Dec 25 2020 – Merry Christmas (repeat, but worth) (I think)

This is something I wrote in 2018. Still true. Perhaps because it’s a universal, timeless truth.

This Christmas morning, in the quiet of the house, I'm thinking about Christmas mornings in the past.

As a kid in Evanston, waking up and running downstairs to find the presents from Santa in the stocking and under the tree. We weren't allowed to open anything except the stocking, until our parents woke up, seemingly hours later. With them, we'd rip through the presents, and then enter the late morning coma-quiet, playing with presents. From there, we'd make our rounds to visit family friends, and eventually return home for a lovely dinner.

The Christmas in college I spent in East Berlin in the home of a Lutheran family, torn apart by the Berlin Wall. Their Christmas was quiet, absent the cultural support and frenzy, and the genuine lit candles on the tree were as beautiful and risky as their faith.

The Christmas after my mom died in late November. It was hard to get in to the Christmas spirit that year, although I went through the motions.

The Christmases in Seattle with our small kids. Coming home from Christmas Eve Service to finish wrapping and putting out the presents. Those Christmases I was the one late to rise, much to the disappointment of the kids.

The Christmas morn I was awoken by church bells in Greece. The kids were worried Santa wouldn't find them. Santa found our balcony for the stockings, and all was good with the world.

The Christmas mornings with my grown kids and their girlfriends or boyfriends. The cycle continues.

Christmas mornings are full of a lot of external pressure for performance and perfection. And those expectations never are true or comfortable or helpful. It is supposed to be this beautiful morning where everyone gets along, and you get the right gifts. And when everything is perfect, you are finally complete. Everyone is happy, smiling, healthy.

But it's rarely really like that, is it? Someone isn't healthy or happy. Family doesn't magically become the Rockwell people you've envisioned. And the perfect gift doesn't arrive or isn't as perfect as you'd imagined. With expectations like that, it's really hard to arrive at Christmas afternoon with a sense of celebration. More often, we're disappointed that things didn't turn out the way we'd imagined, never mind that it was never reality.

For me, this is a constant struggle on Christmas, or any holiday laden with expectations. But if we can strip away those expectations, and just LOVE, it's a magical day. Love the imperfect family members, in all their imperfection. Love the aging parents or bickering children. It's who they are, and I'm a part of their life. Love the gifts or hugs given in love. Beneath the hype, gifts that are given or received by loved ones are a token of that LOVE.

On top of all of that, it's Christmas morning. God has entered our world again in this human form. God in Christ lives among us to show us what the Divine is like. And God in Christ lived among us to learn from us mere mortals, and show the Divine what humanity is like.

God doesn't expect our Christmas to be perfect. Christ's certainly wasn't. But God wants us to know we are loved, and to show that love to all around us. That is something to Celebrate.

Merry Christmas!

Dec 23 2020 Luke 1: 26-28

Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.  

I’ve always appreciated Mary, her humility and her strength.  This year, it seems even more so.  This morning’s reading retells the story of when the angel Gabriel came to Mary, telling her she was going to have a son. How can that be, she asked. Gabriel’s response was that with God, all things are possible.  

Some people, and maybe me at another time, would hold on to this commitment from Gabriel. With God, all things are possible.  And while I believe that, it’s tough. It’s tough because if it’s true, if with God, all things are possible, why is there hunger, oppression, war, pandemic?  I do not believe God wants these things, but I also don’t know why they persist, if through God, all things are possible. 

Holding on to God’s ultimate power leaves me perplexed.  Why aren’t things like I think they should be? No war, no hunger, no oppression, no pandemic.  Perhaps that’s because I’m not God, and although I think I have a pretty good list of things God should want and God should do, I also suspect there are plenty of other people in the world who also have lists of what they think God should want and God should do.  And with some of those lists, I’d find common ground. But with others, I suspect I’d find no common ground.  My idea of what God would want to do is fallible, and if not wrong, it certainly is not empirically right; it can’t be because I’m not God.  

So to hold on to the “with God all things are possible”, I think it’s a slippery slope to have that morph in to, “with my idea of what God should do, all things are possible”.  That’s a dangerous thing.  

Rather, I’m drawn to Mary’s response. Let it be with me according to your Word. I can’t know what God’s plans are, or why some things happen or don’t happen. I shouldn’t presume that if things don’t turn out the way I think God should script them, God’s impotent, or uncaring.  Rather, I should know that God’s providence is bigger than my imagination.  My job, should I choose to accept it, is to simply have faith, and respond that yes, here I am. Let it be according to your word. 

I suspect that everyone has things in their lives that are imperfect. That it would be easy or at least nice, to have God fix them, because with God, all things are possible.  It certainly is true in mine. My loved one has had a relatively stable few weeks, but is beginning to make choices that I fear will cascade into less stability. While I believe that with God all things are possible, it is dangerous for me to hold on to that part of this story without Mary’s response. I would love it if God would make this illness go away, or would give our loved one more stability.  But I’m not going to stop my prayers with what God should do, because that is just a thinly veiled substitute for what I think God should do, and as it turns out, I’m not God. 

Because all things are possible with God, I need to pray that I have the humility and strength to respond as Mary did. Let it be according to your word.  I cannot know God’s master plan.  But I have faith that there is one, and that I, if I can be more like Mary, play an important role.  I just don’t always know what that is. 

Dec 13 2020 Luke 1:46-55

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.

