Rev. Jack O'Dell
A visitor to the old farm was impressed by the farmer’s marksmanship. On the side of the barn, there were several targets drawn. The center of the target was filled with bullet holes. Regardless of whether target was high or low, the aim seemingly was exact.
“How did you become such a marksman? Is it the gun? Is it your practice? What is it?” asked the visitor.
The old farmer shook his head and then said, “nah, I just draw the targets after I shoot so that it looks like I’ve hit them!’
My days are filled more than I want to admit. I make sure they are filled so that everyone will get the idea that I am one busy preacher. At the recent clergy retreat, I think Gil Rendle was right when he said that a part of that has to do with the inability to produce a finished product. We then measure our value or worth by how much or how busy we can appear in life.
So we fill our calendars and we go from place to place---doing the work of the kingdom. Or is it?
The reality is that my inability to aim for the kingdom of God usually means that I miss the mark more regularly. Then like the farmer, I spend some time at the end of the day drawing kingdom circles around the shots that I have made. Then I am impressed with myself and maybe someone else will be too!
It is way too hard to reorder the day around the target first. It takes too much practice and discouragement sets in with the daily failures. But maybe that is what the Jesus creed is all about—recognizing our need to BE in the kingdom and to BE with Jesus. When this happens, we become like Jesus.
Today, spend some time BEING---centering. Then go do what God would have you do. And do not get too busy, God might want more of you than you have ever imagined.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Thy Kingdom Come…
Rev. Elaine Burleigh
"Aaron, you've got some 'splainin to do!" said Moses to his brother ( the "Ricky Ricardo" translation) after returning from a forty day retreat with God on Mount Sinai. "But I just threw the gold into the fire…and it came out a calf!" cried Aaron in self-defense. We know that our affinity for idol worship is nothing new. So, I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised to find that we have even found a way to turn the spiritual disciplines into idols. Scott McKnight reminds us that prayer, fasting, almsgiving and similar spiritual practices are given to us by God "to increase our love for him and for others." But we quickly learn that although we cannot control God or our relationship with God, we can control our prayer life, our journaling, and our fasting; and we certainly control our almsgiving and the amount of time we spend reading scripture or helping the poor. And it is so much easier to worship a god we can control than a God we can't. So instead of allowing God to use the spiritual disciplines to transform us into people who love God and neighbor, we begin to polish and perfect these spiritual disciplines until they resemble bright, shiny, golden calves. But in doing so, we block the power of these disciplines to transform us into the image of Christ.
Consider the sustaining power of prayer in Jesus' life. Prayer wasn't just something Jesus did at the beginning and the ending of each day, he offered his whole life as one continuous prayer. When his disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, he offered them the prayer we have come to know and love, "Our Father, who art in heaven…" But for Jesus, these weren't just words; they were a blueprint for how to live as the light of God loose in the world. First, Jesus taught them the words; then he showed them what that prayer looked like in action. Several years ago, Walter Wangerin ("Reliving the Passion: Meditations on the Suffering, Death and Resurrection of Jesus as Recorded in Mark") introduced me to the drama of the Lord's prayer played out in the Garden of Gethsemane:
And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt.
Mark 14:35-36
"Jesus cries his deepest and desperate desire: that the hour, by the power of his Father, pass away from him. This is the living substance of the sixth petition: Save us from the time of trial. Jesus pleads three times, 'Remove this cup from me,' the plea of the seventh petition: Deliver us from evil. But under every request of his own, he places an attitude of faithful obedience to his Father, saying, 'Yet not what I will, but what thou wilt.' Here is the third petition, which prepares us properly for any answer God may give all other petitions: Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. When Jesus teaches us to pray, he does not teach plain recitation. Rather, he calls us to a way of being. He makes prayer a doing. And by his own extreme example, he shows that prayer is the active relationship between ourselves…and the dear Father, Abba. (Wangerin, 65).
The cruciform nature of the spiritual disciplines knows nothing of distortion or idolatry. In right relationship to the one true God, spiritual disciplines are both hazardous and life giving -- through them God will change you into one willing to submit to the cup of suffering, the time of trial, and the forces of evil for the love of God and the love of neighbor. And so we pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
"Aaron, you've got some 'splainin to do!" said Moses to his brother ( the "Ricky Ricardo" translation) after returning from a forty day retreat with God on Mount Sinai. "But I just threw the gold into the fire…and it came out a calf!" cried Aaron in self-defense. We know that our affinity for idol worship is nothing new. So, I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised to find that we have even found a way to turn the spiritual disciplines into idols. Scott McKnight reminds us that prayer, fasting, almsgiving and similar spiritual practices are given to us by God "to increase our love for him and for others." But we quickly learn that although we cannot control God or our relationship with God, we can control our prayer life, our journaling, and our fasting; and we certainly control our almsgiving and the amount of time we spend reading scripture or helping the poor. And it is so much easier to worship a god we can control than a God we can't. So instead of allowing God to use the spiritual disciplines to transform us into people who love God and neighbor, we begin to polish and perfect these spiritual disciplines until they resemble bright, shiny, golden calves. But in doing so, we block the power of these disciplines to transform us into the image of Christ.
Consider the sustaining power of prayer in Jesus' life. Prayer wasn't just something Jesus did at the beginning and the ending of each day, he offered his whole life as one continuous prayer. When his disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, he offered them the prayer we have come to know and love, "Our Father, who art in heaven…" But for Jesus, these weren't just words; they were a blueprint for how to live as the light of God loose in the world. First, Jesus taught them the words; then he showed them what that prayer looked like in action. Several years ago, Walter Wangerin ("Reliving the Passion: Meditations on the Suffering, Death and Resurrection of Jesus as Recorded in Mark") introduced me to the drama of the Lord's prayer played out in the Garden of Gethsemane:
And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will, but what thou wilt.
Mark 14:35-36
"Jesus cries his deepest and desperate desire: that the hour, by the power of his Father, pass away from him. This is the living substance of the sixth petition: Save us from the time of trial. Jesus pleads three times, 'Remove this cup from me,' the plea of the seventh petition: Deliver us from evil. But under every request of his own, he places an attitude of faithful obedience to his Father, saying, 'Yet not what I will, but what thou wilt.' Here is the third petition, which prepares us properly for any answer God may give all other petitions: Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. When Jesus teaches us to pray, he does not teach plain recitation. Rather, he calls us to a way of being. He makes prayer a doing. And by his own extreme example, he shows that prayer is the active relationship between ourselves…and the dear Father, Abba. (Wangerin, 65).
The cruciform nature of the spiritual disciplines knows nothing of distortion or idolatry. In right relationship to the one true God, spiritual disciplines are both hazardous and life giving -- through them God will change you into one willing to submit to the cup of suffering, the time of trial, and the forces of evil for the love of God and the love of neighbor. And so we pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Not sure I even like that person
Rev. dawn b. young, Ed.D.
One of my favorite movies of all time is “Shenandoah” with Jimmy Stewart as the patriarch of the Anderson clan. And my favorite scene is when Doug McClure comes to Stewart to ask for Jennie’s hand in marriage. “Do you like her?” “Mr. Anderson I love her.” “There’s a difference between lovin’ someone and likin’ em.” Stewart goes on to explain how he liked his wife and suddenly it dawned upon him one day that he loved her.
As Christians, we are commanded to love our neighbor, that includes those we love, those we like and interestingly enough those that we don’t like or love. We have the great opportunity to love our enemies. How am I supposed to do that? Today’s reading points out the significance of this “enemy-love” when we consider the big enemies in the world today. It might not be all that problematic for me to say I pray for and love bin Laden or Ghadfi. Really chances are very small that I will ever have to interact with those fellows. But enemy love becomes very real when it has to be focused on those in my life that have caused and may continue to cause me harm.
The story of the Good Samaritan is one of our best examples of loving our neighbor. But we need to remember for the Jew on the side of the road, beaten, battered and bruised, the last thing he would have wanted, and probably imagined, was a Samaritan stopping to help him. For that story to make sense to us (me) today, we (I) am the one laying on the road in need of help, and the one that comes to our (my) aid is the one we (I) least would want to receive it from. Who would that be for you?
How does that change your enemy love?
One of my favorite movies of all time is “Shenandoah” with Jimmy Stewart as the patriarch of the Anderson clan. And my favorite scene is when Doug McClure comes to Stewart to ask for Jennie’s hand in marriage. “Do you like her?” “Mr. Anderson I love her.” “There’s a difference between lovin’ someone and likin’ em.” Stewart goes on to explain how he liked his wife and suddenly it dawned upon him one day that he loved her.
As Christians, we are commanded to love our neighbor, that includes those we love, those we like and interestingly enough those that we don’t like or love. We have the great opportunity to love our enemies. How am I supposed to do that? Today’s reading points out the significance of this “enemy-love” when we consider the big enemies in the world today. It might not be all that problematic for me to say I pray for and love bin Laden or Ghadfi. Really chances are very small that I will ever have to interact with those fellows. But enemy love becomes very real when it has to be focused on those in my life that have caused and may continue to cause me harm.
