"SHEMA ... HEAR!" (Day 4. Deuteronomy 6)

Day 4. Deuteronomy 6.  Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC chapter-a-day reading

In a recent sermon, Dr. Ken Broman-Fulks, Sr. Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in High Point, NC, quoted the words, “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.”

Life has its potholes. How will children cope if the road has always been prepared for them? Shema (“hear”), is the first word of the most important prayer in Judaism and is found in our chapter-a-day reading for today. SHEMA… HEAR, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. SHEMA… HEAR. Keep these words in your heart. Recite them to your children. Talk about them with your children wherever you might be, whenever you can. Bind them to your hand, in your mind, and in your home. SHEMA … HEAR. “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child” by telling them of the LORD our God, the LORD alone.

"If Only ..." (Deuteronomy 5)

Day 3. Deuteronomy 5 is the reading from Broad Street UMC/Statesville, NC's Chapter-A-Day Bible reading.

IF ONLY. Yes, that is what the LORD said. The LORD said to Moses, “If only they had such a mind as this, to fear me and to keep all my commandments always, so that it might go well with them and with their children forever!”

Too often, we read the 10 Commandments in a check-off manner. On a scale of 1-10, how good am I (or how bad am I)? IF ONLY … if only we would see that when the LORD our God says, “You shall have no other gods before me,” the other commandments will fall into place as a means to a relationship with the one God. IF ONLY we would see that this one and only God, in placing these commandments before us, is removing the stumbling blocks that turn our eyes and hearts from his Holy Presence. There is joy in knowing that.

As you read Deuteronomy 5, know that these words are not from an oppressive god but from the One who IS love.

"Take Up Your Ministry With Courage" (Day 2 ... Exodus 1)

Day 2 from the Broad Street UMC/Statesville, NC Chapter-A-Day Bible reading is Exodus 1.

A pastor and friend of mine sends out the congregation of the church where he serves with a benediction each Sunday that includes the words “Take up your ministry with courage.” As I read today’s Bible chapter selection, I can’t help but think of these words. Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives, took up their tasks with courage.

It wasn’t easy for the task that these women were given to do became the PLAN B of the king of Egypt. Kill all Hebrew male babies. Unbeknownst to the king, Shiphrah and Puah chose not to become a part of the king’s PLAN B. They chose to stand in the ever-lasting Covenant between God and Abraham and in the Presence of God Almighty.

Shiphrah and Puah, and their courage to silently refuse to become active participants in this powerful king’s PLAN B, is a reminder to us all that we too can stand and act with courage in the midst of a Plan A, B, or C that is not of God. When standing in this world where an agenda becomes PLAN A, fear becomes PLAN B, or power becomes PLAN C, may we remember God’s promises and presence … may we too take up our ministry with courage.

"In the Beginning ... God's Lavish Love" (Genesis 1-2:3 Day 1 reading)

Welcome to the fourth month of Broad Street UMC’s Chapter-A-Day Bible reading! During the month of December, I will be offering the introduction reflections to the day's chapter-a-day selections that have been chosen by Dr. Mary John Dye, Sr. Pastor of Broad Street UMC in Statesville, NC

Day 1.     Genesis 1-2:3

If you haven’t noticed in your previous readings of these scriptures, Genesis 1-2:3 is beautiful poetry that tells of Creation, beginning with the very breath of God Almighty sweeping over the face of the waters. Each moment of Creation sustains the next. Slowly read these words aloud. Out of darkness and chaos, we step into the daylight of God’s Presence and Love. The story of Creation and Sabbath is just the beginning of the Bible’s account of God’s lavish love for all of creation, including God’s lavish love for each one of us. Perhaps once we read the chapter today, we should break into song. “For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies; LORD of all to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise!”

"MY EARS HAVE HEARD OF YOU, BUT NOW ... "

(An offering based on this week's lectionary scriptures: Job 42:1-6, 10-17 and Mark 10:46-52).

We can be found

along life’s road …

disciples who have seen,

followers who rebuke, 

one of many in a 

muttering crowd,

overlooking (or stepping over)

the one, the beggar,

whose only possessions

are faith and hope

and a name 

that is covered

with the dust 

of his or her days.

A dusty faith whispers,

“My ears have heard of you, O LORD …

my ears have heard of you.”

