Not feeling very inspired to blog lately, I've been writing a lot for work and for school. However, this poem spoke to me today:
"On Swimming" by Adam Zagajewski
The rivers of this country are sweet
as a troubadour's song.
the heavy sun wanders westward
on yellow circus wagons.
Little village churches
hold a fabrid of silenc so fin
and old that even a breath
could tear it.
I love to swim in the sea, which keeps
talking to itself
in the monotone of a vagabond
who no longer recalls
exactly how long he's been on the road.
Swimming is like prayer:
palms join and part,
join and part,
almost without end.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
Long Story, Short - October 2, 2009
A cow by any other name...
A USA Today report verifies what wise dairy farmers have said for years: a cow will give more milk if she’s called by name. If the farmer knows the cow and interacts with the cow, she is more productive - to tune of about 68 more gallons of milk per year. These are the findings of Catherine Douglas of Newcastle University in England.
Perhaps that statistic can aid us in our reading of Hebrews 2.11, “...Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters...” You’ll want to read the whole of chapter 2 to see if you agree, but I’m thinking that Jesus calls us brothers and sisters in order that we might know our place as children of God.
And perhaps be more productive as disciples of Jesus.
Admittedly, thinking of ourselves as God’s cows is not all that flattering. But how far off from being the sheep in the “Good Shepherd’s” pasture is this image? How far off would it be to think that God wants us to have productive, meaningful lives?
If you’re in the DC metro area this weekend, why not join the herd for worship this Sunday at First Baptist Church, Gaithersburg? Who knows, you might find the experience very mooooooooving. Worship starts at 10:30 and we’ll observe communion, baptism, and a parent-child dedication! You might even want to audition for a Chick-fil-A commercial afterward!
Udderly excited,
Pastor Gary
A USA Today report verifies what wise dairy farmers have said for years: a cow will give more milk if she’s called by name. If the farmer knows the cow and interacts with the cow, she is more productive - to tune of about 68 more gallons of milk per year. These are the findings of Catherine Douglas of Newcastle University in England.
Perhaps that statistic can aid us in our reading of Hebrews 2.11, “...Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters...” You’ll want to read the whole of chapter 2 to see if you agree, but I’m thinking that Jesus calls us brothers and sisters in order that we might know our place as children of God.
And perhaps be more productive as disciples of Jesus.
Admittedly, thinking of ourselves as God’s cows is not all that flattering. But how far off from being the sheep in the “Good Shepherd’s” pasture is this image? How far off would it be to think that God wants us to have productive, meaningful lives?
If you’re in the DC metro area this weekend, why not join the herd for worship this Sunday at First Baptist Church, Gaithersburg? Who knows, you might find the experience very mooooooooving. Worship starts at 10:30 and we’ll observe communion, baptism, and a parent-child dedication! You might even want to audition for a Chick-fil-A commercial afterward!
Udderly excited,
Pastor Gary
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Dirty Preacher
This is a photo from "Mud Ball 2009." It's an event our church puts on that basically involves a mud pit for volley ball and a long slide down a hill into a pond. This is one event that lives up to the hype.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Is the Mission a Success?
I found this little gem of a question in a preaching journal I read called Homiletics. What do you think?
The Book of Heroic Failures contains a story about a 1978 strike of British firefighters, when the army filled the gap. One afternoon, the replacement firefighters got a call to rescue a cat caught high in a tree. The soldiers rushed to the scene, put up a ladder, brought down the cat and gave it back to the owner. The woman was so grateful that she invited them in for tea, an invitation they accepted. After a wonderful time, they said goodbye, got in the truck and backed away — over the cat.
Which prompts the question, “Could that rescue mission really be considered a success?”
—Adapted from George Sanchez, “How to succeed God’s way,” Discipleship Journal (Sept./Oct. 1983).
The Book of Heroic Failures contains a story about a 1978 strike of British firefighters, when the army filled the gap. One afternoon, the replacement firefighters got a call to rescue a cat caught high in a tree. The soldiers rushed to the scene, put up a ladder, brought down the cat and gave it back to the owner. The woman was so grateful that she invited them in for tea, an invitation they accepted. After a wonderful time, they said goodbye, got in the truck and backed away — over the cat.
Which prompts the question, “Could that rescue mission really be considered a success?”
—Adapted from George Sanchez, “How to succeed God’s way,” Discipleship Journal (Sept./Oct. 1983).
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Selling the House Before the Roof is On
Alexis de Tocqueville was researching the American prison system on behalf of the French in the mid 1800's when he wrote of American culture, "An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming into bearing … he will take up a profession and leave it, settle in one place and soon go off elsewhere."
