(Please read Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 The Parable of the Lost Son)
Lectionary Lent 4-C
Oh. the Parable of the Lost (prodigal) Son. How we do love this parable. Perhaps we first heard of this in the Sunday school classes of our childhood. Throughout our lives, sermons have been preached on this teaching. Many of us have read books based on these very words of Jesus and we've gazed at paintings depicting the story. It seems like the spotlight always falls on a dirty, weary, philandering and squandering son collapsing into the arms of a loving father who has dreamed about and waited for this very moment. Always, it seems that the older brother is pictured off in the darkness, in the shadows, staring at his unclean, sinner-of-a-brother returning to the arms of LOVE.
There was a moment, as I first opened the doors to the Chapel of the Prodigal in the beautiful, small mountain town of Montreat, North Carolina, when I heard whispers of this parable that changed my thoughts of it all. There is no where to look in this chapel other than toward the altar wall for it is covered with a fresco depicting the return of the prodigal son to his father. The permanency of the art of fresco itself whispers "Look this way. This is a forever thing." The pigments have become absorbed into the plaster. The fresco has become the wall. For as long as the wall of this chapel stands, the message of the Scriptures embedded in the plaster will forever be seen.
There is a "forever and always" longing and love by a parent for the return of the wayward child. Or at least that is what I saw in the fresco. The father had watched for his child with the eyes of love. He watched for him with such intensity that he saw his beloved son while he was still a long way off. As the artist depicted by painting a robe thrown over the railing of the rooftop, this father was so filled with compassion and joy at the first glimpse of his child returning to him that he ran toward him, leaving his robe behind. Running, baring his ankles, welcoming one who had brought shame to his family. Certainly this was not to be done by any man of respect and honor. But it isn't about the wayward son is it? It's about a forever kind of love. In the silence of the chapel, one might hear God whisper, "I have seen who you were before you turned to me and I have loved you in my waiting. I have seen you look my way and my heart leaps for joy. From far away, I will see you take your first steps back to me and I will run to you. Before you take a breath to utter your well-rehearsed confessions, I will grab you in tight hugs and call for a celebration. You see, I have a love for you that is a forever love."
Oh, have I forgotten the older brother, standing off to the side in the shadows? I wish I could be the middle child in this parable. I've had a life-time of practice at that! I want to say to this older brother of the parable, "You are forgetting, aren't you? You are forgetting what it was like when you too collapsed into the waiting and loving arms of God. You are forgetting. You are forgetting what it was like when you were fitted with God's holy ring of inheritance. You are forgetting. You are forgetting when your weary and once-cold heart was first warmed by the robe of God's love. You are forgetting that God called for a celebration like none other when you came back home. Don't you see, dear brother? You are equally loved.
Yes, Jesus was speaking to the Pharisees and the teachers of the law when sharing this parable. And yes, some of these very same people would stir up the crowds and whisper the words "crucify him" into the ears of the soon-to-be gathered masses. But Jesus is also speaking to us as we continue on our Lenten journey. To both the younger and older brothers (or sisters), and yes, to the middle children as well, Jesus says, "You are loved equally, completely, fully. Return to the arms of LOVE."
O God . We rehearse our words too well, walking back to you, thinking that the words we have put together will make you love us more. But you wait for us, look on the horizon for us, hope for us and love us in spite of who we are. Soon, we will be reminded once more that you have lifted us up from our own dirt and dust and cleansed us. You have left this parable with an open ending, haven't you? Forgive us when we step back into the shadows and fail to welcome others home as you have welcomed them (and us). Forgive us for hearts that would rather attempt to weigh your love than celebrate your love. This day, as your children, remind us that we are indeed your beloved children welcomed into the arms of your great LOVE. Amen.
anna
Monday, March 8, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
"Wake Up! Wake Up!"
(Please read Isaiah 55:1-9)
Lectionary Lent 3-C
It wasn’t because I was struggling for thoughts yesterday that I didn’t write. There were thoughts and words but they were for others. There was a certainty in what was to be shared even in the uncertainty of who would receive and welcome the words. By the end of the evening, I knew some of the why’s. How do I explain that yesterday was an unexplainable Monday morning when the words "Wake up and pray" woke me up? Usually, God speaks to us through our quiet prayer and devotional times, in our worship, in our times of praise or in our moments of sorrow. But in our sleeping? At 1:30 a.m.? "Wake Up! Wake Up!" The request almost shook me awake. I was to wake up and pray. Why? I had no clue! Wake up and pray for what? And, if I didn’t know the "why’s", then WHY wake me up? What is the purpose in it all anyway?
