100 Feet Away

I had a small tug of war going on in my head on Sunday. Part of me wanted to return to the fellowship of the class I was so familiar and offer a card of Thanksgiving for their friendship, but the other part of me wanted to continue on the journey of discovering the wide variety of worship communities available in such a large city. I finally had to make a decision and forge ahead because time wouldn’t allow for both. Mystery prevailed over comfort.

When I arrived at the location, the church bells were ringing one of my favorite hymns, “This Is My Song.” And I thought, yes, this is where I should be today. The church was stately with bells, red-bricked exterior, and a tall, white steeple, but I never even ventured inside. The service I attended was out of doors, as it is every week, with a group who has little intention of making the 100 foot walk towards an open door into the church. The congregation has adapted their schedule, meeting location and expectations to meet the needs of the small, diverse group. As a result there is a very real, combined, rich community. This would not be an ideal setting for those who have trouble concentrating. There was a lot of activity in the brisk morning air, and the random roar of jet engines as part of a flight-path overhead from a nearby airport caused conversations to pause until voices could be heard without yelling. Regardless of the impediments the group was genuinely happy to be together.

I was greeted almost immediately by one of the youngest of the brood, running up to meet me, covered from head to toe all in black, with such a genuine gentle countenance that made my heart melt and I reached out and touched her head. There was a lot to absorb in the initial evaluation. A small circle of adults gathered around a chimenea to dispel the chill of the morning; instead of incense, the aroma of wood-burning smoke followed the breeze. Like all congregations, there are those whose gifts are hospitality, service, sage experience, listening, and a few with the knack of creating disruptions. :-)

There was an elderly member who spent his entire time, rooted near the circle with eyes closed, but still very present. Every so often someone would reach over and softly brush an arm to recognize the importance of his presence. Another was looking for extra snacks and someone made it easier to share by placing his own leftovers at their level. One of the smallest, dressed smartly in a lined fuzzy vest, was embraced and picked up to share the warmth and softness of an open lap. There was another who simply wanted to be noticed and happily went along once an acknowledgement had been made. There were one or two flurries of over-zealous play, but there was an expected level of accepted behavior and any one of the adults took the time to quiet the participants whether it was one of their own or not. Likewise, there was generous praise and admiration shared universally.

There wasn’t an official call to worship, no music, candles or readings, but a mutual understanding of practice as the majority joined the circle. The pastor shared some antidotes both personal and historical; he shared a conversation more than gave a sermon. Heads nodded in understandings and appreciation of points made. While it wasn’t a traditional service the pastor made no pretense at disguising the message of Christ’s place as Lord in his life and his hope for those around the circle to realize the same relationship available for their lives.

This service happened to mark the end of a relationship as the pastor is following a call out of state and many offered their appreciation of this unique ministry that he fostered and groomed. They jokingly chided whether he should put this ministry on his resume at all because the concept is so hard to explain. It was an easy one for me to accept, but I’m a dog lover.

The worship service took place in the church’s dog park which is open, and visited frequently and with gratitude by those in the neighborhood. The dogs are not expected to sit as part of the service; they come and go, running, sniffing, playing, and occasionally resting. The ministry team realized there was a community that could be served and who could also offer blessings in return if they only walked 100 feet to meet them where they were. It was joy to discover this ministry.

What is 100 feet away right now?

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
this is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

To Have and To Hold

We have quite a collection of Bibles: NRSV, Jewish Study, Parallel, CEV, NIV, Illustrated, Annotated Study with Apocrypha, Amplified, Spanish-English, The Message, and sometimes more than one of the same verision! Bearing in mind we don’t have to prepare sermons or make a living parsing discrete details from the scriptures, and considering the benefits of Bible Gateway and Oremus offering instant variations on the Internet, it really makes my assortment seem excessive. But I’m stubborn about wanting a Bible to hold in my hands, not an e-reader, not a netbook, but a real book with pages and substance.

