The Season of Shadows

Scripture Passage: Joel 2: 1-2, 12-17
Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near—²a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come...¹²Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;¹³rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.¹⁴Who knows whether he will not turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind him, a grain offering and a drink offering for the Lord, your God?¹⁵Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly;¹⁶gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast. Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy.¹⁷Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep. Let them say, “Spare your people, O Lord, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, ‘Where is their God?’”
 
In the shadow of the morning, we can see just a hint of light peeking through the clouds.  There is no brightness, no need to shield our eyes from the glare.  The season of shadows has begun.  We have been through this before.  We know what is to come.  And, yet, we cannot help but continue down the path.  It is where we are called to go.  The Light is at the end.  But to get to it, we must walk through the shadows.  We must walk through the ashes of last year's palms and the smoky residue of plans we had.  It is the way that we return.  It is the way home.
 
We don't do well with shadows.  There is something untrustworthy about these shadows, as if they're hiding something that we cannot see.   But think about it.  A somewhat overcast day is a photographer's dream.  After all, we need light; we crave light; we are children of the Light!  The darkness is not for us.  It is foreboding.  We do not know which way to go.  But light...full, glaring, heat-ridden light.  It is too much.  So we don our sunglasses and we pull down the shades.  Our eyes are not accustomed to the glare.  It is just too hard to see.  But filtered light, those overcast days, those gray, cloud-filled shadow days that seem to hide something behind it all--those are the ones that let us see.  The glare is gone.  And there is just enough light to illumine our way.  Shadows are disconcerting and, yet, they provide the place for the most clarity.  The filtered colors are brilliant as if all of them are refracted through one prism in brilliant technicolor.  The shadows are where we can truly see.

This is the Season of Shadows.  As hard as it is for us to admit to ourselves, we are not yet ready for the Light.  So God gives us just enough to show us the way without blinding our path.  We will walk for 40 days, stopping to rest every now and then as the Light become brighter, stopping to adjust our eyes.  This is the Season of Shadows, the season of clarity, the season that lights our way when we're not really ready for the brightness of Home.  Let us now walk, slowly, basking in the shadows.  Even the Shadow is a part of God's grace.

On this Day of Ashes, remember that even the Shadows were created by God.  And be thankful.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli
 
 

Protecting Our Identity

Who are you?  No, I mean really.  Who are you?  Most of us live lives that demand that we take on numerous roles.  For me, I am a pastor, a preacher, a friend, a confidante, a counselor, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a homeowner, a sometimes-writer, a reader, a cook, a lover of antiques, a lover of history, and, right now, a human companion and purveyor of food and treats to one dog that I adopted on purpose and another one that twelve days ago accidentally adopted me (does anyone want a really cute dog?).  And those roles are just the tip of the iceberg.  It gives new meaning to "meeting yourself coming and going".

The articles and advertisements for protecting one's identity seem endless nowadays.  It's the new danger in our world, the chance that someone might steal who we are, that we might somehow lose ourselves.  And so we shred and we cut and we lock and we watch.  We do everything to keep who we are intact. And yet, we find ourselves searching for who we are.  Isn't that interesting?

God created each one of us.  We are unique, full of gifts and graces, most of which we haven't even tapped into yet.  Each of us is a child of God, with the ability to become fully human and the desire to connect with the Divine.  I think that God actually envisions something for each of us, that God somehow created us with an idea of what the best of each of us is.  But we're not children of the Stepford clan.  We are not pre-programmed robots that God wound up at the start and then pushed us down the road with enough battery juice to get us to the end of the road.  No, God's vision of Creation was much more nuanced and much more beautiful than that.  Somewhere along the way, God decided to instill the notion of free will in us, the wherewithal (if, sometimes, not the ability!) to choose--to choose right from wrong, to choose one road or another, to choose to be one role or to be something completely different.  God gave us life and  envisioned what that life could be, envisioned our identity.  But how we get there is completely up to us.

Maybe this life of faith is about protecting our identity, then--from the world, from all those voices that beg for our time or our money or our attention, and, most of all, from ourselves.  Maybe learning to walk this life of faith is about figuring out how to protect our identity, walking that journey of becoming, losing, recapturing, and becoming again that Being that God envisioned us to be from the very beginning. It's hard.  So, in this Season of Lent, as we strip away all of those encumbrances that pull us away from ourselves, as we try to find the way back to who we are, maybe it's not just about becoming someone else, but protecting who we are in the first place.  So who are you?  No, I mean, really.  Who are you?
 
