"Here I am. Here am I."
How many sermons start out with a funny story or something from the life of the preacher?
I woke about the usual time this morning, Christmas Day 2010. The boys (my cats) decided that Christmas or not, it was time for me to wake up, get up and be about the daily duty of preparing their breakfast. Today, though, I rolled over but not to go back to sleep. I reached for the remote, fumbled for the right combination of number keys to get to the channel I wanted and lay back to enjoy Lessons and Carols from Trinity Wall Street in New York. The boys, realizing I wasn't going to move any time soon, settled in with apparent reluctance. Oh, there were some distractions -- Domi walking across me like traffic on a busy bridge and Sama being sorely tempted by the twitching of his brother Gandhi's tail (and they're almost 4 – supposedly "big" cats, no longer kittens). Still, though, for the most part the boys and I enjoyed the exquisite music and excellently well-done readings. It was all the best of Episcopal services , rich with pageantry, tradition, sound and visuals. I can think of about a hundred different ways to wake up but this has to be about the very best.
Hearing the reading of the Annunciation, something struck me. The angel is speaking to Mary, giving her some information that surely would have given anybody pause if not an immediate urge to flee. The angel said that she would become pregnant without having been married first, something that in those times (and even sometimes now) would be cause for disgrace and possibly even death. Yet Mary answers with a simple "Here am I, the servant of the Lord." "Here am I." That phrase she uttered had echoed down through Biblical history as a response to a call.
Abraham said, "Here I am" to God, little knowing what God had in mind, namely the sacrifice of Abraham's beloved son, Isaac. He said it again when he had Isaac bound on the altar, ready to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb. This time it was an angel who called, causing Abraham to stay his hand and then find a ram in a bramble bush to serve in Isaac's place. (Gen. 22:1)
Jacob had his moment. In preparation for meeting again the brother whose birthright he had stolen, Jacob sent his family, most of flocks and herds away to safety. As he lay alone that night under a tree with a stone for a pillow, a voice called and Jacob responded "Here I am." That ended in Jacob's wrestling with someone – an angel? His own baser nature? God Godself? – before dislocating his hip in the wrestling match. From this he got a new name, Israel, that came to represent a nation chosen by God. (Gen. 46:2)
Jacob's favorite son, Joseph, responded to his father's call with "Here I am." Jacob's charge to him was to go and give a message to his brothers who were all out tending sheep. That little journey would cost Joseph his freedom for years but ultimately saved the lives of his family in a foreign land and set the stage for the next chapter and call. (Gen. 37:13)
Moses saw a burning bush. Surprisingly, a voice from the bush called Moses by name and Moses responded with the very expected response, "Here I am." We know what that response let Moses in for. (Ex. 3:4)
There was Samuel who, hearing a voice calling him in the middle of the night, ran to his teacher, Eli, saying, "Here I am." He did that several times before Eli caught on and told Samuel to respond to the One who truly was calling him. When God next called Samuel's name, Samuel again responded, "Here I am." (1 Sam. 3)
Isaiah the prophet described his call: "Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?' and I said, 'Here am I, send me!'" (Is. 6:8)
There are others, but these seem to lead us to Mary's response, so like those of those we have just noted and some others as well, "Here am I." (Luke 1:38). She faced a very daunting prospect, one potentially dangerous to herself and her family. I'm sure she recognized the immediate problem, how were her family and fiancé going to respond to this, but she assented all the same.
Mary's son, Jesus, whose birth we celebrate today, is, in a sense God turning the table and saying "Here I am" to the world. Throughout his life Jesus' presence would say "Here I am" again and again, to God and to the world. Only once did he say, "Please, no" but before a breath could pass it became, "not my will but yours."
We like to think that our response to a call from God would be "Here I am" but I know for myself there are times I would (and probably have) said, "Er, would you mind waiting a bit? I'm a little busy right now" or "Uh, I don't think so but thanks anyway." As with Samuel, God is patient and keeps calling. When will I (or you) say "Here I am" and wonder what we've let ourselves in for but willing to go for it anyway?
Mary and all those exemplars said "Yes" and went on to do what God wanted and needed to have done regardless of personal preference, inconvenience or outright danger. Courage? Foolhardiness? Perhaps a bit of both?
May I have the courage and wisdom to say "Here I am" if and when a call comes. God won't accept answering machine assertions that I'll return the call as soon possible. Maybe I'd better practice.
Here I am. Here am I. I am here. Here I am.
Try it. It just might be the answer to some questions.
Have a blessed Christmas.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
A Memory of A Christmas Past
I was reading Episcopal Café today and ran across this entry at the Daily Episcopalian. Something Dr. Kathleen Henderson Staudt said at the outset sent an unexpected surge of memory down my synapses:
When I was about nine I was reading a book of stories and one of the stories was about a boy who was in a choir which was to sing Messiah at Christmas. I don't remember any more of the story than that, really, but I do most vividly remember wondering what this marvelous music was and wanting very badly to hear it. That year I asked for my own recording of Messiah and, Christmas morning, there was a copy done by the Huddersfield Choral Society. I couldn't wait to put it on the record player (that was what we had back about 55 years ago) and when I heard it, it opened up a whole new world of sound and music. Like Staudt, it was my first classical recording, my first "adult" record and is still one of my favorite works. It "spoke" to a nine-year-old in a very clear and direct way.