What are we to do when God says, "Wake up and pray"? We are to pray. It’s as simple as that. My response wasn’t without questions, I’m afraid. "Gracious and loving God, why? Why would you have me up so early? So wide awake? For an hour, I have said words of ‘Sleep’ but your single word ‘Pray’ has kept me awake. And so I will pray, if that is the reason why. Why you woke me so abruptly. Why you placed names before me and yet left some unnamed. And so (yawn) I will pray, not knowing the why’s."
Too often, we find ourselves thrown into the same mix with the sleeping disciples. The time of Lent always calls this to our attention as we reread the accounts of the night of Jesus’ betrayal. Jesus says, "Stay here and keep watch", and we fall asleep. He says, "Are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?" He comes back and finds us sleeping on the job again! And just as with Peter, James and John, we don’t really know what to say to Jesus. "Wake up and pray!" Just maybe the words that awakened me have already been said to the sleeping disciples. "Enough! Rise! Let us go!"
There is something mysteriously beautiful when God wakes us to pray for another. I’m not sure that the importance and sweetness of that moment is to be found in the words of the prayer itself. "Wake up. Wake up and pray", in essence, is God moving us from self-centered prayers to loving others as Jesus loves. God is asking us to place our hearts on the line for another. God nudges us, even shakes us and says, "Wake up and be an encourager today. Wake up and undergird your pastors in prayer. Wake up and pray fervently for your church. Wake up and pray for one who is broken and angry and struggling. There is no need to know the why’s. Just be faithful. Wake Up! Wake up and be faithful!" And maybe, just maybe you will hear something else. "You have done as I have asked. Now rest assured that I have always known the names and needs of my children."
Holy God … You have reminded us over and over again that your thoughts are not ours; neither are your ways our ways. Early morning wake-up calls to pray are certainly not our ways! But you have your purpose, don't you? There are those known only to you who are in need of such early morning prayers. As we yawn and wipe our eyes, awaken our hearts to faithfulness. Awaken our hearts to response. Awaken our hearts to hear your wake-up calls. Thank you, O God, for loving us so much as to wake up others to pray for us when we ourselves struggle for words. Amen.
Lectionary Lent 3-C
It wasn’t because I was struggling for thoughts yesterday that I didn’t write. There were thoughts and words but they were for others. There was a certainty in what was to be shared even in the uncertainty of who would receive and welcome the words. By the end of the evening, I knew some of the why’s. How do I explain that yesterday was an unexplainable Monday morning when the words "Wake up and pray" woke me up? Usually, God speaks to us through our quiet prayer and devotional times, in our worship, in our times of praise or in our moments of sorrow. But in our sleeping? At 1:30 a.m.? "Wake Up! Wake Up!" The request almost shook me awake. I was to wake up and pray. Why? I had no clue! Wake up and pray for what? And, if I didn’t know the "why’s", then WHY wake me up? What is the purpose in it all anyway?
What are we to do when God says, "Wake up and pray"? We are to pray. It’s as simple as that. My response wasn’t without questions, I’m afraid. "Gracious and loving God, why? Why would you have me up so early? So wide awake? For an hour, I have said words of ‘Sleep’ but your single word ‘Pray’ has kept me awake. And so I will pray, if that is the reason why. Why you woke me so abruptly. Why you placed names before me and yet left some unnamed. And so (yawn) I will pray, not knowing the why’s."
Too often, we find ourselves thrown into the same mix with the sleeping disciples. The time of Lent always calls this to our attention as we reread the accounts of the night of Jesus’ betrayal. Jesus says, "Stay here and keep watch", and we fall asleep. He says, "Are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?" He comes back and finds us sleeping on the job again! And just as with Peter, James and John, we don’t really know what to say to Jesus. "Wake up and pray!" Just maybe the words that awakened me have already been said to the sleeping disciples. "Enough! Rise! Let us go!"
There is something mysteriously beautiful when God wakes us to pray for another. I’m not sure that the importance and sweetness of that moment is to be found in the words of the prayer itself. "Wake up. Wake up and pray", in essence, is God moving us from self-centered prayers to loving others as Jesus loves. God is asking us to place our hearts on the line for another. God nudges us, even shakes us and says, "Wake up and be an encourager today. Wake up and undergird your pastors in prayer. Wake up and pray fervently for your church. Wake up and pray for one who is broken and angry and struggling. There is no need to know the why’s. Just be faithful. Wake Up! Wake up and be faithful!" And maybe, just maybe you will hear something else. "You have done as I have asked. Now rest assured that I have always known the names and needs of my children."
