The Power of Showing Up…

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anxious, beauty, church, comfort, expectation, gift, God, grace, Holy Week, kids, nervous, pilgrimage

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Most of you know that Holy Week is my favorite week of the year.  I love the way the week feels like a virtual pilgrimage, walking us from Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, to his last meal with the disciples, to his trial and crucifixion, to his death and resurrection.  Each daily liturgy gives us the opportunity to experience that journey in unique, meaningful ways.  Knowing my passion for this week, my family is gracious every year with my absences from family life that week.  But this year, my husband had an evening work conflict he could not miss, and so I had some options for that night’s service.  I could skip the service – I was not serving that night, and was not physically needed.  I could hire a baby sitter, using some date-night reserves.  Or I could take the girls with me to the quiet service with long periods of silence, knowing how difficult it would be for them after a long day of school.

After much waffling, I decided to try bringing the kids with me.  I really wanted to be there for my own spiritual journey, and I hoped the kids might get something out of the experience.  I prepped the kids endlessly so that they would respect the periods of silence and the experience of those attending.  All in all, for their ages, the girls did amazingly well.  There were certainly a few too many wiggles and distracting noises, but for the most part, they were well-behaved.  I, on the other hand, was a ball of nervous energy.  I know how much I have reveled in the silence of that service and I really did not want to ruin that experience for anyone else.  I found myself so anxious about it, that I realized I didn’t get to experience the service in the way I traditionally do.

But here’s what did happen.  In the midst of trying to prevents disagreements, and minimize crinkling of papers, I was still able to sing and pray the words of the songs.  In the midst of desperately trying to keep kids at whisper-levels, I was able to catch snippets of scripture that hung in my ears and mind.  In the midst of impatient children, I was able to hear my children singing along and see my kids embrace participation – whether in lighting candles, handing out bulletins, or praying at the altar.

Here’s the thing about Holy Week services:  there are a lot of them, and you might not think you are mentally or spiritually ready for them.  You might be curious about some of the services, but are not sure your kids could handle them.  Or you might be thinking you are too tired this week to get anything out of the services.  No matter what is going on with you this week, I promise that if you can get yourself to Church, God will find you.  It may not be in the way you expect, you may not be able to be present as fully as you like, and you might not be convinced it is worth it.  But I promise you, if you figure out a way to get to Church this week, God will break through the chaos of life and whisper a word of comfort, and give you a glimpse into God’s grace and beauty.  My guess is that if you open yourself up to the liturgies of this week, you might just figure out how to carry those lessons into the rest of the Church year too.  The community is gathered this week and welcomes you, wherever you are on your journey, and especially when you do not feel like you have much to offer.  Holy Week is a gift the Church offers to you.  Your invitation is to just show up.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

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On God and Spring…

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beauty, bloom, blossom, color, fresh, glory, God, joy, love, people, spring, surprise, trees, wonder

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse only with permission

This year, spring has taken me a bit by surprise.  I am mostly surprised because we keep having cold bursts, and yet, the budding trees seem undeterred.  But what has also surprised me is how unprepared I have been for the emergence of color.  You see, in these brisk days, I had become accustomed to bare trees and the dormant brown of the season.  As the trees begin to blossom, though, I have been caught off guard.  I forgot how beautiful these trees can be in spring.  I forgot the soft yellows, purples, pinks, and whites of their blooms, and I had forgotten the beauty they possess.  Despite having watched these same trees blossom year after year, I still find myself surprised by their loveliness.

As I have been surprised by the beautiful emergence of spring this year, I began to wonder if I don’t do the same thing with the people around me.  Sometimes, I think we get so used to our loved ones that we forget to really see them.  We get used to the rote normalcy of life, and we get so accustomed to our routines, we sometimes fail to see the beautiful blooms of the people right in front of us.  We neglect to see the ways the people in our lives are changing and growing, and sparking new life, and we fail to see their blossoming beauty.  We fail to behold their beauty with the wonder it deserves.

I wonder who in your life has been blossoming without your notice.  I wonder whose blossoms are coming into glory and yet you have been too busy to notice.  I invite you this week to take a long look at your loved ones.  Look at them with fresh eyes, expecting to be wowed with something fresh and inspiring.  See them with the eyes of a new acquaintance instead of the eyes of someone who only sees the withered winter version.  And then, tell them what you see.  Share with your loved ones the beauty you see in them, the new life you see budding, and the ways in which their color gives joy to the world around them.

I suspect when you start to embrace this new way of seeing your loved ones you will see them as God sees them – as beautiful creations whose beauty reflects God’s glory.  You can share that gift too – the ways in which you see God’s glory reflected in them.  But beware!  Once you begin to see God’s beauty and glory in others, you might also begin to see it in yourself as well.  If you need a little help seeing the color blooming in yourself, let me know.  I’d be happy to help you see yourself as God sees you!

