In the morning paper today, I read about a miracle. A communion wafer fell on the floor in Sokolka, Poland, and when it was picked up, it had a black spot on it. The wafer is now housed in a reliquary for people to see. At the risk of sounding cynical, in my world I would consider that a sign of bad housekeeping more than a miracle of God. Don’t misunderstand me. I believe that God is at work in our world, both within and at times beyond the natural order of things.
If God were trying to speak to me through dropped communion elements, I would be out of luck. One of my favorite choir members uses an assistance dog, and I process in behind Ginger and her master weekly during the final service of the weekend. Ginger is a canine vacuum cleaner, and she pauses as we go up the steps into the chancel to clean up any stray bread crumbs. (I’ve always considered that a value-added service that she provides us.) If there were any miracles to be found in the pieces of crumbs, Ginger would scoop them up long before any crowds had a chance to gather.
And yet. A canine enables a human to do things that she would be unable to do otherwise. A miracle occurs before my eyes each week, if I’m not too blind to notice.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11/11
The tenth anniversary of Sept. 11th fell on a Sunday, and the question that faced me was the same question that faced every pastor- how to best deal with 9/11/11 in worship. Knowing that there would be ample civic and media remembrances, I did not feel a need to dedicate the entire service to the anniversary. Instead, I decided on a beautiful prayer litany written by the National Council of Churches and a sermon that focused on how God’s call to us to continue to live the best hopes and dreams that have grown out of that day. The rest of the service would be normal, I decided.
As each of the four services unfolded with the contributions of our musicians and visual artists, it became apparent that the focus was clearly on the anniversary. We sang about our pain, God’s comfort, and our prayer for peace. The visual imagery on the screen continued these themes. We prayed, we lit candles, we cried, we even smiled. By the end of each service, I pray that we left more hopeful than when we had entered. It was much more than I had planned, and it was much better than I had planned. As is often the case.
After worship, the day settled into a blessed Sunday afternoon normalcy. Lunch out, then home for nap and a little yardwork. Since I brought home a lot of fresh heirloom tomatoes from church, I tried out a new recipe, “Moroccan-Style Tomato Soup with Chickpeas” that is simmering on the stove at home as I type. I’m not sure what I think of the blend of ginger, cinnamon, cumin, onion, and tomatoes in the soup, but I know that Andy will eat bravely whatever is put in front of him. As I said, it has been a blessedly normal Sunday afternoon.
This evening, I will teach the first session of our confirmation class. These young people know about 9/11 only from what they read in history books and glean from anniversaries such as these. As I said in worship, these young people grew up knowing that you can’t carry drinks onto airplanes, and that firefighters and police are the ones who run into buildings when everyone else is running out. These things define “normal” for them.
As far as difficult anniversaries go, this one has been good. May we remember once again what a gift a normal September 11 is, even if "normal" does not mean the same thing that it meant 10 years and a day ago.
As each of the four services unfolded with the contributions of our musicians and visual artists, it became apparent that the focus was clearly on the anniversary. We sang about our pain, God’s comfort, and our prayer for peace. The visual imagery on the screen continued these themes. We prayed, we lit candles, we cried, we even smiled. By the end of each service, I pray that we left more hopeful than when we had entered. It was much more than I had planned, and it was much better than I had planned. As is often the case.
After worship, the day settled into a blessed Sunday afternoon normalcy. Lunch out, then home for nap and a little yardwork. Since I brought home a lot of fresh heirloom tomatoes from church, I tried out a new recipe, “Moroccan-Style Tomato Soup with Chickpeas” that is simmering on the stove at home as I type. I’m not sure what I think of the blend of ginger, cinnamon, cumin, onion, and tomatoes in the soup, but I know that Andy will eat bravely whatever is put in front of him. As I said, it has been a blessedly normal Sunday afternoon.
This evening, I will teach the first session of our confirmation class. These young people know about 9/11 only from what they read in history books and glean from anniversaries such as these. As I said in worship, these young people grew up knowing that you can’t carry drinks onto airplanes, and that firefighters and police are the ones who run into buildings when everyone else is running out. These things define “normal” for them.
As far as difficult anniversaries go, this one has been good. May we remember once again what a gift a normal September 11 is, even if "normal" does not mean the same thing that it meant 10 years and a day ago.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Phone Call
I was meeting with a couple about joining the church and baptizing their baby when my cell phone rang. Not just once, but it rang again a few minutes later, each time registering a fresh voicemail message. Few people beyond my family have that number, so I glanced at it. My parents’ number. “Excuse me for a moment, I need to check this message.” As I listened to the message, an unfamiliar voice began with the words that every adult child dreads hearing, “This is a nurse, calling from your parents’ apartment.”
The crisis was not as bad as was feared and has mostly passed. And there have been blessings out of last night’s phone call: wonderful understanding from the couple whose meeting with me was cut short, an unexpected day with my parents, and an increase in outside care that will help them both maintain their health.
Aging. No matter our age, we are all doing it. Every age and stage brings its own challenges, its own aches and pains, its own joys. Sometimes the pains we bear are our own, sometimes they are the pains of those we love. Sometimes we are the ones who serve, sometimes we are the ones who are served. Often, it seems, we are all of those things at once.