What a way to be introduced to the world of classical music. No, the Strauss waltzes I had to learn in my piano lessons didn't count, nor did Beethoven's Für Elise. Like Staudt, the libretto was pretty familiar since it was Biblical text and Suthun Babdists (as it's usually pronounced) LOVE Biblical texts. The recitatives were okay, like short bursts of speech in between the melodiousness of the arias but the choruses ---- oh, my, the choruses with their runs and harmonies and counterpoint. They made my heart soar and they still do.
Mostly I hear Messiah at Christmastime but some places save it until Easter because Messiah doesn't end with the Hallelujah Chorus, as glorious as it is. Still, whether I hear all or part of it, I respond to it.
Sometimes it amazes me how one small, seemingly unimportant thing like reading a story about a boy in a choir singing a great oratorio can seem to reach out and touch something within that grows and develops into a passion. Oh, possibly I'd have stumbled onto something classical that would have done the same thing. I confess to having gone through an "Elvis" phase as well as the rock-n-roll music of the late 50s and early 60s, but nothing "stuck" like this has. It never ceases to amaze me, though, that something written in the 1700s could still speak so clearly and directly to my heart and soul also reaches the hearts and souls of others who don't always share my penchant for Baroque music. I guess it serves to remind me that inspiration is timeless, be it literature, scripture, music or a combination of all three.
I think Messiah will be on my playlist for tomorrow.
A recording of Messiah was the first “adult” Christmas present I remember receiving. I was 16, and had sung a few choruses from Messiah in high school chorus. My parents gave me the Robert Shaw Chorale’s performance, my very own – probably the first classical album I owned, too. I cried when I opened it. I hadn't realized how much I really wanted to be able to listen to this music.I grew up in a good Southern Baptist household where hymns were learned in church and Lawrence Welk's program was a staple on Saturday night. Some tunes became familiar through my piano lessons but those were mostly Strauss waltzes and the like.
When I was about nine I was reading a book of stories and one of the stories was about a boy who was in a choir which was to sing Messiah at Christmas. I don't remember any more of the story than that, really, but I do most vividly remember wondering what this marvelous music was and wanting very badly to hear it. That year I asked for my own recording of Messiah and, Christmas morning, there was a copy done by the Huddersfield Choral Society. I couldn't wait to put it on the record player (that was what we had back about 55 years ago) and when I heard it, it opened up a whole new world of sound and music. Like Staudt, it was my first classical recording, my first "adult" record and is still one of my favorite works. It "spoke" to a nine-year-old in a very clear and direct way.
What a way to be introduced to the world of classical music. No, the Strauss waltzes I had to learn in my piano lessons didn't count, nor did Beethoven's Für Elise. Like Staudt, the libretto was pretty familiar since it was Biblical text and Suthun Babdists (as it's usually pronounced) LOVE Biblical texts. The recitatives were okay, like short bursts of speech in between the melodiousness of the arias but the choruses ---- oh, my, the choruses with their runs and harmonies and counterpoint. They made my heart soar and they still do.
Mostly I hear Messiah at Christmastime but some places save it until Easter because Messiah doesn't end with the Hallelujah Chorus, as glorious as it is. Still, whether I hear all or part of it, I respond to it.
Sometimes it amazes me how one small, seemingly unimportant thing like reading a story about a boy in a choir singing a great oratorio can seem to reach out and touch something within that grows and develops into a passion. Oh, possibly I'd have stumbled onto something classical that would have done the same thing. I confess to having gone through an "Elvis" phase as well as the rock-n-roll music of the late 50s and early 60s, but nothing "stuck" like this has. It never ceases to amaze me, though, that something written in the 1700s could still speak so clearly and directly to my heart and soul also reaches the hearts and souls of others who don't always share my penchant for Baroque music. I guess it serves to remind me that inspiration is timeless, be it literature, scripture, music or a combination of all three.
I think Messiah will be on my playlist for tomorrow.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Advent 2010
The Christian world (or at least the American part of it) is racing toward Christmas. Funny, it's been running , at least here, since before Halloween. For me, that's rushing things a bit but I guess with the economic climate the way it is, merchants want to get as early a start as they can on the annual avalanche of customers seeking the best deals on presents they give to loved ones, friends and even some people they really don't know or can't stand but feel they have to in order to show charity or perhaps collegiality.
Advent gets lost in the shuffle. Advent? What's that? Most Christians probably don't have a clue as their churches and denominations don't "do" Advent. Radio stations certainly don't; they play Christmas carols in increasing frequency as Christmas Eve approaches. There may be one every hour or so on December 1 but by December 23 there's almost nothing else played. Funny -- I don't remember hearing much Hanukkah music even though that holiday lasts 8 days! Advent hymns and carols? They don't have a chance.
The world needs Advent. Advent is a time of waiting, of inward-looking and quiet observation. It is a period of expectation, much as a pregnant woman looks inward to the child she carries and feels the stretches and kicks of the life within her that herald its presence and coming birth. Advent doesn't rush around, trying to put up more lights on the house than the Joneses next door or buy a bigger, better present or even host and attend the most interesting parties. Advent sits quietly as if in the hour before dawn when the world begins to wake from sleep. Advent doesn't come with a roar like an oncoming freight train but more like the first bird songs at dawn or the rustle of quiet movement as one arises from bed and stretches the muscles before getting on with the duties of the day.