The story of the Good Samaritan is one of our best examples of loving our neighbor. But we need to remember for the Jew on the side of the road, beaten, battered and bruised, the last thing he would have wanted, and probably imagined, was a Samaritan stopping to help him. For that story to make sense to us (me) today, we (I) am the one laying on the road in need of help, and the one that comes to our (my) aid is the one we (I) least would want to receive it from. Who would that be for you?
How does that change your enemy love?
Monday, March 28, 2011
ROD…STAFF…SWORD...
Rev. Elenora Mackey Cushenberry, Th.D
In her book, as we forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda, catherine claire larson provides readers with seven compelling stories of “great” persons. On the cover of her book is a little boy with a stick in his right hand and a sandal in his left. A large hat covers half of his face. He is walking with determination—he has a destination to get too. Adjacent to this picture is a man, walking with what appears to be the same determination. Their strides are complimentary. In place of the little boy’s stick is a machete, in the right hand of the man. He carries a water gourd in his left hand. The sandal in the little boy’s hand may be a gift he intends to give to someone who needs it. It may also be the last possession or reminder he has of a love one. The water gourd carried by the man may be a gift or it may be for him and other sojourners.
Remember, the little boy’s face is partially covered. We can’t see exactly who he is. We can’t see his eyes, which would help to convey meaning…and understanding. But we are able to see his lips. Lips that are neither smiling nor frowning. Lips that are simply together. Lips that seem to speak: “This is my life now.” On the other hand, the photograph of the man is taken mid-chest. There is no way to extract meaning from his facial expressions. Questions abound with these two juxtaposed photographs. But one question perplexes me: Without the gift of reconciliation, does this little boy become the man without a face, carrying a machete and a gourd of water. Is the machete for protection or for revenge? Is the water for self preservation alone or also for sharing?
In our lesson today, McKnight calls us to the task of being a Christian. Reminding us that in so doing, we may forever be nameless and faceless. But the introverted questions we may need to ask are: Am I carrying the Gospel—the Good News of Jesus Christ—for protection or for revenge. Is it for self—preservation alone or also for sharing? Psalm 23 has these words: Your rod and your staff, they comfort me; the Gospel, Put away your sword.
Perhaps, the more important question is: What will be the destination of those we meet if we refuse the gift of reconciliation, the gift of love mixed with forgiveness and tears? What kind of adult will little boys and little girls become? And, what about the man and woman who are still carrying that hurt little boy and girl inside?
On this 18th day of Lent, let’s put away our sword(s)!
In her book, as we forgive: Stories of Reconciliation from Rwanda, catherine claire larson provides readers with seven compelling stories of “great” persons. On the cover of her book is a little boy with a stick in his right hand and a sandal in his left. A large hat covers half of his face. He is walking with determination—he has a destination to get too. Adjacent to this picture is a man, walking with what appears to be the same determination. Their strides are complimentary. In place of the little boy’s stick is a machete, in the right hand of the man. He carries a water gourd in his left hand. The sandal in the little boy’s hand may be a gift he intends to give to someone who needs it. It may also be the last possession or reminder he has of a love one. The water gourd carried by the man may be a gift or it may be for him and other sojourners.
Remember, the little boy’s face is partially covered. We can’t see exactly who he is. We can’t see his eyes, which would help to convey meaning…and understanding. But we are able to see his lips. Lips that are neither smiling nor frowning. Lips that are simply together. Lips that seem to speak: “This is my life now.” On the other hand, the photograph of the man is taken mid-chest. There is no way to extract meaning from his facial expressions. Questions abound with these two juxtaposed photographs. But one question perplexes me: Without the gift of reconciliation, does this little boy become the man without a face, carrying a machete and a gourd of water. Is the machete for protection or for revenge? Is the water for self preservation alone or also for sharing?
In our lesson today, McKnight calls us to the task of being a Christian. Reminding us that in so doing, we may forever be nameless and faceless. But the introverted questions we may need to ask are: Am I carrying the Gospel—the Good News of Jesus Christ—for protection or for revenge. Is it for self—preservation alone or also for sharing? Psalm 23 has these words: Your rod and your staff, they comfort me; the Gospel, Put away your sword.
Perhaps, the more important question is: What will be the destination of those we meet if we refuse the gift of reconciliation, the gift of love mixed with forgiveness and tears? What kind of adult will little boys and little girls become? And, what about the man and woman who are still carrying that hurt little boy and girl inside?
On this 18th day of Lent, let’s put away our sword(s)!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Keeping Flavor, Shining Bright
Rev. Ellen Alston
There is probably no one on earth who understands the value of “flavor” like Louisianans. When we speak of experiencing the culture of a particular people, we often phrase it “a taste of” a way of life or being. It can’t be captured in words alone; you taste it, savor it, and let it get inside you, even down to the molecular level.
Salt is even more than flavor alone, although its presence is indicated by its flavor. As Scot McKnight points out, it also “purifies and preserves.” Salt is ever-present in the vast expanse of the oceans, seasoned with waters that have washed over the earth’s soil. Salt flows in our tears, having qualities for healing and for transformation. In living the Jesus Creed, I believe that saltiness is about being real and grounded and letting this way of being permeate our entire lifestyle.
I welcome McKnight’s emphasis on the plural “you,” that living as salt can’t be done alone. Discernment and discipleship are truly community intentions and experiences, and aren’t to be lived in isolation any more than I would swallow a spoonful of salt by itself! Salt is to be consumed with the food it is meant to flavor.
Light is warmth, vision, clarity, direction. As a new morning dawns, the spreading light not only brings awareness of all that somehow reflects it, but the light, as it dances and intensifies, also reveals and stirs and awakens hope inside me.
We live in a world hungry for salt-seasoned living, among people aching and straining to see the fresh look that the light of Christ brings, and to follow the direction it leads.
How and where has your life been flavored and illumined with salt and light on the Christian journey? What has that meant for you? How has it made a difference?
How and where are you living the Jesus Creed with flavor and brilliance? What one thing might you change (or ask God to help change) to deepen that life in Christ?
There is probably no one on earth who understands the value of “flavor” like Louisianans. When we speak of experiencing the culture of a particular people, we often phrase it “a taste of” a way of life or being. It can’t be captured in words alone; you taste it, savor it, and let it get inside you, even down to the molecular level.
Salt is even more than flavor alone, although its presence is indicated by its flavor. As Scot McKnight points out, it also “purifies and preserves.” Salt is ever-present in the vast expanse of the oceans, seasoned with waters that have washed over the earth’s soil. Salt flows in our tears, having qualities for healing and for transformation. In living the Jesus Creed, I believe that saltiness is about being real and grounded and letting this way of being permeate our entire lifestyle.
I welcome McKnight’s emphasis on the plural “you,” that living as salt can’t be done alone. Discernment and discipleship are truly community intentions and experiences, and aren’t to be lived in isolation any more than I would swallow a spoonful of salt by itself! Salt is to be consumed with the food it is meant to flavor.
Light is warmth, vision, clarity, direction. As a new morning dawns, the spreading light not only brings awareness of all that somehow reflects it, but the light, as it dances and intensifies, also reveals and stirs and awakens hope inside me.
We live in a world hungry for salt-seasoned living, among people aching and straining to see the fresh look that the light of Christ brings, and to follow the direction it leads.
How and where has your life been flavored and illumined with salt and light on the Christian journey? What has that meant for you? How has it made a difference?
How and where are you living the Jesus Creed with flavor and brilliance? What one thing might you change (or ask God to help change) to deepen that life in Christ?
Friday, March 25, 2011
HOW BIG IS YOUR CHURCH?
Rev. Wayne Evans
When I hear the word “church” I think of my friends who gather every Sunday for worship. We readily embrace one another as we catch up on the “news.” Are Joyce and Marvin back from their trip to Houston for his cancer treatment? Is Bob out of the hospital with his bout of pneumonia? It’s great to see Beverly is back in church after her knee surgery.
The church’s concern must not limited to an “organ recital” of what’s wrong with our physical bodies. The Beatitudes remind me the Body of Christ includes all who are hurting in other ways. The poor were the first concerns Jesus preached about in Matthew and Luke. In Matthew 5:3 Jesus declares: “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” In his first sermon in Luke 4:18 Jesus reads, from Isaiah 58:6 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.”
So why aren’t our churches filled with poor people? Do they not feel welcome?
First United Methodist in Arcadia has a ministry to provide food, clothes, and utility assistance for the needy. People in Bienville Parish refer to it as “the church that helps people.” I wish people would say the following about all Christians, “those folks help people.” Paul says we are all part of the Body of Christ. “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it” (I Corinthians 1: 26).
