Homily – Matthew 28.16-20, TS, YA, June 11, 2017

Tags

always, anxiety, baptize, disciples, evangelism, evangelist, fear, go, God, Great Commission, Holy Spirit, homily, Jesus, teach

When I first sat in the chapel at my seminary, I immediately got a little nervous.  You see, over the altar was a huge stain glass window.  Around the edges of the window were emblazoned the words, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel.”  I remember staring at those words and thinking, “When I said I wanted to be a priest, I didn’t mean I wanted to go out evangelize people.”  Sure, I wanted to gather communities around the sacraments, encouraging us to serve the poor and needy, and creating groups of people set apart.  My early vision was about the people who were already there.  But that is not what Jesus commands in the Great Commission.  Though Mark’s gospel is where the instruction comes from to preach the gospel, Matthew’s intent in similar.  They are to go, make disciples, baptize, and teach.  In other words, they are to be evangelists.  I don’t know about you, but no matter how many sermons I hear from Presiding Bishop Curry about the Jesus Movement, I still get nervous thinking about going out into the world to make disciples.

I have been thinking a lot this week about why, after all these years after Jesus’ commission, we are still a little skittish about the idea of going out, making disciples, baptizing, and teaching.  I think a lot of our anxiety is about fear.  We are afraid of what people will think.  We do not want to be perceived as one of those faith groups that goes door to door, pressuring someone to come to Jesus.  We do not want to be perceived as judgmental, as if by sharing the Good News we are saying someone’s life is incomplete.  We do not want to be perceived as fanatical, nosy, or just uncool.  And as we all know, the minute you start talking about God, you can get into all kinds of trouble around interpretation of Scripture, historical sins of the Church, and modern heresies.  Forget being judged – we could lose friends!

So why in the world would we ever do what Jesus is asking?  Why would we go out, make disciples, baptize, and teach?  We do what Jesus asks because we were once baptized, and faithful people surrounded us, promising to journey with us, to raise us into the life of faith, and to help us get to know the mysterious, loving, life-giving entity that we call Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  We do what Jesus asks because we have been taught – by countless faithful people.  Some of them were priests, professors, and Sunday School teachers.  But some of them were everyday people, just trying to make sense of the Word of God, who spoke truth to us and changed our lives.  We do what Jesus asks because we were made disciples.  At some point along the line, we learned enough, prayed enough, struggled enough, served enough, and were loved enough that we decided to walk in the way of Christ – even on those days when we do not understand fully what that means.  If all of those wonderfully converting things have happened to us, have brought beautiful children of God into our lives, and have changed our lives for the better, why wouldn’t we want to share that with others?!?

I imagine you may not still be convinced.  You may be still sitting there thinking about that scary window at the seminary thinking, “There is no way I can do that.” After rereading Matthew’s gospel this week, here is what I wish that seminary window had done.  In that big arched window, emblazoned with the words “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel,” I would have put under the window, perhaps even in parentheses, the words Jesus says today:  Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.  The going, the baptizing, the teaching, the making disciples is all done because Jesus, coeternal with that creative, blessing God we read about today, through the ever-present power of the Holy Spirit is with us always, to the end of the age.[i]  Not just back then, in a historical moment with the disciples, not just tomorrow when we are finally ready, but now, this very moment, God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – is with us, always, to the end of the age.[ii]  Our God created you in God’s image, making you very good.  This community, as the community of the Corinthians did with Paul, has taught you how to agree with one another, live in peace, be a people of love who greet one another with holy kisses.  And Jesus sends you out to do some hard, life-giving, joyful work, which you can do because the Jesus, through the Spirit, is with you always, to the end of the age.  When we dismiss you today, we will dismiss you to love and serve the Lord.  But we also dismiss you to go, make disciples, baptize, and teach.  And we all say, “Thanks be to God,” because we know that God is with us, always, to the end of the age.  Amen.

[i] Thomas G. Long, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 49.

[ii] David Lose, “Trinity Sunday A:  The Great Promise,” June 7, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/06/trinity-sunday-a-the-great-promise/ on July 8, 2017.

