“Do you think the little children have any idea what they are doing?”

My friend was a little concerned about the United Methodist practice of inviting everyone to the table during communion. She had noticed that there was no membership requirement and partaking wasn’t reserved for those of a certain age. She seemed particularly concerned about the children.

I couldn’t help myself, my response was, “I doubt they do. I know I certainly don’t.”

Of course I’m used to doing a lot of things that I don’t understand. I don’t understand my desire to embrace the people I love but I embrace them anyway. I don’t understand why I feel inspired when I look at the sky but I look anyway. And, I certainly don’t understand how peace comes to my anxious heart when I pray but I pray anyway.

There are a lot of things I don’t understand and I really don’t understand very much about the bread and wine. About all I really know is:
– Christ is present
– When we gather at the table we remember the story, our story, that says we are lovingly created and faithfully cared for even when we fall short.
– That Jesus told us to take, bless, break, give, and remember. He gave these instructions on the night he was headed for the cross.
– That he used words like “all” and “many” and the whole thing begins with an invitation to all who seek.
– That our hope is that this eating and drinking will change our hearts, make us one, and give us strength to serve.

Now that I think about it, maybe I do get it on a deeper level than the three year old being carried in her father’s arms as she receives the bread from her pastor. After all, I’ve written a couple of graduate papers on this stuff.

Or, maybe, in that sacred moment, as she is gently carried, reminded that she is loved, and nourished by a broken piece of bread and grape juice, she gets it more than me.

Even after more than three decades, I still find it hard to sleep the night before I preach. I attribute a good bit of that to the inner wrestling match that takes place as I struggle to change my heart’s prayer from something like, “Please let them be impressed” to “Let me glorify you and be a blessing for others.”

So, when I woke up at my daughter’s a couple of Sundays ago, I was tired and anxious. I had spent the night there because I had been invited to fill the pulpit for two churches near her house and I took that as an opportunity to add some family time to my weekend.

As I made my way downstairs, I was a little dismayed to discover that my eight year old granddaughter was already up and eating breakfast. I say dismayed because she is one of those folks that appreciates nothing better in the morning than the sound of people not talking and she is willing to express that preference. (Full disclosure, she may have inherited that from someone on her mother’s side of the family.) Anyway, when she looked up from her cinnamon toast, she gave me a look that confirmed my trepidation and conveyed that a vow of silence might be a good thing to add to my Sunday morning disciplines. Fine. Quietly I secured a mug of coffee and headed for the front porch.

The porch was a good choice for a nervous preacher. Morning was breaking, the cement was cool and refreshing to my bare feet, the day’s early glow was covering the neighborhood, and the rhythm the neighbors’ sprinkler just added to the feeling that things were being refreshed and growing. I settled into the rocking chair closest to the door and took that magic first sip of coffee.

Several birds were singing their morning songs but the most prominent voice was the crow. I guess calling a crow’s caw a song is a stretch but they sure seem to enjoy it.

There is a myth that says that the crows were once told by God that they could become any other creature they desired but they turned the offer down, choosing to remain crows. They must have figured that being clever, fairly tough, and able to fly was enough.

As I sat pondering crows and sermons, the front door opened and out came the granddaughter. She too was barefoot, with prettier feet, and she too took a moment to look around and take in the morning. Then, without a word, she walked past me to the next rocker. She pulled it a few inches closer to mine, took a seat, and continued her assessment. It occurred to me that it never crossed her mind that she wouldn’t be welcome in my sanctuary. I guess she believes me when I tell her that her Granddaddy will always love her.

As we sat and slowly rocked, I wondered if she remembered the hike we took a year or so ago, when I told her and her little brother to stand still and observe what was going on through each of their five senses. When we got to hearing she said that she heard birds but I asked her to go a little deeper, “How many birds?”

I wondered if I had ever told her about the crows turning down the offer to change into something other than what they were.

I wanted to say something but I knew speaking would ruin the moment. It was like a butterfly had landed in my hand and if I moved the wrong way it would fly away. I didn’t want it to fly away.

So we just sat; surrounded by creation, God’s first language. Enjoying the sound of people not talking and watching morning break.

