Jan 31 2020 Genesis 17:15-27

Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed


God has just changed Abraham’s name from Abram, and given him a son by his slave Hagar. Now God tells Abraham that Abraham will bear a son by Sarah, his newly renamed wife, and she will bear a son. Abraham’s response is that he falls on his face and laughs.

I love this image. God is doing marvelous things For Abraham, who until recently has been heirless. Soon he will be the father of many nations. Now, thousands of year later, Judaism, Muslim, and Christianity are all heirs of Abraham. What God did for Abraham and Sarah was amazing, a promise made and kept that greatly affects our religions today.

And Abraham fell on his face and laughed.

There’ve been times when all I could do was laugh, when God’s gift or grace or timing was incredulous. It’s a pretty human response to disbelief, or irony, or even abundance.

Some years ago, changed careers moving from a more financially secure public sector job, to a less secure, more meaningful non-profit career. As I was bussing to downtown, I remember laughing at how ironic it was, to be feeling so blessed, while incurring over a 30% reduction in pay. Laughter seemed like the only response to such an illogical, but absolutely right decision.

A few years after that move, I’d set up a meeting with my priest. I wanted to discuss my underwhelming spiritual life. God was present, but it felt like an underappreciated 50 year old marriage. Between setting and having the meeting, I had my sole visual experience of God, that knocked my socks off. I’m not the person who hears God’s whispers. Or talks to Jesus. But I visibly saw something and it was clearly a God-thing. My husband said that if he didn’t know me, he’d think I was seeing things. So when I went to meet with the priest about my previously lackluster experiences with God, everything had changed. That meeting and that event later sent me down the path towards responding to God’s call to me to serve as a deacon in the Episcopal Church. At that lunch with my priest, we both laughed, although mine was a little more nervous than his. 

Now, in my home life, my sick loved one is in the hospital and hopefully stabilizing after a crisis over the holidays. Their behavior is sad and driven by a horrible and cruel illness. Their language and written messages come out as ‘word salads’, a jumble of ideas and random words. Translating what they say into what they mean is quite a challenge, but we’re getting better at it. They get stuck on phrases repeating them dozens of times in a day. ‘Not today’, means whatever we’ve asked isn’t going to happen right now. Do you want lunch? Not today. Another response, ‘just a little bit’, means maybe. Do you want lunch today? Just a little bit. Or they’d walk past us, and we’d say, Good evening. Their response, Not today (don’t talk to me, or don’t look at me), or ‘just a little bit’ (I’m acknowledging you, but don’t say anything else).

Those two particular phrases, plus many others have become common in the language of my husband and me, as codewords. Now we can laugh at the absolute absurdity of their language, our ability to understand, and ultimately how efficient the language was. Not Today, means a myriad of things, generally declining or dismissing something. These are all said in love, but also there’s some humor as we repeat these word salad phrases.

Laughter is a healthy human response to things that are ironic, bountiful, absurd, and even sad, as in our loved one’s jumbled language. I love the fact that Bible gives us this example of Abraham laughing in response to God’s covenant.

This morning, I’m thinking about the things that happen around me, ultimately with God’s fingerprints all over them, that make me laugh. Maybe it’s our human nature to find beauty and humor in all sorts of things, because beauty and humor are so desperately needed. I laugh at God’s timing. I laugh at my loved one’s mannerisms. God wants me to find delight in all sorts of things, certainly the funny things, but also all of those other circumstances where laughter wouldn’t be the ‘appropriate’ response. Maybe that’s the gladness that God puts in our hearts. It’s not that I’m joyful because of my sick loved one, but even in that, there are parts I can laugh about. Thank God for that!

Jan 30 2020 John 5: 30-47

I can do nothing on my own. As I hear, I judge; and my judgement is just, because I seek to do not my own will but the will of him who sent me.

The writer of John is trying to explain how Jesus was explaining things. And while the writer of John generally does not help me understand things, I can sometimes pull out gems that do make sense, and that I can apply. Luckily, today’s reading contains one of those gems.

Jesus is explaining that he comes from God, and that his audience didn’t even believe Moses, who pointed towards Jesus’ arrival. Given the author’s disdain – even antisemitism – I’m not sure it’s fair to say that Moses knew Jesus was the coming attraction. I’m pretty sure modern day Jews, God-loving, children of Abraham, would not agree. But I digress.

Before all of this, Jesus says simply that he can do nothing on his own. Hmm. If Jesus is one complete person of the Trinity, I’d think he could do things on his own. Jesus continues that he judges justly, because he seeks to do not his own will but the will of God. Hmm.

So if Jesus – God incarnate – cannot do things on his own, and judges justly by seeking the will of God, I’m pretty sure there’s something in there for me.

I cannot do anything on my own. Every breath, move, action, comes from God. Every thing I see, and taste – even the fact that I can see and taste, comes from God. In fact, I can do nothing on my own. Nothing. The positive side of that is that I am never left on my own. God is present in every breath, move and action. God is present in everything I see and taste. I’m reminded of the Police song, “Every move you make”, in a good way.

Jesus continues that he judges rightly, because he does God’s will, not his own. Even Jesus, God incarnate, needs to put God’s will before his own. Jesus was, after all, fully human. Being fully human means Jesus had fully human foibles, and thoughts. But by keeping God’s will in the forefront, he judged justly. That was likely easier for Jesus than me, since Jesus was also fully divine.

This morning, I’m thinking about how I might keep God’s will at the center of my life, in everything I see and taste, everything I think and do. When I do that, I think I can get closer to saying what Jesus said, that my decisions are just, because I do God’s will, not my own.

One thing that I can do today, is be grateful that the practice of Morning Prayer includes praying the Lord’s Prayer, daily. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Your will. Not mine. Maybe today, that’s my mantra with every breath. Thy will be done. Thy will be done. Thy will be done.

Jan 29 2020 Matthew 6: 19-23 Commemoration of Andrei Rublev, Iconographer

Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.

Rublev was a 14th century Russian artist, who wrote icons. In modern times, icons are signs we understand, without even really thinking about it. A yellow sign with kids on a see-saw means kids are around, probably a school zone. The sign itself is not a school, or a child, but we see it and know what it signals. We see into the sign the meaning ascribed or understood. But the sign isn’t the thing itself.

