Take Heart, You're Not the Miracle

This past Sunday I served as supply pastor for the congregation of one of my colleagues who is recovering from an accident. Her recovery has taken longer than any of us would want and it is so obvious that her people adore her as their leader. And her love for them is profound. They know it will be longer still.

I was told there would probably not be kids but about 6 showed up and so I decided we would sit together and sing "Jesus Loves Me" which when someone asked, included the sign language. I asked that the first time we sing that verse with the word "me" but the second time with the word "us."

Which means that we ended up singing- "We are weak, but he is strong."
I think that was just a little hard for us sing, but important to hear as we remember why we gather as the church and where our power and strength come from.
We heard in our lessons in the Psalm to listen to what the Lord is saying, and in Romans to remember it is not our own heroic efforts that matter. And of course, Jesus and briefly, Peter, are walking on water.

I have to confess that I would have been a horrible disciple. For one thing, I get seasick. No one in their right mind would’ve wanted me in their boat. And there were way too many boat trips for that to go well. But I think the even bigger reason why I would not have been a good disciple is that I can be impatient. Not only were there all those boat trips but in Jesus’ day, it was a very different matter. There were no motors, no GPS, no technology. They were at the mercy of the wind, and the waves and the weather. Like we hear in our gospel today.

This is actually the second boat story in Matthew. In the first, the disciples are in the boat and they hit a serious storm, and the boat is literally about to capsize, and they fear they will drown. And Jesus is asleep in the boat with them. They wake him up screaming perhaps trying to save him or maybe hoping he’ll do something. And he calms the storm. And they wonder if he could more than a great rabbi- maybe he’s the Son of God?

This time around, Jesus has just finished a major miracle in their presence, the feeding of thousands, and he has sent them on ahead of him because he wants time apart to pray. He has sent them to cross the Sea of Galilee but as we hear, the wind is against them. The waters are choppy, and it is a rough go. If you’ve ever been on a rough boat ride, you know, that trip seem to take an eternity.

They left in the evening, and now it is early morning. They’ve been up all night trying to navigate, and they’re battered and frazzled and tired. It’s been maybe close to 12 hours and they should be there by now. But they’re not. They’re still far from where they want to be. And they are NOT with their leader.

They just want to get where they’re headed but they are somewhere in between feeling kind of helpless.

Perhaps you too in the absence of your beloved pastor feel that way. She should be better by now and you should be together moving on in the journey of wherever ministry is headed.

It’s no small wonder the disciples don’t recognize Jesus when he comes, given what they’ve been through. And really, who had ever seen a human walk on water. What can this be? Jesus says, “Take heart, it’s me.” And that’s miraculous.

But if it’s a miracle, Peter leaps to the conclusion he wants to be a miracle too- command me to do that! I want to walk on water!

And Jesus, ever patient, tells him to “Come.”

But Jesus didn’t command Peter to do it first. That was Peter.

Years ago there was a book written called “If You Want to Walk on Water, You’ve Gotta Get Out of the Boat.” And when I was younger I loved that thought. Inspire people to get up and do something miraculous. Baloney. It can be easy to step out in faith, but a sustained faith takes more than us.

Peter steps out in faith but can’t sustain that faith by his own heroic efforts. He gets distracted- first by believing he is the miracle. And then when he blinks and realizes that while he is walking, the wind and the seas are still rough- he loses his nerve when we remembers the world around him. He takes his focus off of Jesus and that’s when he begins to sink.  

And Jesus could have let him. Jesus could have proclaimed this is Peter’s epic fail. But instead when Peter cries out, “Save me!” he reaches out his hand and puts him back in the boat. Take heart- the seas are calmed. Because I am here. And this time the disiples say- truly Jesus is the Son of God! And they’re further in their journey.

My Mom works as a hospice volunteer, and one of the things she talks about is the heart to heart hug. It’s a hug that focuses on the fact your heart and the patient’s heart touch in that hug that calms fears, and anxieties and shows love. I kind of imagine as Peter is hauled into the boat again, there is that moment where he gets a heart to heart hug to reassure him. As Jesus does what he always does- reaches out a hand- the hand that feeds, blesses, heals, saves and forgives.

I take heart that the disciples are a group that seem to have moments that they seem to grasp just who Jesus is, and then a whole bunch of moments where they clearly don’t, and then another moment where they clearly see God and then even colossal failures where they don’t. Because I think we are that way too.

But in all of those moments where we struggle to see Jesus in our midst, Jesus continues reaching out and meeting us and touching our hearts. Restoring, encouraging, saving us.

And I think as ever it’s important for us to remember that we are not the miracle. It is not up to any of us to be the miracle. Christ is the miracle in our lives. Who calls us to also remember that our focus should be upon Jesus and staying in the boat together as the church.

We don’t know the timing of the journey. And there are times we struggle to see God at work. But this gospel reminds us that the God who is powerful enough to command waves is also a God whose never ending desire is to continually reach out a hand and save us. A God who sees us through the tough times and promises there is more to the story.

May you take heart and be strengthened in hope that God will bring you to the next moments in ministry together.

 

May Our Hearts Stand Up!

This past Sunday during our children's message, I took a page from the excellent site- "Worshipping with Children" and we talked about the word "compassion." "Com" meaning "with" and "passion." Which got a couple snickers from the adults so I could chide them about not THAT. Our working definition was "caring a lot." The kids and I talked about who we cared a lot about and named people. And then we talked about how Jesus saw a woman whose son had died and he had compassion. He cared a lot about her but she was a stranger. God wants to us to care a lot not only for people who we know and like but everyone who need to know God's love. Then we used our candy basket to show "compassion" with Tootsie Pops. Because when someone cares for you it makes you smile, it is sweet. Knowing that the kids did not know all the grownups - they were strangers, we could praise them showing caring here and to receive caring in return. It is so easy to show caring when it is something like candy. But there is more to compassion than just that. Here is where the sermon went:

 

Years ago, a man was on his way to work, driving on the highway when he came upon an accident that had just happened. Cars had scattered and he saw a car with a woman sitting in it, and she was unable to get out.  Her car was smoking and sparking, and catching fire. No one else had stopped, but he did and without thinking about it, he jumped out of his car, and raced to hers, pried the door open and pulled her out of it just before the whole thing went up in flames. He saved a total stranger. When he got home later, and his wife found out what happened, especially as she noticed his banged up hand, she was astounded, articulating what perhaps many of us might-“What were you thinking?! You could have been killed! What about OUR family? Did you think about that?” Well, no, that’s just it, he hadn’t really thought- he had seen something he could not ignore, a matter of life and death and he just responded with a gut reaction. Sometimes compassion looks like that.  

