Mountain View

2007-09-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm home. After a wonderful 12-day road trip, I'm back in St. Paul and getting ready to start senior year at Luther Seminary on Monday.

Yes, that makes me a senior for the 3rd time. Alas, this year there are no nocturnal spray painting raids or screen printed t-shirts to celebrate being at the "top of the totem pole".

I will continue writing, but not at this address. Please follow me to the Life at Luther blog and read tales from four of us at Luther this year. I will be posting weekly, but I cannot guarantee the kind of shenanigans I pulled on internship. This will be a strict, productive and academic year...

Yeah, that's not true. I'll be balancing classes, a student work position in Seminary Relations, wedding planning, the candidacy and call process and teaching 8th grade confirmation. There will be plenty to write about!

My Mountain View blog will remain online indefinitely, so you are welcome to click back through the archives and keep it alive with conversation. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you'll join us at Life at Luther!

2007-08-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

Toodles!

I started blogging last August because I wanted to wonder aloud about this ministry thing. It seemed like a simple way to keep in touch with people from the Twin Cities and my home congregation. Then I blogged because it was fun and because the gracelits in my life are too wonderful to keep all to myself.

Last September I attended a conference in Chicago and learned the most important lesson of my life. I started chatting with my cab driver - a middle aged man from Haiti who played professional soccer and traveled the world looking for his childhood sweetheart. We had nothing in common apart from our faith in Christ, but that was enough to make me hug him an hour later at the airport. In a sea of people, we'd found each other and connected.

"Meta, do you know why we have shared?" Hmm. Because I'm chatty? Because you were bored and trapped? He disagreed. He asked if I had heard of the cachet de la vie. I told him I hadn't, but that it sounded fabulous and French.

"It is the box of life. Look around at all these people. Some are hurrying and worried and angry and lonely." I turned to see people lost in the shuffle of calling cabs and checking luggage curbside, clutching their passports or talking on cell phones. "Most people in this world are running around trying to figure out what is in the box, trying to take what is in the box, arguing about the box, peeking in the box or trying to steal what is in the box for themselves. People like you and me have little in common, but we share what is important. We both believe that whatever the box contains is good. And that, my friend, leaves us time to see and grace each other."

Martin has set the tone for my internship and given me new eyes to see the gracelits at work in my life. He has reminded me to trust and given me time to see more clearly. It is from this place I have blogged and it is from this place I pray I will learn to live more fully.

May you trust that cachet de la vie contains something very good. And may this faith give you time to see and grace each other.

Thanks for wandering with me this year! I'm off to meander through the west in my packed purple car and slowly back to St. Paul. This fall you can find my wonderings at the Life at Luther link to your right.

See you back in Minnesota!

2007-08-11T22:14:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow my internship is over.

For the past week I've been trying to balance the routine things about life and my job here with the urgency to visit with people and seek final adventures before leaving. For weeks I'd planned to visit a parishioner's factory just south of the border - to meet his employees and learn more about the town I can see from the golf course and the big, trashy-looking fence that divides us.

On Tuesday I planned for my last Wednesday morning bible study. I'm leaving in the middle of our exploration of Daniel and would say goodbye after we discussed chapter 6 and the lion's den. This was the last thing on my internship to-do list and I was looking forward to one more hour with the rag tag group.

It was eleven o'clock on Wednesday night before I realized I'd missed it. I planned for it, promised several attendees I'd be there and I completely flaked. Instead, I was in Mexico and completely unaware of my mistake.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I started to bawl uncontrollably. I'd been waving off any outward emotion or final goodbyes so far, postponing them until they were absolutely necessary. Suddenly I realized that Wednesday morning bible study was over and I missed my chance to say goodbye to the group.

For close to an hour I was unable to admit that this would turn out just fine. I was disappointed in myself and frustrated that I'd let down so many people. This was the last impression I was to leave? I was a flake who left the country when I was expected to do one simple thing in the last week of internship. Why couldn't I do this my during first week?

"You're not very good at failing," Matt said. "Nobody expects you to be perfect and nobody is going to remember you as the girl who flaked. Nobody is gonna hate you because of this. It's just a reminder that one year in ministry doesn't make you flawless. You're gonna keep making mistakes and forgetting things because you're human."

I was unable to believe the forgiveness and grace I preached all year until I called them. I was on the phone the first thing Thursday morning apologizing. They answered laughing, forgiving, sending me mercy through the telephone lines. They were proving Matt's little sermon right.

Tomorrow is my last day. We will worship and picnic and say goodbye. Maybe I bawled and blew things out of proportion because I know tomorrow will be difficult. There are so many faces and stories and hugs and memories.

I thank God for sending me to a church that has loved and embraced me for who I am. They have proven that I can be myself and pastoral, human and forgiven. They have shared themselves and raised me to believe in the things I preach. They have given me tools to serve and blessed me on my journey.

I will cry saying goodbye tomorrow as I did writing a message for next month's newsletter, as I did receiving a beautiful quilt made just for me, as I did when I thought I'd failed them.

It has been all too good - the flying and the falling, the laughing and the crying.

2007-08-08T16:25:00.000-07:00

So there's this cottonwood tree...

Matt arrived in Sierra Vista last Thursday. Picking him up at the Tucson airport made me realize that my time left in Arizona is short. As we drove back down I-10 and Hwy 90, we reminisced about how many beautiful places we've seen during his visits.

I'm grateful for the solitude and learning that has come from being on my own this year, but it is also a joy to share.

I've relished the freedom to explore the history of this county and the secret jewels of nearby towns. I have a more complex understanding of the war and border issues. I have had the best cup of coffee and the scariest motorcycle ride of my life. I secretly love the sound a rifle makes when you cock it and I slept at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

And I know just where to go when I have writer's block.

There is an ancient cottonwood tree by the river and I find myself there when I'm overwhelmed or deeply thankful. I pray and write there. I share its shade with Matt when he visits.

We packed a picnic on Saturday and drove to the river. I smiled when the tree came into sight and Matt saw my smile. We stood under it, his heart pounding and mine unaware of the question he was about to ask.

He knelt. I said, "Yes." :)

We are bound to this place and this land by our love for each other and wonder for God. That tree will grow with us. It will hold our laughter and promises and welcome us back years from now to reminisce some more. I'm am blessed by this beautiful place and will hold it in my heart.

2007-08-01T23:00:00.000-07:00

Gracelits

Yesterday I presided at a funeral. I had never met the man and was working with only a bit of information about him. I knew the crowd would be diverse; some were charismatic and worried he wasn't saved. Others were private or formal about their faith. Some weren't there to hear God's word at all.

Before I left for the funeral home with a flimsy outline in my head, Pastor Pike gave me a much needed pep talk. He reminded me that this is an opportunity to offer my faith and the Promise I know to be true. People know what they're signing up for when they call a chaplain. I might not make everyone happy, but that's not my job.

While I knew very little about this man, I did know that he was baptized. And so I spoke boldly of things I know to be true because of what God has done, not the man we were commending. I believe that there is a tiny thread connecting each of us to the font and back to our baptisms. It is thin and cannot be seen with the naked eye (lest we take a scissors to it), but the Holy Spirit uses it to find the lost and to keep us grounded in the waters that make us alive. It is our past and our present and our future. It ties us to God and to each other. This is the place I spoke from. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I know that I bestowed promises from God, not Hallmark. I watched the people, praying blessings onto them with each word.

When I left the funeral home, the rain was just beginning to fall. Another afternoon monsoon was brewing and drops collected on my clergy shirt. I walked tall to my car, holding only my bible and my car keys, and for a moment truly believed that the Word is all I need.

I pray for this kind of faith all the time - I know it to be true, but it is usually covered with distractions or doubt. I want to trust that life is found solely in God, but only in unexpected moments can I really see the "gracelits" forming on my glasses clearly. I sat in my car with the air conditioner on the windshield and took the edge of my tshirt to clean my glasses, then stopped. Part of me knew that by turning on the car, hearing the radio and trying to make a U turn onto 92 would mean abandoning this sanctuary.

And so I put my glasses back on and sat looking through the watermarks for another minute, thanking God for life and the life to come. Then it was time to drive on - we must or we'd never stumble upon another "gracelit" again.

The next came sooner than I thought. Matt called me minutes after the 35W bridge collapsed today and soon it was on the national news. My evening errands and plans to write were soon scrapped for tracking down everyone I could think of in Minneapolis. I cried and had goosebumps watching the footage. I said, "I love you" dozens of times. Gracelits.

Of course the news anchors are stirring up drama about terrorism or shady bridge repairs, but they are also highlighting the saints in this tragedy. They are telling the story of a quick response, quality chaplain care and Good Samaritans jumping into the river to pull people out of cars. I thanked God every time I tried calling someone and the phone lines were jammed because I knew thousands were desperate to say, "I love you".

May God give the response team courage and strength. May God bestow comfort and peace to those filled with sorrow. May God continue to tug on that thread that connects us all, calling us to say, "I love you" and to see life's gracelits.

2007-07-29T17:39:00.000-07:00

Luke 11:1-13 ~ The Gospel of Prayer

This year has helped me to understand some of the many reasons seminary wants us back for one more year in the classroom. I call one of these reasons “temptation in the pulpit”. It is much easier to preach a sermon about the law – for me to stand here this morning and tell you that you need to revamp your prayer life and try harder to make time for God. It would be easier to give you a checklist or five easy steps to better communication with God. But that is preaching about us – our efforts, our skills, our response to the law. Proclaiming the gospel is about more than shaking a finger at the congregation or telling them how to be better Christians.

I’ll admit that sometimes I’d rather receive a checklist – a little tidbit I can tuck in my pocket and work on during the week. But I only prefer that because it reflects the way this world works: our jobs, our relationships and the ladders we are each trying to climb toward some worldly or spiritual success. We want to feel worthy and progressive and so we crave the law. Tidbit sermons are wonderful, but are actually bible studies.

The law speaks for itself in a sermon and relaying this unmistakable news is not the point of the pulpit. I am confident that each of you can read a text and discern the law and and what it calls us to do. My theology and preaching professors spent two years trying to teach me that proclaiming the gospel goes even beyond these things. They are likely praying that we have not forgotten this fact during internship.

It would have been easier to stand in the pulpit this morning and tell everyone to make time for prayer and Jesus. But the gospel asks us to listen even beyond this law. Here in Luke 11, Jesus teaches us to pray. The lesson he proclaims with this prayer and a parable is not simply an improvement in our relationship with God based on our own actions. Jesus is revealing priceless information about what kind of God we worship and pray to. This is the good news and these images of God must be proclaimed.

God does not hear your prayer because of the way you decorate and wrap it. Fancy words, eloquence and length do not mean your prayers are answered more clearly or quickly. God hears and understand everything, even our sighs.
We can call him our Father because God is more than just a creator or great spirit who made us and then waved goodbye and good luck. God is here - present and caring - just the way God designed earthly fathers to be.
We can praise his name as holy. God's name is constantly defiled in this world. With these words we pick it up, brush the dirt off and hand it back to God.
Even though we have plenty of personal requests, we admit that God has a bigger and broader perspective than we do. We ask God to bring his will and kingdom into our lives, trusting that the divine knows more about our needs than we do.
We ask God to give us our daily bread, which is a corporate request. We are asking for enough for everyone, which gives each of us a responsibility. If God is bestowing enough, are we distributing it in faithful ways? With this request we ask to play an active role in the way God provides for our whole world.
We ask for God to inspire us to forgive each other in the same abundant and gracious ways God has forgiven each of us. We ask for God to make us whole so that we can be whole as a community on earth.
And we ask God to save us. We pray these words because we believe we cannot save ourselves by being nice enough or trying hard enough. We ask God to save us, knowing that there is no other way.

The Lord's Prayer and its language might sound fancy to us in 2007 but it was radically simple and bold in the ears of each disciple. Speaking to God with this confidence was like nothing they had ever heard for the Pharisees and priests.

The good news? We have a God who invites us to ask, seek and knock both continuously and forever. We have been given permission and encouragement to be persistent and honest. We have a God who knows that without compassion, confession and conversation this beautiful marriage will not work. God is there even when we don't pray and when we wish him gone. God chooses to reveal himself to us through a personal relationship with humanity. That's worth proclaiming.

One disciple dared to ask. Jesus stitched words on our hearts that draw us to the Father and teach us to consider God’s will and everyone’s needs. Rejoice and believe, brothers and sisters. God has come near enough to be our family, our friend, our daily bread.

2007-07-25T10:33:00.001-07:00

You never need the Church...until you need the Church.

One in 10 million: What are the odds? What now?

We are a family in Christ.

Thank God for communities of faith that inspire helping and sharing and caring. Please read the linked articles above. Be inspired to pray for Judy and all those in the body in need of support.

If you would like to participate with a donation of any size, please send to:

Gail Hamp
Re: Support for Huffmans
2501 Cherry Hills Drive
Sierra Vista, AZ 85650

Checks made payable to Thrivent Financial for Lutherans SW Chapter.

You never need the Church...until you need the Church.

I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ. It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God's grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God. ~ Philippians 1

2007-07-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

Without the church, my faith feels like a lone yucca bending in the still air. Here I am dormant, responsible for creating my own spiritual excitement and motion. I wait for Christmas, an excuse to decorate my stem with twinkle lights, a season the world has allowed the church to proclaim. And I wait for Easter, when spring brings blossoms and makes my gawky appearance shine.

Without the church, I am alone in my faith.

But in the church I am never alone. In the church I am reminded that life is not about trying to become good enough for God. God has already made me “good enough” in Christ, which frees up my time quite a bit. Suddenly there is time to forgive others, love others, bless others.

In the church I don’t have to sit and wait for a reason to celebrate or someone to rejoice with. In the church, life does not lull between Easter and Christmas. It is filled with opportunities to hear the Spirit’s call and to believe that I am loved.

It might be trendy to be spiritual with your stack of books and a plan for inner peace, but it is also very lonely. Even Jesus chose to discover life and love in community, surrounded by all kinds of people and their faith. He found time for good solitude away from the crowds, but always came back. Jesus knew what our Creator knew when looking at Adam in the garden: It is not good for him to be alone.

Even our God lives in community, both within the Trinity and in relationship with us.
Dare yourself to twinkle and blossom all year long. Feel found. Believe you belong. Go home.

2007-07-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

Rainbow Jello

**For a good laugh, click and read the comment after you finish this entry. It seems we are all connected by Jello!**

The quote of the week: "Meta I'm making that Jello you love for the bible study retreat on Saturday, so be sure to bring your camera." And I did. This is my all time favorite Jello - eight layers of goodness - and pretty enough for a picture!

Like a good Lutheran, Joanne doesn't take the credit for this recipe. She points to "Jan" in Hot Springs, SD. ("Jan" probably got it from someone else and we'll never know where the praise is due!) She shared the recipe with several admirers today and I thought I'd pass it along. No luncheon is complete without a Jello!

2 (13oz.) cans of evaporated milk, chilled
2 (3 oz.) packages of jello - red, orange, green and yellow (sugar-free works too)

Creamy Layer: Dissolve 1 pkg. of Jello (she starts with cherry red) into 3/4 cups boiling water. Add 3/4 cups chilled evaporated milk. Pour into 9x13 pan. Refrigerate 30-40 minutes to set or put in freezer for 7-10 minutes. Get next layer ready to add while the first layer is set. (I suppose there's enough time to clean your house in 10 minutes spurts while you wait for each layer!)

Clear Layer: Dissolve 1 pkg. of Jello of same flavor in 3/4 cups boiling water. Add 3/4 cups cold water. Let the Jello cool for a bit before you pour carefully over first layer. Set until firm.

Start with creamy layer first unless Jello will be inverted to serve. Do remaining colors by repeating these two procedures. Slice into squares. While serving, humbly deny credit and point to Joanne, who points to Jan, who points to...

2007-07-12T20:44:00.000-07:00

Baby’s First Monsoon

I’ve been so excited about the monsoon season. I couldn’t imagine the sudden storms – the clear blue sky with a pillar of gray moving across the horizon to water the desert. It's arrival is bittersweet, though. The rain means this internship adventure is almost over.

Today was hot and sunny – another summer day in paradise. In true Meta form, I bought the wrong canopy to shade me while selling reusable shopping bags for an ecumenical fundraiser at the farmers market in town. Instead, I slathered on the sunscreen and prepared for a sweaty afternoon.

I arrived at the market and received my assigned location. I sat behind my table with my snazzy signs and boxes of bags, which prompted curiosity from my new neighbors. The stand to the right was selling emu oil products and on my left were women specializing in holistic animal and pet care.

Both parties seemed disturbed that I didn’t have a tent and immediately started scooting their canopies closer together. Once settled and staked on either side of my table, they draped coffee bean bag material over my head, offering a bit of shade. I sheepishly thanked them. “No problem. That’s what friends are for. So what’s your name?” We introduced ourselves and enjoyed thirty minutes of sunshine together.

People were curious about the fundraiser and excited about my design on the bags. Business was good before the clouds moved in, and then things went downhill from there.

I got the giggles trying to keep the boxes and my accounting system dry and soon gave up, moving a majority of my props into my car and a parishioner’s truck. Relief came with towels and a tarp. Most of the sales were made wandering around with a few in my hands and talking to brave shoppers under their umbrellas.

I had a tent, but it didn’t pan out.

I had signs and a system, but they failed.

I met my neighbors and they gave me shelter.

I wandered out into the rain and found unexpected success.

Still, I packed up early. I was soaked to the bone, a cool breeze was wearing me out and it was time to get cleaned up before a meeting. I drove away from the market and onto the highway where there was a better view of the storm and its path. I’d been waiting all spring for this. Careful what you wish for, I thought to myself and smiled.

The rains are here.

2007-07-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

I locked up the church tonight after an evening event and walked to my car. While the others started their engines and turned on their headlights, I realized I'd forgotten something in the sanctuary and ran back inside. The hallway was dark and peaceful, so I left the lights turned off. I knew just where I'd left my pager.

My mind was racing and elsewhere until the small light caught my eye. Across the sanctuary, the eternal flame flickered boldly, lighting the room through the deep red glass. Everything was quiet, but I could hear my breath. Everything was dark, but the light was enough. The sanctuary was empty but God was there.

Sometimes I do the same actions, say the same words or see the same symbols for years before they strike me as miraculous again. But when they do, it's as though I've understood all along. Somewhere in my thick skull I knew it was always burning, hence the name eternal flame, but tonight it seemed extraordinary. The flame said, "I am quiet, but tonight your heart has heard me. I am small, but I am here. I am one candle, but I am enough to remind you that God is present and you are home."

I closed my eyes and thanked God for giving us countless ways to recognize his gracious kingdom. And I thanked God for always leaving a light on. Whether we come home after dark one night or after years away, it shines to welcome us home.

It is you who light my lamp; the Lord, my God, lights up my darkness. - Psalm 18:28

2007-07-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

God bless America (more specifically Minong, Wisconsin)

Members of my congregation wondered if I was feeling homesick during Christmas and Easter this year, but I wasn’t. We’ve never had specific traditions during those holiday seasons. Sometimes I’m traveling, sometimes they’re traveling. Sometimes we’re together, sometimes a brief phone call connects us from opposite sides of the world. Sometimes we open gifts on Christmas Eve, sometimes on Christmas Day. The actual day is celebrated in a differently every year – a new place, new company, new insight into the day and its meaning.

Actually, the church seasons leading up to these “uber holidays” probably mark my traditions. We are usually together at Normandale, my home congregation, during Advent and Lent. We watch the sanctuary change with time and weather, the manger and the cross. There is room for new growth, new light and new memories every year, but the Word has always ties them together.

But there is a holiday that finds us together every summer, sticking to traditions and exceeding our great expectations. The Fourth of July is our “favorite not-necessarily-about-Jesus” holiday.

I flew home on Wednesday night for a quick 2 days in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. It was time for the annual Herrick-Nelson scramble golf tournament – the day months of trash talking and analyzing finally come to a head.

We all come back from wherever we’re living for a few days of family chaos. While the excitement centers around the golf tournament, we have other (second tier) traditions as well. We float, we bowl, we lounge, we swim, we nap, we laugh and we eat like there’s no tomorrow. This year, my favorite lunch included a few bites of everything on the table and counter: baked beans, corn, spaghetti, potato salad, cheddarwurst, cookies and a special dessert named after my brother. With sixteen people scrounging for food, you take what you can get!

This niche in the woods has given us the down time away from friends, technology, obligations and distractions to fall deeper in love with each other as a family. For twelve years we’ve grown from fighting over the hammock to happy hour on the pontoon as one big gaggle of adults.

The tradition keeps us all playing golf and saving time for each other each summer. The tradition serves as a gauntlet for significant others and a reminder that family time should be cherished. It’s a great excuse to sleep on a trundle bed and bathe in the lake.

A little cousin is already toddling around up there, and someday she’ll have pint-sized sidekicks running around! These summers mark our growing years, and so I pray that the seven of us continue to show our parents gratitude and that we carry on the beautiful traditions that raised us.

It is good to be away together time and again. God will find those sacred spaces and breathe blessings there. ~ The Gospel according to Meta

2007-07-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

I didn’t know how fast my car could go until I moved to Arizona. The open roads and higher speed limits have given me wonderful memories of desert driving. I was in rural New Mexico on Friday when I saw a sign in the middle of nowhere: “Speeds monitored by aircraft.”

This sign was likely an effort to promote safety, but what did I do?

I took my eyes off the road and up to the sky looking for an aircraft. Hmm. Nothing in sight. I brought my cruise control down a hair, but within five miles I was speeding again, tempted by my own rebellion and the clock – I couldn’t help it! My foot wanted to find that speed again, probably because the sign warned against it. The wind was begging to rush past me more rapidly, stirring up the desert heat into something strangely alive and perfectly deafening.*

Isn’t that the way the law works? Someone, for the sake of the greater good, tells you not to do it. You want to abide. You seriously consider complying. But something within you rises up and says, “What if there isn’t an aircraft up there after all? What if I’m slowing down for nothing?”

I received my first and only traffic ticket when I was sixteen. I pulled over on Marshall Avenue in St. Paul and started sobbing uncontrollably while waiting for the officer to approach. I was beyond embarrassed, disappointed and absolutely certain that the officer held my fate in her hands. Maybe I reacted this way because I’d never been caught red handed or because I was a dramatic teenager. But in that moment, I was certain the law had convicted me in an eternal and irreversible way.

The law guides us. The law instructs us. The law intends to keep us safe and civil. The law can keep us in line or punish us, but that is all it can do.

Luckily, the law will never be the final word. If it were, we’d all be convicted by the monitoring aircraft and out of luck for all eternity. Being human means having that inner voice, despite our faith, that sometimes hopes or wonders, “Maybe God didn’t see that”.

The law has many purposes, but saving us isn’t one of them. The law will do the best it can to keep things orderly and honest, but then grace must chime in as the bigger, final word.

