Lenten Practice or New Year's Resolution?

In case you've missed it, Lent begins today. The six weeks leading up to Easter are meant to be a time of penitence, reflection, prayer, fasting, and alms-giving. When baptisms only happened on Easter, Lent was the time for almost-Christians to prepare for the sacrament. Luther didn't really like Lent much, I don't think, which could be why practicing Lent has until quite recently been mostly for Catholics. But now the Protestants are getting into it, and whether it's because of my profession and related circles of friends or evidence of a growing trend, Lent seems to be everywhere. My Facebook feed is filled with people sharing what they're "giving up" for Lent, including those saying good-bye and signing off Facebook for the next 40-46 days (depending on how they're counting Lent).

Last Sunday I preached this sermon, in which I posited that Jesus telling us to take up our cross to follow him was a way of saying "It's not all about you." As it turns out, that same day, a colleague of mine posted this on her blog, with a similar theme.

Maybe we've both been seeing the same thing. See, I'm noticing (and I fully admit I'm guilty of it myself) that Lenten practices are starting to sound a whole lot like New Year's resolutions. I'm seeing very little fasting from something people enjoy for the sole sake of fasting (ie enduring a little deprivation) or even fasting to give way to something more spiritual. Instead, people are doing things they think they SHOULD be doing, or giving up things that have become too important or distracting in their lives, like not checking the phone after a certain time of night or eating healthy or reading before watching TV. Many, it seems to me, hope to continue these practices after Lent; it's as if they're hoping the 40 days provide the discipline enough to make a practice a habit.

As I said, I'm guilty as anyone else. Past Lenten practices have included daily prayer time (stuck for a while, now still a struggle), giving up the word "should," giving up television, saying grace before eating or drinking (I still forget), giving a small amount of money each day to a charity, and doing a carbon fast in which I analyzed my carbon footprint and tried to decrease it somehow (most suggestions I was already doing anyway). This year I considered a whole array of possibilities, most of which sounded remarkably close to what I thought about changing in my life 6 weeks ago, on New Year's Eve.

I think I've settled on something, but am still not sure. It's something that does involve reflection and prayer, and an attempt to repent and change a way of being which I believe blocks part of God's call on my life. But I'm not confident it's not just a delayed New Year's resolution. Tonight in our Ash Wednesday service, I'll be opening up space for silence and prayer inviting those gathered to ask God to show us how we might best experience this Lenten season. I'll be paying attention, waiting for God's answer. Somehow, I bet the words of Isaiah 58 will ring in my ears.

⁵Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to theLord? ⁶Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? ⁷Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

May God grant each of us a sense of how She would wish us to experience Lent this year, which may have nothing to do with our own desires for self-improvement.

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Razzle Dazzle: Sermon On Matthew 17:1-9

Here is the sermon I preached yesterday, Transfiguration Sunday 2011. It was well-received by the congregation. If I can figure out how to create a "podcast" of the audio recording, I will post that as well. If I can get the video recording, I'll also post that. But for now, here's the transcript!

Let us pray. Gracious God, in all that we say and do, may the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

The mountain. The dazzling white clothes. The appearance of Moses and Elijah. Peter’s misguided offer to build three dwelling places. The voice from the sky. For those of you who have been attending church for at least a few years, this story is probably starting to become pretty familiar. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration on the cusp of his journey to Jerusalem and the events that will ultimately lead to his death appears every year on the Sunday before Lent begins. In our church, the texts for each Sunday are chosen following the Revised Common Lectionary. It’s a three-year cycle through the Scriptures and generally each Sunday there is scheduled a reading from the Old Testament, a Psalm, a reading from the Epistles—which are the letters in the New Testament—and a selection from one of the four Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. John is kind of the oddball Gospel, so each year—labeled A, B, or C—works through a good chunk of one of the other three, which are called the Synoptic Gospels, and they include many of the same stories. This year, year A, which began with Advent, we’re working our way through Matthew. Now, in our worship services, we usually only read two pieces of scripture, so it’s possible that even if you’ve been coming to this church for quite a few years, you haven’t heard this text read every time, if the preacher hasn’t chosen it from the four scheduled texts. But it is scheduled, every year—it’s one of the stories that is included in all three of the Synoptic Gospels, so depending on the lectionary, we read either Mark’s, Matthew’s, or Luke’s version, which all vary slightly from each other, but basically share the same core story.

