Sort of. It is June 8th but it feels more like April! Summer is slow in coming to us this year.
But the normal benchmarks still come, no matter what the weather- graduation, grilling out, flip flops (which I will continue to wear despite the temperature!), parties, vacations, and summer worship schedule at church.
It is fun (for me) to have everyone worship together during the summer. I bet you see a lot of new faces if you normally only go to one of our Sunday services. Don't be afraid to introduce yourself to someone you don't know- I think people are understanding if you don't know their name, especially if they go to a different service. One service on Sunday gives us a chance to meet other Christians that are a part of the Grace family.
Summer at church also means we have more visitors- make them feel welcome and invite them to come back to worship, to join a group you partipate in at Grace, or to a special event coming up. Hospitality is one of our very important jobs as Christians.
Summer is supposed to be a "slow" time, but I bet we can all agree that somehow, it seems busier than the rest of the year! I hope that you will find time though to relax, to be with those you love, and to worship God.
May your summer be safe and joyful!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Above and Beyond
Okay, I didn't write this...but I think it's great. I read it while preparing for the Ascension Day sermon I'm preaching tomorrow- May 21, 7 pm at St John's in Grafton. I hope this article touches you.
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_10_120/ai_102140725/
Above and beyond
Christian Century , May 17, 2003 by Lawrence Wood
Ascension, May 29 Luke 24:44-53; Acts 1:1-11
JUST LIKE THAT, Jesus is gone. He reappears just long enough to say goodbye. Like a wraith, like a dream, he leaves behind no children, no estate, no writings, no trace of himself except this feeling that his presence was real, that his absence is temporary. Christians have this uncanny feeling that he was just here. He must have just stepped out.
It's a feeling of mixed joy and grief, of doubt and near certainty. The ascension marks the moment when we pass from Jesus' time into our own.
The stories say that he is taken up into heaven--like Elijah--and while we puzzle over the physics of how this happened, we have no trouble understanding it emotionally. We know too much about loss. Loved ones are suddenly taken from us, and the manner in which they go fills us with awe. It is an amazing, dreadful thing. Even though we know that they are going to "a better place," we cannot follow, and have a hard time imagining that we ever will. In the strange days afterward, we have to reconcile feeling bereft with receiving an inheritance.
So the stories about Jesus' ascension are about a Christian attitude toward death. Take away the fantastic circumstances, and here is the hard reality: Jesus is gone. He rose not just from the dead, but right up and out of our world.
Yet we cannot take away the miraculous. In deed, the miracle is the whole point: this ascension, a second Easter, confirms that he is going to heaven. His Jewish disciples see with their own eyes that he is not going to Sheol, the realm below, but to the abode of God. He is alive, so maybe their loved ones are alive; maybe death is not the end of us. As they stand on the earth, the disciples surely can think of others who were just here and might be back soon for those they love.
Luke tells two stories about the ascension. In the first, he says that Jesus walked with the disciples "as far as Bethany," where his friends Mary and Martha lived. According to the Gospel of John, Bethany was also where he raised Lazarus from the dead. So it was a significant place for him--a good place for him to spend his last moments on earth.
Let's read between the lines and imagine that he chose the place of his departure because he wanted to see Mary and Martha one last time. Perhaps they ran to meet him, threw their arms round him, shouted in amazement. Mary probably had no more tears to wet his feet. Perhaps he sat at their table and let Martha wait on him again. All the while, the wondering disciples who had traveled the few miles from Jerusalem saw why he had risen, why he had come back here. Read this way, the Gospel version of the ascension is a love story.
Luke's second account of a departure site is in Acts. Here he doesn't mention Bethany, but says that that Jesus ordered the disciples "not to leave Jerusalem" for Galilee right away, instructions that are different from those in other Gospels. At any rate, this version recalls the ascension of Elijah, and then surpasses it completely.
As Elijah waited for the whirlwind that would take him to heaven, his disciple Elisha asked for "a double portion of his spirit." Sure enough, when Elisha picked up Elijah's mantle, that's what he got--a powerful dose of the Spirit. In similar fashion, Jesus promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless, but would give them the Spirit. He meant for them to have an inheritance. And when, in a manner of speaking, they picked up his mantle, that's what they got--a double portion. The Spirit at Pentecost! We can still feel the force of it, whistling around our ears.
