I had the privilege of spending some time in New York City this week. I always enjoy the energy and excitement of this amazing city. Monday was a particularly rainy day and people were scurrying around, both tourist,workers and residents searching for a place to stay dry. At one point we chose St. Patrick’s Cathedral, shaking our soaked umbrellas out and slipping inside for well….sanctuary from the storm. The humidity hung in the air, a maintenace worker was busy inside the doors carrying out the futile and thankless job of mopping the wet floor. We stood still for a moment and were bathed in the beauty and the comfort of the stone, stained glass, the sounds of many languages being whispered.  An organist practiced, people prayed quietly in pews, a few others slept with their worldly belongings beside them on the floor.

I began to make my way around the outer wings of the church looking at the various statues that surrounded the main sanctuary. St. Jude, St. Andrew, St. Brigid(a favorite of mine) and of course, St. Patrick. Candles glowed, tokens of flowers, pictures, pieces of paper had been left by the faithful. But my eyes fell upon this sign above a small wooden box affixed to the wall: Alive & Well Offering: One Dollar.

I looked around for an explanation but saw none. Alive & Well Offering…….perhaps it is the place to give thanks for answered prayer. Alive & Well Offering…….perhaps it is simply the box where offerings are made because, at this point in someone’s life, they just realize they are…alive and well, that is.

There are very few, if any, ‘charmed’ lives. We all have tragedy, sorrow, loss, grief, disappointment, at some point in our lives. Sometimes it seems as if these negatives are all that exist. If we look around our world, we see countless human beings who may have only known the difficult way, the way of hopelessness, despair.  May our prayers surround them.

Today, I am alive and well…….how about you? I pray it is so for you as well. Alive & Well Offering? One dollar? Seems like quite a deal!

"If the only prayer you say in your entire life is ‘Thank You’, that would suffice."
                                                                                            Meister Eckhart, 13th Christian mystic

One of the first phrases we teach children is thank you. Almost immediately after ‘Mamma’ and ‘Daddy’ and ‘Bye-Bye’, comes ‘thank you.’ There is a certain sweet simplicity to hear a small child, just learning to speak, utter the words that sometimes only a parent can understand…something that sounds like ‘thank you’. While being given a toy, a Cherrio or cracker, to hear the infant’s emerging voice say those words brings pleasure and delight to all around.

Thank you. Simple words, really. We say them all the time….to the person who bags our groceries,  the gentleperson who holds a door as we struggle with things in our hands, our child who passes the milk in the morning, the neighbor who shares some newly picked spring flowers. Thank you. Polite words we learned at a very early age.

But thank you as prayer goes deeper. Thank you as prayer connects us with the on-going love and care of our Creator. Thank you for my life…for my living…for the beauty that surrounds me, for those that stand with me, for the food that is a gift of your earth, for the air, the Sun, the Moon, the water, oh….so many things for which to utter the words "thank you."

What is the place of your gratitude today? What gift has appeared in your life that has surprised you and filled you with wonder? How has the Holy One shown up and taken your breath away today?

The syllables are few, the intention deep. Let us pray.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it."  Hebrews 13:2

Sometimes as I am trying to fall asleep at night, I will think back over the day and recall all the things I have done, all the people I have encountered. Of course, age being what it is, this gets more difficult each year.However, some days certain people I have encountered remain clear in my memory.

A few weeks ago a young man came into the church and asked to speak to a minister. I met him in the front lobby and I proceeded to listen to his story, some of it rambling,much of it unclear and jumbled. It was clear he needed something, I was unsure what. He was troubled, hurting, questioning. I was not as articulate as I would have liked. I did not in any way feel helpful.I felt as if I had failed him. He left the building and I was unsure what had actually happened during our conversation. The meeting haunted me for days.

I was reminded of a few lines of a poem by Rumi….. " Be grateful for whoever comes, Because each has been sent, As a guide from beyond."…..  We come into contact with countless people during each day. Some we know. Some we love. Some annoy us. Others confound us. Some bear gifts. Others bring trouble. So many people…….on and on.

