Diana

One Last Time…and Then – We’re Home!

May 2, 2011 By Diana

Signing on with Michelle over at Graceful this morning for her “Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday” meme:

I have loved churches as long as I can remember. The churches I have attended in my lifetime have all become second homes to me. I like exploring their every nook and cranny, learning the quickest way to get from point a to point b, and admiring the beautifully artful touches that help lead people into worship.

Upcountry stone church, Maui

I also like visiting churches whenever we travel. The buildings themselves are iconic to me – and if they’ve got either stained glass or some sort of steeple, then I’m in church-heaven.

a small wood-frame church in Nipomo, CA

Congregational church in Hanalei, Kauai

Looking out from that same church.

But…there’s a limit to church-hopping/shopping. And mine has most definitely been reached. Four long months, we’ve been visiting churches other than our own. And yesterday was the last week of that particular ~~experiment~~ experience. We had originally planned to be back in our home congregation yesterday – but somehow we missed a very well-attended evangelical church that had been at the top of our list, so we added on one more week to pay them a visit.

And I’m both glad and sorry that we did. Glad because yesterday’s jaunt served to underscore for me – maybe more than anything else could have – how deeply we love our congregation and how grateful we are to belong to this part of the body. And sorry because we experienced a few things yesterday that I surely wish we had not, including a public chastisement of some wayward leaders and a communion service that did not feel at like a communion service – at least to us. Good music (though I’ll brag a little bit and say no where near as rich as what we enjoy each worshipful week at MCC) and a good Bible lesson. Not a sermon so much as a teaching, and a very well-done one, too. So the morning was mixed for us. Some mornings are like that, right?

We belong to a small denomination, but a growing one. The Evangelical Covenant church is a ‘newbie’ in historical time, formed in the 1880’s by Swedish immigrants and thoroughly north American in ethos and ecclesiology. We are congregational by polity, but we are connected by a wonderful web of mutual care and concern and a list of shared values that have become absolutely central to my own understanding of who I am as the daughter of the Most High God.

It is in the midst of this part of Christ’s body that I have had my gifts affirmed. It is here that I have heard the call, first to seminary and then to pastoral ministry. It is here that I have watched God do a series of new things – reaching out intentionally to embrace women in ministry, multi-ethnic congregations and ministries, peace and justice ministries of all kinds.

And all of it done with careful respect for the teachings of scripture and the work of the Holy Spirit in the church of every age. We value tradition and we value good change, we value liturgy and we value contemporary worship. We value the shared journey and we learn from one another. We’re not perfect, but by God’s grace, we are exceptionally open-hearted and open-handed. And we hold one another accountable, too. I miss that right now. I really, really do.

So, I’m homesick. In a good way, I think. And I’m ready to be back home. And that’s a very good thing.

I won’t be returning to this particular role:

preaching my last sermon as associate pastor in December 2010

But I will be returning to worship in a space that looks a little bit like this:

the Holy Spirit window at the back of the chancel, framed by one of our locally wrought chandeliers

My husband and I are going to try really hard not to jump back into lots of responsibility, but rather ease back in – enjoying weekly worship, continuing to meet with our small group, prayerfully considering whatever options present themselves. But wow – will we be glad to sit in that sanctuary with those people again.

It is true – we can worship our God anywhere and everywhere. And I have enjoyed having the experience of formally worshipping in a variety of spaces, with a variety of people. But ‘doing church’ is meant to be local, it is meant to be consistent. Done well, it is marked by commitment and mutual support, as together we offer God the ‘work of our hands.’ For that’s what worship truly is – all of who we are, all of what we do – offered to God as an act of love and thanksgiving.

I look forward to sitting in a familiar pew next week. It will be so good to be home.

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One Last Good-bye…

May 1, 2011 By Diana

Linking up with Jen at Finding Heaven at midnight Monday/Tuesday for this lovely sisterhood gathering:

This farewell has stretched further than just about any I’ve ever experienced. I retired from ministry at the end of 2010, and then chose to take the first four months of 2011 away from worship with our church family.
I’ve been glad I did that for lots of reasons – I was more tired than I knew, and it was good to not be around a place where I have worked hard for a long time. It was also good to remind myself every single week that I am no longer a parish associate pastor. Though I will remain a pastor until I die, I no longer practice that call in the setting of the local church. I needed this time to face into the reality of that new truth.
The fine man who will move into my former office is a friend and a treasured colleague. But he, too, has been gone from our fellowship these same four months – teaching history in France. So…I had lots and lots of time to move out of that space, right? From January 1 until May 8. Whew – that should be a snap, even for me, the book pack-rat queen.
Wrong.
Oh, I did get those books moved. Most of them are now situated in the long hallway outside all the offices at church. My husband came to help me sort – one pile to give away, one pile to come home, and many, many piles to move out into that hall.

