“i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”
– e.e. cummings
“i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”
– e.e. cummings
Grace and Peace to you,
I am writing to share the news of my resignation as Associate Pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Holt effective July 31st. David has accepted a full-time position in St. Louis, MO and I am looking forward to becoming a full-time mother, as well as do pulpit supply and freelance work. The great majority of David’s family is located in St. Louis, so we will be surrounded by family support. As certain as I am that this is the right move for my family and me, it breaks my heart to be leaving you all.
It has been an honor and privilege to be your pastor over these past three years. We have been with one another through some of life’s greatest joys and deepest struggles. Together we have laughed and prayed, worshiped and served. Together we have celebrated many births and grieved many deaths, including the birth of my son and the death of both of my grandmothers. I am grateful for your support and my life is forever changed for having traveled this road with you in this season. If it were possible, I would greatly desire to be a member here.
It has been a joy to see youth growing into faith filled adults, church visitors become church family, and passions for vocational ministry kindled. I delight in seeing you minister to one another through meals in times of grief, prayer shawls in times of illness, and home communion in seasons of isolation. It is my prayer that you will continue to be a place that delights in diversity, cultivates artistic gifts, and wholeheartedly embraces mission (in both this community and world). I pray that you will continue to be confronted with joy so great and grace so deep that you cannot help but sing God’s praises.
As surely as I believe that God is guiding me in this decision, I also believe that God will guide you in finding a new associate pastor to minister to and with you in the future. I am deeply glad that the congregation voted to secure the associate position, as I believe great things have been possible through allowing your pastors both collegiality and focus in ministry. I look forward to seeing how God’s plan for FPC Holt will unfold in the years to come.
I am excited to discover what God has in store for me as I live out my callings to both motherhood and ministry in new ways. In my time here I have struggled to be faithful to both of these roles together. My personal prayer is that this time away from pastoring may enable me to establish a strong foundation of family life, in the hope that any future professional work will complement, rather than compete with this call. I pray that future pastors of this church will be able to do the same.
From now until July 31st I will continue to pastor this church, engaging fully in the good and important ministry we have yet to do together and the hard but grace filled process of saying goodbye. I ask for your prayers and understanding as we all make this transition.
Home by Another Way
January 3, 2016, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
Last Sunday a few of you met my aunt Karen, as she came up here for worship. On Monday she was to head back to her home in Plano, TX, via the Detroit airport. Well if you’ll remember Monday’s weather, that was when the ice storm was hitting Michigan while Texas was recovering from tornadoes and getting hit by snow. My aunt went up to Detroit in the hopes that her flight would take off as planned. Everything seemed to be going smoothly up until a few minutes before the flight, when they shared the news that their flight crew did not make their flight in from Chicago. Not too long after the flight was cancelled. After standing in line for several hours to get her bags and trying to get a new flight she learned they didn’t have anything available till Thursday. She decided to go to a hotel for the night, but after trying six different hotels, none had any room, she rented a car and drove back to Toledo. Hoping to get home sooner than Thursday so as to not leave her shift uncovered as a neonatal nurse practitioner, she called the airline and saw what airports had any flights available, and ended up finally flying out of St Louis on Wednesday, connecting in Charlotte, NC and finally heading to Dallas.
In our scripture today we hear a story not entirely dissimilar from the travel woes my aunt experienced. We’ve all heard the story of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem for the census, and Jesus’ fateful delivery in a manger after there was no room at the inn. But we rarely pay quite as much attention to the latter half of the journey, when they are told by the wise men to travel home by another way. The trip there was already difficult, so to take the long way home was likely a tremendous inconvenience, and then added onto it the reason why they needed to go this way it must’ve been a very frightful situation. More frightful even than flooding and ice blizzards.
When the wise men first met with Herod they were meeting with him in the hopes of getting direction, perhaps even to placate him in his own authority. Herod even tried to make the wise men believe that he too wanted to come pay homage to Jesus, but things were not as they seemed. The reason why they needed to take this long way home was the wise men had been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, who was fearful of what a king of the Jews would do to his power.
Joseph too is visited by an angel in a dream who says, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” This was not an idle threat. In the verses following our passage today we are told, “When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men.” New parents as they were, I can’t imagine the horror that Mary and Joseph felt at hearing of so many children’s death due to their actions, and the simultaneous relief for their own son’s safety. The divine rerouting of this dream altered the course of history, saving Jesus to live into adulthood.
The great modern theologian, James Taylor summarizes the story in this way: He writes, “Steer clear of royal welcomes, avoid a big to-do. A king who would slaughter the innocents will not cut a deal for you … Time to go home another way. Home by another way … Me and you can be wise guys too and go home by another way … We got this far to a lucky star but tomorrow is another day. We can make it another way …”
What are your own stories of a divine rerouting? A time in your life when you thought you knew the path ahead of you, maybe you even had a boarding pass in hand ready for a specific trip, or for a specific educational path, relationship, or career. When those things we’ve planned for change it’s hard to know what to do next. Often in the moment being rerouted does not feel divine at all, rather it feels much more like being inconvenienced, or worse, being misled.
The Bible has many examples of this divine rerouting. Jonah thought he had things all figured out when God told him to go to Nineveh, when he resisted God went as far as scooping him up in a big fish to get him turned in the right direction. Joseph, son of Jacob, is deceived by his brothers, thrown in a well, and unjustly imprisoned, but he ends up becoming a trusted advisor to the king in the midst of drought and famine. In their exodus, the Israelites thought that praying to an idol would get them out of the wilderness, but Moses showed them that they would only survive by God’s provision of manna and quail. Ruth thought she knew what lay ahead of her, marrying into a good family, but then her husband, brother in law and father in law all died in quick succession and she and her mother in law Naomi were able to find a way forward by staying close to one another. In Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son, the son thought he had everything figured out of how he would be happy in life, but in humility he ends up returning home and is joyfully received.
It doesn’t feel good to be inside of a fish, betrayed by your family, reprimanded by a tablet wielding Moses, encounter a succession of tragic deaths, or slinking home after squandering the family fortune, but God shows us over and over again, that in seeking God’s guidance we are able to make it home again, home to God’s will for us, which may look nothing like where we started. As Joseph says when he forgives his brothers, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.” To be clear, I am not saying that God causes the harm, but rather that God can work through our adversity for good.
Mary and Joseph also had plans for what their lives would look like. They were engaged to be married, had lived piously and now their lives were uprooted by a pregnancy that was hard to explain to their families or community. But God had revealed to them that Mary would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit, and bring Jesus, the very son of God into the world. This change from what they thought they wanted changed their lives and the entire world for the better.
This child, come into the world through difficult and extraordinary circumstances provided the divine rerouting that changed all of us. Jesus lived a sinless life, died on the cross for all of our sins, and was resurrected so that all of us may experience eternal life. Jesus made it possible for every one of us to go home by another way.
We don’t know all that awaits us on the path in front of us, we don’t know exactly where we’re headed, but if we keep our eyes and ears open to God’s direction, we can have hope that even the long way will lead us home in the end. Thanks be to God. Amen.