Advent is a time of pregnant pause --- a deliberate break in speech and action to give time for contemplation of what had been said or done and to allow a buildup of expectation of something significant to follow. Christmas is certainly a significant celebration in Christianity, even if the date is most certainly not the actual birthday of Jesus, because without a birth there wouldn't have been a death and resurrection. Still, Advent calls us to pause and reflect, to hear the message of the prophets, not just about the birth but about the meaning of it and what its significance is. It's about what is expected of us beyond giving expensive presents, lavishly decorating, and feeling some sort of burst of good will toward people we don't notice, think of or even think kindly about the rest of the year.
Tomorrow's collect begins "Stir up, O Lord," a rousing to action and movement. One can't sit and contemplate forever, even during a season that is built on and encourages it. Pregnant pauses come to an end and the time for activity arrives just as Christmas Eve arrives and the churches fairly explode with light, color, pageantry, bells, smells and exuberance at the celebration of the birth of our Lord. That's not a bad thing, in fact, it's probably one of the biggest draws the church can have, looking at the faces of folks one doesn't see in church but once or twice a year.
Still, we mustn't rush to Christmas without extracting all the meaning and purpose of Advent. The pregnant pause is there for a reason.
Enjoy it, celebrate it, contemplate it, savor it, but don't rush past it or the full magnitude of the significant event to follow may be lost.
Advent gets lost in the shuffle. Advent? What's that? Most Christians probably don't have a clue as their churches and denominations don't "do" Advent. Radio stations certainly don't; they play Christmas carols in increasing frequency as Christmas Eve approaches. There may be one every hour or so on December 1 but by December 23 there's almost nothing else played. Funny -- I don't remember hearing much Hanukkah music even though that holiday lasts 8 days! Advent hymns and carols? They don't have a chance.
The world needs Advent. Advent is a time of waiting, of inward-looking and quiet observation. It is a period of expectation, much as a pregnant woman looks inward to the child she carries and feels the stretches and kicks of the life within her that herald its presence and coming birth. Advent doesn't rush around, trying to put up more lights on the house than the Joneses next door or buy a bigger, better present or even host and attend the most interesting parties. Advent sits quietly as if in the hour before dawn when the world begins to wake from sleep. Advent doesn't come with a roar like an oncoming freight train but more like the first bird songs at dawn or the rustle of quiet movement as one arises from bed and stretches the muscles before getting on with the duties of the day.
Advent is a time of pregnant pause --- a deliberate break in speech and action to give time for contemplation of what had been said or done and to allow a buildup of expectation of something significant to follow. Christmas is certainly a significant celebration in Christianity, even if the date is most certainly not the actual birthday of Jesus, because without a birth there wouldn't have been a death and resurrection. Still, Advent calls us to pause and reflect, to hear the message of the prophets, not just about the birth but about the meaning of it and what its significance is. It's about what is expected of us beyond giving expensive presents, lavishly decorating, and feeling some sort of burst of good will toward people we don't notice, think of or even think kindly about the rest of the year.
Tomorrow's collect begins "Stir up, O Lord," a rousing to action and movement. One can't sit and contemplate forever, even during a season that is built on and encourages it. Pregnant pauses come to an end and the time for activity arrives just as Christmas Eve arrives and the churches fairly explode with light, color, pageantry, bells, smells and exuberance at the celebration of the birth of our Lord. That's not a bad thing, in fact, it's probably one of the biggest draws the church can have, looking at the faces of folks one doesn't see in church but once or twice a year.
Still, we mustn't rush to Christmas without extracting all the meaning and purpose of Advent. The pregnant pause is there for a reason.
Enjoy it, celebrate it, contemplate it, savor it, but don't rush past it or the full magnitude of the significant event to follow may be lost.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thoughts on Advent -- among other things
I admit it. I'm an Advent nut. I long for Advent in the middle of summer so I set my iPod to play the tracks of Lessons & Processions for Advent Sunday by the King's College Choir. I find myself thinking of "Lo, He Comes With Clouds Descending" and "On Jordan's Banks" at odd times of year. I think of the promising passages of Isaiah around Easter. I open the closet and look up at the box that holds the figurine Advent wreath I bought on sale at our parish because I had long coveted it (confession time again). I still can't find candles to fit it in the proper colors but I can be patient and enjoy the circle that tells the Christmas story.Going into stores this time of year is trying. Most of the places I usually go are crowded with people, shopping carts and stray children running about. Carts are now more filled with toys and clothes rather than just groceries with an occasional non-grocery-store item. Inserts in the paper have increased exponentially around Black Friday and, even though they slow down somewhat, there are still proportionately a larger number than we've seen at our place in months. Not complaining --- just observing.
The word of the time seems to be "Sale" -- Pre-Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Day, Black Friday, Doorbusters, CyberMonday (or CyberWeek), Pre-Christmas, Buy-one-get-one-half-price (or free), Buy More Spend Less, yadda yadda yadda. The very word seems to tempt people to come out and see what wares are being offered, quite often something they probably wouldn't have bought but which are too good a deal to pass up. Of course, it is lovely to find something I would have bought at a much lower price. It gives me the illusion that I'm really richer than I thought I was. Sales also remind me that I need to get a "little something" for this person at the office or that person next door simply because it's the season for giving presents. The word "Sale" is a double-edged sword but I guarantee what you'll probably never see is a sign or an insert for an "Advent Sale". Advent just isn't that merchandise-able, I guess. Or should I say, thank God.
