Sermon – John 10.11-18, Psalm 23, E4, YB, April 25, 2021

Tags

belonging, children, control, Good Shepherd, intimacy, Jesus, love, mutuality, parent, relationship, respect, Sermon, sheep, shepherd, vulnerable

As a new parent, I struggled during the toddler years – those years when the child is first asserting their will, realizing they want to be in control too.  And so, after trying calm coaxing and verbal reasoning, I eventually honed the art of muscling:  I realized I was stronger than my toddler, so I could just sweep them up and carry on doing what I knew we needed to do anyway.  Sometimes the swooping was playful, swinging the child around or letting them hang upside-down.  But more often, it was just a strong, steady sweep – getting us out of the grocery store during a meltdown, getting us out of the house and into the car for an appointment, getting us away from the television.  But that kind of parenting only works for so long – approximately as long as you can physically lift a flailing child, which for me, was not that long.  That is when parenting gets real.

I have been thinking a lot about the Good Shepherd this week, and the similarities between shepherding and parenting.  As children, or more aptly, as sheep, we want a shepherd who will take care of us.  The words from today’s psalm and John’s gospel lay out the idealized caregiver:  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want[i]; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.[ii]  When we think about what we want from God, especially after a long year-plus of a pandemic, of political divisiveness, of struggling with the institution of racism, we want a God who will cradle us in, and love and protect us unconditionally.  I suspect that is why so many churches have paintings, stained glass windows, and statues of Jesus carrying a perfectly clean, cute little lamb on his shoulder.

I confess, I do not know enough about shepherding, but even from watching the lambs in Colonial Williamsburg, I can assure you, those lambs are not perfectly clean and well-behaved.  There is something about our saccharine-filled images of the Good Shepherd that feel unrealistic to me.  As much as I want to crawl in the lap of a loving, protective Jesus, something about our images of the Good Shepherd does not quite capture reality.  This week, I watched a YouTube video of a man trying to rescue a sheep.  There was this long narrow ditch alongside a road, and the sheep’s hind end was hanging out of the ditch.  A man, carefully using his strength, managed to grasp the sheep’s legs and pull the sheep free.  The freed sheep bounded away from him, bouncing gracefully toward freedom – of course until he bounded back over the ditch toward the other side of the road, jumping head-first, right back into the ditch.  In your imagination, you can almost hear the deep, audible sigh of frustration by the man who had just helped him.

I think that is why I like verse 14 of John’s gospel so much, “I am the good shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me.”  The shepherd knows how to love unconditionally; but the shepherd also knows all our “conditions”:  the times when we stubbornly do things our way, the times when we refuse wisdom and jump right back into trouble, the times when we project our anger and frustration on others.  And the sheep know the shepherd:  the times when the shepherd will try to reason with us instead of muscling us to do the shepherd’s will, the times when the shepherd forgives us when we confess our sins, the times when the shepherd sighs deeply in disappointment at our refusal to lie down in green pastures.  There is an intimacy to that relationship, as one scholar describes, a “mutual recognition and a mutual belonging together.”[iii] 

Our invitation this week is an invitation into that mutuality and intimacy.  The invitation is not an invitation into a snowy-white, paternalistic, cradling love.  The invitation is into a messy, complicated, but respectfully intimate relationship where we are known, and we know our shepherd.  Through this real, honest, vulnerable place we find strength to then go back out into the world, allowing “the Shepherd’s voice to speak through us as we reach out to the lost and hurting we encounter on the way,”[iv] sharing the love of the risen, shepherding Jesus that has saved us from many a ditch!  Amen.

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[i] Psalm 23.1

[ii] John 10.11

[iii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 448.

[iv] Nancy R. Blakely, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 452.