Or there is a phrase from a book about a young girl in a small village in Africa who was moved when she learned about starving people in New York City in the Great Depression. She said, “My Heart Will Not Sit Down.”  The girl lived in a small village in Cameroon in western Africa and when she learned about people even poorer than herself, she kept asking the grownups about it. And I can imagine that as she pestered over and over, they probably told her to leave them alone and “go sit down.” One of the things we say when we don’t want to deal with something. But she kept asking because her heart would not sit down. And eventually she led the people to gather the small amount of money they had- that they could be keeping for their own families, and sent it to help others live. And they did so saying- OUR HEARTS STAND UP FOR THESE PEOPLE. When we heard, our hearts could not sit down. Our hearts stood up.

This is what compassion looks like- in ways both heroic and small but faithful. Ways when we see our hearts cannot sit down, we respond. Whether you describe it as a gut reaction, or that feeling deep inside, or a heart that cannot sit down- it’s those moments when you cannot help but respond. When the very stuff of life is on the line.

This is what we hear today with the widows. First we meet the widow with Elijah. And there is a back story that we don’t hear today. God has called Elijah as a prophet and tells him to go find this widow and of all people she will feed and care for him. So he goes and finds the widow and says- make me something to eat. Pretty bold. She responds by basically saying, “Are you kidding? I am gathering sticks to make a fire for one last meal for my son and I with the last flour and oil I have and then we know we will die of starvation. Elijah convinces her to do what he says and when she does they manage to live each day with enough- it never runs out! But then one day her son dies. And Elijah, shakes his fist at the sky crying out “REALLY, GOD?!” But then is empowered to act. Sometimes compassion is like that for us too. We can shake our fist and wonder why, but then be empowered by God to respond.

And then we hear of Jesus and the widow today in the gospel. Imagine it-he’s on the highway headed into town and so are a lot of others when they encounter this widow. Perhaps a lot of others would have kept walking. After all, seeing a widow or even a burial procession were not unique, almost as commonplace as a car pulled off on the side of the road today. But there she is and she is trapped. People are all around her, and the mourners are wailing as her son’s body is slowly carried. And unlike today there was no beautiful urn or elaborate casket to make it all look good- it is just a lifeless body on a stretcher. And even though she is surrounded by all this activity, she is alone and life is on the line. Because without a husband and a son, a woman alone will have no money, or ability to earn it, no home, no clothes and no food. She is a woman waiting to die.

Jesus knows. After the burial, the crowd will turn and head back into the city, and from here on she will be alone and trapped by this accident of death. Left only to hope that someone might see her and surround her with care. But this is all we know. Don’t you ever wish we knew more about people like her in the Bible?

We don’t know how long she was widowed, or what her husband did. Or how he died. Whether he was a good man, or a drunk, or a criminal. We don’t know if her son was a good boy who knew when to go sit down or whether he was one of the ones who always found trouble. We don’t know if she was a good mother, or whether the family was likeable, or irritating. We don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it is easier to have compassion for total strangers, because when we know the details we are more or less likely to have compassion.

The past of the widow is a mystery, but we know the future for her without Jesus. Jesus knew exactly who she was, really. The fact WE don’t suggests it is not important. Which is good news for her and for us. What is important is that God in Jesus has a heart that will not sit down. Jesus was moved and called to the boy to stand up. Because God has come to help God’s people. All of them. This is the message embodied in Jesus. That God’s continual call in Scripture to care for the sick, the dying, the widow, the orphan, the poor, the hungry, and those in prison takes on flesh. Compassion takes on flesh to redeem and rescue the lives of sinners and enemies and show that no one is a stranger to God. As God continues to reach out to those who have no one following them, or surrounding them.

This is compassion embodied in Jesus for us, and this is our work as God’s people- to listen to God calling us in our hearts and to stand up and meet those around us, no matter who they are-to be compassion in the flesh. To see others, to listen, to stand up with them and to care for them with God’s heart. Whether they are halfway around the world or right here in Centre Park.

We do this in many ways- one way takes a page out of the story from Africa. In our Change for Change Sundays we have we have provided over a thousand dollars to various ministries beyond our doors in the last year. And I look and see many of you here and know you volunteer in all kinds of places and give thanks for your compassion.

But another way we care for total strangers in the Pastor’s Benevolence Fund where people who find they have no home, or food, or way to hang on, get help and direction to the right places. Last week I shared that I was down to $100. Thanks be to God there is now $300. I would like to triple that amount. If we really intend to be compassion with flesh, it will take more. I am asking you to stand up and respond. And in all these ways I pray that together we will continue give thanks for God’s compassion, hear God’s calling in our sisters and brothers in our hearts,  and stand up!

AMEN

Post script- our tiny flock responded and we now have 5x what we started with that day! Even the visiting organist gave! Thank you, Jesus!

 

 

Proclaiming Jesus-God's Power Rising Out of the Hurt

Here in the city we have an afterschool ministry three days a week, offering a safe place for kids to get a hot meal after school, get help with their homework, work on literacy, and sometimes do crafts and games. Last year we were averaging about 45 kids a day and another 30 kids on top of that, who did not come for the program but came to pick up weekender bags of groceries we distribute one day a week.
Last year we found we needed more space and moved the program from a row house by the church into the basement of the church with a larger kitchen and more space.
This year when we opened our doors, and by day 2 we had 60 kids. By the second week we had to cut it off at 70 but between others coming who we could not accept and a few kids we had to ask to leave for behavioral reasons we could have been at 90.
When we had hit 60 kids on day 2, I literally went into re-think mode with our volunteer director and we grew again, moving into another room of the basement. We are now in all of the rooms of the basement.
And we are scrambling everywhere for volunteers but God is gracing us in many ways.
This is all the backdrop for what I really wanted to write about.

