"In Remembrance of Crumbs"

(Matthew 15:21-28 ... life and lectionary scriptures come together)

“In remembrance”,
 the young minister said
as he pointed to a prepared table.
Whispers could be heard.
“Christ’s body … Christ’s blood”.
Over and over again -
“Christ’s body … Christ’s blood”.
The words ended only
 when all had been fed.

The crumbs of the ripped-apart loaves
had fallen at his feet.
When all had been served,
the minister, a guest in the church,
bent down to pick up one crumb.
“Tidy”, I thought.
“He is so tidy.”

The service soon ended.
While all others were shaking hands
and discussing where to meet
for Sunday lunch,
the minister, this guest in our ‘house’,
fell to his hands and knees
and began to pick up crumbs.
One at a time - crumb after crumb …
finally brushing them
with one hand
into a small pile of crumbs.

I whispered to him,
“You shouldn’t do that.
I will clean the crumbs
from the carpet.”
He looked at me,
still on his hands and knees,
and said …
“I have been made worthy
to receive these crumbs.
I do this in remembrance.”

And then with a smile, he whispered,
“Would you care to join me?”
And so, that morning
I found myself on my knees,
picking up crumbs,
brushing them into a small pile.
This, too, I did ‘in remembrance’
of the day when I said,
“Lord, help me” …
the day that the
crumbs of Grace
filled me with
Holy Nourishment.

"An Angel in Our Midst" (8-14-17)

I walked into the tea room at the hospital earlier this evening, wanting only a sandwich and iced tea. The person who took my order said, “Have a seat (pointing to the dining area, such as it is). Your sandwich will be ready in a minute or two.”

I sat down at one of the small tables. A man was sitting at a table near mine. I got up to throw away an empty packet of lemon juice and noticed his Bible. I touched it and said, “It’s a beautiful thing to see a well-loved Bible.” He looked at me but didn’t offer a smile in return. I sat down at my table once more.

What I didn’t know was that an angel strolled into the small tea room with a sandwich and drink in his hand, making the head count to only the three of us in the room. Mind you, I do not call him an angel carelessly or in a cavalier manner. The angel took on the appearance of a tall black man with graying hair. He sat down in the far corner as if he might have been sent as an observer.

The man with the well-loved Bible turned to me and said, “Do you have someone in the hospital?” I told him about Mom … about the stroke … about her progress each day. I heard a soft, “Amen” from the corner of the room and then a “Praise God” (again, almost a whisper). I glanced his way. The angel had a face that seemed to glow and a smile that was all-knowing.

I asked the man with the Bible if he had someone in the hospital. “Yes, my wife. We have just been told that she has cancer.” It was all too fresh of a wound for him. I asked her name as well as his. It seemed right to speak to him, using their names. His wife was to start treatments the next morning. I told him that my mother had gone through cancer surgery, chemo and radiation in 2013 and shared what we had learned during that time. It wasn’t a lecture. It was just sharing. The man’s heart had been split-opened by the news his wife had just received and so he listened to all of the moments of hope that I shared with him in the midst of what would most certainly be very hard times ahead for his wife.

Again, the angel in the corner praised God in his baritone whisper in such a way that the man and I both looked his way. The angel declared that Mom had been blessed to be a blessing to others. And then he raised his big hands out with palms up and said, “The LORD has you all in the palm of his hand. The LORD is loving and faithful and is ever-present in your lives. Trust in God and be at peace.”

As the man and I stood up to leave, I stopped and turned to look at the angel. He had that same all-knowing smile on his face. He looked into my eyes and ever-so-slowly, ever-so-slightly nodded his head as he smiled.

I could have stayed in the tea room for another hour, sipping my iced tea, sitting in his presence and basking in the light that he had brought into a darkness.

"For Everything, There is a Season..."

There are several things that I think should be a given in life. One is that workplaces should offer one paid “sleep day” a year.

