Monday, March 29, 2021

Monday of Holy Week

Today is a day like any other on a week like every other.  Except it's not.  It is Monday of Holy Week.  On this week we find ourselves inching closer to the devastation of Friday, the waiting of Saturday, the new life of Easter.

If you are curious to know what Jesus did on the Monday before his death, read the Gospel of Mark chapter 11 verses 12-19.  You'll find that Jesus had a case of the Mondays....or more likely, Jesus simply had some issues with the workings of the world, which is precisely why he went through with the rest of the week. He was angry, fed up with business as usual.  He wanted his people to come face to face with their hypocrisy...that the religion they claim in the Temple was not the life they lived out on a daily basis.  Amy-Jill Levine, professor of New Testament at Vanderbilt University, puts it this way:  "The ancient Temple, and the present-day church, should be places where people not only find community, welcome the stranger, and repent of their sins. They should be places where people promise to live a godly life, and then keep their promises." 

What does it mean to live a godly life?  I think it has a lot to do with love, loving our God and loving each other.  I think it has something to do with how we treat one another and how we forgive (or not).  I think it is played out in our relationship to the created world around us and the creatures God gives to our care. I think a godly life looks like justice talking and justice living, especially alongside those who are marginalized.  I think a godly life, first and foremost, begins with prayer. 

It may sound simplistic and trite, but Jesus did storm the Temple quoting the prophet Isaiah that "My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations."  For all the nations.

And so we begin....

Let us pray:

Help us to pray on a Monday.  When the air feels crisp and cool.  When the Earth pulls out highlighters to color on the trees bright pinks, purples, and yellows.  

 

Help us to pray on a Monday.  When life goes on as usual and we find ourselves lost in the list of what to do.

 

Help us to pray on a Monday.  When we pause for a split second to wonder, I wonder what Christ did his final Monday on Earth?

 

Help us to pray on a Monday.  The cheering crowds and songs of Hosanna still ringing in our ears; the palm branches green and barely touched, not even close to becoming ash.

 

Help us to pray on a Monday.  When the fig tree isn’t yet ripe and the praying people busy themselves with anything but prayer.  

 

What would he think if he found us today?  On a Monday.  The Monday before.  

 

O Lord, help us to pray.

 

Monday, February 22, 2021

A Prayer of Trust

 Just a simple prayer of trust based on Psalm 46.

O God our refuge and strength,

We need you.

When the mountain that we have built our lives upon

Crumbles

We need you.

 

When the seas that once stretched out far and wide

Begin to foam and swirl tightly around us

We need you.

 

Life has felt like a crumbling mountain 

Under our feet.

A seasick sea foaming at the mouth.

 

But, like the Psalmist writes,

There is a river.

There is a river.

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God.”

 

And on that river

We know that you carry us.

We see your reflection in the soft water

And we trust.

 

We trust in your goodness

We trust in the fullness of your love.

And we strive to be still and know.

Know that you are God. 

And we are not.

 

Though the mountains crumble and the sea shakes,

Though the nations fuss and fight,

You, O God, are in the dawn. 

You make all things right.

 

Amen.

Wednesday, February 17, 2021

Ash Wednesday Prayer

 I've been silent on here for a really long time.  I've let all the challenges of pandemic life come over me and, in some ways, I've surrendered my writing to my stresses, worries, and fears.  I am not completely proud of that fact. 

Several years ago, I challenged myself to write a prayer for every day in Lent.  And today I thought - well, why not?  I don't know how faithful I can be to this in 2021, but I am hopeful that the "dry bones" within me might wake up a bit if I but try.

As I prepare to gather virtually with my congregation for tonight's Ash Wednesday service, I can't help but reflect upon this day and past services, as Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite worship experiences.  One of the things I like the most about Ash Wednesday is the way the ashes get under my fingernails.  It reminds me that even though our Lenten journeys are often individual treks, and though our bodies are individual bodies that one day will die, we are still connected to one other. As the ash for each person I have the honor to mark leaves traces under my fingernails, I am reminded of the great body of Christ that I get to travel this road with.

This prayer is based on the dry bones story of Ezekiel, chapter 37, verses 1-3.

Yesterday bleeds into today.

Last Lent bleeds into this Lent.

And I fall to my knees.

And humbly ask, O Lord,

Help me.  Help us.

Breathe into us 

And awaken the dead places of our spirits

To sing again for Spring.

To sing again for Life.

To sing again for You.

 

May the ash under my fingernails

Leave traces upon my heart.


Amen.


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.