How many cries 

from the roadside

have been the cries

heard that day …

“JESUS, SON OF DAVID,

HAVE MERCY ON ME …

SON OF GOD, 

HAVE MERCY ON ME!”

A stepped-over hope whispers, 

“My ears have heard of you, O LORD..

my ears have heard of you.”

There is no contentment 

in hearing alone.

The implications are great

and costly for us all

in the one answered question …

“What would I have you do for me?

I WANT TO SEE!”

And the one 

who has answered the question

declares,

“My ears had heard of you, O LORD,

but now my eyes have seen you!”

Let those who have sight

be beggars no more

for there is great wealth 

to be found 

in such witness.

"A Life Reduced to a Piece of Paper?" (I think not)

It would do us all good to celebrate the plain, quietly courageous, doing-the-best-they-can sort of people more often.  Sarah M. Johnston is one such person. 

She was the third wife of my paternal great-great grandfather. Sarah Mathilde Jones (born 1863) and Henry Talley Johnston (born 1840) had corresponded for a while before she arrived on a train and married him just one day after they met face to face for the first time. He was much older, a Civil War veteran, a father of 11 children, and a widower. She was a writer from Alabama (she wrote for the Atlanta Constitution at a time when women columnists were few and far between); she had never married and was very alone …her immediate family had died around her. After Henry’s death and having lived with his daughter (Anna, after whom I was named) and other members of his in the family, she quietly and secretly made arrangements to move into the Confederate Women’s Home in Fayetteville, NC. Even though all in the family seemed to have a soft place in their hearts for Sarah, she felt it was the loving thing to do.

The Confederate Women's Home is no more … torn down … reduced to a cemetery and 6 boxes of papers in the North Carolina Archives. In the boxes are notations of complaints by the residents of sub-standard food, poor nutrition and miserably cold rooms. I have letters in my possession from Sarah voicing these same complaints. In one of the boxes in the Archives is also confirmation of such issues found in a report written by the Home Administrator during Sarah’s years there. How sad for these women.

My Great-Great Grandmother Sarah’s end- of-life was reduced to a few words found on a piece of paper in one of these boxes in Raleigh … “Sarah M. Johnston: Died October 8, 1949 3:00AM”

She was much more than a few words on a piece of paper in a box in the North Carolina Archives . She was a writer … a risk-taker … a wise and gentle woman. Sarah was one who was immediately received into the family and one who found love to offer this man and his children. I would have loved knowing this woman.

So, on this date of her death, October 8th, I think of Sarah M. Johnston, a woman who was much, much more than a piece of paper in this world.

"You Are What You Eat"

Ponderings on John 6:51-58

The brass tray was held briefly in front of the little girl as she knelt at the altar. Her dimpled hand reached out for the most perfect cube of bread that she could see. It was such a tiny bite.  She tried to carefully lift a small glass cup filled with grape juice from the next tray.  Sigh, she did it again.  She tapped the cup against another one, making a noise that turned her father’s head toward her. It reminded her of what she had always been told … that she had never really been a very careful child.   She tried to drink the little bit of grape juice but always, ALWAYS there was some left in the bottom of the small glass cup.  She never felt nourished, never satisfied.  By the time that she went back to the pew, she had forgotten the taste of the bread and juice.

Later, there were times in the girl’s life when it seemed too hard and too much to ‘eat’ and ‘drink’.  Times when she dreaded going through the motions (would she go to hell for doing that?).  Times when the bread was no more than a wafer that had no taste.  It stuck to the roof of her mouth.  Yes, it was too hard for her to eat something that was not palatable and drink that which did not quench her thirst.  Too hard.

The young girl who felt as if all things were too difficult and too much, relaxed as she grew older.  The little child who yearned to be careful (but who never really was) and who wanted to remember the taste of the bread and juice, is now a woman who has heard “Eat my flesh … drink my blood.”  She smiles as she remembers the words of her
mother, “You are what you eat.”  And with that, she is handed a chunk of bread. She soaks it in the juice of the chalice and becomes as messy as a child might be.  If the juice drips on her hand, so be it.  If she must chew the piece of bread on her walk back to the pew and chew even more as she is seated, that is OK.

