Open your eyes!

"Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert." 

--Isaiah 43:19 (King James translation)

(It isn't often I would choose to quote the King James, but there is something magnificent and inviting about that word-- Behold!)

By the time this posts, many of my friends around the globe will already be starting the new year, 2013. While I have never celebrated anywhere but the States, I suspect it is similar in many respects, wherever you go. Here, there will be laughter, and probably champagne, music, dancing-- and that "necessary" kiss at the drop of the ball in Times Square. (My cats will probably wake up long enough to nuzzle each other-- and me. We excel at excitement here on New Year's Eve. . . .)

Time as we celebrate it is a largely artificial construct. We developed this calendar system that has to add a day every four years, and an atomic second every now and then, to keep us in balance with the natural order of things.

Other cultures operate on a lunar calendar. This means that among other things, holidays "move." Some years, for instance, Ramadan falls in February; several years later, it lands in July. Can you imagine that in our Christian lives? Having, literally, Christmas in July every now and then? 

But I digress.

Each January, we ring in a new year. But the reality is, every day we begin anew. Every twenty-four hours brings us a fresh start. And so, assuming the Mayans were not just "off" by a year, we are now, each one of us, gifted with 365 fresh starts in the year ahead.

Three hundred sixty-five gifts, neatly laid out before us, waiting to be opened, one at a time.

It's like Christmas-- on steroids.

Remember when you were little and you opened a really great gift-- maybe the train set or Barbie doll you wanted so badly? What were the first words out of your mouth?

"WOW!!! Thank you! I love it!"

Not a bad way to look at a new day, eh?

And when you opened that garish sweater (or maybe the vacuum cleaner you needed, but sure did not expect to find under the tree), you still probably said thank you. A bit less genuine, perhaps, but still-- thank you. It was the right thing to do. Right?

And later when you sat down to write a thank-you note, maybe your mother sat with you, and helped you find the right words, a way to peek into the heart of the giver. And the thanks began to ring a but more truly. The sweater still was a bit garish (and the vacuum still-- sucked), but you began to pull your nose out of your navel and remember the giver who truly, honestly, meant well and loves you.

Ever have days when the thanks were a bit more difficult to give? (I have. A lot. Some days, it's really hard to find the "gratitude place" in my heart.)

But still the Giver gives in love. Perhaps the Giver is hoping we will find creative, new ways to see these challenging days in a new light, to find the beauty in them.

Which eyes will you use this year?

Will you look through the eyes of a child, ever-dazzled by the beauty of a new day? Will you, maybe, be the "sugar" that sweetens the lemonade of another?

Will you be the kind hand that reaches out? The loving heart that offers, expecting nothing in return? Will you clothe yourself in the love of Christ and then go out in the world bearing that love to others?

It isn't always easy. Some days, it feels darned near impossible. But here's the deal:

We almost always find exactly what we go looking for. 

Seek love; find love. Seek happiness; find joy. Wanting a new world? Be the change.

Happy New Year to my friends who so patiently put up with my drivel. I pray you find, here, what you came looking for. And I pray, when you do find it, that like the beggar who has found bread, you do not keep it to yourself, but share it with others who may be hungry, too.

Peace, love, joy and prosperity of heart be yours, this day and every day. Amen.

Timing (ugh)

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. . . . 

And the God of peace will be with you. --Philippians 4:4-9

Well, we got it, didn't we. A week ago I was blogging about the necessity, often skimmed over, of walking through the darkness before we run straight to the Light of the World, lying in a manger. I suggested that we need to sit with the mothers whose young sons were slaughtered by an arrogant king seeking to eliminate the newborn Messiah, a threat to his kingdom. (See my previous post, The Story BeforeThe Story.)

And a few days later, we were given cause to mourn, to truly, deeply commiserate with these mothers in their pain and loss, as children in Connecticut were senselessly slaughtered. As we were but days before the third Sunday in Advent, the Sunday with the rose-colored candle, the Sunday that evokes us to rejoice-- Gaudete-- we are knocked to our knees, left breathless by the scope of this tragedy.

We got our reason to mourn, and we got it in spades.

Much discussion has followed, some of it helpful and good. Maybe this will be a tipping point, an event that leads us to truly begin to listen to one another. I pray it will be so.

In the meantime-- it is Advent. Christians are anticipating the hope and promise found at the birth of the Christ child. 

That hasn't changed.

And God has not changed. 

God remains eternally faithful. 

