Sunday, July 26, 2020

Summer Morning


Have you ever seen the dew glitter the grass
When a summer morning is barely waking up
And it’s dark except
For the glow of tiny stars
Blazing bright; lightyears away?

So far away
That they fall down to kiss the grass
And sparkle on the ground.



I stepped outside to pray and listen to a devotional this morning.  And for the first time (ever?) I noticed the dew shine on the grass.  It truly looked like stars twinkling on the tips of tall blades that need to be mowed. 

And I thought: wow.  I’ve never before seen this. Or walked outside to look. Or even thought to pay attention to the way the sky touches the ground.  Light touches dark.  Heaven touches earth.

Maybe that’s the way God reminds us that not all is lost. 

Monday, January 20, 2020

MLK Day Reflections 2020

The post below is written by Jeff Bruce.

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. day, and this weekend I have been reflecting on his words, his life, and his ministry.  At some point in my seminary journey, I purchased Martin Luther King, Jr’s book: Strength to Love, which is a collection of his sermons.  I pick it up every year around this time, and I am always struck by the poignancy of his words.  And then I remind myself that I should pick up this book more than once every year, because King’s words are as relevant today as they were in the 1960’s. When I read the prophets of scripture, I always try to reflect on how the prophet might be pointing the finger at me and calling me to repentance and transformation, rather than someone else in some distant time and place.  Likewise with King's words, I think it is important to move beyond the niceties of Facebook short-quote memes that sometimes seem to sentimentalize and neuter the poignancy of King’s prophetic proclamations and dig into the larger context of those particular words.   And when I do that, I find myself challenged. I often find the finger pointing at me. I wrestle with King’s call upon me as a white Christian minister.  I recognize how often I fall short.  And I attempt to reflect on how I can better live out King’s God-inspired vision for the church and for the world.  
I am a nine on the Enneagram. If you don’t know anything about the Enneagram, do yourself a favor and look into it here: https://www.enneagraminstitute.com I’ll leave it up to Anne to share more about the Enneagram, as she knows much more than I do.   Being a nine, I am a Peacemaker.  Now, that doesn’t mean I fight for peace.  In fact, it often means the opposite.  I want harmony in my environment, and often that means that I avoid conflict and tension.  The Enneagram has helped me to recognize this about myself.  Nines, at least in my understanding, are often status-quo people that tend to preserve things as they are and resist things that would disturb that balance.  
That means that King’s words often cut me to the core.  His Letter from a Birmingham Jail, which begins:  “Dear Fellow Clergymen,” calls out my “white moderateness,” and my “moderateness” in general.  I’d rather just get along with everyone than cause conflict or stir the pot.  I want balance.  I like equilibrium.  It’s my nature.  But King calls me to more.  God calls me to more. 

So below I have inserted some long quotes from MLK that speak to me and challenge me, and perhaps will speak to and challenge you as well.  The first comes from his Letter from a Birmingham Jail.  The rest come from his sermons in his book Strength to Love.  If there is a popular quote floating around on a Facebook meme, I have tried to highlight it so it can be read in its original context. 
         
          Letter From a Birmingham Jail
I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.
I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.
-Letter From a Birmingham Jail, https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html

On Being A Good Neighbor
We often ask, “What will happen to my job, my prestige, or my status if I take a stand on this issue?  Will my home be bombed, will my life be threatened, or will I be jailed?”  The good man always reverses the question. Albert Schweitzer did not ask: “What will happen to my prestige and security as a university professor and to my status as a Bach organist, if I work with the people of Africa?” but rather he asked,  “What will happen to these millions of people who have been wounded by the forces of injustice, if I do not go to them?”  Abraham Lincoln did not ask, “What will happen to me if I issue the Emancipation Proclamation and bring an end to chattel slavery?”  but he asked,  “What will happen to the Union and to millions of Negro people, if I fail to do it?”  The Negro professional does not ask, “What will happen to my secure position, my middle-class status, or my personal safety, if I participate in the movement to end the system of segregation?” but “What will happen to the cause of justice and the masses of Negro people who have never experienced the warmth of economic security, if I do not participate actively and courageously in the movement?”
The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.  The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige, and even his life for the welfare of others.  In dangerous valleys and hazardous paths, he will lift some bruised and beaten brother to a higher and more whole life.

        ~ Martin Luther King, Jr , “On Being A Good Neighbor” Sermon by MLK, Jr. in Strength to         Love, (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1963), 34-35.