“What Should We Do?”
December 13, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
John the Baptist was a great many things, but subtle was not one of them. From the very first account of John in action we hear of him moving about in his mother’s womb to alert her to the presence of Jesus growing within Mary. And this action is echoed throughout the rest of his life as he is always making a ruckus demanding that people pay attention to the presence of Jesus.
In our text today we hear him confront those who have just been baptized in a very unsubtle way. Keep in mind these are the ones already seeking Christ, who have sought out John specifically so they may be baptized into this new way of being. But John doesn’t want them to use their baptism or God’s grace as an excuse to become complacent. Now that they have this new life they are to bear fruit, they are to thoughtfully and passionately follow the life that God has set before them.
“What should we do, what should we do, what should we do?” The crowds ask this three times in our passage. It is important to think about why they asked this question.
They were interested in how to live faithfully, how to bear fruit as followers of God. They were probably afraid of the wrath of God, but they seemed equally afraid of separation from this new community of believers that was just beginning to form around the ministry of John the Baptist, and soon, Jesus of Nazareth, the messiah. John tells them that they are not secure in their faith by their religious lineage, their affiliation with Abraham, but rather only by their own individual repentance and seeking to be in right standing with God. This is a faith that required, well, faith.
But the action resulting from faith was not just an inward emotion of repentance, it was the lived out action of enacting God’s grace in the context of everyday life. Deciding to follow God this completely requires a change in how we live our lives. It required some serious discernment about what their lives would look like now that they had been so utterly transformed.
Discernment is one of those words that we tend to use in pivotal moments in our lives. Figuring out where to go to college, what career path to take, who to marry, all of these decisions are best made with serious discernment. Which means taking the time to figure out what is best, not just financially or logistically, but spiritually. What will bring you deepest joy? How can you best glorify God?
But discernment should not just be limited to those big decisions, rather our understanding of God’s desires for our lives should inform our every action.
The youth of this church are used to doing “highlights and lowlights,” as a way to reflect on their lives, where they experience joy, and where they experience sadness. In spiritual discipline terms this practice is called “examen.” Another way to look at this is what is life giving and what is depleting? Or what makes you feel closest to God and what makes you feel far away?
There is a book I’ve read about examen, talking about how to recognize God’s presence within and among our experiences, called “Sleeping with Bread.” The introduction explains the title saying, “During the bombing raids of World War II, thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve. The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in refugee camps where they received food and good care. But many of these children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. They feared waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food. Nothing seemed to reassure them. Finally, someone hit upon the idea of giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. Holding their bread, these children could finally sleep in peace. All through the night the bread reminded them, ‘Today I ate and I will eat again tomorrow.’”
The authors of the book use this story as an example of how clinging to the things that give us life help us to be better equipped to serve God and others. And the way that they discern what is life giving is through the examen process, pausing to take account of what has made them feel close to God and what has made them feel distant, keeping track of these patterns throughout the weeks, months, and years, and working from that full knowledge of their relationship with God to shape what direction they should take in their lives.
In our passage today, John shares with those gathered in no uncertain terms that now that they are baptized their work as Christians is by no means finished. They must now live lives of fruitfulness. Using examen and prayerful discernment, we become attentive to God’s presence and direction, which can help us figure out what to do, as well how we may best live into our baptized lives.
In Luke 3, verses 10-14 we read: “And the crowds asked [John], ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’”
“What should we do?” This is the same question asked by crowds listening to Peter at Pentecost (Acts 2:37-38) and in that instance Peter gives a bold message, “Repent! Be baptized! Receive the Holy Spirit!” By comparison Paul’s teaching seems quite tame. While John the Baptist begins strongly by calling the gathered crowd a “brood of vipers,” he then continues to give the rather basic instructions of “share, be fair, don’t bully.” Not exactly earth shattering stuff, but bold in its direct application.
Through this, John offers specific actions to explain what it mean to bear “fruits worthy of repentance.” If you have more than you need, he says you must share. To the tax collectors who could profit from asking for a little or a lot extra in their collections, he tells them to take only what they are owed. And to the soldiers John tells them not to take advantage of their position of power.
Luke 3:9 tells us “every tree…that does not bear good fruit is thrown into the fire.” What are the fruits that you are bearing in your own life? Where are the places in your life where you are holding back?
Pastor and professor David Lose offers this insight into what John is asking of this crowd. “Most peculiar perhaps, is the “eschatological location” of the good fruits. Tax collectors are not called to sever their relationship with Rome, nor are the soldiers exhorted to lives of pacifism. Even in light of impending [end times] judgment, they are called to serve where they are; to take their stand for neighbor amid, rather than apart from, the turbulence and trouble of the present age; and to do good because, rather than in spite, of their compromised positions. By sandwiching such ordinary instruction amid [end times] warning and messianic expectation, Luke’s John hallows the mundane elements of daily life.”
So, what should we do? Look to your own life: what are the ways you can allow your neighbor to live more fully? What are our own fruits of repentance we may offer for the good of all?
You are tasked with paying attention to the ways God is directing your life, and responding in ways that further God’s kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven. May you live fully into this task God has set before you. Amen.
“Anticipation of the Journey”
November 29, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
Today’s sermon will be a little bit different. I will be telling you the story of Zechariah, but what makes this sermon different, is that I will be telling this story in first person, taking on the perspective of Zechariah. So far we’ve heard the “canticle of Zechariah,” the joyful proclamation at the birth of his son, John, later to be known as John the Baptist. But, this story is much more interesting than a proud father’s exclamation, with many unanswered questions for us to explore. And so together let us listen to what Zechariah might’ve said and thought, and may we hear in it God’s message for our own lives as well.
I’m not used to being quiet. As a priest, I spend many of my days surrounded by words, teaching what other priests throughout time have understood about the meaning of our sacred texts, preaching so that those who can’t read may hear what God has told them to do, and debating with others in the temple so we can better understand.
Then the silence came, and nothing was the same. At first it was hard to remember what had happened. I’d wake up in the morning and begin to say my prayers, and my lips just moved wordlessly. I’d see a friend approach me in the synagogue and start to say hello and couldn’t even manage a squeak. Eventually it set in and I’d try different ways to communicate. I could always write things down, but not everyone could read what I was trying to tell them. Even those who could didn’t always have the patience to follow along with what I was trying to convey. After all that had happened, to be silent was maddening.
You see, I’ve lived my whole life waiting for what was now happening. My wife Elizabeth and I had waited our whole long, long marriage for a child, someone who could carry on our legacy and family name. But at our age? Impossible. Or so I thought.
As a priest, I’ve read over and over again the scriptures of the prophets, telling of a Messiah, one who could start a new future for us, saving us from the oppression of the Roman emperor, saving us from the oppression of our own sinfulness. And for year we’d waited for the opportunity for me to go to the Holy of Holies and offer incense. You see, we priests serve in a group, two times a year for a week we would draw lots each day for the chance to approach the temple Holy of Holies. Again and again, my lot was not called.