And there they are – in all their splendor! Five sections of seven shelves each. That’s a whole lotta books. But now, they’re available for anyone to use and they include a lot of great resources for biblical study, small group ideas, care ministries, worship and liturgy – all pieces of my ever-shifting job description over these last 14 years.

So today was the last Saturday of packing and schlepping. I opened the windows behind my former desk as wide as they would crank – to enjoy the view and the breeze. It was a glorious spring day, sunny and just warm enough to be comfortable in lightweight clothing.

I went through the last of my files, loaded all my CDs into a box, emptied the various basket containers scattered around that space, took down the last of the artwork and made piles in the hallway for my husband to help me load into our cars.

In the photo above and the one below you can catch a small glimpse of the bookshelves which surrounded me – at my own request when we built this building from 2003 – when our former senior pastor of 23 years left – until 2005 – when our current senior pastor arrived.

Yup, that’s right. We were in a two-year interim stretch while we undertook this long-planned project of building a glorious new worship space and creating staff offices all in the same place for the first time ever.

That stack of brightly colored yarn work just left of center? Those are prayer shawls, created by a variety of folks in our community. They would appear on my desk, or in a bag, hanging from my doorknob. I never knew for sure who made what, but this much I did know: the maker prayed as s/he worked, offering sweet supplication for the recipient of this gift of love.

And I hand carried them – to people facing or recovering from surgery, to brand new moms, to recent widows or widowers – whoever was facing a life transition of one kind or another. And as I wrapped them in this beautifully textured love-gift, I would say: “As this shawl touches your skin today, may it be a tangible reminder that the people of God are praying for you, even as the person who made this prayed for you over each stitch. Wrap yourself in it as you pray in the mornings, or lay it over yourself as you nap in the afternoon. And as it comforts and warms you, may you know the sure, sweet presence of the God who loves you, the God who walks with you through every step of your journey.“

One of the rich parts of this work that I will miss deeply.

After about 3 hours of slow, steady work, I called my husband and said he could come over any time now and we’d pack up the last load. Four file boxes, two large baskets, two open boxes, a CD player, small heater and fan. That’s what was left.

Taking turns and wedging the exit door open, we made a half dozen trips down the hall, out the walkway and down a half flight of steps to the cars. And somewhere in there, the door wedge got bumped and slam! We were locked out.

Are you kidding me?

On a Saturday afternoon, no one around, no key.

But… I had left those windows open….

My ever-resourceful husband walked around to the front and stood beneath those windows.

“Honey, I think these jeans are just a little bit too straight-legged for me to bend these knees enough. Can you find me something to stand on?”

Well, not exactly. EVERY DOOR IS LOCKED.

So he kept workin’ it and eventually got up there – straight legs and all! What a guy.

Almost there…

…SUCCESS!

And now, of course… the almost-equal and opposite problem awaits. My home office is approximately 1/3 the size of my church office. And I really, really did a lot of work trying to ready it for the deluge that was coming.

But as you can see – it flooded anyhow.

I think I’ve got at least another 4 months of work ahead of me, don’t you?

There were a couple of other important things that came home with me today, too. A poster we bought in Paris on our 40th anniversary trip – one month after my husband had surgery for prostate cancer. And what you see below – a gorgeous hand-calligrified gift from my sister-in-law, one of the most talented women on the planet.

She told me to choose a quote – any quote – and she’d make something for my office.

I chose this quote from Rilke – which is my very favorite of almost anything I’ve read, except for scripture. It was quoted in a class I took and I bought the book just so I could find these words and savor them. To me it speaks such beautiful truth – life is about asking questions and then living the answers. And all the people I’ve counseled and prayed for, all the kids I’ve encouraged in Confirmation, all the troubled couples – or happy pre-wed couples, all the recently bereaved friends, or happily moving-on friends – everyone who walked into my office walked right past this beautiful gift:

The framed piece – so lovely.

And a close up of the quote itself, so that you, too, can relish this wonderful writing.
As I left my office for the last time today, I offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of this life, this pastoring life. And I walked out into the sunshine, climbed into my car and drove home.