Holy God … You have reminded us over and over again that your thoughts are not ours; neither are your ways our ways. Early morning wake-up calls to pray are certainly not our ways! But you have your purpose, don't you? There are those known only to you who are in need of such early morning prayers. As we yawn and wipe our eyes, awaken our hearts to faithfulness. Awaken our hearts to response. Awaken our hearts to hear your wake-up calls. Thank you, O God, for loving us so much as to wake up others to pray for us when we ourselves struggle for words. Amen.
anna
Monday, February 22, 2010
"Gather Us Up"
(Please read Luke 13:31-35)
Lectionary Lent 2-C
At some point in my early high school years, I decided that I wanted quail for pets (don’t ask why). I went to the local quail hatchery. My three new babies actually hatched in my hands. I took them home to their cardboard box of a nursery, where I had placed soft shavings, a jar lid filled with water, some quail mash (yes, there is such a thing), and soft cloths to keep them warm. Surely they would fall asleep soon. I was wrong. For nights afterward, I found myself sitting on the floor, holding chicks in my hands so that only their tiny heads could be seen. They needed to feel protected, swaddled, safe and warm.
My quail had to be taught to eat the mash and drink the water. They cried out when the security of my hands was found missing in their lives. These little ones needed names, so I gave them all one name (it was easier to call them). They grew into gangly and very vocal adolescents, wanting freedom. I gave them what they demanded. I began to let them out in the backyard, watching them carefully. They would walk in the grass and fly a bit, testing their wings. Always, when I called their name, they would come back to me. But as they grew, they demanded more freedom. I would release them early in the mornings before I left for school. In the afternoons, I would stand in the yard and call their one name, waiting and hoping for their return. Again, I would call their name and search the skies, longing to see the three fly home to me. And that they did. Every morning there was freedom for my "children". Each afternoon, I longed for their return. Always, there was joy as they were back in the safety of my hands. But then one day, they didn’t return. I found out later that they had trusted too much and befriended a cat. It was a time of tears for those I had once held, sheltered and given their freedom.
Maybe it’s the "mother hen" in me that has longed for the return of her chicks, but in reading Luke 13:31-35, my heart feels so deeply for Jesus at this time in his journey to Jerusalem. He knows. He knows that Jerusalem has wandered into a wilderness that keeps the people from hearing his voice. I should think that we can, at times, fill in our own names into Jesus’ longing and lamenting. Often it is our own singular name. "Oh anna, anna." And just as often, it is our one collective name. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often I have longed to gather my children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" There is this tremendous longing in Jesus for us to come home from our wanderings and those wildernesses that we find ourselves in at times. He calls our names and stands with his sheltering arms open and waiting to gather us in once more. He looks for us on the horizon and longs for us from deep within his heart. What an unimaginable love this proves to be. Soon, at the end of these forty days of Lent, we will once again be reminded just how unimaginable this love is for each of us.
God of the ages, God of the Covenant, God of Love … You are our light and salvation; whom shall we fear? We are pushed into dangerous places and cornered by foxes. We are chased up trees by cats that seek to devour us. But we are your beloved children and if we listen carefully, even in the midst of our own "chirps" and cries for help, we will hear our names being called. Make swift our return to you. Perhaps give us flight back to you. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often have I longed to gather you together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings." With these very words, we see your Son stretch out his arms and open his palms, flesh against wood, for us. Saving grace. Forgiveness of our wanderings. The sheltering arms of his unfathomable love. He has longed for us and we for him and we are saved. We give you thanks, O God, for the shelter of your Love. Amen.
anna
Lectionary Lent 2-C
At some point in my early high school years, I decided that I wanted quail for pets (don’t ask why). I went to the local quail hatchery. My three new babies actually hatched in my hands. I took them home to their cardboard box of a nursery, where I had placed soft shavings, a jar lid filled with water, some quail mash (yes, there is such a thing), and soft cloths to keep them warm. Surely they would fall asleep soon. I was wrong. For nights afterward, I found myself sitting on the floor, holding chicks in my hands so that only their tiny heads could be seen. They needed to feel protected, swaddled, safe and warm.
