Showing posts with label election. Show all posts
Showing posts with label election. Show all posts

Thursday, November 7, 2024

A Prayer After the 2024 Election

 


 A Prayer After the 2024 Election
by Kara K. Root

God, election day has happened.

I have fears and worries. 

Dark thoughts keep me up in the night. 

The world seems fraught and fragile.

 I feel defensive, guarded, on edge.

I am protecting

the vulnerable parts of myself,

and thinking of the future I want for those I love:

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope.

 

But I’m convinced this future is under threat.

So I keep listening to the voices, and watching the screens,

 that repeat back to me

 my fears and worries.

At first, this helps. 

My fears are justified! My worries are validated!

But mostly it brings despair.

And I stay defensive, guarded and on edge.

And the world seems fraught and fragile.

And dark thoughts keep me up in the night. 

 

God, election day has happened.

The people I don’t trust, don’t agree with, and don’t know:

They have fears and worries. 

Dark thoughts keep them up in the night. 

The world seems fraught and fragile.

 They feel defensive, guarded, on edge.

They are protecting

the vulnerable parts of themselves,

and thinking of the future they want for those they love:

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope.

 

But they're convinced this future is under threat.

So they keep listening to the voices, and watching the screens,

 that repeat back to them

 their fears and worries.

At first, this helps. 

Their fears are justified! Their worries are validated!

But mostly it brings despair.

And they stay defensive, guarded and on edge.

And the world seems fraught and fragile.

And dark thoughts keep them up in the night. 

 

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy on us all.

 

No matter what we did or did not do, 

no matter what happens in our lives, country, or world,

or what unfolds in all human history,

this remains true:

all people belong to you

 and all people belong to each other.

We repeatedly forget this, 

we skillfully deny this, 

we frequently violate this, 

and we blatantly ignore this,

But our belonging to you and each other 

never stops being true.

 

Lord, may I bravely embrace it.

Make me open. Generous. Kind. Free.

 

After this election day,

Help me to love 

all my siblings in this vast, diverse nation.

Love my neighbors, whose lives touch close up,

and love the strangers to whom I also belong,

as I love my own scared and anxious soul.

Not because any of us deserves it,

more or less than anyone else,

but because you love us all, 

first, last, and always.

 

After this election day,

and no matter what comes next,

held in your love and trusting your belonging, 

may my life contribute to 

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope

for all.

 

Amen.

 

 

Sunday, November 3, 2024

In, Through and Despite

Genesis 37, 39-50

Episode 5: Joseph

This is the story of the family of Jacob” are the opening lines of the 12-chapter novella that wraps up the book of Genesis. It centers around Joseph, Jacob (aka Israel)’s favorite of his 11 sons, (that is, before Ben comes along, making it 12 – the 12 tribes of Israel).  

In 2012, artist Sue Hensel stood at the front of our sanctuary with a large canvas and pastels and drew this image, while I stood at the podium in the back of the sanctuary and read through the entire story of Joseph from beginning to end. 


Every time we came to the phrase, “The Lord was with Joseph” we all stopped and sang it, and then we continued with the refrain periodically throughout the rest of the story.

 

But here’s the thing, every time it’s said, “The Lord was with Joseph” Joseph is in kind of crappy circumstances. He’s sold into slavery, and “the Lord was with Joseph and he became a successful man.”

He’s thrown into jail “but the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love, he gave him favor in the sight of the chief jailer.”

“The Lord was with him; and whatever he did, the Lord made it prosper – in the dungeon.”

 

Joseph was 17 when he arrived in Egypt, and into slavery. Being falsely accused by his boss’s wife lands him in that dungeon prison for many years – including the two years the baker who had promised to mention him to Pharoah after Joseph did him a solid had forgotten about him, before suddenly remembering, when Pharoah’s dream could not be interpreted by the top magicians, that one Hebrew guy in the dungeon who was good with dreams.  So by the time Joseph stands before the Pharoah and gets put in charge of Operation Outlast Famine, he is 30 years old.


When this all began, Joseph, whom the text is careful to mention is both handsome and good looking, was a cocky kid, the favorite their father, bragging about his crazy dreams to his inferior brothers and driving them crazy with rage.  

But as we follow the terrifying trajectory of his life, from stability to upheaval, from security to volatility, from ease to agony, from recognition to rejection, again and again, the constant through line is The Lord is with Joseph.  And regardless of where he is or what is happening, God keeps working through for the goodness of others. Joseph had no choice in what happened to him, no control over any of it. God did not spare him suffering, that’s not what God does, God comes into suffering with us.  And the Lord was with Joseph.

