Last week I suggested that asking our real questions was hard work, that Nicodemus was not alone in having a question for Jesus that he would rather ask in the dark than in the harsh light of day with everyone watching.
I invited folks in the congregation to write their questions on paper, and place them in a basket if they wished. I read them the next day, and have been astonished at them ever since.
- Why can’t our children see life & the choices they make as clearly as we would like them to?
- Am I doing the will of the Lord as an individual? Are we doing the will of the Lord as a congregation?
- How can I help someone who has a hard time believing in God when his mother died of cancer?
The questions suggest to me that the Spirit is at work among us, that people are wrestling with questions of mission and outreach, and questions of the heart. What surprised me most was the fact that so many of them were tender and personal- some in reponse to particular circumstances, and some in response to the human condition.
- How do you know if it is time for someone to move in with you?
- How do I find my way to You? How do I know if I'v found you?
- Is God with me in my loneliness?
So I have spent the last week or two wondering about how we deepen this conversation, how we continue to make this a place where people know their questions are welcome, a place where we help each other hear what Jesus might be trying to say in response to our deepest questions.
The Adult Ed folks are thinking about ways to schedule classes that address some of the questions, and to create space in classes for discussion and conversation, so that questions can be heard and honored.
The pastors and staff are thinking about everything from preaching topics to individual conversations to the formation of small faith -sharing groups that might create more free space in which God can meet us, and speak to our questions.
Frederick Buechner has said that questions are "the ants in the pants of faith", they keep faith moving and prevent it from becoming stodgy and sedentary.
I think questions are holy, revealing what God is up to, and where we are pointed next on the spiritual journey.
I am grateful for these questions, and for the others that I know will come,
and I am grateful to be part of a community that is thinking
praying
asking
listening
and trusting.
So what question are you walking with these days?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
How Many?
How many does it take?
You’d be surprised.
I know I was.
Last night at the Nurture Committee Meeting, we looked over the list of names
of folks who have assisted in Education during this academic year.
There are those who rocked babies in the nursery,
those who got out paint and brushes with the middle schoolers, or sang with elementary kids, and those who worked with youth on car washes and bible studies and mission trips.
There were those who taught adults, inviting people to explore the words of the Apostle Paul, the music of Hildegard of Bingen, and the pages of the local paper, among other things.
Somehow looking at the list moved me deeply.
Looking at all the names of those who care that the gospel lives on,
those who value questions and answers,
those who don’t just SAY but DO- it was lovely.
I was moved that the ages and stages of these folks were varied, as was the number of years that they have been part of our community...
Dozens and dozens of friends of Christ have retold the story this year, and helped us to know our heritage and equip ourselves for discipleship.
This week we are reading the story of Nicodemus, who comes to Jesus by night to learn from him, presumably because he is embarrassed to ask his questions or seek help in broad daylight.
The text reminds me how much I want to be part of a church community that lets people ask their true questions, the questions that they think about in the dark. I want to be part of a place where the Light of Christ shines, and where people who are young in faith, either in years or in experience, have companions on the Way who will share what they know. Teachers. Shepherds. Learners.
And I want to be part of a community where are part of our covenant is that we are never done learning, never done growing, never done discovering the truth we live for.
This Sunday, in worship, we will recognize all 102 people who have kept learning alive among us.
How it must gladden the heart of God!
You’d be surprised.
I know I was.
Last night at the Nurture Committee Meeting, we looked over the list of names
of folks who have assisted in Education during this academic year.
There are those who rocked babies in the nursery,
those who got out paint and brushes with the middle schoolers, or sang with elementary kids, and those who worked with youth on car washes and bible studies and mission trips.
There were those who taught adults, inviting people to explore the words of the Apostle Paul, the music of Hildegard of Bingen, and the pages of the local paper, among other things.
Somehow looking at the list moved me deeply.
Looking at all the names of those who care that the gospel lives on,
those who value questions and answers,
those who don’t just SAY but DO- it was lovely.
I was moved that the ages and stages of these folks were varied, as was the number of years that they have been part of our community...
Dozens and dozens of friends of Christ have retold the story this year, and helped us to know our heritage and equip ourselves for discipleship.
This week we are reading the story of Nicodemus, who comes to Jesus by night to learn from him, presumably because he is embarrassed to ask his questions or seek help in broad daylight.
The text reminds me how much I want to be part of a church community that lets people ask their true questions, the questions that they think about in the dark. I want to be part of a place where the Light of Christ shines, and where people who are young in faith, either in years or in experience, have companions on the Way who will share what they know. Teachers. Shepherds. Learners.