One of the strengths of our ministry is that we offer something different than the street and in some cases, offer something different than home. We know that sadly there are many reasons why the kids bond heavily with us- some are starved for attention as much as for food. Some have no role models for how to get along in the world. Sadly I can look at some and see their future stretching out in front of me and know it will involve jailtime, teen pregnancy or substance abuse.
But most of the kids we see are delightful, and funny and loving and trying hard to get by in school.
A few of our kids are gifted academically or are real models of leadership in places like JROTC or the arts.
These are the things that sometimes surprise others-
just like it is easy to assume what means to live in the city, we can fall into a pattern of thinking we know what city people are like. And when you live here it is easy to succumb to the belief that only certain things are possible. Or only certain people can be trusted and quickly people fall into defensive or offensive strategies. These are the things that our neighborhood kids learn.
Some learn that yelling and fighting are the answer. Some learn that lying and accusing are a good way to avoid things. And in groups of 60, this means we have to try hard to reinforce why the culture of this place is different.
Last week a small group of kids began to gather around one young girl. I have watched her almost patrolling the neighborhood. She is fiesty and bossy and physically confrontational. More importantly she has the capacity to get others to do her bidding.
Last week as she had left on our grocery distribution day, she came back to the door and demanded I find her little brother because she had forgotten him. I suggested she walk to the other door where people were not lined up to get groceries and others could help her. She began yelling and encouraging her posse to yell at me. She and another girl held up a cell phone and demanded that unless I left what I was doing to find this boy she was calling 911 to say I had kidnapped him. I laughed it off and sure enough he came out from around the corner from the door I had said would be the place to go.
I have watched this girl shakedown others for things she wants and at 10 years of age, she has well developed patterns and minions to help her.
Fast forward to this week when I could not be at the program on a rainy day but was called and told that outside the building of the church there had been a big fight. Where kids were holding down a boy so that this same dominant girl could hit him. The noise had made a local mom go to the window to see what was going on only to see that it was her son being hit. She came out and the fight broke up. But needless to say there was a lot of commotion and emotion as she came to our volunteers and wanted to know what had happened. And at least two moms were furious with each other about what had happened.

Of course the challenge was, while these were all kids from the program. The fight happened outside and just down the street, not inside. And we had not seen it all go down. But following the policy we had put into place, the director called the adult contact for each of the kids connected with the fight and invited them to a meeting the next day. The goal was that each kid would come with his or her parent or guardian and we would talk about what happened and who was involved in what way and what it all meant.
The moms connected with the victim, and those seen as holding the victim came.
No one came connected with the girl who was the hitter.
There we were with the three kids and the two moms, the volunteer director and myself as the pastor.
Since the moms are Hispanic and this was an emotional subject, English quickly turned into Spanish as the mom of the boy who was hit and then the boy himself talked about what happened. Then the mom of the other two kids began to talk and to ask questions first of the boy, but then quickly turning to her own two kids and demanding them to tell the truth. She told them she would not punish them for telling the truth but that they needed to be honest.
What emerged was that they had been with this aggressive girl and another larger boy who was not connected with our program but was known to the girl. That when the physical confrontation began the one kid was trying to break it apart and the other was trying to keep the victim from responding with aggression. That it all went down fast and that it was too big for them. That they had not realized what would happen.
I pushed a little bit on this and reminded the one girl of the events of the week before, pointing out that when she was not with this aggressive girl, she was a totally different person. That I was saddened to see who she became and that it would not be a path she should choose.
Both of the moms knew of the aggressive girl and shared other stories of bad connected with her, how they have told their kids to stay clear and this is why.
At this point the mom of the two kids confessed that she had no idea when she signed her daughter and son up that our program was at a church, but that as a believer she now was embarrassed. She spoke of having been in a bad car accident and being brought back to life and how she promised God she would live because she knew there was something she was to do. And how it was a blessing that while this was hard, God brought her here.
She and the other mom commisserated about being single moms and both looked at their kids and told them- these people are doing great things for us because they are Christians- they are doing this because of Jesus. You all need to apologize and remember that we are not going to act like this. They pushed hard, almost too hard, as the kids have tears in their eyes.
I turned to the bookcase behind me and picked up the cross sitting there. I held it up and told the kids that things went down fast and we all make mistakes but what matters most is what this cross means- forgiveness because God loves us. That I wanted each of them to be there and to be the really great people I know God has made them to be. And that this cross is also about the power of peace.
Transformative love was taking shape.
The two moms not only were no longer ready to take each other on, but had connected.
We talked about how our neighborhood is not the place people assume it is, and does not have to be the place some want to make it be. That this is an opportunity to think about how we walk together and with Jesus to make it be the place it ought to be.
We stood up to end our meeting and as we did, the door opened and in came the aggressive girl with four kids in tow but no adult. The moms looked at her and said
"We're done here, let's not revisit all this again."
We reminded the girl that to be here she needed to have an adult. That when we could sit with her and an adult, she could return and that we hoped that was possible.
She was escorted out.
I really wish she could return but without adult buy-in, my fourteen months of knowing her suggest there is not great hope otherwise.
Sometimes when I have said that we could reach out to the parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents of these kids, there has been trepidation, a kind of "if you think so" that belies lack of trust by our volunteers. We're not sure perhaps that we should. While in some cases this reaching out is not possible or fruitful, God showed that for us to use the broadbrush approach that keeps others as recipients of our benevolence and not co-workers in the kingdom, means we miss out on a part of the amazingly transformative power of that cross.
As we stood to end our time and before I could ask, one of the moms asked if we could all hold hands and pray. What a perfect way to solidify where we had been and who now united us.
As the kids went down to the program, we talked about our vision and hopes and about how they might be helping hands as they were able, not only because they now have a more connected interest, but because we have others who need to hear, and how some of those need to have people they can culturally relate to. I apologized that my speaking of Spanish is not as quick as my understanding what I read or hear.
"Oh Pastor, we help you. This is how we can help you."
We talked about worship and their desire to come, but also the possibility of developing an informal Wednesday night worship time that connected with the ending time of our afterschool program.
We talked about how to share this vision in their respective parts of the neighborhood and the power of women to nurture change rather than be victims. And to demand more. I am reminded of Leymah Gbowee's work- "Pray the Devil Back to Hell."

This fall I wondered why now the sky rained kids, then I wondered why this violence, but out of this I am increasingly convinced that God is breaking open something new. Healing and hope and promise.

There will still be violent kids, but my prayer is that we won't just turn away or yell about it.
We are going to proclaim Jesus into it.
Together.
Step by step, trusting in God's work in all of us.

