"A Child in the Sanctuary ... Again"

(Please read 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"!

Today, 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 long-ago 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 seeing also you and me ... 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, I was a child in the sanctuary again. I pray that next Sunday I will be as well, as I find myself in the midst of those who do God's work.

Gracious and Loving God … You know our names and call each of us. You delight in the “buzz” that is anywhere when we gather and when your work is being done. Oh, how often we feel like children though, looking toward others as the ones who have answered your call. Help each of us to grow up in your ways, in your love, in your calling and in your rejoicing in the “buzz”. Help us to not feel so small in your kingdom-work. Amen. (oh, and thank you for Lonnie Turnipseed from this child of yours named "anna"!)

anna

"Huddle Talk"

(Please read Luke 6:20-31)

It seems right to refresh our memories this morning with the words of Jesus that have become known as “The Beatitudes” (or blessings). Surely, these Scriptures could be the makings for weeks of thoughts but that isn’t why they have been given to us as Scriptures for All Saints Day remembrances. Jesus is looking at his disciples, then and now, and telling us that walking in his footsteps will most certainly not be easy, but the rewards will be great. It’s as if Jesus has brought disciples into a huddle and spelled out the guidelines for the saints of all of the ages. Take heart, my friends! Saints aren’t constrained by wearing cumbersome ornate robes nor are they made obvious by a constant halo floating above their heads! Saints are fishermen and tax collectors and you and me! They are those who have lived, and continue to live their lives according to Jesus’ “huddle talk”. Jesus warns the saints-in-training as he offers the “blessed’s” and the “woe’s” to us. It will not be an easy way of life. That which society claims as blessed is far from it! That which seems so difficult has been raised up! As one friend shared with me, “Jesus, in the Beatitudes, is setting his disciples then and is setting us now, apart. Being set apart is never easy but it is the way of the “saints”.

There is a time in many of our churches when we pause and give thanks for those in our lives who have taken to heart Jesus’ call to discipleship and accepted the shifting in their own lives of what all society thinks is “blessed”. Although the day after Halloween is All Saints Day, many will reflect, as a part of our worship services, on those who have been “set apart” in the ways that Jesus shared with his disciples.

You and I are, in part, products of those very special people in our lives who have chosen not to make excuses when Jesus looked at them and said “be set apart”. This morning, let us be thankful for these examples to us and remember that those saints we have never met have affected our lives by the trickling down of God’s strength and love from one generation to the next.

I am thankful for those who have claimed Jesus’ words from the huddle as the road to discipleship, trusting in the blessings to come. I am so thankful for those who loved me enough to partner with God in order to help shape my heart. Also, I am thankful for those in YOUR life who did the same for you. Why? Because you are becoming increasingly important to me in my life. I see this same partnership in you. I see faith in you ... and Christ in you ... and I am a better person for this. Who knew that the people of faith in your life, those you hold dear as "saints", would affect my life through you? God knew. I am truly thankful that God has chosen to cross our paths.

Today, I "Sing a Song of the Saints of God" which includes so many who have taught us all the meaning of love and friendship, of faith and courage, and who have encouraged us all in the ways of Jesus Christ. As the song goes ".... and there's not any reason, no, not the least, why I shouldn't be one too."

Let us huddle together this day, listening once again to the words of Jesus, hearing the familiar Beatitudes as the often difficult way of disciples and saints and trusting that there will not only be a blessedness in our own lives but through our lives, others will be “set apart” as well.

Gracious and Loving God, give us hearts of the faithful and loving "saints" in our lives that we might be a reflection of your goodness to others as well. Give us strength as you set us apart and as we accept this often difficult way. There are those who can’t afford for us to make excuses for an easier way. In your promises and in your constant presence, both now and always, we do indeed rejoice and leap for joy! Amen.

anna

"So Much Has Changed ..."

(A reflection written on Morning #1 from the balcony at the beach of my childhood. A view from the pew can be found anywhere ... even overlooking the ocean!)

I awakened this morning
at the beach of my childhood.
Awakened by a body clock
that is most difficult to reset
and a light that was left on.
For a while, I remained in bed
thinking, “so much has changed”.

Many small cottages of my memories,
with wonderful coastal names
and towels hanging off of railings
have fallen prey to
high-rise resorts
with matching parking decks
that block the view
of the ocean
from the road.
“Sigh… so much has changed.”

