stories for the journey

Spiritual Practice resources for "Finding Balance"

2011-01-15T17:11:00.000-08:00

This is not a typical blog entry, but a way for me to get resources I promised to some of you:

For "Finding Balance" here are some sources for those spiritual practices we discussed:

The daily examen is a practice that is traditionally done at the end of the day as we prayerfully look at the events of the day. Here is a site with good examen resources: http://ignatianspirituality.com/ Download the examen worksheet on the site for a great document to follow when doing the examen.

Praying the Liturgy of the Hours is a way for us to keep a regular schedule of prayer and reflection. Here is a site to find information about the liturgy as well as sign up for a daily prayer reflection: http://explorefaith.org/prayer/fixed/index.html

Praise for the Day

2011-01-06T16:59:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't know, I have an abnormally competitive and slightly scary obsession with Krista Tippett the author and host of the radio show On Being.

At the bottom of it all, I want to be her. She gets to talk to my spiritual heroes, play with great interviews, music and stories, AND she is a gorgeous red-head with a fabulous voice. I don't get to do any of that and am none of that.

So, it is not surprising that her latest story and interview with poet Elizabeth Alexander comes out just as I am in the midst of re-reading and frankly wrapping myself in some beautiful spiritual poetry. Krista Tippett is just always one step ahead of me, darn her.

However, instead of cursing her, I'll thank her for putting before me again, the beautiful poem, Praise for the Day, and share it with you, because I think we all need some theopoetica in our lives this week:

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.  
All about us is noise. 
All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, 
each one of our ancestors on our tongues.  
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, 
repairing the things in need of repair.  
Someone is trying to make music somewhere, 
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,  
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.  
A woman and her son wait for the bus. 
A farmer considers the changing sky. 
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.  
We encounter each other in words, 
words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed, 
words to consider, reconsider.  
We cross dirt roads and highways t
hat mark the will of some one and then others, 
who said I need to see what's on the other side.  
I know there's something better down the road. 
We need to find a place where we are safe. 
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.  
Say it plain: that many have died for this day. 
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
 who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,   
picked the cotton and the lettuce, 
built brick by brick the glittering edifices 
they would then keep clean and work inside of.  
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day. 
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,  
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.  
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself, 
others by first do no harm or take no more than you need. 
What if the mightiest word is love?  
Love beyond marital, filial, national, 
love that casts a widening pool of light, 
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.  
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, 
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
 On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,  
praise song for walking forward in that light.

A New Story

2011-01-01T14:15:00.000-08:00

I'm taking a page from Don Miller's book, "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" this New Year's Day. Instead of making resolutions, I'm going to start writing a better story for this year.

In his book, Miller tells about a friend who shared with him concerns about his daughter. She was making some bad choices -- spending all her time with an abusive boyfriend, smoking a lot of pot, ignoring her parents and neglecting her studies. She seemed miserable all the time. Miller told his friend that she was living a bad story. He told him that she needed to be a hero in her story, not a victim.

Miller's friend took his comment seriously. He took all of his family's savings (without discussing it with his wife, he was so excited) and decided to build an orphanage. Needless to say, the news didn't go well when he reported his actions to his wife and daughter. However, over time his daughter got really excited about their project. She held additional fund-raisers. She held awareness events for her friends. Eventually she took charge of their efforts and wrote a new story for herself in the process. She became the hero of a story in which she was empowered, in-charge and doing what she needed to be a hero -- doing her school work, being clean, and ditching her abusive boyfriend.

So this year I'm going to focus on the story. I'm going to be the hero of my story and do what I need to do to be that hero. I'm sketching out the climatic scenes of my story this year and backing up to fill in the story that leads up to those scenes. I've even got some inciting incidents that I am writing for myself to push me into my hero role. So, no resolutions this year, just a better story than last year.

For all of you who are looking to live a better role this year, enjoy living the narrative that God wants you to live -- be the hero you were created to be. Happy New Year, Happy Writing.

Love came down at Christmas

2010-12-24T07:53:00.000-08:00

St. Augustine asked, perhaps one of the most vexing questions for me, and one that I've heard often during confirmation classes, trips with youth and adults when we get a few minutes of "free time" to truly ponder. The question is, "What do I love when I love my God?".