For years I’ve wondered what my purpose was as a husband, and as a priest, if all I’ve been waiting for and hoping for just weren’t happening. Had God forgotten me? Was I so stuck in going through the motions that somehow what I’ve been doing has ceased to honor God? I thought God was through with me, that is, until the day of the silence. That day that changed everything.
It seemed like just a typical day, traveling to the Jerusalem temple with my fellow priests. Chatting with each other as we walked, sharing our joys and our frustrations. I knew the way this worked, we would go to the temple draw lots, and I’d try my best to graciously support whoever was chosen that day. But then, my name was drawn, and I was to experience the Holy of Holies!
For all my training and years of experience, as I entered into the chamber I’ll admit my hands shook a bit. I was about to enter into the very presence of God! I knew what that space was like by rote, and had heard others talk about the stillness, but couldn’t imagine it fully until I was there. Lighting the incense I suddenly felt like I wasn’t alone. I looked and gasped as I saw…well, it’s hard to put it in words… but there was a presence in front of me, winged and bright and powerful. I was terrified! Wouldn’t you be?
This, this… angel spoke me, I’ll never forget this part, it said, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, or he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”
I was shocked, incredulous, frightened, and I’ll admit, a bit angry. What on earth was this thing telling me? We’ve never been able to have a child and now, we’re being given instructions not only what to name him, but also what he should drink? This was absurd!
I made the mistake of expressing my… disbelief and was immediately admonished. The angel said, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”
I started to object again, but found my mouth would make no sound, try as I might. Stumbling out of the inner sanctuary into the daylight I’m sure the gathered crowd thought I was stunned. And well, I guess I was. Try as I might I couldn’t tell them anything of what had happened, couldn’t explain my silence, couldn’t explain my incredulous joy. Then after the week was up I headed home to Elizabeth.
It was one thing to not be able to tell the other priests, but to not tell my wife? Especially about something so dear to us, so immediate to her own body, it was maddening. Try as I might I couldn’t speak a word. And my dear, darling wife, had never learned to read, so I couldn’t begin to share this story.
But soon, she knew for herself what miracle was happening within her, the family forming between us, the journey that was before us. We’ve been waiting so long, that this additional nine months of waiting seemed like nothing, but in the silence, it was so, so hard.
For so, so many years we had hoped for this, but after so many years, we dare not plan for this. Even after the birth of our child we couldn’t be sure of our own ability to support him into adolescence, or adulthood. What would be come of this child of ours, this John. His name was John. But I couldn’t tell Elizabeth that. I couldn’t share the promises of the angel. I couldn’t say a thing.
But I could listen. And in listening I heard Elizabeth weep with joy. She told me of so many times she was overlooked in the synagogue, in the town, in our own family, for not being able to be a mother. She spoke of her pain. And all I could do was hold her and listen.
In this silence too, my prayers changed shape. I was so used to talking, sharing with God the ways I had been left out, the way I wasn’t getting what I hoped for. But in the silence, I learned to listen, listen to the ways that God’s bigger plan was unfolding. The way that my meager hopes could be used for eternal glory.
Finally the day came when Elizabeth gave birth to a son, our son. The one to prepare the way of the Lord! Over the past many months I had made peace with my silence, and with the future that lay before Elizabeth and me. My incredulity had been transformed into joy, my distrust into steady belief. I knew that God had a plan for this child, our child who was so much more than ours. The one who would make a way for the Messiah.
After so much silence the family knew Elizabeth spoke for the both of us and so asked her directly what our son’s name should be. She said “John,” the name I had been unable to share with her for months, the name I had heard in the temple. How could she know his name? Surely she had felt God’s presence too. When those at the temple for his circumcision questioned it I confirmed by writing “His name is John.” And all at once I could talk again. My voice had come back and I had so much to say, no longer bitter from waiting, no longer fearful from mistrust, I had nothing to share now but praise: And so I began: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel. For God has looked favorably upon God’s people, and has redeemed them.”
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Since my own Googling of this sort of resource came up with nothing, I am posting this in the hopes it will be helpful to others. This is the litany from the unveiling of our new electronic sign at First Presbyterian Church of Holt:
Leader: Through covenantal rainbow and burning bush.
People: We see signs that God is with us.
Leader: Through pillar of cloud and manna in the wilderness.
People: We see signs that God is with us.
Leader: Through baptismal waters and communion feast.
People: We see signs that God is with us.
Leader: Through holy word and the light of Christ.
People: We see signs that God is with us.
Leader: In the community of Holt and the ministries of our church.
People: We see signs that God is with us.
Leader: May this new sign serve as a light to all who pass, letting them know that God is with us.
October 11, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
When I was in third grade I received my first Bible. This red “Good News Bible,” with my name printed on the inside cover. I remember standing up in the front of the sanctuary of First Presbyterian Church of Maumee, Ohio and being handed this brand new fresh Bible. I was so excited, beaming from ear to ear, proud that my church was entrusting me with such a very important gift: the word of God!
And then, after the service I went up to Sunday school, Bible in hand. A friend of mine grabbed mine to check it out and I’ll never forget this moment, she opened it and I heard a distinct ripping noise. I was horrified. I’m not sure if I started crying or not, but I know I thought about it. Here I had this brand new Bible and now it was ripped! It was no longer new. It was no longer special. I was so upset.
Though it is rational to get upset when something you have is ripped, I was upset for the wrong reasons. I wanted my Bible to stay clean and pure, to stay just like I had received it. I thought that this rip meant that I had messed up God’s word! I thought it meant that I was not responsible enough to have such a holy book in my library.
I didn’t understand that though one page was ripped ever so slightly, the words were intact. The importance of this book was intact. God’s promises were intact. The troubling thing with this sort of reaction towards a slight marring of God’s word is that it places the emphasis on the physicality of scripture, as if somehow my copy was the only one, and my “ruining” of this book was messing up God’s message. Thankfully, maintaining scripture was not the sole responsibility of my third grade self.
For thousands of years scripture was transmitted from person to person by storytelling. God’s truth was whispered in back alleys, told over kitchen tables, drawn out in the sand, and shouted from street corners. God’s message of love and hope and redemption and grace and joy can no more be contained to this little red book than God can be contained by our human understanding of God. As a third grader, I didn’t understand that.
I begrudgingly opened my now less than perfect Bible and tried to figure out what it had to say to me. And you know what, even though it was not so perfect in physical appearance it spoke to me a message of grace and truth. It told me that I, Bible-ruining as I may be, was a child of God. It told me that God has a call for my life. It told me that God loved the whole world and that I was a part of making sure that the whole world knew that truth. I was now tasked with whispering this word, writing it in the sand, and shouting it from street corners. These messages of less than perfect disciples and inadequate preachers whom God had tasked with the bringing about of the Kingdom of God leapt off the page and into my heart.
The beginning words of the Gospel of John speak to the enduring timelessness of God’s word throughout time and tradition: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.” 
The word of God is so much more than the Bible itself, this passage tells us the Word was God. Through the person of Jesus Christ, the living incarnation of God, the holiness of God was lived out in human experience. Through a blameless life and a selfless death Christ lived the Gospel message that love is stronger than hate and life has the final word over death.