This, too, is a love story. A story of how love survives loss. We are not comfortless. We don't worry too much about his absence, in part because his Spirit is so alive and present. He may have risen, but in another sense he remains on the ground. He has become his disciples. They have become him.
Carl VandeGiessen, in his horn-rimmed spectacles and red tennis shoes, remains vivid in my mind. Ten years ago he lost his wife, Ruth, after her long battle with Alzheimer's. Carl had sat at her bedside every day, even in the long years when she hadn't known him. "This is what I took my wedding vows for," he would tell me.
They had met in the Epworth League of the old Methodist Church, raised beagles together, traveled together and maintained the romance of their marriage. When she died during Holy Week, it seemed to unnerve his only daughter. I meant to console him when I said, "Carl, I'm sorry. It's especially hard to lose her this time of year."
"Are you kidding?" he said. "This is the best time for my Ruthie. She's with God now. That's what this week is all about."
Now even Carl has gone--walking confidently in his red shoes to a realm I can only imagine.
Even as the ascension leaves us here, in the modern world, ascension points beyond it. We know little about heaven--not even, really, if it is up there--but we have a lot of hope for our loved ones. We expect to see generations and generations of them, somewhere, in a time that is neither ancient nor modern. Before we were even born, Jesus changed the way we think about the dead. I would like to see Carl again someday, but this world is not the place to seek him, because he is not here. He is risen.
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_10_120/ai_102140725/
Above and beyond
Christian Century , May 17, 2003 by Lawrence Wood
Ascension, May 29 Luke 24:44-53; Acts 1:1-11
JUST LIKE THAT, Jesus is gone. He reappears just long enough to say goodbye. Like a wraith, like a dream, he leaves behind no children, no estate, no writings, no trace of himself except this feeling that his presence was real, that his absence is temporary. Christians have this uncanny feeling that he was just here. He must have just stepped out.
It's a feeling of mixed joy and grief, of doubt and near certainty. The ascension marks the moment when we pass from Jesus' time into our own.
The stories say that he is taken up into heaven--like Elijah--and while we puzzle over the physics of how this happened, we have no trouble understanding it emotionally. We know too much about loss. Loved ones are suddenly taken from us, and the manner in which they go fills us with awe. It is an amazing, dreadful thing. Even though we know that they are going to "a better place," we cannot follow, and have a hard time imagining that we ever will. In the strange days afterward, we have to reconcile feeling bereft with receiving an inheritance.
So the stories about Jesus' ascension are about a Christian attitude toward death. Take away the fantastic circumstances, and here is the hard reality: Jesus is gone. He rose not just from the dead, but right up and out of our world.
Yet we cannot take away the miraculous. In deed, the miracle is the whole point: this ascension, a second Easter, confirms that he is going to heaven. His Jewish disciples see with their own eyes that he is not going to Sheol, the realm below, but to the abode of God. He is alive, so maybe their loved ones are alive; maybe death is not the end of us. As they stand on the earth, the disciples surely can think of others who were just here and might be back soon for those they love.
Luke tells two stories about the ascension. In the first, he says that Jesus walked with the disciples "as far as Bethany," where his friends Mary and Martha lived. According to the Gospel of John, Bethany was also where he raised Lazarus from the dead. So it was a significant place for him--a good place for him to spend his last moments on earth.
Let's read between the lines and imagine that he chose the place of his departure because he wanted to see Mary and Martha one last time. Perhaps they ran to meet him, threw their arms round him, shouted in amazement. Mary probably had no more tears to wet his feet. Perhaps he sat at their table and let Martha wait on him again. All the while, the wondering disciples who had traveled the few miles from Jerusalem saw why he had risen, why he had come back here. Read this way, the Gospel version of the ascension is a love story.
Luke's second account of a departure site is in Acts. Here he doesn't mention Bethany, but says that that Jesus ordered the disciples "not to leave Jerusalem" for Galilee right away, instructions that are different from those in other Gospels. At any rate, this version recalls the ascension of Elijah, and then surpasses it completely.
