Thursday, April 30, 2020

step by single step

Daily Devotion - April 30

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara




Jan Richardson has a blessing that begins this way:

For Those Who Have Far to Travel
A Blessing for Epiphany

If you could see
the journey whole,
you might never
undertake it,
might never dare
the first step
that propels you
from the place
you have known
toward the place
you know not.


Call it
one of the mercies
of the road:
that we see it
only by stages
as it opens
before us,
as it comes into
our keeping,
step by
single step.


There is nothing
for it
but to go,
and by our going
take the vows
the pilgrim takes:

to be faithful to
the next step;
to rely on more
than the map;
to heed the signposts
of intuition and dream;
to follow the star
that only you
will recognize;

to keep an open eye
for the wonders that
attend the path...


It is very hard for me to relate to journey metaphors right now. (In the same way, home metaphors are not really working for me either - as the place that beckons you back, the place you long for, the place you feel best. Nope. Not right now).

But this journey-centered blessing "For Those Who Have Far To Go" speaks to something that does feel really real: not knowing where we are going. We don't know where any of this is going.

"If you could see the journey whole, you might never undertake it, might never dare the first step that propels you from the place you have known toward the place you know not."

If we could see, on the front end, where we would end up and what it would take to get there - and if we had any kind of choice about it - we'd likely say, NO THANKS.

But this is true of every valuable thing that has ever happened to me, every significant experience that has ever shaped me.  Great transformation is gutting and painful, beautiful and really hard.  There is gift in not knowing what's ahead.

Last night Andy and I were lamenting about what I kept ruminating on all day yesterday, turning the phrase over in my mind and whispering it to myself: this perpetual present.  This virus and quarantine have taken away the future - at least for now.  In my house, we do so much dreaming about and planning for the future.   Even dread is some form of looking forward that meets a need for anticipation. That's all been taken from us for the time being.  So all we have is the time being, and being in this time.

"Call it one of the mercies of the road: that we see it only by stages as it opens before us, as it comes into our keeping, step by single step."

This will change us, (I'm going to go ahead and claim) mostly for the better. Losing things we don't choose to lose, adapting in ways we wouldn't choose to adapt, stripping away the excess and narrowing our focus to the now - all these things are changing us.
And we don't have to know how, or what we will be or do with that change - in fact, there is no way we can know.  And so perhaps that is one of the mercies - not just of the road but of the staying put too: the map is gone, the anticipation is paused, the plan is thwarted, the road is closed.  We just have to keep living this one life we get, constricted though it is, and trust that the work is being done in us.

"There is nothing for it but to go, and by our going take the vows the pilgrim takes: to be faithful to the next step; to rely on more than the map; to heed the signposts of intuition and dream; to follow the star that only you will recognize; to keep an open eye for the wonders that attend the path..."

So, here's to another night and another day of this standing-still kind of journey we are all on together, and to not knowing what's ahead.  We have far to travel, friends.  Step by single step.  May we be faithful to what's right in front of us, attend to our intuition and dreams, and keep our eyes open to the wonders right here in front of us.

(Some thoughts about the insight and impact of this were shared a few weeks ago in Sabbath Lessons in Quarantine Time).

CONNECTING RITUAL:

A few years ago Lisa Larges created this way of praying for a prayer station we used in worship. It is way praying that acknowledges that God is with us in absolutely every moment. Instead of looking back at a day, or week, and asking "Where was God?" We assume God to be there, and we recollect any moment, and examine it for the presence and activity of God.

MEMORY PRAYER
Reflect back on your day (or week).  Find a moment that was meaningful to you. It may have been a conversation, something you heard or read, a connection with someone, or something that caught your attention in the natural world.

First line:   describe in a few words what you remember.
Second line:    name how God was alive, at work, or present in that moment.
Third line:   offer thanks.


It might look like this:

I remember a long phone call with a good friend. 
God was in the support, laughter, honesty and listening.
I give thanks for friendship.

I remember a quiet morning, before my people were awake.
God was present in the stillness.
I give thanks for new days.


I remember a painful argument with my brother.
God was in the space for hard truths to be spoken.
I give thanks for relationships that endure.

Do a few of them. Write them down if you wish.

I remember... 
God was...
Thank you for...

I remember...
God was...
Thank you for...

Perhaps tonight at bedtime, whenever that is in each of our homes, we might pray in this way and so join our hearts.

