Ageless Christmas

What is it about Christmas that makes us ageless?  Somehow this time of year easily and consistently takes me back to memories of years gone by.  I ponder the lights on the Christmas tree in our house and at the same time feel myself transported to the sofa in the living room of my parents house where every year my mother and I would sit side by side and admire the Christmas tree together.  The smell of coffee and Christmas bread reminds me of the early morning Julotta services at church where I would have to patiently wait for my parents to drink that second cup of coffee at church before we got to go home and open the presents that Santa had brought.    There is the same swelling of emotion and pride at choir concerts and Sunday School programs as I remember in the years when our children were young.    Now my heart is filled as I watch other parents and grandparents grinning ear to ear with their child’s performance.  I made rosettes last night and could see my mother and our neighbor, Julie, standing in the kitchen making them while I had to stay a distance away because of the hot oil on the stove.     The memories keep flooding back and I am 8 or 12 years old in my heart.   I am 25, 30, or 40 again in my mind.

All these memories can be comforting and reassuring but for many it is also a bittersweet journey.  Times and lives have changed.  People are missing from our holiday celebrations.  Traditions have evolved to accommodate scattered and busy schedules. I desperately cling to some pieces of the holidays that connect me to past memories while at the same time realizing that there is no way to go back and that time and change will continue to march on in our lives.  Of course some of that is good.   It is good to grow up.  It is good to be flexible enough to embrace new opportunities in life. Yet, it always seems to be an emotional mix in this season.  

And then I come to the Christmas story.  There it is again.  The same story from the gospels.  The one everyone knows and has heard over and over again.  For a preacher it is hard to figure out what could possibly be said that is new or refreshing... but then maybe that is the message.  In the midst of changes, in the midst of things we cannot control in our lives, in the midst of the sometimes bittersweet emotions of the season, there is something that is unchanging.  Jesus comes to us - a little baby born in Bethlehem.  Thanks be to God for the unchanging, unconditional love of God revealed to us at Christmas. 

Advent Tug of War

I had one of those days recently.  You know the kind.  A day when you have perfectly timed out a plan in your head so that you can make the most efficient use of your time and get everything done.  That is until the day actually starts.  What began as a happy morning, suddenly took a turn as activities took twice as long as expected.  Nothing went wrong but even pleasant interruptions and circling the hospital parking lot four times for a parking spot intensified my frustration of not keeping to the appointed agenda. 

This advent has been that way.  For much of it, God and I have been playing a game of tug of war.  I imagine God smiling and laughing as I have tried so hard to pull on the rope to get it to come my way. Alas, God has held strong.

Slowly and finally the message has come to me.   Our timing is not God’s timing.  How often I have used that phrase - usually in the context of someone dying or receiving a difficult diagnosis. But this year it seems to me that it is also the advent message that God has been trying to teach me.  The more I plan and get anxious about checking things off my “to do” list, the more hurting people come to visit me.  Each person, unaware, has been a messenger of Advent.  Not only is my timing not God’s timing, but my priorities of  tasks over  people have been misplaced.   This week, I thanked God for a couple that came in asking for assistance and told me all about their life story.  They were messengers of Advent as I put aside the piles on my desk and focused on their desire for better times in life.    
It is in Advent that we wait, we wonder, we hope, we dream and we believe that God will come to restore us and  make us new.    It is in unexpected interruptions -  the announcement of Gabriel, the imposed travel for a census, the appearance of angels in the night sky - where God’s love intervenes with hope.  And perhaps it is in the interruptions of our daily schedules that God continues to break in to redirect our paths.  The proclamations may come in such humble packages from unanticipated visitors that they could be easily missed in the frenzy of busy days.  It is in anticipation of unexpected interruptions that I enter in to the last week Advent with joy. 

The Other Sermon

     I am preaching this weekend.  My problem in preparing a sermon is not a lack of ideas.  My problem is having too many ideas and needing to choose one that I think I can develop in to 10 -12 minutes of something meaningful.  Often the “other sermon” is what I share at the communion services in nursing homes. However, I have decided that this blog may be a place to share some of my undeveloped thoughts that continue to intrigue me.  

     This weekend’s text is the parable Jesus tells about the end times in Matthew 25.  Jesus returns in glory as king, gathers the nations, and separates the sheep from the goats.  On the one hand, the sheep receive eternal life because they have fed the hungry, visited the prisoners, etc.  On the other hand, the goats are punished for sins of omission in not caring for the “least of these.”  It is a tough text with some hard questions for a wide variety of reasons. 