God remains omnipresent-- present everywhere.

God remains intimately involved in each of our lives, and God weeps with us as we mourn.

I am not going to try to offer explanations. I don't have any. A desperate man-child found life so lacking in love and hope that he took steps he believed were the only way out of the pain. And he chose, unfortunately, to take others with him-- an entire nation, in fact, has been caught up in the tragic fallout. 

But I do know this: God is love. The very essence of that Being whom I know in the very core of my soul-- is Love. Loved us-- still loves us enough to have left the glory and majesty of heaven to take on flesh and dwell in our midst.

That. Has. Not. Changed.

So let us try, in these next days (and always) to rediscover the joy to be found in living the life God has so generously offered each one of us. And the best way to do this, I believe, is to remember that we are, each one of us, created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:27).

Which leads, very simply and directly, to the greatest commandments: Love God, and love your neighbor as yourself.

God is love. We contain the Imago Dei, the image of God, in the DNA of our souls. 

Let it show. 

Smile at the person in line behind you. Hold the door. Offer to help. 

Random acts of kindness were never needed more than they are right now, today.

God is counting on us to overcome this momentary setback, this "time out" from the joy of the season of new birth and renewed hope.

Our grief is real. Our loss is genuine. But do not be long from the path of living.

Weep No MorelLMW7ARYBew

Loving, eternal God, we lift our eyes, that you might dry our tears. Lead us, Lord, into the next day. Let us lean fully and trustingly on your wisdom and promise. Amen

The story before The Story

 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.  

Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

“A voice is heard in Ramah,

    weeping and great mourning,

Rachel weeping for her children

    and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more.”

We are now two-and-a-half weeks into Advent. This time of waiting and hoping is vitally important as we remember the story of the Messiah's birth. And this passage, found in Matthew 2:16-18, is a tough one.

King Herod is feeling terribly threatened, even more so as he realizes he has been tricked by the Magi from the east. In his fearfulness and rage, he becomes desperate. This king, this promised ruler among the Jews must be eliminated.

His solution? Kill 'em all. Find every male child under the age of two, and kill 'em. End of discussion, and problem solved.

Can you imagine? Can you imagine being a young Hebrew mother?

One moment, you are sitting playing with your child; perhaps he is suckling at your breast. The next minute-- slain at the cruel hands of a stranger.

And all because a human king was threatened by the promise of the Kingdom to come.

Lullay Lullay

And the promise becomes even more pertinent and timely.

Come, Emmanuel, for we surely need God-With-Us now. This world, this king has betrayed us and taken from us that which matters most: the future, the continuance of the family. How can this be? Our hearts are broken. There is no stopping the tears. Come, Messiah. 

O Come Emmanuel

There is much pain, profound darkness before the Light comes in to the world. And to blithely skip past this pain and anguish diminishes the power and depth of the joy which unfolded as the prophecies of old were fulfilled, one by one, as recounted in our gospels.

* * * * *

I wonder if perhaps part of what is missing in our churches today is a willingness to show what Richard Rohr would call our shadow side, the side that has walked in darkness. 

We talk about leaving our past behind and living in the moment, about being mindful-- and that is a good and important task-- but we mustn't deny our past. 

If the Hebrews had not been subjected to the tyranny of King Herod, would their hearts have been as open to the fulfillment of the promise? Would so many have been so receptive to John the Baptist's message of repentance? 

As we walk these remaining days of Advent, I invite you to stop and rest in the sadness. Weep with Rachel. Feel the pain and desperation of the Hebrew women. And then-- read Isaiah's prophecies again, especially Isaiah 9, Isaiah 40 and Isaiah 53-- but if you have the time, seriously, curl up with the whole book, all sixty-six chapters, and allow the words to settle in your soul. (They are not all easy or pleasant. But they are all part of our story as followers of the Christ.)

Do you not know?

    Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

    and his understanding no one can fathom.

 

He gives strength to the weary

    and increases the power of the weak.

 

Even youths grow tired and weary,

    and young men stumble and fall;

 

but those who hope in the Lord

    will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

    they will run and not grow weary,

    they will walk and not be faint.

Get there, sure. Get to the joy-filling words of hope. But don't be afraid to spend time praying in the words and worlds of pain in the context of the time. And allow these same words to heal your wounds. 

Almighty God, help us to see your Light, even in the darkest of nights, and to find comfort in your presence. Help us to walk through the shadow as we seek your face. Amen

Unto Us a Child Is Born

And then the fun began.

