Highway Robbery

The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

   “Hosanna to the Son of David!”

   “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

   “Hosanna in the highest!” --Matthew 21:9

(Disclaimer: Today's blog, plain and simple, is a collection of stolen thoughts, coupled with my own reflections. I have been reading a lot of different things this morning, but everything seems to swing back to Palm Sunday-- and Indians baseball. Hence, the title.)

Steve Goodier (www.LifeSupportSystem.com) is one of my favorite bloggers. In his latest blog post, he writes about Jeremy Bentham, a wealthy man of influence who, when he died in 1832, left his estate to University College London. There was one stipulation: He was to be embalmed, dressed up and brought to preside over the annual meeting of the university's administrators.

Guess what? Apparently Jeremy Bentham is still wheeled in every year. For many years, in the minutes of the meeting the secretary noted he was "present, but not voting." He was there, all right, but had nothing to say about anything. 

Take a minute here to think about that (and have a good smile).

* * * * *

Rowland Croucher (http://jmm.aaa.net.au/) regularly posts questions, articles, etc., for discussion on his Facebook page. Recently he sought reflections on "the crowd" when Jesus entered Jerusalem. Many preachers will posit that the crowd that hailed him on that day was the same crowd that cried for his crucifixion later in the week, while others believe there were two crowds: one that adored him; the other, made up of Pharisees and other Jewish power-wielders who were threatened by this Christ. 

Take several minutes here to think on that one. Here is a link to Matthew's telling of the Triumphal Entry:

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=mt%2021&version=NIV1984

Allow yourself to "be" in Jerusalem. 

Where are you? Are you waving palm fronds and spreading your cloak in the dusty road?

Is that you, wondering what all the excitement is about, trying to get a closer look at this man-proclaimed-Messiah?

Are you off to one side, whispering to other like-minded souls, unbelieving that this man riding a colt could possibly be the King promised by Isaiah, Zechariah and others?

And as you read, ponder this: That word, "Hosanna!" that appears over and over again actually means, "Save us!"

* * * * *

Thursday, April 9, is Opening Day for the Cleveland Indians. The slogan this year is, "What if?" Given my team's propensity for big dreamin' and often disappointing seasons, this seems like a really good spin. 

Often, by July or August, "What if?" becomes, "If only. . . ."

So I am left thinking what if and if only with regards to Jesus' arrival that day in Jerusalem, riding a donkey, greeted overtly with hosannas and shouts of praise, but later taken into custody, scourged and beaten and crucified with barely a trial.

What if?  

What if those in the shadows, those curious bystanders, had asked more questions, spoken up more loudly, that the voices of the Pharisees might be drowned?

What if Jesus' own disciples had had the deeper faith he offered, and had stood strong in the face of the plot to kill the Christ? 

What if Peter had not denied the Lord? 

What if Judas repented and returned to the loving arms Jesus offered, rather than selling himself for thirty pieces of silver?

Oh, if only. If only those disciples hadn't been so darned-- human.

* * * * *

Like the start of a new baseball season, every Easter season brings new hope, new promise, new life. Find the hope, take the comfort-- and do not be afraid to sit with your doubts or your fears. Just do not allow those fears to paralyze you or silence your life story.

Thank you, Lord God, for your wisdom that stretches so far beyond our doubts, our "if onlies." Help us to place all trust in you, knowing and believing that perfect Love casts out all fear. Amen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWnSX3X7wbw

What if Jesus had not bowed his head in obedience to the Father?

The Hardest Part. . . .

Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; 

   he rises to show you compassion. 

For the LORD is a God of justice. 

   Blessed are all who wait for him!

--Isaiah 30:18

(Sunday marks the beginning of the Christian Holy Week. We begin in joyous celebration on Palm Sunday, remembering Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem; Maundy Thursday reflects on Jesus' last supper with his disciples; Good Friday, the day the Lord was crucified; Holy Saturday, the day Jesus lay lifeless in the tomb; and finally, Easter Sunday, the day of the Resurrection. The day Mary Magdalene discovered the rock had been rolled away and the tomb was empty-- and death itself had been defeated.)

We spend an awful lot of our life waiting, don't we? We wait in line, we wait for the mail carrier to bring us a letter from home. We wait for our spouses to get home from work; we wait, endlessly, it seems, for a live human voice on the other end of the phone line. We wait for test results; we wait for news about a loved one, or a job promotion. (Sometimes we wait for a busy blogger to get around to her daily Lenten promise.)