As a story that comes around every year, well, it can get a little stale. I’m still very early in my career, and I don’t preach every Sunday, so this hasn’t really happened to me yet, but at some point you can look at a text and wonder what else there is to preach. It’s all been said. In some ways, that’s always true. These texts are thousands of years old; odds are whatever spin or insight or interpretation we come up with, it’s been thought of before. But. God is still speaking, right? Of course, even that UCC catch phrase came from something someone else said: John Robinson, sending forth our spiritual forebears from Europe to the New World in 1620. He said, “There is yet more light and truth to break forth from God’s holy word.” God is still speaking.

Most sermons and studies and commentaries on the Transfiguration focus on one of two main areas. They’re either looking at what happened on the mountain—the transfiguration itself, Peter’s construction ideas, the voice from above, the appearance of the two men—or they focus on what happens after the mountain—where the Gospel story goes, or where we go and what we do after a “mountaintop” experience. All of these are perfectly valid, perfectly interesting, perfectly enriching to our spiritual lives and understanding of the Bible and how we read it today.

But. How do we get there? What comes before the razzle dazzle of transfiguration, before our journey down the mountain and back into life? How do we get up the mountain, how do we get to a point where we, too, can experience this overwhelmingly holy ecstatic moment that will leave us changed? The same way we get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

We know that we cannot pick up a cello one day and head to Carnegie Hall expecting to be able to play flawlessly. We know that we cannot pick up a French-English dictionary one morning and head to Paris that night speaking fluently. We know that we cannot reach for a basketball, computer, spatula, or car keys out of the blue and be able to hit the half-court shot, make a program do everything it’s supposed to, whip up a delicacy, or drive like Mario Andretti. We know that it takes time and effort and doing things over and over and over again to do it right and do it well. Yet, somehow we often think that the first time we talk to God in prayer or open a Bible, something big is supposed to happen. We want that mountaintop. We want to be transformed by God. And how many of us tried once and gave up? And then maybe a few months or years later, tried again. I’ll admit it. I’m often one of those people. I want to be able to pray to God and be transformed, have my whole outlook changed, be tempted by no sin. Poof! I want to open my Bible and see exactly the words I need to hear in that moment. Clear message from above! I want to walk into a worship space once and be profoundly and irrevocably moved by the Holy Spirit. Razzle dazzle me, God! Show me what you can do!

But. Praying is sometimes tedious, and my mind wanders. But. Reading the Bible is sometimes boring, and my mind wanders. But. Worship sometimes just doesn’t do it for me and I don’t like the hymns and the scripture readings are too complicated to understand and the sermon is ho-hum and why is this service so long, and my mind wanders.

Doesn’t work. No razzle dazzle transfiguration for me. I give up.

Why is it that we know that mastering pretty much anything else in our lives takes time, patience and lots and lots of practice? How many of us took piano lessons or had kids who took piano lessons and hated those boring exercises you start with? I wanted to sit down and play Für Elise! Teach me that! But good teachers know that there are steps to mastery, and that by doing over and over that which is sometimes tedious and boring and not at all what we’re hoping for, something happens.

I recently started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. This is a classic book based on a workshop that she taught on how to access our innate creativity. She brings a spiritual component to it, emphasizing that our Creator God, created us in God’s image, therefore created us as creators. It’s not just for artists. The book is set-up like a 12-week class with exercises and tasks to complete each week. The foundation of it all is the morning pages. Every morning, you are to get up and write—longhand, no computers—three pages. No matter the topic, three pages. Even if you complain about how you don’t want to write and have nothing to say over and over until you fill up three pages, three pages.

The point is that if you only write when you think you have something to say, you’ll hardly ever write. And if you expect that every time you write you’ll come to some major epiphany, you’ll never write because you’ll always be disappointed. But if you write every day, sometimes, you’ll get epiphanies. If you write every day you prepare a place to welcome any light to break through.

It’s like growing a garden. You don’t throw a seed into the grass and expect prize-winning tomatoes. You have to do the work to prepare the soil and nourish the plant and keep the weeds and bugs away. Most days, it’s boring and tedious and not at all uplifting. But then one day there’s a flower. And after some more weeding and watering and just plain staring at the plant every morning to see if something’s changed, a little green sphere appears, and over time, with mostly just unexciting work, the tomato grows and ripens and then, and only then, do you get that absolutely heavenly experience of biting into a sun-warmed fresh tomato that you’ve grown.

