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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Mid-Week Mini Sermon: It's Not Fair

Hear these words from the Gospel according to Matthew, chapter 20, verses 1-16:

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o”clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o”clock, he did the same. And about five o”clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o”clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

There was a familiar refrain in my house growing up. Whether it was because my sister got a bigger piece of cake, or extra play time, or I got to go somewhere the other two didn’t, or the youngest got away with something we two older girls were never allowed to do, it was the same: “It’s not fair!” This was usually followed up by the just-as-familiar response from one of my parents: “Life is not fair.”

And while this is certainly true, we like to think of God as just and…fair, right? Well, not according to this parable. I don’t know about you, but I can definitely understand the point of view of the early laborers. I’d be pretty annoyed too, if I’d worked hard a full day for what I thought was a fair sum, only to turn around and have that same sum given to people who’d shown up an hour before closing time. That’s not fair! Why should they get the same?

I think it’s not too much of a stretch to assume many feel the same way about deathbed requests for forgiveness or expressions of belief—especially if it’s coming from someone who hasn’t led the best life up until that point. It doesn’t seem fair that we who try our best to be good people, get the same amount of forgiveness and grace as the ones who proclaim their faith just before they die. We protest just like the early laborers: “Now, wait just a second! I was baptized as a baby, went to church my whole life, followed the ten commandments, did good things in my community and be nice, and this guy, who lied, cheated, stole, hurt other people, wreaked havoc around him, never set foot in a church, was just plain mean, prays five minutes before he dies and he gets the same amount of grace I will?? That’s so not fair!!”

No, it’s not fair. That’s the point. Jesus was trying once again to explain how different the world is when God reigns. Those who arrive late, who don’t get the first chance, still get just as much as those who are first on the scene. As the landowner explains to the complainers, this takes nothing from those who work hard. We get just as much grace as we expect from living good lives, from being people who have held life-long faith. We don’t lose anything by God being generous. So if we’re not a person who had faith from the get-go, if we found Christ as teenagers or adults or are just settling into our faith now, we still get all that grace. The kingdom of heaven is not competitive, like the world—or at least the United States—is, where everyone needs to fight to be first, to get the best things, to do the most and receive the most recognition or money or status. The last shall be first in God’s reign. No, it’s not fair…it’s grace.

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Doubts and Debts and Sins, Oh My! Luke 7:36-8:1

It is perhaps a familiar story. And it should be. This story of a woman anointing Jesus is found in all four Gospels, although, probably if we were asked, without hearing the text first, to tell the story, the details might get a little fuzzy, because there are variations between the four and so they get muddled up. In Mark and Matthew the dinner is also at the home of a man named Simon, but he’s noted to be a leper, not a Pharisee. And in those two stories, the woman anoints Jesus’ head, not his feet. In John, the woman has a name: she is Mary, Martha and Lazarus’ sister. In all three other versions, the anointing is protested because of the cost of the ointment, that it could’ve been sold and the money given to the poor, and it’s also connected to Jesus’ impending death, so if this seems like a Lenten story, well, that’s because that’s when we usually hear the other versions.

So Luke’s telling of the story stands out in a few ways. First, it occurs fairly early on in Jesus’ ministry, so there is no association with his death. Second, there is no focus on the cost of the ointment or Jesus’ famous “the poor with you will always be with you” statement. Of major significance is how Luke portrays the status of the woman as a sinner—and, by Simon’s reaction, a known sinner. Luke’s version is also a lot longer than the other three, giving us a little more detail, drawing us in to the scene a little bit more.

And it’s a poignant scene, isn’t it? The men have gathered, reclining on their sides at the table, enjoying a friendly meal, while this woman who is weeping—whether out of shame, out of sorrow, or out of relief, we don’t know—stands just behind Jesus. Her tears are numerous enough to wash the dust off his feet, and we can imagine them streaming down her face. Maybe her body is wracked with sobs, or maybe the tears flow silently. Tenderly she takes down her hair and uses it to wipe the tears and dirt off his feet before she begins rubbing them with ointment. Perhaps by now her tears have stopped, and she kisses Jesus’ feet, inhaling the scent of the ointment. She is deep into her ministrations, perchance so focused she is not even aware of anything going on around her.

But there are things going on around her, and that makes me think this scene is also somewhat…awkward. Have you ever been in a situation where someone is breaking social convention—whether intentionally or not? I don’t know about all of you, but I get nervous and tense when that happens. I kind of hold my breath a little bit, wondering how others are going to react. Jesus and Simon and the woman were not eating alone. There were other guests at the table. When we imagine this scene, our focus is usually on the woman. It’s like our mental cameras zoom in on her. But let’s back up and widen our view a little. What about everyone else who was there? Maybe they tried to carry on their conversations, and pretended not to notice what was going on while continually glancing at her out of the corners of their eyes. Maybe their voices dropped as they talked about the woman. Maybe eventually, everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence as they watched this woman break huge social and religious boundaries: not only was her hair down, but she was touching the feet of a man—which had sexual overtones, and not only that, but she was labeled a sinner, someone unclean, and she was touching not just any person, but a rabbi, a teacher, and a man whom some thought to be a prophet. I don’t see how the whole party didn’t just grind to a complete halt while all the men just lay gaping at the woman’s audacity and Jesus’ apparent oblivion. I’m sure it was not just Simon who was thinking that if Jesus was really a prophet, he would not be letting this woman anoint his feet like it was an everyday occurrence. Or, as Luke phrases it, Jesus would have known who and what kind of woman she was.