She has grown into savoring the moment, smelling the juice, tasting the bread, feeling the stickiness on her hand, looking at the crumbs on the floor. It is a not-so-careful thing for sure.  Messy, in fact.  It can be too hard for some and too routine for others, but her silent prayer is that she might become more like the One who has said, “Do this in remembrance of me…”, even if the thoughts of what she is asked to eat are, at times, hard to digest.

"Compassion Gauge"

(You gotta stick with me on these ramblings!!!!)

I carry a band-aid with me in my pocketbook. Always. You know, what if someone needs one? Well, last Friday, someone needed a band-aid and so I gave it to him. (Note to self last Friday: Put another band-aid in my pocketbook. I’ll have to wait until I’m back in High Point to do that).

I always keep my gas tank, at the very least, ½ filled with gas. It is an assurance for Mom that if she needs me to make the drive from High Point to Statesville quickly, I can do so without stopping to fill up an empty tank. So, keeping my gas gauge showing at least ½ full is standard practice for me and comfort for Mom.

(These two observations will eventually come together… I promise)

Dr. Mary John Dye, in last Sunday’s sermon at Broad Street UMC / Statesville, NC, asked us to consider our “Compassion Gauge”. Was it ½ full … almost empty … filled to the brim? Are we just as concerned about the level of love and compassion within us to offer to others as we are with the level of gas in our cars? After all, love and compassion are reflections of Jesus Christ. Jesus’ spiritual refueling for himself and the disciples was to go off to a quiet place and pray … to be still … to be filled with the love and compassion that was that of Jesus’ whole being. I can’t help but think of those times when “Anna” steps in front of Jesus and, as a result, I find myself lacking for that which fills up my “Compassion Gauge.” (Lead me to that quiet place because this gal can’t always seem to find it alone).

I left the worship service last Sunday thinking that my Compassion Gauge might just be ½ empty (as opposed to ½ full). As I walked toward the doors of the sanctuary, I whispered to Mary John that I needed to hear the sermon … that it, perhaps, was for me.

Children were standing at the door with baskets. One child handed me a band-aid! It was to remind me not only that Jesus healed but also that I am to be a compassionate healing presence for others. AND OH, I NOW HAVE MY BAND-AID BACK TO PUT IN MY POCKETBOOK FOR SOMEONE ELSE!

Another child handed me a heart to remind me that the compassion of Jesus Christ flows through me. I drove back home thinking that I should have asked for a 2nd heart for Mom. As I looked at the heart several days later, I saw that there was that extra heart to give to Mom! I could push on the center of the little green heart and another one would pop out of it! One to keep … one to give away … and one isn’t lessened by the giving away of the other!

My “Compassion Gauge” is moving in the direction of FULL! A child replaced my band-aid to remind me that a healing presence was much more than something that I pull out of my pocketbook. Another child handed me a heart and, without a word, whispered “Give some love away and keep some for yourself. The shape of it all remains the same!” And a pastor reminded me of those moments that have LOVE and COMPASSION written all over them when Jesus says, “Let’s go away to a quiet place and get that Compassion Gauge at the level it should be.”

Sunday was a good day for me … I am filled!

"The Verbs of the Shepherd"

You know that I am a “word” person. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the verbs of my shepherd in Psalm 23 are precious to me. God MAKES me to lie down, LEADS me to quietness, RESTORES my soul, GUIDES me in paths of righteousness, COMFORTS me in dark places, PREPARES a table before me even in the presence of my enemies, ANOINTS my head with oil. Yes, I am LED by the shepherd and FOLLOWED by goodness and mercy. These verbs are not only the promises and testimonies and heart-songs of David and not only mine that I claim, but be assured that they are yours as well.

The LORD is David’s shepherd. The LORD is my shepherd. The LORD is your shepherd. We are part of a wonderful flock. How sweet it is to hear the voice of our shepherd. How powerful it is to testify to his care for us and presence with us. Just as David’s words are to us, so might our words be for others.

"7-17-18 ... Along My Way"

He was walking along my way today…walking too far in the street. He stopped and I swerved. He bent down to adjust his well-worn, fur-lined snow boots. 96F temps and he was wearing snow boots. I reminded myself that the man laughs and cries and hopes and fears just as I do. So I prayed for all who wear their possessions each day. O God, keep him safe.

