A Prayer for the First Sunday in Lent, 2009

“Repent and believe the gospel!”
“The kingdom of God has come near.”
“The time has come.”

These are your words, Lord Jesus.
The words you spoke as you ventured out into active ministry,
leaving one kind of wilderness for another.
Leaving the wilderness of temptation and triumph,
entering the wilderness
of weariness,
of walking dusty highways and byways,
of wearing your heart on your sleeve so that all could see
who you were
and what you were about.
And as you began that part of your wilderness journey,
that journey that would take you to the garden,
to the high court,
to the hilltop outside the city,
to the cross…
as you began your ministry journey,
you shouted to all who would hear:
the time is now,
the good news is now,
the reign of God is now.

And at the same time,
you also demanded something of those who would hear.
You commanded —
for the verbs are most definitely in the imperative voice —
you commanded two things:
repentance
and
belief.
Maybe that’s because you knew that those two things
are the very hardest two things that we human creatures could ever be asked to do.

Repent – admit we’re wrong,
more than wrong –
admit that we’re broken beyond fixing,
that we do and say and think dreadful things about
one another
and about you,
that we follow our addictive desires,
or indulge in our malicious talk,
or greedily hoard
our resources,
our gifts,
our blessing,
our love
from people who need them,
from you who command and deserve them.

Believe – firmly grasp,
hold onto without equivocation,
allow to infiltrate our every waking thought and action —
believe the good news
believe the gospel,
believe that you are near,
that you love us without measure,
without merit on our part,
without end.

Two tough things for us.
In fact, outside of your goodness and grace,
two impossible things for us.
For it is only by the movement of your Holy Spirit within us
that we can do either one of them.

So today, on this first Sunday in Lent,
on this first Sunday of the month,
on this Sunday when we gather around your table, around the table of our Lord,
we humbly seek that grace,
we humbly thank you for that grace,
we humbly ask you to fill us again with
the power,
the strength,
the energy,
the commitment,
that only you can provide.

Help us to be your repentant people,
truly and deeply sorry for the wrongs that we do,
truly and deeply committed to turning away from those wrongs,
and facing, once again, in the direction of right and truth and life and love.
And help us to be your believing people,
filled with child-like trust in
your goodness,
your faithfulness,
your presence,
your salvation,
your abiding commitment to love us, just as we are,
and then to shape us into what we can be….
people who look more and more like Jesus.
In whose name we pray,
Amen.

Who Knew?

I’m going through some older posts, re-working them a bit and I’ll be putting them out for different writing prompts and invitations. This one is for The Red Dress Club’s ‘a favorite blog’ invitation. This was originally written in January of ’09. It might be helpful to know that I live on the central coast of California…
When I got my first really good 35mm camera almost 12 years ago, I jumped into my car and started chasing the sunset. It was May, and the sky was beautiful.

I really wanted to try my hand at some pictures of the sun setting over the Pacific, so I started driving to see if I could find a good viewpoint to do just that. Well, I ended up driving all the way up to Gaviota (about 50 miles from our home) and even there, no luck.
Well, duh. In the springtime, the sun sets much further to the northwest than it does in the winter. It took me a while to figure it out. The great sunset shots happen between November and March.

But here’s something I just learned today.

The sun also RISES over the water in the wintertime in Santa Barbara.
Why did it take me so long to learn this piece of the geographic puzzle that is our strange little peninsula here on the central coast of California?
Well….let’s put it this way. I am not what is commonly referred to as ‘a morning person.’ I’m just getting recharged about 9:00 p.m. and can read/write/watch tv/crochet until 12:30 or 1:00 with little problem.
However…in the morning – ahem – I much prefer the warmth of my bed to any other airspace until about 8:00 or 8:30.

But today, my husband was traveling to Chicago. By himself. In the middle of one of the coldest winters in recent years. And he’s been nervous about it for about 2 weeks. When my husband is nervous, he’s a lot harder to live with than when he’s his usual mellow self.