But Jesus does know this woman. Jesus knows her sorrow, knows her shame, her regret, her grief at being cast into the margins of society. He knows what’s in her heart, and he welcomes her expression of appreciation and love for the forgiveness and grace and peace he can give her. It can be so comforting to see ourselves in that woman, to recognize that Jesus knows each one of us just as well. Many people live feeling like imposters, believing that if people really knew who they were on the inside, they wouldn’t be so liked or loved or lauded for their accomplishments. But Jesus knows all of it, all our fears and insecurities, our guilt and shame and failure and regret, our judgments and mistakes and grudges and sins, and forgives every last one of them, and every last one of us. The grace of Jesus Christ is a powerful and moving thing. I think so many of us take our faith for granted, and we forget about that power sometimes. I hope that at some point in each of your lives, you have the experience of being with people who think they’re not good enough, or have made too many mistakes, or are unloveable, or unwelcome in the church, or are simply lost, and to look them in the eye and tell them that Christ knows everything about them—and forgives them what needs to be forgiven, and loves them. In fact, I think that each of us needs that reminder every once in a while. Christ knows you, and forgives you, and loves you.

It is indeed such a comfort to see ourselves in the story as that woman, known and forgiven and sent forth in peace. That being said, we cannot ignore the fact that we are Simon as well. Jesus tells Simon a little parable, and then asks him, “Simon, do you see this woman?” I wonder if Simon thought, in that split-second way our brains work, “Yeah, I see her—I see that she is a sinner and shouldn’t be here and has interrupted my meal.” Isn’t that how we often see, at first glance? We see someone driving a fancy car and we see a successful person, or a spoiled kid, or someone who is all about image. We see a person at a soup kitchen, and we see a drug addict or someone living off the system or a person not as privileged as us who we feel good about helping. We see someone who is different from us—someone who’s gay and we’re straight, someone who’s black and we’re white, someone who is from another country and we’re nth generation American, someone who’s liberal and we’re conservative, someone who’s in academia and work retail, someone who’s old money and we’re no money, someone who reads Us Weekly and we read the Wall Street Journal, someone who is pro-choice and we’re pro-life —and that’s all we see.

Jesus asks us, “Do you see this person?”

“Sure, Jesus!” we think. “We see that person wants to make our taxes go up and that guy plays his music too loud and that woman is undocumented, and that person is pretty dirty and smelly from living on the street, and that person over there just lives the perfect life that we want. Of course we see them!”

“No,” Jesus probes gently, “Take another look. Do you see them?”

We look again, and we see what Jesus sees: the children of God. Certainly we cannot possibly know each other as Jesus knows us, so we may never know if our first assumptions are “right” or not, but perhaps it’s possible that we can see each other as Jesus does and offer the same hospitality. Our last hymn today is the old favorite, “Amazing Grace,” and the first line ends, “was blind, but now I see.” Jesus not only offered grace to the woman, but to Simon, as well, that he might be freed to see beyond the first assumptions and judgment. Certainly, Jesus confirms that Simon’s thoughts of the woman as someone who had committed many sins. But it’s how the two men interaction with her that made the difference. Unfortunately, we can only guess whether Simon took the grace he was offered, or not, as Luke doesn’t tell us.

But our faith tells us that same grace is offered to each one of us—the opportunity to be known and welcomed with all our doubts and debts and sins, the chance to see each other as clearly as Christ and, having experienced Christ’s forgiving peace, the encouragement and strength to love as extravagantly and passionately as that woman did. May we all accept Jesus’ offer, and offer it to others as well. Amen.

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Losses and Gains--Philippians 3:4b-13

Once upon a time, if people in this country really wanted to proclaim their Christian faith without even having to say anything, they might wear a necklace with a cross on it, or hang a cross in their home. More rebellious biker Christians might get the name “Jesus” or a cross tattooed on their arm. Nowadays, there are a multitude of possibilities for sharing a love of Christ. T-shirts range from “Jesus is my homeboy” and “Got Jesus?” to screen-printed images of our Savior. Kids can play with action figures, like this one, or talking Jesus dolls that quote scripture. There are bobblehead dolls, body wash, night lights (this is Jesus doing karaoke) and keychains (mine has a light), in addition to cuff links, earrings, band-aids, iron-on patches, and of course the popular “WWJD”—what would Jesus do—bracelets among almost countless other items. But perhaps one of the most popular ways folks today transmit the message “I’m Christian” is on their cars, with a silver fish symbol.

Of course, the ironic part about flashing this symbol everywhere so that everyone knows the car belongs to a Christian is that it used to be a secret code. The point of using it in the days of the early church was so that Christians could identify each other without others knowing. Christians were persecuted by Romans and Jews for their beliefs, and so being able to recognize a person or place as being “safe” was key.

In the United States, a country often dubbed as a “Christian nation,” this notion can be somewhat foreign to us. Christmas and Easter, our two biggest holy days, are marked with government and—perhaps even more significantly—retail holidays. There are churches everywhere, and of most every denomination, belief system, political stance, economic and ethnic makeup and worship style you can imagine. It is generally accepted and common to be Christian, even if it is only by name and not by practice. Baptisms are often done without a second thought. Many call themselves Christian by default, because that’s the way they were raised, or because their parents were Christian, or because they think that to be American means being Christian.

Many of us might have come to Christianity the same way, almost as if it just “happened,” while we played a passive role in the decision. While being a faithful Christian does often mean “giving up” some things—sleeping in on Sunday mornings, a portion of our incomes, maybe even the respect of those who believe religion is just an “opiate for the masses” and not for the intelligent, discerning person—and I know I often say that following Christ is risky, it’s usually more of an internal risk, rather than an external danger. Here in this country, at this time, it’s pretty easy to say you’re a Christian, and generally people are pretty nonchalant about it.

