"Listening with the Heart"

"Learning to listen with the heart moves us

from the role of observers

and enables us to become participants with the Creator

in a world full of grace and possibility."

(Source: ‘Heart Whispers’ / Elizabeth Canham)

I have missed my Tuesday lunches at the local cafeteria … those lunches where I curl up in a booth and read as I eat. The holidays seemed to have disrupted my schedule, before and after Christmas, but now I’m back into a routine.

It didn’t take long for me to switch from reading to pretending to read yesterday. A daughter and her elderly father were eating in a booth nearby. I now know of her husband’s dreams for his business. “He doesn’t want a bigger place, Daddy, he just wants new buildings like he has now. But he knows that will never happen so we’ll just be happy with what we have.” After a few minutes, I knew that these cold and rainy days that we are experiencing were bringing a little bit of depression to her and causing her daddy’s bones ache. I overheard the woman lamenting over a brother she never sees and I listened as her daddy told of his best friend suffering with kidney stones. I knew that the daddy couldn’t hear well for there was repeating of words. She asked if he felt well enough to see the new grandbaby and he said, “No, not today.” “Maybe Sunday after church,” she said hopefully. “Maybe … maybe,” he softly replied.

Yesterday at lunch, I learned this … that in her rainy-day blues and his aching bones … in her sadness for her husband’s lost dreams and in the longing for a brother who had distanced himself for some reason … with the daddy’s concern for his friend in pain and her concern for her daddy’s health … with a newborn waiting to be held by her granddaddy and a granddaddy wanting to hold her … with the often misunderstanding of words because of the softness of a daughter’s voice and the difficulty of her daddy’s hearing, STILL when the server asked how they were doing, they both said, “Fine, we are just fine” without a second thought.

I walked away from my lunch yesterday hoping for the sun to shine soon, not necessarily for me, but for her. I hoped for bones to ache less and a kidney stone to pass. I hoped for the day when a granddaddy feels well enough to hold a newborn granddaughter and the moment when the little one smiles in her sleep while nestled safely in the arms of her granddaddy. I hoped for far-off dreams to be realized. Most of all, I walked away praying for a time when the words “Fine, we are just fine” means more than words said to a server.

Yes, learning to listen with the heart moves us from the role of observers and enables us to become participants with the Creator in a world full of grace and possibility.

 

"Take Me Into a New Year"

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not     cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit." (Psalm 51:10-12) 

 

I opened my fresh, clean journal this morning and found something not-so-fresh-and-clean on the first page. I had long forgotten that on Ash Wednesday, 2012, I removed the ashes from my forehead with my index finger and placed the ashen cross on this first page. The brand new journal was closed on that evening so many months ago. Certainly by the end of the year, I would become somewhat 'sooty' and the new year would bring with it a great desire for newness. It seems that when opening a new journal on a new year and being startled by such a reminder as an ashen cross, the prayers from Psalm 51:10-12 "Create in me a clean heart, O God....." should be a starting place for 2013 ... both prayed and written just below this smudge of a cross.

I realize that the church year began earlier, but still there seems to be a desire within all of us to begin fresh, to do better, to love more, to pastor with more compassion, to read God's Word with fresh eyes and heart and to be Christ's hands, feet, heart and voice in new ways. That is my prayer for you in 2013 ... and for me as well.

And so, as I remember you all in my prayers this morning, I will share a prayer that fell into my e-mail yesterday. I really do love the first words ... "TAKE ME INTO A NEW YEAR, Gracious God." It asks us to reach out and grasp God tightly in all of the newness, whatever that newness might be.

For you all ... Blessings, strength, courage, God's peace, endurance, faithfulness and love in 2013...

(Prayer)

TAKE ME INTO A NEW YEAR, Gracious God. Help me to continue looking for meaning, seeking peace, praying for light, dancing for joy, working for justice, and singing your praise. I go into the new year filled with expectations, a touch of worry, and a bundle of hope. I do not journey into the new year alone but with you as my guide, with a commitment to my disciplines, with a community of family, friends, and faith. Take me into the new year, Creator of beauty and wonder. Bless me with the companionship of Jesus, and gift me with the guidance and power of the Spirit. Amen.