The truth of this living word echoes throughout our Biblical texts, breathing life and grace into the written word. When we read this written word we too are welcomed into this eternal story of God’s enduring truth, of the lived reality of grace.
Each and every Bible is a unique sort of book because it is so much more than a work of literature, a book of poetry, or a nice story about the history of people who lived long ago.
Princeton Professor John P. Burgess writes, “The Old and New Testaments offer much more than information about God. They set forth the living Christ and invite us into relationship with God. In this sense, the Bible is the word of God – not because it is correct in every historical or scientific detail, but rather because it witnesses to what God has done and continues to do in Christ.”
Psalm 119 gives us instructions on how to take in this amazing story, the story of God and of us. In verses 12-16 it says, “Blessed are you, O Lord; teach me your statutes. With my lips I declare all the ordinances of your mouth. I delight in the way of your decrees as much as in all riches. I will meditate on your precepts, and fix my eyes on your ways. I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your word.”
To truly allow God’s word to be alive in us and in the world around us, we need to experience it. We can’t mediate on God’s word if we have not read it. We cannot fix our eyes on God’s way unless we learn about God’s way through scripture. But also we cannot call ourselves followers of Christ, if we allow our devotion God’s word to stop at the reading of scripture.
We read in Hebrews 4 today, “the word of God is living and active.” We read the words of Jesus in John 14:12, “the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.” What are we to do with scripture than, if not to let it guide us to “live and move and have our being” in response to God our creator.
Favorite preacher of mine, Barbara Brown Taylor wrote about the danger of preferring time with the written page over enacting God’s lived out word. She writes, “If I am not careful, I can begin to mistake the words on the page for the realities they describe. I can begin to love the dried ink marks on the page more than I love the encounters that gave rise to them. If I am not careful, I can decide that I am really much happier reading my Bible than I am entering into what God is doing in my own time and place, since shutting the book to go outside will involve the very great risk of taking part in stories that are still taking shape. Neither I nor anyone else knows how these stories will turn out, since at this point they involve more blood than ink. The whole purpose of the Bible, it seems to me, is to convince people to set the written word down in order to become living words in the world for God’s sake.”
Being a part of bringing about God’s living and active word in this world is certainly more complex than simply listening or reading scripture, and so it can be hard to know where to start. An overwhelmingly present example in our world today is the care and wellbeing of refugees, particularly in Syria.
Throughout history Jewish and Christian tradition have placed emphasis on hospitality towards refugees, with repeated reminder that God’s people have so often been the stranger. Exodus 23:9 says, “Don’t take advantage of a stranger. You know what it’s like to be a stranger; you were strangers in Egypt.” In Leviticus 19:34 we read, “When a foreigner lives with you in your land, don’t take advantage of him. Treat the foreigner the same as a native. Love him like one of your own. Remember that you were once foreigners in Egypt.” In total, there are 36 biblical warnings against the mistreatment of strangers; 36 Biblical warnings.
And yet we sit overwhelmed both by the present situation of international distress and the overwhelming Biblical mandate to do something about. What are we to do? How can we enact God’s word in this story still taking shape?
Stated clerk of our denomination, Grayde Parsons wrote this week, “Presbyterians profess a faith in Christ, whose parents were forced to flee with him to Egypt when he was an infant to save him from King Herod. Knowing our Lord was once a refugee, faithful Presbyterians have been writing church policy urging the welcome of refugees and demanding higher annual admissions into the United States since the refugee crisis of World War II. … Presbyterians through decades of policy have demanded humane treatment of people of all nationalities and faiths who find themselves within our borders. We have challenged our government when it neglects to acknowledge the refugee status of those fleeing persecution. We have pushed for due process at the border and we continue to petition for immigration reform that includes a path to citizenship for undocumented persons.”
Through supporting these efforts of our denomination, and joining our voices with those speaking for justice we enable God’s word to speak hope to those in need of hope.
In this very church and community there are many opportunities for you to extend God’s love and welcome to those who are seeking home and sanctuary through relationship with Global Family Fellowship. I’m sure Lazara, Gary, and Trudy would be delighted to find ways to connect you with those in need of the very welcome and connection that the Bible urges us to provide.
When we open ourselves to proclaiming God’s word in our actions, relationships, and livelihoods, we can share in the confidence of the prophet Isaiah who said, “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” May we indeed accomplish God’s purpose. May God’s word come to life in us and through us, as we seek to speak and live God’s word into being. Amen.
 John 1:1-4
 John P. Burgess, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4
 Acts 17:28
 Barbara Brown Taylor, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
“The Power of Vulnerability”
September 20, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
Sometimes when I read scripture I’m taken aback for a moment: “evil deeds,” “lamb led to the slaughter,” “cut off from the land of the living,” “retribution upon them;” these are not phrases we are used to hearing. To 21st century ears they sound hyperbolic, a dramatic misconstruing of the situation. The type of thing that if left as a comment on an internet post would likely be disregarded as the ranting of someone out of touch with reality, if not deleted entirely. But if we allow ourselves to enter into Jeremiah’s context a bit more, perhaps we can see why Jeremiah was using such strong language, and what it was that he was striving to oppose.
Jeremiah is known in tradition as the “weeping prophet,” ever lamenting for the pain of his people. Here Michelangelo depicts Jeremiah in evident distress. Situated in Judah around 600 BCE, Jeremiah saw his society fall apart around him as the Babylonians took over the area. In order for his people to have any sort of future, he pleaded with them to submit to the Babylonian authority. In 586 BCE Jerusalem was indeed destroyed, but not before Jeremiah was imprisoned, accused of treason, and nearly executed. His prophetic text is filled with the pain of his people.
My mind can’t help but draw a parallel to the modern day dire situation in this very same region, with places of worship again being destroyed and refugees being forced to flee their homes upon threat of death. Or in our own country the way that conflicts over racial and sexual identity have led to horrifying acts of violence. When the sacredness of life and livelihood are so disregarded, lament is a tremendously faithful response.
Religious Studies Professor Amy Merrill writes, “Part of what makes the lament such a powerful artistic medium is that it can give expression and structure to chaotic and overwhelming experiences… The structure of the lament works to name the sorrow without ensnaring the individual in unrelenting grief. Thus, the lament moves from grief toward some kind of resolution. In the case of Jeremiah, the lament transitions to an expression of trust. Jeremiah asserts with confidence that God knows what is hidden from others and will judge evil deeds with righteousness (v. 20). God will set the world to rights.”
This shift from pain to action is what makes lament so powerful. Lamenting is not the same as complaining. It is not an expression of mere frustration or an assigning of blame, but of anguish demanding justice. Lamenting is an act of vulnerability, surrendering to God’s tremendous presence and power. When we lament, we confess to the limits of our own abilities as individuals and humankind all together. We are created beings in need of our creator, with solutions lying outside of what is possible on our own.