So one of the things that strikes me about the passage from Philippians is Paul’s passion. He is willing to give up everything—and pretty much has—just to know Christ. He regards all that he has lost as rubbish—more properly translated as dung or excrement—as compared to being found in Christ. The love and commitment to Christ just ooze out of this letter. Reading this, I found myself feeling a little…jealous.

I had a similar feeling at the end of my time in seminary. Each year, there is a beautiful small ceremony in which Catholic women graduates are commissioned. I attended the ceremony, a few weeks before graduation, in support of two friends and classmates. I sat in awe of the choices these women had made. One woman had a Jewish parent; the other woman’s parents were radical secularists. Despite the risk of alienating their families—nevermind their not-always-Catholic-friendly classmates at a Protestant seminary—they chose Christ, and to follow the call of Christ into a religious institution in which they could not preach or really even leave. Yet they were not only willing, but joyful about their choice. As they shared their stories, it was clear that neither of them found the choice to be Christian an easy one, but they found what they gained with Christ to be worth whatever losses they might suffer. I left the chapel that day marveling at the passion and commitment of those two women, and wondering—as much as I loved Christ and the Church—if I could do the same if I had to make a choice like that.

I try to imagine what it’s like to live in a place that’s hostile to Christ. Around the world, even today, people are risking everything for Christ. I think a lot of times we in the mainline church don’t like to think or talk about conversion, and honestly I’m not really comfortable with missions which attempt to “save” people of other or no faith by making them Christians, but then, no one else is out there showing Christ in any other way. And I’m amazed that in many places around the globe, people are introduced to Christ and choose to become Christians—even if it means the loss of their families, their friends, their standing in society, their freedom, or even their lives. Knowing Christ is worth all of that and more to them.

Paul wrote this letter to the church in Philippi from a prison cell, presumably for proclaiming Jesus Christ as Lord. Paul lists off all the ways he found status in his society: his bloodline, his education, his adherence to the Jewish faith—all of which he gave up in favor of Christ. Although there’s no clear evidence of how or when Paul died, most scholars are fairly certain that he was killed because of his faith, since Christianity had been separated from Judaism and become illegal. And despite all this, he writes with such fervor about Christ. He says, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death.” And this: “Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” Straining forward: he’s not casually meandering on his spiritual journey, he is straining forward towards Christ.

I have to say, I think this is one area the Fundamentalists and Evangelicals have us mainline folks beat. They are passionate about Christ. They are not afraid to tell people who their Lord and Savior is, not hesitant to share Christ with another, not worried about letting people know of the value they place in knowing Christ. Now, I may not always agree with the way they go about it or the reasons behind it, but no denying they have Paul’s excitement. I mean, imagine if someone arrived at our church for the first time, and in polite conversation, someone asked, “So what brings you to First Church?” and instead of “Oh, I grew up UCC” or “I’m new to the area and wanted to check it out,” they said, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death.” Would we think? Honestly, I’d probably wonder why they came to a UCC church. No offense to our beloved denomination, but we don’t tend to be that expressive about our faith.

But what if we were? What if, when someone asked any of us why WE go to church, or call ourselves Christian, we said “There is nothing surpassing the value of knowing Christ?” Or if they comment about churches being full of hypocrites, we reply, “I’m not perfect, but I try to make Christ’s goals my own, because Jesus has made me his own?”

Why do we hesitate? I’ll admit straight out even when answering the question of why I’m a minister I hedge a little. This is why I am jealous of Paul, and of my two Catholic classmates. I want not only to know Christ in the same way Paul does, but I want to be able to passionately proclaim to others what gain there is in Christ. I posed a question to my friends on Facebook: “What is Christ worth to you?” One friend answered, “I don't know how to quantify it. Jesus is so much. How do you put a price on the air you breathe? The blood that courses through your veins? He is that much, whatever that is, to me.”

Really, what have we got to lose? Compared to Paul and to other Christians, very little. So I offer a little challenge. We’re still in Lent. I wrote in my newsletter blurb that Lent was about practicing our faith. And remember our Lenten theme is gratitude. So in gratitude to God for the gift of Jesus, and in gratitude of all we gain from our relationship with Christ, let us practice two things. First, let us practice actively choosing Christ. Take some time in reflection and prayer and then make a decision about whether or not to be Christian. And then do the same the next day. And the next. Practice for the next two weeks. Let’s see what happens. And second, and this is probably the tougher one for most of us: practice sharing your choice. Once this week, and once next week, tell someone why you’ve chosen Christ. This can be in person, on the phone, in a letter, an e-mail, a Facebook posting. It can be with someone you know, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, a total stranger. Let’s try and find that passion and excitement that Paul has, and instead of keeping it to ourselves, proclaim it—and if a t-shirt, action figure, or bumper sticker helps, then, hey, go for it!

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Giving God Our First Fruits

This is my sermon from yesterday, based on Deuteronomy 26:1-11. Two facts you should know: the town in which I serve is BIG on sports playing, and our church has a pretty large endowment. Read on...

They say you can tell a lot about people by looking at their checkbooks. I would say you could also learn some things about people by looking at their calendars. Or at the bookmarks on their web browsers. Take a second to think about your checkbook or bank statement, calendar, and if you use the internet, the sites you visit most often. Now think about what that might say to others about you, and whether it’s accurate or not!

I think it would be an interesting exercise to make a list of what is most important in our lives. No limit—doesn’t have to be a top 10—just list out friends, family members, activities, ideas (like justice, peace, wealth) etc., from most important to least (and keep the lists private, lest anyone find out that your dog is higher on your list than your friends). Then, we would make three more lists, under the headings time, money, and energy, and on those lists, we rank how we would like to spend those three resources. Then, after we have these four lists all made up, we would look at how we actually use those resources, and how the lists match up. Something tells me family, friends, God, hobbies or interests and doing good in the world might get a much higher rank than something like “watching TV” and yet I bet the “actual” list might reveal very different priorities.

