Aug 20 2020 Job 1: 1-22

Then Job arose, tore his robe, shaved his head, and fell on the ground and worshipped.

Satan has just made a deal with God. God has basically handed Job over to Satan to test, as God knows Job is a good and righteous man. In this first tormenting bit, God allows Satan to do whatever he will, but to not harm Job directly. So Satan does his dirty deeds. He has all of the sheep, oxen and donkeys carried off and killed, all but a couple servants carried off and killed, and all  but one of his sons and daughters killed. To this horrible carnage, Job’s response is to tear his robe and shave his head, both signs of despair and lament, and both absolutely warranted in this story. He also falls on the ground and worships. 

That’s the part that’s hard to understand. 

All of the things that are hard right now, partisan conversations, a struggling civil rights movement, the pandemic, elections, - none of these things are as horrible as what Job has experienced so far. And yet, our collective and individual response is not to worship. In response to these things, I find myself spending more time railing at God. But Job worshipped. I wonder what he said or thought in this part of the story. What did his worship look like. Thank you God, for sparing me? God, you are wonderful, all powerful, and my family, servants and livestock have all been destroyed?  I want to know what worship at that moment looked like. 

Sometimes when I worship, I’m able to momentarily suspend the grief or lament in my heart and head. Worship allows me to connect with the all-loving God, ever-present Holy Spirit. But after reading this beginning part of Job, I’m wondering what worship would be like, in the midst of the grief, not suspending it, but worshipping amidst it. 

I’m exceedingly good at making things clear, perhaps forcing clarity even when there isn’t any in reality. I’m good at dichotomies, either this or that. I’m not as good at the in-between, vague, or inconsistent. I understand worry, despair, and the resulting lamenting. I understand joy, beauty, and the resulting worship. I struggle with understanding worry, despair, and in Job’s case, the resulting worship. For Job, it’s not that the worship made all the bad stuff go away. He worshipped from that place of immense grief. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how to worship in grief, and letting the anguish remain. I genuinely do get glimpses of beauty and grace and love when worshipping, and maybe that’s just my overactive mind, making order where there is discord. I am feeling grief these days, whether from political uncertainty, pandemic, work uncertainty, or my loved one’s continued descent into their disease. I want to learn from Job, how he worshipped in the midst of his tragedies that were far more personally impactful than my worries. 

Aug 17 2020 Psalm 106

But they soon forgot his deeds and did not wait for his counsel.

Oh how easy it is, to forget God’s deeds. As soon as things are hard, or the path forward obscure, I forget. It’s not that I forget God’s there, or doubt in God’s providence. Rather, I begin to interject myself in ways that are neither helpful, or feel good. 

When things are hard, I sometimes throw my hands up in the air, figuratively, and get a little dooms-day-ish. Currently my loved one is becoming increasingly symptomatic in their significant chronic mental health disease. They’re increasingly withdrawn, and non-communicative. That’s a big red flag for us, as they normally spend a lot of time on social media, for better or worse, talking to their thousands of fans, literally. Now, they spend most of the time in their bedroom, coming out to occasionally smoke or drink, or even more occasionally, eat. Woe is me. There’s nothing I can do about this, except fret. And so, forgetting God’s deeds, I fret. Worse, I return their surly tone with my own, as if that will help, or as if they can do anything about the disease in their brain. 

Similarly, when I cannot see the path forward, I jump in and plan or organize or force a way. Certainty, even my own contrived, likely-to-not-happen plans are more comfortable than the unknown. My family plans are pretty non-existent now, between the pandemic and the uncertainty of my loved one’s condition or presence at any given time. Therefore, clearly, I’m needed to jump in and construct a plan, a future, a vision forward. 

Just like the Israelites in Egypt, I soon forget God’s deeds. 

This is why I pray the Morning Office. Every morning, I’m given a chance to remember God’s deeds. Whether it’s with the Lord’s Prayer, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, or a song of Isaiah, ‘Surely it is God who saves me, I will trust in him and not be afraid’, every day, I’m given text to pray and remember. I will trust in him and not be afraid. I will trust in him and not be afraid. 

That trust in God doesn’t make things any less crummy for my loved one. It doesn’t mean the delusions are gone, or the smiles return. It doesn’t make it any easier to watch. But for a moment at least, I remember that God is with us both. God, the ever present, ever loving, ever merciful God. I do not need to fret, or wring my hands. To be clear, I’m not suggesting all will be ‘well’, and I sometimes wish my faith would indemnify me and my loved ones from any harm. But that’s not how it works. 

With regard to my plans for an uncertain future, they  are never as good as God’s. Again, the song of Isaiah reminds us of a better future with God, “you shall draw water with rejoicing from the springs of salvation”. That is better than any contrived plan of mine. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the moments when I’m in prayer, remembering all of the things that are so easy to forget. When I pray my repetitive morning daily office, I am repeatedly interrupted from my chronic forgetting. 