On this eighteenth day of Lenten observance, make a list of all your roles in life.  Which ones drain your existence?  Which ones give you life?  It's a good thing to think about once in awhile.

Grace and Peace on this Lenten Journey,

Shelli  


And I'm serious...anyone want to adopt a dog?

LENT 2B: Safe Travels

Lectionary Passage: Mark 8: 31-34 (35-38):
Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”  He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.

We want to be safe.  We want everything to turn out alright.  We want some minimal guarantee of what is going to happen in our life.  We want safe travels on this journey.  But that was never part of the promise.

We're just like Peter.  Sure, Peter got that Jesus was the Messiah.  He knew the words.  He had been taught the meaning probably from his childhood.  He knew that that was what they had been expecting all along—someone to be in control, someone to fix things, someone to make it all turn out like they wanted it to turn out.    And now Jesus was telling them that the way they had thought it would all turn out was not to be, that instead this Messiah, this one who was supposed to make everything right, was to be rejected and would endure great suffering.  “No, this can’t be,” yelled Peter.  This cannot happen.  We have things to accomplish.  We are not done.  This ministry is important. (To whom?)  It cannot go away.  You have to fix this. You have to fix this now! 

Now, contrary to the way our version of the Scriptures interprets it, I don’t think Jesus was accusing Peter of being evil or Satan or anything like that.  I doubt that Jesus would have employed our semi-modern notion of an anthropomorphic view of evil.  More than likely, this was Jesus’ way of reprimanding Peter for getting hung up on the values of this world, getting hung up on our very human desire to save ourselves and the way we envision our lives to be, to fix things.  But what God had in store was something more than playing it safe.  I think that Peter, like us, intellectually knew that.  We know that God is bigger and more incredible than anything that we can imagine.  And yet, that’s hard to take.  We still sort of want God to fix things.  We still sort of want God to lead us to victory, to lead us to being the winning team.  Face it, we sort of still want Super Jesus.  And, of course, Peter loved Jesus.  He didn't even want to think about the possibility of Jesus suffering, of Jesus dying.

Safety can be a good thing.  I would advocate that we all wear seat belts.  I think having regulations for how children are to ride in vehicles is a prudent practice. (In fact, I'm not real impressed when I see an unrestrained dog in the back of a pick-up!)  And I lock my doors at night.  But our need to be safe can also paralyze us.  It can prevent us from moving forward on this journey as we settle for taking cover from the darkness rather than journeying toward the light.  And in our search for safety, for someone to save us, what do we do with a crucified Savior?  What do we do with the cross?  Well, let's be honest, most of us clean it up, put it in the front of the sanctuary, and, sadly, go on with the security of our lives.  So, what does it mean "take up your cross and follow"?  I think it means that sometimes faith is hard; sometimes faith is risky; in fact, sometimes faith is downright dangerous. 

In all probability, none of us will be physically crucified for our faith.  But it doesn't mean that we should clean it up and put it out for display either.  Sometimes our journey will take us through waters that are a little too deep and torrential; sometimes we will find ourselves bogged down by mud; and sometimes faith takes us to the edge of a cliff where we are forced to precariously balance ourselves until we find the way down.  The promise was not that it would be safe; the promise was that there was something more than we could ever imagine and that we would never journey alone.  And along the way, we encounter a Savior that will save us from ourselves.

So, continuing with our act of giving up so that we can take on, on this ninth day of Lent, give up that thing in your life that is keeping you safe and secure on this journey of faith.  Begin to move forward into what God has promised for you. 

Grace and Peace on this Lenten Journey,

Shelli

Beginning the Journey

Whew! It's over--this season of running and shopping and baking and wrapping and giving and getting and dressing and partying and, oh yeah, worshipping the Christ who has come!  Now we can go back to normal.  Whew!  It's over!  But what is the deal with all this light around?  Really?  So what was the point?  Truth be told,  as Christmas is the celebration of God's coming, Epiphany is the manifestation of our going.  Epiphany is the beginning of the journey.  So, in other words, don't get too comfortable!  There is work to do!

This season of Epiphany probably gets sort of glossed over.  I don't know, maybe we're tired.  Maybe we've eaten too much or run too much or just too much-ed.  Or maybe we just don't understand what it's about.  Epiphany is about making Jesus real, making the Christ child part of your life.  It is about doing beginning to travel down a road that you've never traveled before.