Rumi seems to be saying that each, if well received,bring guidance for our journey. Like the apostle Paul in his letter to the Hebrews, Rumi invites us to be open to the arrival of the stranger, the unexpected ones in our midst.  Strangers, those who just show up for a talk, seeking answers to their deepest questions, can be angels…..messengers of God. Strangers well received can help us to see the Holy in the movement of our daily life…….and the Holy within.. 

I wonder what happened to that young man. I pray he is well and safe. I am grateful for his visitation.

While reading an article by Barbara Brown Taylor recently, I realized she and I have at least one thing in common."I spend a lot of time with the followers of Jesus. Some exercise their ministries as clergy while others do the trickier work of ministering while they do business, take depositions, teach school or care for grandchildren. They come from a wide variety of churches. Many serve as leaders in their congregations. Others have left institutions that no longer engage their energies or imaginations. What they have in common is their fascination with Jesus."

A fascination with Jesus……these words found in the ‘Faith matters’ column of April’s Christian Century magazine, caused me to sit taller in my seat. A fascination with Jesus. It would make sense that in ‘my line of work’ I would be surrounded by people who have a fascination with Jesus. But, like Brown Taylor, I also have many friends outside the institutional church that share that same fascination, those who spend time devouring the latest book on the historical Jesus but have generally given up on church. At parties, these same people will find interesting ways to bring up questions, to enter into the fascination dance, to once again try to make further sense of this central character of the Christian faith. And themselves.

For some people Jesus is simple. For me, I fall into the always questioning, always trying to understand, a little doubt here, a little faith there fascination with Jesus. I am humbled and amazed by his deep knowledge of God’s movement and call upon his life, by his attention to healing, by his alignment with the poor and the marginalized, by his justice and unconditional love. I love the stories he told and the room there is to walk around in them, how they challenge me to see myself in the characters. I am frightened by his willingness to die for all he believed, all he was.

I am sure his life calls me to follow.  Most often that is where things get tricky. Brown Taylor writes:" What if ministering in his name meant answering questions with more questions? What if it included refusing to do for others what they must do for themselves? What if it meant maintaining a critical distance from our most beloved institutions, declining to fulfill the roles assigned to us?"

I guess my fascination with Jesus doesn’t call me to ask the question "what would Jesus do?" Instead, it calls me to ask "What would I do?" See, now it gets tricky.

I once attended a Sunday School program that had a song that began:"You are a Promise, you are a Possibility, You are a Promise, With a capital ‘P’, You are a great, big bundle of Potentiality." Granted, it was not particularly great music or great writing, but the kids performing believed that message at that moment in time, so it seemed quite powerful. I thought of that little song-bite last night as I sat at our younger son’s final orchestra concert for this year.The concert featured the seniors playing ensembles and solos accompanied by the students who still have a few years before heading off into the world.

Many of these students began playing an instrument in fourth grade. Some have studied privately, others  have relied on the public school music program to mold their taste, their talent, their enthusiasm into something that is bigger than their individual gifts or hard work. All this was done under the guidance and inspiration of a fabulous teacher……someone who has given his life to recognizing and nurturing the promise,possibility and potential of regular, ordinary children who happened to want to play an instrument.

A disclaimer: I have taught elementary and middle school music so I am biased. I believe the act of bringing people together to make music, whether instrumental or vocal, teaches us life lessons that go far beyond the music created. We learn to listen, to compromise, to be the melody and the harmony, to be silent and rest, to rely on others and to be a leader. Above all, there are the lessons of what can happen through practice, perseverance and the pursuit of beauty.

I thought of all that last night as I listened to the finale of these young people’s high school music career. As adoring parents took pictures and the cable TV station filmed, as each one stepped forward to take their final bow, my eyes also fell upon their director. Seeing his visible pride and love of these students, I thought of the movie "Mr. Holland’s Opus". In this film, Mr. Holland works diligently throughout his life composing a symphony, a work he sandwiches between the duties of teaching high school music. In the end he learns that his symphony was really his students….those lives he touched, changed, shaped….those in which he had helped grow their promise, possibility, potential.