There is one Bible to which I return over and over, which was a gift, not even one that I chose for myself. I like its study notes; I really like the tabs that help me find those challenging books like Habakkuk, Philemon, or Amos. With its leather cover it lays open easily and even has my name embossed on front. But what makes this one my favorite is that stuck within random pages are photos, poems, clipped sections of a bulletin, lyrics to a song, bookmarks, and even cartoons. In an uncharacteristic mood to organize, I looked through to see if I should decrease the amount of keepsakes. There was a photo of Margaret paddling her canoe at the women’s retreat, a photo of Royanne talking, a photo of hundreds of Origami cranes hanging above a communion table, a photo of Evan in his Marine dress blues with Spencer, the lyrics to “Screen Door”… Instead of taking things out, I found things to add: A graphic of a whirling Dervish, a birthday card with a remembrance from Anne, lyrics sang with my chicks, a bookmark with a star, and a piece of cloth from Advent.

I love this version of the Bible; written and unwritten, the message is love.

Novenita

As a general rule, candles are not welcome in our home because of a bad development some years ago, but there are so many positive emotions that the light and warmth and scent of a candle exude that it's hard not to bring one out from time to time. And on a morning where thunderstorms caused a brief shutdown of power, it seemed like the fitting time to just leave the lights, TV and computer off and turn the heart on. I had a few thoughts to unwind so I pulled out an old candle holder with nine small candles. A novena is a prayer or devotion that is said for nine successive days, but since I usually lack that perseverance, I thought I would modify the concept with my nine candles and assigned a concern, a person, or a desire for discernment to each candle. As I lifted my prayer and lit the candle one by one, there was a marked difference in the immediacy of their lighting. Some jumped to life at first touch of another flame; some remained stagnant. Imagination jumped into gear to explain the mystery. Just because these candles had not been used in over ten years was a minor player on this stage, NO, I had given these candles a duty and the ease or difficulty of their lighting MUST be a sign or a message of the condition of each particular prayer. But I was intent that each candle would light, so I took the time to straighten the wick, scraped off residue that may have acted as a barrier, and eventually got each one to burn, though still rather unevenly. A few even went out and it was easy again to look for a hidden message of the state of the recipient assigned to that particular candle, but another round of clearing of the wick resulted in all burning successfully and strong.

It's easy to shake our heads and wonder at the simple ideas and superstitions of days gone by from our modern, scientific, fact-driven culture, but in truth we are not so removed as we explain away our own small occurrences and mysteries and as we try to find answers that can't be found on the internet or in a book, but must instead be answered from within. And while yes, I know I was a bit dramatic in assessing the state of each candle, it is also true that some of those candles that had difficulty lighting were indeed the people or concerns in my life that need a little extra tending and work. And the ones that jumped to life were people or joys that indeed are full of vitality and strength. Whether or not there is more than coincidence this morning I won't dwell... excessively, but instead I will rejoice in the light that each candle burns richly and that each prayer is heard.

In looking through the camera’s lens at different angles of the candles, the view from above showed little difference in the height or width of the flame, and instead shows simply the center of the source. This week I'll try to focus more on each source of my prayer and tend where repairs are needed.

Oregon Tales

While we were in Oregon we didn’t make it to a church, but instead on that Sunday made a pilgrimage to a building that houses some of our favorite objects. Ever since we read about this Portland attraction, we knew that we had to find our way there and had little doubt we would leave empty-handed.

You don’t have to walk too far through our front door before coming face-to-face with our collection. They are found in places of honor, on the dining room table, on the end table, on shelves, beside the bed, near the stove, stored in closets and even in the bathroom. I don’t think there is a room that is void of these items.

We rode the train to downtown Portland, but the vast majority of the commuters exited at the Saturday Market and the riverside parks. We continued deeper into the city, map in hand. Considering the reputation and size of our destination (it covers an entire city block), it has a pretty plain entrance with unremarkable furnishings, but when you walk inside, and are handed a map, there was almost a Pavlov’s dog reaction and we walked instinctively forward. We synchronized our watches, leaving each to our own discoveries. Even though I was miles from home, I was surrounded by familiar names and trusted companions. One by one they greeted me: Rohr, Wiederkehr, Rupp, Nouwen, Bell, Foster, Yancy, Kushner, Chittister, Tolstoy, Kidd, Peterson…, offering their suggestions and revisiting old memories.