My quail had to be taught to eat the mash and drink the water. They cried out when the security of my hands was found missing in their lives. These little ones needed names, so I gave them all one name (it was easier to call them). They grew into gangly and very vocal adolescents, wanting freedom. I gave them what they demanded. I began to let them out in the backyard, watching them carefully. They would walk in the grass and fly a bit, testing their wings. Always, when I called their name, they would come back to me. But as they grew, they demanded more freedom. I would release them early in the mornings before I left for school. In the afternoons, I would stand in the yard and call their one name, waiting and hoping for their return. Again, I would call their name and search the skies, longing to see the three fly home to me. And that they did. Every morning there was freedom for my "children". Each afternoon, I longed for their return. Always, there was joy as they were back in the safety of my hands. But then one day, they didn’t return. I found out later that they had trusted too much and befriended a cat. It was a time of tears for those I had once held, sheltered and given their freedom.
Maybe it’s the "mother hen" in me that has longed for the return of her chicks, but in reading Luke 13:31-35, my heart feels so deeply for Jesus at this time in his journey to Jerusalem. He knows. He knows that Jerusalem has wandered into a wilderness that keeps the people from hearing his voice. I should think that we can, at times, fill in our own names into Jesus’ longing and lamenting. Often it is our own singular name. "Oh anna, anna." And just as often, it is our one collective name. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often I have longed to gather my children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" There is this tremendous longing in Jesus for us to come home from our wanderings and those wildernesses that we find ourselves in at times. He calls our names and stands with his sheltering arms open and waiting to gather us in once more. He looks for us on the horizon and longs for us from deep within his heart. What an unimaginable love this proves to be. Soon, at the end of these forty days of Lent, we will once again be reminded just how unimaginable this love is for each of us.
God of the ages, God of the Covenant, God of Love … You are our light and salvation; whom shall we fear? We are pushed into dangerous places and cornered by foxes. We are chased up trees by cats that seek to devour us. But we are your beloved children and if we listen carefully, even in the midst of our own "chirps" and cries for help, we will hear our names being called. Make swift our return to you. Perhaps give us flight back to you. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often have I longed to gather you together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings." With these very words, we see your Son stretch out his arms and open his palms, flesh against wood, for us. Saving grace. Forgiveness of our wanderings. The sheltering arms of his unfathomable love. He has longed for us and we for him and we are saved. We give you thanks, O God, for the shelter of your Love. Amen.
anna
Monday, February 15, 2010
"Take a Deep Breath"
(Please read Psalm 51:1-17 and Luke 4:1-13)
Ash Wednesday and Lectionary Lent 1-C
Take a deep breath and know that the air we soon will be asked to breathe will be different. Look in the mirror and see a face that is a canvas on which an ashen cross might be drawn. Pause for a moment and remember that we will once again be fitted with new sandals for our forty-day Lenten journey. Yes, let us take a deep breath for we are preparing for the "if’s" and "then’s" that will surely be placed before us in these forty days.
There is the smell of ashes awaiting us in dimly lit sanctuaries. Last year’s shouts of hosannas and the sense of excitement that we had as we waved the palms have been reduced to a bowlful of charred remains. Oh, to once again find "hosannas" on our lips and to be filled with a hope that always seeks the Messiah. But a year’s worth of days takes a toll on us, doesn’t it? Our "hosannas" have often been silenced and we lower our heads knowing (but hating to admit) that we have succumbed to the "if’s" and "then’s" of the tempter in the wilderness. "If’s" and "then’s" are tempting, sparkling words for sure.
So, let’s take a deep breath and prepare to face the "if’s" and "then’s" that have made a home in our hearts. Our Lenten journey begins on Ash Wednesday as we carry with us into our sanctuaries all of those "if’s" and "then’s. Do I really want to see what I will bring into the sanctuary with me? What an accumulation. Thoughts and attitudes, apathy and omission, all of those temptations that I fell for that eventually came between me and God. What benign words I have used. I don’t really like the word "sin" but it is what it is.
Yes, let’s take a very deep breath. There is a silence in our first moments of Lent that draws us into a time of aloneness. Even in the midst of the others who have entered through the sanctuary doors with us, we find ourselves alarmingly alone. And then, the silence is broken by the admission of our hearts. "Here I am and this is what has become a burden to me. Here is what I have allowed into my life that clouds your face, O God. I am needy. I am sorrowful. I am incomplete without you completely in my life." For just a moment, all we hear is our own breath and the whispers of our own hearts. My head feels so heavy, bowed as it is. Why is it so difficult to raise?
