On this train together

Devotion for Being Apart -
August 6

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

My kids’ head of school, said the other night, at an online parent meeting:

“If you could join me, adults, if we could join in a small ‘pinkie pact’... when we read articles about students, ‘losing ground’ or ‘falling behind’, that we might take those metaphors and set them aside and talk about how we’re on a train together, and that train has slowed down. What can we do to engage deeper in the scenery that we have access to [now], so that when our train starts moving faster again, we’ll all feel just fine about it?
         Our students right now will become adults. And there’s no reason to think they’ll be less prepared adults than we are currently, or the adults who came before us. In fact, because of this they may be better prepared for adulthood, even if they’ve had a small slow down in the rate of math facts that they’ve accumulated through their academic career."

We are all on this train together. We are no longer racing along at the pace of life that we were accustomed to.  And when we were, we knew, most of us knew, it was an unsustainable speed.  And now it's slowed down. And we are slowed down.  
What is the scenery on this slower ride?  
How can we take in the ride more intentionally?

Over twenty years ago, Andy and I spent three months in Australia. We mostly traveled between cities by plane. But once, we decided to take a train, so we could "get a feel for the size of the country."  We didn't even go that far - Cairns to Brisbane - a 2 hour and 5 minute flight.  

But this train, friends, it went like 30 mph. We puttered along and puttered along, and when we passed through tiny towns we slowed down even more.  School busses passed us.  Kids on bikes passed us.  Dogs ran alongside us barking.  

We were on that train for two days.  Interesting people got on and off.  I found a novel in the dining car and read the whole thing. Andy's shirtless, overall-wearing sleeper-car mate showed him his toe-missing bare foot.  We heard rural Australian accents- different than city talk.  We felt ourselves in a different culture.  Acutely.  Outside the windows, we saw vast stretches of nothing but bushland. Sunset, sunrise, sunset...  

We are on a slow train right now. All of us, together.
One thing that might help is to have different expectations of ourselves, of the world.  Yesterday I went to get labs done, something I often need to have done every six weeks or so.  I have done this three times since covid began, by walking in and being checked in for a lab appointment.  Yesterday I was told, "Since Covid, we don't take walk-ins. You will have to make an appointment." I made one for today, and had to come back to the doctor's office.  Driving through construction to the doctor's office, and back again felt like about all I had in me when it came to outings and errands.
A friend and I were laughing about how we define a "full" day now, as compared to when we were all on a speeding train.  I imagine it's not easy for the doctor's office to slow down so much either.

A wise friend who spent many years living in another country (the one with the great wisdom about being in another culture, which I shared in a devotion) said today:
"I am reminded over and over of the culture adjustment metaphors.  When I arrived in Senegal, the departing worker told me, 'You can do three things a day. When you go into town, do three, no more. Doesn't matter how big or small they are, cap it at three.  Go to the bank, that's one. Then if you buy a pen from a street vendor, that's two.  Pick up some eggs. That's three. Don't do any more.'  I think about that so much these days.  I tell myself, 'Do three things.'"

We are in another culture: Covid Culture. It's nobody's place of origin, nobody's home base or first language. Everything is different. Everything takes so much more effort. Everything is more exhausting. Do three things in a day. No more.

And let's be on this slow train together. Let's figure out how to ride well at this speed.  Notice what's outside the windows. Take in the scenery. See our fellow passengers. Rest while we can.  Let conversations be longer. Find things to read.  Notice the kids and the dogs.  Surrender to the journey.  

CONNECTING RITUAL:

 

Perhaps tonight before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we can pray in this way, and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

Lord, give me patience to live at this pace.
Give me grace for my fellow travelers.
Give me peace in the small gifts around me.
Give me joy in the surprises that await notice, when I'm going slow enough to take them in.
Give me trust that the journey has a destination.
Give me hope about the quality of life available in this slower ride, that I may not yet have discovered.
Give me patience with myself and for others.
Give me discipline to do three things a day. No more.
Let this time prepare me for what's next, in ways I can't yet see.

Let this time shape us for what we can be.
Amen.
 

Deep and wide

Daily Devotion - March 31

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

I'm thinking today about the Body of Christ - that community that transcends all human boundaries- including time and space- connecting us with those gone before and those all over the world.  I'm thinking about how we are planted and tended to by God, how we care for each other, how vast and unending this connection is. We are all in this life with and for each other. 