“Praise for the morning…”

Phyllis Tickle, via her book, The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime, informed me this morning that on May 1 we celebrate the lives of St. Philip and St. James. This James is the one known as “James the Less.” She said that these two Christ followers “remained fairly obscure during their lives, preferring apparently to further the Church and not their own fame.” That observation concerning two of Jesus’ original disciples reminded me of a rather humbling moment of self-awareness I experienced a few years back.

The church’s basketball team had played that night and when I walked in the kitchen, after the game, Kathryn asked me if we had won.
“Nope, we lost.”
“What was the score?”
“I don’t remember but I had twelve points.”

Oops. I wouldn’t think it is a sign of a good team player to be sure what you scored but unable to remember the team’s score. Most likely, this applies not only to basketball players but to church folks, teachers, public servants, parents, spouses. . . let’s just say pretty much everyone who seeks to live with other people and somehow leave things a little better than you found them.

I’ll confess, throughout my career as a minister, I constantly had to remind myself of one the most important things a pastor can remember; it’s not about you. It’s not about you when you preach. It’s not about you when you counsel. It’s not about you when you lead.

One would think that would be a little easier to remember in retirement, when you are slowly drifting to the periphery anyway but I find the wondering how I’m doing and fretting over what my stats are, doesn’t quiet down so easily.

I’m still trying to live into the lesson the teacher gave the disciple when he told him to go to the graveyard and praise the saints there as highly as he could and then to insult them terribly. The disciple did as he was told and returned to his teacher.
“What did they think of your praises and insults?” the teacher asked.
“They didn’t seem to care.”
“Strive to care as much about whether people are praising or insulting you.”

They didn’t seem to care about their own fame, preferring to further the Church. Happy St. Philip and St. James day.

(This is a story I’ve been working on, not my usual, if there is such a thing, post. Thinking about doing a series with the same narrator, under a working title of “Me and Jesus”)

The invitation to Simon’s table was a surprise. At least it was for me. Simon was a Pharisee and Jesus, well, Jesus wasn’t. Simon was very careful about doing things the right way, very concerned about who was in right standing with God. For Simon, some people were in and a lot of people definitely were not. Jesus wasn’t particularly careful about the correct way to do things and I am not sure he considered anyone out.

I’m not saying that Jesus wasn’t religious. He was very religious just in a way that I had never seen before. He was the most prayerful person I have ever known and he taught us to pray in a way that completely changed the way we thought about praying. In fact, it changed our lives. Jesus went to the synagogue every Sabbath and knew the Holy Scriptures better than the oldest and most studious of teachers. It’s just that he seemed to ignore a sizable amount of it. For many, especially folks like Simon, he was a little too forgiving and way too inclusive. Some of the religious leaders had openly wondered where the lines were for Jesus. They wondered if there were any lines at all. Simon and his friends liked lines.

On top of this, Jesus’ lifestyle was disturbingly simple. Most people see money and possessions as a way to keep score, signs of God’s favor. Jesus, even though he was a skilled carpenter, didn’t care to keep a steady job. He had one robe. It was a nice one, well made and sturdy but it was the only thing he owned.

We were staying at Matthew’s house at the time and when one of Simon’s servants delivered the invitation Matthew immediately declared that he wasn’t going. “Simon hates me! I’ve known him all my life and I don’t think he liked me even before I was a tax collector. There is no way I am spending an evening listening to him find ways to put down people who have worked for the Romans.”

“Nobody has to go,” said Jesus. “I am going though. I’ve been invited.”

“Well, I am certainly going,” said Judas. “This is just the kind of connection that we have been waiting for. It’s a great opportunity. If we could count Simon as a member of our movement it would give us all kinds of credibility with the Pharisees, even the Sadducees. I know this is hard for most of you to see but we need leaders like this on our side.”

That said, everyone else, except me, decided that if Matthew didn’t have to go, they didn’t either. So it was just Jesus, Judas, and me that went to break bread at Simon’s table. I wasn’t trying to make connections and I wasn’t being polite, I just figured that listening to Jesus and Simon go at it over how to interpret Moses was a pretty good way to spend an evening. Besides, the idea of another night of Peter’s specialty, biscuits and fish, wasn’t very appealing.