In the end, we left Powell’s Book Store with a surprisingly restrained book bag, limiting ourselves to three books each. I brought home The Sacred Way, Monk Habits for Everyday People: Benedictine Spirituality for Protestants and Pictures from a Mediaeval Bible. The last one published in 1961, has selected folk art woodcuts that illustrated the Cologne Bible. It isn’t a book that would normally be on the shelf in our major bookstores. In the age of the internet, I probably could have saved a few dollars, but there’s something about leafing through a book and choosing random pages to preview that I haven’t quite found paralleled on an electronic reader. There’s that common perception if you own the books, you have mastered the knowledge. However I may have more books than brain cells, but I’m willing to share!

• Woodcutting depicting David watching Bathsheba “washing herself”
  

• Asking me why I keep the Offices is like asking me why I go to church. One, granted is a place of bricks and mortar, but the other is a chapel of the heart…. The Offices open to me four times a day and call me to remember who owns time and why it is, as a part of creation. All that means really is that four times a day the watchmaker and I have conversation about the clock and my place as a nano-second in it. (The Sacred Way)

  One Benedictine might approach another and ask, “Is that you?” And the one climbing the ladder of humility might answer, “Not yet, but someday.” (Monk Habits for Everyday People)

The Home Place

In the movie Hook the pirates cheered the young runaway Jack during a baseball game. But instead of the placards reading “Home Run Jack,” they mistakenly put up cards in order to read “Run Home Jack!” Instead of diverting Jack’s attention and trying to make Jack feel comfortable, the pirates unknowingly instilled an immediate question of wondering about his decision and the home he left. Even after they corrected the order of the sign, the questions initiated for Jack were unstoppable.

There are of course questions and consequences about putting some space between one’s self and the home church. It’s hard to change weekly habits and routine, hard to know the level of objectivity to abide, and hard to share this strange calm without making it seem personal.

I was trying to get caught up with some emails and as the words typed readily, they read back a second later with a sense of clarity and affirmation: “I believe I'm in the right place - being no place.” Those words might seem sad and lonely to some, but they can also be encouraging and challenging; prompting exploration and testing practices and status quo.

In the Wizard of Oz one of the classic scenes is Judy Garland clicking her heels together and offering the lesson and wish: “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” These words whisked Judy Garland back to her bedroom in Kansas and all that she knew and loved. But similar to the movie “Hook,” it’s as if the cards have been dropped and as I pick them up a new message reads: “Home is like no place there.”

The questions are unstoppable, but I am home.

Accord-ion-to-who

I had a hard time finding anyone who could muster the same enthusiasm I had to attend a Polka Mass. They couldn’t understand my fascination and I couldn’t understand why no one was asking “Can we carpool?” Maybe they just didn’t understand. I tried to explain, Polka Mass – it’s basically singing hymns to polka tunes!!!! Make sense? Are you ready now????

Not willing to be thwarted, I went on my own.

It was just as joyful as imagined with accordion, fiddle, piano and brass oompahing the familiar tunes with grace-filled words matching the rhythm. The morning was made all the more dear, in my heart, by their own humble unfamiliarity with the service, sweetened with a generous dose of good-natured understanding and humor. It seemed to fit the mood perfectly singing “Joyful we gather. This is God’s welcoming place…” to the tune of Beer Barrel Polka. How can one keep from smiling and keep singing long after leaving the sanctuary?

I suppose some could find it inappropriate because of the association with alcohol and rowdiness. There used to be a common argument that many of our traditional hymns were actually tavern songs adapted to teach biblical stories and truths. Now the theory is that neither Wesley nor Luther relied on secular tunes to enable their congregations to learn the hymns. So it’s hard to defend polka music using that case. But share “Glory be to the Lord, You reign in glory at the right hand of God. Peace on earth. Peace to all…” with the tune of Hoop Dee Do and it is exaltation!

