If a Tree Fell

Out of the ground, God made to grow trees for beauty, for food, and for life, and trees that are symbolic. Have you ever thought about trees not being able to move themselves? ... They can only be displaced if they are uprooted by humans or severe weather... For the most part, trees have no choice...  Imagine that wherever you were born, you must remain your entire life, that God made you to grow in one spot. What would be the hardest part of being immobile? Would there be an advantage to it? Who or what would you like to have visit you most often as you remained in this one place." 

Longing for Home: Daily Reflections for Lent (United Church of Canada)

Home often refers to a designated spot. You can picture a house or city that comes to mind when someone asks "where is your home?" It is more rare today when whole families live within 50 miles of each other. Prompting Sherm Kauffman to muse “It’s getting so the Abrahamic thing to do is to stay put.”

I can't decide if the idea of being rooted to one spot is so remote because I have a wanderlust soul after moving almost every two years as a youth, or is it because I am not ready to pronounce I am powerless, as the first acknowledgment in The Twelve Steps. I don't tolerate traffic jams, finding a way to go rogue on side streets, even if that means going into unknown neighborhoods and adding miles to the trip. I just want to keep moving, unchained, full of options.

The next day after reading the tree devotion, I listened to an interview with a Benedictine monk who shared that stability is one of the four vows taken when joining the order. They promise to remain in that community as part of their calling. Thomas Merton believes, in making this vow, “the monk renounces the vain hope of wandering off to find a ‘perfect monastery.'” This will be their imperfect home, with imperfect people, with a great faith in their perfect mission. 

The hardest part of being immobile? Watching the comings and goings. Selfishly, I always feel left behind when I drop someone at the airport. The tree waits patiently, offering its life for others, on their terms, in their time. Yes. That is a challenge. 

Not yet ready to root myself, I'm thankful to find them in my wanderings, resting in their shade, admiring their silhouette, eating their offering. It's hard to choose a favorite: Pecan, Pine, Redwood, Peach, Willow, resilient Mesquite. 

And in my egotistical nomadic life, if a tree falls and I'm not there to hear it... 

Saints Alive

Saints are a mysterious brood. I envision them like the distant cousins that are discussed but live too far to come to the family gatherings.  You hear of their adventures through the one aunt that keeps in contact but you've never spoken with them. You don’t know whether to be envious of their remoteness or sad that they will never hear Aunt Meredith snoring after the meal or hear Uncle Wayne’s stories of riding the rails.

There’s yet another Lenten study I found that lends itself to lively conversation, witty banter, rivalry and an occasional wager – rarely Lenten adjectives, but it is balanced by the true mission, to share historical accounts of 32 selected saints. http://www.lentmadness.org Day by day one saint’s biography is aligned with another saint and after reading each saint’s transformation and effect on others, the reader votes for the one they believe should advance to the next bracket. Yes, bracket like college basketball’s March Madness. Eventually one saint will be acknowledged with the golden halo – the pinnacle of the exercise. People, like me, who couldn't pick Saint Hildegard out of a lineup are beginning to welcome them into their living rooms.

Today’s readings explored Gregory and Brendan. Gregory the Illuminator was instrumental in bringing Christianity to the people of Armenia, which was the first nation to embrace Christianity as its official religion. TMZ might gleefully mention that he and his wife were examples of the first “consciously uncoupling” as they each wanted to enter monastic life. Brendan the Navigator earned his name by traversing the British Isles and founding monasteries. He started looking for the legendary land across the Atlantic when he was 80 years old and inspired Christopher Columbus 900 years later. TMZ would pounce on the sound bite that Brendan, an adventurer, bragged about never stopping to ask for directions. Irish, adventurer, stubborn - I had to vote for family.

Some say that there must be proof of miracles before gaining the title. Some say saints that have gone ahead of us can still intercede for us today. Some say we can learn what God is like by examining a saint’s life. Some say we are all saints.

I am more like the distant cousin who sees names in the family tree, but never got to put a face with the name. But I am coming home, to meet our saints.