If God was up in his monitoring aircraft watching me drive, I’m sure He smiled and shook his head. He watched me slow down for a moment and then resume my speed after searching the skies for someone to stop me. “Humans. Entirely predictable and desperately in need of me.”

Thank goodness for a God concerned with more than scorekeeping and sin counting. :)

*Note: Don't worry. I wasn't going that fast.

2007-06-26T16:11:00.000-07:00

My Apology
No, I'm not saying sorry. A theological apology is a formal justification, defense or explanation for what you believe and why. Below I have staged an interview with myself full of questions I'm often asked about my theology and faith. Agree or agree to disagree, knowing that we are unified in what truly matters - salvation in Jesus Christ.

Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?
I think there’s a more important question you could ask me. Has God accepted me as a lost and penitent sinner? The answer to that question is a vehement YES.

But when did you find Christ?
To be quite honest, I’ve never been entirely successful in my “search for Christ”. Perhaps that’s because I’m the lost sheep, the lost coin. None of us are ever separated from God because God is everywhere all the time. God clings to us with a persistent and patient love that never dies. God is here even when I wish He wasn’t. That means that I’m lost and God’s the one finding me, calling me, restoring me.

Does your church have altar calls?
You bet we do. It’s called Holy Communion. Jesus calls us to the altar to forgive our sins, make us new creations and promise eternal life.

When were you born again?
December 13, 1981.

But you were just two months old.
God’s sacraments are not about knowledge or how much we have figured out. Why should being marked with the seal of the Holy Spirit be withheld until we know what’s going on? Baptism without restrictions like age or comprehension levels let God be big and totally in charge. It lets the Holy Spirit work in mysterious ways beyond our logical understanding of faith. Baptism is about what God does, not about the mountaintop experiences we try to create for ourselves. Because when that buzz wears off, I’ll want to create another “starting over moment of purity” and my faith will become all about what I do for God instead of what God has done for me.

I think it’s cool that I can’t remember my baptism. That means God is working in me whether I like it or not, whether I know it or not. It means that God is in control and bestowing faith as a gift to me. It reminds me that everything I do is a mere response to the God who loved me first and chose me first.

Yeah. You’re not answering my questions.
We just use different grammar structures. I try to keep God as the subject of these theological sentences. The Word is about what God has done, is doing and will do to bless, save and love the world. My efforts are secondary, but it’s easy for the things I do to take the driver’s seat. If our conversations always focus on what we do to accept Jesus, we forget to accent the most important part – the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ that made our belief possible. If we speak predominately about what we do and what we choose…aren’t we just saving ourselves?

So do you have a problem with adult baptisms?
Not at all. I think it’s beautiful to watch adults becoming part of God’s family. I just don’t think baptism should ever be withheld. Jesus called the little children to him and told us not to stop him. In Acts 16, Paul and Silas’ jailer had his whole family baptized. The church father Origen (185-255) is quoted saying, “The church has been baptizing the children of Christians since the apostles and still now.” Sometimes faith inspires baptism, but sometimes baptism inspires faith. I would never want to limit God and his power in the sacraments.

Lutherans aren’t known for their evangelism skills. Does that word scare you?
Nope. I am a member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. I think that the word “evangelical” is first because that is our call as Christians – to share the good news. I try to live as a witness to the freedom and new life that comes from trusting Christ with our burdens and believing that he has defeated the power of sin, death and the power of the devil. This is my joyful call as a Christian.

Unfortunately “evangelism” has some sticky stereotypes and associations. When non-Christians hear the word, they often turn and run because they’re expecting fire and brimstone. Ironically, “evangelism” means being a messenger of the good news. I try to keep this in mind when I’m sharing my beliefs with someone else. I don’t phrase this good news as a “take it or leave it” scenario. Instead, I share the gospel and God’s love with a “too bad, too late – He loves you and chooses you no matter what you decide and you can’t escape it”. I put an emphasis on what God has done and let that speak volumes instead of a weighty decision they must make. You’d be surprised how many people respond with curiosity and faith when other approaches to evangelism have turned them off in the past.

But Is there more than one way to proclaim the gospel?
Everyone shares the gospel in different ways. Some evangelists propose a decision to believe or reject and find great success with unbelievers. I just share the gospel in ways I know my own personality would be receptive to and ways that reflect my own genuine faith. God has called us all to share and care in different ways. As long as we proclaim for the sake of Christ and his love, it is beautiful.

2007-06-24T15:59:00.000-07:00

Last week the Fellowship Hall was transformed into an underwater world. Brightly decorated cardboard fish dangled from the ceiling and a river of blue sparkled on the floor. The kids gathered for a new adventure each evening in the GREAT BIBLE REEF where they learned about what it means to be God’s people. The daily themes?

God’s people CARE.
God’s people HELP.
God’s people TRUST.
God’s people BELIEVE.
God’s people LISTEN.

This morning they came together again at the 9:30am service to lead the congregation in song and participate in worship as little leaders. The shortest lector needed a stepping stool to reach the microphone and they all spoke with grace while their parents beamed with pride. And God’s people LISTENED.

It was beautiful to glance around the chattering, chaotic sanctuary. It was filled to the brim with families keeping their baptismal promises. They were bringing their children to God’s house, teaching them the 10 Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer and helping them grow in faith and love.

That’s the good news, but it gets even better. Whether or not these parents kept their promises, God’s promise keeps working in the children anyway. God loved us first, chose us first and will never break his promises made at baptism.

Not only did I create you, but I also choose you. You are clothed with Christ and I am sealing you with the Holy Spirit who will create and preserve your faith. You are mine and nothing you do right or wrong will change that. I love you in big and gracious ways.

Thank God for the waters of baptism that bring us together and build a family out of random people and their faith. After all, God’s people BELIEVE. The beautiful scene of so many children celebrating the joy of God had me a bit distracted and suddenly it was time to take the offering. I waited for ushers to magically appear and take them from me (I love that all the behind the scenes stuff falls into place thanks to volunteer power!), but no one came. “Do I have any ushers this morning?” I asked, feeling rather dense. And then four children toddled forward, no taller than my hips, and each took a plate.

The whole congregation watched them sweetly while I dressed the table for the Lord’s Supper. Soft laughter danced and soon everyone was feeling blissfully inspired by our small ushers. It seemed no one had given them instructions about spreading out and passing the plates in a snake formation. They huddled together like a four year old soccer team around the ball and collected the gifts of the church as inefficiently as possible.

And it was wonderful. Not one adult rose to show them how to do it “correctly”. God’s people TRUST. Everyone knew that it would work out in its own time and to enjoy being led by the children. So together, we watched and smiled with love for the next generation of Church. The offertory hymn was over by the time their little legs found their way to the altar. Each face beamed with pride and I thanked them for being God’s people who HELP. Then everyone joined me around the altar for the Supper.

There’s nothing more beautiful than a toddler who gets the giggles while you lay your hands on him and bless him. They cling to their parents’ arms or legs and watch them receive Christ’s body and blood intently. Their parents kiss them on the heads and take their hands on the way back to their seats because God’s people CARE.

After the service several children stood and my side in the narthex. They offered their handshakes and Good Morning! greetings to everyone who walked by. I noticed that during the service several gardeners from the congregation had dropped off bags of goodies from their labors to be shared. I asked one young man to give a verbal invitation to those leaving the sanctuary and many left with handfuls of fruit and vegetables.

Some were laughing at my handshaking helpers and one woman clutched me tightly with tears in her eyes. “Those children were just what I need today. They’re so beautiful.” And then she reached down for the boy’s hand and kissed him on the head.

It feels good to come together on Sundays for worship. We bless each other, bestow the peace of Christ Jesus to each other, and keep our baptismal promises by raising each other in scripture, song, creed and meal. Then we take a zucchini for the road and have a laugh over a cup of coffee before heading out into the world to bless and love everyone we meet in the name of Jesus.

Thank God for the little children, who help us to see worship and life through new eyes and teach us that giggling in church can be quite holy.

2007-06-16T11:29:00.000-07:00

Let justice roll down like mighty waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream. ~ Amos 5:24

There is an oasis deep in Ramsey Canyon. As you wander, a cool breeze from the creek catches your cheeks and the shade of tall cliffs embraces you in silence. Snakes, lizards, deer, butterflies, frogs, fungus beetles and the occasional bear call this part of the Huachucas home.

But years ago, people lived up here and mined the mountains to make a living. The stones from old walls remain and a few cabins still stand marking the historic village.

I watched the deep, clear pools in the creek. This used to be someone's bathtub. The history of this secret spot made me curious about this spot more than 100 years ago. It reminded me that there are few places on earth human feet haven't traversed. And even those places are affected by us in some way or another.

Our favorite places in this world are wrapped into human history, brimming with stories about the people we come from. We found an enormous sycamore tree. Kathy (our tour guide and a member of my church) told me that there was a big dance hall built around it in the 1880s. The soldiers would come over from the post on the weekends and dance the night away. If that tree could talk! The sycamore has seen love blossom and break, laughter and tears, and many a soldier who left his rhythm on post.

As you age, you carry more and more stories with you wherever you go. You house sacred memories no one will ever know about or pass along...unless you share them. Tell your children about your faith, even if it doesn't sound like the "right" Christian story or anything extraordinary. Tell them about how you fell in love. Share the biggest mistake you made and show them that you're not perfect. Tell them where they come from and why that matters.

We live in a culture of relativity, but that doesn't mean I'll be telling my grandchildren about Paris Hilton's jail sentence or the buzz about Lebron carrying the Cavaliers to the finals. I'll be telling them the stories that transcend time and teach us all about where we come from. I will tell them about Moses and Elijah, Jesus and Paul. I will teach my daughters that they come from strong and sneaky women in Genesis. I will take my children into the wilderness where they'll learn to watch for deer and build a fire. I will show them the way God made sunsets like fingerprints - unique and telling of our worth in this world. I will teach them every day about the LOVE God has for them and what that means for their lives.

The world consumes us with stories that keep our short term attention and don't actually matter. The world has us sitting inside watching other people live their lives. Listen for the sound of a creek and follow it. Feel the cool breeze on your cheeks and trust that God is still at work in this world. Tell your story. Tell God's story. Know that they go together and are worthy of being shared.

2007-06-13T22:10:00.000-07:00

Feelin' the Love

Apricots. Blueberries. Raspberries. Radishes. An invitation to stroll into someone's backyard and pick fresh figs anytime. Sierra Vista's trees are in full bloom and the fruits of each labor are being gathered and shared. I paid a visit to a member's garden yesterday and he gave me a tour of the trees he nurtures. "These up here are for the birds, but the best figs are behind the leaves."

He was proud of the garden, touching the leaves and recalling when he planted them. His grandchildren napped inside, but would likely be climbing the ropes that lead to the tree house in the middle of the garden soon after dinner.

Sometimes the things we cherish the most mean nothing when we can't share them. Sometimes the greatest satisfaction comes from watching another appreciate your passion or hard work.

A grandpa. A garden. Trees bearing fruit and an invitation to pick and eat anytime.

Before I left, he took me across the street and clipped two magnolia blossoms from a tree. "You don't have these in Minnesota. I wanted you to see them and smell them." It is good to be the novice - to have many to teach and share on my behalf. It is good to celebrate the things that other people love and cherish.

I brought the blossoms home and popped a ripe apricot in my mouth. The little things people have shared this year mean the most. The smells and tastes will stay with me, reminding me of Arizona ten years from now. And then I reached for a handful of raspberries. I looked at them and said grace, as though they were a great feast. Grace for the fruit, grace for the growers, grace for the way we are designed to share in generous ways.

2007-06-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

The Generous Sower

Most of the artwork about this parable I found online showed one dude with a little satchel planting seeds one at a time. The image and sounds in my mind include a jovial laugh coming from heaven while seeds douse the earth like the monsoon rains.

“Listen. What do you make of this? A farmer planted seed. As he scattered the seed, some of it fell on the road and birds ate it. Some fell in the gravel; it sprouted quickly but didn’t put down roots, so when the sun came up, it withered just as quickly. Some fell in the weeds; as it came up, it was strangled among the weeds and nothing came of it. Some fell on good earth and came up with a flourish, producing a harvest exceeding his wildest dreams.” – The Parable of the Sower, MSG

The disciples don’t get it and when they have Jesus all to themselves, he explains. The farmer is planting the Word. Our heavenly gardener doesn’t have a few packs of seed from Menards. He’s not planting on a budget or even being particular about the soil he uses. He takes a risk, knowing that his hopes and good intentions are not the only force at work in the lives of the seeds. Life will be unpredictable and they might not make it.

...But what if they do? What if they sprout up in the cracked concrete or dusty deserts or muddy shade? There is nothing more beautiful than a lone sunflower shining with triumph along the side of a busy, littered highway. There’s nothing more inspiring than a young person beating the odds, finding success and thriving despite the roadblocks they’ve faced.

And so the farmer scatters seed all over this world because this seed - this Word - is perfectly abundant. The Word made flesh in Jesus Christ will never run out. He is universal, generous and given for everyone.

It is good to know that the Word is already planted, wherever I go. I am not responsible for “bringing Christ” to people – to hospital rooms, the pulpit and everyday conversations. The seed, the Word, Jesus Christ is already present in an authentic and mysterious way.

Our call? To proclaim the good news of the Triune God as already here.

Our Creator is planting in liberal and wild ways.

Jesus is already present – scattered and growing in unpredictable places.

The Spirit is calling us to proclaim God’s abundant and invested presence to everyone.

Whoa. And I can’t even keep an aloe plant alive. I’m feeling thankful for a bountiful God, who is gardener, seed and growth. Alleluia!

2007-05-31T19:06:00.000-07:00

Home is the vast, green vista out the window of a plane. Home is men in cargo shorts, Asics running shoes and University of Minnesota hats waiting for their North Face luggage by the carousel. Home is sitting in rush hour traffic and watching Dave Dahl for weather updates. Home is a glass of wine in the backyard while the coals heat up on the grill. Home is Minneapolis.

I spent a few days home with family and friends last week. On Sunday I worshipped in my home congregation’s sanctuary, which held streaks and dashes of red fabric and flowers. Pentecost. The Holy Spirit is unleashed and suddenly at new work in this world, carving and calling in subversive and mysterious ways. The Church is formed. We are called together to love and serve and respond daily to the grace that overwhelms humanity in Jesus Christ.

I thought about this call to love and serve and respond while watching Gabe graduate in sunny Northfield later that afternoon. In the distance St. Olaf’s giant windmill churned and captured Earth’s breath for energy - a response. I sat among parents and grandparents celebrating more than the accomplishments and grade point averages of their offspring. They were there to pay tribute who these young people want to be. After all, the best things we do are designed and executed by living authentically in our skin and following the call to be ourselves.

I watched Gabe in his long black gown. He was saying goodbye to a time of certainty – consistent course loads, disposable income and campus life. Shedding the gown would mean moving on into adulthood and putting the learnings of the classroom into motion.

He didn’t seem scared though. Maybe because Dad had already agreed to pick up the tab for dinner that evening. Gabe walked away from campus with a diploma certifying academic achievement, friendships signifying support and growth and countless lessons that come from staying out too late, taking the wrong class or kissing girls. Gabe and his classmates enter life’s next stage armed with the Holy Spirit, who swoops into the places we least expect him and need him most desperately. The graduates leave with some uncertainty, but trust that the tools they’ve been given will suffice. Perhaps they say goodbye to college with the same tentative wonderings that the disciples felt when Jesus left.

He’s gone, but we’re gonna be okay. He said so. And besides - we’re not alone. We have each other, we have the things we’ve been taught and we have the Holy Spirit.

Welcome to Pentecost. It is here we know what home feels like. It is here we realize the ways we have been prepared to love, serve and respond. It is here we are called into the churning of this world’s windmill and sent to bring news of God’s breath – the Holy Spirit - wherever we go.

2007-05-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

The wilderness and the dry land shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. ~Isaiah 35:1-2

2007-05-17T16:08:00.000-07:00

God & Country

People call churches for bizarre and random reasons. I’m always curious, but rarely in charge. So I smile nervously whenever I hear Mary Olive answer the office phone and reply, “No he isn’t but we have an intern pastor. Would you like to speak with her?”

My supervisor is in Minnesota for a few days getting to know the next intern and one of these calls came yesterday. By the end of the conversation I hadn’t pieced the whole puzzle together, but I had some idea of what I’d agreed to. A woman’s husband had died and their pastor was unable to provide a graveside committal ceremony at the Veterans’ Memorial Cemetery. When the post chaplains weren’t available either, they decided to call the ELCA church in town. After five or six disappointments, she found me and burst into tears with relief.

This morning I walked through the cemetery toward the ceremonial shelter taking in the Mountain View through the thick heat of May (yeah, yeah - it's a "dry" heat). Today is Syttende Mai, Norwegian Constitution Day. If I were in St. Paul I’d be attending the Norwegian service in Old Muskego Church and eating lefse on the seminary lawn. In college I always looked forward to the breakfast spread sponsored by the Norwegian department, dragging my friends with enthusiasm.

This year’s "celebration" would be different. I gripped my occasional services book praying for the right words to comfort a family saying goodbye. I’ve only attended one graveside committal here, led by Pastor Pike. It was small, short and casual. But when I arrived at the shelter, I realized that I was in over my head. Thirty people were formally seated in front of the coffin, which was adorned with a large flag. The funeral home director met me at the back of the group and asked, “Would you like to go first or should the military?”

I had no idea what the military would do, but I figured God should have the last word. “The military can go first,” I replied as I noticed two soldiers standing nearby. If you approached me during the Syttende Mai brunch in college and said, “Four years from now you’ll be wearing a clerical collar while performing a committal service for a veteran you didn’t know and tearing up as they fold the American flag and present it to his widow,” I would have replied with my mouth full, “What’s a committal service? Whatever. Can you pass the goat cheese?”

While the soldiers performed their duties, I watched the family. One little boy was dressed to the nine and playing musical chairs. He wasn’t the youngest or the oldest. He wasn’t crying or completely devastated. He would plop down next to an aunt or cousin and watch them intently. When he realized that his emotions didn’t match theirs he would move, looking for a place to belong.

Perhaps so many people had assured him that Grandpa was in a better place that he actually believed them. Perhaps he was wondering why the very people who assured him seemed to need assurance themselves. Perhaps he was trying to figure out how to give it.

This is why they called the church. They were looking for assuring promises from God. They were looking for the truth that comforts and frees. As the family left the shelter after the service, I noticed the young boy with his arm around a distressed cousin or sibling. Maybe he believed the promises he’d been given about Grandpa and was passing them on. The widow ran her fingers over the stars with care and sorrow, listening to her grandson’s words. That’s an image I’ll glean from this year’s Syttende Mai – God’s comforting promises at work in the children and widows clutching the flag.

The Norwegian national anthem begins, “Ja, vi elsker dette landet” (Yes, we love this land). We were surrounded by graves – men and women who would say the same thing about this country and flag in the serenity of the Mountain View. It is a good place to rest, to honor and to give thanks for both beloved country and God.

2007-05-16T16:51:00.000-07:00

The Ascension is coming. We have been living in the Resurrection for forty days now. We have grown used to having the risen Christ with us as proof and triumph. We want him right here where we can see him and touch him and trust him completely.

Instead, a new paradox begins. He promises to be with us until the end of the age, but he must also ascend to the Father, leaving us behind. My childish anxieties emerge and I feel my fingers grasping for control in these verses that conclude each gospel account.

Wait! Where are you going?

Are you coming back?

Can I come with you?

I turned to my evening prayer book last night and found the comfort and peace Jesus is trying to bestow through my loud and insecure questions:

May 15~

Do you need Me? I am there. You cannot see Me, yet I am the light you see by. You cannot hear Me, yet I speak through your voice. You cannot feel Me, yet I am the power at work in your hands. I am at work, though you do not understand My ways. I am at work, though you do not recognize My works. I am not strange visions. I am not mysteries. Only in absolute stillness, beyond self, can you know Me as I am, and then but as a feeling and a faith.

Yet I am there. Yet I am here. Yet I answer.

When you need Me, I am here. Even if you deny Me, I am there. Even when you feel most alone, I am there. Even in your fears, I am there. Even in your pain, I am there. I am there when you pray and when you do not pray. Though your faith in Me is unsure, My faith in you never wavers, because I know you, because I love you.

Beloved, I am there.

- James Dillet Freeman

Oh. I still don't get it - I don't understand how Jesus can physiologically be with the Father and with me until the end of the age, but I do know that he always keeps his promises. I do know that the Father sends the Spirit in Jesus' name and I do know that Jesus repeatedly bestowed peace before ascending. Maybe, instead of trying to figure out how it works, I could trust the peace that comes from God's promised presence.

The Ascension is the end of the gospels, but it's also the beginning of Acts and the Epistles. It's the end of Jesus' physical ministry on earth and the beginning of Christian vocation and proclamation and the Church.

Trust the peace. Pass the peace. Read Acts. This is only the beginning.

2007-05-12T01:17:00.000-07:00

HOME

I Google Imaged "new heaven, new earth". This was my favorite image from the results I browsed because it contains all of the thoughts and visions I have about the end of the ages. It doesn't assume that a new Jerusalem will descend looking a particular way. I know John's Revelation gives us measurements, but I'm not too concerned with the details. We can recognize sky and earth in this image...but perhaps everything else will be so radically new that Google Image has yet to capture its awe.

I've been thinking a lot about home this week. I am returning home for a visit in two weeks, probably to find out that Arizona has become more of a home this year than I could have predicted. I will be home but also a visitor, borrowing cars and having sleepovers. I will see that life goes on without me and that I've grown much away from home.

Home is also on my mind because it strings together our readings for Sunday's worship. Paul is called to proclaim the gospel in Europe where he meets Lydia (Acts 16). God opens her heart and she invites the apostles to stay in her home. Through Christ, wherever they go, they have a place to belong. Jesus promises that God lives in those who love God, making a home - a sanctuary in our human bodies (John 14). Jesus is soon leaving to ascend, yet he is with us.

In Revelation 22 we hear that perfection is on its way. We will have no need for a temple created by human hands because the Lamb will be our temple. The gates will be open all the time and we will know darkness no more. There is healing and life. We will worship the Lamb with all of our might, beyond today's capabilities.

A new heaven and a new earth are on the way to give us a true home. It's not about the walls or the address or the seasonal decorations that make it feel festive. No locks, no security code. It's not a fixer-upper and you need not be concerned with the housing market.

Think of the places and people who have made you feel safe and beloved, holy and free. (Seriously.) Now know that Christ has set up shop in you - in the deep places of your love for him. He is there, providing a home for you wherever you go.

And when that new heaven and new earth descend, you will see the Lamb on the throne. You will marvel and give thanks and realize that the One who lived in you is now your home. Your perfect, sacred, eternal home. Maybe that's why the image is so blurry. The switch-a-roo, the deafening emotions, the promise fulfilled - the fantastic blur of finally being alive and truly home.