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It’s For the Birds…

May 1, 2011 By Diana

Linking up on Monday with L.L. Barkat at Seedlings in Stone

who encourages her contributors to write with a sense of place…

To live in Santa Barbara is a gift.

Every single day, I am grateful for that gift,

in ways too numerous to count.

A sliver of fertile land, following the crooked coastline of the north American coastline for about 30 miles or so,

laid out like a sparkling emerald baguette, mountains rising on the northern edge and the great Pacific stretched like a silver blue necklace on the south.

As I said, it’s a gift to be here.

To live within 15 minutes of one of our children

and his family is also a gift – and a privilege as well.

Both my son and his wife are physicians on the central coast and it has been my joy (and now my husband’s as well) to care for each of their two remarkable daughters during the years preceding pre-school. Their mama works half-time, so we are now keeping 14-month-old Lilly two days each week –

and loving it a lot.

The newly-trimmed podocarpus tree just outside our bedroom door.

One of the things we love about living here is the rich variety of bird-life that shares this space with us. From tiny finches with their lime or peach coloring to the great blue herons that occasionally fly overhead, there are lots of birds nearby –

all kinds, sizes, shapes and sounds.

Notorious loud-mouths are the scrub blue-jays who are ubiquitous in southern California. We’ve got several who hang out at our place – and my husband has managed to begin an interesting relationship with a couple of them.

Some of the bird-attracting paraphernalia hanging from that podocarpus.

About the time he retired,

my husband the gifted investment-advisor,

became Poppy Doolittle –

charming our jays with a simple act of bribery:

peanuts, unsalted, in the shell.

He began by standing in the middle of our back lawn or on the patio and clucking/talking to them.

“Here’s something good – wanna try it?”

And he’d put the peanut down on the ground or the table.

Slowly, he began to hang onto those nuts,

until he had one in the palm of his hand.

And to everyone’s surprise and delight, they went for it.

One jay in particular is brazen and fearless,

answering the call almost any time.

His smaller, more nervous compatriot will come if Dick is alone

in the yard, but not when we have guests.

Poppy and Lilly right after her nap.

So, he’s been teaching Lilly about this,

showing her how it’s done.

And she LOVES it.

On Wednesday of last week, she woke up from her nap,

bed-head, sleepy eyes and all,

and began looking out the bedroom door

towards the yard.

Stretching out her hand as Poppy has taught her to do,

she began to make clucking noises.

And Poppy came running!

Out they went, to see if the jays were around.

Bold Jay showed up right away,

and grabbed that nut in a split second.

Lilly was still pretty sleepy

and couldn’t quite get her hand around a second one.

Bold Jay sits in the tree, guarding his treasure.

This day, he chose to keep the nut with him,

more often than not,

he buries it in our lawn,

pounding it down in the ground

with a berry from the tree.

So they tried a second time.

Lilly has not quite mastered the concept

of opening her hand with the nut in it –

she tends to pick it up and grab hold tightly –

so Poppy is still the primary gift-giver in this routine.

Shy Jay was having nothing to do with it.

Bold Jay had flown across the yard to the very top of the utility pole between us and our neighbors to the south,

so our fearless duo moved a little closer to him,

and out into the sunshine where the prize

would gleam a little more clearly.

And down he swooped – all the way across that yard.

Poppy agreed to give the guy one last shot as a special prize

for his awesome aim,

and I managed to get a picture of his feet

as they landed on Poppy’s finger

while he grabbed his final reward

(for the day, at least!)

Wish you could have been here to see him –

and to see Lilly enjoying the spectacle.

But most of all, I wish you could see how this granddaddy loves his little ones –

the ones that fly,

and the one whose smile makes our entire week.

Also sharing this week with Laura at The Wellspring and her lovely meme: “Playdates with God.”

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5 Minute Friday: If I knew I could, I would…

April 29, 2011 By Diana

Ah yes, it’s Friday once again. Joining with Lisa Jo at “The Gypsy Mama” on a very intriguing topic this morning. And I wonder what I’ll say! 5 minutes of unedited, unstoppable writing.

If I knew I could, I would…

I would live my life on tiptoe,

ever expecting something wondrous to behold!