Lamenting dares to ask the questions that don’t come with easy or immediate answers: why me? why them? what more can I do? where is God in the midst of this? “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
We lament not because we are without hope, but because our hope lies in our God who is beyond what we can fathom. When we are surrounded with incomprehensible grief and pain, we lament because going on with business as usual would be to be out of touch with that which makes us human, separated from the breath of God that brought us into being from the beginning of creation. We are not called to be callous in the face of injustice, rather to follow the call of Romans 12:15 and “mourn with those who mourn,” even and especially when we are the ones who are mourning.
This brings to mind the movie “Inside Out.” In this movie the main character, Riley moves away from everything she knows and her identity is rocked by the shifting reality around her and within her own mind. The movie itself functions as a lamentation of coming of age. Wanting to make the best of things she struggles with the lack of joy she feels in changes her life, and worries that her inability to be happy is a betrayal of who she is and what her parents want of her. How can she be who she is when she doesn’t feel this joy?
The audience is shown that the beauty of her life comes from the very complexity we might initially view as problematic, that in darkness the light shines most brightly.
As followers of Christ we have ingrained in the fiber of our community the knowledge that God is not finished with us yet. We experience pain and we experience healing. We experience emptiness in our grief and wholeness in our mourning. We witness death, but know resurrection is coming. We’ve seen the horrors of the cross, but our hope is in the emptiness of the tomb.
Questioning the presence of God in the midst of horror is not a sin of insubordination, but an act of honesty, a willingness to be vulnerable with our emotion towards our creator in whom we are called in Acts 17:28 to live and move and have our being. The fact that Jesus himself questions God’s ways shows that questioning is not incongruent with belief, or with Christianity itself.
Our God is a God of empathy, so desiring to enter into the joy and pain in of our world that God came to earth in the tremendously vulnerable form of a human, Jesus Christ. We are created us in God’s own image and charged with the fundamental call to love one another, to empathize with each other’s joy and pain.
When our reality is incongruent with God’s desire for us, it should make us uncomfortable and cause us to seek God’s love and justice. The fullness of God’s love for us and the love we are charged to share with one another, means we are called to care, to be vulnerable, to truly desire God’s will on earth as it is in heaven. May the injustices of this world cause us to lament with hope for the world to come. Let all God’s children say: Amen!
I’d like you to imagine this scene, for some of you it might take thinking ahead to this upcoming week, for some it might take looking back a few decades: It’s the first day of school, you walk into the cafeteria and look around, try and gauge where your friends are sitting, or at least people who look like they might be friendly, and take your place. Why do you sit there? What happens when you can’t figure out your place? What would happen if you sat somewhere else? What happens if you sit with people who are higher up the social ladder than you see yourself to be? What happens if you sit with people who are lower down the social ladder than you see yourself to be?
Both of our scripture lessons today give us stories of seating arrangements. In James we hear of seating arrangements as a form of judgment, “2For 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, 3and 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’, 4have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?”
In the Gospel reading, Jesus offers this parable: 8″When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; 9and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place’, and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. 10But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.” (Luke 14:8-11)
What would it mean for these ideologies to to play out in the cafeteria? For you to ignore the superficial markers that set people apart? For you to purposefully pick a less desirable table? For you to refuse to care about the social ladder? What would happen to your own standing? How would that impact the school year for you?
Particularly in high school these social orders can be quite apparent, but that doesn’t mean they disappear when we leave high school. It happens in workplaces and social gatherings and who invites who to a party and unfortunately, even in the work and worship of the church.
What does it look like to allow others to have a better place than you? What does it look like if on a Sunday morning you show up and someone has taken your seat? What if we sat somewhere else?
Jesus also questions who is invited to the table, challenging hosts to expand their guest lists: “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” (Luke 14: 12-14)
Luther College Professor, Rolf Jacobson had this to say about our scripture today, “In Urban Roman culture, patronage and the idea of status is everything. From how you’re dressed to how you present yourself there’s a clear demarcation of where you belong. So if you’re invited to a party it’s not like you’re going to look at all the chairs and say, ‘Hmm, I wonder where I’m going to sit.’ You know right away based on who you are and who everyone else in the room is, you just do. And to try to upset the balance of that threatens to shame you and shame your host… It sounds kind of weird to us and really calculating and maybe it was, but it’s just the way it works. So if you start to overturn that, and to mess with that and say ‘I’m going to invite people who could never ever pay me back or who could never return the political favor or the generosity or whatever,’ some people are going to start to get in their minds they don’t have to pay attention to those rules. So those who guard the social order, or those who are simply trying to find their way in the world soon find this is a dangerous thing. You don’t give hope to certain people. You don’t upset the balance… this isn’t just nice, that ruins the entire system for everybody else potentially… There’s an edge to this, there’s a threat to this depending upon how it’s carried out.”
Changing the status quo threatens the powers that be and threatens the value of social currency. Inviting everyone to the table will absolutely change what sort of meal happens there, but it will also allow for a richness of diversity, a wealth of gifts, and a breadth of fellowship. Such a banquet may be chaotic, but it will be a life giving reflection of the Kingdom of God to come.
One winter, while I was in seminary we experienced our own sort of haphazard banquet. We were snowed in for several days right before Christmas break. Being here in Michigan, especially in the midst of a hot and humid couple of weeks it’s hard to imagine all of that snow or a community unable to deal with all of that snow, but that was how things went in Richmond, Virginia that December day. It hit Richmond late on a Saturday night and then of course the next day was Sunday morning, the morning most in the seminary community would spread out over Richmond, attending and leading worship throughout the 30 plus Presbyterian churches in the city. That morning, however, nearly every church had cancelled services.
And so, on that wintery December day we sent the word out that anyone who could get there would gather together for worship on campus. We put on our snow boots and walked across the quad to the campus chapel. Our service had a call to worship that was intended for a rural church 30 minutes outside the city, music from a praise bandleader who usually played in a suburban church, and a sermon from another church in the heart of Richmond. We cobbled together our prayers and praise and carefully prepared words and worshipped God in a very unusual sort of service.
Afterwards we gathered for a potluck. Since people had been getting reading to get out of town, each person’s cupboards were nearly bare. It was the strangest potluck I’ve ever attended. There was canned fruit and Ramen noodles, and macaroni and cheese. There was half of loaf of bread and half a jar of jam. Someone brought some hot chocolate packets. It was weird, but it was also wonderful, because though none of us had a lot of food, or even food that made much sense all together, we were all fed by the meal and nourished by the company. It was communion.
Preacher and teacher Sharron R. Blezard wrote this, “Serving God and neighbor is more like a community potluck than a gourmet meal in the finest restaurant. It’s less about perfection and more about improvisation. It’s less about form and more about function. It’s less about looks and much, much more about love. It’s has something to do with rubbing elbows with strangers and kin alike; after all, both can present challenges. Instead of a guest list carefully crafted to reflect our wishes and wiles, Jesus crafts a “grace list” that is an open invitation to the party. The point is this: At Jesus’ banquet table there is room for everyone. Great Aunt Mabel’s lime Jello salad can exist peacefully with vegan Valerie’s fresh green bean vinaigrette. Homemade mac and cheese can sit side-by-side with a bag of store-bought potato chips. Hamburgers and tamales and sno-cones co-exist and complement one another in delightful ways. When everyone brings his or her best offering, when we all show up, the banquet table groans with the goodness of God”
Our congregation has had our own experience of this throughout this summer as we worship with our Wednesday night Open Cloister services. As we entered into our time of worship each week we would frame the service itself as it’s own sort of potluck, “a coming together of different flavors and recipes, with various levels of preparation, various histories behind the offerings of food and the offerings of spoken word and song.”