I'm one who applauds those who encourage us to spend less, give creatively rather than flashily, and love more. We have become rather mercenary about Christmas and the mid-point of Advent 1 seems to be a kick-off time for that push to Christmas Eve and a tree with so many presents under it the presents extend far past the circumference of the lowest branches. Stores have had Christmas trees up since about Halloween (when they only used to appear tastefully the day after Thanksgiving!) and Christmassy tunes appear more and more frequently as the run-up to Christmas starts. I will never hear "Lo, He Comes With Clouds Descending" in Kohl's or Costco or Wal-Mart, though. That's an Advent song and Advent doesn't sell. Most Christian denominations don't recognize the season of Advent so most folks don't even know we're in that season now and will be for a few weeks. Come the day after Christmas all Christmas music will be turned off because it will be over and the stores will be stocking shelves with Valentine candy and frou-frouish nighties and perfume on by 6pm on Christmas night. For those celebrating Christmas from December 24th (ok --- very late December 24th) and January 6, we're on our own.
While I applaud the arrival of Advent I can't really say I totally reject all outward and visible signs of Christmas. While Arizona may not have a "bleak midwinter", it's still chilly with short days and long nights. Another year will be reaching its end and things don't seem much brighter than they were last January. Still, the twinkle of the bright little colored lights is somehow cheering even on the coldest, darkest days. The bright colors of Christmas (yes, purple and rose do show up now and again) somehow make it easier to get through what could have been just another day. Planning what to give a special person, even if it isn't big and expensive, makes things a little more bearable. Hearing familiar, cheerful or even reflective music instead of the usual barrage of noise and suggestive lyrics refreshes the soul. It may be just the overture to Christmas Day but it's a lovely overture and I wouldn't miss a day of it.
May it be a blessed Advent of preparation, expectation and optimism. It will pass by all to quickly so enjoy it, celebrate it, experience it while it is here. And take some Advent with you through the next year. Everybody could stand to live with some hope, beauty and joy.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thoughts on Sabbath
A couple of weeks ago the discussion in our EfM class was "Sabbath Time," one of the Common Lessons for this year and one designed to call attention to the role of sabbath time in the life and ministry of the student.
Firstly, according to the BCP, all baptized persons are ministers, most called to some form of lay ministry but some called to the ordained ministry. Ministry consists of not just talking about God to other people but even doing one's ordinary work -- teaching, counseling, practicing medicine, helping people find what they need in stores, libraries, or anywhere else, helping people solve problems, even those as simple as starting or stopping a newspaper, and the like. Ministry is the process of helping and serving but if I stop at just considering what I do to and for others, I'm missing a bit of the boat. All have to minister also to themselves in order to be able to fully and adequately minister to others.
Which brings me to Sabbath time and what it means. Normally in church Sabbath refers to a day of rest although with 24/7 stores, kids' soccer games scheduled on Sunday, house- and yard work that always needs doing and the like, the normal Sunday becomes another day just like Saturday or even Tuesday. Society seems to encourage us to keep busy, to keep doing stuff and to buy this or that to organize our time and maximize what we get done and more, not to mention buying this car or minivan with certain features that give us some comfort while keeping us on the move between home, work, church, soccer practice, gymnastics, the hardware store and the hundreds of other places we need to be. Tradition, however, says that Sabbath time should be for rest, not just for us but for the whole of our household.
Jesus withdrew periodically to "be" with God so that he had the strength and energy to "do" the many things people wanted and expected of him. He was following the commandment to "Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. It was a practice that not only included one day a week but also a sort of super-Sabbath every 50 years. Think of it, a day with no runnning around (except to synagogue or church), no sudden trips to the hardware store for a fitting or bracket or running to the grocery store for the forgotten ingredient necessary for preparation of some fantastic Sunday dinner -- provided the family has time for a Sunday dinner together.
I remember that as a child Sunday mornings were for church and Sunday afternoons were for visiting relatives. For me it was pretty boring, listening to adults sit around and talk about life, other relatives, plans and the latest news, and there usually weren't any other kids to play with. Still, I wandered around yards and fields, watching cows, horses, chickens and dogs, and occasionally got to read a catalog or magazine. Perhaps boring for a child but it took me away from the stuff that went on the rest of the week -- school, piano lessons, homework, etc. I got to look at nature instead of TV or homework. I wish now I had more of that kind of time in my present life. I think I'd appreciate it a lot more than I did then.
These days I find myself observing Sabbath time more often on Saturday than Sunday. At the end of a week I'm ready for playtime, for staying home in my pajamas all day if I want to, doing only what I feel like doing and not doing something I don't. Then, by Sunday, I'm ready to begin again.
Today being Thanksgiving Day is a day off from work so therefore candidate for some Sabbath time. I think about my work days, usually a constant string of things to be done from the time I arrive until I leave. Often I almost have to make an appointment to get time to go the rest room and don't stop for lunch either. I keep my iPod handy and my preferred music (a mixture of Renaissance and Baroque church music, staid old-fashioned hymns, Taizé chant --- and Tahitian drums) often serves to give me mini-sabbaths that may only last a moment or two but which are places to stop, catch a breath and relax for a moment. Many of the pieces are familiar, either from having sung them in various choirs or from frequent listening, so even as I am entering data, sending emails about received inserts or coloring maps for drivers I feel I have some connection going on with God. Maybe the saints of old wouldn't have approved of multitask work/worship but it's what I can do with what I have. I think God would prefer that to being ignored. I know I need it; it keeps me sane and more relaxed than if I didn't have the music going and, like Buddhist prayer wheels, sending prayers upward even after those who pass by and cause them to turn have gone on to their own work.
