What's a Little Leg

Did you know that there is a 4 inch difference between Circo (Target) boys 18 month tan shorts and the Circo (Target) 18 month tan shorts for girls? Four. 4. inches.

It must be because boy's legs are so ugly that we don't want to look at their upper thigh. Or, is it because they have fragile skin and are in need of protection while they play. Perhaps, we want to hold our boys back, and so the extra fabric is a subtle way to restrict their movement.

On behalf of my son, I am so shocked by this message being sent to him. I'm on to your ways Clothing Companies of the world. You can't fool me.

A Reminder to Myself on a Week that Was.

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.

I had thought these were the words of Oscar Romero, but it appears that they may have been penned by Ken Untener. Whomever, wrote them, I return to them time and time again as a reminder to take the long view. And to, perhaps, not expect so much for myself and others. This beast will take a lifetime for me to tame.

Communist at a Birthday

"I'll give one sturdy present instead of five over packaged cheap ones, but I'm not going to raise my kids to celebrate birthdays with an extra dollop of hummus and special playtime in an organic dirt pile. I want them to be at home in their world, but sheesh, their world has some problems."

Many of you check out this blog anyway, but whenever I spit out a beverage when reading, I like to share.

Seeing is believing...

Dear Driver in Car Next to Me at Stoplight,

What you saw me doing was ripping off a piece of a band-aid box. I was in the process of folding it so that it would fit in my clergy shirt tab. You see, my son moved the one that is always in the car. We were too far from home for me to turn around when he mentioned, "Mom, I played with that collar thing you put in your shirt. I don't know where I laid it."

So, what you and the other drivers saw as you followed, giving me amble space, was me, frantically searching through bags and the remaining junk in the front seat. The piece that went flying to the back of the car was sun visor that had been removed from a window when I was loading the car. I was on my way to preach at a Professional Leaders' Conference and I placed all my nervous energy into finding that collar tab.

That's what I was doing when you looked over and I had my mirror down and was fiddling with my shirt. I didn't mean to give you such a funny look...at least you got a smile. In my mood, it could have gone either way.

Peace of the Lord be with you always.

Here's my sermon. I want to give thanks to Rev. Susan Briehl for a sermon she preached for Day One in 2000. Two sentences in this are really close to being hers.

Easter 2 John 20: 19-31

Doubt padlocked one door,

and Memory put her back to the other one.

Still, the damp draught seeped in though,

fear chinked all the cracks,

and blindness boarded up the window. In the darkness that was left, defeat crouched in his cold corner.

Then Jesus came (all the doors being shut) and stood among them. (Luci Shaw)

When a friend of mine heard that I was preaching here today, she paused and then, said, “that’s kinda odd, isn’t it? I mean to preach to a bunch of pastors and church leaders.” I laughed and said, “Well, we are people, too.”

You and I don’t know each other overly well, but I’m going to make a huge assumption that you, know something about locked rooms. I’m going to guess that not only do you spend time with people who are locked up in fear, you, yourself…being a person and all…know something about hiding and fear.

So, let’s go with the disciples today….It was in a room hid away, a bit off the main street. From their spot the smell of baking bread and rotting fruit in the streets reached them, but no light came in to the room. Throughout the day their ears caught enough phrases and conversations from the outside to know what was going on beyond the door—but they weren’t sure what it meant for them. Their bodies constricted tighter as the sounds of soldiers passed by or familiar voices of the religious leaders came too close. And now as night closes in, they are alone, together--their minds going over and over the events of the previous days. The last moments before the world changed, betrayal, horrific scenes run over and over in their mind and the most haunting thought is that they are not the type of person they had hoped to be

Perhaps for some of them, Mary’s proclamation combined with Jesus’ teachings were beginning to make sense…all the odd things he’d said, the promises he’d made…light was beginning to shine.

But they remained still. It was not bright enough yet to see the path out of their fear.

We, like the first disciples, often lock ourselves in, and the world out, when we are threatened or wounded or grieving. It isn't hard for us to imagine ourselves in a room.

If we are honest, often our first reaction to this world is to run and hide. We hear the Acts text today and know…want…our ministry and our Christian life to have that power and purpose and awe inspiring message…but we don’t always embrace the Holy Spirit with her way of sweeping us all up and sending us out in directions we’d never thought of. Her way of turning everything around. It is easier to keep things as they are. So often we close the door and flip the deadbolt.

We can’t be too critical of the disciples…we’ve been there, too.

When you see that person—that parishioner coming down the hallway…you know the one: with an agenda, a gripe, a criticism, a whine, hateful words…a part of us wants to hide in fear.

When you hear a life story so painful, so raw, so all consuming, so lifeless…a part of us wants to hide in fear.

When you are faced with disbelief, hostility or mocking of our faith…a part of us wants to hide in fear.

And I imagine, you being people and all…you have a life larger than just your parishioners…

friends, spouses, children, neighbors, parents…all of them put us in situations where part of us wants to hide in fear.

