  A thin layer of water on that  floor (which we discovered was uninsulated)  and we could have hosted Olympic skating--or made a bit of spare change for college tuition.  We knew the basement was plumbed for a bathroom, but we did not know there was already a shower -- coming conveniently from the plumbing in the main floor bath.  We never had to rake the yard.  When you opened the front door and the basement door at the same time, the house sucked in all the leaves.  Voila!  It was also the perfect house for raising teens.  The ancient coal-heating vents made every word in every room float through the house into our bedroom.  We could hear everything they said and whatever they did with their friends.  They never caught on.

            
The idiosyncrasies of houses make them "homes."  Only glossy magazine “houses”  are perfect.  Homes are places where you repair the screen on the back door torn off two years before when the dog was a puppy.  Then, when you open the door to bring the adult dog in, he jumps through  the new screen because--he always has.  Homes are where you have so many bikes you cannot park your car in the garage.  Homes are where the dog barks viciously at your ninety year old neighbor bringing cookies, but sleeps through the “intruder”  at two am who brings a phone message.  Home is spilled orange juice on the floor you just mopped.  Home is Barbies  with wet, cold hair from baths the night before in your six am shower.  Home is all your husband’s shoes lined up just “outside” the closet door.  Home is throwing all the junk into the basement to "clean" the house for company, then having to go to the basement with them  for a tornado warning.

I was listening to the radio segment talking about the stress of the holidays because everyone expects perfection.  I gave up on that years ago.  If you want perfection, buy a magazine.  If you live in the real world like we do, come on over.  The Utley’s are home.

The Wise Men...

The wise men came from the East -- having shopped in Greensboro and Winston-Salem all day.  And upon being exhausted with Christmas shopping for the babe in the manger, and while listening to the National Public Radio as they prepared the evening meal, behold they were amazed by the proclamation that one could shop the internet with only a few clicks of a mouse. 

            “Verily, I say unto you,” the announcer cried.  “No longer will you toil and curse the mall in which you shop.  No longer will your feet cry out for mercy.  No longer will impulse buying cause the balance in your checkbook to offend you.   Click in the age and gender of the person for whom an offering is desired.  The website will bless you with a multitude of options wanted by all people that age and gender.  And you will be forever comforted in your time of tribulation.”

            The wise men were no fools.  Immediately they caused the microwave to cease and the table was not laid.  Hearkening to the announcer’s voice, they went forth to the computer and made haste on the internet highway.  They gathered their bounty and rejoiced.

            No more would it be necessary to spend time with people to learn what they enjoyed.  No more would conversation flow disrupt time spent with the holy television or the sacred video game.  No more would hearts agonize about the perfect offering -- the wisdom of the computer would provide.  And if, perchance, a gift was unacceptable, return shipping was free and the blame could be placed on the retail systems analyst.

            The holy text was modified to read, “It is more blessed to give than to receive....if the giving requires little or nothing from the giver.”  And night fell on the wise men.

Stories...

Holidays are for story-telling.  Stories establish identity in a community and, frankly, are just plain fun.  Christmas was a unique experience in my childhood home.  Saying that Christmas was my father's favorite holiday was an understatement at best.  The year he received the city prize was nothing short of spectacular...and it's a great story.

An outline of lights transformed our house into a Christmas wonderland.  Santa and his reindeer were on the roof.  Every yard evergreen boasted its own lights--I remember three.  Candles constructed from toilet paper rolls, sand, wood, and light bulbs flickered in the windows. (They looked better than they sound on paper.)  A live Christmas tree beckoned from the living-room window, and symmetrically from the study, and aluminum tree basted itself in the glow of a multi-hued light wheel.

A life-sized manger scene, complete with camels and donkeys, began the fiew on the front lawn.  Rolls of spun glass twinkling with colored lights covered a ten-foot, black, plastic cone (alias one-by-twos and chicken wire).  The nighttime effect was a space-age tree, suspended in mid-air.  Five-foot candy  cane candles and a handmade holly wreath welcomed visitors to the front door.  Santa and his reindeer made an encore appearance in the yard as well.  (Sort of the brother Darrell and the other brother Darrell syndrome.)  This more honored display had once been stolen, but my dad chased the thieves on foot until they dropped the display in either exhaustion or boredom.  And the ultimate dream for this professor of Chemistry was on the far left--a fifteen-foot hardwood tree, cut, stripped of its leaves, painted white and covered with hundreds of hanging test tubes, each filled with its own brightly colored chemical.

The prize was ours, probably more for persistence than for good taste.  My dad reached a pinnacle of achievement--and a turning point.  A car, distracted by the decorations, hit our car and knocked it through the neighbor's fence.  In the night, right after the judging, a wind storm hit.  The chemical tree collapsed, shattering text tubes all over the driveway and killing all the grass on that side of the yard.  (Fortunately, the EPA did not yet exist.  We probably created some three-headed frogs as well.)  The final and ultimate blow was a light bill twice the size of the cash prize.  My dad said we couldn't afford to wind the prize again.

Before the disasters and the winning of the prize, Christmas decorations were magic.  That year, I think I moved into an adult Christmas mode.  I never reclaimed that "childhood magic."  But in its void grew a sense of spiritual wonder.  Adult Christmases bestow the love of family and friends, traditions owr worship and music, and a new, breath-taking realization of the gift of God's love.

May your holidays be full of stories, old and new...

Help me...help me...help me...