Do you ever notice that unless we are intentional about how we use resources in our lives, things seem to feel out of our control and we never have the time/money/energy for what we really want and need, the things that deserve our best? Things come up, and all of a sudden we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel on our resources to give to what should be on the top of our list.

Although it’s a law from thousands of year’s ago, today’s reading from Deuteronomy addresses just that, by stressing that God should get some of the first fruits of the harvest. This law is repeated many other places, and it often states that God should get not just any of the first harvest, but the best or choice first fruits. It’s always important to consider that generally if these laws had to be stated, it meant that at least some people were doing just the opposite. When Paul writes that women should be silent in worship, for example, it’s because women were speaking up and stating their opinions. So the fact that the law contains multiple references to giving God the first fruits probably means that at some point, people were eating and selling their harvest, and then taking the leftovers (if there were any) to offer to God. But by giving to God first, it ensures God is recognized and thanked as the provider of the harvest to begin with, and that God is established as the most important part of the people’s lives.

So how does this translate into our lives? What does it mean to make sure God gets our first fruits, and not just whatever we can scrape together from our leftovers?

First, we prioritize. We make God and God’s priorities our top priority. I’m usually not one to refer to dictionary definitions but I thought this one was appropriate. Priority:

“1. the state or quality of being earlier in time, occurrence, etc.” God was there first.

“2. the right to precede others in order, rank, privilege, etc; precedence.” Is anyone going to dispute God’s right to precede anything or anyone else in rank? Probably not.

“3. the right to take precedence in obtaining certain supplies, services, facilities, etc, especially during a shortage.” Well, God gives us life, so I suppose that might give God the right to take precedence in obtaining our “supplies” of time, money, energy, thought, etc, especially when there’s not enough to go around. And

“4. something given special attention.” Being God, I think God probably deserves the most special attention.[1]All these say the same thing as Deuteronomy: God comes first.

A woman moved into a house which had blueberry bushes in the backyard. The first summer, she went out and happily enjoyed plucking the ripe, juicy berries. After a few years, she discovered that the berries that ripened first were always the most plump, juicy, and sweet. As the season wore on, the plants couldn’t produce as much energy, and the berries were smaller and more tart. The same holds true in our lives. The first recipients of our time, labor, and money get the best of us, while subsequent recipients get less and less. God should be our first recipient, given our best fruit, in gratitude, worship and praise for all we’ve been blessed with. No, it’s not easy, especially if it’s not what we’re used to. Budgeting out how much to give to the church and then figuring out where the rest of the money goes, and not the other way around. Getting up a little earlier to have time to pray and read the Bible before going to work. Establishing worship on Sunday mornings as a part of your routine that doesn’t get broken except for illness or unusual circumstances. Ok, I may be getting myself into a lot of trouble here by saying this, but let me just say that of all the conceivable issues I thought I might have to deal with when I came to Longmeadow, “sports” was not on my list. I can’t tell you how many people have complained about the amount of time, energy, and money that go into sports, and how often that conflicts with going to church. Now, I’ll admit that not having kids and not being a big athlete myself when I was younger, so I’m kind of an outsider. However, I have heard how much it bothers people that games and practices are scheduled on Sunday mornings, and how much they would like it if Mike and I and the other Longmeadow Christian clergy could talk to the town and get them to change the schedules back like they used to be, with nothing before noon. I am sorry to disappoint, but it’s not happening. I don’t mean to be flippant about it, but with the exception of mail delivery and most banks, Sundays are basically like any other day. That being said, we are not powerless. We absolutely can tell a coach that our children won’t be at practices or games that interfere with church. They may not understand at first. Neither may our friends when we tell them we can’t stay out too late on Saturdays because we have church in the morning. Guess how well that came across from a young single woman on a Saturday night in New York City. We are quickly reaching a point when practicing Christianity is not the standard societal behavior, and it’s an adjustment to be made from the time when things seemed to revolve around Christian life. But it’s do-able. Just think of it another way. Imagine you get to Heaven and God’s going over your life with you, and She comments, “You know, you didn’t really seem to have much time for me. What was that about?” Could you look God in the face and say, “We had soccer?” Or, “I like to sleep late?”Or imagine God looking at our checkbooks with us. What might He think? We make other things in our lives non-negotiable, why not our commitment to God?

Giving God our first fruits also means putting our trust in God. This is also not always an easy task. It means letting go of our illusion of control, and the fantasy of safety in money and possessions. It is a lot easier (even given the financial events of our recent past) to make ourselves feel secure with investments and savings accounts than to give our first fruits to God and God’s priorities and trust that having done that, God will provide if something happens. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t have those things, just that if we are placing a higher priority on growing or maintaining them than on doing God’s ministry in the world, we’re putting our trust in the wrong place. The last verse of our reading today says that after giving of the first fruits, the Israelites were to celebrate with the bountiful gifts of the harvest God had given them and share that bounty with the priestly class and the strangers among them. What we have after giving of our first fruits is not only enough, but a bounty with which to have a party for a whole lot of people!

In the same way, giving our first fruits to God can bring new life and abundance to the rest of the “fruit.” Remember that woman with the blueberry patch? Well, she also found that if she picked those first ripe berries, the other berries on the stem could get the energy they needed to grow plump and juicy as well. If she left the first fruits, the later berries were smaller and didn’t ripen as quickly. In the same way, by giving God our first fruits, the rest of our time, energy, and money may be even better spent and go even further out of the sustenance that comes with a focus on God. I read a quote this morning about how Martin Luther didn’t pray for hours a day because he had extra time, but because he needed to in order to be able to do his great works. I’m sure there are many here who already know the feeling of revival and renewal that comes after attending worship, or the feeling of centeredness that stays with you when you start your day with prayer, or the mysterious way giving seems to bring abundance.

