OH, TO BE AN OXYMORON

Good Samaritan.

I searched 

and the word,

‘oxymoron’

doesn’t appear

in my Bible.

Good Samaritan.

It’s much like 

jumbo shrimp

or freezer burn,

you know.

The two words

don’t seem to go together

for we read

that there was nothing

good about a Samaritan.

But maybe, just maybe

Jesus asks us to be

oxymorons, 

described in the truth

of two words,

joined together

in ways that are

puzzling

to the world

around us.

O God …

help me to be 

an oxymoron.

One who looks

into someone's eyes ...

and heart ...

and pain ...

and sets aside

the need to know

what others think.

Help me, O God,

to be an oxymoron.

A generous giver.

A compassionate Christian.

A loving neighbor.

A “good Samaritan".

May I puzzle the world

around me

and, like any good oxymoron,

help others see 

your Truth

and Love

in surprising ways.

Oh, God, help me to be an oxymoron.

"I Loved You First"

It was Annual Conference in the Western NC Conference last week.  It's the one Sunday in the year that I offer the Sunday's message. I chose the sermon title from words that Mom began to say to us in her last months … “I Loved You First”. My brother said, “Anna, please don’t ask me to be there. I just can’t with that sermon title.” I was OK with that.

Then I found out that the first hymn would be “Blessed Assurance”. I sang that to Mom the Saturday before she passed away. Topping that was the song that our guest soloist would be singing .. “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”. That was the first song that Mom sang to my brother when he was born. I shared the song selections with him. He yelled (well, as much as one can "yell" in a text), “How are YOU going to get through the service?” I told him that I would be OK. He chose to worship in Charlotte at Myers Park UMC instead.

I found out that the liturgist for the morning was Duncan McCall (who was a pallbearer at Mom’s service, I might add). I once again texted my brother and said, “You won’t believe this ….” His response was, in all seriousness, “Anna, YOU need to call in sick.”

No, I didn’t call in sick. And I made it through the hour. The fullness of voices coming from visitors and our congregation that morning wrapped me up in the words of “Blessed Assurance.” The soloist sang “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” in a way that was far beyond a mom-rendition. And the liturgist read the scriptures with the confidence of Paul’s words.

And no, I didn’t select the music or choose the liturgist. It was an amazing morning of worship … pretty much God-planned, don’t you think?

“Filled with His goodness, lost in His love …. This is my story, this is my song!”

"Do This in Remembrance ..." (Maundy Thursday / Holy Week)

(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.)

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 of them 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.

PREPARATION

Days before

my mother passed away,

I gave her a simple manicure …

I gently rubbed lotion 

on her hands

and feet 

and face …

I brushed her hair

and placed a hint of color

on her lips.

As I look back on that morning,

I see that it was 

Preparation.

She reached out 

for my hand.

I took it and began to slowly sing

“Blessed Assurance.”

Without a sound,

she mouthed the words

as I sang; 

she squeezed my hand

in time to the music.

I proclaimed with joy, 

“We are singing a duet!”

As I look back on that morning,

I see that it was

Preparation.

Preparation for her duet

with Another …

and my duet 

with Another

as well.

Blessed Assurance.

Yes, as I look back on that morning,

I see that it was all

Preparation.

(My mother, Betty Lazenby Murdock, passed away on 4-4-19)

"It's a Forever Thing ... This Love of God for You"

There is really no place to look in the Chapel of the Prodigal at Montreat, NC 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 says, “look this way… this is a forever thing.” The pigments have been absorbed into the plaster. The fresco has become the wall. For as long as the wall of this altar stands, the message of the Scriptures of the return of the prodigal is embedded in the plaster and will forever be seen.

This is truly a beautiful work of art by a man who may or may not have heard “this is a forever thing” whispered as he sketched and painted. But in his detail, others have heard the words of this parable.

It is a mere portion of what the parable is about, for sure. But it is a “forever thing”, this longing by a parent for the return of a wayward child. The father watched for his son with the sharp, keen eyes of love. He watched for him with such intensity that he saw his beloved son while he was still a long way off. And 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 son returning to him that he ran toward him, leaving his robe behind. It would have been a disgrace in itself for a father to run, much less run to a son who had all but wished his father dead in his desire for the share of his inheritance.

“It is a forever thing”, God whispers to us. “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 confess your sins, I will smother you with kisses of forgiveness. It is a forever thing, this love I have for you.”

Human hands sketched the father holding the weak and filthy son. Human hands painted onto the wet plaster the figures of the father and son collapsed in the dust of the road…the father’s arms wrapped around his son…the son’s fingers clinging to the thumb of his father. But it is God who reaches out for us all as we turn around and return to him.

Turning around is part of our Lenten journey. So, this day, why don't we turn around from all that separates us from God and truly hear God say, "It's a forever thing, this love of mine for you."

"Stepping Out into Lent"

It is my wilderness …

a place to which I am being led.

These are 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 listen 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.

"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.

Amen.