Prayer for Pastors during Advent

God-of-Our-Advent-Waiting ...
What a time this is for our pastors. Be with each of them as they walk through these days of Advent with those whom you have placed into their care. Give them strength to help others wait for, long for and anticipate the peace, hope, joy and love that only the arrival of Jesus into each heart and into our world can bring. Place within these pastors a sweet longing and anticipation in their own Advent waiting. Open the hearts of all so that they might hear your promises spoken through the words of your prophets of old and your servants now. Open the eyes of all souls so that they might see the Light in the darkness that grows ever-stronger as the days draw nearer to your Promise-On-Earth.

Forgive us all if we find it easier to passively await the coming of your Son. In the waiting, may your disciples lead others to place the longings of their hearts before you in prayer; may they help others prepare a place for Jesus to be born anew and may they pray that they also will make ready for such an arrival.

My childhood memories beg me to pray for something else for your servants. During the coming days, place within each of them the excitement of a child; the excitement that causes eyes to sparkle and songs to be hummed in the middle of their busiest of days; the excitement that fills each one of them with hope in your Gift to come; the excitement that brings with it a portion of sleepless anticipation.

These are your servants for sure. You have placed a call within them to love others and to share your great Love in ways that are, at times, much different than our own ways and for that I am most thankful. Love them as they love others, O God. Lead them as they lead others.   AMEN.

Hint of the Holy

I found myself outside on the balcony at the beach at 6:30am yesterday morning to watch it all unfold. The whole process lasted almost an hour, from the first faint promise of light to the glorious sunrise. There was a lone man walking in the opposite direction from the sunrise. I wanted to scream from my balcony, "TURN AROUND ... DON'T MISS THIS!" I didn't ... and he missed it.

I shared this with someone and he said, "This perspective, this sunrise, is meant for you only. It is a gift for you."

I thought that sunrises are all the same, certainly equally spectacular, perfectly timed as only God can do. But this morning, unlike yesterday

morning, those few who were walking on the beach in the cold morning air stopped and turned to watch it unfold. A small boat moving in the opposite direction turned toward the sunrise as well. And then, instead of the sunrise that I saw yesterday, there were hints of brilliance outlining the clouds and peaking through the clouds. This is surely what God does every single day, isn't it? Peaking through and into our lives, hinting at the brilliance of Holy Presence. How beautiful a thought that this happens every day, at some point in our day and in some way in our lives. So, this morning, I'm sharing the 'hint of the Holy' as a reminder to stop and turn, to look around, to see God's Presence in the most unexpected moments of our lives.

Perhaps my friend's words were right on target. How can we tell another person to stop, turn, look around, seek and receive if we first haven't received the gift of the hint of the Holy ... if we first haven't done the very same thing?

 

"Through the Eyes of Faith"

 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.  (Hebrews 11:1)

(The words of Helen Keller)
I, who cannot see, find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine.... I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me.

Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song.... At times my heart cries out with longing to see these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight.

Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted.... It is a great pity that, in the world of light, the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.

(Now words from me)

It is the promise of Fall that the foliage will change from greens to golds and reds and oranges. I have heard that the colors are beautiful in the higher elevations of North Carolina, but on my hour's drive yesterday heading in the direction of the mountains, I saw only greens. Yet, I know that there is such breath-taking beauty there even without seeing it ... and I know that soon the greens in my world will change to golds and reds and oranges as well. I know this to be true because the Creator of all promises this to me each and every Fall season.

"See" with everything that is within you, friends ... even (and especially) through the eyes of faith!

 
Blessings ... anna

"Just When ... "

(Please read Exodus 3:1-15)

Just when the young
have their hectic schedules
finalized on their calendars …

Just when baby boomers
have their lives
carefully mapped out …

Just when retirees
think that they have
indeed retired …

Just when our lives
become routine and settled …
and just when we think
that we will never
hear the voice of God,
IT HAPPENS.

Yes, just when we begin to believe
that we are who we are
and are who we will always be,
God calls our name,
not once, but twice …
commanding attention
as one might do
to a child who hasn’t listened.