So much has changed ….
No, everything has changed.
Well, everything but me.
I haven’t! No, not me …
I haven’t changed.
I arise, at the beckoning
of my body clock
and coffee …
too early for anyone,
much less anyone at the beach.
I haven’t changed.
No, not me.

I have spent the last hour
in the dark, on the balcony,
that overlooks the ocean.
Just as I do each morning,
(changeless, that I am),
with coffee in hand
I seek quiet
and peace
and God.

The fishing trawlers of last night
have long since moved on.
Sleep has silenced the sounds
of children, dogs and of seagulls.
And then,
with the touch of sea breeze
on my face,
and the constant sounds of
waves rolling in, rolling in, rolling in
and the stars above, winking at me
in the same configuration
as I remembered from my childhood,
I realized that the Creator of all,
my God, has not changed.

It is me who has changed,
for in my childhood
I would have never have heard God
in the breaking waves of the ocean,
or felt God’s touch
in the kiss of sea breeze
on my cheek.
I would never have been assured
of God’s constant Presence
in the twinkling stars that
stretch out over the skies
above the ocean.

It IS me who has changed,
yet it is God who has been
with me always.
And with this realization
of change amidst that
which is Changeless …
at that very moment,
I saw a falling star.

So much has changed,
since my childhood …
not in the vastness of the ocean
or in the cool morning’s sea breeze …
not in the canopy of stars
or in the sounds of waves
or in the tide’s perfect schedule…
so much has changed,
not in the Creator of all
of what is so very constant here …

So much has changed
since my childhood memories
of this beach …
and that change isn’t so much
in the startling change of the surroundings,
but in the startling change in me.
Thanks be to God
who replaces the old
with the new …
who changes small cottage thoughts
with high-rise hopes,certainties and assurances.
“Sigh (as I smile) … so much HAS changed!

5:00 a.m.-ish
North Myrtle Beach, SC

"Wounded and Blessed"

(Please read Genesis 32:22-31 Jacob Wrestling With God)

No gasping, please! No gasping at the thoughts of wrestling with God! I realize that some of you might not understand, on a personal level, these Scriptures. But for many others, this account of Jacob wrestling with God is very personal. There is a first-hand understanding of the clinging, wrestling perseverance of Jacob and a vivid remembrance of that “touch” of God when, in essence, God said, “Enough.” There is an overwhelming thankfulness in that holy touch that wounds a person to a point of change. In it all, there are blessings that only God can bestow.

But before there is an encounter or this wrestling type of perseverance, before there is the wounding touch of God that leads to God’s blessings, there is a time when we find ourselves face to face with God … alone. Often, the aloneness is so silent that for a while this “stranger” cannot be seen or heard in a person’s darkness. But God is there.

This aloneness, just before we recognize that we are in the presence of God, is a gift as difficult as it might prove to be. Jacob stands squarely in an empty camp. Behind him are lies, schemes, ambitions and a stolen birthright. Ahead of him are his family and all of his possessions that have become bribes for personal safety, forgiveness and reconciliation. There is nothing remaining for Jacob to control or manipulate. Nothing.

The “stranger” appears and suddenly a wrestling match begins. The One who can stop the wrestling before it begins often allows this struggle to go throughout the darkness of the night. God does not engage in this wrestling match as an overwhelming force, but as One who is powerful enough, tenacious enough, smart enough and big enough for us to realize that we have truly found ourselves wrestling with a persistent, loving and forgiving God. And so the wrestling turns to clinging. Even in our exhaustion, we don’t want to let go. Out of the depths, the cries come … “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” It is not what we cling to in life that blesses our lives, it is who we cling to that gives us a new name.

Jacob limped away a wounded, transformed and blessed man. Blessed are those who have received such a wound, for they have seen the face of God!

Most Gracious God … A friend once told me that you do indeed wound us at times and out of the wounded place, love begins to flow from us. Where there is a need for such wrestling and wounding, prepare each heart for perseverance. May we cling to you tenaciously, knowing that we will be wounded and yet trusting that we will be changed. Give us new names. O God, thank you for the assurance that you fill the wounds from your touch with the healing balm of your saving grace. Amen.

anna

"High Hopes"

The apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith!" He replied, "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it will obey you. (Luke 17:5-6)

When I was a child and found myself discouraged … when I seemed to lack something, feeling as if I didn't have enough of that "whatever" within me … when I thought a task before me was impossible, I would sing to myself a wonderful little song called “High Hopes”. Surely you know the song. The lyrics are by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen and it was made popular by Frank Sinatra. The first portion of this song goes like this:

Just what makes that little old ant
think he'll move that rubber tree plant.
Everyone knows an ant can't
move a rubber tree plant.