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Relishing the Pleasure

Daily Devotion - April 29

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara


I like when things are easy to distinguish, clear, unambiguous. Especially my emotions.  This is not what I am getting these days.  How can I feel like things are more complicated and draining than ever, and ALSO simpler and easier?  How can I be both mourning and hopeful?  How can things seem both shocking and unreal, and also completely normal and ordinary?  
If I pick individual ingredients out of the stew of me, I am apparently, simultaneously, frustrated, energized, weary, grateful, sad, and content.  

What?!? 



In talking about what life has been like these past few weeks with my spiritual director today, I found myself sharing all sorts of joyful moments, moments of connection, and play, and rest, and fun.  They just kept bubbling up and out of me.  Then I said aloud, "Maybe I am afraid to talk about the hard stuff so I am just telling you all the good things?" And I sat and thought a minute, and no, these are what I wanted to share. Gratitude for these things is what I was genuinely feeling. She watched me do all this through the screen, and then she asked, "What does it feel like to relish the joy and delight?"



Good grief.  
Turns out it's WAY harder for me to "relish joy" than to wallow in despair.  When I try to receive the gifts I am being given in the midst of this, I can get very judgmental.  Here are some of the things I immediately say to myself (which, by the way, I would never say to - or even think about - someone else): 
 If I enjoy it, am I selfish? What about all those genuinely suffering? Not just the terrified sick and the exhausted frontline workers, but those without food, or job, or safety, or stability...  Can I feel happy in this when there are those whose suffering has been exacerbated tenfold by the societal change that has meant being trapped at home with someone abusive, or without the support of teachers and the two school meals a day, or with your own demons that roar up and take over when not carefully tended?  
What does it say about me if I let myself have fun right now? That I'm out of touch? That I am glad this happened?  That I don't miss what life was or want it to go back to "normal"?  That I don't wish I could look toward the future - I'm ok with this weird perpetual present? 

Turns out it's WAY easier for me to ignore and dismiss my pleasant, enjoyable emotions than my unpleasant, painful emotions. Huh.  


I've done a lot of work in my life making space for unpleasant emotions, recognizing the gift they bring and the importance of feeling them. But I haven't done as much work around the pleasurable, lighter emotions.  I've acted as though those don't matter as much. As though those don't provide just as much information, just as much depth, just as much capacity to teach, and change, and grow me as the darker, heavier feelings do.

Today she made me sit in the gratitude.
She said, "Make space for it to get as big as it wants to."
It got big. It wanted more space than my body could hold and it spilled out my eyes.

Evidently, amidst the loss, sorrow, worry, fatigue, empathy and anxiety about the future, I have also been feeling a surprising amount of joy and gratitude, for the gifts of insight, beauty, connection, contribution, mutuality, play, creativity and cooperation that keep popping their lovely heads up through the clouds each day.
I am going to work on tasting each emotion - and relishing the pleasurable ones.

Here is my (re)learning for today - (with a slightly different emphasis).

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
They may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


— Rumi, The Guest House

CONNECTING RITUAL:

There are three different options for this prayer exercise below.  One alone spoken, one alone writen, and one to do with others in your home.

Perhaps, today at dinner, or at the end of the day, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pray in this way, and so join our hearts:

GRATITUDE PRAYER
This prayer is a mind-wandering, free-association gratitude-fest.  No limits.
It can be a powerful experience alone – like taking an extra deep breath and feeling air in the way bottom of your lungs where you almost never let it reach.  It’s expanding and cleansing, and also rearranges your insides back to how they were meant to sit, and you’ll find you rest deeper and more authentically.
It’s a very different, but just a wonderful, experience, when done with kids.

Alone
You can do this in the silence of your heart or in spoken aloud words, but do it alone somewhere (even if that means sitting on the bathroom floor to get away from your family).  Inside, outside, walking, sitting, figure out what works for you this day; you could also do it in the dark, after you’ve laid down to sleep, and simply close however you wish.

Begin:
Thank you God, for…
And say the first thing that comes to mind, and then the next, and see where it takes you.  Whenever you reach a quiet heart, take a deep, cleansing breath in and blow it slowly out, and begin again.
After it feels complete, close with these words:

The blessings of heaven,
the blessings of earth,
the blessings both ordinary and sublime,
on those I love, this day,
and on every human family.
The gifts of heaven,
the gifts of earth,
the gifts both ordinary and sublime.
Amen.

Alone - written
This is a list-writer’s delight.  Simply begin by writing:
Thank you God, for…
And say the first thing that comes to mind, and then the next, and see where it takes you.  Whenever you reach quiet, take a deep, cleansing breath in and blow it slowly out, and begin again.