These services were tremendously life giving to me, because of the open format, they both challenged and enabled me to be fully attentive to the Holy Spirit, to get out of the way, as it were, and hear what God was saying to each person gathered together. It was a tremendous gift to get to know those who attended in that way, each of us daring to be open to God’s movement among us. There were times when we had no idea what to say, there are times when we had mostly desserts at our potluck beforehand. But at every service we were indeed fed in body and spirit. We brought what we had and it was enough.
This comic reflects the beauty of this radical kingdom banquet where all are invited. In this first picture the one sheep says “Jesus has good intentions, but really! what sort of party would you have if you just invited these down and out people.” And the other sheep says “uhh – you’d have the Eucharist, the offering of forgiveness and anticipation of heaven!” then the first sheep says “Huh! So Jesus does know how to party!”
When we come to the communion table we are all eating a common meal, bread and juice, but it is indicative of a much larger and more varied table. We come to this table in the midst of fellow Christians all over the world and all throughout time. At this table we offer up ourselves, our own ideas of who we think we should be, what we think we deserve. We forgo social conventions and pecking orders so that we may be brothers and sisters in Christ, so that we may fully partake in Christ’s grace.
At the communion table we celebrate the unconventional sacrifice of the ever-worthy Christ, for the perpetually unworthy sinners. We are fed and nurtured and renewed and valued in a way that has nothing to do with us, nothing to do with our own perceived worth, but has everything to do with the way God sees us and loves us and values us. We are an honored guest at this feast of God’s grace, not because of our bank balance, occupation, or social popularity, but entirely because of God’s love for us.
The message of the gospel is learning to see yourself as God sees you, learning to see that the systems of worldly standing don’t matter to God and your ability to break out of them isn’t the measure of who you are as a Christian, but it’s the way in which you actually can see the Gospel and can tangibly experience it in our presence.
This is a table for the last, the lost, and the lonely. If you feel like you don’t belong, you’re in the exact right place. If you feel like you have fallen short, here you are more than enough. All of us and all of them, whoever the them of your life may be, are welcome to this table, and welcome to God’s larger kingdom. May it be so. Amen.
August 23, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
Have you ever received a postcard like this? One that has “Wish You Were Here” written across the front? Being that it’s summertime I know that many of you have had the chance to go on vacation, to experience a change of view, something beyond what you see in your every day life. Perhaps on your trip you sent a post card like this one. Or perhaps you posted a “wish you were here,” type of status or picture on some variety of social media.
When we experience something extraordinary in our lives, something that brings us peace, clarity, or beauty, we often feel compelled to bring others into the experience, to try to make them understand a bit of what we’ve been through and why it matters.
If you talk to anyone right after a life-changing mission trip, perhaps in Muko, Uganda or the Yucatan, and ask them what it was like, often the first answer is something along the lines of: you’ve just got to experience it for yourself. There’s something that can’t quite be put into words, when we experience God’s tremendous presence for ourselves, particularly in ways that are new to us.
With this same indefinable joy, we hear the voice of the Psalmist: “How lovely is your dwelling place…” The words of this Psalm invite us into God’s presence, draws us into an experience of God that is beyond anything we could attempt to capture in a snapshot or write down on a postcard.
Many scholars agree that these verses were originally written to speak of a pilgrim’s journey towards the temple in Jerusalem for a religious festival. You can hear the excitement mounting throughout these verses, “My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God!”
The Psalm as a whole seems penned as a “wish you were here,” to all those who have not yet encountered the presence of God. The scripture serves as directions for the physical journey towards Jerusalem: through Baca, taking the highways to Zion. For thousands of years, continuing to present day, Jewish pilgrims have made their way to this holy city, drawing close to the temple that was built per God’s own instruction. Though two temples have come and gone in the place, the foundation remains, and serves as a touchstone to that ancient faith community.
There’s something tangibly felt in a place where people have worshiped for a long period of time, the presence of God breathing through so many millions of prayers. Throughout much of the Old Testament the presence of God was seen as something that could be contained, walls surrounding the “Holy of Holies” in tents made for worship, or in the temple, where God’s presence dwelled.
But this Psalm also lays the framework for welcoming God’s presence into your own life, allowing God to dwell fully within you, your heart ever pointing towards God’s goodness, an understanding that is more fully fleshed out in the New Testament.
In 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 we read Paul’s exhortation, “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.”
After God’s incarnation in Jesus, the Holy Spirit comes among the people at Pentecost and rests within them.
In Ephesians 3:16-19, the apostle Paul expresses the desire for us to fully comprehend God’s desire to dwell within us. He writes, “I pray that, according to the riches of [God’s] glory…you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through [God’s] Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
Being “filled with the fullness of God” seems like an abstract concept. We want a to-do list, a distinct map, a fail-proof tutorial showing us how we too can encounter God, how we can have God dwell in our hearts.
I’m reminded of the Lego Movie, where the main character Emmett takes a tremendous amount of comfort in having “instructions” for everything, not only in creating buildings but also in living his life. In the beginning of the movie we see him pick up instructions on how to “fit in, have everybody like you, and always be happy,” involving tasks like “breathe.” It even says at the bottom of these instructions, “Failure to follow instructions may result in a sad and unfulfilling life.”
Encountering God’s presence is abstract, because we worship a God who is beyond containment, who cannot be captured in words or contained in boundaries.
In her book “An Altar in the World,” Barbara Brown Taylor speaks of a great many places and a great many ways we may encounter God. She writes, “I worry about what happens when we build a house for God… Do we build a house so that we can choose when to go see God? Do we build God a house in lieu of having God stay at ours? Plus what happens to the rest of the world when we build four walls – even four gorgeous walls – cap them with a steepled roof, and designate that the House of God? What happens to the riverbanks, the mountaintops, the deserts and the trees? What happens to be people who never show up in our houses of God?”
We do indeed experience God’s presence in the sacred spaces we’ve designated as such, but if we do not open our eyes and our hearts to God’s presence beyond our four walls we are not opening ourselves to God’s presence dwelling within us, and within those we encounter. To allow God’s fullness to dwell within us we must first experience God and then live a life that points to that presence.
Some of you encounter and share God’s presence through mission work around the world, some by saying nighttime prayers with your children, some by holding the hand of your spouse and affirming God’s covenant between you, some through drawing close to those who are seeking healing and breathing a word of hope whether in this life or life eternal.
Allowing God to dwell within you does not mean you will live without sin or without mistake, because we are human after all, but it does mean that you will strive to keep the bigger picture of God’s will in mind, that you will seek to have your life arc towards worship of God in and through all things.
In Hebrew, which the Psalmist used to write our scripture today, the word we know as “dwell,” is “shakhen.” While in English “dwell” can mean resting for a short time, in the Hebrew and in the Greek, “kat-oy-keh´-o,” this word does not carry our transitory understanding. It means to settle down, permanently, to be established.
