tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72613987003839157352024-03-09T19:48:20.678-07:00Jericho's DaughterLinda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.comBlogger951125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-37248916936771793002023-08-12T18:02:00.002-07:002023-08-12T18:02:00.145-07:00The I in Faith<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #3d3d3d; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">There is one body and one
Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one
faith, one baptism,<b> </b>one God and Father of all, who is above all and
through all and in all.<b> </b>But each of us was given grace according to
the measure of Christ’s gift.</span></i><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3d3d3d; padding: 0in; text-align: left;"> -- Ephesians 4:4-7</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="color: #e2eeff;">of through all and in all</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Years ago, when I began both
Education for Ministry (EfM) and writing for the Episcopal Café, I customarily
wrote “We” in sentences and paragraphs in the first person plural form. I know
that preachers, priests, and clergy use “We” in prayers and sermons, and even
our BCP uses the plural form in liturgies and collects. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p>It was meant to be inclusive,
showing that all of us were part of a single family, group, organization,
congregation, denomination, 0r whatever. It worked for me until one of my EfM
mentors, Ann Fontaine (of blessed memory), began insisting that each of us start
to and continually use “I” instead of “we” when talking in our group sessions.
It was hard to break the habit of years, but I finally did it, finally understanding
the reasoning as to why it was so important.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p>Using “I” taught me to state my own
beliefs, positions, actions, tradition, and culture. Each of us was a different
person with different experiences and customs, and even two people sitting next
to one another in the same pew often held beliefs and thoughts anywhere from
slightly different to widely divergent. It allowed me to take ownership of what
I think and feel. I know that ministers, priests, and clergy generally speak in
“we” terms, including themselves in the congregation and seeking to unify it. I
do not feel I have the theology or the authority to speak in such group speech
as I am only a lay person. I speak for myself, not seeking to impose my beliefs
or thoughts on any group. I own my particular theology and acknowledge it, not
speaking for others or even for God.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Wrestling with this ownership thing,
I have concluded (at least for now) that when I use the word “Faith,” I must
break it down into parts. “FA” is like
family – the Trinity, The Holy Family, my EfM group, church congregation, close
friends, and neighborhood. “TH” is like theology – a system of beliefs and
traditions, some of which go back hundreds if not thousands of years and
sometimes change for me as I learn more about it. That leaves the letter “i” in
the middle, which is where I see myself, balancing the two, trying to be fair
and just to both, and being willing to learn with an open mind which is subject
to change, sometimes without notice. The “I” I would use, though, is a lowercase
letter, as I do not see myself worthy of a capital letter, especially when
speaking about (and certainly not for) God.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Jesus used a lot of “I” statements,
particularly in the Gospel of John. “I am the vine…” (14:5), “I am the way, the
truth, and the life…” (14:6), and “I am the light of the world…” (8:12), among
others. I believe he used them to convey his message; he stated his job and
news, often metaphorically or allegorically, which took egotism out of the
equation. Had he come out and flatly said that he was the Son of God, his life
would have been much shorter than it was since to make such a claim was not
only blasphemy to the Jews but high treason to the Romans. Still, we understand
what his “I” statements mean, just as the crowds who heard him teach recognized
him in such metaphors as the story of the good shepherd or the good Samaritan.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Using “I” statements in speech or
writing has made my faith stronger by forcing me to come to grips with pretty
much exactly what I mean and be able to enunciate it when the opportunity
presents itself. It leaves room for others to disagree to one degree or another
but without an outright argument or disagreement. It allows me to recognize the
right of others to have their own beliefs without arguing them into agreeing
with mine. Hopefully, they will also respect my right, but if they do not, then
it is their choice. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p>Reciting the Apostles’ Creed gives
structure to my faith, whether said aloud or repeated silently. I may have slight
twinges about one or two words or phrases, but I can also fall back on the
ambiguity being an Episcopalian allows me to be. I have learned to be
comfortable with that and make it part of my family, faith, and theology.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Amen. God bless you all.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-88648496023467001582023-07-29T15:16:00.003-07:002023-07-29T15:16:00.144-07:00Empty Spaces, Sacred Spaces<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Another <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7261398700383915735/8864849602346700158?hl=en" target="_blank">Education for Ministry (EfM)</a> training is in the
books. Since I am a mentor for an EfM group, I have to attend a yearly
training session to learn new things and sharpen my skills. I get my training
online since my group is online only (many groups meet face-to-face). It is
nice since I get to stay home, near the refrigerator and the loo, if you
understand the British-ism. I enjoy the training every year, but it is sometimes
pretty intense. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Part of our training is working
with Theological Reflections (TR), an integral part of the EfM program. We
start with what we call an artifact: a picture, an object, a movie, a scripture
story or verse, a book, an advertisement, or something we saw on Facebook that
makes us prick up our ears and think of the possibilities that a TR using it
would bring forth. From there, we go to find a focus – a place where we can all
agree we want to explore in the next step of the reflection. Here we look at
options. We practice with metaphors that frame the artifact or express feelings
and where our core values lie in reference to the metaphor we are focusing on.
We use four sources to explore (Tradition, Culture, Position, Action) and use
those to look at the metaphor from the perspectives of what our Christian
tradition tells us, what our culture says about it, what our position (belief,
where we stand on an issue) is, and finally what action is God calling us to do
in light of what we have discovered through our personal and group exploration
and experience. The whole TR process can be exhausting, but it can also be full
of insights, enlightenment, and energization.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One of the TRs we did in training this
year was an exploration of an image of a concrete and brick floor, metal window,
door, wall frames, and roof trusses. Each item was individual; the only pieces
connected were where the trusses met metal columns. The rest was all open space
set in a woody glen near Richmond, VA.* We first had to establish what we were
looking at. Some of us saw an area, perhaps pre-construction, but not suitable
for anything since it had no people or identifiable furnishings. At least one
person saw it as a sacred space, consecrated by what was there to memorialize
and an invitation to worship with nothing between themselves and God. Statements we came up with about the image
ranged from “It is not complete. It is not good for anything. It appears to be
something it is not.” We asked ourselves and each other if the object in the
picture was complete as it was. After some discussion, we ultimately came to a
question we wanted to examine further: "Am I complete as I am?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The empty space in that building
made me consider whether I was a complete human being or perhaps I had gaps,
spaces, holes, and voids inside me. Why were those gaps there? What had I
learned that was wrong, or what have I yet to discover? How do I feel about
that? Where had I made mistakes that took me in the wrong direction, what
choices had I made that proved to be errors, and what and where were my core
values? What needed changing, and how would be the best way to do that?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was more to the TR, but right
now, I have stopped with the image of the empty building with its invisible
parts and the self I cannot see in the mirror, the interior self. I know there
are plenty of empty spaces, and some of them are old wounds that have never
healed. I also know there are sacred spaces, perhaps not big ones, but big
enough to let me sense when one is nearby. Now, I know there are sacred, thin
spaces at times that I can sense and rejoice in them. It does not have to be a
consecrated space; it works in my cluttered living room and the National
Cathedral every time I have been there. It worked when I walked by my river
back home or through the historical paths that crisscrossed the woods around it.
Remembering how those sacred spaces felt to me is enough of a goad to keep me
looking for more, whether empty or teeming with humanity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The quest and the usually organized
method of sitting and contemplating it (or even walking with it) are essential.
If I ever get back home, I am sure it will resonate with all the prayers, joys,
tragedies, and experiences of those who have been there before. I want to feel
that in that place, and feel again a familiar feeling of a sacred, even if
empty, space. Meanwhile, I have some internal completion to do on myself. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">*<a href="https://www.historicpolegreenchurch.org/">Historic Polegreen Church</a>,
Hanover County, VA. A monument to a
historic church built in the 17<sup>th</sup> century as one of the first
non-Anglican churches. It was destroyed in a battle during the Civil War and
has now been made an official historic monument. It is often used as a wedding
venue. Please read the entire history on the website. <o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-38666432046781915862023-07-15T18:24:00.002-07:002023-07-15T18:24:00.153-07:00Peter's Vision<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #010000;">Now the apostles and the believers</span> who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also
accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the
circumcised believers criticized him, saying, ‘Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with
them?’ Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by
step, saying, ‘I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a
trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven,
being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts
of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, “Get up, Peter;
kill and eat.” But I replied, “By no means, Lord; for nothing
profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” But a second time the voice answered from heaven, “What God
has made clean, you must not call profane.” This happened three times; then everything was
pulled up again to heaven. </i><span style="background: white; color: #010000;"> – Acts 11:1-10<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white; color: #010000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">This is a story of a somewhat
different Peter from the ones we read as he followed and learned from Jesus
himself. Here he is, seeming like a more
mature and more confident Peter than the one who seemed to stumble around. This
Peter grasped the points that Jesus presented and did not seem to need to ask
questions that required Jesus to explain in simpler terms as he had done
earlier in his acquaintance with Jesus. This is a Peter that I respect and can
learn from.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">This Peter met with circumcised
believers who questioned his association with Gentiles, even to the point of
eating with them. This meant that the meat at their meals might not be kosher,
like seafood, pig, and other dishes. The circumcised could not understand how
he could forget his upbringing and the ritual cleanliness that had been part of
his life for so long. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Peter told them about his
experience with a trance that came to him while praying. In his vision, a vast
sheet came down from heaven, filled with all sorts of animals, birds, and even
reptiles. These were creatures that were considered “unclean” by the
circumcised Jews, to be shunned at all cost and never eaten, even if one were
desperate from hunger. God had told Peter to kill and eat these creatures,
something Peter, in his righteousness, had never done. God had a response to
that, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” All this was repeated three times, a sacred
number denoting perfection, completion, and, as Christians would see it, a recollection
of the Trinity. Peter realized that this
vision not only referred to meals but also to association with people whom the
circumcised would shun. The teachings of Jesus applied not only to Jews but to
Gentiles as well. In short, It expanded the “Who is my neighbor” in a whole
different way. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">The image of the sheet has meaning
for me because it permits me to eat things like shrimp and scallops, bacon, ham,
sausage, and other things that involve mixtures of meats and seafood. In
essence, it permits me to wear mixed fibers, own multicolored cats, put
pepperoni on my cheese pizza, and all sorts of things. What it requires me to
do, however, is to see all people as my neighbors and my brothers and sisters. Of course, there will be people I do not like, just like there are foods I cannot
bring myself to eat, but that does not excuse me from the obligation to treat
them as God’s children, just as I am. It requires me to treat the creatures and,
indeed, the earth itself as a creation of God, to be respected, cared for, and
loved.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">I like the Peter I discovered in
this story. It does not erase his humanity but adds to it in ways that make him
easier to like and respect. Without his vision, I think Christianity, and perhaps
the world, would be very different. <o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Thanks, Peter. I think I will order
a pizza – with sausage, mushrooms, and double cheese. Want a slice?<o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-12973050760286349202023-07-01T19:00:00.001-07:002023-07-01T19:00:00.142-07:00Comfort and Listening<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">In all my years on this earth, one of my favorite memories
is hearing Mama read to me at bedtime, like Bible stories, Little Golden Books,
stories of heroes, and even tales of talking trains and construction equipment.
I remember hearing her read a set of books called “Bedtime Stories” and then
reading them myself a year or two later. There were Bible stories and stories about
children, primarily pointing out the difference between bad and good children.
