Chairs and Foolishness (Sermon)

Famously, pastors are trained to preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Even if we do not directly refer to the latter, the Spirit reminds us of what is happening in the world around us. The call to discipleship always has a context- a time, a place, and fruits of the Spirit that are needed in action. 

When the Civil War in the United States broke out, the Episcopal churches in the seceded states of the South formed the Protestant Episcopal Church in the Confederate States of America. While some historians argue that the split was pragmatic since it would be hard to govern a church across two warring nations, the reality is that the splinter denomination did support the institution of chattel slavery. They tolerated the perverted teaching of “Christian slavery”- claiming care and concern for the enslaved people who were legally, socially, and spiritually considered property. 

In 1862, the Episcopal General Convention met in New York City. The war was raging and the states and institutions of the Union were under immense pressure. The leadership of the Northern church made a radical decision to continue with their convention with an eye toward unity in Christ, even knowing that their Southern siblings had broken faith with that unity. 

During the roll call of the states, the Secretary of the Convention called out the names of the Southern dioceses (Alabama, Florida, Georgia, etc.) just as he did for the Northern ones. On the floor of the convention, empty chairs were placed for the Southern bishops and deputies. By refusing to remove the chairs, the Northern church was signaling that the South was not "gone" or "excommunicated"—they were simply "absent." The leadership of the 1862 convention held a radical, stubborn hope:: "We are not two churches; we are one church with some members who are currently unable to attend."

The real drama occurred in October 1865, just months after the war ended. The General Convention met in Philadelphia. The atmosphere in the country was toxic and vengeful, yet the Episcopal leadership sent word to the Southern bishops that their "seats were waiting." No one was sure what would happen. No one was entirely sure what should happen. 

Here is what did happen on the first day as recounted in a sermon by the Reverend Morgan Dix, delivered just weeks later: 

When the Convention assembled in St. Luke's Church, for the opening service, one of the southern Bishops was there. He came alone, and took a seat among the congregation: he looked like a stranger. That was a sight which his brethren in the Apostolic Episcopate could not bear. They saw him; they became uneasy. At last they sent a dignified messenger to tell him that he must come to them. Then he hesitated no longer; he arose, and just as he was, with no vestment or robe of office, passed up to the chancel and went to his brethren. I was told that there was not a dry eye in that august company at that moment. Men felt that GOD was giving answer to the question whether this Church could be one again. (https://anglicanhistory.org/usa/mdix/convention1865.html)

People remembered the passionate singing of hymns during that convention, giving God the glory. Did the moment of reunion and welcome fix everything? No, there remained historical pain, work to be done, changes to make, but the hope of unity kept the chairs out, kept the names on the rolls, kept the prayers going, kept the invitations ready to be sent. That moment of restoration could never have happened if at least one side had not remained attuned to the Spirit’s urging- even during the bleakest hours. 

In today’s reading from 1 Corinthians, Paul writes to a church that is obsessed with "branding." They are divided into fan clubs. "I belong to Paul," says one group. "I belong to Apollos," says another. "I belong to Cephas (Peter)." And then there’s the ultra-spiritual group that says, "I belong to Christ," which is always code for "I’m better than all of you."

Paul does not write a soft prayer for peace. He asks a pointed question: "Has Christ been divided?"

The Greek word Paul uses for "divisions" is schismata. It’s where we get our word schism. It literally means a tear or a rip in a garment. Paul looks at the church and sees people tearing the fabric apart because they want to claim the larger or better piece. This fractured faithlessness is not only harming the body of Christ, it is fundamentally damaging the witness of that body to a world that needs a message of liberation, wholeness, and hope. 

For Paul, the message of the cross is foolishness because its message seems useless to a world that needs to know who is on top, who has the most power, who has the best stuff. And if those are your priorities, says Paul to the divided Corinthians, then you might as well be dying. On the other hand, he writes, if we trust the message of the cross, we are saved by its power. That power is the outstretched arms of Christ, a message of forgiveness, a message of the not being forsaken. 

When Jesus invited people to follow him, he called fishermen and people who were mending nets, people who were single and lived with their parents, people who were married, a tax collector employed by the Roman occupation, and at least one zealot who wanted to overthrow the Roman occupation. He was followed by people with questions, women with money, and at least one boy with a hefty lunch.