Cranky, short-tempered, worried about strange details, easily put-upon. And he’s not an easy traveler in the best of times. He loves destinations – big time. But the getting there is tough. It’s hard for most of us, I suppose. But somehow, his particular nervous system struggles with travel days more than mine.
I decided to remove one small piece of his nervousness by driving him to the airport at 6:00 a.m. today, and I’ll pick him up tomorrow night.

So, I dropped him off, and began to drive back toward Montecito.

And I noticed that the sky was beginning to pink up a little bit. So, I took the nearest off-ramp, drove through a MacDonald’s to get something warm to eat, and headed out toward the bluffs of Shoreline Park.
Oh, my. What an absolutely exhilarating experience!
It was cold (for these parts), just over 40 degrees, clear as a bell, and the small Santa Barbara fishing fleet was just setting out for the deeper waters of the channel.
The pelicans were skimming the water, as were a few coots. And as the sun began to rise, the reflection on the water began to take on shades and stripes of coral and soft orange, mixed with the dark teal of the water itself. It was just stunning.

Once again, I am so grateful to be living in this part of the world, to have the ocean within minutes of our home, to enjoy the animal and bird life that congregates here, to gaze at the contrast between rocky hills and lapping sea.

And to see the sun over the water at both ends of the day.
Bliss.

Ears to Hear…A Prayer for Sunday 1/18/09

“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
The boy Samuel said those words to you, O God,
waiting in the darkness of the tabernacle,
and he truly did not have a clue what he was saying,
he did not know what kind of God you are.
Samuel was young,
but he was willing,
he was obedient,
he was pliable,
he was teachable.

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.”
The psalmist said those words to you, O God,
from the depths of his inmost thoughts and reflections.
Maybe he did have a clue,
maybe he did understand something about the powerful truth
that when you call us,
when you speak to us,
when you nudge us,
when you show us that you know us,
that’s a fearful and wonderful thing.
The psalmist was older and far more experienced than Samuel,
yet he, too, seems
willing,
obedient,
pliable,
teachable.

“Come and see.”
Philip said those words to Nathaniel,
standing there under the fig tree.
He said those words about you, Jesus.
Come and see what you are all about,
see what you can do,
hear what you can say,
watch – and maybe even experience –
how you can take a life
and turn it around,
upside down,
and inside out.
Philip and Nathaniel were in-between – young adults,
and they, too, show themselves to be
willing,
obedient,
pliable,
teachable.

That’s who we need to be, Lord,
no matter where we are,
no matter what our age.
Will you help us?
Will you remind us that we, too, are invited to
be with you,
to ‘come and see,’
to ‘come and be known,’
to ‘listen’ to your voice.

Help us to truly grasp what it means
to be seen by you,
as Nathaniel was;
to be spoken to by you,
as Samuel was,
to be known by you,
as the psalmist was.

Wherever we find ourselves in the week ahead,
whatever our hands find to do,
whomever we encounter,
LORD:
renew in us your strong call on our lives,
your call to
a life of worship,
a life of service,
a life of joy – even in the midst of sorrow,
a life of beauty and excellence –
even in the midst of:
exams and schoolwork,
sometimes messy family relationships,
continuing recovery and adjustment from the fire,
chronically frail health,
discouragement,
uncertain futures,
disappointment,
sorrow
and grief.

In the midst of it all,
may we be so centered in your call to us
that our lives are unmistakably marked by
willingness,
obedience,
pliability,
teachability.

And we are bold this morning to ask the same thing for our leaders:
for our new president,
for our new national leaders,
in whatever capacity they may serve,
for our state officials,
and our city council;
for our church council,
for our staff,
for our congregation.

Bless us with your presence,
bless us with your voice,
And give us ears to hear and eyes to see
for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Saying Goodbye

It was getting on toward sunset as we walked across the rocky beach out to the pier. Thanksgiving weekend brought our family together on Catalina Island, at Campus by the Sea, the InterVarsity camp at Gallagher’s Cove. The weather was clear, beautiful and cold. Our gathered family and friends were serious and quiet, yet so glad to be together. The service was simple, even elegant. Our daughter had done a lovely job of planning, her sons spoke lovingly of their dad, we heard words of encouragement from scripture, some of them read by his handsome nephews.