It’s the same with our faith. It takes practice and work. Praying every day, even when it’s tedious and our mind wanders and we have nothing to say. Reading the Bible regularly, even when it’s complicated and boring and makes no sense. Attending worship regularly, even when not every service speaks to you. Those spiritual practices are what build the foundation and prepare us for those holy, mountaintop, transfiguration moments of pure grace. If we haven’t done the preparation, we can’t expect anything to happen. If there’s no fertile ground, the tomatoes won’t grow. If we haven’t practiced our scales, we can’t play Für Elise.

Lent is the perfect opportunity to learn how to begin or improve our practices. It’s a time of preparation—a time to lay down a foundation to be ready for the razzle dazzle of Easter. Six weeks to practice the scales, refine the jump shots, and roto-till the ground of our faith. I encourage you to pick ONE thing to practice during Lent, whether it’s praying every morning, reading a chapter of the Bible, giving thanks before eating, following our “green” Lenten calendar, picking a new hymn to learn every week, giving $2 to a different charity every day…whatever. But ONE thing. Don’t overwhelm yourself trying to play Für Elise on Ash Wednesday, because you’ll never make it to Easter. And whatever that thing is, try to do it every day. If you miss one day, pick right back up where you left off. But the every day practice will allow that light and truth to break through, will create a habit, will step by step bring us up the mountain closer to God, the razzle dazzle of Christ’s resurrection on Easter, and beyond.

Let us pray: Razzle Dazzle God, teach us how to practice our faith, every day, and help us to keep going even when it’s tedious, boring, and we just plain don’t feel like it, so that we may better prepare our hearts to be moved by you. Amen.

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Interfaith Opening & Closing Blessings

Last night I was part of the "WinterFest" celebration at the women's college in the town where I pastor. Knowing that although it would probably be fairly Christmassy, the students are of a myriad of faiths and no faith, I wanted to keep my parts--the opening and closing blessings--fairly universal or even neutral. Below is what I came up with. Please feel free to use and adapt to your needs, just give me credit.

Opening blessing:

Let us gather.

Let us gather and be warmed, protected from the cold and wind.

Let us gather and be brightened, awash in light as the days grow ever shorter.

Let us gather and be still, free for a moment from the busyness of holidays, finals, and end-of-semester preparations.

Let us gather and be energized, allowing word and song to soothe and awaken our souls.

Let us gather and be present, here in this place and time, open to whatever may move us.

Let us gather, and may our gathering be blessed.

Closing blessing:

May we depart from this place having been blessed with warmth, light, stillness, energy, and presence, and may we go forth to bring the same blessings into the world.

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Summer's End (But Let's Not Rush Things)

Our modern calendar places the beginning of Summer on June 21, but, as that is on or near the summer solstice, that is actually the mid-point of Summer (hence the celebration of Midsummer and Midsummer's Eve). The Celts traditionally believe summer begins on May 1, and ends on August 1. And I have to say, I think they got it right.

Without knowing about the Celtic tradition, the last few years I have found myself first noticing the waning of summer sometime around the beginning of August. While we struggle to squeeze in the last bits of vacation and reading lists before fall "officially" begins, nature is already telling us it's a losing battle.

The nights have already started to become longer and cooler. The first few leaves are starting to change color and fall. We have a lot of old trees in my neighborhood, and as I walked around tonight, I actually crunched through some fallen leaves. One ancient tree has already completely changed color and lost most of its leaves! I noticed that recently I've been wanting to wear jeans, and love the cool mornings when I put on a sweatshirt, and a friend of mine said the same thing. We who have grown up in this type of climate have the rhythm of the seasons flowing through our bodies, and they know even if the calendar doesn't. It's time. Summer has ended, and autumn is beginning.

HOWEVER. This all being said does NOT excuse the grocery stores having candy corn on the shelves in July. I mean, seriously? If you buy it now, you know you're going to eat it way before Halloween. And if not, ew. Do stores really going to think they're going to sell Halloween-specific candy when people haven't even wrapped their brains around back-to-school (which, by the way, I saw signs for in May. Before the kids had actually finished their previous school year.)?