God desires to remain fully and permanently in our lives, inhabiting all of us. God May we open ourselves fully to God’s presence in our worship and in our world, so God may dwell within us. Amen.
“Now and Forever”
2 Corinthians 4:13 – 5:1
June 7, 2015, First Presbyterian Church of Holt
Listen to the sermon here
(audio picks up on the second paragraph)
Anyone who’s stopped by the office the past month or so has seen Myra, Kirk, and I looking something like this. The irony was not lost on any of us as we were working frantically so that we could plan a church wide season of rest. In any given day my calendar was open to four months at a time, planning for the life of the church all the way into October.
And you know what? We’ve got a tremendous summer ahead of us, with great guest preachers, musicians, and opportunities to connect through prayer and mission. It really is going to be a memorable sabbatical season, and hopefully one that will allow each of us to refuel and connect on a deeper level with God’s plans for us as individuals and as a church.
For me personally though, the tricky thing with all of this intensive planning of several months at the same time is when I would slow down, step back and try to answer a question about what day it was or even what month it was, it took me a minute. My mind was in October’s logistics, my heart was pondering our Wednesday night worship services, and my soul was in prayer for our Diving into Dreamin’ retreat. Needless to say, that all left me feeling a bit discombobulated.
Our text today the Apostle Paul gives us a similarly exciting and disorienting timeline: the excitement of the growing community of Christ in Paul’s midst, an ongoing feeling of his body wasting away, and an eternal hope in the heavens. It seems Paul also has his calendar open on many pages at a time. Perhaps that’s why Paul often looks stressed out in so many depictions of him.
As Christians we are by definitions followers of Christ, a lived out example of what living in this sort of scheduling tension looks like: Christ was both fully God, everlasting and eternal, and fully human, living on a linear timeline, interacting with individual people in individual ways. Christ was embodied, living in a body that way not made to last forever. Christ was also a soul, an eternal and inseparable aspect of God. As Christians we are called then to live into this tension of the world to come and the world that is becoming.
Following Christ means living excitedly for the world that is to come, the kingdom of God and all of the joy and glory that will bring. But that doesn’t mean we disregard that which God has put before us today. God’s eternal Kingdom comes together from what happens in our immediacy just as the forest is both a forest all together and a collection of trees individually.
There’s an old story about a disciple and his teacher. “Where shall I find God?” a disciple once asked. “Here,” the teacher said. “Then why can’t I see God?” ”Because you do not look.” “But what should I look for?” the disciple continued.“ Nothing. Just look,” the teacher said. “But at what?” “At anything your eyes alight upon,” the teacher said. “But must I look in a special kind of way?” “No, the ordinary way will do.” “But don’t I always look the ordinary way?” “No, you don’t,” the teacher said. “But why not?” the disciple pressed. “Because to look, you must be here. You’re mostly somewhere else,” the teacher said. 
In order to do the work of God we must be present to God’s movement in, through, and among us. We must live firmly in the tension of the big picture of God’s kingdom, and God’s kingdom work close-up, which can look a lot like… nothing in particular.
A frequent prayer of mine when thinking about all the day to day work that we do as a session, as deacons, and as a church all together, is that our right-here-right-now to-do lists may reflect God’s eternal purposes. What we do in the here and now can contribute towards that which is eternal, which is God’s heavenly kingdom.
The reason I pray this so often is because wrapping my own mind around the tension of working towards both now and forever is really challenging. I’d love to know in this instant all the goodness that will come out of the work that we do this summer: the inspiration drawn from the Divin’ into Dreaming Retreat, the lives impacted by our youth in Chicago, the connections we make to our community through our Vacation Bible School. It’d be great to know the sweeping impact that this congregation will have over the next 5 years or 50 or 150. But in the meantime, I’ll be here, to experience life with you, to walk beside you, and to do all that I can to make God’s priorities my priorities.
As Paul exhorts us to follow him in believing in Jesus Christ, he also appeals to us to speak from that belief. Paul affirms that our bodies are not built to live forever, but our souls are. And as long as these are temporary bodies of ours hold out, we are called to work in our immediacy, pointing others towards the Kingdom of God which is eternal. May we be bold enough to do as Paul did: first believing and then speaking the good news of the Gospel. Amen.
 Bartlett, David Lyon, and Barbara Brown Taylor. Feasting On the Word. 12 vols. Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008-2011.
Excerpts from “And Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou as a visual reflection for Ascension.
Time for a reblog!
Here are some of the songs that have been buzzing around my brain this Holy Week. They’re not all direct reflections of the gospel, but for me have evoked the emotions of what this week is about. I hope they might bring similar reflection for you:
“Passion Song” by Sean Carter
I was with him when he rode into town
And crowds gathered round him like a king
Their smiling faces, joined a sea of branches waving
Thou they were masquerading in the end
And my heart rose in my throat
When I heard them sing
Hosanna, in the highest
“Bread and Wine” by Josh Garrels
Of the places we left behind,
No longer yours and mine
But we could build a good thing here too
So give it just a little time,
Share bread and wine
Weave your heart into mine
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Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples;
but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn. – Isaiah 60:1-3
WordPress.com prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog. It’s pretty interesting to see all the stats for the site summarized on there. Feel free to check it out.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,700 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 8 years to get that many views.
Thoughtful and challenging list of “19 Things You Should Stop Doing in Your 20s,” but I think so much of this can be true at any age. So much of this is about living authentically, something everyone should strive for. Glad this article crossed my screen and hope you will be too.
In honor of May Day and in celebration of all of the springtime gardening happening around town, I offer up one my of favorite essays from college:
Mulch Envy, originally written for Creative Non-Fiction at Ball State University
My mom called and told me that she thought Tom Cruise was in Toledo visiting the Holmeses. I asked her why. She said it was because they had recently laid down some mulch. She asked me, “Why else would they do that?”
I told her I just didn’t know.
Mulch, to my mother, has always been a source of envy, the beautiful icing on a suburban cake. When driving through the more cookie-cutter neighborhoods, you can always smell its pungent scent on the breeze: crisp, deep, and familiar. It’s a sign to others that you care about your lawn, that you are willing to pamper it, like gourmet meat for an overindulged pet. Mulch is beautiful not only in the superficial way it patches over weak topsoil, but in the life that it gives to roots below, as if the tree that its wood chips came from were some sort of an organ donation: dying so that another plant could live off of its remains.
The mulch of my mother is not often the expensive aged vintage of the Holmeses or the Stepford-esque neighborhoods, but it comes with the spring, in the form of the athletic department’s fundraiser. Dropped off by a few cheerleaders and a football player, the mulch never seems to make it to the appropriate part of the lawn, no matter how many maps or diagrams my mother puts in with her order. So my mom ends up dragging it around: two bags for the front bed by the street, one for the garden between the house and the garage, one for the garden on the side of the house, and two for the garden in the back yard. She then carefully places it around the trees, scatters it among the flowerbeds, and tucks it gently around the bushes. And, if she’s feeling extravagant, she’ll pay a neighborhood boy to do the job for her.