The stories were heavy and moralistic, sometimes even frightening to me as a child,
but they were still books. Hearing Mama read them sometimes made me listen to
her voice and not really hear the words she was reading to me. I remember the
feeling I had then and wish I could remember the sound of her voice and not
just the feeling of hearing it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Retirement has given me the gift of time – a lot of time. There
are times to do chores (which can be put off if necessary or even by choice),
times to nap, periods for knitting or reading, and even watching TV. I often
had to choose which I wanted to do more, read or knit, since I could not do
both at once. I could read and watch TV (which I had done for years) and knit
and watch TV, but I could not read and knit simultaneously. This was my quandary.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then I found my solution. My e-reader allows me to access a
program that lets me choose books I like and then reads them to me as I knit! It
seems like the best thing since Mama. Granted, I have to pay for the books, but
I purchase only books I know I will like, as I will probably listen to them as
many times as I have read the digital copies. There is no compunction here
about never re-reading a book. There are moments when I can recite a section of
a book I am listening to because I have read it so many times in digital form.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">All that got me thinking about the importance of listening:
most of us are born with five active and working senses: seeing, hearing,
smelling, tasting, and touching. We use those senses to learn about the world,
the people who are our parents and siblings, and our teachers. We listen to
lessons and learn how to read by matching the sound of the words to letters
written on the board, but we must listen to know how to match the sounds to the
words. To learn, we must learn to listen, a task that, in my mind, is much
harder today since we have so many distractions.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We hear a lot about people in the Bible going to hear Moses,
the prophets, holy people, and rabbis. There were no books, handouts, bullet
points on a big screen behind the speaker, or even paper and pens to take
notes. People had to listen and remember what was said, then return to their
own families or communities and correctly transfer the knowledge they had
gained to those who could not be there themselves. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">People were more attuned to listening and “reading” people
by paying attention to what they said, how they said it, and what their body
language told them. Scripture was essential
and had to be transferred from one generation to another without error or
change. We are told that in Jesus’ day, as in the millennia before, listening was
the primary way of learning, and learning was the way to pass important
information to the next generation in turn. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We do not listen as much anymore. We have our heads stuck in
earphones or buds, the radio, television, cell phones, and just about any other
communications devices we can carry around or sit and play with. If someone
else is talking, quite often, we are busy in our own heads formulating a
response to what we believe we heard, not necessarily what was said and how. As
for reading body language, we are often too busy to notice. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sitting and listening to my audiobook, whether my hands are
busy with something that does not require much attention or not, has reminded
me of the importance of not just hearing but allowing me to be immersed in what
I hear. There are times when I need the sound of education that teaches me
something I need to know, while at others, I need it to be like a security
blanket, comforting, soothing, and familiar. <o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">I hear my audiobook calling. There is another chapter or so
to listen to before bedtime. I must decide whether to read a chapter from a Christian
history textbook or a cozy mystery book based in a comfortable little town.
Decisions, decisions. <o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-28612077223494300692023-06-17T19:20:00.003-07:002023-06-17T19:20:00.132-07:00Why Worry?<p>'<i>So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring
worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today.</i> – Matt. 6:34</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are times when I do the daily reading where I try as
hard as I can to make whatever I have read relevant to whatever is going on in
my life. I may read something about leprosy in the reading, but I cannot make
leprosy fit into my thinking. Granted, I can come up with half a dozen things,
but leprosy? Not really. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I do not remember Jesus talking about contamination running
across the lawn and into the street for a month or so, but he did talk about
people not following God's law, which was to love God and one's neighbor. I thought
of that, but since the other four trailers on my side of the street contributed
abundantly to my problem, it was not easy to love them, at least then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life lately has been a bit like the joke about what the
beaver once said. "It's just one dam thing after another." I have heard that
one at least a hundred times over the last fifty years, and it still makes me
giggle. It is still as true for me as it was the first time someone brought it
into conversation. It seems as if problems have come along in an almost
predictable procession, usually involving something not working, being
turned off sporadically (like water), financial issues, and similar difficulties.
Things are all right now, but I tend to have my fingers crossed or raise a few prayers
for a break in the almost steady flow of problems. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had to smile when I ran across this part of the reading
for today, "Do not worry…." I must have read that bit of scripture a hundred or
more times over the course of my life, but this time it is as if I was being
told not to worry about what is next; it will come in due time. It is true that
today's problems are enough without borrowing trouble from tomorrow, next week,
or even next year. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with worried people. The Samaritan
woman at the well was probably as concerned as she could be that Jesus would
reject her because of her ethnicity, her irregular marital status, and the fact
that she was a single woman out without a male escort. She had plenty to worry
about. Her neighbors probably reminded her of her almost outcast status daily,
and a Jewish man was at the well closest to her home. Jesus surprised her. He
spoke of her life and lifestyle without condemnation. He told her not to worry
and gave her a message for her neighbors. He set her up as his first evangelist,
giving her a message of hope for herself and others with worries, anxieties, and
concerns. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I often pray the Serenity Prayer in troublesome times: "God,
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to
change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Over the years
that I have been repeating that prayer, it has helped me not to worry nearly as
much as I used to, and I certainly do not deliberately worry about what might
happen somewhere or when. Life has been much more tranquil since I have made
that prayer like a mantra, but now and again, life throws me a curve ball to remind
me that life is not all beer and Skittles or that it is even a series of
metaphors to be tossed around.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I thank God today for the reminder that worry is useless
because it does not change anything. What will happen will happen, whether or
not I fret about it. I should remember the part from Psalm 55, "Cast thy burden
upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee" (v. 22a). Whether I place it in a
more modern version of English or the King James Version, I learned as a child,
it is a reminder to let God take care of it. I do not know if Bobby McFerrin
had God in mind, but he seemed to be channeling a message from God when he
wrote the song that made him famous, "Don't worry, be happy." <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sounds like good advice to me. There. I feel better already. <o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-52218671067341870232023-06-03T19:43:00.003-07:002023-06-03T19:43:00.138-07:00The Power of Memories <p> </p><p align="center" class="b-qt" style="background: white; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 11.25pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="b-qt" style="background: white; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 11.25pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #101010; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what
you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich</span></i><span style="color: #101010; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">. – Mike Mills, American musician<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Yesterday I had to write a letter. I used to write lots of
them back in the days before computers, text messaging, and the like. Some of
my notes could fit on a postcard’s back, but most were two or more pages. I
remember writing one letter that was sixteen pages, written on notebook paper,
both sides. I do not remember what I said, but I am sure I wrote so much for a
reason. It was probably just drivel, unimportant and trivial things I had done,
heard, thought, or learned, but that stuff was important to me then. The lady I
wrote to was a good friend and never complained. She also never failed to respond.
That is one memory that I cherish.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I wrote the letter yesterday to another friend, older than
me, who has known me all my life. We have shared many years and memories, but
now I live three-quarters of the way across this country from her. Sure, I
could telephone, but this time I had to write, or rather type, an actual
letter. I was sending her a prayer shawl in the mail, and I wanted to explain
the purpose of it, what the colors meant to me, the different stitches I had
put into it, and mention that many prayers had gone into it. It was meant to be
something soft, light, and comforting, like a gentle hug from far away. While
writing, though, it brought back memories of things like her wedding, her
family treating me like one of them, and her introducing me to Chinese food in
my teens. There were days at the beach, shopping trips, lunch at various places
around town, and afternoons spent organizing her jewelry box. It was all fun.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I think the letter was more than a page and a half, but I
could have written a volume. I have many memories of her mother, in a way, taking
the place of mine, who died when I was fourteen. Her mother helped me sew
clothes for college, tried to teach me to cook some of my favorite dishes, and
generally listened to my babble as I sat at her kitchen table, drinking iced
tea and feeling like I was at home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I wanted to remind my friend of all those memories,
including the times I have tried to make her mother’s spoon bread but never could
get it past the “If it looks like hog swill, you’ve got it right” stage. It was
a dish she made often, frequently to be taken to a family in grief over the
loss of a loved one. She reminded me that the spoon bread, full of butter,
would slide down a throat clogged with tears when nothing else would. I
mentioned the spoon bread in the letter since, if I lived closer and could get
the dish to turn out like her mother’s, I would have taken it to my friend’s
house. It would have been understood and welcomed since my friend was indeed in
a state of grief. The shawl would have to replace the spoon bread, but
hopefully would last much longer and demonstrate the sympathy and love that
went into both.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I thought about my friend a great deal yesterday, running
through memories like a child running through a meadow full of dandelions,
buttercups, and daisies. Then I had what was indeed an insight: my friend and
her family had demonstrated what God’s love was like -- accepting, protecting,
sharing, feeding, listening, and a hundred other things. They were not
church-goers, but they still illustrated what Jesus tried to teach about loving
one’s neighbor. They were not rich, but they always had an extra potato to put
in the pot so I could have dinner with them. They gave me good advice and taught
me things I needed to know outside of school books. They shared their time with
me. If those things were not examples of what Jesus taught, I would have missed
the point of that lesson altogether. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Rosa Parks once said, “Memories of our lives, of our works
and our deeds will continue in others.” That quote sums up God’s will and is a
guideline to recognize God’s work in others who give without thinking or
stinting. I am sure I won’t forget this insight quickly because it has lodged
in my heart when I think of my neighbors who were more than neighbors. They
were teachers of an exceptional kind, the kind Jesus would have approved. They
put words into action without quoting. <o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Look around you. Who teaches love and kindness to neighbors
without saying a word about it? Have you done that in your own life and
ministry? Have you investigated memories to see where you might find a lesson
or insight? I did, and I am glad. I would
have missed a great life lesson. <o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-56300190266287790762023-05-20T19:26:00.003-07:002023-05-20T19:26:00.141-07:00An Episcopal Testimony<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">The TV is turned off. The sky is clouding up as twilight
approaches. The wind is picking up, and there is a possibility of rain, which
we could use around here. My mind is going round and round like a hamster in a
cage about what I must write about tonight. I have thought of untangling some
thoughts about the humanity of God, but I found Barth had written a series of
lectures on the topic, so I canceled my musings until I had had time to read it
and hopefully digest it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then I could discuss a quiz I found on Facebook (don’t quit
reading yet, these are passing thoughts). It asked, “What kind of Anglican are
you?” The questions were more thoughtful than the usual Facebook drivel. The
first one was about what vestments you prefer with your litany. There were about ten choices, starting with
“Alb/surplice, cincture, stole, and chasuble” and went on to give responses
such as all the liturgical garments worn in the English church, a response as
to why we spend so much time discussing vestments when we should be talking
about justice, an entry containing preaching bands, none at all, and some other
choices. The quiz continued, throwing in
questions about theological issues (including tossing in some theological
big-wigs) and the like. It kept me occupied with ten questions for at least
half an hour.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I had to laugh at my results. My son’s godmother, with whom
I had been friends since her younger son and I were in elementary school
together, once gave me a pithy but memorable response to what kind of
Episcopalian I was. Was I “High and
crazy, low and lazy, or broad and hazy?” I was delighted that my initial guess about
my place in the Anglican/Episcopal church fit Granny’s categories. The result
was Broad church. My self-diagnosis was dead on.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It brought me to consider Granny’s trio of categories of
Episcopalian. She was a cradle-palian, so I felt that that qualified her to