The earth, and our lives, move in cycles and rhythms, but there's no need to rush from one to the next. Summer's ending, but there's a special atmosphere this time of year that happens no other time. The really hot days set off by the increasingly cooler nights. The way the sun slants in late afternoon. The abundance of harvest.

It's the beginning of August. How about we enjoy some fresh corn on the cob, and leave the candy corn for October?

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Lenten Practices 2010

Lent is still a new thing for me. I didn't grow up observing it--or even really aware that it existed. Our church went from Christmas Eve to Palm Sunday with nothing special in between (or so it seemed to me). A few years ago, once I moved to NYC, I was worshiping at a church which encouraged members to add a spiritual practice during Lent rather than give something up. I liked that idea, and wanted more practice praying, so I started a daily prayer time.

In other years, I've given up television (allowed me time to read a thick novel while in my last semester of seminary) and the word "should."

This year, it took me a long time to figure out what I was going to do. In fact, I didn't know for sure until I was in the middle of the 7am Ash Wednesday service I was leading.

I'd just finished reading Isaiah 58:1-12:

Shout out! Do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet! Announce to my people their rebellion, to the house of Jacob their sins. Yet day after day they seek me and delight to know my ways, as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance of their God; They ask of me righteous judgments, they delight to draw near to God. "Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?" Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you to today will not make your voice heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the LORD? Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? They your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry for help, and God will say, Here I am. If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The LORD will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.

I sat down with my congregants to reflect on the words, and they were just pounding in my heart. I knew that giving up my second cup of coffee every afternoon--what I'd been considering for my Lenten practice--was NOT what God was calling me to do!

By mid-afternoon, I'd figured most of it out. I'd take this Lent to focus on gratitude. It is the theme for our church's weekly Lenten activities, and something I've been thinking about a lot in the midst of some devastating realities going on around me: the 22-mo-old daughter of a friend being diagnosed with cancer, another little girl fighting a brain tumor, and the earthquake in Haiti. Gratitude seems like something that should be abundant in my life. So for Lent I decided to stop and give thanks for all food and drink I consume, and keep a gratitude journal with at least five things every day for which I am grateful.

Then, this morning, that Isaiah passage was bugging me again. The words I'd spoken to the people gathered at my evening service haunted me:

Let it be an impetus to live our lives as fully as God intends, not only in self-serving and self-fulfilling ways but in a manner that looses the bonds of injustice, that breaks the yokes of oppression, that offers food to the hungry, homes to the homeless, clothes to the naked and satisfies the needs of the afflicted.

I'd said it myself. Making myself feel good by being grateful for all my blessings wasn't enough if I didn't then act to try and offer everyone access to those blessings. God doesn't want me to simply humble myself in gratitude for my warm, safe bed. No, God wants me to ask why others sleep on concrete and cardboard and mud and trash. God wants me to get them warm, safe beds too!

So in addition to giving thanks for nourishment and being grateful for five things every day, I'm going to "fast" for justice a little. I'm giving a set, small amount of money away every day for mission/justice/humanitarian work. It's not a lot, but it's enough to make me pay attention to my spending for 40 days. And it certainly won't put me on the VIP donor list for any of these organizations, but it's something.

Yesterday's money went to the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption, one of my favorite organizations. Today's money went to the UCC's Haiti Earthquake Fund.

So...what are you doing for Lent?

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Where is God?

What follows is the transcript of the sermon I preached yesterday at the Community Church of Francestown, NH. The texts were Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Isaiah 64:1-9; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; and Mark 13:24-37.

Happy New Year!

That’s right, today marks the first day of Advent, which begins a new year in the Christian calendar. We’ve come through the long weeks of “ordinary time” since the last big festival, Pentecost, back in May, and now we’ve arrived in Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas.

Usually, these are the weeks when we go through the story of the birth of Jesus: the annunciation to Mary by the angel that she was carrying a child, the meeting between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, the call by the governor for a census to be taken, the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, where they found no room at the inn and the Christ child was born and placed in a manger. Then the angels announce the birth to the shepherds, and the star shines showing the magi where the child lay so they could offer him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

In our worship services, we sing traditional songs: “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem,” “We Three Kings.” Advent is a time of joy and happiness and the expectation of the birth of a baby.