Even though Simon and Matthew lived in separate worlds, their houses were fairly close. It was a short walk up the hill, through a crowded street to our host’s home. As we walked some of the neighboring children ran up to get a head rub or a quick tickle from Jesus. This always irritated Judas but Jesus loved it.

I used to feel like Jesus and Judas were perplexed, to say the least, by one another. It seemed like they wanted to be close but could never quite pull it off.

Simon was standing just outside the door, his arms folded, waiting for us when we arrived. “Good, you’re here,” he said to Jesus without much warmth. When he looked at Judas and me he seemed to be wondering what to do about us. It occurred to me that the invitation was only meant for Jesus but he let us in.

He waved off the servants that came from the back of the house to welcome us and ushered Jesus to his assigned place. It was the one to the right of the seat of honor. He took that place for himself, leaving Judas and me to recline wherever we found an open spot.

Judas didn’t seem to mind. He was beaming and telling Simon what a nice home he had. He told him that he had always admired him and had been so looking forward to the evening. I was admiring the delicious looking food on the table.
Jesus was quietly taking it all in, smiling slightly.

He was the same everywhere he went. It didn’t matter if he was at Simon’s or sharing a simple meal with the poorest family in town. No, that’s not entirely true. The atmosphere was lighter with the poorer folks. There was more laughter. I guess that was because that’s the kind of home he grew up in.

It was a wonderful meal. It had everything one would expect; good wine, fish and bread so tasty it made me wonder what Peter was doing wrong when he cooked. There was lamb, fat olives, cucumbers, melons, onions, pomegranates, figs, and frankly a couple of things that I didn’t know what they were, something Egyptian according to Simon, but they were exquisite. Simon assured us that everything had been washed and prepared properly, according to tradition. I don’t think any of us really cared but we thanked him for letting us know.

We had just started eating; Simon had just asked Jesus how he normally observed the Sabbath, when Rachel burst in off the street. I was very sure that she had not been invited.

I only knew Rachel by reputation and it wasn’t good. She was single and that usually meant hard times for women. But she could somehow afford a nice house, lots of jewelry, and lots of parties. Lots of parties. I had seen her many times dancing and laughing in the street outside her house.

“Teacher, they told me that you were here and I just had to see you tonight. I couldn’t wait. I, I just had to see you, to thank you.” Her words and voice were timid but her stance was one of resolve. She knew she wasn’t welcome. It was pretty easy to tell that she was more than not welcome if you looked at Simon’s scowl but she wasn’t going anywhere. I was surprised when I saw the tears welling up in her eyes.

Soon she was crying, then she began to weep and sob, then her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer and she fell at Jesus’ feet. Between sobs she kept saying “Thank you, thank you for spending so much time talking to me, for helping me see. I’m sorry to be making a scene. I just got it. I was sitting home praying like you taught me and thinking about what you said and I just got it, really got it. God truly loves me.”

She took a bottle of very expensive balm from her bag and rubbed all of it on Jesus’ feet. She then began to kiss his feet as if he were a king or something, and when she noticed that her tears were wetting him, she wiped his feet with her hair.

Jesus gently took her face into his hands and tilted her head up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. It was what we called “the look.” We had seen it before.

Jesus had dark brown eyes, very dark. When he was serious, you hoped he wouldn’t look at you. You knew the gaze would be too intense. You were certain that he would see through every mask and know all your secrets; every sin, every shameful act or thought. But then, when he did look at you it wasn’t like that at all. Yes, he saw right through you but it wasn’t with harshness or judgement. It was happy surprise, joy, and love, even delight, all mixed together. When Jesus gave you the look, you were stunned to realize that he thought you were, well, just wonderful. He looked at Rachel this way. It just made her cry even more. Now the tears were falling on his hands.

Judas was aghast. His plans for the evening were exploding. But aghast doesn’t even touch what Simon was. He was furious, beyond furious, “I cannot believe you let that woman touch you! I cannot believe you let her in my house!”

Things were getting intense, fast. Even so, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little on the inside. I was thinking that Rachel being in Simon’s house would give his neighbors something to talk about for quite a while. I think he may have been thinking the same thing but failing to find it humorous.