Longing For Home

After a cold snap that dropped 40 degrees the best alternative for President’s Holiday was to stay home and fire up Google. I have never been a good example of one who observes Lent through fasting or sacrifice, but this year I thought I could at least try a study for Lent. With only two days left before Ash Wednesday and no Amazon Prime, the study needed to be on-line.

I had to chase several leads, but ultimately think I struck gold. I found a program sponsored by the United Church of Canada named "Longing for Home" The plan incorporates the traditional printed book/ebook with a host of technology and social media props. YouTube is utilized to start a conversation, which is then carried over to Facebook for discussion, and by the end of the week encourages a meal for one-on-one community.  The interactions thus far have been more than I hoped.

I made the mistake of reading before I went to bed. After poems, reflections, questions, and recipes, my mind was stimulated and longing for more. I visited donteatalone.blogspot.com who intentionally writes daily during Lent, whose words just increased the appetite. Followed by concordpastor.blogspot.com who had a spot-on prayer. 

That’s when it struck me - home for me, is words. I am drawn, fed, awakened, consoled and embraced through words. As a prodigal, who longs for home, if I am to approach, it will be through words.

When deciding an action for Lent, rather than considering what could be given up, the concentration should be “Will this bring me closer to God? (Sister Tracy Dugas) 

Beyond reading I intend to piece together words on my side as well. I know the blessings and the commitment involved, which has kept me quiet for some time, but if the question to be answered is “Will this bring me closer to God?” Past experiences can only point towards the affirmative.

I am coming home.

Low Hanging Fruit

At my work "low hanging fruit" is a common phrase used by management to encourage staff to take care of issues that are easy to resolve in order to tackle what can seem to be overwhelming hurdles. Take care of what you can, making progress, and then continue to whittle away at the more complicated issues. 

At a retreat in the piney woods of East Texas I was struck by the fact that sometimes there is no low lying fruit. 

How to get to the fruit? Climb something equally as high?

or cut it down?

but then the tree is damaged

and put into disarray

sometimes the tree can be re-purposed

sometimes the fruit lands and plants by itself

sometimes there is no low hanging fruit.

No easy solutions to problems

And we can destroy the very spirit by trying to take control.

We can all be made new and re-purposed....

in many more forms than we could have imagined.

sometimes the fruit springs forward from a seed of hope.

Let us know how to trust and wait

when the fruit seems beyond our reach.

show us the way.

Here Comes the Son

There is something exciting and stirring about a sunrise; the start of a new day, championing the darkness. The evolving, shifting colors strengthening and lightening the sky until the sun breaks open over the horizon, officially claiming the birth of a new day, an opportunity to start a new adventure, make amends, or marvel at the beauty of the world.

One marvel, even though it happens every day, is never mundane, the birth of a new son. Like the sunrise, a son’s arrival brings excitement, wonder, love and eagerness. There is a realization that something miraculous and amazing is in our presence and the unfathomable possibilities that each hour now brings with this new life. This child could be a champion of righteousness, a defender of hope.

In so many ways, people have been championing your life all along, providing medical, nutrition, and spiritual care before you were born. Even the preparation for the blessing of your name, Blake Nelson, was an endeavor of devotion, honor and cooperation, a family’s desire to provide a name of meaning to aid your future days.

Nelson means the champion, a name shared with your grandfather, Paul Nelson Calvin. As a lover of the outdoors, he had to have watched and appreciated countless sunrises, getting up while others slept because he knew that time of day supplies opportunities which have to be claimed, or they fall away. He was bold to take action, but also a man of study and reserve; interplay of structured reason and seeking the unbridled mystery. He knew the impetuousness of love but also its permanence. His love remains intact and embraced and now extended.

Blake Nelson, as you champion your passions and loves through your life, know that you are armed with the support of family within and beyond your house walls. Be encouraged by the rich heritage of your being, all the heroes and characters that blended together to make only you. Be attuned to complexities and diverseness that enlarge the brain and heart, usually truth lies somewhere in between. Be aware of the sunrise, and awake to its hopes and possibilities. We are enthralled to watch you burgeon like the sun’s rays claiming each new day. Go forth!