We know the story of the Wisemen, those learned ones who came to pay homage to the new king.  I suppose it was just a politically correct fulfillment of accepted etiquette.  There was a new king in town and they would greet him and give him the proper gifts and perhaps he would remember them in the future. (And in the meantime, perhaps the press would treat them kindly in this politically volatile season!) It was, after all, the proper and the smart thing to do. But instead, something happened.  Perhaps it was the star; perhaps it was the king; perhaps it was some sort of divine inspiration.  But, whatever it was, these wandering souls got it.  They saw a pathway that was different than the one that they were on, they saw where God was calling them to go.  And so they went home by another way.

Many of you have heard the Henry Van Dyke story of “The Other Wise Man”.  It is the story of a magi named Artaban, who waited impatiently for the star to shine so that he could travel with the other magi to see the new king. In fact, he had sold all of his possessions and bought three jewels—a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl—to give to the new baby king.  And, then, he finally saw what he had been waiting for as the dark eastern sky was filled with light.  He hurried to join his friends so that he could meet the king.  But on the way, he came upon the form of a man lying on the side of the road, motionless and dying.  He knew that if he stayed to help the dying stranger, he would miss meeting the Messiah.  So, with a heavy heart, he stayed and cared for the man until his strength returned.  And in return, the man, a Jew, blessed his travel to Bethlehem, where he told him the king had actually been born.  So, left behind by the others, Artaban was forced to sell the sapphire, buy a train of camels, and provisions for the journey. 

But he arrived there three days after the others had departed.  He entered a cottage and found a young mother singing her baby to sleep.  And quietly, the woman told him that the new king and his family had fled secretly in the night.  Suddenly there was a noise outside as Herod’s soldiers came for the child.  Artaban went to the doorway and met the soldiers, telling them that he was alone in the house.  When the soldier did not believe him, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his ruby and gave it to him.  The soldiers went away.  The woman blessed him.

Artaban spent his life searching for the king.  In all this world of anguish, he found many to help, but no one to worship.  He fed the hungry, clothed the naked, healed the sick, and comforted those in despair.  Thirty-three years later, he came for the last time to Jerusalem and was met with a flurry of activity as the city prepared to crucify Jesus of Nazareth.  On hearing this, Artaban knew that this was what he was called to do.  The pearl, the last of his riches, could be offered as ransom for the king’s life.  It was then that a young slave girl was dragged through the streets and threw herself at Artaban’s feet.  Save me, she begged, they are going to kill me.  He sadly took the pearl from his pocket.  It gleamed with radiance as he handed it to the girl so that she could buy her life.  The earth began to shake around him; the sky darkened; and it was then that a heavy tile hit Artaban on the head.  As he lay there, the slave girl bent over him to try to hear what he was saying.  It was then that she heard a faint voice from above—“verily I say unto thee,  Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.”  A calm radiance came over Artaban’s face and he breathed one last breath.  His journey had ended.  His treasures were accepted.  He had met the King many, many times.

Well, obviously, this is fiction.  There's no basis to it.  It's not Scriptural.  But the point is that we are the other wisemen.  We are the ones called to the work.  We are the ones that will meet the King.  Maybe we will see it to fruition; more than likely, we will not.  The point is that it's not about the end-result.  It's about the journey.  It's about making the Christ-child real in your lives.  It's about meeting the King. But more than that, it's about getting it! It's about making it real. It's about letting the Light illumine your life.

God came and the Light shined into our midst.

We are called to follow, to walk in the way illumined by the Light.
Let us follow the Light as it guides us on our journey.
Let us follow the Light as it leads us to Life.
So, in this season of Epiphany, make the newborn Christ real in your life!  There is work to be done!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli     

There's Always a Plan B

It is comfortable for us to think about the ideal life as one that moves in a straight line--no bumps, no turns, no dead-ends.  It is comfortable for us to think that God has some sort of grand plan for our lives and that God then leads us down this straight, narrow road to get to the glorious end.  Really?  Do you really think that's it?  I mean, think about it, would you have traded some of the "bumps" and twists in your life's pathway?  Would you give up who you are today for walking through those?  And what if your life HAD continued down one of the roads on which you started?  Where would you be today?

I'm not really convinced anymore that God lays out some road on which I am to walk.  (I suppose some of you would say that's the reason I wander off of it as much as I do!)  After all, there's that free will thing.  If there was one road for each of us and we then chose to wander from that road or just detour around part of it or if we ended up on someone else's road altogether, would we then be a failure in God's eyes?  Would we have messed up God's perfect pre-ordained plan?  Nah...I don't think that's the way God works.