As we begin our journey through Lent, a time of self-examination, prayer, and reflection, let us be intentional about giving God the first fruits in our lives, making God a priority, trusting in God to provide and care for us, and celebrating with gratitude the bounty that God has given us. Amen.

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[1] priority. Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc.http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/priority (accessed: February 20, 2010).

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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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Book Review: The Sweet By and By

I like Sara Evans’ music, so I jumped at the chance to read her first book, written with Rachel Hauck.

The past is over and done with. Jade and her fiancée Max told themselves that what was behind them didn’t matter, that they had started their relationship with a clean slate. But when her hippie mother Beryl shows up a few weeks before their wedding, all of the hurts, regrets and disappointments Jade thought she’d buried begin forcing themselves to the surface. Jade must not only come to terms with her past, but open her heart to God’s grace and recognize that by accepting God’s forgiveness, she can begin to forgive herself.

Despite some unexpectedly heavy and potentially touchy subject matter, this book was overall a light, enjoyable read. It wasn’t quite as sugary-sweet as I expected; I found myself drawn into the complexity of the characters and their relationships with each other. They, like all of us, are flawed in a myriad of ways that perhaps don’t always turn out ok in the end. One off-putting aspect was the amount of brand names the author used; I felt sometimes like I was being subject to product placement. On the whole, though, a great story of redemption and the transformative power of God’s grace.

*I am a member of Thomas Nelson's (the publisher) Book Review Bloggers. A complimentary copy of this book was provided for review. No other compensation was received.

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Heart-breaking Prayers

How, as as a pastor, do I pray when my heart's breaking just as much as my congregation's? It's a question I've yet to figure out, and one brought to light during the pastoral prayer yesterday.

Over the last month or so, we've been lifting up two five-year-old girls in our prayers; one with cancer, one with a serious blood disorder. Neither are part of our church, but a member is a friend of relatives of the girls (the girls aren't related).

Sunday, during the joys and concerns, we had to break the news that one of the little girls, Anna, had passed away Friday night. The heartache of the congregation was palpable. None of them knew her, but of course it's difficult to hear about any child dying, especially one so young and so prayed for.

After a brief period of silence, I had to offer the pastoral prayer. I began with the prayers of thanksgiving for the many blessings--cancer in remission, people home from the hospital. Then I moved to needs--a woman fighting cancer who'd been moved to hospice, a friend having surgery. Then I moved to the girls. I prayed for Molly, the one still fighting, and her family.

And then I paused. The tears were right at the back of my throat. I didn't know this girl, didn't react when I'd read the e-mail message about her passing with more than a "that sucks" thought, wasn't bothered when my senior pastor and I discussed it before the service.

But when I offer that pastoral prayer from that lectern, I don't just speak words. I actually pray. I have nothing written except the list of specific needs just lifted up by the congregation, so I open myself up to the movement of the Spirit. I open my heart. And at that moment, my heart was breaking for that child's family. At that moment, all I could think of was a mother's grief, a father's anguish, a sibling's confusion.

I couldn't speak. I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry, to make a spectacle. When I managed words, they were brief, asking comfort for Anna's family as they grieved. I could say no more.

I wondered, afterwards, if I should've let myself cry, let my tears fall onto the big Bible underneath my hands, let the congregation see just how much this little girl's death touched me. I'm sure many of them heard me choking up anyway. Or maybe I did the right thing, distancing myself, staying professional, letting the deepest grief pulsate through the pauses, the silence, rather than try and speak inadequate words. I don't know.

It seems like such a simple thing, but really it's complicated by so much. I'm young and unexperienced. I'm a woman. Me crying during prayers would probably be received differently than if it were the older, experienced, male senior pastor.

Sigh. This ministry thing is complicated in the most surprising ways, sometimes.

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Project 52

It's done. I've made the commitment. Last year, one of my resolutions was to blog every week. I failed miserably, writing only 25 posts--down from 35 in 2008. (I did, however, teach myself to juggle and run a 5k--the year wasn't a total wash).

Now, however, the gauntlet has been thrown down. Through one of the people I follow on Twitter, I learned of a new blog challenge called Project 52. Beginning today, January 1, 2010, and running until January 1, 2011, participants agree to post new content on their blogs at least once a week. I just signed up. By following RSS feeds, they will be able to tell who has been slacking--and it's that accountability that I need to keep me on track.

So, here's post 1 of 52 (or more) in 2010...Happy New Year!

P.S. In case you're wondering, this is pretty much my only "resolution" for the year. Another way to ensure it happens!

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It Pays To Be Nice

I know often it doesn't seem that way, but today being nice saved me.

I was driving from church to the grocery store, on my way to get the last of the food for our high school youth group Christmas party on Sunday as well as lunch (which I actually ended up forgetting, go figure). Not far into the short trip, I came to a four-way intersection and stopped for the red light. There was one car across from me, with her left turn-signal on.

I felt myself easing off the brake a little, ready to go before she could turn once the light turned green. Then I noticed a few cars pulling up behind me, and decided that I'd let her go so she wouldn't have to wait for all of us to pass.

The light turned green, and I waved her on. I'm not sure if she saw the gesture, but perhaps my lack of movement forward gave her a clue that I might be letting her turn. She started to creep forward...and a car sped through the intersection from the cross street, against the red, just missing her front bumper.