Sometimes it's hard to stay in that place where your focus is on God.  Pray without ceasing is not so hard for me...help me, help me, help me...floats through my head on a continuous loop.  But that place of knowing God's presence and resting in God's peace is elusive at best.  Hurry and prepare this service, this program, this devotional book.  Write this paper so you can serve the church.  Fix this meal.  Shop for Christmas.  Organize decorations.  Have a party.  Teach Sunday school. 

On top of everything today, I have a headache.  bleh.  Help me...help me...help me...I'll be focused and resting later...help me...help me...help me...I'll be energetic later...help me...help me...help me...

Seems like this story would be somewhere in the report of the ministry of Jesus--especially if he is fully human.  Probably would have been, had he been fully human female...

Help me...help me...help me...

What is Mine is Yours...

I've been looking at the story of the Prodigal Son.  Most people focus on the grace and forgiveness provided to the younger son...the one who defined the word "selfish."  That is great comfort; no matter how bad we are, we receive this incredible gift from a God who loves us.

But this time, I was really struck by the conversation between the father and the eldest son after the party starts.  As the elder brother comes in from the field--remember he is the one that has stayed home and done everything right...followed the rules...supported his father...fulfilled expectations...never disobeyed--he comes in from the field and asks (in a Greek verb tense that shows great expectation) "What's happening?"  You get the idea that perhaps he thinks the party is for him.  He has no reason to expect the younger brother has shown up.  He knows what he has been doing for God.  Finally, some recognition.

And the slave informs him...nope...not for you...for the younger son.  It's no wonder the elder son had his jockeys in a wad. 

True confession...as a teenager, I would often come home from "youth group" feeling like a total failure.  I didn't have a "testimony."  Couldn't say I was drinking/smoking/flirting/insert sin here and that I had been convicted and had rededicated my life to Christ and was so glad and grateful for God's mercy and forgiveness.  And then we had a party of tears and congratulations and "thank God's" and off we went, the saved into the arms of their  closest friends and me to my boring, sin-free life.  (OK...not sin-free, but somehow arguing with my sister didn't get the same response from the youth group.)

But I fully understand the frustration of the elder brother.  For those of us who don't squander our inheritance, where's the party?!  And, the elder brother refuses to come to the party.  For those of us who haven't been away...there's nothing.  For those of us who have done all that was expected, not even an thank you.

But it's the next verse that sturck me.  As the father stands with the elder son, he says, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.". 

All that is mine, is yours...  Here we are, those of us who are still at home, doing the right things.  We know there are expectations.  There is a to-do list.  There are rules to follow.  And if we do all that is expected, then the father will give us a party.  And we miss everything.  We forget the message, "all that is mine, is yours."  The party is for us now.  The fatted calf is ours...to celebrate with family or to invite our friends in.  This grace and celebration is already ours, always has been.  But, like the elder brother, we refuse to enter the party, to live in the grace, because we are working so very hard to earn the grace that is already ours.

It's one heck of a party.  And I'm getting the idea that I can party without having to eat pig slop.  God is good...all the time.

God or United Way...

One conversation that spins around the question of tithing (giving 10% "back" to God in gratitude for all you have been given) is "we set aside 10% for charitable giving...but we give it to several places; the church is one of those places."

The overarching question, I think, is who we are...our identity.  We are the people of God.  God chooses to be in relationship with us.  I believe God chooses to be in relationship with all people, but not everyone recognizes that.  Those of us who choose to respond to God's initiative define ourselves and are defined as the people of God.  We are chosen not to be set above the world, but to be God's servants in the world, to bring the love of God to the world, to allow God's blessings to be seen by the world. And it is our practices...how we live that defines our identity to the world.

If, for us, the people of God, giving to the church, to our community of faith, is only one in a list of competing causes, we have not responded faithfully to God's call.  Many people in this world do good things.  God is involved in all that good.  But they do not do good to point to God.  They have forgotten or refuse to acknowledge God as the author of all good.  Good is assigned to their choices or the organization which they serve.

If church is one in a list of many things, and the people of God do not support the church because they are supporting other causes, who picks up the slack?  Folks who are not the "people of God" are not going to add "church" to their lists of causes because church people contribute to the United Way.   When is the last time a church got a pledge from an unchurched neighbor because they heard the church's budget was under funded or the church needed resources for a new youth ministry. 

We are certainly called to do good in the world.  But we, the people of God, are called to first respond to God.  God is our first and highest priority.  God does not ask to be one in a list of many good causes.  God gives us undeserved grace and mercy.  We have blessings beyond measure.  God knows how God wants to partner with us.  Obedience to God's vision provides all that is needed to do God's work in the world.

First priority or one in a list of good causes?  Who are we?

Danger!!!!!

Waiting for TV weather this morning...

Man and wife sitting on couch appear...

She extols shopping at Thruway center...43 different stores...wow

He laments there are no condos available.

Because...if we could live at the store, life would be complete...

Everyday Acts...

If you didn't read yesterday's post, stop now and read it, then come back...

I did go to church this morning.  Posted in the bulletin was an announcement about my being granted "candidacy" status as a seminary student, part of the Presbyterian process of becoming an ordained minister.  A small part of me hoped I wouldn't be confirmed.  I love my job now and my church family, and don't even like to think about perhaps having to do something else.  Most of me would have been sad if I had not been confirmed.  All of me really didn't think it was a huge big deal...just another hoop to jump through--something Presbyterians are good at.