What will it take for our heads to be lifted once again? Suddenly we are reminded. It is the fire of God’s tremendous love for us, the fire of forgiveness and the fire of God’s saving grace that has provided the ashes for this day of repentance. These promises raise our heads and bring us to our feet. They move us down the aisles. They make us deeply yearn to be marked as God’s own children – beloved and forgiven.
Perhaps it is at this one moment when we gasp instead of merely taking a breath. This very moment is when one cares enough to whisper, "Raise your head and look into my eyes. This is who you are. This is who God is." The sensation of the drawing of an ashen cross lingers long enough for us to be still for a while and then move toward a mirror to see our reflection. Take a deep breath. The reflection is both startling and beckoning. You see, there is a little corner of wilderness reserved for each one of us. The same Spirit who led Jesus into the wilderness will lead us into these forty days of Lent. The same tempter will entice us with "if’s" and "then’s". Take a deep breath and prepare for it all. Wilderness air is different. It is the most costly air of all for it is in these upcoming forty days when we will begin to breathe in, once more, what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ in all of its costliness. So, take a deep breath, pray, listen and be steadfast in God’s promises.
God of our redemption and wilderness journey … Help us to breathe in your Spirit and steadfastness in amounts never before received. We face such enticements by the one who loves to whisper "If’s" and "then’s" into our hearts in very familiar ways. Help us to breathe in the wilderness air and plant our feet firmly in your promises with a recreated heart and a steadfast spirit. We pray for strength and your Presence in our lives for we know that our own days in the wilderness will soon send us resolutely to Jerusalem with your Son … and that will be much different air to breathe. Amen.
anna
Ash Wednesday and Lectionary Lent 1-C
Take a deep breath and know that the air we soon will be asked to breathe will be different. Look in the mirror and see a face that is a canvas on which an ashen cross might be drawn. Pause for a moment and remember that we will once again be fitted with new sandals for our forty-day Lenten journey. Yes, let us take a deep breath for we are preparing for the "if’s" and "then’s" that will surely be placed before us in these forty days.
There is the smell of ashes awaiting us in dimly lit sanctuaries. Last year’s shouts of hosannas and the sense of excitement that we had as we waved the palms have been reduced to a bowlful of charred remains. Oh, to once again find "hosannas" on our lips and to be filled with a hope that always seeks the Messiah. But a year’s worth of days takes a toll on us, doesn’t it? Our "hosannas" have often been silenced and we lower our heads knowing (but hating to admit) that we have succumbed to the "if’s" and "then’s" of the tempter in the wilderness. "If’s" and "then’s" are tempting, sparkling words for sure.
So, let’s take a deep breath and prepare to face the "if’s" and "then’s" that have made a home in our hearts. Our Lenten journey begins on Ash Wednesday as we carry with us into our sanctuaries all of those "if’s" and "then’s. Do I really want to see what I will bring into the sanctuary with me? What an accumulation. Thoughts and attitudes, apathy and omission, all of those temptations that I fell for that eventually came between me and God. What benign words I have used. I don’t really like the word "sin" but it is what it is.
Yes, let’s take a very deep breath. There is a silence in our first moments of Lent that draws us into a time of aloneness. Even in the midst of the others who have entered through the sanctuary doors with us, we find ourselves alarmingly alone. And then, the silence is broken by the admission of our hearts. "Here I am and this is what has become a burden to me. Here is what I have allowed into my life that clouds your face, O God. I am needy. I am sorrowful. I am incomplete without you completely in my life." For just a moment, all we hear is our own breath and the whispers of our own hearts. My head feels so heavy, bowed as it is. Why is it so difficult to raise?
What will it take for our heads to be lifted once again? Suddenly we are reminded. It is the fire of God’s tremendous love for us, the fire of forgiveness and the fire of God’s saving grace that has provided the ashes for this day of repentance. These promises raise our heads and bring us to our feet. They move us down the aisles. They make us deeply yearn to be marked as God’s own children – beloved and forgiven.
Perhaps it is at this one moment when we gasp instead of merely taking a breath. This very moment is when one cares enough to whisper, "Raise your head and look into my eyes. This is who you are. This is who God is." The sensation of the drawing of an ashen cross lingers long enough for us to be still for a while and then move toward a mirror to see our reflection. Take a deep breath. The reflection is both startling and beckoning. You see, there is a little corner of wilderness reserved for each one of us. The same Spirit who led Jesus into the wilderness will lead us into these forty days of Lent. The same tempter will entice us with "if’s" and "then’s". Take a deep breath and prepare for it all. Wilderness air is different. It is the most costly air of all for it is in these upcoming forty days when we will begin to breathe in, once more, what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ in all of its costliness. So, take a deep breath, pray, listen and be steadfast in God’s promises.
