This is the time of year when I begin to notice just how dirty my windows are. The windows in my house, my office windows, all windows seem to be covered with a fine veil of grime, some fingerprints here, a glob of who know what there. I didn’t notice it all winter…were they this bad for months without my being aware? But now with the strong,spring sun shining through, I notice. Everything on the outside seems filtered, not quite clear. I find myself squinting…is that a small squirrel or a large bird….what is that junk that is emerging from underneath the melting snow….did I really leave that outside at the end of the fall?

The experience of dirty windows can be a metaphor for how we see much within our days. How often do I struggle to see more clearly the problem I’m trying to solve? If only I could wipe away some of my ego, my need to be right or in control, perhaps it would be easier to see the solution. Those fingerprints etched on the dirty window, too small to be mine, remind me that I do not travel this life’s journey alone. I am a mentor, a mother, a friend to young ones who want to be seen and known, who need my time and attention more than whatever seems to be so pressing at the moment. There is beauty just within reach but I have to clear away my assumptions, expectations, prejudice to be able to see others in their fullness. 

The film that covers my lens to the world allows me to only see in a partial way. "For now we see in a glass dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully,even as I have been fully known." writes Paul in his letter to the people of Corinth.

Much of how we live our days is with the view from dirty windows. It takes determination, tools, supplies, elbow grease and time to clean the grime away so we can see more clearly into the world.  It takes genuine desire and faith to scrub clean the windows of our hearts so we can embrace what until now we could know only in part. Paul’s words remind us that even though we may be seeing in a partial way, the Holy knows and sees us in our fullness. It is into that fullness that we are invited by the One who breathed and birthed us into being and by whom we are fully known.

I don’t know what the weekend holds…..but it could be a good time to wash some windows. Who knows what is longing to be seen?

Have a warm and wonderful weekend……………..

As the sun makes brilliant the view out my window, I am drawn to the beauty that is coming to life in Creation.

One day last week I woke up with a sense of anticipation. It was Holy Week and one might have thought I was anticipating Easter but my anticipation stretched farther into the future than the upcoming Sunday. I had just dipped into the final cup of blueberries picked last summer. Instead of feeling sad about the end of that tart, beautiful taste, I had this flash of memory…..sitting on a hot, July day listening to the plop, plop of berries into a bucket. One memory led to another…..crouching with my friend Lynn in the strawberry fields of Lake Elmo, juicy red staining our fingertips……carefully reaching my hand into the briers of raspberry bushes in our backyard chatting with our five year old neighbor who is my picking partner…….the brilliant colors and smells of the St. Paul Farmer’s Market-ripe vegetables, smiling faces,fragrant basil, amazing sunflowers…..ahhhhh!

These are the musings of someone tired of winter. Can you relate? I love snow, the solitude of winter, the ability to cocoon and do in-house projects….knitting, reading, making soup and time around the fireplace. But it is time to come out of hibernation….time to come out of the cave. It is time to get into the dirt, to dig and plant, to nurture seeds, to wait for the gifts of Earth to be visible once again. It is time for color…green grass,the yellow-green of new leaves emerging, red tulips, yellow daffodils, purple primrose. It is time to smell rain on concrete and grills sending the scent of supper throughout the neighborhood.

I am not alone in this anticipation…..the noisy cardinal outside my window this morning is also shouting out his longing…….spring, come now!

"To everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted." Ecclesiastes 3

Words matter. How we speak to one another, how we express our love, anger, opinions,thoughts, creativity,faith all matters. I have been listening to the news and reading the paper about words that were said recently by a radio personality and the responses to his words. The situation has only fueled my long held belief that the words"sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" is completely false. Words matter……always.

I have long been an advocate-an often outspoken one- for the use of inclusive language in worship. I believe it makes a difference how we express our experience and understanding of the Holy. When we use only one word or image to name God, we neglect seeing the multitude of ways the Sacred is alive in our world. It is particularly important, I believe, in how we shape the ability for our young ones to express their faith and their experiences of life.

I have often told my sons that it is very important to pay attention to the words they put into their minds and hearts.I tell them that through music,movies,books and other media, it is very easy to feed our inside with harmful,derogatory words that can-in the heat of the moment, the offhand remark,the attempt at humor-come out and express things in ways we will later regret….ways that will cause hurt to another beyond our imagination.

Each part of Creation is sacred. As humans we have been given a special gift…..language. These words which assign meaning to our lives, our experience,our history and our future allow us to express the full range of what it means to be human. This gift is not to be taken lightly.

I have certainly spoken many harmful words in my life. I pray that I have had the grace and humility to ask forgiveness when my carelessness has caused another harm. I pray that my asking was done with an open heart and a full knowledge of the pain I caused. I pray that the experience once again reinforced that words matter.