2007-05-06T16:46:00.000-07:00

"Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God the Almighty, who was and is and is to come." You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created. ~ Revelation 4:8 & 11

Holy, Holy, Holy. It is one of my favorite hymns - the one I have most often been asked to sing with someone for comfort as they die. Each time I am asked, I thank God that I know this hymn. It's lyrics, tune and theology have tied me to people at the end of life and to the Holy Spirit. This hymn has been Grace to me.

This morning we listened to a less common (but equally beautiful) arrangement of this hymn as the prelude. I watched the children's choir stirring anxiously in the front pew at the late service. It had been a long morning for these little ones and they were getting restless.

I joined them, plopping down in the middle to quiet the storm that was brewing. Their small feet dangled in lace socks to the music and one (very articulate) child leaned over to whisper, "I only sing the words love and purity over and over during this song because they are my favorite. They are so beautiful and I can remember them."

I tried not to laugh and watched her mouth those three words over and over again until I stood to leave the congregation in confession and absolution. When we were done sharing God's peace, I returned to my seat and the children stood to sing. They had cheat sheets on the front pews, but I think several of them knew the words by heart after weeks of practice. They sang Holy, Holy, Holy with gusto and charm. Tears sprouted in a few elderly eyes and dozens of lips moved, following the children.

Occasionally I have worried that the memorization and adoration of hymns will die with my generation. But this morning gave me new hope. Maybe these children will teach their children to sing this hymn, archiving it deep in their minds and hearts. And maybe one of their children will be interning as a hospital chaplain and visit me in my last days on Earth. And maybe we could sing it together.

2007-05-05T08:37:00.000-07:00

Last week Pastor Pike and his wife Judy brought me along on their annual Grand Canyon adventure. While most park visitors come to look over the edge or to catch a sunset from Hermit's Rest, Harl and Judy have been hiking down to the river and spending the night at Phantom Ranch for years.

The weather was great. The food was even better. It even felt good to be hitting the hay early and rising with the sun (says the night owl). I could share stories about the scenery - about the sunrise changing the canyon's color from blue to purple to rust as I climbed higher and higher on Wednesday morning. I could rave about how good it feels to hike with only the sounds of abyss and breath around me.

It's all true, but I won't. What will continue make me smile long after my calves stop aching? The people.

There was a man from St. Paul at dinner in the canyon, deeply saddened that I had been learning to shoot guns this year and a Parisian who shared his take on the French elections. Two young men were outed as Midwestern-bred boys when I heard their accents. Although they've been living in Mesa for 8 years, they still have a South Dakota twang. There was a comedy routine provided by two middle aged men from North Carolina, the widower wooing me in jest. And the patent lawyer from Tokyo here in America to discover the Southwest (aka Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon and L.A.).

I enjoyed meeting people from all over and learning about why they'd come so far. I sat on a bench at the rim one evening and watched people interact. I realized that we travel in search of a beauty that will change us, but that beauty doesn't mean we leave the ugly behind. One couple stood in awe of the view until he made a passive-aggressive comment, "You know I think your boobs look better in a strapless bra. Why did you only bring sports bras?" You can imagine things escalated from there.

I went to the cafeteria for breakfast feeling sleepy and satisfied on Thursday morning. Breakfast is my favorite meal, so I took my time wandering around and scoping out the different stations: oatmeal, eggs, yogurt, grits... I watched two foreigners (probably from Eastern Europe) from a distance as they marveled at the muffin selection. They're so big here in America, I imagined them saying. Have you ever seen such big breakfasts? They each giggled with glee and took a few for their tray.

I smiled. Traveling away from home teaches me to marvel at the wonders of other cultures and lands, but that morning I was reminded that I take the simple beauties here at home for granted. We've got a great canyon - it's not the deepest or the widest or the most colorful, but it's perfect and magical in it's own way. We've got some really funny people - dozens of cultures in one nation. And we love our pre-packaged pastries - large, greasy and full of saturated fat.

The men sat down and opened the muffins, sampling each flavor and nodding with approval. So I took a large, greasy, raspberry-filled pastry to keep me company on the drive home. It was sticky and sweet and I licked my fingers with delight, thanking God for the strange and wonderful people we met on this trip. We were all there for the same moment - taking in the beauty, being ourselves and loving what is Grand about America.

2007-04-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

I wish I'd taken pictures. Today's luncheon was a salad spectacle! The potluck stretched down the middle of fellowship hall complete with pasta, potato, egg, jello and lettuce salads.

I thought I was a potluck pro before arriving at SELC, but I've picked up a few skills since September. Allow me to share my wisdom:

Wait to serve yourself until the very end. If you start the line, women are watching their dishes to see if you'll try theirs. By waiting, their focus is on their own plate and table talk. AND by serving yourself last you won't feel bad for the untouched dishes and take too much- everything has been touched by this point.
While waiting for most people to work through the line, help yourself to a beverage. This way you won't have to balance a drink and your plate at the same time.
Some of the men wear oxfords or polos with breast pockets for their silverware and napkins. Pockets are key when trying to balance and triumph.
Before entering the potluck line, take a lap around the table to scope out the options. It's important to know how many kinds of potato salad or meatballs there are so you can adjust your serving size with the big picture in mind.
Take note of the serving containers that hosted your favorite dishes. As they ladies collect their totes and Tupperware at the end of the potluck, praise the chefs who made your mouth water. They're likely to pass on the recipe or repeat the successful dish at the next potluck so you can enjoy it again!
If you don't clean your plate, dispose of waste discreetly. Many potluckers are survivors of the Great Depression and expect your stomach to be just as big as your eyes!
If you are younger than the average potlucker and don't have artificial joints, make yourself useful! Clear tables or help serve dessert while fellowship continues.

2007-04-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

I've talked to several people this week who are running around faster than usual. Sometimes we're convinced that things will slow down once a major event passes or we can cross a few things off the to-do list. But it usually doesn't and we find other things to keep our endurance high. Sometimes I have to pray about the wide open/far away places and people before I can focus my mind and heart on the things right in front of me - like writing a sermon or breathing. Here is my Friday prayer. May the prayers on your lips today lift burdens and give you new breath. Slow down and take the hand of someone you love. God's peace.

God, you are present in all places, seeking to bless and save the universe you created.

You created the heavens and stretched them out, you spread out the earth and all that comes out of it, you give breath to its people, and life to those who walk on it. Isaiah 42:5

You are present in the far corners of Earth – in the light and the darkness. You are with parents as they tuck in their children and say good night. You are with children as they rise – as they eat and play and laugh.

The night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. Psalm 139:12

You are present in places filled with pain and fear. You hear the cries of those surrounded by war and torture, abuse and neglect.

Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray. Psalm 5:2

You are present in the silent places. Deep oceans and high clouds know your voice. You are in our thoughts and questions. Those who meditate and listen are searching for you.

The unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit is of great worth in God's sight. 1 Peter 3:4

You are present here in this nation – our questions and our actions. You are present in our leadership decisions and quest for peace.

Moses said, “If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you. Remember that this nation is your people.” Exodus 33:13

You are present in our communities – our schools, stores and clubs. You are present in the activities that teach us to count and value everyone.

They included all the little ones, the wives, and the sons and daughters of the whole community listed in these genealogical records. For they were faithful in consecrating themselves. 2 Chronicles 31:18

You are present in our churches, guiding our lives and uniting us through Christ Jesus.

The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. 1 Corinthians 12:12

You are present in the places we rest and relax, calling and gathering us together for reflection and peace.

I call on you, O God, for you will answer me; give ear to me and hear my prayer. Psalm 17:6

2007-04-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Earth Day. Yesterday I tried doing all my weekend errands on foot. I walked about six miles and brought my own reusable bags for the journey. I looked for energy saving light bulbs, but had to make sure they didn’t contain mercury. I double checked the ingredients in cleaning products and reluctantly put back the ones with toxins and overpowering and fabulous scents like wild mountain raspberry or rockin’ sockin’ lime. In the grocery store I didn’t use the produce baggies and looked for brands that used a minimal amount of packaging. I’ve heard so many energy saving tips this year, but trying to put them all to good use in one day was exhausting.

When I asked the bag girl to use the bag I brought and one paper bag, she shot me an adolescent glare. I think that look is much funnier than they usually mean for it to be. Sweetie, I didn’t ask you for a piggyback ride out to my car. I’m asking you not to use dozens of plastic bags for $26 worth of groceries.

On my way to the parking lot, I realized that children had decorated the paper bags in honor of Earth Day. Unfortunately, you have to ask for paper bags at this store and no one else around me had one to enjoy. When I loaded it into the car, I took a closer look at my bag’s art and decided that “enjoyable” isn’t the right word.

Maybe my kid was bullied and left with only the black and brown markers, but this bag looked to be decorated with the environmental urgency of Al Gore himself. “Help me!” the dark and damaged Earth cried from a little voice bubble. Yikes.

I walked down Fry Blvd. breathing in car exhaust fumes and watching kids play in Veteran’s Park. We hear that doing a little can change a lot: Light bulbs, power strips, fewer trips in the car. I was trying to decide where to start as I paid at Walgreens.

“Wait. I don’t need a bag. You can put it in this one.” I was prepared for another look that suggested I’m high maintenance or that my one bag wasn’t making a difference. But she smiled. “I wish we had to pay for bags at stores. It would make us think about how many we really need and then we’d all start carrying our own. I like this one. Where did you get it?”

She told me the ways she has slowly cut back on water usage at home and that she brings her own to-go container to restaurants instead of using their Styrofoam. She put a skip in my step on the way home. It was good to know that Earth Day was on her mind too…and that she wasn’t afraid to try the little things we’ve heard could save the planet. And I know it’s not just the two of us. You in?

Dare to do something small and dream big today.

2007-04-18T12:48:00.000-07:00

Our gathering hymn during Advent this year was a verse each week from an old Yiddish folk tune Augsburg Fortress picked up years ago. This melody has been floating through my head, almost dancing and almost weeping since the massacre at Virginia Tech. Light plays a major role in Christian worship, scripture and faith. It is our hope and our promise.

Light one candle to watch for Messiah: let the light banish darkness. He shall bring salvation to Israel, God fulfills the promise.

Light two candles to watch for Messiah: let the light banish darkness. He shall feed the flock like a shepherd, gently leading them homeward.

Light three candles to watch for Messiah: let the light banish darkness. Lift your heads and lift high the gateway for the King of glory.

Light four candles to watch for Messiah: let the light banish darkness. He is coming, tell the glad tidings, Let your lights be shining!

Last night I was driving home as the sun was setting behind the mountains, casting a pink glow in every direction. I waited to turn right behind a Toyota Tundra with stickers declaring freedom and unity. My radio sang the sweet tragedy of the Memorial Service. A brass ensamble breathed Abide With Me onto the people present and I hummed along in sadness.

I watched the sun fade and the light disappeared. But we need the light. There's enough darkness already. And then the driver behind me turned on his headlights. I turned on mine. A few others noted the cue and together we lit up the intersection.

When I need prayers of hope or comfort, my mom and aunt always reply, "I will light a candle for you." They strike a match and bring light to the darkness, prayer to silence, creating a beacon of hope and a reminder of God's promise: I am here. I am with you.

The community of Virginia Tech needs to know that God is here and God is with them. One of the presiders at the Memorial Service was the Lutheran campus minister. He said something both uniquely Lutheran and universal. We say it during Vespers on Wednesday evenings during Advent and Lent. We say it when we need to remind ourselves to believe:

The light shines in the darkness.

And the darkness shall not overcome it.

2007-04-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

John 20:19-31 ~ A Peaceful Rant

He comes to call them to action: “Just as the Father has sent me, so I send you.” (I would have come to prove it and to see the look on their faces.)

Jesus appears to the disciples and says three times, “Peace be with you.” (I would have said, “I told you so.”)

We hear this story a week after the tomb is found empty. It has only been one week since we proclaimed, “Christ is risen!” But life hasn’t come together for the disciples they way they’d hoped. In fact, the earliest Christians are hiding behind locked doors in fear of the Jews in the wake of Jesus’ absence.

Sometimes I’m convinced that Advent or Lent will lead me to a new state of Zen that will change my life forever. I will be more centered, rested, productive or spiritually freed. It is good to know that the disciples didn’t get their ducks in a row after Easter either.

I went to the bookstore today and wandered through the “Self-Help/Spirituality” section. I am baffled as to how and why our culture has decided that these words are interchangeable, so wandering through the aisles and reading each title gives me the same kind of natural energy a long run would (but this way I don’t have to stretch afterwards).

American culture has decided that religion exists to make us better people – to help us fall deeper in love with ourselves by using Jesus or God as a stepping stone to happiness and self-fulfillment. I was watching Oprah last week and she had a guest with a doctorate in “Happiness”. He kept telling other guests to look deeper inside themselves. If you can find that core abyss, you’ll realize that you’re already happy. Then you can embrace your life as a happy person.

Okay, but I don’t think being happy and being spiritual are about trying harder or fixating on yourself. My pastor/supervisor’s wife is a social worker for the Army. When patients tell her that they’re stewing about inner distress and can’t find happiness, her answer (unless they need medication or further evaluation) is twofold: exercise and go help someone.
Both of these treatments call you to take action – to focus on something other than your inner dissatisfactions or frustrations. But pop-religion and culture have effectively proven that it’s trendy to spend life getting squared away.

Maybe that’s why Jesus came back to be with the disciples. There was tension within the group because Thomas wouldn’t believe unless he saw Jesus’ nail marks for himself. There was tension between the disciples and the rest of the world because they fear repercussions for their faith in Jerusalem. Jesus knew that the twelve would sit around arguing, wondering and stewing unless he called them to action and taught them that true peace is relational. True peace is discovered in connections and community. True peace is passed when we shake hands or hug on Sunday mornings.

And maybe that’s why we pass the peace after confession and absolution. We enter God’s house with different concerns, secrets, sins and reasons for pride. When we confess, we admit, “Jesus, I was out there all week trying to do it my way. I thought that I could improve my image and that my efforts would impress you. But I am here today because my selfish motives and desire for personal gain always seems to win out. I worry because I think it will change things. My successes are never enough to make me happy. I fall short of the law, so I am here and I am sorry. I believe that this admission makes me clean and my relationship with you is the only thing that brings true joy.”

And then, regardless of who we are and what we do, we hear the words of absolution together. “Jesus died with the sins of the world on his shoulders – that includes the lies you have yet to tell. But each of your sins is forgiven once and for all with these words. We will gather again and hear the proclamation of forgiveness again because without it you will forget to let go of your sin. So believe that you are washed clean – freed for greater things than carrying your own burden.”

And then we turn to our neighbors as new creatures, blessed by the breath of the Holy Spirit and called to bestow this same peace to everyone we meet. “Peace be with you,” we say as we shake the hand of a brother or sister. Who knows what they have just confessed or what they fear? Only God, who keeps the unhappy things you both give away in confession.

So can this peace and true happiness come from hardcover books and motivational speakers? Maybe. But only if they teach you that your life is already happening. Life is not waiting for you to get a game plan together or the job promotion that will finally make you “happy”. When we spend days, months, years curved in upon ourselves and fixated on fixing what seems broken, we’re missing out.

We’re missing out on a world where happiness is relative and joy is most perfect when we decide to look for and appreciate it.

We’re missing out on people –friends and strangers - who will teach us about peace by bestowing the grace they’ve been given in unique and surprising ways.

We’re missing out on a God who sent his Son to speak peace – to breathe peace through the Holy Spirit – upon believers and those who doubt alike.

So take a break from all that self-critique, criticism and modification. Get some exercise. Help someone. Look around and pass the peace.

2007-04-08T15:51:00.000-07:00

Christ is Risen!

He is risen, indeed!

I don't know how I know that. I don't know when I had the Lord's Prayer memorized or why I would feel giddy when I the pianist would start playing my favorite canticle, "Listen, You Nations!" from the LBW during grade school (nerd alert). So much of my faith comes from the liturgy that flows in and out of my faith - both the Sundays I've felt like a saint and the Sundays I've felt like a sinner.

Berit is visiting and we've been talking a lot about our Lutheran roots between services this weekend. Pastor Pike preached about 'memory' today and the things we do in remembrance of Jesus. The good news? Even though we often forget, God will always remember us.

I guess these memories are like a thread that connects me to my baptism. They are words and rituals that have been with me every step of the way - I heard them while I colored the children's bulletin under the pew and later as an acolyte. I spoke them during confirmation as I learned more about what they meant. I muttered them when angry at God or ignoring God's call to ministry. I've yawned during them or been overwhelmed with emotion and their meaning. I don't have many experiences that span every stage of my short life, but liturgy is one of them. These hymns and prayers and sacraments have been my greatest teacher and my greatest comfort.

But many parents choose not to give their kids these experiences. "When my son/daughter is older, they'll be able to decide for themselves what to believe." It's a great theory, but rarely effective. Usually they choose not to choose, just like their parents. And when tragedy or crisis strikes - as it always does - life fills with urgent, spiritual questions. The problem is, there's no one to go question or yell at.

Even when I was resisting the church and its structure, I knew that my pastors were there for me...even if I just came in to prove them wrong or blame them for the church and the ways it seemed to fail me. But without this thread connecting me to my baptism, I would wander aimlessly and without a spiritual home to threaten or be held by.

Parents aren't responsible for giving their child the right spiritual home, but I do believe they are responsible for showing them what one can look like.

And so Berit and I giggled about our memories of Easter traditions, together and apart. We hummed "Jesus Christ Is Risen Today" well into the afternoon and texted the Lutheran code to our beloved: Christ is Risen. Some are still active in their faith and the church, but others are not. Thank God for the baptismal thread that has taught them the truth and implanted memories that last a lifetime. Thank God for their timely text reply - the thread has ensured that they will always know the truth about today:

He has risen, indeed!

2007-04-07T15:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Intern Herrick:

I’ll admit some disappointment and confusion about the Good Friday service. It left me feeling hopeless. The dark atmosphere and message were too much and the eeriness made me uncomfortable. There are so many unsettling things about the world that lead me to the church in search of peace and comfort…when I left I didn’t know what to think.

Dear Concerned Parishioner:

You are not alone. Many were disturbed by the service and the way we pondered God’s death on the cross. Death is creepy. When GOD dies, it’s unbearable. But unless we try to experience the death of God, we cannot fully experience the resurrection of God. Unless we acknowledge that sometimes (it feels like) God is absent, we cannot express true, unbridled joy at his presence.

We are good at celebrating the festivals of Christian life – most self-proclaimed Christians only attend worship during the birth and resurrection of Jesus – but might these seasons mean more if we explore the cold and dark places that make us feel disappointed and uneasy?

What does Good Friday look like when we don’t know Easter is on the way? This experiment can connect you to the first disciples and to the raw, unbearable truth of your own faith. Do you worship God because there’s a lucrative reward in store for you…or simply because he is God? Would you follow him into the graveyards of hell if that were the end of the story…or would you renounce God because you understand death to be failure?

I acknowledge your disappointment. I concur that the service exuded no hope or sign of Sunday. But I cannot completely validate your desire to dress up the dungeons that exists in the creepy corners of Christianity. There IS hope and an everlasting promise in the cross. But it is also the moment God died and the world heard only silence. Perhaps we have linked Golgotha and the empty tomb too closely to fully appreciate either.

These dark moments are real life – we’ve both encountered tragedy and heartache in which God seems absent or apathetic. We’ve listened for the divine voice of grace and heard nothing. We’ve been deep in the darkness of death where the light of hope seems faded or useless. When we acknowledge them in church, we give voice to the places we fear are faithless…yet belief is created here. Only an authentic faith in God can mourn his absence. Only those who long to worship the living God can be haunted by worshiping while God is dead.

This service was unpleasant because your faith requires the promise you’ve been given in your baptism, at the table and in absolution. You believe in the resurrection so firmly that the thought of leaving through the crematorium without a word of hope was both ridiculous and depressing.

The service made you uncomfortable? Good. The death of your Lord and Savior should make you furious and hungry for Sunday. Now you know just how badly your soul needs all that is Easter. You know that the word of hope proclaimed is necessary for life. Thank you for your honesty and faith-filled emotions. May your sorrow turn to joy in the hope that is tomorrow!

2007-04-03T11:44:00.000-07:00

Relay For Life

Who knew that walking could make such a difference? If you've ever participated in a walk or run for charity, you've experienced overwhelming hope. It feels good to be a part of something bigger than yourself - to be surrounded by people who care and put that care into action. It fills your cup of belief.

We've all been touched in some way by cancer. It's too common and tragic for words. But luckily there are countless ways to provide hope and light to the world in the wake of this injustice. At every Relay for Life event there are luminaries that glow in honor or memory of the people we love with cancer. As you walk the track with others who care - survivors, caregivers and dreamers - you see that tiny candles can light up the night when they come together.

I will be participating in Relay for Life on May 11-12th. I've been asked to give an invocation and prayer as the event begins. Then I will be walking for my team from midnight - 1am. I can only imagine how good it feels for survivors to see others walking in the darkest hour of night, laughing together and wishing for change. More than anything else, I think it's powerful to know that so many people around the country get off their butts and move. They walk because the fight isn't over...and they'll keep walking until we win.

Relay for Life creates change through those who donate. If you would like to make a donation to the American Cancer Society through me this spring, let me know via email: metasherrick@gmail.com. If you would like a luminary to glow in honor or memory of someone, include their name in the email. Remember that spring is the season of new life and the promise of change on this earth. May springtime bring new life and change to our struggle with cancer. God's blessings to all of you this holy week!

2007-03-31T17:53:00.000-07:00

Denim Parade

We wandered through streets and alleys looking for the coffee stand. There he was with the jewelry and dessert vendors, tucked between antiques and beautiful café sandwiches. Bisbee’s famous coffee roaster grinned from ear to ear when I mentioned the recent article in Gourmet Magazine. He shared about the beans, the workers, the countries, the fair trade and the way he and his quaint company insists upon giving back to South America and Africa in generous ways. Here, in the nooks and crannies of American you find people with bizarre dreams and precise passions that leave you wondering: Will I ever again meet someone so infatuated with espresso?

And in this alley we received word of another charming corner of the city to explore. I wanted to find the perfectly rich, hoppy taste of “Electric Dave”’s IPA, brewed right here in Bisbee. “Coffee Seth” drew us a verbal map and we were on our way through Brewery Gulch in search of a small, neighborhood marketplace.

Bisbee doesn’t look like much to the day tourist, but it feeds the eccentric and wildly content part of my heart. It becomes a splendid dream of decorated details, kind people and lovely art among life’s ordinary things.

I have silently named one detail my wailing wall. There are old cement stones covered in paint – some hateful graffiti, some poetry, some brightly stenciled magic. I pointed it out to my brothers and we stopped to admire the colors. Today several Bisbeans(?) were painting magic over filthy and thoughtless words. With care they handcrafted proclamations of wonder and creativity. I have stopped here before to pray for those who declare their pains here – using public space to disdain anyone passing by. I have stopped to give thanks for those who paint with bold care and imagination, sharing images of liberation and love with townies and tourists alike. I like this place.