Forever Young

Things most people keep in their trunk to be prepared: jack, spare tire, flash light, tools, fire extinguisher, safety cones and blanket. One additional item I keep in my trunk in attempts to be prepared for the surprises that come along is a kite. Under the right circumstances it is as comforting as the blanket and as uplifting as the jack.

At the end of May came a cool wind from the north that brought North Texans out of the air conditioning and out of doors. The lake was bustling with runners, bikers, and sails. On one old pier a grown woman stayed on the pier for hours, hair whipped by the wind, and a small butterfly kite dancing in the air. Woman??? Not usually a word I use to describe myself. Perhaps a girl with age added.

The kite reminded me of a toddler saying “Again! Again!” I would barely get the kite pulled from the water when another gust of wind would lift the kite back into the sky like a father tossing his young child into the air. It was a love affair between the kite and the wind, each drawing delight in the other. I was a simple bystander with a lone string connection that gave me a small sense of the engagement and play.

One flight lasted for more than an hour, and at one point I wedged the string holder into the pier giving up any pretense of having an influence on the success of the flight. But usually I wanted to hold the string and feel a part of the dance and have a tangible link to the source. Initially I should have known this flight would be different as the kite lifted opposite of the kite’s optimum positioning. The string was coming over the top from the back side rather than pulling directly in front, but the only limitation on this flight was the length of my string. However, without a string and anchor point, the kite could have been tossed uncontrollably into trees, wrapped around motor blades or even into power lines. Even free spirits need a bit of grounding and purpose.

I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday, with a gift that couldn’t be imagined nor bought. I had the freedom of time to enjoy being a child of God and to delight in the presence of Joy. This is a birthday wish that I would share with the world.

Humans give life to their children. Yet only God’s Spirit can change you into a child of God. Don’t be surprised when I say that you must be born from above. Only God’s Spirit gives new life. The Spirit is like the wind that blows wherever it wants to. You can hear the wind, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. John3:6-9

And rather than the traditional "Happy Birthday" perhaps I might request "Forever Young"

"May God bless and keep you always

May your wishes all come true

May you always do for others

And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung

May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous

May you grow up to be true

May you always know the truth

And see the lights surrounding you

May you always be courageous

Stand upright and be strong

May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy

May your feet always be swift

May you have a strong foundation

When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful

May your song always be sung

May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young"

Bob Dylan

Jeremiah Luke - A Story to Tell

He can’t yet form words, but he has stories to tell! Accounts of bravery, of faith and of love that defies boundaries. He’ll have the voice of Jeremiah and Luke, proclaiming the promises of God. Like the prophet Jeremiah in the Old Testament, he’ll address and remind the people of faith of their righteousness, and like Luke in the New Testament he will announce the favor of the Lord to the disenfranchised and marginalized. He’ll have the responsibility to speak even when it isn’t comfortable or expected because if he doesn’t, even stones will shout (Luke 19:40).

But I think our Jeremiah will do his part, the stones can remain vigilant. He came rushing into the world with a passion and longing that couldn’t be contained. Being born into a family full of brothers he has already learned that if you wait you will be at the end of the line and you could miss a chance of a lifetime! Jeremiah seized the opportunity to share the entire family leave that his deployed father had been allotted, arriving that very day rather than waiting for a calendar date given by a stethoscope-wearing provider.

Jeremiah hears the Lord and doesn’t delay. His immediacy doesn’t mean he’s reckless or wild but that he is obedient and intentional. He will buy a field (Jer 32) even in a time of unrest and instability if he determines that is God’s will. It’s easy to discern your calling when it has been written on your heart. (Jer 31:33), but it takes a man of conviction to acknowledge and a man of honor to follow. He has the foundation of all his namesakes to offer guidance and courage through his life. On the first day, Jeremiah Luke displayed his unique vocation and talents. What a wonder it will be to watch him reveal his stature.

