"Attuned to God's Timing" (Luke 2:22-40)

There are several reasons why I’m sharing this week’s Gospel readings with you …
1.) To share Rachel Hackenberg’s weekly prayer prompt
2.) To share a little story about what a kid perceived as the meaning of my name
3.) To share the glorious work of John August Swanson, called “The Presentation”

The scriptures are of the presentation of the Infant Jesus by Mary and Joseph in the temple.  Simeon, a righteous and devout man, was guided by the Spirit into the temple where he took Jesus into his arms and praised God, saying “… my eyes have seen your salvation.”  Then, a prophet named Anna (84 years old and a widow who never left the temple, but worshiped and praised God day and night), came to them and immediately recognized the Christ-child as the redemption.  It’s a wonderful account of Mary and Joseph presenting their firstborn to God “according to the law” yet their firstborn (Jesus) being recognized and proclaimed as salvation.  Again, please read the scriptures!

One Sunday, a group of young people in our church were talking about what their names meant.  I was standing by the kids and said, “Do you know what my name means?”  One said, “Yes … an old woman who hangs around the church all of the time!”  Ouch!  But later I was pleased that he knew the scriptures (somewhat) and that my hope is that I might recognize Jesus whenever and however he might be presented to me.  So, aside from the “old woman” comment made by the young boy (surely, he needs glasses), I’m OK with his perception of what my name might mean.

This morning, Rachel Hackenberg’s email prayer prompt really brought home the “active waiting” portion of how these scriptures might speak to each of us.  As we close out 2017 and step into 2018, let us consider her words:

(Rachel Hackenberg’s prayer prompt 12-30-17)

When the time came ... guided by the Spirit, Simeon came to the temple and took the child Jesus in his arms and praised God, saying, "Now you are dismissing your servant in peace, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared without secrecy among all people. (Luke 2:22-32, excerpts)

Simeon came to the temple at just the right time, having disciplined his spirit to attune itself to God's timing and not to his own impatience.

We all live with a bit of expectation: waiting for a new day, waiting for a new year, waiting for a better political climate, waiting for a long-awaited joy or a much-needed relief or a nail-biting resolution. As you wait, pray for your spirit to find peace in God's timing.

(Thank you, Rachel Hackenberg)

"Yes, You Can!" (in memory of Rev. Ruth Dudley)

Ruth Dudley, an encourager of mine who lived in  Australia, has died. I learned about her passing this morning, on her birthday (12-28-17)

Crutches were her constant friends as a child as was a wheelchair in her adult years.  Physically, her life was difficult and filled with pain.  Living into her calling was as well.  Ruth wrote a poem called “Inevitably Hers” about the pain that she went through between the time of her calling (1953) until the day that she was allowed by the Anglican Church of Australia to be ordained (1992).  To hear her tell about those last months before the Church allowed it to happen was filled with hurt.  She and a few other women were to be ordained (the first group in Australia).  They arrived for the ordination only to find out that the Church had put it on hold once more.  And from an Anglican priest’s mouth, she heard him say that it would be more fitting for a dog to perform the sacraments than a woman.  Oh, what hurt and yearning these “pioneer” women endured. 

Ruth was the first person to befriend me when I joined a lectionary discussion group years ago.   Ruth encouraged me in expressing myself through writing, took me under her wing, and surprised me with a book of her own writings/poetry.  When others said "No you can't", Ruth shouted "Yes you can!" 

This morning, I give thanks for an amazing woman of strength (even in her weakness), of faith, and of calling ....  and, in turn, give thanks for all who have answered God's call.

anna
Here is her poem ("Inevitably Hers") about the wait between calling and ordination.   I have had it on my office wall for years.

INEVITABLY HERS

Long ago it had seemed
like a wisp of cloud peeping over the horizon,
shaping and unshaping,
full of exciting promise,
yet somehow ominous
for it carried the threat of storms and thunder
and fierce pain.

For many years it seemed to come no closer.
Then the wind picked it up
and, gathering momentum
it moved relentlessly toward her.

She feared it.
How she feared it!
It was not of her choosing
yet it was hers –
inevitably hers
and she longed to own it
and to have others own that it was hers.

Heavily it hung above her
heightening her sense of foreboding,
stretching her pain,
sharpening her longing.
Bowed under the oppression of denial
she waited.

Then the first drops fell.
Raising her eyes to heaven
she saw God smile as cleansing drops
of possibility and affirmation and encouragement
rained upon her.

No longer bowed, she waited –
for inevitably
it was hers.


("Inevitably Hers" by Ruth Dudley / Anglican priest / Australia)
Note:  Ruth was in the first group of women in Australia to be ordained an Anglican priest.  God called her to the ministry in 1953.  It was in 1992, when she was ordained.  INEVITABLY HERS.

"What Do I Want For Christmas?

(Please read Luke 2:8-20)

Each year, my family insists that we spend some time making our Christmas lists so that the lists might be shared with each other.  I always have a difficult time with this.  My needs are very practical and not very “Christmasy”.  What I want for Christmas is much different than what any one family member can give to me.  You see, I want to be one of the shepherds!