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. 

“May it be to me as you have said.” 

Then the angel left her. --Luke 1:38

I have been "living with" this passage from Luke for a few weeks now. As we enter Advent, the Network of Biblical Storytellers finds itself with opportunities to tell these stories of the season. This one, commonly called the Annunciation, is mine. (For the whole story, click here:Luke 1:26-38 And for more about the Network of Biblical Storytellers, click here: Telling It )

What I am discovering, again and again, is that often I learn more about myself in learning a passage than I do about the person in the story. But I think unmasking my humanness speaks to the humanity of our ancestors in the biblical world, as well.

Here's what is going on: The angel Gabriel has appeared to Mary and informed her that she will be with child, but not by the normal, human process. She has been chosen by the Most High to be the mother to the living God-in-flesh.

I really love some things about this story, things I think Luke got right in his gospel account. 

I like that Mary is troubled when an angel just-- shows up.

And I like that she questions him. "How can this be? I am a virgin, after all!"

But in most readings, after that, Mary suddenly becomes resolute, has no further questions, doubts or worries-- and that, to me, feels all wrong. 

Consider:

Mary is a young girl, betrothed to someone older, as was the custom. When she shows up pregnant and unwed, people will talk. There is no doubt in my mind. People are people, and they will be curious. And when Mary tells her story, there will be wise nods, and elbows to Joseph's ribs ("you sly dog, you!"), and both would be subjected to a whole lot of speculation, degradation, humiliation and more. 

She could even have faced being stoned to death. 

So I found myself, as I worked with this passage, experiencing a more hesitant Mary. Because I know, in my own life, when God shows up with a plan God chooses to use me for, I think too much. And it usually results in questions.

"Oh, God-- are you sure? Seriously?"

(And trust me, God has never asked me to bear God's child. The questions then would be manifold-- and I do mean manifold.)

Mary had to have had more questions than we are privy to. More uncertainties. Sleepless nights pacing the floor, weeping or afraid. And remember: at the beginning, Joseph nearly walked away from her-- until the angel visited him, too.

We seem to want to forget that Mary and Joseph were still human. Just like you-- and especially, like me. 

And because they were human, it's very likely they had questions. Big ones. Lots of 'em.

And--isn't that just like an angel? Gabriel drops the bomb-- and then leaves.

Sheesh.

But I really think there are a couple of things to learn here.

First, Mary should be commended for her faith in God. When the angel left, when the whole world would soon be looking critically in her direction, she held on to God's hand. But-- I think it is only reasonable to suspect there were doubts. And that-- is okay.

I am a big fan of asking questions. We serve an awfully big God who should not be threatened by our asking God to explain. Or clarify. I do not really believe God wants an army of automatons. Obedient, yes. Blindly, unthinkingly obedient-- no.

So as I have learned this passage to tell, I admit: My "Mary" is a little more hesitant as she agrees to be part of this Divine plan. She is still obedient. Just not quite so immediately happy about the whole thing.

Does that make me less faithful? (Does it make Mary less faithful?) I cannot judge that. But I am okay with Mary having questions. 

The important thing, for me, was that her questions did not cause her to lose faith or fall. 

Mary, did you know?

Lord, forgive us when our faith is not blind. Thank you for patiently offering answers, and for never dismissing our questions. Help us to be more like you. Really. Amen

It's okay. Really

Jesus Wept. --John 11:35

(I bet you can't look at this verse without smiling a bit, remembering, perhaps, when you were a child and had to memorize a Bible verse every week for Sunday School. And there was that one week when you put it off, and panicked-- and discovered this shortest verse in all of Scripture. And you may have also had a teacher who pointed out to you just how apropos it was for your situation, as Jesus was probably weeping at that moment. But I digress before I even begin.)

Sunday, December 2, marks the first Sunday in Advent in the Christian church year. It is our "New Year's Day" as we begin again to tell the story of God's entry in to the world, clothed in flesh and wrapped in rags.

Over the next four weeks, we will hear prophecies of hope, light candles of joy and peace and sing many, many hymns that look forward to the coming of the Saviour. It's a happy time, indeed, in the life of the church.

And I bet I don't have to tell you that the world of retail gets pretty happy this time of year, too, with Black Friday sales and all that follows. Everything in our lives seems to "kick it up a notch" in busy-ness and things to buy and things to do, reasons to celebrate.