After worship, a gentleman, and gentle man, advanced in years and usually reserved, found me and gave me a big hug and the most excited "congratulations" I think I have received since giving birth.  I saw through new eyes.  Whenever any of us takes a step to commit to a practice that deliberately moves toward bringing the Kingdom of God into our world, we should be celebrating.  Ministry, sure, but also those who commit to generosity without control or payback, to service, to speaking truth to power, to teaching children's Sunday school to one or two, to singing in the choir, to prayer, to baking communion bread...the list is endless.  The one criteria, it seems, is the deliberate recognition that our gift is from God and is to be used for God...that is worthy of great celebration...

Blessed by an everyday act.  Here's hoping that some everyday act of mine will do the same...

End of the world...

I'm trying not to complain this week...but after all the political stuff...I'm having a hard time.  The latest, after blasting the dems continuously for earmarks, the headline in the NYTimes is that the republicans have informed the tea party that they will not be stopping earmarks.  What is wrong with us?

Come, Lord Jesus.  This is your world.  I'm thinking fire, flood, or rapture.  Or maybe I'll just go to work at the church tomorrow and be grateful for the saints who gifted me with faith and who bring justice into the world...one everyday act at a time...

Life

Life.

It's hot.

It's November, almost.

Political ads annoy me.

I have nothing to say.

My keyboard "O" keeps falling off.

Wonderful people grace my world.

I'm behind on homework.

Christians should tithe.

Tmrrw, cld.

Life.

Really?...

I just watched a commercial for a home healthcare business...a lovely brunette helps an elderly woman move around her apartment, vacuums, cooks, and sits and visits with her.  The tag line from the elderly woman is "It's just like having a friend."  Really?

I talked with my husband this morning about a church survey that shows that self-described "committed" churchgoers today attend worship twice a month.  Really?

Read an article in the NYTimes this morning on the popularity of "flock comedies"...a new genre of sitcom that the writer postulates is popular because of the extended time post-education and pre-children that is spent in "flocks" of friends.  He then describes parents who spend the same amount of time with their children as previous generations, but work full time.  What has to go is "friends."  So we watch TV to replace the friendships we no longer have time for.  Really?

Really. I can't help but think sometimes that it is time to reclaim our lives from this insane culture.  If we can demand healthy food options and green options as a culture, why can't we also demand sanity options.  Why do our elderly have to hire friends to care for them as they age?  Why do our lives revolve around every activity on Sunday but the one we claim is most important in our lives, or why do we let the rest of the weekend get so full that we feel we can do nothing on Sunday but "rest."  Why don't we have friends that actually can come to our homes?  Why, why, why?

My heart is a bit achy today.  I grieve youth who don't develop relationships with their peers at church because they are never there.  I grieve churches who flounder on Sunday mornings because attendance is sporadic.  I grieve community lost, disciplines not practiced, potential never reached.  I grieve the promise of abundant life that God holds out for us that we ignore because we are so distracted by demands that deplete us.

Is this the way we want to live?  Really?

Seasons...

I have spent much of my life in agricultural areas.  My husband is always pining for some big-city-life...but I am reminded again in this flat, farmland of the seasonal nature of life.

A rhythm exists here that you can't find in NYC...because you can't hurry nature.  Fields prepared in the spring hold the promise of new life...those seeds are planted...but no farmer can control whether they actually come up (despite the guarantee-to-grow on the seed packet).  The active growing season is exciting and requires hard work and daily investment in the field...though farmers tell you again that they are caregivers, not growers.  The life is still miraculous.

Now is harvest...seems pretty good this year.  Field after field transforms from busyness to fallow in about a day.  A plethora of farm workers and machines descend on the field for a short period of intense activity.  Then, nothing...quiet...sometimes regrowth...but regrowth that struggles and never really fulfills its potential.  Sometimes fields are plowed under....expanses of non-productive dirt resting under the harvest moon.

And then all is quiet.  For a full season, we rest.  Imagining for the next season happens.  Some preparation is inevitable.  Mostly rest.  Even if scurrying and planting and fertilizing was happening, nothing would grow.  It's not the right season.  Rest...pray...heal...imagine.  It's the season...

And then...resurrection...

What a gift.

Aging...

We are in McGehee, Arkansas, to celebrate the wedding of Natalie and Josh...eldest child of friends we made while Carl was serving his first church, and we were having first children and learning to be adults.  We were embraced in the arms of this tiny town in the Mississippi delta, nurtured and challenged, and then blessed as we moved into a different area of the world.
  
It's been a weird trip.  First, it's hard to believe any of us are old enough to have children ready to marry.  Natalie and Josh are about the age we were when we move to McGehee.  We are the age of those blessed saints that enveloped us with love.  Carl got a bit sloppy with the plane reservations, and instead of leaving at 8 am on Tuesday, we left at 8 pm...arriving in Little Rock at 1 am on Wednesday to rent a car and crash in a hotel.

I am not one to care what kind of car we drive.  POS cars (and if you don't know what that is, I'm not telling you on a blog...) have been par for the course and it really doesn't matter.  But at 1 am on Wednesday, I am standing in the airport parking lot looking at a wine-red Mercury Grand Marquis, feeling rather sick to my stomach and wondering if I have the spine to tell Carl he has to go back and get a different car.  I didn't tell him...but as I slid into the leather of the front seat...I know I aged 30 more  years.  The seats sit low...not helping the feeling I was some shrunken old lady tottering into the end stage of life...

Dinner tonight is with the young couple who are now pastor and wife of this lovely congregation.  They are the same age we were when we were here; we are the age of the stalwarts who kept the congregation functioning when we were the young couple.  My brain is completely rattled.