Is it simply part of the American experience to wanderlust? Is he highlighting a kind of stupidity that is still inherent to us? Not every American was or is like his generalization, but is there a common trait amongst us that contributed to our current economic plight? Are we selling the house before the roof is on it when our system seeks an ever expanding economy and encourages the frivolous and extravagant use of credit?
I'm jus wondering.
Is it simply part of the American experience to wanderlust? Is he highlighting a kind of stupidity that is still inherent to us? Not every American was or is like his generalization, but is there a common trait amongst us that contributed to our current economic plight? Are we selling the house before the roof is on it when our system seeks an ever expanding economy and encourages the frivolous and extravagant use of credit?
I'm jus wondering.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Senility Prayer
Ran across this today, thought you aged ones might enjoy this. You know who you are!
Dear Lord,
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do, and
The eyesight to tell the difference.
Amen.
Dear Lord,
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do, and
The eyesight to tell the difference.
Amen.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Forever Begging for Just One More Day
May you and I live this day so fully as to find needless the prayer uttered at the end of this amazing poem. Thanks, Billy Collins, for continuing to amaze us.
Statues in the Park
I thought of you today
when I stopped before an equestrian statue
in the middle of a public square,
you who had once instructed me
in the code of these noble poses.
A horse rearing up with two legs raised,
you told me, meant the rider had died in battle.
If only one leg was lifted,
the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds;
and if four legs were touching the ground,
as they were in this case--
bronze hooves affixed to a stone base--
it meant that the man on the horse,
this one staring intently
over the closed movie theater across the street,
had died of a cause other than war.
In the shadow of the statue,
I wondered about the others
who had simply walked through life
without a horse, a saddle, or a sword--
pedestrians who could no longer
place on foot in front of the other.
I pictured statues of the sickly
recumbent on their cold stone bed,
the suicides toeing the marble edge,
statues of accident victims covering their eyes,
the murdered covering their wounds,
the drowned silently treading the air.
And there was I,
up on a rosy-gray block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,
down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day.
-Billy Collins
Statues in the Park
I thought of you today
when I stopped before an equestrian statue
in the middle of a public square,
you who had once instructed me
in the code of these noble poses.
A horse rearing up with two legs raised,
you told me, meant the rider had died in battle.
If only one leg was lifted,
the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds;
and if four legs were touching the ground,
as they were in this case--
bronze hooves affixed to a stone base--
it meant that the man on the horse,
this one staring intently
over the closed movie theater across the street,
had died of a cause other than war.
In the shadow of the statue,
I wondered about the others
who had simply walked through life
without a horse, a saddle, or a sword--
pedestrians who could no longer
place on foot in front of the other.
I pictured statues of the sickly
recumbent on their cold stone bed,
the suicides toeing the marble edge,
statues of accident victims covering their eyes,
the murdered covering their wounds,
the drowned silently treading the air.
And there was I,
up on a rosy-gray block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,
down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day.
-Billy Collins
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I couldn't resist
Props for this joke to the source editors at Homiletics. You guys are some of my favs:
A fellow has a parrot who swears like an old salt. The bird is a pistol. He can swear for five minutes straight without repeating himself. Trouble is, the guy who owns him is a quiet, conservative type, and the bird’s foul mouth is driving him nuts.One day, it just gets to be too much. The guy grabs the bird by the throat, shakes him really hard and yells, “QUIT IT!”
But this just makes the bird mad, and he swears more than ever. Then the guy gets angry and says, “Okay for you” and locks the bird in a kitchen cabinet. This really aggravates the bird, who claws and scratches. When the guy finally lets him out, the bird cuts loose with a stream of vulgarities that would make a sailor blush.
At that point, the guy is so mad that he throws the bird into the freezer. For the first few seconds, there is a terrible din. The bird kicks and claws and thrashes. Then it suddenly gets very quiet.
At first the guy just waits, but then he starts to think that the bird may be hurt. After a couple of minutes of silence, he’s so worried that he opens up the freezer door.
The bird meekly climbs onto the man’s outstretched arm and says, “Awfully sorry about the trouble I gave you. I’ll do my best to improve my vocabulary from now on.”
The man is astounded and amazed at the transformation that has come over the parrot. Then the parrot says, “By the way, what did the chicken do?”
A fellow has a parrot who swears like an old salt. The bird is a pistol. He can swear for five minutes straight without repeating himself. Trouble is, the guy who owns him is a quiet, conservative type, and the bird’s foul mouth is driving him nuts.One day, it just gets to be too much. The guy grabs the bird by the throat, shakes him really hard and yells, “QUIT IT!”