     What I find curious is that both the sheep and the goats are surprised by the dividing.  Neither group realizes what they have done or not done.  Jesus seems to be able to discern something that they do not even realize.  When I was researching the difference between sheep and goats, I further discovered that in the wild and certainly in Jesus’ time it was very difficult to tell the difference between sheep and goats.  Primarily it is their tail that gives them away.  Goats have a tail that stands up and sheep have a tail the goes down.  Goats aren’t inherently bad and sheep aren’t inherently good.  They are both very useful animals.  The curious difference comes more in what I would call attitude.  Goats are independent, like to go their own way, more frequently butt heads with the other goats while sheep prefer to stay in the flock and will follow wherever they are led.  In fact in the sale barns today, sometimes a goat will lead a flock of sheep into the ring only to slip away and lead another group in while the sheep are being sold for slaughter.  The men at Bible study this week exclaimed, “sheep are just dumb.”

     So what does all this mean for us?  “Thank God I am a dumb sheep” or “I hope I’m not a stubborn goat.” Is it our resistance to recognizing our need to live in community that Jesus is addressing?  Is it our independence that gets us in trouble?  How often are we the ones who want to decide who is in and who is out of our community, church, family, etc?  

Maybe you can continue this "other sermon" for me. 

Free Love Hippie?

Last spring I was standing in line at the post office waiting to mail a package.  In my mind I was reflecting on the gospel story about the man who was born blind and thinking about the different kinds of blindness there are in the world today.  As I turned to leave, a man in line said to me, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice how you are dressed.  You might be interested in this.”  He handed me a business card.  I received the card saying, “thank you,” and walked out the door. 

To my amazement the card read, “Hippie from Iowa.”  Once in my car, I ruminated the whole way home.  Hippie? Me?  What is there about my dress that says “hippie”?  Okay, now my daughter says that my wardrobe is dated and I dress “frumpy”.  I didn’t think I was doing that bad but I was wearing shoes that look a little like earth shoes from the ‘70s,  a long khaki skirt,  and my pink tweed coat.  Maybe it is all a little dated since I bought it used at least 5 years ago but retro is cool, right?

Anyway, according to the card, the gentleman in the post office line has written about his “coming of age” experiences, learning about sex and traveling Europe during the 70s.   Maybe I should be flattered that he thought I was in to the “free love” movement but obviously he pegged my age if not my temperament.

So ultimately, the question is, “what did he see?”  And perhaps more to the point, what do I see when I look in the mirror?  Obviously, they are two different things.  And when I am out in the community, am I truly seeing the people around me or just passing judgment about whether they are like me or different from me?  Blindness comes in many different forms, from denial to distrust.  But then I wonder what God sees.  No amount of wardrobe choices cover or confuse who we really are before God.  Yet in God’s great mercy, we are the recipients of “free love” through Jesus Christ.  Open my eyes, Lord, and let me see Jesus.

To Be a Spider Plant

Ministry is a rewarding career.  I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than being able to share the good news of Jesus Christ in a variety of ways.  However, there aren’t very many concrete measuring tools.  The kind of success that I generally value is not related to numbers but more about the spiritual growth that goes on inside of a person. It is hard to hold that up to a yardstick.  That’s when I look at my spider plants.   

When I moved in to my office at Trinity, formerly occupied by Pastor Sam Hamilton-Poore,  I inherited a spider plant.  I remember meeting with Pastor Sam before I started and making a joke about the poor plant.  It was laying sideways in a pot with very little dirt.  He said he would leave it for me as a gift.  Within the first month of starting at Trinity I took the plant home, re-potted it, and put it outside in the spring sunshine to see if it would survive.  By the end of the summer, I was overwhelmed with spider plant “babies” hanging off the plant.  I cut and potted a few and returned the original to my church office.  Since that time, they have multiplied with so many new spider plants that I haven’t known what to do with them or where they have all gone.  My college age kids have them in their apartments and dorms.  I put them in with my annuals flowers outside at home and at our businesses.  They adorn the front entry of the cafe downtown.  I have given them away to friends and strangers who then have given them to others.  As I started to move my plants inside for the winter this year, I potted numerous spider plant babies to give to the youth to sell at the Scandinavian Bazaar.  One forlorn little spider plant at Trinity has given birth to countless other plants that have gone all over our community and beyond in the last 5 years.


When Jesus talked about discipleship, he used familiar images from his environment:  vines and branches, sower and soils, mustards seeds and trees.  I wonder if Jesus lived in north Iowa today, he would say, "You are spider plants."  We are to send out shoots of growth, creating new plants.  These plants then find their own soil where they can grow and create more new plants, eventually to the point that no one is sure where they all came from or where they all have gone.   


Sometimes, I like to think about the ministry at Trinity as trying to live up to my spider plant.  In the last five years, it is my hope that some words and actions of comfort, hope and challenge have reproduced in others.  And it is my belief that shoots of spiritual growth from Trinity have made an impact all over our community and beyond.