After it feels complete, Close with these words:
The blessings of heaven,
the blessings of earth,
the blessings both ordinary and sublime,
on those I love, this day,
and on every human family.
The gifts of heaven,
the gifts of earth,
the gifts both ordinary and sublime.
Amen.

With family
Tell those you gather with that you are going to do a thank you feast. You are going to start thanking God for something.  And then sharing every single thing that comes to mind, whether small or big, gets to be said aloud.  If it helps to go in a circle, feel free, otherwise, popcorn-style works.  Some families need a bit more structure, so it would help to say, “Each person gets a turn, so when you have something , you say,
Thank you God, for…"
And everyone responds, Thanks God!
And then it is the next person’s turn.
Keep taking turns thanking God for things.  Let yourself go beyond your comfort zone, ie, past where you feel like wrapping it up (or stopping the kids).  See if you can get all the way to a lull and see what might come next.
When things wind down and seem to be ending, close with these words:
The blessings of heaven,
the blessings of earth,
the blessings both ordinary and sublime,
on those we love, this day,
and on every human family.
The gifts of heaven,
the gifts of earth,
the gifts both ordinary and sublime.
Amen.

 (closing blessing adapted from J Philip Newell)

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Today

Daily Devotion - April 28

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara


It's a drippy, thundery, gray and quiet kind of day today.  
We gathered online for Church Coffee Hour this morning. Laughing together, catching up, touching base. Amidst all of the hard news and the suffering of so many right now, these little things are a gift. The brazenly joyful tulips, and bright, blossoming fruit trees are a gift. They preach to us: that God is still moving, that life is still going, that there is a deeper wisdom and order.  


This hangs in my porch, outside my front door.  
I walk past it to come into my house.  I walked past it this morning after my damp jog, and stopped to read it.  It's a good reminder.  It's helping me ask, "Who is God, and what is God up to right now?"  It's reminding me to wonder.  

Today I feel invited to live in a state of wondering, to look around with that question guiding me.  

What is God up to?

And, finally, today these two things are speaking to me:

1- This song:  "It's Going to Be Alright," by Sara Groves.

2- And this recipe: taught to us by Kari Olsen, from Shobi's Table (recipe originally from Holden Village). We made this together at our church Staycation in February.  A lifetime ago. 
But not so long either.
 
(Staycation) Bread
For two small loaves, or one large loaf: 
  • 2 cups warm water (Around 100 deg.)
  • 1 T dry active yeast
  • 3 T oil (olive, canola, etc.)
  • 3 T honey (or other sweetener)
  • 2 t salt
  • about 5 cups flour (about 1/3 whole wheat and 2/3 white)
1. Pour water into large bowl.  Sprinkle yeast on warm water to dissolve, add a bit of flour... wait for it to bloom. 
2. Stir in more flour, then oil and honey, then more flour, a bit at a time.
3. Add salt. Add a bit more flour.

4. Once it becomes a shaggy dough with enough body to start stickign together, turn out onto the counter (or keep in bowl) and knead by hand. (*At this point, you may also consider leaving the dough alone for 15-20 minutes for *autolyze*... so the flour can absorb the water fully and the gluten strands can relax.)
5.  Add in flour little by little to keep it from getting too sticky, but not too much! Let the flour absorb the water fully each time you add some. 
6. Knead until the dough becomes smooth (I use a bench knife/scraper to help me knead and keep the dough from coating my hands).  
7. Let rise for about 1 hour, or until double in bulk. 
8. Carefully let air out of risen dough, let rest for 10-20 minutes. 
9. Shape dough into loaves (or put into loaf pans). 
10. Rise again (30-40 minutes)

11. Slash diagonally or crosswise a few times on tops of dough once risen, to allow for enough space for the initial oven rise.  
12. Bake at 400 for 30 minutes. 
13. Enjoy!!

My Tuesdays are filled with lots of of online meetings.  But between them, I am baking Staycation Bread. 
 These meetings include conversations about moving into an undefined future, preparing to be ready for what might come, mix the dough and let riseA special celebration for Pentecost, punch it down and rest.  Wondering together how to expand our connection with each other, shape into loaves and cover.   Plans for finding new ways to live out our belonging to God and each other, bake and let the fragrance fill the house.

Today I feel slowed down and stretched out.
Today I feel subdued, and also hopeful.  
Today I feel sadness co-mingled with contentment and trust.

Bidden or not bidden, God is present.
 God has got us. The Spirit is leading.
It's going to be alright.   
 