Holy Fibs and Holy Truth

Yesterday I again found myself in the sacred space of sitting with a dying woman. Death and I have sat together alot in the last eight weeks. Each time I am with a saint laboring toward peace there are themes that emerge. Some are looking for resolution, others are longing for reunion. There are often things they say that reveal the core of their being.
Over the last weeks of visiting this particular saint she has been most concerned that she has not been able to be in church to bring her offering envelopes.
She is a person of few means who literally puts a couple quarters in each envelope. She does not drive and had been dependent upon a ride to get to church
but whenever she came, there were enough envelopes for the number of weeks since the last time.
She would toddle in to "her" pew and would be there early. I always knew she was in church because the fluffy white wig that was outsized in proportion to the rest of her was usually the first thing that would catch my eye.
Over my time here as the pastor, I came to know that she had been married and then after her husband died, had found love again, but for an elderly woman on Social Security with no pension and an elderly veteran, marriage was unaffordable. It was hard enough.
I had visited and provided food, and fuel assistance. And communion and anointing.
I was told by many that the old vet was gruff and hard to like.
Little by little I learned that while the old veteran was still a curmudgeonly guy who was never going to come to church, but in his way he did what he could for her and for her faith life.
Even calling a few months ago to tell me she was pretty sick, and on a hot day I made the trek out.
She was in bed with a fan blowing, not dressed like church, but in pajamas and sans wig. But her three wigs were all resting on the dresser on their hairdresser heads. She was very worried about those envelopes of quarters and out of the corner of my eye I saw the old vet shaking his head "no." He did not share and I left wondering. But before I did, we had shared communion. He joined us and owned that it was the first time he had been offered communion in years. It changed things

In these last weeks, after trips back and forth between the hospital and the extended care facility, and the decision to simply provide palliative care, it has become clear. What she had been too proud to share was that she has an inoperable tumor. What is now taking her life is the onset of pneumonia and I watch each day as she becomes more and more a shell of her former physical self. Her jawline and collarbone more pronounced. Now the old vet and I have talked out in the hall about what is to come. Where it is clear that the reason he shakes his head "no" about those quarters is that with the cost of her care, there are no quarters.
And yet this has been her fixation.

As though as she ponders it all she worries that in the absence of being caught up with her offering the holy gates will be locked and she will be lost.
And so we collaborated in a holy fib.

It reminded me of years ago on the medical drama "House" where a woman had been driving her family in a car and made an error in driving that resulted in a terrible accident that took the lives of her husband and family. As she lay dying in a hospital bed a couple years later, still punishing herself for the accident, she was calling for her husband. The normally curmudgeonly doctor who had unearthed both her story and her husband's wedding band, put the ring on and held her hand. She stroked the hand with the wedding band, and a tear rolled down her face.  She believed her husband was there and she could have peace. Though no one would consider a "House" character and holy in the same sentence, it was a holy fib.

So here the old vet and I found ourselves. Confronted with this fixation that left no peace. And in the face of the repeating theme of the offering envelopes we knowingly colluded. As she worried about the envelopes I assured her that he and I had taken care of things and everything was caught up. She looked at him and he nodded his head and assured her that was right. It took two times but she eventually accepted the holy fib and could lay to rest the issue of the envelopes. That was a couple days ago.

Yesterday when I came to sit with her the mere opening of eyes was a struggle as was speaking. I just sat and held her hand and offered a prayer. At the end of the prayer, she became very alert and very concerned.
Will God REALLY take care of me?
I need to confess because I have done things wrong
Will I be in trouble?
She was not able to speak about what the wrong things might be about
But it was kind of like the back story of what the envelopes represented-
what if I am not "caught up" with God?

I spoke God's forgiveness and reminded her of God's promises
for her
God's love
for her
and made the sign of the cross on her forehead to remind her
this is how much God loves you
God is here with you
and will be there to greet you where you are going
Replacing the holy fib with words of holy truth

She looked up at the ceiling and said
God if you love me just take me
take away this pain

My prayer for her is that this indeed what happens for her soon
Rest in God's everlasting arms

I held her hand til she fell asleep and hope perhaps there will soon be a good and peaceful transition to the world where there is no catching up to do.

Words in the World

I have been thinking about the impact of words in the world. As a person who endeavors to bring the Word into the world, I am walking with a blog, and Facebook and multiple electronic ways of communication at hand. I am often glad for the people I have been able to be in touch with that otherwise might be out of reach. As a person who enjoys writing I am blessed to be able to stay connected with wonderful reflections and musings of others that have enriched my own process and hopefully even improved it(or at least I hope so). But for all of the wonderful aspects of rapid fire communication there is a rising trend that I wrestle with. For those of us who blog and serve in ministry there is the question of transparency- how revealing is too revealing? A question each person resolves for themselves. I resolved to err on the side of caution and grace.
But what about Facebook?
Years ago there was a commercial for a shampoo where the thrilled consumer told two friends about the product, and they told two friends, who told two friends, and so on and so on... Each time the telling happened the number of photos on the screen increased. Facebook is like that. Whatever I say is then in the feed of the people who are my "friends"- all 300 of them (thinking it's time for a purge but that is a separate consideration). But what it also means is that when I am on my friends' pages I see everything else that all of their friends, who may not be my friends, are saying.
Which leads me to my concern. Lately I have seen a real rise in carping about a congregation's practices or processes in Facebook which is a much broader forum than one person's friend list. Let's say that something is happening in a ministry setting to which you belong or which you are serving which has made you mad or frustrated, or you think is just plain wrong.
Do you post about it where many more than your intended audience will see and dissect it? Do you account for the difference between how face to face communication and electronic communication are perceived? Would we stand before said congregation in a room and say what is being said?
When we blow off steam in this way, what is the purpose? If a change is desired does anyone think public airing will aid or hinder such a path? What if we are wrong in our perceptions, if there is more to this than we know or meets the eye?
Luther's explanation of bearing false witness exhorts us to always place our neighbor in the most positive light- as we endeavor daily to live out our faith, there is an ever greater challenge to how our words impact our world and how our words affect our credibility to proclaim the Word.

Patient Trust

I decided to make this retreat as a way of stopping and taking stock of my internship year at the mid point. As it turns out, I have completed seven months as of the weekend of my time apart. A time to reflect and pray about all that has gone on my life these last seven months in a large parish that has been around since 1730 with a staff in the double digits. There is a very different perception of time and of timing.
A vicar's time in the parish is short- a year.
The ongoing work of the collective body spans a much larger and longer spectrum. Vicars spend time in class preparing to integrate learning.
Time in the parish shows that the flow of integration in real life in the parish is vastly out of sync with the world of the semester. None of this is earth-shattering news, and yet reality "on the ground" must be processed.
Where are the joys and moments of God's grace?
Where are the challenges and how might God be speaking in them?