Mary waited, nine long months after the angel Gabriel paid his visit, for this newborn baby to be delivered into her loving arms.

The disciples waited in the Upper Room, because Jesus told them to wait until the Holy Spirit came upon them (Acts 1:4). (I think that wait must have been extremely difficult for Peter. Peter liked to do. Now. All of it. Five minutes ago. But it also must have been hard because the disciples were now frightened, without the one they had loved and followed.)

This week, we wait, as well.

Even as we know the end of the story, and it is a very good ending, we are called to walk slowly and wait. 

The victory celebration must not be hurried. 

We cannot simply skip over the pain-filled parts because we don't like reading about the way we treated the Savior, how we beat him and scourged him with cords and whips until he bled, or how we argued over his possessions, meager though they were, and then nailed him to a tree to die in the hot sun of the middle of the day. 

We'd like to. But we cannot. We just cannot.

As we eavesdrop on Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, we cannot help but wonder if he, too, would have just as soon skipped over those icky parts.

Imagine knowing how you were going to die, knowing the horrible, humiliating path that lay before you, and choosing to follow it anyway, trusting in the will of the One who would walk the path with you.

Kind of makes all our waiting seem less-- important.

What will you do while you wait this week? 

Will you pray? Fast? Meditate on the Passion narratives in Scripture? 

Will you partake of Holy Communion-- and will you first examine your soul? 

Will you seek to offer forgiveness-- and receive the same?

Whatever you choose, slow down. Even when it hurts a bit (or hurts a lot), don't be in a hurry to finish the hurting.

Pain, suffering, growth. All these go hand-in-hand.

Lord Jesus, as I walk this week again, help me to keep the focus on you. May my perspective be as you would have it be. And may I be in no hurry to just "get through it" and race to the empty tomb. Amen.

How clean is clean?

 Have mercy on me, O God, 

   according to your unfailing love; 

according to your great compassion 

   blot out my transgressions. 

Wash away all my iniquity 

   and cleanse me from my sin.

-- Psalm 51:1-2

“No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”

   Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” 

--John 13:8

I worked in my yard the last couple of days, definitely not on my Top Ten Favorite Things list. I just don't enjoy yanking weeds and things like that. 

And my grass had gotten really tall, given the spurts of spring weather we've had. Mowing with my reel mower left me aching and tired. And a little bit muddy.

When I came inside, I washed my hands, got off the obvious mud, but realized over the next few hours that I had been "blessed" by a pollen attack on my eyes and nose. It wasn't anything visible that I could see, but my, oh, my, the havoc it sought to wreak on my sinuses and my itchy, itchy eyes!

I wonder how often we hide our eyes from that which may not be readily apparent, but is just as dangerous as those low-hanging branches or cracks in the sidewalk we worry about.

Of course Peter, after refusing to allow Jesus to wash his feet, kind of went overboard on the whole thing. In the next verses, he insists Jesus wash "Not just my feet, but my hands and my head!"

Jesus reminds him that only his feet are dirty. He already had a bath.

So, too, are we cleansed from our sin when we accept Jesus and are baptized in faith. And so, too, do we still get ourselves a little bit dirty every day.

And every day, Jesus willingly humbles himself and offers to take the dirt for us, if we allow. 

That's key. Admitting there is dirt in our eyes. Allowing Jesus to gently lift it out. Not needing a whole dunking (or sprinkling) again, simply a localized repentance and allowing.

It is always, all about God where repentance and cleansing are involved. Nothing we can do is ever enough. So we need to allow God to take away the ick, the pain, the regret. We need to allow God into those painful spots and let him heal us. 

Visine for the soul. Allegra for the spirit. A Band-Aid for a long-ago owie. 

Unless, of course, we prefer to let it remain infected and challenging to our appreciation of the present moment.

Lord, like cool water on our tired feet, we come seeking your comfort. Help us to remember we cannot do anything apart from you. Help us learn to depend on your healing Spirit. Amen.

My Troubled Heart.

“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, 

whatever you did [or did not do] for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’"-- Matthew 25:40

I really try not to get into 'hot-button' issues here unless it's something in which the church is complicit-- or should be complicit. There are plenty of blogs and other outlets waiting to fan the flames. Me? I am here to bring a word of hope and promise. (Or so I thought.)

So let's go digging for that word here.

