Midsummer Night's Dream

 

Thirty-nine years ago today, I was in Helsinki with a group of United Methodist college students from the Western North Carolina Conference. We were visiting churches throughout Scandinavia through a bi-annual student exchange. As part of the program, we were put up in people’s homes.

In Helsinki, the young woman who housed me and my roommate met us at the entrance to her ancient-yet-stately apartment building. She explained, apologetically, that she had to be out of town during our stay. Since it was the summer solstice that day and the sun would never fully set, she instructed us how to work the blackout shades on the windows. Her parting words were to remind us of the folktale that if you slept with seven different flowers under your pillow on Midsummer’s night, you would dream of the man you would marry. With that, she handed us the key to her apartment and left.

After getting settled, we rejoined our group at the local Methodist church for an evening’s worth of programming. Although it was late at night when we returned to the apartment, the sky felt magical, still bright with perhaps a trace of dusk. We had pulled the blackout shades in the apartment and gotten ready for bed when I remembered the tale of the seven flowers. Even though we were in our jammies, we got back in the birdcage elevator and went down to the building’s enclosed courtyard so that we could pick seven different types of flowers.

My roommate was a southern Methodist, too religious to believe in such tales. I was a southern Methodist also, too religious not to believe that there is more to this world than can be seen. Fearful for her soul, she quickly stopped picking flowers. Fearful of getting caught, I kept picking flowers anyway and put them carefully under my pillow when we slipped back into our apartment.

I don’t remember what I dreamt that night. I do know that I met Andy less than a week after I got back to the US, and he’s been the man of my dreams ever since. Happy Midsummer’s, everyone, and may you dream sweet dreams tonight!

Missing Limbs Restored

 

As I was reading Scripture this morning, I came across something I hadn’t noticed before. Matthew 15:30 describes Jesus on a mountain, where people are flocking to him for healing. Among those who sought healing were, as described in Wilda Gafney’s beautiful translation, “people missing body parts.” Missing body parts? That’s a pretty big ask in terms of healing. Although it seems impossible, sure enough, v. 31 assures us that “people missing body parts (were) made whole.”

Now that must have made for some interesting conversations back in the neighborhood. “Hey, have you seen Vern lately?” “Not really. Always felt sorry for him, losing that arm in the war and everything.” “It’s back.” “Vern’s back?” “No, his arm. His arm grew back.” “Yeah, riiiiight. Let’s get you out of the sun.” “No, really, it’s back. Here’s Vern, you can see for yourself.” Vern smiles and waves with both arms from a distance. Thud as the disbelieving neighbor keels over in shock.

Our body, the United Methodist Church that is, is in the process of being severed. We’re losing limbs from our make and model of the body of Christ. As with any amputation, it’s painful. It’s getting messier by the minute, as voices are being raised, lawsuits are being filed, falsehoods are being spread. This moment in United Methodist history does not feel like Christ’s finest hour. And, I’ve got to confess that it’s getting to me. Yesterday, I exited a UMC clergy FB group that had made the decision to be open to clergy who have amputated themselves from the UMC to join the GMC. Usually I’m not quite that rash, and I somewhat regret leaving the group so abruptly. Somewhat. I’m also okay with taking a break from folks who are part of a group that seems to be trying to burn down my denomination on their way out.

And then this morning’s Scripture. It turns out that Jesus specializes in taking bodies that are missing parts and making them whole again. Doing that to a physical body is pretty darn amazing. Doing that to a spiritual body? Based on how we UMCs are treating each other these days, that seems even harder. And yet there is Jesus, on a mountaintop and doing the hard work of healing while the world rages on around him.

As I think about where my hope lies this morning, it isn’t that we’re all going to suddenly start playing nice with each other. While that would be a good thing, I’m not holding my breath. Instead, my hope lies in the one who can heal severed limbs. As we are torn asunder, may we keep our eyes focused on Christ as we pray and work for healing and restoration to a body that is whole.