I need the sabbath time, whenever and wherever I can get it, just to "be" rater than just "do". God knew that we needed breaks for rest and battery recharging so when Moses got the set of rules we call the 10 Commandments (maybe there were 15 but Moses dropped one? Or 613 but were too heavy for him to carry in one trip?) "remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy" was one of the top ones. It wasn't just about worshipping God, but about renewing ourselves and reconnecting with God who often gets left out of the day otherwise.
In order to do ministry to others I have to do ministry to myself. Keeping sabbath time in my daily life as well as my spiritual life is something I need to remember to do. I think the time to start is right now.
Firstly, according to the BCP, all baptized persons are ministers, most called to some form of lay ministry but some called to the ordained ministry. Ministry consists of not just talking about God to other people but even doing one's ordinary work -- teaching, counseling, practicing medicine, helping people find what they need in stores, libraries, or anywhere else, helping people solve problems, even those as simple as starting or stopping a newspaper, and the like. Ministry is the process of helping and serving but if I stop at just considering what I do to and for others, I'm missing a bit of the boat. All have to minister also to themselves in order to be able to fully and adequately minister to others.
Which brings me to Sabbath time and what it means. Normally in church Sabbath refers to a day of rest although with 24/7 stores, kids' soccer games scheduled on Sunday, house- and yard work that always needs doing and the like, the normal Sunday becomes another day just like Saturday or even Tuesday. Society seems to encourage us to keep busy, to keep doing stuff and to buy this or that to organize our time and maximize what we get done and more, not to mention buying this car or minivan with certain features that give us some comfort while keeping us on the move between home, work, church, soccer practice, gymnastics, the hardware store and the hundreds of other places we need to be. Tradition, however, says that Sabbath time should be for rest, not just for us but for the whole of our household.
Jesus withdrew periodically to "be" with God so that he had the strength and energy to "do" the many things people wanted and expected of him. He was following the commandment to "Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. It was a practice that not only included one day a week but also a sort of super-Sabbath every 50 years. Think of it, a day with no runnning around (except to synagogue or church), no sudden trips to the hardware store for a fitting or bracket or running to the grocery store for the forgotten ingredient necessary for preparation of some fantastic Sunday dinner -- provided the family has time for a Sunday dinner together.
I remember that as a child Sunday mornings were for church and Sunday afternoons were for visiting relatives. For me it was pretty boring, listening to adults sit around and talk about life, other relatives, plans and the latest news, and there usually weren't any other kids to play with. Still, I wandered around yards and fields, watching cows, horses, chickens and dogs, and occasionally got to read a catalog or magazine. Perhaps boring for a child but it took me away from the stuff that went on the rest of the week -- school, piano lessons, homework, etc. I got to look at nature instead of TV or homework. I wish now I had more of that kind of time in my present life. I think I'd appreciate it a lot more than I did then.
These days I find myself observing Sabbath time more often on Saturday than Sunday. At the end of a week I'm ready for playtime, for staying home in my pajamas all day if I want to, doing only what I feel like doing and not doing something I don't. Then, by Sunday, I'm ready to begin again.
Today being Thanksgiving Day is a day off from work so therefore candidate for some Sabbath time. I think about my work days, usually a constant string of things to be done from the time I arrive until I leave. Often I almost have to make an appointment to get time to go the rest room and don't stop for lunch either. I keep my iPod handy and my preferred music (a mixture of Renaissance and Baroque church music, staid old-fashioned hymns, Taizé chant --- and Tahitian drums) often serves to give me mini-sabbaths that may only last a moment or two but which are places to stop, catch a breath and relax for a moment. Many of the pieces are familiar, either from having sung them in various choirs or from frequent listening, so even as I am entering data, sending emails about received inserts or coloring maps for drivers I feel I have some connection going on with God. Maybe the saints of old wouldn't have approved of multitask work/worship but it's what I can do with what I have. I think God would prefer that to being ignored. I know I need it; it keeps me sane and more relaxed than if I didn't have the music going and, like Buddhist prayer wheels, sending prayers upward even after those who pass by and cause them to turn have gone on to their own work.
I need the sabbath time, whenever and wherever I can get it, just to "be" rater than just "do". God knew that we needed breaks for rest and battery recharging so when Moses got the set of rules we call the 10 Commandments (maybe there were 15 but Moses dropped one? Or 613 but were too heavy for him to carry in one trip?) "remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy" was one of the top ones. It wasn't just about worshipping God, but about renewing ourselves and reconnecting with God who often gets left out of the day otherwise.
In order to do ministry to others I have to do ministry to myself. Keeping sabbath time in my daily life as well as my spiritual life is something I need to remember to do. I think the time to start is right now.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Forest Road
Then I reached a very steep climb. I put the car into the proper gear and went up but just as I reached the top I stopped, terrified. I couldn't see the road ahead. The car's long hood seemed to be pointing at distant tree tops but what was just ahead for my tires was a total mystery. The trees didn't give much clue nor did looking out the side windows. I must have sat there for 20 minutes or more, unable to go back and too afraid to forward. Even getting out and looking wasn't an option as the brush grew up against the sides of the track that stretched out behind me. Was there really a road ahead or the edge of a sheer dropoff? If it was a road, did it go straight or curve to the left or right? If it was a dropoff, how big and how much damage could I expect? There wasn't any room to make a mistake, I thought. There aren't any "do-overs." I had to move one way or another.