As Elijah waited for the whirlwind that would take him to heaven, his disciple Elisha asked for "a double portion of his spirit." Sure enough, when Elisha picked up Elijah's mantle, that's what he got--a powerful dose of the Spirit. In similar fashion, Jesus promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless, but would give them the Spirit. He meant for them to have an inheritance. And when, in a manner of speaking, they picked up his mantle, that's what they got--a double portion. The Spirit at Pentecost! We can still feel the force of it, whistling around our ears.
This, too, is a love story. A story of how love survives loss. We are not comfortless. We don't worry too much about his absence, in part because his Spirit is so alive and present. He may have risen, but in another sense he remains on the ground. He has become his disciples. They have become him.
Carl VandeGiessen, in his horn-rimmed spectacles and red tennis shoes, remains vivid in my mind. Ten years ago he lost his wife, Ruth, after her long battle with Alzheimer's. Carl had sat at her bedside every day, even in the long years when she hadn't known him. "This is what I took my wedding vows for," he would tell me.
They had met in the Epworth League of the old Methodist Church, raised beagles together, traveled together and maintained the romance of their marriage. When she died during Holy Week, it seemed to unnerve his only daughter. I meant to console him when I said, "Carl, I'm sorry. It's especially hard to lose her this time of year."
"Are you kidding?" he said. "This is the best time for my Ruthie. She's with God now. That's what this week is all about."
Now even Carl has gone--walking confidently in his red shoes to a realm I can only imagine.
Even as the ascension leaves us here, in the modern world, ascension points beyond it. We know little about heaven--not even, really, if it is up there--but we have a lot of hope for our loved ones. We expect to see generations and generations of them, somewhere, in a time that is neither ancient nor modern. Before we were even born, Jesus changed the way we think about the dead. I would like to see Carl again someday, but this world is not the place to seek him, because he is not here. He is risen.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Things Undone
"We have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone."
These words are from the Lutheran Book of Worship confession and forgiveness. I am always struck by the last phrase- "what we have left undone."
That really changed by view of sin a few years ago. Up to that point, I would usually spend the time in church trying to think of ways I had sinned by what I had done- something concrete like lying, jealousy, taking God's name in vain, etc.
But then I realized we also sin by things that we don't do- like standing by while someone is teased or lies are spread, or where justice is denied, or not caring for the least among us as if they were Jesus himself.
There are lots of ways we can do harm, just like there are lots of ways we can do good. Now I tend to think my inaction is just as important as my action in life. This has been much more of a challenge than not doing the sinful actions. It is much easier for me to stand by and watch something happen that I know is wrong than to get in the middle of it and stick myneck out there.
But then I think that Jesus did not just sit back and say nothing. He was out there, doing what needed to be done to bring God's kingdom to earth- healing the sick, telling us about God and bringing us closer to God. In fact, Jesus is the one who faced injustice and his friends sat by and watched. But God still forgave them for that. And God forgives us for things we don't do when we promise we will try not to do them again. The only way I can do that is if I know I have God's help. I pray for that every time I confess, and I pray that we will all have to courage to move from leaving things undone, to doing God's justice in the world.
"He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"
Micah 6:8
These words are from the Lutheran Book of Worship confession and forgiveness. I am always struck by the last phrase- "what we have left undone."
That really changed by view of sin a few years ago. Up to that point, I would usually spend the time in church trying to think of ways I had sinned by what I had done- something concrete like lying, jealousy, taking God's name in vain, etc.
But then I realized we also sin by things that we don't do- like standing by while someone is teased or lies are spread, or where justice is denied, or not caring for the least among us as if they were Jesus himself.
There are lots of ways we can do harm, just like there are lots of ways we can do good. Now I tend to think my inaction is just as important as my action in life. This has been much more of a challenge than not doing the sinful actions. It is much easier for me to stand by and watch something happen that I know is wrong than to get in the middle of it and stick myneck out there.