know which type was which. I do not necessarily agree with “crazy” or “lazy.” I
do not think it is crazy to have incense flying left and right at the slightest
inspiration (“Smoky Mary’s” comes to mind) or churches that were more like
Baptist ones with no crucifixes, altar, communion at the rail with a chalice
and paten, etc. I would not say those folks to like that kind of worship are
not lazy, just people who respond to a bare minimum of action and distraction. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I knew from the moment I walked into All Souls’ Church in
Washington DC, Granny’s home parish, that I felt at home. The music was sublime
(no Victorian heart-rending poetry or melody), the language was that of the
King James version, and one stood for worship, knelt for prayer, and sat for
instruction. Kneeling was a new but welcome and very fitting position,
especially when confessing my sins or other prayers. I did not take communion,
but seeing people go to the altar and drink from a common cup and receive a
host (taking the Body and Blood of Christ under both species, as the church
puts it), brought the idea of true communion, not only with God, Jesus, and the
Spirit, but with those who shared in the ritual. While I knew everybody in my
Baptist church, I only knew Granny at this one, yet I felt closer to them than
during a worship service back home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I waited until my first year of college to be formally
accepted into the Episcopal Church. I knew my family would be shocked, but Daddy
did not seem to mind and gave me his permission and blessing. I would not have
done it otherwise. Like a true Episcopalian, after I was confirmed, I took a
long sabbatical from church, finally returning to it on a Christmas Eve some
two decades later. It was again like coming home, although I only knew a few
people in the overflowing nave. I have left the church several times after
that, but on my return, it felt like God was saying very firmly, “SIT! STAY!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am still an Episcopalian even though I do not attend
church with any regularity. I used to be able to walk across the street to my
parish church, but now I live further away and without transportation. I still
believe in it and believe in God and the things the church taught me. I found
myself to be more “Broad and hazy” than I did years ago because I learned I did
not have to have hard and fast answers to everything. Ambiguity was fine with
me, and I could say things like “Born of the Virgin Mary” and “Rose from the Dead”
without crossing my fingers behind me. Did they happen as the Bible says? I do
not have a clue, but it does not matter. I believe it anyway. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I love my Episcopal church even if I really wish they would
not be so slow or wishy-washy about some things people feel strongly about. I
believe if Jesus invites someone to the altar rail, even without baptism or
formal reception into the church, they should be able to take the sacrament and
let Jesus work within them. I believe that LGBTQ+ people, people of other
races, nationalities, and cultures, mentally and physically handicapped or ill
folks, and all people, from infants to older people, should be treated with
respect and love. Jesus taught us to love our neighbors, including a much
larger number than possibly Jesus could have imagined, having come from a small
town. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I guess I have fallen into doing what the Baptists call a
“testimony,” but I do not regret what I said here. Maybe it will spur someone
to look at their life similarly. An examination is always a good thing.<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">God bless.<o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-92106330360374551592023-04-29T17:54:00.001-07:002023-05-03T09:13:35.498-07:00Fireflies and God's Presence<p> </p><p></p><p class="Soul">Our <a href="https://theology.sewanee.edu/education-for-ministry/">Education
for Ministry (EfM)</a> group had an interesting theological reflection the
other night. The presenter brought a picture of a Raggedy Ann doll to share and
begin the discussion. What emotion did the image bring to our minds? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Her emotions were about collecting Raggedy Ann dolls and also spending
summer vacations with relatives in North Carolina. She began describing things
she remembered with fondness. She mentioned things like cheese biscuits, ham,
cornbread, and various regional foods. It made some of us with similar
experiences suddenly feel very hungry. She had another memory of seeing her first
fireflies, little black-and-red winged bugs whose abdomens flashed a greenish
glow to signal with other fireflies. I immediately thought of the willow tree
in my childhood front yard with fireflies (which we called lightnin’ bugs)
blinking under the trailing whips and leaves. I needed the joy that memory brought
me that night, and I continue to think of it with pleasure and fondness. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I needed the pleasure my own memories brought me. Two days
earlier, I had gotten up to find the last of my “boys,” my little girl Phoebe,
had crossed the rainbow bridge overnight. She was buried next to the shed with
Dominic and Gandhi. I had said good morning to them since Gandhi passed just before
Thanksgiving, so I added Phoebe to the morning greeting. Going back into a
house devoid of cats yet with the toys, litter boxes, dishes, and the like wasn’t
easy. It’s the first time my house has been empty of furry companions since
before I moved here fifteen years ago. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I am slowly getting rid of the things I may never use again, but
I might. Making those decisions is hard, and my heart aches for my furry
bundles of joy. Now and again, though, I get little flashes of joy that pop up.
One is my afternoon rainbows. They result from light in my western-facing
window shining through many prisms that catch the light and project it in
little bits of a rainbow on the opposing wall and ceiling. I do love those;
they bring me peace and thoughts of God’s closeness. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Today, as I was washing dishes, the breeze caused three blossoms
off my bougainvillea to chase each other over the black asphalt of my driveway.
It only lasted a minute before they blew onto my neighbor’s lawn and just sat
there. It was like watching three children playing – or three kittens. Maybe
they were being batted around by three kittens I could not see, three tuxedo
kittens that lay just a few feet away from the dancing blossoms.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">There have been other moments of joy, like the memory of the
lightning bugs, that help take the pain of my loss away, even if it is just for
a few brief moments. It is not surprising that others pop up. For instance, a
dear friend’s mother is having medical issues and is anxious about it. She is
involved in a Bible study that seems to occupy her mind most of the time, but
still, when someone thinks or mentions the C word, it tends to wipe other
things away for a while. I had knitted a white prayer shawl with triangles (the
number three again), so I sent it to her via my friend. It seems it was a very
welcome gift, precisely the right color, and was very comforting. I got a lot
of joy out of knowing that. Having gone through a bout of cancer myself more
than a decade ago, I know how much things like that can help. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I know God was with me when I found Phoebe’s little body that
morning, just as I remember God being present in the lightning bugs, the cancer
diagnosis, and even with the dancing bluish-red flowers chasing each other for
a brief time. It is easier to see God’s hand in the little joys, but perhaps when
I need to feel God’s presence the most, I cannot feel it through the pain I or
someone I care about is going through. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I feel guilty when I forget God’s presence when sad, harmful, or
awful things come along. I do have a feeling, though, that God understands I am
only human. After all, even God let God’s grief show when Jesus, the beloved
son, died on the cross. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, have died both
before and after that Friday afternoon, but God had never before acted from
grief rather than anger. I guess I should consider that God made us in God’s
own image, complete with the ability to feel joy, anger, despair, and even
grief. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Meanwhile, I still have the three outside boy cats I feed daily.
I love them, but in a slightly different way than I did Phoebe and the indoor boys.
It’s my way of caring for a little bit of nature and God’s creation. The purrs
I get from at least two of them (the third is too new and skittish to approach
yet) are my thanks and another bit of joy. I am glad I have that reminder too.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-7435820685563165882023-04-15T19:19:00.006-07:002023-04-15T19:19:00.174-07:00 Rule #39, Spiritually Speaking<p> </p><p>
</p><p style="background: white;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon,
and another glory of the stars; indeed, star differs from star in glory.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is
perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is
raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown
a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a physical body,
there is also a spiritual body. Thus it is written, ‘The first man, Adam,
became a living being’; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. But it
is not the spiritual that is first, but the physical, and then the
spiritual. The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man
is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the
dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven. Just as
we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of
the man of heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">What I am saying, brothers and sisters, is this: flesh and
blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the
imperishable. </span></i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– 1 Corinthians 15:41-50<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">Those who watch the TV program <i>NCIS</i> are familiar with
Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ numerous rules. They are words of wisdom that often help
the agents (and Gibbs – and, incidentally, fans of the show) see a situation in
a different way. One of the often-quoted ones is Rule #39, “There is no such
thing as a coincidence.” Really? Reading the lesson from 1 Corinthians today
would seem to refute that, given that today I will attend the funeral of a lovely
woman. I was pleased and honored to call her <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“friend” for some time, although not nearly
long enough, to my way of thinking. Granted, it was often hard for Gibbs’
agents not to see coincidences given their line of work. Still, Rule #39 showed
up frequently in their episodes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">One thing I can be sure of is that L will undoubtedly rise in
glory, spiritually, if not physically. She lived a good life, practiced love for
her fellow human beings and four-footed friends, worked hard, and comforted
those who needed a shoulder to lean on. She used her gift for crafting to
delight those who received those items made with love and beauty. Watching her decline
rapidly due to cancer was heart-wrenching for those who knew and loved her.
Still, I know most of them feel relief that her excruciating suffering is over.
As St. Paul noted, the first human was made of dust, a physical body covering a
spirit like all of us. Jesus, the second man, was a spiritual man in a physical
body. He rose from the dead, having shed that physical body and in full custody
of his spiritual (and visible) person. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">We have been taught that we may have been born of dust but bear
the spiritual image of Christ once we shed that shell of dust and clay. We hope
to rise from the dead on Resurrection Day, just as Jesus rose on Easter. We also
hope to be reunited with those who have preceded us into the kingdom of heaven
(which I devoutly hope includes four-footed loved ones). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I
cannot entirely agree with (or understand) Paul’s words sometimes, but I have
no problem in this case. It is a hope that I cling to. I have lost so many
friends and family members that I hope to see again. More certainly is that I
will probably lose more before I, too, join those who have, to quote
Shakespeare’s <i>Hamlet,</i>”…[S]huffled off this mortal coil.” I believe in
the resurrection of the dead, as the Prayer Book assures us, and I have faith
that God will be generous. </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I
may not agree with Gibbs’s rules one hundred percent of the time, just as I do
not agree with Paul. Today, though, I cannot totally call this a coincidence,
but it is closer to one than not. Maybe there needs to be Rule #39A – “Occasionally,
two things happen together that make you wonder.” I think I can subscribe to
that one. Meanwhile, I will just keep believing. </span><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-41410437031604498352023-04-01T20:20:00.005-07:002023-04-03T17:08:01.460-07:00A Story from a Wood Carving. <p> </p><p class="Soul">When will I ever learn? I scroll through Facebook daily,
sometimes several times a day, and often leave a comment or a rating on posts I
see, like, or dislike. Today, I saw a picture of a most striking and masterful
wood carving of a warrior-type man beside a cliff. His foot was placed on a
rather evil-looking creature with bat-shaped ears and an evil face, lying
almost prone on the ground but with its head raised from the dirt. It occurred
to me that it could be a modern St. George, but instead of a slain dragon, it
was an unearthly creature that was defeated but not dead. I clicked on one of
the choices but did not remember which one. The vote was based on the skill and
detail of the carving rather than the story it was conveying. I wish now I had
copied the image and the attribution.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">It was not until I got into bed that I started really thinking
more about that carving. I still saw St. George in it, but then I thought it
should be Jesus defeating the foes of hell. That was when my mind started
telling me a story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I saw Jesus walking down a road alone, with only a staff. His
path left the main road and wound through the hills and scrub of the surrounding
desert. He sat down beside a huge boulder to rest briefly in its shade when
suddenly he found he was not alone. A man stood in front of him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">"I have looked for you, brother, and here I find you,"
the stranger said. "I serve a great and powerful person who has heard of
you and your skill with words and deeds of power. My master has sent me to find
you and bring you to him. He has a great task for you, and you will be rewarded
richly."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">"I know who your master is, and I have all the worldly goods
I need. I do not need rich rewards. I serve the One my heart, body, and soul
loves and honors. I need no other master," Jesus told him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">"Ah, but my master can give you the whole world and all that
is in it if you simply come with me and yield to him," the man cajoled. He
knew that failure in his task would mean severe consequences when he returned to
his master.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Jesus retorted, "I serve One for whom the whole world is His
Kingdom. He created it in love and oversees it with that same love and care.