Just when we put on
our well-worn bedroom slippers again,
comfortable and familiar,
we hear
“Take off your slippers.
You are standing on holy ground!”

Just when you call our names,
O Great I AM ...
just as we lean upon you
to remove our slippers,
forgive our initial fears and excuses;
forgive us if the first words
from our mouths are
“B-b- but G-G-God …
I haven’t had a pedicure yet!”

Just when our names spoken
still echo in our hearts …
just when our feet are bared,
and our favorite slippers
are tossed aside,
may our prayers be
that when called,
each of us might say,
“Here I am.”

"In Remembrance of Crumbs"

(Please read Matthew 15:21-28)

“In remembrance”,
the young minister said
as he pointed to a prepared table.
Whispers could be heard.
“Christ’s body … Christ’s blood”.
Over and over again -
“Christ’s body … Christ’s blood”.
The words ended only
when all had been fed.

The crumbs of the ripped-apart loaves
had fallen at his feet.
When all had been served,
the minister,
a guest in the church,
bent down to pick up one crumb.
“Tidy”, I thought.
“He is so tidy.”

The service soon ended.
While all others were shaking hands
and discussing where to meet
for Sunday lunch,
the minister,
this guest in our ‘house’,
fell to his hands and knees
and began to pick up crumbs.
One at a time ... crumb after crumb …
finally brushing them
with one hand
into a small pile of crumbs.

I whispered to him,
"You shouldn’t do that.
I will clean the crumbs
from the carpet.”
He looked at me,
still on his hands and knees,
and said …
“I have been made worthy
to receive these crumbs.
I do this in remembrance.”

And then with a smile, he whispered,
“Would you care to join me?”
And so, that morning
I found myself on my knees,
picking up crumbs,
brushing them into a small pile.
This, too, I did ‘in remembrance’
of the day that Grace filled me,
(yes, even me)
with a holy nourishment.

"Let anyone with ears, listen ... "

(Please read Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23)

Listen!

God-whispers are flying through the air

as if seeds carried in the beaks

of birds ...

ready to be dropped
wherever they might be dropped.

God-Love is bouncing all around
as if millions of tiny steel pellets
have been loosed from barrels
of confinement ...
rolling and bouncing haphazardly
into the most unlikely of places.

God-Hope is being flung into the air
like seeds from a careless sower
without concern for waste ...
with no plowed ground
or fertilized field in sight.

Listen!

The Sower has plunged a hand
into a sack of promise again ...
throwing seed everywhere.
Can't you hear it?
They bounce off of the rocks
and sink deep into the wet sand.
They are buried in the crevices
of dry, cracked earth
and some find home
in warm, rich soil.

The Sower slings the seed
without regard to soils
or rocks or thorns or drought.
The words "too lavish, how wasteful"
are whispered by naysayers
and those who want
perfectly-prepared soil
before joining in
with the seed-sowing.

The Sower sighs and bends down
to admire the delicate violet
growing from a crack in the cement.
The hand reaches into the sack of
seed and brings out so much
that the hopes and promises spill
and puddle onto the ground.

"Listen", the Sower says.
"Let anyone with ears, listen ...
Be lavish and extravagant
and even what seems a bit
wasteful to some"
(as more seed is hurled into the air).

This Sower walks away,
his path marked by a trail of seeds,
by orchards of fruit-bearing trees
and by violets growing
from cracks in cement.

Let anyone with ears, listen ….

"In the presence of my enemies ..."

(Please read Psalm 23)

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

It was when you asked me to help,
O God, that I truly understood ...
or at least understood
in the way that you asked me
to understand.

You handed a chalice to me
from the table you prepared
and whispered, "For all."
I gulped. "Oh God... really?
For all?"

You whispered again,
"Look into their eyes,
offer to them what I have prepared,
Some might be your enemies,
but none are mine."

And so I stood,
at the end of an aisle,
with chalice in hand
and wept at the thoughts
of my enemies welcomed
in such a generous way.

