Election Day Lamet

A week ago I was awakened by red and blue fireworks outside my bedroom window. There was music in the streets and cars zoomed by my home, honking their horns. The Chicago Cubs had won the World Series. I remember my eyes burning with tears of joy, disbelief, and I remembered my father’s loyal chant, “…there’s always next year.” It was a game for the generations and one that will long be remembered by the long-suffering fans of the Chicago Cubs. My tears were for the many who faithfully longed for this incredible day.

Tonight, I am still awake in the early hours of the day and my eyes still burn with tears, but they are not  tears of joy tonight, but tears of despair. Tonight America sold its soul to the devil, and we elected a man who was running as President to stroke his sick ego. We voted for a man who has no respect for minorities, women, or any religion. We voted for a man who represents everything I dislike, perhaps despise, about America and whose personal behavior is contrary to the values of the Christian faith that I have given my life and service for nearly 30 years. My heart is broken, my hope dashed, and my good-will challenged. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I am awake seeking to understand what has happened and what this means for me, the people I love, and a nation that has sold out to snake oil , empty promises, blustery noise, and insipid behavior that has no place in a nation called to be a light to the world. Tonight we are an embarrassment to the world.

Words cannot express what I am feeling this night. My heart longs for a way out of this national nightmare that betrays my spirit. I grieve for myself and I grieve for our once energized young people who believed in Bernie Sanders, and in the spirit of unity followed Bernie’s lead and gave their best support to Hillary. I grieve for the many women in our country who were looking forward to a bright, capable, and reasonable woman to be our president of the United States. I grieve for the Muslims and the Hispanics who will live their lives fear of deportation, abuse, and unfair treatment. I grieve for our earth home that is suffering under the weight of incredible climate change and needs, more than any time before, the steady hand of leaders who cares deeply about our fragile home. I care about the hard working laborers who blindly believe that Trump will champion their cause. I grieve for the men and women who fought hard for justice and now live in a very real fear that their rights will be taken away with the stroke of a pen. Tonight is a night I never in my wildest dreams expected to live to write about.

I know, deep in my heart, that the result of this election is a clarion call for the Church to be Church. I know what Jesus would do. He would not allow the darkness of this night to change his message of justice for all, unconditional love and grace, and the importance of forgiveness, and he would find a way through the gathering storm. I know deep in my heart that my tears of anguish that I shed this night must be released into deeds and words of actions that defy the evil that has taken place this night. Deep in my heart, I believe that the progressive Church must not recoil from the task before us, but stand together with people of all faiths, nationalities, and cultures to resist the evil of this time. Deep in my heart, I know that I must lead, but for now I must shed the tears of despair and figure out the best way to live as an alien in a strange land. Christ, in your mercy, hear my prayer. 

Holy Space, Holy Family: La Segarde Familia Basilica

We had been traveling throughout Spain for nearly seven days. The tour was glorious, we saw so much beauty, so much history, and so much of the human spirit that was captured in art, architecture, cuisine, and monuments of this proud country. We had visited cities like Toledo, Cordoba, and Seville,  and we saw  ancient cathedrals, churches, basilicas and synagogues that bridged the chasm between the human and the divine. We saw the flamboyance, rhythm,  and ease of Flamenco dancers, and we were taken to heights unknown as we listened to, and appreciated the talent and serenity of Spanish guitar players. There were many joyful and holy moments that endeared us to the land rich in history, rich in culture. 

We arrived in Barcelona and our tour guide took us through the streets of Barcelona talking about how history defined their culture and how the Catholic faith defined their traditions and their belief system. He talked about an architect named Antoni Gaudi who shaped the streets of Barcelona with his unique, and sometimes very strange idea of beauty. As we walked and listened to our guide talk about the life and art of Gaudi,  we soon found our way to La Segarde Familia Basilica -- the Basilica of the Holy Family. We were not going into the building, but he talked to us about the amazing sculptures, windows, and high Gothic spires that represented the gospels, apostles and other significant religious people that have defined the Christian faith.