But then I think that Jesus did not just sit back and say nothing. He was out there, doing what needed to be done to bring God's kingdom to earth- healing the sick, telling us about God and bringing us closer to God. In fact, Jesus is the one who faced injustice and his friends sat by and watched. But God still forgave them for that. And God forgives us for things we don't do when we promise we will try not to do them again. The only way I can do that is if I know I have God's help. I pray for that every time I confess, and I pray that we will all have to courage to move from leaving things undone, to doing God's justice in the world.
"He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"
Micah 6:8
Monday, April 20, 2009
Resurrection
Yesterday at the Adult Education Hour, we talked about the resurrection of Jesus. Because while Easter is over to most people, in the church we still celebrate it for 5 weeks after! And what better thing to talk about than the cornerstone of our faith. Without Jesus resurrection, there isn't much point to what he said or did. His resurrection proved that he was the Son of God.
So as we were talking, it came up how we don't really hear much good news outside of church. People tend to focus on the negative, and you are much more likely to hear about shootings/falling stocks/accidents than you are about the good things that happen each day. So I thought it would be a good idea to think about that, and fitting for the season of Easter!
Here are some good things that have happened to me lately:
So as we were talking, it came up how we don't really hear much good news outside of church. People tend to focus on the negative, and you are much more likely to hear about shootings/falling stocks/accidents than you are about the good things that happen each day. So I thought it would be a good idea to think about that, and fitting for the season of Easter!
Here are some good things that have happened to me lately:
- Libby, a four-year-old who has been very sick lately, was singing along with the hymns at church on Sunday. It was awesome. She doesn't know the words, but I could hear her just making a joyful noise to the Lord! She also threw her arms around me when she walked out of church. What a gift she is.
- I got the financial report from our church treasurer today (we always get one each month). Despite the economy the people of Grace are being extremely faithful in their giving! We are very blessed.
- I had the privilege of presiding at Nate Bryan and Rebekah Castro's wedding. Their love was so wonderful to see.
I could go on...I think I'll write one thing each day this week. I encourage you to do the same! God has given us so much to enjoy and appreciate- I hope you can see and celebrate that this Easter season.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Ash Wednesday Sermon: Dusty Secrets
A few years ago I went to an Ash Wednesday service, just like I had done every year since I can remember. It was not much different than any other typical Ash Wednesday service. So when the time came, I got up to go receive my ashes and to hear the words I had heard every year of my life so far on this day- “Remember that you are dust, and to dust your shall return.”
But that year, as I stood up and waited in the line to kneel before the pastor, something different happened. My knees began to shake. Then I felt like my whole body was shaking. For some reason, that year it hit me: I am going to die.
It’s not like I didn’t know that before, but I don’t think I had really realized that it was true, that it was going to happen to me. It’s not like it was a secret, but it wasn’t anything I had ever really understood. It was shocking and completely terrifying.
When it was my turn to receive the ashes, I knelt down in front of the pastor, a tall and imposing kind of man. He put his hands on my head and they were so big, they almost completely covered it. His hands were a huge weight pushing down on me as I knelt. I felt like I was trapped under the weight, in a cage of his fingers.
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” He smeared the sign of the cross on my forehead with his big, ashy thumb.
I trudged back to my seat with my heart still pounding.
This is how we begin the season of Lent every year- with ashes smeared in the shape of a cross on our foreheads. We remember that we are dust. We look back- all the way back to the beginning- when all there was, was dusty dirt. And God breathed life into that dirt and made Adam, and then Eve from Adam, as the creation story in Genesis 2 tells us. God caused rain to soak the dirt, and God created a beautiful garden for Adam and Eve to live in. Out of the dusty dirt, life was created, watered and sustained.
Well we all know what happened next! Adam and Eve didn’t wait too long before they messed up, and got booted out of this beautiful garden with these words- a reminder from God we still say today- “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”
Returning to God is an important theme of Lent. It’s a time to refocus ourselves on God by looking ahead to what is coming. We return to God and look towards Good Friday, facing the cross with him. We return to God to remember that we are dust, and that is how we are going to end up. We return to God to confess our sins, to open up to him about whatever secrets and shame we have been holding that are keeping us from God.