On Vaccines and the Cross…

Tags

Coronavirus, cross, dignity, freedom, Jesus, joy, love, neighbor, pandemic, respect, sacrifice, vaccine

Last week I got my first vaccine shot.  Although I am relatively young and healthy, our commonwealth updated the 1B category to include clergy.  So, when my email came to setup an appointment, I was giddy with excitement.  A flurry of joyful texts went out to friends, I had a permanent smile for the day, and there might have been some dancing.  The day of the vaccine was not much different.  Long lines usually bother me, but I have never smiled so much while just waiting.  Had we not still been in a pandemic, I might have hugged every volunteer and staffer who processed me through the various stages.  And though I have had hundreds of shots in my lifetime, I have never so eagerly proffered my arm for a shot. 

But it was not until I got in my car that I lost it.  Tears burst out of me as the emotions from a year of pandemic spilled out.  Not until that moment did I realize how much I had been holding in – trying to be strong for my family, my church, and even myself.  I still have over a month to go before I get my second shot and work my way through the waiting period, but that one little prick of a needle was the first real sign of hope for me.  I may finally get to see my family, after a year and a half of their absence.  I may finally be able to offer hospitality in my home to others without a sense of panic about safety.  I may finally feel a sense of freedom that has been absent for so long and whose value I never fully appreciated.  The tears that were streaming were the release of a year’s worth of weight on my shoulders.

Of course, even with the overwhelming joy of that day, I know our work is still not yet done.  But somehow the gift of that vaccine shifted the weight of that continued work.  Now my mask-wearing and social distancing is not so much out of fear or self-preservation.  Now my mask-wearing and social distancing can be a witness of Christ’s love for others.  From the beginning, I have said our safe practices were an act of loving our neighbor as ourselves and respecting the dignity of every human being.  But now those acts will not just be an added bonus to self-protection – they will be an act of agency, of choosing to care for others when the selfish thing to do might be to value newly regained freedom over all else. 

As we prepare for Holy Week, I am aware of the symbol we will be turning toward next week.  We will be walking toward the cross until the day of resurrection on Easter.  We will watch, and pray, and sing, and grieve as our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ witnesses the ultimate form of sacrificial love.  In this season of COVID, the cross is our invitation to love like Jesus taught us.  I look forward to making that walk with you this year in new and profound ways.

Photo credit: https://signsofthetimes.org.au/2020/04/the-power-of-the-cross/

On Stories, Remembering, and Healing…

Tags

darkness, dignity, God, heal, honor, human being, intimacy, kindness, light, love, people, power, pryaer, reclaim, remember, respect, September 11, share, story

Photo credit:  https://storycorps.org/discover/september-11th/

Today marks the eighteenth anniversary of September 11, 2001 – a fateful day in the United States.  Even eighteen years later, this is a day where we as a country remember – remember where we were that day, remember the people who were touched by tragedy that day, remember how a single day could transform a nation and the world.  This day hangs heavy in our consciousness each year, the weight never quite lifting even with the passage of time.

I think part of why this day is so heavy for us as a people is because of the people this day touched.  Certainly, we could look at the death toll, and recall the names of the almost 3,000 people who died that day, most without the opportunity to say goodbye to their loved ones.  But September 11’s reach went beyond those who died.  The ripple of that day is mind-blowing:  those who were physically injured, those who were bereaved, those who were supposed to be in those buildings and somehow life’s circumstances kept them away, those whose health continues to be poor from living nearby or helping with the cleanup efforts, those who walked for hours fleeing danger, those who made hard decisions that day – some leading to life and some leading to death.

Four years after that fateful day, NPR’s StoryCorps launched their September 11^th Initiative.  A program built around having people tell their stories, StoryCorps launched an effort to record the stories of that specific day – of the man who traded shifts that day and whose mentor died because he had volunteered to take his shift; of the man who consoled his wailing two-year old and had to wait four months before his wife’s body was finally identified; to the woman who sifted through bones and debris in a hanger months later, trying to help people find closure; to the airline employee who checked in the terrorists that day at the gate; the father who lost both sons, one a firefighter and one a police officer, in the line of duty that day.  Every story, every single one is gut-wrenching and tear-evoking.  And every one gives a tiny glimpse into the magnitude of the ripple effect this one day had on all of us.