But he's got high hopes,
he's got high hopes,
he's got high apple pie, in the sky hopes.

So anytime your gett'n low
stead of lett'n go
just remember that ant.
Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.

The Scriptures found in Luke 17:5-6 take me back to that time when a child named “anna” said, "But I can't. I am just a child. I don't have enough within me". What I didn’t know how to say at the time was, “Increase my faith!” The apostles heard of the impossible. A tiny bit of faith uproots the mulberry tree and flings it, roots-first, into the sea. The child sang of the impossible. A bit of ant-sized high hopes moves a rubber tree plant.

Do you suppose that Jesus told the apostles of the mustard seed of faith and the uprooting of the mulberry tree to the tune of "High Hopes"? For the child in me, this is a delightful thought!

God of children, of apostles and of ants, of mulberry trees and of rubber tree plants, of mustard-seed-sized faith and of high hopes …. It is you who does the improbable and the impossible with our small faith. We pray that you work through the amount of faith that we have now, but O God increase our faith. Uproot and replant us when we say, “Here I am, send me.” Uproot and replant others when they hear the words of faith that you have asked us to share. Our faith is that you are always faithful. Thank you for knowing of the possibilities found within tiny ants, small children and disciples who find high hopes in you. Amen.

anna

"Seekers and Rejoicers"

(Please read Luke 15:1-10)

I love Jesus’ parables (well, sometimes, I do). They never seem to be about the lost sheep, the lost coin or the prodigal, as much as we would like to make them be or even as clearly as they pass through each parable. The focus always seems to be something else - another focus other than the ones we know so well. We personally identify with lost sheep, the lost coins and prodigals much more than we identify with the actual subject of attention in Jesus’ parables. The words “Which one of you” in the Luke 15:1-10 Scripture reading point me toward who I am to be. I am to be the seeker and the one who rejoices! “Rejoice with me” the Scriptures read. Jesus is saying, “This is what the Kingdom of God looks like. Be a part of it! Be in partnership with God!” He is saying this within earshot of all. The words are that of hope for the downtrodden and sinners, for the lost and the alone. Yet, perhaps they, too, are also called to this kingdom partnership as well, just as much as are the Pharisees and scribes. The law-driven, grumbling Pharisees and scribes are called to move beyond the laws toward becoming a reflection of God on earth - to come into this “Kingdom-come-on-earth” way of welcoming, reaching out, persistence, seeking and rejoicing. It seems too much of a shock for them, I’m afraid. Is it too much of a shock for us as well? Would we rather remain lost sheep, rolling coins, or prodigals? How can we grow to become one of those “Which one of you’s” of Jesus’ parables? How can we become seekers and rejoicers?

This morning, allow me to share with you one of the most important moments of my life. It seems fitting today because it happened on the evening of 9/11, nine years ago. Unlike many of you, I had no access to TV that morning. The receptionist where I worked had a small radio, our only source of news. The day flowed with a combination of deep emotion and that of responsibility to what I must do at work (life at work must go on in the midst of this time when lives of so many stopped or changed forever). I drove home at lunch. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. I looked toward a green hill where children were rolling down it, having a grand, giggly time. I wept for them, strange as it might seem. They were so oblivious to hate and fear and this kind of deep pain that will never be erased in its entirety from so many hearts. I wanted to protect these little ones forever from such things but knew that would be impossible for any of us to do. And so I felt alone and helpless, knowing that somewhere the skies were filled with dust and debris and death and my skies were cloudless and beautiful; somewhere there were tears and fears and unbelievable grief and yet in these children, there was only joy and giggles.