"Patient Trust"
by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made
by passing through some stages of instability-
and that it may take a very long time.
And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually-let them grow, let them shape themselves,
without undue haste.
Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today
what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.
Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming in you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing that His hand is leading you
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

Life in Ministry

I am beyond excited that I have moved into my office, officially called a "study." It is, shall we say, cozy. As wide as my bookshelf and endtable. As deep as my second chair and desk. But, with all of my books and pictures, crosses and candles, and my fun toys- squirt gun, light up antlers, Action figure Peter, and Clap for the Lord clappers, it is just right. My message board on my door playfully invites people to complete the sentence- The Vicar is ______________. I have gotten the handful of keys, the secrets to the phone system, and my vestments joined the others in the sacristy. I am told the sextons bring us cookies on Sunday! I had gracious help in moving in and found a cheerful Welcome sign above my desk, a ready laptop and printer and a tote bag in case I want one for carrying things around or going to the Farmers Market which I can walk to. I have been blessed with a wonderfully exuberant and supportive Internship Committee. I will be installed, will offer the benediction and then the adventure will begin to unfold.
It is an amazing time.
While I ask for your prayers as I embark, I also ask for prayers for a pastor in our synod who is experiencing a much different life in ministry. A year ago, he was called by a member who told him that the member's wife had been found dead in the pool. Murdered. Within mere hours of processing this loss, and attempting to walk with the husband, investigation led to the husband's arrest and charging. How to minister to a family in loss and also to one accused and whose fate hangs in the balance. A year later the trial has begun and the pastor was called as a witness and asked whether he knew the husband was having an affair at the time of his wife's death, and what his perception was of the husband's grieving or not grieving the loss of his wife. (The husband admits the affair and his child with the other woman was born this spring). I have been a lawyer, and a witness in my life. I have counseled others. I can only imagine what this pastor must be experiencing. Multi-faceted grief and stress. SO I ask for prayers for his care in the midst of his caring and ministering. The adventures of minstry can unfold in many ways- none of us ever wants to think it will look like this.

I am not a Gas Station attendant

I regret that I am not a more regular blogger- somehow there is too much of life happening to crystallize it. The last time I blogged, I was headed into a time when I was to train interns in a shadowing process. Each of those times brought learning for both of us. But the more recent time happened on a snowy day, when I drove through the virtual snow globe and slick roads, watching each of the 10 accidents I passed to predict if it involved people who would be coming to the hospital. I am still not sure what that says about me. After a trip that took three times as long to complete, I had just introduced myself to the intern, and gotten the handoff of patients when the traumas started. Since the other non-student chaplain was stuck in traffic, we were off to the first of 6 traumas in our 6 hour shift. Many involved another patient who was somewhere else in the ER, and the shuttling back and forth to keep everyone who had been torn asunder, connected. Husbands and wives, parents and children. In all of this buzz, there was the family of an older woman who was in the ER and dying, totally unrelated to the swirl of motor vehicle events. The ER is like a beehive when there are multiple simultaneous events, and one must keep one ear to what is happening beyond to know what will soon be told. In the midst was a Code Blue five floors away and the challenge of how to leave and how to be present for a totally different family who doesn't care about my trauma load downstairs. How it is that one is able to shift and be what is needed is truly God's work.
In the midst of this wild ride, I am trying to keep the intern in the loop and check how she is doing. It becomes obvious that this is not at all pleasant for her- in the rare moment of time, I ask how she is doing and learn " I guess I did not prepare myself for the reality of death. I am not ready for it now."
But who among us really has prepared? The fact your beloved has been sick and could die "someday" is not "today." The fact you were hit by another car, but now your mother, the passenger, is dying, is not what any of us can mentally be braced to simply accept. This is what makes us human- to love is to risk. But in the midst of this, what is the word that can be offered?
Recently one of my classmates, in lifting up the merits of parish ministry (which are many) told me that what I do is "just gas-station ministry." In the sense that I am sent by God to fill up your spiritual tank when you feel depleted, or drained, I suppose that is true. The fact we are 24/7 not answering machine, is a reality. But from where I stand, it is not about whether one or another has a "better" or more permanent ministry. After all, who knows what the seeds are that are planted- do they happen because of a great sermon, or a warm handshake at the door each week, or do they happen because when faith was tested in the crucible of trauma, it was restored, or kindled? Only God knows.
For whatever reason my time at the hospital allows me to use a gift. It is not an exclusive gift- but in my time there, I will do what I can to plant seeds, for the patients, for the staff, for the families, for my peers. Often this happens when a pastor cannot come, or at a time when pastors are elsewhere. It takes many of us, each where we need to be, when we need to be, to do what the Spirit desires. If that means I am a gas station attendant, then I guess I pray you will want to fill your tank and that one of us will be there with a smile and an encouraging word for the journey ahead.

Go, Silent Friend

At long last, my friend with cancer, who I have blogged about over the last year, has breathed her last. However, through Christ she and not death will have the last word. My fiercely determined friend, with whom there has been intense and personal sharing, more than our fair share of laughs, and more than a couple glasses of wine. Who lived life writ large- big smile, big laugh, big heart. With piercing eyes that could sparkle with great Irish wit, or slay you with the glacial glare if you have hurt her clan. Never afraid to be real and honest and loving- NOW. She has been a friend, a confidant, a client, a supporter, and the person that would tell you that you just did, or were about to do, a really stupid thing. If she had your back, there was little to fear.
In this week I, like many of my peers will be meeting on Friday ( Reformation Day) with my candidacy panel. I hope and pray that I will be recommended for endorsement to continue my studies and discernment. On Sunday, our younger daughter, our spare teen and six other youth will participate in their affirmation of baptism. Juxtaposed between these two days will be the service for my friend. In many ways a microcosm of ministry and life in the community of faith. And it has become time to honor the promise she asked me to make, that week she learned she had cancer. When she swore she would beat it, but just in case, " will you sing at my service?" Our eyes both welled up as I assured her that day was farther off than it might seem.

Gracious God, we give you thanks for the life and witness of one who we so deeply loved and who so deeply loved us. We give you thanks for that ways in which you used her devotion, and her example of faith in good times and in struggle, that helped us to be faithful too. We give you thanks for the saving act of the life, death and resurrection of your Son, Jesus Christ, and the promise that nothing can separate us from your love. May this bring comfort in the times ahead as we mourn our loss, and may we also be sustained by the memories of the gift of time with which we were blessed. In the name of Jesus Christ, our risen Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

A year and a half. The gift of time we shared as friends after that day, the day when I promised and acted as a friend, when it seemed so distant. Any thought I had that this had been forgotten was dispelled when today I learned that the service had been planned. From my friend's notes throughout her illness. Notes now scooped up lovingly and brought to the church, by her devoted hubby. And among the wishes and thoughts, that I would sing a solo, the words she wanted to leave with those who mourned. So after I have assisted with communing the gathered, the post-communion canticle will be this song, sung to the tune of "Londonderry Air," more popularly known as the tune of "Danny Boy."

"Go Silent Friend"
The Iona Community

Go, silent friend,
your life has found its ending:
To dust returns your weary mortal frame.
God, who before birth called you into being,
Now calls you hence, his ascent still the same.

Go, silent friend,
your life in Christ is buried;
For you He lived and died and rose again.
Close by His side your promised place is waiting
Where, fully known, you shall with God remain.