CONNECTING RITUAL:

At this point, maybe we are beginning to really know this evening prayer?
Why not print it and try learning it by heart?


Perhaps, today at bedtime, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pray again the Evening Prayer, and so join our hearts:

Lord it is night.
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done.
Let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness
of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us, and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys, new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen.

(New Zealand Prayerbook)

Sunday, April 26, 2020

Not like it was, but like it will be

Daily Devotion - April 26

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara


Our congregation has been journeying through a year of questions, asking, “Who is God and what is God up to?” and “What is a good life and how do we live it?” along with some of our ancestors in the faith.  

Here’s who we’ve joined so far: 
Today's Scripture was Luke 24:13-53, in which we meet up with the famous...Cleopas!
 You know, Cleopas

I sort of love this because we don’t know. 2000 years later, we have no idea who he is, but he is name dropped here because of course the recipient of Luke’s letter, and everyone in the community of Jesus-followers at that time, would know Cleopas!  Nobody would think it necessary to explain who he is because it’s impossible for any of us to imagine that thousands of years from now, other people might be watching and learning from our lives and faith.

Based on a few different ancient historians from the early 100s, Cleopas is believed to be Joseph’s brother, so, Jesus’ Uncle Cleo.  According to John, Cleo’s wife, Jesus’ Aunt Mary, was standing by the cross with Jesus’ mother Mary when Jesus died.

We meet up with Uncle Cleo and his companion –maybe it’s Aunt Mary, or one of Jesus’ cousins, or maybe another friend from the group of those who followed “The Way.”

They are on a long slow walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus, seven miles away.  There is no rush, because, why?  When Jesus died the movement ended.  His friends and followers are hunkered down in in various locations, in a lockdown of grief and shock, reeling from the events of his death and the strange swirling rumors of resurrection.

And as they walking, they’re doing what Andy and I do every day now when we walk: discussing the latest news and gossip about what they’re facing.  Wondering what the rumors mean.  Trying to wrap their heads around the staggering loss.  Taking guesses about what life will look like after this.

And they are joined by a fellow traveler.  When he asks them what they are talking about, they stand still and stare at him, aghast.  What else would they be talking about? Everyone is talking about this!  How can you not know?  And he invites them to tell the whole story – from beginning to end, while Jesus listens to how all that felt normal is over.

I’ve maybe been living in some illusion that this stay home order and the virus and all of it will go from here to “over” – and we can go back to “normal.”  But they’re talking about waves – advancing and receding.   There is no telling what life is going to be for us in the coming months and years.  That normal we knew is over.

And as we figure out what’s next there will be lots of talk about restarting the economy, restoring the restaurant scene, reviving the art world, resuming sports - recovering what was lost, and resuscitating what may still be restored.  That’s all human work, and it will be good work, thoughtful and important work that will take cooperation, effort and energy on the part of all of us.  But it’s not resurrection.

Resurrection doesn't come to us sudden, sure and complete. Bam! – before becomes after!  Death becomes life! Old becomes new!  And it doesn’t come through our great faith – those early followers had basically none – or through our determination or effort or work to make it so – they didn’t have that either.

Resurrection leaks in through the ordinary moments of real life.  I love this resurrection story because they’re not doing anything dramatic.  They’re just trying to live their lives.  The things they do are human things, honest things, wondering together, grieving, walking, talking, eating, offering hospitality, sharing lodging, sharing food.  It’s almost excruciatingly ordinary.

Any resurrection-related action here is God’s, not theirs.  Even their recognition or not is God’s work.  Their eyes were kept from recognizing him; their eyes were opened and they recognized him.  They turned and asked each other, Were not our hearts burning within us while he was opening the scripture to us?

Jesus meets us in the normal, real moments of our regular real lives: walking along with us in our grief, inviting us to tell our story.  Sharing a meal, and there he is, suddenly hosting us a moment that just turned holy.

We most often recognize that something new is dawning not because it’s undeniable and grand, and fills us with total confidence and we know exactly what’s coming next, but because in the middle of the real right now, in times of unknown, loss and confusion, our hearts are strangely warmed.  Or for a brief moment, before it vanishes, our eyes are opened.  Or in a deeply familiar movement, something stirs in us and we recognize God right here with us.

This story reminds us that quite apart from anything we do or don’t do, can or can’t accomplish, God is doing something.  God is bringing something new out of impossibility.  Hope from emptiness, a future from nothing, Life from death: these are what only God can accomplish.

And when God does it, we don’t scramble to make it so, we do two things. 
First, we recognize and receive it.  Look what God is doing! Jesus is here!  The new thing is beginning!  And second, we go immediately to tell each other about it.  