Each of these people followed the Spirit’s urging, whether they recognized it as such or whether they knew it as curiosity or a desire to follow a crowd or just a need for something different. The choice to follow meant setting aside what was known and familiar for this new thing. It is easy for us to assume we would have done the same, but would you have left the family business or your good paying government job or the comforts of your home to follow an itinerant teacher and healer? 

In a world filled with the music of Rome, Rome’s power, idols to Rome’s gods, would you sing the song of Jesus? Would you embrace the foolishness of the cross? Would you set out the chairs and issue invitations to people who had cut themselves off from fellowship and unity and who rejected the full humanity of others? 

Things are going to get worse before they get better. 

For those of us who considered ourselves “being saved”, for those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus, for those of us who want to continue to have hope...

We have to figure out how to keep some chairs out for those we disagree with.

We must be prepared to welcome those who wish to pursue unity, togetherness, and work in community for the sake of others.

We have to be ready to leave our nets—our safety, our tribe, our certainty—to follow a wandering teacher into a future we can't control. 

That is the discipleship, the baptism, the faithfulness that heals. And it is possible. 

Unity is not a feeling; it is an empty chair maintained in the middle of a war. It is the foolish, stubborn refusal to let the fabric stay torn. Isaiah says the people walked in darkness, but Matthew says they sat in darkness. By Matthew’s time, the sense of oppression, political and spiritual, made it almost impossible to move. 

It can feel that way, but in lives shaped by Christ’s cross, movement is always possible. Even in the sitting, there is a way forward.

I have a song to sing in the night, and so do you. I have a little light to shine, and so do you. I have chairs to set out. And so do you. Amen. 

 

 

Love Has Come

Sermon for the First Sunday in Advent, Year A (2025) 

Written for the Montana Synod 

 

Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44

 

Greetings, siblings in Christ, from your faith family in Big Timber. May the grace and peace of our Lord and Savior be with you all on this day and in the time to come.

Happy New Years, friends! This Sunday marks the start of the season of Advent and the beginning of a new church year. For those of you who are interested, this is the beginning of Year A in the three-year church cycle, meaning most of the gospel readings for the year ahead will be from Matthew.

In the world around us, especially in commercial spaces, Advent is a season of anticipation and acquisition. It’s time to get ready for the celebration of Christmas and all that comes with it. In the church world, we are a little out of step with that. Yes, Advent is a season of anticipation, but less about Christmas and more about the promises of God’s judgment and reconciliation. Part of the reason we put the Christmas carols on hold in the church world is because the Advent themes of hope in frustration, faithfulness in division, and refining fire aren’t in sync with the oft glow of light around mother and child in the nativity scene.

When that thematic separation feels too great, we tend to default to Christmas mode because it feels easier. The judgment themes and the tensions of Advent can be frightening. The idea of still waiting for our long-expected Savior is frustrating and confusing for some. Advent as Christmas-lite seems easier.


When we skip ahead, however, we miss important things about the waiting and the preparation. Not only that, but we specifically cannot skip ahead because Jesus told us not to. As we do not know the day or the hour, we are called to be in a state of preparation, not a state of already celebrating or a position of despair because we think it will never happen. What it means to be a follower of Jesus and to be one who trusts His word is to be one who keeps moving in hopeful expectation, no matter how long it takes.

Here is a story to illustrate what I mean:

In November 2007, I was waiting for my husband to return home from a deployment to Iraq with the Army. He had left in March. We missed many milestones in the nine months apart, including our first wedding anniversary. Our communication had been intermittent. We, along with all the other families in our company, were anticipating the reunion.

Some of you will know this and some of you are about to learn that military returns are not always smooth affairs. Due to security and moving parts in theatre, the dates of returns are not set until very close when they will happen. Many things can cause delays. They may leave the war zone, but be held up in another location for hours or days.

Once we kind of had a date. I began to clean the house. I ordered new sheets. I refreshed the pantry with foods I knew my husband liked and stocked the fridge with beverages. I got a haircut. I filled his truck with gas and got the oil changed.

Finally, on the day before, we were given an estimated return around midday. The next morning it changed to late afternoon. In the waiting, I vacuumed again and did another random load of laundry. I made cookies and talked on the phone with a friend.