This advent season I've returned to one of my favorite books, "On Religion" by John Caputo who strives to tackle this question posed by Augustine. And as he concludes, the words of Mary ring out loudly and clearly: "Nothing is impossible with God," just as Caputo suggests the God we love is the possibilities we love:

"The meaning of God is enacted in an openness to a future that I can neither master nor see coming, in an exposure to the possibilities that are impossible for me, which surpass my powers, which overpower me, which drive me to the limits of the possible, which draw me out to God -- with whom nothing is impossible."

The writer of the letters of John beautifully articulates that God IS love, and boldly asserts that if we know love we know God. Caputo notes, "it is not a matter of finding a dictionary equivalent for the love of God but of DOING IT, of giving testimony to it, of seeing that its effect is to translate us into action, to move and bestir us. Love is not a meaning to define but something to do, something to make. The love of God is something to DO."

On this Christmas Eve, as we think about the outrageousness of God's assertion of Emmanuel -- God with us -- how can we not understand that God is Love?

To be with us when we are as alone and left out as those shepherds living on the margins, the outskirts . . . too "other" to be included in the activities of Bethlehem. God is with us. God is love.

To be with us when we act like Herod and use our power and privilege in ways that demean and lessen others and yet to be forgiven and comforted. God is with us. God is love.

To be with us at our very core and be blessed to carry this love within us and to share it with the whole world as Mary was blessed and challenged. God is with us. God is love.

This Christmas I hold in my heart the understanding that all things are possible with God -- with Love.

Seeking Hope, Advent II

2010-12-07T03:31:00.001-08:00

A Jesse Tree
The 11th chapter of Isaiah describes the ideal king in the line of Israel’s great king, David. The first verse of that chapter says,
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,and a branch shall grow out of his roots.

Jesse was King David’s father. The image of a branch growing out of the roots of Jesse points to a new king in David’s line. Even as the people of Israel were cut down like a tree, a few remained faithful and held on to hope in God. The re-established Israel. The stories of our biblical ancestors are stories of hope -- of people holding on to the dream that the world will be the place we want it to be. That hope -- for our saving future -- is the hope we seek in the life and teaching of Jesus.

Our advent devotion for this week is to create a Jesse Tree decorated with symbols of the hopes of those biblical ancestors. The symbols on the "Jesse Tree" remind us that our belief grows out of deep roots of thousands of years of ancestors in the faith.

Making a Jesse Tree is as simple as placing a tree branch in a large tin can (such as a coffee can) and anchor it with rocks. Then, create the symbols on construction paper. Punch a hole in the paper ornament with a hole punch. Attach the ornament to the tree branch with yarn. Below are six pages of Jesse Tree ornaments for you to print and use. Each page contains four of the designs listed below for kids to color and decorate with glitter or cotton balls glued to the ornament. Copy the designs to your computer. Print the designs on card stock. Cut each page into four ornaments and you'll have patterns for two-dozen Jesse Tree ornaments.

Page 1 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse1.bmp) (jesse1.gif) Page 2 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse2.bmp) (jesse2.gif) Page 3 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse3.bmp) (jesse3.gif) Page 4 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse4.bmp) (jesse4.gif) Page 5 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse5.bmp) (jesse5.gif) Page 6 of Jesse Tree Ornaments (jesse6.bmp) (jesse6.gif)

Seeking Peace, Advent 1

2010-11-28T17:59:00.000-08:00

For Advent, I'm sharing some of my favorite teaching stories. However, there are many, many great family devotions available and below I've included links to some of them, including the "Taking Faith Home" devotions. I pray you will all take some time -- if not each day, a few times during the week -- to think about the scripture readings and what you are seeking this season.

My family will be using the "Getting Along" litany this week -- keep us in your prayers too!

Advent Week 1: Peace
I shared this story in Sunday School this week. I like it because it addresses some of the biggest challenges/questions kids have about peace-making: "What can I do -- I'm just a kid?" And the bigger question: "Why isn't there peace -- Jesus was the Prince of Peace?"

Like the Peace Sword in the story, peace often begins with a single person, a single gesture. And, yes, Jesus did bring us peace, in the form of the faith example to live the promise of each moment of our lives to work out differences and conflict, to resolve problems. With the simple reminder to "love our neighbors" we are empowered to bring about peace.