I am startlingly reminded of the march of time--the saints who came before, the saints who serve, the saints who will come after.  Natalie and Josh, Kenny and Sarah, you are blessed to be in this place that so often looks and feels God-forsaken, but provides the deepest care, feeding, and nurture of the soul--much like the rich delta land that encompasses it.  For those came before, who "raised" us...we are grateful and blessed and we lift you in prayers of gratitude every day.

And for those whose brains are rattling with mine...resisting the Grand Marquis while celebrating the ability to share the love we were given...well, all I can say is God is good...

Wayyyyy to Much

Problem:  Sadie Mae is out of dog food

Solution:  Go to the store to buy dog food.

Problem: The fish-based food she eats to control a skin condition caused probably by overbreeding (she       was an adoption for us...) is not available due to a manufacturing problem.

Solution:  Buy something else.

Problem:  Four aisles of choices...FOUR aisles...FOUR AISLES!!!

Solution: Sigh...

Problem:  Hungry people in the world.

Solution: Four aisles of dog food choices?

Problem:  Sin...

Solution:  Open for discussion...

Today, I'm walking CROP WALK to do a little something...I figure up and down four aisles will just about cover the three mile route...

Glee and God...

You know that any TV show that starts with the prayer, "Dear Grilled Cheesus" has to hold some true potential.  Jesus' image on the grilled cheese, questions raised about church and its relationship to GLTB persons, what is sacred, whether God exists...pretty heavy stuff for a pop culture show.

The joy, I suppose, is that the questions were raised.  The sadness was the only answers revealed were through pop culture songs--not that there's anything wrong with pop culture songs--but really?  we can only find secular music to express thoughts about who God is and how God works in our world?  I was actually eager to see which of the multitude of beautiful spirituals, deep hymns, gorgeous works of grief and hope, would be sung in the church.  What did we get?  Bridge Over Troubled Water...

It distresses me that while questions are asked, few will seriously consider church to seek answers.  Now, frankly, there are churches that I might walk into seeking answers--then walk out of disgusted.  But how hard is it to communicate that every church is different.  The argument that we can't get ourselves together to agree on things certainly is quoted ubiquitously when people don't want to go to church.  Why, when they hear one thing they don't agree with, do they claim we are all the same?

We have to stand up and speak the truth.  I really think it is our responsibility to talk about the existence of churches who seek answers in inclusive, humble ways--churches who welcome those seeking answers to difficult problems--churches who don't claim to be God, but seek to serve God--churches who seek to follow Jesus' example of loving neighbor and serving others.

But when judgmental/crazy/just-plain-stupid churches get the publicity (and they do because they are much more interesting in an hour show than inclusion/seeking/working-together-til-we-solve-the-issue-but-not-in-an-hour-churches), we sit silently--tacitly accepting and promoting the "wrongness" of the church.

Kurt's definition of human relationship as sacred at the end of the show holds some true appeal.  It's always compelling to define sacred in something you can touch and hold onto.  That is the fundamental power of sacraments--we can see and taste and feel the elements that point us to God.  But what happens if Kurt's father dies?  Does the sacred die too?  I think the relationship between Kurt and his father is, indeed, sacred, because it holds a connection to the divine.  It parallels/reflects what God has done with and for us--it is not sacred in its own existence between two humans.

We are God's children.  God "holds our hand."  And would Kurt have experienced the "sacred" as his father squeezed his hand if they had not had the "I accept you" conversation in the first season?  Would a human relationship maintain its sacred nature if violence or abuse was present?

But my point, if not lost in all the scattershot ways I responded to the episode, is this.  Thanks, Glee, for opening a conversation with the world.  We'll chuckle at "dear Grilled Cheeseus" and we'll think about the songs you chose to reflect faith.  But we'll answer the question not with the question "What if God was one of us?", but with the knowledge that God was one of us...God is one of us.  Step up, brothers and sisters, and speak the grace we know in Jesus Christ.

How Many Elephants??!!!...

I was listening to NPR this morning while completing mind-numbing early morning ablutions.  The question addressed was how much a hurricane weighs.  That led me to a number of follow-up questions.  Do female hurricanes have more problems with water retention weight than male hurricanes?  Do they weigh more if they have more muscle (so a category 4 is more toned than a category 2)?  Is there a healthy weight for a hurricane--one beyond which insurance rates go up or they have to buy more than one spot on the weather map?

But, seriously, this guy researched the weight of hurricanes--and here's the skinny.  Weight numbers are so large that the researcher decided to help listeners understand better by putting weight in elephant numbers.  (Weighing as much as an elephant...yeah, I can relate to that.)  One small, white, fluffy cloud--one--weighs as much as 100 elephants (that's 4000 pounds times 100).   One storm cloud which spends a good deal of time and energy "up-taking" moisture (kinda like eating chocolate or french fries)...the moisture this storm cloud takes up is 500 elephants PER SECOND (oh my), and the storm itself weighs 15 million elephants.  Hurricane Rita--100 million elephants.

We spend so much time every day in fear...worried about this and that...mostly things we can do nothing about.  I was struck this morning as I looked in the mirror and brushed my teeth with a comparatively microscopic amount of elephant moisture...this great God who holds up a cloud that weighs 100 elephants knows my name.

What do I have to worry about?

Risking our Lives for our Faith...

It's been a difficult week.  My frustration levels on some days grow like kudzu...even in one day they can overwhelm.  And most of the frustration revolves around money...money...money.... Money seems to wrap itself in a thick, sticky, impenetrable coat of fear, with a candy coating of anxiety just for good measure.  (And you thought M & M actually stood for something else!)