(For those of you wondering... After a 3 week silence of returning to regular ministry responsibilities and evaluating some responses to this blog, I have decided to continue writing.  Because of other time commitments, the entries may not be as often as they were during my sabbatical but will evolve as my life experiences reveal God to me in fresh ways each day.)

A Perfect Autumn Day

What a great day!  Thirty six friends from Trinity made the journey from Mason City to Iowa Falls to board the Scenic City Empress Boat for lunch and a cruise along the Iowa River.  The weather was lovely, the food was delicious, and the fellowship was wonderful.

As I sat on top of the boat watching the vista of colors, experiencing the gentle flow of water, and reflecting on the beauty of creation, the words from Isaiah 55: 12 seemed to be exemplified before me.

For you shall go out in joy,

and be led back in peace

the mountains and hills before you

shall burst into song,

and all the trees of the field

shall clap their hands.

I hope your autumn days are filled with God's blessings and thank you to those who shared this one with me.

All Behavior Has Meaning

      It is said,  “All behavior has meaning.”  I’m not exactly sure if I completely believe it but I do think behavior sometimes reveals more about who we are as people than we realize.  Every once in a while, I have fun analyzing what I am doing(or what I forget to do) and what it reveals about my psycho/spiritual self.

      I slipped back in to church on Friday to go through some mail and get re-oriented to what has been happening.  I started to resume my usual "pre-sabbatical" morning routine but immediately experienced a difference.  Noah is driving himself to school. (Motorists beware of a rusty blue pickup J)  For the first time in 17 years, I don’t have anyone to drop off or pick up from school.  What will I do with all my extra time?  Instead, I went to my favorite coffee shop, (you might know which one) and filled my to-go mug.  They brew Hazelnut on Tuesdays and Fridays so those are always good days.  I wore jeans and a sweatshirt to church so no one would take me too seriously.  I pulled in to the parking lot but in spite of my routine, I discovered that I had left my calendar at home.  Oops.   I carefully packed my bag the night before, like a kid going to the first day of school, but left it in the kitchen.  Yes, all behavior has meaning.  I guess I am ready to be back at church by the end of this week but maybe not for the calendar of activities and commitment to a schedule.  In fact, I haven’t worn a watch for two months and I actually misplaced my calendar for over a month during my sabbatical.  You don't have to be Freud to figure that one out.

     On a completely different note, however, I arrived at church only to discover a whole other way that all behavior has meaning.  Extraordinary things have been happening with many extra-ordinary behaviors by our church members.  What was the spark of the Holy Spirit moving in one person’s life to do something of incredibly generous proportion for the church, has been fanned in to a “wild fire blaze” of activity since I have been gone.  Kitchen renovation, demolition of the old parsonage, new carpeting, stained glass repair are part of what appears to be contagious generosity, excitement, and caring .   Benevolence has abounded through time, talents, and unexpected charitable gifts.  All behavior has meaning and the meaning of Jesus' gospel teachings have truly found expression in multiple kinds of behaviors in the last two months at church.  I am humbled to minister to, with, and ministered by such a wonderful group of committed servants of God.

      And so I was led from my external parking lot self examination of what I forgot to do, to an internal soul searching of what I ought to do.  If all behavior has meaning, and the church is filled with good stewards and disciples, then what am I to learn from their examples?    How do I prioritize what is meaningful in my life.  Do my actions reflect the hierarchy of importance?  What does my charitable giving, or lack there of, demonstrate about who I really am as person? And through it all, thanks be to God for the meaningful behavior of so many people.  

This I Know

       On the road in small town America, I drove by a sign in front of someone’s house that said, “Jesus hates __”.  What was filled in the blank doesn’t matter.  Obviously,  the author was trying to make a comment on a current event and making sure that everyone knew that God had taken sides.  

I wonder what it takes to possess the kind of authority that can decide the mind of Jesus.  In this world of tension and conflicting opinions on a wide variety of topics, it seems some people are quite confident of the  truth.   However, especially when it came to making judgments,  it seems to me that Jesus generally took the opposite side of what people expected.  

Aside from the thinking process of the person putting such a sign in the front lawn, it still raises a perplexing question.  Does Jesus hate?  If Jesus was fully divine, fully human, wouldn’t he also have the full range of emotions that we have?  To love so intensely, so sacrificially, would he also have the flip side of the passions and also hate intently?   

        The idea of Jesus hating bothers me.  I prefer to picture a smiling Jesus with children on his lap.  Or Jesus is the Good shepherd gently guiding a flock of sheep.  I don’t generally spend much time thinking about how Jesus felt about the wolves.    But Jesus did throw the money changers out of the temple and was often short tempered with the Pharisees and even the disciples from time to time.  It seems obvious that Jesus got angry but that is different from hate.  What about the saying, “hate the sin, love the sinner?”  Did we get that differentiation from Jesus?  Is that what Jesus hates?  Is it sin that Jesus hates, or maybe anything that separates us from God’s love?  Sometimes I think out of our desire to see the loving side of Jesus we minimize the importance of justice and obedience.  Does Jesus hate injustice and disobedience?  Where is mercy in the midst of those things that are contrary to the will of God? 

