Waking up this morning in Ohio, I made my way out of the hotel room to the lobby for a cup of coffee. The rest of my family was either sleeping or working and I wanted to begin the morning in a quiet way. I sat looking out the window onto the cold landscape. No snow covered the ground but I could tell by the steam rising from the cars outside that it was a frigid morning. The view out the window was not particularly beautiful. In fact, it was anything but….bare trees, cars and trucks zipping by on the nearby freeway, a rush hour beginning to form before my very eyes.

But I was facing east and no matter the initial sights that greeted my eye, they began to be made beautiful by the incredible ball of hot pink and orange that made its way up the horizon. At first it was only a sliver of sphere. Then over a period of minutes, right before my staring glance, the emergence of sunlight present in this globe of red. Cars and trucks continued to speed by. The other hotel guests pulled their wheeled suitcases out to their cars, their breath visible in the morning air.I wanted to run out into the parking lot shouting: "Stop! Look! The sun is rising! Isn't it beautiful?" But, of course, I didn't. It's best not to be seen as a 'little crazy' in public places.

This miracle of morning once experienced by our ancestors as pure gift is, to us in our fast paced world, taken for granted, most often ignored. It seems a shame, doesn't it?Those who once thought of sleep as a 'small death' rejoiced at waking up and seeing light be restored to their eyes, their life, their day. Oh, for the shedding of our intelligence, our understanding of how the world works and to be gripped once again in amazement….wouldn't it be wonderful?

"Have you ever seen 
anything 
in your life 
more wonderful 
than the way the sun, 
every evening, 
relaxed and easy, 
floats toward the horizon 
and into the clouds or the hills, 
or the rumpled sea, 
and is gone-- 
and how it slides again
out of the blackness, 
every morning, 
on the other side of the world, 
like a red flower 
streaming upward on its heavenly oils, 
say, on a morning in early summer, 
at its perfect imperial distance-- 
and have you ever felt for anything 
such wild love-- 
do you think there is anywhere, in any language, 
a word billowing enough 
for the pleasure 
that fills you, 
as the sun 
reaches out, 
as it warms you 
as you stand there, 
empty-handed-- 
or have you too 
turned from this world--
or have you too 
gone crazy 
for power, 
for things? "
~Mary Oliver

Early this week, before the fresh, clean dusting of snow fell, I was aware that we have entered that time of year when the snow that blanketed our streets and yards has melted in such a way to reveal what is buried beneath. As I walk my usual paths in our neighborhood, it is common to see a mitten half frozen in dirty snow. Down the street further a discarded bottle sticks its neck out of an icy snowbank. Once you begin noticing, it is impossible to stop until before you know it, all you see is the debris that lies beneath.

The other evening my husband and I began our evening walk as the sun was setting. This meant that by the time we returned to our home it was dark. Our eyes had adjusted as we walked and so when we came upon a black mound in the street I started to reach down to pick it up only to be stopped by his:"Don't think about it!" We walked on, the black mound a forever secret.

I have the desire to clean up the messes I see. If there is a piece of trash along the road, I might pick it up and later deposit it in a can I find along the way. The single glove along the sidewalk might have special significance and so hanging it from the bare limb of a tree makes perfect sense to me. Not too long ago we found a wallet in a mall parking lot, its contents flung with abandon around and under a car. We carefully picked up the random cards, ID's and driver's license and tried, we hope successfully, to return them to their rightful owner. It was, in part, an act of saving them from being buried beneath the next snowfall.

This season, with its ugliness and dirty face, becomes a great life metaphor. So much can be buried beneath the surface of our lives that needs to be uncovered, used, even celebrated. Still other things are beneath the surface because they bring us such pain. Digging them out of the snowbank requires confronting parts of who we are that we don't like to own.The hope is that 'out of sight, out of mind' will work. The wisdom of years most often proves this not to be true.  Those experiences, thoughts, feelings, that are buried always find a way to work their way out of their discarded home. 