In the mid-afternoon, we were told that it would be closer to 10 pm. I made another batch of cookies and ran to the grocery store for some additional food I thought might be good the next day.

At 9 pm, we were told that it would probably be around 2 am.

Families with kids were trying to decide whether to put the kids to bed or just let them stay up. Partners without kids, like me, continued to stretch out our activities- cleaning pantries, playing with pets, vacuuming long forgotten corners of the house. We filled our time with things that needed doing, but that we just usually didn’t get to.

Finally, at 1:30 am, most of us gathered at the Armory building on the post to wait together. A movie was on for the kids. We talked and laughed together. We held each other up.

At 3 am, the reunion came.

When you see pictures or videos of reunions, they’re often in public or maybe they’re surprises. The majority of reunions, however, do happen on bases, posts, or installations. With family members who had filled their weeks, days, and hours of waiting with all kinds of activity.

This is the kind of waiting that Jesus is talking about. This is the waiting of Advent.


This is waiting for one who is loved and who loves.


When Isaiah speaks of the day of the Lord, when the people shall learn war no more…


When the psalmist says, “For the sake of my kindred | and companions, pray for your well-being”...


When Paul says to the Roman Christians, “For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers”...

These are statements of anticipation and hope, the kind of anticipation and action-filled waiting that Jesus expected of his followers- then and now.

While we may feel like the promised time of return continues to be delayed, there are still many things we can do. We are called and equipped for tasks of love and service to all those people around us.

The alertness to which we have been called, by Christ himself, is not a flurry of activity right before the event, like cleaning the house before guests. It is on-going, paced responsiveness to the grace that has always been with us, is in us now, and will sustain us in the life to come. This is Advent. And we are Advent people.

At the start of our own new year, in a season of waiting, out of step with the culture around us, we know that a reunion is coming. With the help of the Spirit, we remain awake and active.

And we know the love that will meet us has been with us all along. Amen.

 

 

Always Christmas

In the C.S. Lewis classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the four Pevensie children are sent away from London to a house in the country. More specifically, they are sent away to keep them safe(r) from the horrors and dangers of World War II. While in the country house, they discover a magical wardrobe that transports them to a different world: Narnia. 

 

Lucy, the youngest Pevensie, is the first to enter Narnia. There she meets Mr. Tumnus, a gentle faun, who tells her some about this magical world. While Lucy marvels at the animals who speak and the reality of magical creatures, Mr. Tumnus explains to her that all is not well in Narnia. “It is winter in Narnia,” said Mr. Tumnus, “and has been for ever so long…always winter, but never Christmas.”

This long-lasting winter goes on and on. For the creatures of Narnia, always winter means a perpetual state of longing for spring and no end to the season of not-enough. Never Christmas means there is never a celebration of light and love, there is no exchange of joy, no thrill of hope. Narnia is a weary world that longs to rejoice. 

 

There is the faintest rumor that Aslan, the lion king, is on the move, but until that whisper becomes a shout, there is only endless snow, unrelenting darkness, and a worry about having enough for as long as the season will last. The entirety of the "always winter" metaphor is meant to describe what it is like to live in fear, under a curse, without an end in sight. 

 

The reality for most of us, right now, is that even when we are having unseasonably warm weather, we still live in a world that feels like always winter and never Christmas. The news of wars does not end. The reality of cruelty, from one group to another, is inescapable. We know all too well what it means to feel as if there is not enough- not enough money, not enough time, not enough hope. 

There is a restful side of winter- the thoughts of seeds and plants preparing underground or within their barest stems, pregnant animals, and quiet stillness before the rush of spring. But like Mr. Tumnus, we’re rarely getting the chance to experience the restorative side. The chaos and frenetic nature of life today means we only get that positive wintering in small bits, rather than a whole season. 

 

Christmas itself easily gets caught up in the frantic worry about deprivation, rather than in the stillness and renewal. Confronted with buying for the holiday by mid-summer, the pressure to take advantage of sales, to do everything, to be cheery, and jolly, and to make perfect memories does not carry the warmth of July into the winter. Instead, this overwhelming tide of commercials and expectations carries winter deprivation into the season of more than enough. Always winter and never Christmas- never ready, never prepared enough, always going to be a letdown. 