I know things aren't great.  10% unemployment is nothing to sneeze at.  But doesn't that also mean that 90% of us are employed?  Every church I know is panicked about budget.  Even those whose budgets are running ahead are not gratefully giving thanks, they are worrying that it won't hold.  Our collection of churches which constitute Salem Presbytery face the same issues.

So what can we cut...oh here's a good one--campus ministry.  In the midst of angst and depression about losing members...some half of our members in the last 20 years, we consider cutting campus ministry.  Is that really where we want to go?  Shouldn't we be raising those budgets?  Do we want to help our young adults stay connected with their faith journey?  Or do we mistakenly assume that we can ignore them in middle school because they are too hard and prickly to deal with, ignore them in high school because culture tells us they don't want to be involved with us, and then ignore them as they create their adult identities in college because we can't afford it?  


Mission.  Hispanic ministry really doesn't pay off.  They don't support the budget.  Never mind that Salem Presbytery's is the second fastest growing ministry in the country and a model for programs all over the country.  Never mind that we are called to minister to people and not profit from them.  Never mind that God has placed this ministry and the resources to serve in our midst.  Is our call to ministry or to fear, anxiety, and a bottom line?

New church development?  Not a chance.  We know that is not going to balance the budget and our last one didn't work, and we can't afford to risk anything right now.

Luke 17:33 challenges this stance we have taken, this choice we have made:
Those who try to make their life secure will lose it, but those who lose their life will keep it.


Things are difficult.  We are certainly not used to living in this kind of economic climate...this kind of fearful environment.  We are used to living the American dream of bigger, better, and more.  And as I see us frantically clutching anything to save our own lives, I see us also dying.  The harder we try, the worse it gets.  And so, I wonder...what if we lived as God asked.

So, here's where a wise man from Arkansas would say I'm moving from talking to meddling, but this vision is so under my skin that I need to say it.  If we were a tithing people, the PC(USA) could support mission to the poor and the weak and have money left over.  If we let go of our fear and let go of our money, God could do with us more than we can ever imagine.  The giving units just in my church, if they tithed on the median salary in this county (which most of us are well above), would be giving 3/4 of a million dollars a year to God's work through the church...triple what we pledge now.

People everywhere would give up everything to "suffer" as we here in the US are "suffering."  At our worst, we are better off than most of the world.  If I had a magic wand, which, of course, I don't...or if I could be elected dictator of the world, which, of course I'm not...or if I had any control at all, I would change things...

But, God is in charge, and God doesn't coerce like I might.  God asks--laying before us this vision...this vision of a church doing as God asks so we can do as God asks.  Are we willing to let go of what we consider "life?"  I would argue that, fundamentally, in our culture, life = money...are we willing to risk that life to let God work?

What kind of witness would that be to the world?  A tithing people would communicate a different message. We are not afraid.  We depend on God for our life, not our money or our things or our individualism.  We eagerly await and support the Kingdom in whatever form God brings.  We embrace our call to sacrifice--and God does not call us to sacrifice everything, but 10%...one dime out of 10, not very much, really.  Is that really even sacrifice?

It may not be much, but the way we think about life and money, it is risky.  It does require moving beyond fear and clutching and assuming if we don't hold tight, we won't live.  The question God continues to ask is are we willing to risk our lives for our faith.  The promise God makes is that risking death brings life.

I want the PC(USA) to be the institution that leaves behind all conventional wisdom about church.  I want people to look at us and see God at work.  I want to be part of a people who risk their lives for their faith and I want to see God at work in the trust we exhibit.

We don't need a marketing campaign to get "members."  We need to be the people of God--risking our lives for our faith.

Anyone want to take a risk?

BBQ and Sacrifice...

The Facebook post from my seminary-student daughter read: "'There is a fine line between sacrifice and bbq,' that is what I am learning in seminary."  Laugh here...but think about it some more.

Danger lurks in sacrifice as bbq...and great joy.  So on the one hand, the concept of sacrifice in the Old Testament was to be taken seriously...no fooling around.  If the sacrifice turned into an occasion for beer and brats, not a good thing.  The making holy, sanctification, of God's people was a gift not to be trifled with.

On the other hand, priests were allowed to eat the meat offered in sacrifice.  It was part of the support of the priestly class.  There were rules, but bbq was allowed.

So here's the interesting deal.  God's work to redeem us and the signs of that work are overwhelmingly significant.  Baptism is a powerful sign of God's love offered to us before we can even begin to respond.  Communion sustains us with the knowledge that God continues to work in and through us.  Scripture enables us to hear the voice of God.  Christian community gifts us with the experience of grace and forgiveness and the challenge to practice grace and forgiveness with others.  None of that is to be taken lightly.

On the other hand (again), God works in and through very ordinary people and elements to accomplish God's purposes.  The water of baptism is just plain water, communion is just plain bread and wine/juice...no magic.  God is so....well...God...that there is no way for us to know/see/relate to GOD.  But God loves us so much that God makes Godself known through the simple, the plain, the human.

So, there is a fine line between sacrifice and bbq...Thank GOD!

Seeing me...seeing thee...

Returned to classes yesterday saying goodbye to Saturdays for the next twelve weeks and hello to friends and community that is missed as the garage gets cleaned.  Luke 14:l5-24 was the peg on which the convocation speaker hung his remarks--the story of the dinner party.  A man invites many to dinner and sends his servant to tell them "all is ready."  They begin to beg off...work, family, life...all interfere with coming to the table.  So the servant is sent into the streets for misfits, homeless, wretched...all those who normally do not get invited to dinner.