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, November 30, 2014

Tags

Advent, anxiety, awake, Christmas, contrast, discipline, God, loud, noise, quiet, Sermon

I live a very loud life these days.  If any of you have ever visited the Rectory between the hours of five and seven in the evening, you have witnessed the sheer volume of my life.  Between the baby who can only communicate frustration through crying and the kindergartner who is quite verbose nowadays, mixed in with the fatigue they both feel after a long day of school and nursery care, let’s just say these hours are full of a lot of noise.  That is not to say that all of the noise is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, storytelling, and shaking rattles.  But our house in those hours is not the place where you would want set up a yoga mat and try to meditate.

I sometimes blame all the noise in my life on my beloved children.  But the truth is I am as much a cause of the noise as they are.  I am admittedly loud myself – whether barking instructions around the house, singing aloud, or simply talking my husband’s ear off.  But I am not just loud in the house – I am also loud inside my head.  My mind is in constant conversation:  my to-do list, searching for ideas for a blog post, worrying about a sick friend or parishioner, trying to make plans for the weekend, processing a troublesome conversation, or wallowing in guilt for missed exercise or time in prayer.  As loud as my outside world is, my inside world is probably much worse.  Add Christmastime to the mix, and the loudness of my life reaches levels that can be incapacitating.

That is why I love Advent so much.  In the lead-up to Christmas, the outside world bombards us with noise:   Christmas songs on the radio, shopping to complete, parties to attend, gifts to wrap, houses to decorate, gatherings to host, cards to send, and loud relatives or friends to entertain.  In contrast, the Church at this time asks us to do the exact opposite:  slow down, take a breath, light some candles, breath in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing purple of anticipation.  When the outside world is telling us, “Do more, buy more, run more, fuss more, stress more,” the Church says, “Do less, worry less, run less, talk less, be busy less.”  The contrast between the two worlds is like night and day, and at a time of high stress, Advent becomes the Church’s greatest gift to us.

Into this contrast, we hear words from Mark’s gospel today.  The text says, “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.  It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.  Therefore, keep awake– for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.  And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”  Many of us hear this text today with a sense of anxiety – of needing to keep anxious watch for the Lord.  We might imagine the many apocalyptic movies, predictions, and preachers we have witnessed over the years and wonder whether Jesus really does want us to be more alarmed.  Certainly the outside world would have us also be alert and anxious for the coming Christmas.

But I think the Church is saying something else today.  Instead of an anxious alarm, our gospel lesson sounds like a gentle reminder to me.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the quiet beauty of Advent.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the gift of time set apart in these four weeks.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the lead in to the manger, the dramatic retelling of why the manger is so important, and the grounding for this entire season.[i]  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are not meant to be one more anxiety to pile on top of a mound of concerns.  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are meant to help us focus on what is really important.

So make a commitment to come to church each Sunday in Advent and spend those Sundays in quiet worship with your church family.  Grab an Advent calendar or devotional to help you more intentionally mark the days leading up to the manger.  Or set up that Advent wreath at home, so that you might bring the quiet candlelight of prayer and meditation to your home.  Whatever the discipline, choose something this Advent that will help you maintain the quiet peace you find here at Church and carry that quiet peace throughout your weeks leading up to Christmas.  My guess is that noise of life will slowly fade into a quiet hum in the background – which is right where it should be.  Amen.

[i] Lillian Daniel, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 22.

The gift of role models…

Tags

anxiety, gifts, glorify, God, non-anxious, role model, stress, tension

This Saturday our parish has its Annual Fall Fair – a festive gathering with vendors, food, children’s activities, raffles, and other fall merriment.  We are blessed with an 11-acre property, so the event is a wonderful way for us to welcome people to our grounds and remind the community that they are welcome here.  Having done this event for so many years, most of our parishioners know what needs to be done – signs, publicity, donors, coordinating vendors, setting up the property, making baskets, bringing in donations.  The list goes on.  But even though we all know what needs to be done, there is usually a bit of anxiety and stress to make sure the event is a success, especially in the week leading up to the event.  As someone who can become easily stressed, I totally understand the reaction.  Though I am not involved in the execution of the event, I always empathize with our parishioners as the tension builds in this final week.