Another is that we should never think that we are too busy to stop and appreciate the small things that are around us. A dandelion standing alone in a field of violets in my Aunt Janie’s yard has taught me to look at everyone as beautiful (there isn't a weed among us). A feather surrounded by dry fallen leaves on a sidewalk reminded me yesterday that there is change both in the bird and in the season.
On my very routine weekday drive to work in High Point, NC this past week, I passed by a beautiful, blooming crepe myrtle with First Presbyterian’s tower/steeple rising above it and the early sunlight shining on both steeple and tree so perfectly that I was convinced that they were God-lit just for me. And yet, the other crepe myrtles are losing their blossoms and I also know that heavy rains or a strong wind or passing time will do the same to this beautiful tree as well. The sunlight will, no doubt, take a different path as the days progress. But for now, in this moment in time, the composition of crepe myrtle and tower/steeple and morning light is second to none in its stunning beauty. “For everything, there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven …”

O God, give us eyes and hearts to see all that you would have us see. Whisper your lessons to us. Amen

"Why, This Gathering Place?" (Pentecost ponderings)

In the one place,

they waited

and prayed

and with

hushed voices,

wondered

why.

Why,

this gathering place?

  

They remembered

the words,“Wait.

Gather together and wait.”

That is what

they had come

together to do -

WAIT.

What was

keeping them

together?

Memories

and murmurs

and questions

filled the room

while waiting 

and Waiting

and WAITING.

They heard

the words

from the One

whose death

and now presence

had moved them

from deepest grief

to bewildering joy -

“Believe in God,

believe also in me.”

It was

slowly becoming

more about

the confidence

in the

continued journey

with him

than the

destination.

Why were they

still in this place?

Why were they waiting?

The puzzle pieces

were falling

into place.

“Whoever has seen me

has seen the Father.”

All that they

had heard 

while with him

became

infallible promises.

WHOOSH!

Their questions

were suddenly answered 

in ways that were

unimaginable to them. 

The Holy Spirit

rested upon them

as tongues of fire.

They were not consumed

but their lives would be

consumed forever.

The Advocate 

made a 

forever-dwelling-place

within each one 

gathered in this place.

HOLY GROUND

REMOVE YOUR SANDALS!

The door is now opened!

The wait is now over!

“Go and tell others!”

Yes, let us all go and tell others!

Ascension Day (Lord, Lead the Way)

She began her day with a simple prayer … “Lord, lead the way.” 

This was Ascension Day. She found herself looking to the heavens, longing to see a glimpse of the ascended Christ. She left her house to help those who had suffered damages from the night’s storms. She joined others, picking up fallen branches and sweeping away debris. She witnessed good ‘country folk’, calming fears and loving neighbors. There was no longer any need to look to the heavens on this Ascension Day for she saw Christ moving about, among them … with an armful of fallen branches and love overflowing.

“Lord, lead the way.”

"The Lord IS My Shepherd" (Testimony / Psalm 23)

The sanctuary is the place that I call the holiest of my holy grounds.  It is the sanctuary of my childhood, my youth and of my life now.  My favorite of the stained glass windows is the smallest one of all.  The Good Shepherd looks over the shoulders of those who enter through the side entrance and is a gentle reminder to those who leave by the same door.  I have glanced its way, every Sunday, from early childhood until now for many different reasons in the different times of my life.  As a very young child, I would strain to see the Good Shepherd window when I entered the sanctuary for the hour of worship.  I would wait for the hour to end and usually curl up as tightly as I possibly could in the corner of the pew to stare at this Good Shepherd holding a little lamb.  As a 5-year-old , I wanted so much to be the little lamb.  Safe, secure, sought after and obviously beloved.  And so, Sunday after Sunday, I would look the way of the Good Shepherd window and wish that the place in his arms was for me.  The years of my youth found me sitting in a pew with the Good Shepherd to my back because, truth be known, I really didn’t want to be in church.  But he was there.  Behind me.  Always there, giving me that “sense” that we all seem to have when someone is standing too closely behind.  Even with the Good Shepherd to my back, I sensed his presence.  I turned and looked … and then turned back.  Yet, he remained. Patiently and persistently, he remained in my life. I assumed that if I didn’t look the Good Shepherd’s way, he wouldn’t notice me.  I continued to sit with my back to the window and with the Good Shepherd behind me for a very long time.  My assumptions proved wrong.  This gentle Good Shepherd of my childhood hopes became persistent and relentless as he sought to retrieve me.