But this just makes the bird mad, and he swears more than ever. Then the guy gets angry and says, “Okay for you” and locks the bird in a kitchen cabinet. This really aggravates the bird, who claws and scratches. When the guy finally lets him out, the bird cuts loose with a stream of vulgarities that would make a sailor blush.
At that point, the guy is so mad that he throws the bird into the freezer. For the first few seconds, there is a terrible din. The bird kicks and claws and thrashes. Then it suddenly gets very quiet.
At first the guy just waits, but then he starts to think that the bird may be hurt. After a couple of minutes of silence, he’s so worried that he opens up the freezer door.
The bird meekly climbs onto the man’s outstretched arm and says, “Awfully sorry about the trouble I gave you. I’ll do my best to improve my vocabulary from now on.”
The man is astounded and amazed at the transformation that has come over the parrot. Then the parrot says, “By the way, what did the chicken do?”
Friday, July 10, 2009
Rough Verse
Draft of a first verse of a poem I'm working on. My Maryland friends may recognize the "blue train" as the MARC - speeding by, of course.
Tagging along behind that blue train to the land
Where no one owns a cell phone, nor needs one,
A place where ringing things have no squeeze on me.
McDiet
It only takes one 10 p.m. McDonald’s commercial to stoke my appetite. Even with a great dinner just over my shoulder I’m dreaming of a milkshake in my left hand and hot fries in my right. If I’m strong I’ll settle for some of that cardboard stuff known as “Fat Free Popcorn.” Hey, we all crave the wrong things occasionally.
In a world of Little Debbie cakes, fast food on every corner, and grocery stores gaudy with too many choices, we are a culture addicted to food that is bad for us. We are some serious snackers in the spiritual sense, too, having too often settled for a fast-food religion rather than the life sustaining gourmet feast that is really ours. Jesus challenges us in John 6.26 with a word to the throngs following him around after the feeding of the 5,000, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.”
The message of the munchies is that we’ve settled – once again – for something less than God’s best for us. We’ve chosen ritual over relationship, sappy over substantial, and flashy over the real nourishment of Christianity. Many a modern minister has used the worship table to dish up stones for bread, but Christians have endorsed it, gobbling down the byte-sized pabulum that passes for preaching like Scooby-Doo and Shaggy tearing into a foot long hero. Long story short, we need to look for a little more substance in our relationship to God.
That’s what we’ll be discussing this Sunday as we look at John 6.24-35. The sermon is called McDiet and I hope you’ll come hungry.
(p)Reaching for a crispy fry,
Pastor Gary
Long Story, Short is an email I send to get you thinking about church on Sunday. You can read similar things at my blog, Life to the Lees. This week’s sermon is part 2 of 5 in the series Hunger. Upcoming titles and texts are:
July 19 – Tastes Great John 6.35; 41-51
July 26 – Stuffed John 6.60-69
August 2 – True Bread John 6.51-58
John 6:24-35
24So when the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus.
25 When they found him on the other side of the lake, they said to him, ‘Rabbi, when did you come here?’ 26Jesus answered them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. 27Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.’ 28Then they said to him, ‘What must we do to perform the works of God?’ 29Jesus answered them, ‘This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.’ 30So they said to him, ‘What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? 31Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, “He gave them bread from heaven to eat.” ’ 32Then Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. 33For the bread of God is that which* comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.’ 34They said to him, ‘Sir, give us this bread always.’
35 Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Kobe and Phil and Leadership
Watching the ESPN docu-drama tonight, I heard Kobe Bryant give a great insight on leadership of winning teams. He said, roughly, that Phil Jackson, Lakers' coach, doesn't draw up plays for the team. "He draws up sequences, he gives us options to follow based on what we see happening on the floor at the moment."
Makes me think of Paul's instruction for pastors to equip the saints.
Friday, June 05, 2009
When God Moves Slowly
A friend of mine asked recently if God was ever going to answer a particular prayer. I answered with a quote from Tom Petty that "the wai-ai-aiting is the hardest part" and said something about God moving slowly to create change in our lives. That sounded pithy at the time.
Hours of mindless tasks later, I recalled something I'd read from Frederick Buechner in The Sacred Journey. He writes about the obfuscation of God's speech into our lives, saying, "God speaks to us in such a way, presumably, not because he chooses to be obscure but because, unlike a dictionary word whose meaning is fixed, the meaning of an incarnate word is the meaning it has for the one it is spoken to, the meaning that becomes clear and effective in our lives only when we ferret it out for ourselves."
It took me a while to find the quote, but I finally dug it out. Maybe the search was a kind of metaphor for my own spiritual waiting and searching - part hazy memory, part dim epiphany, part grubbing about in my library. As I consider all my own "waits" and all the "waits" of others, I think the waiting is part of the process of finding meaning in God's speech, the speech that becomes effective "only when we ferret it out for ourselves."