But the birth narratives we know are found in Matthew and Luke (neither of which, by the way, has the same version). And a new church year, for those of us who follow the lectionary, means a new cycle of texts. This year, with the very creative name of Year B, we begin with Mark, and he skips the story of Jesus’ birth altogether. He begins his book with the baptism, so the Advent texts from his Gospel focus on the other part Advent, the one we often forget amid the drive—in the church and secular worlds—towards Christmas.

Our word Advent derives from the Latin adventus, meaning “coming.” Generally, we apply that to anticipation of the coming of the Christ child, but Advent is also a time to anticipate Christ’s coming again, what Mark calls “the return of the Son of Man.”

I’ll let you in on a little preaching secret—this does not make for an easy sermon, nor does this cycle of texts tend to make congregations all that happy during Advent. I’m guessing many of you here had the same reaction when Susan read the texts this morning as I did when I first looked at them.

I was excited to prepare the service for today. Hey, it’s the first Sunday in Advent! Piece of cake! Some happy “here starts the journey to Bethlehem” stuff, some familiar Christmas carols, a reminder to focus on the spiritual, not the material this season, etc. etc. And then I read the texts.

First the Gospel. Hm, sun and moon darkening, stars falling from the sky, heaven and earth passing away. Ok…not so Christmassy.
Well, surely Isaiah will be fine. We read Isaiah a lot during Advent: there’s all the stuff about a branch growing from the stump of Jesse, preparing the way in the wilderness, about the names that the Messiah shall be called. Nope. It’s all about God hiding from us. Greeeaaat.

Psalm 80? A lamentation, again, asking where God is. The passage from Corinthians? More about waiting for Christ’s return.

So my first reaction was disappointment, annoyance, confusion. This is not what I expect from Advent texts. Perhaps you experienced something similar.

But while our texts this morning are not your typical preparing-for-Christmas texts, they are suitable for Advent, and I think they can speak to us of our relationship with God just as well as the story of God in the form of a little child.

Who hasn’t, at one time or another, or even many times, wondered where the heck God is? Who hasn’t begged, “please God, come fix this!” Who hasn’t asked in prayer, “God, why aren’t you making your presence known?” Who hasn’t questioned if God even cares about us in the middle a crisis?

Personally, there are times I ask exactly the same questions Isaiah was asking. We read in the Bible of the Red Sea parting to allow the people of Israel to escape, of God’s appearance to Hagar as she fought death in the wilderness, of all the miracles Jesus performed. Isaiah pleads,

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence— as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil—to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence! When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.”

Isaiah’s saying, “Come on God. You used to do all these big things for our ancestors. Maybe people wouldn’t be sinning so much if you were doing that kind of thing now. Big gestures, that’s what we need! Mountains trembling!”

There are many times when I want a big gesture, an obvious miracle, a big flashing neon sign of God’s presence and action in the world.

Tomorrow, December 1, is World AIDS Day. 2008 marks the 20th anniversary of the recognition of the day to bring awareness to the HIV/AIDS crisis. Now, here I’m going to admit my youth: I grew up knowing about AIDS. I have few memories before the time when AIDS was known and named. I don’t believe I ever thought it’d be the epidemic it has grown to now, however. In developing areas of the world, AIDS is destroying whole countries of people. Millions of children are being left orphaned by AIDS, and often are fighting and dying of the disease themselves. Even here in the United States, one of the most educated and wealthy countries in the world, the Center for Disease Control estimates that in 2006, there were 56,300 people newly infected with HIV. That adds to more than one million estimated people already infected as of 2003, of whom about 25% --one quarter—were unaware of their infection.

Panels are still being added to the AIDS Memorial Quilt, now over 1.2 million square feet in size. If you were to spend one minute looking at each panel of the quilt, it would take you over 33 days to see the whole thing.

Where is God?

During this past week, we watched as a tragedy unfolded in Mumbai, India. Multiple attacks were carried out, including one at a Jewish center which killed a rabbi and his wife and left their two year old son orphaned. As of the most recent count, almost 200 people have died, and more than 300 are injured.

Where is God?

Over the last few years we’ve seen people and places devastated by natural disasters: fires, hurricanes, earthquakes, a tsunami.