 

The frustrating reality of this ongoing metaphor, for this preacher, is that we are not in Narnia. We are not waiting for Aslan to appear. Our lion king has already come! Our wait ended two thousand years ago when a young, affianced woman in Nazareth said "Let it be" to the angel Gabriel. Our longing was met when Joseph laid that tightly swaddled newborn on the clean hay in the manger. 

 

We've been singing, "He comes to make his blessings known, far as the curse is found" for generations. It was likely the chorus that the shepherds hummed to themselves as they returned to their flocks, after seeing the truth of what the angels had told them. We talk about the reason for the season, sometimes forgetting that same Reason is truth for every season- every season of the year, every season of life. 

 

I am not saying that winters of grief and frustration and stress are not real. I am saying, however, that they do not define us. They are not the last word in a world wherein the Word of the Father has appeared in the flesh. A word of love, a word of hope, a word of mercy- Jesus was born to poor parents, in a small town, and his birth announcement went to outsiders- shepherds in the fields and foreign kings from Persia. They were the outsiders of their time, and we receive the same birth announcement in our own time. 

 

For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6)

 

More than just an earworm from Handel, this is the announcement for our time. Already, in and among us, is One who mediates and brings peace to all, who is greater than any idol to which we give time and treasure, who raises us with justness, mercy, and love. 

 

What would it be like if we who believe in this Christmas miracle lived it all year long? Not in the permanent Santa’s village way, but more in the way of this quote from Albert Camus:

 

In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back. (Albert Camus, The Stranger)

 

Invincible calm, invincible love, invincible summer. This is the gift of Christmas. As we sing in Hark! The Herald Angels, “Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness! Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings.” One bright star shines within all of us- the invincible love and tenderness of the One who made us, knows us, and loves us. 

 

Light and life, light and life, light and life. In the midst of the world’s winter, light and life. 

 

We are called and equipped, when we trust in this original Christmas miracle, to carry the joy of this moment through the whole year. Not in a fake way, but just as the Bible readings and the carols do. We acknowledge the weary road of life. We acknowledge the curses of the forces that oppose God. We acknowledge that the fullness of peace and joy does not yet seem evident. We see the brokenness, but we work to bring healing and we know that pain does not have the last word. We hold the truths of what has already been done in God’s love alongside the promises of what is to come, and we wait.

 

And still, we sing. And still, we hope. And still, we rejoice. 

 

We do it today. And in March, and in June, and in September, we are never worried about how many days until Christmas. 

 

Because for us, for the whole world, Christ the Savior is born. He has come. We are not waiting. 

 

And, thus, at the very heart of our human experience with the Divine, it is always Christmas, never winter. 

 

Always Christmas. 

 

Always. Christmas. For everyone. Forever. 

 

Amen. 

When Not Yet isn't Soon Enough (Longest Night 2023)

Within the Christian faith, we have many tensions. A tension, in this use of the word, is when we hold more than one thing to be true at the same time. It is not a coincidence that Christianity has the Trinity- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- as a central tenet because we must learn early that binaries will never encompass the fullness of God and how Divine Love works in the world. 

 

We have the tension of both discipline (law) and grace (gospel) to hold together, guiding us toward the range of God’s expectations and mercy. We have the pull between mystery and revelation- the ways that the Eternal Light has been made manifest and tangible on earth and the things that we still hold in faith to be true, without having seen any kind of proof.  

 

We also have a time tension- a strain between understanding that God’s ways are not our ways. Neither God’s time nor God’s timing is like ours either. The pressure of this difference highlights one of the more difficult of the Christian tensions- already and not yet. 

 

Already and not yet covers the span of what we already know God has done- made promises to our ancestors and kept them. The Holy One reconciled the earth to her Maker through Christ. The Spirit has kept the church alive through the ages- even when the way the faith was lived changed shape and expression. 

 

That same reconciling and sustaining power is still at work today, which gives us a “now” in the middle of the already and the not yet. (I told you binaries don’t fully elucidate the situation.) 

 

The not yet is hard. There is no way to cushion that blow. 

 

We do not yet know why bad things happen to good people. 

 

We do not yet perceive the full reign of the Prince of Peace. 