This week it feels particularly poignant to me that we can’t be together.  It’s been too long, and things keep happening that we want to share with each other in person because that is what humans do.  

I’ve been to a couple drive-by and honk birthday parties, where the longing to reach out and hug each other feels like an ache.  Next weekend we will have an online funeral – which I know will be meaningful because the Church will be gathered together, and Jesus will be there - but it’s not how we’re used to seeing Jesus or being Church; it’s not like it was.

So in this time, we will be learning to watch for other ways Jesus is meeting us, ways we are not as used to.

And we will trust that God is going to lead us into something new, because God is. I am not asking each of you to have great faith about that. I am saying that is what God does, whether we believe that or not.  And as a community, together, we live this way – trusting God with our present and our future, being shaped by the Spirit into a people of hope.

It’s not up to you to somehow muster that faith alone.  Cleopas and the others didn’t believe those who told them about seeing a living Jesus after he died, they had their own encounters with Jesus and then God opened their eyes to see it, their hearts to trust it.

Cleopas and Aunt Mary or whoever are all settled in for the night with their visitor when they finally realize this is Jesus they’d spent the day with. When he vanishes, so do they; they grab their things and hit the road again, and rush all the way back in Jerusalem.

Deep night, the wee hours of morning, what does time matter now?  When they arrive they join in with everyone there who is awake and already talking about their own encounters with the Risen Jesus.

And suddenly Jesus himself appears among them, and still they think he’s a ghost.  It’s not until he asks for some food and they watch him chew and swallow this ordinary piece of broiled fish, like an ordinary person, that they feel comfortable enough to talk together with him, to begin to embrace the death of what was and start tentatively living into whatever this new resurrection way of being is going to be.

Perhaps thousands of years from now, followers of Jesus will be talking about the death and resurrection that happened to the Church in 2020.  When, for months at a time, the people of God could not gather together and worship as they had been accustomed to doing with each other for decades.

Buildings sat empty.  Programs shut down.  All business as usual came to a halt.  Lives and livelihoods were lost, and everyone together willingly gave up their ordinary lives to try and keep each other safe while the world scrambled to make sense of all that was happening.
And then, out of the death of what they thought it meant to be church, a new thing was born.

Because Jesus kept showing up in in their midst in ordinary ways.  And they kept recognizing him – not in all the ways they had grown used to seeing Jesus, but with all the essence, and truth, and luminescence that comes when the soul is awakened to the presence of God.  And they shared about it with each other, however they could.

And they let go of what was, and prepared to embrace what would be, trusting that God was bringing resurrection and life.

May it be so.
Amen.
(The sermons related to the folks we've joined this year are here: HannahMaryAnna & SimeonJohn the BaptistSamuel, David (we had a theater performance, here's an older sermon about David), The Samaritan Woman, Mary of Bethany (preached by Pastor Lisa), MarthaLazarusMary Magdalene, Thomas (preached by Pastor Lisa, follow up devotion here)


CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, today at bedtime, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pray again the Evening Prayer, and so join our hearts:

Lord it is night.
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done.
Let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness
of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us, and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys, new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen.

(New Zealand Prayerbook)

Saturday, April 25, 2020

Six feet apart and grinning

Daily Devotion - April 25

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays) 
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

  

Spring has EXPLODED in the Twin Cities.  We are doing our best to social distance, giving each other wide berth, but we are all craving, longing to be OUTSIDE.
Humans are suddenly everywhere.

Today is a day to feel joy because it's contagious.  We are not WITH others, but we are NEAR them - bikes, rollerblades, strollers and so many walkers.  The motorcycles are out; the dogs are abundant. Hammocks hang double high hither and thither.  It's 70 degrees. So we're out in shorts, sandals, bare feet, masks covering grins, or bare grins - six feet apart and grinning. It feels hopeful.

Suddenly we are wishing we owned a frisbee. Suddenly we are digging out the old, dog-chewed football and finding some public-feeling grass under wide sky.

It's Diane's 75th birthday today.  And the whole Parkway is celebrating.  Thousands are honking their best wishes.
















And if today is still hard, or newly hard, or hard again, peace to you.
It's ok for it to be hard.  We will hold hope for you.  And when it's hard for some of us and you're feeling the joy, you will hold hope for us.  We take turns. That's how it works.

Here's a spring poem from Mary Oliver. Because the birds are everywhere today too.


Such Singing in the Wild Branches
by Mary Oliver

It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.