All during that day, strange and wonderful things happened. Roils of fish just offshore in the cold Pacific brought large numbers of sea birds, including cormorants by the hundreds. A monarch butterfly flitted its brilliant wings in the back of the canyon. As we moved from the firepit, where the first part of the service happened, and walked across to the pier, where it would conclude, a solo great blue heron landed on the pier railing, watching our progress and taking off with his own unique salute as we began to approach. Then, just as we all assembled at the end of the pier, a lone pelican skimmed over the water, coming directly toward us. And as we finished saying goodbye that late afternoon, the dying sun sent soft colors toward the south, lighting on the clear white sail of a single sailboat. Mark would have loved that! We were there because he had asked us be there: together, remembering him with gratitude, thanking God for his life and gathering strength from one another as we stepped out into a different kind of life, one without him in it.


These colorful kayaks lined the edge of the beach, and as we were walking back up the canyon for dinner, I snapped this picture, hoping to capture some small sense of the beauty to be found in small, unexpected places. That’s what we’re all trying to do these days – find small, personal snapshots of God’s grace at work in a world which has been so profoundly altered, so painfully and permanently transformed for us all. Someone that weekend gathered heart-shaped rocks and spread them out on a picnic table for us all to see. Many of us tucked one away in a pocket or a suitcase, a tactile talisman of a memorable place, a memorable day.

Thanks be to God for his gracious gift of Mark, a good man, loving husband, devoted dad, son, brother, uncle and friend. Peace be to his memory.

A Prayer for the New Year

“I’m finding myself at a loss for words…”
so the song goes.
And it’s true.
I am at a loss –
a loss for words
a loss for sighs
a loss even for groans.
So I think I’ll be quiet for a while.

If I am quiet – which is difficult for me…
if I am quiet, I just might find the words…
or I just might hear the words:
The words that I need to say,
the words that I need to hear.

So, I’ll start by asking for a little help…
….to be quiet.
To be still.
To be.

Help! Please…

I’ll try breathing in,
and breathing out.
Breathing in the newness of this day
and of this year.
Breathing out the old…
the old sorrows,
the old regrets,
the old patterns that can too easily cause me to lose my way.

How long has it been, Lord?
How long has it been since I’ve been truly still in your presence?
Still enough to hear my heart beating.
Still enough to feel my body settle,
Still enough to let go of…
what worries me,
what drives me,
what irritates me,
what excites me,
what distracts me,
what upsets me,
what consumes me?

Forgive me, Lord, for holding on so tightly,
to everything, and everyone else in my life,
and for neglecting the “one thing that is needed,”
as you so kindly described it to Martha, that
busy,
helpful,
over-worked,
over-tired,
over-committed-to-the-point-of-distraction sister,
that dear disciple whom you loved.

Thank you that you love me, too.
Thank you that you love my brothers and sisters,
so many of whom are a lot like me,
a lot like Martha.

And help us to make room for the Mary in us –
that part of us who stops to listen as well as talk,
who stops, completely guilt-free, every once in a while,
who loves to learn by sitting and watching
as well as by working and doing.

It’s a new year, a new beginning, a fresh start.
Thank you for this small space to enjoy that newness,
thank you for a piece of silence, however fleeting,
in which to remember again…
who you are,
who I am,
what is really important in this life I’ve been given.

For life is indeed a gift –
even when it’s hard,
even when it’s filled with loss,
even when it’s confusing,
even when it’s overwhelming,
even when it’s scary,
even when it seems too short.