The crisis was not as bad as was feared and has mostly passed. And there have been blessings out of last night’s phone call: wonderful understanding from the couple whose meeting with me was cut short, an unexpected day with my parents, and an increase in outside care that will help them both maintain their health.
Aging. No matter our age, we are all doing it. Every age and stage brings its own challenges, its own aches and pains, its own joys. Sometimes the pains we bear are our own, sometimes they are the pains of those we love. Sometimes we are the ones who serve, sometimes we are the ones who are served. Often, it seems, we are all of those things at once.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Inlaws and Outlaws
This coming Labor Day, Andy and I will be doing one of those first-time-ever things: we will be meeting our future son-in-law’s parents. We like The Boy a whole lot. Given our firm belief that no one will ever be good enough for our children, he comes awfully close. Best of all (as observed by one of our children) isn’t just how he is when he is around us, but how our daughter is when she is around him. She is herself, but more so, in kind of a glow-y happy way. We are thrilled that he is with our daughter, and I am practicing already being the type of mother-in-law that I want to be.
I am just now coming to understand, though, that he does not come to us in isolation. He brings a family of his own, and we will be meeting them in a few days. In my church, I have one of these extended families. The now-married children met in our church as youth, and both sets of parents are part of this congregation. There are now young grandchildren in the mix, and it’s always fun to watch the grandparent/grandchildren reunions that occur weekly in the sanctuary. The grandparents laughingly refer to their relationship to each other, not as in-laws, but as outlaws.
I am getting a little nervous about our pending meeting, to my surprise. This new relationship will be important, and I wonder what it will be like. I know some things about them already. I know their professions and some of their interests. They live in a town about 5 hours away. I know some other, more important things about them. They are kind to my daughter and have welcomed her into their home. They raised a son who graduated college with honors, and who cares about those who are less fortunate than himself. And he loves my daughter, treats her well, and brings out the best in her.
Inlaws or outlaws, it doesn’t really matter to me. I know what to call them already: “family.”
I am just now coming to understand, though, that he does not come to us in isolation. He brings a family of his own, and we will be meeting them in a few days. In my church, I have one of these extended families. The now-married children met in our church as youth, and both sets of parents are part of this congregation. There are now young grandchildren in the mix, and it’s always fun to watch the grandparent/grandchildren reunions that occur weekly in the sanctuary. The grandparents laughingly refer to their relationship to each other, not as in-laws, but as outlaws.
I am getting a little nervous about our pending meeting, to my surprise. This new relationship will be important, and I wonder what it will be like. I know some things about them already. I know their professions and some of their interests. They live in a town about 5 hours away. I know some other, more important things about them. They are kind to my daughter and have welcomed her into their home. They raised a son who graduated college with honors, and who cares about those who are less fortunate than himself. And he loves my daughter, treats her well, and brings out the best in her.
Inlaws or outlaws, it doesn’t really matter to me. I know what to call them already: “family.”
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Almost
I almost died last week, I think. I was at a meeting in Nashville and had gone out for a morning walk. Needing to cross a very busy downtown street, I pushed the button to wait for the walk signal. I kept waiting as the cars whizzed by on the narrow street, their wheels nudging the curb. As I waited for what seemed like an interminably long light, I had time to be amazed at how fast Nashville drivers went on such a crowded street.
Finally, I saw the pedestrian across the street from me begin to cross. And thereby was my near-fatal mistake. I looked at him walking across the street and assumed that the light had changed. My foot swung into the street, into the path of oncoming traffic. At the last nanosecond before my weight shifted and I was committed to following that foot into the street, I realized that the cars were still coming at top speed. I fell backwards as a car barely grazed my shin. The light had not changed, but the man across the street had decided to duck between the cars. He looked at me oddly as I staggered, trying to regain my balance and my breath. And then he kept walking on his way.
How could I be so careless? My problem was that, only for a moment, I looked at the actions of the person across from me, rather than the light itself. Seems like that’s probably not the first time someone has gotten into trouble for that exact same reason. . .
Finally, I saw the pedestrian across the street from me begin to cross. And thereby was my near-fatal mistake. I looked at him walking across the street and assumed that the light had changed. My foot swung into the street, into the path of oncoming traffic. At the last nanosecond before my weight shifted and I was committed to following that foot into the street, I realized that the cars were still coming at top speed. I fell backwards as a car barely grazed my shin. The light had not changed, but the man across the street had decided to duck between the cars. He looked at me oddly as I staggered, trying to regain my balance and my breath. And then he kept walking on his way.
How could I be so careless? My problem was that, only for a moment, I looked at the actions of the person across from me, rather than the light itself. Seems like that’s probably not the first time someone has gotten into trouble for that exact same reason. . .
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Laryngitis
Andy and I seem to have picked up a bug on our flights home. (My office staff has helpfully said I have “kennel cough,” from the flying kennels in the sky.) This morning, my throat was sore and my voice was gone.