He was walking along my way today… walking with a cane and struggling in his steps. The elderly man was wearing a pale green polyester leisure suit (when have I seen such a suit as that?). He stepped off the curb and almost fell back as a car drove by him. He shook his cane and shouted at the car. I reminded myself that the man laughs and cries and hopes and fears just as I do. So I prayed for all who walk alone when they shouldn’t be. O God, keep him safe.

He was walking along my way today… head down, staggering, holding tight to a half-empty liquor bottle. His opened shirt caught a breeze and flew into his face. It wasn’t easy for him to stagger and hold onto a bottle and struggle to keep his shirt out of his face. I reminded myself that the man laughs and cries and hopes and fears just as I do. So I prayed for all who stagger through life, in whatever way, for whatever reason. O God, keep him safe.

Yes, all three have laughed and cried and hoped and feared just as I have …. and all three are loved by God, just as I am. Thank you, O God, for such reminders (and oh, please keep them safe).

"Thoughts As We Welcome Our New Pastor .. Dr. Mary John Dye'

(Ephesians 4:11-16)

When I was a very young child (soooo long ago) there was always a “buzz” in the sanctuary of Broad Street UMC/Statesville, NC whenever our missionary to Hong Kong, the Rev. Lonnie Turnipseed, would come back to the States and worship with us. I would hear those around me whisper, “Lonnie Turnipseed is here!” Oh, I was too young to completely understand the work of a missionary, but I knew that it was God’s work. So, when he worshiped with us, I would search the sanctuary, hoping to catch a glimpse of “the missionary” ... the one who had created such a "buzz"!

About 8 years ago, after the worship service was over and most of the people had left, I heard the words "Lonnie Turnipseed is here!" I felt very much like a child in the sanctuary again. I looked around, hoping to see this person of my childhood. I saw him! He spoke to me for a few minutes and tolerated me telling of my childhood memories of his visits to our church.

It was then when I REALLY looked at this man and saw that there was no aura surrounding him or halo above him. I heard no angelic voices singing in the background. He was an ordinary man called to do God's work. I was looking into the face of Lonnie Turnipseed, but also seeing you and me and our pastors... ordinary people called to do God's work.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to hear a "buzz" in the sanctuary when it begins to fill for worship each Sunday? "Look, look around at all who are here. HE is called to do God's work! SHE is called to do God's work! Just look!"

Today will be such a day. Today I might feel like that child in the sanctuary again. There will most certainly be that “buzz” flowing through the sanctuary as we welcome our new Sr. Pastor, Dr. Mary John Dye, to Broad Street UMC in Statesville, NC. We celebrate all that God has called her to be as pastor and preacher and pointer-of-the-Way. We pray that the buzz that is flowing throughout our church tomorrow and into the community in days to come is not because of Dr. Dye’s presence alone but because of this wonderful partnership of pastors and staff and parishioners, living into who God has called us each to be.

Now THAT is buzz-worthy for sure!

"A World of Difference"

She sat directly across from me at the table. We were cousins at a family reunion. I didn't know her well. I really only knew of her. She is older than I am - a different generation. What I did know about her was that she had a gentle, humble personality, that she loved her God and Jesus Christ, and was a tireless worker in her church. I looked at her and thought, "blessed are the meek".

You just don't place two rather quiet people together at a table and expect great conversation! Our visit began with a little small-talk. And then she looked past me for a brief moment as if remembering something long ago. She was doing just that. Her next sentence came from seemingly nowhere to me, but for her it came from deep within. "I don't know why my mother and father never took me to church. I have never understood that." She looked at me with the eyes of a child, not those of her actual years. She went on to say "If it had not been for Uncle Fred, I would never have gone to church". She now had my undivided attention for her "Uncle Fred" was my grandfather ... my Granddaddy Murdock.

As she continued, she told of my grandfather "showing up" at their house early one Sunday morning. He wanted to take her to church. He waited for her to get dressed. She didn't know what to expect. She was just a little girl. Each week he continued to stop by her house to take her to Sunday School. She told of the fun that she had and the friends that she made as a young child. She told of the youth group that became so important to her as a teenager. She told of the impact of those days on her life now as an adult.