No one honked as I flashed my lights to let her know I really was letting her turn in front of me. She threw me a wave, looking understandably startled. As I drove away, I realized that had I not stopped to let her turn, had I rushed to "beat" her as I'd originally been planning, I most likely would've been right in the middle of that intersection and been t-boned by the car running the red light. While he would've hit my passenger side, and so my injuries might not have been fatal, who knows whether he would've pushed my car into something else (like a tree or telephone pole or another car) that could've cause more damage to me. Either way, my (just purchased!) car would've been totaled and I probably would've ended up in the hospital at the very least.

But I managed to avoid all that, just by being nice.

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8th Graders, Retreat!

Tomorrow afternoon, I will be stuffing 13 eighth graders into a 15-passenger van, and along with two of their parents, driving down to Cape Cod for a Confirmation Retreat. This is a retreat done by our denominational conference, so will include other confirmation classes from our state (and required no planning from me other than how to get our kids there).

I'm starting to get excited for it. I'm expecting some definite community building, and hoping for at least a few "lightbulb moments" for the kids. We've had some good moments so far, but the bond isn't quite there yet, and without that, they can't start really discussing the tough, confusing, difficult stuff that makes up faith and is the whole point of confirmation class.

I know they have the questions. We did an activity at the end of our last class where I handed out index cards for them to write any questions about God, religion, death, etc on them. I got everything from "What is salvation?" to "Who is God?"

I can't give them the answers. These are the things we need to wrestle with, and that, by May, they need to at least start figuring out for themselves. It's not an easy task by any means, especially in a progressive tradition where we don't just hand out simple answers. I am perhaps even more aware of their task as I write my own statement of theology for ordination.

I can't wait to see what the retreat has in store for all of us.

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CROP walk

This coming Sunday, I (along with my confirmation students, some of my youth, and a few other church members) will be walking in the Greater Springfield Area CROP Walk. This is the oldest fundraising walk--the one that started them all! This will be the 31st annual for this city. CROP stands for Communities Responding to Overcome Poverty, and is a community-wide response of Church World Service.

I first did this walk when I was about 12, when it was 10 miles long! It's a lot shorter now, but just as important. One great thing about this walk is that a big chunk of the money raised stays in the community to addressing hunger and poverty issues locally, while still helping those worldwide, whose needs are usually even more dire.

Will you help me raise money for this great cause? I know money is tight, but every little bit helps! Please go here to make a secure online donation.

Thanks, and many blessings to you!

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None Shall Pass...or something like it

Below is the sermon I preached Sunday on Mark 10:17-31. I had considered simply "performing" it, with no intro, feeling it would probably have more power that way, but in the end decided that speaking about my process and how the sermon came to me was good to share. The title of the sermon originally doesn't seem to quite fit anymore, but I haven't come up with a new one. This is a slam-poetry type piece (Google if you're unfamiliar with the style), although I didn't do it full-out because I wasn't sure how that would be received. In hindsight, I wonder if I should've just gone for it, if I am underestimating my congregation. Well, anyway, enough explaining--here it is!

Before I preach my actual sermon, let me give you a little intro. Perhaps some of you have realized by now that pastors cannot predict how the Spirit will move, and that however good our intentions or ideas or sermon titles, sometimes things don’t go exactly how we planned. A couple weeks ago Pastor Mike mentioned that he’d chosen his focus text because he didn’t understand it, and despite all his research, it hadn’t become much clearer by Saturday night.

A similar thing happened to me this week. I admit I chose the focus text partly because it avoided the whole wealth issue in passage. I figured I’d pushed enough with my words sermon, I might want to back off a little this month. I planned on addressing how hard it is for anyone to enter the kingdom of God, planned on talking about how the kingdom is here now and is yet to come. I thought my sermon title, “None Shall Pass!” taken from a scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, was clever.

But the sermon wouldn’t come, and wouldn’t come, and wouldn’t come. Usually when I’m wrestling with writing, it’s because I know what I want to say, and just haven’t figured out quite how to say it. This week it seemed I wasn’t even sure what to say. So I finally did what I’d neglected to do from the start: I prayed. Yes, sometimes even we pastors get so focused on getting things done that we forget important things like involving God in what we preach.

I decided not to just pray for help to figure it out. I prayed that the Holy Spirit might move through me and inspire me and that I would write what God wanted me to preach. Well, a word to the wise: prayer is not a toy, should not be used lightly, and those who use it better be prepared for the answer.

I wish I could stand up here this morning and tell you he didn’t really mean it.

I wish I could explain to you this morning that it’s all just a big misunderstanding:

That the Greek word for camel is very similar to the word for rope—

so maybe it’s just been mis-translated.

That some people say there was a small gate in Jerusalem

called the eye of the needle

And camels had to be emptied of just enough baggage to get through.

I wish I could assure you this morning that he didn’t mean us,

That his message was for people who are really wealthy

like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet and the Queen of England.

I wish I could tell you this morning that maybe possession is a metaphor,

a way of talking about anything we hold onto tighter than God,

anything in our lives that puts a barrier between us and the kingdom,

not actually all the stuff we own.

I wish I could talk history and economics this morning,

share that in Jesus’ time there was only a set amount of money

and selling everything to give the money to the poor really would help balance the system

but now it wouldn’t make much difference anyway.

I wish, this morning, that I could make this Word easier to hear,

remove the discomfort

soften the message

give you a simple sermon

that would explain it all away

or at least make it uncomplicated.

But I can’t do any of those things.

Looking at you, I love you, and so I say:

This is a Word to be wrestled with:

to be poked

and prodded

and pondered

and percolated

and PRAYED.

Because, see, this is Jesus, the Word of God

Who preaches the Gospel

the Good News

And Good does not mean nice

or gentle

or fun

or easy.