 

His brothers’ lives went a different way.  After faking Joseph’s death and selling him to slavers, they had to live with what they’d done. They had to go home and face Dad. And Jacob’s grief was crushing and continuous. He would not be consoled. And the brothers must now keep their terrible secret from their family for the rest of their lives. 

 

When they arrive in Egypt two years into the devastating famine, among the desperate crowds, they have lived these past 22 years as slaves to their guilt and shame. But the one they’d sold into slavery, who spent many of those years in captivity, had been made free long ago.  Unburdened by bitterness, outrage or ego, available to God and to those around him, the 39-year-old Joseph is unrecognizable.

 

It’s not just that his boyhood dreams have come true, and everyone is bowing to him, including his brothers, it’s that he has been formed into a person attuned to God. 

 

Later, after they’ve all been reunited and their father’s grief has ended, after everything Joseph does for his brothers - moving all their families and households there, setting everyone up in the good graces of the Pharoah and on vast stretches of land, promising to continue caring for them all through the rest of the famine, the brothers are still trapped in guilt. They still can’t accept the gift that has been given to them.  When Dad dies, the brothers are afraid Joseph will take his revenge on them. 

 

They scheme to tell Joseph that their father’s dying wish was that Joseph forgive them. But when they do, Joseph weeps. Then, using the phrase that throughout our whole scripture is our alert that what we’re about to hear is the good news that pulls us back into the Way of God, Joseph says, “Don’t be afraid!”

He continues, “Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people. No, don’t be afraid. I will continue to take care of you and your children.” So, he reassured them by speaking kindly to them.” (Gen 50:19-21)

 

We’ve talked about this before, but I think about it often, that the Greek word for “forgive” means literally, let go. Just let go. Stop hanging onto something, stop feeding it, clinging to it, holding the weight of it. Just let go.

 

Joseph had forgiven his brothers ages ago, but they hadn’t forgiven themselves. They were invited to let go and they kept hanging on. Set free, they were still living in the Way of Fear. 

 

What are we hanging onto that it’s hard to let go of?

 

It might not be guilt or shame; it may be anger or a story of betrayal. But right now, walking through the world in these days and hours leading up to the US election, it feels like everyone is on edge. And I wonder if what we’re hanging onto is fear itself. Apprehension. Dread. 

 

This week Barb Blue preached to me the gospel/good news that pulls us into the Way of God when she texted after her bible study, “There is no election result that can thwart God.”

 

God is about saving us, which is to say, God is about restoring us to shalom – to wholeness, reconnecting us to our maker and all our siblings on this earth. All creation belongs to God, and God cannot be thwarted. And the story of Joseph tells us there is no arrogance or rivalry, no hatred or jealousy, no horrific betrayal, no appalling violence, no cover up, no great success, no accusation or smear campaign, no captivity or languishing, no faulty memory or failed magician, no famine, or scheming, or shame, or guilt, or fear that can thwart God.

Nothing in history, in the present moment, or yet to come is bigger than God’s redemptive plan for the world. There is nobody outside of God’s sights. We’re all in this story.

 

We might have trouble tolerating our smug siblings, we might even imagine doing violence to them or fantasize about sending them far away forever.  Or we might be the ones with the arrogance problem, looking down on our brothers and sisters with disdain. Either way, God cannot be thwarted from working God’s purposes in and through any and every scenario we manage to cook up or mess up. Nothing we can do can stop God from loving the world and saving it, from loving us and saving us.

 

We can’t control what will happen. Or what will happen after that. Simply wanting one thing or another doesn’t make it so, just as fearing one thing or another can’t keep it from coming.

 

So what if, instead, we let go?  What if we accept what is, and decide to assume the inner stance of least resistance to the light that no darkness can overcome shining in us and through us? What if we practiced trusting that the Lord is with us?

 

Today we’re invited into the posture of Joseph. Not the insufferable, 17-year-old Joseph with the bragging problem, but the Joseph who had been through it, whose trust in God was deep and embedded, who had learned through two decades of unpredictability and strain to ride out the waves of both constantly changing circumstances and monotonous confinement, with his heart tuned to God. The Joseph set free by forgiveness who used the gifts he’d been given whenever they were called upon. 


Our biblical ancestors are not examples to model ourselves after, so I don’t want to put Joseph on a pedestal.  But the story is not really about Joseph, it’s about God. It’s always about God. God whose purposes cannot be stopped. And Joseph seemed to learn how to practice assuming the stance that offers the least resistance of openness to God, waiting and ready when God called on him to act.

 

Nearly seven hundred years after Joseph, David, fleeing the wrath of a murderous king (don’t worry- we’ll get to that story!) wrote this:

Psalm 36:5-7 (NLT):

“Your steadfast love, O Lord, is as vast as the heavens; your faithfulness reaches beyond the clouds. Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, your justice like the ocean depths. You save humans and animals alike, O Lord. How precious is your unfailing love, O God! All humanity finds shelter in the shadow of your wings.”