GO

…dance like crazy, letting my body go where it wills – just because I can;
…write like crazy, words that would bring encouragement to others and tell interesting stories because I’ve had quite a ride so far;
…travel without worry or complication to as many of this planet’s beautiful places as I possibly could while still…
…spending as much time as I could at or near my home, which I love;
…save the people I love from pain and heartache – I’ve seen so much of it and they’ve lived so much of it… but then again…
…even more than that, I want for them to be whole and holy (in the truest, best sense of that word) people and sometimes (but not always) heartache is a vehicle for producing precisely that;
… know in my heart of hearts that God isn’t done with me yet, that there is more to do and even better, more to be for however many years stretch ahead of me;
… love my mom with Jesus’ kind of love, showing patience and kindness and soothing her fears as the ravages of age and confusion move in with a vengeance.

STOP
Photo and caption added a bit later…

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Journaling Joy

April 29, 2011 By Diana

Joining Bonnie over at Faith Barista tonight with one of the most fun assignments thus far in this venture into blog-world. Using photos and words, we are to comment on where we’re experiencing joy these days. Go over there and check out some of these collections of pictures and words – AMAZING.

What brings me joy these days?

The list is long, despite the heaviness of worry about my mom, despite the myriad details still to be sorted through as I finally clear out my large, corner office at church and re-settle into my tiny one here at home, despite the unsettled feeling of these early retirement days with no set schedule…that joy-list is long and I am grateful.

The Monastery of the Risen Christ, San Luis Obispo CA

Traveling 115 miles north once a month to meet with Abbot David, my spiritual director, never ceases to bring fresh reminders

of the joy of the Lord.

The Mission Renewal Center, Santa Barbara CA

Finding out that this summer I will be attending the School for Spiritual Direction that meets at this retreat center

brings me joy, just the thought of it!

I will be able to complete my certification process begun in Chicago in ’09, interrupted by some serious health issues last year – and I’ll be able to do it right here in my own hometown.

Remembering our delicious Easter dinner brings me joy, too.

But then good food tends to do that with regularity!

Flowers of all kinds and colors remind me of the creative genius of our good God. I love to have cut flowers indoors, to have lots of flowers in the garden

and to drive to local fields to see them growing wildly,

in all their painterly glory.

Joy!

Fields of poppy and lupine, Figueroa Mountain outside of Los Olivos, CA

Carpets of color at Corrizo Plain National Monument, about a three hour drive from home.

Other than the gift of life itself,

my family brings me the deepest joy of all.

A retirement trip to Maui in February of this year.

45 years and grateful for every single one.

Last summer, at a cabin we rented near Yosemite.

Three amazing kids, all grown up with kids of their own.

Our kiddos range in age from 14 months to 20 years. And we had six boys in a row!

And 8 grandkids – each one unique,

each one adding another layer of joy.

The youngest ones don’t mind having their pictures taken and each of these three seemed to arrive in our family circle at just the right time. (Well, they all did, didn’t they? These three stand out somehow…) The two five-year-olds were born the year our much-loved son-in-law became critically and chronically ill, bringing life and hope to us all as he was dying.

And our newest (and likely last) little one came into our lives soon after the biggest one was out on his own.

And the newest joy in our family is our eldest daughter’s brand-new engagement. We’ll have a summer wedding after a long siege of sadness and loss.

Joy!

And this was the view out my bedroom door as I began compiling this list tonight. The gift of a home, a comfortable, welcoming home is something we never take for granted.

And it is a source of joy on so many levels:

family gatherings,

spiritual retreats for women,

meeting with directees,

hosting friends and strangers,

finding space and permission to be silent and alone,

sharing space with a lifelong partner.

I’ll leave this reflection with shots of some of God’s winged creatures who regularly speak to me of grace, beauty and yes…joy!

“Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” Matthew 6:26

a visiting oriole in our side yard – shot through the window and the screen!

a mocking bird watches over the wildflowers

a brilliant red cardinal sings his lovely song on Maui

a greater egret wades in at sunset

a great blue heron, hunched position

wading in, standing tall

and taking off with those great wings and long legs

a curlew, reflected in the water with his head up

and with his head down, making a perfect circle of himself

the big birds settling in for the night in the very tops of the eucalyptus trees which stand all along the Goleta Slough, just north of us

the sunset majesty of the ocean as it folds into the slough

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Looking Back on the Weekend…

April 26, 2011 By Diana

It is tough to remember the last time we went to

an Easter service in a church not our own.

My mom was with us for the week,

so we opted to re-visit the most ‘formal’ of those we have visited these last few months, the big Presbyterian one downtown.

And we are so glad we did.

LOVED the massive arrangement of calla

(rather than Easter) lilies.

Loved the pipe organ (even got the Widor “Toccata” as a postlude).

Loved the choir – two anthems, including Handel’s “Hallelujah!”

Loved the stained glass all around.