And I want to be part of a community where are part of our covenant is that we are never done learning, never done growing, never done discovering the truth we live for.
This Sunday, in worship, we will recognize all 102 people who have kept learning alive among us.
How it must gladden the heart of God!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
4-2-09 Looking Back, Looking Ahead
4-2-09
Yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my arrival at First Pres. When Tom mentioned it in the morning, I told him he was silly, and that no one else would remember.
And then I arrived at staff meeting, and was greeted by a cake with my name on it, and a beautiful plant for my garden, and a card with words of solidarity and grace and blessing. Wow.
It is such a treasure to work among colleagues who love one another and love their work. To gather each day believing that what we do has deep significance for the spiritual lives of people we love, deep significance for the justice we long to see in our city and in the world, deep significance as we try to point our efforts and our praise toward the Holy One. It is astonishing.
Today, one of the members of the committee that originally called me stopped in to say congratulations, and to say that it’s hard to remember when we weren’t part of the same Family. We reminisced about some of the tough times these last 3 years, and some of the grace we have witnesses and the joys we have shared. And she said this,
“And I firmly believe that the best is yet to come!”
Which is a pretty Easter-y thing to say.
Here we stand, on the verge of Holy Week:
Saturday the 4th we will fill the sanctuary with palms,
Sunday there will be a palm procession ringing with “Hosannas”
Thursday we will remember the Last Supper Jesus had with his friends, and will gather in candlelight to recall the poignant and powerful story of his last days. We will strip the chancel of all color and drape it in the black of mourning, we will snuff out the Christ Candle and leave in silence.
Friday many of us will attend the Good Friday service at noon at the Congregational Church on Sierra Way with members of the ecumenical community.
Saturday the 10th at 9 am we will transform the sanctuary from a place of mourning to a place ready for celebration, as people bring their home-grown flowers and greens to fill the place with Spring and Life and Light.
And on Easter Sunday we will rejoice, singing Alleluia with all our hearts.
We will experience the peaks and the valleys together in the days ahead. And we will say to one another, again and again: “I firmly believe the best is yet to come.”
Our deepest and truest and richest experience of God is always still ahead of us.
And one of the things that Easter means is that death is not the end- that our whole life long we can say, “The best is yet to come.” Thanks be to God.
Yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my arrival at First Pres. When Tom mentioned it in the morning, I told him he was silly, and that no one else would remember.
And then I arrived at staff meeting, and was greeted by a cake with my name on it, and a beautiful plant for my garden, and a card with words of solidarity and grace and blessing. Wow.
It is such a treasure to work among colleagues who love one another and love their work. To gather each day believing that what we do has deep significance for the spiritual lives of people we love, deep significance for the justice we long to see in our city and in the world, deep significance as we try to point our efforts and our praise toward the Holy One. It is astonishing.
Today, one of the members of the committee that originally called me stopped in to say congratulations, and to say that it’s hard to remember when we weren’t part of the same Family. We reminisced about some of the tough times these last 3 years, and some of the grace we have witnesses and the joys we have shared. And she said this,
“And I firmly believe that the best is yet to come!”
Which is a pretty Easter-y thing to say.
Here we stand, on the verge of Holy Week:
Saturday the 4th we will fill the sanctuary with palms,
Sunday there will be a palm procession ringing with “Hosannas”
Thursday we will remember the Last Supper Jesus had with his friends, and will gather in candlelight to recall the poignant and powerful story of his last days. We will strip the chancel of all color and drape it in the black of mourning, we will snuff out the Christ Candle and leave in silence.
Friday many of us will attend the Good Friday service at noon at the Congregational Church on Sierra Way with members of the ecumenical community.
Saturday the 10th at 9 am we will transform the sanctuary from a place of mourning to a place ready for celebration, as people bring their home-grown flowers and greens to fill the place with Spring and Life and Light.
And on Easter Sunday we will rejoice, singing Alleluia with all our hearts.
We will experience the peaks and the valleys together in the days ahead. And we will say to one another, again and again: “I firmly believe the best is yet to come.”
Our deepest and truest and richest experience of God is always still ahead of us.
And one of the things that Easter means is that death is not the end- that our whole life long we can say, “The best is yet to come.” Thanks be to God.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Keys to the Kingdom- Death & Life
This week at First Pres
In one of the gospels, Jesus famously gives Peter the Keys to the kingdom- a sign of authority and power. One never really appreciates the power of these scraps of metal we are inclined to take for granted, until one is without one. Or, as luck would have it, one receives a new one.