"they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

The Peace Sword, Adapted from a story by Pedro Pablo Sacristan
Once upon a time there was a precious sword. Now, this sword belonged to a great King, and for as long as anyone could remember, the King spent all his time in his palace, enjoying his shows and parties. One day, however, a great dispute broke out between this King and the King of a neighbouring country. It ended with both declaring war.

The sword was greatly excited at the prospect of taking part in its first real battle. It would show everyone how truly brave and special it was, and would become renowned throughout the kingdom. However, when they arrived, the first battle had already taken place, and the sword got to see the results of war. What it saw had nothing in common with what the sword had imagined. No elegant shining knights, triumphant, with their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. Instead, all the sword saw was broken weapons, and hordes of hungry and thirsty men. There was hardly any food left. Everything was covered in dirt and shrouded in a disgusting smell. Many were half dead and scattered on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds.

At this, the sword realized it liked neither wars nor battles. It decided it preferred to live in peace and spend its time taking part in tournaments and competitions. So, on the night before what was going to be the big final battle, the sword tried to find a way to prevent it from taking place. After a while, the sword started to vibrate. First it gave out a low buzz, but this gradually got louder, until it became an annoying metallic noise. The swords and armour of the other soldiers asked the King's sword what it was doing. It told them "I don't want there to be a battle tomorrow. I don't like war."
One answered, "No one likes it, but what can we do?"
"Make yourself vibrate, just like I'm doing," said the King's sword. "If we make enough noise no one will sleep."

So the weapons started vibrating, and the noise became deafening. It was so loud that it reached the enemy camp, and the weapons there, who were equally sick of the war, joined the protest.
The next morning, when the battle should have begun, not a single soldier was ready to fight. No one had managed to get even a wink of sleep, not even the Kings or the Generals. So they spent the whole day catching up on sleep. During the evening they started to wake up, and decided to put off the battle for the next day.

However, the weapons, led by the King's sword, spent the night repeating their peace song, and again no soldier could rest. The battle had to be postponed yet again, and this carried on for the next seven days. On the evening of the seventh day, the Kings of the two armies met to see what they could do about the situation. Both were furious from their previous dispute, but after being together for a while they started to discuss their sleepless nights, the surprise on their soldier's faces, the confusion of day with night, and the amusing situations all this had created. It wasn't long before both were laughing, like friends, at these little stories.

Fortunately, they forgot their old disputes and they put an end to the war, each returning to their own land with the double joy of not having had to fight, and having regained a friend. And from then on, from time to time the Kings would meet up to talk about their experiences as Kings. They now understood that the things which united them were much more numerous than anything that set them apart from each other.

Devotion Links:
An online Advent retreat for adults: http://www.unclutteredheart.org/online-workshop/

A daily devotion (again for adults): http://www.upperroom.org/daily/

Advent litany for home: http://pockets.upperroom.org/litanies/261/

A great article about family advent devotions: http://pockets.upperroom.org/articles/advent-preparing-your-family-to-welcome-the-christ-child/

A litany about family members getting along with each other: http://pockets.upperroom.org/litanies/getting-along/

Taking Faith Home: I especially love the chain idea: http://www.morrowmem.org/

You Matter

2010-10-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

The kids (from the youth group) were asking me about stewardship the other day -- we had just had consecration Sunday. They had a lot of questions about who gives, how much, and finally, who doesn't. They may have thought that I had names and numbers -- which I don't -- but I did have an idea of the percentage of people in the congregation who gave and the percentage that didn't. So we talked about why possibly some people don't give.

Ira Glass, the host of This American Life on public radio was once trying to get people to pledge to WNYC. He said that only a small percentage of listeners actually gave to public radio. He observed that there was a real incentive NOT to give. Year after year public radio has pledge weeks -- sometimes twice a year -- and year after year the majority of listeners don't give money and year after year programming continues. Great radio gets made and nothing really changes because they don't give. The obvious answer to the question, "Why don't you give?" is "It doesn't matter."

In some ways, things happen very much the same way in churches. Finance committees make preliminary budgets based on what has been given in previous years and for the most part they end up about where they expect to be. For church members and attendees who don't give, their experience is very much like public radio listeners. Year after year they are asked to give, or to give more, and year after year they don't and really nothing changes. The church continues to do much of the ministry work it has always done and things don't really change.