Fear that we won’t be enough. Fear that we don’t have the words. Fear that we will fail. Fear that our life won’t actually change lives. Fear that the pain will be too great or the conflict too much. Fear that we don’t have enough energy to keep on.

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Who told you to be afraid? Who told you that you weren’t enough? Who told you there was a sin too great? Who told you that you were on your own?

We can lock ourselves up and we can curl up and try to hide…but you know Jesus will break in. We can padlock it up anyway we want. Use any kind of chinking or glue…Jesus will come to us.

He could have come with judgment or shamed them. He could have given them a lecture or sulked in the corner.

But he comes with open arms and offers peace. Jesus summons his children to release their brothers and sisters...forgive sins, proclaim life’s conquer over death, and gives them his breath….equipping them to live the life they were created for.

For some of us, God will break in with a relationship and like Mary, we will see Jesus when he says our name. For others of us, it will be because of service done in his name…we will see his hands at work. Perhaps he will find us in bread or wine. For still others, it will take a whole community that has been changed and freed from their fear filled life, and for others like our friend Thomas, it will take all of it…

We can lock ourselves up however we want…we can use pride or arrogance, or intellect or martyrdom, we can rebel and mouth off all we want…Jesus will come, bringing peace. And with declaration, his peace becomes more and more our breath. He becomes our second wind.

He comes into our lives bearing the scars and wounds of the world so that we don’t have to. While the body of Christ, although risen, is always wounded as well--He is our promise that because he lives, we too shall live.

He comes into our lives to draw us closer, in spite of our doubt and disbelief. He holds us, and longs for us to come closer still…to more fully know his peace. In him we are reminded God has not left us to free ourselves…we are not alone in darkeness.

Jesus comes as Jesus always comes, with a word of forgiveness…The disciples could not stay in that room safe and familiar though it was. They would suffocate there if they stayed and Jesus knew that, and opened the doors. Jesus sent them out into the very world they feared, into the fresh air of the future they could not see, saying: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you."

In a world so gifted at locking itself up in fear, you and I are called to point out the light, shining under that door and through that crack in the window—light has broken in to darkness. What can we say? What can we do with such a gift but exclaim—My Lord and my God, I believe.

Maundy Thursday

John 13: 1-17, 31b-35

Dear Friends in Christ, Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

As the oldest of three kids, I am the keeper of many things…rules, traditions, ‘the way things ought to be done,’ but what I’m not is the keeper of memories. Time and time again in recent get togethers my parents or siblings will talk about an event and I will stare back at them blankly…not a clue what they are talking about. It appears that from about age 15-19 my body was there but I was mentally off somewhere else. Of course some of this goes both ways…memories are like that. We all tune into a different piece of the event or conversation. I imagine you do too. Some memories just fade away. Some go away for our own protection. Some we cling to so as to not to let go of a loved one, or a moment that we can never recapture. We know how hard it is to watch someone lose their memory, how impatient we can grow hearing the same memories told over and over again. And how important it is for those memories to be shared.

We as God’s children, never tire of hearing God’s stories…each year they come around again and again…so rich, so vivid, so meaningful we catch something new each time. Every week we gather and hear the words, “Do this in remembrance of me…” Jesus’ command to his disciples at the last supper…Eat this bread, drink this wine to remember me. But there is more depth to this phrase than just visually recalling the last supper, or to reenact the event….there is more to it than an artists’ version of that meal.

To re-member literally means to take what has broken apart—fragmented, scattered--and put it back together….While it is only Thursday, we know the story. Friday is coming. Jesus’ brutal and horrific death. We can see Christ being broken apart. We can see his open wounds, his crushed feet and hands…

“Do this in remembrance of me.” In the meal of holy communion, we do not simply recall or reflect on Christ. God literally re-members the broken body of Christ. As God’s baptized children, our lives are meant to put back together Christ in this world. We are the vessels God uses; it is our hands, our words, our feet, our hearts that become Christ’s here.

Before we can go into the world to do this, we gather for nourishment. Around this table we kneel and stand. We open our hands to receive what looks like a small wafer and a sip of wine…but what is actually the banquet feast of new life. It is enough to keep us going.

You and I, scattered, fragments, broken people, are put back together.

As individuals, sins forgiven. Weaknesses are strengthened. Pain is shared and healed. Hunger is eased. The empty places in us are filled in a bit more.

And as each of our lives are healed, Christ’s own life appears as we the community kneel elbow to elbow. Our relationships as spouses and friends-strengthened as we kneel side by side equal in our vulnerability of the outstretched hand. Child and parent finding common ground as their elbows bump each others.

One of the privileges for me of being a pastor is in serving communion. Because each time I see the power of God alive and at work in your lives. As pastors we are privileged to know people…and often times we really know them. We have seen people when the masks are off. We know the stories others will never hear. We have seen the sin and we have seen the saint—often in the same person…often in the same council meeting.