Perhaps some might frown on the frivolity in worship. Every now and then, if a worship service experiences a generous expression of “freedom,” my husband and I like to mischievously mimic a favorite pastor chastising with his Scottish brogue “This is a worship service!” But as wanderers, what better affirmation of faith than to sing in confidence: “I know that my Redeemer lives, what joy this sentence gives. He lives triumphant from the grave, eternally to save. He lives, He lives, He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today…” (tune: Happy Wanderer)

I know I have a different mind. I think differently, I react differently, and I’m moved differently. No rebuke of my peculiar thinking should be charged against the parental units or the church family. I’m just a mutineer without a ship, so the brain has been the dupe! But next year, I’ll keep my eyes open for the sign in front of the church, so that while the accordion plays a tune called Lichtenstein Polka I can join with the angel choirs singing “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord….”

Accord-ion to some, that's worship!

Words to Our Savior Polka Mass are copyrighted by Our Savior Lutheran Church, Mesquite, Texas

Church, Literally

Now that it's my journeying summer, I'm often asked, "Where have you been going to church?"

The Sunday School passage looked at the verses where poor Nicodemus is trying to understand what he has just been told, “…No one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” (John 3:3) Then, as if saying it a second time will be make it more clear if it is said with more urgency (and probably a tad louder) 5Jesus answered, "I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. 6Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. 7You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.' 8The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

9"How can this be?" Nicodemus asked again…. I would have asked - I still ask! Of course I might not even be that articulate. I would probably say something like, "Huh?" Seems like the perfect response! Born again??? What do you do with statements like that? I get a kind of sadness when people take things too literally, often from the Bible, but time after time, that’s my first response when trying to read scripture. How many times do I have to read the commentaries, the annotations, the cliff notes, or the big cartoonish text balloon with arrows pointing to difficult text, “Read before tearing out hair in frustration” before I lose the immediate impulse to address the question literally? Again and again, Nicodemus and I return to ask, “How can this be?” Why can’t people just say what they mean?

At Faith on Tap we reflected on the music of the Dave Matthews Band. Even with an introduction sharing some of Dave Matthews life story, when the song “Bartender” was played our first response was, “obviously just another example of looking for the right answers in all the wrong places.” Clearly there can be nothing redeeming happening in a bar. One has to wonder who picks theses songs for a Christian study anyway. Then with a little help the scales fall from the eyes and you wonder how you missed the message hiding there, in plain view!

Bartender please
Fill my glass for me
With the wine you gave Jesus, that set him free
after three days in the ground

I'm on bended knees,
Oh, Bartender, please
I'm on bended knees
Father, please

"Where are you going to church?" Over the weekend I participated in fellowship with Garland, worshipped at Preston Hollow, reflected with Faith on Tap, downloaded the audio sermon from Mars Hill, read the daily reflections of Richard Rohr, and shared gifts with Camp Gilmont. That's the church where I am going, the same one we've all been attending, one without walls so the wind can blow as it pleases.

John 3: 8 The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

peregrinatio

God’s Gospel of light shall keep you
God’s Gospel shall shelter you
From harm, malice, and evil and from all distress
Christ shall himself shepherd you…
And wherever you may travel
He’ll be with you

Bless to me O Lord the earth under my foot
Bless the path on which I wander
Bless to me O Lord the things that I desire
Bless to me O God my past

Bless to me O God the thoughts filling my mind
Bless my yearning and my longing
Bless to me O God the hope deep in my heart
Bless my seeing and my eyes

…And wherever you may travel
God will be with you
-Journey Prayers

What a song to have as a benediction on the Sunday of my leave-taking! The tune is as comforting as the words. And these words aren’t precise because I couldn’t find the lyrics; try as I might, but the exploration lead me through a feast of Irish blessings and Celtic writings. Even viewing on my small itouch screen, page after page opened as more than a simple coincidence and the words grew larger than life. A word appearing repeatedly is the Celtic term, Peregrinatio describing a seeking, quest, adventure, or wandering to the self and God. Esther De Waal, claims that peregrinatio is “ultimately a journey...to find the place of my resurrection, the resurrected self, the self that I might hope to be, to become, the true self in Christ.”

And I thought I was on a simple leave of wide-eyed wonder, of selfish independence, and of hope-filled discovery! The purpose is supposed to be one of going out; I never suggested it was a pilgrimage to the inner world. Buy the extra-life batteries for this dark hole!

As I’ve mentioned, for one who can fret over every small decision of right or left, fresh or frozen, red or blue, this is one of the surest decisions I can remember. And with no vacillation, still waves of affirmation continue. I accidently mistyped the word God – and on reading back what was in its place?