There is a very good chance that when he learns to speak, his first word will be “Yes.” (Jer 11:5b).

The Lord said to me [Jeremiah], I chose you before I gave you life, and before you were born I selected you to be a prophet to the nations.

I answered, Sovereign Lord, I don't know how to speak; I am too young.

But the Lord said to me, Do not say that you are too young, but go to the people I send you to, and tell them everything I command you to say. Do not be afraid of them, for I will be with you to protect you. I, the Lord, have spoken! Then the Lord reached out, touched my lips, and said to me, Listen, I am giving you the words you must speak.

Jeremiah 1:4-9 Good News Translation

Occupy Advent

In much the same way “gate” became the shorthand for anything dishonorable with suspicions of cover-ups from the Watergate scandal, now “occupy” is the shorthand for anything resembling a common man taking personal, visible action to reject unjust policies. There is no manual to follow, no union to mediate, and no financier to contribute. It’s acting on a primitive, urgent level whose restitution is doing the next, right thing.

I was so excited by a thought this morning that came as a revelation.
Occupy Advent. It’s timely. It’s cool. It’s a clever play on words. More than that it’s meaningful! It’s.. it’s already on Google?!?! http://occupyadvent.blogspot.com/ But I can’t be disappointed that I wasn’t the first to coin the idea. They are using their time, energy and imagination to evoke a change, and I have to say, it’s everything I hoped it could be.

What would Occupy Advent look like? Tents set up around a living manger scene? Protest signs at retail stores? Stripping the house of lights and presents? What other visible displays could show our disregard for the status quo and our hope with the coming Christ?

Could it be letting others see you in daily reflection, seeking silence as an honored companion, giving gifts of joyfulness and good will, setting aside impatience in favor of patient waiting, or nurturing wonder rather than shackling its wildness?

What is the next, right thing to do? Occupy Advent

We Are Family, I Got All My Sisters With Me

An old adage states, you can choose your friends but not your family. Sometimes lines blur and the friends that you choose, become part of your family. Or maybe, more wisely, you come to understand yourselves as sisters of a larger family.

I believe my dream was prompted by a discussion in a recent study group. We tried to think more openly about the rich young prince who had been asked to give up his money and follow Christ. The young prince couldn’t let go of his treasure of wealth and had to walk away. It always seems to be a relief in this situation to not have the wealth of a king! But is there something else in your life you hold so dearly, that you might have to decline your invitation and return home so you could linger with your treasure rather than walk beside Christ? We all have things we value: our job, our families, our pride, our pet, our power… that would be just as dire to consider relinquishing as the prince considered his wealth.

I woke up with the dream so vivid that I could write two pages worth of details! There had been some type of huge gathering which brought many of our friends and family together. The next morning I woke up and joined the others who filled two patios. I made my way to the gathering on the left. Who knew manna looked like waffles? I had not arranged breakfast plans, but part of my family was looking out for me. Phyllis had brought enough waffles to share!! Sisters know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. I sat down across the table from my sisters Barbara and Gail who were finishing breakfast. “We want you to reconsider” said Barbara. “Wow! That was quick,” as my eyes looked down at the table. I presumed the topic was whether I would reevaluate my decision and return to the church in Garland. As much as I didn’t want to disappoint them; my course would remain with peace and clarity of mind. “We’ll we’ve been rehearsing.” Then Barbara looked at Gail who said “Everyone who has left is gone!” Wait! That could not have been what proficient Gail had practiced! “Help us Anne,” she entreated. With that Anne stood up from another table and asked Kat to sing. How could I turn down an invitation to sing with Kat? She started singing “I Believe.” I had to admit to myself that I added some decent harmony for a song we had never rehearsed, but that’s the way it is singing with Kat, Deb and Shirley. There’s the guided spirit of the fifth participant. I did join Kat in song, but remained seated at the table. No, even singing with my sisters, as cherished a gift as I have ever been given, was not a stratagem that could change the course. Families are used to loving even when they don’t understand.