Does Jesus hate?  What does Jesus hate?  I don’t know.  But thankfully,  Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

Who are your Eleven?

“The real meaning of life is not a journey question or an arrival question.  It’s a relationship question.  Your journey and your destination are both important, but neither is possible without an answer to this prior question:  Who are you taking with you on the journey toward your destination?”  

In the book, 11, by Leonard Sweet,  he proposes that for optimum personal health we need 11 different companions for life’s journey.  Drawing from qualities of 11 Biblical characters, he encourages the reader to participate in relationships that reflect different aspects of these Biblical figures.  Do you have a true friend, an encourager and a Yoda in your life - a Jonathan, Barnabas, and Paul?  Do you have a butt-kicker, an editor, a reject in your life - a Jethro, Nathan, and Zacchaeus?    As we take note and honor them for their differences, we grow as a person.

In contrast, I think many of us tend to gravitate toward friendships with people who are like-minded or share common interests - people who make us feel comfortable.  Likewise, we may not consider the need to be a different kind of friend to others.  Yet, when we engage in authentic relationships, we participate in something that is far greater than than our own ability to affect another person.  We are  participating in the fabric that unites us all as God's creation.  Sweet challenges us to consider naming and nurturing relationships with very different sorts of people.  “in a world beset by chance and change, your 11 need to be as diverse as you can make and take them, with varied experiences, attitudes, politics, even theologies.  Your 11 are people to help you be creative, not merely to help you implement your creativity... You aren’t strongest when alone; you’re strongest when together...The most important thing is not to try to go it alone.”

It has been interesting to contemplate the attributes of people and consider attending to certain relationships differently because of the roles people play in my life or I might play in theirs.  Further, a goal for my sabbatical has been to consider what would make an interesting series of meditations for the communion services that I lead each month in a variety of facilities.  I am looking forward to exploring with some of our senior adults the “11” in their lives.

It takes a lifetime

When does life get less complicated? Just when I think I have made peace with the fact that life never does, I sense the urging to go in search again.  It seems to me that each phase of life, each job, each season has its own unique complications but we are never free from them.  It takes a lifetime.

I am sometimes tempted with a mature eye to look at my children and think their lives are not as complex as mine, but it is not true. School and college days are filled not only with academic pressures but all the social/personal dynamics of young hearts, minds, and bodies.  Retirement would seem to be a dream but they, too, are some of the busiest people I know.  There are many decisions, with a lifetime of influences to take in to consideration, in the later transitional stages of life.  Somewhere, somehow, in between we juggle work, home, family and personal life with varying degrees of time and additional factors.  It is tempting at times to seek a new venue, thinking that it will ease the complications, but it is usually only temporary.  

And so when do we arrive at that time when life is less complicated?  As long as we keep looking at the externals, I’m not sure that we ever will.  For all my searching, I really believe leading a less complex life is not about what we do but more about who we are in the midst of it.  It is the unrest within that is more wearing than the actual activities.   Jesus says “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30) Rather than focusing on the exchange of one“yoke” for a better "yoke,"  or deciding the different weights of each burden, I am more impressed by what we are to learn from Jesus - “for I am gentle and humble in heart.”  To be gentle and humble in the midst of whatever phase, job, or season we find ourselves in seems to be the key for a restful soul in spite of life’s complications.  

I went to the funeral of my mother’s best friend last week.   She epitomized gentle and humble in heart throughout her life.  She also served in World War II, was a full time nurse ‘til past retirement age, raised 9 children, struggled financially, a widow for 30 years, lost 2 children and a grandson, had countless surgeries, and lived with chronic pain.   Tell me her life wasn’t complicated!  Yet, knowing the externals, I never once got that sense from her.  

Learning to face complexities with a gentle, humble heart - it takes a lifetime.

Garden Harvest

Fall is my favorite time of year.  Pops of color are peaking out in the underbrush and the trees of northern Minnesota.  Sheets and blankets cover gardens through the night.    There is nothing that fills my soul like the wonder of nature.  The changes always remind me that “for everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven.”  Today, also, would be my dad’s 99th birthday if he were still alive.  It is the bookend to my time of contemplating of grief and a fitting day to consider the wonders of God, the great gardener.

I have read a couple of books in the last month that  have used seasons of nature as metaphors for spiritual growth and aging.  Rather than seeing seasons in life as chronological, (childhood - teens = spring, young - mid adult = summer, middle age - elderly = autumn, frail elderly = winter)  -  the spiritual seasons of our inner lives are more intertwined and know no time frame.  There are dry spells and barrenness but there are also times of fresh springs and fertile growth.  They can occur at any age. 