This day, I invite you to honor September 11 with stories.  Talk to your neighbors, friends, and strangers about their experiences.  Listen to stories like the ones on StoryCorps.  Read whatever stories you can find.  When we engage in one another’s stories, we engage in honoring the dignity of every human being, something we pledge to do in our baptismal covenant.  We allow the depth of this day to do something to us.  And somewhere in that intimacy of story, we begin to hear an invitation – an invitation to honor life today.  Whether it is an act of kindness (maybe even the kindness of simply asking someone to tell their story), or whether it is a time of prayer to honor all that has been, or whether it is a commitment to reclaiming love so that hatred can never win in such a powerful way as it did that day.  May our stories help us connect to the cosmic story of a God who loves us and gives us light in the darkness.

On Parenting Myths and Grace…

Tags

family, God, goodness, grace, hard, joy, kids, negative, parenting, positive, respect

Photo credit:  https://www.healthline.com/health/parenting/single-parenting-why-you-are-a-superhero

This week, my sabbath and a snow day coincided, meaning the whole family was home.  My sabbath is usually the day I take care of household stuff – cleaning, errands, etc.  But I knew the kids would not patiently handle that as well.  So, the girls and I suited up, and off we went into the snow.  I confess I used some of the time to dig out my car, but the rest of the time we spent building a snowwoman and sledding down a neighborhood hill.  Several other kids joined us, and we found ourselves laughing and having a truly fun morning.  We topped off the morning with yummy grilled cheese sandwiches and hot chocolate.  Later that evening, my younger daughter needed to go to dance class, so the three of us headed over together and the older one played while I read a book.  As we were leaving, totally unprompted, the older daughter said a heartfelt thank you for being able to come and play.

The story could end there, and you might imagine that our day, and, in fact, parenting in general, is a wonderfully blissful experience of fun, respect, and mutuality.  When I look at most parents, that is the impression I get of their experience of parenting:  that parenting is the most wonderful thing in their lives, bringing them great fulfillment, joy, and purpose.  And some days, parenting is that for me.  But most days, parenting is hard.  At the end of that idyllic Monday, children melted down, said hurtful, disrespectful things, and refused to follow instructions.  What had been a cooperative day became a battle-of-wills evening.  And more days are like that evening than like that morning.

As I have been reflecting on that contrast this week, I realized I could either feel deflated, focusing on the negative behavior, feeling like a failure of a parent, wondering why I cannot seem to sustain the more joyful moments; or, I could choose to hold fast to the joy of the day, letting the negative have less power.  Maybe other parents do that more naturally, or maybe I am just to too prone to pessimism, but it was clear as my children fell to sleep, it was my choice how I would remember the day – and how I would say goodnight to the children.

I imagine God has similar challenges with us.  Though I am my toughest critic, I trust that God is much more inclined to see my goodness than I ever am.  I trust that God remembers everyday how when God created humankind, God said it was very good.  I trust that God sees little wonderful things we do even when we do not realize we are doing them.  And if God has that much grace with us, perhaps we can share that grace with others – in the grocery line that stalls when the checker has to page the manager, with the friend who is complaining…again, and during the doctor’s office wait that is way too long.  And if you are a parent who is struggling with one more temper tantrum or sassy comment, perhaps you can also see your child with God’s grace, remembering the child is just trying to develop into an independent, competent, confident person – which is really hard when you are tired, immature, and physically and emotionally incapable of being what you want to be right now.  We know how hard it is because we need that same grace from God.  Everyday.  Hang in there, everyone!  You can do this.  Give yourself a break.  And give those kids, strangers, neighbors, and friends a break too.  We all need it this week.