So opens some of my most beloved words from scripture. And there are a lot of ones I love. But this one is one of the best, as far as I’m concerned. Mary has visited her cousin Elizabeth, who recognized the Holy One in Mary. Mary’s response, known as Mary’s song or the Magnificat is Mary’s assent to God’s wacky request of her. The Angel Gabriel visited her, told her she was going to bear God’s son, and she agreed.

God is asking Mary for something big. Mary had the advantage of having an angel emissary. But the truth is that God is asking each of us for something. There are little somethings, and there are big somethings, and I think we each have both. The little somethings come in the way of how we behave, and act, and see the world. How do we love God and Love our neighbor every day? How do we show light in these dark days and dark time?

These little asks of God are hard for us because we sometimes don’t hear them. We’re too busy making our own noise. Noise that comes in over-busy monkey brain, constant talking, or even constant petitions and transmitting prayer to God. We need to stop and listen. I speak from first-hand knowledge. I definitely need to pause and listen more.

The little asks are hard because sometimes we hear them, but then are too busy to respond, or the request is inconsistent with our plans. I’m guilty here too. There have been times I know I’m supposed to stop and talk to someone on the street, or be compassionate to a frustrated co-worker, but I don’t. I’ve got places to go, things to do. But secretly, I know that nudge was God. Why, I wonder would I ever imagine my plans or intentions are better than God’s?

But however bad I am at responding to God’s small requests, there’s hope. I can pause and listen to God. I can stop and respond better to the Spirit’s calling me to love my neighbor, or love God. What is it going to cost me to do that? It might cost some time, but more challenging, it will cost me the illusion of control. At any moment, on any day, God’s will is what I should heed, not my own well-intentioned, and well-executed plans. To that, all I can do is recite the Lord’s prayer, every day, several times a day. Thy will be done.

In addition to the small, daily requests of God, God asks each of us to big and seemingly impossible things. All the time. We have the same problem of not hearing or thinking we’re too busy for these big asks. I also feel ill-equipped. I can’t possibly [fill in the blank].

But here’s the thing. We aren’t asked to do them by ourselves. God is with us. Always. And we are not asked to do more than we can do, although we are frequently asked more than we think we can do.

I’ve had this sense at least four times in my life, where I thought the task ahead was way bigger than I could do. I’d have preferred opting out of these, but that was not a real option. After my mom died, I had to move my confused dad from his home in Illinois to Washington, to take my turn being the adult child caring for the aging parents. We had to pack up everything he was going to take for his new life in a new state and new assisted living facility and get on a plane. Everything else was being left to be sold. He sort of understood what was happening. I didn’t think I could do it. And I did.

My sophomore aged son was tanking his high school year, and was going to drop out. Helping to parent the final three years of what should have been his high school years was incredibly difficult. I knew I had to. And I did.

At one point I was sensing that God was calling me in to ordained ministry. It was very complicated, as I still had small kids, whose Sunday mornings might look very different, and they didn’t ask for that. My husband doesn’t go to church, so that added another possible complication. I didn’t think I could continue or finish. But after seven years, I did.

For the past five years, we’ve been dealing with the deepening illness of our loved one, which began with another child dropping out of high school, car accidents, one of which totaled a volvo, a diagnosis significant persistent mental illness, multiple hospitalizations, and a tumultuous few years. Often, I don’t think I can do it. And I do.

I don’t say this because I’m singularly spectacular at hearing God’s big asks. Often it takes me years to understand it is God’s call, rather than just crappy luck. Often it takes counsel from friends, to remind me that this is all part of God’s ask. But looking back, these each were big asks. Each changed my life in significant ways. And I’m certain God is not done with me. Just when I figure out my current new normal, I’m learning to expect a new big ask.

By way of a quick update, our loved one returned from a trip to visit their family of origin. They’ve been back for a few days, and we’re all having a lovely time. There’s gratitude, laughing, shopping trips. They even made us dinner last night. While things are good, we’ll try to take some steps towards further community engagement, getting them out for more scheduled events, and normalize things like medicine management and exercise. Given the nature of the illness, this is not a permanent improvement, or indicative of things to come. It is a moment of grace and respite that will allow all of us to deal with the next episode.

This morning, I’m thinking about the Song of Mary, and God’s big asks of each of us. What is it that God’s calling you to do? Maybe you don’t know because you need more stillness. Or silence. Or a freer calendar. Maybe you do know and don’t think you can. Who’s God put in your world to help? Mary had Gabriel, Elizabeth and Joseph. Who’s your Elizabeth? In response to God’s request of you, what’s your song?

Dec 10 2020 Bless

One of the spiritual practices that the Episcopal Church has instituted during this Advent is a series of simple meditations to help become the Beloved Community. Today’s meditation focuses on the practice of Blessing. It reads, “Call or write a family member with whom you desire a closer relationship. Share with this person how they are a blessing”. I don’t have much immediate family remaining, surprisingly. They are all a blessing, for sure. My brother is definitely a blessing. He’s always had a heart of gold, and has probably always been the nicer of us two kids. I should learn more from him.

 I have in-laws, and they’re all immense blessings. I’ve learned a lot from that whole family, inherited by marriage. It’s interesting how different families of origin are. I always assumed that my upbringing and my family was the way everyone’s family was. Learning about and loving my husband’s family, it’s fascinating how very different upbringings are, even those that appear to be similar – two parents, white collar work, family meals,  

When my husband and I married, we created a new family of origin, melding his normal and my normal. Our son, born into this family, probably thinks it’s normal. It’s as if we had a cycle, like a wave length, that everyone knew and operated around. When our son was little, we fostered then adopted a girl. It was fascinating how her wave length was just a little different than ours. Her normal was very different than ours. None of these ‘normals’ is bad, it’s just interesting to me how we all think it’s what everyone does, and it really is never that universal. 