And that is part of the problem. Things can't change unless more of us participate. We can't make bold plans to "Change the World" with the same people and same resources we've always had.

But that is only one part. For those who don't give time or financial resources to ministries the answer to the question, "Why don't you give?" may seem like it can be answered, "It doesn't matter." But it does. Each and everyone of us matters, that is our faith statement. We know we matter, yet when we act as if we don't -- that things will be just fine if we don't participate, if we don't share -- then we are denying who we are -- people with valuable talents and ideas and ways to love and care and share. If we deny that we matter we deny all that God wants for us -- that our lives have depth and meaning. The truth is we do matter and we share because we matter.

the stole

2010-06-02T07:43:00.000-07:00

My journey into ordained minstry has been long -- very long; and difficult -- very difficult; and full of sacrifices -- mostly made by my family. It has also been an absolute blessing. I've learned to accept the help and support and love of friends. My congregation loved me and let me grow even when I knew nothing and could do nothing but try. Most important, I've come to know God's incredible grace as I've tried, stumbled, and tried again.

Even as I am about to be ordained in a few days, I've had questions nagging at me for the last few weeks. Although I thought I was sure I was called to be a deacon (focusing on children and youth and education), a lingering nagging pulled at me. Maybe ministry to an entire church community as an elder is really my path. Colleagues added to the questioning: "You have so many gifts, why a deacon?" Could I have spent 10 years on this journey and still not know?

Yesterday, I opened a box that came in the mail. It was a gift from my aunt for my ordination. I opened it, even though my ceremony isn't until Friday. Her gift was a beautiful stole of many colors. Into it is woven the faces of children of all ages, of all colors, shapes and sizes. It is a beautiful stole. And, it is a deacon's stole -- one that goes across the heart.

Suddenly everything righted itself and it was clear to me that I am called to be an ordained deacon. And, yes colleagues, thank you very much, I do have a lot of gifts for ministry. However, I truly believe that children, youth and the spiritual nurturing of them and of their families is where we, as a church, should put our absolute best and brightest and most committed clergy and most significant resources. If I can be one of them, I will be forever grateful to God and to everyone that helped me on this journey.

I am thrilled that Morrow continues to prioritize children's and youth ministries. This is a congregation that has long committed dedicated staff and resources on top of countless unpaid work by church and community members to nurture and love the kids of Maplewood and South Orange. I am inspired by this commitment and rededicate myself to do all that is in me to care and love and pastor and teach to the best of my ability. Thank you to you all. And thanks Jan for the stole. I will wear it across my heart and pledge to always remember my story.

Name Tags II

2008-10-21T06:19:00.000-07:00

Last week I read a piece in a past issue of “Weavings” the magazine from Upper Room Ministries, that considers the issue of naming. The author recounts a story about dropping off a child for an event where they were greeted at a welcome desk and given nametags. As the kids were carefully writing their names on the stickers, one mom wrote an addendum name tag for her child so that it read, “Hello, my name is extreme peanut allergies.”

I had to put the piece down for a minute. Thinking about how we name each other and name ourselves brought back a powerful memory and the blessing of having served with someone who truly understood the ethic and impact of naming.

On what was to be my last visit with my friend, Mary, Kerry and I spent time with her together. Kerry and Mary had many, many memories to share about Mary’s time with the kids when their kids were little. They recalled Halloween costumes and decorations and VBS puppets. We all looked at pictures from those events and more.

While I didn’t have the chance to work with them on those fun ministries, I was blessed to work with Mary more closely when those kids were older – nearly out of high school – when I did my best to apprentice her as their youth leader. I thanked Mary for her extraordinary generosity to them through the church and especially for a gift she gave each of them. She gave each a spiritual name, which crystallized their special gift from God. These names were, and I suppose are, wonderful ways for each of those young people to understand their precious gift and how they can effect this world powerfully as they use their gifts. As we discussed the names, she looked at me and reminded me of the name that God gave me – and each of us and she called me, beloved. I am eternally grateful for, and will never forget that moment.

How many times do we forget that our name is “Beloved, Child of God?” If we had to scrawl an addendum name tag underneath the one that said our name, would we carelessly identify ourselves as “disorganized and overwhelmed” or “underpaid” or “incompetent parent” or some other name that shows that our self-esteem is so much less than God’s esteem for us?