But couldn't God do things in an easier way? Just a little quicker, playing things out nice and clean, like a thirty minute sit-com?
But really, who am I to judge God's speed and efficiency? God's economy holds little similarity with my system of skewed values and prejudices, anyway, and besides that, there is that other little nagging thing that just may be an absolute truth: God's ways are not my ways.
I do hold hope for the future, though. One day there will be a kingdom where things like mustard seeds, yeast, pearls, workers in vineyards, the meek, the poor, those who grieve, all these things, they will come to a place of prominence and the human economy will emulate God's economy. I'm ready for that day.
But since I don't see it on the horizon, I'll simply wait, just like I told my friend to do. And I'll hope for continued dim epiphanies and ghostly memories all grubbed out in the room I call my study while God moves slowly all around me.
Hours of mindless tasks later, I recalled something I'd read from Frederick Buechner in The Sacred Journey. He writes about the obfuscation of God's speech into our lives, saying, "God speaks to us in such a way, presumably, not because he chooses to be obscure but because, unlike a dictionary word whose meaning is fixed, the meaning of an incarnate word is the meaning it has for the one it is spoken to, the meaning that becomes clear and effective in our lives only when we ferret it out for ourselves."
It took me a while to find the quote, but I finally dug it out. Maybe the search was a kind of metaphor for my own spiritual waiting and searching - part hazy memory, part dim epiphany, part grubbing about in my library. As I consider all my own "waits" and all the "waits" of others, I think the waiting is part of the process of finding meaning in God's speech, the speech that becomes effective "only when we ferret it out for ourselves."
But couldn't God do things in an easier way? Just a little quicker, playing things out nice and clean, like a thirty minute sit-com?
But really, who am I to judge God's speed and efficiency? God's economy holds little similarity with my system of skewed values and prejudices, anyway, and besides that, there is that other little nagging thing that just may be an absolute truth: God's ways are not my ways.
I do hold hope for the future, though. One day there will be a kingdom where things like mustard seeds, yeast, pearls, workers in vineyards, the meek, the poor, those who grieve, all these things, they will come to a place of prominence and the human economy will emulate God's economy. I'm ready for that day.
But since I don't see it on the horizon, I'll simply wait, just like I told my friend to do. And I'll hope for continued dim epiphanies and ghostly memories all grubbed out in the room I call my study while God moves slowly all around me.
Quick line
Who was the man behind the mask?
None of us ever dared to ask.
Poetry was Everette's shield and sword.
Line from Everette as sung by Slaid Cleaves
None of us ever dared to ask.
Poetry was Everette's shield and sword.
Line from Everette as sung by Slaid Cleaves
Holy WOW!
When did you last say, “WOW!” and really mean it? Was it a sunset, an amazing vista, or a summer shower? Was it an unexpected phone call from an old friend, a smile from a stranger, or the breath of an infant on your neck? Whatever it was or whenever it happened, each and every large and small “wow” in life is a gift from God.
You might even call such moments a “Holy Wow!”
Isaiah experienced a “holy wow” during a vision where he saw the angels before God’s throne singing “Holy, holy, holy.” He recognized the holiness of the moment. He saw the distance between his humanity and God’s perfection. He heard God’s question of “Whom shall I send?” and responded in the moment with the heart of a true volunteer, “Here am I; send me!”
Which leads me to believe that a “Holy Wow!” moment calls for a response from me. At minimum it’s a word of thanks. Ideally it becomes a question of “What should I do now?”
What do you do with the “Holy Wow!” moments of your life? How do you respond? What do you do in reaction to God’s presence in your life? Those are the questions I’m pondering in advance of this Sunday’s sermon on Isaiah 6.1-8. It’s called Beyond Wow. If you’d like to share some of your “Holy Wow!” moments, I’d love to read about them...jot me a line back at glong@fbcgaithersburg.org.
Holy cow!
Pastor Gary
Long Story, Short is a Friday email I write to get you thinking about church on Sunday. You can read more of my writing at Life to the Lees. You’re invited to worship at First Baptist Church of Gaithersburg this Sunday at 10:30 am.
Isaiah 6:1-8
A Vision of God in the Temple
6In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said:‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;the whole earth is full of his glory.’ 4The pivots* on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5And I said: ‘Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!’
6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7The seraph* touched my mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’ 8Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’
You might even call such moments a “Holy Wow!”
Isaiah experienced a “holy wow” during a vision where he saw the angels before God’s throne singing “Holy, holy, holy.” He recognized the holiness of the moment. He saw the distance between his humanity and God’s perfection. He heard God’s question of “Whom shall I send?” and responded in the moment with the heart of a true volunteer, “Here am I; send me!”