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O God."
Psalm 19

Growing up in southern Ohio, Easter was the magic date at which white shoes could be worn again. Hidden away in the closet or brand new out of the box, white shoes were donned by little girls in twirly skirted dresses and women in flowery, sometimes veiled hats. It was a beautiful sight……families filed out of their houses in their new spring finery. To wear white shoes before Easter Sunday was a definite fashion faux pas.

Perhaps I am thinking about white shoes because of the cold that doesn’t seem to want to leave.There was certainly the visibility of Easter fashion at church on Sunday but it was quickly covered up by winter coats, warm hats and heavy gloves. This rite of spring……. of new clothes, bright colors, flowery prints, white shoes……marks not only the change of season but a sense of freedom and lightness of being that leads to summer.

I am reminded of the apostle Paul who said that we are "to put on the clothes of Christ". I believe Easter Sunday can be the time to "re-up" what it means to be a faithful person in the world. At the sunrise service we sang a song that had the line "Love lives again" as a way of talking about the resurrection. We handed out green ribbons and invited people to pin them on one another with the affirmation that, indeed, Love lives again. Hopefully every time people saw the ribbon on their Easter clothes they were reminded that we are, each of us, called to witness to this Love which moves and has life in the world….through us, to us, in us and for us.

Easter may be the time to pull out our white shoes but it is also the time to remember to wear our hearts on our sleeves. God knows the world needs such Love…..God knows we do, too.

Many people I know, myself included, have spent many years struggling with the language of Good Friday. A few years ago I stumbled upon a small book called Praying a New Story by Michael Morwood, an Australian, who speaks of the salvation story in a broader context that appeals to me. He speaks of a "universe so immersed in God’s presence, a Presence at work in all places, at all times, and in every human being who ever existed." In this view "a fresh understanding of Jesus emerges. Jesus reveals our connectedness with God and reveals wonderful, freeing insight about human existence and its possibilities."

Morwood writes a series of remembrances about Jesus for Good Friday, written perhaps from the perspective of close friends, much as we might say gathered at the bedside of a dying loved one or at a  memorial service.

"I remember a man who had dreams of what might be: that people would be set free from ideas and images about God that enslaved them, that people would believe that through their everyday acts of human kindness they are intimately connected with the sacred, that people would live ‘in peace, in God’s presence, all the days of their lives'(Luke 1). I remember a man driven by his dreams."

"I remember a man who had to find quiet places to pray and think about things, a man who had to live by faith, a man who had to search for answers, a man who had to think about which path to follow, a man who looked to his friends for support and understanding. I remember someone very much like me."

"I remember a man whose dream was shattered, who broke down and cried over what could have been, who knew pain of failure and powerlessness, who knew what it was like to feel broken and terribly alone. I remember someone human like all of us."

"I remember a man crucified. He was a failure, abandoned by his friends, taunted, despised, enduring a shameful and agonizing death. I remember a man whose faith in all he believed was tested to the limits."

"I remember a man who forgave, not just once, but over and over, a man who embodied the generosity and limitless outpouring of the Source of all life, a man whose life and death point us to another dimension of what it means to be human. No power on earth, nothing, could move this man from what he believed. I remember a man who inspires me by the way he died."

Each of us comes to Good Friday in our own way. In our remembering, may we come to know the Presence of the Holy in ways that will lead us not only to shout Alleluia on Easter on Sunday…..but to allow our very lives to become an Alleluia.

A blessed Easter to you……………………..

Today is Maundy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter Sunday, named from the Latin "mandatum" which means commandment. It is named to commemorate Jesus’ command to his disciples to "love one another". On this day church services will focus on two acts: washing the feet(or hands) of one another and the celebration of communion, The Last Supper.

Last Supper….there are last suppers happening every day….we are just not aware of them. Whether or not Jesus and his friends were aware that this would be their true last supper together or not is unknown and not really important. What was important was that they gathered, remembered who they were, what they had experienced together, and marked the moment…… knowing sometime, very soon, things would be very different.I imagine they told stories of the places they’d been, the people they had come to know….I imagine there was laughter, gratitude, friendship, competition……all the things that are present at any family dinner. But there was for them, the scriptures tell us, an under current of knowledge that soon things would be different for them.

I wonder….if we knew the supper tonight, or tomorrow or next week might be the last supper with a friend or loved one, would we behave differently? Would we be more likely to take up the "mandatum" to tell those gathered how much we love them? I also wonder how many meals are remembered with the words "if only"…if only I’d said this…..or that……and not something else.

The poet Jane Kenyon, who knew she was dying of cancer wrote these words:"I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the birch wood. All morning I did the work I love. At noon I lay down with my mate. It might have been otherwise. We ate dinner together at a table with silver candlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day. But one day, I know, it will be otherwise."

Maundy Thursday…..a day to follow the commandment of Jesus to "love one another"…..to celebrate our supper as if it might be our last. For one day, indeed, it will be otherwise.