I think that God does have a plan, a plan that brings us to a place where we encounter God, to a place where all of who we are--our gifts, our talents, our minds, our hearts, those things we've learned and those things we made up on our own, those mistakes and those choices that we've made in our lives--comes together into who God calls us to be.  But I don't think there is one pre-determined road down which we are required to travel to make that happen.  God is much more grace-filled than that!  When we wander from the road on which we're traveling, when we cut our own path through life, and even when we follow others on a well-worn route, God, with infinite mercy and wisdom does not pull us back to the center of our road;  rather, God moves the path itself and continues journeying with us.  There's always a Plan B.

God has done this before.  I have a hard time buying in to the idea of God sending Jesus to this earth specifically to die a painful and horrific death just so we slackers could have eternal life.  I hate the thought of Jesus' sole mission on this earth being born to die.  Oh, don't get me wrong--the eternal life thing was God's purpose.  God had that in mind all along; in fact, God had that in mind from the very beginning of Creation.  We just didn't get it.  So God came and walked this earth, Emmanuel, God with us, to show us the Way, to show us that at the end was the beginning.  I don't think it went completely as planned.  (Oh, really now, does life EVER go completely as planned?)  Instead of embracing the Way, humanity put an end to it, hanging it on a cross and walking away.  But God, with infinite mercy and wisdom, did something different.  God took the end that we handed God and recreated it into a beginning.  There's always a Plan B.

In this Lenten season, we've talked a lot about roads and pathways.  Maybe Lent is the time to realize that the end of the road is always the beginning, so the purpose of the journey is the journey.  Maybe that's a good Plan B.

It may be that when we no longer known what to do, we have come to our real work.  And when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.  (Wendell Berry)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

LENT 4A: You're the One!

Lectionary Text:  1 Samuel 16: 1-13
The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and set out; I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons.” Samuel said, “How can I go? If Saul hears of it, he will kill me.” And the Lord said, “Take a heifer with you, and say, ‘I have come to sacrifice to the Lord.’ Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show you what you shall do; and you shall anoint for me the one whom I name to you.” Samuel did what the Lord commanded, and came to Bethlehem. The elders of the city came to meet him trembling, and said, “Do you come peaceably?” He said, “Peaceably; I have come to sacrifice to the Lord; sanctify yourselves and come with me to the sacrifice.” And he sanctified Jesse and his sons and invited them to the sacrifice. When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed is now before the Lord.” But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” Then Jesse called Abinadab, and made him pass before Samuel. He said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” Then Jesse made Shammah pass by. And he said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, “The Lord has not chosen any of these.” Samuel said to Jesse, “Are all your sons here?” And he said, “There remains yet the youngest, but he is keeping the sheep.” And Samuel said to Jesse, “Send and bring him; for we will not sit down until he comes here.” He sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome. The Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.” Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward. Samuel then set out and went to Ramah.

Once again, God has called the most unlikely, the most unexpected, and the most unprepared candidate to do God's work.  There seems to be a pattern here.  This time, God's choice is a young, but apparently good-looking, shepherd, an eighth son, from the village of Bethlehem, and from a family with no real pedigree or appropriate ancestry at all.  And with this person, God lays the road for the hope of the world.  No pressure there!  But the unlikeliness doesn't stop there.  What about Samuel? God called him to go to Jesse the Bethlehemite and anoint a new king. Well, I’m pretty sure that Saul (i.e, the King!) would not have been impressed with that had he found out. What if Samuel had just said, “You know, God, I would really rather not. That just doesn’t work into my plan.”?

In this Lenten season, what would change about our journey if we knew where we would end up, if we thought that we might end up in a place that we didn’t plan? And what would change about our life if we knew how it was all going to turn out? I mean, think about it…the boy David is out in the field just minding his own business and doing what probably generations of family members before him had done. He sees his brothers go inside one by one, probably wandering what in the world is going on. Finally, he is called in. “You’re the one!” “What do you mean I’m the one?” he probably asked in his teen-age sarcasm. “What in the world are you talking about? Don’t I even get a choice?” “Not so much.” And so David was anointed. “You’re the one!”

What would have happened if David has just turned and walked away? Well, I’m pretty sure that God would have found someone else, but the road would have turned away from where it was. It would have been a good road, a life-filled road, a road that would have gotten us where we needed to be. But it wouldn’t have been the road that God envisioned it to be.  We know how it all turned out. David started out by playing the supposed evil out of Saul with his lyre. He ultimately became a great king and generations later, a child was brought forth into the world, descended from David. The child grew and became himself anointed—this time not for lyre-playing or earthly kingship but as Messiah, as Savior, as Emmanuel, God-Incarnate. And in turn, God then anoints the ones who are to fall in line and follow him. “You’re the one”.