Authors, Rachel Callahan and Rea McDonnell, in the book, Harvest Us Home, elaborate on age 50 and beyond as a “season of Jubilee.”  In the biblical tradition, the hallowed fiftieth year was a time when Israel was to set captives free, return to one’s homeland, recover and reclaim one’s roots and family. It was also a time when the land was to lay fallow, to rest. ( Leviticus 25) The “jubilee season” of 50 and beyond is not a time when we are unproductive but that the focus is not on what we can do but on what God, the good gardener, has done and will do in our lives.  It is a season to be more focused on tending - tending by God and tending ourselves.  

“As we age, we may experience not only the comfort of the gentle rains and breezes of the Spirit, but the slashing torrents of storms that break branches and scatter fruits.  We may not only receive the sweet sunshine of Christ, but we may become parched and need pruning as we age.  We may need another round of fertilizing.  As Paul writes:  ‘...only God gives the growth.  The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose...and we, we are God’s field.” (I Corinthians 3:7,9)  What we suffer will strengthen our roots.  Rooted and planted as we are in Christ, in God the ground of our being, we cannot be uprooted.  No matter how old we are, we can be transformed and conformed to Christ.  And in the end we will be harvested by our gardening God.” (pg. 63)

The fall harvest, is a wonderful time to give thanks for all God has done and for the season of new growth that is yet to be.

Ramblings on Grief

Grief rambles. There are some common expressions - denial, anger, regret, etc-  but they don't usually come in a neat order.  Rather,  the emotions come in a jumble that aren’t always easy to pick out or to identify the source.  Like some tangled weed that creeps along in my garden, grief wraps itself around and peeks out in unsuspecting places.  I think we would all like grief to be contained in some neat phases to go through 1-2-3-4-5 and be over it but, once grief is there, it just rambles.  That is why certain hymns can have us fighting back the tears or certain activities bring about morose feelings even if it has been many years since the loss.  The initial pervasive rawness is lessened but it is that rambling grief again. 

September 11th was a reminder that grief still rambles through our country.  The land of the free is not free from anger, fear,  or hatred.  For 10 years we have been in grief over the loss of lives - both on September 11th and in the war - and also over the loss of our identity as a nation.  We have been in recovery from the horror, the vengeance, and the realization that unexpected events can happen that touch the core of who we are as individuals and as people together.  Someone asked, “Will we ever be over remembering September 11th?”   Will we ever be over remembering Pearl Harbor?  Will we ever be over remembering our loved ones?  Will we ever be over remembering significant losses in our lives?  And do we want to be?  I don’t think so.  It is part of our tribute to their significance in shaping who we are - to remember.

Grief as it manifests on an anniversary day or in its rambling way is not necessarily a bad thing.   Those experiences wake us up to the fact that we are people that have experienced a loss, who are different now.  They give us pause to remember, to connect to each other, and to praise God for abiding, enduring, overcoming love.  

Grief and the Grocery Store

I have done a lot of study and reading through the years about grief.  There are resources about certain triggers for grief, times of day that are harder than others, occasions and events that magnify the loss. Going to church is a common challenge for those that are grieving.  Nobody talks about grief in the grocery store.  Ironically, that is one of the many places where I am reminded of my own grief and the grief of others.  

My most vivid memory of grief and the grocery store was when my mother was in our home during the last weeks of her life.  I would go through the store in search of something she might potentially want to eat.  My focus would not be on the list of things I needed but the desire to see something that would possibly bring pleasure to my mom.  The check out line was the worst.  The clerk would methodically scan all my items, make small talk, and bag my groceries as if nothing unusual was happening.  Inside, I would think, “Don’t you know my world is turning upside down?  How can you treat me just the same as always, when I feel totally different inside?”  Of course, she was completely unaware and in my reasonable, cognitive my mind I knew it.  In spite of my rationalizing,  those feelings were swelling inside and I can still remember them.  After my dad died, I had a similar experience.  I felt amiss not going through the store looking for items that would supply the quarts and quarts of homemade soup that I made for him for years. The clerk checked me out of the line, the same way she always had, even on the day that he died.  I marveled inside, how she could smile so easily when it was such an effort for me that day?

The grocery store is also the place where I am often reminded that Kirk and I are nearing the “empty nest” stage in life.  Whereas there was a time that I never went to the grocery store without picking up 5 gallons of milk, now a gallon seems to last forever.  I remember going through the line and having the checkout person excitedly comment when I was buying baby food and diapers.  Nobody says anything now that I am buying a couple sweet potatoes instead of bags of chips. 