By now, we were all getting a little weary of yet another church. Certainly in the states and in other places throughout the world, there are any number of Holy Family Basilicas, churches, and cathedrals. There would be paintings, drawing and sculptures depicting the the Holy Family, Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus. Maybe they would be in cave, a stable or an open creche. Perhaps there would be shepherds, kings, or angels, but the focus would be on the Holy Family. Did I really want to see this? How would it be different than other buildings dedicated to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ? Instead of being a place inclusive of all families, it would be a Holy place for only Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus. This is what I imagined as we walked around this amazing architectural wonder that was started in 1882 and is not scheduled to be completed before the year 2026. It is still a structure in process and becoming what Gaudi imagined decades earlier. 

The next day after the local tour, I paid the fees to tour inside of the basilica. When I entered the structure,  I was drawn by the beauty of the sunlight shining through the carefully planned and crafted stain glass windows. It was as if the colors of the sunrise or sunset were breaking through a dark wood, encircling our spirits and drawing us into God's grandeur and splendor. The pillars like the trees of the forest would protect us from harm. Surprisingly, the altar, the worship fixtures, and decorations within the sanctuary were not grandiose or ostentatious, but simple and inviting. No matter where you stood within the confines of the building, you felt as though you belonged. It was more than a sacred space for Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, it is a place for all people even those who are not particularly religious. This feeling of unity and belonging would be reinforced with the carving  of the Lord's Prayer  rendered in 52 languages on what would be the main door that would welcome the seeker into this holy place. This door would invite all God's people to  enter and find one's own way to praise the living and creating God.It is a sacred place for God's holy family.

Holy Week, Gardens, and Resurrection

It was a mild weekend in late winter, the pea seeds had come to the house earlier in the month. Just the week before our trellises, tomato and pepper supports, and our cucumber trellis had arrived at our home. I was ready for the season of planting and hoping.  With a mild weekend and my eagerness to get out in the soil and prepare the garden for planting, it was hard to contain my spirit. As the morning wore on, I eagerly went about the activity of planting my garden and anticipating that one day the seedlings would break through the soil and lift their tender heads to the shining sun.

As I prepared the earth for planting,  and as I write this blog, I am aware that this is the beginning of Holy Week. The Palm Sunday parade has happened and the plans for Easter morning are already in motion. Special services are planned throughout the community, informing the public that there is something different about this week that is not like other weeks. Holy Week is not a time in the church year that we are necessarily filled with joy and imagination. It is a quieter, more personal time of thoughtful reflection. It is a time when Christians reflect upon the life of Jesus and how  his life and his message shapes us and motivates us to live more in line with his teachings. Holy Week reminds us that the Christian faith is not a faith of convenience and endless joy; rather it is a daily struggle to do what is right, what is good and what is faithful. This time in the life of the Christian church puts the ups and downs of life in perspective and prepares our spirits to receive the amazing grace of Easter morning. Holy Week is a time of darkness, but one that opens, slowly to the light of what is yet to come. 

As I think about Holy Week and the seeds I planted in the garden this weekend, I am reminded that seeds, like you and me, are 'lenting' for a time. Like a gardener prepares the soil for the incoming seed, so do we use this time to prepare our own soil -- our own souls for the spiritual seeds that have been planted within us since the day of our baptism.  Just as seeds must rest for a time in the warmth and darkness of the soil, so must our own spirits rest for a time in the darkness of this week. One day the pea seeds that I have so carefully planted will break through the earth and receive the light of the new day, their roots bathed in the warmth of the spring rain. Even as the storm clouds gather and we find ourselves running for cover, we know that the storm will pass and the dawning of a new day will one wash over us, revive our souls, and like a planted seed will open to the morning sun. In this way, so will our spirits rise up and embrace the rising son. 

In our end is our beginning

Matthew writes, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come; see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message to you." Matthew 28:5-7.

 May this holy time of 'lenting' be a time of spiritual and personal growth, and in time, may your spirit awaken to the new life that is within you. Yes, it is Holy Week and our souls are not rejoicing today, but just on the other side of Golgotha there is a place called Galilee. Go there and you will see the beginning of a new day!