On Awkwardness and Grace…

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awkward, beauty, church, God, grace, guest, hard, homeless, identity, Jesus, love, privilege, purpose

Image credit:  https://rimland.org/tag/homeless/

This week our church is hosting our community’s Emergency Winter Shelter.  Every day for a week, from about 6:30 pm to about 8:30 am, we welcome up to twenty-five guests into our church.  This week is a banner week for our church community.  It is the week in the year where everything we say about discipleship and being witnesses for Christ’s love becomes a reality.  The week is so important that we try to engage parishioners of all ages, and we partner with other churches and local schools to make the week happen.  This is the week where we boldly proclaim our identity and live it with integrity.  This is the week where Christ can say about us, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…”[i]

You would think with that kind of buildup, and that clear sense of purpose, every moment we are hosting our guests would be this beautiful, enlightened, perfect moment.  While there are certainly beautiful moments, what I noticed about our Winter Shelter week is that it is much more awkward that you might imagine.  Up to twenty-five individuals gather together, with unique stories that brought them to this moment of vulnerability and need, and they create a make-shift place of protection for few hours with about twenty volunteers who mostly do not need to worry about where the next meal is coming from or where they will rest their heads.  What do you talk about over a shared meal?  How do you connect with someone who is bone tired from working, hustling to get to the shelter, and worried about what is next?  How do you overcome the very obvious fact that the worlds you are both operating in are diametrically different?

The answers are not super glamorous.  When you invite yourself to sit at a table with homeless men and women, sometimes the conversation is superficial, and sometimes things are said that rock your world and remind you of how much privilege you really have.  When you long for a human connection with someone who is bone tired, sometimes the most you get is a smile; but more often what you get is a reality check about how brutal homelessness can be, and how many other awful things may be present in their lives.  And as you long to overcome the barriers of the two worlds you live in, part of what you have to do is let go of the idea that you can, remembering why Jesus once said it is harder for a person of wealth to get into the kingdom than a camel to fit through the eye of a needle.  Winter Shelter Week is hard and awkward because the experience forces us to examine our lives, acknowledge our privilege, and be honest about the amount of work we still have to do.

The good news in all the awkwardness and difficulty is that God’s grace is all around.  Providing shelter for a week matters.  Acknowledging the humanity of one another matters.  And that we are even trying matters.  God takes our best intentions, and our humbling week, and grants us moments of beauty:  from the almost five-year old who insists on saying goodnight to every guest before going home to bed – and the gracious responses of guests; to the teenager who has the courage to say an extemporaneous blessing over the food, when traditional prayers do not seem to work; to the community – both guests and hosts – who rallies together to protect the physical well-being of all the guests.  When Jesus talked about welcoming in strangers and feeding and quenching other’s thirst, he did not warn us how hard it would be.  I suspect he knew that the grace we would exchange in the mutual vulnerability would be reward enough.

[i] Matthew 25.35

God’s Gifts in the Chaos…

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Advent, beauty, blessing, breath, chaos, Christmas, crazy, gift, God, kids, life, moments, relationship, sacred

Photo credit:  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/214835844696012029/

Every December since our elder child was about two or three years old, the same thing happens.  The anticipation of Christmas turns our children into possessed creatures.  They argue more, act out in school, whine at the drop of a hat, and generally become entirely unpleasant to be around.  No matter how much I try to minimize the excitement of Christmas, the buzz around them is unavoidable, and, ergo, crazy behavior.  I found myself so frustrated the other day with the constant effort to reign them in that I had the distinct thought, “I just wish Christmas was over already!”

But I soon as had the thought, I knew I did not mean it.  You see, despite the mayhem of the season, in these last days of Advent, there are still sacred moments everywhere.  As we read our Advent devotional this week, one of the questions was, “Who are you praying for this Advent.”  My younger daughter immediately said, “I want to pray for all dead people.”  “Oh,” I said, “like whom?”  “Like MeeMaw,” she said.  And despite the fact that they nearly broke half the ornaments that came out of the ornament box, now, every morning, both girls rush to the tree to plug in the lights and find the ornaments that play Christmas tunes or funny sounds, twirling around in their nightgowns to the sounds.  And last week, as they had their Christmas dance performances, I teared up watching them, remembering how very special dance had been to me growing up.

The same can be true in any season.  Whether we are putting our heads down, trying to finish one more project, or absorbed in technology for extended periods of time, or simply fixated on our endless to-do lists, we can achieve a lot, but miss life along the way.  Fortunately, we are blessed with a God who is continually trying to get our attention anyway – who is relentless in pursuing relationship with us.  In these last days of Advent, God invites us to take a deep breath, lift up our heads, and open our eyes to the beauty of the sacred all around us.

