"The Kingdom of God is Like ..."

(Please read Mark 4:26-34)


The little boy
with a missing front tooth
and the blackest of black hair
(that was quite uncontrollable)
said to his mother,
“I need a few seeds
and some wet paper towels.”

The mother called
neighbor and relatives and friends
and found seeds.
They didn’t know what kind
and they hoped
that they weren’t too old
to sprout
(although they looked too old).

The little boy
wet the paper towels
and sandwiched
the tiny, begged-for seeds
between them …
and then he went to bed.

The next morning,
the little boy with ‘bed-head’
stumbled and yawned
his way to the seeds
that he so carefully
tucked into their own ‘bed’
of soggy paper towels
just before their bedtime
and his, the night before.

The child’s mother saw
his disappointment
and noticed the worry lines
on his brow.
In a soft voice, she said,
“You have done what you are to do.
That is enough, my beloved child.
The seed will sprout and grow.”

And so, he did
as the one who loved him most
had asked of him …
He would sleep and rise …
night and day.
He would wait
and trust
and hope
and allow
for a great mystery
that would sprout
from a child’s homework
and a little water.

“What is this all about?”
the little boy with unruly hair
and a missing-tooth-smile asked.
“It is such a mystery to me,
this little sprout,”
he exclaimed one morning.

As he looked for answers,
the beloved child heard words
from the one who loved him
more than life itself.
“The kingdom of God is like ….”

"In Darkness and Silence"

I awoke very early this morning,
for no apparent reason.
Like a child, I slipped out of bed,
carrying my pillow
and dragging my blanket behind me
into the dark, dark living room.

I sat,
hugging my pillow,
my blanket covering me,
my toes cold.
In this darkness
where there was not one piece of light
and in the silence,
where strangely not one bird was singing.
I wondered if this is what it feels like
to be empty of all worship.

Darkness and silence.
A nothingness.
Ah, but what is that I hear?
Is it a bird’s song?
A single bird, gloriously singing?
And is that a small bit of light
piercing the darkness of predawn?
Now, oh my, the birds are singing
in full chorus!

Even in darkness and silence,
there is the promise of worship
waiting to sing …
waiting for us to see
in yet another day
that God has indeed come into our lives!

And it was night …
and it was morning ..
and it is good!

"Reminders on this Good Friday"

The weather is like it always is on Good Friday ... or so says my mother. "There will be moments in this day when the clouds roll in. There will be dreariness and rain." I have heard this since my early childhood years and have grown to look toward the skies on Good Friday. I think that I shall do this every Good Friday for as long as I live. Yes, it is cold and rainy and dreary this morning. I need to remind myself ... "It's Friday, but Sunday is coming. It's Friday, but Sunday is coming. It's Friday, but Sunday is coming." That is our faith, my friends ... "It's Friday, but Sunday is coming!"

May you not weep alone on this Good Friday.  May God hold you steady at the foot of the cross.

Anything But Routine

Sunday, we left our palm branches
on the pews
and stopped shouting "Hosanna!".

Monday was just that ...
... a Monday with its same old routines.

Yesterday, people milled about
as if this week would prove
to be like last week.
No different.

But this week IS different ....
An upper room is being prepared.
A betrayal is in the final stages of planning.
Intimate prayers will soon be heard.
A command to 'remember' will be demonstrated.
Feet will be washed by the Servant.
Hands will be washed by one in power ...
washed to remove responsibility.
Disciples will fall asleep as Jesus prays.

Soon, there will be a kiss -
a kiss that will ultimately move us
to the foot of the cross
and finally to the victory
of an empty tomb.

This week is anything but routine.

O God, help us to walk together through this week as faithful, wide-awake disciples. Amen.

"A Nicodemus Moment"

(John 3:14-21)


She sat in a darkened sanctuary
  expecting little
  yet hoping for much.
She sat in a darkened sanctuary
  alone …
and then Light walked in,
  uninvited and unannounced,
  whispering, “For God so loves you….”

Her heart beat faster
  as she heard that
God had loved her in her ‘befores’ …
… before she asked for this Love,
… before she admitted to
       needing this Love,
… before she sought to
       understand such a Love,
… before she realized that she
       wanted this Gift of Love.

"Here I Am, Such as I Am"

(Ash Wednesday)

Here I am, such as I am ...
Imperfect.
Weak.
Broken.
In need of forgiveness.
In need of your Presence.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Confessing.
Repentant.
Hopeful.
Listening.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Willing to be melted
and molded.
Wanting a newly created
pure heart.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Branded with a mark...
your unmistakable mark.

Lead me, O God,
walk with me
in these 40 days....
walk with me always.

Amen.

"This is our Tomorrow"

(Thoughts on the day before Ash Wednesday)

Neglected,
it rests on the corner,
visible to all,
yet ignored by most …
for it has been empty
far too long.

This morning,
this day before
Ash Wednesday,
the front of the building
has been painted
a brilliant white
and the windows
on each side
of the entrance door
are now adorned
with new, royal blue awnings.

Yet the “For Sale” sign
is still posted,
weather-worn
from the years
of begging
and pleading
for someone to look…
just look and consider
the property’s value.

If one dares
to look closer,
beyond the brilliant white paint
and the royal blue awnings,
the other sides
of the building can be seen.

Three other sides
are a dingy beige
with peeling paint
and windows have been broken
by those who think nothing
of doing damage
to something that is not theirs.

The flat roof
can no longer withstand
the weight of
years of debris
or torrential rains
that only accumulate
and puddle
in its flatness.

The property is
overgrown with weeds
and littered by those things
that others have so carelessly
and thoughtlessly
thrown its way.

What are we to think
of an appealing façade
of fresh paint
and new awnings?
What are we to think
of neglect
and damage …
of brokenness
and litter …
of weeds
and debris
and puddles?

Perhaps this is exactly
what we will bring with us
tomorrow …
on this day we call
Ash Wednesday.
We bring with us
freshly painted facades
and new awnings,
hoping beyond hope
that those around us
will not see the
neglect and damage,
the brokenness and litter,
the weeds and shattered hearts.

The black soot
marks the façade
with a cross …
and the ash
falls onto the awning.
The difficult admission
that there are
other sides to be seen
are whispered in prayer
and are heard by the One
who has clearly seen
all four sides
of each of us.

This is our tomorrow.

Holy God,
we come to you
in need of repair …
not in part,
but throughout
our whole being.

Create in us
a newness in our days,
a wholeness and healing through you,
a purpose in your kingdom,
hope in your love
and a pure heart before you.

Amen.