When I worked for hospice, it seemed that the grocery store was one of the places that I would bump into someone that I had met when their family member was ill and dying.  My kids wondered why it always took me so long at the store to pick up just a few items. Often, I would have spent the majority of time visiting with someone I met in the aisles and hadn’t seen since the intense days they had spent at hospice.  Now I have an even greater appreciation of what was happening.  Grief in the grocery store - it happens.  

Oh, and by the way, I bumped into somebody from church a couple of weeks ago in the grocery store.  Guess what we talked about?  We talked about transitional times in life and letting go of things - grief in the grocery store.  There are so many different losses that can show up in unusual ways and in unexpected places.  So, if it ever happens that you find yourself grieving while you are pushing a cart through the store, it is okay.  You are not alone.  And, if sometime we happen to bump into each other in an aisle, well, I know that grief happens in the grocery store.    

Wallowing

I discovered a new lesson this year - the importance of wallowing.  I’ve shared it with a couple of people because it makes sense to me.  Maybe it will for you.  

Generally, we are people who don’t like to feel sad.  We are too busy, too stoic, too controlled, too Iowan to spend a lot of time sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves. It gives us a reason to be proud that we are strong Midwesterners.  In Scripture we read about the “joy of the Lord.”  “Rejoice, and again I say rejoice.”  How can we be sad when we consider all God has done for us?  Writers of psycho-spirituality talk about living in a world of “negative toxins.”  To be happy we need to keep ourselves surrounded by positive people with positive energy and thoughts.  

Well, that is great.  But there are times in life when we experience loss, injustice, disappointment, and grief.  To name and claim them as a part of our lives is important but then there are all the feelings that go along with it.  Sometimes, we try to skip over them or rush them along.  Instead, we need to grab hold of our Midwest Iowa fortitude and follow the example of the pigs. 

Pigs, in their natural habitat, are basically clean animals and are considered to have a higher I.Q. than dogs.  They are problem solvers that seem to instinctively know what is good for their health.  And when the heat is on, they wallow - yes, roll around in the mud for awhile and then up and off they go again.  Why?  Because it serves a purpose.  Pigs don’t sweat and so the mud cools and protects them from the harmful forces of sun and pesky insects. 

Every once in a while, when we feel the heat bearing down on us, it may be time to give ourselves permission to wallow - to feel sad, disappointed, sorry for ourselves, hurt - roll around in the mud of our lives.  We don’t want to get stuck there but a time of “wallowing” in the emotions may serve a purpose. Then, we can get up and go on our way with greater aptitude and health to deal with the forces around us.

Warning - Grief ahead

Well, this is the week.  I have anticipated (somewhat dreaded) this week for a number of months.  This is the time in my sabbatical when I decided to focus on dealing with my grief issues.  If you are one of the millions of people out there that don’t want to think about, reflect on, or anyway get near the idea of death, loss, and grief you may want to skip reading my blog for the next week or so.

Yesterday was the Timberg family party.  There weren’t enough of us to call it a reunion but we gathered in the farm house between Kingston and Dassel, Minnesota, where Sven August began his American life after emigrating from Sweden.  His fourth generation and a couple of 5th generation descendants compared stories, shared photos, ate lunch, and drank coffee.  Last time we were together, my parents, uncle, and a few others represented the 3rd generation.  Since then, they have all died.  When we stood on the porch for the family picture, it was a clear symbol of the passing of the generations.  It is now our turn to carry on the family legacy.

I remember how important it was for my dad to bring me to the Timberg farm when I was a young girl.  There was no one living there at the time but we walked the grounds while he told stories.  I wish I had paid closer attention.  As a youth, it seemed there would always be another time to hear those old names and details again. I wondered why it all mattered so much.  Well, maybe it doesn’t matter so much but it would be nice to know.  It is nice to know where I came from - what kind of people, values, experiences make up parts of my identity.   But how many of us wish we had asked more questions when our parents and grandparents were alive?

The New Testament indicates that Jesus used storytelling more than any other means of communication to teach what it means to be a part of the Kingdom of God.   After the resurrection, I wonder if the disciples wished they had paid closer attention when Jesus was talking.  They often seemed oblivious as to why it mattered so much when he was on earth.  Nevertheless, who we are through Jesus Christ and the foundations of faith that we believe have come to us from generations passing along the stories.   Imagine what it would be like if no one had written them down.

And so if you have made it this far in my story telling, here’s my charge to you.  Write down your family stories.  It will be a cherished family treasure - for remembering, for grieving, for life, for generations to come.   

What does a bucket of water mean?