Go, silent friend,
forgive us if we grieved you;
Safe now in heaven, kindly say our name.
Your life has touched us, that is why we mourn you;
Our lives without you cannot be the same.

Go, silent friend,
we do not grudge your glory;
Sing, sing with joy deep praises to your Lord.
You, who believed that Christ would come back for you,
Now celebrate that Jesus keeps his word.


Til we meet again, my dear friend. You have won- Thanks be to God. +

Ministry in the Hallways

"When you are on the way to do the ministry you think are to be doing, real ministry will happen." Or words to that effect have stayed with me since I began my path towards seminary, these wise words from Dr. Mark Oldenburg (always give attribution).
How true this has been for me in so many ways, and continues to be so. Yesterday was my first shift as a non-intern, i.e. real-live paid chaplain associate. I came to the hospital to find a very tired overnight intern who had an incredibly rough night. We met in the hallway and her "will you get some coffee with me?" was the first of many hallway moments as she needed to share what had been an extremely emotional night with no sleep, and she still had the day shift to work with me.
Not knowing each other, we met first in her processing and then, in the formalities of "who are you, where are you from?" As she shared with me her amazement that people would so openly begin to lay bare their life experience with her, a total stranger, I smiled, watching her do the exact same thing.
As the remainder of the day unfolded, I was off to the ICU to see a patient who had been moved there post-surgery. He was asleep, and his wife was not there, but as I rounded the corner, I turned the wrong way. In doing so , I encountered a cluster of family with a doctor, standing in the hall outside a room, hearing the words, " So that's where it's at right now. Any questions?" They kind of stand there numbly and head toward the waiting room. I catch the doctor to find out that the patient is congestive and very tired and outcomes are not looking good.
As I head toward the waiting room, voices are beginning to rise. I step in and introduce myself. I mention I saw them speaking with the doctor and wonder how things are going. For the next hour I hear the struggles of the sister who senses her sister is at peace and wants to meet God and be reunited with her husband.
Another sister thinks the the patient is "giving up" and needs to fight because it's not her time to go. The sons are in shock and trying to internalize the medical information and make sense of it. They all tell me of the deep abiding faith of their loved one. And I hear the fears and pain of knowing that a visit to the house has revealed that things are labeled with who is to receive them, including several rosaries. Dots are being connected and a sense of potential finality is slamming them in the face. What does it mean to be faithful now? Who are they to be now, for her and for each other? I had not expected to be there. They had not expected me, but our time together ends with prayer and hugs and an expression that I must have been sent to them to hear them in this moment.
And so I head down the hall, to see a patient and I pass a woman with a baby on her lap, and the stroller laden with things, telling a friend " I guess now I am not just the sandwich generation, I am the triple sandwich, between Dad, and my husband and the baby- but we'll get through I guess." I make my visit and am headed back the hallway. The woman is still there, reading Doctor Suess to the baby and trying really hard to be all of the things she needs to be. I wave to the baby who smiles.
The woman looks up and says hello. I ask about her son who is 10 months, and we talk about the universal quality of Dr Suess. I ask her how her day is going. And we talk about her father's cancer, and her husband's work injury that has him laid up, and the baby. I notice she has a case of Diet Coke in the bottom of the stroller and an open can is in the cup holder. After she shares her saga, she smiles and says, " I know it is a lot but we are so blessed.. I know that. We will get through." We joke about how Diet Coke will help, but then spend a minute talking about what else she can rely upon. And I tell her we are there to support her anyway we can and give her a card. We say a brief prayer and I am on my way.
To run into the security guard who wants to ask about the motorcycle accident victim earlier and to tell me how scared the guards were when he came in with the paramedics and how worried they have been for the family.
And the patient who I expect to see for a routine visit request, but she is headed for an MRI and she is having anxiety. We pray in the hall and I write down Isaiah 12:2 for her to take with her- "Surely it is God who saves me, I will trust in him and not be afraid." She tells me later she held the paper in her hands in the MRI because even if she couldn't say the words, she knew she was holding on to them.
On the way to do what I thought I was going to do, the Spirit had other plans. I am humbled and grateful for the ways I was used, along the way.

The Long and Winding Road Takes Another Turn

Our time for the summer unit of CPE ended a week ago at the Regional Trauma Center in “Amish Country.” A time for us to wrap up our reflections ( though mine are still resonating). Time for contemplating this context of ministry which is in a city(though arguably not a New York or even Philly-sized) which serves a county of a half a million, plus a neighboring area. Where our diversity includes not only several racial or ethnic groups, but a distinct religious sector, the Plain Sect faiths. A place where many may see the county as one way, the days of old, in spite of the rapid, burgeoning growth in divergent paths. In the past, most towns could count a traffic light or two, but now bypasses, sprawl and transience are phenomena of the last fifteen years. Where the trauma bays is far more frequently in use than ever before. Here are some random thoughts from the group.
One of my team mates brought up how the ER staff treats people who are intoxicated- the “drunks” – and how he found himself buying into their vibe and banter even when he felt he should not. It is easy to understand- the staff have seen lots of pain and crisis when people drink and drive. It is hard to have to clean up a person who chose this path. My peer stayed and joined in. And I thought of that fire in the courtyard with Peter and the others- denying Christ. What you do to others, you do to me. What about those it is hard to love? We talked about how easy it is to see Jesus’ ministry and our calling to carry it out, in a sanitized movie-set way. The truth is that the ER and much of the work we do here on the eight floors is a very real composite of the demoniacs, lepers, drunkards, gluttons, prostitutes, blind, lame.. these are not people somewhere else, but here in our midst and we are called to minister to all of them.
And while much of our work is valued at the time, who knows for whom the message is a fleeting glimpse. Some may see their crisis as the catalyst for a quest, while others know they can or will not, and some will outright reject. Our sharing centered around remembering that Jesus was not only loved and adored, but rejected with a cry to “Crucify!” One of the struggles for some has been wondering how their work will bear fruit, who cannot see their presence at the moment as sufficient, a single step in a much longer journey. Sometimes our work is done in very visible ways, and at other times when perhaps only God knows we have been present. Some wrestle with not having an affirmation of their care. Others struggle with knowing that they see a person leave who is going right back into the crucible that sent them here. And I think of the rich man who walked away, those who were healed who never said thanks. And those who do the things they do not want to do, and cannot do the things they know they want to.
For myself, I know that what I have gleaned here can, and will hopefully, carry over into ministry and relationships in a variety of circumstances and contexts. But I also know that the immediacy of this care in this context, where I am Spirit led and sent into roles I could not imagine, to be in liminal moments where I am in awe of God’s presence, demonstrating compassion to those it is easy to forget, is an experience I am drawn to. Times where mere words seem insufficient. While my peers wrapped up their unit and moved on, I am continuing as an on-call chaplain while I return for my second year in seminary, with a new ID, and new discerning to do. When I began my process of discernment, I assumed I would be ruling things out that did not seem like my ministry. Instead I have found that I am ruling things “in” which I think means that I am becoming more a person open to the Spirit’s leading, and less a person who wants to tell God how I think it ought to be. I am energized to see where the long and winding road will take me next and who my fellow travelers will be.