“I invited you here to learn more about your teaching but I guess I know all I need to know now! If you let people like that touch you, if you touch people like that, you are certainly no teacher that I want to listen to! Woman, get away from my table! Now!”

Jesus put his hand up, “Simon, wait.” Everything seemed to deescalate when he spoke. Simon was beside himself but Jesus somehow took control the room. His calm was simply stronger than Simon’s fury. But I had a feeling it wouldn’t last.

“Simon, I would very much like to share something with you. Something I had to learn myself and frankly it may help you see things more clearly.”

Simon almost snorted but he said, “Please do.”

“Simon, I am not sure why you really invited me here this evening, perhaps to discuss the law as equals, perhaps to try and catch me in some error. Either way, I think Rachel’s presence gives us an opportunity to see a truth of God’s kingdom. Her presence at your table can be a gift if you will truly see her, not as what you seem to be thinking about her but as a child of God, just like you.

“Growing in God’s ways almost always involves seeing that the Father’s love is greater and wider than we once believed. You might not believe it but I used to be very strict. I was very careful about who I associated with and how I did things. I spent many years separated from society, living with the people by the Dead Sea. In fact, until a few months ago, I was convinced that God only wanted me to be a teacher for the people of Israel. Then I met a woman in Tyre.” He looked at Judas and me and said, “I bet you both remember her.”

Oh yes, I remembered her. I was the one who told Jesus to do something. I told him to send her away. I couldn’t figure out why she was bothering us in the first place. She wasn’t a Jew and Jesus was a Jewish teacher. We worship the God who is and she worships who knows what? All I know for sure about who she worshiped is that she had a necklace with a small image of Melqart, the protector god of Tyre around her neck. She did call Jesus, “Son of David” but I wasn’t buying it. I figured someone had told her to use that phrase because it might flatter Jesus into helping her.

She wanted help for her young daughter and I’ll admit the poor girl touched my heart. She was in a pit of despair, half in, half out of reality, cutting herself with rocks, and refusing to take any nourishment. But what were we supposed to do? What business did this foreign worshiper of Melqart have with us. Why didn’t she leave us alone?

The woman simply had no social graces. She had to know that it wasn’t proper for us to even talk to her but she just kept pushing, kept saying that she wasn’t leaving until she saw Jesus. Finally I went to Jesus and said, “You’ve got to do something. We need you help us out. Send her away, she won’t listen to us.”

So Jesus tried. “Woman, we are all Jews and my mission is to the people of Israel. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

“That’s just stupid!” (I told you she had no social graces.)

“It just wouldn’t be right to take children’s bread and give it to dogs.”

When he said this we all figured that would be an end to it. I don’t see how he could have been clearer, but she wasn’t deterred at all. Without missing a beat she said, “Even dogs get the crumbs that fall off the table.” When she said that, it changed the entire conversation. We looked at her and saw her for the first time.

Jesus was telling Simon all this and then he said something I hadn’t heard him say before. “Simon, when that woman said that, when she was literally willing to call herself a dog to help her daughter, it made me look at her like I’m asking you to look at Rachel.

“I saw her as God’s child. I saw her as one created as the book of David says, ‘fearfully and wonderfully.’”

“The scripture talks about how we are knit by God in our mother’s wombs and God knows our every thought. Do you think that those words are only meant for Jews? Do you think that only the people of Israel love their children? Are we the only ones that love our children enough to do anything we can to help them when they need us? Don’t you think that God who knows when a sparrow falls, knows when a woman of Trye weeps? When I saw her like this, of course I prayed for her daughter.”

Simon wasn’t buying it. “I think that’s worse than talking to this woman here tonight! There has to be some kind of boundary or else there is no reason for the Law and commandments. There have to be rules! If prostitutes and idol worshipers are welcome then why follow any of the commands? Jesus you are trying to destroy all that is good and right about our religion.”

“No Simon, you have dedicated your life to God and know many things but I am afraid you don’t understand the most important things. The Law was given to us to help us worship and to keep us for hurting one another. We are not to use it to exclude and hurt others. You should know this as well as I do. Everything comes under the great commands to love God and love our neighbors. Every religious practice is supposed to help us fulfill these two things.”