My Table is Full

The first snow of the winter has already fallen.   For many this a painful and difficult time. It is getting darker sooner and the days are shorter. The sun struggles to break through the dark, gray clouds of winter time. The cold winds that are blowing across the land,  remind us that winter has arrived.  It is that time of year when our spirits are challenged by the blustery winds of the north lands.  It is no accident that  the Christian Church remembers the birth of Jesus in this season. It is at the darkest, coldest time of year when baby Jesus is born and the angels proclaim to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Luke 2:10-11. 

As I reread this beautiful portion of the Christmas story, I am reminded of Luke’s particular theological perspective. It is as though God wanted the poorest, the marginal, and the most oppressed people to be the first witnesses to the birth of Jesus.  The shepherds were not the educated class of people nor were they considered skilled laborers.  Many of the shepherds in this time were  women and children. In this culture the women and children were considered marginal and avoided by the male population. However, there is a freshness about Luke's report. It would be the marginal, the rejected and the avoided who would be first to see the Messiah and it would not the privileged, the brightest, or the best who would be the ones  to receive the news of Jesus’ birth. God has a way of turning our world and our expectations upside down.

My table must be full

 In the Parable of the Great Banquet (Luke 14:15-24) we can see clearly,  Luke's preference for the marginal  and the rejected. Recently, several of us were studying this amazing parable when I saw how God continues to work through each of us in ways that really do make a difference in the world. The parable reminds us that God's table must be full before the banquet can begin. When friends and family turned down the invitation, the host sent his servants into the community to invite the town's people to come to the dinner. Many did come, but the host's table was still not full. The host sent his servants out again, telling them to invite the crippled, the rejected, the ill, and the blind to come to the great feast. The host wanted his table full. 

More than food,  an excuse to bring people together, or a close analysis of who was or who wasn't on the guest list, this parable seems to be another affirmation of God's continuing quest to invite more people into God's heavenly realm.  As our group concluded, we agreed that God is more interested in bringing people to the table than pushing them away. This is God's way and this parable reminds us that all are welcome at the table.

We made our way back to the church and along the way and I witnessed the deeper meaning of this parable. On our way home we encountered a homeless man who was bedding down for the night.  As we passed his place of refuge, one in our group offered her leftover dinner to the homeless man.  Without missing a beat, a second member reached into her back pack and pulled out a woolen scarf that she had just completed that day and asked if a  scarf would be helpful on this cold and windy night. He accepted both with humility and grace. As we walked by I said to my fellow sojourners that on this night, God’s table was full. 

 “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Luke 2:10-11. This is the Christmas message – this is light in the wilderness where one day, nothing will separate us from one another. Come and rejoice with me on a cold, dark night and feel God's warmth. 

A Meditation in Times of Change

Recently, I brought my mother back to her home in Southeast Ohio.  It’s a bit of a drive to her home and along the way we passed through miles and miles of rural America. I was fortunate to have two beautiful fall days to travel the miles to Southeast Ohio and back to my home in Chicago. The sky was a pale blue, not a cloud in the sky. The temperatures were fluctuating between 65 and 70 degrees, perfect traveling weather. There was no precipitation and the wind was blowing just enough to remind us that autumn had arrived in all its grandeur and beauty. As we traveled, we could not help, but notice the many fields already harvested by America’s farmers. When we didn’t see harvested fields, we saw ripened corn and beans waiting for the teeth of the combines to harvest America’s food.My travels raised some themes for me in times of transition and change.   

As the last rows of beans are harvested and the last ear of corn plucked from its stalk, there is a quiet satisfaction and a sense of pride in what has just been done. The farmer’s heart is filled with gratitude for the hard work, the good year, and an abiding faith that knows that the harvest was only possible because of the God’s abundant blessings. This is a season of gratitude, a time when we can see the hand of God moving us always forward into a new future where our hunger and thirst is satisfied. 