Loved the sweet older couple in front of us who

warmly greeted us the moment we walked in.

Loved that the pastor sang the psalm once again,

as he had the last time we were there.

And we loved that sermon.

Here are some highlights – at least for this listener:

Text: Matthew’s account of the empty tomb – 28:1-10

Title: “Fear/Joy/Galilee”

Standout thoughts:

The New Testament re-telling of the resurrection story is surprisingly low key, understated and not terribly dramatic.

Using a charming story of a little girl eagerly raising her hand in answer to the question,

“What was the first thing Jesus said after his resurrection?”

she happily blurted: “I know, I know!”

Standing to spread her arms wide and bowing royally: “TA DA!!!”

Yeah -that’s what WE would have done.

But not Jesus.

Yes, there was an earthquake.

Yes, the angel’s clothing was blindingly white.

Yes, the guards shook and ‘became like dead men.’

But Jesus himself?

His first words to the stunned disciples?

“Greetings.”

21st century English equivalent?

“Oh, hi.”

Oh, hi??

And then there was this – “Do not be afraid;

go and tell my brothers (and sisters) to go to Galilee;

there they will see me.”

Basically, he told them – “I’ll meet you at home!”

But…home…Galilee…is a place of purpose and meaning.

Our Galilee is where we meet Jesus –

in that place that holds purpose and meaning for us.

And this simple message, these words of Jesus to those first disciples on the scene, seems to say something like this as well:

that as important as it is for us to believe in Easter,

in resurrection –

it is equally important to realize that Resurrection Jesus

believes in us.

“Go home. Go to the place where you know me best. I have work for you to do –

I believe you can do it because I’ll meet you there.”

And here’s a direct quote which I just loved:

“God lifts us from every place of pain and gives us purpose.”

And calling these men who had abandoned him his ‘brothers?’

Another example of our ‘modest, glorious Jesus.’

This pastor also noted that it’s about 100 miles from the tomb in that Jerusalem garden to Galilee – so we are called to a long journey, not a quick look-see. And best of all,

Jesus is already in our Galilee,

wherever that may be for each of us.

We are called to a journey of commitment, honesty, hope and joy –

because Jesus is joy.

Will we take the next step?

Oh, I hope so!

Because Jesus is waiting there.

Doing a double post with Michelle this week at “Graceful.” This one is probably a bit more germane to the meme:

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My Girl…

April 26, 2011 By Diana

After trying unsuccessfully and repeatedly to insert the button from Ann Voskamp’s “Walk with Him Wednesday” meme button, I am resorting to this: Please travel over to Ann’s lovely website to read other inspiring and reflective stories of resurrection living during the month of May: http://www.aholyexperience.com/

This post was originally written on the Monday morning after Easter Sunday. It is not so much a description of a resurrection practice as it is a grateful reflection on resurrection glory in our family story this year. After about six years of critical health issues, two terrifying wildfires, and the deaths of 3 close members within our immediate family we are living into the reality of the empty tomb with this sweet story. I have shared it elsewhere as you will see below – but for me, it’s the shining, shimmering ray of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. So it bears repeating this Eastertide season.

Well, to be honest, she’s not exactly a girl anymore. And she’s not the only wonderful female who blesses my life by calling me “Mom.” But…today, tonight…as I sit and savor what the Lord has given, she is still (and always) – my girl.

She came as a bit of a surprise to us – young, idealistic couple that we were, living thousands of miles from home. But come she did, and this girl (and her two siblings) changed our lives in ways that were profound and wonderful. Our first-born was always a study in interesting contrasts: full of energy, but loving to sleep; cute as a button and surprisingly petite for such tall parents; winsome and thoughtful, yet sometimes stubborn and hard to read; an artistic soul who was also gifted at mathematics and logic. A huge, compassionate heart with a deep-rooted desire to be a wife and mom – all of this we witnessed with wonder as she grew to young womanhood under our roof.

She met the man she would marry just before her 16th birthday, at our dining room table. He was the son of a long-time friend and we had invited their family over to celebrate his 2-year remission from childhood cancer. Their eyes met over the dessert and love was born.

Six weeks after that first meeting, her young man entered into a serious 2nd go-round with cancer and began about six months of heavy-duty chemo, followed by major surgery and radiation. All of this served to push their emotional connection into fast forward, and they were married just after her freshman year of college.