Which leads me to believe that a “Holy Wow!” moment calls for a response from me. At minimum it’s a word of thanks. Ideally it becomes a question of “What should I do now?”
What do you do with the “Holy Wow!” moments of your life? How do you respond? What do you do in reaction to God’s presence in your life? Those are the questions I’m pondering in advance of this Sunday’s sermon on Isaiah 6.1-8. It’s called Beyond Wow. If you’d like to share some of your “Holy Wow!” moments, I’d love to read about them...jot me a line back at glong@fbcgaithersburg.org.
Holy cow!
Pastor Gary
Long Story, Short is a Friday email I write to get you thinking about church on Sunday. You can read more of my writing at Life to the Lees. You’re invited to worship at First Baptist Church of Gaithersburg this Sunday at 10:30 am.
Isaiah 6:1-8
A Vision of God in the Temple
6In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said:‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;the whole earth is full of his glory.’ 4The pivots* on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5And I said: ‘Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!’
6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7The seraph* touched my mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’ 8Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’
Friday, May 29, 2009
Unknown user or password incorrect.
My assistant at my old church emailed me earlier this week and asked if I was ready for her to remove my email account from the system. I told her yes and promptly forgot about it. Thursday night I logged in - or tried to - only to find that I no longer had the old email account.
The blue web page had only one line of text on it: Unknown user or password incorrect.
Suddenly I'm an unknown user on that old email account, and it caused the strangest rush of grief. I'm really gone. I can't go back. Another piece of my identity as pastor of Willow Meadows Baptist Church is gone.
I love where I am. It's a great fit and I'm really thriving at FBC Gaithersburg and happy to be back in the metro DC area. But I gave nearly seven years of my life to serve the people of WMBC and it's something more than eerie to read Unknown user or password incorrect after logging in to a webmail account almost every day for nearly 2400 days.
Leaving WMBC has been one of the hardest things I've ever done because our family has become enmeshed with the many families there. Like one of those tentacled brain tumors that cannot be extracted without damaging the brain itself, I'm wondering if full extraction is ever possible? Will the pain go away? Can I ever leave another church again?
"It's too painful," my wife says. "I don't have many more of these moves in me." She's not talking about packing and unpacking either - she's talking about leaving the people we love.
And that's substantially more substantial than changing addresses, email or snail mail. I can't imagine a day when the people of WMBC say Unknown user or password incorrect to me, and I know I can't say it to them, or the many friends we've shared life with in Houston. But my old email account reminded me bluntly and coldly that I am no longer the pastor of WMBC.
And my training as minister reminds me that we grieve much because we have loved much.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Strangest Moment Arrived
Someone very close to me told me about a long over-due conversation that happened for her this past week. She commented to me that during the conversation she realized she'd reached a certain point in her life where - and this is my paraphrase - the need to please had been overtaken by her need to be herself. It struck me as a beautiful mark of maturity and self-confidence - something I'd already seen, but now she saw for herself.
I'm left contemplating: Why does it take so long to see the good stuff in ourselves? That we are confident, remarkable creatures imbued with God's very nature? That changes come about in our lives that indelibly mark us, often for the better, but only to be realized later?
Do you ever have moments when you realize "you ain't so bad?" They are gifts, and we should receive them as gentle reminders from our heavenly Father that we are “enough.”
Kate Light has a great poem called There Comes the Strangest Moment that describes this moment of truth.
There comes the strangest moment in your life,
when everything you thought before breaks free —
what you relied upon, as ground-rule and as rite
looks upside down from how it used to be.
Skin’s gone pale, your brain is shedding cells;
you question every tenet you set down;
obedient thoughts have turned to infidels
and every verb desires to be a noun.
I want—my want. I love—my love. I’ll stay
with you. I thought transitions were the best,
but I want what’s here to never go away.
I’ll make my peace, my bed, and kiss this breast . . .
Your heart’s in retrograde. You simply have no choice.
Things people told you turn out to be true.
You have to hold that body, hear that voice.
You’d have sworn no one knew you more than you.
How many people thought you’d never change?
But here you have. It’s beautiful. It’s strange.
– Kate Light
I'm left contemplating: Why does it take so long to see the good stuff in ourselves? That we are confident, remarkable creatures imbued with God's very nature? That changes come about in our lives that indelibly mark us, often for the better, but only to be realized later?
Do you ever have moments when you realize "you ain't so bad?" They are gifts, and we should receive them as gentle reminders from our heavenly Father that we are “enough.”
Kate Light has a great poem called There Comes the Strangest Moment that describes this moment of truth.