Similarly, ancient icons are not the things themselves. A painting of God isn’t God. In traditions that use icons, a painting of God isn’t revered because it is an idol of God, but rather it symbolizes the unbounded immensity of God. Staring at icons, praying with icons is a way that some people can hold their attention and focus on God.

The Gospel reading appointed for Rublev’s commemoration talks about the eyes being windows into the body. Other people can tell a lot about our souls, by what and how we see things around us. The light we let in through our eyes enlightens our whole bodies. Our eyes aren’t our bodies, but looking at someone’s eyes can be a window, or icon, into their soul. 

Rublev’s most famous icon, The Trinity, includes a whole lot of symbolism. I don’t understand nor appreciate most of it. But basically, there are three angels, representing the Trinity, from left to right God, Jesus, Holy Spirit. They’re at a table, and their outline creates a circle, so your eye is drawn within the circle and at the same time, there’s movement between the three figures because of fluid nature of circles.

One of the coolest part of this icon to me, is what’s not there. On the front of the table they’re sitting at, is a small rectangle, and remnants of glue. Art historians believe that was a mirror, so when you look at the icon of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit sitting at a table, you were at the table too. Knowing this, I see that mirror, when I see the square – an icon within an icon. I can look at that icon, and without words or directions to do so, I contemplate my place at God’s table – my role within the Trinity. The picture is not the Trinity, but it is a window through which I can gaze, and see the unseeable, imagine the unimaginable.

My recent trip to Guatemala provided other icons of God, that I could gaze at for a long time, thinking about God’s power, and love, and mercy. Volcanic vistas, sweet, smiling faces of children. I gaze at these things not because they are actually God, but by looking out at the beautiful mountains poofing their volcanic ash, I immediately contemplate God’s power. I’m transported and transfixed because of what the volcano reveals to me about God. In the faces of the children and mission workers, I see Jesus.

This morning, I’m thinking about the icons around me. About how my concrete thinking benefits from something real and tangible, that represents something else. I can stare out a mountain, or even at an icon, and I’m transported through that window into something deeper.

Jan 28 2020 John 5:1-18

When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, ‘Do you want to be made well?

The paralyzed man is laying in the portico, with many others. He’s apparently been ill for 38 years. Jesus asks the man if he wants to be made well. My interest and ire are piqued with Jesus’ healing stories, given my sick loved one. This story is no different, and it’s got some intriguing aspects, that I’ve not seen in other healing stories.

In this story, as in many others, Jesus asks if the recipient if they want to be made well. Unlike other stories, this man doesn’t answer with a resounding yes. Instead, he offers all of the excuses why he hasn’t made it to the healing waters – others step in front of him. So the paralytic man doesn’t actually answer Jesus’ question. Do you want to be made well?

Despite this, Jesus heals the man, but the man doesn’t know it’s Jesus. The Jews, who the writer of John’s Gospel always picks on, scold the man because he’s not supposed to be carrying his mat on the Sabbath. They ask him to reveal the scoundrel who effectively told him to break the Sabbath rules, by carrying his mat. The healed man doesn’t know it was Jesus, but he clearly knew the Jews were displeased with Jesus’ action.

Later Jesus finds the man in the market, and exclaims that the man has been made well! He continues, don’t sin any more, lest something worse happens to you.

Again, clearly the man knew the Jews were displeased, but nonetheless, he seeks out the Jews and explains that it was Jesus who told him to take up his mat on the Sabbath. Not only that, Jesus healed him on the Sabbath.

When the Jews find Jesus, they’re upset, and Jesus’ reference to God as his father doesn’t help. The author explains that the Jews begin persecuting Jesus after this incident.

I’m intrigued by this complex interaction between Jesus and the man. The man didn’t actually respond that he wanted to be healed. And initially, the interaction wouldn’t have resulted in persecution of Jesus, as the man didn’t know who’d healed him. But we hear that ‘Jesus found him’ in the market. It’s only after that second encounter – initiated by Jesus finding him – that the man had Jesus’ identity. In this second encounter, Jesus tells the man to sin no more, lest further bad things happen to him. So this man, newly healed, runs right to the Jews to explain that it was Jesus who told him to carry his mat, and even healed him on the Sabbath.

Thus begins the Jews persecution of Jesus.

Oh, the questions. Why would Jesus heal the man if he didn’t even answer the initial question about whether he wanted to be healed? Why would Jesus seek him out in the market resulting in the man knowing Jesus’ identity? Why would Jesus tell him to sin no more, when we’ve been given no indication of the man’s previous sins? Why did the man then run to the Jews?

Maybe Jesus healed this man, despite his past sins, whatever they were, despite his non-answer, because Jesus heals. Jesus is always willing to heal, despite our non-answer, despite our past sins, despite what trouble is caused to Jesus as a result. Jesus has the unbounded love to share with us all. Jesus’ action isn’t dependent on the man’s clarity in response. Jesus’ love isn’t dependent on the man’s previous sins, or his future ratting out Jesus to the authorities. Jesus loves and heals, regardless. It’s us who don’t understand, and try to make God’s love conditional, or limited, or dependent on something we do, or don’t do. That’s not God’s baggage; it’s ours.

The man, on the other hand reflects all of my shortcomings. He doesn’t squarely answer Jesus’ simple question – do you want to be healed? How often or how easy is it for me to offer excuses rather than simply respond with a whole-hearted YES to God’s love and grace and light? How easy is it for me to continue sinning, even though I know better? But none of my actions change God’s boundless love. It only limits my happiness and healing.

This morning, I’m thinking about the huge disparity between my concept of God’s love and grace, and the all-encompassing, unconditional love of God. Jesus loved this man and healed this man and sought out this man regardless of the man’s past or future actions. Jesus continues to heal me and seek me out, regardless of my past or future actions. Today, I hope to see more of God’s immense and unbounded grace, and remember that the conditions and boundaries I imagine are mine, not God’s.

Jan 27 2020 - Reentry

It’s been 10 days since I last wrote, and what a 10 days it’s been!

I just returned from an 8 day trip, working with Orphan Resources International. This is a great non-profit that supports over 50 private orphanages in Guatemala, delivering food, and organizing work teams to do maintenance and repairs in these beautiful homes. 