We all know how important names are to self-identity. When children call each other names – especially when demeaning names stick with a kid – they can have a painful, lasting and debilitating effect. Yet, we continue to identify ourselves as the least of who we are – and only at the worst moments – rather than as the name that God gave us, beloved.

Naming is truly a God-given privilege for which we need to be careful and discerning stewards. God entrusted Adam – man – to name creation so that we could related best with God’s creation. God calls us all a very special name and one that I hold especially dear right now. Thinking of myself as beloved challenges me to respond as someone who is beloved to God. That is a tall order. It also challenges me to see others as beloved, knowing that they are.
Names are important, thank you Mary for reminding me of the gift of my name, beloved.

Community

2008-09-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

“The Rabbi’s Gift”
summarized from M. Scott Peck, The Different Drum, Community Making and Peace.

This story concerns a monastery that had fallen on hard times. Once a great order, it had become decimated to the extend that there were only five monks left, the abbot and four others – all over seventy in age.

In the woods near the monastery there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. It occurred to the abbot to visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice to save the monastery.

The rabbi welcomed the abbot and commiserated with him. “I know how it is,” he said. “It is the same in my town, almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” They read the Torah and prayed together. As he was leaving the abbot asked, “Is there nothing you can tell me that would help this dying order?”

“I have no advice to give,” said the rabbi. “The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”

The abbot returned to the monastery and told the other monks what the rabbi had said. In the days and weeks and months that followed the old monks wondered about the rabbi’s words. Could it be the abbot? What about Brother Thomas? Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Brother Eldred gets angry, but he is always right. Could it be me? As they wondered, they began to treat each other and themselves with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one might be the Messiah.

Because the monastery stood on the edge of a beautiful woods, people would come to picnic on the grounds. As people visited the grounds and wandered into the chapel, they sensed an aura of respect that radiated from the place. There was something strangely attractive and compelling about it.

Hardly without knowing why, people began to come and visit and pray at the monastery and talk to the old monks. Some of the younger men stayed to talk and eventually one asked if he could join them. Within a few years, the monastery had once again become a thriving order, and thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the land.

One of the great gifts of our youth fellowship programs is the mix of students across different grades, different schools and even different towns. The JYF and MYF groups have become strong communities where young people work to understand each other’s gifts and graces – as well as challenges -- and respect what each brings to bear and share across their differences. It is hard work, as all community life is, but the rewards have been quickly realized by these groups. Hopefully, as we all approach each other seeing the light of hope in each, we can magnify that respect and strengthen our communities even further.

The Sunday Picnic

2008-09-15T06:59:00.000-07:00

(from Laura Leigh Benson-Greer's father, passed on to me from Marjorie Thompson)
The story goes like this:
You know those kinds of days. The announcement is made -- "Let's all meet after church on Sunday for a picnic. You bring supper and we'll provide the iced tea." But if you were like me, you came home at the last minute. All you could find was one dried-up piece of baloney and two slices of dried-up bread, one an end piece. And you got mustard all over your knuckles trying to get the last little bit from the jar. You wrapped your sandwich in an old paper bag and went to the picnic. When it came time to eat, you sat at the end of a table and pulled out your sandwich. But the folks next to you had brought a real spread! The lady had cooked all day and had homemade fried chicken and potato salad and homemade rolls and big sliced tomatoes and two chocolate pies to top it off. And they turn to you and say, "Why don't we just put our food together!" "No, I couldn't do that, " you murmur, with your eye on the chicken. But they insist saying they just LOVE baloney sandwiches. So there you sit, eating like a king when you came a pauper.

This Sunday we had a picnic like that. I planned to make these killer cupcakes, but set-up for Sunday School took longer than I thought. Then I dyed my hair the wrong color and spent hours trying to re-color it. So I showed up with less than a feast. But it hit me again.
Isn't life with God like that. We do our best, put together our baloney sandwiches, and what we're offered is a feast of blessings. This week for me its the kids. They are all growing into such wonderful, strong, caring, thinking, beautiful people. We parents do our best, bring our best to the table, but then God's spirit fills them and they become so much more than we could have ever imagined.