A chance visit and a major funny

Wren visited today to read my "pome", so I visited her blog, where she mentions a writing exercise she's recently read. At the end, the question (from Oriah Mountaindreamer) is posed: How would you complete the phrase: I never feel I should be doing anything else when I am…?
I asked Ben, and his answer was that he never thinks he should be doing anything else when he is sleeping.
Sleeping.
Yep, that's the guy I married, for what it's worth.

A long overdue poetry party

Christine at Abbey of the Arts has issued another Poetry Party invite...and this time I'm in. The overdueness is all mine. I promised myself to do this as a sort of discipline, and then I've let too much get in the way. So here I am!

The sentinel a vigil keeps
watching while the dark world sleeps
blind to Love and Glory.
He each night writes the ancient story
and scribes for each day something new
until the damp of morning dew
stills his pen
and then
and then
He waits and waits to see
what God does next in you, and me.

Friday Five Millionaire Edition

Singing Owl has a thought-provoking Friday Five this week:
Name 5 things you would do if a million dollar deposit appeared in your bank account.
"Roxanne" with Steve Martin's been on Oxygen the last couple of weeks, so here's my list:
1: Ethical: "Are you sure this money is mine? How much are the taxes?"
2: Practical: "Let's pay off all our debt."
3: Sentimental: "I want to go on vacation with Jamie, the Exceptional One. I guess the rest of my family can come, too."
4: Whimsical: "Here's some money for you, and a little for you, and a little for you. Go and do good things with it." Not the Big Give, just some serious sharing of the wealth.
5: Hesitant: "I guess we can vacation with your family, too."
6: Generous: "College funds & long term care trusts for Jamie and the parents."
7: Playful: "Hey, what would you do if I said we could take any trip together you want, or do any fun thing?"

I know, I'm a Christian, I'm supposed to give some away off the top. Eh. I would do that, and more than the tithe (this is found money, after all), but there are some practicalities to take care of first. And then the giving away can begin: enough to really help some folks, but not enough to overwhelm. It sounds like fun. When do I start?

A late addition, and a little bonus:

Happiness is....

Happiness is having my bff (best friend forever, in case you didn't know) around. We've been friends for a long time, and we're really too old to be cutesy about it...except that we are bffs. We clicked fairly soon after we met--and no, we couldn't tell you about it; there was too much weirdness about it. Suffice it to say freshman year of college, and we had a very special extended family for those four years. And we've never lost our connection. She lives pretty close to half a world away in Germany (the 6 hour time difference is actually a real problem) and I don't get to talk to her nearly as often as I'd like, but when we see each other, it's like we speak the same language, and we're the only two in the world who speak this particular dialect. So...
Happiness is having people to talk to who speak your language. I am fortunate to have many. Ben is one, clearly, as well as T. I work with one, and I have a couple in my family. I'm beginning to developed shared language/culture with some online friends, too, which is fun.
Happiness is really good food. Made a trip to Trader Joe's and spent a LOT of money on food. But I got great stuff, and stuff I can't get here, for really great prices, like really great half-salt cashews and spelt and whole grain tortillas and lite cheddar cheese snack sticks (like string cheese, only it tastes good) and crackers I can actually eat. It's hard work eating the way I have to. I can wuss out and eat nothing but salad and steak, but I don't have to. And with just a little care, I can have pizza every week or chocolate almost every day (a necessity in my opinion), as long as I'm a little bit careful. Which leads to...
Happiness is having to buy new clothes. Yep. I have to replace almost all of my spring summer clothes. Not because the ever-present mold and mildew got 'em, because it didn't. Not because we had some disaster and they all got ruined. They didn't. And some of them will go to be altered, because clothes are just too expensive, and I need new ones because the old ones are too big! This has never happened to me before. I've worked all my adult life to control my weight and been unsuccessful, so to finally have a handle on things makes me very happy. Very very happy, in fact. In fact, you might as well keep adding very's to that statement. I am having serious fun.
Happiness is knowing that I could go on and on today about all the things that make me happy. The WonderMutt. The Exceptional One (who turns 2 on Saturday). My church. School. The friends we've made here, and the ones we've kept from other places. But instead I'll end with this:
Happiness is meeting someone from church at a sale, on a weekday, during "normal" working hours, and hearing her say, "I'm so glad to see you here. You work so hard; you need to take a little time to do something fun." I needed it, and I'm so glad to have it.