Guatemala is an incredibly impoverished country; it’s hard to imagine, but there is no mail service in the country. You can’t mail things in or out. We brought hundreds of pounds of supplies in, and spent one evening on a rush shopping trip at the local Walmart, where we purchased hundreds more. 

Children are sometimes abandoned, or left in the care of these private, non-profit homes. Sometimes the children have loving families who lack the resources to provide for the children. Sometimes the children have significant or terminal disabilities, and are placed in these homes. Sometimes the children are removed from their families because of abuse. We saw it all.

Working with this team, we played, crafted and loved children from three homes. One of the three we also painted dorm rooms, and constructed big cubby-hole cabinets for the girls. One highlight from that part for me was that I used a skill saw, table saw, and chop saw. I love me some power tools!

We stayed at a lovely small hotel, Hotel Vista Encantada with spectacular unobstructed views of the 4 volcanoes in the region. One continually was emitting ‘poofs’ of dark, ashen smoke. Living in the shadows of other mountain/volcanoes in Portland, I found this unnerving, but beautiful. 

Another highlight for me was the opportunity to spend a week with my oldest friend, although she’ll quickly remind you that I’m actually older (by 2 months). It was lovely to spend time with someone who knows my soul, can pick me up, and give a mid-course correction when needed. We shared a room, and in addition to great conversation and fellowship, I slept better and longer than I have in months, logging two nights of 10+ hours of sleep. Hard work, fresh air, and distance are wonderful for that!

A few of my musings from that trip:

- The scenery was spectacular, both the natural vistas, and the smiling faces of the children for whom we worked. I was also amazed at the passion of the volunteers and mission workers who went to Guatemala and stayed, leaving family and the comforts of home. Their commitment was inspiring and a little convicting. God’s hand was clearly in the natural scenery, and God’s face was clearly visible in the faces of the children, and the long term volunteers and mission workers.

- I leaned over the balcony looking at the volcanoes poofing in the distance and was overwhelmed by God’s beauty, and contrasted that to the pain and challenges I left in Portland. But then I realized that God’s beauty in that country, in that vista, in those people, remains. God’s hand in the beauty of the world doesn’t disappear, because I return to my world. When I’m struggling with finding beauty or God, I need to remember that vista. It doesn’t go away, just because I’m not there. God’s hand in beauty remains, even if I’m not feeling it.

- My husband and I could absolutely abandon this life to go work overseas. We could buy a home, maintain a home, and serve God’s people somewhere, somehow. We’ve long thought we’d go somewhere to work. Although our motivation for doing the work might be different – mine for God, his for humanity – I’ve no doubt we’d be absolutely united in our commitment to go and serve. Going to Guatemala rekindled that thought.

All of those thoughts remain, and I’ll hold on to them. And when I returned to Portland, I returned to the drama I left, some which is good, and some which is not so good.


Prior to leaving, we’d been house-hunting, because we realized we could not live in multi-family housing with our sick loved one. Turns out we are closing on a house within 2 weeks. I returned to an apartment in the initial throws of packing, boxes in the living room, cabinets emptied.

Prior to leaving, our sick loved one was hospitalized. They were committed to the State’s care for 90 days. Part of the illness includes a break from reality, and negative thoughts. Because they’re an adult, we are given no information about treatment, or release plans, without their consent which they are not granting. We cannot call, or visit, and haven’t seen or heard from them since early January. We don’t know what the State plans for treatment, or if they’re going to be released and if so, when and where.

Even more challenging is the fact that our loved one has conjured a past that includes abuse inflicted by me and my husband. It’s hard to realize that they genuinely believe we harmed them. It must be hard for them, since we’re the only family and care they’ve seen for years.

It’s also really sad and a little scary, because we have an interview with Adult Protective Services, who’s been brought in to investigate their allegations of abuse. That interview will be early this week.

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s hand in all of this. My drama at home is towards the high side. But God is present. God is with me during these challenges. God is with the children in Guatemala. God is with the mission workers. God is with my sick loved one, and the protective services interviewer.

Today, in light of the drama, I want to intentionally stop and see God’s hand in the world around me, whether it’s the natural beauty of Portland, or the beauty of my wonderful apartment, or the bounty that I’ve been given that allows me to move into a house during a ‘seller’s market’. God isn’t just in the beauty, though. God’s in the pain and challenges. I want to see God in all places today.



Meanwhile the volcanic vista remains.

Jan 17 2020 2 Corinthians 4: 5-7

It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful. If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us.

I love this idea of us holding God’s light and love in our ordinary lives, likened to unadorned clay pots. On a walk down the street, on the bus, or at my job, I’m surrounded by people. All of them are unadorned clay pots. All of them are filled with God’s light and love. Clay pots, unlike glass jars, are obscure. You can’t see what’s inside, and we’re best not to presume to know what’s inside.

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is about being God’s presence while on the trip, being in community with the people there. The author argues that it’s not about the money; even if they need money, they also need our presence. We are Christ’s hands and feet, eyes and heart. The difference is that we have the luxury of going, of spending the money it takes to go to far flung places to share God’s light and love. 

Tomorrow morning early, I leave for a week to Guatemala. I have had a tumultuous month, and am exceedingly glad to be able to go. I am grateful for the opportunity to travel, to see old friends and make new ones.

This morning, I’m thinking about unadorned earthenware pots. About how they’re functional, carrying important contents, and they’re opaque, so you can’t tell what’s in them. I’m thinking about my sick loved one, who’s pot is a little cracked these days, but how it still contains amazing light and love. I’m thinking about all of the people I’ll meet in country, and I want to be sure to remember they too are earthenware pots.

And now, off to pack.

Jan 16 2020 1 John 1: 5-7

But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.


Walking in the light. I love this image. I have a balance problem, so walking in the darkness is actually quite challenging. I will always choose to walk in the light. This morning’s pre-trip reflection focuses on the fellowship aspect of walking in the light. We cannot claim to be walking in Jesus’ light if we stumble around in the darkness by ourselves. When we are struggling with something personally, the best thing to do is to share it, and in community, walk in the light.