The table was not mine,
the guest list certainly wasn't mine
and the chalice never ran dry ...
nor did the grace and mercy.

Once again, I heard,
"Do this in remembrance ...
and remember,
these are not my enemies."

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies,
and then you say "All sit ... together."
And still the chalice never runs dry
for those around the table -
      not even for me.

"Good Friday (again)"

It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour.  And the curtain of the temple was torn in two.  Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."  When he had said this, he breathed his last.   (Luke 23:44-46)


My childhood memories are of Mom always telling me to watch the skies. "The clouds will move in today and the sky will grow dark." So, I would always watch and wait. To this day, I do this ... I watch and wait, now knowing that I must watch and wait at the foot of the cross that bears my Lord. I must look at the cross when I most want to look away.

Today, it is grey and rainy. The clouds have moved in. The sky is dark.

It is Good Friday (again).

Prayers for each of you as you stand at the foot of the cross this day... as you gather with others who are watching and waiting ... as you then go your separate ways.

Standing with you in the darkness of this day,
anna

"This is the Day ... "

(Please read Psalm 118:1-2,19-29 and Psalm 31:9-16)


So, here we are …. just days before Palm Sunday ... just days before we wave our palms branches and shout our own Hosannas. And just days before joy and celebration turn into a journey that none of us would ever want to make.

But, in a way, we do make this journey. No matter who we are, what our age or what status we hold in the community, in our jobs, in our schools or within our families, we do find ourselves moving from joyous celebration, as found in Psalm 118, to the very personal cries of anguish, heartache and sadness as found in our Psalm 31 reading tonight. As we eavesdrop on Jesus in Gethsemane and as we stand at the foot of the cross and hear his cries, we realize that the One who called out to his Father, recognizes our own pain and loves us through it.

I want to place a thought before you to consider. Just as the music of my own praise and thanksgiving sounds to God, in whatever form it takes, so it is with yours. And it is the same with our cries. Anguish is anguish. Pain is pain. Sadness is sadness and fear is fear. There is no scale that weighs whose is greater than the other. A child’s fearful cries to our LORD are heard with equal attention as mine or yours. Our lives write our own Psalms and none is greater or lesser than the other when heard by God. To say that they are is to discount another person’s silent, private cries and pain and heartache.

For this reason, I have chosen to speak of a child… but he could you or me. He is forgotten. He seems very much to be a broken vessel. He most certainly hears the whispers of many around him. As he is to me, he is to others … and that is nameless. But he is very real, for I often see him standing along the side of the road as I go to work. In this young boy, I have seen the anguish of Psalm 31. I can almost see Jesus wrapping his arms around this child in Gethsemane, assuring him that he understands. And I know, for sure, that this young boy must know what it’s like to stand along the road to Jerusalem with a great hope in his heart that he will be noticed by a man on a lumbering donkey.

So, let me share this broken vessel of a child with you. On my morning drives to work, I see children standing by the side of the roads, waiting for school buses. There is a particular section of my route that has two school bus stops extremely close to each other. At one stop, I see a group of really cool-looking kids, laughing and talking with one another and texting to other kids. But at the other bus stop there is one child, away from the other children, looking pitiful and sad.

This young boy might be 12 years old. I first noticed him because he stood so far apart from the other children. His back was to the street. His book bag wasn’t old, but it certainly wasn’t “cool” like the other kids’ book bags. In fact, it reminded me of the one I had as a child … an olive green canvas one that surely was bought at the local Army/Navy store. His head was down and he was kicking the dirt. I couldn’t see his face. But for some reason, I waved. I don’t know why. After all, his back was to the street. I felt as if I was seeing the words of Psalm 31 where it says, “I have passed out of mind like one who is dead”, In other words, forgotten. I sensed that he was a forgotten child among many unforgettable “cool” children of his school.