This story is hard to hear,

hard to preach,

hard to ignore.

We get that knot in our stomach

that furrow in our brow

that squirm in our seat

because we get it.

We get the shock and grief and the sadness the man felt.

We don’t want to give up our possessions either.

We get the questions the disciples asked.

We want to know who can be saved, too.

We get that maybe we can’t explain it away

that maybe we can’t bring our stuff into the kingdom of God,

that maybe we can’t get ahead in this life

without falling behind in the next.

We get that maybe God doesn’t like it

when some have too much

and some not enough.

We get that maybe we can’t avoid Jesus looking right at us,

and we wish Jesus didn’t demand so much.

We wish following the commandments—which are hard enough—

was enough.

We wish we could just live as we have been since our youth,

and not wonder if we’re missing something.

We wish following Jesus wasn’t so risky

so bold

so counter-cultural

and that it didn’t seem so impossible.

Impossible for us, yes

but not for God.

Now, I don’t know:

Maybe he didn’t really mean it.

Maybe it is just all a big misunderstanding

and we got the words wrong,

missed Jesus’ real point.

Maybe his message is really intended not for us

but for the really rich.

Maybe “selling possessions” really does just mean

clearing our lives to focus on God.

Maybe the change in time and economic systems

really does make the action irrelevant now.

Maybe.

But Jesus, looking at us, loves us,

welcomes us,

challenges us,

invites us.

But Jesus, looking at us, offers us love,

instruction,

eternal life,

grace.

But Jesus, looking at us, hopes that we find the courage

to wrestle

to question

to follow.

Let us pray: Redeeming Christ, you ask so much of us, and yet we know that you give your love and grace freely and abundantly, that we never have to earn it with the things we do. Build us up with that love, that we might have the courage to risk following you into God’s realm. Amen.

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Review of Find Your Strongest Life by Marcus Buckingham

Multiple studies show that though we have more opportunity, choices, influence and power than ever before, women are significantly less happy than they've ever been. Of course, there are women who are successful and happy--so what's their secret? Marcus Buckingham believes it's discovering and using their strengths, and he's developed a technique for each of us to do the same.

Buckingham has years of corporate experience and has written multiple books on leveraging strengths to get results. I haven’t read any of his previous books, but it took me a little while to get into this one. The beginning, simply put, is tedious. I felt like I was reading a book meant for teenagers. He repeats his ideas often, and provides a summary of the main points at the end of each chapter. This is certainly a book meant for the mass market.

That being said, things got more interesting in Part 2, and by the end I was glad I’d stuck with it. Buckingham has some great insight about the push for balance, the tendency to focus on and try to fix our weaknesses, and proposes some interesting techniques for investigating our “strong-moments”: moments when we feel our most alive, motivated, and fulfilled.

My advice is to not expect that this book is the magic potion that will change your whole life, but to read it with an open mind and take the time to try his exercises, as I think they are worthwhile and helpful for those wanting to leverage their strengths in any area their lives.

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Words, Words, Words

I preached this sermon this morning. It was our "welcome back" Sunday--the start of the Sunday School year, and there was a picnic afterwards. The scripture texts are James 3:1-12 and Psalm 19. Comments, as always, are welcome and encouraged!

When I was in college, I took a course called “Language and Culture.” We explored language from an anthropological viewpoint, and looked at how language shapes society and vice versa. One term I particularly remember studying was “Ground Zero;” I took the class in the fall of 2001. We also studied a linguistic phenomenon that traces its roots back about half a century, but has really established itself in our lexicon and culture during the past 20 years or so: political correctness.

To be politically correct is to use the right words, ostensibly in an attempt not to offend anyone. I have often heard critics of political correctness say, “They’re just words. It doesn’t matter.”

I have heard the same argument used to try and discourage the use of inclusive language in church. “Well, when we say ‘He’ for God, we don’t really mean that God’s a man. It’s just a word.”

“They’re just words.” Are they? Are the words we choose to use really so insignificant? After all, “actions speak louder than words,” right? And “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Right?

What about what James is saying? James seems to think differently; he stresses how important words are. In his somewhat strange exposition on taming the tongue, he stresses that though a small part of our body, the tongue wields a mighty power. “The tongue is a small member; yet it boasts of great exploits.”

But how big? James writes that great forests are set ablaze by a small fire, and the tongue is a fire…but really, how big a fire can we start just by speaking? Well, I’d like to suggest that the words we use have tremendous power, and like James says, we need to choose whether we use our mouths for blessing or cursing.

The Psalm that Ken read a few minutes ago celebrates God’s creation, God speaking the world into being. This world is shaped by God’s words. We exist, as one writer puts it, “in God’s spoken world.”

Now, last week, when I did “The Box” with the children, Harmon put in a mirror, and I reminded everyone that we are all created in God’s image. During our prayer, I mentioned that as images of a creator God, we, too, are creators.

“Day to day pours forth speech,” the Psalmist writes, “and night to night declares knowledge.” God speaks, and the gloriousness of the world is created.

Like God, we create worlds with our words. We speak worlds into being. Author Dan Clendenin writes, “With our words we name the world and each other, and at least in some sense our naming creates a genuine reality. Once our speech and narratives take hold, they can have tremendous power and tenacity for good or evil. They can exclude or embrace, heal or humiliate, lift up or tear down.”[i]

Words can hurt. I remember when I was a little girl, if my younger sister and I argued, I knew there was one word I could call her that would just devastate her, that would make me win the fight. I knew its power to hurt her, and I only used it when I felt I “had” to. To this day I regret it. I’m sure she remembers it just as well as I do. How many of you remember words you said, or were said to you from many years ago—for good or bad? Maybe one teacher called you an artist, and it was her voice you heard as you took the risks to create. Maybe one kid called you a loser, and you still struggle with feeling like an outcast.