 

We do not yet see all people united as one family of God and the animals together as in the image of the peaceable kingdom from Isaiah. 

 

We have not yet beaten our swords into plow blades. 

 

We do not yet understand suffering or what to do when it seems the shadows have overcome the light. 

 

Not yet, not yet, not yet. 

 

When the not yet becomes overwhelming- as we watch the news, as we grieve, as we experience a season of difficulty- we must help one another remember the now. 

 

When I looked for good news headlines of 2023, I saw information about entering a golden age of medicine- including a potential cure for AIDS, new cancer treatments, and many countries eliminating specific deadly illnesses. Many countries began to have more collaborative conversations about changing weather patterns and how to cooperate through the experience. Deforestation in the Amazon decreased by 55% and several animals were taken off the endangered species list, as well as other animals being reintroduced to their original homes. More than 254 million acres of land have been restored to Indigenous groups around the world through successful land back and reparations movements. 

 

I invite to you pause for a minute and think about your own “nows” of the year- what are the things that happened across the year that fed your hope, gave you joy, or increased your awareness of God’s work in the world. 

 

(For me, my daughter’s all-clear MRI two years out from her brain tumor surgery is a massive NOW of God’s work through science and medical vocations.) 

 

Our songs tonight were selected to highlight and comfort us within the tensions of already, now, and not yet. 

 

When we sing “Joyous Light of Heavenly Glory” and “Children of the Heavenly Father”, we’re singing of what God has done. We sing of the love of creation, and we sing of God’s knowledge of nesting birds, stars in heaven and our own needs. These two songs underscore our trust in what God has done. 

 

“Come Now, O Prince of Peace” is a song of not yet. This is a specific song on that theme for it was written by Korean hymnist Geonyong Lee as a hymn for the opening worship service on a conference for the peace and reunification of the Korean peninsula in 1988. This song speaks to our ache for what is not yet, but what we know God can do. 

 

Finally, we will close our service with “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”. Unusual among Christmas carols, this hymn does not mention Jesus’ birth at all. The song is purely about the message of the angels. While recalling the angels of the Christmas story bringing good news to the shepherds, it speaks of what the angels are doing right now. They are still singing a song of peace- a song that can be heard by those who pause and listen for it. Rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing. 

 

The song of peace is happening now. It echoes what is already and it leads toward what is not yet. It is a song of love, a song of peace, a song of joy, and a song of hope. It is the song we need when the “not yet” gets too loud and the substance of the “already” is too far in the past. 

 

In this season, remember the nows of this year. Know that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot, will not, shall not overcome it. Pause and listen and for a few moments, on this longest of nights, give back the song, which now the angels sing. 

What I Know (And What I Don't Know)

All Saints Day - 2023

I realize that many of you believe I either can't or won't utter the phrase, "I don't know." Many of you have heard me say, "I could be wrong", but it is far less often that I will admit to not knowing something. Part of it is the way my memory works and that I can either remember the answer to the question or I can think about related issues and potentially answer your question from a different angle.  

One thing I am pretty sure of, though, is that no one wants to hear their pastor start an All Saints Day sermon with the things she doesn't know. If any day calls for certainty, it's this one. In this time of remembrance, stirred loss, and shared grief and hope, we all want me to lean hard on what I do know. This might even be a day to exaggerate a little and make sure the words about grace, mercy, inclusion, and holy reunion are spacious and comforting to blanket any and all doubts. 

 

So, let's get out of the way what I don't know. Despite the movies, books, poems, and even personal narratives of life after death, I don't know what heaven is like. You would be correct to point out that I'm generally considered something of an expert on the book of Revelation, so surely I know something about heaven. An expert on Revelation knows about... Revelation, not heaven. 

 

The imagery in the book is meant to be a consolation to the Christians of the late-first century. A significant portion of the book uses images from the Roman Empire and turns them on their head. I find it difficult to believe the God of all creation is employing the same interior and exterior decorator as some mid-first century two-bit Roman emperor just to make a point for eternity. The actual descriptions of heavenly realms- the pearly gates, the sea of glass, the gemstones- are meant to awe the minds of John the Revelator's audience and remind them of their ultimate home in this place of unparalleled beauty and splendor. 