 

What if we choose to simply move into this world today, tomorrow, and the next day, in the shadow of God’s wings? What if we practice assuming the stance of least resistance to the Holy Spirit, who hovers over chaos and breathes life into dust, hovering over our chaos and breathing new life into our world?

 

It’s not up to us to save the world, that’s God’s job.  Don’t be afraid! Are we in the place of God? As we live our lives and make our mistakes, God is not only present in our personal realities, but God’s larger purposes are unfolding in, through and despite us. We can join in on knowingly, with eyes wide open and hearts and hands readily available to listen and respond to God’s call, or we can join in by accident without our awareness or conscious involvement. We can see it and celebrate God’s salvation, or we can miss it. But we can never stop God’s redemption or prevent God’s presence. God will do what God does, and God cannot be thwarted.


Amen.


Where we've been - 


Episode 1: The Beginning

Episode 2: Noah (conversation - so this sermon is from 2014)

Episode 3: Hagar, Abraham & Sarah 

Episode 4: Jacob



 

Saturday, October 26, 2024

A Prayer for the 2024 Election


 A Prayer for the 2024 Election
by Kara K. Root

God, election day is near.

I have fears and worries. 

Dark thoughts keep me up in the night. 

The world seems fraught and fragile.

 I feel defensive, guarded, on edge.

I am protecting

the vulnerable parts of myself,

and thinking of the future I want for those I love:

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope.

 

But I’m convinced this future is under threat.

So I keep listening to the voices, and watching the screens,

 that repeat back to me

 my fears and worries.

At first, this helps. 

My fears are justified! My worries are validated!

But mostly it brings despair.

And I stay defensive, guarded and on edge.

And the world seems fraught and fragile.

And dark thoughts keep me up in the night. 

 

God, election day is near.

The people I don’t trust, don’t agree with, and don’t know:

They have fears and worries. 

Dark thoughts keep them up in the night. 

The world seems fraught and fragile.

 They feel defensive, guarded, on edge.

They are protecting

the vulnerable parts of themselves,

and thinking of the future they want for those they love:

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope.

 

But they’re convinced this future is under threat.

So they keep listening to the voices, and watching the screens,

 that repeat back to them

 their fears and worries.

At first, this helps. 

Their fears are justified! Their worries are validated!

But mostly it brings despair.

And they stay defensive, guarded and on edge.

And the world seems fraught and fragile.

And dark thoughts keep them up in the night. 

 

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy on us all.

 

No matter what we do or don’t do, 

no matter what happens in our lives,

or what unfolds in all human history,

this remains true:

all people belong to you

 and all people belong to each other.

We repeatedly forget this, 

we skillfully deny this, 

we frequently violate this, 

and we blatantly ignore this,

But our belonging to you and each other 

never stops being true.

 

Lord, may I bravely embrace it.

Make me open. Generous. Kind. Free.

 

This election day and beyond,

Help me to love 

all my siblings in this vast, diverse nation.

Love my neighbors, whose lives touch close up,

and love the strangers to whom I also belong,

as I love my own scared and anxious soul.

Not because any of us deserves it,

more or less than anyone else,

but because you love us all, 

first, last, and always.

 

This election day and beyond,

and no matter what happens after,

held in your love and trusting your belonging, 

may my life contribute to 

safety and inclusion,

purpose and connection, 

mutuality and joy,

a life with hope

for all.

 

Amen.

 

 

Wednesday, November 4, 2020

I don't accept the results of the election


 I am grieved and sobered. But I don’t accept the results of the election.

I don't accept that we are against each other and unable to find common ground.  I reject the assertion that we are hopelessly polarized and divided.  I don’t agree to see us as on opposite teams with opposite viewpoints and concerns. I will not concede that some people don’t care about basic human needs, their own or others'.  We all need food and home and belonging and love.  We all want a stable economy filled with opportunity. Nobody want dirty air or water, or to pass on an uninhabitable earth to the next generation. We all want to be safe, to live in safe neighborhoods and a safe country.  We all want to be seen and heard, and to know our lives are valuable and our contributions matter.  We all want to trust we will be well cared for when we’re sick or injured, and we want to know our futures are secure.  All of us want and believe in justice and liberty for all.  Working for these things is not undermining them; being passionate about some of these things does not mean rejecting others.  I do not accept that this is so.  I will seek common ground, and join in a shared reality that uphold the needs and lives of all.