Aug 15 2020 John 2: 1-12 Commemoration of Mary

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 

 

Today is the commemoration of Mary, or as some refer to her, the Blessed Virgin Mary. I am neither Catholic, nor a Marion worshipper.  But I do appreciate Mary. A lot.

To be clear, I don’t think she’s God. And I don’t think prayers to her are more effective than prayers to God the Father, Son or Holy Spirit.  And sometimes, I find myself more drawn to God the Father. Or sometimes Jesus. Or sometimes the Holy Spirit. God is in all. And sometimes one connects with me more, or maybe sometimes I connect with one more. 

Also, sometimes, I throw up a prayer and think fondly of my parents.  My mom, the ever practical and loving one. My dad, even more practical. Before we got rid of my dad’s ashes, we put them on a shelf, along with all of the broken and mismatched electronic cords and devices.  As an electrical engineer, we thought he’d have liked that.  Do I genuinely believe he smiled down because he sat amidst a pile of cords? I don’t know. But if he did look down, he definitely smiled.  

Sometimes I think about deeply spiritual people I’ve known, and think about what their life was like. How they were connected to God, or to Jesus in their daily life. Sometimes I aspire to be more like that.

Mary falls into all of these categories for me. She clearly was connected to Jesus,  God the Son. This reading from John is the story of the wedding at Cana, where at one point, Mother Mary tells Jesus they’ve run out of wine, like any good mother might.  Jesus looks at her and says, “Woman, what business is that of ours?”  How many times have I tried to prompt my kids to do something because I think it’s a great idea, and they effectively say (or by their inaction imply), “Woman, what business is that of ours?” 

Mary was deeply spiritual.  She said yes, to Gabriel to a mighty big ask. What would life have been like to be that trusting? What was it like to be the mother of Jesus?  What would Mary say if she looked down at my actions?  Would she smile?  I don’t know if she does, but I want to behave as if she would. 

Mary was also a mother.  In our tradition, we pray the stations of the cross on the Friday before Easter.  These stations, or moments in Jesus life and death, are a way to connect with his humanity, and the reality of the actions of the ugly humanity around him.  One of those stations is when Jesus passes his mother, and she looks at him.  I cannot read that without weeping. As it turns out, I cannot write about it, without tearing up.  As the mother of a young man, I cannot imagine what it would have been like to live through and see what Mary did.

Where Jesus was fully human and fully divine, Mary was intimately involved in this story, and she was fully human. Period.  I can connect to God viscerally through Mary, fully woman, fully human, fully mother, fully trusting.

Finally, through Mary, I find my own song to God. On a retreat, I was asked to read Mary’s song, “My soul magnifies the Lord”, that bit where Mary talks about the rich being scattered, and the lowly being lifted up.  What would I do, how would I respond if asked by God to do something?  In fact, what am I doing, how do I respond to what God is asking? I took out my colored pencils and drew and wrote, and doodled. Hours later, I had my own song.  It was perfect for that time. It was inspired by Mary’s response to God’s call.  Given all that’s happened in my world, it’s time to throw up a prayer to Mary, and write my own Song again.  Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with you…   

Aug 12 2020 Acts 6:1-15

Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food. 

And so it began. This story from Acts is the source from which I was ordained a deacon. At that time, it’s fair to correlate all the disciples with modern-day bishops or the equivalent. They soon realized that they had too much ‘church management’ to do and were, in fact, neglecting the widows, orphans, and poor, while they tended the flock already gathered. In response, they sought out people to continue the ministry to the people outside the flock already gathered. Seven were gathered, and we hear the most about Stephen, stoned to death for his prophetic pesky messages, and Phillip who converted and was converted by the eunuch. 

My own ‘call story’ is one I wouldn’t have believed if it hadn’t happened to me. Back in 1997, we had a new fiery bishop, who’d come to visit our church on her regular rounds of all churches. She stood in the pulpit, and I way in the back in the choir loft. In the middle of her sermon, I saw something that could only be described as a whoosh, coming up the aisle from the pulpit towards me. I looked around, and my fellow singers were blithely listening, oblivious to this thing. As a strong logical, linear thinker, this is not a realm in which I dwell. 

I had a meeting with my priest a few days later, that I’d set up weeks before because I was feeling that my spiritual relationship with God was like an old married couple: solid, but a little boring. Upon meeting my priest, he asked about my underwhelming relationship, and all I could do was say, “Um, about that boring bit. . . “  He chuckled and said God’s got a great sense of humor and timing.

I was hoping he’d tell me what it meant, and he said that no, that was my job, to think and pray and wonder about why then, why her, why that. Hmm. I walked around for months feeling like the bird from “Are You My Mother?”, wondering if everything I saw was the reason for something I didn’t understand. I was getting discouraged, with no more theophanies (human experiences of God), and no understanding of why then, why that. 

About that time the same bishop was going to return for another visit to our church, and to give kids a chance to ‘confirm’ their baptism, which occurred on their behalf as infants. My son was at the right age for that confirmation, so we signed up for him to be confirmed, and I’d renew my baptismal vows at the same time. So we went to weekly confirmation classes. 