Making the point in several different ways, the speaker challenged both our excuse-making and our outcast-inviting.  All are welcome in the Kingdom.  Do we respond or make excuses?  Do we bring the weakest and neediest in with us.

It was food for thought and food for nourishment because attached to the challenge was the invitation to communion...a dinner party at the Lord's table.  Elements were prepared, prayers prayed, and no one seemed to make excuses to avoid the table (OK...except me...does a wheat allergy get you in trouble not coming to the dinner? :))

BUT...the point was this.  As the row in front of me stood to go to the dinner...to be spiritually and physically fed with God's love and provision...the speaker's 8 year old remained seated.  She was not allowed by her faith tradition to participate in the meal.

I respect that there are differences interpreting these religious practices, and I know the arguments because I was a child of that religion who sat in the pew excluded from the feast for a good while.  The question kept hammering at my heart though...I hope she didn't listen too closely to her daddy's sermon.  She might have expected an invitation to the dinner...

And I wondered as I wondered about this later...what in my own practice do I not see?  It seems so clear that the child should be fed.  It's easy to "see thee."  I am looking more carefully to "see me" as the invited and as the inviting.

God, open our eyes...

Fall Cleaning...

Some people do spring cleaning.  I do fall.  Partly it is my job as we get ready to start graded Sunday school after a summer of intergenerational fun.  Partly it is necessary after being gone a lot in the summer and having loads of stuff "dumped" into my office for want of a better place.

I do it at home, too.  There is something cathartic about pulling dead plants out of the garden and detritus out of the garage.  The joke in my family is not to stand around too much or they will be out with the garbage....can't say that I'm not sometimes tempted.

I heard a radio segment yesterday about "people" who are given false information and then presented with a correction.  The overwhelming response is to "harden" their belief in the mistake rather than admit to being wrong.  Sigh...

When we believe in a God who has faced the worst possible consequence of wrongness--death--and prevailed, what are we afraid of?  My fall home and church cleaning is about half-way done. My fall faith-cleaning is going to start with not being afraid to throw out useless beliefs and open the way for light and air and Spirit to move and work in me.

Hurricane...

North Carolina is having a hurricane.  Last I saw, it was a level 4...perhaps to hit at level 3 if we were lucky.  The coast was battered most of the night and heavy wind and rain still makes its presence known.

My husband and I drank coffee on the back porch under a still, cloudless, blue sky.  The air was cool and the dogs spastic as usual.  Who would have thought a hurricane was even possible.

I am reminded this morning that the person sitting next to me on Sunday morning or standing in the check-out line at the grocery may be drinking coffee under blue skies or may be in the midst of gale force winds.  It's interesting that we can be so close and still so far away.

In the name of Christ...

To quote Anne Rice, renouncing the label "Christian" while saying she remains "committed to Christ."
In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay.  I refuse to be anti-feminist.  I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control.  I refuse to be anti-Democrat...My conversion from a pessimistic atheist...to an optimistic believer in a universe created and sustained by a loving God is crucial to me.  But following Christ does not mean following his followers."


If anyone would like to quote me:
In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay.
I refuse to be anti-feminist.
I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control.
I refuse to be anti-Democrat (or Republican)
Believing in a universe created and sustained by a loving God is crucial to me
     (and to the world, whether they know it yet or not.)
Following Christ means reclaiming the label "Christian"...
     not leaving the church to those who misunderstand who Jesus is and what following him means.

Growing Disciples...

Growing disciples is not some program for "children" or "youth" or a few adults who continue to come to Sunday school.  Growing in our discipleship and growing other disciples is something God expects of us 24/7/365...something we are expected to do in and with the Christian community.  The process started long before we came on the scene and will continue long after us.  It works through our participation and God's Spirit..

Craig Dykstra, professor of Christian education at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary and Princeton Theological Seminary and now a vice-president for Religion at the Lilly Endowment tells a great story that explains how we teach. (Growing in the Life of Faith, p. 72, slightly paraphrased)
     This is precisely what coaches and mentors do— and work hard at doing well— when they are intentionally striving to help others learn to do something better. Often a coach will teach by demonstrating something, by making one of the essential moves and asking the learner to watch.
     Then the words begin.
           Questions: What did you see happen at the start of my swing?
           Descriptions: What I’m doing is planting my right foot and bringing my right arm close to my side to start the action of the swing properly.
           Explanations and reasons:  What that does is shift your weight and the momentum of the swing toward the target so you can hit the ball hard.
           Then, the coach suggests the learner try it…and the process starts again.

A definitive switch occurs in the ninth chapter of Luke. Up to that point, Jesus lived his faith, healing, praying, loving, serving without a lot of explanation. As he turns toward Jerusalem, we see him focus on growing his disciples, and suddenly, he is teaching at every turn. You can see the difference in the explanation/questioning/challenging when you look at the text. Jesus is not just living the way, he is teaching his disciples… using descriptions, explanations and reasons… asking them to try…and starting the process again.

That is what it means, I think, to help each other grow in the faith.  To reach our potential, we have to do more than show up and watch on Sunday mornings.  To help our children, we have to follow the same process with our faith that we do with our sports.  Participation...questioning...descriptions...explanations and reasons...challenges to try again.  To help ourselves, we have to be in relationship with fellow disciples who will follow those same steps with us...and us with them.