Best funeral compliment ever

Did a funeral today for someone I didn't know. This is not unusual, as the funeral home knows that it's important to Eric and to me that people receive good pastoral care at such times, even if we'll never see them again. I think I would have liked the guy; he sounded like fun, and the meditation came easily to me (they don't all do that!).
So when it was over, a woman walked up to me and said, "You're the Rev. Sims that did so-and-so's funeral, aren't you? You should advertise in the newspaper: I do really good funerals."
Perhaps I won't do that. But the other person had also been someone I'd never met and had no connection to apart from a call from the funeral home and a little time with the family. And she was also someone I think I would have liked. And it's flattering to think that I was able to bring some comfort, some grace note, into the loss of people I don't even know.
Maybe you have to be a pastor to understand this, but as compliments go, it's pretty good.

Good (?) Friday Five

From RevHRod:

As a child the designation "good" for today confused me. How could we call such a somber day, good? Holy, yes. Blessed, yes. But, good?
As an adult I understand the meaning of good for this day. It is a solemn day of remembrance but it is also a time for us to stop and recall the great gift of love that we received this day. And that is most certainly good.
Our worship today will differ from place to place. Some services will focus on the great litany of prayers. Others will use the seven last words of Jesus. Some of us will walk the stations of the cross. Others will participate in a Tennebrae service of shadows and light.
I hope that this Friday Five will be a meaningful part of your Good Friday. God's blessings to you on your journey.

Our prayer concerns are as varied as we are this day. For whom would you like us to pray?

For D., who's had way to many complications from what should have been a very straightforward surgery; for P., who is suffering from autoimmune disease and doctors who aren't as committed to finding out exactly what as she is; for my dad and his sister, who have lost their brother and mother recently, and for whom Easter is the 5th anniversary of their father's death; for me...I hurt my back on Palm Sunday last year, and come April 1, if it doesn't flare up between now and then, I can begin doing "real" exercises and strength training to protect it; for Easter joy for all that doesn't dismiss our suffering, but instead gives us peace and joy in whatever we go through.

Are there things you have done or will do today to help the young ones understand this important day in our lives?

Today I'll take part in the preschool Easter fete, which will be fun. I'm not really concerned about making Good Friday a significant moment for our littlest ones. It's enough that we teach them that Jesus died for all, so that all might come to share eternal life, and that they know. When they get a little older, there will be plenty of time to teach them the harder grace of Good Friday.

Music plays an important part in sharing the story of this day. Is there a hymn or piece of music that you have found particularly meaningful to your celebrations of Good Friday?

"Were You There?" done well can be heart-breaking. Ben's also done (and I think will do today) "Lord of the Dance," with each verse more slow, until the 4th verse, which is done a capella and very slow. The chorus becomes almost a lament. And then he stops. The final verse is added on Easter Sunday.

As you hear the passion narrative, is there a character that you particularly resonate with?

I've always loved Peter. Impulsive, hard-headed, rash, with a great huge heart and not a whole lot of sense. I think we have a lot in common.

Where have you seen the gracious God of love at work lately?

In my life a great deal here lately. I've needed it. And I always see God at work in the kids I work with, from preschool Chapel Talks to the youth group. And in our "girls," a close knit group of senior ladies who are very loving and sweet.

Tell me something I don't already know

Money can buy happiness, but only if you spend it on someone else, researchers reported on Thursday.

So says a report from Reuters today.
Duh!

An Easter meditation

“It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.” –old saying

Easter is coming, the Resurrection season is about to begin! I have flowers on my desk today; several varieties of daffodil and narcissus, pink and white camellias and other flowers (we’ve strained my limited knowledge) brighten my office up and bring an early reminder that Spring is coming, and with it new life and joy. This is a healing word to me this week, as my family and I are still reeling from our recent losses. I’m more tired than I realized (although sleeping nearly till noon today was a big clue), and that’s got me thinking about forgiveness and permission.
I have always been one to “weary [myself] with well-doing,” and there is so much going on at Ann Street that I have been keeping very busy. I could feel distant warnings that I was becoming tired, even exhausted, but there was always some time in the future that I would rest: next week (but then something always comes up), when I finish my next doctoral class (but then the next starts), after Easter (but now my best friend’s coming to town). It has been easier in the past to ask forgiveness than permission, but no longer. My body is forcing me to take note, to ask permission, before I commit to anything more…and enforcing its demands by making it very difficult to wake up on time. I think, as far as my body goes, I am out of grace, and asking forgiveness is in order.
Easter Sunday this year marks the 5th anniversary of my grandfather’s death. This year he is reunited with his wife and youngest son, and that is cause for rejoicing, but I’m not sure my family is ready to let go of our grief. So we are giving ourselves permission to feel how we feel, and not to be troubled if we meet Easter Sunday with mixed feelings of joy and sorrow. In some way, I think we are honoring Jesus’ very difficult and powerful work of forgiveness and reconciliation by doing this…so that when we catch up to Easter’s joy, we may do it with our whole hearts. I pray that Easter’s joy finds you where you are, and that in this Resurrection season, you find yourself in a reconciling spirit with Christ.
Anne