There comes the strangest moment in your life,
when everything you thought before breaks free —
what you relied upon, as ground-rule and as rite
looks upside down from how it used to be.
Skin’s gone pale, your brain is shedding cells;
you question every tenet you set down;
obedient thoughts have turned to infidels
and every verb desires to be a noun.
I want—my want. I love—my love. I’ll stay
with you. I thought transitions were the best,
but I want what’s here to never go away.
I’ll make my peace, my bed, and kiss this breast . . .
Your heart’s in retrograde. You simply have no choice.
Things people told you turn out to be true.
You have to hold that body, hear that voice.
You’d have sworn no one knew you more than you.
How many people thought you’d never change?
But here you have. It’s beautiful. It’s strange.
– Kate Light
Friday, May 22, 2009
Blog Recommendation
If you're a poetry, photography, or aphorism fan, take a look at this wonderful website -
Austin Granny
Austin Granny
Women
It is interesting to speculate how it developed that in the two most anti-feminist institutions, the church and the law court, the men are wearing dresses. — Florynce Kennedy
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Table Manners
Did your mother or father teach you table manners? In my family the rules were pretty much like everyone else’s: no elbows on the table, close your mouth when chew, don’t talk with food in your mouth, and so on.
One rule was especially important. We weren’t allowed to wear hats in the house, especially at the supper table. To this day I cringe at the sight of a man in a hat in a restaurant or any other meal table. I don't know why, but I’ve been programmed. It’s a rule. Period.
This Sunday’s Gospel lection is Luke 24.44-53. The context for this passage is a dining table. Jesus appeared to the disciples on that Easter evening, but they were scared to death of him, thinking they were seeing a ghost. He let them touch him, but they still didn’t believe it was him, so he ate a piece of broiled fish to prove he’s real. Ghosts don’t eat fish, did you know that?
He then gives a table talk. Around the meal he opens their eyes to the reality of the resurrection, then he opens their minds to the story of scripture, and then he opens their hearts to the world’s deep spiritual needs. Those three things served as the outline for a sermon I delivered at FBC Gaithersburg on April 26. And that table sets the context for what Jesus says next:
Luke 24 (NRSV)
24:44 Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you--that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled."
24:45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures,
24:46 and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day,
24:47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
24:48 You are witnesses of these things.
24:49 And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."
24:50 Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them.
24:51 While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.
24:52 And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy;
24:53 and they were continually in the temple blessing God.
Jesus leaves the table, leading them out to Bethany.
But not all meals are so pleasant. Sometimes people leave the table in anger. Robin Williams describes Thanksgiving dinner in his Episcopalian home. “Dad has a few gin and tonics and then confesses, ‘You know I never loved you mother.’”
To which Williams responds, “No Dad, I didn’t know that. But she’s sitting right there, why don’t you tell her again.”
Ever been at a table with an argument going on? My whole gut seizes up and I can’t eat. The table is no longer a table, but torture. Some of my worst memories of childhood were flare ups around dinner that made me lose my appetite completely.
In Homiletics I read this related piece about a meal that went awry because of an argument:
In his book I Never Forget a Meal, actor Michael Tucker tells of an incident in his family that forever changed the way he looks at cooking and hospitality. When he was young, his extended family gathered for Passover. His mother and sisters, who worked very hard on preparing holiday meals, also tended to be emotional.
At this particular Passover, which took place at his uncle’s house, an argument broke out between his mother and his uncle over whether the Seder liturgy should be read in Hebrew or English. The tensions rose ever higher. Some people sought to defuse it with humor, to no avail.
His mother left the table.
His uncle, too, left in anger — getting into his car and driving away from his own house.
Tucker’s mother ran outside, into the night. While the men searched for her, the aunts wrapped up the uneaten food. The children sat there in awkward silence: scared for their mother, but also embarrassed by her “crazy” behavior.
From that day on, the family disintegrated. Never again was there a happy holiday meal involving the extended family.Tucker explains in his book that he now understands why he has a passion for cooking. He is trying to finish that meal, once and for all. It is “to finish that meal with grace and calm and convivial family conversation, with laughter and warmth,” he writes. “Mostly, I think about warmth; so that I can melt away the cold of that uneaten dinner.”— Michael Tucker, I Never Forget a Meal (Little Brown, 1995).
You’re probably wondering, how does this all tie together? It’s this: Jesus didn’t leave the table in anger, and in fact left us with the Holy Spirit as an aid to living and loving. Jesus didn’t split theological hairs at the table, he communicated, taught, and affirmed.
Jesus took care of some unfinished business at that table, but there is an unfinished meal for us Christians. The Lord’s supper is never finished, never complete.
