Prayer, Child's Play-- and an Elephant Tale.

(No Scripture this time. This is my gift to you. May it bring a touch of joy to your heart 

and a smile to your face.) 

Once, long ago, in a land of ancient baobab trees and fiery sunsets, there lived a family of elephants: a big, strong daddy elephant, a kind and gentle mommy elephant, and a little elephant who just loved to play! And these elephants all lived together in the attic of God’s House.

Now the big, strong daddy elephant had a very important job to do. Whenever someone was in trouble and prayed to the Almighty for strength or courage, the Lord would, in his own perfect time, send the big, strong daddy elephant down from the attic to protect the child in trouble. The big, strong daddy elephant would flap his ears to stir up the wind and raise his trunk and send forth a loud trumpet call—and the person who prayed would be quieted and comforted, remembering the big, strong God he served.

The kind and gentle mommy elephant had a job, as well. Whenever someone was feeling lonesome or in need of a special touch of love and prayed to the Almighty for comfort or a quiet spirit—or even for enough food to get through the day—the Lord would, in his own perfect time, send the kind and gentle mommy elephant down the attic steps and out in to the world. She would flap her ears gently and whisper in the soul of those nearby, reminding them that when God walked the earth long, long ago, he taught his children everything they needed to know in order to take care of one another. And the person who prayed would find peace, a tender touch, a warm bowl of soup, remembering that soon someone else might need to be fed.

And the little elephant, who just loved to play, would watch her big, strong daddy elephant and her kind and gentle mommy elephant trundle down those attic steps, go about their flapping and blowing and whispering and come back satisfied, and she would wonder, “What will I ever be able to do to serve God? My ears are so small and my trunk is so short. What kind of prayer could I ever answer? I just love to play!”

And she would snuffle softly and feel sad—but not for long, because soon a dust kitty would blow across the attic, or a rainbow sunbeam would shine through, and the little elephant would be so captivated by its beauty, she would grin from floppy ear to floppy ear and be happy again.

“Play!” she would cry, “I just love to play!” And the big, strong daddy elephant and the kind and gentle mommy elephant would smile at one another and nod wisely. Her day will come, they thought. Her day will come. And they were right.

One day, a day when the sun rose and cast a perfect pinkish glow over the ancient land, a child wandered nearby, her heart tired and heavy. She stopped, sat down and began a familiar chat with the Almighty.

“O Daddy,” she said, “I just don’t know. I don’t know why I feel this way. I have a lovely home, I have food enough to eat and a warm bed to sleep in. But I just feel—empty. Oh, how I wish I had someone to play with!” And she sat there, in the quiet of the morning, and she prayed.

And the Lord Almighty, who loved his beautiful child best of all (next to the elephants), smiled gently. And he beckoned to the little elephant who just loved to play, and said, “Wonderful, joy-filled little elephant, it is Time. I have been waiting for just the right time to send you down the attic steps and out into the world. The time has come.” And gently, gently, the Lord nudged the little elephant towards the attic steps—but the little elephant missed the step and fell, rumble tumble head-over-teakettle down the steps, and landed with a >foof!< and an >OOF!<  and a big cloud of dust-- right in the startled child’s lap!

At first they just looked at each other. The child blinked, and the elephant snuffled. And then, all at once, the elephant shook her ears, wriggled up her trunk-- and sneezed! That sneeze shook her from the tip of her trunk to the bristled end of her tail, and she tipped over and landed, face first, in the sand. And she blinked with bewilderment at the child, whose wide eyes grew wider still.

And the child said, “Goodness! Gesundheit!”  And they both laughed.

And the little elephant clamored off her lap, tumbled over to a nearby puddle and slurped up a trunkful of water—and without even asking or thinking, she pointed her trunk straight up in the air and blew out every drop of that water. And the drops fell like cool, gentle crystals on the child’s head, and she giggled and smiled and laughed out loud.

Of course, that made the little elephant giggle and smile, too—and laugh out loud. And she said, “I just love to play! Do you?”

And the child replied, “I don’t know! I think so! Will you teach me? Show me how!”

And she gently grabbed the baby elephant by the ear, and together they went off to play, giggling and smiling. And every once in awhile, if you listened closely, you would hear one or the other laugh out loud.

And meanwhile, back in the attic, the big, strong daddy elephant and the kind and gentle mommy elephant nodded wisely at one another and smiled.

For God is so good. All the time.

Don't stop.

Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.  Write them on the door frames of your houses and on your gates. --Deuteronomy 6:7-9

What a crazy winter we have had in Ohio! Snow on top of snow on top of snow. 