The Beatitudes in Matthew 5: 3-12 tells us God’s favor and blessing are reaching out to the grieving people of Libya who mourn their dead, the meek who struggle for dignity under the oppression in Syria, the hungry and thirsty victims of the tsunami and earthquake of Japan, the merciful who are giving them aid even at the risk of their own lives, the pure in heart who love in spite of betrayal by family members, the peacemakers who refuse to get in the gutter of lies and name calling when attacked by political opponents, the persecuted who take a stand for justice and their faith in the face of tyranny, and those who are reviled just because someone disagrees with their opinions.
The church includes all of these and so many more. May God give us the eyes to see how wide-spread is the Kingdom of God. It is not limited to those who sit in the pews with me on Sunday morning. We pray for all in the Body of Christ who suffer, and ask for God to use us to minister to them the aid from the riches God has given us.
When I hear the word “church” I think of my friends who gather every Sunday for worship. We readily embrace one another as we catch up on the “news.” Are Joyce and Marvin back from their trip to Houston for his cancer treatment? Is Bob out of the hospital with his bout of pneumonia? It’s great to see Beverly is back in church after her knee surgery.
The church’s concern must not limited to an “organ recital” of what’s wrong with our physical bodies. The Beatitudes remind me the Body of Christ includes all who are hurting in other ways. The poor were the first concerns Jesus preached about in Matthew and Luke. In Matthew 5:3 Jesus declares: “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” In his first sermon in Luke 4:18 Jesus reads, from Isaiah 58:6 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.”
So why aren’t our churches filled with poor people? Do they not feel welcome?
First United Methodist in Arcadia has a ministry to provide food, clothes, and utility assistance for the needy. People in Bienville Parish refer to it as “the church that helps people.” I wish people would say the following about all Christians, “those folks help people.” Paul says we are all part of the Body of Christ. “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it” (I Corinthians 1: 26).
The Beatitudes in Matthew 5: 3-12 tells us God’s favor and blessing are reaching out to the grieving people of Libya who mourn their dead, the meek who struggle for dignity under the oppression in Syria, the hungry and thirsty victims of the tsunami and earthquake of Japan, the merciful who are giving them aid even at the risk of their own lives, the pure in heart who love in spite of betrayal by family members, the peacemakers who refuse to get in the gutter of lies and name calling when attacked by political opponents, the persecuted who take a stand for justice and their faith in the face of tyranny, and those who are reviled just because someone disagrees with their opinions.
The church includes all of these and so many more. May God give us the eyes to see how wide-spread is the Kingdom of God. It is not limited to those who sit in the pews with me on Sunday morning. We pray for all in the Body of Christ who suffer, and ask for God to use us to minister to them the aid from the riches God has given us.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Ears, Eyes, and Hands
Rev. Juan Huertas
If we are called to love others, we are called to love the needy among us. According to Scott McKnight “this cycle of love begins with those closest to us, and ripples into our community of faith and then into anyone we might meet who is in need.” Jesus reminds us time and time again that caring for the poor and needy is one of the fundamental actions of discipleship. According to Jesus, if we serve the neediest among us we are serving him.
Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador said it like this:
There is a way to know if God is near us or far away: everyone who is concerned about the hungry, about the naked, about the poor, about the disappeared, about the tortured, about the prisoner, about all the flesh that is suffering, will find God near. “Call to the Lord and he will hear you.” Religion is not praying a great deal. Religion involves this guarantee of having my God near because I do good to my brothers and sisters. The proof of my prayer is not to say a great many words, the proof of my plea is easy to see: how do I act toward the poor? Because God is there.
(from Through the Year with Oscar Romero: Daily Meditations, p.33)
As a church we are having constant conversations about our mission. What is it? Who's in our mission field? How do our ministries become outward in expression instead of inward? How do we prepare and deploy disciples to this fundamental expression of love?
I believe that in his reflection for today, Scott McKnight gives us a good starting point at answering the missional questions. He calls disciple's of Jesus to have the ears, eyes, and hands of Jesus. This is a call to full engagement with the neediest among us. Engaging in this way takes more than a check, more than a donation, more than an announcement in the bulletin. It demands our being attentive so that we can hear of the needs, see them in our community, and then get to work together in bringing God's kingdom to the places we live, work, and play.
In a landscape of so many needs we can be overwhelmed. We hear of the devastation I Japan, civil war in Lybia, and continued uncertainty in Egypt and we become paralyzed not knowing where to begin. I believe that we begin with the needy around us.
What do our ears hear where we work, live, and play? What are the conversations? Who is directly or indirectly asking for help?
What do we see as we drive home? Who are the ones that could easily be forgotten? What places have become, as Shane Claiborne tells us, “abandoned places of empire?”
The answer to these questions becomes the blue print for our work together as God's people. We must get our hands dirty, we must get beyond ourselves, we must leave the comfortable pews, stained glass windows, and air conditioned classrooms to be about the work of healing, reconciling, and transforming that God's Spirit has called us tand empowered us to be about in the world.
Always remembering that in the least, neediest, and forgotten, God is . . .
If we are called to love others, we are called to love the needy among us. According to Scott McKnight “this cycle of love begins with those closest to us, and ripples into our community of faith and then into anyone we might meet who is in need.” Jesus reminds us time and time again that caring for the poor and needy is one of the fundamental actions of discipleship. According to Jesus, if we serve the neediest among us we are serving him.
Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador said it like this:
There is a way to know if God is near us or far away: everyone who is concerned about the hungry, about the naked, about the poor, about the disappeared, about the tortured, about the prisoner, about all the flesh that is suffering, will find God near. “Call to the Lord and he will hear you.” Religion is not praying a great deal. Religion involves this guarantee of having my God near because I do good to my brothers and sisters. The proof of my prayer is not to say a great many words, the proof of my plea is easy to see: how do I act toward the poor? Because God is there.
(from Through the Year with Oscar Romero: Daily Meditations, p.33)
As a church we are having constant conversations about our mission. What is it? Who's in our mission field? How do our ministries become outward in expression instead of inward? How do we prepare and deploy disciples to this fundamental expression of love?
I believe that in his reflection for today, Scott McKnight gives us a good starting point at answering the missional questions. He calls disciple's of Jesus to have the ears, eyes, and hands of Jesus. This is a call to full engagement with the neediest among us. Engaging in this way takes more than a check, more than a donation, more than an announcement in the bulletin. It demands our being attentive so that we can hear of the needs, see them in our community, and then get to work together in bringing God's kingdom to the places we live, work, and play.
In a landscape of so many needs we can be overwhelmed. We hear of the devastation I Japan, civil war in Lybia, and continued uncertainty in Egypt and we become paralyzed not knowing where to begin. I believe that we begin with the needy around us.
What do our ears hear where we work, live, and play? What are the conversations? Who is directly or indirectly asking for help?
What do we see as we drive home? Who are the ones that could easily be forgotten? What places have become, as Shane Claiborne tells us, “abandoned places of empire?”
The answer to these questions becomes the blue print for our work together as God's people. We must get our hands dirty, we must get beyond ourselves, we must leave the comfortable pews, stained glass windows, and air conditioned classrooms to be about the work of healing, reconciling, and transforming that God's Spirit has called us tand empowered us to be about in the world.
Always remembering that in the least, neediest, and forgotten, God is . . .
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Being the church
Rev. Matt Rawle
There’s nothing like the church. It is a place where strangers are welcomed, the hungry are fed, a holy community is formed, and where Jesus promises to be present. There’s nothing like the church. It’s a place where Christians shun strangers, hold onto to self-preserving resources, bicker and argue about the insignificant, and where Christians seem to forget that Christ promises to be present. There’s nothing like the church. Sam Wells, Dean of the Duke Chapel, offered a sermon about the relationship between Jesus and the church titled, “Following One Lord.” He writes, “The Jesus we create without the church is a fantasy. The church we create without Jesus is a monster. Thank God that Peter knew who Jesus was and that he found out the way the church finds out, by following Jesus. And thank God that Jesus knew who Peter was and founded the church on him anyway, so we can never fool ourselves that the church doesn’t ever get beyond Jesus. No Church without Jesus. No Jesus without the Church. Thank God” (Samuel Wells, Speaking the Truth: Preaching in a Pluralistic Culture, 119).
The truth is we cannot be Jesus’ disciples without the church. We also cannot be the church without Jesus. In our reading for today (Day 13 of Living the Jesus Creed), Scot McKnight recalls Mark 3:33-35, when Jesus’ family comes to “collect” Jesus because they feel he is out of his mind—associating with sinners and all. This interaction between Jesus’ family and . . . Jesus’ family, cuts to the heart of what we call “Church.” Those who are knocking at the door (Jesus’ mother, brothers, and sisters) want Jesus without the church. They want to hold on to Jesus’ teachings, miracles, and salvific hope, yet they want nothing to do with those who Jesus came to save—the outcasts, sinners, and undesirables. Those on the inside want the church without Jesus. They feel welcomed in the community, and they have found a place to call home, yet these followers who eat and pray with Jesus eventually call for his crucifixion when Jesus refuses to take up the sword against Rome.
