Power

Last week, Rev. Barry Moll delivered the meditation at the Advent luncheon I attended.  It was based on Mary's song, the Magnificat.  This is the second half of the song:

51 He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy,
55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’   (Luke 1:51-55)

Barry says that the Magnificat turns power inside out by the love of God.  What does that mean?

He said that if you have power, as a Christian, you are supposed to give it away.  We are to use the power we have to fight for justice, for love and to speak for those who do not have a voice (giving them power).

Have you ever done that?  Have I?

I wonder if the questions we need to ask ourselves are rather simple?  What power do I have?  How can I give that power away?

Barry says that our problem is not that we don't think this kind of life would work, but that if we live that way, we think we will become powerless ourselves.  Are we afraid of living the way God intends?

Thoughts I need to consider.

Solitude

I love being alone.  Don't get me wrong, I love being with family and friends, too, but unlike some people, I enjoy time by myself.  It's rarely lonely; it's just peaceful.

In a meditation during an Advent luncheon a couple of weeks ago, Monty, the pastor of the church where my office is located, talked about solitude.  He said that in loneliness, we focus on the loss; in solitude, we focus on the blessing.  In solitude, we connect to the divine that is within us, and we realize that we are never alone.  God is always with us.

This is a very busy season, but I wonder if we could find time to be alone - to connect with God through solitude.

And then, go out and connect with God through other people.  We need to do both, I think.

Three Days in Grief

Still reading in Hamilton's Not a Silent Night book, and still thinking about the story of Mary and Joseph leaving Jesus in Jerusalem.  Hamilton brought forth for me a couple of ah-hah moments.

First, read this verse:  After three days they found him in the temple... (Luke 2:46a)

Did you ever notice that they search for Jesus in Jerusalem for THREE DAYS?  I don't ever remember paying attention to that before.  Imagine searching for your child for three days.  When my boys were small, if I turned around and they weren't where I expected them to be, even for a moment, my stomach dropped.  I can't imagine searching for three days.

According to Hamilton, the word Luke uses in verse 48 that is translated as "great anxiety" is the Greek word odunao. This word is used again in the book of Luke as part of the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-30) to mean the torments of hell.  I think we can understand why Luke would use that word - why Mary might use that word to describe their state of mind during those three days.

Three days in terrible, wrenching grief.  Three days of not knowing where their child was - not knowing if he were dead or alive.  It won't be the last time Mary has this experience.

Hope was Born

In a noisy cave
in the heat of the night
amid worry and grime,
crowds and farm animals,
Hope was born into the world.

After accusations of unfaithfulness,
Following the threat of death by stoning,
At the end of a long journey
forced by a foreign government
Hope was born into the world.

To parents who did not expect
that their lives would be turned upside down.
To a world that ached with readiness
but was completely unprepared,
Hope was born into the world.

Shepherds, shunned by the world,
an unchosen people,
were illuminated by heaven’s light
as angels announced that
Hope was born into the world.

Creation opened its weary arms,
The earth groaned in relief,
and a few recognized the joy that
Hope was born into the world.

Into the sweltering night,
under the light of a star,
God worked to do
what couldn’t have been imagined.
Hope was born in to the world.

And our world has never been the same.

Grace at Christmas

I've never seen the movie Fred Claus, but Adam Hamilton used it as an example in his book Not a Silent Night.  Apparently Fred is Santa's bother.  He needs financial help, and goes to his brother. Santa provides the help on the condition that Fred come and work for him during Christmas.  His job is to determine who has been naughty and who has been nice.  As he works, he discovers that the "naughty" kids aren't bad - they've not naughty things, but there's something special about each one of them.  They've been hurt or mislead or misguided.  "Fred comes to believe that the kids most in need of a gift are the naughty ones.  Maybe that gift - receiving kindness when they don't deserve it - would change them.

That's grace, and I imagine that is one of the reasons that God gives it to us as a free gift.  We are in need of it, and it can change us.  We don't deserve it, but we need it.

I like Hamilton's definition of grace:

Grace is God's kindness, his love, his care, his work on our behalf, his blessings, his gifts, his goodness, his forgiveness, and his salvation.  But it is m ore than that - it is all these things when they are undeserved, when they are a pure gift.  Further, grace has the power to change our lives.

We were talking in Sunday school about ways to spread the light of Christmas.  One of the examples we talked about was kindness.  Be kind to someone.  In this holiday season, we are so caught up in rushing around, trying to get every task done, that we often get frustrated by other people.  People who drive "wrong," who get in our way shopping, who take too long at the check out line, who provide poor service.  What if we offered them kindness instead of anger?  Could that be a way to spread grace?  And whatever change could it bring?  What change in other people, and what change in us?