            Loving Your Enemies
Let us move now from the practical how to the theoretical whyWhy should we love our enemies?  The first reason is fairly obvious.  Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.  Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction.  So when Jesus says “Love your enemies,” he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition.  Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies – or else?  The chain reaction of evil – hate begetting hate, wars producing wars – must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.
~ Martin Luther King, Jr , “Loving Your Enemies”  Sermon, in Strength to Love, (Philadelphia:  Fortress Press, 1963), 52-53.

A Knock at Midnight
In many instances the church has so aligned itself with the privileged classes and so defended the status quo that it has been unwilling to answer the knock at midnight.  The Greek Church in Russia allied itself with the status quo and became so inextricably bound to the despotic czarist regime that it became impossible to be rid of the corrupt political and social system without being rid of the church.  Such is the fate of every ecclesiastical organization that allies itself with things-as-they-are.

The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state, but rather the conscience of the state.  It must be the guide and the critic of the state, and never its tool.  If the church does not recapture its prophetic zeal, it will become an irrelevant social club without moral or spiritual authority.  If the church does not participate actively in the struggle for peace and for economic and racial justice, it will forfeit the loyalty of millions and cause men everywhere to say that it has atrophied its will.  But if the church will free itself from the shackles of a deadening status quo, and, recovering its great historic mission, will speak and act fearlessly and insistently in terms of justice and peace, it will enkindle the imagination of mankind and fire the souls of men, imbuing them with a glowing and ardent love for truth, justice, and peace.  Men far and near will know the church as a great fellowship of love that provides light and bread for lonely travelers at midnight.
~ Martin Luther King, Jr , “A Knock at Midnight” Sermon, in Strength to Love, (Philadelphia:  Fortress Press, 1963), 64.

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Unanswered Cries

I wrote the following reflection on July 26, 2018 when the separations of families at our southern border became living nightmares for the thousands of people fleeing violence and war-torn countries.  In light of the news and reports coming from the shelters in the recent days, I am finding it hard to keep silent.  I know my words do not change the harsh, undeserved realities that so many are facing - so what do I do? Donate. Call lawmakers & representatives. Vote. Pray. Act. Show compassion.  I am preaching to myself more than anyone. My faith will not let me keep silent anymore. Lord, have mercy.


He cries out at 2 a.m. I roll over and turn off the volume to the monitor beside my bed. On the little screen I can see him standing up in his crib, crying the high pitch wail with the gusto of a bad dream.  He rarely does this anymore, so I sleepily walk across the dark house to his room.

His wail calmed to a whimper when he saw me.  I put my hands on his soft, chubby cheeks wet with tears. I lean down and kiss the top of his head, ruffled with sleepy-time hair. I whisper to him, “It’s okay. Mommy is here.” I pick him up and carry him to the chair in his room. He plants his head on my shoulder and tucks his little face deep into the nook of my neck. His whole body relaxes in my arms and soon he is asleep again.

Being a mother has taught me how to worry in an entirely new way. My worries are rarely about me and more often centered upon my children. Are they safe? Are they healthy? Will this activity cause them to slip and fall? Am I making choices for them now that will help or hurt them in the future? What if they get sick? Are their feelings hurt? Did they eat enough fruits and veggies today?  (No, they never eat enough fruits and veggies.)

The list goes on. Some worries I can more easily control where others are products of a worst-case scenario imagination.  But one thing is for sure.  

At least while they are little and living under our roof, there will never be a moment when I cannot get to them.  There will never be a cry that goes unanswered.  Never will they reach for me and my arms will not enfold them.  They will never be so far beyond my grasp, my embrace, my touch.

I pray this could be true for the mothers and fathers who flee war-torn and violent countries.  I pray this could be true for courageous parents who boldly seek refuge only to find themselves torn away from their children.

What kind of world do we live in that the humanity of another becomes nothing more than an object to lock up or a problem to solve?

I cannot pick up my children, hold them in my arms, kiss their cheeks or tickle their tummies without feeling a deep, shameful sadness in my gut.  There are far too many mothers and fathers going to bed tonight who will wake up at 2 a.m. (if they ever go to sleep at all) with the cries of their little one ringing in their ears. And the words they have always feared but vowed to never say become their sobs in the darkness of the night:  

“My child. I cannot get to you.”

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The Covenant

God, how many times have you climbed the rickety stairs to the attic,
brushing back the cobwebs and tinkering with the light

You know,

the one that never did work right.

Squeaked the floor beneath you with each gentle step
making your way to the same musty corner.