Who Is This Man, Anyway? A Palm Sunday Sermon

Matthew 21:1-11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately."
This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey." The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them.
A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"
When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?"
The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

 
I have a confession to make. Today I’m not going to tell you the whole story. Today we are celebrating Palm Sunday, arguably one of Jesus’ better days, but I’m intentionally not telling you the rest of the story of what happens between Palm Sunday and Easter, the story of betrayal and communion, death and sadness that is an integral part of the redemptive work of Jesus Christ. I’m not telling you that part of the story because I want to see you here on Maundy Thursday, when we commemorate the Last Supper and the events leading to the Crucifixion. And I’m not telling you because just as resurrection does not have meaning apart from death, so too does Jesus’ death have no meaning apart from the triumph of the Resurrection. I have had enough of death in the last couple of weeks, so for today, we celebrate a moment of victory: Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem.
We know from our study of the Bible that Jesus was frequently misunderstood. Many people asked, “Who is this man, anyway?” and there were many answers, which were usually at least misunderstood and often just plain wrong. People called him Rabbi, teacher, without understanding that not only did he explain to them the scriptures about God’s relationship with Israel, that he was God, opening the scriptures to them. They thought he was a prophet because he spoke with confidence of God’s continued love for the people, and desire for them to be in right relationship, but they failed to understand that he was himself God, calling them to grow closer to him. Almost every time someone asked, “Who is this man, anyway?” the answers were at best incomplete, and at worst, incorrect. Even Peter, who often had moments of shattering, amazing, brilliant clarity, still seemed confused about what the implications might be if Jesus were in fact the Messiah, the Son of God.
The confusion, the questions, the sense of being mystified at this man who embodies the scriptures, who claims to fulfill the prophecies, all started early in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. Even though his mother, of all people, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that hers was the Son of God, even Mary must have wondered from time to time, “who is this child of mine, anyway?” The year Jesus was twelve and gently chastised his mother and Joseph for being surprised to find him in the Temple, “his Father’s house,” she must have asked herself, “Who is this boy, anyway?”
As his ministry began, and Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John began to preserve the stories for us, more and more people are left to ask the question: John the Baptizer’s disciples, who hear the spirit of God proclaim that Jesus is God’s beloved Son. The steward at a wedding at Cana in Galilee, who knew that those jars were filled with water a moment before, but now finds himself serving fine wine to the guests—that steward must have thought to himself, “who is this man?” Tax collectors, sinners, foreigners, lepers, the blind and the lame, their friends and the witnesses to their interactions with Jesus, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus…all have the same question.
The day of the great parade into Jerusalem is no different. Just imagine, cast yourself back in time to Jerusalem nearly two thousand years ago. You’ve heard the stories all your life of Abraham and Moses, Isaac and Joseph, of the great King David, the man after God’s own heart. You remember the story about the troubled succession when David lay dying and his son Adonijah had himself crowned king against his father’s wishes. You remember how David confirmed Solomon as his own choice for king by having him anointed by the prophet Nathan and Zadok the priest, and then how Solomon rode into Jerusalem on David’s own mule. As you see this man Jesus enter the town, on the back of a donkey, you see in your mind’s eye Solomon and David, you think about the glory days of the nation of Israel, and you wonder, “who is this man, anyway?”
There are words to describe Jesus. Isaiah does a good job giving us a list of title to describe who Jesus is: wonderful counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace…I can almost hear the music now, can’t you? Isaiah gives us other words for Jesus as well: suffering servant, wounded for our transgressions, hung upon a tree. He’s a complicated guy, Jesus. King of Kings and sacrifice. Even in today’s story, he’s got some impressive titles. “Lord,” he calls himself as he sends the disciples in to fetch the donkey. And can you hear Matthew’s little mistake? He was so eager to quote the words of the prophet, to prove that Jesus was the fulfillment of that prophecy, that he has Jesus riding two animals at once: “mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” In the words of the prophecy, Jesus is called “King.” The crowds call him the Son of David, and the one who comes in the name of the Lord. At the end, when asked who he is, they call him a prophet.