Due in part to challenges with my sick loved one, and in part to the general pace of life, I have gotten much, much better at sharing my darkness. I cannot handle the dark bits by myself; I get in a funk and hold quite a pity party. But just sharing my woes makes them better, or makes me feel better about them. Or at least makes me realize that I’m not alone.

We were made to be in community. None of us has the skills or time to be entirely self-sufficient. It makes perfect sense that we need to be in community, to pray together, break bread together, work together, rejoice together, and lament together. It’s when I think those things are better done alone that I get in trouble.

This morning, I’m thinking about the great joys of being in community. That’s not to say community is always perfect. I have the joy of working in an environment that is God-infused. I need to remember that despite workplace imperfections, I have a tribe of people with whom I can pray, any time at work.

I am looking forward to another environment and tribe with whom I can pray, as I prepare to head to Guatemala Saturday.

Jan 15 2020 Matthew 18: 15-22

Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’

This morning’s pre-trip reflection focuses on friendships that will be tested, irksome habits that may annoy, and how to manage that, in the crucible of this one week time together. As a newcomer to this group of Ohioans, my intention is to be entirely humble; I don’t want to be the annoying extra friend at the dinner table, to those I don’t know, and particularly to those I do.

The appointed scripture for this reflection was from Matthew, and focused on how to work through a disagreement. When alone with that person, talk with them in private. If they understand and you make up, you’ve made a friend. That is absolutely great advice. There are so many times when that kind of disagreement hasn’t gotten resolved, and it’s generally because this simple counsel wasn’t followed. Either the initial discussion was not done in private, but in front of others. That’s a sure way to entrench people, as they feel called out and defensive. Do it in private. The other thing is if an issue is not raised at all. Of course it can’t get resolved if the other person doesn’t know what that there’s a problem. It’s interesting how Jesus had this resolution clearly spelled out, 2000 years ago. Humanity doesn’t change.

The passage from Matthew continues that once you’ve made up with the other person – when two or three are gathered in Jesus’ name, he will be present. This is a familiar passage to me, as it’s repeated every day in Morning Prayer. It’s a nice reminder of God’s presence in community.

After all of this lovely advice from Jesus, Peter comes through as the fallible human – just like me. Ok, ok, he says, but if someone sins against me repeatedly, just how forgiving do I need to be? What’s the outer limit of what I’m expected to tolerate and forgive? Seven times seventy times, which in ancient allegorical language was the equivalent of infinity or endlessly. Forgive as many times as someone needs forgiveness, to keep community.

This is one of those teachings of Jesus that I’ve found we think we can limit or modify, to suit our preferences. With my sick family member, they’ve been pretty crappy to us, at least 70 times. Well intentioned, loving Christian folks, including me, get to a point where I think forgiveness isn’t warranted. I’ve had loving, kind, Christians tell me in response to some part of my past year, that they knew people who disowned their children. Or others who suggest what we should or shouldn’t allow, because their behavior is unforgivable.

To be clear, I’m not talking about safety boundaries, or about the amount of disruption I can handle. Forgiveness is about the underlying active love for the person. My sick loved one is teaching me all about seven times seventy times forgiveness.

This morning, I’m thinking about seven times seventy. About how Jesus did not give Peter a convenient outer limit of the extent of forgiveness. I’m intrigued by how we, as a society, have uniformly decided that unlimited forgiveness shouldn’t be allowed, that there really are outer limits. But that’s not what Jesus said. Today, I want to think about all those people or instances where I have bought into society’s notion of limited forgiveness, and return back to Jesus’ notion of endless forgiveness. Boundless forgiveness can free me from those past hurts. Seven times seventy.

Jan 14 2020 John 1: 11-13

As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God. 

This morning’s reflection is about what we ‘rights’ we are given by God. The only right is to be children of God, if we receive and believe and follow Jesus. As children, we are not always in control of our worlds, and this lack of control will be illustrated while on a short term trip with a team to foreign place, doing foreign things.

There is much in this world that is clearly out of my control. And to counter that, there is much in my world that I’ve ordered quite nicely, thank you. My morning routine for example. I get up, have a cup of coffee, sit in my prayer chair, read, reflect and write. That is not likely to be a thing for the next week. I also get up absurdly early, and go to bed equally early. Also possibly not a thing next week.

These are things I do in my otherwise uncontrollable world. But whenever I’m away from home for some amount of leisure, my routines are interrupted, and that’s ok. It’s ok because for a brief interlude, I am not fretting about my uncontrollable world, or my job, or what’s for dinner. I don’t need those routines or those brief exercises in control.

There is a great freedom that comes from travel, from seeing things without that nagging sense of responsibility. There comes a moment in travel, where I try to capture that feeling of freedom, and figure out how to build it back into my home world. But the difference is that home, I do have to worry about my uncontrollable life, my job, and what’s for dinner. So that sense of freedom slips away until the next time away, replaced with routines. To be clear, I love my morning routines, as they hold space for that sense of freedom, when I’m not worrying about dinner or whatever else.

Once I get to Guatemala City, I will not be responsible for much. I will be able to go where I’m asked, do what I’m asked, help where I can, and not worry about things.

This morning, I’m thinking about what it means in my uncontrollable life to be a child of God. Where do I have the luxury of letting go, of just going where God asks, doing what God asks, helping where I can, and not worrying about things? Maybe the whole thing is what God asks. Maybe it’s not really out of control at all, it just feels that way to me. If I believe in an all-powerful, all loving God, if I believe that I’m a child of God, I have to believe that God would not allow me to be in an out of control place, or put me there without the ability to survive. Maybe I can find those moments of peace, even in my home world, and not wait until I’m travelling – beyond my morning routine moments.

Today, I’m going to think about ways to act more like a child of God’s. Of letting God worry about things, and direct my steps, and my thoughts. I’m reminded of a prayer from our Book of Common Prayer, that always fills me with a sense of security and comfort, knowing who’s the ever-loving parent and who’s the child.

Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated unto you; and then use us, we pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the welfare of your people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jan 13 2020 Mark 10: 23-27

And they were greatly astonished, saying among themselves, “Who then can be saved?” But Jesus looked at them and said, “With men it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all things are possible.”

I could start with ‘this morning’s reflection’, but it’s nearly 5:30pm. It’s been a busy few weeks, and apparently I needed sleep. Ten and a half hours of it. So this morning, whizzed by in a miraculous 30 minute bed-to-bus sprint. No time for morning musings today. Apparently, I needed the sleep.