We stopped and spoke to the artists about their visions and the wall. They shared with pride about their city – it’s music, public art and distinctive citizens. We were recruited for the stair climb in October and wished well on our quest for beer.

On our way we met “Walking Mary”, named during a time in Bisbee when no one needed last names. She invited us to share in Seder with the local Episcopal and Jewish communities and explained the annual volleyball game played with Mexicans using the border wall as a net. She introduced us to Mr. Sandstrom, a Scandi from Duluth push-mowing his pocket of desert grass. He waved and let out a few long, Minnee-soh-ta vowels.

When we wondered if we were still on the right road, a man wandered by in a backpack and beard. I asked for directions before I realized who we were talking to. “Certainly. I’m on my way there right now. Follow me.”

Bisbee Jesus. (Actually it was "Richard", but I thought of the Road to Emmaus.) And so we followed. He gestured proudly to his necklace as he explained his wife to be a carver. He is a teacher. We wandered down the dusty road in hopeful and troubled conversation about the world and its youth. And then inside the local oasis, Bisbee Jesus recommended his favorite local beer and wished us well.

We sifted through the organic fruits and piles of granola in sweet chitchat with each other and the shopkeeper. And then I bought all the holy beer my meager cash supply could buy and carried it carefully through the streets, past the houses and beyond the vivid wailing wall to my car.

I noticed green paint on my jeans and smiled. Sometimes I leave a prayer with the wall, but today the wall was sending one home with me. Inside, the Cavalier was filled with the aroma of fresh roasted coffee. We breathed deeply and headed back home through the mountains.

I squinted into the sunset and thought of Jesus, my carver and teacher. He appears in many forms, usually when I am unsure at a fork in the road or too distracted by graffiti and art to remember directions. With a simple invitation, he makes my path straight, presents a reality of hope and recommends something refreshing to drink.

2007-03-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

stones

they build up, to where?
what do they praise?

Beware.
deception, rumors will haunt -
distractions tumbling like

stones

carried, thrown, cast
they weigh us down and mark their prey
brand judgment upon us all.

but
he draws a line in the sand
defends the weak
shows us how to drop our blame

unclench your fist
Release.

your choice, your leave is not the final word.

you have been chosen
first
on the cross

though stones may tumble
you are Free.

- After reading Matthew 24 & John 8

2007-03-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

I have learned that grace flows through the cracks of life. It finds me well before or after I think I need it. It sinks in and through me deeply, dwelling in the places I forget to nurture.

Grace lives in life's comedies. Grace hit me on Thursday while I was leading a bible study for young women. There was a mix up with our childcare, so we studied in the playroom with the kids. I was explaining God's patience with Abraham and Sarah - they were manipulative, but no matter how many sneaky and stupid things they did, God found a way out of the wilderness according to God's will. I was moving on with examples when beautiful little Jordan came over to her mother, cupped her hand and whispered, "Mommy, your teacher said 'STUPID'." My face flushed and I apologized to the little angel. "You're right, sweetie. That wasn't a nice word. I'm sorry I used it and thank you for correcting me." Grace was in her face, showing me that there are little people in this world who know much more about what is holy than I ever will.

There is grace at the end of every hymn. Next time you're singing from a hymnal, look around during a verse instead of singing. Most people have their heads down until the last verse or phrase...and then like clockwork, we all look up. Some look toward heaven and others at the cross. As our sanctuary creaked in the strong March winds last Wednesday at Matins, I watched faithful eyes look up and away from the page during that last promise and plea. It looked like confidence in the storm. It looked like grace bestowed.

And there is even grace in alarm clocks. I awoke well before Matt and my brothers this morning and tried to be quiet. I reset the alarm and waited outside for my ride. But before I left, I looked at each of them snoozing peacefully and gave thanks. There was grace in that moment I had to appreciate my favorite men. There is grace when no one is looking - when you could hurry but something makes you stand still for a moment.

I'm sitting at my desk. It's almost time to put my alb on, but there is a ritual I am waiting for. Every Sunday Ray comes in and puts a paper clip on my desk and winks. One goofy moment created a tradition months ago, and until he comes it doesn't feel like Sunday morning. There is grace in knowing that other people treasure the little things. There is grace in a wink.

;)

2007-03-19T21:07:00.000-07:00

Every morning I turn out of my parking lot and look left toward the mountains as I merge onto the highway to work. The peaks have a thousand faces, each unique to the weather and season.

When Matt got into town this weekend, we decided that it was time to explore the Huachucas. I'd probably be content just wandering around on the trails with no particular destination, but hiking with Matt and his testosterone means figuring out a way to get to the top.

And we did. My little car roughed more than six miles of switchbacks up Carr Canyon Road to meet a trail. We hiked for twelve miles on Monday through the sun and shade - across the crest and up to Miller Peak (~9500 ft). The air was fresh and the vistas of the city were beautiful. The trails were quiet and it felt like we were the only two up there, but signs of pilgrimage were everywhere. We found a cell phone programmed in Spanish and dozens of empty Red Bull cans and Gatorade bottles.

People pass through these mountains every day. Most are looking for a better life and a decent job, but some are smuggling weapons or drugs. The border issues seemed distant and simplistic before living here. But seeing a county struggle with this complex situation has helped me to live in the grey area.

It was strange to walk the same trail so many illegal immigrants do, but for pleasure and exercise. While we discussed politics, athletic injuries and how many wings to order with pizza for dinner, others walk these paths desperate for a better future.

The mountains will look different tomorrow - they always do - so we were glad to have hiked them today.

2007-03-14T17:37:00.000-07:00

The Tomb and the Cross

Have you heard the good news? The lost tomb of Jesus has finally been discovered! Jesus, son of Joseph lies entombed beside two Mary s and other family members in the garden of a Middle Eastern apartment building. :)

Does the media hype have you curious? Are you annoyed or outraged at suggestions that Jesus had a child? Do you question the ascension?

If you do, you're not alone. The miracle of Jesus Christ and his saving grace seems to dare archaeologists to dig for answers and knowledge and facts. The DaVinci Code was advertised as a novel, but the idea of a mystical feminine power and a romantic scandal with Mary Magdalene left some Christians buzzing with disapproval. The Gospel According to Judas caused another stir recently, but disappeared as quickly as it came.

The world loves relics and proof and statistics. We celebrate great religious and historical finds with excitement because that knowledge makes us feel closer to something holy and ancient. Science has the power to stabilize our faith...until it seems to disprove something we desperately cling to.

And so archaeologists and filmmakers and news reporters are looking to the tomb with hope for the answers they wish to discover. Where are you looking? As Christians (and especially during Lent) we seek the cross. We watch it and wait for mercy, forgiveness and an end to death as we know it.

When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. ~ John 19

On the cross, Jesus speaks with compassion about his mother. He tells his followers to care for each other after his death. Here, on the cross, Jesus expands the definition of family. He creates a family in those he leaves behind.

In the tomb there is only silence. Jesus speaks no words here and offers no loving instructions for his friends or mother. The tomb is death and loss and defeat and the end.

But on the cross there are words. We have the kind words of Christ knitting us together and calling us to be family to one another. Suddenly, family means more than being buried side by side. The cross shows us a radical new death - a death that cannot be the final word because it is only the beginning. On the cross he defeats the tomb and the way it kills us. On the cross he dies to live and lives to save.

We try to confirm our faith with knowledge, but in doing so our faith begins to depend on facts, not trust. We peek into the tomb for answers to feed our curiosity, hoping to touch something mystical and ancient. And yet the cross breaks into our lives and touches us with the mystical and ancient truth we all need. Here at Golgotha Jesus binds us together with merciful words, calling us to be family to one another.

May your eyes be on the cross this Lent. Here Christ's words breach the silence and call us home. Here our sins are forgiven, we are born again and we receive salvation that lasts far beyond the tomb. Thank God for the cross.

2007-03-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those weird kids who never had a pet. Wait...I took the elementary school's hamster home for a summer when I was nine, but he lived in the garage and was pretty low maintenance. I met this little pug a few weeks ago and offered to bring him home with me for 5 days while his family was out of town.

We made quite a pair - I'm looking into getting a reality tv show based on the few days we shared. He's just a puppy, so I didn't know what I was getting into! Pretty cute though and I found out I have (at least) 3 things in common with pug puppies:

We both have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
We both eat stuff that isn't actually food and get scolded for it. (He downed quite a bit of grass on our walks and I ignore the creepy ingredient in Diet Coke: aspartame.)
We both get distracted by the little things and easily forget where we're going. (He stops to scratch himself, pounce on bugs, chew on leaves or listen to another dog bark. I retain criticisms with more care than compliments, procrastinate with ease, and detour for outlet malls.)

I still don't think I'm a pet person, but I had a good weekend with my little buddy and have a new appreciation for 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep!

2007-03-08T20:18:00.000-08:00

Packin' Heat

Today was a beautiful sunny day in Sierra Vista. Perfect weather for exercising my constitutional right to bear arms. If you know me at all, you're wondering what Arizona has done with the little liberal you waved goodbye to last August. I've always been skiddish about firearms and never knew much about guns or weapon legislation. Well, it was time to learn. Mary Olive and I took classes this week to receive our Arizona Concealed Weapons Permit. Why? Why not?

We did the classroom work in our instructor's dining room - floral placemats and ammo. I learned so much about gun safety and my legal rights. Last week I couldn't understand the logic behind arming civilians in this country or what would legally justify a victim to shoot her attacker/intruder. More than anything, we've been armed with knowledge. So be impressed with this shot of me aiming a 38 revolver. I've overcome a fear and had a blast! (No pun intended.)

A few interesting facts from our course:

It is legal to shoot a peeping Tom in the state of Texas.
3% of Arizona residents carry a concealed weapons permit.
Wisconsin and Illinois do not offer CWP training or acknowledge permits from other states.
It is illegal to fire a warning shot or to intentionally wound someone. (If you shoot, it must be justified by certain life or death circumstances and you must be shooting to kill.)
Domestic Violence is the only misdemeanor in federal history to override a constitutional right. This violation can make you a prohibited possessor forever.
Mary Olive and I finished 1st and 2nd in our class! (Okay, we were the only two in the class...)

2007-03-05T21:03:00.000-08:00

"I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream; you will nurse and be carried on her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem." - Isaiah 66:12-13

And yet none of this seems true when a mother loses her newborn baby. None of it seems true when the nurse tries to find a heartbeat again. She listens patiently anticipating, but there is nothing there and her eyes well up with tears. None of this seems true when you are called to care for a patient who is holding her recently deceased and silent boy. It can't seem true because a miracle was meant to happen today. The blue balloons and blankets are proof of the life she has known for so long now and was preparing to share with the world.

But when the young mother asks you to hold her child, you do so with eagerness and honor. You take him in your arms and look at him through his mother's eyes. You rock him as though he needs to snuggle and sway. You hold him with care and touch his fingertips, hoping that they will squeeze tightly around yours in reply.

And you wait in the quiet sorrow that she feels. You say little because her head is swimming and she is too foggy to hear much else. You resist the urge to chatter nonsense, which would be uttered out of fear instead of knowledge. You speak few words and listen much. You make the sign of the cross on his little forehead and stroke mom's hair and kiss it when she starts to shake with sad disbelief.

I drove to Tucson today, hoping to escape the tragedy that lingered on my mind. It felt good to roll the windows down and let the wind take over my thoughts. For some reason I started thinking about a conversation I'd had with Mary Olive (our Administrative Assistant at church) on Ash Wednesday. She'd popped her head into my office after the morning service and asked, "What do you feel like while you're putting ashes on people's heads?" I thought about it for awhile and replied, "I guess it's the same feeling I have while serving communion. I am giving something that isn't mine, but with total confidence. I don't know. It's weird and good at the same time."

On the way home I could see dusk fading in my rear view mirror as I headed southeast into the darkness. Soon my eyes adjusted and I could see thousands of stars lighting my path, making the tips of mountains almost visible. While we are all tempted to give "Hallmark comfort" in times of grief and loss, I have never told someone that their baby is now a star, or that their loved one is watching over them from heaven. If they these things and already believe them, I simply nod and smile. But there are bigger and bolder promises to bestow.

I seldom speak when a mother loses her child, but when I do it is with great confidence. Just as I mark believers with a dusty cross or place the body of Christ in their hands, I am promising something everlasting and perfect. I am delivering God's promise, which can be done with ultimate conviction because it lives beyond any human promise I will ever make.

We are God-bearers. All of us. We listen and share the weight of their burden. And then we promise only the truth:

Holy is your pain. Holy is your loss. Holy is your
suffering. Holy because you belong to Holiness.
God's tears roll down your cheeks, aching to join your own
in consolation. Let them fall into each other and know that God has tumbled into your
Holy pain, Holy loss, Holy Suffering... to grieve with you.

2007-02-28T16:00:00.000-08:00

The Planet Earth

Most of the news we hear and footage we see about life on this earth is awfully depressing these days. When I turn to MTV, I see uber-entitled teenagers living lavish lifestyles and sassing off to their parents. I had to live through Jr. High once...isn't that enough? When I try any national news station, I find that news about Britney's latest breakdown is considered more crucial than opening a new hospital safely and successfully in Afghanistan. Politicians bicker with each other like children. Every story seems to be presented with overly dramatic language, music and graphics. It makes me tired. *Sigh*

Television was first advertised decades ago as a way to bring the family together. Now that we're all so desperately hooked, the quality of programs has dissolved while we still sit attentive and watching junk. What ever happened to hope and education on the boob tube??

For this reason and so many others, I commend the upcoming special Planet Earth to you. This 11-part special is five years in the making and reintroduces us to the spectacular world we all love so deeply. Cameras visited more than 200 countries and all seven continents capturing rare footage.

Sometimes it's hard to see the miraculous and divine things about this world, which make it easy to give up on our meager efforts to save and appreciate this planet. The world is changing daily - we're losing species and glaciers are melting. Take the time to see the beautiful and diverse details about our world and be inspired to help preserve it in smart, simple ways.

Gather those you love and watch something worthwhile this spring. Make dinner or dessert together and create room for a ritual to form around learning together. May it inspire conversations of travel, creativity, science and God.

Sunday evenings: March 25 - Earth Day (April 22) on the Discovery Channel

For more information and a sneak peak at the beautiful scenery: http://dsc.discovery.com/convergence/planet-earth/planet-earth.html?clik=www_wh_1b

2007-02-28T12:45:00.000-08:00

Luke 23: 32-38 ~ Father, forgive them.

Women are weeping and strangers are cursing his name. Jesus has been crucified - nailed to the cross and left to suffocate. He has been displayed with common thieves and his clothes have been stripped and sold. Leaders scoff and dare him to save himself. Soldiers tease him and tempt him with sour wine. People loiter, passively watching. His acquaintances stand at a safe distance.

Father, forgive them.

Only true royalty can pardon a great offense. Here in this scene, Jesus forgives those who mock him with the title "King of the Jews". Jesus addresses God as Father - a name he taught us to use in prayer - a name that connects us to our active and invested heavenly parent. Jesus asks his Father to "forgive them", but does not speak specifically about who among us needs forgiveness. Them who?

Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.

Maybe I don't like this verse because I'd rather have a predictable savior. I want Jesus to throw his power in the face of every treacherous person at Golgotha. I want Jesus to punish those who hurt and betray him. I want Jesus to rule according to my understanding and my human nature. That's what I want.

But what do I need? What do we need? We need a savior who reigns beyond bitterness and the desire to "get even". We need Jesus to save according to God's will, not ours. We need Jesus to release us from the prison of fear and death and sin through the radical means of grace. We need Jesus to die the way he lived - suffering for us, teaching us and drenched in hope for things to come.

We need a savior who forgives everyone for the ways we all betray him - a savior who blesses and redeems us while nailed to the cross and awaiting death. We need a savior who will look into the faces of those who love him and those who loathe him with complete mercy as he feels the weight of their transgressions upon his back.

Jesus speaks out on our behalf - the Roman and the Jew, the frightened and the brave, the wailing women and the scoffing leaders, the faithful and the doubter. We have all betrayed his teachings and resisted sharing his grace. We all stand before the cross this Lent. We know what we deserve, and yet Jesus speaks only of forgiveness. He does not lord his power over us. He does not cause us to wonder if our sin is well concealed or too great for his mercy.

Each sin we have carried now weighs upon him. Not only does he know our sins, he feels them. Our sins are nailed to that cross and dying with him - that's good news! Our crimes and their consequences remain, but Jesus has pardoned all these offenses so that we may be restored.

With these words, Christ has reclaimed you and drawn you close to the Father. With these words, Christ has resisted the temptation to rule with bitter judgment and threat. With these words, we are shown the mystical and beautiful way that God loves sinners completely.

Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.

Hearing these words, we repent for our sins and know that we are truly forgiven by the savior we so desperately need. We marvel at his subversive power and his decision to suffer for us. We give thanks for our Father's forgiveness…because we do not know what we're doing.

We do not know what we are doing when we sin, but we can be certain of these truths when we follow: His death gives us life. His words give us hope.

2007-02-21T14:36:00.000-08:00

Today is Ash Wednesday. We begin our journey to the cross. This morning I assisted with the imposition of ashes for the first time. It looked simple enough, but I learned that it's important for your thumb to be damp...but not too damp. I thought I had the right idea, but the first woman I marked was completely doused in ash. I'd caked too much on my thumb and the flakes of soot ran down her nose and cheeks.

Oops. I wanted to apologize, but tried to keep the moment solemn. I learned my lesson and moved on to make all kinds of crosses. Some were stubby and others were faded. When everyone was seated again, I noticed that Pastor Pike had entirely different techniques. And so the congregation was divided. Not politically. Not about ecumenical relationships or sexuality. This was a new division I'd never noticed before: the blobs and the crosses.

It wasn't that one of us marked blobs and the other crosses - they all looked a little blobby and a little, well, crossy. Of course now I've been thinking about our Christian status as both sinner and saint. These ashes began as beautiful and celebratory palm branches from last Palm Sunday. They were burned into flaky and dusty ashes. And now they marked something holy and sacred with their shape - a cross.

I think we're all blobby and sinful, but not in a go-home-and-flog-yourself-righteous way. I mean to say that we're all formless or flaky without Christ's saving grace to give us conformation and a call in His Body. But I know that we are also saints marked with the cross, which names us 'perfect' and 'chosen' apart from any effort we make to win salvation. Total sinner, total saint.

I took some ashes over to the hospital for a short chapel service. I made many crosses before heading to patient rooms. A few had requested that I come see them since they aren't mobile. The first was a grandmother, a mother and her newborn daughter. I marked three generations with the dust and the cross. They welcomed new life by scripting her humanity and need for Christ on her tiny forehead. My last visit was a man the staff had tried to resuscitate, but he passed away shortly before I arrived. His family was gathered waiting for a priest and asked me for ashes. They, too, were united with a sign of this life and the life to come.

From birth to death, we dance with God's creation and hope in the cross. We come from the dust of this Earth and were made 'good' as members of Genesis. Our bodies will return to this ground, but our spirit lives forever by the grace bestowed through Christ. We are blobs and crosses, created and united in one holy image.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

2007-02-17T16:01:00.000-08:00

For some, the labyrinth is a lame, hippie interest. Once someone noticed the labyrinth on my key chain and joked, "So you're one of those hairy chicks who takes herbs and worships the Great Spirit." Ha. Without an open and patient mind, the labyrinth can seem boring, pointless, or requiring recreational drugs to fully enjoy. For others, it is a old spiritual practice that can be traced to each corner of the world (back then there were corners, you know) pre-Christianity. It teaches discipline and listening. It chases the academic theologian out of me for a few minutes so the Spirit has more wiggle room to work with.

I first became interested in the art of labyrinth last year at Luther Seminary. The Parish Nurse and I raised money to buy and paint a labyrinth especially for Luther. Since then, my opinion about the tradition has changed to embrace the way it challenges my spirit.

When the women's retreat was over at Spirit in the Desert, I considered getting in my car for the 4 hour drive back to Sierra Vista. Suddenly, a journey through the labyrinth sounded more appealing than battling traffic on the 101 Loop through Phoenix. The sun was shining and the landscaping deserved some quiet attention. I decided to stay awhile.

Before I started, I listened to my breath and admired the scenery. While walking I realized how the labyrinth brings out my restlessness. Whenever I start walking a labyrinth, my thoughts are less concerned with the journey than the destination. I try to move too quickly. Luckily, the labyrinth knows how to take care of that. Suddenly the path will seem to backtrack into a quadrant I'd thought to be completed or a row further from the center. The unexpected twists and turns remind me to focus only on the step in front of me.

When distractions would enter my mind I would stop until I could only hear my breath. It takes practice and control...unfortunately I don't walk the labyrinth often enough to consider this silent reflection a skill of mine. Call me a hippie, but it works. With patience, my tired muscles and visions of stalled traffic faded and there was room for God to direct my journey.

Sometimes it's nice to be told exactly where to go. There are no forks in the road or choices to make. While twists and turns seem to lead away from the center, but you trust the trail to lead you there in time. And after spending a few minutes in the middle, I walk back the way I came. I notice new stones and weeds and sounds. I retrace my steps and have faith that this road will send me back into the world with renewed focus and peace.

2007-02-17T15:01:00.000-08:00

I spent Thursday and Friday up in Carefree, AZ. It's a quaint community north of Scottsdale where the streets are aptly named "Ho" and "Hum". It is the home of Spirit in the Desert where I was to meet and spend time with rostered women from the Grand Canyon Synod. (What is a Rostered Member?)

I have a lot of questions about being a women in ministry...some of them just float around in my head and heart as feelings without words (and I am a woman of many words). It was good to gather with these women - different ages, lengths of ministry, experiences and challenges. It was good to hear them give voice to the questions I had yet to consider. It was good to be together.

We talked about 'power'. What is power and how is it used and misused by ministry leaders? Jesus shared power often by involving the disciples in his miracles and teachings. He delegated to others by commissioning them to heal and cast out demons. He literally gave power away when touching the unclean and sick.

We spoke of power as 'medicine', the way many Native American traditions explain it. Too much or too little can be extremely harmful. Always giving away your power can make you seem weak in mainstream American culture. Hogging it can create dysfunctional institutions and shows mistrust of other people's gifts. We talked about the ways we enjoy having power or feel uncomfortable managing it. And we asked questions:

Is giving away power and sharing power the same thing?

Can your power be taken from you? If so, how are you refilled?

Do we trust God to replenish our personal power, or do we cling to it as though we have a limited supply?

It is good to sit and wonder with wise women - women who can laugh and share about their experiences in ministry. Women who can be vulnerable and confide about the things that cause them grief or pain.