At the time, I had no church that I called "mine" in this city where I lived and worked. I had no church to run to that evening, yet I knew that I had to go somewhere. I sought out First United Methodist Church only because I am Methodist. I knew no one there. There I sat, in a sanctuary that was filled, yet I probably had never felt so alone in my life. When we sang, I only heard my voice. When we prayed aloud, no one else could be heard. Certainly others were singing and praying but this is the type of aloneness that I felt in this sanctuary filled with a church "family". As I sat at the end of the pew, listening to the pastor stumble through words that he could barely find, I felt a hand on my shoulder. A man had left his seat from across the aisle. He had walked down the aisle to me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I didn't want you to think that you are alone." He squeezed my shoulder, patted it, smiled and quietly walked back to his seat. He was a stranger to me as I was to him. But he sought me out. Very deliberately, he sought me out. After the hastily-put-together worship service, I pushed my way through the people, trying to find this man. I couldn’t find him. I walked out of the church, down the steps and saw the young man with his wife and little girl. I went over to him, to thank him for seeking me out, for touching me, for assuring me that I wasn't alone in the middle of so many strangers, even as the pastor was speaking. I asked him why he felt such a need to do that. He couldn't really explain it beyond that I looked so alone even in this sanctuary that was standing-room-only that night and he felt very lifted out of his pew to walk toward me. He then turned to introduce his wife and child. I can't remember his wife's name but I do his only child. Her name was "Anna". I told him my name. He hugged me and said, "Maybe that's why I felt a need to whisper to you." There was a moment of rejoicing in the way that God nudges a person. We both felt as if we were the subjects of God's attentions that evening.

My remembering of that day 9 years ago is certainly of the horrific events. But it is also one of a stranger specifically seeking me out, touching my shoulder, smiling and whispering "I didn't want you to think that you are alone." That night, I learned how to be a seeker, how to touch, how to smile, and how to whisper to someone alone in a crowd of people, "You are not alone." That night, on a night that seemed as if no one was rejoicing, there was one such moment of rejoicing by a seeker and by one sought after.

Oh God, you seek us out when we are most alone, when we are that lost sheep, when we are a lost coin that has rolled across the floor and fallen through a crack, even a crack in a sanctuary. You climb through thorny brush to pull us out of our lostness. You throw us across your shoulders, holding us tightly. You sweep up dust to find us. You rejoice and rejoice and rejoice. But you also look at us and ask “Which one of you will do this as well?” Nudge us. Move us from our comfortable places. Place a broom in our hands. Lift us from our pews and walk with us down the aisles or out the doors. Give us hearts that are that of the seekers and rejoicers. Place “I will” on our lips when you ask “Which one of you will walk through a wilderness or sweep up dust or walk down an aisle for another?” Rejoicing God, thank you for inviting us to rejoice with you. Amen

anna

"Oh Woman, Dear Nameless Woman"

(Please read Luke 13:10-17)

Oh woman, dear nameless woman,
your life isn’t as it should be.
What has held your head down?
What has bent your back and heart
so severely?

What has burdened you so, dear woman,
that you are bent over …
that you are unable to stand straight …
that you cannot look into the eyes
of others?
What has shackled you in this position?

Is it poverty … or abuse?
Has all sense of worth
been stripped from you?
Have the cruelties of life
spit upon you and mocked you?
Have you been used by men to the point
of losing your own name?
Has death taken the very ones
who would have taken care of you?

Oh woman, dear nameless woman,
how your heart must long
to look into the eyes of others once more;
to seek hope and acceptance and love.
But alas, you cannot, can you?
Your head cannot be lifted.
For whatever reasons, it is bent low.
You see only the dust of the streets
and the feet of those who
step over you and around you
and on you.

Oh woman, dear bent-low woman,
God has brought you to this place …
to this synagogue … to this person
who is teaching freedom from bondage.
On this day … yes, on this very Sabbath day
you will be set free
and will stand tall once more.

You must sense this hope, don’t you?
You made such a great effort to come.
You risked being turned away by the leaders
as being one so nameless that
you would be in the way …
a mere nuisance in their day.
But you have come to this place.
Dear woman, is this a last hope for you?

He has called you … not by name, but “Woman”.
Even before his touch,
even before you might stand tall,
he proclaims that those things
that had kept your head low
and your back so bent
be gone forever.

Did you hear his words, dear woman?
SET FREE!
Set free from all of the bent-down bondage!
His eyes are the first eyes
that you have seen in so long.
How can you not respond
in the way that you do!
Standing straight … Praising God!

Oh woman, dear nameless woman,
Have you heard his name for you?
"Daughter of Abraham".
Your great faith has given you a name
and this man whose own name is Jesus
has seen your faith,
even in your crippled posture.
What a beautiful name you have!

anna