So as I place bread into hand after hand, I see God remembering Christ through our lives. Bringing all to the table. Of course it happens as we sit in the pew as well as we watch our brothers and sisters come to the railing. Church is where “those” people—the ones we would rather put in a box and label as being “what’s wrong with society” have a face and a place next to us. Rich. Poor. Educated. Uneducated. Rude. Polite. Museum Lover. Sports Fan. Democrat. Republican. Male. Female. Young. Old. Married. Single. Whatever we are and whatever we aren’t…we kneel side by side. Our hands stretch out the same. Here we remember Christ. We become Christ alive and at work in the world.

this man who: ate with sinners, loved the out cast, washed the dirty, forgave his enemies, spoke well of those who hated him, fed the hungry, healed the sick, clothed the naked, stood up for those who the world put down…who on his last night with his greatest friends washed their feet.

Most of us here know this part of the story…If someone arrived all hot and dusty at your house, if you were a good host you would give your visitor a basin of water to wash their feet or you would have your servant do it…but you would never. But Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. It is not the first time he does something that seems to be beneath his dignity.

This strange story takes place at Passover and he has a place of honor. He is the Master, Lord, and Teacher. He is the most important person in the room. He is the one that others should wait upon, hand and foot.

And as the scene unfolds, John the Gospel writer gives us a good long look—he shows the action in slow motion. John replays the moment when Jesus gets up from the table. The moment when he lays down his outer robe, and ties a towel around himself. The moment when Jesus pours water in a basin and begins to wash the disciples’ feet. He wipes their feet with the towel that is tied around his waist. And he keeps on washing. Peter’s objections do not stop him. He knows his betrayer is there at the table, but Judas does not stop him. Jesus continues this grunge work until he has washed every foot. Then he puts on his outer robe and returns to the table. And he says, “do you know what I have done to you?”

He has given us an example, that turns life inside out—from living for ourselves, to living for others. And there’s more. He has given us a new commandment. Jesus says: “A new commandment I give you, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, that you love one another.” (13:34, 35) Servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sends them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.” (13:16,17) When Jesus says, “love one another,” this is not a mere suggestion. Not just an option. It is a commandment. A mandate. It is marching orders. Washing orders. Love one another, as I have loved you.

The day before he dies, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. We hear his question: “do you know what I have done to you?” We see his example, and we hear his commandment. But like some traveler on the dusty road, we are not there yet. We forget. We place a hedge around our life, the lives of those dear to us, protecting us from the world. We bob and weave…making excuses for our lack of service. Our lack of foot washing. We forget the defining piece of who we are…that we are to love the world. That our main task is to bring new life out of dead places. That we are servants. We forget.

We forget because it is a tall order. We inevitably fall short of the goal…in fact we’d never be able to even try if God hadn’t used this same man, this same life to put us back together. Before we could become Christ’s body…..we must be put back together ourselves. And so while we were still sinners, Christ died for us….healing us, claiming us, forgiving us. So God in one minute is healing us and in the next asking us to heal others…in one breathe God is forgiving us, so that we can forgive others… it is a never ending promise that is nourished and nurtured right here…today/night, in this meal.

Today/night be aware of how we gather, how we came, who is among us…With each sip of wine, with each swallow of bread…Christ enters our lives. Give thanks for the ways God works…weaving people into our life…helping us remember whose we are. You and I reach out our hands, we come, because in this meal, we have seen and felt the re-membering of Christ. In this meal we see the body of the risen Christ—love poured out for all.

“Do this for the remembrance of me.” It is God’s command, it is God’s promise, it is God’s prayer for you, for me, for the world. While our memory may be selective, our memory may change and fade…we’ll change up the story and edit to our liking—trust that God remembers his promises. In this meal God promises to make us whole and for at least one brief moment around this railing…we are.

Palm Sunday

Spring!

This year we have a mourning dove in the nest outside our kitchen window. She is a very dedicated mother. Some of you remember last year and the robin family that became fodder for a few entries...I hope they are well. (there were three 'robin family 'entries in all...I don't foresee too many bird stories this year. The mourning dove just sits there--very little to inspire. yet.)

BB and I have been talking about greeting people when they speak to him. I have encouraged him to say "Hello." when someone greets him. We practice. It does not go well, so we work on it some more. Apparently, our conversations were on his mind as he went out to play in our yard.

After a few minutes of running around, he stopped and I noticed he was looking at the birch tree. He talks the entire time is out there...to himself, mind you...so I thought nothing of it. Eventually he came over to the kitchen door.

In one big breath..."Mom, that robin was watching me play. She...or is it a Mr.? Anyway, she was looking at me with her eyes. She was talking to me, too. With her nose thingy (makes pecking motion with his head) but I didn't know what she was saying to me...I couldn't understand she. So, I didn't say "Hello." Is that ok, Mom? If I not say "Hello" to robins?

I could barely contain the laughter. He was so serious. So. Serious.