Which is what happened this week: the whole church campus is finally re-keyed. Old keys no longer work, and new ones work like a charm! We are more secure and more responsible than we were. This project was done with money left to us by Norma Lunn when she died, and I think she must smile from where she now sits, knowing this place she loved and cared for is secure, and we no longer have to puzzle over the reason for the dozens of keys we found on her ring.
I am saddened by how death touches us all. Don Inloes, pastor of Immanuel Methodist Church died this week. He was a faithful, justice-seeking saint, and I miss him- even as I celebrate the way he lived his life. After a long season of waiting, Marion Wiens’ mother Anne finally passed into the Light which guided her days. Grief mingles with gratitude for the end of suffering. Today I got word that Jo Subject, who has been living near her son in Calistoga CA, died at 93. Her life was a blessing to this community, we are both diminished and blessed at her home-going.
And there was life: I was struck by the sound of laughter at the Session meeting last night, as I was preparing soup for supper. I was moved by the tenderness that came to the surface as we met with the Keiper family and approved the baptism of baby Addison. I was grateful when one of the elders noticed that we are building trust with one another- a sign of the Spirit at work.
On Sunday, we will have our Annual meeting, a chance to sing and to reflect on what God has accomplished among us in 2008. To pray over the annual report is a humbling and joyful task.
But the report tells only part of the story. This week I got a letter from someone talking about the struggle to reveal what’s going on inside and the joy of using one’s gifts in ministry. I also sat and talked with a faithful leader about how discouraging ministry can be, and what keeps us coming back for more. And I got a note from someone rejoicing in being ‘seen’ and loved in this community. These things remind me that there are spiritual struggles and questions and victories taking place just under the surface all the time that I know nothing about. the Spirit is always at work among us, making us whole, bringing the Kingdom nearer, offering us the keys. Thanks be to God.
In one of the gospels, Jesus famously gives Peter the Keys to the kingdom- a sign of authority and power. One never really appreciates the power of these scraps of metal we are inclined to take for granted, until one is without one. Or, as luck would have it, one receives a new one.
Which is what happened this week: the whole church campus is finally re-keyed. Old keys no longer work, and new ones work like a charm! We are more secure and more responsible than we were. This project was done with money left to us by Norma Lunn when she died, and I think she must smile from where she now sits, knowing this place she loved and cared for is secure, and we no longer have to puzzle over the reason for the dozens of keys we found on her ring.
I am saddened by how death touches us all. Don Inloes, pastor of Immanuel Methodist Church died this week. He was a faithful, justice-seeking saint, and I miss him- even as I celebrate the way he lived his life. After a long season of waiting, Marion Wiens’ mother Anne finally passed into the Light which guided her days. Grief mingles with gratitude for the end of suffering. Today I got word that Jo Subject, who has been living near her son in Calistoga CA, died at 93. Her life was a blessing to this community, we are both diminished and blessed at her home-going.
And there was life: I was struck by the sound of laughter at the Session meeting last night, as I was preparing soup for supper. I was moved by the tenderness that came to the surface as we met with the Keiper family and approved the baptism of baby Addison. I was grateful when one of the elders noticed that we are building trust with one another- a sign of the Spirit at work.
On Sunday, we will have our Annual meeting, a chance to sing and to reflect on what God has accomplished among us in 2008. To pray over the annual report is a humbling and joyful task.
But the report tells only part of the story. This week I got a letter from someone talking about the struggle to reveal what’s going on inside and the joy of using one’s gifts in ministry. I also sat and talked with a faithful leader about how discouraging ministry can be, and what keeps us coming back for more. And I got a note from someone rejoicing in being ‘seen’ and loved in this community. These things remind me that there are spiritual struggles and questions and victories taking place just under the surface all the time that I know nothing about. the Spirit is always at work among us, making us whole, bringing the Kingdom nearer, offering us the keys. Thanks be to God.
Monday, January 26, 2009
1-25-09 Doing Chapel Outside
Doing Chapel Outside
“Didja know you could DO chapel outside, Miss Lynette?”
The 4 year old beamed with his new-found knowledge.
“We just did chapel time, and we did it OUTSIDE!”