The next day, this young boy faced my way. Even from my moving car, I could see that he was in great need of braces on his teeth. His arms and legs were alarmingly skinny. His glasses reminded me of military-issue glasses. His hair was sticking out in all directions … and certainly not on purpose. For a young boy, his clothes were definitely not “cool”. Again, I waved as I drove by. He didn’t wave back, but I noticed, as I glanced in my rear view mirror, that he turned and looked my way. The next day, I waved again and once more, he turned and looked my way as I passed by. The fourth day, he threw up his hand when I waved. And the following day, he stood on the edge of the curb and he seemed as if he was looking for my car. HE was the first one to wave on that morning. I found myself praying for him. “O God, please, please tell me that his days at school are much better than I think they are. Tell me that he has a group of friends who like him, who laugh with him and encourage him. Please make his days good ones. Please let him know that he is your beloved child.”

As I think ahead to Holy Week, as we pick up our palm branches and journey into Jerusalem with Jesus, I see a child like this young boy, standing by the side of the dusty road that leads into the city - maybe not standing with us but away from us. Perhaps he is the one standing far apart from the throngs of people who have gathered – finding himself at the very end of this “triumphal entry” route. He is the one who has a very personal hope in this man named Jesus. While others are shouting “Hosannas” and speculating on “who” Jesus is, while others are hoping for a conquering hero, this child dares to say, with a great hope, even in his sadness, “O give thanks to the LORD for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!.” He stands by himself and whispers in his joy and hope, “You are my God”… and likewise in his fears and anguish, “You are my God. I trust in you to help me through my days.”

THIS is the day that the LORD has made …

I picture my young friend as the one whose palm branch might be bent and broken and who, because of life’s circumstances, doesn’t have much energy to wave the branch. He has no spare garments to place in the donkey’s path. But this child is there … one of the very least among the celebrants. He has moved to the very edge of the road, looking for this man riding on a slow-moving donkey, hoping that when Jesus passes by, he might glance his way. He barely whispers, “Oh, please look my way. Please wave at me. Please tell me I am not as forgotten as I feel that I am. Please give me hope.”

And this man on the donkey, the One whose entry into Jerusalem has caused so much commotion and so many questions, looks at this lone child at the end of the road. He waves, smiles and mouths out the words, “BELOVED CHILD”. The young boy no long feels invisible or forgotten. “He looked at me,” he whispered. “He looked my way and waved.” The young boy waves the bent and broken palm branch. Alone, he runs ahead and places the branch in front of the donkey’s path. For the first time in his life, he feels “cool” for he has been told that he is indeed beloved.

THIS is the day that the LORD has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.

My young friend is a very real person. I can attest to that. But he is also you and me. One day rejoicing and filled with joy and praise to the LORD. The next day, crying out in our fears, sadnesses and heartaches. We are all broken vessels and out of the broken places, God’s Love will flow. That is reason enough for praise and thanksgiving. We are beloved children of God and that also is reason enough for praise and thanksgiving. In both our joys and in our heartaches, we can say, “You are my God. I trust in you” and time and time again, we find that God is completely trustworthy and steadfast in his love for us.

In one way, we have all made this Lenten journey somewhat alone, haven’t we? We have stood apart from the “cool” people of this world and hopefully drawn closer to God. But now all of our paths intermingle. Now we are called to pick up our palm branches and come together on Sunday, waving them and shouting our Hosannas. And we will be asked by the One who has resolutely set his sights on the cross for you and for me, “Who do you say that I am?” Is he the chief cornerstone of our church? Is he the Messiah, the Lord and Savior in and of our lives?

THIS is the day that the LORD has made …

Next week, we will find ourselves walking through Holy Week. The following Thursday night is Holy Thursday. It is Jesus who prepared the table for his disciples then and he prepares the table for us now. He is the host. It is good and right that we come together for that evening.

For THIS is the day the LORD has made …


On Good Friday, we find it quite needed for us to come together once more … to stand in the shadows of the cross. To hear both the whispers and the cries of Jesus.  It is overwhelming for sure to be reminded, even in Jesus’ anguished cries, of this unfathomable love that flows from the cross for each of us. And on this day, on Good Friday, we find ourselves saying, “When, O God, will you lead us from our Psalm 31 anguished cries to our Psalm 118 joys and Hallelujahs?”