Where is God?

In the ongoing worldwide financial catastrophe, we’ve watched as our friends, neighbors, and family members have lost jobs, as people struggle to find work, to make ends meet, to simply put food on the table.

Where is God?

[PAUSE.]

Isaiah reminds us, as he reminds God, “O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

Kate Huey, in her reflection on these texts writes, “No matter how bad things are, we are reminded that we belong to God, that all the earth belongs to God, and we believe that God breaks into this reality regularly.”

Isaiah was looking for grand gestures. We often hope for the same. Sometimes we get it: the end of apartheid might be one example, or the peace accord in Northern Ireland.

But more often than not, the Divine breaks into the earthly realm with far more subtlety.
This is Advent, remember? A time to remember God’s manner of incarnation. The people at the time of Jesus’ birth were expecting something big from the coming Messiah.

Instead God broke into the world through a young poor unknown woman named Mary, who gave birth to a boy-child not in the comfort of a palace as people expected, but in a stable or a cave. Simple. Humble. Unassuming.

Remember when Jesus gives his first teaching? “Who is this?” the crowds say. “Isn’t that just Joseph’s son?” Not the Messiah they were looking for, it was supposed to be someone important, not the neighborhood kid.

In the reading from Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus reminds us to keep alert, pay attention.

Perhaps this Advent there will be no Miracle on 34th Street (or Wall Street, for that matter). No angels appearing to shepherds on a starry hillside or to depressed men like George Bailey. No mountains trembling.

But, as Talitha Arnold writes, “God answered the demand, ‘Let your face shine that we might be saved,’ though not as anyone expected. Not in a return to the glory days of the past, but in the light of the Child born in Bethlehem, the light the darkness has never overcome.”

I believe that so too God will answer our demands of action, our pleas for presence, but it may not be in the way we want or expect. We may have to wait longer than we’d hoped. And in order to recognize it, especially in the chaos of the Christmas season, we’ll need to be aware, keep alert, pay attention.

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I'm back! ( and with stole pictures!)

Wowza has it been a long time since I posted. This is what happens when one has to make 7 stoles and write an accompanying paper in less than two months. But it's done and so I'm back to real life, which includes blogging (and, unfortunately, regular homework).

I know that some of you have been anxious to see the finished product of my senior thesis project. For those who are unaware of what I did, the official title was "Woman of the Cloth: Quilting a Calendar of Stoles," and I designed and made 6 stoles and a prayer shawl based on the Christian liturgical calendar. It was an amazing experience, and I showed them last night and got a fantastic response. We also performed a ritual of blessing (which I wrote), which was more powerful and moving than I even expected.

So below is my artist's statement and pictures of the stoles, as displayed during the show apologies to those with slower connections; this one's gonna take a while, alongside the blessing bestowed upon them, which were read by 7 different people (bold indicates response by all gathered). Apologies to those with slower connections that this will take a while; also apologies that the pictures may not be super-clear since I made them smaller for posting.

There were moments while I was doing this project when I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. “I’m not a quilt artist, or even a Quilter!” I’d tell myself. I would look at pictures of other stoles and condemn myself for not being nearly as creative or artistic or professional as their creators. And yet I persevered, and ended up with six stoles and a prayer shawl that I am proud of. I took risks as an artist, reaching into the unknown and allowing myself to say, “let’s just see what happens”—and figuring out how to deal with mistakes. While many times I felt that if I had more time, I might have done something more elaborate, or added something, or changed a design, I also appreciate that the time constraints forced me to make decisions and stick with them, seeing them through. I couldn’t continually second guess myself. I had to say, at some moments, “it’s good enough.” This goes against my perfectionist tendencies, which I think many times get in way of my creative abilities, and so I consider it a blessing.

For each season or special day, I bathed myself in the sensations that surround it. I read the Lectionary texts and paid attention to what stood out to me. For those seasons I’ve experienced since starting the project, I took notice of the sounds and symbols and words used. I reflected on what I felt mattered in each season. I also prayed about my designs, asking for the Spirit’s help in discerning what to include.