I’m thinking about families of origin because our loved one went to visit her family of origin, for what was intended to be a few months. As best I can tell, the visit was going well… until it wasn’t. Last night, there was yelling, name calling, and threats of turning our sick loved one out onto the streets. Needless to say, they’ve decided to return to our home. As I was told last night, we’re old and boring, but her family of origin is making her pretty upset. 

It will be good to see my loved one. To tell them what a blessing they are to me, even in the midst of name calling, and accusations coming from the illness. It will be good to again try to normalize the wave length of this normal. Now on to the logistics of rerouting prescriptions, a train ticket and a third party uber. All in a day’s work. And I’m blessed to do it.  

Dec 6 2020 Mark 1: 1-8

The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.

In Mark’s Gospel, the beginning of Jesus’ story actually begins with John the baptizer, as foretold in the book of Isaiah, in the Hebrew Scripture.  John was sent ahead of Jesus to prepare the way, to point people to Jesus. One of my favorite underused words is used to describe John, a harbinger or a person that announces the approach of another. 

John’s described as a man with fiery words and opinions, wearing rough clothing, eating locusts and honey. Icons of John show him with wild hair, and a wild look in his eye.  He is an icon for me of what it means to be a deacon. Deacons are to point people to Jesus, to work for justice and truth, and to speak hard truths to power, particularly when people are being hurt.  As a deacon, I have felt like I was a voice crying in the wilderness, wanting others to feel the loneliness of the orphan, to stop the abuse of the victimized, to comfort the homeless. Deacons are called to be prophets – not fortune tellers, but people who can paint a picture of God’s kingdom here on earth, and help bring people to that truth.   

And it’s such a short distance between being the impassioned prophet, and the maniac. Take John the Baptist.  If I encountered John in downtown Portland, I would probably chalk it up to deinstitutionalization, that horrible and incomplete social policy experiment where institutions were closed, turning nearly 500,000 significantly mentally ill people out onto the streets. Community mental health institutions were to pick up the slack, but that system was never funded nor implemented.  Now these people make up the majority of our nation’s unhoused population. 

In any case, there is a fine balance between prophetic voice, and madness.  My loved one, for example, sees a future that I cannot see. They talk about things that I do not understand, and their sense of reality is different from my understanding.  To be clear, I’m not suggesting John had a mental illness.  But I’m suspecting it might be difficult to tell the difference between Holy people through history, and people experiencing mental illness.  Not sure what that means, but it is interesting.  

Update – Our loved one took the train to Seattle to visit biological family, with plans of staying there for two months. I’ve heard it’s not perfect, but we stand prepared to help support them in their journey, and meanwhile will enjoy the peace in our house that remains.  

Dec 2 2020 Update

Yesterday, our loved one returned from the hospital after 30 days. It was a sweet day. They made me a collage, including a positive affirmation they’ve been repeating to themselves. They took care of several necessary errands, including getting a new bank card, and picking up medicine at the pharmacy. They did several things they definitely could not have done a month ago. The time in the hospital definitely did stabilize them.

We also had celebratory Dominoes pizza for dinner, their favorite. We all sat at the table and they entertained us with stories about the hospital, some very funny, some sad. There was a twinkle in their eye we hadn’t seen in some time. We also learned more about the auditory hallucinations (voices) that are in their head that result in the certitude that I’m stealing things that my husband is a pervert. We were able to talk about that, and express our deep sorrow that those thoughts ever came, as we’d never want to be those things.

We also were able to talk about medicine: its impact on them, and how it’s a very very quick ride from skipping one dose, to deciding they never need meds again. Regularity is critical, because the first symptom that returns without medicine is the thought that there’s nothing wrong, and meds aren’t needed. Who hasn’t missed one dose of a daily medicine? It’s horrible that the effect of this missed dose is so damaging.

Our loved one wants to travel to Seattle to visit extended family for several months. A previous visit did not end as well as hoped, so we are a little apprehensive. And we want to fully support their wishes and desire for self-determination. At this point, a casual offer to come was made, and our loved one is hopeful that further communication with the host will occur to make this trip a reality. It’s possible the offer won’t materialize, which would be very disappointing for our loved one. That dissapointment would be double edged, too. First comes the dissapointment that extended family does not follow through (wouldn’t be the first time), and then the practical dissapointment that our loved one would be again stuck at our home, without viable housing options.

Meanwhile, we are continuing with our pursuit of permanent guardianship, and steps slowly being taken in the legal field to arrive at a hearing. We’ve no idea when that might happen, but we’re taking baby steps.

In my work world, I have the opportunity to lead discussions about where people are seeing God in their world. During this season of Advent, we embrace -or at least tolerate – the dark. Four weeks of darkening days in my environment, ending with a day with only 9 hours of light. Throw in a pandemic and a persistent serious mental illness, and this Advent feels dark.

And yet, we await God incarnate. We have hope. I’m not sure of the right theological terms, but I tend to rely pretty heavily on the idea that through the Holy Spirit which is within us all, I don’t actually need to wait to meet God incarnate. I meet God in nearly every interaction I have with another human being. Yesterday, the pharmacist was really struggling, hours behind her orders including ours. But I waited for an hour while she tried to get to our order. Once we finally paid, the pharmacist apologized profusely. And what I saw was God incarnate, helping us get meds to keep my loved one stable.