Heaved the heavy lid of the same old chest
where a book was laying inside.

Pulling it out, you dusted it off, and
letting out a tired sigh,
made your way out of the corner
Across the aged floor
Through the sticky cobwebs
Past the broken lightbulb
Down the rickety stairs

And into the world

To teach us again

What we have known for so long.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Advent Week 1 - Prayer for Hope

This blog has recently felt more like "the ghost of Christmas past" for me than a means for community, inspiration, and connection.

I rarely do this much any more. But it's Christmastime...(well, Advent, to be exact :) ) ....and I think that is reason enough to share a little here and there. So here is a prayer that I wrote for this last Sunday, the first Sunday in Advent...a prayer for hope.

Hope excites us, O God. The hope of a new day.  The hope of a fresh start. The hope of a smile, or a hug, a text message, the laughter of children. Hope that things will get better.  Hope that we will reach the dreams of our hearts. Hope that we will see a light – if ever so dimly – at the end of a long, dark, cold tunnel. 

Hope tugs.  It warms and kindles until the very moment we think we are stuck in this one place forever – hope sits down beside us and whispers in our ear….

And on our best days, and maybe even our worst, we will come to find ... that hope is you, O Holy God. You are the one who tugs, nudges, warms and kindles the life that lives within us. You never let us go; it is we who lose our grip.  Forgive us.

As we step, ever so gently – or ever so anxiously – into this Advent season – guide us into your hope.  Open the map and point us in the right direction. For if we are honest we will confess that we have hopes – many hopes – for ourselves, for our own lives, for the person we want to be and for the life we wish to live. Will we trust you?

And because we are people who live in community with one another – we have hopes for the greater world – from our tightknit circles to the good of all humanity. We want the very best for the people you have created.  We have hope that violence and war and hate and greed cannot and will not be the final word. We have hope that we will see kingdom come in our own day! In the here and now! We have to have hope. We have to cling to it.

Lord, we wonder – do we have what it takes to wait for Christ’s coming? Christ as a newborn child breaking into our world with hearty cries and bright eyes?  Christ as "God with us" breaking into our world with a message that disrupts our status quo and turns over the tables of power? Do we have what it takes? 

O Lord, tug upon our hearts today…. hold tightly to the string that opens the doors of our hearts to receive the gift that waits to be given.

We pray in the name of your son, whose birth we await, Jesus Christ, Amen. 

Monday, November 6, 2017

Enough

Enough.

When will it be enough?

How much do we have to lose

Before we say

Enough?

Schools.

Movie theaters.

Concerts.

Sporting events and nightclubs.

Mosques, Temples, and Churches.

City streets and broken homes.

I have been silent for so long

In fear that my true fears would be one more line of division

In the constant tirade of noise and blame

But I have had enough.

Haven't we all?

Aren't we just tired?

So

Tired.



It hurts deep within my gut

To begin my work day

Fumbling with the question of whether or not

to lock

The church doors during worship.


To preach the gospel of Jesus

Means that our prayers must be lived.

Prayer without change

In how we live or think or act

Is simply not

Enough.

True prayer changes the person

And creates something within

That looks a little bit more

Like God.


And so I pray

That we have all had enough

And that the pettiness of the political blame game

Will. Just. Stop.

So we can find our decency again

So we can find our humanity again.

(Perhaps that could make

America great again)


Is it too much to ask

That we come together

In the name of

LIFE

And say

Enough!

And this time

Truly mean it?


Sunday, November 6, 2016

Saints

In an attempt to pray and capture the swirling thoughts and feelings of my sleep-deprived brain; feeling the sting of missing worship at my church on All Saints Sunday, yet giving thanks for the new life I cradle in my arms - I offer these imperfect, yearning words.   


Today.
A one month old swaddled in sleep.
Today.
All Saints Sunday.

Rare quiet moments
To wonder
On the joys and sorrows of life
The tug-o-war playing out in my heart
For life gone by
For life beginning

There is laughter
There are tears
In both.

The passing of time,
How life does change in one year
One month
One week

The close of one chapter
That beckons a new beginning
Whether we want it
Or not.

The whisper of a saint’s final breath
Lingering in the starlit space
Waiting to fill the lungs
Of a newborn’s cry

And the quiet thanksgivings
The bittersweet goodbyes
For those who lived well
Loved hard;
Touched the world with
Kindness and grace

These rare quiet moments
Are yours,
Ours

Swaddled safely in the God
Who is yesterday, today
And always.