I have only the memories of my grandfather through the eyes of the thirteen-year-old that I was when he passed away. What I do know of him was that he was soft-spoken, a little eccentric, a poet and musician, inquisitive, and an inventor. He was a Biblical scholar by his own study and knowledgeable well beyond his limited years of education. None of what I knew before about him was as important as what she was sharing with me.

That day, my cousin not only added to what I knew of my grandfather, but also taught me a great lesson as she bore witness to the importance of involvement in the lives of others. My grandfather, slightly over 5 feet tall, quiet and humble, made a world of difference in one child's life that Sunday morning many years ago. As she shared her story, I heard the words once again, this time in light of my grandfather - "blessed are the meek". There is strength in meekness. There is resoluteness in meekness. There is the heart of Jesus in meekness. And there is doing the will of God in meekness.

I'm humming as I type this morning - as I share with you the lasting effects of this one act of kindness long ago - that one "spark". The song seems to "fit".

It only takes a spark to get a fire going,
And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing.
That's how it is with God's love once you've experienced it;
You spread His love to everyone; you want to pass it on.

Know that to make a world of difference in a child's life is to make a difference in this world. It only takes a spark!

anna

A Blurry Look at Life

Yesterday, my thoughts began with "LIFE becomes visible in the hour before people begin to head to work." This grey morning, LIFE seemed somewhat hidden, somewhat invisible, in the drizzle and on the wet streets.

Unlike yesterday, there was no one on a bike this morning (whether they wanted to be or needed to be). There seemed to be fewer cars on my route. There wasn't a soul walking along my way for me to offer a wave and a smile. Houses were dark. No lights filtered through their curtains. Even the cats that live in the empty lot and are fed by that unknown person in the "iffy" section were somewhere else this morning.

This morning, LIFE seemed to be me ... and the crows that were curious about a discarded McDonald's bag on the road ... and stoplights that seemed to take longer than usual to change from red to green.

LIFE was a little blurry this morning.

S
uch is life at times.

Life Becomes Visible

"LIFE" becomes visible in the hour before people begin to head to work.

 I saw a man, wearing dirty clothes that were way too large for him, struggling to ride a bike. But he peddled... and peddled ... and peddled. It was then when I noticed that he had no tire on the back wheel. Just a metal rim. Sigh.

And then, as I was picking up an iced tea for the day, the young lady at the window greeted me with a smile and "Good Morning" and sent me on my way with a "Have a blessed day." But between the smile, the good-morning, and the have-a-nice-day, I noticed the scars of healed slash marks going up the arm that reached out of the window to hand me the iced tea. Thankfully and beautifully healed.

And finally, as I made my way through the "iffy" route toward my office, I noticed the women were already out, walking the street, hoping ... just hoping for one man to stop.

Such is "LIFE" along the way at 7:00am , Monday June 25, 2018.

"Why the Reminder Now, O God?"

Why, O God,

are you reminding us

of the Holy Innocents

today?

Why, O God …

Why must we remember 

Holy Innocents again …

the beautiful children who were

ripped from their parents’ arms

at Herod’s command?

Why have you brought them

to mind?

Sigh… the thoughts

of these children

seem so misplaced

on this lovely morning.

It is 

less painful,

less sorrowful

for sure

for us to close 

our eyes

to them.

Is it because

there are still

Innocents today, O God?

In our own homes,

in our own streets,

in our own cities,

and at our own borders?

Nameless and named?

Is it because

there are still

Innocents today?

Hungry

and scared

and exhausted

and feeling hopeless?

Nameless and named?

Is it because

there are still

Innocents today?

Battered and bruised

in the very place

they call home …

confused and terrified

and facing separation

in the very place

they yearn to call home?

Nameless and named?

Why, O God …

Why must we remember

the Holy Innocents?

"Because, my child,

there are Innocents

in this world today,

and 

mothers weeping

 and

refusing to be

comforted.

There are still

Herods

 who

have both 

great power and

great fear

within them.”

“Amidst false claims

and misinterpretations

of my Words and Ways

and Love,

let me remind you ...

You did not learn 

this fear from me

nor did my Son

teach the slaughter

of the spirit 

and of the soul.

You must not forget

and you must not

look away."

"I Am the Lord of the Dance"

In the book "LILA" by Marilynne Robinson, there are these words: "In a song a note follows the one before because it is that song and not another one."