God of our redemption and wilderness journey … Help us to breathe in your Spirit and steadfastness in amounts never before received. We face such enticements by the one who loves to whisper "If’s" and "then’s" into our hearts in very familiar ways. Help us to breathe in the wilderness air and plant our feet firmly in your promises with a recreated heart and a steadfast spirit. We pray for strength and your Presence in our lives for we know that our own days in the wilderness will soon send us resolutely to Jerusalem with your Son … and that will be much different air to breathe. Amen.
anna
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Holy Thursday liturgy available
(I will be glad to share a very simple, beautiful Holy Thursday liturgy that I prepared for Broad Street UMC in 2008. Any pastors or worship team leaders who would care to receive it, please e-mail your request to me at abmurdo@gmail.com)
Monday, February 8, 2010
"Shhh ... Listen!"
(Please read Luke 9:28-36)
Lectionary Scriptures Epiphany 6-C
Some call it a "Thin Place". I have a dear friend who calls such a time a "heaven-touching-earth moment." For me, I refer to this as a"God-moment". There are no words to adequately give name to such a time when the Divine Veil has been lifted in your presence. The radiance, the glory, God’s Presence and our deep desire to put a time such as this into immediate words all cause some stammering on our part - even confusion as to what has taken place. At times, I feel as if I have the word "PETER" written across my forehead as my heart wants to blurt out words that will prove themselves to be a jumbled-up mess! It is then when a holy finger presses against our lips and we hear, "Shhhh … This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" And so, the Divine Veil is lifted if only for a moment. The Holy is so radiant that we could easily be blinded yet in such a "heaven-touching-earth" moment, there is tremendous love. "Shhhh … listen to him first before finding your words."
What words does one choose to describe such a holy moment as this? As I read the Scriptures, I wonder such things. How long would I have kept silent? What words would have finally fallen into place to bear witness to something so holy as to the Glory of God radiating from the face of Jesus, enveloping his whole being? Are there words to describe the intensity of brilliance that had to be tempered by clouds? And what about hearing the voice of God? After my trembling had stopped, after brushing myself off, after stumbling down the mountain and back into my surroundings, what words would form on my lips? What words would you share?
For those who have recognized a time when the Most Holy has chosen such a moment of revelation, there seems to be a quietness about the experience for a while. Something so amazing, so intimate, so private is beyond our words. But there must be a reason for such a "mountaintop" experience. There must be a reason to find oneself in the Presence of God Almighty, knocked face down by such Holiness. Perhaps it is so that our hearts might hear "This is my Son, whom I love, with whom I am well pleased. LISTEN TO HIM!" It is the voice of the Most Holy that beckons us to believe in and listen to the Son in a renewed way.
"Shhh … Listen to him! Yes, there are often no complete sentences that can be formed for such a time when Jesus is revealed in a different light to just one or when the Holy Spirit’s Presence fills a sanctuary. And too often we try to share with others before their hearts have been made ready to listen to such radiant words. "Shhh …Listen to him first! See him as he truly is." It is then when stuttering and stammering words form complete sentences as we share what we have seen. Perhaps this period of silence is a good beginning to our Lenten journey for soon we will find ourselves resolutely setting our sights on Jerusalem with Jesus. We will be standing at the foot of the cross. And finally, we will be peering into an empty tomb. All along the way, we will find ourselves in the presence of the Holy. So, listen. This IS God’s Son, the Beloved, the Chosen.
Transforming and Holy God … The glory of your Presence is much too brilliant for our stammering words to make sense in telling others. We find ourselves face down in awe and yet these moments truly do become our faith story. With great love, you have whispered "Shhh… Listen." With tremendous love Jesus lifts us up and veils your holy radiance once more so that we might keep our eyes upon him. And with unimaginable love, your Son walks to the cross for us. O God, help us see your Presence with a brilliance that is unmistakable. Be with us in our silence as we soon prepare to step out on our Lenten journey. Form our sentences in your most perfect of timing, sending us out to tell what we have seen as truth. Give us blessed eyes to see your Holy Presence around us and a renewed understanding of what you would have us tell others. Amen.
anna
Lectionary Scriptures Epiphany 6-C
Some call it a "Thin Place". I have a dear friend who calls such a time a "heaven-touching-earth moment." For me, I refer to this as a"God-moment". There are no words to adequately give name to such a time when the Divine Veil has been lifted in your presence. The radiance, the glory, God’s Presence and our deep desire to put a time such as this into immediate words all cause some stammering on our part - even confusion as to what has taken place. At times, I feel as if I have the word "PETER" written across my forehead as my heart wants to blurt out words that will prove themselves to be a jumbled-up mess! It is then when a holy finger presses against our lips and we hear, "Shhhh … This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" And so, the Divine Veil is lifted if only for a moment. The Holy is so radiant that we could easily be blinded yet in such a "heaven-touching-earth" moment, there is tremendous love. "Shhhh … listen to him first before finding your words."