But this year, something has shifted.  I do not know if it is due to their personalities or if they are being intentional in their behavior, but our co-chairs for this event are being the epitome of a non-anxious presence in the community.  Don’t get me wrong, they have had plenty of reasons to become anxious: several key volunteers are unavailable this year, leading to some out-sourcing; the vendors are coming in a little more slowly; and we are trying some very different, new things this year.  But the co-chairs seem to be rolling with the punches, creating solutions, and keeping their cool.  And although the church is abuzz with activity, I sense that the non-anxious presence of the co-chairs is rubbing off on others.  People are doing their assigned tasks, and there seems to be much less tension going into the event.

It is in moments like these when I am grateful to be in a community with a wide variety of gifts.  Being a non-anxious presence is one of my primary goals in my role as pastor and priest in this community.  I feel like that action alone reduces challenges significantly and enables the body to live out its ministry in a healthy and God glorifying way.  But being non-anxious takes work and intentionality, and some days I exude that calm better than others.  This week, I am grateful for parishioners who are serving as healthy role models, and who invite me to live into my call in a more healthy way.

Courtesy of http://collegesoup.org/2011/03/31/reducing-college-test-anxiety/

Sermon – Matthew 3.1-12, A2, YA December 8, 2013

Tags

Advent, anxiety, dreams, hopes, John the Baptist, re-orientation, repentance, Sermon, vision

Today we are going to do something a little different.  We are going to try an exercise I found recently.[i]  I want you to pull out your bulletin or a scrap of paper, and grab the pencil in your pew or a pen you brought with you.  Next, I want you to make a quick “to do” list for Advent.  I want you to put all the things you need and want to get done:  maybe shopping for gifts, decorating the Christmas tree, sending those Christmas cards, or attending the kids’ school Christmas concert.  Maybe you want to make some end-of-year charitable contributions, or need to get those Christmas Eve services on your calendar.  I want you to put all the things on the list and feel free to be fairly exhaustive about what you want to get done in these next two and half weeks.  I am going give you a second, as I imagine your list is probably as long as mine.  And this is probably the only time I will ever encourage you to make a to-do list during the sermon, so enjoy!

Now, I want you to take a deep breath, clear your mind a bit, and I want you to daydream about what you hope Christmas will be like this year.  Think about the kind of day you want to have or maybe the kind of relationships you want to be a part of your life.  Think about what kind of world you want to live in this Christmas, and maybe even beyond Christmas Day.  Your hopes can certainly be about your immediate wants and needs, but they can also include your larger families, communities, and the world.  If you want, go ahead and take just another moment to write a brief sentence below your other list that captures your hope for your life and the world this Christmas.  As you are thinking about the kind of world you want to live in, think about the passage we heard from Isaiah today:  a world where the wolf shall live with the lamb, the cow and the bear graze together, and a nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp.  Perhaps this kind of harmony and peace is a part of your Christmas hope and can certainly be a part of your dreaming today.

Okay, now that you have your to-do list and your Christmas hope in mind, I want you to work backwards.  Look at the to-do list you made and circle those tasks that might contribute directly to your own deep hopes and longings about your life and this world.  Certainly, there are going to be some items on your list that are important in the short-term, but maybe do not contribute to your larger vision and hope.  Here is where our invitation lies today.  Perhaps this Advent can be a time of putting things in perspective and channeling our energy and resources to those things that matter most to us, to our families, to our communities, and to God.

Of course, that invitation may not have been what you initially imagined when you heard John the Baptist’s words today in our gospel lesson.  His words of repentance and judgment are honestly more scary than comforting this time of year.  I have many times wondered why we have to hear John’s words now, as we approach that blessed holy night, as opposed to some other text about happy anticipation or blessed expectation.  But John does not mince words, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

I have been reading a lot these last couple of weeks about the season of Advent and people’s varying opinions about whether Advent is a penitential season or not.  I have been part of parishes that have insisted that Advent is not a mini-Lent, and refuse to take on anything that resembles the penitential nature of Lent.  But I have also been a part of parishes who see the themes in our collects this season and hear words like John the Baptist’s words today and cannot help but to claim the penitential nature of Advent.