Each day in classrooms across this country, teachers see the opus of their lives come to fruition. Symphonies are composed, novels are written, mathematical equations are developed,science experiments are accomplished. Teachers see this,not always through the curriculum they teach, but through the promise,possibility and potential of the young people who have come into their lives.

There is the bumper sticker that says: If you are reading this, thank a teacher. As the school year draws to a close once more, young people will walk into the world, our world. My prayer is that each of them will have known a teacher who has helped them see the promise they bring, the possibility in their life, the potential to be a part of the unfolding of the world in this day.

And to Mr. Schlueter……..applause and deep gratitude.

Have a wonderful weekend………………

As the United Methodist clergy gather for their annual meeting each year, they engage in what may seem to others around the country as an odd ritual. At the end of the final day, all the names of the clergy serving throughout the entire state are placed in a hat. One name is drawn out and that person will be what is called the "conference preacher" for the following year. What that means is this: for one whole year someone gets to think about, pray over and plan for one sermon to be delivered to their colleagues and members of the churches gathered for the yearly meeting.

To some this simply seems cruel….a whole year to obsess over a 20-30 minute sermon. To others it may be a golden opportunity to craft the message they have always wanted to deliver. To still others……well, does the phrase "fear of God" mean anything to you?

For the most part everyone takes it in stride, seeing it as one more opportunity to do what preachers do…..study the scriptures, discern the call within the words, pray over the scripture, think about their context, their audience, write a draft, and another, and perhaps another…….and then commit themselves to the words and message they believe God is placing in their heart .It is after all, in the larger picture, one sermon among hundreds, if not thousands, that they will preach over their lifetime.

Today as that sermon was given during worship, I wondered…..if given this opportunity to ‘preach a once in a lifetime sermon’…..what would most people’s message be? If you asked the person on the street,"What would you like to tell your family, your friends, those with whom you work, if you had their undivided attention?" What is the sermon buried deep within you?

I believe one of our deepest human longings is to be heard….really heard. To have someone listen to our fears, our dreams, our hopes, our doubts and beliefs is a tremendous and powerful gift….for both speaker and listener. When we truly are present and listen to  the heartfelt words of another we give witness to their life.

What would your sermon be? What words of wisdom and faith do you have waiting in your heart that the world really needs? What piece of scripture or sacred writings have taken root within you and have grown so full and tall that they need to have voice in the world? What simple, concise phrase guides your walking in the world?

A word of advice….don’t wait for your name to be pulled out of the hat! Go ahead……preach it.

Miracle….an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs….an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing or accomplishment….Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I haven’t actually thought much about miracles lately. There was a time when many friends were engaged in the study of A Course in Miracles which seemed to help them engage more fully in every day life, see the Divine in their living, chart a course for a positive, spirit-filled way of being in the world. I was intrigued but never took the time to pursue the study further. As a product of the scientific age, most of us don’t speak much of miracles….even in the church. Sometimes we casually say things like "what a miracle!" when little oddities happen…..everything from a diagnosis reversed to a difficult class passed to the teenager who picks up their room without being asked.

Miracle…from the Latin miraculum..….. ‘to wonder or marvel’. Last night our Bishop gave us this challenge:"If you want to see a miracle….you have to be a miracle." What does it mean to be a miracle? Do you think of yourself as a miracle? Do you think of your life as a miracle? What about your work? Are you creating miracles today?

As people of faith,our primary story begins in the Creation Story. This story of chaos, creativity, connection, also reminds us that we are created in the Image of God. Miracle. That same story describes the "extremely outstanding or unusual event" of our interconnection with all…..water, air,sky, earth, Sun, Moon(full last night, by the way), plants, animals, one another, the Holy. Throughout the scriptures we read story after story of transformation…"an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs…think Moses, Mary,Esther, Joseph, Paul, Sarah, Abraham, Jesus. All created in the Divine image.