What words does one choose to describe such a holy moment as this? As I read the Scriptures, I wonder such things. How long would I have kept silent? What words would have finally fallen into place to bear witness to something so holy as to the Glory of God radiating from the face of Jesus, enveloping his whole being? Are there words to describe the intensity of brilliance that had to be tempered by clouds? And what about hearing the voice of God? After my trembling had stopped, after brushing myself off, after stumbling down the mountain and back into my surroundings, what words would form on my lips? What words would you share?
For those who have recognized a time when the Most Holy has chosen such a moment of revelation, there seems to be a quietness about the experience for a while. Something so amazing, so intimate, so private is beyond our words. But there must be a reason for such a "mountaintop" experience. There must be a reason to find oneself in the Presence of God Almighty, knocked face down by such Holiness. Perhaps it is so that our hearts might hear "This is my Son, whom I love, with whom I am well pleased. LISTEN TO HIM!" It is the voice of the Most Holy that beckons us to believe in and listen to the Son in a renewed way.
"Shhh … Listen to him! Yes, there are often no complete sentences that can be formed for such a time when Jesus is revealed in a different light to just one or when the Holy Spirit’s Presence fills a sanctuary. And too often we try to share with others before their hearts have been made ready to listen to such radiant words. "Shhh …Listen to him first! See him as he truly is." It is then when stuttering and stammering words form complete sentences as we share what we have seen. Perhaps this period of silence is a good beginning to our Lenten journey for soon we will find ourselves resolutely setting our sights on Jerusalem with Jesus. We will be standing at the foot of the cross. And finally, we will be peering into an empty tomb. All along the way, we will find ourselves in the presence of the Holy. So, listen. This IS God’s Son, the Beloved, the Chosen.
Transforming and Holy God … The glory of your Presence is much too brilliant for our stammering words to make sense in telling others. We find ourselves face down in awe and yet these moments truly do become our faith story. With great love, you have whispered "Shhh… Listen." With tremendous love Jesus lifts us up and veils your holy radiance once more so that we might keep our eyes upon him. And with unimaginable love, your Son walks to the cross for us. O God, help us see your Presence with a brilliance that is unmistakable. Be with us in our silence as we soon prepare to step out on our Lenten journey. Form our sentences in your most perfect of timing, sending us out to tell what we have seen as truth. Give us blessed eyes to see your Holy Presence around us and a renewed understanding of what you would have us tell others. Amen.
anna
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
"A Holy Thread Throughout"
(Please read Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 138, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11 and
Luke 5:1-11) Lectionary Scriptures Epiphany 5-C
For those of you who are clergy, the word "call" takes on a very definite, personal meaning, doesn’t it? There was that moment, I’m sure, when you knew that you were to drop every "net" that you tightly grasped. You followed Jesus to the seminary. You now open God’s Word and step into the pulpit to share the Good News with us. Your call is to rejoice where there is rejoicing and stand beside us in our darknesses, to shine light on injustices and help us develop hearts of compassion and strength to stand against such things. OK, so that is the "Cliff Notes" version, an abbreviation of who you are, isn’t it? But at least there is a name to your calling!
It is this title of yours, whether it be "clergy", "pastor", "preacher", "minister", "priest", reverend, etc. (sorry, I didn’t mean to call any of you "etc") that, at times, brings distance between a "call" and those of us in the pews. Each Sunday, we look into the face of one who has been called by God. But do we, as those sitting in the pews, look to each side of us and see disciples? Do we look into the mirror and see the face of one who has been called as well? "Do not be afraid", Jesus says. Over and over again, God speaks throughout the ages, "Do not fear!" But still, many of us fear this word "calling" and the thoughts of such discipleship. Or maybe we dismiss it as not meant for us.