Often, we act like becoming a disciple is some mystery that only a few people can accomplish.  As I read the text and listen to Jesus, it seems a relatively simple process that we are never asked to master, only to faithfully follow.  I see it work with those who fully engage in the questions, the descriptions, the explanations and reasons. 

God's promises are ours already, but the potential for so much more is ready for us.  I wonder what we are waiting for.

Stepping Back...

David Brooks wrote a great article in the NYTimes about the weakness in our country's moral character, specifically lamenting the mental component.  He compares the early 1800's to today's willingness and ability to consider our weaknesses, our sinfulness, the possible "wrongness" in our positions and opinions. He says:
In this atmosphere, we’re all less conscious of our severe mental shortcomings and less inclined to be skeptical of our own opinions. Occasionally you surf around the Web and find someone who takes mental limitations seriously. For example, Charlie Munger of Berkshire Hathaway once gave a speech called “The Psychology of Human Misjudgment.” He and others list our natural weaknesses: We have confirmation bias; we pick out evidence that supports our views. We are cognitive misers; we try to think as little as possible. We are herd thinkers and conform our perceptions to fit in with the group.


Nothing is really new here...thirty years ago when I studied persuasion a la Aristotle we were discussing the same thing.  What is new in the mix is the ability to so completely avoid facts and opinions with which we disagree and the constant stream of unverified, even false information used as gospel truth.  Brooks says:
To use a fancy word, there’s a metacognition deficit. Very few in public life habitually step back and think about the weakness in their own thinking and what they should do to compensate. 


As I work on the bulletin for Sunday's service, I prepare the corporate, public, confession of sin.  If we take it seriously, we are publicly "stepping back and thinking" about our weaknesses, hopefully considering what we might do to compensate, and then rejoicing that even in our weakness we are forgiven and have a new start through the grace of God.


My young adult children are grieving the tone of the political debate and the apparent brokenness of our way of trying to live together as a country.  They wonder what can be done.  They wonder what they can do.  They feel hopeless and helpless.


Me too, sometimes.  But is that one strength of corporate worship?   If we worship in awareness and not in habit on most Sundays (recognizing, or course, in a very reformed way that our worship will never be perfect, from outside or inside...) does that allow God (and encourage us) to work on building our moral character?  Isn't it interesting that church is one of the few places left that "steps back" on a regular basis.  


Course, that doesn't mean that we can always see our weaknesses--even as church...but I suppose it can be a start.  Stepping back now...

Faith IN the mess...

So my Friday is my Saturday. Because I work on Sundays, my weekends start after work on Thursday and because I go to school on Saturday, my weekend ends at the end of the day on Friday. So Friday I am up at 5 (because I take after my crazy father who gets up at five instead of my crazy mother who goes to bed at five...both a.m.) and I read several chapters for class, empty the dishwasher, make coffee and breakfast, then I wash the dog, shower, and got ready for my "day off."

I usually have a nice cup of coffee with my husband, and then I hit the pharmacy and the grocery store before I go home to dust, vacuum, and do more homework.

That's not to say I dust and vacuum every day off. Sometimes I mow and rake. Sometimes I clean the garage. Sometimes I clean out closets or run errands.

What I can't seem to find is that idea of weekend that I thought I'd have when I was imagining what being an adult would be like. Walking through the lush green spinach and lettuce of a backdoor garden and smiling at the rabbits having a snack in your private produce department...reading the whole New York Times cover to cover with coffee, white terry robes, and a very handsome man in my very luxurious bedroom with a table and chairs, sofa, and, of course bed with breakfast tray...sailing in a beautiful boat with good friends and good wine...hiking the Appalachian Trail in very cool boots and shorts...dinner parties in your backyard garden at big farmer's tables with tablecloths and plates overflowing with beautiful food, candles, and no pile of dirty dishes waiting in the kitchen...do you get the picture?

I sometimes look for that in my faith. I want that faith that allows your head to glow with a heavenly light and your eyes to glisten with just the hint of tears of joy and fulfillment. I want a faith that allows me to turn water into wine and have a heck of a party with my 200 closest friends. I want a faith that allows me to walk on water without ruining the topsiders.  I want a faith that inspires people to want to build temples in my honor...a faith that packs the house and brings more in.

But I don't live in the TV world and the longer I live and the more I read of the scripture, the more I realize that the childhood perspective of miracles as magic is wrong.  Jesus eats with sinners...probably means bad food and less than opulent accomodations.  Jesus heals lepers...nasty disease in case you forgot.  Jesus challenges the status quo and winds up on a Roman cross for his efforts to love God and neighbor.

Faith is in the mess.  Faith is where we do live...not where we want to live...and that, I think, is the miracle.I don't have to create the fantasy to find faith.  It's in the real world with me!!

Amazing VBS Grace...

Honestly, it was a little hard to get "pumped" for VBS this year.  Our church lost two families to relocation, a couple more families were out of town, and so I didn't really know how this was going to work at all.  We do an intergenerational/missional Bible School...classes for all ages...but then everyone comes together for service projects at the end.  Adults help/mentor kids.  Kids entertain adults.  It's cool.  But I wasn't sure anyone would come.

It ended last night...and Grace (yes, with a capital G) abounded.  Here are precious moments that graced me:

1.  Our youngest, Caroline (14 mths), was fascinated with the huge mural of Noah and family disembarking the Ark on the wall of the fellowship hall.  It has been there for years and many of us who have seen it day in and day out for years, love it, but don't pay much attention to it.  If she was in the room, she was at the mural.  Look, a rabbit, an alligator, people, clouds.  She entertained us...she reminded us of the beauty that graces our lives...she was entranced by the story in living color. "Come as a little child."

