Gearing Up for Mother's Day

For the first time in years, I'm going to spend Mother's Day with my mom.  We'll get dressed and head to her church, where I assume there will be some mention of the special day, like handing out flowers, or cards or somesuch. 

Mother's Day Sunday can be a tricky wicket for pastors, however.  We want to honor the mothers in our midst, but we don't want to offend women who aren't.  Whether by choice or circumstance, the second Sunday in May can be painful for non-moms.

I stumbled upon a delightful blog by Amy, messymiddle.com which addresses the conundrum.  Her words are prayer-ful, and worthy of a pastor's time.  And to Amy, who describes herself as in that messy middle, caught between Already and Not Yet, I give my thanks and solidarity!

To those who gave birth this year to their first child—we celebrate with you
To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you
To those who experienced loss this year through miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away—we mourn with you
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears, and disappointment – we walk with you. Forgive us when we say foolish things. We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you
To those who have warm and close relationships with your children – we celebrate with you
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own mother – we acknowledge your experience
To those who lived through driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst
To those who have aborted children, we remember them and you on this day
To those who are single and long to be married and mothering your own children, we mourn that life has not turned out the way you longed for it to be
To those who step-parent, we walk with you on these complex paths
To those who envisioned lavishing love on grandchildren, yet that dream is not to be, we grieve with you
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising –we anticipate with you

This Mother’s Day, we walk with you. Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst. We remember you.

To women everywhere, I pray for grace and much joy,
Julie

Parable of The Pencil

The news was fascinating this morning, as a reporter interviewed teachers and students regarding the future of keyboards.  Many of the students argued they could text faster with two fingers than ten using a QWERTY keyboard.  The teachers argued for the necessity of typing skills.  I'd have to say I agree with the adults, but then, keyboarding is in my muscle memory and my fingers tend to be to big and clumsy for texting with any speed whatsoever.

I remember John Gaines this morning, who would point to the pencil in his pocket to say it was the best "computer" he had, and there was no arguing with him.  If he were here today, I would share with him this parable, which would make him laugh I'm sure, but he would understand completely.  And I thought I'd better share it with you before pencils and paper become obsolete!

The allegory comes from South Africa, and was shared with me by Irish priest James Feehan:

The inventor of the pencil addressed his finished product.  "Pencil," he said, "I want you to remember four things.

"First, your goodness and true worth is within you.

"Second, you'll need to be sharpened as you go through your life.

"Third, you'll be in someone else's hand, otherwise you'll make an awful mess.

"Finally, you'll be expected to make a mark."

As for me, I'm glad God invented us "pencils," and I'm particularly glad God is in charge of the eraser, when we make that available.  Otherwise, as broken pencils, we'd be pointless, eh?

Grace and joy,
Julie

Bishop Mueller's Comfort and a Shared Prayer

This has been quite a week.  Numerous deaths of people I admire, especially Brennan Manning, who I give thanks for daily by adopting his name for us ragamuffins in my personal email address, ragamuffinjulie@gmail.com.  Then Boston, West, Oklahoma, and numerous other tragedies have fallen like unrelated but communal dominoes.  Words cannot fully express the sadness, the hope, the heroism of these days.

My friend and former North Texas Conference colleague, Bishop Gary Mueller, wrote the following, and I cannot improve on his sentiments this day:

God, where are you?

It’s been a week of tragedies. Some - like the Boston Marathon bombing - have been intentional in order to bring death, chaos and fear. Others - like the explosion of the fertilizer plant in West, Texas – may have been caused by human error, but people would have done anything to stop it if only they had known. Still others - like the storms in Oklahoma last evening - are simply and sadly the results of humanity being in the path of nature. And, then, there are the countless daily personal tragedies - like the death of children from starvation, sexual abuse, addiction, the breakup of families and terrible illnesses - that never make the news. When any tragedy strikes, you probably ask, “God, where are you in all of this?” Although some people may argue that God is responsible because God allows it to happen, God’s not responsible for any tragedy. God’s not punishing sinful people. God’s not concocting some large-scale teachable moment. God’s not instigating suffering to bring about some greater good. But just because God’s not responsible does not mean that God is not present. Because God is. Fully present. Personally present. Actively present. And this God is inviting you to experience God’s transforming love in the most unexpected ways as love defeats hate, hope replaces despair, healing occurs in the midst of brokenness and life emerges out of the ashes of death.

Thank you, Bishop Mueller.

A prayer that many clergy will be using this weekend is one written for times such as these by Laurence Hull Stookey.  Will you pray it with me today?

Prayer in Times of Great Distress

God, our help and our hope in every time of life:

We bow before you in distress and confusion.

Devastation and death seem to rule your world today.

We know not where to turn, nor even how to pray.

Assure us that you know our thoughts before we think them,

that you accept

petitions that have no words,

prayers that are inarticulate anguish,

even anger in the face of events we do not understand.

Remind us of your presence with Jesus

in his hours of agony,

in the face of abandonment by many whom he trusted,

in the pain of crucifixion,

and even in death itself.