Hickory Neck offers us the opportunity to do that over the next several days.  Whether you come to our Blue Christmas service, our last Advent liturgies, Christmas Eve services, or the service on Christmas Day, there will be multiple times to see glimpse of the sacred all around you – ways in which the manger is a window into the greater redemptive work God is doing in the world.  Whether it’s with an encouraging word from our Blue Christmas service, the sharing of memories at an upcoming funeral, or the wedding vows that one couple will renew on Christmas Day (sixty years later!), what we learn is that in the chaos of life, God is gifting us sacred gifts in tiny, momentous ways.  Today, I invite you to receive God’s gifts among the chaos.

On Making Mary Moments…

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beauty, closure, death, goodbye, grandmother, holy, Jesus, journey, Martha, Mary, meaningful, presence, sit, visit

Photo Credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly, January 26, 2018

Over a week ago, I received a call that my grandmother was approaching death.  The suggestion was if I wanted a last visit, I should come sooner rather than later.  Looking at the week ahead, I realized I could go with my children last weekend with minimal impact to their school schedule or my own work obligations.  I was not sure what to expect – whether I would be able to have meaningful conversation or even eye contact with her, or especially how my three- and eight-year olds would respond to her in her current state.  At some point, a family member pastorally suggested I not come, knowing how hard such a long journey for such a brief visit would be.  But something kept pushing me to go, even if the journey seemed fraught with potential difficulty.

There were things that did not happen.  We did not have one last, long, meaningful conversation as I had with my other grandmother.  My grandmother was much too weak and her thoughts much too confused to answer any of my lingering questions about our family.  My children did not get to interact with my grandmother extensively.  They had beautiful moments of tenderness with her, and they played nearby, but they also needed to be kids and move.  I did not leave with a sense of real closure.  No one really knows how long she will be able to thrive.

What did happen was a much clearer understanding of why Mary chose to sit at Jesus’ feet, while her sister Martha busied herself with the duties of the home.  For full confession’s sake, I am much more like Martha most days – I am always washing one more dish or finishing one more piece of laundry instead of playing with my kids or hanging out with my husband.  But sitting beside my grandmother, holding her hand, realizing all the things I was not getting, I came to see the beauty of presence.  I do not think I have ever just been still with my grandmother.  I have never looked into her eyes for an extended period of time without saying anything.  I am pretty sure I have never just held her hand.  In the midst of all that could not be said, I felt a different kind of closure.  I could finally see in my larger-than-life grandmother her vulnerability, her desire to love, her humanity.

I left my grandmother last weekend wondering if I might be able to create more space for Mary-type moments in everyday life.  Whether I might put my phone away more often at home and be more present with my family.  How I might stop worrying about my to-do list, and spend more open time with our staff and parishioners.   Whether I might write that note to a suffering friend instead of letting the thought pass.  What Mary-type moments have been missing in your life lately?  When was the last time you sat at the feet of Jesus, or sat at the feet of the holy in others, and stayed for a while?  What might you need to do this week to find your own Mary moment?  I look forward to hearing about your reflections.

On Busyness…

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beauty, busyness, creation, exuberance, God, habits, holy, joy, lessons, life, savor, sins, white space

We all have habits that pull us away from God.  Mine is the habit of busyness.  In juggling family, work, and self, I can easily fill every second of every day.  Even the fun stuff I schedule can feel like something to be “fit” into the schedule, not delighted in and savored in the moment.  I was particularly convicted of this reality by a speaker I heard at a leadership conference, Juliet Funt, who talked about the value of white space.  She defines white space as the strategic pause taken between activities.  White space is not meditation, letting the mind wander, or mindfulness.  It is a simple, intentional break.  And white space isn’t just for work – it is for the home too.

What struck me about her talk is I realized in my devotion to busyness, I am carving out a life that looks and is experienced in a particular way – a way that I am not sure I necessarily like.  Two things brought this home to me recently.  The first was watching the film About Time.  The plotline was a bit farfetched:  a man who can travel back in time and change parts of his life.  After myriad adventures, what the time traveler eventually realizes (spoiler alert!) is that he does not need to travel anymore.  Instead, he treats everyday like a gift to be savored and celebrated.  He was carving out white space in his life.

The second thing that brought this home was the funeral of a beloved parishioner.  In the eulogy, the family talked about all the life lessons they had learned from their mother, many of which were about living with joy and exuberance.  As I sat listening to the eulogy, I realized that everyday I am filling up my children’s life full of lessons – and I want them to be the right ones.