Your master can only offer a crumbling shell."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">"Ah," the man replied, "But my master can make you
his sole heir. He can give you charge over the multitudes that look to him
already and promise you success in recruiting more to his side. The earth's
treasures will be yours, and all the people of this world will look to you as
their god. They will sing your praises and bow to your name. They will offer
you sacrifices and bring great gifts to your temples. They will fear your wrath
and worship you with great adoration. You will want for nothing, and nothing
will be denied you."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Jesus stood up. "I know who you are and who you serve. I can
and will serve only the God of Heaven and Earth, Creator and Ruler of the
Universe, God of love and trust. He is my Father, and I owe all that I am and
have to Him. I need nothing you can offer."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Bending over, Jesus picked up a small handful of dust. Opening
his hand, he blew on the dust and dispersed it. "This represents the
promises of your master. My Father offers living water and fertile fields. His
children are as numerous as the stars in the sky, and the very Sun and Moon
obey His commands. What does your master have that can compare?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">"I cannot kill you, but I can defeat you with the Word and
Power of my Father. Turn your ways toward the true God and away from the evil
you and your kind wreak on the children of God. Only by doing that is your life
ensured."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The man began to collapse on the ground. His countenance changed
from the human form he had assumed and became more like the skin and ears of a
bat. As he writhed on the ground, he raised his head as Jesus set his foot on
his back. "You are correct, you cannot kill me, and I cannot change my allegiance
to my master even though he can destroy me easily. One day we will meet again
in a final battle. You have defeated me this time. I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>look forward to our next meeting, Jesus of Nazareth."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">At this point, the story stopped. The image of the carving began
to fade, bit by bit. Still, I clung to the account my mind had created from it.
Only by loving and following Jesus and obeying the commandments of God would I
gain eternal life, a life that I was promised as a Child of God. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">As I, and all other Christians, approach Holy Week and the days
leading up to the joyous celebration of Easter at the end, the lesson is clear.
We must believe, but we also must act. It is not enough to think of eternal
salvation as an individual pursuit. We have to consider all the words of God
that tell us to treasure and care for the earth but also to do the same for all
the people of this earth. Easter seems a good time to rededicate ourselves to
our Baptismal Covenant and acknowledge that God has given us work to do. Belief
is empty without it fostering action. Only then can we genuinely claim all God
has promised us through Jesus. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="Soul"><br /></p><p class="Soul"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: small;">Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><a href="https://episcopaljournal.org/worrying-about-worrying" style="font-size: small;" target="_blank">Episcopal Journal</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: small;">, Tuesday, April 3, 2023.</span></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-4823961613898106022023-03-18T19:44:00.004-07:002023-03-18T19:44:00.189-07:00God and Jeremiah's Underwear<p> </p><p style="background: white; line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Thus said the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span> to me,
‘Go and buy yourself a linen loincloth, and put it on your loins, but do not
dip it in water.’ So I bought a loincloth according to the word of
the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span>,
and put it on my loins. And the word of the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span> came to me a second
time, saying, ‘Take the loincloth that you bought and are wearing, and go
now to the Euphrates, and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.’ So I
went, and hid it by the Euphrates, as the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span> commanded me. And
after many days the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span> said
to me, ‘Go now to the Euphrates, and take from there the loincloth that I
commanded you to hide there.’ Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug,
and I took the loincloth from the place where I had hidden it. But now the
loincloth was ruined; it was good for nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 115%; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Then the word of the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span> came to me: Thus
says the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span>:
Just so I will ruin the pride of Judah and the great pride of
Jerusalem. This evil people, who refuse to hear my words, who stubbornly
follow their own will and have gone after other gods to serve them and worship
them, shall be like this loincloth, which is good for nothing. For as the
loincloth clings to one’s loins, so I made the whole house of Israel and the
whole house of Judah cling to me, says the <span class="sc"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span>, in order that they might be
for me a people, a name, a praise, and a glory. But they would not listen.</span></i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> – Jeremiah 13:1-11<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul">Jeremiah was a prophet; as such, he listened to God and did what
he was told, no matter what it was. Sometimes God told the prophets to do strange
or weird things, like taking a journey they did not want to take or preaching
to very sinful people who turned around toward God when the prophet definitely
wanted them to be severely punished (the prophet was downright angry). God told
one of them to run around the center of town stark naked for a period of time, nakedness
being forbidden to any other than utter madmen. Still, that prophet did what he
was told. The story of Jeremiah’s underwear is another story about doing God’s
will, no matter how weird it sounded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Loincloths very possibly were among the first articles of
clothing worn by humankind since Adam had to lay aside the purported fig leaf.
Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs show men wearing them, from pharaohs to enslaved
people. Primitive tribes often used soft bark or tanned leather instead of
cotton. Mahatma Gandhi wove his own from linen and even sent one to Queen
Elizabeth II on the occasion of her coronation. Loincloths are still worn today,
especially in hot and humid countries. They are even available from multiple
sources on the internet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">But back to Jeremiah. God told him to go and buy a new linen loincloth
and put it on, being careful not to dip it in water. I can understand buying something
new and putting it on, but why not dip it in water or even wash it before wearing
it, like we are so often told to do with new things? At any rate, Jeremiah was
obedient and did it. But God had more for him to do: take the loincloth that he
had on, go to the river, and hide it between two rocks. I wonder – did he take
his old one with him to wear back home? At any rate, Jeremiah was told several
days later to retrieve the newer piece of material from the rocks. The formerly
new and briefly worn linen was ruined, stained by organic matter in the water, bits
of dead plants and fish (and other things, no doubt), and abraded by the motion
of the water and the rocks. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The point of the story is that things can quickly become unusable.
God used that as a metaphor for the people of Judah and Jerusalem. God had
created them to be as close to Godself as a piece of linen against the skin. Still,
they had gone off, turned away, and become as useless as a piece of soggy,
filthy cloth of no use to anyone, especially God. They were supposed to be God’s
glory, his chosen people, and obedient to God’s every command. In internet
terms, they would be considered as a FAIL. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Of course, God would forgive them and take them back if they would
only see the larger picture, that of sin, repentance, and redemption, three of
the big lessons of Lent. We should be doing this on a daily, if not weekly,
basis. But punishment would be meted out if we needed a harsh lesson like the
Judaeans and the Jeruselemites. God would prefer us to understand and make the necessary
changes to prevent our becoming like ruined clothes. Punishment will come if we
don’t listen to Jeremiah and the other prophets, both Biblical and contemporary.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">We all sin, but we can all repent and be redeemed. It is simply a
matter of listening, paying attention, and doing the right thing. It is much
more important than giving up chocolate, coffee, pastry, or anything else we
might think would be sufficient. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="Soul"><br /></p><p class="Soul"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: ""Times New Roman"",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Originally
published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7261398700383915735/2902168254057569133"><span style="color: blue;">Episcopal Journal</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: ""Times New Roman"",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Saturday, March 18, 2023.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-37404995390952350082023-03-04T20:08:00.001-07:002023-03-04T20:08:00.185-07:00Finding Joy in Lent<p> </p><p></p><p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">I have no idea why it feels so
strange to be in Lent already. It seems like it was Christmas just a few days
ago, but now I find myself in March with Lent already a week or so old. Time
seems to go so quickly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">I remember not knowing what
Lent was. Growing up Southern Baptist, we did not observe it; it was never
mentioned. As I grew up, I felt drawn to the Episcopal Church, and among the
many things I learned that were different from what I had been taught before, I
learned about Lent. It was a time of penance, to be more conscious of what sin
was, try to avoid it, and give up something I was particularly fond of or enjoyed.
I was not totally successful in giving up chocolate or Peeps, nor was I
constantly looking for ways to avoid sinning. Every year I tried, and finally,
I gave up observing Lent almost altogether. I avoided eating fish on Friday,
but I’ve always liked fish, especially cod. It did not feel like a penance because
I liked fish so much. I guess it was my first earnest attempt to observe Lent correctly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">I have since been a bit more
conscientious, but I still cannot wholly observe Lent the way I think I should.
Just today, I found a series of books on Kindle that I have not read in decades
but have never stopped looking for. I am grateful that I found them at an affordable
price, and I cannot wait to begin rereading them. It was a joyful discovery,
which made me think about whether or not it was really something I should
indulge in since it brought me joy in a season I was supposed to observe as a penitent.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">I like the change in focus
that has come into the church over the past few decades. Yes, we are still
encouraged to be more spiritually focused, pray and meditate more, and try to
avoid sinful thoughts and behaviors. I do try to do that, but it occurred to me
that God created joy before evil crept in, so why not look for it more
frequently than usual? Ok, I could probably ignore or put off some kinds of joy
until Lent is over (like buying books). Still, one lesson I have learned over
the years is that if I see something irresistible, get it because if I wait, it
might be gone, and I will never find it again. This time I gave in and gave
thanks that I had finally reencountered them and could read them at my leisure.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">While my church still urges us
to be less sinful and more repentant when we sin, we are now encouraged to take
on things that help others and the world. We are encouraged to help our
neighbor much more actively, helping with food banks and soup kitchens, finding
ways to support the homeless, and caring for the poor, the children, and the
elderly. We are urged to really look at our world and find ways to repair the
damages we have done to it. In short, we need to learn to discover and enjoy what
we do for others rather than simply the joy we find for ourselves. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">I can find joy in Lent by
knitting a prayer shawl for someone who could use the reminder that they are loved,
not forgotten. There are some theological books I can enjoy and learn something
from. Learning is a joy too. I can listen to someone who needs a pair of ears
to really hear what they are saying, and I can lend my support to those I know
who are sick, grieving, or suffering in some way. There is joy and enjoyment in
those activities while also being opportunities to be helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="left" class="Soul" style="text-align: left;">Lent may not always have the
joy of the pre-lenten parties and celebrations, but it can have a quiet joy
that is good for the soul as well as the world. Let us find the joy and spread
it – in Lent and beyond.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-7104832225931994172023-02-18T20:17:00.004-07:002023-03-16T19:49:59.764-07:00Giving to the Needy<p> </p><p></p><p style="background: white;"><i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting
money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow
came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he
called his disciples and said to them, 'Truly I tell you, this poor widow has
put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all
of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has
put in everything she had, all she had to live on.'</span></i><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;"> -- Mark
12:41-44<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">Once upon a time, there was an old couple who lived in a small
cottage in a small town. They were not rich, did not have a lot of possessions,
and did n0t seem to require a lot of goods they could not purchase for
themselves or perhaps trade with neighbors for what they needed. They were
content, and for them, they had enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">One day, though, all that came crashing down, it seemed. The old
man died, leaving his widow to think of the life that now seemed impossible to
sustain. How could she manage without him? She did not feel she could maintain
the garden full of vegetables they used for their meals and traded for other
goods they did not grow. Without the income from the humble farm stand by the
village street, how could she pay the taxes and upkeep the small cottage needed
from time to time? How could she contribute their usual sum to the church whose
income depended on those who lived lives similar to the old couple? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">She went to the local church and sat in the spot where she and
her spouse had sat for years. She sat alone, missing her spouse but still in a
familiar place. She had a small amount of money in her purse for the offering.