 

As my eyes survey the fields of mid-America at this time of year, I cannot help but notice that some fields are still waiting to be harvested. The corn and the beans have dried up and they stand lifeless in the fields, moving only when the wind blows across the field, rustling the dried and worn out leaves on its stalk, breaking the silence and reminding us of unfinished work.  When I think of following in the ways of Christ, I can observe the hard work of faithful disciples who have worked diligently and with passion to bring God's heavenly realm to earth,  and my heart rejoices. Yet there are still issues that continue to trouble my spirits and remind me that there is still corn standing in the fields and there are still beans to be harvested. In times of transition, God calls us to remain open to the Holy Spirit and to see with new eyes and hear with new ears, the work that still  needs to be done. There are still rows of corn and beans that  need to be harvested. Yes, we still have work to do, but it will get done and it will be done in God’s time.  

As the stalks of corn stand proudly in their fields awaiting the final harvest, I am reminded that even when the stalks become brittle and fragile and the leaves brown, wilted and dying, there is still a kernel filled with life. Should that kernel fall into the ground, forgotten by the harvester and separated from its original source of life, God will gently cover it and keep it safe for a new beginning at another time. One day this kernel will find new life again, and so will we. 

As stewards of the Christian story of life, death, and resurrection, we are vessels of hope and possibility. The Church is not a building, strong and mighty, it is a people fragile and broken. Like the dried corn stalks blowing in the autumn breeze, we bear within ourselves a kernel of life and no matter where we find ourselves, God will use us. God will breathe new life into the stories of faith that have inspired us and given us strength to find new expressions of faith. This is God’s time. In this season between the warmth of summer and the cold of winter, may we be the kernel of life that re-imagines the possibilities and may we move into our future with boldness, confidence, and resurrection hope. This is the gift we bring in times of change and possibility.

What Calypso taught me about trust

Last fall, I adopted a long-haired female kitten from a nearby farmer who knew that this particular stray was different than their other cats. She was so friendly, so cheery, and loved being with humans. She may have been dumped near the farm by someone who just didn’t need another female cat in the barn. She could have been somebody’s pet before she strayed off and found another unsuspecting cat lover, or somewhere along the way, she could have been separated from her mother and her siblings.  Since little Calypso (aka. Queen Bee) isn’t able to tell her story; it’s hard to know for sure from where she had come. The next time the farm family saw me, she pleaded for my help to find this sweet, long-haired female kitten a forever home. Foolishly, I agreed. I did find a home for Miss Calypso, but it wasn’t someone else’s forever home, it was my forever home.

The day I had agreed to adopt the kitten, we were strangers. I picked her up and while I stood talking to the farmer and her family, Miss Calypso was content. She enjoyed my attention. She enjoyed being in my arms and she soaked up all the love she could receive from this human who had a really big place in his heart for cats. This lasted for a while, until I began my walk home. As I was walking toward my house, I noticed that the further I got away from the place that had been Calypso’s home, the more familiar my skin had become with little kitten claws. Miss Calypso sensed that something was changing and all that was once familiar was no longer the same. Her life was about to change. Her body tensed, her claws cut into my skin, and she wiggled constantly in my arms trying to escape and return to that which was familiar to her. The real issue for Miss Calypso was that she didn’t know if she could trust me, and so, she became frightened.

I brought her into my house.  I knew that she was not going to be an outdoor cat, but rather she would live inside my home. As soon as I set her free, she ran to the closest hiding place and remained there for what seemed to be many hours. All the while, she wasn’t sure she could trust me. Likewise, I didn’t trust that she would be a good indoor cat. I didn’t know if she would know how to use a litter box. What kind of food would be most healthy for a growing, indoor kitten? I thought about fleas, bugs, ticks, and other airborne diseases that would afflict outdoor cats. Did she have rabies? What about spaying and de-clawing? All of these were my questions. These seemed to be logical, rational questions for anyone considering the adoption of a once outdoor, farm cat. However, in reality they were questions about trust. Could I trust Calypso or would things not work out and I would be stuck with an unhappy, untrustworthy cat? In her own cat mind, she had the same questions about me. Both of us had to learn to trust one another.