I have known minimal suffering in my life. I have lost loved ones, experienced illness, had a few broken hearts, but in the grand scheme of the world, I have known little suffering. So it is often difficult for me to enter fully into the Holy Week story in ways that I see others do. I do not particularly identify with Jesus’ suffering.I find it difficult to identify with his persecution, his mental & physical anguish or his crucifixion.

The person in the story I do identify with in the scriptures this week is Mary, Jesus’ mother. I often wonder what it must have been like to have watched this probably precocious child grow, mature and begin to challenge the world powers. I imagine she felt pride, confusion, concern, frustration, as any mother does as she watches her child find their way-and their prophetic voice- in the world. To then be present for the arrest, trial and execution of your child…….that part is beyond my imagination.

This year in particular this part of the the Easter story has become more real for me. Several times a day I drive by the house of people I nominally know. In their window is an Armed Forces star signifying a son who is serving in Iraq. On each side of the star is a battery powered candle. I think of the mother inside who has watched her son grow, mature and begin to find his way in the world. I imagine the pride, confusion, concern she must feel. I imagine the commitment and sheer will that goes into keeping those candles lit. I imagine the deep prayer that goes beneath their light.

I have a son who is old enough to be in Iraq. I am grateful he is safe in a college dorm room still finding his way in the world, still searching for his prophetic voice. Like Mary and mothers everywhere, I know the deep connection mothers and sons have and as I drive by that star I send a prayer out into the Universe for this son…..her son…our sons.

As we hear the Easter scriptures read, we remember the life of Jesus…….Mary’s son…..whose light continues to shine in the world. As we hear the words may we say a fervent prayer for the sons and daughters everywhere who are in danger. May the candles that hold their lives continue to stay lit until they are safe at home once more.

Eggs are everywhere these days….chocolate ones, fancy sugar ones, foiled covered ones, cheap,hollow plastic ones, hard boiled and brightly colored ones and especially the beautiful Ukrainian ones with the intricate designs. These eggs seem particularly impossible to me. The patience and the care of holding that fragile shell while all the time dipping and painting, creating such a work of art.

Hildegard of Bingen, a medieval mystic, was an artist, musician, poet and Benedictine sister and theologian. Some might say she was a woman ahead of her time.  Her artwork is intricate, her music sweet and seductive and her poetry is filled with visual images that continue to inspire 21st century people of all faith traditions. I love her work. Hildegard created beautiful mandalas in which she represented the universe as….you guessed it….. an egg. She used the egg to symbolize unity and interconnectedness, how the world invisibly works.  "God has arranged all things in the world in consideration of everything else." she wrote. Hildegard also saw the universe as organic and alive, like an egg….a symbol of a new creation, a new being.

So this week as you color Easter eggs or bite into a gooey Cadbury egg, I invite you to stop for just a moment. Aren’t these eggs we associate with Easter more than sugary confections? Eggs hold within them mystery, delight, beauty, surprise, and "invisible and eternal things" that have yet to unfold. "God gave to humankind the talent to create with all the world." says Hildegard.

Seems eggs are serious…..and beautiful business!

And so we begin Holy Week. Again. This week between Palm Sunday and Easter, this time to look once again at the final days of Jesus’ life, comes each year with regularity. What is different is how we experience it. The gift of following the Christian calendar is that we get to re-experience not only our faith story but our own life story each year. We get to "take stock" if you will of what has happened over the year. For me, I come to Holy Week, knowing that I will not hear or experience this week exactly as I did last year. My life experience won’t let me hear the words in the same way, feel sadness or outrage in the same place, shout alleluia just as I did last year.

Indeed, I am a different person than last year….I believe all of us are…while we may remain the same at our core, the experiences we have had change us and make us somewhat different year to year. Call it growth, aging, progress, whatever. We are influenced by the events of our own personal life and the events of the world. Sometimes we are aware and sometimes we are oblivious…..but we are changed none the less….and in that changing we can come to hear our faith story in new ways.

As we waved our palms yesterday, I was aware of the people who have left our community over the past year…..and those who have become a part of the circle. I was aware that the children had grown taller…and wiser. I felt the pain and fury of knowing we are still at war with no end in sight. I felt hope that the attention to our global climate crisis seems to be gaining momentum. I felt blessed by a faith community that continues to wrestle with the scriptures with integrity and love, to try their level best to follow the teachings of Jesus. I embraced my desire to understand what it means to be a part of a world groaning for justice and peace.

So much…..in just a year. And so I bring all this to my experience of this week, to the retelling of this story……what do you bring? What shaped who you are this year? How will you enter this faith story with new eyes, new ears, new hopes, that might lead you to the promised New Life of Easter?

My advice…be open…..and gentle with yourself……hold your pain lightly……embrace your hope fiercely.

"Blessing of the Tears….That I may be filled with them. That I may be emptied by them. That they may challenge my silence. That they may lead me to speech. That I may name each one. That I may be named by each one. That they may teach me of my sorrow. That they may lead me to my strength."

Jan L. Richardson