It is important to have a support system in ministry, but this retreat also convinced me that it is important to have a support system in your personal life as well. I need to have people in my 'power circle' who knew me before seminary (or know me in spite of seminary!). I need to have people in my 'power circle' who can really listen without offering advice or critique before I am done grieving or sharing. But then I need people in my 'power circle' who can give me raw and honest feedback and love me in spite of my shortcomings.

What do you need? Who supports you and the ways God is calling you? Who reminds you to share and give your power in the name of Jesus Christ? Who teaches you to believe that God will faithfully replenish your supply?

Name them. Then tell them. Then thank them.

2007-02-14T13:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I presided at my first memorial service. My supervisor was up in Minnesota interviewing intern candidates for next year, so I was put to work. While I have given pastoral care in end of life situations before, they have involved prayers, anointing and bedside commendations. Planning a service for many friends and loved ones is new to me.

I was incredibly nervous, but Mary’s life and death were a good introduction to these rituals. Her passing was not completely unexpected. Her surviving daughter is lovely and kind. Those who knew her were blessed by her compassionate witness and great faith. She will be missed by those who came to say goodbye, but all seemed sure that she was in a better place and breathing with ease.

While she spent her last weeks in a tired daze, she awoke alert on her last Sunday for church. She dressed beautifully and came downstairs with only the aid of her walker. She sang. She received communion. She heard the Word. She found the strength to be surrounded by her community of faith before returning to a sleepy state.

Friends from church tended to her day and night until she breathed her last. And then she sprang from the arms of Christ’s Body on earth to God’s heavenly keeping, leaving her oxygen tank and pain behind forever. She leans on the everlasting arms with new breath and new life. She was certain and so are the scriptures.

In these moments, grief and mourning still exist. Tears are shed and people feel the loss of a loved one no longer with us. But because of her faith, it was also a moment for the resurrection to be proclaimed with certainty. We celebrated Mary’s life on earth, but also the eternal one she now lives with our Creator. So often a funeral or memorial service can testify only to the goodness of the person’s life, offering no hope for the future or promises from God. Others frighten those present with an urgent order to repent and be saved.

But Mary would have wanted the resurrection simply proclaimed and promised. I didn’t have to say much because anyone who knew Mary saw her faith – she not only hoped for the resurrection, but lived in the resurrection! And so I said with her same confidence that the scriptures are true. We are united with Christ’s death in baptism and raised up through his resurrection forever!

Thank God for Mary and for all who live beyond tentative hope in Christ. They stake their life on faith in the resurrection. May you also live with certainty – the stone has been rolled back and the tomb is empty. Death has been defeated!

A Bit of Lutheran Folklore: Before an old woman passed away she told her husband that she wanted to be buried with her bible and a fork. “Why the fork?” he asked. “I’ve been going to potlucks my whole life. And they always say, ‘Save your fork. The best is yet to come.’ It's almost time for dessert.”

2007-02-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

I don't want to go to a church where everyone has it all figured out. I don't want to worship with people who are always trying to make me perky and on fire for Christ. Sometimes I'm broken and sad...and I need for that to be okay in God's house. I want to be in Christian community with all kinds of people. People who are constantly discovering and questioning, learning and becoming.

I seek a place where there are no labels: pagan...unchurched...dechurched...seeker...member...

What are you searching for?

I am becoming Christian, becoming Church, becoming saved every day. Faith is not a ladder and I cannot mark my progress. But I sing and listen and pray and pass the peace of the Lord with those I meet, knowing that the Spirit will continue to work in my heart and life.

I care little about church growth and building plans...probably because I'm a young and naive seminarian. I care much about the Body coming together to support each other and to change the world according to God's plan and will. And I believe it can happen - that it does every day. Faith happens in the little things and defining moments of our lives. May the Spirit make you bold to offer prayerful comfort or a safe place for questioning in times of chaos and despair. May you welcome people to your parish with open arms, and the knowledge that new sheep may change or challenge your comfort zone.

"As Christians applying ourselves to the problem of changing the church, we must first believe that change is both necessary and possible. For many in the church, change is neither. Either their faith is settled, the Scriptures are clear and closed, their minds an eternal, spotless sunshine, or the task is simply too great, the institution too large and the energy required too massive for change to be thought achievable." - Kester Brewin

While it is easier to keep church cozy and comfortable, we are sent out into the world. And the world is a messy place. We are called to live as the Body without specifying insiders/outsiders, us/them or using a pity, 'let's fix 'em up' tone. The next time you welcome a visitor to worship, greet them without expectation or agenda...knowing that God might be using them to challenge you in ways you cannot predict or control. Dare to become. To join the process and live your new life in Christ as a journey.

For more from Kester Brewin or others becoming, visit www.emergingchurch.info. Click on 'beginners guide' on the rightside column and read the stories of others on the journey. May they inspire you to experience worship in a new way and realize your role in the Body as active.

The Emerging Church is a spiritual attitude (not a denomination) and is represented in many different forms all over the world. They share a passion for becoming and living in community.

2007-02-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about the Root of Jesse springing up from the stump lately. Life from death. New from old. Lent is upon us - Ash Wednesday is February 21. While that makes me excited, I know it doesn't toot everyone's horn. But allow me to explain why I love Lent...and the way worship changes during Lent.

We are quick to celebrate - to embrace the joyous and lively things about our faith in Jesus Christ. But we have all experienced darkness and sadness and hopelessness too. We have wandered and been lost. We have desired the impossible and given up. We have been less than victorious and confident. We have been stubborn and human.

If these honest and raw emotions cannot be expressed through worship and fellowship in the Church, where can they be released and embraced? We read the tired doubt and anger in the Psalms, but do we dare to wander or question? Our feelings are gifts from God...even the uncomfortable and jagged ones. Lent is a journey through the darkness toward light. It is a spiritual practice that embraces our sorrow and loneliness.

Lent can also bring us closer to the original disciples. We worship in 2007 knowing that Easter has, is and will come again...but the apostles weren't so sure. What would it be like to watch Christ killed without proof or knowledge of a resurrection?

We are eager to spring forward into lavishly decorated eggs and crosses, spring and an open tomb...but can we truly understand the resurrection without first wandering through the wilderness? I love Lent because it is a time for questions, doubt and mystery.

This year, consider gathering a few friends or your partner for daily devotions during Lent. With this wilderness theme in mind, new discussions will bloom and the journey will begin. You can meet in person or share the same scripture and prayer via phone or e-mail. Your church might provide devotional material specific to Lent. Otherwise, I have a few recommendations:

Click Here to Browse or Order

I'll be reading these two from the list linked above:

places along the way by Martin E. Marty
Each day you visit a different place that helps further explain the scriptural reading and provides a visual experience for your wandering.

look for the light by Stephen P. Bouman
Bouman is a Lutheran bishop from NYC and uses stories from the 9/11 "Ground Zero" to connect us to Golgotha "Ground Zero".

2007-02-05T15:33:00.000-08:00

This week my parents were in town and I wanted to share a little southwest culture with them. The Cochise County Cowboy Poetry & Music Gathering was here, so we decided to find out more about this art sacred to my new home.

While there are three ticketed shows during the festival, Saturday is open to everyone free of charge. We wandered to and from presentations, watching legends and fledglings alike strut their stuff.

Jokesters, musicians and poets wowed us with testimonies of a fading subculture. Presenters were from all over the country (11 states), but they all shared a lyrical love for the land, family, the weather and a strong work ethic.

Before the gathering, the cowboy poets visit the local schools and share their passion for and knowledge of poetry with students. Then the students practice writing cowboy poetry. The winners of a school-wide contest are invited to perform with the professionals, creating a local bond with this tradition.

It was fun to share a taste of Arizona country with my parents. I’m still a Minnesota girl – I wore flipflops like I did at the Sonoita rodeo in September – but my heart is falling for the flavor of Cochise County and its spurs.

www.cowboypoets.com

2007-01-28T15:38:00.000-08:00

A Resting Place

This morning Pastor Pike’s children sermon spoke volumes to me. He held up a pendulum in front of the kids and let it swing. Then he talked about the way distractions and sin swing and swirl around us. Life is busy and confusing, but every pendulum eventually finds a place of rest and is still once it settles. We all rest in different ways at different times, but the reason is the same. God is our universal place of rest and refuge when life swings and swirls us around. It is God who makes us still, and in this resting place we mark a straight line that points upward to our Maker.

It was lovely and abstract, but not for long. Discussions about who God is and what God does are always solidified in my heart by the sacraments. I can see and hear and touch and taste and smell God’s presence and promise during Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. And so Kate and Carolyn approached the font with their parents expecting nothing short of a miracle. These girls have been excited about today for awhile now – they are old enough to remember their parents adopting them and they’ll always remember when God and God’s family adopted them too!

We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins – the celebration of the moment in which God chooses us, names us and sends his Spirit to dwell in us. As Pastor Holm says, “I don’t understand Baptism, but I do understand bath”. This is a God who comes into everyday places (like bathtime) and makes us clean…whether we understand the hows and whys or not.

Today was also their First Communion. How appropriate! Most ELCA churches welcome all baptized believers to the Lord’s table. Yet many young children wait to receive communion until they can understand what’s going on or embark together with a group their age. While that education is very important, the sacraments work even without our knowledge. They are God’s action and promise alive in the ordinary, and continue to educate us throughout life. I’ve learned more about Communion by taking it and watching others take it than any academic conversation or pastoral preparation.

Earlier this fall my church decided to start serving the Lord’s Supper at every service. Some people were initially opposed because they didn’t want Communion to become commonplace or taken for granted. But God came into mealtime and bathtime because they are common, daily places. I am reminded of my Baptism when I do laundry, shower or stand in the rain. I am reminded of Communion when I gather in fellowship at dinner or a potluck. God could have made these promises from the tops of mountains or through burning bushes, but decided not to. We are promised Jesus Christ once and for all in our baptismal Bath. We are fed by a simple meal of bread and wine, full of forgiveness and new life in the Table.

So even if Kate and Carolyn don’t fully understand the wonders of today, God is powerfully present. God is at work making a resting place for them amidst the stormy swirling swings of life. May these events bring them everyday comfort and healing in the years to come. And may the radical power of God in the ordinary places continue to make straight our plumb lines and renew our faith in an Awesome God.

2007-01-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

Small Lutheran World

This morning Katherine came to visit my church for the second time this winter. If you don't know Katherine, you're missing out. We've known each other since I moved to Minnesota in 7th grade and joined Normandale's confirmation program. We sang in Youth Choir and traveled to Bangladesh on a mission trip together during high school. In college we worked at Luther Park Bible Camp for a summer and came back to Normandale after college to lead senior high small groups.

While I never thought I'd see Bangladesh again, I was blessed to go back with Katherine during Christmas in 2004. I think we'd both admit that going to Bangladesh as a teenager has something to do with our vocational dreams...and that returning as young adults was a perfect inspiration. Katherine is finishing physical therapy school with several internships around the country. She has a passion and patience for people and their health - her career will be a beautiful ministry. (If you want to hire her, she graduates in May.)

It was wonderful to be leading liturgy and see Katherine's face in the crowd. And it's good to know that, even if the Lutheran church dies out in my lifetime, Katherine and I will still be organizing potlucks and creating prayer chains with the same lovingkindness we were shown by the church in our youth. Thank God for the body of Christ...and for bringing Katherine to Tucson this winter! It was a wonderful taste of the home I have in Normandale.

2007-01-24T21:45:00.000-08:00

Can Women Have It All?

It's not a novel question - we've been asking it for decades. Yesterday, Oprah talked to women about “having it all”. The guests and audience represented a diverse smattering of experiences and opinions. I rushed home to catch this episode because it’s something on the minds and hearts of women my age. My friends talk about it often – usually in a naïve and idealistic way because we’re just embarking upon real world adventures. We don’t have kids and only a few are married. But the decisions will come.

Women have dozens of options, but overwhelming pressure. My generation has applauded and validated women for all sorts of vocational decisions throughout history, but Oprah’s show revealed the inner struggle that so many women secretly fight. Most women polled admitted secret feelings of failure, dissatisfaction or boredom. The second wave of feminism began because these same fears were exposed and validated generations ago.

Thank goodness for the open conversation we enjoy today! My girlfriends and I are grateful for the choices we have and are looking to women who have walked these paths for wisdom and understanding. It won’t be easy with all the options and pressure we experience today. We’ll make sacrifices, burn out, chase dreams and live passionately. But if we talk about it and respect each other’s decisions, anything is possible.

Oprah’s resident therapist (the brunette post-Dr. Phil lady) said something I found to be helpful and relieving. Life isn’t about “having it all” – it’s about being attuned to the things that really matter. (Ex: A stay-at-home mom might be totally checked out and unable to give her kids their basic needs because of drugs, depression, etc. A working mom might look like she has it all, but can’t take her eyes off her Blackberry at her son’s football game.) Some harsh comments were made about being, “just a stay-at-home-mom” or assumptions that working parents weren’t “there for their kids”. We must remember that everyone lives passion differently and has unique needs. Some women feel called to have a family, but others don’t. Some need a career for “personal fulfillment” but others don’t.

My hope? That the women in my life will always feel free to express the way their personal, family and/or career goals and dreams blend together to form a vocational calling. Because God’s calling all of us to something unique.

So tell me what you think. Post a comment – can women “have it all”? Is there more than one way to “have it all”? What does it mean to be “attuned to the important things”? How have/will you shared your hopes and dreams with your partner? What has been right for your life? What are your vocational dreams for the future?

2007-01-21T21:09:00.000-08:00

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon today. Jan and Bob invited me over for soup and cozy conversation by the fireplace. "Can I wear my slippers?" I asked as I lounged in my sweatpants. "Sure! We're casual. Come on over."

The sky looked funny but I thought nothing of it and headed off for soup. Hours later, we looked out the window to find the yard covered in snow. Pretty typical. The one day it snows in southern Arizona, I'm wearing slippers outside! Jan gave me little plastic baggies to put over my feet and I trotted down the driveway to my car. Get a load of these 'Arizona Boots'! I giggled all the way home on the deserted streets - everyone was home avoiding the 'snow emergency' and I had the icy streets all to myself.

The cacti look lovely laced with white. I wandered outside with my camera to capture the beauty tonight before it melts. Kids were building a snowman and throwing poorly constructed balls at each other. I joined in and gave them a baby carrot for his nose. Though the dusting will be gone by tomorrow, evidence will remain on the mountain tops proving tonight more than just a dream.

2007-01-18T11:41:00.000-08:00

Strom hadn't thrown pottery in 2 years, so I borrowed a wheel from a pastor in town. The women's group advertised and sponsored her presentation: The Potter and The Clay. What a great excuse to 'play in the mud' on vacation! I lied and told her that there would probably be about 15 people in attendance. I remember the Strom who hyperventilated before giving speeches in college and didn't want to frighten her.

I apologized with a grin on my face when 55 people were seated around her and waiting to learn about her spiritual understanding of art and pottery. 'Ta, I just realized that I've never given a presentation to people who came voluntarily. They came because they wanted to...not because they're in my class!' I know she was a little nervous at first, but she worked the crowd and the clay - they loved her! I was so proud as I watched her share the importance and symbolism of this hobby and skill to a crowd filled with awe.

And, of course, it was wonderful to be preached to and taught by my best friend. She was able to share a new and vivid image of the way God gently guides and forms us, refines and cleans us. Thank goodness for a God who knows what He's doing! A God who sits at the wheel and molds us, never pushing us to be anything other than the shape we were meant to be. A God who gave Strom this gift and the joy she feels when she shares it with others.

Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. ~ Isaiah 64:8

Just like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. ~ Jeremiah 18:6

2007-01-14T15:20:00.000-08:00

John 2:1-11 ~ Filled to the Brim!

It is the season of Epiphany. Light. Awakening. Manifestation. Making known. This morning we heard about the wedding at Cana of Galilee, where Jesus revealed his divine glory and the disciples first believed.

I was particularly moved by the simple instructions Jesus gave: Fill the jars with water. Whenever Jesus gives his followers simple instructions, we are showered with unexpected and unexplainable abundance.

He said, "Talitha cum!"
And the little girl got up.
"Take your mat and go.
And the lame man got up, took his mat and walked.
"Bring the fish and loaves to me."
And they were greatly multiplied.
"Cast your net on the other side of the boat."
And the net overflowed with fish.

"Fill the jars with water."
And where there was nothing to drink, 150 gallons of fine wine appeared.

It is good to know that new and fine things can be contained in the ancient and ordinary. Perhaps this image can help us better understand how the Spirit is at work in our bodies. Or how new life can flow through antique liturgies, hymns and traditions. Or how dusty old books like the bible can come to life and make us new with a different understanding or perspective. These jars are ordinary. They are one of the many plain and simple places Jesus infused holiness and abundance with the world.

And it is good to know that God is using us to help bring miracles of overflow and satisfaction into the world. Jesus offers simple instructions, asking us to do things that he could do himself…but he chooses to involve and engage us in blessings and wonders.

Like Mary, we are called to have faith that the power and presence of Jesus can change our lives. But we are also called to give him the authority and freedom to perform and reveal God's will, not ours. I often feel the urge to instruct Jesus by hinting as Mary did: They have no wine. But when we trust that Jesus reveals and heals according to God's will, we place him in the driver's seat (how often I kick him out of there!) and listen for our simple instructions - the instructions Mary gave the servants: Do whatever he tells you.

As we celebrate the ways Jesus reveals his divine nature this week, listen for your simple instructions and the invitation to partake in God's plan for this world. It is one of abundance and mercy. And it is only just beginning.

2007-01-06T19:39:00.000-08:00

Poor Strom. She comes to visit and I put her right to work! Luckily, most of our work today was play. We crossed the boarder with a group of people to help pour the foundation for a house in Agua Prieta (just across the border from Douglas, AZ).

This was the first time Strom and I had been out of the country together. It was also the first time I’ve taken my little purple car across the border. Thanks to Strom’s college Spanish and my magic car of goodies, we had an amazing day.

“Gringas! Gringas!” Each time we opened my trunk, kids would flock and gather to see what would appear next. We blew bubbles. We ate oranges. We played soccer and Frisbee. We drank Gatorade and gave piggyback rides – “Caballo, caballo!” they would cry. “Uno mas!” I would fall down in the street and play dead until they came close enough to surprise and tickle.

This is my favorite language – we didn’t have to explain blowing bubbles or peeling an orange. Every kid knows that a soccer ball is meant for kicking. We spent the day speaking the international language of laughter and love.

Sure there was some actual ‘work’ involved. We hauled bricks, shoveled dirt and mixed cement…But even the ‘work’ became play when the kids grabbed shovels and tried to keep the pile nice and high for us. The ‘work’ became play because we were serving each other. The ‘work’ became play when we wanted to stay.

And Holy Communion came alive for me when they gathered for a snack. I had them hold out their little hands as a cup while I poured trail mix for each of us. It was Jesus who sent us to Mexico – it is always Jesus who teaches me to see and think of others. These raisins and dried bananas and peanuts are from Christ, of Christ – He is the only reason I see beyond myself and know how to give joyfully. I smiled and knew that this simple meal was creating a community and thankful hearts in each of us.

And so when I serve Communion at church tomorrow, I will see their little hands. I will be thankful for the meal that teaches me to serve and see others. Strom will know that it is Christ who gave her gentle patience to sit with little Ramone and switch his shoes onto the right feet as they giggled together.

It is Christ who speaks the international language of laughter and love. And he has made us fluent through our baptisms and the table. Alleluia!

2007-01-01T12:05:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Eve Day was chaotic and came sooner than anticipated. Jesus was just born and I’m already preaching about him sassing off to his parents and getting lost at age 12! How Christmas flies by.

I didn’t realize how desperate I was for some peace and quiet until I found it yesterday. Matt and I explored Kartchner Cavern, a cave in Benson that was discovered in the 1970s. The amateur cavers kept it a secret for 14 years until they could protect it with legislative bills as an Arizona State Park. Their work paid off. The cave is beautifully preserved and a great place to learn about the world below our feet.

It was humid and spacious and silent. When the tour guide made us hush to appreciate the peaceful nature of the cave, he noticed my appreciation. “This is my church.” He smiled and we listened to Earth’s nooks and crannies. It was still, as if holding its breath and waiting for someone to find its beauty.

And then I apologized to the world I take for granted and gave thanks for its ability to survive despite humanity’s misuse of God’s command to “have dominion over” creation.

This year, may you look for God’s presence in peaceful and secret places. May you find time to explore the world’s nooks and crannies. May you appreciate the ways we are still small and always learning to care for creation.

2006-12-25T19:38:00.000-08:00

Matt and I tore through our presents on Christmas Eve Day. (Note: Opening 'just one' is always a slippery slope...no matter how old you are!) As I gathered the wrapping paper and boxes, I realized that Christmas is built up all month, but can seem over with one trip to the dumpster.

Tomorrow the commercial Christmas season is over. The presents will be opened. Crumpled and torn rapping paper will adorn sidewalks, waiting to be disposed of. Lines will form at department and electronic stores for returns - a sign of the excess this season. Christians and commercial Christians alike will box up their ornaments and decorations. And Jesus, though he has just arrived, will be packaged in cardboard and stored away for eleven more months. For the rest of the world, Christmas is over.

But the Church (that's Church with a capital 'C', as in the body of Christ) knows that Christmas starts today - December 25th. It is only Advent and the commercial holiday that have ceased. The season of Christmas and Christ's reign on this earth has just begun. Our Church calendar is not determined by shopping commercials on TV but by creation's own rhythm. And this is wise, for at Christ's birth we sing of heaven and nature in one harmonious accord. The winter solstice has passed - heaven and nature are ushering the light of new life and springtime to come. A light has been sent to the darkness. Heaven and nature's song will not and cannot be packaged and placed in a basement corner.

Maybe we love the baby Jesus so much because he's cute and vulnerable and contained so sweetly in that manger. But we are mistaken if we think he can be packed up with the rest of Christmas. I think of The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Will Farrell is saying grace with his family at the dinner table. He keeps referring to, "Tiny Infant Jesus" and "Baby Jesus". When his wife points out that Baby Jesus grew up, he explains, "But Christmas Jesus is my favorite Jesus and I'm saying grace. When you say grace, you can pray to teenage Jesus or bearded Jesus or any Jesus you want to." To drive home his point, he concludes the prayer with reference to, "Eight pound, six ounce Baby Jesus".

Maybe we love baby Jesus because he's just a baby, and babies depend upon us. Babies give us control. Babies mean we're in charge. But this Christmas infant means just the opposite. He cannot yet shock us with prophecies or quotations of law. But he will. He cannot yet stupify us with parables and turn our world upside down. But he will. It is Christmas Day and this is only the beginning.

He is the Word made flesh. If anyone should be wearing a retro "I'm kind of a big deal" t-shirt, it's Jesus. But that's the subversive part - he wouldn't wear it. He is born under the radar, but he's not about to be boxed up until next Thanksgiving. We can't make him be our own personal Baby Jesus - to love what we love or condemn what we hate. He is born unleashed and at work in and for this world. Jesus has brought the holy into our everyday and lives as God's action in the world - creating, revealing and redeeming us.