I don’t accept the urgency and intensity. I refuse to greet each day with anxiety and hand-wringing about the future, predictions of doom and insistence on vigilance.  Instead I will welcome each day as an opportunity to live into our fundamental belonging to each other.  I will watch for ways to affirm our intrinsic connection, to notice our shared humanity, and to join in strengthening the patriotic cooperation and mutual respect of this nation that together we are. 


I don’t accept that we are in “battle between good and evil.” I refuse to surrender to exaggeration and hyperbole. I decline any invitation and rebuff any insistence to depict other human beings as caricatures, or distortions of their humanity, in order to label them more effectively, so I can dismiss them guiltlessly, or acquiesce to them thoughtlessly.  Instead I will remind myself that we all are a mess of contradictions: selfishness and beauty, love and obliviousness, trying and failing.  I will not let this election take away the exquisite complexity of each human being with whom I share this country.  


I don’t accept that cooperation is impossible, or that to meet my needs I must deny yours, or to meet your needs you must deny mine.  We need each other. I don’t accept that I am better off without you. 

 

I don’t accept that some voices should be silenced, even if those voices grieve me.  Instead, I pray that the voices that sadden or frighten me might stir me to compassion and curiosity about the person behind the rhetoric, the humanity that is just like my own, armored and defending a frightened and tender heart that longs to love and be loved. 

 

Right now our brokenness is on full display.  But I do not accept that this state of being is permanent or dire. Instead I welcome it as a sign of breaking open, the possibility of our soul healing differently, stronger.  I will not be afraid of the pain. I will not be afraid of the struggle.  I know the joy that is found in shared suffering, and the peace that comes in coming alongside. I have seen how new life comes from death. I have seen how the loss of what we thought we were can lead to what we can be. I have learned that being human means we are always in process, never complete. Each of us is always learning, always growing, always invited (and sometimes forced) to begin again and dream anew. Why would our collective of human beings called the United States of America be any different? 


So, no matter who ends up being our president for the next four years, I do not accept fear as the winner of our nation. I will be led by love and guided by hope.  

America is us; it’s you and it’s me. This I embrace.

Sunday, October 4, 2020

The deeper truth

 

Devotion for Being Apart -
October 4


I will share new devotions from time to time,
and invite you to browse through devotions that have been shared on this blog.


Psalm 19

This weekend I’ve been cranky and frustrated and weary.  I can feel it when "the insolent have dominion over me."  It churns inside me and I have to let it out by adding to the noise with my own rants of incredulity and horror.  Andy calls it, “The Kara Talks Over the News About the News Podcast.” But I can’t help myself.  The Psalmist, most likely King David, prays, “Keep me back from the insolent, Lord;” I say, “Let me at them!” 
 
Right now there are so many voices, so many words. Shouting over each other to be heard. And we are listening to them all, taking them into ourselves, letting them shape us, make us afraid, anxious and angry, tying us in knots, paralyzing us.
 
As the decibels get turned up and the rhetoric roars in these next couple of months, Richard Rohr last week advised we safeguard our souls by standing “as a sentry to the door of our senses” and limiting our news intake to an hour a day. He said, “It will only tear you apart and pull you into the dualistic world of opinion and counter-opinion, not Divine Truth, which is always found in a bigger place.” 
 
Divine truth is always found in a bigger place. Bigger than opinion and counter-opinion. Bigger than fear and division. Bigger than viruses, and sickness, politics and fires, racism and power-mongering, bigger than all the words and voices that separate us into for and against, or seek to steal our hope.  But these days, I frequently feel pulled into the dualistic world. I often feel torn apart. 
 
This might be a good time to refresh ourselves on the Way of Fear and the Way of God that have guided us for a while.  Because this whole prayer, this poem, is celebrating the Way of God. It is resting in the confident peace of the bigger place, and by praying it, David is helping himself return to that place, being put back together. 
 
The Way of Fear begins in self-sufficiency and judgment; it curls us in on ourselves to seek security, self-preservation and personal glory, even at the expense of others.  Our worth is earned, having more makes us better, and other people are competition for resources or obstacles in our way –they exist to be used or discarded.  Every moment the world is urgent and dangerous so we can never let our guard down; and there is no stopping or resting or we will lose our place. In the Way of Fear, we walk through the world ruled by death, threatened always by the fear of loss - loss of dreams, plans, reputation, belonging, so we are dominated and held captive to isolation and suspicion.
 