They took out loans and both finished school – he with a master’s in IT and she with a bachelor’s in anthropology and an art minor. They moved 400 miles away and began to produce beautiful grandsons for us to enjoy and marvel at – something they were never sure they’d be able to do, given his medical history. Three boys and about 18 years later, her sweet man began to suffer from a whole series of difficult after-effects from all that life-saving but terribly hard-on-the-body treatment.

And she walked right with him through all of it – a trial by fire for them both. When the end came, it was swift and sudden. A widow at 40, with boys aged 17, 14 and 10. Their bedroom door stayed firmly closed for a full year, collecting odds and ends as she and her kids moved through their grief and sorrow.

On the one-year anniversary of his death, she went from the small den where she had set up a single bed and a big desk for herself into the bedroom they had shared. She looked around and thought, “It’s time. Time to remodel this space and make it lovely once again.”

So she found a gifted contractor – on the recommendation and introduction of her associate pastor. He was gentle, gifted, artistic and they had a really good time working together on the details of house and yard. It was wonderful to see her creative gifts being set loose again and we all marveled at the transformation in her spirit as she made plans and chose colors and began to move into this lovely space.

And last Easter, she invited her builder to come to dinner – “Because he has no where else to go, Mom. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” And so we met him, this man, the builder. And we liked him immediately. Her boys liked him, too. And we all wondered…is God doing a new thing here?

About two months later, she called and said, “OK, Mom. You can make a big deal now. I think I’m in love – and it feels like a gift straight from God to me and the boys.”

So. It was Easter again yesterday. And we all gathered again at her home. The meal was lovely – this year completely vegetarian. After all, this builder has been a vegetarian for 25 years! And as we gathered in a circle to thank God for the food, for the reason for the day, for the gift of forever life because of Jesus, she said:

“Thank you all so much for coming. And before we begin to pile our plates, I have an important announcement to make. Last week, my builder proposed and I said yes. We are so thankful to God and to all of you for loving us through this journey.” And then she asked her builder to pray. And he did.

A favorite blogger of mine is writing today about new life being birthed from the womb of darkness – everywhere we look, this pattern is true. And from the darkness of a difficult and terribly sad time, we are witnesses to the power of resurrection life in our girl’s story. And we are so very thankful.

And here are some pictures from yesterday’s celebration:

Her ring – which will serve as both engagement and wedding ring.

Two shots from the slide show they used to celebrate this special part of their story – one of the builder, one of the two of them with her younger boys – big brother is studying in London this term and was deeply missed yesterday.

The two of them, glowing for the camera.

Joining tonight with Michelle and LL. Not exactly a typical “hear it on Sunday…” post, but somehow it fits.

And this is most definitely where my thoughts are ‘on, in and around’ this particular Monday!

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Triduum, 2011: Reflections on the First Holy Week of Retirement

April 24, 2011 By Diana

Wildflower watch, between Santa Maria and Bakersfield, spring 2010

It’s been a strange week.

Our ‘home’ beach, 2 miles below our house on a wintry late afternoon, 2011

     1st Holy Week in many years where I have not been up to my eyeballs in worship planning and leading.
   1st Holy Week we have not been worshipping with our usual community of faith.
   1st Holy Week in which I’ve seen and experienced some devastating changes in my mom’s ability to interact with her world and with me as she spends these days in our home.

These are the ‘holes’ in the fabric of my life just now as I sit in the quiet, reflecting on Good Friday, Holy Saturday and the coming of Resurrection dawn.

Looking out from the inside of Hanalei Church, Kauai, Spring 2010

But here are some of the shimmering new threads that are beginning to criss-cross their way into, around and through those holes in the year of our Lord, 2011:

   A noon-day Good Friday service that was far different than any I have previously attended, planned or led – one that was moving, intriguing, lovely.

   A Holy Saturday filled with COOKING of all things. Really, I thought I had given up cooking for Lent about 15 years ago and just extended that ‘sacrifice’ through most of the rest of the year(s).

   An Easter Sunday in a different church than usual, followed by traveling in a car which will be loaded with way too much food for our crowd of two dozen, gathering this year at my eldest daughter’s home one hour south of here.

Sunset over the inlet, Saanich peninsula, British Columbia, summer, 2007

   And each day laced with some time here at this keyboard – reading blogs, editing pictures, trying to figure out how to make my own blog work more effectively when I have ZERO knowledge of HTML, ‘buttons,’ ‘subscription widgets,’ ‘sidebars,’ and no clue whatsoever how to post a video of any kind.