It’s true. Last week I forgot to turn the heat on in the chapel, and at chapel time it was below 50 degrees. I knew that my fidgety friends and I would never make it through 15 minutes of singing and story and prayer under those circumstances, and so we gathered on the plaza, in the warm sunshine, and sang our songs and admired God’s creation, and read a story. It was lovely- the warm sun making the chilly winter morning more bearable, the voices raised in song making it bright in another way.
When our chapel time was done and the kids returned to our child care center, one of them encountered the director, and informed her with glee of his new discovery: you can do chapel outside!
I have been doing a fair amount of thinking about ‘chapel outside’ lately.
Nancy Wiens, a daughter of this congregation, organized a quest for clergy and spiritual directors seeking sustenance from God. She gathered them for a couple of days of preparation, and then they went out to the Borrego Springs area of the desert, as pilgrims have for millennia sought clarity in the desert. The group of about 10 spent time camping, eating, praying together, and then each of them went out for 4 days of solitude.
They slept under the stars, and they prayed. Each of them fasted, drinking only water during their solo time. They faced their fears and settled into the silence. And they watched and listened to and dwelt in the kind of chapel that you can only do outside. Their companions were the moon and the stars, the rising sun and the solid stones, the tiny signs of life and the wide sky.
When they returned to the world in which all we usually dwell, I went to greet them and welcome them back. Though most of them were strangers to me, it was clear to me that each of them had sensed the presence of the Holy One, had heard a response to the Question they had brought with them, had been filled with a blessing they were eager to share with the world.
While that kind of rigor does not feel like something I am called to at the moment, I have found myself drawn outside often for my daily prayer of late. I sit in the fresh (sometimes cold!) air on my back porch and watch the sky grow light, watch the sun bring its gift of warmth and life back to us. Or I rest there at the close of a day, giving thanks for what has been, and for the promise of rest, and for the chance to begin again tomorrow.
And here is what I have to report: God is out there. The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness of it, the world, and all that dwells therein. Did you know you could do chapel outside? Give it a try.
Peace to you- Sandy
“Didja know you could DO chapel outside, Miss Lynette?”
The 4 year old beamed with his new-found knowledge.
“We just did chapel time, and we did it OUTSIDE!”
It’s true. Last week I forgot to turn the heat on in the chapel, and at chapel time it was below 50 degrees. I knew that my fidgety friends and I would never make it through 15 minutes of singing and story and prayer under those circumstances, and so we gathered on the plaza, in the warm sunshine, and sang our songs and admired God’s creation, and read a story. It was lovely- the warm sun making the chilly winter morning more bearable, the voices raised in song making it bright in another way.
When our chapel time was done and the kids returned to our child care center, one of them encountered the director, and informed her with glee of his new discovery: you can do chapel outside!
I have been doing a fair amount of thinking about ‘chapel outside’ lately.
Nancy Wiens, a daughter of this congregation, organized a quest for clergy and spiritual directors seeking sustenance from God. She gathered them for a couple of days of preparation, and then they went out to the Borrego Springs area of the desert, as pilgrims have for millennia sought clarity in the desert. The group of about 10 spent time camping, eating, praying together, and then each of them went out for 4 days of solitude.
They slept under the stars, and they prayed. Each of them fasted, drinking only water during their solo time. They faced their fears and settled into the silence. And they watched and listened to and dwelt in the kind of chapel that you can only do outside. Their companions were the moon and the stars, the rising sun and the solid stones, the tiny signs of life and the wide sky.
When they returned to the world in which all we usually dwell, I went to greet them and welcome them back. Though most of them were strangers to me, it was clear to me that each of them had sensed the presence of the Holy One, had heard a response to the Question they had brought with them, had been filled with a blessing they were eager to share with the world.
While that kind of rigor does not feel like something I am called to at the moment, I have found myself drawn outside often for my daily prayer of late. I sit in the fresh (sometimes cold!) air on my back porch and watch the sky grow light, watch the sun bring its gift of warmth and life back to us. Or I rest there at the close of a day, giving thanks for what has been, and for the promise of rest, and for the chance to begin again tomorrow.
And here is what I have to report: God is out there. The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness of it, the world, and all that dwells therein. Did you know you could do chapel outside? Give it a try.
Peace to you- Sandy
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Living "as if"
Last night we had a meeting of the Session, those folks who have agreed to serve as leaders of this congregation for a while. One of the most difficult things they have to do each year is to determine how we spend the dollars people entrust to us for ministry.
In 20 years of ordained ministry, (and some pretty serious pre-ordination involvement!) I have been at a lot of these meetings. But never at one quite like this one.