I am troubled by the 'stuff' surrounding the very unfortunate death of Trayvon Martin. (This was the seventeen-year-old child who was shot by a neighborhood watch person.) This morning, it has reached a point where I just need to speak. Write.

Words of hatred and anger, words that seek to divide are so unhelpful at this point. 

Outsiders stepping in, offering their personal points of view based on their agendas or their own biases-- unnecessary. 

* * * * *

A young man's parents are grieving their son. They will not see their child again in this lifetime.

Another man's life, no matter what he may [or may not] have done, is in danger. He is forced to live in fear. 

Judgment and accusations are flying everywhere, left, right-- and for what purpose? It will never bring this young man back. Nor is it particularly helpful in discerning what really happened that night.

All it does is distress and distract.

So please, stop for a moment.

If you believe, as I do, in the power of prayer, please. Stop and pray, for Trayvon's family and for George's family. Pray they might be comforted by the perfect presence of the Almighty in these troubled, turbulent times.

Pray for peace. Peace like a river that washes over all, floods the banks of this nation with its waters. Peace that brings revival to our neighborhood, our cities, our state-- our world. All of Creation.

Pray for wisdom for all involved-- and that includes you. It also includes me. We are either part of the problem or we are working for peace. Peace must be a verb.

Pray for calm in the midst of all that is happening.

Before you speak-- listen. Listen in love as God loves. Unconditionally. 


And if you must take sides? Take the side of peace. Work against those who monger war, in our homes, in our streets and across the world.

The world looks to America for leadership. Pray that the light of the Lord shines forth brightly in the weeks and months, even years ahead. 

Pray boldly, pray big-- and pray knowing that God is listening. Amen. 

Me-- and Thee

"I will bring him near and he will come close to me, 

   for who is he who will devote himself 

   to be close to me? 

declares the LORD. 

So you will be my people, 

and I will be your God.” 

--Jeremiah 30:21b-22 

(In Eugene Peterson's The Message, Jeremiah 30:22 reads, "You will be my very own people, 

and I will be your very own God.")

Lots of talk everywhere these days about "relationship." Whether it's relationship with one another, or the "need for a personal relationship with God," it's all about how we relate in community.

So that got me to thinking about my own relationship with God, because I believe that probably determines, to a large part, how I relate to others, as well.

(Now first off, let me state clearly and unabashedly that this is my opinion, my experience and not, in any way, intended to sound normative or prescriptive. Individual results may vary.)

I suppose this started because of the many pictures and quotes that pop up on Facebook. Recently there was a string of (in my ops) happy dappy Jesus loves me sooo much I can't help myself kinds of things, and on that particular day, I remember thinking, "Wow, I am not feeling the love like that-- at all."

And I realized, more often than not, I do not feel that Julie-Andrews-twirling-on-a-hillside, giddy kind of happiness when I think about Jesus or God.

My cup runneth over once in awhile, to be sure, but much of the time it's more of a slow, gentle, warming kind of simmer. A jacuzzi of love and grace that tickles once in awhile, but mostly envelopes me, heals me, fills me with something-- amazing. Comforting. 

And I think I tend to be the same way with friends, as well. Sometimes I am sooo happy to see you or hear from you, it's hard to keep from racing around the yard hollering and kicking up grass. But most days, your presence is such gift, such delight that I am content-- yes, that's the word-- content to simply enjoy the moments we have. Together.

What about you? What kind of relationship do you have with the Almighty? 

Have you ever stopped to think about it? Now is a good time.

And just as important, how about your fellow pilgrims on the journey? How do you love them?

Precious Lord, I am humbled by your presence, in awe of your grace-filled love for your foolish child. teach me to love as you love, without judgment, without barriers-- without end. Amen.

Lord, help me.

In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge:

Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. 

--2 Timothy 4:1-2

A few days ago I got some exciting, terrifying news. I am going to be giving a homily on Maundy Thursday.

I know, I know. You're thinking, what's she scared of? She went to seminary, she is following a Call to ministry-- isn't she? What's the big deal? And you are correct. Sort of.

I did finish my degree. I hold a Master of Divinity-- with Honors, no less. And yes, I am following God's Call on my life. (It took me awhile to stop the fighting, but yes.) And I did learn to preach from two very fine models. (One has just recently been named president at Colgate Rochester Crozier Divinity School, and Ashland already misses his dynamic presence around campus.)