As Christians we are called to follow the Jesus Creed, to love God and love each other. This means that we are to hold onto Christ and the promise of God, even when we are thrown into challenging acts of love with those whom Jesus invites to the table. This also means that we are to create places of hospitality in which all feel welcome, even when following Jesus means letting go of self in order to carry a cross. There’s nothing like the church. It sure isn’t perfect, but it is where imperfect people can develop a perfect love for God and each other. McKnight concludes by saying, “The only way to participate in the church with sanity is to realize that God’s love and Jesus’ love empower us to love others—whether they are ‘out of their mind’ or not!” Thank God.
There’s nothing like the church. It is a place where strangers are welcomed, the hungry are fed, a holy community is formed, and where Jesus promises to be present. There’s nothing like the church. It’s a place where Christians shun strangers, hold onto to self-preserving resources, bicker and argue about the insignificant, and where Christians seem to forget that Christ promises to be present. There’s nothing like the church. Sam Wells, Dean of the Duke Chapel, offered a sermon about the relationship between Jesus and the church titled, “Following One Lord.” He writes, “The Jesus we create without the church is a fantasy. The church we create without Jesus is a monster. Thank God that Peter knew who Jesus was and that he found out the way the church finds out, by following Jesus. And thank God that Jesus knew who Peter was and founded the church on him anyway, so we can never fool ourselves that the church doesn’t ever get beyond Jesus. No Church without Jesus. No Jesus without the Church. Thank God” (Samuel Wells, Speaking the Truth: Preaching in a Pluralistic Culture, 119).
The truth is we cannot be Jesus’ disciples without the church. We also cannot be the church without Jesus. In our reading for today (Day 13 of Living the Jesus Creed), Scot McKnight recalls Mark 3:33-35, when Jesus’ family comes to “collect” Jesus because they feel he is out of his mind—associating with sinners and all. This interaction between Jesus’ family and . . . Jesus’ family, cuts to the heart of what we call “Church.” Those who are knocking at the door (Jesus’ mother, brothers, and sisters) want Jesus without the church. They want to hold on to Jesus’ teachings, miracles, and salvific hope, yet they want nothing to do with those who Jesus came to save—the outcasts, sinners, and undesirables. Those on the inside want the church without Jesus. They feel welcomed in the community, and they have found a place to call home, yet these followers who eat and pray with Jesus eventually call for his crucifixion when Jesus refuses to take up the sword against Rome.
As Christians we are called to follow the Jesus Creed, to love God and love each other. This means that we are to hold onto Christ and the promise of God, even when we are thrown into challenging acts of love with those whom Jesus invites to the table. This also means that we are to create places of hospitality in which all feel welcome, even when following Jesus means letting go of self in order to carry a cross. There’s nothing like the church. It sure isn’t perfect, but it is where imperfect people can develop a perfect love for God and each other. McKnight concludes by saying, “The only way to participate in the church with sanity is to realize that God’s love and Jesus’ love empower us to love others—whether they are ‘out of their mind’ or not!” Thank God.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The great search
Rev. Valerie Robideaux
“He who loves his wife loves himself” Ephesians 5:28
It was not too long ago that I was clanging dishes around in my kitchen. No, I was not cooking in a hurry. I was not clumsy. I was an angry spouse. I was furious. I was tired, overworked, and cleaning the kitchen. This trifecta was a lethal combination and I was going to clean the kitchen loud enough to guilt my husband into finishing the job (out of his love for me) for this tired soul. As my loud, clanging cries for help in distress went unnoticed I began to tally the past five years of marriage. I quickly became the victim, always sacrificing myself for the good of the family. The resentment swelled within me until it the kitchen could not contain it any longer. Before I knew it, my passive-aggressive tirade left the kitchen and moved on to doors, laundry, and the vacuum. “See how much I do out of my love for him?”
Loving another person as oneself is incredibly difficult and requires an outpouring of grace and humility. We are selfish beings. We like to receive love, praise, and recognition. It is tempting to tally our “love” in our relationships, to keep a record of loving good works. When we tally our love, we can become resentful and operate as victimized martyrs.
“You complete me.” The famous line in the movie Jerry McGuire sums up a societal mindset when it comes to romance and the great search for a soul mate. Hearts everywhere melted at that declaration of a life fulfilled, a void satisfied by the perfect person.
Paul’s words concerning the relationship between spouses reminds us that the great search is not for that one perfect person who completes us. Rather, the great search is the love of God that inspires a love for self that enables a love for another. Intentional relationships that mirror the eternal love of Father, Son, and Spirit demands equity. It is not placing self-importance over another, and at the same time, it is not denying love of self for the good of another. In our relationships, we are not two halves making one whole. We are to love self as whole person. We are to love another as whole person.
Only when we find ourselves completed through God’s love are we able to fully love another. May we all be inspired to extend this gracious and redeeming love to one another…even in the kitchen.
“He who loves his wife loves himself” Ephesians 5:28
It was not too long ago that I was clanging dishes around in my kitchen. No, I was not cooking in a hurry. I was not clumsy. I was an angry spouse. I was furious. I was tired, overworked, and cleaning the kitchen. This trifecta was a lethal combination and I was going to clean the kitchen loud enough to guilt my husband into finishing the job (out of his love for me) for this tired soul. As my loud, clanging cries for help in distress went unnoticed I began to tally the past five years of marriage. I quickly became the victim, always sacrificing myself for the good of the family. The resentment swelled within me until it the kitchen could not contain it any longer. Before I knew it, my passive-aggressive tirade left the kitchen and moved on to doors, laundry, and the vacuum. “See how much I do out of my love for him?”
Loving another person as oneself is incredibly difficult and requires an outpouring of grace and humility. We are selfish beings. We like to receive love, praise, and recognition. It is tempting to tally our “love” in our relationships, to keep a record of loving good works. When we tally our love, we can become resentful and operate as victimized martyrs.
“You complete me.” The famous line in the movie Jerry McGuire sums up a societal mindset when it comes to romance and the great search for a soul mate. Hearts everywhere melted at that declaration of a life fulfilled, a void satisfied by the perfect person.
Paul’s words concerning the relationship between spouses reminds us that the great search is not for that one perfect person who completes us. Rather, the great search is the love of God that inspires a love for self that enables a love for another. Intentional relationships that mirror the eternal love of Father, Son, and Spirit demands equity. It is not placing self-importance over another, and at the same time, it is not denying love of self for the good of another. In our relationships, we are not two halves making one whole. We are to love self as whole person. We are to love another as whole person.
Only when we find ourselves completed through God’s love are we able to fully love another. May we all be inspired to extend this gracious and redeeming love to one another…even in the kitchen.
Monday, March 21, 2011
…for I am fearfully and wonderfully made…..Psalm 139:14
Rev. Jack O'Dell
There was research done by some scientists years ago about the affect that waiting had for people who waited for elevators in the skyscrapers of New York City. I am always amazed at what some researchers can choose to research. Did the researchers get in an elevator filled with great anxiety and decide that something has to be done about this? Or was the research the result of the researcher’s own anxiety or maybe their spouse? Go figure.
Anyway, researchers concluded that if the areas outside the elevators where people waited and the elevators themselves were filled with mirrors, anxiety went down. A certain percentage of people even missed their ride or getting off the ride as a result of mirrors being present.
For some, mirrors are hard to look at. They show every wrinkle, every roll, every imperfection of the present. As one looks in the mirror, one is also remembering the past---what one used to look like, the scar from that accident—even the dream of what one had wised to become.
Did God fear that we would not see how wonderful we are? I know it is a strange question. I seem to have a knack for asking the weirdest things. As God created each one of us in our own uniqueness, could it be that God knew all to well the anxiety that we would give to ourselves in spite of the wonder that God fixed in each one of us? And does the Psalmist know that the only way in which our fears and failures could be removed from us is by the most intimate inspection of the loving God? It seems that the prescription that the Psalm gives to us is to be known by God---every crevice, scar, burden, joy—known and healed by loving acceptance.
I confess that many times in my ordinary it is hard to love me and see the extraordinary. I tend to see all my faults. I see all the scars and imperfections of my body. I know what is in my mind which is not godly at all. The world helps me make a list of all the reasons I am unlovable and unacceptable.
But then I hear the gentle voice of God as if it is a soothing voice of a loving parent. And it tells me the wonder that has been created in me—that is uniquely mine. And my own fears of who I am are met with the love of God. And then, only then, do I comprehend loving others as I love myself.
Maybe during this time, the mirror is the gateway to a deeper love God is offering us.