And we are all supposed to be excited and happy, too. But sometimes-- that is just not the case. And that is okay. 

Perhaps you have had a loss in your life this past year or so. Maybe at Christmas you become acutely aware of the empty place at the head of the table. Or the far side of your bed. Or the high chair in the corner. Jesus suffered loss, as well. The Son of the Most High suffered the loss of his dear friend Lazarus-- and Jesus wept. Publicly and uncontrollably, Jesus wept for his friend.

Maybe 2012 held a diagnosis of serious illness, for yourself or someone you love, or the loss of a job or a reduction in income. Maybe you have found it difficult to share with your family or friends just how deeply this has shaken your faith. If not for his friends, the man who was unable to walk might never have found his way through the roof and into the powerful, healing presence of Jesus (Mark 2). It is okay-- any time-- to feel deeply and to lean upon caring friends.

If Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, had not cried out in agony to the Lord, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me," he may never have received the healing touch of Christ that allowed him to experience wholeness (Mark 10). It is okay to cry out in a loud voice, in joy or in desperation. Goodness, our Lord himself did so from the cross (Mark 15), "My God, my God-- why have you forsaken me?" Why would we think we should do any less? It is okay.

And it is also important to understand that you are not alone. And in this case, I do not mean that in a pious, "Jesus never leaves us" kind of way, although that is true, as well. What I mean is, I can guarantee that whatever sadness, whatever feelings of aloneness or isolation or anguish you are experiencing this Advent season, someone else is going through something very, very similar.

When the tears well up behind your eyes, let them come. It is okay. They will stop, I promise. You may feel like if you let even one tear squeeze out, the torrents will follow and you will be unable to stop the flow. But they will stop. When you have cried out in your pain and allowed yourself to admit you are human, eventually the pain lessens and the tears stop. Eventually.

And know, in that deep place in your heart where it sometimes hurts too much to look, that God has not forsaken you. No matter how alone you feel. Look for the Divine in the face of another. In the silent presence of someone who understands. In the listening ear of someone who, herself, has railed against the  Almighty in anger and anguish-- and was not struck down, but instead, came to understand that God can handle it and was lifted out of the mire of grief-- eventually. And understand that God does not punish God's children for being themselves before the throne. In the Garden of Gethsemane (Mark 14), before he was led away to be crucified, we glimpse the very humanity of Christ. If it was good enough for him. . . .

You are not alone this Christmas. And it is okay not to feel completely happy all the time.  

Comfort ye, O my people

Amen. 

Enough.

 Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. 

Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!" --Luke 12:22-24

In the States, the day after Thanksgiving is referred to as Black Friday. It is the day when people go all out finding bargains, for Christmas gifts, for themselves-- for "fun." Those who follow such things say that how a store does on Black Friday speaks to the overall health of the store, and also to the general health of our economy.

I apologize if I am somehow responsible for sending the nation back into a recession, but I will not go out shopping on Black Friday.

There is simply nothing I need that badly, that I would go out amongst those "serious shoppers" and behave in less-than-comely fashion to pick up (fill in the blank here).

People have remarked about the irony that only in America will people go out and trample one another to buy more stuff, one day after professing thanks for all the stuff we already have.

Enough. Seriously, enough. 

Think of what so many of us already have:

--Enough food on the table to feed our entire families-- and leftovers for Round Two (and maybe three). And if you've had a turkey-- in a few days you can make turkey soup and continue to enjoy the taste of Thanksgiving.

--Enough clothing not to have to wear the same outfit for days on end unless one is so inclined.

--Enough disposable income to even consider going out to shop on this busy day-- and again in the days ahead, as Christmas draws closer.

But how about these?

Enough blood in our arms to donate a pint, so that as many as four recipients might have their lives improved-- or possibly saved.

Enough food to give a few extra cans or boxes to those who do not have enough.

Enough generosity of spirit to take some of those extra clothes and donate them, so another might have enough.

Enough time to spend a couple hours at a local soup kitchen, hunger center or parish meal to offer not only a warm meal, but a smile, a kind touch or a listening ear, to those for whom life is difficult right now.

Enough wisdom, enough genuine gratitude to stop, just for a moment, and reflect. 

Because truly, but for the grace of the Almighty, there go I. And you. It's true.

Where I live, it is now about 2:00 afternoon on Black Friday. The Doorbusters are done with, but the Midnight Madness lies ahead. I am sure some folks have been shopping for hours upon hours,and have gotten some amazing deals.