The way of God begins in gift and abundance. This is the bigger place where the Divine truth is found.  We are created for connection and belonging, so the way of God opens us up toward the world and one another. We are loved just as we are, and meant to live fully this one wild and precious life we have been given. The people journeying alongside us are neighbors, friends, siblings, not threats, rivals or competitors.  We need each other to be whole, we have everything we need, and what we have is for sharing. We are meant to stop frequently and purposefully, to rest and receive this gift of a life, and because most of the things that really matter are slow and take time. The world is filled with beauty, infused with the life of the God who holds us all.  
Life in the way of God is shaped around the justice that means everyone has what they need, the kindness that means “I will stand with you,” and walking humbly—vulnerably, honestly—with our God, (Micah 6:8) who never leaves us nor forsakes us. We’re made for life—to seek life, and nurture life, and contribute to life for others—to feel joy in our deep abiding connection to God and each other. The love of God that breathes all life into being holds us and connects us, and nothing in all of creation can ever separate us from this love, so we are free to be with and for one another fully and wholly.
 
David’s Psalm reminds us that this message being proclaimed all around us, in ongoing expression, it’s being told every moment, just not with speech or voice.  Just not in the way we’re bombarded with.  The deeper truth is being told, from a bigger place than opinion and counter-opinion.
 
But the deeper truth is set at a different frequency. We have to attune ourselves to hear it. It sounds like music, and poetry, and windsong. It’s heard in children’s laughter, and snoring dogs and growling stomachs and sizzling food. It's expressed in quiet sighs, and unrestrained tears, and gentle pats, and falling rain. 
 
The whole cosmos declares the wonder of God, David writes, this vast, living container of a world witnesses to what God does.  Even though it’s not amplified voices and teleprompter speeches, God’s way is talking to us all the time; the deeper truth goes out to all the earth. When we forget there is a God, we quiet ourselves and listen for the voiceless voice, the speechless words of creation’s message. No matter how loud the noise of fear gets, we can hear the humming world to remember there is a God over all of this.
 
The second movement of David’s poem celebrating the way of God is for when we forget who God is and who we are meant to be with and for each other.  David gushes about the law of God – God’s way is not chaos and cutthroat; it’s not everyone in it for themselves. It’s ordered by love and designed for belonging. It revives the souls, and makes wise the simple, and rejoices the heart, and enlightens the eyes. It is pure and good trustworthy and true.  And at any moment we can turn to the wisdom of our faith, and immerse ourselves in scriptures - the words of Jesus, the prayers of Psalms, and the stories of the struggles and conflicts of the faithful who have gone before us, in their own forgetting and remembering that there is God who loves, and orders and intervenes in this world, we are reminded too. 
No matter how bitter the division and turmoil, and how disordered things appear, we can feed ourselves on the precious gift of scripture and words and writings of women and men of faith who’ve gone before, to remember who God is and who we are meant to be with and for each other. 
 
And David’s final moment is within, turning right toward God it shifts the mic from creation and scripture to our own mouths.  When we forget that we belong to God, and find ourselves overwhelmed by hopelessness or swept up into the discord, we speak to God directly from the heart.  God see me as I am. Clear out everything in me that gets captive and caught in the way of fear. I am being dominated by the disdainful and contemptuous; I might even be disdainful and contemptuous myself.  May the words that come from my mouth, and the thoughts that swirl in my heart, be part of your reality, be reflections of your love and care for all people and this whole wide earth.  Keep me in your way, O God. Keep me here.
No matter how badly we feel torn apart, polluted with and sucked into the fray by the undertow of despair and disgust, we can open our vulnerable hearts right to God and ask to be cleared out, put back together and set right to remember that we belong to God, and we can trust and rest in God’s reality.
 
In the midst of the fires and the virus and the crazy politicians, God is still good. In all things, no matter what they are, God is still moving the world toward goodness. 

We can choose to listen to the voices fighting for power, splitting us into my team against your team, and echoing sonorous speeches of doom.  But day to day pours forth speech and night to night reveals knowledge of a good God whose purpose for the world, for each one of us, is not hindered or stopped by the violence of our rhetoric or the damage of our actions.  And we can choose to listen to that instead.  
 
God’s way of love and justice and standing-with-you kindness moves through it all – in the middle of the suffering, right up against loss, not backing down from fear or the noise, and paying no mind to the mindgames or the power plays.  Because in Christ our God is right here with us, in the death, leading to life, the light shines that no darkness can put out.  Behind, underneath, through and always, gently and unceasingly, God’s way persists and prevails.
 
 CONNECTING RITUAL:

Before we go to bed, whenever that is in our home, may we pause pray, and so our hearts with each other and the world:'

God of all,
help me listen to Divine truth in the bigger place.
Attune my heart to your frequency, Lord.
I want to see hope, and feel joy, and recognize love
and share all these things with others.
I want to be grounded in the wisdom that transcends the noise.
I want to be brave to face suffering and pain,
knowing your love meets us there too,
there especially.
I want to see you, Jesus, here with us.