One rule was especially important. We weren’t allowed to wear hats in the house, especially at the supper table. To this day I cringe at the sight of a man in a hat in a restaurant or any other meal table. I don't know why, but I’ve been programmed. It’s a rule. Period.
This Sunday’s Gospel lection is Luke 24.44-53. The context for this passage is a dining table. Jesus appeared to the disciples on that Easter evening, but they were scared to death of him, thinking they were seeing a ghost. He let them touch him, but they still didn’t believe it was him, so he ate a piece of broiled fish to prove he’s real. Ghosts don’t eat fish, did you know that?
He then gives a table talk. Around the meal he opens their eyes to the reality of the resurrection, then he opens their minds to the story of scripture, and then he opens their hearts to the world’s deep spiritual needs. Those three things served as the outline for a sermon I delivered at FBC Gaithersburg on April 26. And that table sets the context for what Jesus says next:
Luke 24 (NRSV)
24:44 Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you--that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled."
24:45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures,
24:46 and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day,
24:47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
24:48 You are witnesses of these things.
24:49 And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."
24:50 Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them.
24:51 While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.
24:52 And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy;
24:53 and they were continually in the temple blessing God.
Jesus leaves the table, leading them out to Bethany.
But not all meals are so pleasant. Sometimes people leave the table in anger. Robin Williams describes Thanksgiving dinner in his Episcopalian home. “Dad has a few gin and tonics and then confesses, ‘You know I never loved you mother.’”
To which Williams responds, “No Dad, I didn’t know that. But she’s sitting right there, why don’t you tell her again.”
Ever been at a table with an argument going on? My whole gut seizes up and I can’t eat. The table is no longer a table, but torture. Some of my worst memories of childhood were flare ups around dinner that made me lose my appetite completely.
In Homiletics I read this related piece about a meal that went awry because of an argument:
In his book I Never Forget a Meal, actor Michael Tucker tells of an incident in his family that forever changed the way he looks at cooking and hospitality. When he was young, his extended family gathered for Passover. His mother and sisters, who worked very hard on preparing holiday meals, also tended to be emotional.
At this particular Passover, which took place at his uncle’s house, an argument broke out between his mother and his uncle over whether the Seder liturgy should be read in Hebrew or English. The tensions rose ever higher. Some people sought to defuse it with humor, to no avail.
His mother left the table.
His uncle, too, left in anger — getting into his car and driving away from his own house.
Tucker’s mother ran outside, into the night. While the men searched for her, the aunts wrapped up the uneaten food. The children sat there in awkward silence: scared for their mother, but also embarrassed by her “crazy” behavior.
From that day on, the family disintegrated. Never again was there a happy holiday meal involving the extended family.Tucker explains in his book that he now understands why he has a passion for cooking. He is trying to finish that meal, once and for all. It is “to finish that meal with grace and calm and convivial family conversation, with laughter and warmth,” he writes. “Mostly, I think about warmth; so that I can melt away the cold of that uneaten dinner.”— Michael Tucker, I Never Forget a Meal (Little Brown, 1995).
You’re probably wondering, how does this all tie together? It’s this: Jesus didn’t leave the table in anger, and in fact left us with the Holy Spirit as an aid to living and loving. Jesus didn’t split theological hairs at the table, he communicated, taught, and affirmed.
Jesus took care of some unfinished business at that table, but there is an unfinished meal for us Christians. The Lord’s supper is never finished, never complete.
- Until we have made emotional, physical, and spiritual space for everyone at this table, the kingdom of God is just an abstract concept.
- Until we can eat in peace with all those around us, the kingdom of God remains distant.
- Until we can get over our petty differences with fellow Christians, there will be no dessert.
- Until we get the table right, our families will be in disrepair, our lives will be a clumsy clunking, and our future will be hazy and uncertain.
The table is metaphor, of course. What we’re really talking about is your willingness to welcome the stranger, to feast with foe, and live at peace with the difficulties that all our human relations present us.
So here are some questions for reflection:
1. Who is at your table that wasn’t there a year ago? Last month? How can you work to make sure they are welcomed in an ongoing way?
2. Why did it take Jesus eating food for the disciples to see that he was real? What is the “magic” that happens around meals?
3. Who has tried to elbow their way to your table, but you thwarted their efforts? Is your exclusion a sin?
4. With whom would you be unwilling to share the table? Why? Will that ever change?
Friday, May 15, 2009
My Final Email
Iknow all about the last will and testament. I’ve read them, written one personally, and as a minister I’ve helped folk with theirs. A friend recently introduced me to a whole new level of “last words” with the website “My Last Email.” It’s a website that allows you to write your own obituary and read or add to the obituary of others. What caught my attention is the option to send an email to loved ones after you die!