All these things are small potatoes, however, in light of the greater charge we have every time we step into a pulpit or behind a lectern to offer a word from God. To correct, rebuke and encourage. All in one homily?

I have been off this bicycle for a while. It is Time to get back on and ride, but I am admittedly a wee bit nervous.

The traditional view holds that Paul wrote these words to Timothy, a young Christ-follower whom Paul loved like a son. And looking at this letter as a whole-- well, it is a homily, following the advice Paul gives right in these two opening verses. He corrects any mistaken thinking Paul believes Timothy may be engaged in (or considering); he rebukes him as gently as Paul ever does anything-- and he encourages him to keep faith in the Lord, get out there and "play ball!"

And in the next verses, Paul points out why the charge to preach the Word is such a difficult one: 

For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. 

Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers 

to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry. (2 Timothy 4:3-5)

Ouch. That stick was mighty sharp there, Paul. Surely a preacher would never pander to their audience-- would he (or she)? Arguably, there is a fine line between pandering and making a passage relevant in a modern context. (Many would disagree and say the truth is the truth, period. The truth is the truth-- but of what use is it if no one understands? As Paul wrote to the church at Rome: How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” [Romans 10:14-15])

So yes, I do take this charge seriously. And I know I cannot do this alone or depend on my own understanding (Proverbs 3:5). 

Most wise Lord, open my eyes to your Word, my heart to your message, and my lips to speak what your children need to hear. Amen.

>gulp<

So sorry

“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in men’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.

   “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are." --Matthew 23:13, 15

(First of all, for those who notice such things: If you want to see verse 14, you will need to go to a Bible and check out why there is no verse 14 here.)

Sunday again. . . . 

Donald Miller's wonderful book Blue Like Jazz, which comes out in movie form in April (and no, I do not get paid for this plug), has a wonderful scene during an annual festival on a college campus, in which some of the college students set up a "confessional" booth. Students who have been partying over-the-top and begin to sober up with guilt attached go to the booth, expecting there to be a person there to receive their confession.

Instead, they find someone dressed as a monk, but he is the one confessing the sins of the Church over the centuries. Confessing, for instance, the horrible way Christians behaved during the Crusades, "in the name of Jesus."

It is a powerful scene. And it is in that vein that I am writing today. 

These are tough verses, when Jesus begins the "woe" passages. Even as in his time he was addressing the Pharisees, we are guilty of many similar behaviors today (or at least I am.)

So-- if I have ever implied that I am the one standing at heaven's door deciding who's "in" and who's "out," I am sorry. This is not for me to decide. This is a heart-to-heart conversation between you and God.

If I have ever made it seem as if someone's conversion is somehow less genuine, less acceptable than my own, I am sorry. Some believe a "true" conversion is like a flash in the dark, as Saul was struck on the road to Damascus; but John Wesley wrestled for years before his "Aldersgate experience" when his heart felt strangely warmed. 

I believe sometimes it takes a long time of gently coaxing the flame to life, puff after gentle puff of Spirit breath bringing the soul to accepting God's perfect grace. That's how it was/ has been for me. If your journey into Christ's loving arms has been different-- who am I (or anyone) to judge? 

And if I have ever led you to Jesus, then left you to handle life alone after that moment-- I am so sorry. Our journey together should not end when you join the Family of Christ. The path may change, our lives may drift apart or take new directions-- but know, always, that I am here if you need me. If life gets crazy and you need my ear-- you may have both of them. Please ask. Or better yet, don't ask. Tell me. There is a difference.

Life keeps going, changing. Our God is not a static, unchanging deity, but lively, growing, ever-on-the-move. And God is that way because God chooses to travel with us. God does not insist that we remain the same; in fact, I imagine God would be a wee bit disappointed in us if we did.

We are all on this trip together, with a common destination: the Reign of God. Not one of us is God. Not one of us can dictate where the road will go or how it will be travelled. But this I know: God is travelling with me and God is travelling with you.

And that is good enough. No reason to apologize for that.

Lord, may my heart seek your direction as a compass seeks true north, and may my words never be the stone that causes another to stumble. Amen.

More Boy Scout theology

“No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father."

“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because 

the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him." 

--Matthew 24:36, 42-44

It's a big day here in my house. I am getting a new garage door. And-- a garage door opener. You know-- the kind where you sit in your car, push a button and voila! Up goes the door, all by itself. My upper body-building routine now will consist solely of lifting grandchildren. No more clean-and-jerk with the garage door, nosirree.