Life is a gift, filled with wonder as well as regret,
with simple joys as well as complicated problems,
with sweetness as well as sadness,
with beautiful, heart-stopping, life-saving moments,
moments that glisten and glimmer against the darkness without.
Moments that help me keep things in perspective.
Thank you for it all. Thank you for life.
Help me to live it well.
For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Too Many Directions

Things have evened off in my family in recent days, just in time for me to get into sermon prep mode once again. The gospel text for this week is Luke 8:26-39 – the healing of the demon-possessed man of Gerasene. A man who was so beset by evil that he lived a solitary life, among the tombs outside of town, the local pigs and their keepers his only regular company. A life marked by isolation, confusion, nakedness and delusion. His presence outside the town appears to have given the people residing within that town some sense of control over the scary things in life – chain them up, hide them away in the ‘unclean,’ outside-the-pale places, put them under guard and thereby feel morally superior and physically and psychically immune to any threat they might carry. That’s what we still tend to do with those things that frighten us, don’t you think? Especially those things within ourselves that we find scary, unruly, unpredictable, unacceptable. We chain them up and try and bury them, yet they can still surprise us with their potential for harm.

That’s direction number one.

What must it be like to be inhabited by multitudes of evil forces? Modern western readers read this story from at least two very different points of view. Many cringe a little, put off by the very idea of demons, at least demons as they were understood in biblical times: malevolent spiritual entities which could, on occasion, ‘possess’ human beings. It is true that many non-religious people have been fascinated by the idea (hence the success of films like “The Exorcist,” and even, it might be argued, the interest in witchcraft and the occult in successful book series like “Harry Potter,” in this generation, and “The Oz” books in our parents’.) But I think it could be argued that the general intellectual zeitgeist of 21st century life would allow little room for belief in actual, literal demons. Too primiitive, too unsophisticated, too medieval, too weird. Most moderns (or post-moderns) are not comfortable with the whole idea of spiritual realities that invade our physical world.

But then there is that second point of view, one that causes me almost as much sadness as the first. Too many 21st century Christians give the idea of demons and demon possession more credence than the biblical record would warrant. There are teachers out there who would have us pray ‘against’ the demons in the corners of the hospital rooms we visit, who would too quickly lay blame for typical childhood misbehavior on the presence of a ‘spirit of evil’ possessing a child. Either extreme is unfortunate and unhelpful. Denying the presence of evil as a malevolent force at work in our world flies in the face of way too much evidence to the contrary – ask any homicide detective or forensic psychologist. But too quickly assigning every wrong-headed choice or misbegotten behavior to the work of the devil and his minions makes no space for human sinfulness or free will. Somewhere, there must be a happy medium (slight pun intended :>)

That’s direction number two.

What are the demons that possess us in this day and age? What are we afraid of and how do we choose to cope with those fears? The Gerasene was a frightening figure, prone to violence, living as an outcast, a perfect picture of the untamed, usually unnamed, beasts that dwell within the human psyche. This story reminds us, with very powerful imagery, that Jesus has authority – healing, releasing, freedom-giving authority – over all those things that frighten us, that can at times conrol us, that cause us grief and pain. But we must allow Jesus free access to those fears if they are to be released. The demoniac was right in Jesus’ face, recognizing his authority, bargaining with him and ultimately his demons were sent packing. The townspeople were so shaken by this demonstrastion of pwer and of health that they asked Jesus to leave them. I guess it depends on what you’re most afraid of – the evil we know or the authority we don’t quite understand and certainly can’t control.

That’s direction number three (or is it a restatement of direction number one???)

Pretty soon now, I’m going to have to choose where I’m headed. I’ll try and keep you posted.

Time Marches On…

Yesterday, my ‘baby’ turned 35. I truly don’t know how this is possible. At some moments, it does seem like yesterday that we discovered a third baby was on the way. This was not a planned pregnancy – it was a total surprise. We had two charming daughters – just under 4 and just under 2 years of age, so we decided to wait until grandparenthood to enjoy the company of boys. Dick was becoming increasingly unhappy at the bank where he then worked and we had recently purchased our first home in Altadena CA. Another baby was the last thing on our minds at that point.