On Relationships and Lunch…

Tags

collaboration, God, health, inspiration, liturgy, lunch, productivity, reconciliation, relationship, respect, retiree, tedning, transformation

Photo credit:  https://www.lssliving.org/communities/

Today we are hosting our second Retiree Lunch with the Rector at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church.  We kicked off this new event last month.  I threw together the event rather quickly, and expected only 10-15 people to show.  When RSVPs hit 60, I was floored – and ever so grateful for our Parish Life Committee who offered to make some more batches of chili, since my one or two Crock Pots would no longer suffice.  The idea for the lunches came out of my annual review with our Personnel Committee.  They were concerned about longtime and older parishioners feeling a sense of connectivity with me and with one another.  No need for a program, worship service, or class; just some time for all of us to be together.

As I thought about the feedback initially, I was not entirely convinced.  Surely gathering that many people was a lost opportunity for formation or enrichment.  But the more I thought about the feedback, the more I could understand the feedback.  One of the dangers of thinking Sunday worship is sufficient for connectivity is realizing how little personal relationship building happens.  Sure, the liturgy and shared experience of reflecting on scripture and sharing the meal is a central part of shaping our identity.  But the handshake, and the “Everything’s fine!” I get in the receiving line is hardly conducive to relationship building.  Some times you need to just spend time together, and that is what our lunches are trying to do.

I am in the midst of reading Simon Sinek’s Leaders Eat Last.  He argues relationships are core to healthy systems.  Setting visions, doing tasks, and sharing responsibility is great, but in order to get anything done, the members of the system need to be in relationship – to spend time together, simply getting to know each other.  He uses the example of the shift in Congress that happened under Newt Gingrich.  It used to be that Congress members lived in DC, played sports together, ate together, and got to know each other’s families, no matter party differences.  But the shift that happened under Gingrich meant more of a focus on spending time back in the home districts for fundraising.  Once the members weren’t spending time together, they gradually began to be more divided, rallying against “the enemy” – the members of the other party with whom they had little to no relationship.  The absence of relationship led to the absence of collaboration, respect, and productivity – a pattern that continues today.

For some, Retirees with the Rector may feel like a simple lunch.  For me, they feel like a dramatic statement about who and how we are going to be as a community.  We are going to make time to be together – to talk to church members from other services whom we rarely, if ever, see.  We are going to sit with parishioners who have very different political opinions from us and talk about the awesome apple pie someone made.  We are going to share stories, build camaraderie, and reconnect with who we are.  And hopefully we will find ways to take that model beyond our doors.

Who do you need to have lunch with today?  What relationships need tending, conversations need to be had, and laughter needs to be shared?  I suspect that that when we gather with others, with the sole intention of relating, we might find that God is working among us for transformation, reconciliation, and inspiration!

Homily – Ruth 3.1-5, 4.13-17, P27, YB, November 11, 2018

Tags

acceptance, Armistice Day, baptism, Boaz, change, covenant, dignity, God, gun violence, honor, life, Naomi, respect, Ruth, sanctity, Sermon, veterans

My intention today had been to talk about Emersyn, whose baptism we will celebrate today, and the gift that she is giving us through her baptism.  When we baptize someone into the family of faith, we also take time to remember our own baptismal covenant.  We remember the promises we make about how we will live our lives, promises we just renewed last week at another baptism.  One of our promises is to respect the dignity of every human being – to respect human life.

We respect human life because we learn to do so in Holy Scripture.  Today, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz teach us how to respect life.  If you remember, Naomi is a widow who has not only lost her husband and her two sons, but who is left shepherding two foreign daughters-in-law; she is so shattered, she asks people to call her Mara, which means bitterness, instead of Naomi, which means pleasantness.  Ruth, one of those daughters-in-law, is equally bereft; having married into a foreign family, widowed herself, she pledges allegiance to a people who point out her foreign identity at every turn – in fact, she is regularly called, “Ruth, the Moabite from Moab” – or in common language, “Ruth, the foreigner from a foreign land (a land the people hated, by the way).  Boaz is an upright man, put into a precarious situation by Naomi, who sends Ruth to lay at his feet so that he might serve as their redeemer.  But despite the fact life is hard, life brings sorrow, and life treats us like a hated foreigner, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz respect the dignity of each other.  They respect life.