So this evening’s reflection is focused on the power of prayer, and how we frequently make God much smaller than God really is, with what we think God can and cannot do. Given the scale and scope of God and all of what God is, I’m quite sure none of us can fathom the reaches of God’s God-ness. Just when I think I know anything, I’m quickly reminded I don’t. When I think I have a sense of my role in this world, I’m quickly reminded I don’t. When I think I understand something, I’m quickly reminded I don’t.

It’s quite humbling, actually to think about all that I don’t know, and how absurd, or naïve, or precious we look from God’s perspective.

The reading from Mark comes immediately after Jesus has explained to the wealthy man that in order to be saved, he should sell all his possessions. This comes after he’s explained that he’s kept all the Laws, thinking he’s done what he was supposed to. Jesus responds with this challenge to sell all his belongings and give the proceeds to the poor. We don’t really know what the man does in response to this, because all we hear is that he went away, sorrowful.

But we do know what those precious or naïve or absurd disciples do. They follow up with a little bit of bemoaning. But Jesus, we’ve left our families, our livelihoods. Who can be saved, if not this man who’s followed the Law. Jesus responds that with God, anything is possible, but for men, it’s impossible.

It’s not about what we do, or don’t do. It’s not about the laws we keep, the commandments we keep, tithing, attending church, swearing. It’s not about us at all. It’s about God, and God’s unmerited, radical grace.

Today, I’m thinking about a prayer written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu that speaks to the fact that it’s not what we do, or don’t do. It’s true for me. It’s true for my sick loved one. It’s true for the children in the orphanages in Guatemala. It’s pretty amazing, really.

God created you because God loved you. You do not therefore need to do anything to earn or deserve God’s love. You do not need to impress God so that God will love you. God already loves you and God will love you for ever and ever.

There is nothing you can do that will make God love you less. There is nothing you can do to make God love you more. God’s love for you is infinite, perfect and eternal. 

                                                               ~Desmond Tutu

Jan 12 2020 1 Peter 4: 1

Since Jesus went through everything you’re going through and more, learn to think like him. (The Message)

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is focused on the challenges that will certainly arise, and how to respond to them. It focuses on analogies in Peter and Timothy that relate to being a soldier. Be a good soldier for Christ, and arm yourself with a mindset for suffering. Personally, I tend to bristle with the soldier and war analogies. Maybe that’s because I’m the mom of an army soldier, but for whatever reason, soldiering isn’t something that resonates.

Thank God for different translations of Scripture. Eugene Peterson’s The Message is definitely more contemporary language, and sometimes misses the mark. But today, it resonates.

Where the New King James Version talks about Christ suffering in body, and arming myself, The Message breaks this down to remind me that Jesus went through everything I have, so I should think like Jesus. Yes!

When you read through Jesus’ life, it’s fascinating how he really did go through all the things we think are so unique to us. Betrayal? Yes. Sick friends? Yes. Death? Yes. Joy? Yes. Travelling to foreign places? Yes. And he did all this in sandals, in the desert, without AC, or pillows. And with ne’er a complaint. Instead, Jesus was grateful, praising God, helping his neighbor. Love God. Love your Neighbor.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to have a mindset like Jesus in all things, both big and small. How much better would my internal outlook be, as well as my outward response, if I could first remember to Love God, and Love my Neighbor.

Jan 11 2020 Mark 4: 35-41

[He] said to the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.

Jesus is in the boat with his disciples. A big storm comes up. They’re frightened, as anyone would be in a little boat with big waves. Waves and boats are a pair of things that always inspire in me a sense of God’s superlative and inarguable power. Jesus is not worrying with them, or holding their hands, or calming them down. He’s asleep in the front of the boat, which frightens them all the more.

Jesus, Jesus, wake up! He awakens, commands, “Peace be still”, and there was a great calm. He turns to the disciples and is testy with them, that they had no faith.

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is about having faith in God, in the face of storms. When a group of well-intentioned North Americans, accustomed to our normal things, intentionally put ourselves in the midst of well-intentioned Latin Americans, accustomed to their normal things, it is only natural to think there will be storms. We’re heading – intentionally – into uncharted waters. We go with deep faith, and still will encounter the unexpected that will frighten, unsettle, or challenge our sense of the known and predictible. We are asked to remember that Jesus is, in fact, with us as we go. We are charged with refusing to doubt that, even in the face of – whatever.

It is Saturday morning, and my house is quiet. The storm in my life has been stilled, for now. My loved one is in the hospital for up to 90 days, after quite a tumultuous three weeks that involved several police and mental health crisis visits to our house. A couple of days where they were on the street, absolutely ill-equipped, a breakdown that resulted in another contact with the police, admittance to the hospital, and a court hearing for longer-term placement. It definitely felt like I was in a little boat, with big waves. I was afraid.

And while fear may not be ideal, I think it’s normal. The difference, I hope, is that I didn’t doubt that God was present. To be clear, I didn’t have the sense that if I only tapped on Jesus sleeping shoulder, he’d awaken and make all things calm. This wasn’t a faith necessarily intercedes for miraculous results. But a conviction that God was with me and with my loved one, the whole time.

Now, in their muddled state, my loved one isn’t speaking to us. We cannot talk to them or visit them. Should they remain in this frame of mind throughout their recovery, upon their release, we won’t know when or where they are, and will not be able to learn that. To be clear, that frightens me.

That feels normal. Fear, I think is not the problem. Fear kept our ancestors from walking into lions’ dens. Doubt is the problem. Doubting that God is with me, with them, with their care team, with them upon release. It’s not that storm didn’t happen in the small boat. It did, and it will in my life again.

Right now, my house is quiet; for now, the sea is calm. My husband and I are very aware that our home calm is likely temporary, and we’ve decided to intentionally enjoy these respites of calm. Maybe we’ll go out for a movie tonight. The storm is at bay, but not gone forever.

This morning, I’m thinking about the difference between fear and doubt, about how to manage fear so it isn’t overwhelming, and how grateful I am that doubt hasn’t been a temptation for me. I’m looking forward to going with this lovely group to uncharted waters in Guatemala, to see what storms we encounter, and to watch God’s amazing calm-making. If God can make calm in my house after this month, I’ve no doubt about God's providence for this trip!