Simon still wasn’t having it. “You are trying to twist the words of scripture. I don’t know where you get these ideas but they are not true. We have hundreds of years of tradition to teach us the way. We honor God when we are willing to be different and separate ourselves from sinners like this woman.”

Simon said “this woman” like he was cursing and now Jesus was agitated. “Simon, you invited me to your table to talk about scripture but you are unwilling to live it. You barely gave us a welcome when we got here even though we came on your invitation. Here’s what you need to know: God is God for all. You cannot welcome me into your home without also welcoming Rachel. You and I don’t get to pick and choose those who are called God’s own.”

“Have it your way Jesus. If you and she are together then you both need to leave.” Simon’s face, voice, everything about him, showed that he had nothing but contempt for Jesus. Simon was certain that he was right and that Jesus was wrong. It was impossible for him to believe that what Jesus was saying was true.

Jesus nodded at Judas and me and we rose to leave. I could tell that Judas was devastated. He tried to say something to Simon but Simon just glared.

Jesus took Rachel by the hand and we began our walk back to Matthew’s.

Lately I’ve been kicking around II Corinthians 4:16: “So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.” As I ponder these words, I guess I’m somewhere between believing that they are true because I am experiencing them and hoping they are true because, well, I hope they are true.

I know the first part is certainly true; the outer nature is wasting away. A long time ago I got to the point on life’s journey that I stopped wondering who the guy in the mirror is and started wondering who the young fellow in the old photographs was. I am sure some of the physical things I clearly remember doing when I was young just can’t be true. I am equally sure that feeling like I am Rocky Balboa, ready to go fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed, just because I was able to skip my afternoon nap actually isn’t all that impressive. I’m not saying that I’m not a reasonably healthy sixty-four year old; it’s just that I’m sixty-four and the outer nature is persistently wasting away.

The good news is that the second part of the verse appears to be true as well. The inner nature is being renewed day by day. I believe I am seeing more clearly, loving more dearly, following more nearly than I ever have. Truth is, the outer wearing down makes this inner growth more likely. When we are young and strong we easily believe that we are independent and don’t need anyone or anything. We are more susceptible to the fallacy that there is some kind of giant scoreboard and power, possessions, and prestige are how we keep score. But, when our bodies let us down and maybe when we hit a few bumps (brick walls) in the road we begin to realize there’s no scoreboard, only life and love in the here and now. We become more willing, as one prayer says, to “give up everything contrary to true religion.” We become less willing to hide or worry about having the right answer or pretending that we are something that we are not. That holy person, with all the right answers, that person simply doesn’t exist.

Here in the third stage, it is a bit easier to see things as they are. The simple truth is, there is pain with life, we are flawed, we do hurt one another, and we do tend to worship pretty much anything other than the great I Am. But, this too is true; the universe is wondrous, we have been given life from God, and we do, however incompletely, love. We experience all these true things (live and move and have our being) in the divine presence that promises to never leave us or forsake us. This is the presence that heard our borning cry and the last thing we will do on this earth is breathe its name. It is this eternally abiding Presence that makes everything sacred.

So it’s OK that the outer is wasting away. We had a good time and it still has its moments but its time is passing. The true adventure is with the One who said, “I am the Way, Truth, and Life.” That’s where we find our way.

To walk in the way, to embrace truth, to live; this is my prayer.

Several times over the last few days, I have been reminded to keep Christ in Christmas. More than once I have been told that Christmas isn’t about the tinsel, the gifts, the food, the parties, and it isn’t enough to say “Happy Holidays.”

I suppose all that is true. Christmas, for Christ followers, is not built on those things. It is centered in incarnation. But, I must confess that all those “nots” left me wondering exactly what I’m supposed to do with the tinsel, gifts, food, gatherings, and friendly greetings. I felt like I sure was spending a lot of time on things that weren’t the real Christmas.