In the last year, we've felt called as a church to take a number of risks: to do major renovation on our campus, to increase what we do in Mission, and to call an associate pastor. In addition, the global financial crisis has taken its toll on any interest income we might have been able to fall back on in previous 'lean years', as well as making people anxious about finances in general.
Pledges from members and friends have been trickling in as the year draws to a close, and many of them are generous, but there are dozens of folks who pledged last year from whom we've not yet heard, and what they might be able to give in '09 is anybody's guess.
And one more thing you should know: Presbyterians tend to be predictable. We tend to like order, deliberateness, level-headed steadiness. We, as a group, tend to be rather risk-averse. It makes us nervous and edgy.
Like I say, I have been at a few of these meetings before, and I know how it goes. The air is typically so tense it vibrates. People tend to say things like: "I know their work is valuable, but I don't see why Nurture needs so much money. Perhaps THEY could volunteer to take a cut in their portion of the budget." and so on. By the end there are often raised voices and hurt feelings. I hate it.
And here is what happened: They looked at this budget that is 85 THOUSAND dollars out of balance (a lot of money by any account, but huge in a 500 thousand dollar total), and they discussed it. One committee chair very graciously suggested how their committee could cut some costs in the coming year.
The discussion continued: thoughtful, theologically sound, reflective, thorough, responsible.
At the end of the conversation, they voted, unanimously, to adopt this budget, because it felt to them like what God was inviting them to do.
There was an astonishing level of balance, of civility, of trust. There was a glaring lack of anxiety, short-sightedness, or competition. They just did it.
At the end of our meeting, as we reflected on where we'd sensed God's presence, our new Associate Pastor Eric said,
"I have NEVER seen a Session adopt a budget this risky. Without fighting. Unanimously."
I nodded vigorously.
"It's as if," he continued, "You really have faith that God is involved here. And that you really trust each other. "
Yep.
It's as if there's something remarkable going on here,
something will are willing to take risks for
something we are willing to sacrifice for.
Something that invites us to trust God and each other,
that calls for the best in us
that promises a remarkable year ahead.
I do not know where all the money will come from, but I believe that this impossible sum is an invitation to rely one the One who calls us.
Lets live "As If. "
In 20 years of ordained ministry, (and some pretty serious pre-ordination involvement!) I have been at a lot of these meetings. But never at one quite like this one.
In the last year, we've felt called as a church to take a number of risks: to do major renovation on our campus, to increase what we do in Mission, and to call an associate pastor. In addition, the global financial crisis has taken its toll on any interest income we might have been able to fall back on in previous 'lean years', as well as making people anxious about finances in general.
Pledges from members and friends have been trickling in as the year draws to a close, and many of them are generous, but there are dozens of folks who pledged last year from whom we've not yet heard, and what they might be able to give in '09 is anybody's guess.
And one more thing you should know: Presbyterians tend to be predictable. We tend to like order, deliberateness, level-headed steadiness. We, as a group, tend to be rather risk-averse. It makes us nervous and edgy.
Like I say, I have been at a few of these meetings before, and I know how it goes. The air is typically so tense it vibrates. People tend to say things like: "I know their work is valuable, but I don't see why Nurture needs so much money. Perhaps THEY could volunteer to take a cut in their portion of the budget." and so on. By the end there are often raised voices and hurt feelings. I hate it.
And here is what happened: They looked at this budget that is 85 THOUSAND dollars out of balance (a lot of money by any account, but huge in a 500 thousand dollar total), and they discussed it. One committee chair very graciously suggested how their committee could cut some costs in the coming year.
The discussion continued: thoughtful, theologically sound, reflective, thorough, responsible.
At the end of the conversation, they voted, unanimously, to adopt this budget, because it felt to them like what God was inviting them to do.
There was an astonishing level of balance, of civility, of trust. There was a glaring lack of anxiety, short-sightedness, or competition. They just did it.
At the end of our meeting, as we reflected on where we'd sensed God's presence, our new Associate Pastor Eric said,
"I have NEVER seen a Session adopt a budget this risky. Without fighting. Unanimously."
I nodded vigorously.
"It's as if," he continued, "You really have faith that God is involved here. And that you really trust each other. "
Yep.
It's as if there's something remarkable going on here,
something will are willing to take risks for
something we are willing to sacrifice for.
Something that invites us to trust God and each other,
that calls for the best in us
that promises a remarkable year ahead.