Perhaps each of our lives are songs like none other. Notes follow notes that become songs that lead into other songs in the continuing days of our lives. Lullabies ...hymns ... jigs and reels and strathspeys ... hymns ... laments ... hymns ... serenades ... hymns ... dirges .... joyous, heaven-opening hymns. We are notes followed by other notes that become songs followed by other songs - all, in their own ways, prayers. It is all good.

"I am the Lord of the Dance," said He!

"What Puzzle Piece Do You Have to Share?

Each morning I drive by the building that is painted like a puzzle.  It's in a rather sad part of town. Those I often see along the road seem to be weary, shuffling up the hill to who-knows-where or trying to get the attention of who-knows-what.  This colorful building seems so out of place in such a grey part of town.

One of the puzzle pieces on the front of this building reads "You are so loved."  I carry that reminder with me each day as I begin my day at work.  This morning the traffic had come to a standstill in front of the building so I was able to read another puzzle piece that was on the side.  The words are something like "What piece of the human puzzle do you have to share with others?"  Perhaps one flows from the other ... knowing that we are "so loved" brings with it a call to share our own piece of the human puzzle with others.  Too many are missing that "you are so loved" puzzle piece that is God-shaped.  Too many think that they have lost it forever when it is always in plain sight.

Just maybe this brightly-colored building is not only for those weary ones in a grey world but also for those of us who drive by.  May we offer a puzzle piece to someone today.

"Dripping with Grace and Love"

When I was a child, Holy Communion was neat and tidy and predictable. The bread was in tiny perfectly-shaped cubes. The juice was offered in brass trays in the tiniest of glass cups ... perfectly measured. Yes, it was neat and tidy and there was no hope of receiving more than allotted by the Communion stewards.

But now? Even this very day? A piece of bread is torn from a loaf in pieces that are never perfect nor are they small. A cup is offered and I dip the bread into the juice. I hear my name and words of remembrance. Sunday morning Communion was nourishment in portions that I needed ... messy and enough and dripping with Grace and Love. I will admit before you all that I licked my fingers after I received Communion for I wanted and needed every last drop of what was offered to me.

Wherever She Finds Herself to Be

She finds herself walking down the same street that she had walked the morning before … in the same clothes that she had worn the day before. At times, she might pause with the passing of each car and try to encourage any man to stop. I have seen her pull her shirt up as a car drove by. One morning, she was in tears as she walked down the road. Her head was down. She didn’t acknowledge the passing of any car. But this morning, she was thumbing, trying to hitch a ride in one direction. A car was heading in the opposite direction. She ran across the street, began thumbing, hoping that the car would stop. It just doesn’t seem to matter to her what direction she is heading this morning. It just doesn’t seem to matter what direction her life is taking.

It would be nothing short of a miracle if her life changed for the better today. I do pray for a miracle for her … often. For today though, I pray that she might be kept safe, wherever she finds herself to be.

"Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen Indeed!"

The birds were awake

at the mere hint of daybreak

and their songs

began to fill the air

as if to praise God

for what had been accomplished …

as if they wanted 

to be the first to shout,

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

A woman whispered

his name to angels -

faith in the midst

of great darkness

was heard …

“MY LORD”.

She had seen him

beaten …

bloodied …

mocked …

crucified …

dead.

Still she whispered,

“MY LORD.”

She stood in the garden.

Through tear-filled eyes

she stared at an empty tomb.

“MY LORD.

Where have they taken him?”

His name 

has been whispered.

A presence is felt.

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 flowed

down from the cross.  

Love walked out 

of a tomb.

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 Friday

“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?

anna murdock

3-25-16

Maundy/Holy Thursday

(As I think of this night so long ago, the night we now call Holy/Maundy Thursday, I realize that Jesus not only washed the feet of the one who would betray him, but he prepared a place at the table for him as well. It is the same today. He still prepares the table for all… even for me.  “Do this in remembrance of me”, he said. So, as gathered Christians, we remember Jesus’ great, unimaginable love and presence and the way of the cross. We actively participate in being the hands and feet of Christ as we wait for his return.  And we are reminded that God’s grace and mercy is for everyone for we all fall short of being who we are called to be.  Do this in remembrance.  "The blood of Christ, poured out for you ... the body of Christ, given for you.")

“Do This In Remembrance ….”     (Holy Thursday)

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

to the table

that was prepared for me

in such a generous way.