A favorite poem by Mary Oliver begins:" I am a woman of sixty years and glory is my work." Everyday I am invited by the Holy One to wake up and fully claim that I see God’s image in the world. Everyday I am invited to marvel at the cotton-candy of clouds floating through the blueness of Midwestern sky. Everyday I am asked to look deeply into the eyes of those I love and really see who they are.  Everyday I am urged to notice the small, but beautiful simplicities of Creation….the dandelion, the variance of the color green, how the chipmunk in our yard can make such a huge noise with such a small body, the impossibility of a baby’s eyelashes. Miracles…………..

Everyday I am…you are….also invited by the Holy One to wake up and fully claim that we reflect God’s image into the world. It is a daunting task. Being an Image of God. Being a miracle Seeing miracles.The good news is that we are not alone. We are co-creating with the Miracle Worker.

It is often said that one should not speak of either religion or politics when we gather as families. There is something deeply important about the ways in which we speak in these two subject areas. Passion runs high, convictions often deep, there seems to be a great tendency to point fingers, to accuse, to judge, to dismiss. Very tricky and dangerous business in families.

In just a few hours I will leave to attend  Annual Conference….that gathering of Minnesota’s United Methodist clergy and laity for the yearly work of the church. For many there is the anticipation of a family reunion…seeing old friends, having time to sit down and catch up, showing pictures of children and grandchildren, sharing the ups and downs of the last year of life,ministry, church work. For others, I am sure, there is also the dread we can experience at the thought of a family reunion…..seeing those with whom we disagree, the energy it takes avoiding difficult subjects,the tension of competition, loss and grief of both lives and members, change of all kinds, and of course, simply taking the time away from our everyday work. For still others, it is a combination  that falls someplace on the continuum of all these thoughts and feelings.

Over the years, I have been struck with the hope and humility that must be held as we come to these several days at the end of May. Each person brings with them the experience of their faith community in the last year…its gains and losses, its triumphs and tragedies, its great joy and inexplicable sorrow. Each year we name and honor those clergy and clergy spouses who have died this past year. We sit in silence as we name those churches whose doors have closed forever. We celebrate the ministry of those retiring and participate in the ordination of those newly called to ministry. The days provide a window of the circle of life.

We also walk into the fullness of the two forbidden topics…religion and politics. We gather in a large ballroom, conservatives, liberals,moderates, Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and we try to give voice to the ways in which the Holy is moving in our lives, our churches, and our view of the world. It can get heated, it can be filled with passionate discourse and oratory, it sometimes teeters between respect and something just shy of disrespect. I have seen tears, heard great laughter, listened to many things that make me want to shout ‘Amen!’ and still others to which I would love to scream my disagreement.

The family is gathering…..we will once again try out this experiment in what it means to be church, to be the kin-dom of God, the body of Christ. On certain occasions my Mother often said to me "It will not be easy, but it will be worth it." I am sure that once again, her wisdom will become truth.

"What is born of Spirit is spirit. The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit."  John 3:6-8

We have had some very windy days lately. I don’t know how it has been out on the lakes but I can imagine it has made for some very choppy boating. I have been riding my new bike and riding into the wind can be a challenge. I’ve watched the trees dance and worried that the wind will overcome our fabulous purple irises that have made their entrance into the world, showering our garden with electric color. I have prayed that I planted the seeds deep enough that the strong winds have not short-circuited my plan for late summer sunflowers.

In some way, it is appropriate that the winds have been so strong these past days. Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, the day when the church celebrates the coming of the Spirit to the early Christians, the day that is often called the birthday of the church. The symbols used to describe this appearance of the Spirit are fire and wind. Both these elements of creation have great power. They can bring with them warmth, refreshment, an unseen impetus of movement, certain change. They can bring destruction but also a tremendous source of creativity and generativity.