Enable us to know that you do not desert us

but in times of need stand even closer than before.

Comfort those who mourn.

Give hope to those who seem to have lost all hope.

With your healing power, touch any who are injured;

to all medical and rescue workers

give patient endurance, wisdom, and skill.

As you give us opportunity to serve those in need,

grant also generous spirits

and the wise and efficient use of our abilities

in offering aid.

If today our words of praise are mute,

if today we find it easier to curse than to bless,

point us to the empty tomb,

which lies beyond the cross.

Remind us that it may be Friday now,

but in your Providence Sunday’s coming,

and your love will see us through

every darkness,

every doubt,

every desolation.

For you, O God, are our hope and our strength,

an ever present help in time of trouble;

to you we pray through Jesus Christ

who triumphs over all things. Amen.

Written by Laurence Hull Stookey, This Day: A Wesleyan Way of Prayer, Abingdon Press: 2004.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

If I didn’t believe it before today, the only thing worse than waiting at the DMV is waiting at the Comcast Service Center.  At least at the DMV you get to sit down while waiting for your number to appear on the big screen, and they sometimes give you an approximate waiting time.  At Comcast, we had to stand in line, holding unwieldy equipment to turn in, and listen to rude comments from the other side of the counter.  I agreed with my new 5-year-old friend Harmony who stood behind me, wishing we could hear the Loonie Tunes show instead.  At least it was Wylie Coyote, and we could laugh even though we couldn’t hear the explosions or the beep-beeps.

Now I could have chosen to let that ruin my day, but instead I remained curious.  I was curious why a trio of men were trying to turn in equipment which didn’t appear to belong to them; I was curious about the fellow wearing a zoot suit, complete with shiny saddle oxfords and fedora, walking down West End; I was curious about the fast food cashier who remained in excellent humor even though some of her customers were being difficult at best; and I’m even curious as to why I’ve procrastinated working on my taxes until now and will be stuck inside this afternoon rather than outside in this glorious Spring weather crunching numbers.

When all else fails, my mantra these days is “stay curious.”  Within a state of curiosity, you don’t have to judge—by all means, judging negates curiosity every time.  Besides, “curious” makes my eyebrows rise, which usually gets a smile rising from others in the room probably thinking the same thing!  And I’m convinced that the outer edges of my eyebrows are connected to the muscles on the outer corners of my mouth, because I almost always smile too.

It was Paul’s curiosity about Jesus that led to his great faith.  I suspect the curiosity of the disciples and other followers of Christ did the same. It’s often been my curiosity about people of great faith that has led to my own faith journey’s twists and turns.  My curiosity toward just about everyone has bubbled up many conversations about faith journeys, which also opens a path for me to share as well at the points in our paths which intersect.

As we focus the next few weeks on Witness, I encourage you to use your “curious” tools.  It always takes the scary edge off “witness” that sometimes lurks in the shadows.  Trust me, curiosity will open your eyes, your heart, your mind and your doors.  Works every time.

Grace and joy,

Julie

Facing Down Fear

You know your day is going to be interesting when you pass a cement truck on the interstate with the nickname “Stone Slinger” emblazoned on its side.  Hmmmm.  Was the nickname a reference to David and his slingshot?  Maybe, but add a cement truck, an interstate and vehicles with glass windshields, a completely different image popped into my mind. I scrunched up my face in a crinkly frown, furrowed brow and eyes scanning the horizon (all within nanoseconds, mind you) . . . and then passed him as quickly as I could.

No Super Pastor Cape ideas this day (see last week’s post for the reference).  Plain ol’ fear stepped in instead.  Which was a wise decision, given the size of my Prius and the stones that sucker had the capability of slinging.  Fear can be a good thing, protecting us from known dangers.

Most of our fears don’t deal with bodily harm, however.  They simply project negatives into the future and hold us back from accomplishing untold feats.  One Sunday, as part of a sermon, I asked my little flock in Paris, Texas what they might do if they put fear aside for a moment.  What would you do if you knew you wouldn’t fail? Much to my amazement some folks took me seriously.  We celebrated Holy Humor Sunday a week after Easter, and a clown ministry was started; one woman joined the choir; one fellow wrote a song with guitar accompaniment; and another applied for a position with a local non-profit (and got the job)!

Fritz Kunkel, author ofCreation Continues: A Psychological Interpretation of the First Gospel, suggests three steps to deal with fear from a Christian perspective.

From Matthew’s Gospel, Chapter 8, Kunkel points out that the first and determinative phase of the reducing of the fear level is that of deciding seriously and decisively to respond to Christ’s call to Follow him.  Follow Jesus.  Put your blinders on, in other words, and simply follow Jesus, and trust, no matter what.  Do you have that kind of faith?

When you follow Jesus, don’t think you’re in for smooth sailing, however.  The next stage is one of turbulence—storm.  What were we thinking?  This is scary stuff.  Kunkel says brace yourself and hang in there, yes, in the midst of the storm.  Because with Jesus, the storm will pass.  Trust him.