We need people like Emersyn, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz because we have been doing a pretty horrible job of respecting life lately.  In just the past two weeks, we have had four “soft target” attacks in our country.  “Soft targets” are attacks that happen in simple, everyday life – where people are having a cup of coffee, celebrating with friends over food and drink, picking up groceries, or worshipping in their house of worship.  In the last two weeks, 27 people were slain in soft target areas:  Two shoppers were gunned down in a Kroger parking lot in Kentucky; Eleven people were gunned down while worshiping in a synagogue in Pittsburgh; Two women were gunned down in a yoga studio in Florida; and twelve people were gunned down in a bar in California.[i]  We can pray for the victims, and attempt to find motives behind shootings, and even bemoan the mental health system.  But until we are willing to make concrete changes, we as Americans disrespect life.  We as Christians fail to respect the dignity of every human being when we do nothing to change our culture of acceptance around gun violence.

Our Veterans helped us understand this failure many years ago.  One-hundred years ago, this day was marked not as Veterans Day, but as Armistice Day – the day we were able to stop a war, to stop aggression, to stop the denigration of life on both sides.  Armistice Day was a day to honor the end of World War I, but perhaps even more powerfully, Armistice Day was a day to honor the dignity of every human being.  On that day, after 8.5 million soldiers had been killed, 100,000 of which were American, you could see the sheer joy in people’s faces as they flooded the streets, realizing death would be no more – that human life would be honored once more.[ii]

Today we have the opportunity to celebrate too.  We have the opportunity to honor and respect the sanctity of life – the life of beautiful baby Emersyn, the lives of our Veterans, and the lives of those shattered by unrestrained gun violence.  The question is whether we will accept the invitation.  Scholar Cameron Howard says in the book of Ruth, we do not experience God in the story as some divine physical presence, as a booming voice from heaven, or as a visible mover of events; instead, we experience God through the characters in the book – God is revealed to the world through the actions of the characters of Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz.[iii]  The world is not that much different today.  The world needs to see God through us too.  Emersyn needs to see God through us.  Our community, state, and nation need to see God through us.  The growing population of those scarred by gun violence need to see God through us.  The only question remaining is whether we will say “yes,” to the invitation, or at least, “I will with God’s help.”  I promise God’s help is waiting for you when decide to respect the dignity of every human being through your actions, revealing God’s presence in the world.  Amen.

[i] Eliott C. McLaughlin, “This is the 4th ‘soft target’ Attack in 2 Weeks,” November 8, 2018, as found at https://www.cnn.com/2018/11/08/us/soft-targets-thousand-oaks-bar-shooting/index.html on November 9, 2018.

[ii] Alexis Clark, “In Photos Unpublished for 100 Years, the Joy of War’s End on Armistice Day,” The New York Times, November 9, 2018, as found at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/09/world/europe/armistice-day-100th-anniversary-photos.html on November 10, 2018.

[iii] Cameron B.R. Howard, “Commentary on Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17,” November 11, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3890 on November 8, 2018.

 

GC79: Respecting Dignity

Tags

dignity, Episcopal Church, gender, General Convention, immigration, Jesus, language, outcast, race, respect, sexual orientation

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly (permission for reuse)

One of the many takeaways from General Convention was the need to tend to those outside of the straight, white, male, able-bodied community.  There was a task force assembled before Convention to address issues raised by the #metoo movement.  Out of that group came many resolutions about sexual harassment and abuse, equality in payment and hiring, parenting accommodations, and eliminating bias in bishop searches.  Our African-American brothers and sisters also called for work on pay equity and broader issues, such as voter suppression.  Our foreign language speakers rallied for more translated liturgies and legislation, as well as increased interpreters throughout Convention.  Our disabled and deaf members lobbied for better accommodations during Convention.  Our LGBTQ members called for broader inclusion and more intentional expansive and inclusive language.  Our immigrant members also called for thoughtfulness about our ordination processes, noting that many dioceses are unwilling to consider entering into a formal discernment process with someone if their immigration status is not settled.