May each of us have the courage today to look beneath the surface for what is buried. As we reach down to bring what we have found into the light, may we be held by the One who has promised to never let us go, the One who loves us unconditionally. Today, tomorrow, always.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have loved you and you are mine." Michael Joncas, Jeremiah 31:3

"Today, like every other day,
we wake up empty and frightened.
Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways
to kneel and kiss the ground."
~Rumi

Last night I was at a loss. Words were failing me. Reading was too difficult. Writing impossible.Prayers would not come. All the things that fill my time, fill me up, were inadequate. It had been a difficult day that had been part of a difficult week. I walked around the house aimless.

Then my eyes fell on the piano. I had not touched the keys in weeks. Sitting down, I began to play old songs, sappy, sweet songs that in other times I would laugh at their sentimentality. But tonight they seemed just right. I played and played, making every chord schmaltzier than the last. As I played a sense of calm began to take hold. I felt the stress and pain of the past week begin to loosen in my muscles. It was a moment of healing brought on by the power of 'taking down an instrument' as Rumi suggests. I played until the notes had their way with my troubles, my confusion, my pain. It was good.

A friend and colleague died tragically this past week. My community is reeling with their questions, their anguish, their grief. Many are filled with doubt, fear and a challenged faith. Walking together through this has been difficult. But this is what true communities do. They hold each other up when needed and celebrate with joy when it is called for. They listen to each others' questions with patience knowing they have no answers. They pray even when their prayers seem shallow and trust that God hears the depth of their words. And in the mix of the hands that reach out and the arms that hold, I believe, the Holy shows up. Or rather, we have the eyes to see the presence that was always lingering within our reach.

Sometimes that presence is in the touch of another or the word well chosen. Sometimes it is in the silence. Still other times it is in the sweet sound our own fingers make as they bring to life the sound of music that has the power to distract, transform, heal. All these are gift offered without price. Pure sacrament.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Today has been a day full of meetings, all important, just stacked on top of one another with barely a moment to shift gears before the next. Ever have one of those days? They can be mind numbing and spirit drenching.That's when it is more important than ever to notice the gifts that show up in the oddest of places.

As I headed into meeting number three at a little before 10 a.m., I grabbed a cup of tea. The smell of cinnamon and spice jarred my senses as I situated myself at the table, ready to take on what the hour held. I twisted the string of the teabag around the handle of my pale green cup. Then my eyes fell on what was printed on the teabag tag: "The first and great commandment is: Don't let them scare you." It was attributed to Elmer Davis(1890-1958).

Davis was a well-known news reporter who worked for The New York Times and was also the  Director of the United States Office of War Information during WWII. He is the author of Giant Killer, a retelling of the story of David. So it is clear Mr. Davis was well acquainted with some pretty frightening situations and understood firsthand what it meant to be scared. From his fascination with David and his troubled life,it is clear he liked to take on stories that have fear as their centerpiece.

I felt gratitude to Elmer Davis for his words. They helped me think of all the ways in which we allow fear to guide our actions in the course of our daily lives. Fear seems to guide so much in our culture: Fear of losing something or someone important to us. Fear of being overlooked or under appreciated. Fear of illness or uncertainty. So many fears…..so many ways to be scared.

In the Christian scriptures, Jesus moves about his daily walk often repeating the same words to those he meets:"Do not be afraid." He says it to the rich, the poor, the ill, the young, the old, the powerful and the powerless.This voice of God in human skin walked through the world with the message of the eternal non-anxious presence: Do not be afraid.

Where is the fear in your life? What is seeking to scare you? The 'commandment' of the one who calmed the storms that threatened to overwhelm his disciples and the one who sought to tell anew the story of the the child who confronted the giant Goliath is the same.

Don't let them scare you.

