An example of why I know Jon and I are supposed to be together...
Today I was sitting in our living room when a rubber band flew past me. I looked up to see Jon running across the room where he picked up the rubber band. He ran back to the kitchen where he launched it again. I looked at him with that raised eyebrow look that says "um...what are you doing?" He replied "I'm playing elastic tag with Lance." Right. Elastic tag with Lance.
Lance is a house plant.
hmmm.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Celebrating Easter
One of the ways that we celebrated Easter this past weekend was to go to an Easter Vigil at a Catholic church. Two of our friends were being confirmed in the Catholic Church and invited us to come.
The service was on Saturday night, beginning at about 8:30 or 9:00 and lasting for about 2 or 2 1/2 hours. We began outside by a fire, then walked into the dark church. Slowly, the building filled with light as people lit their candles from the Christ candle and passed this light to those behind them. The beginning of the service in the church was then done by candlelight.
One thing I really appreciated about the service was the way they located the Easter story in the rest of the Story of God and his people. They read bits of scripture that told the Story of creation, Moses, the crossing of the Red Sea, the prophets, Jesus' death and resurrection, and the anticipation of Jesus' return. I think we often approach days like Easter as if they are isolated from the rest of the Story. It was good to be reminded that we cannot compartmentalize the Christian Story.
Not wanting to miss the celebration of the resurrection on Sunday, we also participated in an Easter service on Sunday morning. Because our congregation is small, we decided to join the congregation whose building we use. It was refreshing to be in a multi-generational worship service. True, there weren't many people our age there, but probably every other age group was represented. Sometimes I miss being connected to tradition. It was good to worship with people who have been on this journey longer than I have been. There is wisdom in being connected to people who are older that we miss in a single-generation church. It was good to sing the words written by people who went before us. There is depth in the words of hymns that I often find lacking in contemporary praise songs.
I feel blessed by our weekend of experiencing worship that crossed denominational traditions, allowed us to rub shoulders with a variety of ages, and reminded us of the rich roots we have from those who have gone before us.
How good it is to be in the Easter season!
The service was on Saturday night, beginning at about 8:30 or 9:00 and lasting for about 2 or 2 1/2 hours. We began outside by a fire, then walked into the dark church. Slowly, the building filled with light as people lit their candles from the Christ candle and passed this light to those behind them. The beginning of the service in the church was then done by candlelight.
One thing I really appreciated about the service was the way they located the Easter story in the rest of the Story of God and his people. They read bits of scripture that told the Story of creation, Moses, the crossing of the Red Sea, the prophets, Jesus' death and resurrection, and the anticipation of Jesus' return. I think we often approach days like Easter as if they are isolated from the rest of the Story. It was good to be reminded that we cannot compartmentalize the Christian Story.
Not wanting to miss the celebration of the resurrection on Sunday, we also participated in an Easter service on Sunday morning. Because our congregation is small, we decided to join the congregation whose building we use. It was refreshing to be in a multi-generational worship service. True, there weren't many people our age there, but probably every other age group was represented. Sometimes I miss being connected to tradition. It was good to worship with people who have been on this journey longer than I have been. There is wisdom in being connected to people who are older that we miss in a single-generation church. It was good to sing the words written by people who went before us. There is depth in the words of hymns that I often find lacking in contemporary praise songs.
I feel blessed by our weekend of experiencing worship that crossed denominational traditions, allowed us to rub shoulders with a variety of ages, and reminded us of the rich roots we have from those who have gone before us.
How good it is to be in the Easter season!
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday
Still reading Two Part Invention...
"...any God worth believing in is the God not only of the immensities of the galaxies...but also the God of love who cares about the sufferings of us human beings and is here, with us, for us, in our pain and in our joy."
And then she reflects on these words from Yeats:
But Love has pitched her mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.
"This summer is not the first time I have walked through the place of excrement and found love's mansion there. Indeed, we are more likely to find it in the place of excrement than in sterile places. God comes where there is pain and brokenness, waiting to heal, even if the healing is not the physical one we hope for....It is when things go wrong, when good things do not happen, when our prayers seem to have been lost, that God is most present."
L'Engle's words mingled with Yeats' are so appropriate for Good Friday, the day when we specifically remember Christ's death. The Incarnation. The Word become flesh. Died on a cross. How can we be surprised by Easter without being surprised that God would let his son die like a criminal?
We know that Good Friday doesn't get the final word. And so, too, our heartaches and trials don't get the final word. But that doesn't mean we can ingnore them or avoid them. They are real, just as Jesus' death was real. But in the midst of them, we might just get to glimpse more of who God is, to understand his presence in new ways, to experience an intimacy that we might otherwise miss.
God has built his mansion in the place of excrement. And that is good news.
It's Friday...but Sunday's coming.
"...any God worth believing in is the God not only of the immensities of the galaxies...but also the God of love who cares about the sufferings of us human beings and is here, with us, for us, in our pain and in our joy."
And then she reflects on these words from Yeats:
But Love has pitched her mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.
"This summer is not the first time I have walked through the place of excrement and found love's mansion there. Indeed, we are more likely to find it in the place of excrement than in sterile places. God comes where there is pain and brokenness, waiting to heal, even if the healing is not the physical one we hope for....It is when things go wrong, when good things do not happen, when our prayers seem to have been lost, that God is most present."
L'Engle's words mingled with Yeats' are so appropriate for Good Friday, the day when we specifically remember Christ's death. The Incarnation. The Word become flesh. Died on a cross. How can we be surprised by Easter without being surprised that God would let his son die like a criminal?