On the day that I gave my life to Christ, I was strangely pulled back into this very sanctuary, alone in the darkness that the rains that day brought with them.  I once again sat in the pew of my childhood and once again looked the way of the Good Shepherd window.  This time I saw who he was and is. The Lord is my Shepherd!  He was the Shepherd not only of “my” window, but of my life.  He was the Shepherd who had giggled with me and wept with me and for me in my childhood.  He was the Shepherd who waited for me and was ever-present even in the apathy of my youth.  He was the Shepherd who sought me into my adulthood.

Eleven years after that day in the sanctuary, I was asked to offer the morning’s message at both the early service and our later service.  All went well in the chapel.  As the later service began there was a moment when I stood in the pulpit in silence.  I looked directly in front of me at the pew of my childhood and the beginning of my life as a Christ-follower.  I glanced to the left and looked at the stained glass window of the Good Shepherd.  The promises of my Lord as my Shepherd were shown to me in such a way that I knew that they would never be taken from me.  There was this wonderful moment when all things came full circle.  I offered the morning’s message.  After the service, Rev. Jason Harvey said, “Anna, the service in the chapel was good.  This service was just as good, but different.  I can’t put my finger on why it was different, but it was.”  I knew why.  In that moment of silence from the pulpit, I saw the very nature of God.  I clearly felt his never-failing love for me.  I was reminded with great surety that “goodness and mercy” will follow me.  And I knew with all certainty that this “gentle” Shepherd had never, ever given up on gathering this lamb into his arms.  Oh, what a holy place this sanctuary was for me that day and continues to be.

The hope of my childhood memories is the certainty of my adulthood and the delight of my future.  “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Yes, this sanctuary is my holy ground as well as others’ holy ground.  Such holiness doesn’t come to us in the warmth of the wood that surrounds us or in the colors and messages that stream from the beautiful stained glass windows.  We are standing on holy ground only because of the Presence of God.

"A ROAD TO A MESS"

Lectionary scriptures for this week for many churches include the story of the "road to Emmaus" as found in LUKE 24:13-35. It reminded me of something that I witnessed so very long ago.

A ROAD TO A MESS

That particular Sunday morning happened to be one of those mornings when things just clicked for me. The sun was shining through the stained glass windows in the empty sanctuary. For reasons I can’t remember, I decided to spend some quiet prayer time in the sanctuary alone. The timing was during Sunday school classes and well before our worship service. I sat on a pew near the back - near the large “Road to Emmaus” stained glass window.

Suddenly, in the middle of this time of prayer that was colored by the sun shining through the stained glass, the inner doors to the sanctuary opened and a stream of 3-to-5 year olds walked in with their Sunday school teacher. “Shhh,” whispered the teacher. They quietly headed to the huge stained glass window near me – the one that depicted Jesus and the men on the road to Emmaus. Their teacher had read them the story and now they were looking at the beautiful window as their illustration.

The first question from the teacher was, “What are the men wearing?” “Dresses,” they shouted. I had to smile (OK, so the robes do look a little like dresses). The teacher asked, “Where are they?” All but one shouted, “They are on the road to Emmaus!” That one, a sweet little boy standing closest to me said, “They are on the road to a mess.” Out of the mouths of babes!
Thank you, God, (and this little boy) for reminding us that there are times when we do indeed find ourselves on the "road to a mess.” We mumble through “Christ has died” and shout “Christ is risen” and “Christ will come again!” And yet, like those on the road to Emmaus, this present-tense faith, at times, turns a little past-tense. May we grow to recognize our Risen Lord's voice as he walks with us ... even on the messiest of roads.