Do we even get a choice, you ask? Sure, you get a choice. You can close yourself off and try your best to hold on to what is really not yours anyway or you can walk forward into life as the one anointed to build the specific part of God’s Kingdom that is yours. We are all called to different roads in different ways. But the calling is specifically yours. And in the midst of it, there is a choice between death and life. Is there a choice? Not so much! Seeing the way to walk is not necessarily about seeing where the road is going. So just keep walking and enjoy the scenery along the way!

So, on this Lenten journey, look for the unexpected and walk toward it!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

First Rest

Quarter Rest

If you read music, you know that it is seldom composed of a never-ending stream of notes.  There are rests, spaces between.  The spaces are not places to stop.  They are places to rest, to breathe, to soak in and soak up what has happened, and to prepare oneself for the rest of the song.  The point is that they are part of the music.  Journeys are no different.  We need rest.  We need breathing room. We need to cease journeying and look back at where we've been.  That is part of the journey.

This journey that we call the Season of Lent has become more and more important to me over the past few years.  I have learned that I need to intentionally do something during or give up something.  I need to change what is usual and routine about my life.  I need to insert a rest and just take a breath.  Some of us give something up and some of us add something on.  I don't think it matters which and I don't think it matters what.  We just need to do something different.  I think that each of us has to do what is best for our life and our own way of living.  Maybe a good rule to use when figuring that out is to lose something that ensnares or contains you, that keeps you safe and comfortable and dependent, or gain something that gives you freedom, that pushes your boundaries and gives you life.  What is it that contains you?  What is it that gives you freedom?

This year I've chosen to write each day on this blog as my Lenten discipline.  About one-third of this season is behind us, so it is time for our "first rest".  It is time to look back at our journey.  I love to write.  It truly does give me freedom; it truly does give me life.  This time of intentional, sometimes "ritualistic" writing (as in when I don't have time--I'm sure you can recognize those!) has given me a new perspective.  It has made me look at things differently.  Ordinary things like missing exits and seeing funny little handmade signs on the backs of pianos have become new journeys through life.  Extraordinary occurrences like Supermoons have become glimpses of the unknown, glimpses of what God has in store.  And those difficult things that are going on in our world--tsunamis and bombings and wars--have somehow been made anew into life-giving phenomena.  This journey is somewhat planned and, yet, part of the plan is to be open to the way the Spirit moves.  That's what it's all about!  (But I do wish that the Spirit would not inspire Maynard quite so much.  I'm running out of Bibles!)

So, on this Lenten journey, take your first rest.  Look around.  What is it that contains you?  What is it that gives you freedom?

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Meanderings

We spend a lot of this Lenten season talking about roads, journeys, wandering, pathways, and "getting back on track".  Do you sense that there is a theme?  The truth is, life is full of roads, whether it's a 40-year long road through a desert wilderness, a leisurely afternoon drive through the Texas wildflowers, or a quick drive to the grocery store.  I just completed a three-day meeting (that was close enough for me to stay at my house) and in the six times that I was in the car, I actually took six different routes.  One included a side errand to Target, one took me out of my way enough to drop Maynard off at Yuppie Dog (yes, "Yuppie Dog"--I supposed I've become completey urbanized!), one involved lunch at a Chinese restaurant, two involved "alternate" routes than that nice woman on my GPS told me to go, and two were because I was talking to my friend who was with me and missed the exit. (As a matter of fact, yes, that does happen to me often!)  But the point is, life is full of roads and there are probably more moments than not that present us with the choice of whether to take the one that will get us there the fastest, the one that will provide the most scenic route, the one that will avoid the traffic, the one with which we're most familiar, the one that will get us back on track, or the "one less traveled by".

I don't really think that God lays down some road at the beginning of our existence and then expects us to stay walking straightly down the center.  In other words, I don't necessarily think that veering from the road in front of us is wrong.  Truthfully, if anyone tries to tell you that they have stayed on one straight road or have walked it with one focus or one thought their whole life, I would propose that they are probably standing not far from where they began.  The Scripture passsages that involve roads seem endless (no pun intended)--wilderness roads, roads to Jerusalem, roads to Emmaus, roads to Bethlehem, roads through Galilee, the road to the Cross, and the roads home.  Perhaps all those roads are not necessarily there to show us the right one to walk; perhaps instead they are there to show us that no matter what path we're one, we'll eventually end up returning home.

And upon returning, we will perhaps be a little weary, maybe even worse for the wear.  But roads tend to make us wiser, certainly with a new perspective of home and of those we've met along the way.  And often, when I've gotten completely off the path that is best for me, God has gently nudged me back, dusting me off and setting me on my way.  But more often, and, I think even more profound in my life, are those times when God, with infinite grace and mercy, somehow brings the meandering path to me. (Oh, good grief, I missed the exit again...!)