It was not as much as they used to contribute, but it was all she had. When the
sidesman came around with the alms basin, she slipped her contribution in,
hoping that no one would notice the slight clink of coins she put in. She asked
God to accept it, as small as it was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">Like the widow in the Gospel story, this widow had contributed
all she could, knowing that others would make much larger offerings. In the
Gospel, Jesus noted her gift's size, noting to his disciples that although it was
a pittance, it was still a gift from the heart. The part of the offering was
more important than the size, and it was the difference between giving part of
a more significant amount and giving all she had. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">Even though the tithing season is past and church budgets have
probably been set and approved, maybe I can look at the Gospel story differently.
The main character is a woman, a widow with no man to protect and provide for
her. When she came to the synagogue or temple to give her offering, she might
have been the only woman in a crowd of men. She could have stayed at home, but she
chose to do her duty and give what she could to God. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">In a tradition that preached and encouraged practicing care for
the less fortunate, it could be that every other person in the town or village
would think it was someone else's responsibility. Jesus called the disciples to
remember the gift. Still, I wish he had given us a little more about how the
story was received and what difference it made in those who heard his teaching.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">I want to think that the story of our first widow ended with
people noticing her struggle and gathering around to comfort and support her.
They would drop off "extra" casseroles or soups for her nourishment, occasionally
help in the garden in exchange for some produce, or even run errands for her.
They would keep an eye on her and sometimes drop in for tea or coffee. The
church would help with spiritual support, noticing if she missed church and
calling on her to see how she was doing. In short, she would be cared for by a
community of people who, consciously or not, did what Jesus taught about loving
their neighbor and helping those in need.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #010000; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11pt;">Widows and orphans and all sorts of people with needs surround us.
The man on the street corner with a sign stating he needed money might be a
scammer. Still, he also might be a man who was down on his luck and needed a
sandwich, a cup of coffee, or a bottle of water. We are surrounded by developments
with houses that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. However, we can still
run into someone begging on the side of the road with all their possessions piled
in a pilfered grocery cart. Those are just the ones we see; there are dozens more
we do not see. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul">Before we say that it is someone else's responsibility or that we
do not want to have to pay for someone too lazy to work, perhaps we should
remember that Jesus said that we should care for all who suffer from misfortunes
of various kinds. Even those who try to hide their troubles may sometimes need
a shoulder to lean on, a hug, or a listening ear. Those do not cost a cent, but
they can mean the world to someone who really needs it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Originally
published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7261398700383915735/2902168254057569133"><span style="color: blue;">Episcopal Journal</span></a></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">, Saturday, February 18 2023.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-16428312928457530892023-02-04T20:44:00.001-07:002023-02-04T20:44:00.172-07:00Jealousy<p> </p><p class="Soul">I have been a fan of the British Royal Family and, in fact, of
the UK in general since I got hooked on a copy of National Geographic about
Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation and jewels. Oh, the beauty of those gems! I
loved their colors, sparkle, and sheer quantity of them. And to think, she had
even more of them in storage to be picked out and worn for various reasons and
occasions! I have never worn a tiara, much less a crown, and I have never been
jealous of those who can and do wear them. I am satisfied to look and enjoy,
without really minding who is wearing them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I thought the tiara Meghan Markle wore on her wedding day was
quite lovely. Compared to those of other royal brides, it was not my favorite
or even one of them, but it complimented her style and dress quite handsomely.
To find out that there possibly was what amounted to a spat over whether she
could wear the tiara she wanted or not was disappointing. Suppose someone
offers me a selection of very expensive jewels to wear on a significant
occasion. But if the one I wanted was not in the collection on offer, I think
it would only be polite to say, “Thank you, I would really like to wear this
one.” But, as someone with no chance of that ever happening to me, maybe I
could be a bit more gracious about accepting a second or even fourth choice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I will admit I have been jealous of a lot of people over a lot of
things. It was hard not to be jealous of girls whose mothers were alive and
close to them for many years, while my adopted mother was sick when I was about
nine until she died in my early teens. It was hard to wear ballerina shoes with
holes in the sole when other girls wore Weejuns with intact soles. In college,
I was still wearing clothes from when I was in eighth grade, while others got
new dresses or outfits just about every time they went home for the weekend. Diamonds
and tiaras were as far from my vocabulary as most commonly used curse words
today. Still, things couldn’t be changed, so I learned to accept what I couldn’t
change – most of the time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">One thing I was never jealous of was my adoptive brother, who was
twelve years older. We had a pretty good relationship, although we did have a
lot of fraternal spats like all kids do. I never had to worry about who had
priority. He was the son, I the daughter, and we each had our roles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">There have been a lot of brotherly spats in the Bible, from the
Hebrew scriptures to the New Testament. Early in Genesis, there was the story
of Cain and Abel, where Cain murdered his younger brother because Abel’s
sacrifice to God was more acceptable than Cain’s own. Esau and Jacob were
fraternal twins, with Esau being the elder. He was due to take precedence when
it came to the inheritance of everything left by his father’s death. Jacob was unhappy
with this, and when the opportunity presented itself, he tricked Esau into
trading everything for a bowl of stew. This act separated them for years, but
they eventually rebuilt their relationship. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Then there was the story of the prodigal son, who would be the
ancient equivalent of the “spare” son. His brother would inherit everything necessary,
so what would there be for his younger brother? There would be a pittance
instead of plenty, so the younger took his mite and ran away to seek his fortune
elsewhere. Instead, he found that living at home would have been much better
with guaranteed food and shelter. He discovered his jealousy had taken him away
from his father’s love and his brother’s company. He returned home, expecting
to be rejected. Instead, he received a warm welcome. Then it was his elder
brother’s turn to be jealous of that welcome. Sometimes things like jealousy
simply pass from person to person, brother to brother, or even stranger to
stranger.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Lately, there have been so many stories about Princes William and
Harry, one accusing, one trying to remain above retaliation. Neither brother
could change their birth order, and one resented being born second, jealous of
the attention given his brother. Nearly every day, we hear about one side and
the response (or lack of response) from the other. We keep hearing about the
same things repeatedly, often revealing and amounting to airing dirty laundry
in public. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">We learn from these examples of families in trouble due to
jealousy that even if we get our way in such a struggle, it is not always the
best thing. People are hurt, families have ripped apart, and reputations have
been ruined on both sides of the conflict. It is never a pretty thing or even a
good or fair one. It is merely one person’s wanting something that someone else
already has, and someone or even both sides get hurt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">So the lesson seems to be that when faced with jealousy, we must
be cautious of how we react to it. Can something be done about it? Can the
situation be changed, short of a capital crime or constitutional upheaval? God
gave us a direction in the Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not covet…” (Ex. 20:17).
It amounts to not wanting what someone has. Most of the time, it is hard to do,
but God would not tell us to do something completely impossible. It might
require us to work hard to achieve it, but is it impossible? Never. Someone,
please suggest this to some of the Royals.<o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-19029184131140509042023-01-28T19:00:00.002-07:002023-01-28T19:00:00.165-07:00A Progression of Reading<p class="Soul">I was not much of a reader when I was a kid. I had too much to do
-- playing outside, running off to visit the neighbors, getting into mischief,
like any kid. I did get sick a lot, though, and Mama would spend extra
time reading to me, so I learned that books were good. When I was about eight,
I caught almost every childhood disease that came down the pike: chicken pox,
measles, bronchitis, the works. I spent much time at home instead of school,
mostly on the bed or couch. TV, a relatively new thing, didn't have a lot of
stuff interesting to an eight-year-old, so I learned to enjoy books.<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I never stopped reading just about any book I could get my
hands on, though, and it did not really matter the subject. I still loved the
King Arthur tales, but I was beginning to run out of fiction books for kids 15
and over, even if I were only twelve or thirteen. My parents had bought me a
set of encyclopedias. I remember running home after school to pick a volume,
open it up, and start flipping pages until I found something that attracted my
attention. I'm fully grown now, but I still jump from subject to subject. It's
my way of learning more about different topics.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul">Did I ever read the Bible when I was young? Yes, I did. In my
early teens, I would walk to the local Victory Monument on a high bluff
overlooking the river I considered mine. There was a huge pine tree on the bluff's
edge, and I felt that was mine too. I would take out the little white Bible I was
given when I was baptized and read the psalms or stories from the gospels. I
honestly felt like God was sitting there with me, and although I could not hear
a voice, it felt like we were having conversations. I do not remember any of
them in particular now. Still, I felt good when I left the pine tree to go back
home and do my homework – and possibly get some more reading done simply for
pleasure. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The time came when I read more books on spirituality, biblical
interpretation, and theology. Some of those books radically changed my view of
scripture and religion in general, while others just confused me more than I
had been. One spark of clarification was learning that I could not read the
Bible as a literal account of everything that could be assumed to be just like
life now. I had to learn about the geography, history, and cultural anthropology
of life at that time and how similar things were happening in the surrounding
areas. It was utterly fascinating and informative as well. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I learned that Bible Study was not simply about making verses in
one part of the Bible point to other verses elsewhere, often in another testament.
Granted, it does happen, especially words from the prophets applying to the coming
Messiah. The ancient prophecies were often about events and behaviors much
closer in time. Often they were about how the people's behaviors of that time
would affect the future, like the exiles in Babylon and Assyria. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">I am still reading and learning, and I do not think I will ever
stop unless my eyes fail or my brain no longer functions as I need it to. Meanwhile,
I can pass on things I have learned through reading (and writing) to another
generation. Hopefully, they will learn to read the Bible in a way that brings
the past to life and illuminates the stories in a way that shows what their
life was like and how modern readers can find parallels in modern times. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Now, after I have read my lesson for today, do I want to read a
DCI Gamache mystery or reread a book I read decades ago about building a
cathedral?<o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-64570794863591484782023-01-21T19:45:00.010-07:002023-03-16T19:49:11.694-07:00Sacrifices<p> </p><p></p><p class="Soul"><i>A tent was constructed, the first one, in which were the
lampstand, the table, and the bread of the Presence; this is called the
Holy Place. Behind the second curtain was a tent called the Holy of
Holies.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="Soul" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><i>But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things
that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not
made with hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all
into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own
blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and
bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have
been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood
of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish
to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God!</i>
– <a href="http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Hebrews+9:2-3,11-14">Hebrews 9:2-3,
11-14</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Saul of Tarsus was born a Jew of the house of Benjamin and a
Pharisee. He studied under the famous and revered Gamaliel, a very learned
rabbi and teacher. Under him, Paul learned all he needed to know to function as
a Pharisee—observing strict practices and ceremonies, faithfully practicing the
oral traditions and laws, believing in the afterlife and the coming of the long-promised
Messiah. When he converted to become a follower of Jesus, it did not cancel his
Pharisaism but turned it in a different direction. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">In his letter to the Hebrews, Paul reminded them of some ancient
history about the first holy place that the Temple in Jerusalem would
eventually replace. Exodus 25 refers to Moses constructing the "first tent
of meeting" or the tabernacle. This tent would hold sacred objects in front
and a curtain separating the second section or the "Holy of Holies."
This second section contained the Ark of the Covenant and what was known as the
"Mercy Seat." During the exodus from Egypt, Moses received the Ten
Commandments. The ark was built to hold the two tablets, considered the most
sacred objects in Judaism. The tent was used until Solomon built the first
Temple in Jerusalem, where the ark lay in the new Holy of Holies until the fall
of the second Temple in 70 A.D.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The Temple was where sacrifices were made, the only place where
this was allowed according to God's command. There were four kinds of sacrifices,
with burnt offerings being the oldest and most common. With the destruction of
the second Temple, sacrifices were no longer able to be made, ending the
practice until a third Temple could be built in Jerusalem on Temple Mount. Jews
are still waiting for that to happen, but strife and resentment in that part of
the world seem to make a new Temple far-off or even impossible.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Christians believe that Christ made the final necessary sacrifice.