I don't know why I dreamed about that incident last night. It happened so many years ago and I don't think I've thought of it more than a few times in all the intervening years. Mostly when it would come to mind it would be the beauty of the trees, the colors, the dappling of the sunlight, the sounds of birds and the rustle of the leaves in the unseen breeze. this time, though, it was the feeling at the top of the rise that came through.
I wonder --- is there a message here? Something to ponder today.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Blockages
Not long ago I had a plumbing problem. Something was blocking the line to the skeptic tank (as Dad used to call it) and so some rather unpleasant matter spread across the ground. Luckily it wasn't my problem to get fixed (other than being disinclined to flush or run water, then calling the park office to inform them of the difficulty) and it got resolved. Anyway, things have been running as normal, something for which I gave thanks this morning. Don't ask me why I was giving thanks for properly operating plumbing but perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing when I remember people living in places where the offending matter isn't (decently, I think) concealed in below-ground pipes and tanks but rather runs down the street and into waterways that provide water for drinking, cooking and bathing. Yes, perhaps thanksgiving for properly running plumbing isn't such a bad thing after all.
I tried reading last week's EfM lesson again today and gave up. Compare Hegel's view of reality and truth with that of Kierkegaard. It was enough to make my hair hurt and my brain feel like blocked-up plumbing. Nothin' seems to be goin' through that pipe. I started reading the questions for this week's lesson only to find it recommends that I "Compare and contrast Newman's position on 'faith' with that of Hegel and Kierkegaard." The blockage just got thicker.
I've wanted to write something for a while now. Don't ask me what I wanted to write; I don't know. I just needed to write something but couldn't find anything to write about that would mean anything or say anything to anybody of any value much less give me any release. I just know that there's an internal blockage that is close to a physical pain. Even writing this isn't easing it.
It seems so hard to slog through philosophical ideas and try to untangle concepts that must be important or EfM wouldn't include it in their course work for Year 4. Still, it's like chasing smoke -- or trying to get through blocked pipes.
Perhaps what is important is what MY position on faith is and how I determine it. I have faith in God, I believe in the life and ministry of Jesus and the work of the Spirit in the world today. Why do I have these feelings and beliefs? Honestly, I don't know; I just know I have them and know also that it is impossible for me to be without them. I've tried.
There may be a lot of blockages of various kinds in my life but faith isn't one of them, at least faith that comes in. Faith going out --- the physical, mental, and spiritual effects of faith -- may be another story. Still, it's what I have to work with, Hegel, Kierkegaard and Newman notwithstanding. I guess I can handle most of the rest of the blockages as long as that one pipe is clear and free-flowing. Thank God for the pipe of grace that doesn't block up.
I tried reading last week's EfM lesson again today and gave up. Compare Hegel's view of reality and truth with that of Kierkegaard. It was enough to make my hair hurt and my brain feel like blocked-up plumbing. Nothin' seems to be goin' through that pipe. I started reading the questions for this week's lesson only to find it recommends that I "Compare and contrast Newman's position on 'faith' with that of Hegel and Kierkegaard." The blockage just got thicker.
I've wanted to write something for a while now. Don't ask me what I wanted to write; I don't know. I just needed to write something but couldn't find anything to write about that would mean anything or say anything to anybody of any value much less give me any release. I just know that there's an internal blockage that is close to a physical pain. Even writing this isn't easing it.
It seems so hard to slog through philosophical ideas and try to untangle concepts that must be important or EfM wouldn't include it in their course work for Year 4. Still, it's like chasing smoke -- or trying to get through blocked pipes.
Perhaps what is important is what MY position on faith is and how I determine it. I have faith in God, I believe in the life and ministry of Jesus and the work of the Spirit in the world today. Why do I have these feelings and beliefs? Honestly, I don't know; I just know I have them and know also that it is impossible for me to be without them. I've tried.
There may be a lot of blockages of various kinds in my life but faith isn't one of them, at least faith that comes in. Faith going out --- the physical, mental, and spiritual effects of faith -- may be another story. Still, it's what I have to work with, Hegel, Kierkegaard and Newman notwithstanding. I guess I can handle most of the rest of the blockages as long as that one pipe is clear and free-flowing. Thank God for the pipe of grace that doesn't block up.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
This morning.
Kneeling for my before-church prayers I found myself saying this today. I don't know where it came from but I think I know where it goes...
Lord, bless those whom I love and those who love me.
Bless those whom I like and those who like me.
Bless those whom I dislike and those who dislike me.
Bless those whom I hate and those who hate me.
Bless those whom I know and those who know me.
Bless those who share with me my joys and sorrows and those whose joys and sorrows I share.
Bless those from whom I learn and those who perhaps I can teach a little.
Bless those who have gone before me and those who will come after me.
Bless those with whom I share this earth and this time.
The rest of creation, Lord, is in your hands.
Not very profound, or even particularly pious, but it's stuck with me today for some reason.
Lord, bless those whom I love and those who love me.
Bless those whom I like and those who like me.
Bless those whom I dislike and those who dislike me.
Bless those whom I hate and those who hate me.
Bless those whom I know and those who know me.
Bless those who share with me my joys and sorrows and those whose joys and sorrows I share.
Bless those from whom I learn and those who perhaps I can teach a little.
Bless those who have gone before me and those who will come after me.
Bless those with whom I share this earth and this time.
The rest of creation, Lord, is in your hands.