So, on this Lenten road, travel with an awareness of all the choices you have and the way God brings a road through them all.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both
and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim,
because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh!  Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
("The Road Not Taken", Robert Frost, 1920)



Grace and Peace,

Shelli       

Patiently Waiting

Today's Lectionary Scriptures:
         Joshua 5: 9-12
         2 Corinthians 5: 15-21
         Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32

Today's Gospel passage is a familiar one.  The story of the two sons and their father is one of our favorites.  It reminds us that no matter how prodigal we may be, God always welcomes us home.  We like this story.  It gives us an assurance to which we can cling even in the most distant countries of our lives.  We take comfort in its themes of forgiveness and reconciliation no matter what we do.

But I want to back up a minute.  Today's prescribed lectionary starts at the beginning of the fifteenth chapter of Luke and then it skips several verses.  I think those verses are important for the context of our story.  First Jesus tells of a lost sheep and the rejoicing of the master at its finding.  Following that is the account of a woman who loses a coin.  And now this...a father loses his most precious thing--his son and then rejoices at his finding.  But notice that the father does not go in search of the son the way the other two did.  When a coin is lost, the owner searches for it to bring its home.  As important as it obviously is to the owner, it is still an inanimate object.  The coin cannot choose to come home.  And the sheep, while a living being, does not possess the gift of free will.  The sheep will follow when its master comes to find it.  But the son is different.  The father does not stop what he's doing and leave the older son and his property and home behind to chase after him.  The son, as opposed to the coin and the sheep, must choose to come home.

 Perhaps the point of this familiar story is not simply that God forgives us; perhaps the point is that we must choose to come home.  After all, God's forgiveness, grace, and unconditional love are always there for us whether or not we choose to claim them.  Our journey of faith is not about God finding us but, rather, about our return to God.  I don't think these are three related stories of loss and finding.  I think that instead the first two point to the third.  God's deepest desire is that we are indeed all found.  But God, filled with love and compassion, is patiently waiting for us to decide once and for our deepest desire is to return home.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

A Journey of Thirsting

Today's Lectionary Old Testament Text:  Isaiah 55: 1-3, 6

Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live. I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David...Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near...(NRSV)

None of us like to thirst.  In fact, much of our life is about chasing something that will quench our thirsts--our thirst for knowledge, our thirst for acceptance, our thirst for recognition, our thirst for security, our thirst for gratification.  Thirst is an interesting thing.  It is a powerful and undeniable signal to us of what we need, a reminder of those things that sustain us.  And yet, the point seems to be to rid ourselves of it, to live perfectly-quenched lives so to speak.

And yet God is not really calling us to "perfectly-quenched" lives.  God has never said to us, "Get yourselves together, people, so that you can come to me."; never, "Hurry, people, I don't have time to wait for you anymore."  That's not what it's about.  That's not who God is.  Instead, God is inviting everyone who thirsts to come.  Timothy Shapiro claims that "hope is preceded by longing".  God's desire is not that we perfect our lives but that we desire so deeply to be with God, long for that relationship as the very source of our being, that we can do nothing other than to come to God.  God is inviting all who thirst to come. It is our thirst that draws us closer to God.  It is that thirsting for God at the very core of who we are that is the journey to God itself. As we long for God, our thirst is quenched by the very thirst for God itself.  

Alexander Stuart Baillie says that this age needs to become more realistic. It needs to listen again to the words of Jesus, who said, ‘I thirst.” He who is the Son of Man, the Son of God, is our example. He is the great pioneer in every realm of life. Surely if he thirsted, how much more do we? Humanity needs to get away from the world of “things as they are” into the world of “things as they ought to be.” This means that men and women must learn to live for others. It is only when we can live a life of self-forgetfulness that we get our truest joy out of life. One needs to keep on thirsting because life grows and enlarges. It has no end; it goes on and on; it becomes more beautiful. When one has done his best there is, he finds, still more to learn and so much more to do. [One] cannot be satisfied until [one]attains unto the stature of Jesus, unto a perfect [human], and ever thirsts for God. (Alexander Stuart Baillie, “Thirsting”, in Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2003), 242-243.)

It is only through our thirsting for God that we will find God.  It is only when we thirst that we will truly drink from the cup.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Picture:  The Dead Sea, Israel, 2010

Looking Through

We are accustomed to thinking of Lent as a journey--a journey of penitence and perspectives, of crosses and crossings, of giving up and giving over.  But in those times that we dare to stand still, to really think about things, to really contemplate the place to which we've walked, what then?  Then Lent is a space through which we look beyond--beyond Lent, beyond the cross, beyond ourselves, beyond to what it is that we will become once this season has ended.