What if, for each hour we spent shopping, we spent even ten minutes in thanksgiving and/ or prayer?

What if, for each dollar we spent at a store, we gave even fifty cents to a local charity, or to an organization like the Red Cross, that provides for so many during difficult times?

What if?

They say it is the little things that change the world in big ways. 

What little thing will you do today, to change the world around you?

* * * * *

Most gracious and generous Creator, help us to realize that we are here, not to accumulate our own private "stash," but to unlock the storehouses of your generosity and be the means by which your blessings flow to those in need. Amen.

Peace.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. 

I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. --John 14:27

Peace. We talk a lot about peace. And for the last couple of weeks, I have been really thinking about what we mean when we say we want peace.

Peace is not necessarily quiet. Peace can be downright boisterous when it involves the return, for instance, of a child who has been absent a long time. The returned presence of a loved one brings peace to the worried parent's soul in the midst of celebration.

Inner peace can be, and usually is, a quiet stillness. When one has had troubles and finally takes the time to pause and rest, and if it is one's custom, to pray and talk to the Almighty about one's troubles, it seems at times as if a wave of love and gentle healing washes over, and the soul becomes quiet and still. At peace.

Peace among neighbors. Can it happen without a fence? And can it bring down a fence that has stood between for longer than anyone remembers? I believe the answer is yes-- to both questions. . . .

And what about those larger issues, those places in the world where peace, when it does happen, is a fragile, delicate thing, blown apart (often quite literally) by unexpected conflict? Those situations where we seem to feel driven to take sides, even when we really are fairly clueless what may be at the heart of the peacelessness?

We can listen. We must listen. 

We seek to set aside our preconceived ideas of who is "right" and who is "wrong," and just listen.

And trust. How hard it can be to trust, when we are people who would rather do something, who believe, at some level, that action does-- well, it gets things done.

Oh, if only we could rest assured we are taking the right action. 

Life's hard that way.

John Wesley's three rules try to encapsulate how we are to live: Do no harm; do good; attend upon the ordinances of God. But I met someone once who thought too hard about the first two that he became frozen in inaction, for fear that in doing one person good, he might harm another.

And that is why there is that third one. Take it to the Lord. Listen for the voice of the Creator in the midst of chaos. Allow peace, not as the world offers, but as only God can offer, to settle in your very being. 

Then, and only then, will we be able to discern the next step. And we need to understand that sometimes the next step may be simply to stay in one place and do-- nothing. Nothing but continue to attend.

Gracious Lord, we can get so irritated, wanting you to just speak up! Help us to slow down, to listen for your heartbeat, your desires-- not our own. Help us, Lord, to trust in you. Amen

Happiness is. . . .

As He was setting out on a journey, a man ran up to Him and knelt before Him, and asked Him, “Good Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” Looking at him, Jesus felt a love for him and said to him, “One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” 

But at these words he was saddened, and he went away grieving, for he was one who owned much property. --Mark 10:17, 21-22

I have been blessed, for three of the last four Tuesdays (time out for a hurricane), to spend time with a gifted storyteller. And now, for next week, I have been gifted the bare bones outline of a story to tell. It is based on an old Ukrainian tale, but shares much in common, I am sure, with stories from other cultures, as well. So here is my telling of "The King and the Shirt":

Once, long ago-- or not-so-long ago-- there was a mighty and powerful King. He ruled over a mighty and powerful nation, and he lacked for nothing. But one day, the King fell ill, very ill. And no one knew what to do.

The King called all his advisers to his side: the scientist and the shaman, the doctor and the priest. He beckoned with his finger; they all leaned in closely to hear what this mighty and powerful man might say.

In a feeble voice, the King whispered, "I will give half my Kingdom to the one who can cure my illness."

The King's advisers looked at one another. They talked among themselves. No one really knew what to say!

Finally, one man offered what he believed would cure the mighty and powerful King's illness: Find a man who is happy, and remove the shirt from his back. Bring it to the King and place it around his shoulders, and the King will be healed.

* * * * *

Immediately, the King sent his messengers out with his advisers, in search of a happy man.

They travelled far and wide across the Kingdom, to cities and towns, to forests and glens, in search of a happy man-- but they found none.

The scientist found a very rich man who seemed happy-- ah, but he was ill, wracked by disease. Not so happy, after all.

The doctor found a man who was extremely healthy, living a good life-- but he was very, very poor. He certainly couldn't be happy!

