What are we to make of a Church that was built upon a foundation that is both rock and stumbling-block? And what does this mean for our churches as we move forward in unprecedented times?Continue reading “Building on a broken rock”
In a time of grief and fear, of isolation and overwhelming need, hope comes in the form of loaves and fishes, hotdogs and apples.Continue reading “Loaves and fishes, hotdogs and apples”
God’s blessings are dispatched by ordinary prophets. This is our purpose, our vocation, as a church community so that we can be the “Anna” and “Simeon” to say a child’s name before God. We are here not just for ourselves, but for a grieving mother who shows up on a Monday night with rocks painted in her daughter’s memory.Continue reading “Ordinary prophets and Claire’s rock”
The Parable of the Wheat and Weeds is tough one, but there is room in my mountain field for both cultivated roses and wild Queen Anne’s Lace.Continue reading “Queen Anne’s Lace and cultivated roses”
We will not be gathering again in our sacred space as a community…. well, not yet. But where does that leave us, now? We remain in a time of holy longing. But God does not live in the churches we build. God for whom we long is already close by.
Jesus came out of the empty tomb, into an empty burial ground. On that empty Sunday morning, even more empty than this church right now, only Mary Magdalene appeared. Perhaps, today is the most authentic Easter ever.Continue reading “Empty Tomb and Empty Church”
Jesus approached the village of Bethany and the grief of family and friends moved him to tears. Lazarus emerged from the grave and was transformed. At a time of physical distancing, the world is more connected through shared common experience than at any other time in human history. Will we be transformed when the time of despair and separation ends?
Continue reading “Jesus wept, and Lazarus emerged.”
In the Bible, wells are meeting places. And at a time of fear and uncertainty, the need to remain connected is even more important. Being in together in relationship is what will get us through this public health crisis. But when we are restricted from gathering together, where are our wells? Where are our meeting places? How do we function as community of faith?
Three years ago last week, I sat on the deck of our rented cabin, looking at the early morning sun break over the Smoky Mountains. My husband and son were asleep in their beds and I was looking forward to the solitude of a cup of coffee with a view that felt like a prayer.
Then I opened Jennifer’s email.
“I have been diagnosed with what the doctors believed to be Lou Gehrig’s disease, also known as ALS. Clearly this is not the diagnosis anyone would ever want.”
Three years ago, I sent my daughter off to college. A parishioner at the church where I worked was also sending her daughter off to college. “You must be so upset and worried!” she exclaimed. Umm… no. Not really. I guess I had a very different viewpoint on the experience.
Four years ago, I sent my son off to war. July 14, 2011. My worst day.