When my dad enlisted in the army during World War II, he decided he wanted to fight for his own piece of America. He purchased a property outside of Ely, Minnesota, on the border of what has become the Boundary Waters.  When he came home to put the war behind him, he spent much of the next year preparing logs and building a cabin on the site.  It is a wonderful place to read, pray, reflect, and retreat from the world.  There is no electricity.  Luxury is a two-seater outhouse and an outside pump. The last few years, however, the pump has needed some repairs.  This summer’s project for Kirk and sons was to pull the pump, replace the leathers and drive it back into the ground.  It was quite a job but with the success of abundant clear water again.  Each time I am at the cabin and then return to the world of modern conveniences, I appreciate what it means to just flick a switch or turn a tap to meet my needs.  This year I have been especially mindful of how much I take for granted clean water.  

Water is probably the only natural resource to touch all aspects of human life - from agricultural and industrial development to the cultural and religious values embedded in society.   Some anticipate that future wars will be fought over water, not oil.  Recent statistics report 1.2 billion people live in areas with inadequate water supplies and global water demands are expected to increase 40% in the next 10 years.  In just one day, more than 200 million hours of women’s time is consumed by collecting water for domestic use.   More people in the world own cell phones than have access to a toilet.   As much as going to the cabin isolates me for a short time from modern conveniences, my usual daily American life insulates me from harsh global realities.    With the recent devastation on the east coast from Hurricane Irene, the power of water is undeniable in other ways as well.  And so,  I have been thinking about water.  What does my water usage say about my values?  How do I respect the power of water? What does a bucket of water mean to me - to Vermont - to the world?

The Samaritan woman at the well, knew the power of water.  She knew that collecting and using water had cultural implications.  And Jesus says, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.   The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life."   I am so blessed that my bucket is full.

Who's got the wheel?

Control is a tough issue.  So many controversies in life can be reduced to the simple struggle -  Who is in charge?  We spend a lot of effort trying to be in charge of people and situations that are beyond our scope.  Of course the easy answer is, “God is in control, not me.” Ha!  How easy that is to say and how much harder it is to live.  But I wonder - is God always in control and if so how much and in what way?   What does control look like for an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient God? 

My daughter,  Hope, and I made a quick trip in and out of Chicago in less than 24 hours.  She had an interview for an internship with a non-profit organization that promotes literacy for urban children.  Since she will be driving herself back and forth to college this year, I decided that it would be a good idea to have her drive in to Chicago.

Now, driving in Chicago is always stressful but after going to school, living and working there for about 10 years, I am fairly confident that I know what to do.  Sitting in the passenger seat, with Hope as the driver, was a new kind of stress.  With all the traffic, speed, and uncertainty around us, I wasn’t in control - she was.  She is a good driver but I had to trust her to make proper choices quickly.  My role was to be in charge of my reactions to her - (always a challenge)  I tried hard to be a supportive mother - to sit still, smile, and quietly nod directions when asked.  It would have been much easier to be the one doing the driving but she needed to do this and I was glad to be with her.  

I couldn’t help but wonder if sometimes God, the good parent, is also in this position in our lives.  We wish we could just raise our hands and sing, “Jesus, take the wheel,”  and maybe that would be easier, but much of the time we really are in the driver’s seat of our lives.  Rather than being in complete control of every decision we make, God is with us saying, “Go ahead and drive but remember that I am right here alongside of you for the ride.”  

Anniversary thoughts

Yesterday, Kirk and I celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary.  We were married when we were 25, so that means that this year marks the tipping point - I have been a married woman longer than I was a single person. 


In my early adult life, I expected that I would be a single missionary living with a cat.  Instead,  I have two cats, a dog, a husband and 4 children.  I guess we never know what life will give us.  It is so much better than the original life I had imagined but with a whole different set of challenges.  This anniversary has given me reason to reflect on two topics that have consumed much of my thought process these days: aging and relationships. 

Joan Chittister comments on growing old gracefully in her book, The Gift of Years. “At its core, life is not about things, it is about relationships.  It is the hands we go on holding in our hearts at the end that define the kind of life we have led.  Our relationships determine the quality of life as we have known it.  They show us the face of God on Earth.  They are, too, what batter our hearts into the feelings of life.” 

As we age, the more precious our relationships can be - not just spouses, but also friends, acquaintances, family members, classmates.  At the same time, they are more fragile.  I was maid of honor in Marie and Al’s wedding.  Marie was my matron of honor.  This summer Al died without warning of a heart attack.  His funeral was held on their 33rd wedding anniversary.  My dear childhood friend is now a widow.  I guess we never know what life will give us.

Chittister continues, “When the relationships we forge as we go begin to disappear, our own life changes.  We know then what it is to be abandoned, to be a little less impervious to feeling than we thought we were.  Now it is not things we need, it is understanding we crave.  It is understanding that draws us out of ourselves into the earthenware vessel of new life.” 


It seems to me that in all stages of life, not just the second half, we crave understanding.  Perfect understanding, perfect love comes from God who knew us and formed us in our mother's womb.  Jesus walked this earth, understanding human vulnerabilities and sufferings.  For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, God's grace surpasses understanding.  What an amazing gift.  