Free me from the way of fear.
Help me to live in the way of God.
Teach my heart to hear
the voice of truth.
Amen.

Prescription for the week:  Limit news to one hour a day.  Take some or all of these supplements: Read poetry, listen to music, spend time in nature, read the bible, read some of the mystics, or writers Henri Nouwen, Eugene Peterson, Thomas Merton, Kathleen Norris, sit in silence for five minutes, tell God whatever is going on in your heart.

Friday, October 2, 2020

Safeguarding our Souls

 

This was shared with my congregation, September 21, 2020, and worth returning to…

 



Some thoughts from Richard Rohr (from a September 21 email entitled, "Some simple but urgent guidance to get us through these next months")

 

"I awoke on Saturday, September 19, with three sources in my mind for guidance: Etty Hillesum (1914 – 1943), the young Jewish woman who suffered much more injustice in the concentration camp than we are suffering now; Psalm 62, which must have been written in a time of a major oppression of the Jewish people; and the Irish Poet, W.B.Yeats (1965 – 1939), who wrote his “Second Coming” during the horrors of the World War I and the Spanish Flu pandemic. 

 

There is a really deep well inside me. And in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there, too … And that is all we can manage these days and also all that really matters: that we safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves. 
—Etty Hillesum, Westerbork transit camp

Yeats' The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.


Psalm 62:5–9
In God alone is my soul at rest.
God is the source of my hope.
In God I find shelter, my rock, and my safety.
Human beings are but a puff of wind,
Mortals who think themselves important are a delusion.
Put them on a scale,
They are gone in a puff of wind."


PRACTICE

Rohr suggests, "Stand as a sentry at the door of your senses for these coming months, so 'the blood-dimmed tide' cannot make its way into your soul.

 

He continues: 

If you will allow, I recommend for your spiritual practice for the next four months that you impose a moratorium on exactly how much news you are subject to—hopefully not more than an hour a day of television, social media, internet news, magazine and newspaper commentary, and/or political discussions. It will only tear you apart and pull you into the dualistic world of opinion and counter-opinion, not Divine Truth, which is always found in a bigger place.

 

Instead, I suggest that you use this time for some form of public service, volunteerism, mystical reading from the masters, prayer—or, preferably, all of the above. You have much to gain now and nothing to lose. Nothing at all. And the world—with you as a stable center—has nothing to lose. And everything to gain."


WHAT WOULD IT MEAN TO FIND REST IN THESE TUMULTUOUS TIMES?

 

I love what Etty says about the deep well inside us that dwells in God. How can we keep returning to this well? How can we let God meet us in the midst of whatever tumult surrounds us?  


Rohr gives an excellent suggestion for safeguarding our souls in this time. My own media consumption has been an all-day trickle of news that tends to stoke the fear in me, rather than feeding my soul or bringing me back to rest in God. I can choose something different.

As we consider "standing as sentry at the door of our senses these coming months," I believe this is not a call to vigilance, to muster more might and internal fortitude, and it's not a frantic reaction to the fear of losing something.  

It's an act of kindness and truth for ourselves and for the world.  We are safeguarding our own souls - the really deep well within us where we can be present with God no matter what is happening within and without.

 

We are not safeguarding God - God cannot be lost. God is above and beyond all, and also closer than our own breath. At every moment. Kind and faithful, always working for redemption and healing through every circumstance, and leading all things toward love.  It's easy to lose sight of this. God never does. And God never loses sight of us. It's easy to get swept away by fear and exhaustion and worry, and forget to return to our own souls that dwell in God. That's where we come in for one another.

We are here to help each other find rest in God, our true source of hope.  We are here to help each other keep returning to God, and to the deep wells inside us that dwell in God.  Because in God alone our souls are at rest.  God is the source of our hope.  


Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Still...

A letter to my congregation. 




Beloved ones,

I want to tell you what happened to me last week.  
On a Sunday morning, after a whirlwind 48 hours that included two funerals and a Saturday Evening Prayer service, I headed for the airport.  I was going to meet three other spiritual directors for a three day retreat at a monestary in Kentucky, before heading to the National Youth Worker’s Convention in Cincinnatti where we would do spiritual direction with youth workers, and I would lead a workshop on Sabbath.
I felt like canceling.

I had so much to do, I thought, I would certainly be behind if I left then. Lots of people needed me, and I felt desperate about not being connected to social media for three days, as the country was spinning post-election and so many big and tense things were unfolding.  I was exhausted, but I couldn’t stop going - moving, thinking, talking, acting, and the thought of setting everything down was very unsettling.


This something I have learned about Sabbath: When I think I am least able to take a break, that is the time I most need to stop.

