To Denny

People come and go in our lives all the time. Some people spend a lot of time in our face and we wish they didn't. Some people spend very little time with us and it never feels like it's enough. There are people who are blessings without so much as a religious icon in their vicinity. They are spiritual beings, they bring light and smiles. They bring soft comfort and warm companionship. They bring a feeling of peace and understanding. They don't say the benediction out loud, but whisper it in your ear through their words of encouragement and thoughtfulness. And when they leave us, we are grateful that we knew them and feel privileged to have been part of their circle. They don't necessarily profess to be Christians or Muslims or Jews. But their profound example of love shared with others is all you need to be aware of their spirituality, their connection with something bigger than them or you. It is always, always a pleasure to be with them and you walk away saying to yourself, I want to be more like that.

The biggest problem with knowing someone like this, is that usually you think there is plenty of time to tell them how special they are, how nice it is to be with them, how grateful you are for their presence. And then they are gone and you never did get to tell them. And so not only do you mourn the loss of this person, you mourn the missed chance to make sure they knew just how good they were, how important they were to others and how much you will miss seeing them.

The Road to...

One of my favorite bible passages is the one that we read this past Sunday. I refer to it as "The Road to Emmaus". My mother has a painting, large in scale, of this scene from the bible--Jesus is explaining things to the weary travelers. I'm of two minds with this story. I love the fact that Jesus comes and explains himself and his ministry to these two, citing historical references with which they can understand and relate. But he also encourages them along the way to explain what they have seen and what they understand, so that he can help them to understand and comprehend what has taken place. Perhaps I am hoping secretly that Jesus will come and find me on my road and explain things that I'm a little murky on. Perhaps I'm hoping Jesus will come and simply walk beside me (which I know he does anyway), but opening my eyes to the things I question and doubt. So I really love the story for that reason. But the other "mind" wonders about the story. Why doesn't he reveal himself earlier? All kinds of thoughts abound about this...they needed to understand what took place that first Easter and they wouldn't have been able to listen if they were in awe of the messenger. They perhaps needed the historical references for future need as the church began to form and begin. I guess I'll never know the real reason he didn't just say, "Ta Da!" and stretch out his hands. But it's one of those things I wonder about nonetheless.

I liked what our pastor said about Jesus revealing himself in the breaking of the bread. That he is revealed whenever we break bread together, sometimes not just in the eating of a meal, but the gathering together of God's people and the sharing of the word. Perhaps that's the real story behind the Road to Emmaus. It's the revealing of Jesus to the two travelers and to us what God's love is really about. It's good to hear that on the dusty, dirty road to wherever we happen to being going.

Jesus Loves Me, This I Know

I have a practice each year beginning Holy Week. I start to play Jesus Christ Superstar on whatever device I am using, wherever I am using it. In the car it's the CD player. In the kitchen it's another CD player. Upstairs, I'll put on the movie version and simply listen to the music while going about my chores. Sometimes, like this year, the music sounds a little dated, a little old. But the message is always the same and it helps me to focus my thoughts on this week as nothing else does.

I told someone this once, about this practice. They smiled condescendingly at me and proceeded to inform my poor lost self all the reasons why using this musical as a focal point was not a good idea. I listened politely and left them to their opinions. I am a firm believer that whatever you need to do to bring God into your world, short of human sacrifice is probably okay. I know that's a sweeping statement and many would not agree with me. But c'mon, if you need to be reminded that Christ is indeed in your life and you aren't too sure about it, isn't something better than nothing? I don't sit and read the bible every day, but I have daily devotions sent to my e-mail so that whenever I turn on the computer, those thoughts can reach me. I may not get down on my knees each morning or evening, but the simple prayer that Jesus Loves Me, this I know, follows my heart and mind whenever I happen to think of it. Am I the most pious or religious of followers? Nope. But my belief is sincere and I'm doing the best I can each day to remember to thank God for his many blessings and ask God to be with me.

And I do this without the singing. Which is probably a very good thing. So what do you do?

Now and Then

I was struck by something this morning during the readings of Palm Sunday and the Passion. I was moved, as I almost always am, by the events surrounding this depiction of the last week of Jesus' life. How could this happen, I wondered once again. How could the people who knew him, loved him, watched him heal and bring back from the dead, how could THESE people just stand by and watch the events unfold and not do anything. The gentleman in front of me, during the sharing of the peace, said how moving the story was. And we discussed how this could have happened.

And then I thought, but that's just it! It happened and could still happen today. People aren't really all that different from the people of Jesus' time. We still fear those things we don't understand. We still struggle to believe in a world that both shows us the miracles and shows us the mundane. We deny the existence of the Almighty while marveling at the beautiful spring flowers adorning our neighbors lawn. We fight against believing that a Supreme Being could possibly love us so much that he would torture his only son in an effort to MAKE SURE we understood the depth of that love. We are the same people all over again. And yet, God loves us still. The mystery of that love, that eternal grace is so beyond my comprehension that even now writing about it, I'm confounded. I look for something which would cast those persons of the past in such a light as to show me that I'm better, more evolved. But I'm not. You aren't either. None of us are. Which is why the Passion is still the Passion. The passionate love of a God for the people of his heart. I can't understand it, but I'm am thankful for it. And hope one day to be able to grasp the hand of the savior who died for us and say, Amen.

Now What Happens?