Jan 10 2020 Psalm 141

Set a guard, O LORD, over my mouth; Keep watch over the door of my lips.

Psalm 141 is this great prayer of protection, that covers all of my possible foibles. Watch my mouth and what I say, my heart and my intentions, let me be corrected if needed, let me not be swept up by the wicked. How is all of this possible? The psalmist concludes with the answer. My eyes are turned to you, and in you I seek refuge. Amen!

This morning’s reflection is about being careful to not presume different is better, that our standards are somehow better than others. For one thing, it’s presumptuous to think that we’ve got all the answers. And perhaps more tragic is that when we think our way is right, we miss all we can learn from others.

No one would intend to hurt the feelings of the people we’ll meet, but because things are so different from what we know and do, it’s hard not to quickly assess the differences and make judgements.

This past week has been a challenge. Yesterday, my sick loved one agreed to get much-needed medical care and will be away for some time. Their circumstances, what they know and do is so different from the way I see things, it’s hard not to quickly assess the differences and make judgements. There are countries and cultures that are much more accepting of the differences presented by this particular illness; they don’t see it as wrong or requiring fixing. It’s just different. That is not our country’s experience, nor is it my understanding. I’m not defending or advocating unsafe or illegal behavior. But how my loved one experiences the world is very different than I do. Am I deciding that different is worse?

This morning, I’m thinking about what I decide is acceptable and normal, both in other countries and in my home. I want to be exceedingly cautious to allow different to be different, but not necessarily better.

Jan 9 2020 2 Timothy 2: 20-26

But avoid foolish and ignorant disputes, knowing that they generate strife. And a servant of the Lord must not quarrel but be gentle to all.

This morning’s reflection is about the foolish and ignorant disputes that arise in market places while traveling to impoverished countries. Frequently, vendors will jack up the prices when they see people they think have more money, and there is a bit of a game that goes on, to barter down prices. The counsel of the pre-trip meditation is to think twice before bartering with someone who’s standard of living is so vastly different than ours. What does that extra $5 buy me, compared to the vendor? One less latte for me, food for a week for them?

This is a good reminder, that we are God’s agents the whole time we’re travelling. I would not want to be perceived as argumentative or petty to the vendors there, or the airline attendants on the way.

I’m reminded of a trip to China I took, about 15 years ago. I was in the market and wanted to buy some scarves or shawls. There were some big wool shawls that were seemingly expensive, and a little further down, there were some silkish shawls that were a lot cheaper. I liked the wool ones better, but they were nearly twice the price. So I bought a dozen of the kinds I didn’t love, and two of the ones I really liked. Upon returning, I had 12 shawls, of which 2 I liked. Hmm. And upon further reflection, I realized that given the exchange rate, the cheaper shawls were $2, and the expensive once were $4. My decision to save money seemed absurd, now that I was back, and had a dozen shawls I didn’t really like, but boy, were they cheap! Since then, I’ve not skimped the souvenirs, or at least I didn’t buy things that were cheap but unloved.

Do not engage in ignorant or foolish quarrels. This advice from Paul has so much application in my world, well beyond bartering in the market. It seems like I’m just beginning to take this to heart, as there have been decades of my life where there was no battle that was not worth fighting. Now, there are plenty that aren’t worth it at all. For one thing, I have less energy to engage in dumb fights. More importantly, I’ve begun to realize that sometimes the victory isn’t worth the casualties.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to discern a foolish quarrel versus a worthy quarrel. Maybe it’s all about what the battle is over, and for whom is it is being fought. That level of awareness requires paying attention to those things before engaging, which in turn requires a pause before engaging. Today, I want to intentionally build in that time to pause before engaging in any quarrel – foolish or worthy.

Jan 8 2020 Romans 13: 8-10

Owe no one anything except to love one another, for he who loves another has fulfilled the law.

Jesus had it right. Love God. Love your neighbor. Yes, there are 10 commandments, but if you look at them, the first four are all about Loving God. The next six can absolutely be summed up by Love your Neighbor. It’s not that the top 10 aren’t important. But it’s like legislation that’s written, or a parent’s rules laid down. Think about the intent, and only be as specific as you need to be, lest you unintentionally create a loop hole. Don’t go to this scary movie with out me, a parent says. Ok, I’ll abide what you say, and go to that scary movie without you, is the child’s response. Better to say, don’t go to any scary movie without me.

Such is difference between God’s law as explained by Moses compared to Jesus. God’s law, as inscribed on the tablets for Moses were precisely what the people needed at that time. They needed everything spelled out. And sometimes I do too. Generalities presume a common understanding, and a shared application. When in doubt, be specific. Don’t covet your neighbor’s house.

But sometimes generalities are needed, because people are tricky and work around the specifics. You shall not murder. Hmm. It doesn’t say anything about neglect, or slander. I guess that’s ok.

Along comes Jesus who clarifies by generalizing. Nope. Love God. Love your neighbor. That’s it. No murder, no slander, no neglect.

Sometimes I feel pretty good about my walk in this world. I haven’t murdered, committed adultery, or stolen anything. Check, check, check. Sometimes I need that kind of checklist. But sometimes, I forget that the checklist is just examples of the two great commandments; they’re illustrative, not exhaustive. Love God. Love your Neighbor. Oh, right. That’s humbling, because although they’re easier to remember, it’s much harder to do, because they’re so much more comprehensive.

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is about not taking gratuitous pictures of the hard things we’ll see. Don’t take the photo of the abject poverty if it will humiliate the subject of the photo. They wouldn’t want that moment captured for eternity or shared on social media any more than I’d want some of those moments in college shared. Clearly, there’s nothing in the ten commandments about not taking unflattering pictures. But it’s covered in Love your Neighbor.

This morning, I’m thinking about Loving my Neighbor, in all the very particular ways I’ll be given the opportunity to do that today. A kind word to my husband. A smile to the homeless woman I pass in the morning. An added prayer for family members. Today, I need the generals, not the specifics. Oh, and I'm thinking about how much better things are in the morning (like this writing), rather than the evening (like yesterday's).