The "Chinese guard dogs" of slush and ice that the plows sculpted at the end of my driveway? Earlier in the week, they were pugs. This morning-- they are Great Danes. I shoveled as I was able, and the fluff and stuff are now piled as high as my armpits. At least. 

The front sidewalk, undrifted, has a good-- or should I say solid-- seven inches of snow. Where the winds have gathered it up, shuffled and and dealt it afresh, it's well over a foot deep in places.

They say on the radio that major highways are having to close because of accidents and unaware drivers. 

I spoke with a young lady yesterday when I gave blood. She is a senior in high school. She could say, quite literally, that this is the worst winter she has seen-- wait for it-- in her entire life! 

My neighbor, yet again, has shoveled out the grass in their back yard so the dog can do her business. (Yes, fans, this is yet another reason I am a cat person.)

All this snow has impressed upon me two thoughts this morning, as I listen to the growl and scrape of snow blowers and shovelers.

First: I love snow, I really do. But this past week or so, I don't believe there is a soul among us who has not confessed that we just can't take much more. Please! A little break-- just one melt? A few days above freezing? 

And yet. The snow, even in its massive, crazy quantities, is still blessing.

Blessing, even today, for children who are out of school and getting bored already.

Blessing for those whose livelihood depends on moving that snow off driveways and highways.

Blessing for those who will need the moisture for crops, come springtime. (And springtime will come. No doubt.)

But at the same time, I think sometimes, when the days are particularly wonderful, we do cry out to God in our hearts. God, I just can't take any more. I don't deserve this much blessing! Please-- a little break?

Truer words were never spoken. We do not deserve one iota of what we receive. 

And yet. 

And yet when we open our eyes and look around, the blessings are piled up nearly to our armpits-- and still coming down.

That's one thought. Here is the other:

I am writing this because-- I must. Because the day we stop telling our stories, we begin to die away. We begin to forget who and Whose we are. 

And I believe this is happening in our world, and in our churches. We are not telling our story, faithful and true. And so we begin to forget. 

Even the texts we have heard since we were wee ones begin to grow cloudy or unfamiliar. 

The Good News, the best story ever told, begins to fade and be silenced. 

We need good news. We really do. In a time when the evening news begins and ends with anger and despair? Yeah, we need good news.

So. Tell your story. 

Write it on your forehead. Impress it upon the hearts of your children. Do not allow your story to be forgotten. 

That is why I blog. Not because I make the big bucks doing so. Not because my writing is always scintillating or spellbinding.

But because it is My Story, and I can't, not tell it. And My Story is but a single episode, an epic moment in a much greater Story that cannot, will not die. Without me-- without you-- the story is incomplete.

You matter. More than you may know.

Gracious, Eternal Lord, teach us to tell our story. Help us through the rough spots. Show us where you never left, not even for a moment. And guide us as we walk together, shining light into the dark corners and reminding one another: we are never, ever alone. Amen

Lovers, dreamers-- and you.

[Jacob] had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord. . . . When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, 

and I was not aware of it.” 

He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” 

--Genesis 28:12-13; 16-17

(I am back. Seems like I haven't blogged in about a decade. Ideas would come and go, and life would nose its way in and divert my attention. And because I didn't immediately jot down any ideas . . . well . . . gone with the wind.) 

We lost another beautiful voice recently. Singer and storyteller Pete Seeger has joined Abraham, Martin and John in the eternal Peace Walk. He will be deeply, sorely missed. 

I remember watching "Reading Rainbow" with my kids, and Pete Seeger read/ sang his picture book Abiyoyo. So much fun. (You can see/ hear it here.) Mr. Seeger always seemed to be such a gentle man, in voice, in spirit and in manner. Always gentle-- but never weak.

Always, he seemed to have an unshakeable dream, a vision that he refused to give up. And always, he would give voice his dream with gentle, firm conviction, as though in his mind, in his life, it was already a reality. His banjo bore these words:

This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.

And in his music, with every strum and every note, you got the feeling that the threads of love and peace were being woven into a beautiful new fabric, stronger, more beautiful and more desirable than any other.

But before he could sing about it, he had to believe it. Had to envision it for himself, so he could share the dream with others. Had to be able to imagine the dream as reality, or it was all fluff and bother; otherwise, those who hadn't the vision could easily "yes, but" it out of existence and silence the hope.

Ah, those dream-killers. The person in the crowd who cries out to the magician, "I see what you've done there," breaking the spell, reminding the audience of the "laws" of reality. 