There was research done by some scientists years ago about the affect that waiting had for people who waited for elevators in the skyscrapers of New York City. I am always amazed at what some researchers can choose to research. Did the researchers get in an elevator filled with great anxiety and decide that something has to be done about this? Or was the research the result of the researcher’s own anxiety or maybe their spouse? Go figure.
Anyway, researchers concluded that if the areas outside the elevators where people waited and the elevators themselves were filled with mirrors, anxiety went down. A certain percentage of people even missed their ride or getting off the ride as a result of mirrors being present.
For some, mirrors are hard to look at. They show every wrinkle, every roll, every imperfection of the present. As one looks in the mirror, one is also remembering the past---what one used to look like, the scar from that accident—even the dream of what one had wised to become.
Did God fear that we would not see how wonderful we are? I know it is a strange question. I seem to have a knack for asking the weirdest things. As God created each one of us in our own uniqueness, could it be that God knew all to well the anxiety that we would give to ourselves in spite of the wonder that God fixed in each one of us? And does the Psalmist know that the only way in which our fears and failures could be removed from us is by the most intimate inspection of the loving God? It seems that the prescription that the Psalm gives to us is to be known by God---every crevice, scar, burden, joy—known and healed by loving acceptance.
I confess that many times in my ordinary it is hard to love me and see the extraordinary. I tend to see all my faults. I see all the scars and imperfections of my body. I know what is in my mind which is not godly at all. The world helps me make a list of all the reasons I am unlovable and unacceptable.
But then I hear the gentle voice of God as if it is a soothing voice of a loving parent. And it tells me the wonder that has been created in me—that is uniquely mine. And my own fears of who I am are met with the love of God. And then, only then, do I comprehend loving others as I love myself.
Maybe during this time, the mirror is the gateway to a deeper love God is offering us.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
What God promised
Rev. dawn b. young
Pretty sure by now we have grown a bit accustomed to all the bad news coming out of Japan. Chronic exposure to horrific events dulls our awareness, not only to the normal bad things, but the profoundly abnormal. Certainly we here in Louisiana know all too well the compassion fatigue that results from too much information. Doesn’t change the reality for those near the epicenter, but it affects and effects those of us on the periphery. How can we stay informed and compassionate at the same time? The fact remains that we have to be diligent, persistent, ever watchful to that Katrina will always be with us. Haiti will always be with us. Japan will always be with us. These are our neighbors. But mostly important, just as God promised, God is always with us. Praise God there is no opposite of Immanuel. There is no God NOT with us. ONLY God with us.
God promised that to Abraham. God promises that to us. God is not some far off being, some ultimate reality, but a presence to be with and among us. The question becomes where are we in relation to God’s presence. If we don’t sense God, if we don’t feel God, if we don’t experience God – guess who moved! Not God. We are the one’s that stray and wander. Perhaps it is too much to imagine that God not only makes the time for us, but actually cares and seeks out relationship with us.
So how are we to manifest our devotion to God? By loving God, by opening up our selves for God and becoming available for what God has in store. Abraham did. Abraham had his struggles, but ultimately, faithfully, he responded to God’s call. That’s what can be in stor for us. It’simple, but there is nothing easy about it.
Pretty sure by now we have grown a bit accustomed to all the bad news coming out of Japan. Chronic exposure to horrific events dulls our awareness, not only to the normal bad things, but the profoundly abnormal. Certainly we here in Louisiana know all too well the compassion fatigue that results from too much information. Doesn’t change the reality for those near the epicenter, but it affects and effects those of us on the periphery. How can we stay informed and compassionate at the same time? The fact remains that we have to be diligent, persistent, ever watchful to that Katrina will always be with us. Haiti will always be with us. Japan will always be with us. These are our neighbors. But mostly important, just as God promised, God is always with us. Praise God there is no opposite of Immanuel. There is no God NOT with us. ONLY God with us.
God promised that to Abraham. God promises that to us. God is not some far off being, some ultimate reality, but a presence to be with and among us. The question becomes where are we in relation to God’s presence. If we don’t sense God, if we don’t feel God, if we don’t experience God – guess who moved! Not God. We are the one’s that stray and wander. Perhaps it is too much to imagine that God not only makes the time for us, but actually cares and seeks out relationship with us.
So how are we to manifest our devotion to God? By loving God, by opening up our selves for God and becoming available for what God has in store. Abraham did. Abraham had his struggles, but ultimately, faithfully, he responded to God’s call. That’s what can be in stor for us. It’simple, but there is nothing easy about it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
ONE BUTTON
Rev. Dr. Elenora M. Cushenberry
How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings. Psalm 36:7
“You ‘send’ to receive [the call] and ‘send’ to make a call,” Mama. These were the words of my exasperated daughter a few years ago as I had just hung up on her again. Why in the world would you use the same button to both make a call and receive a call was beyond me.
Sometimes, we may feel this way about God—which button do I press. Do I press, “The I am in need now button” or “The hurry up button” or even “The stop button”?
One Button. In a world filled with many buttons—many options—with God, there is only “one button”. One button that summons love and mercy, grace and compassion—all intertwined like the threads of a rope, which cannot be undone without undoing the rope itself. This is God, full of mercy, full of love, full of grace. After my daughter’s instruction on CellPhone Usage 101, I was able to both make and receive calls. The simplicity of the “one button” began to make sense. The simplicity of our relationship with God also makes sense that the God we love and serve seeks to be in a loving relationship with us.
One of the lessons of this Lenten season might not be on what we can give up but on what we can take in—the simplicity of God’s love for us and for others. This God who loves us so much that nothing was too much for God to do for us—even to become fully human and be obedient to death on a cross.
And, what or where is this one button? The Name of Jesus.
On that day you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf; for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God. (John 16:26-27)
How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings. Psalm 36:7
“You ‘send’ to receive [the call] and ‘send’ to make a call,” Mama. These were the words of my exasperated daughter a few years ago as I had just hung up on her again. Why in the world would you use the same button to both make a call and receive a call was beyond me.
Sometimes, we may feel this way about God—which button do I press. Do I press, “The I am in need now button” or “The hurry up button” or even “The stop button”?
One Button. In a world filled with many buttons—many options—with God, there is only “one button”. One button that summons love and mercy, grace and compassion—all intertwined like the threads of a rope, which cannot be undone without undoing the rope itself. This is God, full of mercy, full of love, full of grace. After my daughter’s instruction on CellPhone Usage 101, I was able to both make and receive calls. The simplicity of the “one button” began to make sense. The simplicity of our relationship with God also makes sense that the God we love and serve seeks to be in a loving relationship with us.
One of the lessons of this Lenten season might not be on what we can give up but on what we can take in—the simplicity of God’s love for us and for others. This God who loves us so much that nothing was too much for God to do for us—even to become fully human and be obedient to death on a cross.
And, what or where is this one button? The Name of Jesus.
On that day you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf; for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God. (John 16:26-27)
Thursday, March 17, 2011
God-With-Us
Rev. Ellen Alston
Lent had scarcely begun when our world was rocked by the news of the earthquake and tsunami that have devastated our brothers and sisters in Japan, and the unfolding aftershock events just keep coming in waves. These 40 days of discipline and discovery seem barely a blip in time compared to the tenacity it will take for all affected to find their footing and be well on the road to recovery. I find myself taking less for granted the generous gifts of waking and breath, of a place to sit and rest and eat and be warmed, of relationship and community. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones, or who do not even know how or where or when their loved ones may be found. In such a time, it is easy to ask, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me/us/them?”
I often recall and return for refuge to the words that emerged on billboards and newspaper ads in the days after 9/11/2001 (thanks to Igniting Ministry’s media messages!), nearly a decade ago: “Fear is not the only force at work in the world today.”
During the bombing raids of WWII, 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." (Linn, Dennis et al, Sleeping With Bread, p.l)
This introduction to a book about a spiritual practice called “The Examen” reminds us of the power of holding, or reconnecting, with what gives us life. The basic framework of the examen is to ask at the end of each day “What gave me life and joy today?” and “What brought me grief and pain today?” By lifting up in prayer each of these experiences, perhaps the outer edges of what we can see, we are walking with God around the perimeter of the life we know, which puts us in a place to see further beyond into what God is really about in our lives and in our world.
In the presence of “strangers” whom we welcome or who extend their hands to us, in the rhythm of footsteps that join us along the way, in the blessed-ness of all that sustains us, in care given or received in time of need, in the eyes of those who share with us the meal and the journey, may we glimpse – and learn – and even experience - something more of the Jesus who is made known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Lent had scarcely begun when our world was rocked by the news of the earthquake and tsunami that have devastated our brothers and sisters in Japan, and the unfolding aftershock events just keep coming in waves. These 40 days of discipline and discovery seem barely a blip in time compared to the tenacity it will take for all affected to find their footing and be well on the road to recovery. I find myself taking less for granted the generous gifts of waking and breath, of a place to sit and rest and eat and be warmed, of relationship and community. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones, or who do not even know how or where or when their loved ones may be found. In such a time, it is easy to ask, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me/us/them?”