We 21st century journeyers not only want to know where we're going; we also want to get there--fast!.  We are not really programmed to just stand still and look through something.  We'd rather keep moving, even though some of the steps along this road are painful.  At least when we're moving, we have some sense of control, some sense that we can change things--if we only keep moving.  But when we stop--when we stand still--it is as if all the control leaves us.  We stand, exposed to the elements, vulnerable to others who are comfortably and successfully moving through life, and suddenly acutely, and often painfully, aware of our own place on the journey.

And yet, part of Lent and part of life is indeed about standing still.  A journey is seldom completed with constant motion.  We are just not made for that. (You can look up that seventh day concept when you have time!) Sometimes we are meant to move; sometimes we are meant to stand still and savor what God has shown us.  Behold!  There is the cross.  There you are.  And if you stand still long enough, you will be able to look through and see where you are headed.  We are not called to walk blindly into the unknown, never looking, never questioning, never contemplating where we are or where we're going or where we've been; we are called to journey toward that which God has illumined in our lives.  So stop--stand still--and look through it all.  Behold!  And then start walking again...

Grace and Peace on the Journey--the walking and the standing,

Shelli

Picture:  Capernaum, Israel (February, 2010)   

Unless You Repent...

This Week's Lectionary Gospel Passage:  Luke 13: 1-9
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’” (NRSV)

Hmmm!  Maybe we should try the Psalm.  They're usually a little more friendly, not quite as prickly to the touch, right?  The truth is, we do not like to be threatened and this sounds very threatening.  We'd rather listen to the soothing melodies of assurance and unconditional love and grace.  Repentance is just too stressful, just too harsh and unyielding.  But, unless you repent...
 
I think the problem is that we look at repentance as something negative.  We envision repentance as some sort of self-denial.  We think that we can no longer be who we are but instead we must become some sort of stamped-out "stepford" Christian in order to "measure up" to Jesus Christ.  To quote the old, much-overused, and oft-abused slogan "What Would Jesus Do?" (WWJD), we use Christ as some sort of divine measuring stick of what is good and what is evil, what is right and what is immoral, and, more importantly, what is it that would win us favor and life with God?  So, what would Jesus do?  Well, I'm convinced that he'd throw that rot out with that batch of bad figs!  Because repentance is not negative.  It does not mean losing who you are.  It means discovering the wonder of who you are meant to be.
 
The Greek word that is usually translated as "repentance" is metanoia.    In Classical Greek, it meant to change one's mind, one's heart, one's soul, one's life.  Penance was not a part of it.  It simply meant to follow a different road.  I think that IS what Jesus would do.  Why is that so difficult for us?  Is the road that we're on so grand?  For most of us, probably not.  It is just comfortably familiar.  But don't we deserve more than comfortable?  We are told of a new life, a new creation, an existence of perfect harmony and shalom.  I don't think that's necessarily limited to our next life, or heaven, or the other side of the rainbow, or however you envision it.  I think it's down that road.  But...unless you repent...unless you change course, let go of the life that you've created, and listen to the road that beckons before you, you will remain comfortable and secure and right where you are. And then you will die! But, oh, what you will miss!
 
The road ahead looks dark now and even a little bleak.  The skies are blackening and there's this awful hammering of metal against wood up ahead.  There is shouting and chaos.  It IS tempting to pull the covers over our head and just stay in for the day.  But just beyond that hill, just ahead, through those rocks and trees, there is a tiny flicker of light.  Let us go and see this thing that has happened.  Frederick Buechner says, "To repent is to come to your senses. It is not so much something you do as something that happens. True repentance spends less time looking at the past and saying, “I’m sorry,” than to the future and saying, “Wow!” (Buechner, Wishful Thinking, 79)  But, unless you repent...
 
So, repent and believe the Gospel!
 
Shelli

Picture: Israel (February, 2010)

A Holy Pilgrimage

Last week I returned from a wonderful journey through the Holy Land with a wonderful group of friends--some [not so] old and some brand new! It was my first time to experience Israel and I have already encountered how it so profoundly changes those who have the gift of that adventure. How can I ever read Scripture the same again? How can I ever read accounts of vast groups of people journeying through the desert or waves being calmed on the [Lake] of Galilee during a storm or Jesus traveling from town to town teaching and healing without seeing and hearing and touching what I have once again? I am profoundly and forever changed. How can I be part of a Palm Sunday processional without feeling the uneven pavement beneath my feet and the way it slopes at a somewhat precarious angle as it winds above the city of Jerusalem and ends at the Garden of Gethsemane? I am profoundly and forever changed. How can I ever take the bread or serve the cup without remembering the old city in which that last meal was held, without imagining Jesus and the disciples winding their way through it in the dark trying to reach a quiet place of prayer on that dark and desperate night. I am profoundly and forever changed. Thanks be to God!