The shaman discovered a man who was both wealthy and healthy! Surely he must be happy! But no-- this man had married a woman who was a grumpy old nag. There was no happiness under their roof!

And the priest came upon a lovely family. Beautiful wife, proud, handsome father-- but then he met their children. They were the naughtiest group of brats he had ever met! Definitely not the stuff of which happiness is made!

* * * * *

Finally, late one night, the King's own son was travelling through a hamlet on the outskirts of this mighty and powerful Kingdom, and as he passed a tiny hut, faintly illumined by a single candle, he heard a man's voice: "Ah, at last I am finished working for the day! My stomach is full, and I am ready to sleep. What more could a man want?" And the man sighed a deep, contented, sigh.

The King's son, overjoyed and relieved, was certain he had, at last, found a truly happy man. So he sent his messengers inside the tiny hut to remove the shirt from the man's back, so that it might be brought to the King and placed around his shoulders. The King would be healed,and the happy man would receive as much money as he wanted.

But when the entered the hut, they saw that the happy man was so poor, he hadn't even a shirt on his back.

And that is the story of "The King and the Shirt."

* * * * *
Lord God, help us to listen with open ears to the stories we tell. Open our eyes to your Most Holy Presence in the world,and in each other. Amen.

Eyes on the Prize

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders 

and the sin that so easily entangles, 

and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 

--Hebrews 12:1

(No, this is not another Happy Meal blog. But if you missed that one, it's back on October 13, 2011. Try it, you'll like it!)

We have just wrapped up what has been, easily, the most challenging election season in my lifetime. There have been phenomenal amounts of money poured into advertising at all levels, from state senators to the top office in the land, advertising that seemed bent not on telling voters what the candidate would do for us, but what the other guy (or gal) would do to the country.

Ugly, ugly, ugly. 

This great nation took a sharp turn and, for the last several months, took her eyes off the prize. We could so easily have wound up in a ditch.

Remember when Bill Clinton ran for office, and it came out that there were signs strategically posted at his campaign offices that said, plainly, IT'S THE ECONOMY, STUPID? So when the conversation started down a rabbit trail, those engaged would be abruptly reminded of the single, most important issue of the election. And in the end, the nation benefited. Focus was maintained (for the most part).

So now here we are. 

We have re-elected President Barack Obama for another four years. And we have also re-elected many of our senators and representatives to their offices for another term. And just as importantly-- we did not re-elect some whose thoughts, speech or lives had become detrimental to their continuing in office. (Aside: Do not make "consensual rape" a political talking point and expect to garner female fans. But I digress.)

It is time to stop pounding those plowshares into swords. It is time to go to work-- for peace, for hope and for one another.

It is time to remember, again, that we are all of one family. And families are built and nurtured and transformed, not by beatings or bilious speech, but by love. By building one another up, not by tearing down. 

Mother Teresa said this: We belong to each other. And we belong to God.

Now I will add this: I am a believer in separation of church and state. I do not believe we should elect someone to office based on his dogma or creed. I am thrilled we have a Buddhist and a Hindu now in Congress-- but I wish it weren't such a big deal. I am hopeful they won simply because their lives exhibited the characteristics of leadership desired by their home states.

But here's the deal: I do not believe in separation of God and state, or God from state. I believe any group or individual fortunate enough to have won the right to speak for me in Congress or the White House also speaks as one granted that right-- by the Almighty. Not by a Christian God or a Muslim god, but by the single, all-power-filled Creator, without whom nothing-- nothing is possible.

Without whose grace our very next breath does not happen.

So now, beginning today, it is time to refocus our vision. It is time to stop and to pray-- in whatever form that action might take for you. 

It is time to listen for the heartbeat of the Spirit that dwells within each of us, and to discern-- not a partisan, small-minded, self-benefiting agenda, but the huge, healing vision of God. 

We have stumbled recently. There is no denying that one. The international press has been all over the "leading nation of the world," reminding us that we are fallible. We have wound up stalled out, in a ditch-- almost overturned, at times. 

And we now have the chance to right ourselves, brush off the dirt and seaweed, smooth our wrinkled clothing, straighten our hair-- and step out in faith. 

Let the healing begin. And let it begin with prayer.

Most gracious One, thankfully we come before you and are reminded that our human elections never, for one moment, threatened your sovereignty or your reign. Help us, Lord. Grant us the grace to bring about true change in this place, one smile, one meal, one life at a time. Change me, Lord, that I might change the world. Amen.