Part of the challenge is that we all get a bit hung up on the fact that we think of repentance as being about guilt, inadequacy, and unworthiness.  We imagine that repentance is about our standard of moral worthiness or about our feelings of remorse.  Barbara Brown Taylor explains, “The kind of repentance most of us shrink from is all about us, in case you hadn’t noticed.  It is all about me, me, me, the miserable sinner.  No wonder it is so revolting.”  But, Taylor suggests that there might be another way to look at repentance.  “The other kind of repentance, the healing kind is far more interested in God.  It spends more time looking at the kingdom than the mirror.  It has more faith in God’s power to make new than in our own power to mess up.”[ii]  In fact, some have argued that repentance is about God’s desire to realign us with Christ’s life, God’s hope to transform us into Christ’s image.[iii]  Real repentance is not about our failings, but about God’s desires for us.

I think many of us want to avoid texts like our gospel lesson today, because the last thing we want to hear as we try to struggle through those Advent to-do lists is that we need to repent, and think about the kingdom of heaven coming near.  But John is not trying to push us to feel bad about ourselves this Advent season, or even to wallow in apologies.  Instead, repentance is about “re-orientation, a change of perspective and direction, a commitment to turn and live differently.”[iv]  Our gospel lesson today is not trying to get us to limit our hopes or define ourselves by our ancestry or piety, but to dream bigger dreams, and to work toward those bigger hopes on that Christmas hope list you just made this morning.  This is what John means when he says to bear fruit worthy of repentance.

Now if you imagine that I am saying that you have more work to do this Advent season, you are partially right.  I am inviting you to take up the work of living into your bigger hopes and dreams this season.  But I am also giving you permission to let go of those things on that to-do list that are not allowing you to focus on the real joy of this season: the joy of a life of repentance – of re-orientation.  Now you may not be able to get out of that party or those Christmas cards, but maybe your presence at that party will be marked by your new Advent re-orientation.  Maybe those cards will have a different message than you originally planned, or your approach to completing them may be full of love and compassion instead of obligation and annoyance.  John’s words for us today are a wake-up call, but not the wake up call that fills us with dread and self-criticism.  John’s wake-up call is a reminder of the hope of this season – the hope that is ours to claim when we are ready.  Amen.

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[i] David Lose, “Hoping for More,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2901 on December 2, 2013.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “A Cure for Despair: Matthew 3:1-12,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 21, no. 1, Advent 1997, 18.

[iii] John P. Burgess, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 46.

[iv] Lose.

Finding joy in exhaustion…

Tags

anxiety, change, emotional, exhaustion, God, spiritual, work

This month has been one of those months at church that has been super busy.  Three out of four Saturdays have had events, and Sundays have been full too.  That alone can be exhausting, as many of us have commiserated.  But I was thinking about it today, and the truth is that all of the things we are doing are a big deal.  I think that some of our exhaustion is not just because our weekends have been full, but that the things that have been filling our time are emotionally and spiritually significant.

Two weekends ago, our Vestry had our annual retreat.  During that time we were exploring our evangelism efforts here in Plainview and imagining how we might reinvent some of our space to welcome visitors.  Both think about going out into the community and rearranging our own house raised all sorts of apprehensions and anxieties.

Last weekend, we put the soil in our new Garden of Eatin’ – a Grow to Give garden that will allow us to feed our hungry neighbors this summer.  The work was fun, took a physical toll, and brought on a mixture of emotions.  Like any new project, this project has brought a whole host of conversation and at times, conflict.  So in some ways, seeing things moving was completely refreshing and life-giving.  But we still have a ways to go before emotions are completely settled.

Later that afternoon, we held our Annual High Tea.  What I loved about the event was that the attendees ranged widely – total strangers to our church, friends of parishioners, and then a good dose of parishioners.  Now if only we can be as bold to invite those folks on Sundays as we are to invite them to our tea, we would be heading in the right direction.  But thinking about that practice can bring anxiety too.

Finally, this coming weekend, we have two major events.  First six of our teens are being confirmed at the Cathedral.  Although this comes at the end of months of preparation, I really see this as a beginning for them.  They declare on that day that they are ready to take more intentional steps in their journey with God.  It is a declaration made without certainty, but faith that God will be with them along the way.

On Sunday, our confirmands will lead us in worship as they serve in various roles.  We will conclude that service with a parish wide conversation about our ministry and mission here in Plainview.  This is a conversation that parishes throughout the diocese are having.  I am excited to see where the conversation goes, but I know that even this conversation will lead to some tough questions and uncomfortable answers.