We know that Good Friday doesn't get the final word. And so, too, our heartaches and trials don't get the final word. But that doesn't mean we can ingnore them or avoid them. They are real, just as Jesus' death was real. But in the midst of them, we might just get to glimpse more of who God is, to understand his presence in new ways, to experience an intimacy that we might otherwise miss.
God has built his mansion in the place of excrement. And that is good news.
It's Friday...but Sunday's coming.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
White Chocolate Brownie Decisions
Jon and I have a tradition when we need to celebrate and/or make big decisions. We go out for dessert--usually for a white chocolate brownie--and we eat, drink tea, and talk. We talk about the future and the past. We talk about possibilities, fears, expectations, and dreams. These dessert discussions are moments of reconnection for us--moments of sharing the thoughts that haven't had space to be spoken in comings and goings of daily life. They are moments of reflection and questions, understanding and prompting. I am thankful for this tradition. I am glad we have woven it (and other such times) into the rhythm of our marriage.
Tuesday night was such an occasion. What prompted the outing is that I have been offered a new job--a job that much better suits my gifts and passions. The job is at the same school where I currently work, though it means moving out of our apartment (which is both good and bad). And so we shared a white chocolate brownie and talked through it (and many other things).
And we decided I should take the job.
Tuesday night was such an occasion. What prompted the outing is that I have been offered a new job--a job that much better suits my gifts and passions. The job is at the same school where I currently work, though it means moving out of our apartment (which is both good and bad). And so we shared a white chocolate brownie and talked through it (and many other things).
And we decided I should take the job.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The heart overrides the intellect
I am reading Two Part Invention: The Story of a Marriage by Madeleine L'Engle. It's the beautiful story of her and her husband meeting, marrying, and sharing life together for 40 years. As she writes, her husband is in the hospital battling cancer. I am about half way through the book.
As she reflects on someone else's assertion of how we understand God and how we pray in the midst of pain, she writes:
"He also writes that there are prayers that one is not allowed to pray, such as 'Please, dear God, don't let it be cancer.' Rabbi Kushner says I can't pray that way, because right now either it is cancer or it is not. But I can't live with that. I think we can pray. I think the heart overrides the intellect and insists on praying. If we don't pray according to the needs of the heart, we repress our deepest longings. Our prayers may not be rational, and we may be quite aware of that, but if we repress our needs, then those unsaid prayers will fester."
I think I agree with her. Our view of God shapes how we pray, and yet, there are moments when our hearts cry out our deepest longings, whether or not those prayers match what we claim we believe about who God is and how God acts.
I have often worried when I have prayed in public that my prayers reflect an incorrect theology. So I pray timidly in front of congregations. But why not just pour out our hearts to God? Why this guarded safety net? No, God may not answer the way we wish He would, but there are moments when we just have to free those deep cries from the control we try to keep on them.
On the other hand, there are also times--maybe after we have allowed our yearnings to be poured out to God--that we also have to pray "not my will, but yours be done."
Prayer is a journey.
As she reflects on someone else's assertion of how we understand God and how we pray in the midst of pain, she writes:
"He also writes that there are prayers that one is not allowed to pray, such as 'Please, dear God, don't let it be cancer.' Rabbi Kushner says I can't pray that way, because right now either it is cancer or it is not. But I can't live with that. I think we can pray. I think the heart overrides the intellect and insists on praying. If we don't pray according to the needs of the heart, we repress our deepest longings. Our prayers may not be rational, and we may be quite aware of that, but if we repress our needs, then those unsaid prayers will fester."
I think I agree with her. Our view of God shapes how we pray, and yet, there are moments when our hearts cry out our deepest longings, whether or not those prayers match what we claim we believe about who God is and how God acts.
I have often worried when I have prayed in public that my prayers reflect an incorrect theology. So I pray timidly in front of congregations. But why not just pour out our hearts to God? Why this guarded safety net? No, God may not answer the way we wish He would, but there are moments when we just have to free those deep cries from the control we try to keep on them.
On the other hand, there are also times--maybe after we have allowed our yearnings to be poured out to God--that we also have to pray "not my will, but yours be done."
Prayer is a journey.
Monday, April 02, 2007
And then came the snow
After my hope-filled post last night, I woke up this morning and found the ground white again, with more snow falling. Well, it was nice seeing the grass for a few days, anyway.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
The lion of March
I am glad it's finally April.
April promises good things. The snow has finally melted here, and even though today felt as if the sky might still have a few flakes left to send, I think spring might just be on its way.
Holy Week has begun. A week that, like April, promises good things. But those good things don't come cheaply or easily. We only get to Resurrection Sunday by going through Good Friday. We only get to celebrate the empty tomb and the victory over death by first walking through the darkness of Holy Week. But Sunday's coming. And that gives me hope. A tired hope, a weary hope, but hope nonetheless.
March was chaotic and hectic for me. April won't be empty of resposibilities (the end of the academic year always brings a whirl of activity), but I am hopeful that it promises more moments of rest than I saw in March. So, here's to the end of March and the beginning of April! Here's to the hope of Resurrection Sunday, even during Holy Week.
April promises good things. The snow has finally melted here, and even though today felt as if the sky might still have a few flakes left to send, I think spring might just be on its way.
Holy Week has begun. A week that, like April, promises good things. But those good things don't come cheaply or easily. We only get to Resurrection Sunday by going through Good Friday. We only get to celebrate the empty tomb and the victory over death by first walking through the darkness of Holy Week. But Sunday's coming. And that gives me hope. A tired hope, a weary hope, but hope nonetheless.
March was chaotic and hectic for me. April won't be empty of resposibilities (the end of the academic year always brings a whirl of activity), but I am hopeful that it promises more moments of rest than I saw in March. So, here's to the end of March and the beginning of April! Here's to the hope of Resurrection Sunday, even during Holy Week.
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