Then it was time to leave. And like a family vacation, we jumped in the car together. It’s always an adventure when I drive and even more serendipitous because I really had no clue what city we were visiting. The best plan was to start driving to the interstate and take our clues from there. Any exit with the word south seemed to be our best choice to head back to Dallas. All of my normal dependable plans weren’t working. I couldn’t even get into the right hand lane to take an exit because of a convoy of trucks, and the one exit we could have tried we missed by conversation and stories being shared in the car. So further down the highway we drove, still looking for clues of direction but without much trepidation. Eventually we came to a roadside park. The only options were a long straight road ahead saddled by water on either side, leading to a large city, or returning the way we had come. We got out of the car and gazed at the city ahead of us. The buildings lit up the night sky and gave a sense of the city’s energy and vitality. The lights reflected in the water and we tried to guess what city it could be. Someone spotted a whale swimming beside the road ahead! How magical! We properly ooohed and ahhhhed. Were we in Canada? I knew Dennis could probably name the city by the sports arenas that were on the waterfront. We were clueless, but we were enchanted.

And that’s where the dream stopped, but it’s not where our journey ends. One of the admissions shared at the study group, was the fact that she would have a hard time letting go of her church, an option that may be in her future as a graduate student. I could sympathize completely, but I am also certain that family relationships can endure and God’s hand will guide us through reunion and hope to a united kingdom aglow with lights and saints.

My Lenten devotional the next day echoed the thoughts as a rector shared his decision to change congregations: “I can’t solve this neatly with a clever phrase or Biblical insight. It’s too early... I just know nothing can separate us from the love of God. Relationships here will be disrupted, but the journey with God will go on for all of us. This new thing God is doing in my life will also mean a new thing in theirs. God is forming us all.” (Thomas Ehrich)

Six Small Months

I have a strange measure of time passing - Coffee filters. It seems like a pack of 200 coffee filters will last forever, and I’m always surprised when I reach the last few. Six months have passed, the coffee filters are almost used, and it’s about time to resupply. Six small months from June to December; enough time to harvest a pumpkin from a seed, enough time for six different litters of mice, but only one pale-throated three-toed sloth. :-) I perhaps didn’t accomplish all that I wanted to do in my six months. I still haven’t made it to Potter’s House or Whitesboro or who knows where else, but I realized earlier this month that my desire/drive to visit different churches has subsided. It's okay to be still and know God - through the community at Preston Hollow. I wanted to share that I have started the process of transferring membership to Preston Hollow. We have been fortunate to be led to welcoming churches and look forward to a new facet of God's outstretched arms.

Wherever you go, God is sending you, wherever you are, God has put you there; He has a purpose in your being there. Christ who indwells you has something He wants to do through you where you are. Believe this and go in His grace and love and power.
Richard C. Halverson

I cried the first time Anne introduced this benediction. As we shared with our neighbor it hit too close to home that not only did my partner have a purpose, but I did too. I always said FPC Garland was a dangerous place…. You find yourself in places you never expected to be. It encourages you to grow within the life of the congregation, it empowers you to live as Christ’s hands out in the community, and it challenges you to question how grace and faith are changing our world. My life has changed, my hands have changed, and my world has changed – thanks be to God! And thanks to my church family in Garland!

I don’t think I was called out of my comfort to be the next missionary to Haiti, or the next fiery prophet… my friend at work suggested maybe it’s just a call to become more dependent on God. I am convinced that this is a necessary step of my journey. I’m convinced it took different propellants to move us from comfort, but I am convinced that good will be the victor. BTW – teaching did not at all rise high on my spiritual gifts inventory… I am convinced the Breakfast Club will find a voice of wisdom and vitality to add to their compassion and servanthood. I am convinced that Garland has passed a wave of changes and that a peace with conviction, stability and perseverance is settling, but not limiting, what the congregation is charged to carry out in Christ’s name.

As someone who can never make a decision, the word convinced is a rarity. I am convinced that I am a loved child of God. I am convinced that our paths will continue to cross and encourage. I will continue to pray for you! I love you!! n

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.