Grace at Christmas to all,
Kim

Christmas Meals

Another Christmas tradition is our Christmas Eve meal.

When I was growing up, I remember my mom preparing a Christmas Eve dinner (usually ham).  My grandparents and my aunt's family would come to our house, and we would eat in the family room on card tables.  The next day, Mom would fix another big dinner (usually turkey (and leftover ham)).  This dinner would be the two of us and my grandparents.  I loved it, but I know it was a huge amount of work for Mom.

In Steve's family, there was one large Christmas dinner, and it was on Christmas Eve at his grandparents' house (turkey with salt-rising bread stuffing).  On Christmas day, his family and his aunt's family would get together at his house for a casual evening together.

Our own traditions have morphed from those two, I think.  We have one Christmas meal, and we have it on Christmas Eve at our house.  My mom, Steve's dad, our boys, and we gather for a large evening meal (menu varies).  Late that night we go to Church for the candle lighting service - it lasts until midnight.  The only meal we prepare on Christmas Day is breakfast, and it's easy.  Mom comes over, and she and our family share breakfast and enjoy the morning together opening gifts.  If I cook any more that day, it is only a pan of brownies to take with us later that day to my brother-in-law's home.  The casual evening that Steve and his brother remember is now done at their home with bowls of chili and hotdogs.

Christmas Day is family and relaxing, and might even include a nap.

The De-Churched

In a sermon last Sunday, Alan asked, "How have we blocked Christ from those who might be called the "de-churched?"

First of all, I've never heard of the term de-churched, but as he said it, I knew who he was talking about.  This isn't the unchurched.  This is not those who have never made church a part of their lives. This is those who used to attend; who maybe came regularly, or semi-regularly, and now just are a part at all, or very peripherally.  These are the people who know and now miss.  What happened?

He asks, "How have we blocked Christ from these people?"

It's an important question.  Have we been less than inclusive?  Less than hospitable?  Have we been judgmental or hypocritical?  Has worship been less than engaging?  Have we failed to be supportive? Have we kept Christ to ourselves and not shared?  What other ways have we blocked Christ's love and light?

It might not be a question to ask ourselves or fellow members of our churches.  I'm not sure we know the answer.  The people to ask are those who are no longer with us - those that we miss.  How can we do that?

Into the Story

One of my best experiences of Bible Study has been my participation in a Disciple class.  I loved the in depth study of scripture and the commitment to read and work together to learn the message in the words.  Great experience.

One of the "take aways" from that class has been that we learned several tools to use to explore the depth of the Word.  One of them was to ask the question, "Which character in the story are you?"  In other words, can you place yourself in the story?

I thought of that this morning as I read from Hamilton's Not a Silent Night.  The chapter I'm reading is based on the story of Jesus in the Temple.  His parents leave town, and he isn't with them. Hamilton tells of a time that he and his wife accidentally left their 6 year old in a Disney Store at Disney World as they headed into the park.  The story ended well (thank goodness), but it gives him a special affinity to the story of Mary and Joseph rushing back to find Jesus.

How can you allow your experiences to pull you deeper into the story?  I wrote a day or two ago about the biases we bring to scripture.  It's true, so let's use them to move closer to God, all the time aware of what we are doing.

Not in a Vacuum

On Sunday evening, we talked about the idea that everyone interprets the Bible.  No one is able to just read it.  We all place our own biases on it when we read; it's impossible not to do that.  Knowing we do that is important, however.  If we are aware that our reading of the Bible is done through our selves - our biases and beliefs, our experiences and opinions - then we can watch for them.

Knowing that makes us more willing to listen to other people's thoughts concerning the scripture. How are they different from our own?  Could that difference somehow be related to our biases? What does the difference say to us?  To them?

In the same way, we interpret the world around us through our own biases.  Haven't you ever seen or heard a comment someone has made, and been certain you know what that person is talking about, only to find out that you were completely wrong?  Haven't you seen someone else do this?  I have. We need to be aware that our conclusions are not always - if ever - based in just fact.  Our thoughts and feelings are never formed in a vacuum.

Outside and Inside

Adam Hamilton, in his book Not a Silent Night, quotes Alexander Solzhenistsyn:

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them.  But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.  And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

This is an interesting thought.  How much easier it would be if there were "good guys" and "bad guys."  You and I both know that is not the case.  Why do I sometimes act as if it is?  And I'm not the only one.

Do you read Facebook?  Do you see the posts people create that judge other people?  I have a friend who says he is judgmental of people who are judgmental.  Perhaps I'm doing that, but I see people blame Republicans, Democrats, Obama, Bush, Muslims, Christians, young people, old people - you name the group, and we will blame them for something.