We are taught that the blood he shed on the cross atoned for the sins of
humankind so that no further blood sacrifices would be needed. Some
denominations teach that all humans are responsible for Jesus's sacrifice and
that we must all be constantly aware that each sin is like another nail in
Jesus's flesh. Other denominations remind their adherents that they commit sins
for which they must repent but that Jesus's atonement was all-encompassing. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">That is the good news that Christians have relied on for millennia.
Just as we teach children to say "I'm sorry" when they do something
bad, we adults need to acknowledge when we hurt others in some way, mistreat
the environment, or break one of God's laws. If we do justice, love kindness, and
walk humbly with our God (Micah 6:8b), it is much less likely we will break one
or more of the Ten Commandments given to Moses. It would help heal the earth (<i>Tikkun
Olam</i>) and bring the Kingdom of God back to the world and its people. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">We do not need a tent or an altar for sacrifice to acknowledge
our gratitude to God or repent of our wrongdoings. We must remember to be
grateful to God and honor Jesus's sacrifice. Living in gratitude and seeking to
bring justice would be a great start. Can we give it a chance, especially with
Lent coming in the not-too-distant future?<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: ""Times New Roman"",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Originally
published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7261398700383915735/2902168254057569133"><span style="color: blue;">Episcopal Journal</span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: ""Times New Roman"",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Saturday, January 21, 2023.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-82000984706792156342023-01-14T16:39:00.002-07:002023-03-16T19:48:26.539-07:00God, Grant Me...<p> </p><p></p><p class="Soul">I remember an old song by Luther Dixon: “Mama said there’d be
days like this.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lyrics seemed to
talk about good and bad days, but it always came back to Mama saying, “Don’t
worry.” No matter what comes, there will always be good and bad days. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Today is one of those days, the “Don’t worry” kind, even though I
know in my bones that worrying is a waste of time. I used to worry about everything,
and you know what? It did not do a single bit of good. Good and bad happened,
and I lived through all of it. Tomorrow will come, good or bad, regardless of
how much or how little I fret about it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Today is one day when I can identify with Jesus, specifically
Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew what was coming, and he dreaded it.
I cannot think of him not being somewhat fearful, anxious, or full of dread. He
understood that the next day would bring his death, coupled with anguish and
feelings of desertion. He knew there would be unbearable pain and that he would
have to endure it. He asked God to take this burden from him but knew that this
prayer would not be answered. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, I am not facing
crucifixion, scourging, betrayal, or humiliation. Well, maybe a bit of embarrassment.
I am facing a “procedure” that is unpleasant in preparation for it, and then,
tomorrow, having to go through with the actual procedure itself. It seems to be
the one way to find out if I have something that is lowering my blood cell
count, thus making me tired and short of breath after brief exertion. It could
possibly tell if it is severe enough to compromise my immune system. Therefore,
I have been trying to keep busy, forgetting about food (I am not allowed to eat
today and until the procedure is over tomorrow), and hydrating like mad. I
think Phoebe, my cat, knows I am stressed as she has been a bit clingy, which
is unusual for her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Like Jesus, I’ve been praying quite a bit as I do household
things that need doing and that I have put off. The prayers fly out like arrows
from a taut bow, asking for reassurance, courage, patience, and relief from
dread. Usually, my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, credited to Reinhold
Niebuhr, does the trick. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change” usually gives me a sense of calm and, oddly enough, the very serenity I
ask for. Over the years that I have used it as my go-to prayer, I have become
much calmer, less anxious, not as worried, and more able to cope with things
that come my way. Today, believe me, that prayer is earning its keep in terms
of helping me forget the dread I have experienced off and on.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">It is no wonder that the Serenity Prayer is such a cornerstone
for those suffering from addiction or watching a friend or loved one go through
it. Sometimes medication is needed, and I know it can be helpful in my life.
Still, I use a connection to God almost like a mantra or perhaps a bead on a
rosary. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The image of Jesus in Gethsemane keeps flashing through my mind
quite often today. As close as he was to God, I wonder what words he used in
his prayer. What did he say to try to come to grips with what he was facing? I
know that he felt pain, loss, and desertion on the cross by someone he had
always counted on. How devastating that must have been, knowing the closeness
he and God had always shared. I think, in a way, I will be feeling something of
that total aloneness as I go into the hospital. I will be surrounded by
strangers, even though I will have support waiting for me when I get out of the
operating room. Jesus had women friends and family with him at the cross, but
the main person he needed was not there – or was God there, weeping with the
women? Even though I am a person who cannot seem to cry at appropriate times, I
feel the pain and loss every bit as deeply as one who stands over a loved one’s
casket. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">So I will reflect on my “Mama said” tonight, keep reciting the
Serenity Prayer, do some much-needed chores around the house, and then go to
bed. I will be repeating the prayer once again before I hopefully fall asleep. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Tomorrow is another day.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Originally
published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7261398700383915735/2902168254057569133"><span style="color: blue;">Episcopal Journal</span></a></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">, Saturday, January 14, 2023.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-41386459950361798572023-01-07T20:27:00.001-07:002023-01-07T20:27:00.193-07:00Peace and Justice<p> </p><p></p><p class="Soul"><i>Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he
withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by
the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been
spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled:<br />'Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali,<br />
on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the
Gentiles—<br />
the people who sat in darkness<br />
have seen a great light,<br />
and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death<br />
light has dawned.'<br />
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has
come near.' </i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">-- Matthew 12:4-17<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">Jesus's cousin, John the
Baptizer, had been arrested. Maybe they hadn't seen or heard from each other
for some time or possibly had lived near each other during John's early
ministry, it would still be a shock to hear that a close relative had been arrested
and taken to jail. What family is ready to hear news like that? Today, it is much
more common than it used to be in many parts of the world, but the shock is
still there, even and especially if the person is innocent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">Matthew tells us that Jesus moved
to Capernaum after John's arrest. The two places were not far from each other,
but it still would have taken at least a few days, if not a week, to walk that
far. Why would Jesus move there other than to fulfill a scriptural prophecy
from Isaiah? Perhaps it was time to leave home and start his ministry in new
places, or maybe it was to identify himself with John's ministry and continue
it. Whatever the reason, Jesus took John's message of repentance and proclaimed
it. It was an identification that the kingdom of God was coming soon and the
Messiah was near. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">We may not have a Jesus or John
proclaiming the kingdom or the coming of the Messiah. Still, we have seen more
often where someone is accused, arrested, or even killed for something they
were suspected of doing or because of what they said in public. We do not have
to look far to see examples such as Martin Luther King Jr.'s arrest in Birmingham,
Alabama, for protesting the treatment of Blacks. He took the message all over
the country. That message spread worldwide and was often adapted to cover local
concerns. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">There have been protests for
voting rights, rights to health care, justice for minorities, and all types of
social issues. There have been local, national, and international spokespersons
who have suffered arrest, imprisonment, and even death to preach the social
gospel of justice for those whose voices were silenced because of who they were
or what race, cultural, or religious group to which they belonged. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">Jesus preached about loving one
another, helping neighbors and aliens alike, doing good, and loving God above
all. It did not make him popular with those who disagreed with his
interpretation of scripture, but he continued preaching his message anyway. Ultimately,
he, too, was arrested and put on trial. He was sent to Pilate with blasphemy
charges and crimes against the Roman government. He was subsequently executed
by crucifixion that same day. Unlike today, where often something like this
might happen, only women followers were present at his execution. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">In contrast, others hid to escape
arrest as Jesus's accomplices. These days, there are often demonstrations,
protests, and sometimes riots to protest similar circumstances and charges. Sometimes
protesters are caught and jailed, then put on trial for their expression of
protest. Many of them are imprisoned, fairly or not. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">We do not usually expect
religious expression by crowds to be disrupted, hampered, or even stopped by
civil authorities. Just because we do not expect them does not mean they do not
happen. Still, we exercise our right to protest and carry our message to those
for whom the matter is not a solid "yea" or "nay." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">Jesus taught love and respect for
others and demonstrated kindness and faith. He expects us to follow those
teachings, even as those like MLK Jr, Nelson Mandela, and Cesar Chavez. Members
of groups representing Jews or Muslims, LGBTQ+, Asian and Hispanic Americans,
Native Americans, and others struggle for acceptance. Those who fight with them
to preserve their rights and ability to live safely are helping to bring the
kingdom of God to all, not just this or that group. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="Soul"><span style="font-style: normal;">It is a new year, and perhaps
this year is the time for new resolutions to follow Jesus in loving our
neighbors, whoever they may be. </span>To know peace and
grow the kingdom on earth, let us work
to learn justice. </p>
<u1:p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></u1:p><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-26207549263307095922022-12-31T13:43:00.001-07:002022-12-31T13:43:00.185-07:00Sing a New Song<p> </p><p class="Soul"><i>Sing to the Lord a new song; <br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">sing to the Lord, all the whole earth.</span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Sing to the Lord and bless his Name; <br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">proclaim the good news of his salvation from day
to day.</span></span></i> – Psalm 96:1-2<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Tonight is New Year’s Eve, a night of parties, loud booming
music, dogs howling, horns blowing, and fireworks. For me and those like me, a regular
bedtime may be possible, but certainly not guaranteed to sleep once midnight
strikes. Noises increase, and fireworks pop, crackle, and boom for at least an
hour and often several hours. It is bad enough for those with anxious pets for
whom the noise is frightening. Yet I think about the strays without homes and
even some who stray away from home, terrified by the noise and lack of places
to escape it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Tonight, I doubt many will do what the psalmist suggests: singing
a new song and blessing God’s name. New Year’s Eve celebrates the end of a year
and the beginning of a new one. It has been done for millennia, not necessarily
at the end of December and the beginning of January. Ancient Romans celebrated
the new year by marking the day Rome was founded in 702, but the day was in
March (by our calendar). Jews traditionally celebrate the new year beginning
with Rosh Hashana, which, in 2023, will start at sunset on September 15 and end
at sunset on September 17. Rosh Hashana is not explicitly named in the Bible,
but a reference to its observance is found in <a href="https://www.chabad.org/library/bible_cdo/aid/9924/jewish/Chapter-23.htm#v23">Leviticus
23:23-25.</a> Other religions and cultures celebrate at various times, usually
in spring, for the arrival of new life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">We usually mark New Year’s by at least thinking about starting
over fresh, putting away old things and habits, and starting anew. Everyone
jokes about making resolutions and even more about how long a person can keep a
resolution they have made. The most common are living healthier, exercising
more, and losing weight. Some want to stop smoking or drinking alcohol. In
contrast, others want to be kinder to others, give more time or money to
charity, or even spend more time with their families. People of faith often
resolve to pray more, attend church more, or try to live by Jesus’s teachings
or God’s rules more than they do now. In a sense, those resolutions are the new
song we sing to God as we promise to change or do something better. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">The important thing is to take any promises or resolutions
seriously. While losing weight or reading the Bible more may not have the
intent of a monk or nun taking life-long vows of poverty, chastity, or obedience,
we aren’t all called to make those changes. Most of us live in a world where
temptations come constantly. We also live where to fail is to feel or
experience shame and often to be considered a loser. Success means so much in
our world, probably too much. According to his culture, Jesus might not have
been considered a success like Caesar or the equivalent of the CEO of a
multimillion-dollar corporation. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">For some, taking a single step is a sign of success, especially for
someone who has been unable to walk for some time, if ever. Jesus helped those
who were shamed or considered failures to live new, healthier, happier lives
simply by speaking a few words or perhaps a single touch. Did those whose lives
were changed merely shrug off the changes that had happened and return to their
former lives? Probably not. They recognized the depth of change and the cost of
it. They owed Jesus, and the only way they could repay him was to spread the
news of his gift and teachings. They could encourage others to go and listen
and, hopefully, be changed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Those whom Jesus touched learned to sing a new song, and they
continued to sing it to all who would hear it. For them, the day they heard
Jesus or a messenger with his words was a new year. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">This year, I need to forget frivolous resolutions and make a solemn
promise to sing a new song to God whether or not I say a word. My actions need
to be part of my song and my life, and I mean it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Soul">Happy New Year. Sing a new song!<o:p></o:p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-47578695122334996922022-12-24T08:00:00.005-07:002023-01-01T09:05:27.359-07:00O Mystical Night<p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is
something extraordinary about Christmas Eve. The excitement has been building
since Advent began four weeks ago. A lot of work has gone into shopping,
decorating, cooking, and wrapping. Even though two nights ago was the shortest one
of the year, tonight will be only a minute or two longer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember
waiting for Santa Claus after my parents and I had come home from the Candlelight
Christmas Eve service at the Baptist church across the street. I loved the lit
candles in the windows, but the lights over the choir loft and the baptistry
were too bright to suit me. Even then, I was a bit particular about church
services. Also, I developed an aversion to "O Holy Night," which seemed
obligatory every year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Flash forward
to my middle-aged years. Again I lived across from the church, Episcopal this
time. I remarried, and my son was nine years old. My husband was Catholic, but
I had tried that, and it did not work for me. The music was too modern. After a
few centuries of letting only the choir and organ provide the music, the
congregation was just learning to sing. This was part of a church with a
thousand years of prayerful, worshipful, beautiful music that was seldom heard.