Overall, I am so grateful for having done this project. So many times while working on it, I felt as if I should be doing something “productive” instead, because schoolwork couldn’t be so enjoyable! I also have begun to consider other stoles I might make in the future: a stole made out of jeans to wear during Ordinary Time, an Earth Day stole with recycled items, and an autumn stole full of falling leaves. I have come to the end of this project, perhaps, but like the commencement ceremonies at the end of the school year, I feel that this is not an ending for me, but a beginning.

Advent marks the beginning of a new church year, and a time of journeys. We begin again the journey with our sister Mary to Bethlehem, in expectation and preparation for the birth of Jesus, and we continue the journey to the time when Christ comes again. Let this stole be worn with hope of illumination on the journey. As journeying people, we bless this stole.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill to all people.” In the middle of the night, angels appeared to shepherds and proclaimed the birth of the Anointed one with great joy. Meanwhile, the newborn bringing God’s light into the world slept in very humble accommodations. This is Christmas, a time to proclaim God-with-us in noisy celebration and quiet wonder. Let this stole be worn with both joy and awe at the miracle of God incarnate. As proclaiming people, we bless this stole.

During Lent we take another journey, filled with sorrow. It is dark and somber and painful. Yet in the midst of all this grief, God is always present, a comfort in our most troubling times. Let this stole be worn in the knowledge of the darkness of the world and God’s enduring comfort. As hurting people, we bless this stole.

As dawn breaks on Easter morning, we are reminded again that from the darkness of death springs new life. Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed! The cross has been transformed from a mark of humiliation to a symbol of triumph over death. Let this stole be worn with elation at the power of the light of Christ to break through the darkness and sin of the world. As transformed and transforming people, we bless this stole.

As a group gathered on Pentecost, the Holy Spirit descended upon them like tongues of flames. We remember this event and celebrate the beginning of the church and the many gifts that have been bestowed upon us. We open ourselves up to the movement and power of the Spirit in our lives. Let this stole be worn in recognition of the power of the Spirit and the special gifts of each person and each community.
As gathered, gifted people, we bless this stole.

Water is a central part of our existence. We begin our lives cushioned by water in our mother’s womb. Much of the earth is made up by water, as are our bodies. We clean, bathe, cook, and play in water. Water plays an important part in many of our tradition’s stories. Unfortunately, not all have access to water as they should, so water also calls us to action against in injustice. For many of us, water recalls our baptisms, and the grace of God. Let this stole be worn in celebration of the life-giving, life-sustaining, and life-renewing energy of water. As refreshed people, we bless this stole.

On All Saints’ Day we remember and celebrate the lives of those who have gone before us. We particularly lift up those women, so often un-recognized and forgotten, in the company of Saints. They have born witness to oppression, injustice, and inequality. We remember those women—those in our church tradition, those in written history, and those in our personal lives—who surround us in a cloud of witnesses and aid us in our own struggles for justice. Let this shawl be worn as a tangible reminder of the communion of holy women, named and unnamed, known and unknown. As witness- bearers, we bless this shawl.

Beth: Let us pray. Spirit of Life, thank you for those gathered in this community tonight, and for the blessings they have laid upon these holy garments. Bless all of us who are gathered in this place, and those who could not be with us. In your holy, loving, sustaining name we pray. Amen.

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Season of Light

Tonight, many of my neighbors in New York City are celebrating the fourth night of Chanukah (or Hanukkah), the Festival of Light. We Christians are in our own time of light, moving through this first week of Advent. I don't think it's a coincidence that two major world religions both focus on light in darkness as the days get shorter and shorter (at least in the northern half of the world).

I find myself focusing more and more on this light. What does it mean for the light to shine in the darkness? A Jewish friend of mine asked me the other day what Advent is. "A time of preparation," I told her. "Of expectation, and anticipation."

I have to admit, this is my favorite time of year. For Christians, technically, Easter and Lent are more more important holidays. I don't think it's just because I love Christmas carols, lights, the smell of pine, and eggnog. It's certianly not the commercialism and consumerism. Ick. So what is it about Advent, and the expectation of Christmas, that I love so much?

I think it comes down to the hope. There is possibility at Advent. The chance for miracles--and not just on 34th Street or in a small Middle Eastern town 2,000 years ago, but next door, across the country, around the world. The air is filled with the hope that the light will break through the darkness, that good will overcome evil, that peace and goodwill will be among all.

My wish this season for all of you is that you find light in the darkness, and that you never lose hope.

Peace be with you.

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