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.

Inside Out

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. . . . Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. --1 John 4:7, 11

My heart has been broken again as the United Methodist Church, choosing Discipline over Scripture in my opinion, punished Rev. Frank Schaefer for being a loving parent and presiding over a same-sex marriage ceremony for his son.

This church I grew up in, with its winsome theology of love and acceptance, has broken my heart. Again. (I am not ordained, and with this latest series of events, I don't exactly feel like pursuing ordination boldly. It would likely end poorly.)

I have many friends in other denominations who ask me why I stay. Some days, I wonder. 

But then I remember our Colombian foreign exchange student, Jorge, and the wisdom his father shared with him, and he, with us.

Jorge's father is quite wealthy in his country, a wise businessman who would do well in any country. Because he is well off, he has sometimes been fearful for his life as the FARC rebels kidnap and hold hostage those who can afford the ransom.

Jorge asked his father: Why do you stay? What keeps you in this country? Why should I stay?

His father explained that successful, world-altering change seldom comes from the outside. (There are many wars in America's history that attest to that fact. Iraq and Afghanistan come to mind most recently.)

Sure, people can take their knowledge and expertise and move to the United States or Europe, make lots of money and be successful-- but what about those left behind in Colombia? They continue to live in fear. Their lives remain unchanged, even as these successful people send money back to their families.

Jorge's father was adamant: If I love my country, if I want Colombia to be a better place for my children's children, I must stay and work for change-- from the inside. 

Unjust laws, dangerous practices must be corrected-- not by foreign countries sending aid or armies, but by Colombians who love their country enough to want it to be different. Better.

So for me, in this season, this is why I will continue to be a part of the United Methodist Church, broken heart and all. I believe strongly enough in the wonderful Wesleyan roots to stay and work towards change.

I belong to a Reconciling Ministries Network congregation. I am a Reconciling United Methodist. I choose to be a voice of love in a world that would often rather divide than unite. Pull apart than come together.

So I stay. But I do not stay silently in the shadows. You are welcome: in my church, in my life, on my journey. Please know that God loves you, just the way you are. And so do we.

Loving God, as you first loved us, guide us, lead us to love others. Amen

Pig Pen theology

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. --Colossians 3:12-14

Yet again, my church choir experience has become the basis for thought. Imagine that: music provoking thinking.

Sunday, we sang a lovely canticle based on these verses. As I wandered through the week leading up to the actual "performance," the words followed me around.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved. . . ." 

But the words began to change a little bit; "As God's chosen people, wholly and dearly loved. . . ." 

I think this morphing began because holy is such a difficult word to define. It shows up all over the place in Scripture, but what does it mean? Three years of seminary did little to help me in better explaining this word.

But wholly and dearly loved-- that, I understand. And it made me think of Pig Pen. 

Look at him. He is a real dirt magnet. I remember in one of the Peanuts specials, Pig Pen actually appears cleaned up-- for about a second and a half. His hair is combed smooth, shoes are tied in bows-- and the dirt has settled. Then in the blink of an eye-- poof. The old Pig Pen returns, disheveled and dirty as always. 

Now, imagine being Pig Pen's mother. This is the child she loves, flesh of her own flesh. Yet every time she gets him all cleaned up, steps back to admire what a handsome lad he is-- back in the muck he goes. And yet-- she still loves him. She might sigh deeply and shake her head, but he is still her child. Her beautiful, dirt-magnetic child.

Do you suppose God is a bit like Pig Pen's mother? Anyone care to admit how much we have in common with Pig Pen?

It seems as if every time we get all cleaned up and fresh again, maybe after a particularly rousing worship service, a stirring devotional period or a profound theological discussion at Starbucks, we slurp the last drops from the coffee cup, drop the cup in the trash, head out the door-- and wham. It's as if we never even had the conversation. We are back behind the wheel suppressing road rage; our need to be "first" or "right" returns, full force.

Or is that just me?

And yet. Just like Pig Pen's mother, our Creator who loves us sighs, maybe shakes his head a bit-- and loves us anyway. Sometimes it may seem as if he is taking that perfectly pressed hankie out and trying to wipe that smudge from our face ("You've got a little something r-i-i-i-g-h-t there-- hold still and let me get it!"), but we squirm and wiggle and try to avoid the touch. He may try to guide us in new directions, steering us clear of that really big mud puddle-- only to watch us slip and go splat on something someone else left in our path. 

The love the Almighty has for his children is endless and extravagant. And many days, we need every single ounce of God's loving grace. I am afraid, on the tolerance scale, I don't always measure up. 

And that is exactly why I need that grace. Because despite my best efforts, I am often a dirt magnet. 

Ever-loving, ever-gracious God, thank you for not losing faith in me, even when my faith in myself seems fragile or muddied. Thank you for seeing your perfect image planted in my soul, written across my heart-- and thank you for placing in me a desire to seek after your heart. Amen

A bit like Dumbo

The fruit of that righteousness will be peace;

    its effect will be quietness and confidence forever. --Isaiah 32:17

It happened again today.

I was having "one of those days." A friend who has listened to me whine more than I care to admit asked a question and prepared to listen for as long as it might take. 

And in that space of safety and mutual respect, my junque du jour began to unravel like a cheap sweater when you pull that loose thread on the bottom.

Before I knew what was happening, I found myself sitting spiritually naked in a deep pile of colorful unravelings. And I began to breathe normally again.

Few words were said by my friend. I didn't need words or platitudes. I needed someone just to listen, without call or comment. 

I needed presence. And I was blessed to find it.

There's that old saying that goes something like, "The reason we have two ears and only one mouth is so that we can listen twice as much as we talk." While I certainly know a number of people who don't seem to understand this (and I bet you do, too), it seems to be worth aspiring to.

Big old elephant ears. One on each side of our head, so whichever shoulder a friend leans up against, there is a listening space-- right there.

It's a skill, you know, that listening thing. So often, folks find themselves caught on a word or phrase in someone's conversation-- and we stop listening, because that word has triggered something in us that we are sure is just so important it has to be said, as soon as the other person stops for breath (or sooner).

News flash: It's not that important.

Sometimes, there is absolutely nothing that must be said. Sometimes-- no matter whom we are in conversation with-- we just need to keep silent. 

The greatest gift any of us can give to another is the gift of self. Our full, undivided attention and focus. It can be hard. Our ego wants nothing more than to communicate to the other that we know just how they feel (even though we do not and cannot). 

I believe learning when to shush is a big part of what "dying to Christ" or "dying to self" is all about. 

We take a deep breath. We try to slip into their moccasins and feel what they feel, try to fathom their hurt (even as it may seem trivial to us). What a gift-- to a friend or to a stranger.

It works with people; it also works well with the Divine. Being quiet; listening for God's desires for and in our lives; setting aside the "Wish List" and "to-do" prayers and allowing the Lord to carry the conversation now and then. 

My friend was gracious in their gift of presence. Thank you so much. May I learn such graciousness, as well. Amen.