At the dinner table, we laughed and joked and were serious about a 30 day inpatient involuntary hospitalization. God incarnate around the table.

Today, I get the opportunity to take socks and hats to people living on the streets. They will not always be grateful, or lucid. God incarnate.

This morning, I’m thinking about Advent, about darkness, and about the insistence that God incarnate is all around, all the time. More than a manger, that’s what makes these days brighter for me.

Nov 28 2020 - Luke 19: 41-48

[Y]ou did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.

This is the bit in Luke’s Gospel right after Jesus comes to Jerusalem and weeps over the city, and right before he enters the Temple and overturns the tables. Bad things will happen to you, because you did not recognize God’s presence in your midst. 

True, Jesus- God incarnate- was in their midst.  But with God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, isn’t God in our midst even now? Do we recognize it? As Jesus laments, do we recognize the things that make peace? 

Tomorrow, in my tradition is the first day of the new Christian year, the first Sunday of Advent. That would make today the Christian equivalent of New Year’s Eve day.  Today, I’m going to do all those New Year’s things that we do associated with the secular calendar on Dec 31.  

Review 2020 – Phew.  What a year!  My boss announced his retirement, we elected a new Bishop to serve as my boss, and I still really enjoy the good work I get to do in the midst of all of that change.

After having previously sold our house and car and moving into a downtown apartment, 2020 brought us to buying a house and car, and moving out of downtown into a lovely neighborhood.  

My sick loved one was hospitalized seven times, for a total of over three months inpatient hospitalization.  Over a quarter of the year. They remain in the hospital but are expected to return early next week. With better meds, and the assistance of our guardianship, they appear more stable than they have been for all of 2020.  

Upon their release, they plan to travel to Seattle to stay for a few months with biological relatives. My deep hope is that this is a lovely time to reconnect with family. Previous visits have not ended well, so I’ll prepare for a quick trip to Seattle, in case we’re needed to retrieve our loved one. And hope we don’t need to. 

Plan for next year – 

My day job will remain unsettled, as my new boss and pastor begins in the end of January.  I hope to help with a smooth transition.

We will be finished with building a second floor porch on our house. It’s mostly just for my husband and I, and will serve as a sleeping porch, and an outdoor respite, when things at home are cooky. It’s feeling a little like all of those home makeovers, when the couple is reintroduced to their bedroom, renewed and peaceful.  Good space really does make a difference, especially for me. 

My loved one will start the year on an extended visit. That will either work well, and help cement a sense of independence, or it won’t. With everything we do, we will aim to be nimble, and always supportive. 

We will likely have gained guardianship, which I suspect will make caretaking immensely easier.  

So back to Jesus and God’s presence.  I’ve no doubt God’s been present this year. I don’t always have a sense of peace, but frequently. And sometimes I feel peaceful in the midst of absolute chaos.  That must be God’s presence.  Next year, I aim to continue in my daily prayer, and also bring that sense of God’s imminence throughout my day. Happy New Year’s!

Nov 14 2020 James 2:1-4 and an Update

My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ? For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, ‘Have a seat here, please’, while to the one who is poor you say, ‘Stand there’, or, ‘Sit at my feet’, have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts? 

This is the first weekend in a long, long time, that I’ve not been dealing with weekend work obligations, or complications from my loved one’s illness.  It feels like time to sit with a cup of morning coffee, look out at the grey sky, pray the Daily Office, and reflect. And I must admit that I’m a bit distracted with what’s going on with my loved one. I’ll attempt the former prayer reflection, and conclude with the update.  

And to start, I’ll say that I love our tradition’s Daily Office. It includes prayers, and songs of prayer (also known as canticles), and scripture.  Every day, there are parts that are the same, praying the Lord’s Prayer every morning, for example. This creates a sense of rhythm for every 24 hours.  Every morning, I can know there is something the same as yesterday’s prayer time.   Every day there are parts that are different, with a seven day cycle, so the canticles on Saturday mornings are the same, creating a sense of weekly rhythm.  And there are parts of the morning prayers that repeat every three months (psalms) and others that repeat every two years (scripture).  Doing this morning prayer for any amount of time creates a sense of order in my days, weeks, months and years.  If I were to add in evening prayer, I’m sure this would be amplified, and someday. . . 

This morning’s scripture reading is from James, and is another great bit about not being judgmental.  If we value the wealthy over the poor, we are not really living Christ’s commandment of loving our neighbor as our self. When we read this in scripture, it seems easy to assent.  Of course, we should love the poor as much as the wealthy. To do otherwise seems uncharitable. We imagine the poor helpless widow, or the orphan child. Of course we should help them.  

The hard part is when we each think about our own personal judgment scale. What if instead of referring to the person in fine clothes versus the person in dirty clothes the reading referred to the young professional and the addict.  Or the kid at violin lessons and the kid in the gang.  Or the liberal and conservative. Or the pink cat hats and the red ball caps? 

We all have someone who’s considered the other, someone we judge as less.  And yet this reading continues that whoever shows partiality is convicted by the law. Now, more than ever, we people of faith need to love. We need to love everyone without judgment and without partiality. Period.  

And now an update.  Our loved one remains in the hospital. After much prayer and consultation with lawyers, investigators, and dear friends, we decided to pursue guardianship.  We talked with the lawyer a week ago, and yesterday had a telephone hearing with a judge, and were awarded temporary guardianship. A more permanent arrangement will require further investigation, and the appointment of an attorney for our loved one, and another court hearing. 