Tuesday is usually my day for meetings, and being voiceless gave me a different perspective on the day. During a morning conference call, I listened as the conversation swirled around me. A member of my staff did an excellent job running the weekly staff meetings, while I added only a few whispered comments. By drinking lots of hot tea and using a restaurant-soft voice, I was able to converse across a table at lunch with a colleague. That conversation was enjoyable but perhaps a mistake, as my voice has skittered away once more. And so I am sitting here nursing my throat and consigned once again to listening more than speaking.
The racking coughs are annoying, as is having to wave wildly to catch someone’s attention. I can’t ask the dog if he wants to go out or ask a child to bring me a glass of water. (Nor can I interrupt an ongoing conversation, which is probably the most annoying thing of all.) There is a gathering tonight that I really wanted to attend, but I realize that I shouldn’t expose some of my favorite people to whatever gluck I have. Therefore, I’ll sit at home tonight, gesticulating wildly to the dog, the children, the husband, and probably even the television by the time the night is over.
On the plus side, I’ll get to practice the art of listening. My son has made me fresh vegetable soup, a blessed gift from him before he moves to Seattle next week. I will have an unexpected night at home, which is always a luxury. There are worse things than being a voiceless preacher . . . for a little while.
Tuesday is usually my day for meetings, and being voiceless gave me a different perspective on the day. During a morning conference call, I listened as the conversation swirled around me. A member of my staff did an excellent job running the weekly staff meetings, while I added only a few whispered comments. By drinking lots of hot tea and using a restaurant-soft voice, I was able to converse across a table at lunch with a colleague. That conversation was enjoyable but perhaps a mistake, as my voice has skittered away once more. And so I am sitting here nursing my throat and consigned once again to listening more than speaking.
The racking coughs are annoying, as is having to wave wildly to catch someone’s attention. I can’t ask the dog if he wants to go out or ask a child to bring me a glass of water. (Nor can I interrupt an ongoing conversation, which is probably the most annoying thing of all.) There is a gathering tonight that I really wanted to attend, but I realize that I shouldn’t expose some of my favorite people to whatever gluck I have. Therefore, I’ll sit at home tonight, gesticulating wildly to the dog, the children, the husband, and probably even the television by the time the night is over.
On the plus side, I’ll get to practice the art of listening. My son has made me fresh vegetable soup, a blessed gift from him before he moves to Seattle next week. I will have an unexpected night at home, which is always a luxury. There are worse things than being a voiceless preacher . . . for a little while.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Unplugged
The gift of vacation is always a wonderful thing. Now that our children are beginning to go their separate ways, our time all together is even more precious. This year, as always, was a wonderful mix of reacquainting ourselves with old memories even as we created new memories.
Part of what makes this time “vacation” for me is leaving my computer at home. For almost three weeks, I did not access email, voicemail, Facebook, or Google. I was unplugged. When I put away the computer before leaving town, I had a brief moment of panic. What if something monumental happened, and I missed it? What about all of the everyday connections that occur through these mediums? How would I access needed information without Google?
Here’s is what happened: nothing. My almost-three-weeks of internet unconnectedness did not harm my life in any way. True, there was a time when we were all watching television together and wondered whatever happened to one of the stars. Without immediate access to the answer, we wondered a little longer than we would have otherwise, but we survived.
Here is something else that happened: I got bored. There was no internet to surf idly, no word games to play, no news stories to read besides the morning paper. It has been a long time since I was truly bored, and I discovered that I liked it. I started conversations with real humans. I picked up books and sat still long enough to read them. I went walking. I watched the clouds shift in the sky. I thought thoughts that had nothing to do with much of anything. Being bored occasionally is a good thing, I remembered. If we don’t create empty spaces every now and then, how will new things find their way into our lives?
I’m back now, and re-plugged. It’s good to be reconnecting with my world, my work, and my friends. I am thankful for the many important relationships that I have, and I am thankful for new ways that this era gives us to connect with one another. I am thankful, also, for the chance to drop off the grid every now and then.
Part of what makes this time “vacation” for me is leaving my computer at home. For almost three weeks, I did not access email, voicemail, Facebook, or Google. I was unplugged. When I put away the computer before leaving town, I had a brief moment of panic. What if something monumental happened, and I missed it? What about all of the everyday connections that occur through these mediums? How would I access needed information without Google?
Here’s is what happened: nothing. My almost-three-weeks of internet unconnectedness did not harm my life in any way. True, there was a time when we were all watching television together and wondered whatever happened to one of the stars. Without immediate access to the answer, we wondered a little longer than we would have otherwise, but we survived.
Here is something else that happened: I got bored. There was no internet to surf idly, no word games to play, no news stories to read besides the morning paper. It has been a long time since I was truly bored, and I discovered that I liked it. I started conversations with real humans. I picked up books and sat still long enough to read them. I went walking. I watched the clouds shift in the sky. I thought thoughts that had nothing to do with much of anything. Being bored occasionally is a good thing, I remembered. If we don’t create empty spaces every now and then, how will new things find their way into our lives?
I’m back now, and re-plugged. It’s good to be reconnecting with my world, my work, and my friends. I am thankful for the many important relationships that I have, and I am thankful for new ways that this era gives us to connect with one another. I am thankful, also, for the chance to drop off the grid every now and then.
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