Not very profound, or even particularly pious, but it's stuck with me today for some reason.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
About Life as a Candle
An EfM classmate of mine commented that when her new priest arrived, she, the classmate, would be the tallest one at the altar on the Sundays when she was an acolyte. Jokingly I replied that she could think of herself as another Eucharistic candle. Her response was that she thought of herself more as a Roman candle. It was a fun exchange but one that got me thinking about where I stood on the candle scale.
I never had much experience with fireworks. As a child I was limited to sparklers and the occasional foray with the neighbor's bottle rockets, nothing bigger. I liked fireworks for the color but the bang was intimidating. See myself as some kind of firework? That would be a fizzler --- there's a disconnect between the lit fuse and the expected bang and flash.
I love candles. I used to enjoy making them - pouring the hot wax into the prepared mold and waiting more or less patiently to see what came out after it cooled. One year I made four fairly large pillars in purple and pink for the church advent wreath. I even scented them very lightly with a frankincense oil so they would not just look pretty but leave a very faint fragrance behind them. They were candles I made but they weren't me.
I liked making ice candles --- pillars put inside milk cartons, then filling the carton with ice before pouring in hot wax. The ice melted but not before cooling the wax into fantastic bubbles and holes that let the candle show through. The contrast of heat and ice was more like me but it still wasn't me.
I had a beautiful round candle holder made of bits of brightly-colored glass with leading between the pieces. Inside the holder I would place a votive candle and the light shining through the glass was like having my own private cathedral window. I loved it. It was beautiful as it was but only came alive when the candle was lit to let its real colors shine forth. I loved the candle too, but it wasn't me.
I have a crystal candle holder, only big enough for a tea light, that has something of the same feel as the colored glass one. The candle holder is beautiful, even sitting on a bookshelf or window sill where the light can strike it. It becomes even more beautiful whee the tea light is lit, the flame dancing inside and the light flickering through the pattern of the glass. I love it, but it isn't me.
A birthday candle is a tiny thing. It is often brightly colored but once lit only lasts a minute or two before being consumed by the flame. In itself it briefly shares the spotlight with its fellow candles until being either burned out or blown out by an excited child or even a game elder. It brings a moment of joy despite its short life.
I can't think that I bring joy, no matter how briefly. Maybe I can bring a little comfort, a little light, a little warmth before flickering out or being put away for another time. Still, if I had to describe myself as a candle, I'd probably see myself as one of this size and use more than any other.
If I could choose my life as a candle, one I would dearly love to be is a Eucharistic one -- a tall pristine pillar, standing in a polished brass holder, representing one of the two parts of Holy Writ and shedding light on the sacred mystery taking place just next to me. I would shed light but not be part of the mystery. I would be part of the celebration but not the celebrant or the celebrated. Still, it would be enough.
I hear the old song running through my head, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..." Eucharistic candle, advent candle, ice candle, votive, tea light or birthday candle, my job isn't to draw attention to me but to shed light and warmth on what is around me. That's how I see my life as a candle.
I give thanks for Roman candles (even Episcopalian ones!) which bring brightness and joy. I celebrate their gift to the world and rejoice in their colors and patterns. I'm glad there's room in the spectrum for both the Roman candle and the birthday one. God loves us all for what we are, not what we should be (or want to be.)
I never had much experience with fireworks. As a child I was limited to sparklers and the occasional foray with the neighbor's bottle rockets, nothing bigger. I liked fireworks for the color but the bang was intimidating. See myself as some kind of firework? That would be a fizzler --- there's a disconnect between the lit fuse and the expected bang and flash.
I love candles. I used to enjoy making them - pouring the hot wax into the prepared mold and waiting more or less patiently to see what came out after it cooled. One year I made four fairly large pillars in purple and pink for the church advent wreath. I even scented them very lightly with a frankincense oil so they would not just look pretty but leave a very faint fragrance behind them. They were candles I made but they weren't me.
I liked making ice candles --- pillars put inside milk cartons, then filling the carton with ice before pouring in hot wax. The ice melted but not before cooling the wax into fantastic bubbles and holes that let the candle show through. The contrast of heat and ice was more like me but it still wasn't me.
I had a beautiful round candle holder made of bits of brightly-colored glass with leading between the pieces. Inside the holder I would place a votive candle and the light shining through the glass was like having my own private cathedral window. I loved it. It was beautiful as it was but only came alive when the candle was lit to let its real colors shine forth. I loved the candle too, but it wasn't me.
I have a crystal candle holder, only big enough for a tea light, that has something of the same feel as the colored glass one. The candle holder is beautiful, even sitting on a bookshelf or window sill where the light can strike it. It becomes even more beautiful whee the tea light is lit, the flame dancing inside and the light flickering through the pattern of the glass. I love it, but it isn't me.
A birthday candle is a tiny thing. It is often brightly colored but once lit only lasts a minute or two before being consumed by the flame. In itself it briefly shares the spotlight with its fellow candles until being either burned out or blown out by an excited child or even a game elder. It brings a moment of joy despite its short life.
I can't think that I bring joy, no matter how briefly. Maybe I can bring a little comfort, a little light, a little warmth before flickering out or being put away for another time. Still, if I had to describe myself as a candle, I'd probably see myself as one of this size and use more than any other.