What do I want for Christmas?  In the midst of what is usually a very predictable Christmas for me, I want to be surprised by angelic announcements.  I want just a glimpse of the glory of the Lord on this silent, familiar-story sort of a night.  I want to be calmed by “fear not’s”.  I want to find myself holding my breath for a moment at the sounds of a heavenly-host chorus.  I want to be one of the shepherds!

What do I want for Christmas?  I want to hurry to Bethlehem, running down the hillside much like I remember doing as a child.  I want to risk running so fast that my feet might outrun my body … running, tumbling, picking myself up and running once more.  Yes, I want to hurry to Bethlehem with spontaneity and anticipation to see the One whose birth the angels sing. I want to be one of the shepherds!

What do I want for Christmas?  I want to kneel at the manger and realize that God has brought me to this place and has asked me to soak in the sights, the smells, the night air, the infant cries, the faithful parents and that first birth announcement.  I want to kneel for a moment in awe, wonder and recognition that God’s long-awaited Promise is before me.  I want to be overwhelmed by God’s love.  I want to squint at the Light that has come into this dark world.  I want to be lost in the wonder of it all.  I want to whisper, “Immanuel” and hear God whisper back, “Yes, I am with you.”  I want to sigh a relieved sigh at this news.  I want to be one of the shepherds!

What do I want for Christmas?  I know that I must return to my “hillside” … to my job and my routines.  But I want to return from looking heavenward, from running to the manger, from kneeling at just the thoughts of being in the presence of the long-awaited Messiah to a different sameness.  I want to return to my world, to my hillside, glorifying and praising God for all things that I have seen and heard.  I want to be so taken aback by it all that I can’t help but share what I know with others.  I want to be one of the shepherds!

What do I want for Christmas?  I want company on the hillside on this most holy of nights.  I want other shepherds with me, privy to the angelic announcement, being offered a glimpse of the glory of the Lord and running toward the manger with me.  I want to kneel with others in prayer and praise and wonder and know that this “Promise Kept” is not just for me but for all.  I want to walk back to our hillsides together, changed forever.  

What do I want for Christmas?  I want to be a shepherd and I would like the company of you!

anna murdock

(“What Do I Want for Christmas?” written December 18, 2006)

Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC

 Postscript to “What Do I Want for Christmas?” ….

Writing and sharing our words is a bit risky!  Often it is I who becomes a better person as readers share with me their thoughts in response to my offerings.  Just after sending out “What Do I Want for Christmas?”, I received an e-mail from an elderly man named Ralph.  I will always remember Ralph’s response for he has asked me to become more than a shepherd.  He was so excited at the thoughts of being a shepherd with me, but he needed to ask a question first.  “Anna, are you willing to help me?”

Here is what Ralph had to say in response to “What Do I Want for Christmas” …

“Anna, I want to be a shepherd too.  I want to go to the manger with you.  But I wonder if you would be willing to help me down the hillside.  You see, I am confined to a wheelchair.”  

I immediately answered Ralph … “Of course, I will.  It would be my honor. I would love to push you down the hillside with me, two shepherds on the way to the manger.”  It was then when Ralph taught me a great lesson.   “Anna, you don’t understand.  You can’t push me down a hillside.  Hitting any stone or any bump will cause me to fall out of my wheelchair if you push me.  You will have to slowly pull me backwards.  I still want to be a shepherd.  I still want to go down the Bethlehem hillside to the manger with you.  Are you STILL willing to help me, knowing this?”

I am so thankful for Ralph’s e-mail.  He has asked me to go to the manger with him as a shepherd, but return to my life and my world as a committed, trusting, willing disciple.  Perhaps he didn’t know this, but he did.  He has reminded me that discipleship will not always be easy.  Ralph has asked me for a response … yes or no.  For this, I say “thank you” and I say “yes.”

There is a point in our lives when Jesus looks into the eyes and hearts of each of us and says, “Knowing these things, knowing the costliness of picking up my cross daily and following me, are you STILL willing?  Yes or No.”   

"Christ the King"

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 and 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, dressed as Christ, the King!

"Every Breath, A Prayer"

When I was very young, my mother sent me to a Baptist church to be a part of ‘Girls Auxiliary’. My memories are quite vague of those times. Only the fears of the unknowns and of being made to speak aloud are still very clear to me. I do remember that we sat in a circle and opened each meeting with sentence-prayers of thankfulness. That was a great source of anxiety for me. I wasn’t sure where my thankfulnesses were hiding but I did know that the words for just one sentence were hiding with them. So, I came up with the words “thank you for the trees” and repeated that one sentence at the opening of each meeting. I was indeed thankful for the trees, one in particular, that had a most perfect branch for sitting … and hiding … and peering out into the world so that I might see but not be seen. Yes, “thank you for the trees” seemed just the right sentence-prayer for me until, at one meeting, a friend of mine decided to use those words as HER sentence-prayer. There was no other sentence-prayer, no other words of thankfulness, that I could find within me at such short notice, so I quietly said, “Pass.” At that moment, I wished that the floor would have broken apart and swallowed me. Eyes opened and all heads turned toward me.