 

I don't know what heaven is like and I don't know how we will get there. To the criminal who asks to be remembered in his kingdom, Jesus says, "Today you will be with me in paradise." How does the corporeal body of the Messiah go to the tomb and the spirit of the Savior descend to the dead and the essence of the second person of the Trinity greet someone in paradise all on the same day? I don't know. 

 

Jesus promises paradise on the day of death to that man, but St. Paul tells the Thessalonians that those who have died in the faith are patiently waiting for Christ's return. They will not be forgotten on the last day and they will be caught up in the blink of an eye. Are the dead waiting for Christ or are they already with him? The Bible tells it both ways (and more). I don't know. 

 

I don't know when the life of the world to come will become the life of now. Even Jesus himself tells people that only the Father knows. It is a mystery. It is, in fact, so mysterious that I'm always surprised and dismayed when people claim they know when it will be or how to make it happen. If it was even above Jesus' pay grade, I think it's definitely above ours. We wait, we pray, we hope, we trust. But the truthful answer to the question, "When", is "I don't know."

 

I don't know when. I don't know how. I don't know where. I kind of know what- that God will wipe away all tears and there will be no more pain or dying. 

 

For me, and I hope for you, the two things I do know and trust are enough. I know who and I know why. 

 

I trust that God who made all things and who promises to make all things new, in some way, somehow, beyond our understanding, knows and holds all those who have gone before in light and peace. The scripture points to God's creative nature, God's renewing power, and God's grief over destruction. The entire book of Jonah is not meant to awe us with a narrative about a whale who gets indigestion but to help us more deeply understand the God who has no desire to see a city full of people and animals destroyed- either by their own bad behavior or someone else's. That is a preserving God, a saving God, a healing God, a seeking God- a God who would choose to pour divine love into a human form and come among us so that we might have a deeper and better understanding of that renewing, restoring, and then resurrecting nature. 

 

I know that God has provided for our beloved dead and even those who have been forgotten by this plane of existence but remain remembered and cherished in another. 

 

Knowing who and why get tangled together in my mind because I cannot separate the who of God from the why of the nature of God. 1 John tells us in the next chapter that God is love. Not God loves or God loved or God will love, but God IS love. The bedrock source of the universe, of all that is seen and unseen, known and unknown, spoken and unspoken is Love. A holy parent, defined by love, will always welcome home all of the children- whether they die of old age or in tragedy or from illness, whether they are prodigal in deed or spirit- they have a place in the mansion with many rooms.

 

On this day, I could have given you a sermon on the many things I do know- on the Greek translations of meek, peacemaker, or mourning and their applications in the life of faith. I could talk about these verses in Revelation being the image of Gentiles surrounding the throne of God, the expanded vision from the earlier verses in the same chapter which affirm God’s keeping of promises to the 12 tribes of Jacob who also surround the throne. I could speak about the history of All Saints or the reason we put a time of remembering the dead in close proximity to harvest festivals and a clear change in the seasons. Those are all things I know. 

 

But on this day, on this day of remembering and questions and hope, those are not the most important things to know. The things we don’t know are also irrelevant. 

 

Here is all we need to know: there is not a person remembered today in this space, or any other, who was not made, known, loved, and saved by God.  

 

There is not a person remembered today in this space, or any other, who was not made, known, loved, and saved by God.  

 

Each person we remembered was known first by their Creator and that Creator is love. Love does not end. Love does not relinquish responsibility. Love does not stop welcoming. Love keeps a perpetual porch light on- not in hope, but in certainty. That light will remain on until everyone comes home and is at the table. 

 

I don’t know how, when, or exactly where. 

 

But I know Who and Why. And that’s all I need to know. Amen.  

Revelation Read-Along: Day 7

Reading: Revelation 6

Advent Theme: Hope

I can see from my blog stats that as the Revelation readings get more complicated, the number of daily readers has begun to drop off. Of course, that could also be related to the fact that it is a very full time of year and, in the northern hemisphere, it is darker for more of the day. Darkness itself is a time of rest and renewal, not an absence of light but an opportunity to perceive light in a different way. Part of my love of reading Revelation is that it is of a piece of the life-long work of trying to perceive light in different ways.