If I could choose my life as a candle, one I would dearly love to be is a Eucharistic one -- a tall pristine pillar, standing in a polished brass holder, representing one of the two parts of Holy Writ and shedding light on the sacred mystery taking place just next to me. I would shed light but not be part of the mystery. I would be part of the celebration but not the celebrant or the celebrated. Still, it would be enough.
I hear the old song running through my head, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..." Eucharistic candle, advent candle, ice candle, votive, tea light or birthday candle, my job isn't to draw attention to me but to shed light and warmth on what is around me. That's how I see my life as a candle.
I give thanks for Roman candles (even Episcopalian ones!) which bring brightness and joy. I celebrate their gift to the world and rejoice in their colors and patterns. I'm glad there's room in the spectrum for both the Roman candle and the birthday one. God loves us all for what we are, not what we should be (or want to be.)
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Meaning of the Crucifixion
Episcopal Café has a post that contain ns the question "What does the Crucifixion mean, anyway?" Ann Fontaine challenged a member of our class to come up with her own answer. I decided it was time to look at my own ideas in a way other than just turning it over in my mind and then forgetting about it.
Crucifixion was an ancient form of capital punishment; you were hung up with ropes or nails until you died and if you didn't die in a reasonable amount of time (but not too quickly), they broke your legs to help you along. It was not hidden away behind penitentiary walls with only invited guests to view the event as it is today; it was set right out in front of God and everybody as a form of warning about what happened to those convicted criminals who committed certain crimes and to serve as a form of humiliation for both criminal and family, a very bad thing in those days. It was slow, painful, public and very ugly.
I've been to some churches where the crucifixion of Jesus is the primary event, symbolized by not just a cross but the suffering, dying or dead Christ still hanging there. This represents their view of salvation, the blood sacrifice demanded by God for the redemption of the world. It represented the lamb sacrificed in the temple for the cleansing of the people, an innocent victim made to pay the ultimate price for the sins of all. They celebrate Easter is a festival of resurrection, but the emphasis is on the crucifixion, the death.
I've also been to other churches who see the crucifixion as an event for sorrow and mourning, but they look beyond Good Friday to the glory of Easter. The crucifixion was not the end of the story, just the completion of one chapter and the beginning of another.
I tend to be one of the resurrectionists. Without the crucifixion, whether it was for political reasons, substitutionary atonement required by God or both, there would have been no opportunity for a resurrection, no need for one. I mourn on Good Friday, mourn the humiliating and painful death of the man Jesus who taught love, who healed the outcasts, who exemplified what a life devoted to God and God's service looked like. Yet unlike his mother and the women at the bottom of the cross and the apostles cowering in fear and huddled in a hidden place, I know that Jesus' death was not the end. It was one subway stop short of a full run, one act short of a full play, and one period short of a full paragraph. There was more beyond what they could see and know, thanks be to God.
I look at the cross and see more than a piece of jewelry to be worn around the neck or hanging from the rear-view mirror of the car. The cross represents my belief that salvation is fully realized – salvation from sin as typified by a symbol, the cross, and salvation from death by its emptiness. I see hope, the hope that the Gospel promises for my redemption from sin and my own rising again in glory. I see the hope that Jesus' teachings will be our guides for creating not just a promise of heaven after death but of making a new heaven here and now.
What does the crucifixion mean, really? It means hope, and in this day and age, hope means the world – really.
Crucifixion was an ancient form of capital punishment; you were hung up with ropes or nails until you died and if you didn't die in a reasonable amount of time (but not too quickly), they broke your legs to help you along. It was not hidden away behind penitentiary walls with only invited guests to view the event as it is today; it was set right out in front of God and everybody as a form of warning about what happened to those convicted criminals who committed certain crimes and to serve as a form of humiliation for both criminal and family, a very bad thing in those days. It was slow, painful, public and very ugly.
I've been to some churches where the crucifixion of Jesus is the primary event, symbolized by not just a cross but the suffering, dying or dead Christ still hanging there. This represents their view of salvation, the blood sacrifice demanded by God for the redemption of the world. It represented the lamb sacrificed in the temple for the cleansing of the people, an innocent victim made to pay the ultimate price for the sins of all. They celebrate Easter is a festival of resurrection, but the emphasis is on the crucifixion, the death.
I've also been to other churches who see the crucifixion as an event for sorrow and mourning, but they look beyond Good Friday to the glory of Easter. The crucifixion was not the end of the story, just the completion of one chapter and the beginning of another.
I tend to be one of the resurrectionists. Without the crucifixion, whether it was for political reasons, substitutionary atonement required by God or both, there would have been no opportunity for a resurrection, no need for one. I mourn on Good Friday, mourn the humiliating and painful death of the man Jesus who taught love, who healed the outcasts, who exemplified what a life devoted to God and God's service looked like. Yet unlike his mother and the women at the bottom of the cross and the apostles cowering in fear and huddled in a hidden place, I know that Jesus' death was not the end. It was one subway stop short of a full run, one act short of a full play, and one period short of a full paragraph. There was more beyond what they could see and know, thanks be to God.
I look at the cross and see more than a piece of jewelry to be worn around the neck or hanging from the rear-view mirror of the car. The cross represents my belief that salvation is fully realized – salvation from sin as typified by a symbol, the cross, and salvation from death by its emptiness. I see hope, the hope that the Gospel promises for my redemption from sin and my own rising again in glory. I see the hope that Jesus' teachings will be our guides for creating not just a promise of heaven after death but of making a new heaven here and now.
What does the crucifixion mean, really? It means hope, and in this day and age, hope means the world – really.
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