The photo above is of the space we use for prayers in our zoom worship services. Instead of our prayer candles in sand, we're repurposing an Advent (with Lent extension!) "wreath." Next to it is our church Peace Plant.  
This plant was given to me as an ordination and goodbye gift by First Presbyterian Church in South St. Paul in 2006.  When I joined up with LNPC to be your pastor in 2008, this plant was a sad small, half-dead version of itself that had long since stopped blooming. I myself was tired and tapped out and needing inspiration, and LNPC was, at the moment, a tamped-down and withdrawn version of itself.  
As we began to envision what God might want to do with us as a congregation, the session (board of elders) and I, repotted the plant together. We removed it from its small container, and found it was terribly root bound. We gently pulled apart the roots, and decorated this large pot, (much too large for it at the time!). We placed stones in the bottom, gave it fresh soil full of nutrients, and watered it generously.
We let the process be a metaphor for tending the life the congregation, finding a new container for what God might want to do in and through us. 
In the 12 years since then, this thing has grown like gangbusters. Every time someone moves away to another state, leaves us for another congregation, goes off to college, or moves into assisted living, we dig up a piece of the plant and send it along with them.  I believe there are over 16 pieces of this plant now in various homes around the country. We are in this life with and for each other.

A couple of years ago, the plant was moved out of the office into the Gathering Room in our church building, so the job of watering it fell not just to a few of us, but to all of us, and to anyone else who shares that space, and so many groups now do.
And now, the plant is sitting in my family room, along with our prayer candles, and the communion chalice on my mantle, and it's being watered and tended to at home, as are all of us.

Last year before Lent, I reached out to my friend Malcolm Gordon, a musician in New Zealand who helped lead a conference Andy and I had spoken at a couple years before, to see if he had a good song we could use for Lent. I told him our theme was "grace" and the grace of God that meets us in all things, especially, we were talking about in Lent, in absence.  Malcolm sent us the perfect song, "Attend to the Ground," which we sang throughout Lent. We've turned to that song again this Lent, and during this time of unknown, this song has been sustaining us each week.
When Erin reached out today to give a donation to Malcolm to thank him again for the song, she discovered on his blog that he wrote that song when we requested it.  
The song goes like this:

Receive what cannot be claimed
Fall into what cannot be scaled
Breathe in what cannot be seen
Awake to what cannot be dreamed

Attend to the ground beneath your feet
Attend to the colors underneath
For God is here and now in love
My friend, trust that will be enough

The idea for the song came from a Lenten practice he had done a few years previously, where he went without shoes for the 40 days of Lent (which can be done in New Zealand, not Minnesota!), and how it helped him pay attention to God in new ways.  Our request prompted this song as his response, and this song from then is again feeding us now.  

We are all in this life with and for each other.

In a few minutes I will get on a zoom call with your elders. Our monthly session meeting has become a weekly meeting while we are all physically apart.  We will pray for the congregation, and check in about how all of you are doing.  But also, this time, we will "examine for membership" three new members: Rachel, Bill, and Erica.  These folks are wanting to put down roots in this little community, with you specific people, to seek God together and help one another participate in the life of God.  We are all in this life with and for each other.

The Church goes way beyond any boundaries we can invent or perceive.  Everywhere are people who've lives are coopted by love, directed by love, guided by love.  We get to belong to each other, because we all belong to God.  In Christ, our roots run deep and our branches reach wide. By the Spirit, even though we are apart, we are One. And we are all in this life with and for each other.
May you rest in that reality today.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

This week, we are reading through the Gospel of John.  In my house, it is at the dinner table. Maybe for you, it will be when you wake up, or before bed, or over lunch.  It can be read in about 20 minutes a day, or by reading three chapters each day.  If this is your approach, today, we are reading Chapters 7-9.

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

O God of life, all of life and of each life,
we lay our lives before you.
We give our lives to you,
from whom nothing is hidden.
You are before us, God, you are behind,
you are around us, God, you are within.

O God of life,
you know the secret thoughts of every year.
We bring the faith that is in us, and the doubt.
We bring the joy that is in us, and the sorrow.

O God of life, you are in the light and in the darkness.
We bring the knowledge that is in us, and the ignorance.
We bring the hope that is in us, and the despair.

O God of life, O generous Spirit,
Renew us with your life,
tonight, tomorrow, and always.
Amen.

(From Iona Prayerbook)