I hope that you have set aside some quiet time to read the suggested Scriptures for this day. It’s important that you do so at some point. You see, there is a thread running throughout them all, tying them together. It is unbreakable. It is a thread that we often overlook when we read the words of a person "called" by God and when we think of our own call to ministry (and yes, we are all called!). Too often, we whisper, "How courageous! What faith! I could never do that!" Yes, there was that moment when a person said, "Here I am, send me" or when nets were dropped and the first steps were taken. But this thread, this unbreakable holy thread that runs throughout these Scriptures is not of our own weaving. The miracle of our calling is not of our own making! It is in God’s power and miracles that we are called to bring a portion of God’s kingdom to this world.
In Isaiah 6, the one who says "Woe is me" is touched by a live coal of forgiveness and then called by the very One whom the seraphs proclaim to be HOLY, HOLY, HOLY. In Psalm 138, we hear the words "The Lord WILL fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever." Paul says, in 1 Corinthians, "But by the grace of God I am what I am …" and in Luke 5, the very Son of God says, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people" (and they left, not knowing where they were going). Again, the miracle of our calling is not within us to make. If it was, we would have it so very neatly planned! The miracle of our calling is that it is God who says to the very ordinary (both clergy and laity), "Step out into the unknown" and we step out into the "wherevers" tied to that holy thread of miracles and promises.
O God … It is you who, by the gift and miracle of grace, prepares us for our calling. You look at us, even in our smallness, even in our very ordinary ways, yes, even in our sinfulness and know that all things can be done through you and you alone. It is you who places courage within us to step out into the unknowns of discipleship. It is truly you who calls our names. Weave throughout our days the holy thread of these miracles, so that we might be strengthened. Thy kingdom come. They will be done. Amen.
anna
Luke 5:1-11) Lectionary Scriptures Epiphany 5-C
For those of you who are clergy, the word "call" takes on a very definite, personal meaning, doesn’t it? There was that moment, I’m sure, when you knew that you were to drop every "net" that you tightly grasped. You followed Jesus to the seminary. You now open God’s Word and step into the pulpit to share the Good News with us. Your call is to rejoice where there is rejoicing and stand beside us in our darknesses, to shine light on injustices and help us develop hearts of compassion and strength to stand against such things. OK, so that is the "Cliff Notes" version, an abbreviation of who you are, isn’t it? But at least there is a name to your calling!
It is this title of yours, whether it be "clergy", "pastor", "preacher", "minister", "priest", reverend, etc. (sorry, I didn’t mean to call any of you "etc") that, at times, brings distance between a "call" and those of us in the pews. Each Sunday, we look into the face of one who has been called by God. But do we, as those sitting in the pews, look to each side of us and see disciples? Do we look into the mirror and see the face of one who has been called as well? "Do not be afraid", Jesus says. Over and over again, God speaks throughout the ages, "Do not fear!" But still, many of us fear this word "calling" and the thoughts of such discipleship. Or maybe we dismiss it as not meant for us.
I hope that you have set aside some quiet time to read the suggested Scriptures for this day. It’s important that you do so at some point. You see, there is a thread running throughout them all, tying them together. It is unbreakable. It is a thread that we often overlook when we read the words of a person "called" by God and when we think of our own call to ministry (and yes, we are all called!). Too often, we whisper, "How courageous! What faith! I could never do that!" Yes, there was that moment when a person said, "Here I am, send me" or when nets were dropped and the first steps were taken. But this thread, this unbreakable holy thread that runs throughout these Scriptures is not of our own weaving. The miracle of our calling is not of our own making! It is in God’s power and miracles that we are called to bring a portion of God’s kingdom to this world.
In Isaiah 6, the one who says "Woe is me" is touched by a live coal of forgiveness and then called by the very One whom the seraphs proclaim to be HOLY, HOLY, HOLY. In Psalm 138, we hear the words "The Lord WILL fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever." Paul says, in 1 Corinthians, "But by the grace of God I am what I am …" and in Luke 5, the very Son of God says, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people" (and they left, not knowing where they were going). Again, the miracle of our calling is not within us to make. If it was, we would have it so very neatly planned! The miracle of our calling is that it is God who says to the very ordinary (both clergy and laity), "Step out into the unknown" and we step out into the "wherevers" tied to that holy thread of miracles and promises.
O God … It is you who, by the gift and miracle of grace, prepares us for our calling. You look at us, even in our smallness, even in our very ordinary ways, yes, even in our sinfulness and know that all things can be done through you and you alone. It is you who places courage within us to step out into the unknowns of discipleship. It is truly you who calls our names. Weave throughout our days the holy thread of these miracles, so that we might be strengthened. Thy kingdom come. They will be done. Amen.
anna
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