Then I came back to incarnation, God with us, and I realized that Christmas actually can be found in each of the above. In fact, that may be the simple and profound truth of Christmas. We can recognize and bring the presence of Christ into all the trappings and activities of the season. Perhaps we are actually experiencing God with us when we are awed by beautiful decorations, when we lovingly give and receive presents, when we eat with gratitude, when we celebrate and rejoice in one another’s company, and yes, when we smile and say, “Thank you. Happy holidays to you.” Wonder, love, generosity, and thankfulness, all those things are signs of God’s presence.

I believe that recognizing that and being that for one another is how we keep Christ in Christmas.

So, I am thankful for each one of you that share this amazing thing called life with me. Thank you for sharing your wonderful selves. Thank you for being Christ to me in so many ways. In other words, Merry Christmas.

Like a lot of folks flirting with ninety, my Dad often talks about having more friends that are dead than ones that are still alive. I suppose that is true. In fact, my posse of those passed is getting pretty big in its own right. But, sometimes if feels like they haven’t gone anywhere. Sometimes I realize they are still here. They live in the stories, their life lessons endure in my heart, they come to me in my dreams.

As I write this, leaves are falling from the trees just outside my window. These are leaves that were nourished by last year’s leaves, and in a few months they will nourish next Spring’s leaves. They carry in their cells the leaves of the past and they will be a part of the leaves of the future. The connection is forever. We too are forever connected to one another, both materially and spiritually. The veil isn’t as thick as we think.

A lot of us can testify concerning times a reminder seemed to have come from a loved one long dead. Perhaps it was a rainbow, a song on the radio, or a cardinal at the bird feeder at just the right time. There are a lot of whispers and winks from the other side.

Today (November 1) is All Saints’ Day, a day we remember and give thanks, not just for the upper case Saints, but for all those that have gone before us. We are thankful for the paths they have shown us and the love they gave. More than that, we remember that even now they surround us and cheer us on, like a passionate, home crowd as we take our turn on the field. (Hebrews 12:1) Again, the veil isn’t as thick as we think. Death is more a bridge than a wall.

So, once a year we are invited via the church calendar to remember and over the next few days I am going to do just that. I am going to remember my mother, my grandparents, mentors, teachers, and friends. And, yes, I am going to ponder a few of the upper case Saints as well. As I remember, I am going to try to hear their cheers. Listen with me.

When I retired from pastoring, they asked me, “What are you not going to miss?”

Not a hard question at all. It actually came to me pretty easily, “I am not going to miss being the chair of the complaint department.”

I don’t like complaining. It wears me out. I was absolutely not going to miss people taking time out of their busy day to call or come by the office to tell me what they didn’t like about the church. So, I was a little surprised to notice the “C” word in the psalm that called me to prayer this morning. “In the evening, in the morning, and at noon I will complain and lament.” (Psalm 55)

Seriously? This ancient worship leader is actually committing to complain to the Lord three times a day? That’s not how I was brought up.

I was taught, no make that, it was drilled into my very fiber, through word and deed, to not complain. “I’ll be alright.” “It doesn’t hurt that much.” “No, I’m fine.” Those are my conditioned responses when life gets a little dicey. I guess that’s why my patience ran thin when folks came by to let me know “a lot of people are saying.”

We. Do. Not. Complain. Actually, we look at complaining with such distain that we don’t even use that word. We call it whining.

But there it was, straight from that part of scripture known as the Bible’s prayer book. Evening, morning, and noon; you’ll be hearing from me about how I’m not good with the way things are going.

So I tried it. I really did. I centered myself, took an attitude of prayer and complained. I mean you can’t go around for years suggesting that people pray the Psalms if you aren’t willing to give it whirl yourself.

Full disclosure, I didn’t jump right in there with a, “I need to speak with the man in charge!” I started with old habits. “Thank you Lord for this day, for all the loving people in my life, for giving me all I need.” And then I came to the part where I was intentionally going to do some complaining.

Hmm, what to complain about? Not the weather; a hurricane was coming to the coast but it’s hard to whine about the weather on a sunny autumn day in the mountains. No complaints in the food department either and a fellow that’s four years cancer free isn’t going to call attention to little sinus issue. Nope, it’s all good here. Sorry to bother you.