2.  My oldest daughter remarked on the way home from the last night that being a kid at Forest Hills Presbyterian Church was like having your faith nurtured by one set of parents and 20 naughty uncles (and aunts)  who loved to spend all their time playing with you...she is right...and they also hold you accountable, teach you all they know, and love you no matter what!



3. We studied the Bible and laughed til we hurt...no pictures of this...we were too busy studying and laughing...

4.  Young adults who shared time and talent to teach and model what it means to be a disciple of Christ...coolest ever...ever.........ever...

 5.  Three generations together in faith...one yet to appear...

 6.  Good friends...

      7.  Generations...

8.  Hearts and hands for service...(weeding the garden at Northwood School to get it ready for the kids return)

        9.  Silliness...

.

10.  More silliness...












And at the end...our faith grows...our community thrives...our blessings abound.  Amazing Grace, indeed!

"Grow up"

Sometimes you get insight from God in a Mt. Sinai experience with thunder and bolts of fire. Sometimes God is in the still small voice that you hear after the cacophony of wind and storm. And sometimes it just appears as a “duh” in the most mundane of moments. Wouldn’t you know, that would be my experience. No excitement, nothing to write a book about…just a “I-can’t-believe-I-never-thought-about-that-before” revelation.

We were chatting at Montreat…high schoolers thinking about leaving for college in a year or two and college students talking about their experiences being away from home. Some kids leave their home church and quickly find a new church home. Others visit around and never find anything that “feels” right.

And I found myself saying, “You know, when you leave home as a freshman in college and start looking for churches, you look to find a place where you feel like you did when you were ‘at home.’ When you are in your home church, you are children to be nurtured. Everyone takes care of you, loves you, provides for you. The churches you visit see you as young adults, not as children to be cared for. When you join as a young adult, you are expected to serve the church and nurture others. So it doesn’t feel the same. But what I do know is that when you step into that adult role and serve others, your faith is nurtured and you do feel part of a community—that part is the same.”

OK…where did that come from? I have never had those thoughts before…but there is was, and, to me, it made perfect sense. Looking at my own children, the one who expected to go and “be served” never found a place that felt right while she was in college. The ones who went and began to serve others…found that church “home.” Through hundreds of years and millions of different churches in my life (OK, a bit overstated), I have known people who come in to be “served” and pretty soon disappear because church just doesn’t “feel” right. And I have known people who come in to “serve” who very shortly are so much a part of the community that you would never know they were “new.”

I have a new message that needs to be communicated to our children and youth before they leave home. There is a time to be “grown” in faith and a time to “grow” others. Now, while you are a child of the church, now is the time to be “grown.” When you leave home, it will be the time to expect to “grow” others. Some of the young people thought it was a bit frightening to leave home and have to be an adult. Perhaps it is, but we adults also assured them that it was fun and rewarding, challenging and rich with experience. I have a great childhood in the church. I was loved and nurtured and taken care of. But now as one who, like every other adult in the church, is called to nurture others, the depth of my faith and the sense of peace in good times and difficult times is one I wouldn’t trade for all the childhood love in the world.

God's word from Ephesians
Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness.
But that doesn't mean you should all look and speak and act the same. Out of the generosity of Christ, each of us is given his own gift. The text for this is,
He climbed the high mountain,
He captured the enemy and seized the booty,
He handed it all out in gifts to the people…
[Jesus] handed out gifts above and below, filled heaven with his gifts, filled earth with his gifts. He handed out gifts of apostle, prophet, evangelist, and pastor-teacher to train Christ's followers in skilled servant work, working within Christ's body, the church, until we're all moving rhythmically and easily with each other, efficient and graceful in response to God's Son, fully mature adults, fully developed within and without, fully alive like Christ.

No prolonged infancies among us, please… God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love. Ephesians 4:6-16 (The Message)

Thanks be to God…even if he did just tell us to “grow up.”

Back....

A bit of a vacation from life and blogging...probably more like complete collapse from a summer filled with extraordinary opportunities but no sleep. 

I have a million things to talk about and the sense that I don't even know where to start.  When people come back from retreats or mission trips they often cannot find words to express their experiences.  If they do find words, it's hard to get them to make sense to people who have never been on a retreat or mission trip.  Encounters with the holy are like that...hard to describe...impossible to experience through someone else.

And, frankly, I'm not sure anyone would count what I have done this summer as an "encounter with the holy."  I drywalled a house in Louisianna.  I coached youth in worship leadership...repeating the words "slow down" until the kids will never be able to remove those words from their psyche.  I hung out with kids from my own church as they got their summer retreat fix and explored issues of faith and life together.

Jesus didn't show up at our dinner table for fish and bread.  No burning bushes appeared--which was probably good because we certainly didn't need any more heat or humidity.  None of us were transformed in ways that caused those around us to want to build temples on our behalf.  We worked and sweated and laughed and learned.  We loved each other and hated each other.  We paid deliberate attention to our faith every day, but not in ways that would get us elected pope. 

But God was there with us.  And God was speaking to us through each other and the scripture and the experiences which showed us both God's kingdom here and how and the need for God's kingdom to come quickly.  And while I wondered for a few days if I was going to die, I would do it again tomorrow.  I can't articulate the impact, but I can feel it.