A Lack of Love...

NY Times, 9-25-21, data for Pender County

Every week we hear about someone who has gotten sick with Covid-19. People we know have been in the ICU for weeks and weeks. Some have died. It is heartbreaking. And part of what makes all this so tragic is that it does not need to be this way. 

Vaccines have been available since January – nine months, but just over half of the people in our county are fully vaccinated. The school board had required masks at the traditional start of the school year due to extraordinarily high rates of infection at the year-round school. But they voted to make masks optional starting October 4. One of the members said it was a matter of “freedom,” allowing families the right to choose what was best for them. 

I would rather be free of worrying about my mother getting sick. I would rather be free to go into a store where people were protecting others by wearing masks. I would rather be free to see friends again. We used to say that one person’s freedom ended where another’s nose began, but clearly a large minority of people in my county don’t practice that. 

And here is an irony: Many of those who refuse to wear masks and won’t get vaccinated profess to be Christian. Jesus said that one of the greatest commandments is to love your neighbor as yourself. But for many here, love of self, love of one’s own preferences and comfort, and love of personal privilege have overruled love of neighbor. It makes me sad. And it also makes me angry….

 

Sunday Driving

It seems hard to imagine, but folks once went driving, often on Sundays, just for fun. Piling in the car and slowly motoring along, they saw the sights, explored back roads, took their time. “Sunday driver” is now a pejorative term – someone who creeps along and holds things up. Our vehicles are utilitarian vessels, hurtling us from here to there as quickly as possible. They are not usually meant for pleasurable outings. We are all in hurry, and if you don’t believe that, try driving the 70-mile-an-hour speed limit on I-40!  

My sister and I did some Sunday driving this week. We took my 1949 Ford pickup to church. There are no seatbelts or turn signals, no AC, no radio, no automatic windows. Starting it involves turning the key, pulling out the choke, and pressing the starter. Top speed is under 40 mph. It slowed us down. We had some time to talk. The air blowing in the window was warm and sweet. There weren’t many others on the road so no one was blowing a horn and racing past us. It was a lovely little trip, a brief interlude of Sabbath grace.

 

This Sunday, three years ago....

Reposted

The Gospel, aka the Good News, for September 23, 2018

Mark 9:3-37

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Maybe the flood waters are starting to recede in some places, but that will only reveal the destruction left behind.  Whole communities are underwater; roads are washed away; thousands are displaced, temporarily or forever.  People have died. A baby and her mother were killed when a tree fell on their house.  Another child was swept from his mother’s arms. There are tragedies beyond knowing, beyond words.  The rich and the poor alike have suffered, but the poor will suffer longer and harder.

I cannot reach my church building, so we are not physically together today. But I hope I have reached our congregation by prayer; I hope we are together in spirit.  I continue to pray that everyone is safe.  Recovery will take a long time and may never happen in some places.

And in the midst of this, Jesus reminds us of resurrection. He was teaching his disciples, and it was a hard lesson.  He would be betrayed and killed.  He would suffer.  But he would also rise again.  They did not understand what he meant and were afraid to ask him – afraid, maybe, because he would explain it and it was easier to pretend they did not know what was coming; afraid, maybe, because his suffering might mean suffering for them, too; afraid, maybe, because they would lose access to the power he had if he was no longer with them.

I think the third explanation is most likely.  He was healing and saving and feeding and touching and teaching, and they were part of that.  It must have been a heady experience, in the presence of all that power. And indeed, it went to their heads, because they started arguing about which one of them was the greatest.  They seemed to think that greatness was the same as power and privilege.  They missed the kind of greatness Jesus was trying to teach them about.  

In the past ten days, I have seen folks open their homes to people they barely know who have no place to go.  People have purchased toys to comfort children who now live in a shelter with food and cots, but precious little to play with.  Others have volunteered to cook and clean up, no questions asked.

Who is the greatest?

State troopers have kept lonely vigils at washed out roads to keep people safe.  Volunteers with boats have rescued people from flooded homes.  Volunteers with boats have gone back to rescue the animals.  