I landed in Kentucky and drove to the middle nowhere (ie, Trappist, KY). When I entered the monastery, my cell phone coverage cut out, and the calls I had to return, the emails I meant to send, the conversations and tasks I’d left hanging, were cut off. It was then I learned the next three days would be spent in silence.

Sabbath day begins at sundown in the Jewish tradition. As soon as the sun hits the horizon, what is done is done, what is undone stays undone. There is no “finishing up” first; you simply start.  That’s a lovely sentiment, and now it was forced upon me by the lack of internet, phone, and SPEAKING.

I went to bed and awoke to the "silent" day ahead of me. The whole day my mind was a noisy cacophony. My gut was in knots, my soul felt clenched.  As I walked and slept and read and bumped about, I wondered how I would ever feel quiet.  The day ended in a candlelit Compline service, listening to the Trappist monks chant the Psalms.
I slept like a baby.

The second day was glorious. 
I walked 5 miles, sharing the woods with wild turkeys and deer, squirrels and birds, the loud sound of my own feet tromping through the leaves and across fields of harvested corn and hay, and the wind singing in my ears.  I read and prayed, colored and wrote, and gulped in great breaths of air and silence till I began to sense I could feel full and satisfied.

The third day was a gift – I visited Thomas Merton’s hermitage and grave, and felt settled into the silence as a friend. I felt myself breathing deeply and trusting. I felt my heart open and my stomach calm.
We say when we stop God will meet us.
That keeps on proving true.

The rest of my week was spent at a convention center in the city, meeting one on one with people and listening deeply to their lives and living, noticing together what God was up to, celebrating and grieving together.  In other words, the next three days were spent practicing and remembering that we belong to God, and we belong to each other, all of us.  

The week was capped off gathered in a room with youth workers and pastors, sharing stories and learnings of Sabbath that our community has experienced, and watching people’s imaginations open up to what might be in their own lives and congregations.  When we stop, I said, God will meet us.

I returned Sunday night feeling grounded, awake, and open to God. And I returned really deeply trusting that God’s love is the biggest and truest thing, and so grateful and thrilled that we get to be part of it.




Advent begins this week. 
It's your turn to be reminded: When we stop, God will meet us. 
Advent is season of waiting in darkness for the coming of God,  it is a choice to keep stopping, in the midst of the holiday noise and chaos, and finding the stillness that connects us to our longing for God. 

Our theme this year is STILL…
Still…there is hope. Still…there is peace. Still…there is joy.
Still…there is love. Be Still and know that I am God.
 

I encourage you to come to worship all four weeks of Advent.
If you are a Sunday only person, come Saturdays too.
If you are a Saturday only person, come Sundays too.

Holiday chaos is crazy.  End of year busyness is pressing. We are in a bumpy time in our country, and the noise around us feels loud and incessant. The world is filled with pain.
But still… God’s love is the biggest and truest thing. 
And still…when we stop, God will meet us.

Come into the stillness where we are rooted and grounded in the love of God who came to share all of life with us. 
Come into the waiting where we get to be honest about our anxiety and hear again how there is no fear in love. 
Come and rest. 
Come, let us stop together.

This Advent, we will be with Mary, Zechariah, Elizabeth and Joseph, watching what God was doing in their lives. We will be singing our Advent songs, and holding space for prayer and silence, and we will be collecting symbols to hold throughout the week, inviting our souls into stillness.
For God alone my soul waits in silence. From him comes my salvation. (Ps. 62:1)

And when Christmas comes, we will lift our heads and open our eyes, grounded, awake, breathing deeply, and trusting, and we will celebrate that at every moment and in all things, God-with-us is with us.  

I will meet you there,
Kara



Saturday, November 12, 2016

Come, you weary ones...



"Come to me all you who are weary
and are carrying heavy burdens,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
for I am gentle and humble in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11:28-30

Being a congregation that practices Sabbath means when Jesus says Come to me, we answer, Yes. OK. We will come.  We will lay down our burdens and our pride; we will admit our weariness, and we will welcome your rest. We won’t wait until we are sick or dying or out of our mind. We wont let rest become a last resort, a contingency plan, a life-saving measure. We will come now. We will begin here. Yours is the way and work we choose.
 

Tonight, we at LNPC shared some reminders with each other:

1. Worry is practicing fear. 
Worry trains us to fear by saying over and over again, “What if… what if… what if…”
Rest is practicing trust. 
Rest trains us to trust by saying over and over again, “Even if… Even if… Even if…”

2. Rest is where our life begins from. The Jewish day begins at sundown.
Rest is not a reward for hard work or something you do when you can’t push yourself a second longer. It comes first.
We begin in trust.
We begin the waking day already having experienced these truth that infants already know:
My needs will be met.
I can sleep when I am tired.
I can eat when I am hungry.
I can trust.
I can close my eyes without fear.
I am held.
I belong to these people. They belong to me.
The world is filled with beauty and wonder and love.