They’re not wrong.
They’re just not entirely correct about who Jesus is.
And that’s the problem with this week, from Palm Sunday through Easter. Talk about a roller coaster ride: we go from Hosanna to Crucify to He is Risen, in the space of eight days. It’s not enough time to absorb all that Jesus is. Eight days is not enough to do the work of a lifetime, to answer for ourselves, who is this man, anyway…but every year, it’s the marathon of the Christian faith. From today through Easter, we will be traveling the highs and lows of who Jesus is, and who we are in Christ, who this man is who rode into Jerusalem that day, and who we are called to be, knowing something of who he is.
He is: a teacher who spoke with authority. The disciples bear witness to that, as do the crowds who gathered to hear him speak. Matthew gives us the story of the feeding of the five thousand. That’s five thousand men, plus women and children, who had gathered to hear Jesus teach, and found him so compelling that they stayed past dinner time, with no regard to how they would eat…
He is: the miracle worker, who divided 5 small loaves, and 2 dried fish to feed the crowd. He healed blind men. He restored lepers not only to health, but to their family and friends, and to their community. He healed people of what the Bible calls demonic possession. We don’t really know what that was, exactly, epilepsy or mental illness, maybe, but we know it was bad—and Jesus could cure it. Mary and Martha bore witness to Jesus’ ultimate healing: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.
He is: the loving heart of God, working to bring relief from sin and redemption to those who are separated from the community: tax collectors, adulterous women, foreigners. They met with gentleness and acceptance from Jesus, and were welcomed into his presence…which led them to changed lives, to new life, and a faithfulness to God they thought they had lost forever.
He is: a prophet, in the sense of one profoundly connected and listening to God. He saw right through the woman at the well, and offered her living water to satisfy a thirst in her that she’d tried to quench in all the wrong ways. He spoke as a prophet, speaking the words of God to God’s people, and expanding the boundaries of who God’s people might be…breaking the barrier that said only Jews could know God’s favor, and expanding membership in the kingdom of God to anyone who would come to know him. He knew what was to come, and spoke of it: a donkey ready when they needed it, an upper room ready for one last meal, his death and the three days of devastation that would follow, the resurrection.
He is: a rule-breaker, in the best sense of the word. Where the Commandments had been given to make plain how God intended for his people to live together, they had become so convoluted and confusing that it practically required a law degree to have any sense that one was on the right path. He came to break the rules, so that God’s intent could be make clear: that God’s people might “do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” He clarified the rules, so that anyone could understand how to know God’s grace and favor: Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.
Who is this man? He is all these things, and more. He is the Son of God and Son of Man, the great Intercessor who brings a new covenant, a new promise from God, a new hope that we can truly be God’s people, and that God will be our God. He is the living God, the Messiah, the Savior…and yet still all these titles, all these abilities, all these gifts fail to do justice to who he is.
There was a silly pop love song a few years ago, in which some guy sang about the girl he loved, “she’s so high, high above me,” and it’s easy to think of Jesus this way. It’s easy for us to distance ourselves from Jesus, to put him on a pedestal, so to speak, to say humbly, “we’re not worthy” and thus put some space between us and Jesus Christ. It’s easy for us to say that this Man, this Son of God, is someone we model ourselves after but will never resemble, or that he must be so busy that he has no time to worry about us. It’s easy to think of God not noticing us, or worse, turning his back on us, but we’re wrong to do it.
Jesus is all these high and lofty things: the king in the line of David, the one whose coming was foretold, Messiah and Master and Lord. But there are some things Jesus is not: he is not distant. He is not aloof. He is not unaware of us, nor is he untroubled by our suffering. Ours is an incredibly personal God, who has gone to incredible lengths to know us, and so that we might know him. This time of year, we sometimes hear the phrase, “the scandal of the cross,” and that’s as good a way as any to describe the incredible work Jesus has done, and is still doing, for those whom God loves.