It broke my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I returned
to my Episcopal church on Christmas Eve. I found just what I was looking for –
communal liturgy, familiar readings, and music – oh, my, such music, in
multiple parts and in languages from English to Latin, French, and Italian! I sang
in the choir for over a decade after that, including Christmas Eves. Leaving
the house a bit before 11 o'clock and pacing through the winter air, it was a
joy to be there and participating. Yes, there was the obligatory "O Holy
Night," just as I had experienced in the Baptist church. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I left the church after midnight, the air
was colder, but somehow the stars were brighter. The traffic was gone, and the
quiet allowed me to process what I had just experienced. It was a slower trip to
my front door across the street, but I hated rushing it. There was a feeling in
the air, something the church dubbed "a thin space" between heaven
and earth. Perhaps that was why the stars were brighter, but I could feel the night's
holiness unlike any other night of the year. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Even though
it was colder, I wanted to enjoy every minute of remembrance. We had the procession
to "O Come, All Ye Faithful," incense, a predictable liturgy with
familiar readings, more carols, hymns, and finally, communion at the altar rail
before the benediction and the recessional of "Joy to the World." On
my walk home, I relived what the choir had sung and the sound of an entire
church singing familiar music. I felt a shawl of faith and joy wrapping around
me, even through my coat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a mystical
night, slowly beginning to wear off as I got into warm pajamas and climbed into
bed. I did not want it to end. The flame of mystical joy brightened again as I
said my prayers. I drifted off to sleep while listening to the radio play Christmas
music or perhaps a service from England or Washington, DC. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am not a
mystic, but now and again, I feel flashes of something beyond the ordinary. More
and more, I rely on streaming video to bring the church to me. There are still beautiful
things, like the Jewish synagogue downtown allowing the Episcopal cathedral
congregation to use their facilities much larger than the cathedral can seat. There
will be music and a familiar liturgy. I may not be there in person, but I can
still recall the feeling of taking communion on those nights that were almost
magical. I can feel the presence of angels and those who have gone through the
mystical veil into the very presence of God. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May you all
have a safe, happy, holy, mystical Christmas Eve and a most joyous Christmas
Day. Look for the mystery. It will come if I am patient and attentive, and it
will work for you too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-46181060502100654242022-12-17T19:53:00.002-07:002022-12-22T13:08:10.357-07:00Stirring Up<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It's cold. I know, people laugh at those of us who live in
this part of the country because we declare it's cold when the daytime
temperature is just below 60 degrees and the nights are hovering just at or
slightly below the freezing level. These temperatures usually don't come to
this part of Arizona until after the new year. This year they started dropping
in late October. Don't get me wrong; I'd far rather add blankets and mittens
than wonder what else in the clothing line I can remove when the weather is
above 110 F. Somehow, it's more fun to have Christmas with cold weather than
lukewarm at 70-80 degrees.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It's hard to believe that tomorrow is the third Sunday of
Advent already. I keep checking the calendar to ensure I haven't skipped a
Sunday or two since Thanksgiving. On Sunday, I will be sure because I will hear
the familiar collect, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 67.5pt;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Stir up your power, O
Lord, and with great might come</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by
our sins,</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help
and deliver</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with
you and</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for
ever. </span><em style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Amen. </span></em><em><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">(BCP, 211)<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That
collect always makes me smile because it reminds me of a tradition back home.
Of course, the pre-Christmas kitchens were frequently warm from baking sessions.
They smelled pleasantly of wide varieties of cookies, pies, and other treats. Hearing
"Stir up…" in church was a reminder to get going on the baking had it
not been started already. Of course, it was a bit late for the fruitcakes since
they needed time to steep in their brandy basting, but for everything else,
there was time. How lovely it was to come home from school to walk in the door
and get a whiff of sugar cookies, gingerbread men, Danish cookies rich with
butter, and all sorts of flavorings and spices. We still ate pumpkin pie at
Christmas but added to it with apple (old fashioned or Dutch), pecan, or my particular
favorite, mince. Some things (especially the cookies) may have to have additional
batches to compensate for the depredations into the already-baked stock, but
that was just part of the holiday tradition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
collect isn't aimed so much at bakers and homemakers. It's directed to God to
help clear up our messes far worse than a kitchen crowded with used cookie
cutters, cake and pie pans, spatulas, rolling pins, big spoons, oven mitts, and
colored sprinkles and sugars used to decorate. It reminds us that we cannot
forgive our own sins or get past them, and we can be delivered and forgiven only
through God's grace, Jesus's love, and the Spirit's power. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We
can't always detect God's stirring up of power. But then, we can't always notice
the particular flavor of vanilla or ginger in the cookies, but we would surely
notice the absence with our first tasting. God's power is often very subtle,
but it is there, working like yeast or baking powder. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Perhaps
the best part is that God's power isn't a commodity we must run to the store for.
It's available whenever needed and requested. It simply requires us to ask for
it, trust it will be given, and be thankful for its presence. It won't be gone
like store Christmas displays on Christmas Day, rained out, or otherwise ruined
or canceled. It doesn't require the Energizer Bunny or Diehard battery. It is
there because God put it there, and because God loves us, we can access it anytime.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It's
time for me to get out the flour and other ingredients. Suddenly, I'm in the
mood to bake, even though there will only be the two of us this Christmas. That's
okay; God's still here with power that is still abundant, and Phoebe and I can
have all the cookies and pie we want. God is not only powerful but discreet as
well. Thank you, God! <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-36744552675776071402022-12-08T20:46:00.002-07:002022-12-22T13:07:35.383-07:00Seeing Things Differently<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Christmas may be several weeks away, but there are Christmas-y
things all over. There are pictures of lighted houses in the snow, decorated
trees, reindeer, and some guy dressed in a red suit and hat. There are even
images of fully-staffed manger scenes, even though Mary and Joseph haven't even
gotten to Bethlehem if they've even started on that journey. It's all in the
spirit of getting ready for a special day in the Christian faith, although
snowmen, reindeer, and the red-suited dude aren't part of the true story of
Christmas.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I also see images of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem to
pay the taxes required of them. Mary is riding on a donkey because she is heavily
pregnant. Joseph holds the donkey's halter to ensure the animal doesn't stumble
or jostle its precious cargo too severely. It's been drawn, painted, sculpted,
and carved probably a hundred thousand ways, but it all brings the same message
– the Savior is coming. It's a message we, along with our ancestors and our
successors, need to be reminded of year after year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One thing I notice this year is the increasing number of images
showing modern-day Josephs and Marys, some pregnant, some with small children. Several
years ago, one of the first I saw showed a painting of a young pair of homeless
people in front of a bodega in what appeared to be a tough neighborhood. The
female was pregnant, and both were dressed in shirts, tattered jeans, and thin jackets.
In the background, there was a sign saying "Motel," but the boy and
girl appeared too poor to take advantage of it for shelter. It was the first
time I'd really seen or thought of the journey to Bethlehem in terms of immigrants,
homeless people, or even people other than the Middle Eastern Jewish couple I'd
been raised to identify with on the journey to Bethlehem. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Since seeing that image, I've seen other representations
that show people of different races, cultures, and ethnicities. They all
represented poor people, marginalized, forced to travel without the benefit of
modern transportation, prepared accommodations, and anything a credit card
would cover. They were people taken out of the context of their everyday life.
They were put in situations they were almost unequipped to handle. Like Mary
and Joseph, they needed shelter and a safe place for a baby to be born. To the
homeless and the undocumented, it is a lot to ask for. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our <a href="https://theology.sewanee.edu/education-for-ministry/program/">Education
for Ministry (EfM)</a> seminar group is reading a book called<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="background: white; color: #1f1c1c; font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Reading the
Bible from the Margins</span></em><span style="background: white; color: #1f1c1c; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> by Miguel A. De La Torre</span>. Its main
point is that the Bible was written for cultures other than the Eurocentric,
Caucasian, middle- and upper-classes. The message of Jesus was given not to
just one group, the Jewish nation, but to Samaritans, Romans, and Greeks, and
spread outward from Jerusalem to the Mediterranean area and beyond. We live in
a much wider world with many different eyes reading the same texts. We have to
learn to read the Bible through different lenses of other cultures and groups
who have different experiences from our own. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1f1c1c; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It's a shock to get such a message since most
of us have learned to read the Bible one way, from a patriarchal, Caucasian,
Christian point of view. Like the new images of alternative holy families and
journeys to Bethlehem, it is something we must learn to do even to begin to
recreate the Kingdom of God on earth as Jesus told us to do. Granted, even
Jesus tried to see things one way when a Syrophoenician woman approached him to
help her daughter (Mark 7:25-30). Jesus told her that he had come for the Jews,
and her reply was simple. "Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the
children's crumbs (v. 28)." Jesus acknowledged the truth of the statement,
and the woman's daughter was healed. A shift in viewpoint was all it took.