And when we wake, all our work and efforts and living flows from this place.

3. Rest is not an end; it is a beginning.
Rest is not laziness, on the contrary, it motivates action.  It gets you in touch with what you need - crying, laughter, sleep, a friend, and it gets you in touch with the world: stop and see.
And then rest restores you and fills you so that you can go out and act from a grounded place, with right focus and perspective, creative, imaginative, alive and awake.
It reminds you whose you are and who you are, and guides you in the world.

4. The Bible often uses “the rest of God” as a synonym for “salvation.”
Rest is what being saved feels like.  Rest is being saved. 
What are you weary of? 
What burdens are you carrying?
What do you need saving from?


5. The way of God is the way of rest
Taking Jesus’ yoke means joining Jesus, and carrying what he carries into the world: the embodiment of complete belonging to God and belonging to others.
It is a restful, easy way, because it is the way we are designed to live:
Where "the other" is not threat, object or burden, but my sister, brother, friend.
Where there is enough and it is meant to be shared.
Where love has the first and final word.
Where the end it is all heading toward is wholeness and connection.
Whether we forget or not, God's redemption and love is already and always happening.
We trust this. We live always into, out of, and toward, this reality.

6. We've been practicing for this.
Jesus is God with us. With us in joy and with us in suffering.
With us in sin: when the division and the dehumanization we experience and inflict on ourselves and thrust on each other, are front and center.
Our God, who took on death so that all could have life,
is with us now,
still taking on death so all can have life.

We meet Jesus Christ, who is with us and for us, when we are with and for each other.
Around us are people hurting, people afraid,
people feeling lost and confused, or angry and overlooked.
Some people are feeling their very lives at risk.
The opportunities to be with and for each other are everyday apparent: moments for kindness, human connection, seeing and hearing each other, standing with each other, offering support, breaking down barriers, reaching past comfort zones, sharing gratitude, offering blessings... they are close to the surface right now. Seize them.

7. Letting go of illusions is part of salvation.
Right now we can see how easy it is to put our security in things other than God.
Not just in all the usual things we think of providing security, or even in things like wise leaders or common sense, but in the good faith of human beings. In some idea of basic kindness, in some trust that what we think should be will be.
It’s is easy to think everything will be all right when we feel alright.
And when we don't feel alright, when those things that felt foundational get taken away, it’s easy to feel like nothing can be trusted.

But God is with us in all of that too.  In fact, God is thrilled to welcome us into disillusionment, where we are made real, and honest, and repentant, and ready.

And the call to see and hear each other, to stand alongside each other,
to embody the love we know is the source, core, and destination of it all,
that call doesn’t change – that call is still, always and already our call.  That work is already and always now.

8. Rest until you trust.
That work is already and always now...
But not from weary people,
strapped to a yoke of fear.
Not from heavy burdened people,
dragging a load of division and disgust,
sorrow or suspicion,
vengeance or insulated apathy.

Remember what we said: 
When things feel most urgent, most pressing, most despairing, this is not the time to panic, talk faster, run harder. Strive further.
On the contrary, this is the time to stop.
To be still.  To rest.
To “reorient your being to the one who loves us.”  This is what Sabbath is for.

9. We are being set free.
God’s way is not our way.
All true transformation comes through weakness, futility and impossibility.
Let the brokenness be revealed that it might be healed.
Lest we forget, we don’t have a triumph and might faith, we have a death and resurrection faith.
This God always acts from despair to bring hope. From brokenness to bring wholeness. From impossibility to bring newness.
It’s our job to remind each other of that.

10. So, rest. Now. It's ok. 
Get outside. Breathe the air. Go near water. Take a nap.  Curl up with music. Cuddle your dog. Put down the phone. Turn off the computer and the TV.  Soak in a tub. Look into someone else's eyes for 60 seconds without looking away.  Look up at the sky.  Look inside. Breathe.

Jesus says, "Come to me..."
Enter into the rest of God.
The salvation of God is always, already at work here.

“Are you tired?
Worn out?
Weighed down by heaviness?
Come to me.
Get away with me and you will recover your life.
I will show you how to take a real rest.
Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it.
Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.
I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.
Keep company with me and you will learn to live freely and lightly.”

(Mt. 11:28-30 adapted from The Message)

Back to School Blessing: Giraffe

 Every year my congregation blesses the students and teachers returning to school.  They receive a blessing buddy to carry with them (or dis...