(prayer by Larry James Peacock from 'Openings: A Daybook of Saints, Psalms, and Prayer')

"A Heap of Love"

In 1989, I gave my four remaining great aunts spiral notebooks, pens and a list of questions.  I wanted to know of their childhood years, their parents and their grandparents.  Please tell me what they were like. What did their home look like? Walk me through it, please.  What were their parents’ favorite Scriptures and hymns (and theirs as well).  I asked about their Christmas memories at ‘the homeplace’ out in the country.  It has been years since I read what my great aunts wrote.  Early this morning, by the light of the Christmas tree, I curled up on the sofa and read my Aunt Cecile’s memories of Christmas.  All of my great aunts have now passed away but in the scribbled words found in a notebook from someone who grew up with so very little, I received what I most needed to receive this morning … a reminder that LOVE is more important than anything else in this world.

 (Aunt Cecile’s words) …

 

"You should have seen our decorations.  Garland and Espie and I (and at times Beulah, your grandmommy) would go to the woods and hunt running cedar that could be draped over our windows and on our pretty tree we’d find.  Mother would pop and string popcorn and drape it all over the tree.  We used holiday pieces off of trees that had red berries on them.  We would try and help Mother place all of this where it would look the prettiest.  There was plenty of room for presents under our tree but we did not find many there.  Maybe some parched peanuts, some molasses candy that she would wrap and put in the bag with the peanuts.  Just something like that.  No gifts at all.  But with all of that effort there was A HEAP OF LOVE."

(Back to me … I will take some parched peanuts, some molasses candy and A HEAP OF LOVE any day)

 

 

"A Bleak Midwinter Day in Advent"

 

(The day after the great tragedy at Shady Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT)

 

On this day, when we all are grieving with grieving parents and holding confused, scared and saddened children in our prayers ... when we lament and cry out “How long, O Lord” .... when we we seek answers to such violence in this world, we hear words that God came (and comes) for such days as yesterday, for mornings such as this, for us all. Thanks to my friend, Thom Shuman, for hearing the whispers of God and for putting these God-given words together for us. Yes, in a bleak midwinter day in Advent, God comes.          anna

 

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.  Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. (Psalm 90:1-2)

Once again, we are reminded about the meaning of this bleak midwinter we call Advent. For God did not come to create a greeting card industry, nor so we could string lights on houses and trees. God did not become one of us so we might have office parties and give people things they don't really need. God was not born so songs could be written and sermons preached.

God came for such mornings as this, after the long night of anguished tossing and turning, with visions of horror dancing in our heads. God came to walk with us as we wander the streets of our hearts asking, 'how? why? when?'

God came to huddle with terrified children in closets where school supplies are stored, and to give teachers the strength not to show their worst fears. God came to cradle the wounded and the dying, so they would know they were not abandoned in that loneliest of moments.

God came to give the first responders the courage to walk into the unspeakable, willing to put themselves between danger and little children. God came to gather the parents and grandparents up into the divine lap of comfort and hope, even as their arms would no longer be able to embrace their child. God came to have that most compassionate heart broken as many times as ours are, to weep with us even when we have run out of tears, to stand next to us with the same look of horror and disbelief.

God came for mornings such as this, with the same haggard face, with the same questions, with the same anger, with the same sense of loss and hopelessness, but with deep wells of grace from which we can drink, with compassion which will never end, with comforting arms which will not grow weary, with hope which stretches from everlasting to everlasting.

God came, and is still with us.

© 2012 Thom M. Shuman

Thom

Thom M. Shuman
Interim Pastor
Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Cincinnati, OH
Associate Member, Iona Communitywww.lectionaryliturgies.blogspot.com
www.occasionalsightings.blogspot.com
www.prayersfortoday.blogspot.com

'Scripture is like a river,
broad and deep,
shallow enough here
for the lamb to go wading,
but deep enough there
for the elephant to swim.'
- - Gregory the Great (540-604)

"The Lamb in the Creche"

It was a conversation
overheard.
It wasn’t eavesdropping …
not really.

“Isn’t our church lovely,
decorated so beautifully
for Christmas?”
“Yes, it is.
And aren’t we glad
that the three-legged lamb
is no longer
in the creche’ in the narthex?
Aren’t we glad
that it has been retired?”

Tears came to my eyes
in my eavesdropping.
Isn’t it for those of us
who are lame in some way …
who are pushed back
as ‘imperfect’,
who limp to the manger,
weary in body
and spirit,
who hobble toward Bethlehem
heavy-laden with
injuries inflicted
by others …
Isn’t it for those of us
‘three-legged lambs’
that the Christ-child came?

I begged …
“Put the little lamb back.”