Life has changed for me. I am not quite as fear-filled (but I do still struggle with praying out loud on a moment’s notice). There are times when I find refuge apart from others and, once again, “thank you for the trees” seems to be an appropriate prayer. I have found that in these days of November, when others were posting on Facebook their ‘Daily Thanksgiving’, I was transported back to the circle of little girls, wondering why I couldn’t put into words just one day’s worth of thanksgivings.

It is in this wondering, in my questioning, in my seeking for words of thanksgivings when I realize that every single breath I take is a perfectly worded prayer to my LORD. There are no stares from others, for the words are there as I inhale. There are no giggles directed my way, for my thankfulness exhales to the One who cherished the few words that I could find to pray as a child and who places an overabundance of them within me now. I inhale God's Great Love and exhale my love in return. I inhale grace and exhale praise.

Inhale … Exhale … Every breath, a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Pastor Appreciation"

To all of the pastors in my life ... thank you. Thank you for all that you do (like we know all that you do???) and all that God has called you to be (like we know all that God has called you to be???). Perhaps this little child's Pastor Appreciation card isn't all that far fetched. There are days when I think that I know what a pastor is. Other days, I can't begin to fathom all that comes with the territory. So, a waffle it is, where there are places for lots of hopes, love, wants for a church and parishioners, prayers, frustrations, weariness, sadness, joy, loneliness, compassion, and growth to reside, each in its own little waffle-y cubbyhole ... and each filled, not by maple syrup, but by the love of Christ alone.

Yep, this little child had it right .. "I don't know what a pastor is so I'm going to draw a waffle."   I pray for you and all portions of your life that their way into those little "waffle-y cubbyholes". May they be filled by the love of Christ.

anna murdock

(thank you to the Rev. Dr. Christina Berry of First Presbyterian Church in Sterling, IL for sharing her pastor’s appreciation card)

"A Prayer As I Ponder Creeds, Hymns and Prayers'

(A prayer as I think upon the sermon series based on The Apostles' Creed by Dr. Michael Gehring / Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC)

O God, I will admit that there are times in a worship service when I fall silent and listen to those around me sing the hymns or join together, in like belief, to say the Apostles Creed or pray in unison (yet with their own inflections) the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray.

I hear memories of my grandmother, sliding up and down the notes of the old hymns. I hear a child's voice praying the Lord's Prayer and think, quite possibly, my voice in my own childhood sounded much like that to those who sat near me so many years ago. I hope so. I stand beside my mother and hear her belief in the same creed that is within me (even in her different "raising").

It is a beautiful thing to hear the old and young, the women and men and children, the perfect-pitch and the off-key. I thank you for each one of these voices. And then there are times when I sing and pray and stand together with others in our statements of faith and hear only my voice. I give thanks that what I sing and pray and declare is for me. I claim my beloved status in your heart in song and faith and prayer.

As rich as I feel, O God, you say, "Become a servant." If I truly listen to those around me in this world, I will hear humming, or see prayers and faith creeds in action ... hymns and prayers and creeds outside of the sanctuary walls as others, too, have heard "Become a servant." It isn't easy (but then again, you said that it wouldn't be easy, didn't you?). Hum with me in my days. Hear my prayers. Help me to turn creeds of faith into actions of faith.

Amen.

"The Wealthiest of All"

During the month of August, while Mom was in the hospital for rehab because of her July 30th stroke, we (Mom, Steve - my younger brother - and I) grew to love the CNAs (Certified Nursing Assistants) who work in skilled nursing. And they fell in love with Mom (and maybe a little with Steve and me as well).

One of the blessings of the month of August at Iredell Memorial Hospital is that as Mom remembered names of CNAs (and the names of their children … and the CNAs’ hopes and dreams and goals in life), she began to celebrate who they all are apart from the hospital. She listened to them and they listened to her. Steve and I found common ground and laughter, and even a few long-running jokes began to develop between a couple of the CNAs and us.

One CNA came back to the hospital on her day off to visit with Mom one last time before Mom’s discharge. Mom told us of how this young single mother was raising her son to love school, be responsible and respectful (she told this young mother often how proud she was of her). The young CNA/mother kissed Mom and, as she left, said, “If I’m ½ the mother Miss Betty is, I will be OK.” A hospital housekeeper brought her husband into Mom’s room after they had gone to church so that her husband could meet Mom. And yet another hospital housekeeper brought her brother and young grandson into Mom’s room so that they could also meet her. A CNA on the nightshift quietly came into Mom’s room in the middle of the night and wrote, “I love you” and drew a heart on Mom’s bedside notepad.

I have learned a lot during this time....

1.) Life can change in a flash.

2.) There is a mysterious strength that begins to surface in our weakest moments if we will allow it to do so … and if the strength and care of those who are there to help are welcomed. In those times, God quietly comes into our darkness and writes “I love you” on the notepads of our hearts.

3.) Everyone has life stories, goals, dreams, hopes, and struggles. Everyone has a smile to offer, time to listen, and love to give. EVERYONE … no matter what the color that our skin might be, or stage of life, or accents, or place of birth.    EVERYONE (am I saying that so that all might hear?)

4.) Wealth has nothing to do with money. It has everything to do with love and generosity of heart.