Sigh.

Everything was begun as a dream. Arguably, even God, in the Genesis narrative, had Something In Mind when he first began creating all that is-- out of nothing. When chaos moved across the waters, it was a dream of magnificent proportions that brought order to the chaos.

For Pete Seeger, the dream began with an "if": If I had a hammer. If I had a bell. If I had a song to sing. And then the assertion: I have a hammer, and a bell-- and a song to sing. A dream to dream, a gift to share all over this land.

Pete Seeger's dream for peace lives on. His desire for all humanity to live in harmony continues, even as his own banjo has fallen silent. Because the thing about dreams is, they're contagious. They can catch fire and spread, pick up steam and grow, until bit by bit, they are no longer dreams, but the New Reality.

Oh, sure, along the way the yammering "Yes, Buts" and the lonely "If Onlies" will try to drown out the dreamer's voice. But they only win when we listen and believe that their fearful questions are greater than our desire to share the dream.

Dare to dream. Share your dream. You are not alone. In fact-- that's the dream, isn't it? That all may be as one?

Gracious God, we pray that our desire to be together will always be stronger than our desire to be divided. Help us to listen--and to speak. Amen

Lovers, Dreamers and You

This one's for you, too.

And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; 

with him I am well pleased.” --Matthew 3:17

The Revised Common Lectionary passage for 12 January was Matthew's version of the baptism of Jesus, first by John the Baptist and then by the Holy Spirit. In many, many sanctuaries and halls, people gathered to hear a word from the Word, and this was what they received.

It doesn't get much better than this.

John the Baptist, who has been pounding the streets for a long time, announcing the presence of the Messiah since-- well, since before he was born (Luke 1:41-42), now encounters Jesus face-to-face, and is at first puzzled by Jesus' request that he baptize Jesus, Son of God.

Jesus simply replies, "Let it be so." And so, presumably in front of many others also gathered to receive the baptism of water that John offered, Jesus is baptized in the waters of the Jordan River. (Try very, very hard to set aside your Christian imagery of baptism; instead, imagine John offering a different sort of symbolic cleansing.)

And as Jesus emerged from the waters, the heavens parted and the Spirit descended upon him "like a dove," and a voice spoke those words.

"This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased."

It is good to stop right there and take in the beauty of the imagery. The heavens opening . . . Spirit like a dove resting on Jesus . . . God's loving stamp of approval.

Beautiful. 

And guess what?

Each time a baby or a child or an adult is baptized, the same thing happens for those with a heart desiring of God.

As the symbolic dunking (or sprinkling) occurs, the Holy Spirit is present, and announces to those who would hear:

This, too, is my beautiful Child, whom I love; with him [or her] I am well-pleased.

Each one of us. Each one-- of you. We are, each and all, beloved children of the Almighty. And God finds each one of us pleasing. 

Stop for a moment and simply rest in that thought. Because there is more. But you will need to rest in this first.

The Lord Bless You and Keep You

Now, here's the next part of the story.

After Jesus emerged from the waters, after the voice from the heavens proclaimed his blessedness, that same Holy Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tested by the devil.

Jesus had very little time to actually enjoy those amazing words of affirmation before he was experiencing forty days in the desert. 

And that is important to remember, for two reasons:

First, some people get it in their minds that being a Christian brings with it some kind of promise that we will lead a "charmed"life free of distress. That simply is not so. (Nor is it scriptural.) Jesus, to paraphrase Linda Ronstadt, never promised us a rose garden. Jesus did, however, promise to sit with us, even amongst the thorns and brambles of life's desert times.

And equally important: Jesus knew he would be ill-prepared for the wilderness time ahead without the blessing and infilling of the Spirit to carry him. He could do nothing in his own, limited, human strength.

Listen. Step away from the busy-ness of the world for a few minutes. Still your anxious soul. Do you hear it? Can you hear God's sweet whisper?

You, my Child, are my beloved. In you, just as you are, I am well-pleased, simply because you are Mine. 

Now, the bigger question: 

Do you believe it? Do you believe, deep in your soul, that God loves you, whether you're having a good hair day or not; whether you drive the speed limit or not; whether you lose (or gain) ten pounds? 

It's true. 

And it's enough.

And it is likely the best news you will ever receive. It is, at its core, the Gospel message Christ brought to us all. 

Amen 

Last-Minute or Laziness?

You lazy fool, look at an ant.
    Watch it closely; let it teach you a thing or two.
Nobody has to tell it what to do.
    All summer it stores up food;
    at harvest it stockpiles provisions.
So how long are you going to laze around doing nothing?