The third phase?  Rather than giving his disciples a sabbatical following the terrible storm, he landed with them in Gentile territory and immediately took them into the presence of demons.  And even when the demoniac is healed, his neighbors get upset because the community’s economy is shaken up when all those pigs jump off a ledge and drown themselves.  The late great N. Gordon Cosby says that “Jesus always takes us into the midst of the demonic, and he reduces our fear sufficiently to enable us to name it as evil, to look it squarely in the face.”  

That’s the Christian calling, isn’t it?  That’s the Christian story—facing evil, but knowing that in the end, love will win out.  Love!  Not failure.  Sooner or later, if we’re going to go all the way with Jesus, we need to face the evils in the world. 

Cosby’s words simply ring off the page for me, as he too mentions Kunkel’s steps. 

I would call you to that first step (committing yourself to following Jesus).  Make it very, very clear.

The second step is to begin the night sea journey through the storms.

If you get into the boat, he will never leave you….if you get into the boat, he will never leave you alone.

And when you get to that place for ministry, my West End friends, you will not fail.  Not with Jesus going ahead of you, staying by your side, and watching your back.  Jesus can do that, you know. Simply follow.  I think I’ll follow Jesus, rather than the stone slinger.   

Grace and joy,

Julie

Maundy Meanderings

On my way into work this glorious Maundy Thursday morning, I passed a van with a bumper sticker that said “Waiting for the Lord to come back again.”  My Super Pastor Cape wanted to unfurl, and in a safe, but dramatic move with my Prius, swing out in front of him bringing the van to a surprising halt, whereupon I would jump out, go up to the driver’s window, and gently (of course) explain that if he opened his eyes, he would see that the Lord is alive and well, every nanosecond at present. He need wait no longer. 

The Lord is a block away at The Little Pantry That Could.  He is at the street corner with everyone stopping to buy The Contributor from the fella that parks himself at the corner by the Shell station, where his dog gets occasional treats as well.  He is with the struggling but faithful congregation on Charlotte Avenue, and even the big struggling faithful ones on West End Avenue.  He is in every hospital room for blocks and blocks, and in every waiting room as family and friends gather with breath prayers spoken and unspoken.  He's at the Jack In The Box drive-thru window with the woman who just paid for the meal for the family behind her.  He is with those who are trying to be patient; He’s with those who are facing the imminent deaths of loved ones; He’s with our celebrations and our tragedies and everything in between. He is with every life, every death, every resurrection.

Yeah, yeah, I know the intent of the bumper sticker message, but I hope, hope, HOPE that the driver knows Christ is alive and well and working hard in us, through us, and in spite of us until The Kingdom is experienced throughout the world.  That’s what Easter is about for me.  It’s about remembering the sacrifice on my behalf; it’s about maintaining courage through the tough days; it’s about knowing that Sunday IS coming, and never giving up.  The question for me isn’t “How long, O Lord?” but “How can I help bring about Your Kingdom in the corner You’ve given me?”

Okay, I’ll put my cape away for another day.  Christ was, is and will be.  Now and until the end of time.   He doesn't need me stopping traffic to continue loving His creation.

Thank you, God, for another Glorious Easter, and for the co-creating service in between.

Grace and joy,

Julie

You. Yes, You....and Me too.

Sometimes, we need to be reminded that we are worthy, just as we are.

Right now.  Yes, I mean it.  Right now.

I have often placed my worth upon what I do, how I look, who likes me, yatta, yatta, yatta.  You know the words and phrases.  I'll bet some of them sound like Brene Brown's list, which she calls "worthiness prerequisites:"

I'll be worthy when I lose twenty pounds.
I'll be worthy if I get pregnant.
I'll be worthy if I get/stay sober.
I'll be worthy if everyone thinks I'm a good parent.
I'll be worthy when I can make a living selling my art.
I'll be worthy if I can hold my marriage together.
I'll be worthy when I make partner.
I'll be worthy when my parents finally approve.
I'll be worthy if he calls back and asks me out.
I'll be worthy when I can do it all and look like I'm not even trying.

God tells us that we need to throw those "ifs and whens" out the window.   In God's radical way, God loves us right now, in this moment, and there's nothing you can do about it.  You can't gain it, and you can't lose it.  God's love is out of your control.  God loves you.  Can we grow?  Yes.  Can we change? Yes.  Can we backslide? Yes.  But it doesn't change how God feels about you, right now.  And in the next second, or the next hour, or the next week or next year even.  God's love is steadfast.  You can test it, stretch it, deny it, turn your back on it, but God's love for you doesn't change.

There's no "doing what it takes to be needed or to fit in."  We already belong to this God who loves us in action, not just a warm, fuzzy feeling.  We are important to God's creation and to the Kingdom God is striving for in our world.

So take a deep, cleansing breath, inhaling pure love.  Then smile and/or wink at the next person you see.  They need to be reminded that they are worthy too, just as they are.

Grace and joy,
Julie