Jesus looked at the situation through new lenses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1f1c1c; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Granted, it takes effort to learn to do what
Jesus did, namely, look at things differently. It involves things such as
actually seeing the homeless on the street, not just passing by and ignoring
them as if they did not exist. It is reading the Bible through the eyes of the
impoverished, marginalized, and the stranger, those with little or no power or
voice in a culture that ignores their existence. It requires putting oneself in
a different box than the comfortable one they are used to. It is reading the
hope in the message, not the self-congratulation or reading the words and
ignoring their meaning. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1f1c1c; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sometimes we must be pushed to get out of our
comfort zones and try something new or learn something different. We still have
nativity stories happening around us, even if the result isn't the coming of the
Savior of the world. That happened once, and that should be enough. We have the
plan laid out for us if we just open our eyes and recognize it. Maybe this
Advent, we should look for Marys and Josephs, Marias and Josés, Mariias and
Yosips, and all the others who seek shelter, safety, and a place where they can
be part of a community of equals. Jesus would appreciate that. It would be a
birthday gift greater than the gold, frankincense, and myrrh that came at
Epiphany. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-79459394089687663432022-12-03T19:30:00.009-07:002022-12-22T13:07:21.795-07:00Grief, Advent and Candles<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I always look forward to Advent, my favorite liturgical
season for many reasons. I love the readings, the music, the anticipation, the twinkling
of lights, the scent of candles, and the jingle of ornaments brushed by the
backs and tails of cats who think the tree was put up specifically to amuse
them and to provide a nice napping spot. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My family tradition was to put up the tree on Thanksgiving
weekend, but I wasn’t ready to do it this year. Having lost one of my boys,
Gandhi, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, and his brother, Dominic (Domi), the
day after the holiday, it was hard to do even the simplest things. This week
has been a bit better, but my third cat, Phoebe, and I are still struggling to
find a new normal. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know many people are walking the same path this year. There
were many others in past years, and undoubtedly there will be many more in future
holiday seasons. I remember losing my brother a few Decembers ago, just before
Christmas. I still half expect my phone to ring on Christmas Day and the sound
of my brother’s voice on the other end. I know others have the same hope and grief
when there’s another empty chair at the Christmas table or a lack of contact from
someone exceptional in our lives during the holidays. Even though my two boys
were cats, they had been my babies and companions for over fifteen years. Their
departure leaves a massive hole in our household.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really beginning
to dread the holidays because I wonder who will go sometime this year or next. I
don’t just dread holidays. I’m starting to dislike them, no matter how hard I
try to decorate a tree, bake savory presents for friends, and feel Christmas-y
even around good friends.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I miss the anticipation of the holiday season that I used to
have. I loved riding around with my family, looking at the houses and trees
trimmed with multicolored lights, tinsel strings, and garlands. I miss the
caroling we used to do. No matter how cold or miserable the weather, we walked
around town if we couldn’t drive to shut-in friends. We’d end the evening by
gathering at someone’s house for hot chocolate and cider, Smithfield ham biscuits,
and several kinds of holiday cookies. I miss the candlelight service at church
and the midnight mass especially. I loved walking home in the wee small hours
after mass and looking up at the sky where the stars seemed to twinkle so much
more brightly than any other night of the year. There was a feeling of heaven
being very close, only a thin veil between me and it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There was, and is, so much to look forward to during Advent
and Christmas. Advent is preparation – contemplation, getting ready, and
anticipation. It’s such a holy time without a rush toward Christmas that we are
exposed to in the media, shops, and stores. Despite grieving my boys, I still yearn
to get the slightest bit of anticipatory joy. I want to enjoy the things I used
to. I miss the Advent and Christmas seasons in Colonial Williamsburg with its hot spiced
cider and gingerbread, decorated 18th-century houses, and maybe even snow. I
can make cider and gingerbread, but it isn’t quite the same, much as an almost
empty house is not quite as joyful and familiar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know how lonely the holiday season, including Advent, can
be. This year, my objective is to look around me and see who could use a
telephone call or a card. I don’t have much money, but perhaps I could knit a
cap and mittens, even if Arizonans often scorn such things. I probably should get
some plastic tubs and make shelters for my two outdoor cats, Buddy and Sandy. I
should get out more and, when I do, smile more. Smiling at someone I don’t know,
and getting one back, is really satisfying. And why should I resist doing that for
the rest of the year? Don’t people need smiles all year round?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ok, that is my Advent project. I still have my girl cat, my warm
and dry trailer, the ability to decide what I will do and when (for the most
part), and the desire to make the season a bit brighter. After all, the coming
of Jesus during a dark period of life in the Middle East gave a tiny bit of
light that grew and grew. Maybe I need to remind others, invite them to light a
small candle and encourage them to pass the light along. The grief may still be
there, but giving the ray of hope could make a big difference. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have a blessed
Advent. There are still three weeks to go, so I better get busy. <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-75320877441570747892022-11-26T19:20:00.003-07:002022-11-26T19:20:00.191-07:00To Be Thankful<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Thanksgiving is over now, but it still lingers in Black
Friday sales, turkey leftovers, and football games. Christmas decorations have
been up in the stores since Labor Day, so any seemingly Thanksgiving-oriented
ones disappeared by midnight on Thursday. The same will happen at Christmas.
Valentine’s Day cards, candy, and lingerie will be on store shelves before Christmas
Day ends. Fortunately, people who put up Christmas lights at least seem to wait
until New Year’s Day, if not waiting for the Christmas season to end on Epiphany,
as observed by many denominations. I’m thankful for those folks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But back to Thanksgiving. At least on one day of the year,
it is a kind of reminder to the country that we have much to be thankful for –
besides Black Friday sales, etc., as listed above. Even if slightly cracked by
the last elections and increasing crime, violence, and political maneuvering,
we are still a nation. Opposing forces haven’t invaded us. We still have
families, friends, and our four-footed family members. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We have people who care for each other, even if the others
are perfect strangers. We have first responders and service personnel who help
us when we are in trouble or danger and do it willingly. There are medical
service workers who care for us on holidays as surely as on regular days
because they are called to be helpful. We have volunteers who run food banks
(which depend on volunteer contributions) and thrift stores. We have those who
work on Thanksgiving Day to feed those who choose to dine out on holidays. We
also have those who work in soup kitchens on Thanksgiving and other days to provide
meals for those for whom a hot, home-cooked meal is a necessity rather than a
luxury. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Many are suffering from chronic or fatal diseases, and for whom
this may be the last time to give thanks with those they love. We are thankful
for the caregivers and respite workers who care for them. We remember those who
are elderly, alone, suffering homelessness, mental illness, newly diagnosed or
newly bereaved, and those overcome by daily life and hopelessness. We pray for
them regularly, and sometimes we get involved in ministries where we can help
those for whom we pray. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even though Thanksgiving Day is over, being thankful isn’t
something we need to relegate to one particular Thursday at the end of November.
We talk a lot about being grateful but are we using actions to prove it? My <a href="https://theology.sewanee.edu/education-for-ministry/program/">Education
for Ministry (EfM)</a> group discussed this in our last session. One story we discussed
was the sight of someone in a grocery checkout line paying for someone else’s
basket of groceries as well as their own. We agreed that that was a wonderful
gift from one person to a stranger, but as I think about it now, it produced
two acts of thanksgiving. One was the person receiving the gift of groceries,
which probably included basic things plus perhaps things for Thanksgiving dinner.
The other was the thanksgiving of the giver whose heart was touched and who could
provide for someone else. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thanksgiving should be more than one day of overindulgence
in turkey with all the trimmings and multiple desserts, family games and
televised football, or even driving to celebrate with family and friends once a
year. Many people have said the same essential thing many times, but maybe repeating
it won’t hurt. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year I’m grateful for my family, my friends, both
living and deceased, my trailer home, a cabinet with food in it for me and my
two fur-kids, heat, electricity, the internet that keeps me connected with so
many, my EfM group, my faith, music, books that make me think, and the people
who read my musings. I’m also grateful for my companion cat, Gandhi, who passed
over the Rainbow Bridge this past Wednesday morning after 15+ years together
with his brother and sister-cousin. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I keep saying I will work on being thankful more than one
day a year, and for the most part, I succeed nearly every day, but nearly isn’t
quite enough. My goal is to be thankful and to remind God that I am every day,
several times a day. I can call it a New Year’s resolution since Sunday marks
the beginning of a new church year, and it seems to fit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thank you for being part of this journey of mine.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><a href="https://episcopaljournal.org/worrying-about-worrying" target="_blank">Episcopal Journal</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Saturday, November 26, 2022.</span></div>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261398700383915735.post-70754484313710114032022-11-19T19:02:00.005-07:002022-11-23T19:30:05.670-07:00The Blanket of Humanity<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I like this time of year. I enjoy being cold; it makes such
a great change from the 110° heat. I can always put more clothes on, but I
cannot always take enough off. Besides, I love cuddling under a blanket and/or
duvet with a purring cat next to me. I’ve been sleeping much better since all
this started, and I love that too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s also a great time for knitting. My hands don’t sweat as
I work the yarn, and my fingers don’t slip off the needles, sometimes taking
some stitches with me. My color scheme changes a bit with the change of season,
and I tend to use more autumnal colors than in spring and summer, but now and
again, something comes up that makes me change my schemes. One is if someone I
know is having a baby and, perhaps, knows the gender of the said baby ahead of
time. I think every knitter should have a baby to knit for now and then – or maybe
a sailor, a preemie, an abandoned child, a chronically ill person, or a senior.
Somehow, though, babies are the most fun.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A friend asked me to make a blanket for an impending baby boy,
the son of a friend of theirs. I found some lovely yarn – a three-ply yarn with
two strands of white and one of a very pronounced baby blue. And so I set
forth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It knit up so soft and cuddly in a pale shade of blue all
over. Up close, though, I could see definite strands of white and blue twisted
together. The blend softened the brighter blue, and the white gave it a
cloud-like appearance. They were different strands, but they melded together
just perfectly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I started to think about diversity and how it played into my
knitting. Then I widened my view a bit. If I viewed a crowd from a very high
altitude, I doubt I could pick out people of various races, cultures, and such,
much as I couldn’t pick out the shades of yarn I was using. But up close, that
all changed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are all kinds of people who make up who I walk next to
or face as I walk down the street. Some stand out, perhaps because they are smiling,
laughing, or wearing something bright and colorful. Others blend into the background
as if they are hiding or prefer a more somber way of dressing. Some speak
English, others Spanish, but now and again, I hear German or one of the Asian languages.
It reminds me of riding the city busses in Washington, DC, when I visited
there. It was such a wonderful place to people-watch and hear various tongues
even if I didn’t understand them. Like the blanket yarn, each person stuck out
in their own particular way, yet blended together in the great blanket of
humanity.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Who sits in your church pews? With whom do you share office
space? Who plays on your child’s soccer team? Who is your doctor? What about
the clerk in the store you patronize? Do they all look like you? Do they speak
the same language as you? Are their meals reflective of a culture unfamiliar to
you, or perhaps a dish you always order at a restaurant? Do you see others as
different than you, or are they just part of the makeup of a world where you
live and move and have your being? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Diversity is like going to a yarn shop and enjoying all the available
colors, combinations and weights. Riding the bus in DC was an exercise in the
same kind of experience. Now I know the conglomeration of different people in
Walmart, a yarn shop, the car wash, the church, or the golf course. I can
appreciate them as being as different as snowflakes, yet all coming together to
make drifts and snowmen. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Above all, I give thanks to God for all the diversity in the
world. Without it, it would be a very dull place. <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of </span><a href="https://episcopaljournal.org/worrying-about-worrying" target="_blank">Episcopal Journal</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Saturday, November 19, 2022.</span></div>Linda Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08276614671417219953noreply@blogger.com0