It was during one of those classes I figured out why. The priest was explaining the difference between bishops, priests and deacons, explaining that bishops oversaw large areas, priests oversaw smaller areas on behalf of the bishop, and deacons made sure the system continued to worry about and care about and remember the needs of the least, the last and the lost, or the widows, orphans and poor. Deacons care for the people in need, and also encourage and enable the churched folks to get out there and help too. He said if deacons had a motto it would be that they comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable. I was immediately lost. Hmm. I can do that. I can do that really well, especially the afflicting part. 

It took me several weeks to muster up the courage to again talk with my priest. Um, about that deacon thing. I think I might be called to be a deacon. He smiled, and asked me what took me so long to figure that out. Apparently, I’m thick and need whooshes, and mottos, and decades of life experiences to figure it out. After eight years of prayer, study, and discernment, I was ordained a deacon. 

This morning, I’m thinking about all of the unordained deacons out there, people called to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Whether you’re ordained or not, Christian or not, Episcopalian or not, we are all called to serve. And if you have the gift to do so, afflict the comfortable among us, so they can receive the great rewards of serving too.  

 

Aug 2 2020 Judges 6:1-24

But sir, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?

The Israelites have been hounded and pursued by the Midianites and Amalekites. This has happened, we are told, because the Israelites did what was evil in God’s sight. I still maintain this isn’t the God Jesus describes and knows, but I digress. 

An angel of the Lord appears before Gideon and tells him, ‘the Lord is with you’. Gideon is rightly confused with the paradox created by an angel of the Lord, in the midst of all of their anguish. Gideon asks why all of this has happened to them, if the Lord was with them. The banter goes on, with the angel commissioning Gideon to rise up and take on the Midianites and Gideon protesting. There is no clear answer as to why all of this has happened to the Israelites if God is with the answer. Sitting here, thousands of years later, with a pandemic killing thousands and racial tension in the US, and other illnesses present, I was hoping for a nice, tidy answer. Nope. 

But if there was a tidy answer, I probably could find fault with it, or it wouldn’t precisely fit my understanding of today’s challenges, so it’s probably better that the answer comes in snippets, that force me to think and pray about it, in my context. 

Instead of answering Gideon, the angel gives Gideon a charge and says, I commission you. I love this part, because I believe that we each are commissioned by God to do something. Not to be mistaken with self-determined or self-directed actions. But when we are commissioned or called by God to do something, we already have the power to make it happen, however unlikely. It requires prayer and discernment to hear God’s call and it’s not always as clear as a bell. But when it’s of God, it just feels right. As my current boss said, “if it is of God, it will work out”. 

Gideon asks for a sign, to be sure this messenger angel is legit, and he’s given a sign of an altar spontaneously combusting. He’s afraid, and God answers with what we hear throughout the Gospels from Jesus, “Peace be with you. Do not Fear”  

What I take from all of this is that God commissions us for specific work or a task, or an action, or a career – and these can definitely change. If we ask for a sign, we might get one that’s frightening, so be careful what you ask for. And regardless, we need to remember that we are given God’s peace. And we are not to fear. God is with us. 

Back to today. In the world, we’ve got this pandemic raging, and justified racial unrest. The economic impacts of the pandemic are just beginning to be felt, and will likely be a burden for a decade. How can God be with us, if all of this bad stuff happens?  Like with Gideon, we are not likely to get a simple tidy answer. But also from Gideon’s story, we get clues. We are all commissioned to do something. Some work in hospitals, some take care of their family, others take care of the hungry. If it is of God, you know it is right. We are commissioned by God to do our little bits. And we are to do it with peace, and without fear. God is absolutely with us in our commissioned work. 

In my home world, my sick loved one has determined that the medicine they were on was making them feel sick, and also again believes they are not sick after all, a classic symptom of one diagnosis they’ve received. For more information on this fascinating symptom, please see the wonderful Ted Talk from author, Xavier Amador, “I’m not sick, I don’t need help”. My husband and I had suspected that the medicine was not being taken, as behaviors started to change. This is not our first rodeo, as our loved one has been hospitalized five times in 2020, and we have been able to watch the progression or maybe regression, with pretty accurate predictions about what’s next. 

A new factor in this round is their self-published autobiography, thanks to Amazon self-publishing. Our loved one has promoted this book, and told us about it, so being supportive parents, we looked it up, and sure enough, there’s a book on Amazon, published by Bublesz Doubt, called Jessie. It is eight pages long and costs $10. It’s fascinating, foul mouthed, scattered, and unfortunately includes several accusations that are painful to read, and even more painful when we realize that this is what our loved one believes. 

In my experience, their health trajectory will not turn around until forced intervention. It’s like a slow motion accident, that you must watch but cannot affect. 

If the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?

This morning, I’m thinking about what it is I’m commissioned to do, in my house, in my community, and in my world. In big and little ways, we are all commissioned to do big and little things. We are to do them with peace. And we are not to fear. I genuinely believe that. And by spending some time thinking about Gideon, I can feel that peace too.