Listen up!

“Be still, and know that I am God." --Psalm 46:10a

(I am fairly certain my choice verse here is a re-run. Maybe that means it is a message we all need to hear-- again.)

I have been running into Brother Lawrence a lot lately, and George MacLeod. 

Brother Lawrence was a monk who never progressed beyond the rank of chief cook and bottle washer, and was all right with that. He is best remembered in a petite book called The Practice of the Presence of God. 

Brother Lawrence found contentment and peace, the very presence of the Almighty, while peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots. He slipped away from the busy-ness of life and rested in the Divine embrace-- doing dishes.

And George MacLeod (1895-1991) is a more contemporary mystic out of the Church of Scotland, who founded the Iona Community. He has written much poetry, many short essays devoted to conversation about the sacrament of the present moment.

Both of these men have been turning up in various readings the past several days. And both of these men are guiding me to a place of slowing down.

So stop for a moment, and think about this: Now is all we've got. We are not guaranteed tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Every moment is a gift from God, and God is in every moment we are given.

George MacLeod suggests that we needn't worry about getting in touch with God, because God is always in touch with us, in every aspect of the lives we lead. 

So this morning-- I took the challenge. And I invite you to go for it, as well.

When you pick up the scrubbie or the sponge, let your senses open to the experience. 

Feel the warmth of the dishwater on your hands. Listen to the scratch-scratch-scratch as you work at getting last night's pasta sauce off the bottom of the pot. Don't overwork it-- it will come off. Allow yourself to enter the moment.

Breathe in the mixed scents of garlic, marinara and lavender dish soap. (I never said it would all be pleasant.)

One of my favorite passages from Rob Bell's first book, Velvet Elvis, was when he pointed out that no one ever went up to Jesus and asked, "So-- how's your spiritual life, Son of God?" No one ever asked that because for Jesus, all life is spiritual. There was no false dichotomy between things of God and things of man. All things, all people, all experiences are of God.

See, here's the deal: 

When God invites us to be still, I don't think that necessarily means to do nothing. Stillness means allowing God to settle within our souls, even when our hands are still busy. Sometimes, for some people, stillness comes especially when our hands are busy. I have a friend who cannot give full attention unless her hands are busy. So during church meetings, she will fold origami or cut scherenschnitte. 

For Brother Lawrence, stillness came while peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.

Try it. 

If it makes you feel better-- send the rest of the family away while you seek to find the sacrament of the now. It just might give you a new outlook on those mundane chores you really dislike doing, if you think about finding time with God amongst the laundry that needs folding or the potatoes to scrub for dinner.

And there are always opportunities to practice, even if you never feel you will get it right. God is not scoring you. God is simply enjoying the attention.

Heavenly One, help us to seek your presence, not in eternity or the next life, but in each moment, every day we have here, in this place, with you. Amen.

* * * * *

Want to know more?

Brother Lawrence. The Practice of the Presence of God. Whitaker House, 1944.

Bell, Rob. Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006.

MacLeod, George. Daily Readings with George MacLeod. Ron Ferguson, ed. Glasgow: Wild Goose Publications, 1991.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scherenschnitte :)

Dude-- it's like. . . .

(Jesus) told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.” 

--Matthew 13:31-32

We recently commemorated the birthday of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in this country, and there have been many, many references to his famous speech, "I have a dream." All this got me to thinking about faith and dreams, and the role imagination takes in a believer's life.

Jesus told so many stories that began, "The Kingdom is like. . . ." It was his way of trying to communicate with his disciples-- and now with us-- what the Kingdom of God is really like. The Kingdom of God goes beyond what we can know; yet there are "touch-points," places where we can begin to make sense or understand the Kingdom, based on what we know about this place.

The Kingdom is like a teeny, tiny seed. It begins small, and takes root, and with proper nurture and care, grows ever stronger in the world.

The Kingdom is like leavening in a dough. A little bit, worked in to the dough, affects the whole batch. Good yeast, good bread. Bad yeast-- flat bread.

The Kingdom is like a treasure in a field, so valuable that a person would give up everything to have a part of it.

All those, and so many more ways in which the Kingdom of God is communicated by the Christ to those who would be part of the Kingdom.

My elephants, the reason I started this blog, offer another way to look at the Kingdom and prayers of the faithful. The Kingdom is like a living room, filled with friends and toothpicks and elephants in the attic.