The scandal of the cross is that God would submit to death on a cross, as the song has it, the emblem of suffering and shame, and that by Jesus’ death on the cross, and his resurrection, that we might share in eternal life. It is a scandal because this symbol, this cross with which our church is decorated, should be a sign of sin, shame, and defeat. Instead, in Christ’s resurrection at Easter it becomes a sign of victory and grace. I said I wasn’t going to go there, didn’t I? And yet here we are.
We can’t talk about Jesus, can’t talk about who he was or what he did or what he still does in the lives of people today without the cross. And though I meant it when I said I’d had enough of death in the last few weeks, between my uncle and my grandmother, the truth is that in Jesus, death is always a part of the picture. That’s the scandal, to be sure: Jesus’ death is a necessary part of the picture. It means that Jesus’ life is not all sweetness and light, although it could have been. One might even be bold enough to say that any self-respecting deity, if embodied, would live the good life, with rich foods and fine clothes and power. But not ours. The scandal is that the One God, the true God, chose to take on not only our form, but our flesh, our struggles as well as our joys, our pain as well as our celebrations, our sorrows and our laughter.
Who is this man, anyway?
Every day, every moment, he is something different to us. Today he is recognized as part of who he is: the one who is to come, the Son of David, the king riding into Jerusalem, like Solomon, to take his rightful place on the throne. We celebrate, we wave the palm branches, and we shout “Hosanna” little knowing that what we shout are not praises but pleading, “Save us.” He is the one who can save us. And he is going to, but that’s a story for Eric to tell in the next week.
Who is this man, anyway? Who is he to you? Who do you need him to be right now? The scandal of Christ is that he lived with us, and he knows us, who we are and where we’ve been, even the bits we’d like to hide from one another. There is nothing we can’t go through that he doesn’t go through with us, from sickness and death to the joy of marriages and births and parties. Who he is, is God with us, all the time. I know I say that just about every time I preach. That’s because it’s true, and it’s important, and whatever else we know about who Jesus is, this is one piece we can never forget.
He is God incarnate, in flesh. Jesus became like us so he could know us, and in knowing him, we could have a relationship with God that is both personal and communal. Not only is his spirit with us always, he said that when we gather together, there he is, too…which means he’s here, now.
He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, but has chosen to reign in hearts and lives only when invited in. For some strange reason, it is important to him that we make the choice, that we make the change, that we invite and accept him in. What we then have to offer, God desires greatly: that we would freely choose God, and grace, faith and love as a way to pattern our lives. That we would spend our lives pondering the question, “Who is this man, this Jesus, anyway?” and discovering day after day how rich the answers are.
He was born in a barn, raised in obscurity, spoke with authority even the scholars and priests could not deny. He taught thousands and yet was homeless for years, relying on the kindness of others for his support. He did not accumulate great wealth or power, and rarely showed that they were due him, except on this one day, that first Palm Sunday long ago, when he passed through Bethphage on his way to Jerusalem, riding on the back of a donkey. What a parade that must have been: men, women, and children throwing their cloaks into the road to cushion his path. Branches cut from palm trees waving in celebration. The crowd’s acknowledgement of who Jesus was, even though it was not complete: Son of David, sent by God, prophet. And their cries, which echo our own: Hosanna, Hosanna. Save us. Save us.
Although it seems like praises would be more appropriate, these pleas are appropriate too. The crowd may have been thinking save us from Rome. They may have been begging for liberation from oppression. They may have had in their hearts, “save us from what we have now…anything else you’ve got has to be better.” We don’t know exactly what they were looking to be saved from…but just for that moment, they believed they had found their savior. We cry today, “Hosanna, Lord, save us,” because we know that in him we have found our Savior.
I could preach here for years and never get to the bottom of who Jesus is. But that’s okay. Part of who he is is inexhaustible mystery, unfolding as we need him, as we know him, as we live and love and pray and serve and study. That’s okay, because we have eternity to find out who is this Man.