Who is the greatest?

Line crews from Tennessee and Ohio and who knows where else worked on the power on our road.  Nurses drove for hours to get to the hospital that is only 30 miles away.  A grocery store manager paid for food when someone’s credit card was not accepted.  

Who is the greatest?

Jesus answered the question this way:  “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” And then he put a child in their midst. “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

A child.  Not a great and powerful figure, not a person of influence and stature.  A child.  A vulnerable, powerless, needy, dependent child.

There are so many like that child right now – vulnerable, powerless, needy, and dependent.  Those who welcome and care for them are welcoming Christ, welcoming God.  They are caring for Christ, caring for God.

And remember what Jesus was trying to teach the disciples. After his suffering, there would be resurrection.  It will be hard to trust that here, that promise of resurrection.  But somehow already there are tiny signs.  A woman gave birth to her first child in a mobile medical unit in the Family Dollar parking lot.  Someone took a photo (above) of the medical folks with her and her new baby, and she was smiling, they were all smiling.  One couple from our church got married right in the midst of the storm. Another couple, also from our church, got married yesterday in the midst of the floods.  Yet another couple, friends of mine, are hoping to be able to wade to their wedding today.  Elders are pumping out and cleaning up our church building.  Members of our congregation are checking on each other (but, of course, they do that anyway!). People are eating hot meals that they could not cook, finding places to take showers and wash clothes, taking stock of what comes next.  There are glimpses of resurrection in the goodness around us, a goodness that shines like a light in the darkness, serves as a shelter in the storm, gives of itself, welcomes and cares for others.

Recovery will be a long, long process.  My heart aches for all the loss:  loss of homes, loss of livelihood, loss of life.  In many places it will be hard for folks to rise again.

And so I remember the last line of one of my favorite poems: Practice resurrection.

 (https://cals.arizona.edu/~steidl/Liberation.html):

Practice resurrection.  I don’t hear this as a command to get up and get going, to get past all this and get on with things, to get over it.   I hear it, instead, as a holy invitation, to look for signs of new life, to rise every morning and put feet on the floor and do one more day, to hope, to believe, to trust.  

Because Christ is in our midst.  God is with us.  Welcome the Holy.  

In the Vineyard

I have some friends who live near a vineyard. After the owners harvest the grapes, there are still many left on the vines. I joined my friends yesterday and picked “leftovers.” There were a lot of grapes, and I came home with two big baskets full. We have crushed the grapes and strained the juice, and the whole kitchen smells like sweet fruit. 

I am neither poor nor alien, but I have benefited from one of God’s holy instructions: “You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19.10) I am reminded of the abundance all around me, enough to go around and then some, enough to share. And there in the vineyard with my friends, we laughed and talked and ate some grapes. It has been a long time since I was out and about just for fun. And there was an abundance in that, too – being able to spend time with others on a late summer morning.

 

The "Before"

In late August/early September 2001, I had some friends over for supper. We got together about every six weeks or so, and it was always good to be together. On that late summer evening, I moved tables and chairs out into the backyard. The folding tables were put end to end to make one long table that I covered with a big crocheted bedspread placed over sheets. I think I got out my good china and silver. And candles – lots of candles! Also wine! Supper was ham, potato salad, pimento cheese sandwiches, and something (I’m not sure what) for dessert. We lingered at the table in that sweet twilight, laughing and talking and sharing our lives. Even in the moment, it seemed such a precious time.  

And then a few days later, it was September 11. The towers, and our sense of security, came crashing down. In the space of a morning, it seemed that the world had changed. There was a dividing line between the “before” and the “after.” In the “before” we could get on an airplane without x-rays. Those of other nationalities or faiths were not so overtly demonized. We were not at war. But “after,” a lot was different, and still is. 