Telling God those secrets is important. But the funny thing is, God already knows our secrets. There is nothing we can hide from God. In the reading from Matthew Chapter 6, we heard Jesus’ instruction not to make a big deal of ourselves in front of others in our giving, our praying or our fasting- because when we do these things in public, others see us and that is our reward. Jesus tells us to do these things in secret- because then only God will see us and he will reward us. The things we do in secret are not hidden from God.
Jesus said, “When you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing…When you pray- go into your room and shut the door…” It is in the secret places where we meet God.
So a natural question is, Then why do we come to church? Why get the ashes on our foreheads for everyone to see? Why don’t we just stay home, locked away in our rooms, confessing our secrets to God and lifting up our prayers where no one else can hear? Isn’t it better for us to keep our secrets between us and God, and not let anyone else know that we have messed up, sometimes so deeply that we can never make it right again?
I know I come because though my room is secret, when I just stay there the weight of my sin and my secrets just keeps closing in on me. I don’t stay in my room because it gets really dusty in there, especially when I use it as a place to bury my secrets as far down in the dirt as I can. I don’t stay in my room because I need to know that though other people may seem perfect to me, they mess up, too, and we stand here and confess this together. I don’t stay in my room because I know there is another room where I can come to be with God and to have the weight of my secrets and my fears lifted.
Tonight this is our room. We gather here together to confess our sins, but to also hear the good news and be reminded of God’s forgiveness. We gather here to remember that though we are all going to die, and though this might cause us great fear, that is not the end of the story. We gather here to face the cross together, looking to our Savior Jesus Christ.
The cross tonight stands in a different place- next to the baptismal font. Both are symbols of death- death to our sinful selves in baptism, death of Jesus on the cross. Both are symbols of life- new life as God’s children in baptism, new life through Jesus’ resurrection on the cross.
Tonight we all wear the sign of the cross on our foreheads- Just as when we were baptized the pastor traced the cross on our foreheads with oil. That mark is harder to see, and both the ashes and the oil are easily washed away. But what never changes is that the one who made us out of dust holds us in his hands from the time we take our first breath to the time we take our last. No matter what our secrets or our fears- and in these uncertain days I know our fears are many- no matter what, our God gives us new life whenever we give our hearts. Where our hearts are torn and broken, God heals them through limitless love.
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”
It doesn’t matter to God how we look on the outside. What matters to God is what is happening on the inside. God can see our hearts, and that’s what he is concerned about. God doesn’t want us to put on a show for everyone. God doesn’t want us to be looking for rewards in places and people that won’t really give them to us. Instead, God calls us to confess our secrets and to live our lives showing his love quietly. When we practice our piety in secret, the world has no one to thank but God.
And so, having confessed our sins and remembered that God holds us from dust of creation to the dust of death, we prepare ourselves for the meal of thanksgiving- the Eucharist. As you hold the bread, thank God for this piece of forgiveness. As you drink the cup, thank God for the new life it brings.
Because of this gift, we don’t have to fear death. Someday we will be dust, but we are not dust yet. So go from this room tonight quietly. Wipe the messy ashes off your forehead, but not off your heart. Wait for and receive God’s abundant grace and steadfast love. Thank God that out of dust, dirt, and death comes new life. Amen.
But that year, as I stood up and waited in the line to kneel before the pastor, something different happened. My knees began to shake. Then I felt like my whole body was shaking. For some reason, that year it hit me: I am going to die.
It’s not like I didn’t know that before, but I don’t think I had really realized that it was true, that it was going to happen to me. It’s not like it was a secret, but it wasn’t anything I had ever really understood. It was shocking and completely terrifying.
When it was my turn to receive the ashes, I knelt down in front of the pastor, a tall and imposing kind of man. He put his hands on my head and they were so big, they almost completely covered it. His hands were a huge weight pushing down on me as I knelt. I felt like I was trapped under the weight, in a cage of his fingers.
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” He smeared the sign of the cross on my forehead with his big, ashy thumb.
I trudged back to my seat with my heart still pounding.