I often recall and return for refuge to the words that emerged on billboards and newspaper ads in the days after 9/11/2001 (thanks to Igniting Ministry’s media messages!), nearly a decade ago: “Fear is not the only force at work in the world today.”
During the bombing raids of WWII, 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." (Linn, Dennis et al, Sleeping With Bread, p.l)
This introduction to a book about a spiritual practice called “The Examen” reminds us of the power of holding, or reconnecting, with what gives us life. The basic framework of the examen is to ask at the end of each day “What gave me life and joy today?” and “What brought me grief and pain today?” By lifting up in prayer each of these experiences, perhaps the outer edges of what we can see, we are walking with God around the perimeter of the life we know, which puts us in a place to see further beyond into what God is really about in our lives and in our world.
In the presence of “strangers” whom we welcome or who extend their hands to us, in the rhythm of footsteps that join us along the way, in the blessed-ness of all that sustains us, in care given or received in time of need, in the eyes of those who share with us the meal and the journey, may we glimpse – and learn – and even experience - something more of the Jesus who is made known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Who is waiting at the station?
Rev. Wayne Evans
I have trouble believing God loves me like that: waiting hour after hour, day after day for me to come to my senses, and return “home.” Too often I have preferred the “far country” of being critical of others. I have looked for who is at fault rather than to come home to the party that our Heavenly Father is offering.
I have all kinds of reasons for failing to show love to others. I rationalize that I am being helpful by pointing out someone else’s faults. I tell myself they would do better if only someone could show them the error of their ways.
But the result is others don’t see love when we criticize them. In Luke 15 both the elder brother and the prodigal son missed out on the bounty of their waiting father until they were willing to accept his grace. If only I would swallow my pride, and believe I am accepted by this forgiving, gracious Father.
God is waiting at the train station. Maybe today, I’ll get off the train and fall into his loving embrace by hugging my sisters and brothers who almost as imperfect as me.
I have trouble believing God loves me like that: waiting hour after hour, day after day for me to come to my senses, and return “home.” Too often I have preferred the “far country” of being critical of others. I have looked for who is at fault rather than to come home to the party that our Heavenly Father is offering.
I have all kinds of reasons for failing to show love to others. I rationalize that I am being helpful by pointing out someone else’s faults. I tell myself they would do better if only someone could show them the error of their ways.
But the result is others don’t see love when we criticize them. In Luke 15 both the elder brother and the prodigal son missed out on the bounty of their waiting father until they were willing to accept his grace. If only I would swallow my pride, and believe I am accepted by this forgiving, gracious Father.
God is waiting at the train station. Maybe today, I’ll get off the train and fall into his loving embrace by hugging my sisters and brothers who almost as imperfect as me.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
What are we here for?
Rev. Juan Huertas
It is so easy to get distracted living our lives. Our responsibilities are many work, school, children, housework, the list could be endless. We could easily begin to believe that those responsibilities, those roles that we play, are the reason why we exist.
Then there is church. Morning worship, Sunday school, mid-week activities, committee meetings, all of these activities could easily become our reasons for existing, our reason for being Christian. If we are honest we ourselves, many of us confuse those things with discipleship.
Lent provides us with time for a corrective. These forty days of walking with Jesus, forty days of practicing the means of grace, forty days of being attentive to what God is up to in us and in the world, provide the perfect setting to again answer the question: What are we here for?
In today's reading Scott McKnight, takes us to the first chapter of Genesis where the story of our faith tells us that all of humanity was created in God's image, in God's own likeness. He tells us that the Greek word for image used here is “eikon” and then calls us to be eikons in the world. To be an eikon is to “be given he capacity to enter into . . . the mutual indwelling of love of the three persons of the Trinity and to learn to love.” (30) So, according to McKnight, humanity's purpose is love, that is the reason why we are here!
Ash Wednesday reminded us that even though we were created to love we have failed in living this love out in the world. McKnight calls this being “cracked eikons.” This brokenness shows itself in distorted love towards God, other, self, and creation. Thankfully Ash Wednesday also reminded us that through Christ our image could be repaired and because of that we are capable of loving like an eikon would.
The world needs people of faith to be eikons in the world. May this season of Lent prepare us, restore us, and send us into the world to reflect love to God, other, self, and creation. When we do this, when we live out the image of God in the world, we are able to help others answer the question, What are we here for?
It is so easy to get distracted living our lives. Our responsibilities are many work, school, children, housework, the list could be endless. We could easily begin to believe that those responsibilities, those roles that we play, are the reason why we exist.
Then there is church. Morning worship, Sunday school, mid-week activities, committee meetings, all of these activities could easily become our reasons for existing, our reason for being Christian. If we are honest we ourselves, many of us confuse those things with discipleship.
Lent provides us with time for a corrective. These forty days of walking with Jesus, forty days of practicing the means of grace, forty days of being attentive to what God is up to in us and in the world, provide the perfect setting to again answer the question: What are we here for?
In today's reading Scott McKnight, takes us to the first chapter of Genesis where the story of our faith tells us that all of humanity was created in God's image, in God's own likeness. He tells us that the Greek word for image used here is “eikon” and then calls us to be eikons in the world. To be an eikon is to “be given he capacity to enter into . . . the mutual indwelling of love of the three persons of the Trinity and to learn to love.” (30) So, according to McKnight, humanity's purpose is love, that is the reason why we are here!
Ash Wednesday reminded us that even though we were created to love we have failed in living this love out in the world. McKnight calls this being “cracked eikons.” This brokenness shows itself in distorted love towards God, other, self, and creation. Thankfully Ash Wednesday also reminded us that through Christ our image could be repaired and because of that we are capable of loving like an eikon would.
The world needs people of faith to be eikons in the world. May this season of Lent prepare us, restore us, and send us into the world to reflect love to God, other, self, and creation. When we do this, when we live out the image of God in the world, we are able to help others answer the question, What are we here for?
Monday, March 14, 2011
Dancing with God
Rev. Matt Rawle
One of the blessings of being a father of toddlers is the beauty of uninhibited dancing. When the drums start beating, my daughter Annaleigh picks up the rhythm and shakes, well, whatever her little two-year-old body will allow. It seems to come naturally for her, and for most toddlers. There’s something about music which captures us deep within our souls, causing our heads to sway and feet to tap, and if the music’s really good, I might just close my eyes, jut out my jaw, and bite my bottom lip in an awkward, seemingly painful expression.
Have you ever watched a sermon in fast forward? For those who meander about the pulpit, it looks like the preacher is a dance instructor, leading the congregation is a Gospel dance. Isn’t this true when we gather for worship? The Trinity—The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, has been described as “The Lover, The Beloved, and the Love that they share” (Saint Augustine). Worship is the gathered body of Christ offering adoration to the Father and the Father offering blessing to the body of Christ. So, in a way, Worship is an outward and visible sign of The Trinity, the way in which God “dances” with The Son in shared spiritual adoration.
Scott McKnight writes, “I do marvel at how well come people can dance. Their entire bodies seem to be overwhelmed by the music and the beat and the meaning of the words. Somehow the body moves in such a way that the music begins to take on bodily form. We might say that the dance incarnates the music, just as the Son incarnates the dance of the Trinity” (27). As you continue your Lenten journey toward the cross, open yourself up to the holy dance shared in adoration between God and God’s people. At least, it’s something I’ve learned from my two-year-old, and didn’t Jesus say something about entering the kingdom as a child? I wonder if this is what he meant. Blessings and peace to you in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord.
One of the blessings of being a father of toddlers is the beauty of uninhibited dancing. When the drums start beating, my daughter Annaleigh picks up the rhythm and shakes, well, whatever her little two-year-old body will allow. It seems to come naturally for her, and for most toddlers. There’s something about music which captures us deep within our souls, causing our heads to sway and feet to tap, and if the music’s really good, I might just close my eyes, jut out my jaw, and bite my bottom lip in an awkward, seemingly painful expression.
Have you ever watched a sermon in fast forward? For those who meander about the pulpit, it looks like the preacher is a dance instructor, leading the congregation is a Gospel dance. Isn’t this true when we gather for worship? The Trinity—The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, has been described as “The Lover, The Beloved, and the Love that they share” (Saint Augustine). Worship is the gathered body of Christ offering adoration to the Father and the Father offering blessing to the body of Christ. So, in a way, Worship is an outward and visible sign of The Trinity, the way in which God “dances” with The Son in shared spiritual adoration.