The Super-Greeters

The other Sunday I had the Sunday "off" from the Country Parish to go the The Stone Church in the City as part of a requirement I see urban ministry. The city is in a county of a couple hundred thousand people, so in the pantheon of cities, not large. But it is in the corridor between Baltimore and New York and has changed immeasurably over the years. Lots of drug trafficking and influx of people, often transient. The church used to be a neighborhood church, but now most people live "out" and come in.
The church has a new pastor and is evaluating how they can best provide ministry where they are- they have specifically and overwhelmingly rejected flight to the suburbs. They enmeshed in an intentional visioning process and are open to many avenues that other similar congregations would not take on. I pray they discern their path- they have great facilities, an endowment, eager pastor and..
And they have - the Super Greeters.
When I entered, I was greeted by an eager, but not pushy, older gentleman. He introduced himself, determined I was visiting, asked me to sign the visitor book, showed me to a seat, made his way to shake my hand during sharing of the peace with his wife in tow. Gave me a coffee mug, magnet and pen, and invited me to fellowship. When he learned I have a home congregation, encouraged me to consider their church, my home whenever I might be in the area.
And today, two weeks later, a card in the mail from The Greeters, telling me they were blessed by my presence, hope I found the word of the Lord sustaining in my time with them, wished me peace and come back anytime.
If this enthusiasm can translate beyond the doors and into the community in evangelism and mission, there is great hope for the future. What a blessing to be in the midst of someone with the true gift of hospitality.

Friday Flick- If We Are the Body

Thanks to Eric for tagging me for a meme, and to Unlikely Conversationalist for letting me know also. I will get to it this weekend, taking a sermon prep break and thought this was a good question to ponder.

Eyes Front

I am putting together a multicultural independent study project for J-term, which I hope will take me to working at Water Street Rescue Mission about a half hour from my house. And in that half hour drive, my car will transport me from a homogenous bedroom community/small town that can still feel like 1950's America, to "the City." Having done most of my growing up in Pittsburgh, I know that "the City" is not on the scale of Pittsburgh and certainly not the size of the major US cities.
But, as far as I can tell, poverty is not exclusive. Extending across ethnic, racial and gender barriers, it robs people of their dignity.
I am finishing up exegesis on a sermon on Luke 15 for an assignment, so my focus really is on the lost. The Mission, houses men and women and children, in short and long term programs, as well as offering medical and dental clinics.
I visited their blog, http://lifeatwsrm.blogspot.com/.
One of the entries by a staff person, was entitled "Eyes Front." I lift it up to you and also lift up the work of shelter projects across our country that are in many ways the hands of God for the least and the lost.

"Did you ever walk by someone who lives on the street and look the other way, hoping they wouldn’t notice or, God forbid, speak to you? The temptation to react this way is huge, and society teaches us that this is an acceptable reaction to poverty and homelessness.

We’ve become so comfortable with poverty and homelessness that we hardly notice their end results. As a former resident of Chicago and Boston, my ability to see without noticing became finely tuned, although having this ability didn’t alleviate the nagging feeling there was more going on here than meets the eye.

I have the opportunity to interact and work with our clientele on a daily basis and I can tell you that each one of them has a life history filled with many of the same things as you and me. The biggest thing that usually separates us is a few decisions along that way the either of us could have made differently.

I recently had the privilege of having my teenage step-son (Daniel) spend a day with me at the mission. During that day, he spent several hours working with one of our clients (Don) and the two of them developed a real connection. As we were driving home that day, Daniel said to me “I really like Don. We had a great time together, he’s a great guy!” I agree; I’ve had the opportunity to get to know Don and he is a special person. The next thought that came into my head was: how would Daniel and I have reacted to Don if we’d met him on the street instead of at the Mission? It’s upsetting to me that there was a time when I would have discounted Don as a person and just walked past him while trying to avoid looking at him.

We can’t all work at a rescue mission, nor should we, but there is more you can do. I invite you to take a moment to consider your reaction to poverty and homelessness, based on only one idea: there’s a real person of God’s creation under the rags, the smell, and the dirt. It’s very likely that this person under the rags is someone that could have a real impact on Daniel, me, and you if given the chance. You don’t have to give money, cars, or even your time to our clients or those still on the streets, but I invite you to consider giving them your love, respect, and most of all, your prayers. Look them in the eye and say hello, you might be surprised at the good it does for both of you."

- Scooter Haase, Operations, WSRM

Being Present- Shelter from the Storm

I missed posting a Friday flick because after class it was a fast dash to get home and get the Chicks to the football field for the band prep and pregame show and I was working the concession stand. It was already a busy evening. Made busier by the text from the Chicks that D, one of LC#2's friends had come home from school with my girls and we were taking her to the game also. And our home congregation was having its first Fifth Quarter party after the game. All of our kids at church were bringing their friends for pizza and wings for about an hour. LC#1 informed me that she had invited two friends who may or may not be sleeping over after all of this and who would all need rides to 5th quarter if they did not walk as a group, and definitely rides home.
So off we go to the football field with 2 chicks and D. After the game, I learn from my wide-eyed younger daughter that D REALLY wants to spend the night. Her mom, who is divorced, and lives with a boyfriend who is the father of D's little brother, is at work. Mom and boyfriend had been fighting the day before and that morning. D gets caught in the middle and says that the boyfriend is " a mean drunk" and she does not want to go home. I suspect there is even more to this story but it is not shared. We track down Mom who says she is just getting home but a sleepover is fine. We arrange to stop by and pick up a few things. I send my beloved just in case.
Meanwhile, LC#1 has two friends, AC and AK who are having home issues as well. One had just had her mom leave this summer for another man, leaving Dad and the kids behind. Lots of ugly confrontations. The other tells me that her mom and stepdad have been fighting. He left for a day but is back. Her mom lost her drivers license some years ago for a series of DUI's. The girl thinks her mom is now eligible to get her license back, but her stepdad will not pay the fees necessary, because " then my Mom could leave. This is how he keeps her trapped and controls our lives." And both of these women have low paying jobs, and kids to care for and are dependent upon situations that perhaps they would rather not be in, but there is no way out. And these girls are smart enough to see that this is not healthy. I pray for them that they get the chance for different futures.
So lots of running around and lots of being there for these teenage girls who just need an adult without issues who lets them vent.
And we got home after 11 last night and some people were sleeping over and needed to be redistributed today. And in the midst of all of this, my girls made me proud, not just for being there for their friends, but for inviting one of the "outcast" boys in band to the party as well. And his mother rejoiced with me that he and she were thrilled that he got an "invite."
So I am tired, and all of my schoolwork is calling my name, but once again, being present for others, not to fix their world but to give them a haven, seemed like where we needed to be.