Where the wind blows

A few months ago, I came across the books of author, Kent Nerburn.  He writes about spirituality and is particularly recognized for his works on Native American wisdom. What initially peaked my curiosity is that he lives in Bemidji, Minnesota, the town where I grew up.  Although we have never met, I imagined a kindred spirit with an appreciation of the north woods and Christianity.   This week, I picked up one of his books at the library and wasn’t disappointed.  

The Hidden Beauty of Everyday Life is one of those books that can be a quick read in one sitting or can be savored by reflection one short chapter at a time.  With the eye of an artist and a poet’s soul, Nerburn takes moments in everyday life and frames them as testimonies to the sacred.  In the prologue, he tells a story about a windy day and relates it to Jesus’ words to Nicodemus in the Gospel of John. “The wind blows wherever it pleases.  You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.  So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8)  In stories of ordinary experiences, Nerburn encourages us to keep our hearts open to the winds of God’s whispers in our lives.  “It is not important that we know from whence they come or to where they are going, or even if we give them a name.  All we need to know is that the moments of love, of caring, of the unprotected human heart, whenever we encounter them, are the voice of the spirit, blowing like the wind through our everyday lives.  Our task in life is to hear that voice, and to make of each day a prayer that bears witness to its presence.” (pg. 18)

The wind is blowing here today.  I hope it is for you, too.

Creation and Recreation

It seems to me that when I was growing up the 11th commandment from my parents was, “waste not - want not.”  As depression era adults, they were not only savers but also environmentalists.   Everything had potential value,  if not obvious intrinsic value. Living simply, frugally off the land as much as possible was one way to honor God and creation.  

Today, I put up a batch of watermelon rind pickles, taking the parts of a watermelon that I might otherwise discard and turning them into the sweet pickles I remember as a child.  The kitchen faucets are adorned with assorted plastic bags that I have rinsed out to use again.  Scrap pieces of board serve as cooling racks.  Yesterday,  I picked some chokecherries, bitter little berries that grow wild in northern Minnesota but can be turned in to a wonderful jelly.  An ice cream pail made a great bucket and my hat worked for the overflow.  There is something satisfying about enjoying the wonders of what God has given us in creation and taking time to not only appreciate it but to make the most out of it.  I guess those family values are still with me but they also remind me of how God must see each of us.

We worship a God who is always recycling, re-purposing, renewing us.  God sees our intrinsic value and potential worth even when it isn't obvious to us.  Each day we are re-purposed to share God's love.  We are never discarded or used up.  Instead, God our creator has called us to re-create - to take what is given to us and make the most of it, to celebrate simplicity in the midst of a complex world.

Fill'er Up, Lord!

The week before I started sabbatical,  I was driving to a home visit when I saw that my gas indicator was on.  I remembered that it had been at least a couple of days that I had been driving around on empty.  There was no time to stop at a station without being late so I just drove on hoping that I wouldn't run out of gas before I reached my destination.  I made it and had a delightful visit.   On the way back to church I reflected on how much I would miss seeing people while I was on sabbatical.  Then, I remembered my gas tank, again.
Sabbatical feels a lot like pulling in to the gas station.  Sometimes, I can get so preoccupied with going from place to place, activity to activity, that I put off doing the most important things that keep me going.  Every once in awhile we need to stop and fill up the tank.  Sure,  it is possible to keep on running on low, even empty, without missing a thing.  But there are times when I wonder if I really have the depth of resources I need to keep on giving or if it is just some fumes.   Fortunately, we have an eternal source of love and grace.   This week my prayer has been, "Fill'er up, Lord!"

Sabbatical Seasonings

I am fortunate to serve a church that encourages pastors to take a sabbatical.  A sabbatical is primarily a time for rest and renewal - a time to spend time with family and to reflect, pray and rejuvenate in a variety of ways.  I also hope that my sabbatical will be a time to explore.  One of my goals it to explore more uses of the internet and social networking in church ministry.  I am especially interested in seeing how today's tools might enable us to better connect to each other, to the church, and to the life of faith.  I have considered many different options already but my first attempt is to blog.  During my sabbatical it will serve two purposes: to explore and to think.

When reviewing ways to make my job performance better each year during my annual evaluation with Pastor Jim, I usually come around to saying some version of,  "If I just had more time to think, I could do my job better."  This sabbatical is just such a gift - time to think.  Yet, it is such a wonderful gift that I want to share it.  So many people really deserve/need a sabbatical in their jobs and don't have one.    I am so fortunate.  I don't intend to bore you with details of where I am or what I am doing during sabbatical.  It is not very impressive.  Rather, I want to share with you what I am thinking about and maybe, just maybe - even though you are not on sabbatical -  you will find some time to think, too.