On some sunny afternoon my mom decided that I should have a garden of my own, nestled into hers, in the large space between our house and garage. She had just gotten a special load of mulch, this time with peat moss mixed in. She offered me gloves, but after a few minutes my curiosity got the better of me, and my fingers were plunging into the mulch mixture on their own. The mulch was cool to the touch. Soft. Inviting. Like a book so old you can smell its history without reading a page. Just a whiff of mulch and you can sense some oak, a little pine, and perhaps some birch to lighten the texture. We sprinkled the mulch over the earth, instantly giving the dull plot life, texture, and personality. As the weeks passed and the flowers sprung to life in that garden, I swear that they were just a little bit brighter than those in the other gardens perhaps knowing that they were planted with love.
I was walking across the campus of Ball State with some friends just the other day, when I caught a smell of old wood, topsoil, and soft earth. I knew in an instant that some extravagant gardener had just iced one of the largest flowerbeds on campus with a frosting of soft oak mulch. I smiled to myself thinking of warm days, cheerleaders, and Tom Cruise, when one of my friends said, “That smells terrible! What is that?”
I was crushed. How could this person simply not understand the glory of that scent? I wondered who his mother was. Why she never let him take the gloves off and sift his fingers through dark earth. I couldn’t help but silently pity him.
In honor of the birth of Lyla Mae Ballard (my cousin Amanda’s baby), I offer up this story by one of my favorite artists, Brian Andreas:
“It was a day filled with the glow of ordinary things & we passed them quietly from hand to hand for a long time & someone said she had picked a perfect day to be born & I think all of us felt the same.It was a day filled with the glow of ordinary things & we passed them quietly from hand to hand for a long time & someone said she had picked a perfect day to be born & I think all of us felt the same.” – “Perfect Day,” Brian Andreas
The other day I watched this film, Everything Must Go:
In this film, Nick Hasley (played by Will Ferrell, think “Stranger Than Fiction,” rather than “Saturday Night Live”) loses his job and his wife leaves him, locking him out of the house and putting all of his things out on the front lawn. Not having anywhere else to go, Nick ends up camping out on his front lawn, sleeping in his recliner. (Don’t read the next paragraph if you don’t want the film ending spoiled.)
As a preacher, the first thing that came to me when I heard the premise of the movie was, “oh, that’s just like Job.” You know, someone loses everything, but doesn’t lose faith, and so they end up getting back everything they had and more. Well, it turns out while Job cursed his fate, but never cursed God, Nick curses everything and profoundly gives up. While Job turns to his friends for support, Nick doesn’t have anyone and so garners support of his neighbors by manipulation and pays a neighborhood kid to help him to seem like he’s having a garage sale. At first he’s insistent that he doesn’t want to leave his stuff, but he gradually gives up, and settles into having to starting over. He sells nearly everything and then his wife agrees to give him back the house and split their money. At the end we see him walking through his mostly empty house. In a way, he is like Job, but without a relationship with God to give him comfort and hope. Instead, his transformation comes from utter despair. Which brings up a larger question: When you’ve lost everything, what do you have left?
A song that keeps playing through my head when I think about that is, “Everything is Borrowed,” by the Streets:
There’s something terribly sad and beautiful about this song, made more poignant by the all to true to life example of a foreclosure shown in this video. The chorus repeats, “I came to this world with nothing, And I leave with nothing but love. Everything else is just borrowed”
Scripture says something similar in Matthew 6:19-34:
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness! No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth. Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?
Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”
As I am awaiting a call to a ministerial position, there are all sorts of worries that creep up in my mind. Worries about where I will be, what I’ll be doing, how I will fill in the blanks of friendships and housing and the things of starting a new life. This movie, this song, and especially this scripture help remind me that my treasure is in heaven and that God will be with me through the work of figuring out each detail of what is to come.
In the liturgical calendar we have two times specifically set apart for waiting: Advent and Lent. In Advent, we are waiting for Jesus to come into the world. In Lent, we are awaiting Christ’s death and resurrection. We are preparing, not for the birthday party of Christmas, but for the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ at Easter.
There are very different celebrations of life that happen surrounding a birth and a death. Even in what we wear, we know that one dresses very differently for a funeral than for a birthday party.
I know many of you over this past year did your own waiting and preparing around the deaths of loved ones. As a congregation, we lost many a beloved member this year. In my own family, I lost both my grandfather and my great aunt. Each death carries it’s unique grief; some catch us with their suddenness, some overwhelm us by the drawn out pain of a loved one. Working with FPC Maumee’s GriefShare ministry over this past year I have seen how death can bring deep sorrow, reluctant respite, and even reunion among family members. And here we are again, awaiting a death, the death of Jesus Christ, who’s birth we celebrated just a few months ago.
I remember a Good Friday service, about ten years ago, when Pastor James was leading worship. He was reading from scripture and got to the part where it says that Pilate handed over Jesus to be crucified. His son, Spencer, who was then around 16 months old exclaimed loudly, “Uh, oh!”
Everyone chuckled, and we went back to worship. Spencer said “uh, oh,” quite a lot around that time so the word choice wasn’t entirely unusual, but the perfect timing of this struck me. We are so used to Easter rolling around on the liturgical calendar that we’ve stopped being surprised by it. The death of God incarnate, somehow no longer shocks us. We take it for granted that of course Jesus came to die for us, so let’s go ahead and celebrate the joy of the resurrection and the promise of life eternal. While yes, we should rejoice that Christ now sits beside God in heaven and makes a way to everlasting life, let us not forget that to do all of that, Christ first had to die. Christ “descended into hell.” And in Lent, we prepare for such a death, acknowledging that this death happened so that we might have life everlasting our God.
So how do you prepare for such an occasion? How do you honor Christ’s death with your life? It is my prayer that this time may be a time for you to allow yourself to be at least a little surprised by the magnitude of such a sacrifice. May Jesus’ life spur you towards enacting God’s Kingdom of love and justice in the world.
(Originally Written for FPC Maumee’s E-Newsletter)
“What does it mean to be a Presbyterian?” This is a question I’ve heard many times. I’ve seen the denomination misspelled and heard it mispronounced.There’s even a book called “How to Spell Presbyterian.” The Presbyterian Book of Confessions provides 11 different confessions which give historical statements of faith and belief which the PC(USA) affirms. When it comes down to it, what it means to be a Presbyterian depends on the Presbyterian that you are asking. And so, to answer that question, I’m offering up this blog as a reformed and always being reformed living reflection of my experience as a Presbyterian.
My favorite mispronunciation of the denomination was in hearing someone refer to it as “Presbydestrian.” This name stuck with me and seems to be a fitting way of describing the day to day ground-work of being an occupational Presbyterian. As a 2011 graduate from Union Presbyterian Seminary currently serving as Pastoral Intern at First Presbyterian Church of Maumee I am learning more and more what it looks like to live into the call that God has placed on my life to be a minister in the PC(USA). And so, this blog will serve as a platform for thoughts on living life as a “Presbydestrian.”