But the group of friends that gathered that night in the “before” is still gathering, even the one who is now part of our great cloud of witnesses. We are still laughing and talking and sharing our lives, over Zoom for the most part. A lot has changed, but some of the really important things have not – time spent under the stars, attention to the sacrament of the present moment, laughing with those you love. Every day is precious but all too often we rush through life without noticing. So today: Tell someone you love them. Find something that makes you laugh. Give thanks for all the goodness that surrounds you, even in the midst of terrible times. And say a prayer for all those we lost that day and for those whose losses still loom large.

 

Weeds

Nut grass:  I have a lot in my garden!

It is that time of summer when it seems nothing wants to grow except the weeds. The official definition of a weed is a plant in the wrong place. The grass that won’t grow in the lawn will flourish in the flower bed – where it becomes weeds. I’ve been weeding raised beds in preparation for some fall planting. The squash and cucumbers have died, but the weeds are in full force! A spot that looked fine yesterday has already sprouted back. The weeds have developed survival tactics. They spread by long rhizomes underground; they set seeds early and often; they are drought resistant. Weeding can seem a never-ending chore. But it is a necessary process because, left untended, those weeds will crowd out the beneficial plants. They will suck up the nutrients and moisture and blot out the sunlight. 

As I have been weeding, I have reflected on some churches that I have known where there were “weeds” – people who were in the wrong place. Like the grass in a garden, they tried to take over. They had an aptitude for crowding out others, smothering fledgling ministries. They absorbed lots of the pastor’s energy, taking up more than their share of time and attention. Sometimes I have wished that I could pull them up by their roots, just the way I do the weeds in my garden! But I am reminded that even in that first Garden, things were not perfect. And things are certainly not perfect in the church – any church. And Jesus says that God makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. (Matthew 5:45). And even though some seem to soak up more sun and rain than they deserve, I suppose in God’s garden there are no weeds, nothing that is in wrong place. 

But I still want to uproot some folks and send them to the church down the road!

 

Rush Hour in the Country

On my way to pick up groceries curbside early in the day, I got stuck behind a school bus.  I was on a country road with curves and bends, and it was hard to see a safe place to pass.  So I followed.  The bus stopped at a small house where a man waited with a child in a heavy duty inclined wheelchair, more like a bed than a chair.  A lift unfolded toward the back of the bus and was slowly lowered to the ground.  The man turned the chair around, pushed it onto the lift, and secured it. He handed the large backpack he had been wearing to unseen waiting hands.  The lift slowly rose, and the person inside the bus unfastened the chair and rolled it inside.  I assume there was a similar process of securing the chair in the bus.  Then the lift was folded up, and the bus moved on.

I don’t know who that family is.  I don’t know anything about the adult or adults on the bus.  I don’t know if the other children were kind or cruel.  And I don’t know what it is like to spend a life in a chair like that.  But sitting there and waiting and watching made me wonder.  

 

Courage comes in many forms.  Getting up every day to tend to a child in a chair takes courage.  Driving a school bus takes courage.  Going to school in these pandemic times takes courage.  There was so much courage on display during the 20 minutes or so that I sat and waited.  

 

Life for me has slowed some in the past 18 months, but I still find myself rushing around with chores and projects to do.  It was good to stop, good to reflect on the quiet lives of courage and caring that are all around me.  It was good not to rush.

The Glory of God

When my niece was in kindergarten or so, she delighted at the way the sun’s rays shone through clouds. She called it the glory of God. And one day she went to school and declared that the glory of God had appeared in her front yard. Her teacher tried to correct her, telling her that the glory of God was everywhere. And maybe that is true, but that child experienced it in her yard. She saw the shining fingers of the Holy reaching down with a blessing for her, touching her place in the world. 

Driving along the other day, I saw the glory of God -- the rays of the sun streaming down through the clouds.  It was beautiful.  It was a reminder that the glory, the presence, of God is indeed everywhere. Sometimes I am too busy or worried or preoccupied to notice.  I suppose many of us are.

The little girl is all grown up now, but I hope she still encounters the glory of God. I hope she has not lost her sense of awe and wonder. I hope she knows that the hand of God still reaches out to her.  And the Light of the World shines on us all.