For the month of August, I was in the presence of many “wealthy" people for there was a lot of love and generosity of heart in Room 134 at Iredell Memorial Hospital.

"In Remembrance of Crumbs"

(Matthew 15:21-28 ... life and lectionary scriptures come together)

“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 when I said,
“Lord, help me” …
the day that the
crumbs of Grace
filled me with
Holy Nourishment.

"An Angel in Our Midst" (8-14-17)

I walked into the tea room at the hospital earlier this evening, wanting only a sandwich and iced tea. The person who took my order said, “Have a seat (pointing to the dining area, such as it is). Your sandwich will be ready in a minute or two.”

I sat down at one of the small tables. A man was sitting at a table near mine. I got up to throw away an empty packet of lemon juice and noticed his Bible. I touched it and said, “It’s a beautiful thing to see a well-loved Bible.” He looked at me but didn’t offer a smile in return. I sat down at my table once more.

What I didn’t know was that an angel strolled into the small tea room with a sandwich and drink in his hand, making the head count to only the three of us in the room. Mind you, I do not call him an angel carelessly or in a cavalier manner. The angel took on the appearance of a tall black man with graying hair. He sat down in the far corner as if he might have been sent as an observer.

The man with the well-loved Bible turned to me and said, “Do you have someone in the hospital?” I told him about Mom … about the stroke … about her progress each day. I heard a soft, “Amen” from the corner of the room and then a “Praise God” (again, almost a whisper). I glanced his way. The angel had a face that seemed to glow and a smile that was all-knowing.

I asked the man with the Bible if he had someone in the hospital. “Yes, my wife. We have just been told that she has cancer.” It was all too fresh of a wound for him. I asked her name as well as his. It seemed right to speak to him, using their names. His wife was to start treatments the next morning. I told him that my mother had gone through cancer surgery, chemo and radiation in 2013 and shared what we had learned during that time. It wasn’t a lecture. It was just sharing. The man’s heart had been split-opened by the news his wife had just received and so he listened to all of the moments of hope that I shared with him in the midst of what would most certainly be very hard times ahead for his wife.

Again, the angel in the corner praised God in his baritone whisper in such a way that the man and I both looked his way. The angel declared that Mom had been blessed to be a blessing to others. And then he raised his big hands out with palms up and said, “The LORD has you all in the palm of his hand. The LORD is loving and faithful and is ever-present in your lives. Trust in God and be at peace.”

As the man and I stood up to leave, I stopped and turned to look at the angel. He had that same all-knowing smile on his face. He looked into my eyes and ever-so-slowly, ever-so-slightly nodded his head as he smiled.

I could have stayed in the tea room for another hour, sipping my iced tea, sitting in his presence and basking in the light that he had brought into a darkness.

"For Everything, There is a Season..."

There are several things that I think should be a given in life. One is that workplaces should offer one paid “sleep day” a year.

Another is that we should never think that we are too busy to stop and appreciate the small things that are around us. A dandelion standing alone in a field of violets in my Aunt Janie’s yard has taught me to look at everyone as beautiful (there isn't a weed among us). A feather surrounded by dry fallen leaves on a sidewalk reminded me yesterday that there is change both in the bird and in the season.
On my very routine weekday drive to work in High Point, NC this past week, I passed by a beautiful, blooming crepe myrtle with First Presbyterian’s tower/steeple rising above it and the early sunlight shining on both steeple and tree so perfectly that I was convinced that they were God-lit just for me. And yet, the other crepe myrtles are losing their blossoms and I also know that heavy rains or a strong wind or passing time will do the same to this beautiful tree as well. The sunlight will, no doubt, take a different path as the days progress. But for now, in this moment in time, the composition of crepe myrtle and tower/steeple and morning light is second to none in its stunning beauty. “For everything, there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven …”

O God, give us eyes and hearts to see all that you would have us see. Whisper your lessons to us. Amen

"Why, This Gathering Place?" (Pentecost ponderings)

In the one place,

they waited

and prayed

and with

hushed voices,

wondered

why.

Why,

this gathering place?

  

They remembered

the words,“Wait.

Gather together and wait.”

That is what

they had come

together to do -

WAIT.

What was

keeping them

together?

Memories

and murmurs

and questions

filled the room

while waiting 

and Waiting

and WAITING.

They heard

the words

from the One

whose death

and now presence

had moved them

from deepest grief

to bewildering joy -

“Believe in God,

believe also in me.”

It was

slowly becoming

more about

the confidence

in the

continued journey

with him

than the

destination.

Why were they

still in this place?

Why were they waiting?

The puzzle pieces

were falling

into place.

“Whoever has seen me

has seen the Father.”

All that they

had heard 

while with him

became

infallible promises.

WHOOSH!

Their questions

were suddenly answered 

in ways that were

unimaginable to them. 

The Holy Spirit

rested upon them

as tongues of fire.

They were not consumed

but their lives would be

consumed forever.

The Advocate 

made a 

forever-dwelling-place

within each one 

gathered in this place.

HOLY GROUND

REMOVE YOUR SANDALS!

The door is now opened!

The wait is now over!

“Go and tell others!”

Yes, let us all go and tell others!

Ascension Day (Lord, Lead the Way)

She began her day with a simple prayer … “Lord, lead the way.” 