I like that. It works for me-- but I wonder what works for you?

When you think of the Kingdom of God, how do you imagine it? What things or places or ideas in this world help you envision a Kingdom world?

The Kingdom of God is like . . . a beautiful green field on a perfect summer day? 

The crisp, pristine beauty of a snow-covered mountaintop? 

The sweet crunch of a perfect peach, juice dribbling down your chin on a hot afternoon?

A warm puppy in your lap?

All of the above?

Stop what you're doing for a few minutes. (You've already taken a blog break. I won't tell.) Close your eyes and think about the Kingdom, and how you imagine it. What makes it easier for you to understand what God is doing, in your life and in the world?

Now-- be Jesus for a minute. Can you state it in a sentence, and then explain it so someone else would begin to understand?

This is exactly what we are called to do: to communicate what God is doing in us so that those who do not understand, might come to desire what we've got in our hearts and lives.

And yes-- this is a challenge. Grab a pen, grab a journal. And today's writing prompt is "The Kingdom is like. . . ."

Pray. Now-- go. Write. Tell. Share.

The Kingdom news is like wildfire, spreading from one heart to another burning away the old deadwood, making way for fertile new growth. 

Thank you, God, for imagination, for we know there is nothing we can tell or believe that fully captures the greatness of your work, in us and in the world. Amen

No reservations.

And she gave birth to her firstborn son 

and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, 

because there was no place for them in the inn. --Luke 2:7

Christmas is officially over. Even the Orthodox church has celebrated the holy day. At my house, Christmas went back in the box this morning. The tree is down, the Advent calendar carefully rolled up and tucked away.

So why, you ask, has she chosen this verse from the Christmas season?

When the babe was born, Luke tells us, the inn was crowded. So the ones we call the Holy Family were relegated to the stable. The child of God was wrapped in rags and placed, somewhat unceremoniously, in the manger, the trough where the animals are fed.

All because the inn was crowded. All because way back then, there was no way for the family to "phone ahead" and be sure there would be a place for Mary to deliver her firstborn child.

No reservations.

But really, the whole story has been one of "no reservations," in another sense.

When the angel Gabriel visited Mary and told her God was going to use her as an instrument to carry and birth God's own son, Mary said yes. Now, I do not believe she immediately said yes. I think, beyond her original question ("How can this be, since I am a virgin?"), Mary may have spent a bit of time pondering what Gabriel was telling her. But after she pondered, she said yes. 

"Let it be to me as you have said." No reservations. Her "yes" meant "yes."

When Joseph learned his betrothed was with child, he pondered divorcing her quietly. But again, enter Gabriel. And after Joseph received the explanation through a dream (and I suspect he, too, pondered the words for a bit)-- he said yes. No reservations. Even though it was certainly likely he was subjected to ridicule, his "yes" meant "yes," and he stood by Mary and honored God's plan.

So what about us? How are we doing?

It seems to me that the time to live into Christmas begins-- now. 

We have heard God's promises again. We have listened to stories of angels and shepherds, of cruel kings and foreigners. We have sung carols and lighted candles.

And in the days following, as we moved towards a new year, many of us made promises. (We call them "resolutions.")

Only a few days into the new year, and I suspect many of us are already struggling to keep those promises. We may have over-promised, or perhaps we are finding reasons (excuse) not to follow through.

True confessions: I struggle with this. A lot. But this year, I am trying to take a page from Mary and Joseph's book.

I have not made any resolutions about food or exercise or things like that. 

But I am trying to commit myself, even if it takes some pondering first, to follow as God leads. Preferably with less heel-dragging and excuse-making.

No reservations. Full-on, full-out, risk-taking and trusting. 

And I am, frankly, nervous. Can I really make my "yes" mean "yes"? 

Not maybe, or how about next week-- but yes. 

It is a tough task.

So I didn't put all of Christmas back in the box.

I have a small Nativity carved of olive wood, an all-in-one piece that sat atop the entertainment center throughout Advent and Christmas. I kept it out and moved it over to the center of the hutch in the dining room, where I will see it more often.

I am hopeful that its presence will remind me that Christmas is not a day, or even a season, but a call to a way of living, each and every day.

Gracious God, help us. Lead us to yes. Bring us, each day, to a renewed awareness of how you call us to lives of peace, hope and promise. Amen.