First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.

Then I was filled with gladness––
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them

were singing.
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

For more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.



CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, today at dinner, or at bedtime, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pray in this way, and so join our hearts:

That your glory blazes at midday warmth
coaxing buds and humans out into the sun
that the glory of the everlasting world
shines in this world
growing from the ground
and issuing forth in every creature,
that glory can be handled, seen and known
in the matter of earth and human relationships
and the most ordinary matters of daily life,
thank you for assuring me, O God.
Thank you for revealing glory 
the ordinary gifts of this day.
Amen.

(adapted from J Philip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal)

Friday, April 24, 2020

Starting close in

Daily Devotion - April 24

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara




This poem is speaking to me this week:

“Start Close In”
by David Whyte

Start close in,
 
don't take the second step

or the third,

start with the first

thing

close in,

the step you don't want to take.
Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way of starting
the conversation.
Start with your own
question,
give up on other
people's questions,
don't let them
smother something
simple.
To find
another's voice
follow
your own voice,
wait until
that voice
becomes a
private ear
listening
to another.
Start right now
take a small step
you can call your own
don't follow
someone else's
heroics, be humble
and focused,
start close in,
don't mistake
that other
for your own.
Start close in,

don't take the second step

or the third,

start with the first

thing

close in,

the step you don't want to take.

Close in for me today has looked like realizing the big project won't get done by the deadline, that life right now is a series of interruptions, and tending those interruptions is as important as the thing I thought was the the thing

It has looked like more waves of tears and heartbreak, cancellations and questions, goodbyes thwarted and closure averted, and the phrase, "Yes, this is really hard," as the mantra that doesn't ever seem to not be the only right thing to say.

It has looked like a car ride with the dog ears and kid ponytail flapping in the wind, giant grins flashing at the sun.

It's been a raucous carwash - have I ever really watched each part? - and the joy of watching the girl watching the dog watching the suds.

It has been a phone call with my Grandma, who got the Postem I sent, remembering her stories of drinking it during the war, and hearing about my uncle's coming to terms with ending treatment and accepting death, and how she wishes she could go down to Georgia and get her hair done.

It has looked like the creep of exhaustion, and the deliberate and not easy choice toward nourishing food, and the spirit-lifting meeting of a stranger who sewed us handmade masks - washed, dried, scented with essential oils and sealed in plastic.  

And the day is only half over. 

I know no other way right now, than to start close in.
Close in is all we have.
The choices we have right in front of us - not the ones way out there, in the future, not the ones other people are making or not making.
Just this. Just now. Starting close in.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, tonight before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pause, reflect, and pray in this way, and so join our hearts:

A litany of recognition...

It can feel like all our control is gone. We used to have so many choices, and we took them for granted.  Now we are limited.  But still - we make choices, all day.

Why not reflect for a minute on the choices you made today?

Some you're proud of; some you regret.  This is not about judging between good and bad choices; it's about receiving the gift of having choices and making choices.

Eg., Today I chose to eat ___ for breakfast... 
Today I chose to/not to shower...
Today I chose to look at/read/watch this...
Today I chose to listen to my body's need for rest...
Today I chose to numb myself to the barrage of feelings...
Today I chose to turn my face to the sun... etc.

Closing prayer: 

Thank you, God, for the gift of life. 
Thank you God for this life.
Thank you for my life.

Thank you, God, for this day.
Thank you for the gift of this day.

Amen.

Thursday, April 23, 2020

The New Normal

Daily Devotion - April 23

I will send a brief message each day
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara




(Keep Calm and Carry On was a motivational poster the British government produced in1939.  As WWII loomed, the poster was designed to boost the morale of, and give guidance to, the British public, through the "new normal," which included widely predicted mass air strikes on major cities. It debuted in 2009 on the wall of the dining room of the Root household to help me parent through a particularly rough season of dinner/vegetable battles with my strong-willed toddler. In April 2020, I began regularly consuming coffee from my mug with the "Keep Calm..." logo to help me through Quarantine).

How are you doing today?

For me, it is dawning (again!?!) that this will change us for a long time.  There is no snap of the finger back to normal. Our governor just canceled in-person school for the rest of the school year, and I'm watching colleges talk about fall semesters online. Andy and I were on a zoom call yesterday for an event we were going to lead together in October (OCTOBER).  The whole, everyone at a retreat center in one place idea is out.  Now, if it is safe to gather, it will likely be in small groups, so maybe smaller concurrent gatherings with Andy and myself rotating between them and the rest seeing it through a live feed? Or something nobody has even thought of yet...? 
October.