I do not know where all the money will come from, but I believe that this impossible sum is an invitation to rely one the One who calls us.
Lets live "As If. "
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Easy Does It
Christian faith is something we DO, not just something we think. "Be Doers of the Word and not hearers only", Paul says.
At the same time, it is NOT something we DO so much as something we receive: "by grace you have been saved, thru faith," scripture says, "and not by works- lest anyone should boast."
For centuries the church has wrestled with this tension and argued about this paradox:
to what degree do we rest in the grace God freely gives us?
to what degree do we strive to do the work of the gospel, to run the race of faith?
This age-old theological tension is now my lived experience, the place where God's Word is being spoken to me day by day.
This week, I have returned to work- sort of.
It is a great joy to re-connect with the work I love so deeply, to see the people I have covenanted with, to sit behind this familiar desk.
And, at the same time, its a bit scary- because I cant keep my familiar pace.
My doctor cleared me to return to work provided that I do so gradually and gently, paying attention to my energy level, which is not yet what it once was.
And so the spiritual task this week is about discernment.
The thing to which I am most inclined is not good for me at the moment.
This propensity to jump in with both feet, to believe that Faster is Better, this notion that I really need to DO more to feel good at the end of the day- will not speed my healing nor serve ths congregation- and so it cannot be what God wants from me.
So I am trying to experiment with Doing Life Differently.
Praying helps. often.
Breathing helps.
Cultivating patience and humility helps.
And each day, as I find the end of my energy or notice my weariness,
I realize that stopping helps most of all.
This 'stopping' requires trust-
a trust that God is in charge of the ministry here, not me.
a trust that I am loved for who I am not just what I accomplish.
a trust in colleagues and friends who will do what I cannot
a trust that my body is a partner and a friend, and that when it tells me I am tired, that is a loving message that helps me know what God expects from me today.
Some of this is not as natural for me as pushing ahead and pressing on-
so I have lots to learn.
But at the same time, I am aware that I don't have to be good at this or know all about it for it to work. I am aware that I am dwelling inside a miracle: a body that day by day is repairing surgical damage done to it, a body that knows how to diminish the size of this scar, a body that knows things I dont know about the mystery of what's inside my skin and how it works.
And so I am aware that I dwell inside a miracle,
and that life is a gift,
and that I am healing day by day
both physically and spiritually.
Amazing.
Amazing Grace.
Amen.
At the same time, it is NOT something we DO so much as something we receive: "by grace you have been saved, thru faith," scripture says, "and not by works- lest anyone should boast."
For centuries the church has wrestled with this tension and argued about this paradox:
to what degree do we rest in the grace God freely gives us?
to what degree do we strive to do the work of the gospel, to run the race of faith?
This age-old theological tension is now my lived experience, the place where God's Word is being spoken to me day by day.
This week, I have returned to work- sort of.
It is a great joy to re-connect with the work I love so deeply, to see the people I have covenanted with, to sit behind this familiar desk.
And, at the same time, its a bit scary- because I cant keep my familiar pace.
My doctor cleared me to return to work provided that I do so gradually and gently, paying attention to my energy level, which is not yet what it once was.
And so the spiritual task this week is about discernment.
The thing to which I am most inclined is not good for me at the moment.
This propensity to jump in with both feet, to believe that Faster is Better, this notion that I really need to DO more to feel good at the end of the day- will not speed my healing nor serve ths congregation- and so it cannot be what God wants from me.
So I am trying to experiment with Doing Life Differently.
Praying helps. often.
Breathing helps.
Cultivating patience and humility helps.
And each day, as I find the end of my energy or notice my weariness,
I realize that stopping helps most of all.
This 'stopping' requires trust-
a trust that God is in charge of the ministry here, not me.
a trust that I am loved for who I am not just what I accomplish.
a trust in colleagues and friends who will do what I cannot
a trust that my body is a partner and a friend, and that when it tells me I am tired, that is a loving message that helps me know what God expects from me today.
Some of this is not as natural for me as pushing ahead and pressing on-
so I have lots to learn.
But at the same time, I am aware that I don't have to be good at this or know all about it for it to work. I am aware that I am dwelling inside a miracle: a body that day by day is repairing surgical damage done to it, a body that knows how to diminish the size of this scar, a body that knows things I dont know about the mystery of what's inside my skin and how it works.
And so I am aware that I dwell inside a miracle,
and that life is a gift,
and that I am healing day by day
both physically and spiritually.
Amazing.
Amazing Grace.
Amen.
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