So, taking a cue from the fictional to the very real, I decided to create a little white space this week.  There are some lovely yellow wildflowers blooming on the drive to my children’s childcare facility.  So yesterday, I pulled over, grabbed the phone, and took some pictures of beauty – the beauty of God’s creation in nature and in my children.  It was a small victory, but as my children proclaimed, “That was fun!” I knew I had carved out a little holy space for all of us:  space to say thank you to God for all of our gifts – creation, life, each other.  I invite you today to find a moment of white space.  I can’t wait to hear about what that white space brings!

Photo credit:  eskipaper.com/yellow-flowers-field-background.html#gal_post_32591_yellow-flowers-field-background-1.jpg

On seeing beauty…

Tags

awe, beauty, creation, fall, God, leaves, love, season, seeing

Photo credit: http://xyer.co/fall-leaves-wallpapers.html

Most of you know that fall is my favorite season.  Every year I am blown away by the turning of leaves.  Something about that transition is magical and mystical.  Each tree seems to have a period of glory.  Sometimes it sneaks up you.  You walk on the same path every day.  But one day, that tree has gone from a slow transition to being brilliantly red, orange, or yellow.  It takes your breath away and you literally stop in your tracks.  Sometimes you just stare; but sometimes you close your eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool, autumn air, the image of those colors blazed in your mind.

Over the years I have had my favorites.  In seminary, there were three small trees planted in a triangle formation.  They turned a brilliant yellow every year.  But when the leaves fell, three circles of yellow formed on the grass.  I couldn’t help thinking of our Trinitarian God looking at those concentric circles of yellow bliss.  In my first curacy there was a bush on the church campus that turned blazing red.  It was one of those that would sneak up on you.  Fortunately, it always held its leaves for a while, so its color was a daily gift of joy for weeks.  Here at St. Margaret’s there is a wall of trees lining the front entrance of the property.  They are enormously tall, but otherwise unassuming.  Their leaves aren’t even pretty in shape.  But, when the time is right, they all turn a beautiful yellow that becomes stunning when the sun hits them just right.

As I was walking the property this week, I wondered whether God looks at each of us the way that I lovingly look at the changing leaves.  I wonder whether God sees heart-stopping beauty in each of us, gasping in awe of us.  Of course, we could never see ourselves in such awe-inspiring ways, but I imagine God can.  And unlike us, who have our favorite seasons, I imagine God is in awe of us in all seasons of life.  When we are budding with new life, when we are deep shades of green, when we explode in shockingly beautiful colors, and even when we are bare and vulnerable, God sees our beauty always.

If God can see that kind of beauty in us, how might our behavior change if we started seeing that same beauty in ourselves and in others?  The work would be hard.  I don’t always like the brusque winters or the lazy summers I sometimes see in others.  Sometimes I look at myself and only see the ugly shape of my leaves and not their brilliant color.  But if God is willing to see the beauty in all seasons of my life, perhaps I can start trying to see the beauty in myself and others too.

On beauty…

Tags

beauty, bold, glory, God, light, shine, volunteer

Photo credit: http://stock-clip.com/video-footage/tulip%20loop

I was visiting a neighboring parish recently and was admiring their beautiful landscaping.  A dogwood was blooming in delicate pink.  There were pockets of flowers in red and purple.  As I was surveying the beauty, I noticed one, brilliantly yellow tulip standing on its own near the dogwood.  It was surrounded by mulch and little else.  And yet my eyes were drawn to the single flower more strongly than the rest of the carefully planned landscaping.  When I mentioned the little flower to someone on campus, they said that sometimes flowers “volunteer” like that.  They self-pollinate and just show up where they like.

The image was a striking one:  something so out of place, and yet so beautiful.  By “volunteering” and just standing boldly where it was, this tulip was a reminder of how beauty cannot always be managed.  Sometimes beauty is beautiful because it was not managed.

Thinking back on that tulip, I found myself wondering whether I was willing to be so bold – whether I was comfortable volunteering to be wherever God planted me.  Jesus talks to the disciples in Matthew about being a light for the world.  He says in Matthew 5.16, “…let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”  Jesus’ words sound simple, but I think we do not really feel comfortable living out his instructions.  We might consider letting our light shine…as long as we are surrounded by others doing the same.  We don’t mind being a brilliantly yellow tulip…as long as we can be beautiful with others.  But ask us to go at it alone – to let our light shine by ourselves so that others might see our individual good works and give glory to God – well, that is another story.  What if I am not bright or beautiful enough?  What if my works aren’t good enough and people judge me instead of giving glory to God?

The trick is remembering that little tulip.  I saw lots of flowers that day that looked beautiful.  But it was the one solo flower that made me stop, that made me linger nearby.  That tulip had power simply by being willing to be where it was, and to be there in its fullness.  Our invitation is to do likewise.  My guess is that even if we cannot see our own beauty or our own light, others will – and they will give glory to God.