In chapter 6, we read about the opening of the seven seals. The seals will have parallels in the seven trumpets and the seven bowls. In terms of scriptural numerology, seven often appears to represent completeness. The original creation was described as happening in seven days and the making of all things new, a recreation, receives a kind mirror treatment.

As the seals are opened, we see the “four horsemen of the apocalypse” as they are often called. Interestingly, if we look closely at the images, the horsemen don’t necessarily come as a set of four, but instead as one and three. Christ is associated with the color white in Revelation. Use of the verb “conquer” is also almost always associated with those who persevere in faith. Therefore, the first horseman- the rider on the white horse- seems to be a metaphor for the gospel or the Spirit or even the Living Word, Christ’s own self, going into the world.

The riders that follow are war and violence (red horse), economic disaster and poverty (black horse), and death (pale horse). The implication could be that these follow behind the spread of the gospel, attempting to subvert its good work and to upend trust in the promises of Christ. The additional seals reveal the faithful who continue to pray and worship in the midst of the chaos, as well as the fear and cowardice of powers and principalities of the world as it was.

Trying to draw specifics out of this chapter is like trying to find the hidden image in a Magic Eye picture or a stereogram. Some people can do it, but most people can’t and it is only frustrating to try. In fact, I would tend to be suspicious of anyone who says they know how and when these things will happen since Jesus himself specifically indicates that no one knows except the Father (Matthew 24:36). 

Potential takeaways: Occam’s Razor is a philosophical principle which states that the answer that requires the least speculation is usually correct. The famous example is usually that if you hear hoofbeats, think horse before you think zebra. The Occam’s Razor of the human condition is that war, famine, and death are usually the result of world leaders and economic machines wanting power and control. To look at these things and to try to parse them for indications of matching John’s revelation is to hear hoofbeats and think, “Oh, boy! Zebras!” The purpose of apocalyptic literature is to stir our imagination. John’s purpose in using the genre is to stir our imagination and use that energy to drive us into proper worship in community and faithful discipleship in daily life. 

Holy God, when the activities of the world overwhelm me, I ask that You would guide my thoughts and concerns to a place of rest in You. Grant me the will and the ability to live a faithful life, in the midst of turmoil, and to resist being overcome by the forces that oppose Your true will for wholeness and restoration. In Christ’s name, Amen. 

Human Being

I have been thinking about getting a new tattoo for over a year. For a while, I thought
about the phrase I read in a book by Augusten Burroughs: “Harder is just harder”. I felt comforted at the idea that harder isn’t impossible, it’s just harder. However, the right time and place for that tat never materialized.

That idea faded when I came upon another phrase: fida et audax- faithful and bold. I loved the idea of this motto and it made me feel strong and courageous to imagine it on my wrist or on an ankle. This was my plan until about 3 weeks ago.

A variety of life events came to a culmination and I found that I was exhausted, frustrated, and tense. Overwhelmed by all things that seemed insurmountable, I marinated in the idea that in this intense time, I couldn’t “do” very much. All I could do was be.

Be.

I’m not very good at being. I am good at doing. I am good at thinking. I am okay at feeling, but I tend to put that aside for what I think I should do.

I went to visit a friend in New York. She was with me in 2005 when I got my first tattoo. Getting my second with her was a natural choice, but as I thought about what I wanted, I realized that I couldn’t get fida. That was about doing. It was about actions, resistance, and persistence. Those things are very important to me, but if I was getting a permanent reminder... I don’t need one for how to do, I need one for how to be.

Then I knew... I would get sola gratia- grace alone. One of the rallying cries of the reformations of the 16th century, this phrase grounds me not in my own doing, but in God’s doing. In light of God’s doing, my response is to be. Being beloved. Being saved. Being healed. Being welcomed. Being held. By grace alone. Not by my doing, my thinking, or my successes or failures.

By grace. Alone.

So now it is permanently inked into my wrist. It is a reminder that what I am, first and last, is God’s. Thus, whether I am trying the hard thing, the bold thing, the faithful thing... there is always time to still myself. To know I am loved. To be washed again in grace alone.