A BLESSING
Blessed be the longing that brought you here
and that quickens your soul with wonder.
May you have the courage to befriend your eternal longing.
May you enjoy the critical and creative companionship
of the question “Who am I?”
and may it brighten your longing.
May a secret Providence guide your thought
and shelter your feeling.
May your mind inhabit your life with the same sureness
with which your body belongs to the world.
May the sense of something absent enlarge your life.
May your soul be as free as the ever-new waves of the sea.
May you succumb to the danger of growth.
May you live in the neighbourhood of wonder.
May you belong to love with the wildness of Dance.
May you know that you are ever embraced
in the kind circle of God.

The word? Go

Changed For Good

"I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those who help us most to grow
If we let them, and we help them in return
Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true
But I know I’m who I am today because I knew you.
Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood
Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?
But because I knew you I have been changed for good."
("For Good" from the Musical "Wicked")

I don’t think it’s because I’m a slow learner – I think the reason we’ve been constant at FPC Garland for close to twenty years is because there has been so much to learn! I have developed in ways that I could never have imagined, and it’s because of the people who shared a dream or an idea, people who encouraged, people who appreciated, and always because of people who loved. And now, in part, because of the great support, I feel confident to question in a new way; a way that I can only find answered by stepping aside. At the same time, I truly believe that another will find their voice, will be encouraged, and will be appreciated. Of that I am certain and eager.

People do come and go – bringing new faces, fresh spirits, healthy varieties, Thank God! If we had not moved from the previous church, of which we were so fond, we never would have met all the wonderful people at Garland. Would I have found the same steps of faith or the discovery in music? And now we are going to explore for a little while. Perhaps be one of those fresh faces that is needed in another community, bringing experiences from a different place. I think Garland has some great accomplishments to share.

And so our journey begins -
and I am definitely not the same as when I first arrived.
Thanks be to God!

"So much of me is made of what I learned from you
You’ll be with me like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine by being my friend…
I do believe I have been changed for the better."

The Feast of Mystery

“It’s a feast!” Since when have those been calming words? I can just imagine Garrison Keillor scripting an entire “Lake Wobegon” monologue about the disdain his practical Lutheran neighbors would have for a feast as it could be interpreted as overindulgent and gluttonous. It would be more prudent to be practical and cut back on the choices and the servings and opt to have a potluck instead of a catered feast. The elders might even try to have “Babette’s Feast” banned from the Wobegon video stores to protect the youth from bad influence and films with subtitles. “It’s a feast!” Calming???

In our faith tradition, during Communion, we tear our own serving from the broken bread as it is passed from person to person. And there is much thought and concentration trying to find the best place to tear the bread that will result in a moderate, safe serving. During the Worship service for our Women’s Retreat, I faced the precarious position of tearing off more than a respectable portion. I was aghast at the piece in my hand. It was huge! My eyes involuntarily gave away my shock as they widened to the size of saucers and I looked in panic to the ones who had handed me the bread. Who better to have at hand than two ordained ministers (I guess some people need more help than others). I was frozen. What was I supposed to do with all that was in front of me? I faced my own liberal serving, the loaf of bread, the Communion cup and the need to share with the next person. “Pass the bread,” Anne offered as guidance. I obediently took the loaf and turned to share with the person on my left. I fumbled with words of “This is the body broken for you.” Then I turned back to confront my circumstance of how to address this random act of plenty. Anne looked into my eyes and spoke words of simple authority. “It’s a feast!” I calmed down immediately. How many times had she encouraged us to take a generous portion? I dipped the bread into the cup, took my first bite, swallowed, and offered the cup to the next: “This is the cup of Salvation,” I could say with more assurance. Then I returned to my feast, and couldn’t help but notice that I was still engaged with the Eucharist as the elements finished across the room. But I didn’t rush and I no longer felt embarrassed. I was nourished.

Perhaps the hiatus is an extension of this experience. Whether the correlation has more to do with the act of reaching for more, or being offered a reserve for a journey is still a mystery, but I am thankful for my guides along the way.