What I am observing about myself through these days are these things:
   – I am feeling well and strong for the first time in many, many months;
   – I am finding deep, almost profound, enjoyment in writing and thinking about writing;
   – I am willing to relax into the rhythms of kitchen and laundry without feeling overly stressed about it all;
   – I find myself in a spirit of almost constant prayer – not prayer filled with lots of fine-sounding words, but rather prayer consisting of these simple, important ones: thank you, thank you, thank you. Or your grace through me, Lord; your grace through me. Or beauty all around, Lord, beauty all around.

Layers of sunset beauty in the Pacific northwest, Whidby Island, summer, 2007

All in all, it’s a good place to be. I haven’t done much reading during these first months away from work – a wonderful memoir written by a friend, a couple of books on prayer. Not a lot of mental energy these early days. But I think I’m okay with that – it will do for now. I wait with growing expectancy for what will come. And as we head out for worship in the morning, I look forward to joining God’s people in yet another new-to-us congregation as we joyfully shout, “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!”

Looking through the gateway at Butchart Gardens, Victoria, British Columbia, summer 2007

Written in the pondering moments of late night on Holy Saturday, but linking tonight with Jen

at the Soli Deo Gloria sisterhood:

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5 Minute Friday: Hard Love

April 23, 2011 By Diana

Once again, it’s Friday. And that means it’s time to try and link up with Lisa-Jo over at the Gypsy Mama. Five minutes of unedited writing, this time on the topic of hard love. For me the topic today is about 180 degrees from where Lisa-Jo went with it…

She waits in the guest room, right next door to me as I type these words. I can hear her shuffling things around, waiting for me to emerge from my Good Friday afternoon nap. We’ve been to a remarkable service today at the local Episcopal church where we heard a male sextet sing an Atakhist – a song of deep thanksgiving written by an Eastern Orthodox monk while living out a difficult life in a Russian gulag in the 1930’s. It was gorgeous – such a contrast to the events we were there to commemorate – and yet such a powerful reminder of the glorious gifts of God in this world, this place, this home of ours.

And I think she got most of it. It’s very hard to tell.

She is nearing 90. 16 months ago, her youngest and most troubled child died in his sleep. Six years ago, her partner of 64 years died after three years of a lingering, wasting illness in which he became unable to say to his wife, “You’re wearing yourself out caring for me – let’s find me a place to be where you can rest at night and I can be tended.” In the last 5 years, she has slowly, agonizingly lost almost all of her vision to macular degeneration and she’s also lost an increasing amount of her ability to hear conversations.

She has lost a lot of her independence. And most hard for me, most difficult for her, she has lost the ability to respond to life as she once did: with spunk, fiestiness, joyful laughter and an amazingly creative ability to rise to the challenge.

It is sometimes very hard to love her as I once did. And it is very hard for her to love anyone as she once did. So we rely on a long history of shared affection, commitment and memories to get us through the rough times.

In some ways she reminds me of my 5 year old grandchildren – volatile emotionally, insecure at times, frightened by abrupt changes in life or schedule, confused by what’s happening around them. So I am learning that the best thing to do to show her my love is what I do to them – wrap my arms around her, kiss her soundly on the cheek and say something like. “All better now. I love you. You’re the best (kid) (mom) I know. I’m here to help. What can I do?”

She’ll be heading home again on Easter afternoon, to that little apartment at the retirement community about 2 and a half hours south of me. And I will be both sad and relieved. That’s what’s hard about love right now.

STOP

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Jesus and Prayer

April 21, 2011 By Diana

Reposting an older reflection for this Maundy Thursday, thoroughly re-edited for today.

What a topic. The text is Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane – Mark’s version. The assignment is to confine my remarks to 20 minutes or less, to capsulize the teaching and the modeling of Jesus about prayer, and to do it with truth and love.

How did I ever get myself into this???

The preaching task is always an overwhelming one. An intriguing, challenging, convicting, enormously rewarding one, but still….to think that any human person has the right to speak on behalf of Almighty God, to bear the good news to the church, to parse sacred text…yikes.

And, of course, living with the text over time means that the preacher is the first to hear the sermon. If the text doesn’t knock me to my knees, shouting truth into my own heart and spirit somewhere in the process of reading/researching/thinking/praying/talking it through with others, then I will have nothing to say to anyone else. And this one has just knocked me flat.