I Beg (A Prayer)

Oh, God-

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

In the midst of grief and fear, frustration and pain, despondency and despair,

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

As I continue to press that Black Lives Matter, that vaginas are not second-class reproductive organs, that LGBTQ people must have access to all human rights, that all children should be able to be educated close to their own neighborhood with the resources of all spread to all schools,

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

As I listen to spin, to lies, to twisted realities, to perspectives that I do not comprehend and that I cannot support,

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

When I hear others dare to use your name, or the name of Jesus, or reference the power of the Spirit for work and words that you would not own,

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

The time to walk in the Way of Christ has always been now. It was and it is and it shall be.

I beg you- do not let my heart become hardened.

Amen.


Originally written for and posted at RevGalBlogPals.org

Beauty for Ashes

Early on Friday morning, January 29, 2016... a person or persons broke into the church building where I serve.

They smashed a concrete doorstop through a window to enter the building. Additionally, they threw said doorstop through the plate glass office window and then ransacked the office looking for money. Not finding any, they stole a small, inexpensive digital camera and tore up the office. 

They proceeded to the sanctuary where they overturned the baptismal font, shattering the pottery insert that protected the brass font from water damage. 

The saddest damage was found on Sunday morning, where they wrote in the liturgical leader book. 

Right over the idea that the Lamb of God takes away the sin of the world, they wrote "lie". Did they stop to read this and react to that specifically? Do they refuse to believe the body and blood of Christ were given for them? Did they simply not care what the book was?

There was no other damage to the book or in the sanctuary (besides the font). No Bibles torn, no hymnals, nothing to the piano or organ (thank God). So this quick writing seems very specific. 

The worst damage was in the back of the church where they put books and papers on the stoves and turned on all the burners full blast. We have had electric stoves, so it probably took a while for things to start burning, but they did. Eventually the sprinkler system kicked in and one localized sprinkler dowsed the flames. Lots of water pouring through the kitchen and over some of the preschool contents. The kitchen was totaled. 

A person walking his or her dog early in the a.m. saw the strobe lights of the fire alarm system and called the fire department. The alarm system alerted specific church members. 

It was, expectedly, chaotic. 

I was on a ship, but got the news and made many calls... at the rate of $1.99/minute.

We're slowly cleaning up and deciding how to move forward. 

The emotional reactions come and go, but when I look at the worship book, there's only one spiritual reaction: prayer for such a hurting individual. 

In ransacking the office, they opened a plastic bowl I had full of ashes. Last year, I burned 3 years worth of old palms from Palm Sunday. I sieved the ashes very finely and stored them. I had enough ashes for about 500 Ash Wednesdays. The person opened that container and dumped the ashes everywhere in the office. The ash is so fine, it just hangs in the air.

This means that the perpetrator, still a child of God, left Lutheran Church of Hope covered in our still ringing "Hosannas" (God save us!) and the reminder that we are all dust and to dust we shall return.

There's something so poignant about that. I'll try to cling to this as we move forward.


Donations to Lutheran Church of Hope or Hope Lutheran Preschool may be made here: www.mkt.com/hopeak.

Future Perfect Tense

While Japan is still shaking and ears are still rattling in Beirut and no one is sure what happened in Paris, except that there is a lot of blood and grief... I feel still as I wait to understand how to pray.

It is almost as though praying for peace has become a kind of false prophecy, for I have seen how the forces that oppose God and God's will in the world go to all kinds of lengths to avoid peace.

I sought out several translations of Psalm 27, particularly verses 13 and 14.

The New Revised Standard Version says:

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
    be strong, and let your heart take courage;
    wait for the Lord!

All of it is a future hope as well as guidance toward the future. 

The New American Standard Bible reads: 

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

This points to the idea that the psalmist has had an experience of God within the concreteness of earthly life and applies that lesson to his (or her) future expectations of the Holy One. 

The New International Version: 

I remain confident of this:
    I will see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord.

Again the outlook is ahead and not behind.

The NASB is the closest to a literal translation of the Hebrew, whereas the other two are attempting a balance between the beseeching spirit of the psalm and the actual words thereof. Our prayers have to do the same thing. We cry out to the heavens with our grief and our frustrations- HOW LONG, O Lord- and we wait. Yet we also keep living- tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow- with the faithful expectation of seeing God's good work in the world. 

We lean on what we know to be true, because of what we have seen and heard, and we trust that it shall bear fruit again- even in our lifetimes- for the healing of the earth and all who dwell therein.