When "normal" does "resume" it will be in fits and starts, a little here, and little there, slowly, gradually, 10 people at a time, maybe 50 now, oops, back to 10, etc.  

What does Church look like then?

(What does then look like then??)

I've met with some other pastors (via zoom, of course!) this week, and here's what I heard about what Church is looking like for others: Groups of people praying together by phone, online weekly bible studies, an online VBS in the works, pre-recorded bible study video snippets, coffee hours - like ours, where people are checking in with each other, weekly confirmation class zoom gatherings, online organ concerts.  We are preparing for our first online memorial service.  One church I know of found a lovely way to invite people to come by and leave cards at the home of someone who has lost a family member. Some tiny congregations of under fifty are seeing thousands "joining in" their livestream, some large congregations accustomed to high attendance have much lower "viewership" of their services. Some congregations have never really had "small group" ministries, so are figuring out how to pivot their whole model and help folks get connected in completely different ways.  I think what we are all realizing is:
This is not temporary and then we'll go back to normal. 
This is the new normal until there is another new normal.  


That is a mindset shift for me, and I imagine, for you as well. So the question of how to live in the now continues to be a biggie - for ourselves and our households, but also for our congregations.  

How are we being Church well right now?  
How might we need to keep adapting - we did from "normal" to "temporary," now we're going from "temporary" to "new normal" - to meet some new needs that have arisen, or address some needs that have been put on hold?  
How are each of us coping?  
How can we help each other remember our primary belonging to God and each other in the midst of this?  


The new normal for our church session (board - used to meet monthly) is to meet for an hour every week.  And we'll be circling back with our hospitality teams in the next few days as well, to check in on how each person is doing.  In following the sound guidance from our state health officials and our governor, and looking at the trajectory for COVID-19 in MN in the coming weeks, session voted this week to continue meeting online and by phone through May.  

So, the six weeks we've had so far will be joined by a minimum of five more.  
What can we do to help each other find joy, connection and grounding during this? 
How can we keep seeking the presence of God in our lives and in the world during this phase of new normal?

I came across this quote today, and found it quite lovely.

"We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanence, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping even.  Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what it was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now." 

                - Ann Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea


So, (while I think there are gift in looking back and also looking forward), I feel compelled by the invitation this quote raises to trust in life's ebb and flow. This is to say, for me, to trust also in the Holy Spirit's constant interference, comfort and guidance, and to see God's presence, which is always in the here and now, by living in the present and accepting it as it is now.  


This feels like a huge challenge, and I find myself reacting to it with lots of internal resistance, but also with some curiosity and longing. A small part of me even wants to scream out "Yes!"  And I know this to be true also because I've been genuinely blessed, and not a little intrigued, in hearing some people' stories of these days include words like "contentment", "joy", "peace", "surprising ease", "gift" and "treasure."  I believe those things are given to us in any and all circumstances, and right now we have the opportunity to discover them in new places, and ways we've not yet learned to look. 


So, here's to the new normal. Here's to living in the present and accepting it as it is now.  

I'll see you here.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, sometime today, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might extend a blessing in this way, and so join our hearts:

When you pray this prayer - keep the "us" and the "we" - pray it for yourself, but also for your congregation, or family, or community. (And then, you could pray it again for your nation, and again for our world).

May the strength of God pilot us.

May the power of God preserve us.

May the wisdom of God instruct us.

May the hand of God protect us.

May the way of God direct us.

May the shield of God defend us.

May the host of God guard us against the snares of evil

and the temptations of the world.

May Christ be with us,

Christ before us,

Christ in us,

Christ over us.

May your salvation, O Lord,
Be always ours this day and forevermore. Amen.


- Patrick of Ireland (389-461)

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Preach!

Daily Devotion - April 22

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara



Our deck door is open. OUR DECK DOOR IS OPEN. Minnesota friends, the near 70 degree temps are leaking into the house and we are leaking out into the yard, and it is glorious. Ok, I just asked Alexa, and she says it's only 61, but wow, does it feel great!  

This morning a far-away friend thanked me for my daily messages, and said so many folks had become "preachy" lately and she was glad I was "keeping it real."  

"Preachy" is a word that has come to mean, I think, a kind of sanctimonious safely removed, telling other people what to feel and think sort of thing. Which is too bad. Because, as an actual preacher, I crave good preaching and I appreciate it to my bones.  

Good preaching watches for what God is doing in scripture and the world and shares about it. And a big part of that is looking right where we are, in our own lives, for the activity of God.