"Immediately he spoke to them and said, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be
afraid." Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died
down. They were completely amazed," Mark 6

"You can't hurry love, and you can't rush puff pastry, either. You can knead too much, and you can be too needy. Always, warmth is what brings pastry to rise. Chemistry creates something amazing; coupled with care and heat, it works some kind of magic to create this satisfying, welcoming, and nourishing thing that is the base of life." Kathleen Flinn

I am reading this wonderful little memoir by a woman who moved from corporate life to living her life's dream of studying at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. This quote comes from the book The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry. As an avid pie baker, I understand the importance of the 'chemistry' it takes to produce a flaky, delicious pastry crust. Well, I don't actually understand it but I know the environment in which a good crust is born and the ingredients that it takes to make a crust that melts in your mouth..

For instance I know that if you work with the crust too much, it becomes tough, impossible to roll out. If the dough is too warm it gets sticky and you have a mess on your hands…and the rolling pin….and the counter. If you add too much flour to take care of the stickiness, the crust will also become either tough or crumbly. There are many variables that make this seemingly simple food work.All these variables do not do well under time constraints. Rushing to make a good pastry crust usually leads to disaster. The ingredients need certain temperatures and a certain amount of time to come into their own as they come together creating something greater than their individual parts.

All these statements are true of so many things in life. We bring together people or ideas and it takes a certain chemistry for good things to grow. It takes chemistry and timing.  Have you ever walked into a meeting, maybe one you were actually dreading, only to find yourself drawn into a conversation that gets your creative juices flowing?The energy rises in the room and the chemistry begins to happen. Before you know it this person has shared an idea, another has built upon it, a thought here, a question there and voila! Something new is born. It is an exciting process and in some ways magical. Letting the chemistry work and giving the time that is required makes all the difference in the outcome.

The trick is to not knead too much….and not to be too needy.

 “Deep within, I will plant my law, not on stone but in your
heart….Follow me and I will bring you home and I will be your God.” Jeremiah 31:33

 Hearts and flowers are popping up everywhere as we prepare
to celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow. It is a holiday that many love about and others loathe. Children are preparing to take Valentines to school
today after carefully scrutinizing the words printed on their superhero and
television character themed cards, careful to choose ones that don’t give anyone the
wrong idea. Yesterday I was in Target and made note of the people, adults
mostly, standing in the card aisle, reading carefully, some laughing, some
nodding, others quickly putting back the card that was certainly not the right
one to express what they wanted to. Candy has been purchased, flowers may have been sent. Perhaps even gifts
have been purchased. All to send the message of love.

 An Internet site gives this account of the origin of this
day, though there are many opinions about why we do, what we do on February 14^th.
“Some experts state that it originated
from St. Valentine, a Roman who was martyred for refusing to give up
Christianity. He died on February 14, 269 A.D., the same day that had been
devoted to love lotteries. Legend also says that St. Valentine left a farewell
note for the jailer's daughter, who had become his friend, and signed it
"From Your Valentine". Other aspects of the story say that Saint
Valentine served as a priest at the temple during the reign of Emperor
Claudius. Claudius then had Valentine jailed for defying him. In 496 A.D. Pope
Gelasius set aside February 14 to honour St. Valentine.”

 Whatever the reason for the celebration, it is clear that
the world needs more expressions of love and not just one day out of the year.
I am not speaking primarily of romantic love but the love that brings out the
best in us as we share with another person what they truly mean to us, how they
have shaped us, helped us, how they have gone the extra mile on our behalf. In
the hurried world we live in we often don’t take the time to say what needs to
be said. A simple thank you, a kind word, a ‘love note’ can go a long way to
lift someone above the ordinary,make their day, mend a broken heart, heal a troubled world. As I imagine the energy of world on a day filled with acts of love, I imagine a world that radiates healing. Can you imagine it too?

Sharing love and kindness is an act of sharing in the Holy.
It creates a connection with the One who planted the law of love deep within our hearts.
Sometimes we need a certain day, or a carefully cut out,red paper heart to be reminded to share
what we have been so graciously given.

 Happy Valentine’s Day……………..

“Standing, standing ,Standing
on the promises of God my Savior.

Standing, standing, I’m,
standing on the promises of God.”