There are probably more issues I am forgetting, but what struck me about each of these movements is that they are not just General Convention issues or wider church issues.  These are issues for every parish.  At our own parish, we are struggling to provide hearing assistance to our hearing-impaired members due to lack of volunteers to run our sound system.  Having served on a Commission on Ministry (COM) in another diocese, I realize now how our restrictions around immigration could have limited the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Even the conversation about breastfeeding on the Convention floor made me realize that we all have work to do about making our worship spaces as welcoming as possible.  Having watched these issues unfold at General Convention, I am convinced that there are issues we are overlooking as well.

Jesus always struck me as someone who saw everyone – especially people that society, religious leaders, and even his disciples overlooked or dismissed.  He had a knack for seeing the marginalized, the oppressed, and those cast out or looked down upon.  He asked their stories, engaged them in conversation and relationship, he often restored them to health and status in the community.  He showed us what it means to respect the dignity of every human being.  When we reaffirm our baptismal covenant, or when we say, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You,” how might we do a better job of bringing what we say in line with what we do?  General Convention’s work was a way of pointing us back to the work of Jesus.  How might Hickory Neck engage in this same work?  How might you engage in this same work in your everyday life?

On the Timelessness of Scripture…

Tags

#metoo, Apocrypha, Christ, Daniel, dignity, harassment, kingdom of God, love, men, power, respect, scripture, sin, Susanna, women

This reflection is from a book of devotions that our youth group at Hickory Neck created for our parish’s use this Lent.  Each day, parishioners offer their reflections on the text assigned for that day in Lent.  This is my reflection on an apocryphal writing, Susanna 1-9, 15-29, 34-62.  If it is unfamiliar to you, I highly recommend reading it first.  You can find the text here.

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I am struck by the timeliness of Susanna’s story.  Because Susana is a book from the Apocrypha, most Christians do not know her story.  But her story joins the chorus of the many #metoo stories of sexual assault and harassment we have discovered in the last six months.  Susanna’s story is a story of the abuse of power.  Though the two elders purport to give Susanna a choice, either choice will leave her devastated.  Though she chooses the option that feels free from sin, her choice will lead to her condemnation and death.  In truth, she has no choice – the men sinfully exert power of her.

What encourages me about Susanna’s story is that there is a man who uses his power for good.  We are told that God stirs up the holy spirit of Daniel, and Daniel (a man of power in his own right), responds, eventually proving Susanna’s innocence.  Daniel’s role in this story reminds us that God longs for us to use our power for good.  The #metoo stories of our day are not just the stories of women.  They are stories about all of us – stories of how we, men and women, are to love as Christ loves, and to respect the dignity of every human being.  How might we be agents of love, using our power today to help those without power?  How might we be agents in bringing about the kingdom of God?

On homes, humanity, and our hands…

Tags

baptismal covenant, common, dehumanize, dignity, Habitat for Humanity, home, humanity, Jesus, light, other, poor, preferential, respect, story

Photo credit:  https://www.mncatholic.org/advocacy-areas/option-for-the-poor-and-vulnerable/

Yesterday, I attended the dedication of a Habitat for Humanity house for which our church had been a financial and volunteer sponsor.  As I watched the family celebrate, it struck me how everyone has a story.  Before becoming a priest, I worked at a Habitat affiliate in Delaware, and I remember that each homeowner’s story varied.  Some had grown up in poverty, and were the first to buy homes in their extended families; some had a health crisis that led to financial and housing problems; some were living in substandard conditions, while others had squeezed their entire families into a friend’s living room.  I do not know the full story of the Fletcher family, except that the matriarch has been working as a nurse for years, has three children, and could not afford to buy a home without Habitat.