We even blame God, with remarks like, "God needed another angel, so your child died."   Or "I know the cancer is bad, but it's all part of God's plan."

This is a rambling post, but my point is that sin is around us, but we sometimes downplay the idea that sin is inside us.  Maybe that realization would make us less judgmental?

Office / Lab Tree

Do you have traditions in your Christmas celebration?  I imagine so - I know we do.  I thought I

would take a few posts in December to talk about particular traditions of mine and my families.  I'm doing this to keep in mind that traditions are a two-edged sword.  They can bring back memories - thoughts of family and friends - the joy of past celebrations.  They can also hinder us from change, so we need to be careful with them, and use them wisely.

First off, the tradition of my office Christmas tree.  (pictured in this post).

This tradition began when I was working in the endocrinology research lab with Mary Beth.  We put up a tree - a smaller one than this one - and decorated it with tiny ornaments, and a few lab supplies, I think (like a few pipet tips, maybe?).  We put it up each year, and then when Mary Beth moved to clinical research, I continued with the tree.  I moved the tree to our new lab in the new building, and then when I left research and came to the Foundation, the tree came with me.

It's not the same tree we first put up in the lab - that was over 25 years ago.  This one is bigger and somewhere along the line, I added lights.  (Lights are my favorite part of the tree).  Each year I add a few ornaments, and when I started working for the Church, some of the ornaments I added were words of faith, and nativities.  When I worked in the lab, there were people of many faiths, and I wanted my actions as a Christian to speak louder than the ornaments on a tree, so I kept the ornaments more secular - like Santa and the very appropriate mice.

This year when I put up the tree, as I hung up a small angel, I remembered that she had been on the original tree.  I thought about Mary Beth (Hi!) and our friendship.  As I hung up the little wooden nativity, I gave thanks for where I work now, and the opportunities that have come my way.  When I hung up the words joy, peace and hope, I remembered why I was putting up the tree.  And when I turned on the lights, I smiled, because that's my favorite part.

The Darkness

I read a portion of Adam Hamilton's book, Not a Silent Night, this morning.  The book is written to lead the reader through looking at the life of Christ through the eyes of Mary.  The chapter I'm reading right now is about the crucifixion - what would have been Mary's thoughts?

What caught my eye today is the connection between Christmas and crucifixion.  Adam writes that the first ornament his family hangs on their Christmas tree is a replica of a Roman spike that would have been used in a crucifixion.  They hang it close to the trunk of the tree; they know it is there, although visitors wouldn't notice it.

I wonder how it changes his family's experience of Christmas to have a spike hanging in their tree? How would it change yours and mine to remember the sacrifice and love offered by Christ?  Could being reminded of the "end of the story" be a way to step back from the gift giving and santas for even just a moment?

Christmas is joy and beauty, lights in the darkness and love on the air.  We don't really want it tainted by the sorrow and grief of Good Friday, do we?

I make cards, and one of the tricks in the art of card making is to include the shadows in the coloring, and to use a fine line black pen to darken the outlines.  These tricks make the colors pop and bring the art to life, instead of leaving it one dimensional.  Could the same idea be applied in this case?  Does remembering the grief and sorrow make the joy that much more purposeful, make the lights that much more brighter?  And does it clear away the clutter of the holiday so that we can see the Christ?

Uneven Ground

In Sunday's sermon, Alan quoted Rachel Held Evans:

If paying attention to the prophets aligns our dreams with the dreams of God and drives us to prophetic action, then the cries of Isaiah today are a reminder that sometimes this means getting in the demolition business. Sometimes this means flattening the mountains of privilege and power, clearing away the obstructions of legalism, and leveling the uneven ground of racial, economic, and religious inequity.  After all, the sages have long told us that there is a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to mend and a time to rend, a time to build and a time to tear down.  

What is God calling you to tear down today in preparation for the coming of Christ?  Is there inequality in your church, in your community?  Are their barriers in your family that need to come down?  What about in your heart, and in your spirit - are there ideas or grudges that need to be uprooted and tossed away?

What needs to be destroyed so that God can enter in?  What places need to be made made level?

Rachel's blog post

Giving it all away

Speaking of the Parable of the Two Lost Sons (which I did yesterday), have you ever considered calling it the Parable of the Prodigal Father?  As we were talking it about the parable on Sunday night, it struck me how shocking it is that when the younger son asks for "the share of the property that will belong to me," (Luke 15:12), that the father does it.  Would  you do that if you child demanded to receive his or her inheritance now?  It's a rather radical choice that the father makes.