We will gather together at the Easter Vigil, in the cool night air of our hopes and Easter morning we will hear a resounding echo from an empty tomb for ALL the world to hear - for all who stand along the sides of our roads and wait ….

THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE, LET US REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT.

Psalm 118 brings us together with joy and celebration, with shouts of praise. It places palm branches in our hands and compels us to walk to the temple steps and lay them there. It places the words, “You are my God” on our lips. Psalm 31 finds us alone, in anguish and pain and in a voice that is barely recognizable as our own, and in the very same trust as found in Psalm 118, we whisper, "You are my God."

This very God who is both the recipient of our shouts of praise and the One who shoulders our heartache and pain says, “You there … standing along the side of the road … and you, with your head down and kicking the dirt …. and you, with the bent and broken palm branch … YOU are my beloved children.”

As we walk together into Holy Week and out into our world to assure the forgotten, the hungry, and those who find themselves alone that they too are God’s beloved children, we all say once more (and let’s say it together), THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE LORD HAS MADE, LET US REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT.

Amen.

"Did You See ....?"

(Please read John 11:1-44)
 Ahhh, as I read this, I want to run from person to person and ask "Did you see.....?" I want to find an on-looker who might sit down and share with me what had happened. Every detail. But there were no witnesses when I was beckoned. I was alone with the One who weeps ... and shouts out ... and beckons .. and rejoices.


Did you see him weep?
Were there tears?
Could the sobs be heard
even though they came
from a place so deep within?

Did you hear his shouts?
Was his voice commanding?
Did it shake eternity?

Did you hear the name?
I did. I know that I did.
Clearly and distinctly.

"ARISE and LIVE!
REMOVE YOUR GRAVE CLOTHES!
LET GO!"

Did you see the moment
when I left the darkness
and walked into the light?
Did you see me
look into his
tear-stained face?

Did you see him weep?
Did you hear him call me?
Tell me, did you?
Did you see my joy?

Did you see me weep
at the thoughts of
such a beckoned life?

(c) 2011 anna murdock

"Ash Removal"

She asked a very legitimate question yesterday. After all, my friend has never attended an Ash Wednesday service. She has never had ashes placed on her forehead. She has never truly journeyed through Lent other than to give up chocolates for a period of time ... "just because."

"Anna", she said ... "What is the proper etiquette for the removal of the ashes from my forehead? Am I to wipe the cross off during the service? On the way home? Before I go to bed? Do I sleep with the ashes on my forehead? I just don't know what I am to do."

I assured her that it was a very good question. I suggested that she remember the actual touch, the very action of the ashes being placed on her forehead. "This, my friend, is the moment of reminder of who we are ... a person who has become very 'sooty', a person in need of forgiveness and renewal, a person who is truly a beloved child of God." I told her of what is important to me and that is to look into the mirror at this mark of terrible beauty and be reminded that this is the brand I choose to wear forever ... each day ... in some way. "You will wash it off when you are ready, and yet, you will wear it forever."

Tonight, the ashes will be placed on my forehead as they have so many times before. Tonight a friend will experience this for the first time. But for each of us, there is great news in the midst of the hymns-in-a-minor-key, the dimness of lights, the whispers and prayers and ashes and quietness. We are beloved children of God, branded forever by this mark of terrible beauty.

"Never-Ending"

Yesterday morning,
I saw an older man
dressed in torn and dirty clothes.
He was in need of a shave
and surely a hot shower
would have felt good to him.

This man walking along my route
was mumbling to himself
and counting his fingers –
touching each finger to his thumb;
first the right hand -
one, two, three, four, five …
then his left hand -
one, two, three, four, five …
then back to his right hand -
one, two, three, four, five.

And so it went,
on and on
and on and on.
The counting seemed
to never end …
from right hand to left,
from finger to finger
to finger to finger.

What was so important
to this man of the streets?
What words were needing
to come out and be spoken?
Was he just “another one of those”
who mumble to themselves
as they walk along
the roads of our lives?