This means, by default, keeping it real. Because it's hard to see the real God doing real things in our real lives if we are striving beyond whatever we are in for some perceived perfection.  Here's how we should be coping....  Here's what you should be believing...

Here's what you should be doing... 

How about instead, What in the world is God up to now??
Good preaching is really just asking these questions of the text - and when I say "text" I mean whatever is in front of us - Who is God and what is God up to?

And the question we are all, already asking much of the time, What is a good life, and how do I live it?


Who is God here? In this moment of exhaustion when I want to open my mouth wide and scream swears into the face of this one I know I love more than my own life, but cannot stand at the moment?

Who is God, with us and for us, right now?

What is God up to now? When I am feeling so isolated and alone, and even jealous of the people talking about how they want to scream swears into the faces of their loved ones because I am not near anyone I love?

What is God doing in my life right here?

Who is this God and what is God up to when I wake up inexplicably cheerful, when the day feels bright and I feel grateful for life and my chance to be living it and the little things are bringing me big joy?

And what is a good life in the midst of all this chaos and standstill? What's the purpose of my life, my day, my existence now?  And how do I let myself find the good right now, right here, and not just postpone it for when this is "over" - whatever that means?

What is God up to when the sickness comes, and things feel scary and precarious, and my mortality is front and freaking center?

Who is God right now for this one I love whose dementia means they can't remember what's going on or why nobody is allowed to visit, and every day feels strange and awful? 

What is God up to when the babies are coming and the grandpas are dying and they might miss each other on the way in and out?

In my life, in my world, with the people I love, in my community, in this whole situation, in the global human drama, who is God? What is God up to?

God meets us in the questions. We keep thinking it's our job to get ourselves to some zen place of arrival, to find some spiritual lessons in this, or to come out the other side a better person. Fine, that would all be wonderful. And KUDOS, seriously!, to those people who are doing that all on their ownFor a lot of us, though, that's just not possible, or even, I'll admit it, desirable.

What I mean is, I suspect that the gift of this time isn't that we can do a terrific self-improvement project.  Instead, I suspect the gift of this time is the awareness that all our self-improvement projects have gotten us nowhere.  

We need someone from outside of this, to meet us within.

We need resurrection.  That's not something we do. It's something done to us, in us, through us.

The best sermons being preached to me these days are by kids, because they are the best at keeping it real.  Like Robbie in worship a few weeks ago, echoing the Psalmist, reminding us with breathless wonder, that God made SO MUCH, the whole world, and even YOU and ME!   Or like my friend's 14 year old who, echoing the author of Ecclesiastes, pontificated for several days that all is pointless and our toiling is for nothing. He LIVED in that place for days, like an Old Testament prophet, refusing to shower or eat, (forget about schoolwork or chores). Grieving on behalf of us all, perhaps. He showed me, at least, a little something about the importance of all-out, no holes barred, not to be deterred, mourning, aka. keeping it real.

So, preach to me, Church.  

Don't tell me about having a good attitude or a cheerful heart, or being better, doing better, making it all better. Tell me about your loneliness and your sorrow, and the waiting for God to bring resurrection into the death of you. 

Tell me how you're struggling, and let's watch together for where God is coming into that. I want to hear the sermons about suffering and redemption, about brokenness and healing, about sorrow and joy, (or just sorrow, if that's what they are), about not knowing the answers and learning how to live with the questions.  Tell me how you are seeing God in ways you didn't know to even be watching for. Or tell me how you're learning to watch.  I want the little nuggets that get overlooked. The gentle surprises and the time-stopping moments, both.  
Give me the real stuff.


Thankfully, that's what basically everyone in scripture does.  Just lives along their way having their messy lives invaded by God, and then telling people about it.  

I need your sermons. Keep preaching to me. And I will keep preaching to you.  Let's keep keeping it real.

CONNECTING RITUAL:



Perhaps, sometime today, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might extend a blessing in this way, and so join our hearts:



Why not write an actual paper note of thanks to someone who has preached to you this week.  If that's just too much in your current state, an email then, or a text.  Or pick up the phone.



Think of one person you can say, Thank you for...

Here's how it preached to me:

(aka, Here's how it revealed to me something of who God is and what God is up to).


(It can be a small thing they'd consider "no big deal" - those are the most fun thanks to receive, when you didn't even realize the Spirit was preaching through you). 

Saving / Being Saved

Mark 11:1-11  I was raised with a high anthropology – which is to say, a view of human beings that puts a lot of power in our hands. I could...