I am entering the twentieth century. Who knows what's next-- cable TV?

So I went out this morning, scanned the situation and realized: there were some things to deal with before the Sears guys returned. They'd been out a couple of weeks ago, measured, re-measured, all that stuff. (Ordered me a custom-fit door. I am that special.)

I knew they were coming, but acted as if I did not. So now, here I was, at the last minute, scurrying around, moving things, filling big black trash bags with stuff that's needed removing for-- well, for a very, very long time.

I sorted out things that were still useful, just needing a new setting (like maybe my kids' houses). 

I found a terrific toy from my son's childhood, cleaned it up really well-- and am planning on re-gifting it at Easter. (Shhh . . . . lol)

But I admit, I did pretty much a last-minute, half-effort job. I just did what I had to do for now. The rest-- well, the rest can wait for another day.

And then my mind wandered to the rest of my life. 

Jesus will be back. He promised. And he also told us no one, not even he, knows the day nor the hour when he will return.

So we ought to be living every day as though Jesus is about to appear. As if we could lift our eyes and see his jet circling, preparing to land at any moment. (I know, I know. You get the idea, though, don't you?)

Even as we believe God's grace is sufficient, still Jesus reminds us that there will be sheep and there will be goats, and we may think we are sheep and those people over there are the goats-- but we could have it wrong. We do not know.

Do we look at the messy corners of our lives and think, "Well, I am really busy today. Maybe I can spend an hour Sunday morning and clean this up a bit"? (Never mind that Jesus just might show up Saturday night at a bar, or a place like AfterHours Denver.)

How boldly and honestly do we peer into that pile of junque? How much of it do we "share" with others-- whether they want it or not?

We are a week away from Holy Week. Next Sunday, Palm Sunday, Jesus entered Jerusalem in triumph, greeted by throngs of adoring followers and fans. 

Five days later, he had been scourged and crucified. He knew-- but we never know.

God has a great big box waiting for all the junque we care to pitch. He will take it all and keep it-- unless, of course, we choose to keep grabbing it back. 

Where shall I begin?

Gracious, forgiving Father, thank you for looking past my messy corners and loving me anyway. Help me clean up my corners (and the rest of my life, as well). Amen.

And also with you.

Away with the noise of your songs! 

   I will not listen to the music of your harps. 

But let justice roll on like a river, 

   righteousness like a never-failing stream! -- Amos 5:23-24

Last night I had the gift of an evening listening to Father John Dear, SJ. (Right off the bat, he says, "Just call me 'John.' 'Father Dear' just doesn't sound right.") Thanks to The River's Edge in greater Cleveland for hosting this opportunity to listen to a man who has made a commitment to peace-filled living.

John Dear is a peacenik. He told stories of being part of various peaceful protests and being arrested for his actions. As a convicted felon, he no longer has the right to vote; yet he continues to work for peace in other (perhaps more effective) ways. The company he has kept, in protests and in jail cells, reads like a veritable Who's Who. His talk left me, again, thinking about peace and what it really means.

I think we (or maybe just I) can fall into the trap of thinking of peace as something more passive than active. Peace as an absence of violence, a cessation of war. Peace, in a '60s kind of way, sitting around together-- being peaceful. (Whatever that means.)

But peace is so much more than that. Because really, what happens in the absence of war/ conflict if the only life one has ever known is one of violence-- and conflict?

Defining peace that way makes me think of working with children, having to take away something they were playing with-- and suddenly they don't know what to do with their empty hands.

Or like a man who has worked his whole life and wakes up one day no longer employed. Now what?

This is where we come in. This is where those hands and feet get dirty-- and busy.

Peace may look like medical supplies for those in need after times of violence.

Peace may look like bags of rice, cisterns of fresh water, cans of baby formula-- and loving, caring people to teach how to use all these things.

Peace may look like clothing, or shoes, or glasses-- or crayons and paper.

Peace should look an awful lot like love. Love that starts where hatred left off and moves far, far away from that point.

Here are some of the names from John Dear's list of Peace All-Stars:

• Daniel and Philip Berrigan. 
• Martin Luther King, Jr. 
• Martin Sheen. 
• Dennis Kucinich. 
• Mother Teresa. 
• Mohandas Gandhi. 