But guess what? God has wonderful ways of surprising us, keeping us on our toes and reminding us that – whether we like to admit it or not – we are not in charge here. After 2 girls, we assumed this would be another just like the first two. When the doctor lifted him up, facing away from me (he was, from the very beginning, not one to arrive at anything in the expected or usual way), I could tell from his backside that this kid definitely did not match the other two! As our two and a half year old crowed into the telephone when we called her at Dick’s folks’ home that night: “Mommy had a brudder!” Yes, indeed, Mommy had a brother.

Eric brought so many good things to our family – a great smile, a sunny disposition, an ability to dismantle his port-a-crib at about 9 months of age, and a wonderful language all his own. Our visit to a speech therapist at the age of 4 provided the first clue that God had given this little boy an extra helping of thinking power. He grew up to study philosophy and medicine, married a woman even smarter than he is and now has a beautiful 19 month old baby girl. Although the sunny disposition has given way to a somewhat more measured and mature mellowness, Eric continues to bring wonderful gifts to our family circle. I am so very glad he was born and that God surprised us with such a grand gift.

Blogging Resistance

It’s hard for me to get out here and write anything on this weird website when life is crazy. Things happen to me and in me that I’d like to write about, but wonder just who might read it and what they might think. Some things, apparently, are too deeply personal to put into words for public consumption.

I’ve always been a big one for saying what I think – even though I usually need to write in order to do that. I never think quickly enough in conversation, especially difficult, tense conversation. I try to resist anger – and lapse into withdrawal; I try to resist sarcasm – and lapse into stammering non sequitors; I try to resist shock – and lapse into stunned silence. Which is the same thing, I guess. I’m not very good at engaging issues in the moment, especially in situations where I feel uncertain or threatened. So this space has been a breathing point for me. I can write about things I care about, express opinions, try out ideas —- without the pressures inherent in conversation. But I find that I cannot easily write about those things that are nearest and dearest to my heart, especially when they involve people I care about and situations that are scary. And we are in the middle of a very scary one these days.

So, one of these days soon I hope to get back to this space with reflections on scripture, on life, on ministry. But right now, there is no room inside for much else besides putting one foot in front of the other as I try to stay centered in the Spirit, faithfully do the tasks I am assigned at work, love my family in all their various settings and difficulties, and do a little better job at self-care. Hope to ‘talk’ to you soon.

Ascension

Say what? I’m preaching again, for the first time in 9 weeks, and I’m acutely conscious of how very rusty I am – especially when the assigned topic is the ascension…something I’ve never studied in detail and have reflected on very little in my lifetime. And I’m working off some painful comments from a friend who informed me, that while he remembers every sermon I’ve ever preached here, he thinks I’ve gotten too dependent on script and, as a result, have ‘tightened’ in the pulpit, rather than ‘loosened.’ Ouch.

Hmmm…I preach pretty sporadically – to be expected in the ministry of a part-time associate. And preaching is serious stuff – after all, you basically stand in the pulpit to proclaim the word of God. And at the end of the day, I am a dreadfully insecure and anxious person. Put it all together, and it spells WRITER’S BLOCK. Top that with soul-searching about whether or not to experiment with a completely new style/mode of presentation…and you have your basic 5-car pile-up.

Now I’ve made progress in the insecurity stuff. Grace has touched my life through scripture, prayer, therapy, good friends, loving family, words of affirmation here and there. But, if I cut to the chase – I’m still pretty much a basket case as I contemplate this calling God has sent my way. What in the world can I possibly say that hasn’t already been said and said a whole lot better elsewherer?? Nevertheless, the task is mine and the sermon must be written.