Scott McKnight writes, “I do marvel at how well come people can dance. Their entire bodies seem to be overwhelmed by the music and the beat and the meaning of the words. Somehow the body moves in such a way that the music begins to take on bodily form. We might say that the dance incarnates the music, just as the Son incarnates the dance of the Trinity” (27). As you continue your Lenten journey toward the cross, open yourself up to the holy dance shared in adoration between God and God’s people. At least, it’s something I’ve learned from my two-year-old, and didn’t Jesus say something about entering the kingdom as a child? I wonder if this is what he meant. Blessings and peace to you in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
thinking feelers, feeling thinkers: authentic and imperfect encounters with God
Rev. Valerie Robideaux
“Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” 1 John 4:7b-8
We like to figure people out. We are comfortable with placing a person into a personality box, sealing it shut and labeling it for a quick and easy reference. “Oh, you know she is an introvert, so she probably would not like to come to dinner with us.” Personality tests galore illumine our instincts, motivations, and innate preferences. They are insightful tools for self-awareness, conflict resolution, and relationship compatibilities. However, they can also be used as a sword, a weapon to jab the person who tries to venture outside their box eliminating any real possibility for growth or transformation. Does our typecasting get in the way of someone’s ability to encounter God?
This passage from 1 John incorporates both knowing and loving. We like to pinpoint if we are thinkers or feelers, head people or heart people. 1 John reminds us that these are intrinsically linked in our encounter of God.
We do not feel worthy to encounter God. We are too broken. We are not full people, for we have been placed into a particular personality box and are not allowed to venture out. “I must find balance before I can know God.” “I must work on my weaknesses before I can fully encounter God.” “I must seek solitude before I can know God.” “I must get my life together before I can know God.” “I must deal with my emotional baggage before I can know God.” “I must read the entire Bible before I can know God.” Perfectionism can be paralyzing. When we are not able to do something perfectly, we often times simply do nothing.
God does not call us to perfection before we encounter God. God calls us to perfection when we have encountered God. We must venture outside our neatly labeled boxes to get to know God. Grace invites us to drag our boxes to God’s feet, to stand before God in our brokenness, justifications, excuses, and quirks. Thinker or feeler, head person or heart person, introvert or extravert, our human efforts to perfect ourselves are fruitless pursuits. Only in our authentic and humbling encounters with God will we know love. And, only in our authentic and humbling encounters with God will we experience the grace that calls and sustains us to draw nearer and nearer to perfection in that love.
What are the labels on your personality box? Do these labels inhibit or empower you?
What labels have you placed on someone else’s personality box? Do these labels inhibit or empower that person?
How has perfectionism paralyzed you from encountering God?
What would it mean for you to authentically and humbly encounter God?
“Everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” 1 John 4:7b-8
We like to figure people out. We are comfortable with placing a person into a personality box, sealing it shut and labeling it for a quick and easy reference. “Oh, you know she is an introvert, so she probably would not like to come to dinner with us.” Personality tests galore illumine our instincts, motivations, and innate preferences. They are insightful tools for self-awareness, conflict resolution, and relationship compatibilities. However, they can also be used as a sword, a weapon to jab the person who tries to venture outside their box eliminating any real possibility for growth or transformation. Does our typecasting get in the way of someone’s ability to encounter God?
This passage from 1 John incorporates both knowing and loving. We like to pinpoint if we are thinkers or feelers, head people or heart people. 1 John reminds us that these are intrinsically linked in our encounter of God.
We do not feel worthy to encounter God. We are too broken. We are not full people, for we have been placed into a particular personality box and are not allowed to venture out. “I must find balance before I can know God.” “I must work on my weaknesses before I can fully encounter God.” “I must seek solitude before I can know God.” “I must get my life together before I can know God.” “I must deal with my emotional baggage before I can know God.” “I must read the entire Bible before I can know God.” Perfectionism can be paralyzing. When we are not able to do something perfectly, we often times simply do nothing.
God does not call us to perfection before we encounter God. God calls us to perfection when we have encountered God. We must venture outside our neatly labeled boxes to get to know God. Grace invites us to drag our boxes to God’s feet, to stand before God in our brokenness, justifications, excuses, and quirks. Thinker or feeler, head person or heart person, introvert or extravert, our human efforts to perfect ourselves are fruitless pursuits. Only in our authentic and humbling encounters with God will we know love. And, only in our authentic and humbling encounters with God will we experience the grace that calls and sustains us to draw nearer and nearer to perfection in that love.
What are the labels on your personality box? Do these labels inhibit or empower you?
What labels have you placed on someone else’s personality box? Do these labels inhibit or empower that person?
How has perfectionism paralyzed you from encountering God?
What would it mean for you to authentically and humbly encounter God?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Give me your eyes
Rev. Jack O'Dell
In our worship at The Well, we sing a popular song by Brandon Heath entitled, “Give Me Your Eyes”. The words seem to challenge me each time I sing it. Read them (or if you know the song, sing them!)
Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touched down on the cold black tile
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breath in the familiar shock
Of confusion and chaos
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
Chorus
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
yeah .. yeah .. yeah .. yeah
Step out on a busy street
See a girl and our eyes meet
Does her best to smile at me
To hide whats underneath
There’s a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie
To ashamed to tell his wife
He’s out of work
He’s buying time
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
I’ve been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
Just moving past me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone
I must confess that more times than I like to admit. I fail to really see people through the eyes of God. This failure keeps me from loving the world as God loves the world. And it keeps me from loving the world as God loves me.
The song reminds me of my sin of omission. Have you ever considered how many people you just miss each day? I am not just talking about consciously ignoring. I am talking about just missing. Maybe I am preoccupied. Maybe I am self-absorbed. But the realization to being completely oblivious to the presence of God’s children is more of my daily routine than I want.
Then there are those that I see and dismiss for one reason or another on a conscious or unconscious level. I busy myself to keep from really seeing them or knowing their name. Or in righteous judgment, I excuse my inattention or ability to extend compassion. I keep the eyes of my heart guarded.
And I lose. I lose the unique opportunity to see with the eyes of God but the opportunity to be the hands of God. Lord, this day, give me Your eyes to that I may love with Your heart while extending Your kingdom with all that I have.
In our worship at The Well, we sing a popular song by Brandon Heath entitled, “Give Me Your Eyes”. The words seem to challenge me each time I sing it. Read them (or if you know the song, sing them!)
Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touched down on the cold black tile
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breath in the familiar shock
Of confusion and chaos
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
Chorus
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see
yeah .. yeah .. yeah .. yeah
Step out on a busy street
See a girl and our eyes meet
Does her best to smile at me
To hide whats underneath
There’s a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie
To ashamed to tell his wife
He’s out of work
He’s buying time
Are those people going somewhere?
Why have I never cared?
I’ve been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
Just moving past me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone
I must confess that more times than I like to admit. I fail to really see people through the eyes of God. This failure keeps me from loving the world as God loves the world. And it keeps me from loving the world as God loves me.
The song reminds me of my sin of omission. Have you ever considered how many people you just miss each day? I am not just talking about consciously ignoring. I am talking about just missing. Maybe I am preoccupied. Maybe I am self-absorbed. But the realization to being completely oblivious to the presence of God’s children is more of my daily routine than I want.
Then there are those that I see and dismiss for one reason or another on a conscious or unconscious level. I busy myself to keep from really seeing them or knowing their name. Or in righteous judgment, I excuse my inattention or ability to extend compassion. I keep the eyes of my heart guarded.
And I lose. I lose the unique opportunity to see with the eyes of God but the opportunity to be the hands of God. Lord, this day, give me Your eyes to that I may love with Your heart while extending Your kingdom with all that I have.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Heart of God
Rev. Elaine Burleigh
"You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one."
Kahlil Gibran
The words of this poem began to weave themselves through my prayers recently -- ever since the day almost a month ago when I kept vigil beside my father’s hospital bed. On that day my family and I became aware that we were on a sacred journey of companioning my 92 year old father toward the threshold of eternity. He has endured many trips to the emergency room during this past year, often for reasons that affect the quality, though not necessarily the quantity, of his life. And each time my mother, my sisters and I have taken turns sitting with him in his hospital room. The most recent hospital visit was similar in rhythm and tempo to the others, but this time we each spent time alone with him and afterwards each one of us sensed the same thing, a new thing, a letting go. And now that he is home again, a steady stream of visitors has come, perhaps for the last time. We have been given the sacred gift of watching him relive the moments of his life with each new visitor as he says his good-byes. I do not know if his ritual of leave-taking is intentional or instinctual. But in these last few weeks I have seen him “open his heart wide unto the beauty of his life” and in that simple act he seems to have accepted that “life and death are one…” And for this reason, this season of Lent has taken on special significance for my family.
My elderly father’s embrace and celebration of his 92 years of life has sharpened my awareness of just how small my own life becomes, how narrow my vision and how puny my dreams can be whenever I allow something other than God to occupy the heart of my life. I want to live my life – I claim to live my life – according to the shema -- loving God with all my heart and with all my soul, and with all my mind and with all my strength. But the truth is there is an ebb and flow in my life, times when loving God is constitutive of my very being and times when I allow other things to occupy God’s place in my life.