©2012 anna murdock

"A Slice of Life"

(Thinking of All Saint's Day and realizing that there are saints among us ... even sitting at the table beside of me in an empty dining room!)

Tuesday lunches for me are different from all other days. I have learned to eat lunch by myself at the neighborhood cafeteria (not at all easy for me to do). It has become a wonderful routine actually. Tuesdays, I hope to find grilled salmon that is OK ('OK' as in great for an average neighborhood restaurant but not the same as a fine-dining restaurant) and chopped slaw that is a free side item (you can’t beat ‘free’). Sweet iced tea is a must, of course. I am usually at this cafeteria minutes after it opens for lunch so 'my' booth next to the far wall is always waiting for me. My Kindle e-reader comes out of my pocketbook and I have a glorious 45 minutes of quiet ... curled up in the corner of the booth ... just me, my book and a decent lunch.

This past Tuesday was much like all other Tuesdays. I held the door open for three men who had just climbed out of their work truck. They startled me with their polite and very Southern "Thank you, ma'am." As we moved through the cafeteria line together, the server asked one of the men a question that he didn't quite understand. "Do you want your roast beef au jus, Sweetie?" His reply was, "What?" She asked the question once more ... again ending with "Sweetie." Again he ask, "What?" Finally, she pointed to the roast beef juice and said, "That!" No, he didn't want any. She didn't make fun of him and he wasn't embarrassed. Both seemed to be good responses.

I found my way to 'my' booth and settled into the corner to read. The three men emptied their trays at the table beside of me. Now WHY did they do that? The entire dining room was empty. They could have chosen any place other than THAT table. They were too close to my little sanctuary to suit me! They were messing with my Tuesday lunch. My initial thoughts were that these three men would become loud in their talking, perhaps even laughing (how dare they? hehehe) and distract me as I tried to read.

They DID distract me. They were quiet in their conversations. They spoke sweetly and respectfully to the elderly lady who came to the table to fill their glasses of iced tea. They talked among themselves of the older man they had helped with much-needed home repairs. One told the others of his love for his wife and that opened the conversation for the other two men to tell of their love for their own wives. The conversations moved to their great dogs. I heard one say, "He's the best dog I have ever had." Another said, "When I put my ladder up against a house, he tries to climb up with me." The third admitted that he couldn't think of ever being without his dog. I smiled as I listened to three men speaking of love for both their wives and dogs. Frankly, I don't think that the wives or dogs would be offended at being a part of the same conversation.

One shared the 'au jus' incident with the others and giggled at himself for not knowing what it meant. The others didn't laugh at him but with him. The elderly woman, her shoulders bent low, stopped by the table once more to refill their iced tea. One of the men took a moment to chat with her ... to ask “How is life treating you?” She was honest and told him. She is struggling in many ways. They listened carefully and with compassion.

The men left before I finished my lunch but not before having one last conversation among themselves. "Why don't we leave her a good tip." As I passed by the empty table, I noticed that they had left $20 on the table for her. Oh, why did I have to go back to work? I wish I could have stayed in 'my' booth to watch as she found the generous tip.

As I think back on past Tuesdays when people have sat too close to me in an empty dining room, I am beginning to see little slices of life ... sacred moments. Two Tuesdays ago, there was a man who struggled to speak. There was not one word that I understood yet his wife clung to every word of his. Another Tuesday, there were two people who had come back home to gather with family for a funeral. Yet another Tuesday, two little girls, a mother and a grandmother met for lunch. No one from that table was overlooked in their conversation. Everyone's thoughts and stories were important. Still another Tuesday, a grandfather treated his young granddaughter to lunch. She was filled with words. He stopped her excitement only to have a blessing, holding her hands as he prayed.

Each Tuesday lunch has brought with it a different slice of life ... a sacred moment. I will still seek out 'my' booth but hope for such blessed moments in the Tuesdays to come ... hope that a saint or two might sit so close to me that I might hear their conversations.

anna

"You Are What You Eat"

(Thoughts that flowed from a difficult lectionary Scripture, John 6:51-58, and a mood to write!)

The brass tray was held briefly in front of the little girl and 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 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 knows that these words can be too much for children to hear. She smiles as she remembers the words of her mother, “You are what you eat.” And with that, she rips off a chunk of bread and soaks it in the juice and becomes as messy as a child can 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. It can be too hard for some and too routine for others, but her silent prayer is that she might become more of what she has just eaten, even if the thoughts of what we are asked to eat are, at times, hard to digest.