What struck me about the Habitat event is how strong our common humanity is.  Get a new Habitat homeowner in the room with a wealthy, privileged person, and I suspect within ten minutes they will be sharing stories of their common humanity.  But get either of them outside of that room, and either person could be seen as an enemy:  someone who oppresses others and does not share their wealth or someone who does not work hard enough and relies too much on outside assistance.  Neither of these characterizations are fair – but we make them all the time.  We forget the story of each individual, and instead create categories that we can then use to generalize – to dehumanize.

I do not usually talk about politics on my blog, but our President’s recent characterization of other countries and their citizens, whom I love, has broken my heart.  The incident itself was not all that surprising.  What put me over the edge was how the comment was so brazenly said and affirmed by others, and how the comment highlighted the ways our country seems to have embraced the practice of dehumanizing others enough that they are able to say things that they would not otherwise say to another human if they were face-to-face.

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, advocated for a preferential option for the poor.  Time and again, Jesus took the stranger, the outcast, the downtrodden, and healed them, helped them, and loved them.  In fact, “the other,” is a recurring theme in scripture that invites us to examine our own modern designations of “insiders” and “outsiders.”  Our country’s current practice of demonizing and subjugating the “other” is an action in direct conflict with Holy Scripture and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  We are not living into our baptismal covenant promises of respecting the dignity of every human being, and seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

This week, I invite you to examine our current treatment of the “other” – those for whom Jesus had a particular preference and priority.  Whether you need to spend some time in prayer, have a conversation with someone unlike you, volunteer some time with a charitable organization, write to your governmental representatives, or donate your money to an agency that can affect change – do something.  Do not let your light be hidden under a bushel.  And then share your story with me here, or with a friend on the journey.  I cannot wait to hear how the Holy Spirit uses you.

On Seeing Colors…

Tags

beautiful, color, creation, dignity, fall, God, hatred, hope, leaves, love, peace, respect, violence

For those of you who read here regularly or know me personally, you know that fall is my favorite season.  Though I know many people love the flowers and the vibrancy of greens in spring, I find the turning of leaves in fall much more beautiful.  There is something poignantly graceful about a tree making a vibrant show of color before losing everything and going bare for the winter.  Whether it’s an entire tree that is vividly yellow, orange, or red, or whether it’s stumbling across a particularly beautiful fallen leaf, I find my breath being taken away time and again in the fall.

Fall just finally began to show in force this past week where I live.  The colors could not have come sooner.  In a time filled with anger, hatred, and violence, I have found myself struggling to see beauty around me.  Instead of the vibrant red of love, I have seen the ugly color of abuse and subjugation.  Instead of flaming orange of peace, I have seen the frightening colors of war and gun violence.  Instead of the brilliant yellow of respect and dignity, I have seen demoralizing color of sexism and racism.  In such times, I have longed to stumble on a stray leaf of hope.

As my mind has reeled with yet another mass shooting in Texas, more women coming forward to protest assault and harassment, and legislation that seems to value personal gain over the relief of the suffering of the poor, I have been wondering if fall would come at all.  And then I realized, perhaps the leaves of hope I have been looking for are everyday people who come into my path and show me vibrant signs of hope.  I see hope in a neighboring pastor who told me about the prayer tent he set up in a nearby neighborhood after a shooting that occurred the night before.  Children were overjoyed to see his presence as they got off the school bus the next day.  I see hope in the yoga teacher who, sensing a need in our community, approached our church to see if we could provide space for a sliding-fee yoga class for people of all income levels.  I see hope in children who teach me a profound sense of empathy instead of the reverse.

This week, I invite you to take a look around you in God’s creation to see the signs of hope and love that God is giving you to revive your spirit.  And I also invite you to take a look around you at the people who are offering you signs of hope and love this week – even in the small gestures of kindness, generosity, and love.  I suspect you will be overwhelmed by the beauty you see, and hopefully inspired to unfurl your own beautiful colors of love, peace, respect, and dignity.