This was Ascension Day. She found herself looking to the heavens, longing to see a glimpse of the ascended Christ. She left her house to help those who had suffered damages from the night’s storms. She joined others, picking up fallen branches and sweeping away debris. She witnessed good ‘country folk’, calming fears and loving neighbors. There was no longer any need to look to the heavens on this Ascension Day for she saw Christ moving about, among them … with an armful of fallen branches and love overflowing.

“Lord, lead the way.”

"The Lord IS My Shepherd" (Testimony / Psalm 23)

The sanctuary is the place that I call the holiest of my holy grounds.  It is the sanctuary of my childhood, my youth and of my life now.  My favorite of the stained glass windows is the smallest one of all.  The Good Shepherd looks over the shoulders of those who enter through the side entrance and is a gentle reminder to those who leave by the same door.  I have glanced its way, every Sunday, from early childhood until now for many different reasons in the different times of my life.  As a very young child, I would strain to see the Good Shepherd window when I entered the sanctuary for the hour of worship.  I would wait for the hour to end and usually curl up as tightly as I possibly could in the corner of the pew to stare at this Good Shepherd holding a little lamb.  As a 5-year-old , I wanted so much to be the little lamb.  Safe, secure, sought after and obviously beloved.  And so, Sunday after Sunday, I would look the way of the Good Shepherd window and wish that the place in his arms was for me.  The years of my youth found me sitting in a pew with the Good Shepherd to my back because, truth be known, I really didn’t want to be in church.  But he was there.  Behind me.  Always there, giving me that “sense” that we all seem to have when someone is standing too closely behind.  Even with the Good Shepherd to my back, I sensed his presence.  I turned and looked … and then turned back.  Yet, he remained. Patiently and persistently, he remained in my life. I assumed that if I didn’t look the Good Shepherd’s way, he wouldn’t notice me.  I continued to sit with my back to the window and with the Good Shepherd behind me for a very long time.  My assumptions proved wrong.  This gentle Good Shepherd of my childhood hopes became persistent and relentless as he sought to retrieve me.

On the day that I gave my life to Christ, I was strangely pulled back into this very sanctuary, alone in the darkness that the rains that day brought with them.  I once again sat in the pew of my childhood and once again looked the way of the Good Shepherd window.  This time I saw who he was and is. The Lord is my Shepherd!  He was the Shepherd not only of “my” window, but of my life.  He was the Shepherd who had giggled with me and wept with me and for me in my childhood.  He was the Shepherd who waited for me and was ever-present even in the apathy of my youth.  He was the Shepherd who sought me into my adulthood.

Eleven years after that day in the sanctuary, I was asked to offer the morning’s message at both the early service and our later service.  All went well in the chapel.  As the later service began there was a moment when I stood in the pulpit in silence.  I looked directly in front of me at the pew of my childhood and the beginning of my life as a Christ-follower.  I glanced to the left and looked at the stained glass window of the Good Shepherd.  The promises of my Lord as my Shepherd were shown to me in such a way that I knew that they would never be taken from me.  There was this wonderful moment when all things came full circle.  I offered the morning’s message.  After the service, Rev. Jason Harvey said, “Anna, the service in the chapel was good.  This service was just as good, but different.  I can’t put my finger on why it was different, but it was.”  I knew why.  In that moment of silence from the pulpit, I saw the very nature of God.  I clearly felt his never-failing love for me.  I was reminded with great surety that “goodness and mercy” will follow me.  And I knew with all certainty that this “gentle” Shepherd had never, ever given up on gathering this lamb into his arms.  Oh, what a holy place this sanctuary was for me that day and continues to be.

The hope of my childhood memories is the certainty of my adulthood and the delight of my future.  “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Yes, this sanctuary is my holy ground as well as others’ holy ground.  Such holiness doesn’t come to us in the warmth of the wood that surrounds us or in the colors and messages that stream from the beautiful stained glass windows.  We are standing on holy ground only because of the Presence of God.

"A ROAD TO A MESS"

Lectionary scriptures for this week for many churches include the story of the "road to Emmaus" as found in LUKE 24:13-35. It reminded me of something that I witnessed so very long ago.

A ROAD TO A MESS

That particular Sunday morning happened to be one of those mornings when things just clicked for me. The sun was shining through the stained glass windows in the empty sanctuary. For reasons I can’t remember, I decided to spend some quiet prayer time in the sanctuary alone. The timing was during Sunday school classes and well before our worship service. I sat on a pew near the back - near the large “Road to Emmaus” stained glass window.

Suddenly, in the middle of this time of prayer that was colored by the sun shining through the stained glass, the inner doors to the sanctuary opened and a stream of 3-to-5 year olds walked in with their Sunday school teacher. “Shhh,” whispered the teacher. They quietly headed to the huge stained glass window near me – the one that depicted Jesus and the men on the road to Emmaus. Their teacher had read them the story and now they were looking at the beautiful window as their illustration.