Of course, there are those words that are so powerful in their hurt that I wouldn’t even consider speaking them aloud, not even to talk about them. The damage that has been done with them is too deep.

So let’s go back for a moment to the use of inclusive language in churches. At my seminary we called it Pentecost language, in celebration of the understanding that occurred between all the people from different places. Why use Pentecost language? Why does it matter if we call God “He” all the time? Because by using exclusively masculine language, we speak into being a world in which the feminine is forgotten, made second-class, or simply not “the norm.” To use Dan Clendenin’s terms, we are excluding rather than embracing.

If we look at James again, we see he particularly addresses those who would want to be teachers. Teachers are in positions of power, see. If we equate that power with privilege, we see again how this applies to our own lives. Just as teachers must be even more careful of what they say, so do we who are in positions of privilege in this society and this world. Because historically, it is those with privilege who get to choose the words, and therefore choose what the world will be like. And when I say privileged, I don’t mean “rich.” Some examples of the privileged: white, male, employed, housed, living in the northern hemisphere, Christian (in our country anyway), heterosexual, English-speaking, healthy. Just to name a few.

So how do we speak of others, particularly those less powerful and less privileged than ourselves? Do we speak a world which recognizes and affirms our common humanity, the unique reflection of God that we each offer? Or do we throw out a label, relegating them to be “other” than us? Do we allow them to name the world, to speak a reality into being?

Of course, one of the consequences of political correctness, and one of the dangers of James’ warnings is that people can get so worried about offending someone, of not saying the “right” words that they don’t speak at all. This is particularly true in race relations. The people with privilege, white people, often don’t know how to talk about people who aren’t white. Are they Black, African-American, or Afro-American? Hispanic or Latino? People of color or minorities? (Just a hint: ask, and don’t expect everyone to give you the same answer). We don’t want to offend, so we don’t talk. We act “color-blind.” We think everything is all hunky dory and wonder why people still bring up “race issues.”

Ok, well, words can create worlds, but not speaking the words does not make reality go away. James doesn’t say “the tongue can do evil, so don’t speak!” He warns caution, but we shouldn’t be so cautious that we forego the good for fear of the bad.

My senior year of college, I started a program called “Courageous Conversations.” I wanted to create a safe forum for tough conversations about race and culture and other touchy subjects. One of the guidelines was that it was ok to say “ouch.” This allowed people to speak openly and honestly, and if someone said something hurtful there could be a response as to what it was and why it hurt (instead of just “don’t say that!”)

The morning before my first meeting, I received a call from another student. The campus concert of a popular reggae artist had been cancelled by the administration after protests from the GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender) student organization about some lyrics in one of his songs. The student wanted to know if I would change the topic of my meeting. I agreed on the condition that it would not specifically be about the concert, but instead on the general topic of conflict between different minority groups. He agreed.

That night, about 75 people showed up, not only from my school, but from the college across the street, and not just students, but administrators, faculty, and staff, including the dean of students. The conversation lasted two hours, and there were a lot of “ouches,” some raised voices, and even a good amount of tears. But people were able to speak, and were heard. It was tough, and not everyone heeded James’ warning, but understanding arose. If people had kept quiet, the conflict would’ve festered and created more hurt and destruction.

So how do we find the courage to use words for good, to speak into reality a world of love and justice and reconciliation? Where do we get the power to allow blessings to flow from our mouths rather than curses?

To explain I need to come down from the pulpit.

We, and many other congregations, hear it every week. Pastor Mike and I offer a prayer before we preach, the prayer that ended today’s Psalm. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.” We ask God for help. How would the worlds we speak be different if we said this prayer every morning before one word passed through our lips? If we stopped for a moment before a conversation?

In our worship planning meeting this week, John reminded us that the Psalms are not “lessons,” are not really meant to be just read. So, in deference to him, let me suggest you might sing this prayer as well. The groups “Sweet Honey in the Rock” sings a version of “Waters of Babylon,” which includes this prayer.

I’m getting over a cold, so I will do my best to share the Psalm 19 portion of the song with you. I’ll sing it through once, and then I invite you to join in as you learn it.

Let the words of my mouth

And the meditation of my heart

Be acceptable in thy sight, o God.

Amen!

---

[i] Clendenin, Dan, “Taming the Tongue,” The Journey with Jesus, http://journeywithjesus.net/Essays/20090907JJ.shtml, accessed 12 September 2009.

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Book review: Fearless by Max Lucado

There are so many things in the world that can inspire fear in our hearts: a suspicious mole, rumors of company layoffs, financial meltdowns, reports of the terror threat level. Yet how do we fight it? How do we live fully without being paralyzed by the fears?

By faith.

In Max Lucado’s newest book, Fearless: Imagine Your Life Without Fear, Lucado reminds the reader that the statement Jesus made most often was “Do not be afraid.” Lucado invites us to consider that “invitation to courage.”

I found this book a quick ready, but I wouldn’t call it easy. The book is broken down into 13 different common fears that can take over our lives. Lucado then uses scripture, mostly from stories of Jesus’ life and ministry, along with more contemporary examples to encourage a freedom from that fear based in the comfort, protection, and strength of Christ. While Lucado presents this is a simple, understandable format, the material certainly requires pauses for reflection.

This is the first of Max Lucado’s numerous books that I’ve read, and I found his writing engaging and clear. He offers comfort, but it is not without a little challenge, something that is often missing from this “Christian self-improvement” genre. I’ll be re-reading this one.

For more information, go to www.ThomasNelson.com/Fearless or www.TheFearlesBook.com.

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