As I continued my drive to work,
weary from the day before,
angry from two days before,
feeling very alone
from the week so far,
I too began to mumble
and count the ways
to weariness,
to anger,
to aloneness.

How many times
am I to forgive
(both myself and others)?
From right hand to left,
from left hand to right,
and back to the right hand
again…
from finger to finger
to finger to finger …
the counting seems
to never end.

How many times and ways
are the words “Be not afraid”
whispered, written, shouted
to all who fear …
(and don’t we all fear)?
From right hand to left,
from left hand to right,
and back to the right hand
again…
from finger to finger
to finger to finger …
the counting seems
to never end.

And what about God’s Love?
How many times is this Love
seen, felt, whispered,
promised, given and received?
From right hand to left,
from left hand to right,
and back to the right hand
again…
from finger to finger
to finger to finger …
the counting seems
to never end.

If this man is “one of those”,
who mumble and count,
then I am one as well …
one of those
who cannot fathom
such forgiveness,
such assurance,
such Love ...
for it is all
NEVER-ENDING.

(c)2011 anna murdock

"The Reminder"

(Please read Matthew 5:13)

"You are the salt of the earth,"
he said.
What curious words ...
what can he mean?

And then I remembered
the teachings of
my grandmother.
"Anna, always say
'Yes ma'am' and 'No sir.'
Say 'I enjoyed my supper;
may I be excused?'
Say 'Please pass the salt.' "

And now I understand
the curious words.
He is reminding me
to "Please pass the salt!"

(c) 2011 anna murdock

"Perfect Provision"

Too often,
I look to the heavens
for the decade’s
greatest snowstorm
of blessings ...
and pray
for an accumulation
in amounts that
are astounding.

Oh God,
thank you for my friend
who said,
“Look down
at the blessings
that have softly fallen
like manna
all around us….
fallen silently
like a dusting of snow,
to be gathered in amounts
of Perfect Provision
for this one day.

Amen.

(c)2011 anna murdock

"Blessed is she ..."

(Please read Matthew 5:1-12 "The Beatitudes")

Ahhhh, the Sermon on the Mount. So many of us picture Jesus standing on the mountain, shouting down to the crowds of people who had begun to follow him from town to town. As I read the Scriptures, I’m sensing something different than what I had once envisioned. Could this be an intimate moment of teaching between Jesus and his disciples on the mountainside, with the crowds of people not yet hearing these words of hope? Could Jesus be telling his disciples of this kingdom-on-earth-and-in-heaven thinking that was being ushered into the world, even as they walked among the meek, the mourning, the peacemakers, the poor in spirit, those who hungered for righteousness as deeply as any starving person would hunger for a morsel of food? Jesus might have pointed to the crowds and whispered to his disciples, "Look into their eyes. These are the eyes of the blesseds.”

This week, as so many of us read the Scriptures that we have grown to know as The Beatitudes, as we read of Jesus teaching the disciples of this upside-down thinking (or is it a rightside-up thinking?) I overheard, "Blessed is she, for she has witnessed the holy.”

Allow me to share with you this holy moment that I witnessed on Tuesday …
The man's hair was grey and straggly. His shoulders looked as if they were carrying the weight of the world on them. Perhaps they were bearing the weight of HIS own world. He had tried to walk across the busy road with a garbage bag filled with crushed soda and beer cans. He didn't make it. His bag broke and out spilled his treasure of crushed cans. The traffic was rush-hour, going-home traffic. He stood on the curb, out of danger and watched car after car drive over the cans and around the cans. And then it happened. A car stopped. Emergency lights were turned on. A man in a dark suit stepped out of the car, held his hands up to stop the traffic and together a man with the grey straggly hair and a man in a dark suit picked up cans.

I shared this moment with a friend and he quoted Matthew 25:35-36 with a minor addition: “… for I was hungry, and you gave me food to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you visited me. I was in prison, and you came to me. I was broke and you picked up crushed soda and beer cans.”

Blessed is she who witnessed Jesus in a dark suit ... or was it Jesus with grey straggly hair? Blessed is she, either way! Blessed is she, for she has witnessed the holy.

anna