Hymn of Promise

What a job you have done! Like a gardener you have given space for seedlings to grow, grounded in rich nutrients. Practiced hands have shaped and pruned, protection has been offered from harsh elements, shared study recommended further counsel, and affirmations of love have been spoken continually. Imagine the growth in such an incubator! As living proof you've helped raise seminary students, young adult volunteers, mission workers for local and global needs, youth who get up before 6am on a Saturday to help feed the homeless, and a loving congregation that visits and offers prayers, putting their own needs aside.

I don't even pretend to be one of those industrious partners of action, but if I have found the strength to step out in faith, if I have found the courage to seek the mystery, and if I have found the will to make it happen, then I only have you to thank! It truly is a testament to the abundance of support and love that I carry with me. I have a knapsack of treasures; I can feel the weight of the saints, and a song to pass the time.

Hymn of Promise by Natalie Sleeth
In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
There’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see….

I also know where I can find a warm bowl of soup, a hug to feel arms around me, and a reminder to whom I belong. There is also a bit of trepidation with the hiatus. I am reminded of so many who have been given an unexpected offering of time – only to find that was ultimately a timely gift as family needs and health required unprecedented concentration and attendance. I will find times when I need that bowl of soup, a hug, and a reminder that God provides, and I hope to find that always with you.

As one who can argue with myself unmercifully about the smallest of decisions in normal conditions, I cannot recognize this sense of peace of decision with this most unusual circumstance. Out of nowhere I find words about change, others on the journey.

These are days that rumble with the distant thunder of change…. We have certain things about our lives that we cannot imagine doing without, and some of them are things we shouldn’t discard…. Beyond our defining covenants, though, we are called to be willing to leave our nets, to pull down the house, to do what it takes to go when God calls. In that year that King Uzziah died, the passage ends with Isaiah answering, “Here am I, Lord; send me.” We cannot let ourselves become so convinced that we are living our best life that we are not willing to see what else God might have for us. And we have to find a way to an “Uzziah moment” when the despairing details of life pull us to a place where we see only empty nets and long nights and have no ears for those calling from the shore. DontEatAlone

Finally I said, “There is something I need to tell you. It’s not a bad thing, but it is a hard thing.” I paused for a moment on the edge of everything. On the edge of my life for the last 20 years and on the edge of whatever is to come.... Every time I told someone my burden lightened. It is VERY clear to me that this was the right decision to make. RealLivePreacher

No Time is Good

One of the reasons I am not good in choir is that I have no timing. I can't count; I can't feel it. I have to anticipate and find other cues that would lead me to hopefully come in at the right time, but it's not very accurate. I also have the same mis-timing when trying to predict the best time to say something. Even I know this is not good timing, but that is where we are.

The news that I need to share is that I will be getting off the early service planning team. I will still be coming to 8:30, and helping with audio, but I do plan to take a hiatus then as summer comes along, including Sunday School.

It's not as caustic as it first must seem. It is not about choosing sides nor power control. It is about change. Which is dreaded more? Change or Evangelism? :-)

About five years ago I had a sense that the church had a Spirit of adventure, a spirit of action and movement. I think that feeling was valid! It's amazing what has transpired!! I'm thrilled with the people who have joined and who visit. The spirit of movement is still alive. Didn't you hear Clay last week?

We all know that there are a lot of changes happening now from the budget, from the economy, from families moving - and now that same sense that told me of the changes in the church is telling me the change includes me. This is a more unconventional change because we aren't moving out of state. I didn't make much of the poem that was included in one of the Sunday School lessons before Christmas, but it was one I wrote, and the repeteated words at the end of each verse were: "there's a change in the air, there's a move by the Spirit, and I wonder, Is there a change in me?"

I have a gypsy heart. I grew up moving every two years and it's hard to explain that longing for new vistas, unless you are my sister who shares that same wanderlust. I don't consider change bad. I CAN imagine myself "seeking other seas." I have known other churches with loving congregations, and we certainly found one in Garland! I also know there are other loving people to meet. Who knows... I could even visit one near the VA! I spend as much time with those neighbors as I do with the ones in Garland, if not more! During the hiatus we plan to go camping. Dennis bought a tent over a year ago that we have yet to use. And I DO know the words of Dorothy... "There's no place like home." I foresee no absolutes in the hiatus.