The rest of the world will box him up and put him away until he's a cute baby again next year. But today, our season of Christmas is only beginning. Our world is about to be transformed. He has come to be with us – Emmanuel!

PS - This morning I preached on John 1:1-14. The Word became flesh. It's a strange text, filled with power and wonder and awe. It reminded me of my favorite Mary Oliver poem, Logos:

Why wonder about the loaves and the fishes?
If you say the right words, the wine expands.
If you say them with love
and the felt ferocity of that love
and the felt necessity of that love,
the fish explode into many.
Imagine him, speaking,
and don't worry about what is reality,
or what is plain, or what is mysterious.
If you were there, it was all those things.
If you can imagine it, it is all those things.
Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle.
Accept, too, each spoken word
spoken with love.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

2006-12-19T14:06:00.000-08:00

www.weather.com

"Sierra Vista, Arizona"

Cloudy, 41 degrees. Feels like 31. Some flurries. Nothing accumulating. Nothing to snap a picture at. Pretty in a nostalgic kind of way. I feel like a Viking warrior because everyone else is cold and I am happy. Maybe the mountains will collect it for a few days and save it for Monday morning. I didn't think I needed - or even wanted snow - for Christmas.

But it's perfect.

2006-12-17T12:25:00.000-08:00

Today, these Lutherans sat closer together than usual. The pews were packed for the annual Cantata. There were music loving visitors and spouses who usually attend another denomination, bed or the golf course on Sunday mornings. It is Advent, when lost sheep often trickle back into the temple in search of something more than Santa’s reindeer and politically correct “holiday” songs.

We sang The Winter Rose today. It preached the story of precious beauty sent from God, the joy creation felt and the fragrance of redemption as petals fell atop a hill long ago. Several members of the choir introduced their children and grandchildren to me. Their faces lit up knowing that their loved ones were in God’s house this morning…even if it was only for today’s Cantata. They welcomed their offspring into temple with open arms and gratitude to God.

This is a time of reconnecting and rebirth. People are mysteriously called to "give church a chance" during Advent and we eagerly await the Christ child. But for others, it might seem unjust and lacking the miracles we so desire. One couple just lost a grandson. He was born healthy and normal, but breathed his last from his mother’s arms after only one day. They have no concrete explanation. They have no closure because the world is excited about the coming of another child. A coming that has been both foretold and promised to us.

On the way to the altar for Communion, I wondered about their wonderings began to cry. This season rejoices in the coming of a newborn baby, and yet they have none. I knelt at the altar and realized something that I will need to be reminded of often and always: The world will make me hungry and thirsty, angry and disappointed. But the table will feed me and take my fears and doubts from me, leaving me with only a promise – Emmanuel. God is with us, among us and given in Christ for us.

That is all I have. That is all these parents of children and grandchildren have. We are waiting and watching for the Messiah this week. We want a place to belong and a community that trusts the promise. How desperately we want God's house to be a refuge for loved ones, a place of healing, a home for the spiritually homeless!

Lord, draw our families together, in spirit and in faith. Bring comfort to those swimming in loss and pain. Teach us to live in prayer for each other. Dwell in us and around us. Bestow your promise to everyone in need. Amen.

2006-12-13T11:44:00.000-08:00

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his...for whoever has died is freed from sin. - Romans 6

This morning I helped a family say goodbye to their matriarch at the hospital. It's funny. I came to work this morning thinking today was all about Advent - Matins and Vespers services, preparations for Christmas and other December events. But internship is teaching me ways these seasons overlap and occur every day. Some days during Advent, like today, are about Good Friday and Easter.

Her husband wore biking leather and a grizzly beard. He looked strong and weathered, but was melting at the sight of his beloved struggling for breath. His requests were simple and beautiful:

Well, we like the Lord's Prayer.
What a perfect place to start.
And David's Psalms bring comfort.
They sure do.
We always promised each other that we'd keep these things simple.
Death. Sometimes simple, sometimes overwhelming. Always heartbreaking.

While keeping it simple won't make pain and grief go away, it leaves room to take seriously our claim on Christ's resurrection. I used to think that death was simple because it was the only guarentee in life. As my faith grows and changes, I am certain of other truths too. God's promises stand and Christ's resurrection is ours as well.

That promise is giving her husband hope. That promise is placing the scriptures in his hands and prayer in his heart. That promise is all we have.

2006-12-12T18:10:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is Santa Lucia day in Scandinavia. More than 600 years ago, December 13th was the winter solstice according to the Julian calendar. Today, Norway and Sweden continue to celebrate this day as the festival of lights according to the ancient ritual.

It’s hard to imagine the winter wonderland of Scandinavia from Arizona, where the weather is mild and the sun sets in the evening. But way up north, winter means only a few hours of light each day. The winds whip through the darkness and the cold can chill you to the bone. Winter was often a drastic hibernation – long months of limited communication and food. With email, canned foods and weather in the 60s, I feel far from Viking territory.

Long ago, each village had its own Lucia girl (Lucia meaning 'light'). She would awake before dawn and travel through her village wearing a white gown, a red sash and a crown of green lingonberry twigs atop her head. She would stick candles in her crown to light her path through the darkness because her hands were full of baked goods. Lucia would walk door to door, waking the whole village with the dawn and breakfast - a celebration that the long winter and dark days were coming to an end and that light would soon return to the North Country. Lucia is a messenger. Today, Santa Lucia day is still a tradition in some Scandinavian households. The eldest daughter prepares pastries and steaming coffee to greet her family and the break of daylight.

This week our Advent readings introduce Malachi and John the Baptist. They are also messengers of light in the darkness and Emmanuel – God is with us! There is nothing static about our call to be messengers of Christ’s coming. Our baptisms ordained us to proclaim with Malachi’s confidence or John’s urgent gusto. God’s covenant stands. Christ is coming.

You are a light in the darkness. Prepare the way! Repent! Walk boldly into the night bringing this wild and bizarre message of hope and salvation. The days will grow longer and the light will banish the darkness. If ever there is a season for hope, it is Advent. Rejoice! Christ is coming!

2006-12-03T22:09:00.001-08:00

Advent One. We sang Hosannas as we processed into the sanctuary draped in blue and the crisp scent of pine this morning. The first candle is burning and now we eagerly await the coming of our Messiah.

Usually this season flies by before I have time to think about what Advent really means. These four weeks are filled with childlike anticipation and winter rituals that point to the manger. How are you spending Advent this year?

Tonight I kicked off the season by attending the infamous Christmas potluck at church. ‘Tis the season for potlucks, you know. (In fact, I’ve been to four since Wednesday. My diet has morphed to the four potluck food groups: coffee, raw vegetables, casserole and desert bars...life is good.) The fellowship hall was decked out with the nativity scene, a Christmas tree and red tablecloths. Soon, the Santa Claus neckties and festive sweaters rolled in, each with a special dish to share.

I smiled as I looked around and realized that these people are my family this year. They are not just my “Christian family” in theory, but my literal home for the holidays. Their Advent spirit was infectious and soon we were singing carols and telling stories about our favorite Christmas presents. Ruth recalled a sweater she received during the Great Depression and Barbara told about a doll passed down thru the women in her family. I shared that my stocking was a surprise every year – there was always something small that no one knew I wanted…except my ever-perceptive and thoughtful mother.

And that’s what this season might be all about. The things we don’t even know we want or need. Jesus came into this world even though we didn’t know we needed him. He came in small and unexpected ways that have stayed with us and become our most precious memories.

Before the potluck ended, the choir sang “The Lord Bless You and Keep You”. It’s the same arrangement my Bangladesh team sang before leaving church for the airport when I was seventeen. I remember seeing my dad but watching him leave, filled with mixed emotions, before the blessing was over. He couldn’t bless my departure that day. I depended on the words of that song for safety away from his approval that Christmas. For a long time I couldn’t sing that blessing without crying. It’s been my hymn of protection for eight years now. But here at SELC, we end every choir practice with this blessing and I’ve just recently learned to cork the waterworks.

Tonight I watched those seated at the tables while we sang and the floodgates broke all over again. I saw people singing along or closing their eyes and being enveloped by the blessing. I watched the people I count on for hugs and good stories. Seeing them feel that song allowed me to do the same. My tears flowed with theirs. I remembered Christmas with Dad in Bangladesh two years ago fondly and gave thanks for the countless blessings he gives me today. I recalled opening my stocking on Christmas mornings past and my gratefulness for Mom's intuitive attention.

It’s the little things about this season that matter and remind us to live in the present, which is built on memories from the past and hope for the future. May you relish the little things this season!

2006-11-28T18:13:00.000-08:00

Whose King?

I never understood the point of Christ the King Sunday. It’s the last Sunday of the liturgical church year…and we’re just getting around to calling Jesus the King before Advent kicks off? Sounds like a filler holiday to me. I thought about this during church on Sunday, but during yesterday’s visit to Our Lady of the Sierras, Mary straightened me out.

(Yes, on my day off I went to...a chapel. Your 'lame' is my 'wahoo!')

Lately I’ve been thinking about what it means to be One Body in Christ…and what kind of King that makes Jesus. He is King of Jews and Gentiles, men and women, slave and free. He makes all of us One Body. Isn’t that what 'Jew and Gentile' means? Don’t we believe in a King that can live in this world and our lives in ways beyond our comprehension or control? I thought about a few surprising ways he brings humanity together:

He is King of Republicans and Democrats, conservatives and liberals, Independents and moderates. Jesus is King of pro-life and pro-choice activists. He is King of the doctors who perform abortions and the people who picket outside the clinic. He is King of the women who decide to have the child, or not, and are abandoned those who disagree with their choice.

He is King of the people who say you can’t be Christian and gay. He’s King of the Christians who hate gay people or wish them away with hurtful language. He is King of the people who are gay Christians and the gay people who have been exiled by the body of Christ.

He is King of judges and criminals, border patrol officers and illegal immigrants hiding in the mountains. Christ is King of the one who had faith to walk on water and the one who betrayed him with a kiss. He is King of sinners and saints, "us" and "them". He is King of people who hate each other, disagree with each other and ignore each other. Jesus is King of people who have taken him off the cross to place him on “our side” to back up “our agenda” – our fears, our prejudices or our comfort zones. Jesus is King of each one of us - we've all been left alone and we've all abandoned someone else. Our King watches us choose issues over each other.

How can this one King keep all of us together? We’re at each other’s throats trying to prove each other wrong and busy treating Jesus like a sidekick instead of the King we say he is. Our unity sounds like a mere idealistic theory until we sift through our politics, stereotypes and agendas to hear the Word.

It is the Word that keeps us all together. We all understand it differently, and that is the consequence/opportunity that freewill gives us. But what King Jesus tells us again and again makes One Body. The Word tells us that, while we give up on each other over mere issues, God will never leave us or talk smack about us behind our backs. We realize that we are not whole – we cannot fully represent him - without everyone welcomed and loved. God created Adam and then decided that it was not good for him to be alone. God gave him community - relationships to comfort and challenge him.

And when we trust in this truth, the things we do and the words we speak all point to the cross. Our actions point to our King who we most faithfully represent when we are gathering in all of God’s children just as they are. That’s how God wants us – just as we are. So be the radical, vegan, pro-choice hippie or fiscally responsible, gun-toting conservative you are. Better yet, be somewhere in between. As I heard in a sermon this weekend, “Don’t give up on the word conservative because conservative means, ‘I haven’t moved on from Christ – how about you?’ And don’t give up on the word liberal because liberal means generous and you want to think carefully about separating yourself from generosity.”

Just remember that Christ the King is not your own personal King device that fits inside your cell phone and applauds all of your politics or judgments. He is King of many and the lines between wrong and right are not always black and white. In fact, the point of life is not to be right...or to prove others wrong.

The point is to love - even without clear answers to issues and to unite despite them. But not in a fluffy "God is love so nothing else matters" way. The point is to have bold confidence in Christ - not our political or social agendas. In Christ there are no sides – no “us and them”…only our hands, together pointing to the same cross. Christ is our King. And by “our”, I don’t mean the opposite of "their”. I mean a plural possessive pronoun that means everyone. He came for everyone. What does that mean for our relationship with the stranger, the unbeliever and the outcast? It might sound theologically incorrect or too inclusive, but it's what God intended for this world. How will it ever happen unless we live as though it's possible?

Maybe we do need this Sunday festival. Maybe it sings a big finale to the year before we hush and wait for Jesus to be born - to unite this One Body and give us hope. So point to the cross with Mary. She knows what's up.

2006-11-24T18:02:00.000-08:00

A New Mountain View

Today was your typical Friday. A member of my congregation is a pilot and took me up in his little 4-seater plane. Over the river (the San Pedro River Valley) and through the woods (the forests atop the Mule and Huachuca Mountains) we flew for great views of Cochise County.

He even let me take the controls for awhile! It was fun to see a world I've driven through - a world that is starting to feel like home - from above. It was a new look at the border, the mines, the desert and the golf courses! I've been giddy all day about my Mountain View experience. I'm learning that there is no such thing as a 'typical Friday' here.

So what next? Gun safety school? A Spanish class? Maybe I'll learn to cook (I hear Lean Cuisines don't technically count) or I'll make a quilt with the quilting ladies. Can I be an intern forever? :)

2006-11-23T14:37:00.000-08:00

When I think of Thanksgiving dinner, I imagine the inevitable mountain of carbs on my plate and a large piece of lefse blanketed atop everything. Every year, I awkwardly butter and sugar my lefse in this way and manage to catch some stuffing or potatoes in there. Just the smell of lefse reminds me of this ritual. Who knew the scent of potatoes and flour could bring back memories of rich Thanksgiving traditions?

My aunt and uncle sent me a big box of lefse this week, which ‘perished’ some in the mail. But the spots of mold were not about to stop me – I picked them out, broke the sheets into triangles and rolled rows of memories to snack on yesterday.

Today I called my family, who had gathered at the same aunt and uncle’s house for dinner. “Is their house really warm and making you drowsy like it usually does? I love that. What kind of jell-o did you have? Are you watching football yet?” I asked my brothers these questions so I could picture the way years past have rolled into today. By the time I said goodbye to everyone, I felt satisfied as though I’d been there eating and napping with them.

But I haven’t been to dinner yet. I went to the grocery store to buy flowers for my hosts and rather enjoyed the quiet aisles today. Everywhere I looked, people were happy and looked confident that they are loved, that they belong. If only every day we could be that sure of our value! We kick off the holiday season with a day of simple gratitude and quality time with friends or family. Will the sacred moments of today get us through the pressure and chaos of Black Friday shopping and the Christmas season? Will the quiet hope of Advent be swallowed up by Playstation3 and the stress of holiday travel?

I wondered these things as I scanned the meager supply of ‘harvest-themed’ flower arrangements at the grocery store. Then I noticed the poinsettias. When Thanksgiving ends, the floodgates are officially opened to commercial Christmas and the Advent season. Instead of fighting the rush, maybe I’ll join it. Connecting the simple gratitude of Thanksgiving to the holiday season with a symbol of winter abundance will help remind me that Thanksgiving should be carried through Advent to Christmas and all year long.

You see, poinsettias remind me of fuzzy rugs by a fireplace and eggnog. They have decorated the steps in the sanctuaries during Advent and been placed under my ‘family’ Christmas tree at Elliot with the girls. So they remind me of the things this season is really about – family time, feeling warm, worshipping in anticipation, Strom driving home from Webster with a freshly cut pine tree strapped to her Corolla – the things that bring light to winter.

Can we figure out a way to bring the stuffing and mashed potatoes of Thanksgiving with us into December? We seem to have a good understanding of God’s love and community on Thanksgiving – we take time to slow down, we prioritize each other and we speak our appreciation and affection in honest and overt ways. Roll these things into your Advent lefse. Don’t leave the best parts of the holiday season in your memories of today.

Gobble Gobble!

2006-11-23T14:30:00.000-08:00

My hostess for Thanksgiving dinner made these cornucopia to decorate the altar for our Thanksgiving Eve service last night. When she noticed that I was admiring them, she offered me all the fruit and vegetables in there...

Just another example of the generosity I'm experiencing here!

(No, I didn't take them...what would I do with all of that? :) )

I wanted to share her beautiful work with you. Happy Thanksgiving!

2006-11-19T20:14:00.000-08:00

These are our stories.

During the children’s sermon this morning, I received many blank stares when I asked about bedtime stories. None of the children could tell me the name of their favorite children’s book and it didn’t strike them as a sacred event. Then again, I don’t think I would have understood bedtime stories to be anything more than a mode of procrastination at age six.

Today I preached about stories. We are quickly growing out of an oral tradition and into an age that requires images and action to make a point. But does that mean that my children will negotiate to play video games and watch commercials before saying goodnight? Our attention spans are getting shorter and even Sunday school is changing the way it engages kids. It’s important for church to be a place kids come to play and have fun, but this is also where they learn stories from the bible…and where parents learn how to teach their children stories.

Even when my personal faith has seemed absent or hollow, I still have the stories. They have been woven into me as Christ is woven into me. I might decide to become a Buddhist or an atheist by abandoning confession and prayers to Jesus, but I cannot detach myself from these stories. I will always know about Noah’s Ark and Joseph’s coat and Ruth’s faithful friendship. I will never forget the dirty and poor and bleeding women that boldly approach Jesus, desperate for healing and forgiveness. Somebody taught me to answer the apostolic greeting by saying, “and also with you” or to shout, “he is risen indeed!” on Easter morning.

These stories and traditions have become a part of my own story. This year I’m learning to sense to my own story and the ways it is growing. If I were to tell my life story today, it would smell like eucalyptus leaves and Febreeze. It tastes like Prego spaghetti sauce and lime flavored Popsicles…but not together. It feels like fleece blankets and a cleanly hit 5 iron. It sounds like waves crashing and looks like lightly falling snow. Tomorrow I might tell my story differently, but that’s okay. It’s not about getting it right – it’s about sensing the ways we are always becoming part of each other’s stories and part of God’s narrative.

How can you know who you are if you don’t consider where you come from – your ancestors and your God? We are each a narrative and it’s already happening – life is already happening! Do you tell your story? More importantly, do you listen to the stories that other people need to share? When you are lost or proud or confused about who you are (or whose you are), come to the stories in scripture. Read the holy narratives of God alive and at work in the world. It’s here we find the courage to be the children of God.

In a world of technology and images let’s try something so old, it’s new. Become a storyteller and listen to the stories of those who think no one is listening. That’s what Christian fellowship is all about.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch TV. :)

2006-11-14T17:15:00.000-08:00

Ingrid’s House

Well, Sierra Vista knows how to do fall. The air is crisp and leaves have been changing for a few weeks. I love Minnesota, but the north country likes to rush through fall, bursting with color for a week or so before the cold winds roll in and make your snot stick to your face. Here, the afternoon sun continues to warm my face with memories of summer while the nights cool off and remind me of home.

Today Pastor and I drove 65 miles to visit a faithful parishioner who recently found out her cancer has returned. We crossed the San Pedro River Valley, its colorful foliage and the Mule Mountains. We could see Tombstone in the distance and continued toward the pistachio trees of Elfrida – home of the Blue Devils. Here, draft beer is $1 – all day, every day – and the paved roads turn to dirt.

We were a long way from church, but Ingrid attends faithfully almost every Sunday. She and her 130-pound German shepherd (Max) greeted us from the porch. My favorite part of internship is listening to the life stories of parishioners and seeing their homes. While my generation excels at emailing and sending text messages, I hope we are also learning to entertain guests in a genuine and intimate way. (Face-to-face communication – imagine that!)

Ingrid shared that, while she is more tired than usual, the diagnosis has not changed her lifestyle dramatically. “I am not afraid of death. That does not scare me. But I do not want to become incapacitated or have to depend on someone else. That would be the most difficult thing.” This message is conveyed clearly with her independent disposition and a beautiful German accent.

“I am not a war bride – I am an immigrant,” she clarifies over German holiday pastries. By the time she left Germany, Hitler had been in power for seven years. Ingrid came to America when she was nineteen after living under Russian occupation in her hometown of Dresden. Her stories are powerful and her humor is sharp. No wonder she is not afraid of death – she has seen many things, lived in many places and raised a family. Her life defines gratitude and strength.

My admiration for her deepened as she shared wisdom, laughed and poured coffee. She is living out the Kingdom in Elfrida and anywhere she takes her sweet smile and kind words. I am currently working on a sermon for this Sunday – the Women’s Thankoffering service. I will (try to) connect the Song of Trust (Psalm 16) to our biblical matriarchs – their bold faith and confidence in God’s promise.

It seems silly that I will be preaching to Ingrid about what it means to be a bold woman in Christ. And she will be there. She’ll drive 65 familiar miles – slowly over the dirt roads at first – to usher this Sunday. She’ll show her faithful brothers and sisters to their seats and to the table before doing the week’s shopping and heading back through the colorful hills.

God bless Ingrid, who allowed me to share her story with you, but humbly can’t imagine why she’s of such interest and inspiration.

2006-11-10T08:46:00.000-08:00

Friends & Heroes

Last night I went on a “long distance date”. Matt and I decided to see the matinee showing of the movie Flags of our Fathers in our respective cities. When we got home, we turned on our webcams to talk and enjoy bowls of Black Jack Cherry Ice Cream. (Predictably, we both overdosed on movie theater food and opted to come down from our sugar highs without ice cream.) Long distance dates are a little over-rated, but we’re learning to redefine the ways we communicate and “hang out” while apart.

Actually, my general social life is being stretched in new ways since so few of my friends and parishioners here are my age. I felt victorious when the man living above me finally acknowledged my efforts at conversation this week. I hear him limping around, dropping things and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I've fabricated entire stories about who he is, where he's from, if he had a stroke, etc. I pray for his health and wonder if he’s lonely. It felt good to connect for a few minutes with him face to face the other day. Last year I would not have noticed this relationship, but here he is very important to me.

My other dear friends include a women I’ve been visiting in the hospital for 25 days, the lady who receives my rent check each month, rowdy confirmation kids, and the soldier that always does laundry when I do.

‘Friendship’ is being redefined. So it is no wonder that I spent most of the movie listening to the veteran crying and clearing his throat behind me. The film was more emotional and authentic because I could hear him scoffing when he agreed with a character’s statement or sobbing when the violence was overwhelming.

I waited for him after the movie. “I noticed your veterans hat when I came into the theater. During some of those scenes, all I could think about was you. You deserve a hug after watching that. Can I hug you?” He shook a little in my arms while we stood in the abandoned hallway and then confided that his brother was at Iwo Jima. “They talked a lot about heroes in the movie…my brother is my hero. He’s the reason I found the courage to go to Korea and Vietnam.”

Wow. These are the friends I am making here. They’re not my age. They didn’t go to St. Olaf. They’re not in seminary. They’re the people I would normally smile at and walk by because they look like grandparents or children. But this year, strangers become heroes, patients become saints and children become teachers. I am glad for these friends that break the mold, but I wouldn’t have the happy confidence to explore these new relationships without my hometown heroes – the people I call, write, email and meet on my webcams for a bowl of ice cream.