Jan 7 2020 1 Corinthians 19-23

I didn’t take on their way of life. I kept my bearings in Christ—but I entered their world and tried to experience things from their point of view. (The Message)

This morning’s reflection is about going to a different culture, and trying to not feel better than our hosts. I like the translation from The Message rather than the traditional “To the Jews I became a Jew so I might win Jews”. That sounds more like cultural appropriation than the translation which is about empathy, feeling with and seeing things from the perspective of the other. I hope that I am able to do that on this trip, even with foreign food, and smells and practices, and traditions.

And I must admit that my head isn’t in this writing today. My loved one remains in the hospital on a mental health hold. Later this week, I’ve been asked to testify at a court hearing, where the recommendation from the court investigator is to require additional inpatient treatment, involuntarily. Unfortunately, my loved one still does not acknowledge that they’re sick, so it will be a painful, confusing day for all of us. And in their scattered head, they’ve fabricated all sorts of horrible truths about my husband and me, that will also be put on the record at court. But they're not fabricated to my loved one. That is their truth, and that makes me ache.

Today, I’m not thinking about my upcoming trip. Or the pre-mission trip reflection. I’m thinking about how crummy it is to have someone this sick, and not know it. How this is absolutely testing the concept Love God. Love your Neighbor. No conditions or caveats. No exceptions. Love. Simple, but not easy.

Today, I’m also thinking about that Buddhist adage of not worrying about things over which you have no control. Tonight, I’m sipping bubbly water, staring out at the beautiful lights of Portland, and although there’s a little knot in my stomach, I’m mostly content. In the next few days, I’ll vacillate between worry, grief, anger, and hopefully back to in-the-moment contented.

It’s not that I’m not worried about Thursday, or Friday or whatever comes after it. But honestly, I can do nothing about it, and the lights are beautiful out there. I’m going to sign off, and relish my now. .

Jan 6 2020 Hebrews 10: 35-39

Do not, therefore, abandon that confidence of yours; it brings a great reward.

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is about perseverance, in light of trials and tribulations. Paul is giving what sounds like a coach giving a half-time pep talk. Go back out there, team, and keep fighting! You can do it!

The reflection reminds us that despite what trouble we’ve been through, we’ve made it thus far. We will encounter more trials, but we can do it – we can make it through so we’ll be looking at tomorrow’s troubles in the rearview mirror one day. Don’t give up.

Scripture is full of pep talks, isn’t it? Don’t be afraid. Love your neighbor. Persevere. That alone is reason to read Scripture daily.

The confidence that Paul is talking about, I think, is a confidence that in the end, following Christ is the right choice, and believing that when all evidence points to the contrary. Continue to do the right thing, even when the easy option presents itself. Love your neighbor even when it’s politically unpopular. Give your neighbor a coat, even if it costs you financially. Follow Jesus, even when it’s hard.

I had a boss who said that he could resist anything, but temptation. Obviously, that’s a joke, but it highlights what Paul is saying. Follow Christ when it’s easy. And when it gets hard, persevere. Keep following, because it’s even more important to have that beacon when we’re walking through the darkness. Don’t give up when it gets hard.

Persevere. Even when it gets hard. Especially when it gets hard.

I’m involved in some groups for people struggling with the same health challenges we have in our family. I saw a quote that struck such a chord that I’ve written it inside the front cover of my planner:

“One day, you will tell your story, of how you’ve overcome and wat you’re going thorough now. It will become part of someone else’s survival guide.” 

Amen to that.

Jan 5 2020 2 Corinthians 2: 14

But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him.

This morning’s reflection focuses on going to places where there may be darkness and what we can do about it. Whenever there is a piece of scripture that begins with a preposition, like “but”, it seems to me to be important to know what precedes it. In this case, Paul is lamenting that he was initially excited to arrive in Troas, but was discouraged because he did not find his friend Titus there. So he moved on to Macedonia.

Christ leads us in triumphal procession, all right. But sometimes the route is a little circuitous. We think we’re heading to Troas, but then continue on to Macedonia. In my own world, I think I know how things are going to unfold in the next couple years, and all of a sudden, everything changes. Wait, I thought we were going that way, and now we’re going somewhere else!

My challenge is to let Christ lead, and have faith that the destination will be the right one, even if we start out heading one direction and then head another. As long as I follow Christ, I’m good. But sometimes I get attached to my understanding of the destination, and I’m resistant to let it go. Apparently I’m just along for the ride, and God doesn’t really need my help in navigating.

The other thing I take from this reading is that as long as I’m following Christ, I’m like a little sachet, distributing good God fragrance where I go. The nice thing about sachet packets is they don’t work very hard. They sit in your grandmother’s drawer, and smell like lavender. They don’t actively do anything.

By following Christ – and by letting Christ actually lead without our ‘help’ – we are infused with the good fragrance of God. It is then diffused out of our very being, as we continue on our merry path.

Today, I’m thinking about how to let God lead wherever, and however, and why ever, without having to know the reasons.

Jan 4 2020 Philippians 4: 14

Do all things without complaining and disputing

So yesterday a thing happened. Actually many things happened in the previous 48 hours. The result is that for the first time in over a year, I did not write or post any of my ramblings. Because of that, my day was incomplete, and I think I’m back. But here’s a quick run down of what kept me away.

• My loved one who’s very sick ran away, choosing to be homeless instead of staying with us, because of their desire to be independent
• For about a day we didn’t know where they were.
• I got a call Thursday afternoon from their case manager, asking if I had any additional information about their admittance into a local emergency room. Um, no.
• Turns out they’d had a further break down and were picked up by the police for erratic behavior. 
• Because of their behavior, we cannot live in multi-family housing, so we are looking to buy a home, rather unexpectedly.
• Friday was a day where my husband and I were confirming where they were, talking to court advocates, determining what the next steps might be, looking for housing, and all the while, I was battling a cold I’d been avoiding for weeks. I slept much of the day. 

A friend texted me to check on me, because I hadn’t posted anything, for which I’m extremely grateful, and as it turns out, she was right to check!

This morning’s pre-trip reflection is about supporting the mission team, without complaint. I will absolutely plan to do that. And my musings this morning are about doing all things without complaint, focused more on my personal world than my upcoming trip.