Guardianship means that my husband and I can have two-way conversations with our loved one’s care team, as opposed to be shut out because of privacy laws. We can offer our input, and it matters.  We can apply and sign on behalf of our loved one. It’s a lot of added authority, and with that comes a sense of the added responsibility. 

But in just 24 hours, we’ve been involved in more meaningful conversations than we have in the past 2 years. We’ve discussed previous hospitalizations with current doctors, and provided much needed and previously unknown information about effective versus ineffective medicine. We’ve talked with intake workers about possible independent housing options that previously we couldn’t.  We’ve talked with nurses, in response to our loved one claiming they were allergic to the only medicine that resulted in their ability to hold a job.  It’s been exhilarating, and I slept well last night. 

The responsibility is real.  The medicine our loved one believes she’s allergic to is both effective, and very strong.  It has significant possible side effects, some of which could be permanent. And yet, it’s the only thing we’ve seen that makes them stable.  All of a sudden, with a judge’s signature, our information and consent to the doctor means that our loved one is going to be forced to take a medicine that they dislike, at least while they’re hospitalized. And our loved one claimed to be allergic to the medicine, and with a simple call to us, that objection is dismissed and the meds are prescribed.  We also may have the authority, working with the doctors, to assure she is hospitalized long enough to get more stable. This is a level of responsibility and authority the State was clearly unwilling to assume. It was easier for a judge to sign over our loved one’s rights to us, than to the State.  And maybe that’s a good thing.  

In any case, it is a lot, to now be responsible for not only my life, but also my adult loved one, who has a lifelong illness. Our deep hope is that we can exert this authority just long enough to get them stable and more independently housed, and at that point step back and help them be as independent and happy as they can, from a place of more stability. And while it feels like a lot of responsibility, it’s also wonderful to be able to continue to help our loved one, more than the illness previously allowed. 

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s providence. How God is present with the court employees, investigators, privacy advocates, social workers, lawyers. I don’t know how next month or tomorrow will turn out.  But God does.  And with that knowledge, I will aim to do my part in God’s plan.  

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. 

Jul 30 2020 Judges 4: 4-23

There was Sisera lying dead, with the tent-peg in his temple.

This is in the story about Deborah, the judge and ruler. She summoned Barak, I’m presuming a warrior, and to overtake Sisera, I’m presuming a bad guy. Barak, and his 10,000 warrior followers headed out, along with Deborah. They found Sisera and his meager troops, and after Sisera fled on foot, all of Sisera’s troops were killed. Sisera finds safety from another tribe, with whom his tribe had peace. Jael, the wife of the clan leader comes out to meet Sisera, lets him in her tent, gives him drink, and lets him sleep on the soft rug, telling the guards to let no one in. Up to this point in the story, it sounds like Sisera has found peace. But no. Jael takes a tent peg, and puts it through Sisera’s temple, killing him. Eventually Barak comes looking for SIsera, and Jael shows him Sisera, dead on the rug with the tent peg in his head. 

The structure of Morning Prayer is that there’s a reading from the Psalms, then the Old Testament, New Testament, and finally Gospels. In between the scripture readings, there’s a ‘canticle’ which is a bit from scripture that is a song or poem recited by someone in scriptures. This morning’s appointed canticle after the Old Testament reading was The Song of Moses, which I think in part is actually sung by his sister. In any case, it is a song of praise, sung by the Israelites after crossing the red sea. It merrily talks about the horse and the rider being hurled into the sea, and how God stretched out God’s hand and the earth swallowed them up. 

Between these two readings, I get a sense that there was a punitive, angry, judging God, who’d condone tent pegs in the head, and cause people to be drowned in the sea. 

Maybe it’s my sunshiny disposition, or maybe its heresy, but I think they had it all wrong. I don’t think God, the God Jesus talks about, is a God who causes mass casualties, or condones murder. Those are not the traits that Jesus describes when he talks about God. Rather, Jesus talks about an all-loving, all-merciful God. Yes, God is all-powerful too, but just because he could cause mass casualties, I don’t think that’s God’s way. Nor do I think the existence of casualties proves that God is mean or not all powerful. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes they happen to good people, and sometimes they happen to people I deem bad. 

But I do not believe that I know enough about other humans to pass that judgment, to decide that someone else is bad enough to warrant God’s wrath. Again, that is not the God Jesus proclaims. Jesus, in fact, ate with the people society had deemed as bad – the prostitutes, corrupt tax collectors, sinners. 

Sometimes, despite my best efforts, I find someone who I think is genuinely bad, and it’s easy to presume that God agrees with me. When something bad happens to that person, it’s easy for me to think that bad thing was because God was smiting them. But again, that’s not the God Jesus talks about. 

I have plenty of loving colleagues who could write their own canticle, about God, race, police, murder, mass casualties. I think they’re wrong too. I think God doesn’t want or cause bad things to happen, to anyone. I think God wants peace. 

The reading from the New Testament this morning was about the selection of Matthias as the twelfth apostle. The others actually drew straws to pick Matthias. I don’t think God made them pick the Matthias straw. But I do think God looked at what we humans did, and said, “I can work with that”. 

This morning, I’m thinking about an all-loving God, and how I don’t think tent pegs would be God’s instrument of peace, any more than riots, or murders, or violent mobs. I think we judgmental, myopic humans can ascribe to God bad things, particularly when they happen to people we perceive as our enemies. But would we do that if the other person was our friend? Would we think that God caused mass casualties if the casualties were our loved ones?  