-- Proverbs 6:8-8, The Message

I live in the Midwest United States. We are in the throes of an incredible cold snap. Our high tomorrow will be subzero Fahrenheit, plus winds gusting and blowing the snow sideways. Last week, I shoveled out my walks and driveway at least three times, and this morning you would never know it's been touched. 

Welcome to winter, bigtime.

And as is often the case, the newscasters are hyping up the whole affair, showing footage of cars stuck or sliding in the snow, long lines and empty shelves at the grocery and the gas stations.

Don't get me wrong: this is serious stuff. My thermometer says it's 15 degrees and it was 20 when I got up. Schools all around have closed today and will close tomorrow, as well. (Heck-- even the casino is closed because of the cold. Hell freezing over?)

But we've been hearing about its coming for days, if not longer. The numbers have changed a bit, the amount and type of precipitation shifts depending on the forecaster. But all of them have been telling us to be prepared.

And yet. People are going about today, frantically searching for bread or milk, and becoming angry when they cannot find a single loaf or carton.

Seriously-- how privileged do we believe we are???

So here are my points, both of them:

1. Believe what you hear. When someone tells you, over and over, that something (good or bad) is going to happen, prudently prepare yourself. And not only that, but if you can-- help a neighbor prepare, as well. Pick up an extra loaf. If today is not your day and the storm passes over-- make PB & J for the neighbors before the bread goes stale and everyone wins!
2. Do not foolishly believe that you will be fine; only the others have something to worry about. Live responsibly. Do everything you reasonably can to prepare for "the worst." 

So, too, with our spiritual lives. It is not sufficient to sit back, pray a little prayer and live blithely in the knowledge that your name is in The Book. While faith is necessary, I believe if one's heart has been warmed with the love of the Christ, one's life will reflect that in the way one lives now, not just when one reaches eternity. 

We are told, over and over again, that the Lord will return. I don't know what that will look like, but I do know that I should be ready. And that means not only professing faith and encouraging others to do the same; it also means readying this place, our corner of the Kingdom, every day.

Did you ever have a party when your parents weren't home? Remember how carefully you cleaned up before they got back? Did your best to make things right?

Kind of like that.

We have been partying pretty heartily for some time now, wreaked a bit of havoc with the gift of Creation God gave to us to care for. Isn't it about time we started cleaning up a bit-- just in case Daddy gets home before we expect him? (Like we have any idea when to expect him, anyway.)

What will you do today? How will you improve your little corner of Creation-- today, and each day?

Generous God, teach me this day (and remind me tomorrow) how to live with Kingdom vision every day, listening for your nudgings in my life. Amen

Making a Fresh Start

‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” 

--Revelation 21: 4-5a

Time is a kind of arbitrary thing. I mean, in Genesis, God gave us evening and morning—a new day—but months and years, holidays and holy days, overall, are human choices and creations. It seems easier, somehow, to handle Life in smaller pieces. So we divide our days into hours and minutes, and our lives into years. Three hundred sixty-five days seems to be a manageable chunk, and once a year is a good time to stop and check up on how our lives are coming along. And it has been this way for a long, long time.

In the nineteenth century in this country, for slaveholders the New Year meant a time for assessing one’s debts and taking appropriate actions to collect or to pay. If a slaveholder had a debt to settle, he might choose to sell off a slave or two. And because slaves had no rights, and were considered just property, it was not unusual for families to be separated. Teenage children might go to one plantation, their parents, to another.

Each year on New Year’s Eve, slave families would gather in their churches, hold hands and pray, anxiously awaiting word of whether their family would remain intact or be divided, with no guarantee they would ever see one another again.

So you can understand why New Year’s Eve in 1862 was such a big deal. After decades of approaching the New Year in fear and dread, the Emancipation Proclamation offered hope. A fresh start. A chance to be together again with family long-departed.

It sounds a little like heaven on earth, doesn’t it? Freedom from the past, reunited with loved ones—a fresh start all around. And this is just the promise we find in this passage from Revelation. No more tears. No more pain. The old order of things has passed away. All things have been made new.

And Revelation also offers this promise. Now the dwelling of God is with all people, and God will live with them. In other words, heaven isn’t simply some place “out there,” where the saints hang out after we die. Heaven is not a noun. Heaven is an adjective, a quality, a way of living life here and now.

Over and over in Scripture, God has promised to make all things new. Every time the world seems to be nearing the end—at the tomb, for instance—every time, something new, greater and more holy emerges.

The old has passed away. The new has come.