And as always, I am impressed at how the Spirit weaves together the study and research I do in my office with the conversations and experiences I’m having elsewhere. To illustrate – a brief, but deeply thoughtful conversation with our son and daughter-in-law about prayer – about how we so often view prayer as another in a list of tools to help us manipulate God, to work ‘magic,’ to utilize (in the philosophical, utilitarian sense) our faith to bring about a desired end. Yet the text before me was anything but manipulative, and everything about relinquishment. Hmmm…

Illustration #2 – a wonderful gift from my friend Anita, a small, brilliant book entitled “Everything Belongs,” by Richard Rohr, about contemplative prayer, a book that touches on some of the same ideas that are flitting round this brain of mine. Like…the 3 fold admonition to ‘watch’ given to the sleepy disciples. Isn’t that a lot of what prayer is truly about? Placing ourselves regularly, preferably continually, in a position of prayer, of watchfulness, of presence, of paying attention, even more than it is about saying the right words – or even saying anything at all.

And all of these lovely serendipities of daily life help to thrust me back again into the text before me. As I read through Mark’s account, again and again I am blown away by Jesus’ wrestling match in that olive garden on the night in which he was betrayed. Such a powerful study in contrasts:

….from warm fellowship in the upper room to the cool solitude of the garden

….from the comfort of the reclining supper chair, to the hard reality of the rocky ground

….from a place of acceptance and understanding of what was to come, to a place of resistance and fear about the painful death ahead.

I am humbled by this story, I am moved by it and I am deeply, deeply grateful for it. It gives me great hope to read that the Savior of the world wrestled with the harsher realities of this life, that, if possible, he wanted to avoid pain; that he struggled with the dark stuff, the hard stuff, the ugly stuff. It helps, of course, to know the end of the story, that end toward which we have been moving during these weeks of Lent. It helps to know about and to firmly grasp the reality of the empty tomb.

Yet what I truly cherish about this passage in Mark 14 is how it shows us the fullness of Jesus’ humanity in ways that many of our Jesus stories do not. Here we gain insight into some of his emotional and spiritual struggles. Just days before this time of pleading prayer, Jesus was able to speak prophetically about the restoration of the ‘temple’ of his body in 3 days. Yet here, he begs God to let this cup pass. It seems that Jesus was frightened by the prospect of suffering and death on that night when he stared directly into the abyss. All of us human creatures resist death, we deny it, we cry out against it. Even Jesus cried out for deliverance from the painful unknowing-ness of it all.

Many biblical scholars tell us that this struggle in the garden was about Jesus’ fear of his coming separation from the Father. Maybe. But maybe he was just plain scared of the pain, scared of the suffering, scared of the unknown, just like the rest of us would be. And there is something strangely comforting to me in that idea. To think that the son of God, our fully human, fully divine savior, was frightened by what lay ahead of him somehow helps to relieve my own fears. It’s a paradox, maybe even an oxymoron, to say that. And yet it’s true. There is a wonderful way in which Jesus’ wrestling in the garden helps me to lean into my own humanity a little bit more willingly and easily, to accept my own feebleness and fearfulness with less self-condemnation and disdain.

But here’s what truly, strongly cheers me in this story: after the struggle, after the tears, after the first of what would soon be an avalanche of disappointments and betrayals from his friends – after all of that, Jesus moves out in confidence and trust to meet his enemies, to meet his future. “Rise. Let us go,” he says to the speechless, feckless disciples. “Enough! The hour has come. Look, the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners.”

At the end of the day, at the end of that long night, Jesus chose to trust God.

Jesus chose to believe that God was at work, even in the ugliness of betrayal and conflict, even in the midst of false accusations and illegal trials, even in the brutality of torture and death. Even there, God is.

Once it became clear that God was not going to intervene in the way that Jesus wanted him to do, he made a conscious, deliberate choice to trust God anyhow. To trust that God would take the mess and work a miracle in the midst of it. To trust that God would accomplish something so beautiful, so powerful, so filled with hope and promise that the world would never be the same again.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known,” the apostle Paul wrote to the church at Corinth. I believe that for the period of his ‘tabernacling’ with us here on earth, Jesus gave up his right, his divine ability, to see ‘face to face,’ to ‘know fully.’ Jesus lived within the limits that we as humans experience.

But here’s what our truly human Savior learned through living a life of prayer, prayer that came to fruition in that garden across from the temple mount:

He learned to trust that he was fully known,

he learned to trust that the one who fully knew him, fully loved him,

he learned to wrestle through his fears…in the presence of the God who knew and loved him…

and to emerge on the other side with a confidence and a courage that challenged every definition of confidence and courage that his world had constructed.

Oh, may I learn from his example!

Filed Under: biblical studies, Lent, prayer