It never ceases to amaze me that the sermons I preach are always, and I do mean ALWAYS, preached to me first. Whatever the topic of the week may be – whether I’ve chosen the text or it’s been given to me – it seems as though the first work of the Spirit needs doing in me before I can even begin to contemplate unpacking the word for others. And this week has been a doozy – 3 car trips of 100 miles +, difficult crises in our wider family circle on multiple levels, tension and fatigue at home, most of it due to this crazy, over-long remodeling process, and interesting cross-currents at work. All of it combines to create a sense of helplessness and hopelessness in me, a deep-seated feeling of abandonment, loneliness and weariness. It seems I need a good dose of the ascension to remind me who I am and who I am not.

Luke is the only gospel writer to include any description of the ascension in his account of Jesus’ life. Mark has the story end with the women running in fear from the empty tomb; Matthew has the disciples gathering on a mountaintop in Galilee to hear the Great Commission, John has an encounter at the beach, where Jesus joins them in a fish barbecue. Luke is the only one to mention Jesus floating mysteriously upward, disappearing into heaven from a hill near Bethany, as the disciples worship him and then joyfully return to Jerusalem. It is only in Luke’s second volume – the book of Acts – that a little more detail is provided. Because it is Acts that tells the story of the Holy Spirit and of the church, and the ascension is a key piece in that larger narrative.

As Luke says in verse two of chapter one of Acts, the first book (the gospel) was ‘about all that Jesus began to do and to teach until the day he was taken up into heaven.’ All that Jesus began to do and to teach…implying that there is much more to tell, don’t you think? And somehow that bit about ‘until the day he was taken up into heaven’ is a kind of dividing line between that beginning (the gospel) and now (the book of Acts). Something happens in that strange, apparition-like moment. Something happens that changes the shape of the ministry of Jesus, but not the content. An important transition is being made, a re-formation of Jesus himself, in a sense, a transformation from a single adult male walking the dusty roads of Palestine in the 1st century world of the Roman Empire to a multi-faceted, multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, multi-multi organic union that surrounds the globe and transcends time.

I have a new Macintosh laptop computer, courtesy of the church. It is a wonderful little machine, the operative word for this story being ‘little.’ I am a large person, with big hands, and not a particularly light ‘touch.’ So I find using a pad to move the cursor awkward and difficult . I invested in a wireless mouse, which comes in two parts – the part you plug into the laptop that provides the signal, and the small mouse, which moves the cursor in a way that is easier for me to manage. Last night, I packed up my computer and took it home, thinking I might get some work done there. I packed up the plug-in device for the mouse, but not the mouse itself. The wireless sending device did nothing for me without that mouse, I’m sorry to say. It was back to the touch pad if I wanted to do anything on the computer. This afternoon, I came back to the office to work because it is quieter than the hammering going on at home. The mouse was right here, sitting on my desk. But….the sending device didn’t make it back into my bag, I am also sorry to say. I need both pieces to effectively work on this machine with ease and comfort, the one that sends the signal and the one that receives it.

In a very crude, analogous way, that’s what the ascension is at least partially about. The work of salvation for which Jesus came to the earth was completed by his ministry, his death and his resurrection from the dead. He accomplished the ultimate expresstion of God’s love for our broken and fallen humanity both on the cross and through the empty tomb. “It is finished,” Jesus cried from that cross. The job is done, the debt is paid, the love of God is spilt for the whole world to witness.

He did not say, “I am finished,” because he is not. Jesus is still at work in the world – only now the more hands-on part of that work is being done by the Spirit, in and through the church and the individuals who make up the body of Christ in this post-ascension age. In the gospel of John, Jesus tells his disciples that he must return to the Father (read ‘ascend to heaven’) so that the Comforter can come. And several of the epistles tell us that Jesus, in his resurrected and ascended humanity/divinity, is now seated ‘at the right hand of God,’ interceding for us, his church, as we continue to do the Jesus-stuff he commissioned us to do – announcing the kingdom of God, making disciples and working toward that day when God’s kingdom will be fully realized.