My greatest temptation is to live as though the core of my being is rooted in things that are not God – my intellect, my achievements, my self-sufficiency – as though I alone am responsible for the gifts I have and the success I can achieve with them. Living this way is like standing on the edge of a high cliff. When all goes well and the ground beneath me remains solid and firm, I am enormously satisfied with my success. And I begin to dream of decorating my cliff with pretty trinkets that sparkle in the sun, rather than thanking God for the gift of climbing. And when the ground shakes or the gale winds blow I dig in my heels and work harder to secure my place on the edge. And then I trade dreams of soaring on the wings of God for nightmares of falling off the cliff. I become like “an owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day and cannot unveil the mystery of light.”
But there are other times, when loving God flows so naturally; times when I have been unexpectedly drawn so completely into the heart of God – and not by any conscious effort on my part other than a letting go, a leave taking of all that isn’t at the heart of life. And it’s then that I know for certain that loving God with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my mind, and with all my strength is not something I can ever achieve, not something I am capable of doing, not a program or a process I can begin. Rather, it is something God is already doing in me and for me.
And so, during this season of Lent, I will be moving mindfully along two parallel and sacred paths – one with my father toward the end of his life, and the other back to the heart of God. “For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.” Thanks be to God.
"You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one."
Kahlil Gibran
The words of this poem began to weave themselves through my prayers recently -- ever since the day almost a month ago when I kept vigil beside my father’s hospital bed. On that day my family and I became aware that we were on a sacred journey of companioning my 92 year old father toward the threshold of eternity. He has endured many trips to the emergency room during this past year, often for reasons that affect the quality, though not necessarily the quantity, of his life. And each time my mother, my sisters and I have taken turns sitting with him in his hospital room. The most recent hospital visit was similar in rhythm and tempo to the others, but this time we each spent time alone with him and afterwards each one of us sensed the same thing, a new thing, a letting go. And now that he is home again, a steady stream of visitors has come, perhaps for the last time. We have been given the sacred gift of watching him relive the moments of his life with each new visitor as he says his good-byes. I do not know if his ritual of leave-taking is intentional or instinctual. But in these last few weeks I have seen him “open his heart wide unto the beauty of his life” and in that simple act he seems to have accepted that “life and death are one…” And for this reason, this season of Lent has taken on special significance for my family.
My elderly father’s embrace and celebration of his 92 years of life has sharpened my awareness of just how small my own life becomes, how narrow my vision and how puny my dreams can be whenever I allow something other than God to occupy the heart of my life. I want to live my life – I claim to live my life – according to the shema -- loving God with all my heart and with all my soul, and with all my mind and with all my strength. But the truth is there is an ebb and flow in my life, times when loving God is constitutive of my very being and times when I allow other things to occupy God’s place in my life.
My greatest temptation is to live as though the core of my being is rooted in things that are not God – my intellect, my achievements, my self-sufficiency – as though I alone am responsible for the gifts I have and the success I can achieve with them. Living this way is like standing on the edge of a high cliff. When all goes well and the ground beneath me remains solid and firm, I am enormously satisfied with my success. And I begin to dream of decorating my cliff with pretty trinkets that sparkle in the sun, rather than thanking God for the gift of climbing. And when the ground shakes or the gale winds blow I dig in my heels and work harder to secure my place on the edge. And then I trade dreams of soaring on the wings of God for nightmares of falling off the cliff. I become like “an owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day and cannot unveil the mystery of light.”
But there are other times, when loving God flows so naturally; times when I have been unexpectedly drawn so completely into the heart of God – and not by any conscious effort on my part other than a letting go, a leave taking of all that isn’t at the heart of life. And it’s then that I know for certain that loving God with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my mind, and with all my strength is not something I can ever achieve, not something I am capable of doing, not a program or a process I can begin. Rather, it is something God is already doing in me and for me.
And so, during this season of Lent, I will be moving mindfully along two parallel and sacred paths – one with my father toward the end of his life, and the other back to the heart of God. “For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.” Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Beginning our Journey together
Ash Wednesday, blogger Bishop Bill Hutchinson
Living the Jesus Creed is indeed a challenge. For us to “institutionalize” this teaching of Jesus in the same way Israel institutionalized the Shema will take a big change in our understanding of these two teachings. For Christians, this is at the heart of our faith, but it is not something we have crystalized into a confessional statement that is to accompany us wherever we go. Instead it is a formative teaching that invades our very being until it becomes normative for us to act in the spirit of the teaching without our even being aware we are doing so. In other words, it is a teaching that is meant to form us, but not something that lives outside our spirit that is contained in a creedal statement. It should be creedal only until it becomes ingrained and natural.
Years ago I was part of a prayer discipline called “Ten Brave Christians: The John Wesley Great Experiment”. This was a highly disciplined practice of rising at 5:00 am every morning in order to be in prayer at 5:30. The prayer routine was followed by everyone who had signed up for the “experiment” and all were to be praying at the same time. One of the disciplines in the 30 minute prayer discipline was to name an unexpected good deed you were going to do that day for someone in particular. When the experiment began it was a daily mental task to think of someone who needed something special in their lives and what I could do for them that would be totally unexpected. It was a joyous thing to complete the deed and to experience the surprise and gratitude of the recipient.
As time went on through the month of experiment, I found myself thinking far ahead of what I might do that would be an unexpected good deed for someone in need of affirmation and support. Before long I had a whole list of people in my mind and on my tablet. In fact, I spent my days in full awareness of people’s needs as I had never done before. I had morphed from having to think up a good deed each morning to being so acutely aware of people around me that needed some special act of kindness, that it had become a way of living and not an institutionalized practice.
That, I believe is what Jesus meant for us to do with this powerful combination of a teaching – loving God and loving neighbor. It may be a creed at first, but it becomes a way of living which does not depend upon the recital of the creed as a reminder. Loving God and loving neighbor is not formulaic. These actions are results of a spiritual embedding in your deepest being until you can do no other.
I believe McKnight is right when he speaks of making this practice a part of our spiritual rhythm. It is the ebb and flow of our very being as we are in relationship with the Holy Other.
I look forward to this Lenten journey with each of you. I must admit, I have never blogged before! I’m not sure if there is a right and a wrong way to do this. So, I offer the above thoughts simply as a kick-off to our walking together. And I hope I have done it correctly! As others “weigh in” on your thoughts I hope to get into the rhythm of this new experience for me. Blessings be with you in the 40 Days of Living the Jesus Creed.
Bill Hutchinson
Living the Jesus Creed is indeed a challenge. For us to “institutionalize” this teaching of Jesus in the same way Israel institutionalized the Shema will take a big change in our understanding of these two teachings. For Christians, this is at the heart of our faith, but it is not something we have crystalized into a confessional statement that is to accompany us wherever we go. Instead it is a formative teaching that invades our very being until it becomes normative for us to act in the spirit of the teaching without our even being aware we are doing so. In other words, it is a teaching that is meant to form us, but not something that lives outside our spirit that is contained in a creedal statement. It should be creedal only until it becomes ingrained and natural.
Years ago I was part of a prayer discipline called “Ten Brave Christians: The John Wesley Great Experiment”. This was a highly disciplined practice of rising at 5:00 am every morning in order to be in prayer at 5:30. The prayer routine was followed by everyone who had signed up for the “experiment” and all were to be praying at the same time. One of the disciplines in the 30 minute prayer discipline was to name an unexpected good deed you were going to do that day for someone in particular. When the experiment began it was a daily mental task to think of someone who needed something special in their lives and what I could do for them that would be totally unexpected. It was a joyous thing to complete the deed and to experience the surprise and gratitude of the recipient.
As time went on through the month of experiment, I found myself thinking far ahead of what I might do that would be an unexpected good deed for someone in need of affirmation and support. Before long I had a whole list of people in my mind and on my tablet. In fact, I spent my days in full awareness of people’s needs as I had never done before. I had morphed from having to think up a good deed each morning to being so acutely aware of people around me that needed some special act of kindness, that it had become a way of living and not an institutionalized practice.
That, I believe is what Jesus meant for us to do with this powerful combination of a teaching – loving God and loving neighbor. It may be a creed at first, but it becomes a way of living which does not depend upon the recital of the creed as a reminder. Loving God and loving neighbor is not formulaic. These actions are results of a spiritual embedding in your deepest being until you can do no other.
I believe McKnight is right when he speaks of making this practice a part of our spiritual rhythm. It is the ebb and flow of our very being as we are in relationship with the Holy Other.
I look forward to this Lenten journey with each of you. I must admit, I have never blogged before! I’m not sure if there is a right and a wrong way to do this. So, I offer the above thoughts simply as a kick-off to our walking together. And I hope I have done it correctly! As others “weigh in” on your thoughts I hope to get into the rhythm of this new experience for me. Blessings be with you in the 40 Days of Living the Jesus Creed.
Bill Hutchinson
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