Wouldn’t we be better off becoming friends with the ‘other’, rather than taking a tent peg to their head, all in the name of God?

Jul 23 2020 Collect for Seventh Sunday After Pentecost

Have compassion on our weakness, and mercifully give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask

This has been the longest I’ve gone without writing, since beginning in December 2018. Much has happened since July 12, much that I can tell myself is the root of my hiatus. A few highlights. 

The city where I live has made national news from nightly protests. Having worked for government for decades, and recently for a police department, I deeply empathize with the Portland Police Bureau and the good officers there. To be clear, I am not suggesting they are all without fault or all good. But for women and men who put on bullet proof vests every day as a part of their work uniform, neither is it fair to say All Cops are Bastards, which his scrawled all over downtown. At their core, the protests are still about racial injustice and oppression. This occurs throughout all professions, but the stakes are so much higher with the police – who are authorized to use deadly force. As a result of that entrusted power, the police can be held to a higher standard than those of us who are not authorized to kill. And that is a hard expectation to fulfill, especially when violence erupts, bottles and hammers are thrown, and my formerly beautiful downtown looks like a war zone. Between pandemic-plywooded buildings, torn down statues, and graffiti everywhere, it’s deeply sad. The people with whom I work, clergy and lay leaders of the church, are deeply upset by what’s happening in our Diocese. Emotions are running very high, along with a sense of needing to do something, anything. 

Meanwhile, Covid. I have the great opportunity to work with congregations that are trying to support their people during this pandemic. Whether that’s services in a parking lot, office hours, or slowly reopening, I’m involved in reviewing plans that are submitted to the Bishop, comparing them to the state’s requirements and working with the leaders to align plans to what we know today as safe. As in many areas of the country, our Governor has slowly opened things up. Church plans reflect that loosening. Then twice in the past two weeks, the Governor has retightened things, with mandatory face masks inside and fewer people in gatherings. 

Meanwhile, our Diocese is in the process of electing a new bishop. The process to plan the election is conceived and approved by largely volunteers. As staff, however, much of the execution of the election falls to 4 of us. The election was originally scheduled in June, but when the pandemic began, those plans were quickly scrapped. The election was moved to August, with plans for a gathering of 350 to vote for four candidates. Plans made, plans revised. In June that was scrapped. Then the plan was to have polling places, with no more than 25 in a spot, spread throughout western Oregon. Plans made, plans revised. When the Governor said 10 people inside is the limit, that was scrapped. (Doing no service to us, the state exempted churches from the limit, although there is no increased immunity or safety resulting from gathering to pray than gathering to socialize.) We opted to use the Governor’s guideline of 10, for safe gatherings, and now the plan is to hold an entirely virtual election. In five weeks. Without knowing how to do it. Oh, and after the election is completed, the results are sent around the country so that all of the other bishops and governing boards can approve the validity of the election. Without their consent, the election doesn’t count. Oh, and no one has ever done a ‘virtual election’. No pressure there. 

Meanwhile, my day job continues. In the past 6 weeks, the Bishop has ordained five people, and I’ve had the pleasure to serve with him, all over the state. These services would have been conducted together, but with the pandemic, each had 10-25 people, depending on location. Last weekend, I corralled my husband into driving six hours on Saturday to the southern Oregon coast where there were two ordinations during the weekend. Sunday we drove back. Looooong weekend, but lovely to get away. 

Meanwhile, my loved one remains with us, and is doing well. We left them alone overnight on Saturday, and seemingly all was well, although there was some anxiety before we left. 

As a result of all of that, I ignorantly concluded that I didn’t have time for morning prayer and writing. Or morning exercise. And now, I’m feeling the effect of that. I desperately need to make the space for this. It sets my day off to a better start. It reminds me who’s in charge. It forces me to slow down and pause for a moment. As today’s collect reminds, have compassion on my weakness, and give me those things for my blindness, I cannot ask. 

Jul 12 2020 Mark 1: 21-27

Did You come to destroy us? I know who You are—the Holy One of God!

Jesus has entered the temple and was teaching. A man with an unclean spirit came in the temple, and Jesus banishes the unclean spirit, healing the man. Up to this point in the Gospel of Mark, we’ve heard about John baptizing Jesus, and Jesus has called his disciples. His first acts of ministry are the teaching in the synagogue and the healing of this man. 

The man has unclean spirits, who speak to Jesus in the first person, plural. We know who you are, Jesus of Nazareth. Living with someone with voices, these stories always strike a chord with me. 

I recently read a study about the voices that people with auditory hallucinations have. Basically, there’s something called subvocalizations, and we all have them. If you’ve ever found yourself concentrating hard on something, and you find yourself muttering to yourself, that’s what happens when those sub (or below) vocalizations, rise to the level of actual vocalizations. And you might not even know you had them. They’re different from thoughts, but very related. We have thoughts in our brain, but when we’re really concentrating, our brain lights up in the areas of speech, in addition to thought. Our vocal chords are primed and might even be moving without the prerequisite air to actually make sound. Subvocalization. 

With people with auditory hallucinations, they have these too. And like me, they don’t register that they’re having these parts of their brain lighting up, before actually speaking. Unlike me, when they recognize the subvocalizations but don’t recognize that they’re from their own thoughts. The connection between thought and subvocalization is missing, and therefore the voices are attributed to something or someone else. The brain is a wonderful storyteller and will try to make sense of things by filling in missing bits. Therefore, if someone recognizes words in their head but don’t recognize them as their own, clearly the words must be from an alien, or an FBI chip, or God. These are the stories told by paranoid brains that recognize subvocalizations, but don’t recognize them as their own thoughts. Without the paranoia, the voices are attributed to loving companions, or invisible friends. 