I also feel strongly, that it is time for me to step away from leading our class. I am keeping someone else from finding their voice, from taking a chance, and I'm keeping the class from hearing and offering their support of that gift. It's a wonderful supportive class!! That's the only way I could have stepped out, and remained out of my normal comfort. In my ideal world I would be like wallpaper and not the chandelier, but the experience has been a blessing, not a burden. I have great hopes for what will come to pass. I know that I have to completely step away, at least for awhile, or I will drift to what is known, what is comfortable, what is safe.

I know it doesn't help that Dennis and I are private people. It's the shock of the unexpected that is catching people unprepared... and I am sorry for that.

Have I prayed? yes. How do I know? It's the feeling of being the right thing to do. One important measure tonight was that when I met with Deb and Kat, I really had few tears.... and for me that is a major test. I can't say the same will be true on Sunday, but those tears will come more from pressure of so many questions at once than from doubt or regret.Why now? In part because of the changes in early worship - but perhaps the course was delayed by those changes. The early service could have been eliminated over a year ago. It sounds frivolous and selfish to have that much preference of time, but was one of the priorities we used when first choosing churches to visit when we moved to Garland. It is also based on the fact that Dennis gets headaches when lunch is too delayed. That is just one side factor, not the determining factor.

I will always rely on our established friendships and your support. I know there will be times when I will call in need. Please do call if I can help... or if there is chili cookin!

Boy, do I miss talking about the weather!
Shalom, and with great love, nancy

A Titus Among Us

Bring another chair to the table! There’s a new family member! Titus is among us and with two syllables he commands more respect in his five days than I have in fifty years. Titus! Wow! My first reaction when I learned his name was a titan; a person with enormous power and influence!

Ben and Marcy follow an unconventional process, for 2010, when naming their children. They wait until the child is born, and with a handful of names they have favored, spend time learning about the child and studying his personality. Then they assign the right name with the bundle they hold. It must have been an impressive meeting of minds in those first few moments!

There is a lot of history that follows the name of Titus. Titus Flavius Vespasianus earned acclaim in his two short years as Roman Emperor for his military command and for his public building projects such as completing the Colosseum— and for his generosity in relieving the suffering caused by two disasters, the Mount Vesuvius eruption of 79 and the fire of Rome of 80. Interesting that in 2010 Titus Adam is born when the Haitian earthquake wrecked an entire population. He may be linked to mission and relief help long before he knows how to pound a hammer or say “Here I am Lord!”

Rather than the Roman Emperor, I believe Titus draws his namesake from the New Testament. Paul called Titus his “true son in common faith” (Titus 1:4) and wrote the Epistle to Titus giving advice and instruction to a young preacher assigned a difficult task. “Titus, show them what they should do in all matters by the good things you do. Do not mix your teaching with things that are not true. Teach in such a way that people will respect you.” (2:7 Worldwide English). Respect! There’s that word again! But he is encouraged to teach and act in a way that earns respect, not relying on people’s fickle interpretation of a name.

Marcy and Ben have ensured that they have evoked an army of saints as they raise Titus not only with their own words of wisdom, but at their ready with a handbook addressed to his name, tested in words and deeds throughout the centuries, and kept vitally alive as an example of how to do the right thing.

Welcome Titus! You have already encouraged us to live and act better! We are blessed by you, Levi and your parents, and by God whom we praise!

4God who saves us showed how kind and good he is.
5We were not saved by any good things we did ourselves, but he saved us because he is so kind. He washed us clean. We were born again as a new person. The Holy Spirit has made us new.
6God is rich. And he gave the Holy Spirit to us because of Jesus Christ our Saviour.
7He did this so that we can be put right with God, by his kindness. He did this so that we can become his children. So now we can look forward to everlasting life.
8These are true words. And I want you to tell the people these things. Then those who have believed God will try to do good things. These things are right and help people.
13Our people should learn to spend their time in doing good things to help people who are poor. In that way, our people will not waste their time. Greet those who believe as we do and who love us. God bless you all.
(Titus 3:4-8,13 -Worldwide English)