So here we are again, on the brink of another new year. Our calendar year is arbitrary, to be sure; nevertheless, now is a great time to pause and reflect on the last twelve months. And it’s a perfect time to decide what, from 2013, we will choose to let go of and leave behind. Here are a few suggestions:

 --Give yourself permission to be happy.

 --Give yourself permission—to be you.

 --Practice forgiveness. (Start with yourself.) You can forgive another person without telling a soul, and when you do, you set your soul free.

 --Let go of feeling guilty about things you cannot change.

-- Let go of your fear of the unknown. Take one step at a time and watch the path unfold.

 --Let go of worrying about the future. It only robs you of fully enjoying today.

-- Let go of negative self-talk. Listen instead to the voice of the Almighty, deep in your soul. You are my beloved child, and that is enough.

That old beer commercial got it right, you know? We only go around once in this life. What we do with our days and our years is up to us.

 We can cast our eyes backward, live our days in regrets and “if only’s.”

 We can take the very long, eternal view and focus on Someday, when we will be reunited with our Creator and our loved ones in the sweet by-and-by.

 Or we can choose, every day, to live into the promise of the Gospel, the promise that God comes and dwells among us. And then—we can set about making that promise a reality, bringing heaven on earth as we love one another, shoulder one another’s burdens, and allow ourselves to accept the gift of God’s generous grace.

It’s a new year, 2014. What will you let go of? What will you embrace? Where will you allow the Holy Spirit to make things new in your life?

Holy, gracious Lord, help us to see ourselves through your all-loving eyes, to offer that same love to ourselves and to others, and to begin this New Year dependent on and believing in your perfect promises. Amen.

What to give, what to give. . . .

On coming to the house, [the Magi] saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. 

--Matthew 2:11

This time of year, we take everything we know from Matthew and Luke and we tend to conflate it into one single story. (What that means is, we take the shepherds from Luke, the Magi from Matthew and anything else we have picked up along the way and tell it as a single story. There is nothing terribly wrong with that, as long as we are aware we are doing it. Were you aware?)

Anyway, I want to write about the Magi this time, because the gift-giving we do today really started with them. 

These Magi, foreigners from another land to the East, somehow learned that this King had been born, and they somehow, at some level, knew that they, too, were to worship this baby born of mean estate.

And so, armed with valuable gifts, they set off following a wonderful star, a star with a tail, that their "religion" had told them would lead them to where this child lay. 

Scripture tells us these Magi brought three gifts to the Child: gold, frankincense and myrrh. And they laid these gifts at the foot of the manger and worshiped the babe.

* * * * *

American writer O Henry tells a story called, "The Gift of the Magi," in which a poor young couple, with barely two nickels to rub together, love each other so deeply, they sacrifice so they can give one another a truly special gift for Christmas. He sells his watch to buy her a beautiful set of hair brushes; she cuts her beautiful hair to purchase him a stunning watch fob.

These gifts, chosen with such care, turn out to be useless to the one receiving them.

The Magi's gifts seem similar to me. After all, of what use are gold or incense to the One from whom all things come? Even these men of great wisdom and means struggle to appropriately gift the Christ Child at his birth.

It hasn't changed that much, has it? Not really.

We still give gifts at Christmas, to one another in remembrance of the Christ. Yet we frequently end up giving things that either make no sense-- or have no meaning. 

At the last minute, we zip through the local department store, cannot find anything we like, and grab a gift card. After all, everyone can use a few extra dollars, right? And that way, they can pick what they want.

Right?

Now, I am not here to try and guilt you into a giftless Christmas. There is nothing wrong with giving gifts. In fact, giving a gift is a perfect way to remind someone you love them.

Just try hard(er) to be sure the gift itself actually says as much.

Maybe your friend could use that gift card. But maybe what they would rather have is a personal letter from you, or a phone call.

That elderly neighbor you bake cookies for. Does she need those cookies-- or would she rather have you stop over and read to her for a bit? Bring a pair of warm socks. Or-- brew some tea, stick around and eat some of those cookies with her.

The greatest gift, the only thing the Christ Child desires of us at all this season-- is ourselves. No thing of this world is as pleasing to God as our selves.

And sometimes-- that gift of self is given to another, in the name of the One whom we profess to follow, Jesus.

What will you give this year, to a child, a loved one or a stranger, that comes from your heart? How will you reach out in a new way, and reach beyond with an offering of self?

What Shall I Give Him?

You are still the greatest gift you can give. You needn't have a lot, to give a lot. Thanks be to God.