I have been reading a lot of devotionals lately because I decided to devote myself during Lent. HA! I liked the way that sounded, but it does have a ring of truth about it. I found recently that I felt farther away from God than I had for quite some time and knew my heavenly father hadn't moved, but I had. So I wanted to get in touch with him a little more intensely during the Lenten season. My mother, getting into the spirit of things (so to speak) sent me a small devotional booklet entitled, The Sanctuary for Lent. I started re-reading, Walking on Water by Madeline L'Engle, one of my very favorite books. I am receiving daily devotional writings from the Lutheran Seminary in Philadelphia. And a friend of mine is sending out prayers that are inspirational and seem divinely inspired.

So, guess what? I'm not feeling any closer, more spiritual, or heavenly than I was before. Maybe it's because I have a cold. My head is clogged and my nose is running and I'm sure I'm not a very nice person to be around (I'm a terrible patient!). But I really can't blame this not feeling closer to God on anybody but myself, really. And no, I don't really think it's because I have a cold. You see, so many times I expect the "Shazam!" moment to arrive and when it doesn't I'm sort of miffed. What do I mean by the Shazam moment? The Saul conversion moment? The veil is lifted and I am stunned and amazed by...? And that is the problem. Something BIG.

Instead, I have become aware of a series of really great things in the past few weeks. I was away while the rest of my fellow workers were still slaving over a hot desk recently. My children are safe and healthy and comfortable (yes, I know they would like to be MORE comfortable). I have a wonderful husband who is considerate of my health and well-being (he even e-mails me to ask me how I'm feeling when I know he's busy at work). But I kept thinking that something BIG would happen with my spiritual life. Some great awakening I suppose. What I got instead were small steps, hardly even noticed. And that was when I had a real Shazam moment. For real! I have heard for years on end about God's still small voice. Except I'm partially deaf, and that analogy doesn't work for me. I was afraid he was whispering so low I missed it. Instead he showed me the wonders of my life right now. Not in winning the lottery, although I have to say, I wouldn't mind that. But he has put some pretty wondrous people and things in my way to take notice of lately and I've been so self absorbed in my pouting I almost missed them!

So in some ways, that's what happens. You go out looking for God and he's right beside you the whole time, showing you stuff. Poking your side and asking if you saw the daffodils, the birds, your children, your husband, your friends. And never once did he say, Shazam!

The Sun Within

I heard a weather report that it is supposed to rain and snow tomorrow and the next day. No accumulation, really. Just the cold dampness that seeps into your bones as you watch the precipitation fall. I was hoping we were done with this kind of weather. It makes me feel weary and sad. It's hard to be positive when the weather beats up on you.

But recently I found a piece of sun to keep inside when the weather is bad outside. I was walking around a very special place, when I felt the warmth of the sun on my back. The ocean was in front of me and the birds were playing in the waves, calling and laughing to each other. The sound of the sea, the warmth of the sun, the blue of the sky, I was at peace for just a few minutes. It was there that I found a piece of the Son, too. That peace that passes all understanding was right there with me. So I'm trying to carry it around to spread it around. I see some people who look like they could use a little ray of sun or Son. So I try to share it with them. I'm not sure they all appreciate the effort, but I make the effort anyway. You never know when that sun may come back around and warm you up on a dreary, wintry March day.

Rain and Lent

Somehow or other, Lent seems a somber time. I'm not saying that there isn't reason for this. If you read all the historical accounts of Lent and it's formation, you'd know that we actually have it pretty good during Lent in this century. It's a time of reflection and personal introspection.

It's raining today and usually during rainy days I'm in work, concentrating on the things I have to do there. But today by quirky chance I am home and futzing with things around the house. I found myself filling the time instead of taking time for that reflection and introspection that we need to do from time to time. And so I stopped amidst the vacuuming and washing of clothes, plopped myself down on the couch and reflected. Of course, when you want to take the time to do that, you can never actually do it. Your mind races as to what you were supposed to be serenely thinking about, or it races ahead to what you will do when you are done reflecting. And then you wonder how long you should be stopped. And is that "enough" time. Because we are so used to working on a schedule, we figure the scheduling of communicating with God should be a finite thing as well. I'll think about God for 15 minutes on Thursday--that kind of thing. The problem with that of course is that come the 15 minutes you've set aside you're so preoccupied with what you wanted to communicate to the Almighty, you've forgotten that this kind of communion can be a two-way street and you've left no time for the Lord to talk to you in that still small voice of his. And so you're allotted time is fraught with worry about the things you need to "get in" without thinking about the possibilities of what you might "get out" of this time.

Recently I was away from home. My companions and I went to an outdoor garden one day. Within the garden there was a labyrinth. It was in a beautiful park-like setting, very peaceful and serene. About 20 feet away from the labyrinth was a sign which instructed those who were walking this peaceful, serene maze not to molest or feed the alligator. Now, I don't know about you, but while trying to concentrate on the maze I was walking, contemplate communion with God AND worry about whether an alligator would suddenly find itself inclined to climb the small bank and sun itself nearby, it was not the contemplative experience I would have hoped it to be.

However, on this same time away, I was privileged to go to the beach. The sun was warm, the same for the sand and the waves were gentle and passive. I looked out to the horizon and there, bobbing restfully was a pelican. I do not know why I love these birds so much, but their presence to me has always happened at a time when I needed to be reminded of God's wondrous gifts to me. And there it was. The moment was better than the labyrinth. God was with me (and yes, I know simultaneously he is with me always and was with my companions). But God was there with me in the sun and the sea and the pelican. And it was an affirmation that will last through Lent and whatever rainy, contemplative or stormy days are ahead.

God is with us.