This is how we begin the season of Lent every year- with ashes smeared in the shape of a cross on our foreheads. We remember that we are dust. We look back- all the way back to the beginning- when all there was, was dusty dirt. And God breathed life into that dirt and made Adam, and then Eve from Adam, as the creation story in Genesis 2 tells us. God caused rain to soak the dirt, and God created a beautiful garden for Adam and Eve to live in. Out of the dusty dirt, life was created, watered and sustained.
Well we all know what happened next! Adam and Eve didn’t wait too long before they messed up, and got booted out of this beautiful garden with these words- a reminder from God we still say today- “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”
Returning to God is an important theme of Lent. It’s a time to refocus ourselves on God by looking ahead to what is coming. We return to God and look towards Good Friday, facing the cross with him. We return to God to remember that we are dust, and that is how we are going to end up. We return to God to confess our sins, to open up to him about whatever secrets and shame we have been holding that are keeping us from God.
Telling God those secrets is important. But the funny thing is, God already knows our secrets. There is nothing we can hide from God. In the reading from Matthew Chapter 6, we heard Jesus’ instruction not to make a big deal of ourselves in front of others in our giving, our praying or our fasting- because when we do these things in public, others see us and that is our reward. Jesus tells us to do these things in secret- because then only God will see us and he will reward us. The things we do in secret are not hidden from God.
Jesus said, “When you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing…When you pray- go into your room and shut the door…” It is in the secret places where we meet God.
So a natural question is, Then why do we come to church? Why get the ashes on our foreheads for everyone to see? Why don’t we just stay home, locked away in our rooms, confessing our secrets to God and lifting up our prayers where no one else can hear? Isn’t it better for us to keep our secrets between us and God, and not let anyone else know that we have messed up, sometimes so deeply that we can never make it right again?
I know I come because though my room is secret, when I just stay there the weight of my sin and my secrets just keeps closing in on me. I don’t stay in my room because it gets really dusty in there, especially when I use it as a place to bury my secrets as far down in the dirt as I can. I don’t stay in my room because I need to know that though other people may seem perfect to me, they mess up, too, and we stand here and confess this together. I don’t stay in my room because I know there is another room where I can come to be with God and to have the weight of my secrets and my fears lifted.
Tonight this is our room. We gather here together to confess our sins, but to also hear the good news and be reminded of God’s forgiveness. We gather here to remember that though we are all going to die, and though this might cause us great fear, that is not the end of the story. We gather here to face the cross together, looking to our Savior Jesus Christ.
The cross tonight stands in a different place- next to the baptismal font. Both are symbols of death- death to our sinful selves in baptism, death of Jesus on the cross. Both are symbols of life- new life as God’s children in baptism, new life through Jesus’ resurrection on the cross.
Tonight we all wear the sign of the cross on our foreheads- Just as when we were baptized the pastor traced the cross on our foreheads with oil. That mark is harder to see, and both the ashes and the oil are easily washed away. But what never changes is that the one who made us out of dust holds us in his hands from the time we take our first breath to the time we take our last. No matter what our secrets or our fears- and in these uncertain days I know our fears are many- no matter what, our God gives us new life whenever we give our hearts. Where our hearts are torn and broken, God heals them through limitless love.
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”
It doesn’t matter to God how we look on the outside. What matters to God is what is happening on the inside. God can see our hearts, and that’s what he is concerned about. God doesn’t want us to put on a show for everyone. God doesn’t want us to be looking for rewards in places and people that won’t really give them to us. Instead, God calls us to confess our secrets and to live our lives showing his love quietly. When we practice our piety in secret, the world has no one to thank but God.
And so, having confessed our sins and remembered that God holds us from dust of creation to the dust of death, we prepare ourselves for the meal of thanksgiving- the Eucharist. As you hold the bread, thank God for this piece of forgiveness. As you drink the cup, thank God for the new life it brings.
Because of this gift, we don’t have to fear death. Someday we will be dust, but we are not dust yet. So go from this room tonight quietly. Wipe the messy ashes off your forehead, but not off your heart. Wait for and receive God’s abundant grace and steadfast love. Thank God that out of dust, dirt, and death comes new life. Amen.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
It's coming...