Wait. Now that we’ve brought up that hurricane, it doesn’t seem right to me that the vulnerable people of Haiti, the ones that I saw living in tents and plywood boxes, the ones just turning the corner after the earthquake, should have to endure a massive hurricane with no real shelter and no food or clean water at the corner grocery to stockpile.

Oh, and it’s getting painful to live in a political world where fact checking is just part of what we do. I really don’t think leaders should look the people, that they say they want to serve, in the eye and lie. That’s just me but put that one in the complaint box too. Oh, and while we’re at it:
– If you ask me, I think people ought to worry more about getting it right than being right.
– I want the black lives folks and the blue lives folks to start listening to each other.
– And I don’t like that some of my loved ones have chronic disease.
– Here’s another, why do children have to look into the empty eyes of their parents whose lives have been stolen by Alzheimer’s?
– And, why? I dare you to give me some cosmic plan about how it’s actually a good thing that children in Aleppo wonder each night if the bombs exploding will be the last thing they hear.
– I think it’s a piss poor thing that a fourteen year old shoots and kills a six year old.

No, it’s not alright, it hurts a lot, and we are not fine.

I guess I did have a complaint list after all. It went on for a while.

But it wasn’t whining. It was praying and when I was done I believe the Spirit spoke. “I hear you.” The complaint was mutual. To drift into theology for a minute, that is at least flirting with the heart of the cross. “I thirst.” “Where are you God?!?” “Forgive them.”

I don’t think that’s the end of the story. I do believe that somehow the One who said “Blessed are the poor, the ones that mourn, the persecuted…” will comfort and redeem but for now, perhaps it helps to know that we are heard. So,
Lord, in your mercy…
Hear our prayer (of complaint)

I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me but it was certainly pleasant to bump into the Lord a couple of times last week; sort of like, running over to Walmart and bumping into a good friend. “Oh hey! Look who’s here!” It’s always a gift to find yourself in the presence of the great I Am, the One who is; right here, right now.

One of the times was at church. (I guess you saw that coming) Kathryn and I go to a little mountain church that averages around twenty a Sunday. Maybe it’s because there are so few of us and the sanctuary is small, but it is easy to see that we are a pretty diverse group. Some of us have lived all over the country and we made our way to this area because we love living in the forest. We get all excited when we see a beautiful, black bear in our yard. Some of us live on property that our grandparents spent a lifetime trying to tame and think it’s great when one of our neighbors shoots one of those smelly nuisances. Some of us are kind of hybrids. All of us meet at the table, pray for one another, laugh with one another, “sing” with one another, and are somehow herded into God’s presence by Pastor Kim. Kim brings a lot of talent to the game but it is my opinion that her strongest pitch is that she seems to think that we are all awesome. All of us. Anyway, last Sunday I went to Bethel United Methodist in the Crooked Creek area of the Old Fort township and I bumped into the One who thinks we are all awesome. All of us.

I also came by a burning, even though it was soaked, bush the other day on my afternoon walk. I was about half way into my planned hike when the rain started coming in buckets; five gallon buckets. It wasn’t long till I felt like I had been immersed. It was water, water everywhere and actually quite a few drops to drink if you were willing to open your mouth and stick out your tongue. It was refreshing, cleansing, purifying . . . baptismal like. Then the buckets turned to drizzle and the sun pushed the clouds away and said, “Hey y’all, look at this.” After the washing, everything was greener, browner, bluer, cleaner. As I journeyed on, beams broke through the leaves of a tree and created a circle of light on side of the road. Just beyond the circle was a hill where the road bent west into the sun. Like Moses, I turned aside to that altar and stood for a few minutes, washed in light and water, pondering what may lie beyond the bend, knowing that I’ll be met there.

There were other times as well. Psalm 19 spoke to me, for me, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.” I also experienced something of an aha as I cut grass and pondered the Lord’s Prayer. Did you know that heaven is mentioned twice and it closes with “forever and ever?” Apparently eternity is a big deal.

All this leads me to realize, once again, that we don’t really bump into the one who promised to never leave us or forsake us. We just are occasionally gifted with remembering that we are ever, lovingly, held. As Paul said, “In him we live and move and have our being.”