It could be argued that people with auditory hallucinations are not less aware than those without, but perhaps more aware. They recognize those pre-words before we do. There are places in the world that treat people with diseases that involve auditory hallucinations, such as bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia more as revered special people, with brains that understand things we do not. I’m not suggesting that this should be universally implemented, but I do think there is something to be said for a more generous acceptance of people with auditory hallucinations. 

Back to the Scripture. After the man and his voices talk to Jesus, the man acknowledges that he knows who Jesus is – the Holy One of God. This is the first acknowledgment of Jesus’ divinity, and it comes from this man with either hallucinations, or an unclean spirit. Jesus was, by all visible accounts, a young Jewish teacher in the synagogue. He had not broken into his public ministry. He probably didn’t have a golden halo or special aura about him. But the Divine was recognized in this humble man. 

If we believe that the Holy Spirit indwells in all of us, we all have a bit of the Divine in us. If I believe that, than doesn’t that mean that we should be able to recognize or at least acknowledge the Divine in each other? 

This morning, I’m thinking about whether I’d be able to recognize the Holy in another. Whether I’d see it in the street person, mumbling to herself. In the angry protester. The apathetic businessman. I want to be able to see the Holy One of God in each person I meet. I do think it’s hard to see that trait in each other, especially when the fully-human parts of ourselves shine through in all our self-absorbedness, greed, and illness. Regardless, it’s there. The Holy is there in every person I meet.

Perhaps I just need to have faith that it’s there, and then act like it’s there. And once you believe it, and act on it, then you see it. Today, I’ll start with believing it. 

Jul 7 2020 Matthew 23: 13-26

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. 

Jesus is on a roll, a ‘woe to you’ roll. It’s always hard to meet the crabby or angry Jesus – the Jesus upsetting the tables or asking his followers how they can be so stupid. These are uncomfortable passages to read, and at least for me, my thoughts immediately construct ways that make these bits less convicting. 

One of my go-to justifications is to remember that Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. These angry bits are just Jesus being fully human, occasionally showing our human shortcomings. And while I think there are instances where Jesus portrayed fully human attributes, I’m not sure it’s fair to dismiss his anger and finger wagging as somehow less convicting, because they came from his fully human-ness. 

The other thing that’s easy to do when we read these bits is to rail right along with Jesus. Yeah, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup but the inside is full of filth. Yeah, you’ve neglected justice and mercy and faith!  How dare you! There are certainly times when this feels right. There is often so much broken in the world, so little justice, mercy and faith. 

The risk with joining the rally cry is that we’re so busy agreeing with Jesus’ condemnation of others, we deflect the idea that he’s talking to us. And yes, while there are other hypocrites, others who lack love, justice and mercy, I do too. That’s why these bits are uncomfortable for me to read. I don’t like to think about my culpability in what he’s saying. None of us do. 

Right now in our country, there is a lot of righteous indignation, for absolutely right reasons. And unfortunately, I’ve seen too many instances where those who are most incensed are the ones who are the most hypocritical. Today, Jesus is talking to the scribes and Pharisees who often railed against others. They were deeply religious and felt they had God on their side. And yet, their actions showed a lack of mercy and justice. This sounds to me like some of the modern-day protesters. They are right to be angry and upset with a lack of justice and mercy. But in their zeal, the demonstrate a willingness to dispense with justice and mercy against those who they’re protesting. 

To be clear, I am not condoning the actions of racists or supremacists; I condemn the actions of racists or supremacists. And as a person of faith, I have to hear Jesus talking to me, challenging me to not be a hypocrite. To love, show mercy, have faith, and be just. Even to the people intentionally or unintentionally perpetuating horrible injustices. 

This is hard stuff, this righteous indignation. Jesus can do it, because at the end of the day, he loved all. Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do. When we fallible humans are swept up in that same fervor, we risk becoming like the Pharisees, hypocritical in our meting out justice and mercy and love. 

This morning, I’m thinking about sitting with these hard sayings from Jesus, and what they mean to me and about me, before I join the angry voices, crying out with Jesus. 

Jul 4 2020 Matthew 22: 23-40

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

 

Love God. Love your Neighbor. So simple. Yet not easy. Today is the 4th of July, and reading through the Declaration of Independence, I’m reminded that we’re facing the same challenges today, as back then. All people, although created equal, are not treated equal. We do not all have the same access to life, to liberty, to the pursuit of happiness. 

Love God. Love your neighbor. When you consider that love is an active verb, not a sentiment, I wonder what the world would look like if we all tried to do that. Love God. Love our neighbor. Empathize with our neighbor. Remember they are someone’s child, or father, or beloved. That Antifa rioter? Beloved. That cop? Beloved. Those college kids at the Corona Parties? Beloved. Whoever it is who gets under your skin, or on your last nerve? Love them too. Our only chance at loving our neighbors – all of them – is to first love God. And to remember that we are equally loved by God. With that over-abundant love from God, we have love to share. Even with the unlovable. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what it would look like if we loved our neighbor. All of our neighbors. How could we do that? And what would it look like in these pandemic, charged times?