The first question from the teacher was, “What are the men wearing?” “Dresses,” they shouted. I had to smile (OK, so the robes do look a little like dresses). The teacher asked, “Where are they?” All but one shouted, “They are on the road to Emmaus!” That one, a sweet little boy standing closest to me said, “They are on the road to a mess.” Out of the mouths of babes!
Thank you, God, (and this little boy) for reminding us that there are times when we do indeed find ourselves on the "road to a mess.” We mumble through “Christ has died” and shout “Christ is risen” and “Christ will come again!” And yet, like those on the road to Emmaus, this present-tense faith, at times, turns a little past-tense. May we grow to recognize our Risen Lord's voice as he walks with us ... even on the messiest of roads.

"Hmmmmm"

Hmmmm…

I wonder

if a wave and a smile

is ever a wasted effort.

You know,

when a head turns away

just at the moment 

they are offered,

or when a face lowers

into the glare of a

smart phone

when a hand

is raised

and a smile 

spreads across

a person’s face,

or when a baby

cries 

and a mother kneels

to kiss the little one’s

fears away,

missing the wave

and the smile

that she probably needs

more than anyone 

will ever know.

This morning,

I wondered

if a wave and a smile

is ever a wasted thing ….

until I realized

that a prayer 

for the person

always accompanies 

the effort.

"Without a Doubt" and also a prayer for John 20:19-31

A large “D”

has been carefully

stitched to

his robe.

The word

has been 

branded

across his 

forehead.

Fingers point

and 

condemning whispers

are heard.

doubter…

Doubter….

DOUBTER!

Help us, O God,

to put away our

needles and thread …

to put down our

branding irons …

to stop pointing

and whispering

“DOUBTER.”

Help us, O God,

to better seek 

the Sought-After-One,

to desire

a personal encounter,

to fall to our knees

with this disciple’s

great, doubtless

affirmation of

faith.

“My LORD and my God!”

Without a doubt,

he knew.

WITHOUT A DOUBT!

©2014   anna murdock

(Prayer for John 20:19-31)

Resurrection God … Amidst the pressing clamor of those who claim to have touched you, yet still turn to shout “Doubter” to others, you walk through doors to meet the needs of the one who most desires to see your face.  Reach out with your scarred hands.  Expose your sword-pierced side, if need be.  Gaze into our hearts and lift us up with an increased faith that proclaims to others, “I have seen the Risen Lord!”   We come before you this day, overflowing with thanksgiving that in our own needs, you have not branded us as “Doubter.”      Amen.

"CHRIST IS RISEN!"

The birds were awake

at the mere hint of daybreak

and their songs

filled the air

as if to praise God

for all that had been accomplished …

as if they wanted 

to be the first to shout,

“Christ is risen .. Christ is risen indeed!”

Yet, the woman did not

notice the joy

for her sorrow

was too great.

She whispered his name 

and it echoed 

from an empty tomb -

“MY LORD”.

She had seen him

beaten …

bloodied …

mocked …

crucified …

dead.

Still, she whispered,

“MY LORD.”

Still, she heard 

only an echo.

Staring into the emptiness,

she again whispered,

“MY LORD.

Where have they taken him?”

His name 

has been whispered.

A presence is felt

and there is a rustling

in the gardens

of her life.

In the fog and mist

of her morning

and in the darkness 

of her dawn,

another whisper

is heard - “Mary.”

Oh, such blessed whispers

in a garden -

“My Lord” …

“Mary” …

“My Father and your Father” …

“My God and your God”.

The whispers are no more!

Thank God, 

the whispers are no more!

Shouts, yes SHOUTS

are heard.

Grace and mercy flows

down from the cross.  

Love walks out 

of a tomb, 

emptied on the third day.

Our names are 

whispered in a garden.

Go and tell others …

“CHRIST IS RISEN!  CHRIST IS RISEN INDEED!”

"HOLY SATURDAY"

Yesterday,

we still heard 

his voice,

agonizing as it 

might have sounded.

“Father, forgive them…

Today, you will be with me…

Dear woman, your son…

My God, my God …

I am thirsty …

It is finished …

Father, into your hands…”

Still, we heard his voice.

Yesterday,

we wondered

why, oh why

is this day called

Good Friday.’

In disguise,

GRACE poured out

from nail-pierced

hands and feet,

from a sword’s wound,

from thorns pressed 

into flesh.

Yet, still, we heard his voice.

Today, 

scattered as we are,

we wait

in deafening silence.

At best, we cry

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

HOPE is now 

carefully wrapped

in linens and

sealed in a tomb.

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

In stillness,

earth awaits

the resurrection.

Yet, today, there is no voice.

"GOOD FRIDAYS"

“There will be clouds on this day …

maybe even rain or a storm,

if only for a brief moment.”

There was a heaviness

in her forecasting

as if she knew something

that I didn't know. 

She would solemnly say,

"It is God's reminder."

My mother left it at that.

She left me moving about

through the Good Fridays

of my childhood

with a heaviness on my heart

that I couldn't explain away.

She left me to dwell

in these Good Fridays alone,

looking to the skies

for the ominous clouds 

to move into my life,

“if only for a brief moment”, 

so that I wouldn’t

jump directly into my Easters.

Good Fridays are just that …

We are left to look up

at a cross and into the eyes

of the Crucified Christ.