Psalm 23 is among the most requested scriptures I receive for funerals. This beloved Psalm is also a song about trust – trusting in the ‘shepherd’. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” No, it’s not statement of rejection – it’s a statement that rejoices in abundance. Because the shepherd is near, the sheep will have no wants – the shepherd will provide everything for sheep. This is trust. Learning to trust begins with an unshakable faith in our shepherd and guide, Jesus Christ. If we are to rekindle trust with one another, we need to begin with a faith in the transforming power of the resurrection that gives us a reason to believe that we have a future. Even amid life's complicated questions, our anxieties and our brokenness, the shepherd prepares a meal for us.This is a test of trust. Isn't it amazing what our pets can teach us? Thank you Calypso, you have taught me a great lesson. 

Appetite: A Servant's heart

Pre-edited New Century Article that was published in Christian Century, by Daniel Sather

(Reflection on a Youth Mission Trip to Washington UCC, Cincinnati, Ohio, 2014)

The pastor said, “You have to have a servant’s heart if you are going to do this kind of work.”

It was our first youth mission trip and I wasn’t sure if the youth from a mid-size, rural and mainline congregation had the appetite for inner-city ministry. Will they really have a servant’s heart, aching to make a difference in the lives of people, or will they long for their more insulated existence far from the struggles of inner-city children?  I wondered if the youth would have the ears to hear the cries of the children or if their hunger to return to healthier, more stable families would deafen their ears to the children we were serving. I wondered if living in a neighborhood where drugs and violent crimes are a daily occurrence, would repress the heart of a servant.  

The children we would be serving are often the victims of breaking news.  The neighborhood in which they reside would be the setting for the lead articles in local newspapers or the topic of popular news magazines that analyze the terrible living conditions in America’s cities. The children with whom we would be sharing our day would be the very ones who are attending failing schools and/or arrive home to empty cupboards.  This is a neighborhood where being arrested is a badge of honor, and young teens are having babies. I wondered if we would be emotionally ready to be immersed into this kind of ministry. 

“You have to have a servant’s heart to do this kind of work.” That comment gurgled in my stomach as we made our journey to the inner-city, each one of us carrying a smorgasbord of feelings, expectations, and perceptions.

We arrived with butterflies in our stomachs.  Soon we were immersed in the lives of these young children who in their short lives had witnessed more terrible things than the participating adults from our mid-size rural congregation. We shared many meals together. We were partners in a game of dominoes and were chosen to read any number of books. We were swimming buddies on swimming day and friends on our field trip to the zoo. Soon our middle class values were set aside; our lives, for a time were at one with those for whom we were called to serve. Before long, through daily worship, late night conversations, prayer, and sensitivity, ears were unstopped, eyes were opened, and our day was not what we wanted for ourselves but what we wanted for the children with whom we were entrusted.

The faces that would greet us each morning pricked our conscious and teased our taste buds.  Soon the smorgasbord of disparaging and fractured expectations we were feeling earlier in the week were forgotten and our hearts were being shaped in new ways.  Our insulated hearts began to feel and the unstopped ears began to hear the words spoken by Jesus, “Truly, just as you did to one of the least of these my family, you did it to me.” (Mt. 25:40).

I watched as one of the youth divided her portion of food with the hungry child that was sitting near to her. The rules prohibited the children from getting a second cup of juice and I saw another youth quietly slip over to the volunteer table, pour a glass of juice and gave it to a thirsty child. Our appetites once repressed by anxiety and uncertainty hungered to serve another day.

Our week of serving the children in the inner-city came to an end much too soon. As the last of the children left for their homes, we said our good-byes, and we gathered for our final worship. As part of our closing worship, we selected a small item from a box of discarded game pieces, numerous marbles, lost puzzle pieces, broken pencils, torn pages from books, and several other tokens that could represent our week. We each selected an item from the box and were invited by the pastor to share our token and to tell others why we selected this item. Much was shared; but one observation stood out to me more than the others. A youth selected a puzzle piece explaining that this puzzle piece would remind her of this experience and how these children would now be a part of her spiritual journey.  “This experience”, she said, “would always remain a part of her heart – it is now, an important piece of this journey I am on.”

It was a fitting end to an incredible week. We left with a servant’s heart and an appetite for more, hungering for more opportunities to be the hands and feet of God.