Whose name is missing here? Are you on this list? Is this something you aspire to do? Because peace, in my heart, is a verb. It is a way of living. It is a first step and a second and a third. 

Until justice rolls on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream. Peace be with you, work in you, pass through your hands and in to the world. One open mind, one loving heart at a time. Amen.

Excuses, excuses

Moses said to the LORD, “O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”

The LORD said to him, “Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the LORD? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.”

But Moses said, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.”

--Exodus 4:10-13

If I believed in reincarnation, I just might suspect I was Moses in my former life. I have dragged me feet, offered more "reasons" why God has got to have the wrong girl here-- just like Moses.

And just like with Moses, I keep getting reminders. Who made you in the first place, child? Who gave you the gifts you have?

And why is it, heidi, that you are perfectly happy using those gifts in other aspects of your life, but balk at dedicating them-- to me?

Let the stammering and stuttering begin.

At one point, someone had the unmitigated gall to inform me that those eighteen years teaching small children, I had been in ministry to those families. Now I was just making it official.

Sheesh. And some people say there are no prophets any more.

If this post were an episode of Sesame Street, it would be brought to you today by the letters E and X.

As in, excuses. 

But also example. We are not on this journey alone or without models.

How about extraordinary? We are God's most perfect creation, in God's own image. How can we fail if we follow our Father's footsteps?

Excellent. God's plan for our lives far exceeds anything we can dream up on our own.

Expect. Believe in yourself. 

Exchange these lazy excuses and think, instead, like the prophet Isaiah. 

"Here am I, Lord. Send me."

Gracious Lord, thank you for never, ever sending us out alone to do something for which we are not equipped. Help us to humbly find our way, seek your path and follow. No excuses. Amen.

How dull would THAT be?

Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. 

When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard them speaking in his own language. 

Utterly amazed, they asked: “Are not all these men who are speaking Galileans? Then how is it that each of us hears them in his own native language? Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,  Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!” 

Amazed and perplexed, they asked one another, “What does this mean?” -- Acts 2:5-12

(Feeling sleepy? Read those names out loud and wake up your brain.)

The Book of Acts is an interesting read, especially at the beginning, because it reflects on the days immediately following the crucifixion of Jesus and, in this passage, the arrival of the Holy Spirit and his effects on the early followers of Jesus.

Remember, immediately before this passage, the faithful were terrified. Jesus had shown up briefly to tell them to remain in one place and do nothing-- until they received the Spirit. Meanwhile, all around them was chaos, fear and a general atmosphere of craziness. (I imagine they were perfectly happy staying indoors, doors locked and shades drawn, so to speak.)

On the day of Pentecost, the Spirit, like tongues of fire, filled the believers, and all manner of mayhem ensued.

Every person heard them speaking-- in the listener's own native language! And they were amazed, frightened, confused-- all of the above.

This was the amazing way God chose to do things. And I find it fascinating.

God could have chosen to confine his Spirit to just the small group, let them sit around with fellow believers and speak just to one another. That would have been safe. No risk-taking there. No chance of sharing anything special with someone who was "different," who maybe spoke a different language or maybe even believed a different set of beliefs. 

Nope, God chose to "mix it up." Even as some observers chose to take the cheap shots and accuse those speaking in many languages of being drunk first thing in the morning, God placed different folks together.

And I am thinking, today, about how we still need this same "mix-it-up" philosophy in our lives.

If I surround myself only with people who walk like me, talk like me, think like me, dress like me-- any or all of the above-- before long I am likely to become bored. That, or I am liable to project what "my group" thinks/ does onto the whole world and assume, without ever asking, thinking or questioning, that "our" way is the best way.

Dangerous stuff. Seriously.

But at the same time, it's a little scary and sometimes intimidating to hang around people whose beliefs might challenge my worldview or my way of thinking.

I believe that is not only okay, it's necessary. 

How can we get along in this ever-burgeoning global community if we do not have any desire to meet "the other" in our global neighborhood? How can I understand the plight of the poor if I have never spent even five minutes with someone who struggles to make ends meet?

How can I relate to a person of another faith-- or even of another Protestant denomination-- if I choose to dissociate myself from anyone who will not march to my dogmatic steps? We can learn so much from one another!

Is my God that small, that I can keep him in my own personal space? Assign to him my own limited list of attributes? (My God hates boxes, does not even come close to fitting in any box I can create. Keeps kicking out the sides, for pity's sake.)