What makes me happy about all of this is that this is all good stuff.  That does not mean all of it is easy or does not make us spiritually or emotionally drained.  But if we are not feeling drained, then we are not letting this work really do what it needs to do among us.  So as tired as we are, I hope you can hang in there with me.  I think God is doing great things among us.

Sermon – Matthew 6.25-33, Thanksgiving, YB, November 22, 2012

Tags

anxiety, God, Jesus, Sermon, Thanksgiving, worry

Today is one of those Norman Rockwell days.  We pull out old family recipes, we gather in the kitchen to cook and share in reminiscences.  We watch the Macy’s parade, hoping to sneak a glimpse at The Rockettes.  We map out which football games we will watch.  The table is set in festive ware, and the food is not only delicious, but also brings back the memories of so many other Thanksgiving meals.  We smile, laugh, and our hearts are full of gratitude.  This is the day that the Lord has made.

Or at least that is how we always fantasize Thanksgiving will look.  Instead, we have been scrambling around, making sure we have all the ingredients we need, trying to figure out what to serve to Cousin Sam’s vegan girlfriend.  We worry that Uncle Fred will be as rude and obnoxious as he always is, and whether the kids will get too impatient and cranky before the meal begins.  We worry that the turkey will be dry or that the recipe that we entrusted to our sister will not be as good as Grandma’s.  We struggle to find just the right outfit that is flattering enough for pictures, but comfortable enough for the full belly we will have after the meal.  And quite frankly, having finally mostly recovered from the Hurricane, we have barely had time to turn our thoughts to Thanksgiving, and our nerves are a little frazzled.

So as we rush into Church today, our minds full of to-do lists and worries of the day, what do we hear from Jesus?  “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”  Jesus scolds those who are gathered for that very human experience of anxiety, implying that their worries are rooted in a lack of trust in the God who can just as easily care for birds and lilies as God can care for them.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with this passage.  I discovered this passage as a teen, and have returned to the passage time and again when I felt the waves of anxiety crashing over my head.  The passage is oddly comforting and frustrating at the same time.  The passage has a way of making me feel guilty about my anxiety – as though I should be ashamed of my worries and concerns.  I can almost hear the scolding tenor of Jesus, like a nagging mother.  But like most mothers who know best, the words are simultaneously comforting because I know that they are true at the deepest levels of my being.  I find comfort in these words because they force me out of the mire that is usually self-imposed, and turn my heart to where my heart belongs – to God.

Luckily, we are in good company.  Our modern consumerist society does not make us as different from those in Biblical times as we might think.  Clearly those following Jesus stressed as much as we do about putting food on the table and the latest clothing styles.  In fact, this fear is present throughout scripture.  How many times have we heard that command, “Fear not.”  “The order not to fear is perhaps not only the most reiterated in Scripture, but also the least obeyed.”[i]  What Jesus sees and why Jesus scolds is because Jesus knows that those anxieties pull us away from the work that God has given us to do.  When those doing God’s work get distracted by their worries and fears, they have little time or energy left to actually do God’s work.  This is what Jesus is trying to communicate – to redirect energy from that inner storm of worry, fear, and anxiety, to the productive work of God’s kingdom.  For, as Jesus explains, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”  Worry pulls us inward – which is completely the opposite direction that the Church sends us after every Eucharist.

Today, instead of letting myself wallow in guilt or seeing Jesus as a scolding parent, I will think of Jesus as a great yoga instructor.  In yoga, one of the primary goals of the practice is to clear your mind.  Any good yoga instructor will admit that you cannot clear your mind by willing your mind to be clear.  Thoughts and distractions will continue to invade your practice.  The trick is to acknowledge the thought, and let the thought go, returning your focus to your practice.  Uncle Fred worrying you?  Release the fear from your body.  Perfect Thanksgiving meal weighing on you?  Let go of the anxiety from your mind.  Rowdy children and messy dishes stressing you out?  Free your heart to love without limit.  These are the words I imagine Jesus, the yoga instructor, offering us today.  Today is not really about any of those things anyway.  All of those things – food, loved ones, and rest – are gifts from God:  the same God that desires for you to do the work of seeking and serving Christ in others.  The rest is gravy!  Amen.

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[i] Jason Byassee, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 406.