The table was not mine;

the guest list was not mine;

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.

Wednesday of Holy Week

"Who do you say that I am?"

The question is clear ....

the disciples have seen

and heard

and walked with this man

and yet one among them

wants a messiah

of his own desires,

not the Messiah

who entered into lives

with teachings of justice

and healings of spirit and body 

and commandments to love ...

not the One who resolutely

walked toward Jerusalem

with dust-covered sandals

and approached the city,

riding on a donkey.

"How many coins? Thirty?"

There are plans and preparations today ...

A room is being prepared.

Coins are being counted.

Crosses are visible 

on the horizon

of the week.

"What is happening on this day?

What should we make of it all?”

Tuesday of Holy Week

Disciples and friends gathered with Jesus at the home of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. Suddenly “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” There she was. Mary in worship. Pouring her most costly possession on the feet of her Lord. Anointing his feet with nard. Wiping his feet with her loosened hair. This was an extravagant outpouring of love and spontaneous worship that could wait no longer. It didn’t seem to matter what was said as Judas objected. Mary, above all others in the room, knew that Jesus was her Lord and Savior. She had once intently listened to his words at Martha’s objections. Jesus wept with her at the tomb of her brother. He then raised Lazarus from the dead. While the others failed to listen carefully as they walked with Jesus, while the others argued among themselves, while the others slept, Mary sat at his feet and listened. She witnessed God’s power. She experienced God’s love. She knew the One who sat at her table was truly the Messiah.

Down came her hair. Out came her most priceless possession. It could not wait. The perfume of adoration, love, worship, praise and offering filled the room and ultimately the world. That’s what extravagant worship is like…spontaneous, overflowing, priceless and permeating.

Yet, inside of the house as well, we find Judas, already being 'Judas' ... objecting to such a costly act of worship. ("Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He [Judas] did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.)

Outside the walls of Lazarus’ house, rumblings of fear and hatred could be heard as thunder in the distance.

And so, we walk into this Tuesday of Holy Week with the fragrance of worship, the greed of Judas, and the growing anger, fears, and plotting of the chief priests.

Monday of Holy Week

Sigh … my worship bulletin and the palm fronds tossed on the floor seem much like the day of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Palm branches had been torn from trees and waved high in the air as Jesus rode through the streets of Jerusalem on a lumbering donkey. Hosannas were shouted. And yet, the hosannas soon stopped. The palm branches were tossed aside. Hopes were trampled by shouts, whispers, and accusations.

As I glance at the bulletin and my own palm branches, I am reminded that during this week we have a choice. Some of us choose to shout our hosannas for a moment on Palm Sunday only to drop our palm branches on the floor when the hour of worship is over, leaving the scriptures and ponderings of what is to come during this Holy Week behind in the pews…tossed on the floor … left in the sanctuary … out of our thoughts as we walk away until Easter morning. Others continue to journey with our LORD during these days … leaving nothing behind … making a cross from both our palms and our prayers for us to carry with us during this most holy of weeks.

“O God, let there be nothing left behind or tossed away by me in these coming days. AMEN.”

"Enough ... For Today"

The child who had

picked up

a broken and bent

and trampled-upon

palm branch

found a place to stand

at the edge of the dirt road.

The crowds grew.

Loud “Hosannas”,

growing hopes,

and whispers of great 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.

“LORD, please look my way.

Please wave at me.

Please let me know

that I am not as

invisible as others

make me to be.”

From the One

who was riding on a donkey

into Jerusalem,

there was eye contact …

there was a smile…

and there were words

from his soon-to-be-parched lips.

“MY BELOVED CHILD.”

And that was enough. 

Enough .... for today.

"This is the Day Before ..."

In the fields

on the outskirts

of Jerusalem,

a weary one sighs

and whispers,

“You are my God.”

Bending down,

he picks up a palm branch…

broken and bent,

much like his spirit.

For that reason alone,

he holds onto it,

dragging the branch along

as he walks,

making what looks like

to anyone else

a path

in the dirt

outside of Jerusalem.

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE ...

There is a growing crowd,

whispering,

murmuring,

shouting,

hopeful,

angry,

confused,

waiting,

watching.

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE ...

Among the others

is the one with the

bent branch

and the broken spirit.