One of the questions that we were asked was what made the difference between a "trip" and a "pilgrimage". I have been thinking about that since I've been back as the memories and the feelings make their way deep into my being. I think that one difference is that a trip takes you to somewhere new and a pilgrimage takes you to somewhere that is already a part of you. A trip is temporary as you return to your same existence from which you left; a pilgrimage stays with you and becomes a part of you. A trip allows you to be someone you're not, if only for awhile; but a pilgrimage...a pilgrimage pushes you into becoming who you are. This trip was definitely a pilgrimage. Oh, sure, I brought pictures (some of them I'll try to post over the next couple of weeks) and souvenirs and various mementos. But more than anything, I brought a piece of who I am home.

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time. (Luke 4: 1-13)

This last Sunday, the lectionary Gospel passage was Jesus' 40-day encounter in the wilderness. I'm pretty sure that Jesus was not just trying to "get away from it all", as attractive as that may have been to someone who worked the hours he did! He was not escaping; he was becoming. He was on a pilgrimage to find out who God meant for him to be--to find out who he was. It is our quintessential model for this Lenten season. Lent is not merely a time of self-denial. It really has little to do with giving up chocolate, or soft drinks, or your nightly glass of wine. Lent is a pilgrimage, a holy pilgrimage. It is, of course, about clearing one's life to make room for God to work. But, I think, more than anything else, Lent is about becoming who you are, who God intended you to be. It is about finding yourself and when one finds who he or she is truly meant to be, it is there that one will finally know God in the way that God desires to be known.

In this Lenten season, I wish you a Holy Pilgrimage...Go...become who God means for you to be. It is there that you will finally know that you are home.

Peace on the Journey,

Shelli

Picture: Judean Wilderness, Israel (February, 2010)

Juxtaposition

Most of us live our lives as if it's a winding road meandering through all that life offers, always looking ahead, always trudging along at the quickest gait we can manage. I am realizing , though, that it is not the road that enhances our life; it is not the road that builds our character; and it is not the road that grows our faith. It is, rather, the intersections of time and space and the experiences of others that cross that road that seasons our life. Because it is those intersections that juxtapose us with others and their lives, placing us side by side, and creating an intricate and often complicated web that calls us to further explore our own understandings of who we are, who others are, and who God is.

Over the last few weeks, I have been sort of "playing around" on the Ancestry.com website. It gives you the tools to track your family geneology and, to the extent it's available, marks of your heritage. At first it was almost a pain, simply inputting those things that I knew about my rather large family using data that others have gathered. And then the journey began...At the risk of sounding like the Ancestry.com TV commercial, it really is a meaningful experience. Using historical records available, I'm in the process of journeying back into my own history and meeting characters in it that I did not know before. And, with that, these people of so many years ago whose DNA has been coursing through my own body since the day I was conceived have been placed directly at my side. I am having the gift of experiencing them, if only in a small way, not as history but as part of me and as something of which I'm a part. The excitement has built as the picture that I found of my great-great-great uncle in his uniform of the 19th century Imperial German Army brought tears to my eyes or the fact that I found out that a great-great aunt had lived into her late 80's and then passed away in the same retirement home where I often preach. It proves that our lives are not merely roads, but webs that connect us all.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend of mine who is a Jewish rabbi. Over the last year and a half, we've been leading an Interfaith Scripture Study together. I told him that I had been doing this geneology search and he was very interested. We talked about his family's past that he knew and the conversation went to Poland and then Warsaw and then Krakow, where we had both visited. The conversation then turned to Auschwitz, where we had also both visited. I told him what a powerful experiences that was for me and we talked about it. Our pasts are very different and, yet, along the way our separate lives and experiences have been juxtaposed, placed side by side, and, with it, our shared lives have intertwined, and I am richer for it.

I'm pretty convinced this is what God intended--not that we just walk our journey looking forward, wearing blinders to the rest of the world, but that we live our lives and journey our journey aware of the intersections that God imposes and open and aware to the way that others lives are placed side by side with our own.

So go forth and look for those whose lives run alongside your own journey!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli