“Now there are a variety of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same God; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.” 1 Corinthians 12:4-6

Yesterday I spent the first part of the morning being a helper with Vacation Bible School. My role was to be a shepherd of sorts for the group known as the ‘Dandelions’. I met them as they sat on a pale green quilt laid out on the floor where they were having their morning gathering time. The Dandelions ranged in age from 5-7 years and had yellow name tags hanging around their necks. While waiting for the official gathering time to begin, we leisurely discussed whether the dandelion was a flower or a weed. Everyone had an opinion and expressed it with great passion. It was clear that no consensus would be made on this horticultural issue and so the conversation soon petered out.

Just then one of the girls turned to me and made this statement: “I can shake my eyeballs.”  Her declaration was pure, simple and to the point. I tried to keep my expression neutral. “Really?” I said. “Yes.” she returned and then began to somehow make her eyeballs shake back and forth from side to side without moving her head an inch. Seeing that I was clearly impressed, she smiled.

What to say to such a feat? I commented with the first thing that came to my mind: “How did you first realize you could do this?” She paused for a very long time and then said: “I don’t know.” as if the mystery of it all was answer enough.  This gift which she had discovered at some point of her young life just was. She was a ‘girl who could shake her eyeballs.’ It was simply a part of who she was. There was no memory of how she came to try this. No memory of practicing in front of a mirror till she got it right. It was just a gift she possessed.

I carried that image with me all day. Those sweet, little blue eyes wiggling back and forth framed by her pale, blond hair that had not been completely combed before her morning arrival. I thought of all the gifts people have and how I am so often blessed to observe them or, even better, be a recipient of those seeds planted deep within them. I think of the people I know who have such a gift for hospitality, how they make me feel as if they are so glad I am in their presence, how they mirror God’s movement in the world. I think of those who have the gift of teaching, of leading young and old into a discovery of information and transformation. I see many of those with the gift of teaching moving among our young ones this week. I think of those I know who have the gift of administration, keeping systems moving, details covered. I think of those who have the gift of music, of art, of storytelling, of opening the world to others in profound ways. So many gifts. So many ways to share them.

Like the girl who could shake her eyeballs, most often we are unaware of how we came to act on our gifts. It was simply something we tried once, were led to do by a force that is unseen but felt. The Spirit perhaps? I think so. But the result is always the same when gifts are shared. The giver and receiver are blessed and the world seems a little brighter, is healed in some way.

What are your gifts? Have you shared them lately? Today is a good day to offer what you have and to brighten the world. It might even include a little shaking!

This past weekend I had the privilege of being witness to and a participant in three significant life events. I sometimes am filled to overflowing with gratitude that I am blessed to be present at so many important times in people’s lives. It has been a surprise to me and to this calling that has become my life, the life of ministry. Sometimes I have to shake myself that I get to be present to such amazing things.

Friday evening I participated in the wedding of a beautiful, young couple. It is always a joy to see the families, people have heard stories about over the time we have met in counseling and wedding preparation. People I have, up to this point,  only imagined. It is wonderful to watch the interaction of the parents wondering what they are seeing in the unfolding lives of their children. I am always intrigued by the choices couples make in the way they shape their wedding service, what is important to them, what seems insignificant. The music that is chosen, the scripture that is read, the friends that stand alongside, all create a picture that will, hopefully, last a lifetime.

On Saturday, I was blessed to participate in the memorial service for one of the saints of our church.  This man was a mentor, a source of wisdom to me,and a beacon of kindness. I will miss him terribly. His memorial service was the craft of his own hand, put together from the notes he had made of the music, words, and scripture that had given shape to his life of faith. While my heart was filled with sadness for his death, it was as equally filled with celebration that, in all the ways the world can turn, I got to travel some of my days with him. I’d like to think that some of his compassion and deep faith rubbed off on me and that I will carry it with me forever.

On Sunday, we celebrated the baptism of one of the newest members of our community. These worship experiences always fill me with such hope for the future and such love for this place I call my church home. We have a special way of inviting people from the community to bring forward small cups of water to create the waters of baptism as they represent the tributaries of the community that will nurture this child in their faith life. Water is brought from special places in the life of the family. This baptism also contained rain water that had been collected from the many rains we’ve known over the last weeks. After the baptism, as this beautiful, young one was passed among the gathered people I allowed myself to look at the faces as they greeted her. Every face was full of promise. Every face was full of love. For me it was a glimpse of the kindom of God.

And so even these few days after, I find my heart is full. I carry the hope of a newly married couple. I am filled with the gifts and memory of a saint. I hold the image of faces full of promise.

It is good. Very, very good.

“So out of the ground God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them; and whatever Adam called every living creature, that was its name.” Genesis 2:19

This Monday began early. I was trying to get into the office before all the children arrived for this week’s Vacation Bible School. I always love this week when the whole shape of the energy in the church gets upended with the enthusiasm and spirit of the children. It is easy in the summer to get into a routine, a rut, of a slower pace. People are on vacation. There are not as many people coming in and out of the church building during the week or on Sundays for that matter. So, Vacation Bible School becomes the late summer shot in the arm to wake us all up to the approaching fall.

I was driving along Highway 62 going West when I heard a siren behind me. I saw the seas beginning to part behind me and I followed suit, allowing a State Highway Patrol car to whiz by toward an accident up ahead. That’s when I saw it. Coming east, in the opposite direction, a silver pickup truck was hauling a flatbed. Sitting on the flatbed was the upper part of the body, neck and head of a dinosaur, a Brontosaurus. Its head was poised above the traffic, speeding along, seeming to shout, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ I dissolved into laughter.

What a great way to start a Monday morning! The sight of the dinosaur prepared me for the fresh faces, laughter and joy of the children. I thought back to when our sons went through what I always referred to as their ‘dinosaur period.’ Sometime around five or six years old most children discover dinosaurs and they are captivated with them. For several weeks, sometimes months, children will pour over picture books of these enormous, prehistoric creatures. I have always thought that the fascination comes, not only from the sheer size and mystery of the animals, but from their names. The children simply like the power of saying words like Tyrannosaurus Rex, Brontosaurus, Triceratops. As those who are in a free fall of language development, these big words are powerful symbols that their brains are bigger than the animals they are naming.

So the sight of this creature this morning riding along at the speed limit not only made me laugh but made me wonder. Maybe the kids at Vacation Bible School might also like to learn some Big Bible names. Words like Deuteronomy and Ecclesiastes or Nehemiah  and the ever popular Leviathan. It could add a whole new wrinkle to the week. Maybe I’ll suggest it to the teachers.

But no matter what, I will still have the image of that dinosaur flying by, the image that got my day off to a great start.

“With a deepening focus, keen preparation, attention to the path below our feet, and respect for the destination at hand, it is possible to transform even the most ordinary trip into a sacred journey, a pilgrimage.” ~Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage

This morning began in joy. I met for breakfast with the other leaders of a pilgrimage I will be privileged to take in October to Scotland. This adventure has been more than a year in the making, and as most adventures do, began with a passing statement of “Wouldn’t it be great……?” We had all had a desire to travel to the Island of Iona and several other recognized holy sites in this loveliest of British lands. The passing statement began to take on flesh and here we are only a few weeks away from what we all pray will be a transforming experience for all involved. As the details get more refined and the seeds of hope become more deeply planted, I am recognizing the richness of what this journey might offer. The trick is to prepare just well enough to relieve anxiety while remaining open and receptive to the surprises, the movement of the Spirit that will travel alongside each pilgrim. It will be a balancing act for sure, but one that if held gently enough, will deliver us all back to our ordinary lives changed forever.

To think of oneself as a pilgrim seems as ancient term, an ancient endeavor. And yet, if we honor the way in which we travel each day in the companionship of the Holy, every day is a pilgrimage and we are all pilgrims of the daily Earth path. How might your day be different if you saw it that way? How might your work day unfold if, instead of the same old daily grind, you stepped out your door with the hope of a pilgrim heart? It is something to think about, isn’t it ? Think of how meetings might be approached if we all sat down with the idea of being, not just a worker, but a pilgrim in search of transformation? Or how might we experience the load of laundry thrown into the washer in the early morning hours before work if we thought of the act as preparing our clothes for the important journey ahead? How might we eat our breakfast or our lunch with attention to the steps along the sacred path? And how much better falling into bed at night might feel if we had the opportunity to reflect on what we experienced as holy in the ordinary living out of the day?

These are all pilgrim questions available to us with the rising of the sun each morning. It is up to each one of us whether or not we pick up the gauntlet and deeply focus our attention, being present to the path of our feet and finally giving proper respect to the destination at hand.

Pilgrim or not? You choose. But with the choice comes the prospect of being changed forever. Are you up for it?

Have a blessed weekend…………………

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” Luke 6:21

It would be safe to say that the majority of Minnesotans feel as if they are in the death grip of summer. It is a Beast we long for in February but who has now backed us all into the corner of heat and humidity and we are willing to do nearly anything to escape. Just try having a conversation with anyone and see if you can avoid talking about the weather. It is, I believe, impossible. Those folks who are clawing at the walls of their homes in winter, those who can hardly wait to peel away the layers of fleece and wool that have become another layer of skin, are now holed up in any shelter that has air conditioning. Every mall looks like the day before Christmas. People have no packages in their hands. But they are at least cool for the time being.

But yesterday I began to notice people who were defying the 90 degree temperatures. While on a walk around my neighborhood I encountered more than a dozen bikers, product printed spandex hugged their sweaty skin, as they stopped at the top of the Smith Avenue hill to hydrate. Stationed by the world’s smallest park which just happens to be in our neighborhood, they had the glassy-eyed looks of people who had overcome a trip through the Sahara on a good day. No doubt they felt some pride in their accomplishment but they looked worse for wear.

Further along the way, I witnessed a group of young to middle-aged women carrying on a game of kick ball. Taking up their positions on the baseball diamond, they threw a large purple beach ball to the kicker at home plate. She gave it a whack with her glistening foot and then ran toward first base as the others scrambled for the ball, laughing and having loads of fun. Then again, maybe they were delirious.

On a field nearby, several men were also defying the heat by hitting baseballs. One man stood at the pitcher’s mound and threw the ball to a guy at home plate who hit the ball as hard as he could. Ball after ball after ball. It was as if the batter was trying to knock the very heat out of the air that was visible with humidity.

But by far the most promising act of defiance I witnessed was a little earlier in the day. As I made my way across the High Bridge from downtown St. Paul to St. Paul’s Westside, I drove my car in a line of other people coming home from their work day. In our cooled cocoons, we inched up the incline toward a stoplight. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy, perhaps seven years old, dressed in madras plaid shorts and a striped polo shirt. He was strumming a guitar for all he was worth, singing at the top of his lungs to the passing audience. Behind him two girls, in sun dresses, were acting as his backup singers. They swayed their hips and moved their hands in that ‘Stop in the Name of Love’ Supremes motion. He was wailing away and they were, as any good backup singer must, making him look good. I was thankful for a red light so I could enjoy the show and allow my sweltering spirit to have a good laugh.

The heat is not letting up and promises to linger for the next several days. Even the storms we have had have not dulled the ache by bringing any cooler air. So, it looks like we can complain and stay locked up in any place that is cool. Or we can join the budding Elvis and his band and defy it all.

All I can say is they looked like they were having a blast!

This morning during my quiet time I read these words from a devotional I use often: “Shield of Souls, I place myself in your protective silence. May we meet heart to heart. To you I dedicate the unfolding acts of this day.” Because this is a devotional resource that is cyclical, I know I have read these words before but for some reason, today, they had special meaning for me. What does it mean to place ourselves in the protection of the Holy One? What might it mean to meet God ‘heart to heart’?

I think of all the times I have heard prayers for protection. I think of all the times, often in great distress, that I have prayed them. Most often these prayers are on the line of “Please God don’t let this happen.” I have to admit that even in the midst of praying these prayers, I am a bit sceptical. There is an implication in the praying that somehow I am so special to God that, whatever bad thing I am trying to outrun, will be stopped by the hand of a Superhero God. The truth is, I don’t really believe that is the way it all works. I am not more special to God than my friend who is battling a beast of a cancer. I am no more special to God than those who die in a car accident or a terrorist attack. I am no more special than the one whose house is destroyed by storm, or whose child is lost, or whatever terrible life circumstance that can be imagined.

The Celts have countless prayers for protection that I find very helpful. They are not of the superhero kind. They are prayers that claim from day’s beginning to day’s end, we travel in the presence of the Holy. Whatever befalls us, God is there. There are the tragedies of life that come to everyone sooner or later but these prayers of protection, many written hundreds of years ago, are more about a deep wisdom that God is in it all with us. No matter what.

For me, this is the heart to heart part. When I am ecstatic with joy, my heart is touching God’s heart in that experience. Whatever it is that is bringing me such a spirit of rejoicing, knowing that the very Breath that breathed my life into existence is dancing in that joy makes my days worth living. When my heart is breaking, the heart of the Holy is in the depth of my sorrow with me. I am not alone. There is no miraculous, swooping in motion to save the day. But there is the assurance of not being forgotten, or lost, or unimportant, in being loved. In that knowing, I am grounded in this relationship with God. My heart and God’s heart become one, sing together, weep together.

Wherever the journey of this day takes you, it is my prayer that you can know you do not travel alone. If your day brings joy, if your day brings sorrow, may you be held, heart to heart.

May the blessing of the
Arch of Heaven be over me,
may the blessing of the
Abyss of Earth be under me,
may I be safe-kept in your care.
~Caitlin Matthews

“Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.”
~Wendell Berry

The summer has fallen into a sweet, relaxed rhythm for me. Perhaps it is the stifling heat and humidity making my mind into mush, but I realized at some point of last week that I was not anxious about anything in particular. I had not awakened in the night worrying about what I hadn’t done or what I did that I was now regretting. I realized that I had a calmness that felt good and right. I am not sure what contributed to this state of being but I think it has something to do with the ways in which both my work and living spaces are being cleaned out, spruced up, how the extra ‘junk’ has been slowly been being moved out. I mentioned to a coworker today that I had the feeling that there was more space being created in both my head and my heart. She nodded her agreement. Clearly, this experience is not mine alone.

Last week we used this Wendell Berry poem in worship. I love the idea of the geese being held in their flight path by an ‘ancient faith.’ I believe it is true. The ancient faith that helps them maneuver through their flight patterns also holds us, reminding us that ‘what we need is here.’ And yet so many times I find I try to force what I think is needed in a situation, in my life, in my work. Still other times there is so much junk….distractions, little undone tasks, too much looking backward, too much looking into the future…..that it becomes nearly impossible to be fully present in the here and now.

When our children were born I remember thinking, as I looked at their perfectly beautiful faces: ‘They have all they need to be who they are meant to be in this world.’  I believed, and still do, that our role as parents was to provide the safe, loving environment for them to evolve and discover all that means. The same is true for each of us. What we need is here. We may need to do some clearing and cleaning out now and then. But the ancient faith out of which we have our birth holds us and supports the small and large steps we take.

And if we are truly present some days, like the geese, we will take flight.

“The Sabbath is a patch of ground secured by a tiny fence, when we withdraw from the endless choices afforded us and listen, uncover what is ultimately important, remember what is quietly sacred. Sabbath restrictions on work and activity actually create a space of great freedom; without these self-imposed restrictions, we may never be truly free.”
~Wayne Muller, Sabbath:Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives

Sometimes the sheer juxtapositions that can occur in any given snapshot of life can be so jarring. You just have to take a deep breath and rest with them for awhile, try to discern the wisdom of seemingly disjointed events that are spaced so closely together that it must mean something. A lesson, perhaps? A bit of universal wisdom thrown down like a gauntlet at your feet?

Just such an experience happened to me this weekend. On Saturday, I went to a movie I had looked forward to, one that had been well received by critics. Shortly into the movie I realized that my expectations were a little off and that, what I thought was a comedy, was instead something much deeper, darker, more disturbing. The film consisted of, in my opinion, adults(read here, who were old enough to know better) acting on the first thought or feeling that came into their minds. The choices they were making seemed self-centered and without a mindfulness as to what their actions would mean to others around them, namely their partners, co-workers, children. Now, I know, the stuff of fiction relies on this kind of behavior. We don’t read novels or go to movies to see people living boring lives! So, in that case, the movie did its work….it made me ask questions, feel sad, be angry, even shed a tear. Hold that thought for a minute.

Then yesterday, I was privileged to listen to a group of people who had made the choice to be in community with one another. This community, the St. Brigid of Kildare monastery, is made up of United Methodists who are following the Rule of St. Benedict, protestants living the monastic life.Though they live in far-flung places around the country, they have made the choice to be in community with one another, setting their life path in prayer, scripture and acts of justice and service. They have made a definite choice about how they will walk in the world with the full knowledge of how we are all connected in ways we cannot always know, ways that require us to choose our words and our actions wisely, ways that are full of reminders of how we are images of our Creator.

I think of the choices I have made in my life, the big choices, and I pray I have given them adequate attention and time to serve, not only myself, but all those whose lives intersect with mine. I think of the choices we are asked to make daily, from the foods we eat to the things we purchase, to those we eat with and those we pass by. I pray as Wayne Muller suggests to us, that I am able to take into deep consideration what is important in an ultimate way and not just for the thrill of any given moment. I pray that I never, ever forget that I am a small being tied with invisible lines of connection to those I know and see, to those I have never met, and to the vast Universe of which we are all a part, a tiny part.

How we make our choices depends on so many things. But attention to those choices have the gift of leading us to a freedom that brings joy and not sorrow. For every choice to be made this day, may there be an extra breath taken, a deep listening for what is sacred and ultimate. And may the world be a better place for the Sabbath moment we take in all our choices.

“What one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever.” ~Mary Jo Putney

Over the past weeks, I have been skimming a wonderful book entitled Storycatcher: Making Sense of Our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story by Christina Baldwin. I am reading this book in preparation for our church’s fall theme of “A Story to Stand On.” More about that at a later date. While reading the book, I saw this little quote tucked in the edges of the margin and it made me smile. As these summer days have held us captive with their heat and humidity, most of my native Minnesota friends have been complaining and hibernating in the air conditioning. If I have the courage to mention that I actually like this weather, I am given that stern glare of a teacher who has just caught a child cheating on a test. “How can you like this weather?”

I like it because it is the weather of my childhood. I like the way the air smells damp with humidity, how the mornings have moisture hanging along the trees and plants, a moisture that mimics fog. I like how the evenings draw on, how you can hear the neighborhood children after dark as they try to wring a few more moments of play out of the hot day. I like how your iced tea glass sweats and you are forced to wrap a paper towel around it to keep it from dripping down your arm. I like the sort of dazed looks on people’s faces as they stand waiting for the bus or those who have been working in their gardens, how the heat has dulled any thought of worry or trouble. There is only the temperature to be reckoned with and it is a powerful force.

On hot summer days like these, I love going to the library where people have sought solace. In the cool air they walk among the stacks looking at books they might not have taken the time to even pull off the shelf in the dead of winter. They linger over a cheesy novel. Who knows? It might just be the book that will take them through this hot spell. Children, sunburned and glassy-eyed from being swimming most of the day, sit at tables looking at picture books while teenagers rifle through adventure and fantasy stories wishing to be snapped into the drama of its pages. Yesterday, I had the privilege of an hour or more to sit on the couch reading a book for no other good reason than it was too hot to do anything else. What a gift!

When I moved to Minnesota, I embraced the cold and snow, the sheer pride we feel when we speak of things like wind chill and white outs. But the loves of my childhood have stuck with me. Sweaty legs tucked up on a porch swing, a book held loosely, while balancing a glass of sweet tea and listening to the cicadas hum background music. The summers of my childhood will always hold a soft spot in my heart. I could move to the frozen tundra and it would not change.

What are your child hood loves? What lovely memory from child hood have you left untended? May you be blessed today with a visitation of those things which will always have a sweet resting spot in your heart. And may you stay cool…….