Yes, caught up in the crowds,

I can be found ...

and you as well,

tightly holding onto

our own palm branch.

We wait …

for some unknown reason

we wait.

The path

into Jerusalem

remains,

brushed in the dirt

by a palm branch.

Why are we waiting?

Shhh…

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE

Wish'n and Hope'n

I'm afraid that we have watered down HOPE by too often equating it with our WISHES. I'm a writer and I see words as having different dimensions to them. WISHES are very flat to me. Mere words on a piece of paper, in wish-list form. Words that have no true hope or love behind them. No change of heart. No change of posture in and through prayer. No promise. No relationship or conversation with God and God with us.

But HOPE is different! HOPE in prayer brings Love into the equation! HOPE splits our very hearts open-wide in prayer, both on our own behalf and on the behalf of others. It is impossible to HOPE in our prayers without Love ... love for ourselves in the knowledge that we are one of God's beloved children ... love for others who are also God's beloved ... and love for the One who listens carefully to our HOPES, who sends us out to become Christ's very hands in these HOPES, and who is completely faithful in Love.

And so, if I say that I "hope" something for you (yes, you, my blog followers .. and you who have stumble across these words), know that what I have hoped are not mere words to me. Please know that my hopes for you have been whispered to the One who is Love. My hopes for you are surrounded in love for you see, it can be no other way!

"When Tables Are Overturned" (John 2:13-22)

It isn’t always to be found

in the quietness of our Lenten retreat,

or staring in a mirror at a forehead

marked by an ashen symbol of the cross ... 

startling as that is to see.

It isn’t always to be found

in these forty days, is it, O God?

In our reflection ...

or in our kneeling in repentance ...

or in our prayers for re-created hearts?

“Do away with your selective hearing," 

Jesus shouts,

"and your selective sight, 

and your selective compassion

and your selective worship."

"Do away with your tables,

so carefully placed, 

waiting with shiny currency ... 

perfect to make an unfair exchange.

Do away with the expensive sacrifices …

too expensive for those

who are most needy."

In this Lenten journey,

when we still don’t understand

and when we see no need

for the clearing of those things, 

we see you, Jesus,

methodically making a whip of cords 

and we hear you shout –

yes, SHOUT at us!

"Do away with the distortion of worship!

Cleanse the holy temple!

Take these things out of here!

This IS my Father’s house!"

There might be a time

during this Lenten journey of ours

when our tables are overturned,

our money is scattered,

feathers fly,

and we find ourselves

scrambling.

There might be a time

when all we have left

is worship with no agenda

other than to worship our Lord,

and the forming of words

in our hearts of "injustice" and "love"

by the One

who shouted them at us

in the marketplace.

When tables are overturned

and money is scattered, ...

when righteous indignation

of our Lord is seen and heard, 

the least, the lost and the lonely,

the fear-filled and the grief-stricken

become visible

and we become a voice

in this gouging world.

When tables are overturned, 

we might begin to overturn

shattered lives. 

When feathers fly,

all might begin to soar.


(c) 2012  anna murdock

Lent, Wilderness, and Forty Days

It is my wilderness …

  a place to which I am being led.

   It is my forty days …

yes, my forty days

    to endure and to seek,

to trust and to pray,

  to be surrounded by

   very tending angels.

       

It is my aloneness,

    and wilderness and forty days.

I would hope that

   you too might allow it 

      if and when it comes …

      for there is a Holy Presence here.

      

 The wilderness is born

    out of a great silence 

    that hopes for a sudden glimpse

  of God in worship

    when all others around me

    are following their worship bulletins

      so carefully … so dutifully … 

      so worshipfully … so very well.

It is my wilderness.

    It is I who sing the hymns,

     with parched lips.

    It is I who reaches out for the morsels

       that the Spirit hands to me

       when I am so malnourished.

It is my wilderness.

It is I who listens for shouts 

   yet am satisfied

  with holy whispers.

It is my response to God to live into,

   not others to discourage.

The words, “Get thee behind me….”

  are on my lips, on guard and ready

  for one more attempt 

       to change direction.

It was my wilderness, 

… my forty days,

… my seeking, 

… my journey, 

… Your leading.

Holy One, you are in it all

   and in that, I do trust

   these unknown steps

  during these forty days.

Amen.