I’m reading a fascinating book, documenting a conversation between Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama. They are friends, deeply spiritual, and the book is about Joy (The Book of Joy) These two octogenarians have seen their share of heartbreak and suffering. The Dalai Lama fled his country at night in disguise, and has lived in exile for decades. Tutu lived through apartheid, and was instrumental in the establishment of the reconciliation councils after its demise. The book contains their week-long dialogue and exploration of joy, how to cultivate it in the midst of trials, and concludes with practices to cultivate joy. It’s a perfect book for me to read now.

Just last night, I was reading in the Joy book about complaints and worry. His Holiness was explaining that an ancient Buddhist adage involves complaints and worry. First, evaluate the problem. If you cannot do anything about it, why complain or worry? It is entirely outside your control. If you can do something about it, do that something. But why complain or worry? Do your something, and move on.

Both for the upcoming mission trip and my personal drama, I really really appreciate this Buddhist wisdom. In either case – whether something is in my control or not, worrying or complaining is irrelevant, and useless.

As it turns out this next week will contain much that I cannot control. There may be a court hearing to determine my loved one’s next treatment, or the system may decide they can fend for themselves. We have been asked to testify, if a hearing is held. If that happens, we’ll be in a room with doctors, and public defenders, and court advocates, a judge, and our loved one. If the judge decides they should be released from the hospital, there is zero chance our loved one will want to return to our home, so they will chose to be homeless, again. If the judge determines further care is needed, our loved one may be sent some distance away. Again, I can do nothing about that. If it’s scheduled, it will be Thursday, and Saturday, I’m supposed to board a plane to Guatemala City. I can do nothing about that either.

This morning, I’m thinking about the gratitude of learning from other traditions things that are supported in mine. In all things, do them without complaint or worry. Next week will contain many uncertainties, over which I have no control. And every morning, I’ll get up and face that day’s array of blessings and challenges, confident that I’ll do the same thing the next day, and the next. Reading scripture, other inspirational books and writing will absolutely be part of my days. I find joy in the time I spend thinking, and most definitely from the feedback and discussion that ensues. Thank you all.

Jan 2 2020 James 4:6-8

But He gives more grace.

Today’s reflection in advance of my mission trip is about putting aside pride and grumbling and submitting to God’s will. It talks about how two people may experience the same event, same trip, same accommodations in very different ways. Yes!

Two people rarely experience things exactly the same, even if the things are exactly the same. We bring so much to every encounter and interaction, based on who we are, how we were raised, and how we see things. Take library fines. My husband is ok with them. It’s the cost of turning in a book late. Me? I loathe them. It means I’m somehow an incompetent human. Same fine. Very different reactions.

So on this mission trip, we are encouraged to let God drive the agenda, set the plans, carry the load. And because we’re all human, we’ll all mess up, and think God needs our help. I have a particular way of ‘helping’, and I’m sure everyone else does too. I know better. I’m quite sure God can manage without my help. The leaders have done this before. No one is waiting for my pronouncement of anything. And here’s the best part. Even if I mess up, if I grumble, or help, or fret, God has even more grace.

I was involved in a very contentious church training about welcoming people of differing gender identities. Before we started, the trainers asked us each to write on a big post it note our definition of grace. We had some quiet time to think, and write our answers, and then we were asked to post them on the walls around the training tables. Then the 30 of us walked around and read everyone’s definitions. Love, forgiveness, open arms, always feeling welcomed, radical acceptance. No two definitions were the same, and together they painted a very rich tapestry of Grace.

Then we were asked to sit down. The trainer said we were going to leave the notes on the wall for the whole day. And if ever things got heated, or we didn’t like what someone else was saying, we were surrounded by Grace, and reminded that everyone in the room had similar and complimentary loving definitions of Grace. We literally were surrounded by Grace.

Today, I’m thinking about being surrounded by Grace, and how God always has more Grace, regardless of what is happening in my world or in my head. Regardless of what I do, or don’t do, say or don’t say, or whatever happens, God gives more Grace. On that I must count!

Jan 1 2020 Matthew 1: 18-25 Feast of the Holy Name

And he named him Jesus.

The Feast of the Holy Name is one of those Christian feast days (sort of like Easter) that was added to the calendar and commandeered from those pesky secular feast days. Holy Name was to counteract the pagan commemorations of the New Year. Commandeered or not, the Feast of the Holy Name is a legitimate day and celebration, and one I’m glad comes today.

In ancient Jewish culture, baby boys were circumcised and named eight days after birth. Because we celebrate Jesus’ birth December 25, today, eight days later, we celebrate his naming. On December 25, we celebrate God’s incarnation as a human. Today, we celebrate the rites and rituals of that human life, since this would have been the first such ritual performed on the God-child, and his receiving a name.

Thinking about the incarnate God, even contained in an infant, I am awed by the vastness of the idea that God was in a child. There’s something oddly constraining about the naming of that child, that I’d never thought about. The God-child sounds immense, and all-powerful. Because we have ascribed God-child status to the name Jesus, it also invokes the same ideas - immense and all-powerful. Maybe that’s because we’ve gotten inoculated to the name. It’s become normalized into a much bigger thing than just a male name.

But what if they’d named him William? Not that William was a common name at the time, but substitute one of the top boy names from 2019 for Jesus, I’m not sure what I think about a God-child named Billy. Celebrating the naming of Jesus celebrates the normalizing of the God-child into our mortal life. God incarnate wasn’t given a spectacularly holy name of Jesus. God incarnate was given a normal boy name of the time.

But now, thousands of years later, we invoke that spectacularly normal boy name to invoke God. The Holy Name of Bill or Jimmy.

The Holy Name of Jesus is about God incarnate being made normal, and mortal, and constrained by a name. Or conversely, the Holy Name of Jesus is making Holy and immortal and unconstrained the mere mortal normalcy of the name Jesus, or Billy or James. By Holy God incarnate becoming a named human baby, the Holy Name of Jesus is making Holy the normal babies and named things in our world. Jesus wasn’t a holy name until God made it a holy name by becoming a normal, named baby.

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s choice to become human, to be circumcised, and to receive a normal baby name. I’m grateful God elected to succumb to all the normal things I go through, and by being named, elected to make holy all the normal named things I encounter in my mortal world.