2006-11-05T21:57:00.000-08:00

For all the saints…

This morning I awoke to dozens of hot-air balloons scattered across the sky over Sierra Vista. Their colors were beautiful and people were gathered in the park to watch them rise and fall throughout the early morning. I watched them atop the mountains as our congregation gathered in the columbarium’s courtyard before worship. Pastor read the name of every resurrected saint in the congregation’s history. I listened blankly – they are my saints, but I have never known them or loved them or touched them. I have never prayed for them by name or seen them smile. Instead I watched the faces of those gathered to remember. When I heard familiar last names, I looked for their family gathered and wished them comfort.

The acolyte was missing this morning so I filled in. I processed to light the candles feeling younger than usual. What do I know about death? So many gathered today are present and distressed because they have lost parents, siblings, friends and children. Death has spanned generations, crushed hope and scarred them in ways I cannot yet know. I felt naïve. For me, resurrection is a light and fluffy idea, like the balloons rising gracefully above us. I never lost a pet at a young age or watched a loved one died painfully. In fact, most of my experience with death has been through the role of a chaplain or care-giver.

I do not know death in its most horrific and final form, but I do know what it means to fear loss of love and life. I do know what despair and grief feel like when they hang on your heart, rot in your gut and tear apart your mind. I am not weathered or brave like the men and women in worship this morning, but I served each of them bread with Christ's body and watched their faith in the Lord’s Supper. I watched them believe that we are united with all the saints – even those separated from us by time and space - at this table.

Their faith in universal unification gave me peace this morning. I was back home for a few days last week and relished time with my saints. It was good to be surrounded by my saints. I have missed the intimate touch of a hug from Grandma, holding my Goddaughter, embracing good friends and walking hand-in-hand with Matt. I am thankful for relationships that span time and space. Something inside of me was refilled this week by good conversation, uncontrollable laughter and the healing touch from my saints.

The balloons, the columbarium and the holy meal reminded me that we are not meant to live alone. In the body of Christ, we are together even when we are apart. We are given as gifts to each other, to comfort and to be comforted. So lean on your saints. Kiss them and tell them how much you love them. And when you feel lonely, come to the table.

2006-10-30T21:44:00.000-08:00

A Different Way to Unwind

“Before we go, I just want to remind you about your beautiful wife and three strapping sons…all great reasons to bring us back alive.” (And yes, I do deflect my inner fears using overly dramatic humor.) Hollis looked a lot cooler in his leather and boots on the bike than I did, but my fleece, Gap jeans and running shoes would suffice. His offer of a motorcycle ride is just one of the many random, new experiences I’m having here in Sierra Vista. Hollis’ riding pal (aptly named Buddy) humored me by asking if I’ve ridden before. I think the sight of me made it clear that this would be my first biker outing. We left the suburban-style neighborhood for the open road.

I’ve spent many Sunday afternoons unwinding after services since my arrival, but none of them have involved clinging to a parishioner who holds my life in his hands. We rode for more than 70 miles, making a loop to the northeast and passing through Tombstone. I’m sure he had trouble breathing now and then when my legs wouldn’t relax, but soon I started to enjoy myself. The wind was calming and the view was gorgeous. My mind left the stressors of a long, Sunday morning behind and I loosened up.

My thoughts wandered into the mountains and the river. Martin Sexton's America the Beautiful played in my head. I watched the way Hollis and Buddy would greet passing bikers with a low hand gesture and wondered if they all ride to find peace, clarity and the freedom I was feeling.

I’m quite new to a leadership role every Sunday and enjoyed the opportunity to be led in contemplation and adoration for God’s creation. I preached four emotional pit-out-your-alb sermons this weekend and was (unknowingly) in need of more than a meager nap to reenergize. It's exhausting to be "on" all morning! Sometimes is feels really good to sit in back and let somebody else drive. It looks like the members of my congregation are going to show me new ways to unwind this year - and I am grateful for the opportunity to receive.

2006-10-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

It shouldn't surprise you that I am J-A-Z-Z jazzed about Reformation Sunday this weekend. 489 years ago, my homeboy Martin Luther trusted his faith and challenged the church. But the Reformation didn't stop centuries ago - the Church is still reforming today.

If Lutherans ever get wound up and interactive in church, this is the Sunday! This weekend we celebrate the power of God's grace and the radical proclamation of God's Word 'for you'. In the scripture readings we encounter God's 3Rs - renew, restore and release. We hear about what God has done and continues to do for us through Jesus.

If you are reading this before worshipping in a Lutheran congregation this weekend, I want to put a bug in your ear. You will, undoubtedly, sing our Lutheran theme song: 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God'. Belt it out with gusto! Proclaim each word and each note with assurance that God has triumphed in Jesus Christ and that we've been called to a bold faith. Listen to the faithful voices that surround you. Hear the voices of ages past and future - the saints we have lost and the saints yet to grace this earth. Time and space cannot separate us from the communion of God's bold saints or the love of God in Jesus Christ.

Sing mighty praises to God on Sunday - who renews, restores and releases us to live boldly in his grace. His kingdom is forever!

Reformation Sunday texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 46, Romans 3:19-28, John 8:31-36.

2006-10-24T14:52:00.000-07:00

"I need to see your license, proof of insurance and registration for the vehicle you'll be driving on post." No, I didn't get a ticket. I checked in at the Visitor's Center this morning before entering Fort Huachuca. Being on post is an adventure for this left-wing pacifist, but not for most people living in Sierra Vista. Some of my parishioners even live on post and send their children to schools within the gates. The fort is home to two branches of the army - military intelligence and signals. This land is sacred to today's soldiers and the history of our military in the southwest. I'm grateful for the military influence in Sierra Vista because I'm learning so much I'd never learn back home.

The soldiers checked my license again and smiled at my car on the way in. "Where are you headed today?" They gave me directions to the post chapel and I proceeded through the gates. If you ever come to Sierra Vista, I recommend a visit to Fort Huachuca. This is the best view of the Huachuca Mountains and the base feels like a quaint town. There are museums that document the history of the fort, the Apache territory and the legacy of the Buffalo Soldiers.

I gathered with all the post chaplains and Christian leaders of every denomination from Sierra Vista. We discussed ways to be supportive to soldiers in our congregation returning from combat - a seminar I wouldn't experience on internship anywhere else. Most men and women return to America feeling guilty, anxious or uncomfortable alone or in crowds. During lunch I spoke with chaplains who shared about their deployment. I also talked with two old priests and a bishop who left the Episcopal church when they started ordaining women. (You bet I tried to win them over! :) )

I'll be back on base next month to serve coffee and free food to the young soldiers here for their specialty training (this follows basic training). During the first phase of training they are required to stay on base, so local congregations cook dinner and provide a night of "wholesome fun" every month for those in training. They need to know that people appreciate them and that there are people who want to hear their stories. Who knows? Maybe I'll meet some nice Midwest Lutherans looking for a church that feels like home and can introduce them to my congregation.

I returned to church to find my favorite veteran, Gordy, loitering in the office. He was wearing his mesh veterans hat (a sure sign that he'd been to the VFW today), which signifies his service in WW2, Korea and Vietnam. I sat down to hear stories about his wife's love letters, lost friends and forgotten battles. He told me what it was like to live in Germany and Japan during occupation.

After more than sixty years of marriage and three wars, his wife's health is failing and his fellow veterans pass away one by one. And so we must listen. It doesn't matter how we feel about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. God calls us to be a patient and comforting presence for each other. We must be ears for those elders who have something to say about where we've come from, and we must also be ears for those youngsters who fear no one wants to listen.

2006-10-20T18:07:00.000-07:00

I finally caved and bought two clergy shirts. Clergy shirts aren’t really my style, but the time has come to give them a shot. I get comments from hospital patients who think I’m a candy striper or young enough to sell girl scout cookies, so I figured an official looking shirt might help clear up that misconception.

I’ll admit, I was somewhat disappointed when the Augsburg Fortress box arrived on my doorstep within a few days of ordering. I’ve shopped online often enough to know that this is how it works – you order something and then they deliver it – but I was feeling a little melodramatic and didn’t want to put one on yet. In fact, I was half hoping to find a note from the bishop in the box. “We’ve changed the clergy uniform to gauchos and tank tops. Please dress accordingly.” Alas, no such note.

Standing in front of the mirror, I reflected on one of my “Learning Agreement Goals” for this year; continue to discover the relationship between my personal and pastoral identities. Even though I bought a women’s size six, this looked nothing like the women’s size six oxfords I had hanging in my closet.

My personal identity took over. It looks frumpy. Maybe I could take it in with a few darts in the back and bring up the sleeves a bit. Then my pastoral identity spoke up. Oh buck up, Meta. It’s not about fashion. It’s a uniform that will help identify you to people at the hospital. Just wear it.

“But those are expensive! You shouldn’t have to look frumpy in them - those shirts could use your pizzazz. A few darts couldn’t hurt.” A little validation from the quilting ladies never hurt either. Linda, the altar guild president, took it upon herself to make the changes.

Adorning said altered clergy shirt, I went to the hospital this afternoon where my personal and pastoral identities found contentment and compromise…for now. I wouldn’t go so far to say “I’m bringing sexy back” – I’ll leave that to Justin Timberlake – but I think I’m over my fear of the collar.

2006-10-17T13:24:00.000-07:00

Mark 10:17-32 ~ Then Who Can Save?

What must I do to inherit eternal life? What must I do? Wait a minute. That's not how inheritance works. When we inherit something, it's a free gift of fortune based on the work of the giver - not the recipient. It's a birthright or family legacy that chooses us - not the other way around.

So Jesus answers this illogical question with an impossible solution. Be perfect. Be flawless according to the law, then give up your wealth and power to follow me. HA! Yeah, right. The young, rich ruler knows that this loss of control would be the end of the life he loves. Later the disciples are concerned and ask, "Then who can be saved?"

I think we're asking the wrong questions. Somewhere along the way our sentence structure changed and we became the subject of these questions. "What can I do to inherit eternal life?" Nothing. Inheritance isn't about us. Instead let us ask, "What does God do so that I can inherit eternal life?" God sends Jesus, who journeys to the cross for us. "Then who can be saved?" For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible. Instead let us ask, "Then who can do the saving?" God can and does.

Is God the subject of your sentence structure? Do you trust him to do all the work - to do all the saving? Or do you need some of the glory and some of the credit for decisions made? Jesus didn't sort of save us so we could meet him halfway later. In fact, God doesn't do anything halfway! Jesus bowed his head, took his last breath and said, "It is finished." He didn't mean, "It's kind of finished until they each accept me as their personal Lord and Savior or prove their love for me in good works. Then it will be finished for real." You have been saved - without your asking and without your help. Does that make you feel uncomfortable, vulnerable, human?

Good. God bless your squirming. :)

2006-10-14T17:47:00.000-07:00

The Green Thumbs of Patagonia

I meandered through the tents, smiling at vendors. I moved more quickly through the stained glass, bedazzled denim and leather exhibits, but dawdled at others. I would pick up pottery, turn it over and imagine drinking my coffee out of it. Then I would put it down because Strom could make me one just like it. I would put bracelets on my wrist and then take them off before a sales pitch could begin. I was tempted to take a picture using my phone (to send to Stry for a laugh) of the more…unique crafts - the man selling ceramic masks or the woman with detailed dragons of blown glass. If I bought an entire case of wine, the thirteen bottle would be free. The emu hand oils came with a free pouch. The gimmicks were tempting and fabulous.

I was circling through a second time for free food samples when I noticed a booth in the corner, overlooked by most. The vendors were from Patagonia Elementary School and their exhibit was titled, “The community is our classroom”. They had been growing all kinds of herbs and vegetables and were here to sell them. “Would you like to help keep Patagonia green? All of the money we make goes toward our school so you’re money will go to a good cause,” a young man assured me. Maer would have been proud of their PR skills. The booth was complete with pictures of the growing process and a chart that described the necessities your contribution could provide for their education. I asked them to tell me about their mini-gardens and what they had learned while growing them. They impressed me with a bit of knowledge and tried to interest me in a “complete herb set for only $10”.

“Well, I’m not very good at taking care of plants. Most of my plants are dying at home, so let’s think about something smaller – something you think I can handle.” Radishes. Definitely radishes. He started to reach for the smallest seedling, but then changed his mind and handed me one well on its way to success. “That other one isn’t doing too well. I want to keep an eye on it for a little longer before I sell him, you know? I’m just not ready to give up on him yet.”

I smiled. “I understand. It sounds like you’re pretty good at this gardening thing. And that radish plant is lucky to have a gardener like you. I don’t think you should give up on him either.” The boy felt a sudden need to affirm my designated radish and gardening skills. “But you got a good one and you should be able to handle it. Just water it, okay? I bet you’ll be able to keep this one alive.”

Later I sat down to enjoy a giant Navajo Taco and noticed a little girl eyeing my radish plant. “Would you do me a favor? I bought this plant, but I’m not a very good gardener. If I gave it to you, would you water it and keep it in the sunshine so it will grow?” You’d have thought she’d won the coveted metal birdbath from the silent auction. Her face lit up and she nodded emphatically. The girl took it gently in her hands and looked at it with careful determination.

Thank God for the little ones who keep Patagonia green. And if the community is their classroom, may God bless us to teach them about the things that really matter and to learn from them as well.

2006-10-11T17:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes God’s voice sounds like Captain Obvious.

“Oh, I do have one more question. How do I get my baby, like, blessed and stuff? That’s something I’ve always wanted to do…for both my girls.” I was having a great conversation with a young mother on one of my hospital visits. She was recovering after delivering her second, beautiful daughter.

I explained the difference between blessing and baptism and asked her describe what she was in the market for. She decided to have both of her girls baptized later that afternoon when her boyfriend came by with the older one. I was excited while we were talking – who doesn’t like to bless and baptize babies? I went to church to prepare the certificates with a smile on my face and, I’ll admit, it was a self-satisfied smile.

Later, I called to confirm that they were all there before I drove over. “Can you call back in ten minutes or so? My boyfriend wants to discuss this with me before we do anything…rash.” Hell yes, baptism is rash. It’s a radical, life-changing gift in which God comes down and transforms you. But I resisted. Tone it down, Superfreak Sacrament Girl. Maybe that’s not the most helpful thing to say right now.

When I called back, her boyfriend answered. His disinterested, controlling tone made their decision quite clear. Needless to say, Superfreak Sacrament Girl was 60% bummed 40% feminist ticked-off for the rest of the day.

I went to the driving range after work to hit balls, hoping to blow off some steam. I’ve always been an emotional golfer and this bucket was no exception. I would cream a few and then chunk a few, lost in my own frustration. When I started to cool off, I put away my driver and took out my pitching wedge. My swing slowed my mind down and soon I was calm enough to Hear.

Oh ye of little faith. Do not think that you are the only servant I will work through to love these little girls. Baptism is my Word and earthly water used together. My Word was alive and well in your conversation, and it will continue to live in their mother’s mind and heart. They will be cleansed and nourished by bath all the days of their lives. Those cute shells and candles you like to use are lovely and seem official, but I will drown and save them any way I please. Leave room for me to be the big God I am.

Well, duh. And then I saw the sunset. This Mountain View is the reason I come to this driving range, but tonight it took a sermon from Captain Obvious to make me to think big and really See it.

2006-10-09T17:35:00.000-07:00

The City of Bisbee -

A Field Trip to the Hippie Mines

I woke up to thunder today. Clouds hang low on the mountains, but the monsoons are over. It rains for a few minutes and then the sky brightens again as if Mother Nature can’t make up her mind. I have the day off and decided to take a little road trip through the passing showers.

I’ve been to the city of Bisbee twice now, but not long enough to explore on foot. I headed east through the San Pedro River Valley and up the mountains to a place described as ‘rich in history’ and ‘quirky’. Bisbee was founded in 1880 by copper miners. It thrived as the most bustling metropolis between St. Louis and San Francisco at the turn of the century, providing entertainment – bars, shows, and feisty women - in Brewery Gulch for miners, travelers and cowboys.

When the mines closed in the 1970s, it seemed Bisbee would join the other ghost towns in Cochise County. As mining families moved on, hippies moved in to escape city life and to buy up cheap property in the failing town. The city of Bisbee is nestled in the Mule Mountains and rich red hills. Some streets are narrow alleys with old shops and remind me of quaint, European towns. Other residential areas look like any midwestern neighborhood, lush and green this time of year. The Shady Dell Motel has converted a trailer park into a trendy place to stay in town, located right next to an authentic Mom & Pop diner.

I bought this week’s groceries in the Bisbee Food Co-op and then wandered through the art galleries and antique shops on Main Street in the Historic District. Some storefront windows look like they’ve been abandoned since the Great Fire in 1908, but other shops are known statewide and seem vibrant. I spoke with an old carpenter who loves carving maple into beautiful bowls and a woman who makes deck chairs to support the local women’s shelter and drug rehab house. Jewelry and crafts draw visitors from all over the county to regular artisan events, but Bisbee’s most popular weekend has yet to come.

The third weekend of October is the Bisbee 1000, a 5K walk/run unlike any other. The city is covered with thousands of stairs that stretch up and down the canyon. People say this 5K feels like a 15K because most of the race involves stepping up and down 1000 of Bisbee’s infamous stairs. Old bulletin boards are covered in layers ‘Save our Stairs!’ advertisements for the Bisbee 1000. The event started 16 years ago when the StairMaster was the new fitness trend. All the proceeds are used to maintain the city’s beloved stairs and an important piece of their quirky history.

I wanted to register, but it's the same day as the new Lutheran hymnal workshop in Tucson. (How cool am I?) I can't race this year, but I’ll be back to walk the stairs for new views of this city and to support their effort to turn Bisbee’s past into a thriving future!

For more about Bisbee or the Bisbee 1000: http://www.bisbeearizona.com/, www.bisbee1000.org

2006-10-08T15:48:00.000-07:00

Mark 10:2-16 ~ The Process of Becoming

I said a few familiar things about this text on divorce and remarriage in my sermon this morning, but I'm not sure we've been asking the right questions or hearing the most important word in this text. I wanted to move past the Pharisees and their inquisition of Jesus to the priceless, good news buried deep beneath their legal hang-ups.

We are all professional sinners and have so successfully factored sin into our lives that we often focus on the exception to the rule instead of the life God originally intended for us. We are far from our naïve friends in the Garden of Eden and have learned to cope by self-protecting and having a back-up plan. It's a natural human strategy for life.

I did a little digging to find out if the bible had one concise and clear answer about divorce and remarriage, but it was largely unsuccessful and I want that hour of my life back. Not only is there more than one answer, but some contradict each other! I want that hour of my life back. Getting lost in the law is like a rocking chair - it's something to do, but it doesn't get you anywhere.

When we debate this law as the Pharisees do, we reduce the painful and personal experience of divorce to a mere issue. We live in a world that literally puts us in a box - single, married, divorced, widowed. This need to be defined and to define others means understanding life in swift transitions. Do two become one flesh at the altar? In the bedroom? When is the magic moment? Are we divorced when we agree to divorce? When the papers are filed? It's easy to note the big events and category changes, but when that's all we see, we are missing the most important word in this text: become.

Now I check the 'single' box on my taxes, so I don't know much about marriage or divorce, but I don't believe these transitions are instantaneous. Might marriage start the day you meet and begin learning about and loving one another? And doesn't your marriage continue to take work and time to grow long after the ceremony ends? Divorce might begin with hurtful words…or no words at all. Separate bedrooms or an affair. And how can divorce be official the moment papers are signed when chaos, loneliness or other life changes are just beginning?

And so I am thankful for the word become in this text: "and the two shall become one flesh". If the process of becoming one flesh is a lifelong process, we should not legalize or belittle the process of becoming apart as the Pharisees do.

Jesus tried to bring their focus back to what God originally intended for us - loving companionship that reflects the ways God is faithful and present in our lives. None of our human relationships are perfect, but in their brightest moments they shed light on the faithful love that our bridegroom Christ Jesus freely bestows. Our vows and promises, large and small, might be broken but Christ always keeps his word to us. He professed his love for you on the cross. He made you his own - one flesh - in your baptism. But the adventure and romance are not over. This is a process of becoming. May God bless your own process of becoming, wherever you may be. And may God bless your marriage to Jesus Christ, whose love makes us new and whose resurrection means our resurrection. Amen.

2006-10-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

Today I am hopeful.

I spent the weekend with the Fund for Theological Education in Chicago at their annual Calling Congregations Conference. I am grateful for FTE for several reasons, but mainly because they invested in me. Plain old me, without an agenda or wild expectations. They partnered with my home congregation to send me to seminary for a year - all expenses paid - just to see what would happen. All I had to do was consider the possibility that God was calling me to be a pastor.

Of course they're hoping that their investments mean more young people become congregational ministers, but that seemed to be the indirect investment. FTE was willing to equip me with social and financial resources even if I didn't end up on that path. Their direct investment was in me as a person. FTE thought a year of seminary was worthwhile no matter where my untapped vocation led me.

They're right, you know. When I'm a rich and famous TV evangelist, I'm going to pay for all of you to attend seminary for a year. No matter what you do for a living - clean teeth, build roads, milk cows, answer phones, close deals - seminary can transform a career into meaningful vocation. I know it's not the only way to better understand your purpose, but it has been a lucid setting for me to realize mine.

Right before seminary started they flew me to Louisville, KY to meet more than a dozen other young people FTE had awarded the same privilege – a congregational fellowship. On this retreat I met more than a dozen young people all over the country - of all backgrounds and denominations - who were also uneasy about the title ‘Pastor’ and unsure about this alleged ‘call’. We shared stories about our traditions, beliefs, where we thought God might be taking us, what our escape plans were... After four days we had bonded in the classic/sappy retreat sense and I set off for seminary feeling hopeful.

This weekend brought back those same emotions. I was the youngest participant and was invited to speak on a panel about something near to my heart; How can congregations raise their young people to consider God's call to ministry? Conversations with church leaders from all over the country inspired me – I hope to be creative, bold, intuitive, and passionate like them when I grow up! :)

The night before I left we gathered for worship in a big, gothic Methodist church. Nothing makes me more excited and emotional than thoughtful, ecumenical worship. A gospel quintet led us in music (a change from the swingin’ jazz band the night before). We affirmed our baptisms with stories of church change and transformation, death and rebirth.

I crawled into bed that night giddy with excitement. I live in a polarized world where we’d rather break away than compromise and make beautiful worship together. This weekend was an exception. When I celebrate with other denominations I remember that I have a little sassy woman of soul living inside me who wants to dance in the pews, that I love to sing in Latin, that praying with Pentecostals is a rush and release, that silence in solitude doesn’t begin to compare to listening for God in a sanctuary full of new friends.