The things that make it a good day

I was having an okay day.
I'm still really tired--last week was exhausting--and I'm not close to caught up on my school work and I'm preaching Sunday. Even so, today has been okay.
Hung out at the coffee shop and got to talk to some people.
Was first on the Friday Five...it's the little things that make my day.
But then a really fun thing happened.
I went to the Spouter Inn for lunch on the deck. The weather's perfect for it, and this time of year, it's not uncommon to see porpoises frolicking (how do you spell that?) on their way up Taylor's Creek. But instead of porpoises, I saw something even better: wild ponies on Carrot Island.
Better than that: I'm positive that what I saw was the foal born last year, and it's mare-mom. They were on the edge of the beach, probably looking for fresh water, and just as pretty as could be. Foals are rare on the island because the state tries to dose all the mares with contraceptives (using dart guns). It's not as cruel as it sounds; their habitat is very small, and can't support much growth. But last year the local paper reported that they had apparently missed one, and a new foal had been born. Great fun to see them.
I only wish I'd had my camera.

Time for Palms Friday Five

Mother Laura says:

Can you believe Daylight Savings Time is here already? It's hard to get used to the new, earlier onset. My family has been getting up and out a little late and a little sleepy in the mornings.

And can you believe that in two days it will be Palm Sunday for Western Christians? Our Lent is almost over, while our Orthodox sisters and brothers, whose liturgical year follows the older Julian calendar, are just starting theirs. Nicholas did a recent book report on George Washington, and we were surprised to find out that our first President's birthday was originally Feb. 11, since he was born just before the change to the Gregorian calendar. Apparently the change almost caused rioting, as some indignant people were sure that they were being cheated out of eleven days of their lives!

To help you adjust--and enjoy the process--here's a Friday Five about time and transitions....

1. If you could travel to any historical time period, which would it be, and why?

I'm pretty happy here; I might want to visit for a day or two some periods, like John Wesley deciding to preach outdoors (he called it "submitting to be more vile"), but there's no period I'd rather live in than now.

2. What futuristic/science fiction development would you most like to see?

I'm ready for advances in implants--that's probably the only way I'll ever see without glasses or contacts. Holographic communication would be nice, too--webcams and the internet don't do justice to Jamie the Exceptional One (who will be 2 soon!). And I'd love to know what's up in Cletus' mind, and what the spooky Boo cat thinks about all day. Or maybe not. And bullet trains (a far off advance for my part of the world) and jet packs--so I could make a quick trip anywhere I wanted to go.

3. Which do you enjoy more: remembering the past, or dreaming for the future?

Definitely dreaming for the future. There's some stuff in my past I'd just as soon leave behind, plus there's the whole fantasizing part. I'm a dreamer, a daydream believer...

4. What do you find most memorable about this year's Lent?

Sadly, the deaths of my uncle and my grandmother. But also my first (I hope) magazine article was published during this Lent. And my Bible study group is struggling gamely through Bread and Wine--it's fun to see people encountering Moltmann and Chesterton and all these great writers for the first time, and fun to see what they bring out of what they are reading.

5. How will you spend your time during this upcoming Holy Week? What part do you look forward to most?

Honestly, I look forward to Easter afternoon, when we will cancel the church's usually busy afternoon schedule and take a well-earned Sabbath rest. And then my bff Tonya is coming to visit--so that will be big fun. It's been a rough Lent; I'm ready for some T. time. Only 12 more sleeps till I meet her plane!

I'm special

DogBlogger, aka Amy Forbus, in her job as part of the UM Reporter team, asked me and several other people about how blogging and internet use affects our preaching for an article in the March 21 UM Reporter, in a special section on worship trends.
The article's out; you can read it here.
Cool!
Thanks, Amy!

Home again

Okay. I'm home. To quote my father, "I'm really getting tired of funerals."
I've got a class to catch up on, a sermon to write, and stuff to do.
But I'm so glad to be home!
Puppy kisses are very healing.

She's gone

My grandmother died about 11 pm her time on Tuesday, about 12 hours after her son's funeral. Don't know when, but I'm going. Pray for us, if you're praying folk, especially for my father, who has now lost his wife, brother, and mother in 6 months.

It's always darkest before it gets really bad...

I got a call earlier this week that my grandmother had had a stroke. Not catastrophic, but bad...she lost her sight and became even more disoriented, a terrible thing to happen to someone with dementia. She's now bed-ridden and really struggling with it.
That was bad enough.
But this morning Dad called again, and this time he could barely speak in full sentences, and there were long pauses.
"I got a phone call about midnight."
"Jim had a heart attack."
"He didn't make it to the hospital."
"Jim's dead."
Jim is my dad's younger brother. He was, ironically, the one most uncomfortable with death. He came to my stepmother's funeral 6 months ago, at least he came to the funeral home, but wasn't able to stay for the ceremony. He was hard-working and fun-loving and tender-hearted, and now he's gone.
Dad's headed to TN for the funeral. I'm not going for this one, not because I don't want to (although I don't, exactly; I've blogged about my feelings about seeing my grandmother here) but because my grandmother, Jim and dad and Aunt Pat's mother, is going to die soon herself, and I'll want to go then, and I don't know if that will be next week or next month or next year, but I suspect it will be sooner rather than later.
I'm worried for Dad. First Bobbi died, then his mom had the stroke(s), and now this. I don't know how he handles it all.
I guess I don't really know how I will, either.