And now a personal note. I’ve been more absent from writing than I’d planned, and that’s the result of several converging things. Last week, my bicycle needed to go in for new brakes. With over 9,000 miles logged in the past 3 years, a heavy bike, and two big hills on my commute to work, I go through brake pads and rotors several times a year. With the pandemic, bike shops in Portland are swamped, and they’ve had my bike for a week. My regular 35 minute bike commute became a 10 minute car commute. So in the morning, instead of sitting in front of my computer, in addition to the hours I’d sit in front of my computer at work, I elected to throw in some other exercise, including yoga and long walks. I still prayed Morning Prayer, as our staff gathers every morning for 20 minutes for that practice. But I opted to move my body in the morning instead of writing. I say this because I’m generally an all-or-nothing kind of gal. If I committed to write daily, I write daily. If I miss one day, I’ve failed and I quit. But I’m working on moderation. I intend to write frequently, nearly daily, maybe daily. But if I don’t, I’ll return and write again, rather than quit. 

The other thing that’s happened is that I picked up the book, “How to Break up with Your Phone”. Between a new watch that logs my activity (which I love), and a day job that has me in front of a computer, I did not need to be spending time on my phone. The book begins with lots of research about how and why we’re so compelled by our phones and the apps they contain. It’s entirely contrived and we are absolutely manipulated. As a result, I’ve made some changes on my phone, which have resulted in changes in my behavior. No more social media apps, no more games. What that means is that when I post something, I’m not sucked back into the cycle of checking to see who’s liked or commented. I love comments, and I appreciate the feedback. And I will read it all and appreciate it deeply.  And without the immediacy of a phone app, I’m a little more hesitant to get back on the computer when I get home, from being on the computer all day. So my online presence may be moderated as well. 

Instead of sneaking peeks online during the day, I’ll take a walk, or sit quietly, or stretch, or pray. When I get online to write or review, I’ll fully be online, to write or review. 

So thank you, for accompanying me on my journey towards moderation. It’s only taken me 50+ years, and I’m still working on it!

Jun 28 2020 Acts 17:12-34

The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. 

Last week, I returned to working in the office, physically distanced, with a face mask whenever I was in shared space. It was both familiar and foreign. I think that’s how our world’s return will be. We’ll return to things familiar, we’ll be grateful for the comfort of those familiar things, and then we’ll be struck by how foreign this new masked, distanced world is. And who knows when we’ll return to that new normal?  Strange times indeed. 

Churches are working to return to that new normal, with different strategies. In my work world, there are churches that are returning to in-person worship, physically distanced, and masked. There are churches that are conducting services in the parking lot, using transmitter radios so people can tune in on their car radios, unmasked, and see each other. One church has decided not to return to in-person worship until a vaccine is released, and all members can return to worship safely. Another has said they hope to open in December. 

On one hand, every priest in this area knows that God is not in the building. God does not live in a church or cathedral made by human hands. Every person of faith knows that too. I know God isn’t contained in a building. Jesus isn’t any more present in that crucifix, than in my living room. The Holy Spirit is no less alive in me, just because I can’t ‘go to church’. 

And yet, people of faith are yearning to return. Some of that may be habit; it’s what we do on our sabbath. Some may be the richness of the worship service or the jubilation of the praise music, or the collective energy of the gathered body of Christ. 

We know God isn’t in the building, or Jesus isn’t only contained in the Eucharistic bread and wine. We know God is alive and moving in the world, even when our church buildings are empty. 

The desire to gather is more about community. We want and need each other. And although it’s a wonderful technological tool, video conferencing is not the same as being in person. I had the honor at serving at an ordination yesterday, in person, with 25 people. Although we were masked and distanced, it was so nice to join others in worship, and to actually receive communion. 

So what do we do with the knowledge that God does not need shrines and encounters with Jesus are not restricted to those encounters that occur in collective worship, and yet we hunger to return?

I think what we do not do is return, disregarding the public health advice. We don’t gather in large masses, unmasked. Or if we do, we need to understand that while God may feel more imminent, so is the risk of transmission, illness and death. The risk is not just to those gathered, but to everyone they subsequently come into contact with. God, who doesn’t need a building, also made epidemiologists, who help us stay safe. 

I’m reminded of a great book, Canoeing the Mountains, about ministry leadership in uncertain times. Published in 2015, it long precedes this pandemic, but was talking about the changing world of ministry. Tod Bolsinger uses the story of Lewis and Clark as a great analogy. They started off with canoes, determined to get to the other side of the US. They were selected for the mission because of their great navigational ability of water, and thought they could canoe their way from St. Louis to the water way to the West. Little did anyone know they’d encounter the Rocky Mountains. At that point, they had a massively changed mission. The book chronicles the major lessons from their journey, and compares it to the world of ministry leadership, pulling salient lessons to carry forward.

The first lesson is that the world in front of you is nothing like the world behind. The canoes that Lewis and Clark thought would get them to the ocean would not help in the mountains. They could have decided to carry the canoes through the mountain (hence the title of the book), but instead they adapted, and changed the plan. That’s like ministry now. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what canoes we are trying to carry into the mountains. God is not in the church building, and neither are we in the same way we were. How is it we move forward with a new normal, that isn’t even defined. Perhaps we need to refocus on our mission. Church, as we know it, will likely be different moving forward. Our mission hasn’t changed. We are called to Love God, and Love each other. Instead of spending our time talking about how to canoe the mountains, or use the tools we had for the job ahead, we should look ahead and figure out what we need for that new world. It probably isn’t video conferencing, or a canoe.