The word prodigal means (per Google):
1.  spending money or resources freely and recklessly, wastefully extravagant
2.  having or giving something on a lavish scale

The younger son is wasteful, and we often call him prodigal, but the father is lavishly extravagant. Some might even call him wasteful.  Why does the father make that choice?

I think in this parable, Jesus is revealing what God is like.  God is lavishly extravagant.  God is prodigal.  God gives all that he is and has to his children.  We might call him unwise through our own eyes, because we do seem inclined to waste what we have been given.  Nevertheless, God makes that radical choice that the father in the parable makes.  God is prodigal.

All About God?

We're using a curriculum called Animate: Bible for our Sunday evening Bible study at church.  It's great - I would recommend it.

Last night, Bishop Willimon, in his video, gave five guidelines for helping us to interpret the Bible.  The first one was "The bible is all about God."

My goal isn't to argue with a Bishop, but do you think that is true?

Don't get me wrong; I do believe the Bible is about God. The Bible reveals to us who God is, what God is like, God's expectations for how we should live our lives, how God is present with God's people.  It is the revelation of God for us.  It shows us how God see the world and his creation.  The Bible is about God.

It's the "all" that is tripping me up.  Is everything in it about God?  Consider the parable of the two lost sons.  In it we have a beautiful image of the father - and through that, I believe, much of God's nature is revealed.  Through the parable, though, I think that Jesus is not only revealed what God is like to us, but also what we are like.  In the parable, we can find ourselves.  Some of that parable is about us.  Jesus is saying, "Are you like the first son, squandering what you have demanded to be given, and then coming back in repentance?  Or are you like the second son, resentful of the love and grace shown the first son?"

The Bible is about God, but in it, we also find out about ourselves.  I might be missing Bishop Willimon's point, but I just don't see that it is ALL about God.

Two views

Last Sunday we celebrated communion at our church.  Plans became scrambled, however, and no bread was available for the early service.  An industrious volunteer and the associate pastor found the only bread in the church - croissants.  Picture for a moment the pastor of the church breaking the bread - but it was a tiny, little croissant.  It was just a little hilarious looking.

As I thought about that this morning, I see two ways to take the metaphor.

First, the image of manna comes to mind.  God provides what is needed.  We didn't have bread, but the determination to celebrate communion lead two people to find the bread, whatever the bread might be.  We should be that determined to do God's work.

The other image that comes to mind, in complete opposition to the first, is that sometimes we reduce God to something small and a tiny bit hilarious.  It isn't God's nature, but we are too small to imagine how big God can be.  We develop a model of a stingy God, and we act as if we have to grudingly give God away in small, little pieces.

Which way appeals to you?  Which model do you put into place?

Seeing Jesus

I just started reading Adam Hamilton's book, Not a Silent Night.  The premise of the book is to look at Jesus through Mary's (his mother's) eyes.
I started me thinking.  We all have a way we look at Jesus.  Do we ever wonder what Jesus looks like to someone else?

• To some, does he seem to be a myth?
• A fairy tale, with an ultimately happy ending?
• Do some see him as judgmental, as he counts sheep and goats?
• Is he a lawyer, defending or prosecuting us to God?
• Is he sweet, gentle and mild, not prone to times of anger?
• Or is it the Jesus of the temple, turning over stalls in anger that occupies some people's minds?
• Is Jesus meaningless?
• Mysterious?
• Mystical?
• Miraculous?
• Is he an ancient prophet to some, who has no bearing on our times?
• Is he absent?

How do other people see Jesus?  How do you see Jesus?  Is it time to share your witness with others? How has God changed your life?  Would someone else benefit from seeing Jesus through your eyes?

Posting again

I has been many weeks since I posted last.  I think it is the longest amount of time that I have gone without posting since I started the blog.  I didn't mean to take a break; one day I just discovered that I hadn't posted in over a week, and I decided to continue the break.  As I looked at the calendar, I saw that the 9th Anniversary of the blog would be November 30, so I chose that as the day that would be the end of the break.

I planned to post yesterday, but got too busy - I am out of the habit.

So as the liturgical year begins again, and Advent rolls into our view, I am back to posting.  For me it has always been necessary to consider it a discipline - for so many years it was a daily task.  This past year I have made it a weekend day daily task, and that is the rhythm that feels right now, as well.

Much has changed in 9 years.  My children are now adults (or so their age decrees them to be!).  I have a new and completely different career, and I love it.  In the past 9 years my husband lost his mother and his cousin, but everyone else is well.  The world continues to spin - some things get better, others don't, but we live each day, hoping to devote what we do to God.

Blessings on your day, and I'll be back tomorrow.