Their marketing schtick goes like this:
The two longest words in the English language are “If only.” We may regret not telling someone how much we love them, or regret the harsh words we once had with a friend. We regret not letting friends and family into our lives a little more and sharing our thoughts and feelings with them. “If only I had told them”, “If only they could have known.” And once we die that opportunity is lost – but it need not be. Here at mylastemail.com we offer you the opportunity to make that “If only…” into a reality.
It sounds kind of creepy, I can only imagine the "weird factor" of receiving an email from a dead friend. But it’s not altogether unlike the words we find in John 15. Part of what the Bible scholars call Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse,” it’s a kind of “last will” from Jesus to his disciples, and a kind of “last email” to us today.
If it’s Jesus’ last email to us, perhaps we should read it closely, pondering and treasuring what he is still saying to us. Perhaps all of scripture should hold us captive in the same way? What would you see differently if you read the Bible this way?
Not my last email,
Pastor Gary
Long Story, Short is a column I write on Friday to get you thinking about church on Sunday. If you'd like it sent to your email inbox, let me know at glong@fbcgaithersburg.org. I really like to hear from you, and frequently your responses wind up as a living part of a sermon on Sundays. For example, my friend Thom Gagne wrote this story in response to this week's thoughts:
Hey Gary,
Last Thursday morning my Dad died. I flew home from Mauritania N Africa Thursday night with my 15 year old son Elliot.My wife Connie stayed behind to finish closing down the house and the Cafe.
Your " My Last Email" bit on your blog became especially poignant.In 1991 my folks were traveling back from Florida and stopped in Atlanta to visit my brother Martin. My Mom was near the end of a twenty year battle with cancer. Knowing that she would precede Dad in death, she had a wish for his eventual memorial, which she entrusted to my brother.
That day as Dad and grand kids went outside to sit in the sun, Mom called Marty to the side.She handed him an old copy of the collected works of Shakespeare. She explained that she had purchased this volume for Dad early in their marriage, but that he had never read it. It would become readily apparent however, that she had.
"Turn to page 1086" she whispered.
There Marty found the following underlined passage:" ...and when he shall die, take him and cut him into little stars, and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no more worship to the garish sun." Romeo & Juliet - William Shakespeare
I just thought you would appreciate this,
Thom
John 15:9-17
9As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. 10If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.
12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.
Their marketing schtick goes like this:
The two longest words in the English language are “If only.” We may regret not telling someone how much we love them, or regret the harsh words we once had with a friend. We regret not letting friends and family into our lives a little more and sharing our thoughts and feelings with them. “If only I had told them”, “If only they could have known.” And once we die that opportunity is lost – but it need not be. Here at mylastemail.com we offer you the opportunity to make that “If only…” into a reality.
It sounds kind of creepy, I can only imagine the "weird factor" of receiving an email from a dead friend. But it’s not altogether unlike the words we find in John 15. Part of what the Bible scholars call Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse,” it’s a kind of “last will” from Jesus to his disciples, and a kind of “last email” to us today.
If it’s Jesus’ last email to us, perhaps we should read it closely, pondering and treasuring what he is still saying to us. Perhaps all of scripture should hold us captive in the same way? What would you see differently if you read the Bible this way?
Not my last email,
Pastor Gary
Long Story, Short is a column I write on Friday to get you thinking about church on Sunday. If you'd like it sent to your email inbox, let me know at glong@fbcgaithersburg.org. I really like to hear from you, and frequently your responses wind up as a living part of a sermon on Sundays. For example, my friend Thom Gagne wrote this story in response to this week's thoughts:
Hey Gary,
Last Thursday morning my Dad died. I flew home from Mauritania N Africa Thursday night with my 15 year old son Elliot.My wife Connie stayed behind to finish closing down the house and the Cafe.
Your " My Last Email" bit on your blog became especially poignant.In 1991 my folks were traveling back from Florida and stopped in Atlanta to visit my brother Martin. My Mom was near the end of a twenty year battle with cancer. Knowing that she would precede Dad in death, she had a wish for his eventual memorial, which she entrusted to my brother.
That day as Dad and grand kids went outside to sit in the sun, Mom called Marty to the side.She handed him an old copy of the collected works of Shakespeare. She explained that she had purchased this volume for Dad early in their marriage, but that he had never read it. It would become readily apparent however, that she had.
"Turn to page 1086" she whispered.
There Marty found the following underlined passage:" ...and when he shall die, take him and cut him into little stars, and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no more worship to the garish sun." Romeo & Juliet - William Shakespeare
I just thought you would appreciate this,
Thom
John 15:9-17
9As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. 10If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.
12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.
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