~R. Celso Carter, 1886

 As a child I often attended the
small country church my mother grew up in and my grandmother still attended. On
a good Sunday there were probably 20 people there. My memory is not of a small,
sad church but one that was vibrant and alive. The minister served several
churches and rotated Sundays, so some weeks there was only an opening time of
prayer and hymn-singing and then Sunday School. It was always a warm, inviting
place, a community of people held together by a common faith, a shared life.
Most were folks who worked or had worked at the brickyard down the road, men who
walked together in the morning and home again at night. My mother talks of
walking with the women noon, carrying my grandfather’s lunchbox, as the women
went to eat lunch with their husbands.

“Standing on the Promises” was a
hymn often sung on Sundays. It was accompanied by Ivola on a piano not often
tuned. Jeannie Mae led the singing, her round body as wide as it was tall, her
voice clear with the twang of a country singer. Each verse of the hymn seemed
to get slower as we sang. As we settled into the familiar words, no one really
needed to look at their hymnals. These were songs sung not only on Sundays but
as laundry was hung, as diapers were washed, as supper was cooked.

I think now about the promises that
were the foundation of this little church: family, hard work, a simple life, an
unquestioned faith. When Sunday rolled around, there was no work to be done-Remember
the Sabbath Day and keep it holy-just a time to stand on the promises of God.
That and a good fried chicken dinner at noon, followed by freshly baked pie and
an afternoon nap.

"It is the attitude we bring to spiritual reading that allows God to transform the text from interesting words to words with the power to change our very being."
~Marjorie Thompson, Soul Feast: An Invitation to the Christian Spiritual Life

I read many books that are meant specifically to inspire and transform people spiritually. I also read many books that contain factual information whose intention is to impart knowledge. At other times I read books that are meant to entertain, to distract me from the fits and starts of daily life and transport me to some other realm, to allow me to relax and renew.

It is not always the 'spiritual' books that are meant to transform that fill my spirit. Quite often it is the novel or the mystery that provides the hint of the spiritual that I need at that moment. Some of the clearest experiences of the Holy I have had while reading a yarn created by someone whose intention was to entertain but whose words opened a place within me that needed transforming.

Like most experiences in life, attitude and what we bring to a situation, colors the outcome. It is true in our reading,our work, our worship, our relationships. It is true in new experiences and ones we've done over and over. It is true in professional relationships, parenting, and with our partners. Attitude is key.

My mother has always said that, especially with children, when we expect the best of them we are rarely disappointed. If we expect the worst, they usually come through with less than pleasing behavior. Again, our attitude and what we bring makes all the difference.

There is much angst in our world right now. It is quite easy to allow the negative to rule our days. All the angst is real, founded in people's true suffering and systems that have failed us. And yet, I believe, that it is only the creative power of the positive that will open our eyes to the possibilities within this situation. If we wallow in the negative, if we allow the words we use to be merely interesting but not transforming, then there is no room for the Spirit to get into the mix. 

Ultimately the choice is ours. Changing the climate of our nation, of our world, is not primarily up to elected officials or those 'at the top' but up to regular people, like you and me, going about their daily lives, seeking out the words, the people, the situations, that have the power and promise of 'changing our very being.'

It seems to me it is the perfect time to expect the best of one another. I am willing to give it a try, are you?

"Sing praises to God, you faithful ones, and give thanks to God's holy name. For the anger of God is but for a moment; God's favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning."  Psalm 130

These final Sundays in the season of Epiphany,of seeking to see the light of God in our midst, find us reading some of the healing stories of Jesus. Tucked in the readings that are possible for next Sunday is Psalm 30. It is a psalm of thanksgiving for healing.

Healing is a difficult concept to get our arms around. While healing is not the same as curing, I believe it is always about bringing about wholeness. In our culture when we speak of healing we most often talk about cure…some miraculous event that rids people of a terrible disease or injustice. It would be wonderful if that was always the case but it has been my experience that this kind of miracle is rare. Not impossible, but rare.But in the times when I have been present to healing, wholeness always shines brightly.