We are left to stand

at the foot of the cross

(or run from it)

and, if we choose to stay,

we are left to hear 

Jesus' last words …

"Father, into Thy hands

I commend my spirit.”

We are left to hear

the deafening silence

of Jesus’ death.

The day ends with 

the darkness 

of a crucifixion

and before

we hear words

that we need to hear

from God.

Today is Good Friday and Jesus is crucified.

THE END ... or is it?

"They Were Singing Their Hosannas" (Palm Sunday morning ponderings)

I stepped outside this morning at 6:10am and was surrounded by a beautiful chorus. Birds were singing from what seemed to be every tree in the neighborhood.

Are they practicing their "Hosannas" for this Palm Sunday? Do they know something that we don't know or are they just joining with other Hosanna-Shouters as Jesus resolutely sets his sights on Jerusalem. I wonder ... will they fall deathly silent on Good Friday? Will their "Hosannas" turn into a chorus of "Hallelujahs" that fills the skies next Sunday, in the pre-dawn of Easter morning?

Today is Palm Sunday. Jesus asks, "Who do you say that I am?" It is a question to ask ourselves as we put down our palm branches at the end of the day and step into Holy Week.

"Enough" (Palm Sunday thoughts)

The child picked up

a broken and bent

and trampled-upon

palm frond

and found a place to stand

at the edge of the dirt road.

The crowds grew.

Loud “Hosannas”

and whispers of discontent

surrounded the child.

He knew not what to shout …

his palm branch 

was a sad sight to behold.

He was pushed around

as if invisible 

(but that was nothing new to him).

The child’s heart raced

as the man came near,

riding on a lumbering donkey.

The “Hosannas” grew louder.

The child’s words

were only whispers.

“Oh, please look my way.

Please wave at me.

Please let me know

that I am not as

invisible as others

make me to be.”

There was eye contact …

there was a smile …

there were words

from the lips

of the One on the donkey ...

“My beloved child.”

And that was enough. 

Enough .... for this day.

"When the Words We Speak Become the Words We Wear" (A Lenten Thought)

This picture reminds me of the time, not so long ago, when a dear friend was somewhat disturbed that I used the word HATE in a Facebook posting. (It was a benign use such as "I hate the freezing cold" or "I hate cauliflower" ... but still, the word was there). He reminded me that the word HATE is such a powerful word and often brings with it hurtful memories of judgment and injury to others.

O God, may HATE never be written across my face, on my hands or in my heart. Help me to be beautiful in the words spoken today... and tomorrow ... and the next day. And if such unsavory words can be seen within me, I pray that in your mercy, you wipe the slate clean. Create in me a clean heart, O God.

Amen.

Intercessory Prayers centered around John 4:5-42 (Samaritan Woman at the Well)

Intercessory Prayers centered around John 4:5-42 (Samaritan Woman at the Well)  

“Let us pray to the Lord” (pastor)
“LORD, have mercy”  (congregation)



O God With Us … For those who come to the well alone, for those who sit at a desk shuffling papers, for those who sense that their world is collapsing, for those who have never known how to play, for all who long for someone to listen to their stories … let us pray to the Lord.

LORD, have mercy.

O God of Living Water …  For this Lenten time of repentance and self-reflection, help us, as people of faith, to abstain from those things that separate us from you, that we might be renewed, strengthened and refreshed by the coolness and taste of your Living Water … let us pray to the Lord.

LORD, have mercy.

O God of Unseen Hope … For those in poverty-stricken lands whose life-giving wells have ceased to bear water because of drought or disrepair.  For those who have fallen victim to the merciless destruction of wells in the horrors of genocide and war.  For those whose family members have died for lack of enough water or safe water … let us pray to the Lord

LORD, have mercy.

O God of Ingenuity … For those who have the skills and your heart to build wells where there are none.  For those who have the imagination to repair wells with the most unlikely parts.  For those who have the ingenuity to find funding for such life-giving water … let us pray to the Lord

LORD, have mercy.

O God Who Shapes Us… For the desire within us to become the hands of Christ.  For our willingness to become your vessel, shaped by you to pour out hope and your love into a parched world… let us pray to the Lord.

LORD, have mercy.

O Listening God … For those prayers which we do not know how to speak, and the prayers we make in the silence of our hearts … let us pray to the Lord

LORD, have mercy.

AMEN.                                  

"Here I Am, Such As I Am" (Ash Wednesday)

Here I am, such as I am ...

  Imperfect.

    Weak.

       Broken.

          In need of forgiveness.

             In need of your Presence.

Here I am, such as I am ...

  Confessing.

    Repentant.

       Hopeful.

          Listening.

Here I am, such as I am ...

  Willing to be melted

     and molded.

  Wanting a newly created

     pure heart.

Here I am, such as I am ...

   Branded with a mark...

     Your unmistakable mark.

   Lead me, O God,

      walk with me

      in these 40 days.

Amen.

"Costly"

Those early-morning psychic commercials are on TV again (they drive me nuts). $1.00/minute phone calls. This morning, a woman who had made the call was so excited ... "She (the psychic) gave me hope and a purpose for my life!"