Pentecost Sunday is one of my favorite church holy days. As someone who spends a great deal of time during the week planning for worship, Pentecost has lots of room to move around in, to create new ways of doing liturgy, searching for ways to create a surprising moment that will awaken sleepy worshipers. It does not carry the expectations of Christmas or Easter….those days that must have this song, or that ritual.

People don’t come to church on Pentecost Sunday expecting any particular thing.They can come into the sanctuary and see all the red banners or flowers or stoles and maybe think, "that’s nice…a lot of color." They can sit down in their pew and maybe a hymn will be particularly moving or lively……"Every time I feel the Spirit, movin’ in my heart, I will pray..." Someone walks up to read the scripture from the Book of  Acts.  They might be transported back in time and see those early followers of Jesus meeting together and hear the rush of the wind, the many languages understood, imagine the awe or fear on the faces of those who look to Peter for an explanation.

Or instead, they might feel a nudge in their own chest. How is the Spirit moving in my life? The words spoken may open their heart to the person sitting next to them, a stranger, a visitor. How is the Spirit calling me to reach out? A problem contemplated over breakfast that seemed larger than life, unsolvable, begins to crack open, a tiny shaft of light pours through moving toward, what….understanding,resolution? Where is the presence of the Spirit in all of this?

J. Philip Newell wrote this prayer for such a day….That hope is deeper than despair and that creativity surges from unknown depths within us, thanks be to you, O God. In the world this day and in the relationships of people everywhere, let there be new stirrings of your liberating Spirit. In the world this day and in the depths of our own souls, let there be new stirrings of your mighty liberating Spirit.

"When the entire nation had finished crossing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua:"Select twelve men from the people, one from each tribe, and command them,’Take twelve stones from here out of the middle of the Jordan, from the place where the priests’ feet stood. Carry them over with you, and lay them down in the place where you camp tonight.’ " Then  Joshua summoned the twelve men from the Israelites, whom he had appointed, one from each tribe. Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder, one for each of the tribe of the Israelites, so that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off in front of the art of the covenant of God. When it crossed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the Israelites a memorial forever."     Joshua 4:1-7

All over our country this weekend, people will gather. They will gather in homes, in parks, at playgrounds, at the cabin. They will also gather at cemeteries, large and small, and stand in front of stones…the tombstones of those they loved, those they honor, those they miss.  Parades will process with pomp and joy that leads to solemnity as the bands take to the holy ground of fallen soldiers,beloved fathers,mothers,brothers,sisters,children, full families.

Memorial Day often signals the beginning of summer. Many children have never experienced the annual pilgrimage to the cemetery and will not have memories others of us do. Fewer and fewer will ask the question: "What do these stones mean to you?"

As a child I remember this weekend with fondness and a little melancholy. Yes, it was the beginning of the summer, the weekend the city swimming pool opened, the official signal of the freedom that summer brings to a child.  It was also the time when we marched with happiness through the streets, bands in full sound, queens on convertibles, fire engines blaring. But as the parade came into view of those standing at the cemetery gates, silence fell. We marched quietly, respectfully,Republicans and Democrats, liberals and conservatives, believers and nonbelievers, side by side to stand in the presence of the stones.

As we listened to the clear sound of the trumpet playing "taps" we could see the emotion on the faces of those who remembered…..war, youth,loss,anger,disappointment,tragedy,love.  As the far off echo of that same tune played its mournful return, those same faces fixed their gaze and became a strong and steadfast witness to the memorial in our midst. The power that can come from people being in silence together settled over the well-mown lawn,the flags flying gently in the breeze.

What do these stones mean to us? Each of us would answer differently from our own life experience, our own worldview, our own knowledge of loss and the Sacred. For me, to  be in their presence is to know, as Moses did when he witnessed the burning bush, that indeed I am on holy ground. I give thanks for the stones and the lives of those whose names are etched upon them…a memorial forever.

Blessings on your weekend………..