Yesterday as we struggled through this psalm in preparation for next week's worship, we talked about the image of God portrayed in the words. People were uncomfortable with a God who is angry and certainly a God who appears to knowingly cause pain. Further into the psalm, the writer says 'you hid your face' which most of us did not embrace. We agreed that most often it is we who hide our face from God not the other way around. And we agreed that it is in these times that we most experience pain.

In the end we came to the conversation about how all the words we use to speak of the Holy are inadequate. While we know this to be true, we often forget. This leads to arguments with the scriptures, with others on the faith journey, with our churches, our faith leaders, with other faith traditions. We talked about how we express our faith today is so different than we might have even a few short years ago. Different people expressed how certain times in their lives, in the presence of fear or illness or tragedy, they found themselves praying in ways that were so different than they did when their lives were much calmer, more ordinary.

It caused me to wonder: these words, songs written by a people in exile, a people so in need of healing and their own sense of place, represented a certain time in the life of a nation. Would they have written these poems differently, had they known that thousands of years later, people would be 'taking them at their word'? Would they have described God as an angry God, as a vengeful God? Would they have used the metaphors they used if they would have known people, living lives they could not even imagine, would try to analyze, scrutinize and, for some, seek to take their words literally? It is difficult to know but something interesting to consider.

Every year our confirmation class writes their faith statement at the end of their year long study together. Many of the students follow the outline and words of people from a different time, with a different worldview, statements held by the church for centuries. Others take the challenge by the horns and put out there what they really believe, right now, as a sixth-grader living in uncertain, postmodern times. As I listen to their words, I always wonder what they will think of them  if they read them at 25, 40, or even at 70.

It is my hope that they, like the psalmists, might see their statements as words that were true for them at a special moment in time, at a certain step along their journey. And as they read them, they might experience a moment of knowing what it means to be a part of the wholeness that is the people of God, ever moving, every growing, ever seeking to know and to speak more fully about the One who birthed us and dreamed us into being. And in the end that they will be filled with grateful hearts.

"The people realized that God was at work among them in what Jesus had just done. They said, "This is the Prophet for sure, God's Prophet right here in Galilee!" Jesus saw that in their enthusiasm, they were about to grab him and make him king, so he slipped off and went back up the mountain to be by himself.In the evening this disciples went down to the seas, got in the boat, and headed back across the water to Capernaum. It had grown quite dark and Jesus had not yet returned. A huge wind blew up, churning the sea. They were maybe three or four miles out when they saw Jesus walking on the sea, quite near the boat. They were scared senseless, but he reassured them, "It's me, it's all right. Don't be afraid." So they took him on board. In no time they reached land on the exact spot they were headed to. ~John 6:14-21(The Message)

Last night the sunset over the lake was breathtaking. Those of us here at the retreat center stood looking out the large windows that face the water as the sky turned from blue to lavender, then pink to orange and yellow, painting a palette worthy of any Impressionistic artist. How does it happen? Why does it happen?

I don't know the answer to those questions but I know what the result is: awe, wonder, a sense of being present to something so much bigger than myself that I must stop and take note of it, perhaps breathe out a prayer of gratitude.

On the frozen lake, the ice houses dot the landscape with color…reds, blues, yellows…..tiny structures floating on water. Sitting beside the houses, trucks, cars and 4-wheelers, are in the ready for a quick, or leisurely, get-away, most likely driven by the windchill that sweeps across the lake. It is a truly Minnesota scene. There are few other places on the planet where people don't blink at such a sight. Houses, cars, lives being lived out held up by water.

The ancients believed that evil lurked below the surface of water, things unseen over which humans have no power. So the stories of Jesus walking on water showed his power to overcome the fears that can grip us. As he walked toward the disciples they knew that he indeed was the prophet they had longed for, the one who could over turn the tables of injustice, the one who could release them from their fear of the most unseen thing of all…death. He walked with confidence on the surface of what had the potential to swallow them up.

On the frozen Minnesota lake, suspended between the awe and majesty of the Creator's artistic hand, people sit now. They may not be having any particular transcendent moment or thinking thoughts about overcoming evil. But I bet they are sure having fun……and God is at work in that, too.