I couldn't help but think of the quote of William Barclay that Ken Broman-Fulks (Sr. Minister of First Presbyterian Church in High Point, NC) shared with me yesterday. "There are two great days in a person's life - the day we are born and the day we discover why."

The "day that we discover why", as revealed by God, is more costly than $1.00/minute for it requires something from us yet it is wondrous to be sure. It is far more hope-filled than any psychic reading could ever be. And there is no guessing on God's part as to who we are and whose we are.

The best conversations are with God!

"Alone in a Hospital Waiting Room"

Alone in a hospital waiting room

for any length of time,

a person might sense

the tears and fears,

the anxiety and worries,

the praise and release

of those who had

been there 

hours and days and weeks before.

As I sat alone 

in the empty waiting room,

lingering emotions of others

who had once sat in this space

were almost palpable.

Me?

I felt swaddled in prayers

and calmed 

in the words of 

“My peace I GIVE to you.”

But still,

the waiting room was empty

and I was alone

and, at times, I wished

for family to be with me.

It was then when I heard,

“Sir, what is your last name?”

A weary black man, 

struggling to walk and talk,

mumbled, “MURDOCK.”

My head turned at the sound

of my last name.

He slowly sat down.

No longer

was the waiting room empty.

No longer was I alone.

I smiled

for I had sensed

the presence of others

who had come and gone,

I had allowed for the

swaddling of prayers,

I had reached out

for Jesus’ peace 

(it was a promise given),

and at the mumbled response

of “MURDOCK” by this man

who fell into his chair,

I realized that

we are all family.

Prayers were answered

and God’s Presence was felt

in so many ways.

"Prayers For My Friends Who Are Pastors"

Prayers for my friends who are pastors ...

for those who are remembering the stumbling blocks in their call ...
for those who are facing adversities ...
or those who have health issues ...
for those who love much, rejoice much and weep with us ...
for those who find joy and for those who wonder ...
for those with a shepherd's heart whose hours
 seem to be filled with meetings ...
for those who have served well.

'Tenacity' is tightly clinging to something.
They have held tight and continue to hold tight to you, O God.
I pray for their continued grasp (and for yours as well).

Yes, prayers and thanksgiving for the shepherds this morning.

"A Good-News Gift"

Long ago, I discovered that my writings joyfully and painfully brought people in and out of my life. There are times when I have found that it is incredibly hard to delete an e-mail address because of a death. My reluctance is part of my release, I guess. Less than a year ago, one such friend, Paula Morse, died of cancer (3-9-16). She was a UMC licensed local pastor who had served churches in Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. She was an encourager to me and one who prayed for me from afar. Paula was also a potter and a person who took every opportunity to tell others that they were indeed beloved children of God. She reminded me of that truth often.

Yesterday, I received a box in the mail from Paula’s sister. It contained a small pottery angel (about 2 1/2" tall) that Paula had made … an angel holding a heart. As if I didn’t already know and hadn’t been reminded over and over again by Paula and others that I am a beloved child of God, this special gift made by the hands and heart of a pastor and generously given by her sister reminds me of this once again. I never tire of that good news.

May I continue to find words and ways to share with others what Paula knew with all certainty and passed along so lavishly … that you and I are beloved children of God. In our days, may we look at others through the eyes of the One who calls us “beloved”. Perhaps then we will truly see one another.

"These Are the Makings of Magi"

(Matthew 2:1-13)

As I look back, it was one of those "should have" moments. Quite a few years ago, a young acolyte, seeing that no one was dressed as magi for Epiphany Sunday, turned to me and whispered, "Where are the magi? Are there no wise men today?" My answer (with all of the “grand knowledge” of the worship team leader) was, "Nope, not today. Not this year." Her question echoed within me as I sat on the pew during the worship service that day and all I could do was to shake my head in dismay at my own answer. Why did I say that to her? I should have said, "I am looking at one when I look at you and you are looking at one when you look at me. To follow the star, to not only look heavenward but to travel with others in our faith and questions, to ask where Jesus can be found, to bow in worship in the presence of our Lord, to present the best gifts of ourselves to God … these are the makings of magi."

Our Epiphany-thinking so often is centered around the details of the story found in Matthew … details that are both quite obvious and omitted. It seems important for me to add verse 13 to the story of the Visit of the Magi. With it brings a darkness that has never really left when the cries of the Christ-child first pierced the night air. The world is still a world that finds itself in darkness. Herod somehow still creeps into the outskirts of the sweetness of our Christmases. For all that the magi brought with them on their journey and for the perseverance of their searching and seeking and traveling "moor and mountain", for carrying precious gifts, they were also following the Light that shines in the darkness. These are the makings of magi.

I can take a deep breath and remember the first time that I smelled the strange, sweet fragrance of frankincense or the heavy, foreboding fragrance of myrrh. My eyes might gleam at the sight of gold. I wonder, at times, if the gift canisters of the magi were encased with jewels or if the dust of the journey ruined their robes. Did the camels (and naysayers) spit on them? Were their bodies aching to the point of exhaustion? I can search for the details not found in the Scriptures but what leads me to the Christ-child once again is the Light in the darkness that keeps us focused and moving forward.

God is exceptionally good at Star-hanging and Light-giving, you know …. and each of us has the makings of magi within us!