If these ‘grown ups’ could find common ground, have fruitful conversations and make memorable worship together, then I am proud to be a baby pastor and grateful to those who brought me this far.

Today I am hopeful!

2006-09-26T13:37:00.000-07:00

Holy Fruit - Navigating the Pomegranate

I walked into a familiar scene at bible study last night. Marilynn was distributing ripe pomegranates she had picked from her bushes. People here know how to give and receive. Random freebees of food, flowers and crafts are not uncommon, but always celebrated. Everyone placed their pomegranate next to their open bible as we started. I soon drifted away from the subject at hand and thought about the fruit and scripture, side by side. Yes, these are the things I think about. I know this sounds bizarre, but I think they have a lot in common.

The fruit looks so simple and contained in its skin until you take a knife to it. I didn’t know where to start or how to cut it – the same way I feel when I’m cracking the bible open with no agenda or destination. My knife plunged and juices flew everywhere. My exploration revealed seeds nestled in intricate patterns. Skin-like pieces of fruit separated these succulent capillaries from each other. A holy meal of flesh and blood! I could only remove a few seeds at a time, piece by piece and in no particular order. I took what I could get as I do when I journey through scripture, verse by verse.

The flavors exploded in my mouth, some sweet and some sour. My hands and mouth were stained with red in the same way the Word convicts my hands and lips of sin. I was stained, but also sustained. The fruit nourished, each seed like a small ruby given to feed me.

I was surprised to find that the pomegranate is spoken of throughout the bible. Maybe there is something sacred about this fruit. Go buy one, break it open, get your fingers dirty, and let me know what you think. Share it with someone or give one away. Whether you are sinking a knife into your bible or a pomegranate, I think it’s sweeter in good company.

2006-09-25T14:16:00.000-07:00

Mark 9:30-37 ~ Created Curious

“But the disciples didn’t understand what he was saying and they were too afraid to ask.” I'm always relieved when someone else has the courage to raise their hand and ask; usually their question is my question and then I can reap all the benefits without having to look foolish. In the same way, I am relieved when the disciples are courageous enough to ask Jesus to explain himself. But more often than not, the disciples fall silent just like I do when I’m afraid or feeling foolish. This gospel text is no exception.

Instead of asking for Jesus to explain his bizarre announcement, the disciples hang back out of earshot and begin to bicker with each other. Jesus has just revealed his future – that he will be rejected and betrayed, that he will die for everyone and rise for everyone – and the disciples decide that this is a good time to debate who among them is the greatest!

I like to think that the disciples sound like three little Herrick children trying to share a back seat on long (and short) car trips. I hear the selfish competition over 'shotgun' or 'captain's chairs', bickering for attention or validation from parental authority, and the silent treatment as a last resort. I know I am not above these tactics…I've just discovered more manipulative and cunning ways to play these games as an adult. Haven't you?

When Jesus confronts the disciples about their egotistical competition, they are silent yet again. Jesus might be frustrated or disappointed, but we don't know because that's not what Mark thinks is important to share. Instead Mark tells us that Jesus stops, sits down, and calls the disciples to him. He gathers them in and continues to teach, even though they probably won't get it. Then, taking a child in his arms, he tells them that the greatest of all is the one who serves all.

Funny Jesus should mention children in this text. Kids rarely fall silent. Little children play an interesting role in our social scheme. Sometimes children are treated as property and sometimes children are treated as golden calves. In both of these situations, we expect children to follow us – to avoid our mistakes, to fulfill our dreams, and to make us proud.

But what would happen if, instead of teaching children to follow us, we learned to follow children? Ask a child to consider with you what love tastes like, or what grace smells like. Adults have been observing the sacraments for generations…what would it be like to celebrate Baptism and Communion with the wonder of a small child? Consider the squeals and cries of a baby being baptized in the cool water. See the awe on a child’s face as he watches a parent receive Communion. His eyes say, “I don’t know how it works…but I want it!” It’s funny – that’s all I’ve got figured out too.

At first this gospel text sounds like bad news. It's one more bible story that puts us in the boat with the disciples who just don't get it. Ready for the good news? The disciples don’t get it, but that’s not the point and it’s not the end of the story.

Jesus doesn't blow them off because they're silent or because they bicker. He doesn’t scold them or trade them in for scholars – in fact, Jesus didn’t choose them because they were straight-A students or captains of the long distance walking-in-sandals team. There’s no standardized test they’ll have to pass at the Last Supper. Even though the disciples continue to misunderstand, Jesus continues to teach.

Jesus has chosen them – he has claimed them – and no amount of misunderstanding will separate them from his teachings and his love…because they are with him. They are still following him. When he defeated death by rising again, something truly miraculous happened. We don’t have to get how it works. We don’t have to measure up to earn it.

Following Jesus doesn’t take brains or talent – it takes faith. Foolish faith. We will continue to misunderstand, but don't worry. Jesus will continue to teach you, he will continue to choose you and he will continue to save you. He will never give up on you because you are priceless.

So what have you been afraid to ask God? What have you been afraid to ask each other?
May you be bold in asking when you don’t understand with the candor of a little child, for you are created curious by God. And may you take comfort in knowing that when are mistaken, Jesus stops, sits down and gathers us to him. Amen.

*An abridged/adapted version of my sermon yesterday. I'll post bits of my sermons from time to time...and I'll work on trimming them down to actual certified "bits". Congratulations if you made it through! :)

2006-09-20T21:18:00.000-07:00

Campaign season is just warming up, but I'm already exhausted.

While looking for an absentee voting form online today, I started thinking about all the cruel political ads I've seen on TV here in Arizona. I don't know what I'd do if I were voting locally! I'm sure there's plenty of trash talking back in the Midwest, but I'm glad I don't have to watch it. Every commercial points blame and trash talks their most threatening opponent. Okay, okay. I get it. You've listed all the reasons I shouldn't vote for him, but why should I vote for you? How many campaign dollars are being spent on slander? The most embarrassing part is when the politician comes on and says, "I'm so-and-so and I approve this message."

I can't think of a single positive comment aired that would convince me of a candidate's character. To be quite honest, I don't care how they promise to benefit their state! If they don't know how to respect their competition, present their own strengths to the public and run with dignity, why should I have any hope that their character will change when they represent me in office?

I know, I know. That's just politics. But going to the hassle of downloading an absentee application, mailing it in for my ballot, etc. makes me wish that the 'smart' decision to vote was rewarded with decent and honorable choices.

I'm slowly realizing that the things I can agree with most people about politically are underrepresented or all together absent from the ballots today. During this campaign season, speak out with me about the things that matter - so often those are the issues that don't polarize us as a country.

Demand excellence from those who wish to lead us. Think honorably of your friends and enemies, running mates and opponents. It might be the only way we stop bickering and start moving toward something good.

2006-09-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

But God remembered Noah and all the animals with him in the ark. And God made a wind blow over the earth, and the waters subsided; the fountains of the deep and the windows of the heavens were closed, the rain from the heavens were restrained, and the waters gradually receded from the earth and the tops of the mountains appeared. - Genesis 8

Monsoon season is over. The clouds no longer loiter at the tops of mountains and the sun is hot over the high desert. I spent Friday and Saturday away from the city in the forests hidden along the base of the mountains. The stars were bright, but the confirmation campers were too enthralled with the campfire and s'mores to notice. Several campers sternly informed me about 'snake season' and to be mindful in tall grass. It has been a beautiful weekend.

All this sunshine brought several people to the pool today. (That's right. I celebrated my third Sunday of internship poolside - after services, of course.) I was ready for an afternoon of relaxation - fully equipped with trashy fashion magazines, my MP3 player and a Popsicle. I was ready to zone out when a young family came through the gate. You'd think the sight of small children would clean up the language of several soldiers in the pool, but the young father had to reveal his rank for some respect and a PG language rating.

They looked like a regular family, but a few comments gave them away. "Come on, Shorty. Jump!" Dad plopped his two year-old up on the side of the pool and was coaxing him to jump in. "I thought you took swimming lessons this summer. Come on, buddy." Mom swam over with the younger child and explained softly. "Honey? Try standing closer to the edge and hold your hands out so he can aim when he jumps."

Sure enough - Shorty jumped. He squealed in his father's arms as water splashed in his face. Dad was equally enthused. The two followed each other around the pool and patio, giddy with excitement. Meanwhile, Mom smiled at the success.

I later found out that Dad just got back from Iraq after 18 months. He is reintroducing himself to his son (8 months when he left) and his daughter (conceived when he was home on a two week leave, born while he was still away). He has missed first words, first steps, and first breaths, but he's back. I realized that this isn't just a trip to the pool for them. This is a reunion and the first of many chances to rediscover each other. This supermom has raised two children alone and now must find creative and welcoming ways to invite Dad back into the parenting process. Dad will learn to prioritize family time after spending 18 months deeply enmeshed in his career.

The sun has come out and Dad is home. How will they communicate as a couple and with their children? Has this time apart made them stronger? Today I find myself praying for families and couples separated and reuniting. May God give them patience to communicate with love and grace for one another. And may God bless the little children, who watch their parents with adoration - they will jump if you catch them.

2006-09-14T11:01:00.000-07:00

"Kan du snakker norsk?"

From the moment I got here, the older generations in this congregation have been using their Norwegian skills with me. Little do they know how rusty I am, or the bond I suddenly feel when someone asks me if I like lutefisk. The Norwegian-American culture is a bizarre phenomenon. Our obsession with lefse has little to do with modern Norwegian culture and we've been telling the same Ole and Lena jokes for hundreds of years...Why are they still so funny?

Lutheran Norwegians take it over the top. We love our coffee and potluck dinners. Church is introduced as a cultural tradition, which trumps much talk of a personal relationship with Jesus - we're too stoic to share that kind of information and figure that God found us. We are the spiritual descendants of Martin Luther's radical reformation...and yet we prefer to sit in the back of the sanctuary during worship. We love liturgy - do we know why? We baptize babies - how come? Our congregations continue to stand on the hard work and volunteer services of old women, altar guilds and quilting clubs. We're kind, predictable, high-church people with a Midwest home base where the women are strong and the children are all above average.

In a nation like America, we seek connections with our past and affirmation from our homelands. Ties to family and cultural traditions keep us from becoming lost mutts in this country's melting pot. Religious and cultural heritage gives us a place to belong and the unique identity we each search for. I have found that liturgy and Norwegian chitchat tie me to my ancestors in mysterious and sacred ways. There is something beautiful about aged faces that light up at the sound of Norsk or the sight of a young person living the liturgy from their soul.

Garrison Keillor's annual street dance in St. Paul is coming up at the end of September. I smile when I hear ads for the $5 meatloaf dinner on public radio. Will the next generation know about Garrison's stories? Will my kids want to make lefse with me? Will liturgy's luster continue to decline during my ministry? I know there is something snazzy about church growth, power point, and entertainment styled worship. Youth are drawn to these mystic-yet-contemporary venues and that gives the universal church hope for the future.

Still, I remain passionate about the places we have come from - the hymns, the freedom in confession & forgiveness, and the gospel when it preaches GOD. Church becomes radical, even without sound/tech equipment, when the Word declares what God has done for us. Church becomes radical when the Word tears at the divide between heaven and earth by revealing Jesus Christ. Church becomes radical when the preacher resists the temptation to provide 'nuggets of wisdom' and 'self-help tips' because the gospel has nothing to do with our actions.

We might speak a dialect long forgotten by Norwegians abroad today. We might tell the same jokes over and over again. We might sit in the back pew and look far from radical, but God's unconditional promise to us changes all this. In grace through Christ Jesus we have a place to belong - a history and a future. We are uniquely his, which makes any style of worship a radical response to this radical news.

And so I worship to a banjo on Saturday evenings at the country/western service, and Sunday mornings with organ and hymn, guitar and song. All are righteous because God has made this worship pure with his gracious Word proclaimed for us. Jeg vil snakker norsk with my brothers and sisters here in Arizona because they remind me of the sacred people and places God has formed for me. These cultural comforts remind me that I have been made holy for a home in God's family. Now that's radical. Uff da!

2006-09-09T17:02:00.000-07:00

The Intern Food Box

“Just so you know, the intern food box is full again, so you're in charge of taking the rest home.” I was confused. I’ve been enlightened about most of my charged responsibilities this week, but this was vague and bizarre information. “In the narthex. Bring a load home when you've got time.”

Later I wandered into the narthex looking for this alleged box. I found it, wrapped in paper with a simple label. It was brimming with canned goods, baking supplies, and other non-perishables. My pantry was already full of green beans, tuna, and Hamburger Helper when I moved in. I smiled, wondering where I would put all this stuff. Cans of peaches, Crisco, cake mix…they know that there’s only one of me, right?

On my way back to the office, the youth director called to me from hers. “Did you find the intern food?” We laughed about the sheer volume of non-perishable generosity this congregation is capable of. Every time I go to my office there are fresh flowers, bath towels or a new computer keyboard on my desk. The youth director must have sensed my practical concern. “Don’t feel like you have to keep and eat it all. Most of the other interns have taken loads to the food bank. The people here will enjoy taking care of you and that can’t be turned off. Just let them cover you with their love this year.”

Today I made my first trip to the food bank armed with some Intern Food Box groceries and more. I met people who are hungry and thirsty for the kind charity I am shown by Christ and my congregation. This church is teaching me to serve the ones who fill my belly and to provide for those we often forget to serve. I am thankful for their grace, gifts, and lessons in generosity. I get the feeling I will be reminded of the ways God has taught us to cover each other in love on many occasions this year.

2006-09-08T22:56:00.000-07:00

“Can you believe all this rain? My goodness! You know, this is monsoon season. We’ll get more rain this month than you’ll see for the rest of your year here. Isn’t it gloomy? But we do need it, do we ever! Maybe not this much though.” Everyone is talking about the rain. Give a desert people a few inches and the awestruck conversations begin.

The clouds hang low over the mountains and make the town feel smaller under dark skies. They cast shadows on the distant ranges in Mexico giving them shades of blue. The hills and fields are sprinkled with lush greenery and little old ladies adorn pastel rain slickers while walking their dogs. The rains came too late this year and bears have come down out of the hills looking for food. They are digging in trashcans like giant raccoons and mauling cars in quiet neighborhoods.

The gutters are steady rivers and the rivers marked ‘dry’ on maps are streaming. While I find it beautifully refreshing, the rest of this town is restless. Their thirst has been quenched and they are ready to be a desert once again.

2006-09-05T12:46:00.000-07:00

Rodeo: A Southwestern Subculture

“Some people here are posers, but there’s a real cowboy tradition in this area. This is Apache territory. Cowboys and Indians aren’t just a fairytale here,” Pastor explained when we arrived at the annual rodeo in a nearby town.

I usually spend Labor Day in the Northwoods on the golf course or the lake. This year I attended my first authentic small town rodeo. The American, Mexican, and Arizonan flags were displayed at the front gates. Horse trailers lined the track and country music hits screamed over the loud speakers. The mountains envelop this town, too. Clouds covered their peaks and rain threatened from the distance. Little girls in pigtail braids and sequined chaps were titled ‘Little Miss Rodeo’ or ‘Miss Rodeo Princess’.

American pride usually runs deep at gatherings like this, but close proximity to an army base gives the national anthem new meaning. The festivities even began with a Christian prayer, which I didn’t expect. For lunch I enjoyed a Navajo Taco (a giant piece of frybread covered in chili meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes) and a Diet Pepsi. I think diet soda looks most ridiculous when paired with “big American” food like eight pounds of movie theater popcorn, an entire pizza, or Metrodome hotdogs. Thus, I felt it was appropriate to order one with my super frybread.

When the children’s events were over, I came across two lil’ mutton busters in plastic spurs and chaps washing their boots off in the women’s restroom. They puffed out their chests like true heroes upon my entrance and refused to let their mom wipe the mud off their faces. They wanted to look like warriors for the rest of the day. I watched them hang over the fence with awe as they watched and cheered for the bull riders.

Whole families were involved in events and some participants traveled from hundreds of miles to compete. Some young men were high school champions or college competitors. I smiled, wondering if I’d be a “buckle bunny” if I’d grown up around here. What do you think? Could I pull off the big hair and long nails? Could you see me hitching a horse trailer to my car – I mean truck – and traveling the southwest to cheer on my kids in rodeo competitions? Could you see me competing myself?

Ha. I can’t either. But I could appreciate the luster of this sport and its subculture. Families come together to be outdoors. Kids learn to appreciate and care for animals. Communities travel to and host a great American tradition in the small towns most of this country has forgotten about.

I took my shoes into the shower with me when I got home and washed the smell of rainy rodeo off me. (Note: While flip-flops are highly appropriate for Labor Day at the lake, they’re a poor footwear choice for a rodeo.) This lovely Monday holiday has never had much to do with roping calves. If I were in Minnesota, I’d be diving into the lake for the last time in 2006. My traditions are golfing at Black Bear every 4th of July and Friday night fish fries, watching the Twins in the summer and football games in the fall. I might not be cut out for the rodeo lifestyle, but it’s nice to watch the ways other people celebrate family tradition and being American.

2006-09-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

The Little Acolyte

On Sunday I put my alb on and relaxed after a short induction during all three church services. I was even off the hook for communion because Pastor, a deacon, and the acolyte served at each service. Minutes before the last service, I met a fifth grader in an alb. She was holding the matches tightly in her hands and grinning from ear to ear. “This is my first time,” she whispered with nervous excitement in her voice. “Me too,” I replied with a grin.

I watched her during the service with great curiosity. I was about her age when I acolyted for the first time. I remember the butterflies in my stomach and the way the old children’s alb itched my neck.

“You get to follow me,” Pastor told her, handing her a silver tray full of one ounce wine glasses. She watched him with awe and was careful not to spill a drop. She heard the promise Pastor spoke over and over again, while looking into the eyes of each believer she served. “This is the body of Christ, given for you. This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.”

I wonder if that is how she’ll come to trust the sacrament. I still don’t understand how Jesus comes to be under, in, around, over, and through the bread and wine, but I learned to trust this truth by serving communion. I’ve looked into thousands of faces at the table since my first acolyte experience. I’ve watched sinners declared saints with this promise. I’ve seen people I admire and adore desperate for these words, trusting the Meal. I learned to trust the words and the meal because of each face I’ve seen believe in God’s presence among and for us.

One by one, the community that has raised the little acolyte gathered at the table to receive the gift of Christ from her small hands. Does she realize the powerful ways this sacrament brings God’s people together and sustains them? Does she know that this ancient Meal connects us to saints past, present, and future? She has been called to feast with both her ancestors and her children’s children, the church in this town and the Church throughout the world – a ritual of union that is only possible in Christ!

As the closing hymn began, she folded her bulletin neatly on her seat before rising to carefully extinguish the candles. Then she gracefully led the recession, beaming with joy. “Whoa!” she exclaimed with a skip in her step as we entered the narthex. “That was so fun!”

I, too, recall caring so much about the details because I thought it was more beautiful that way. But I would bite my lip to keep from smiling like she did – embarrassed of the rush participating in church gave me. She was just as thrilled as I was, but hadn’t thought to repress it the way I used to (and obviously don't anymore if I'm blogging sacramental sermonettes!).

Have I been fighting this pastor thing for longer than I thought? :)

2006-09-04T12:10:00.000-07:00

My father and I set out for Arizona almost two weeks ago, but this is my first chance to sit down and blog. My purple car was packed with essentials (and non-essentials if you ask Dad) for the trip. We hoisted a canvas car top carrier (lovingly nicknamed "The Backpack") that contained all my shoes and clothes atop and secured two yellow bungee cords to complete the skeptical.
I then drove an entire mile to the grocery store on Grand Avenue where we bought breakfast before turning the car keys over to Dad until Santa Fe. We were both shocked and impressed by the little Spree’s endurance through the mountains under the weight of such a load. (Yes, I’m a load for not driving much, but I’m referring to the physical weight of the vehicle.)

We spent the first night in North Platte, Nebraska. Dad had several fun facts about the world’s largest aquaphor, which nourishes middle America’s crops.

We woke up at dawn on Sunday to head for the mountains and turned south when we reached Denver…
The mountains and the air changed in New Mexico – it started to smell like desert – and we spend the second night in Albuquerque.
We reached the northern Arizona boarder on Monday and headed for the heat of Phoenix where Dad and I would part ways. Soon Saguaro Cacti decorated the red rocks – did you know it takes 75-100 years for a Saguaro to grow its first arm?
I dropped Dad off and headed out to Gilbert to visit Nick and Dareth (insert shout out to Luther Park here). We hiked and relaxed in their pool until Tuesday afternoon. Then I set off for my new home.

A couple on the Intern Committee met me in the church parking lot and took me out for beer and pizza with the church secretary. Then we unloaded my car and they left me to get settled. I spent all night and the next morning unpacking.

Since that warm welcome, I’ve explored town and attended a few church activities. The eighth grade boys’ confirmation group took me under their wing and the choir conductor asked me to join. On Friday I played “Hand and Foot” (a card game) with the Senior Citizen’s club and enjoyed my first southwest potluck.

I’ve met a few neighbors and everyone seems really nice. Yesterday I asked a young guy leaving his apartment how to get into the weight room (not like Tommy Boy, but I thought about it) and he recommended a local gym. “But the joiner’s deal ends today. It might not be worth it if you’re only stationed here for five or six months.” I was really confused and didn’t correct him, but later realized he assumed I was in the army. Ha.

I see people in fatigues all over town. Soldiers are at the grocery store and picking up their kids from the church day care. It’s really interesting to live near a fort and to see people from all over the country in transition. I was exploring the south side of town and saw two border patrol trucks parked on duty. Everyone here has an opinion about immigration issues and is eager to share their diverse opinions.

More to come!

2006-08-31T14:47:00.000-07:00

I have arrived!

I am scheduled to get internet and a landline in my apartment next Thursday, so I'll post pictures and about the trip down and my first few days here early next week. Until then, it's my office computer. I'll post soon!

2006-08-22T17:19:00.000-07:00

This is the church I'll be working at this year. Matt and I were in Arizona for spring break in
April and spent Easter Sunday in town after worship. The pastor's wife and a member of the intern committee greeted us with a warm welcome in the parking lot. The congregation is really friendly - I know I'm going to be in good hands!

I'm spending my last few days in Minnesota meeting up with friends, running errands, and looking for my glasses - has anyone seen them?

I leave early Saturday morning and will roll into town on Tuesday - I'll post with pictures of the beautiful landscape and my new apartment soon!

2006-08-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

After two years in the classroom, I'm taking my ministry training wheels to Arizona for a year where I'll be an "Intern Pastor". You are welcome to join me on this journey - to laugh with (and at) a baby Pastor as she's shaped and molded by God and community.

In ten days, I'll pack up my little purple car and head southwest from Minnesota. While I am hesitant to leave family, friends, and the Twin Cities in summer/fall (this is my favorite time of year in MN!), I am excited to spend a year in Arizona with new people, places and responsibilities.

Stay tuned!