And how do we do this work? By the power of the Holy Spirit, that sweetly personal and fearfully omnipresent third person of the Trinity, sent with love by both Father and Son, to fill the saints with light in every generation. There is a beauty and a symmetry to this plan – a wonderful way in which the persons of the Trinity work together to make sure the ‘signal’ is made available to all of the body of Christ. You need the mouse, you need the transmitter, you need the computer to make it all work well. I’m going to stop there, rather than trying to pair images and lapse into either blasphemy or triviality! But i think you get the picture.

Jesus, in his magnificently glorified humanity (worthy of crown-wearing) breathes his life and teaching into the church through the Spirit, who moves unhampered by the limits of flesh in and amongst the millions of persons who together form Christ’s body here. And that together part is pretty key. In former times, the Spirit of God lit on individuals, anointed for specific, often short, periods of time to do special work. (Each of the judges, all of the prophets, an occasional king or two are noted as having the Spirit of God anoint them for very particular purposes.) Only after the completed work of Jesus, eternally incarnated in form, could the Spirit be released in multiplicity and in perpetuity to continue doing the work that the incarnate Jesus began. There are 11 of them gathered on that hillside in Bethany and there are at least 120 of them gathered in the upper room 10 days later when the Spirit descends in power to ignite the newly forming church of Jesus Christ. Wow! What a picture, what a truth.

So, after a particularly hairy week, this is very good news for me. Jesus is King, sitting at the right hand of God, praying for me (and, of course, the entire body of Christ :>). Praying for my daughter and her husband, praying for my mother and my brother, praying for our church, praying for all of the burdens I carry around, so often under the impression that they are mine to solve, to fix, to rescue. The ascension of Jesus reminds me, once again!!, that there is a God, a God who is sovereign, a God who is engaged with creation, a God who knows what it is like to wear this frail human frame, a God whose frail human frame has been transformed into that of an eternal co-regent with the Father who prays not only for me, but for all the church in every corner of this world, praying for the coming of the kingdom in each one of those corners.

And the ascension also reminds me that I am not alone, that I am never alone. God’s Spirit is with me – through the Word, through prayer and through the gathered body of Jesus, the church – that community that is flawed, imperfect, sometimes recalcitrant, often shortsighted and frequently prone to wander, yet still wondrously, miraculously, by the grace of God, the church, the together-people who form the body of Jesus to do the work of the kingdom on planet earth. Thanks be to God!

Ashes…

Today is Ash Wednesday. We held a small, intimate service at midday, maybe 30 people came. Dan played the guitar beautifully, everyone sang so well and the space was welcoming. Jeanne and Alice set up a beautiful Lenten tableau of bare sticks, rocks, dark candles and Spanish moss, all of it calling us to a quiet space, a simple space, a sober space, a remembering space. Because this is a day for remembering, for remembering who we are – the dust of the earth – and for remembering who God is: the one who comes in love, willing to suffer on our behalf.

Three members of the gathered community read the words of scripture for us, the familiar words for this day from the prophet Joel, the apostle Paul and Jesus himself, in Matthew’s gospel. Arleen read so beautifully, her voice full of pathos, almost to the point of tears as she closed out her passage…”The priests, who minister in the Lords’ presence, will stand between the people and the altar, weeping…” Frank worried about his voice holding up, but he made it through the verses from 2 Corinthians just fine. Jim wondered if he’d still be there when the gospel reading came to pass, as he had a commitment at 1:00 p.m. He had time to spare, and then stayed longer anyhow. It was a rich time, filled with grace and tenderness and I am grateful to have, once again, been privileged to lead and to offer ashes to dearly loved friends and even a few strangers. We missed Don very much, but are grateful for his and Martha’s ministry in Kenya these early weeks of Lent.

Dan was the last to receive ashes from my thumb, and then he impressed them on me, offering the ancient words, “Remember you are dust; repent and believe the gospel.” We offered prayers on behalf of others, we passed the peace and we read the final blessing to one another as we went back out into the world. And even though the dark marks on my forehead brought strange stares in the supermarket, I was grateful for their presence. For these dark specks in the shape of a cross testify to this day, this season, of reflection and repentance and remembering. May God bless us all as we live Lent this year.