Reflections on the Storm…

Tags

anxiety, Christ, grace, hurricane, love, serve, stress, suffering

I have been pondering for the last ten days what to say about the experience of Hurricane Sandy.  I think I felt overwhelmed because I knew that my experience was not as bad as thousands of others in our area.  My experience felt superficial somehow, as if I did not earn enough credit to have something to say about all of this.  But what I realized these last couple of days is that although I cannot speak for places that were utterly devastated by this horrible storm, I can speak for what life has been life for the rest of us, tied to those who are suffering more while suffering ourselves.

As background, we lost power for seven days.  We have a fireplace (although it took us several days to secure wood) and we had hot water.  But we did not have heat, the ability to cook, or the other conveniences of electricity.  We had filled our cars with gas before the storm, but we knew we had to be careful about the number of trips out of the house.  We also have a three year old daughter.  We had several trees fall on the property, one damaging the church, but mostly we were spared significant damage.

Over the last ten days, several reflections have occurred to me.  First, I used to work with Habitat for Humanity, and in our work there, we told personal stories of homeowners to potential volunteers and funders.  I remember telling stories of families whose only heat source was their gas oven, who could not afford their electric bill and just went without power, or whose children suffered in school because of poor heat, comfort, and nutrition at home.  I told those stories and my heart broke as I imagined the faces of each of those homeowners.  But I had never experienced those realities, especially as a parent.  As we struggled this past week to warm our child by bringing her into our bed; as I slept by the dying fire (making sure to avoid accidents), realizing that although my body was warm, the frigid air around my head was keeping me awake; or as I found that despite my two layers of clothes, long robe, and a blanket, I still could not keep warm during the day, I began to see those Habitat stories in a whole new way.  There are neighbors who suffer this pain everyday, and yet we are blind because they are hidden in homes we do not notice, in sections of town we do not frequent, or in coworkers whom we do not know well.  Despite our suffering for seven days, or the continued suffering for people up to ten days so far, there are people who live this suffering everyday.

Second, there is a way in which the varied experiences of a disaster make you feel like that if you do not suffer in a particular way, your experience of suffering is not valid.  You feel shallow or weak or insensitive for complaining if your experience is less burdensome than others.  And in a way, I think that is appropriate.  We should always be grateful for our blessings and recognize that there are many ways in which things could have been worse for all of us.  But stifling our pain for the sake of honor others’ pain has begun to feel corrosive to me.  Despite the fact that my suffering or even the suffering of my parishioners was milder compared to other areas of Long Island, our suffering is still hard.  The experience of long periods of cold, of worrying about the health of yourself and your child who cannot stop coughing and wiping running noses, of worrying if the mental health benefits of getting out of the house are worth the anxiety of the uncertain gasoline situation, of feeling cut off from the rest of the world, of worrying about those whose suffering is worse, of being frustrated about not being able to reach those without power to see if they are okay – all of that takes a toll on the psyche.  And even when we got power a week later, about half of my parishioners were still without power.  So any sense that things just go back to normal is false.  The frustration of just wanting to get back to work without the ability to get back to work can be overwhelming.  It was not until the snow hit and the schools closed yet again that I realized how much of this emotion and anxiety I have been stuffing.

Finally, I have been struck by the overwhelming ways in which this storm has brought out the goodness in others.  My parishioners have been running extension cords across the street to share power with others.  I observed all of us talking to one another more – learning more of each others’ stories – caring more about the welfare of each other.  People without power themselves have bent over backwards to make sure my family was okay.  Friends and parishioners have taken us in for hot meals and for washing laundry or for simple camaraderie.  People long to help others even when they are suffering.  There is a sense of abundance in the face of devastation.  There is joy watching a toddler find creative ways to entertain herself.  And the outpouring of love from all over the region is even more overwhelming.  I have felt like that wall that keeps us from sharing Christ with one another has been decimated, and Christ is found all around us as we love and care for one another.

This last week and a half has been an emotional rollercoaster, and the end is not necessarily in sight.  I ask that you pray for one another.  I ask that you seek and serve Christ in all persons.  I ask that you love and give yourself grace the same way that you are loving and giving grace to others.  And I ask that you remember the ways in which you are opening yourself to others and not to forget that new way of being when we finally do get back to “normal.”