My husband always said-- and I agree-- that the strongest leaders are those who are not afraid of ideas, even if they are different from the leader's own.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to begin a conversation with someone who does not think like you. Maybe you aren't quite ready for that yet? Friend someone, a public figure, on Facebook. Open your ears, set aside your preconceived notions, be still-- and listen. Listen attentively. Then politely take your turn. (I wager that if you have listened well, the other will, also. That is how it tends to work: we get what we give.) Ask questions, and do not interrupt the answer. Try not to form judgments in your mind.

Then-- just sit. Be quiet and ruminate over what you have just done. Huh. Hmmmm. 

You will never be the same. And your world will have grown, all because you chose to take a risk and move beyond your immediate circle of like-thinkers.

Come, Holy Spirit. Find your way into our hearts and unite us. Move us beyond our zones, out of our comfortable spaces and into a wider circle of your holy love. Amen. 

Proud parent

“You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”  Mark 1:11b

Time today for a little side trip. 

Today, my firstborn turns 30. Yes, that's right: my son is thirty years old. Hardly seems possible.

Thirty years ago, at 5:21 in the morning, he came quietly into the world, all nine pounds, ten ounces of him. (I was the one screaming and bawling.) He looked quietly at his dad and me as we counted fingers and toes, marvelled at the depth of those eyes! (For the record: That may have been the last time he was speechless. He is his father's son.)

In that moment, life continued, and hope and promise entered our world. We knew what it felt like to offer unconditional love-- at least for a little while. (True confessions: I am close to incapable of loving without condition for very long. But I try.)

In that moment, we began to dream dreams for this tiny child, dreams of a future. In that moment of new life, one cannot help but allow the mind to wander down all sorts of paths. He could grow up to be anything! 

I can tell you this: At no point did we ever dream anything but good dreams for this baby. You don't hold a child in your arms and wonder how he will leave the world. No, children are (or should be) about the future. They hold tomorrow in their teeny tiny wrinkled hands.

* * * * *

In those moments following Jesus' baptism by his cousin John, we get a beautiful glimpse of God the proud Father. This creation of God-clothed-in-flesh has brought a surge of paternal pride-- and God seems unable to contain himself. "Look! This is my Son! What a good work this is! In him I offer you the promise of life."

Hearkens back to Genesis. God said, "It is good!"

Each child brings promise. Every parent dreams dreams for their offspring.

And even as God was well pleased with his son, he loved each of us so much that his dreams of promise, hope and new life extended not to Jesus, but to us. 

Today is also the first day of spring. All of creation begins its official return to life. Promise, renewal-- hope. 

As Jesus rose victorious over death, so, too, does life itself shake off the chill and death of winter, stretch and flex, and begin the cycle anew.

Thank God. Thank God for springtime, for renewal and for the amazing gift of new life. Amen.

No wonder God was well-pleased. What an amazing plan!

Copping attitude

We always thank God for all of you, mentioning you in our prayers. We continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. -- 1Thessalonians 1:2-3

These little verses from Paul, these greetings that begin most every epistle, are often viewed as throwaways, simply formalities of writing. Yeah, yeah, glad to know you-- but here's why I am really writing to you. But today I was thinking especially about how important these opening words (and the ones like them found in the other letters) really are.

Paul was not sitting in the lap of luxury as he wrote his letters to the various churches. Sometimes he was chained in prison. And yet he still offers words of thanksgiving for the people to whom he is writing. He lived in an attitude of gratitude.

Churches that seem to have forgotten him as soon as he left their premises. Churches filled with people he had never even met (yet). All the epistle writers engage in this same act of thanksgiving, in one way or another. 

It seems when you rely on God, you really, truly come to understand just how much you have to be thankful for. Even on a lousy day.

So it's Monday, the start of a new week. Where to begin? How about you stop, take a deep breath and think. 

Or better yet, thank. 

Thank God for the gift of a new day. 

Listen to your neighborhood, the sounds of new beginnings, for birds and children, trash trucks and school buses. Maybe you live in the country and can listen to the clip-clop-clip-clop of horse hooves on the road. 

Thank God for ears that hear.

The sun is getting up later than usual. Maybe it's been awhile since you sat in silence and watched the sun climb out from below the horizon, shake off the cloak of darkness and shine with the glory of the Creator. 

Thank God for eyes to see.

Your turn. Slow down-- stop, even. Rest in the lap of the Lord and give thanks.

Amen.