Richard Rohr says that we experience God in our lives. He doesn’t mean like a roommate. He means in our very life, the I Am in the we am. I’ll confess to feeling a little like Nicodemus here when Jesus said, “You’re a teacher and you don’t know about this?” because I just can’t get my mind around that one. But, I think it is what John points to when he says, “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.” (1:4) Life from the Life.

It’s in our life that we encounter God. It’s in our “divine discontent” that cries for more and turns to sighs too deep for words, it’s in our love for one another that endures all things, it’s in the sustenance we receive when we share that love. . . Christ with us. Closer than breath.

Yep, it’s always a gift to find yourself in the presence of the great I Am, the One who is; right here, right now. Look who’s here indeed.

I don’t know much about history but I do know enough to know that these are not even close to the most divided days in our country’s life. Still, it sure can feel like it. Just try talking to your friends and family about Islam, presidential candidates, gun violence, people who identify as LGBTQ in the church, police lives, or black lives and you’ll see what I mean. Even talking about the weather can be a relationship risk because global warming could slip into the conversation! The sad truth is, unless something happens, the future doesn’t look much better. Whoever wins the presidential election will take office with the lowest approval rating ever. That’s going to make for a fun (not) four years on social media. No, these are not the meanest and rudest days in the history of the United States but they sure are wearing me out. I’m tired, very tired, of arguing with people that I love. I’m tired of avoiding conflict by ignoring the elephants (and donkeys) in the room. Somehow, we have to get through this without devouring one another.

It is my strong belief that we are truly in this together and if we can’t find a way to recognize our oneness, the brokenness that we see all around us is our destiny. Scripture teaches it and Aretha sang it when she exhorted us to think about it: “You need me and I need you (don’t cha know), without each other there ain’t nothing we two can do!”

A few days ago a Facebook friend tried to start a dialogue along these lines by asking what we thought we can do to help things. Unfortunately, she stymied my participation when she ruled out my first inclination, which is to pray. She said that her grandmother taught her that, “God doesn’t work through elves at night. If you see something wrong here, likely it is our doing and He expects you to figure it out.” True enough, but I rarely pray for elves and I don’t particularly like prayers that imply that all we need is for God to straighten out all those “other people.” The prayers that I like ask to be shown ways to become a part of the answer. Good prayers ask for the ability to see what needs to be done and the strength to do it. I particularly like prayers like J. Philip Newell’s in Celtic Benediction, “That I may be well in my own soul and part of the world’s healing.” In other words, I appreciate prayers that have a little humility. Those are prayers that change me and when I change, things around me change.

This brings me to today’s text. It’s one that has never been one of my favorites but it popped into my head the other day and the popping was accompanied with an insight that gave it an upgrade in my list of go-to verses. The verse is a pretty familiar one, “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” (II Chronicles 7:14)

This hasn’t been a particular favorite for me because, judging by the way some folks use it, the modern paraphrase could be something like, “If those people (you know who we mean) will turn from their wicked ways, we will have a better shot at becoming the nation I want.” But as I pondered it this time around, the word “humble” jumped out at me.

“If my people humble themselves.” What would happen if we humbled ourselves? What would happen if we remembered that our point of view is just that? It’s just our view from our little point on this planet of seven billion people, in this galaxy with its one hundred thousand light year diameter.

When we think about it with clear eyes, the religious fellow that prayed, “I am glad I’m better than everyone else” sounds ridiculous next to the man who prayed, “Lord have mercy on me a sinner.” (Luke 18:9-14)

Humility. Blessed are the meek, the peacemakers, the poor. Graciousness. Mercy. Forgiveness. The 12-step recognition of needing a power beyond ourselves. Seeking more to understand than to be understood. Humble prayer. These are the things that I think will help me be well in my soul and a part of the world’s healing.

Don’t get me wrong. I still have my point of view. I know who I’m going to vote for, I strongly affirm LGBTQ persons as children of God in every way, and I advocate for common sense gun control with my checkbook and through calls to my representatives. But frankly, these are simply my best guesses in a complicated world. What I know, I know, I know, is that He has shown me what is good and what He requires of me is “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.” (Micah 6:8)