It starts with an "L" and rhymes with "rent."
Yes, that's right, Lent is just around the corner! In one week we will gather together to sing the beautiful Holden Evening Prayer Service. We'll have Grace's famous Potato Soup and ham sandwiches (it's the soup that's famous, not the sandwiches!).
But even more important than the food, we'll come up one by one to have the sign of the cross made on our forehead, just as we did when we were baptized. But this time the oil is mixed with ashes. Ashes are an ancient symbol of repentence. During lent, we focus on repenting from our sins, or turning away from them.
I can think of sins I need to turn away from. Sins that I am scared to turn away from because I do them so often. Sometimes our sins turn into crutches, but really they hold us back instead of helping us move more freely.
So I feel challenged this Lent. I feel a tension between liking myself in my sin, and knowing that God has a better idea. I know that is true. Especially lately, where I have started to feel bogged down by my sins.
Time to turn over a new leaf, to let the weight of sin fall, to remember that I am baptized and THAT is what makes me who I am. Thank you, God, for giving us times to remember that your love is greater than our fears and our sin!
As we prepare for Ash Wednesday, I invite you to think about what is holding you back, dragging you down, and how God can help you change.
Yes, that's right, Lent is just around the corner! In one week we will gather together to sing the beautiful Holden Evening Prayer Service. We'll have Grace's famous Potato Soup and ham sandwiches (it's the soup that's famous, not the sandwiches!).
But even more important than the food, we'll come up one by one to have the sign of the cross made on our forehead, just as we did when we were baptized. But this time the oil is mixed with ashes. Ashes are an ancient symbol of repentence. During lent, we focus on repenting from our sins, or turning away from them.
I can think of sins I need to turn away from. Sins that I am scared to turn away from because I do them so often. Sometimes our sins turn into crutches, but really they hold us back instead of helping us move more freely.
So I feel challenged this Lent. I feel a tension between liking myself in my sin, and knowing that God has a better idea. I know that is true. Especially lately, where I have started to feel bogged down by my sins.
Time to turn over a new leaf, to let the weight of sin fall, to remember that I am baptized and THAT is what makes me who I am. Thank you, God, for giving us times to remember that your love is greater than our fears and our sin!
As we prepare for Ash Wednesday, I invite you to think about what is holding you back, dragging you down, and how God can help you change.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Lord of Healing
Lord of my greatest fear:
Let in your peace.
Lord of my darkest shame:
Let in your grace.
Lord of my oldest grudge:
Let in your forgiveness.
Lord of my deepest anger:
Let in your love.
Lord of my loneliest moment:
Let in your presence.
Lord of my truest self- my all:
Let in your fullness.
~Adapted from a pryer by Alison Pepper, England.
In my most extreme experiences is often when I feel closest to or furthest away from God. When I'm really happy I feel God pouring through my veins. When I am really upset, I cry or yell to God- where are you? But when that happens, I always feel an answer come soon after. After my darkness, my fear, my loneliness, my grudges, my shame- after those times when my true self comes out in it's most vulnerable (and sometimes awful) form, I feel God coming in. I wake up at peace. I wake up and it's a gorgeous, bright sunny day. I feel forgiven. I feel loved. This is how I know God is real.
Let in your peace.
Lord of my darkest shame:
Let in your grace.
Lord of my oldest grudge:
Let in your forgiveness.
Lord of my deepest anger:
Let in your love.
Lord of my loneliest moment:
Let in your presence.
Lord of my truest self- my all:
Let in your fullness.
~Adapted from a pryer by Alison Pepper, England.
In my most extreme experiences is often when I feel closest to or furthest away from God. When I'm really happy I feel God pouring through my veins. When I am really upset, I cry or yell to God- where are you? But when that happens, I always feel an answer come soon after. After my darkness, my fear, my loneliness, my grudges, my shame- after those times when my true self comes out in it's most vulnerable (and sometimes awful) form, I feel God coming in. I wake up at peace. I wake up and it's a gorgeous, bright sunny day. I feel forgiven. I feel loved. This is how I know God is real.
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