Don’t Just Sit There, Do Something!

Poor Martha. She may or may not have known much in advance that Jesus and a dozen or so of his followers were stopping by. After all, there were no cell phones, or any phones for that matter. The house is a mess, and I don't have anything ready. There was no Turkey Hill or 24 hour supermarket. So she might have been absolutely scrambling. Go to the well and draw water for cooking, build the fire and bake the bread and prepare whatever else there may be. Tidy the place up, maybe change into something else to wear. And then they arrive, and there may be feet to wash in true hospitality of the day and serving the food and maybe the wine, and …SIGH. What is Mary doing? Well, apparently when she hears Jesus is coming, she gets excited, she can't wait to see him and hear him teach. And she greets him warmly. Sits at his feet, rapt in suspense, hanging on his every word. For Mary, hearing that Jesus will be here at her house is like scoring tickets to the big concert you have been dying to see. You drop everything and enjoy.

And this is not the first time Jesus encounters Mary and her sister Martha. Mary is the woman who anointed his feet with expensive perfume and dried them with her hair. And of course later Jesus will raise Lazarus from the dead. There may have been, and probably were other occasions that are not recorded. There is a closeness between Jesus and this family. But he is still company and he has a posse with him everywhere he goes.

So Martha is in overdrive preparing to welcome Jesus into the home. And she is doing, and doing, and when will she just get to sit, and doesn't Mary see how much there is to do?! Why should Mary be the one to just sit, I want to sit, but of course that wouldn't be right- there are all these things to do.

It reminds me of a T-shirt I once saw in a catalog with three sayings. "To do is to be " attributed to Plato

"To be is to do" attributed to Camus

"Do be do be do" – Frank Sinatra

Viewed slightly differently, the do/be cycle is where we usually end up when considering this passage. Do-be-do-be, looks like a dog chasing its tail. And Jesus looks like he is rebuking Martha for choosing doing over being. But is that really the message here?

In breaking down the interaction, it sounds like Martha, who is on familiar terms with Jesus, treats him almost like family, like one of my kids coming and saying "It's not fair, I am doing all of the chore-make Mary help." Tattling and venting all at the same time. While Martha would never have talked this way with a stranger, she is comfortable enough to tell Jesus, "Mary will listen to you, tell her to get up and DO something." We have things to do to welcome you. Rather than get sucked into Martha's lament, Jesus changes the paradigm. It is not about doing versus being, and he is not really rebuking Martha, he is trying to comfort her, redirect her, and get her off of the spinning hamster wheel.

I can picture him placing his hand on her tensed up shoulder, and calming her. For he says first, "you are worried and distracted by many things." And who hasn't been there? We live in a "to do" world. Our world measures us in terms of our tangible accomplishments. We need to "Git 'R Done." And we have so many techno-gadgets to keep track of all of our stuff we have to do. PDA's, web calendars, buzzing Blackberry's. In our churches we often carry over the same things, into committees, agendas, long-range plans, formalized ways of doing almost everything. We are so busy doing. Some of us then excel at this by taking on too much of the things we are sure must get done. People burn out, ignore self-care, and ministry stops being done out of love or devotion and becomes a drudgery. Martha in today's world, like some of us would be a good candidate for chronic fatigue syndrome. But for Jesus' intervening comment, we can imagine his entire visit happening without Martha ever really experiencing its purpose. We in turn, become so focused upon the doing of our lists that we lose sight of the purpose.

Which leads us to the second thing Jesus says after he tells Martha she is distracted by many things. "There is need of only one thing." That one thing is being in God's presence. Talking to God, listening to God. Learning from God. Getting fed. And the way we welcome God into our midst is not the same kind of active doing that populates our to do lists and forms. "Come, spend time with me, let's enjoy each other's company, for I will not be here long," Jesus is saying to Martha. "I know you care for me, relax." In our busy world, we meet Jesus in many ways. In worship, in prayer and in others brought into our midst. Walter Wangerin, in his series, "Four Acts of Prayer" shares that there are four parts of prayer. Step One, we talk. Step Two, God listens. Step Three, God talks. And here is the one we all sometimes skip out on. Step Four, we listen. This is what Mary was DOING.

For me, the story of what Mary is up to is that she was not doing nothing. She was doing something. She was listening and sharing with God. And the third thing Jesus says is that for this, this doing, she " has chosen the better part, the thing that cannot be taken away." The things we do to welcome God into our midst, come and go without feeding us, when we do not stop and listen. Talk and listen, and then allow this to lead our actions.

If we give God the rightful place of priority in ordering our days, we will be choosing the better part. And we will be making more personal connections instead of gestures that feel superficial. And we will let God call the tune rather than getting caught up in our lists.

I recently attended Seminary Weekend at LTSG, and in the Saturday evening worship service, Pastor Mark Oldenburg preached about ministry. Let's be honest, there are meetings, there are agendas, and there are forms that clutter our days. "Blessed are the forms for they will always be with you" could characterize our lives. Paraphrasing the part that hit home for me in his sermon was a statement that when you are on your way to "do" the ministry that needs to be done, that is where you will meet Jesus. And so it is for each of us, pastors or laypeople. On the way to fulfilling your to-do list of calls and visits, and all of the above, you will meet Jesus, in unexpected ways. A person will cross your path who was not scheduled but you will meet Jesus. It may happen at a time that is not of your choosing. You may have all of these other things to do. But in ministering there, you will choose the better part as Mary did.

Of course, back to Martha, she is hard to change. When Lazarus has died, she rebukes Jesus for not getting there sooner, "Where were you?" After all, there was work to be done. And now it is too late, and don't open that tomb, it's going to stink in there, and then I'll have that to deal with." Jesus, repeats the same theme. Relax, "Did I not tell you to believe?"

And so it is for us. Even if we want to be more like Mary, many of us find habits hard to change. But even when we fail, God's grace is there for us. Even when church is running long and at the communion rail you are really thinking about what you need to get at the store for dinner, or half a dozen other things distract you. God is there for us at the table, saying, "you are worried and distracted by many things, but you only need one thing." And he feeds us and sends us out to try anew.