She would like you to pray for her family

I seem to have won the preaching lottery this summer! This morning I got to preach for Pentecost Sunday at my childhood parish: St. David's in Kennebunk; and next week I am preaching Trinity Sunday at my sponsoring parish, St. Paul's in Natick! Here is my sermon from this morning:

It seems futile to sweep a bamboo slat floor in a dust-covered jungle, but that is exactly what she was doing when we arrived. It was a hot, humid day in January on a mission trip to Myanmar -formerly known as Burma- in East Asia. // Church let out that morning and my classmates and I were separated and sent to visits parishioners' homes in the small village of Mwa Bvi, Myanmar. I was partnered with two Burmese bible college students in their early twenties and two Burmese high school students. They would serve as my translators. We walked for about fifteen minutes before coming to the first home. As we walked we tried to carry on a conversation, but their English comprehension -while extraordinary- was still slow and the exchange of ideas was hampered. I was nervous. //  No one told us what we would be doing. I assumed we were going to learn from people in the village about their lives as Christian minorities in an oppressive military-controlled country where the majority religion was Buddhism.

The home we arrived at was made entirely from bamboo apart from a thatch roof fashioned from palm leaves. It was on stilts two feet above the group to protect from flooding during the annual rainy season. A tiny, old woman was sweeping the floor in preparation for our arrival.

The woman was no more than four and a half feet tall; her body bent and broken from osteoporosis. She smiled broadly to welcome us into her home. We left our shoes on the ground and stepped up inside. I had to crouch to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling. It was a single room with mats on the floor. I sat down and the room quickly filled up with 5 children, 3 more adult women and an adult man. A forth woman brought in some tea and a cup was handed to me. Was I even allowed to drink this; was the water safe? The room was silent so I drank. The old woman smiled at me expectantly. I looked to my translators and they said, “She would like you to pray for her family.”  //

“When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.”

Have you ever wondered what that “violent rush of wind” must have felt like? The selection from Acts says nothing about the feeling that the disciples encountered that day. It sounded like wind, like hurricane winds tearing through the house straight from heaven... but what did it feel like? Tongues of fire that rested upon them. Was it still? Could you see it? Or was it simply a feeling that suddenly invaded their bodies and graced them with the ability to speak and to hear? The text implies that the sound of wind tore down from heaven and invaded the home, appearing as fire that rested on the disciples. That sounds terrifying.

Pentecost wasn't a lovely summer day or a walk in the park. Folks didn't leave there saying, “Well, that was neat. I wish I could speak all those languages, too.” People were surprised, scared, in awe, confused, and inspired. The Holy Spirit, in all Her fury, rained down upon the people and the church was born.

Kind of makes you wonder, if the church started with such drama how did we get here? // The disciples were commissioned to spread the Gospel to all the corners of the earth, fire rained down upon them and they went forward in shock and awe proclaiming, and prophesying, and interpreting. And not just the twelve. As the book of Acts moves forward from this place we learn that men and women, young and old, jews and gentiles were blessed with gifts of the Holy Spirit that enabled them to carry Christ's message into the world. //   Did the Holy Spirit just stop moving in the same way after this grand act from biblical times?

No. The Holy Spirit has been and continues to be the presence of God in creation.  The second verse of the Bible introduces the Holy Spirit when it says, “the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” The wind was the Spirit already moving through the formless void. When God breathed life into the creation that breath was the Holy Spirit.  That breath was the Holy Spirit. Time and time again we hear in scripture about the breath of God moving on the earth and affecting change. In our creed we proclaim that “we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord the Giver of life...” But in our lives, how many of us really feel like we experience the Holy Spirit on a daily basis?

It takes intentional effort. In a world that is tied up with modern communication devises and scientific explanations for everything it takes intentional, prayerful contemplation to see the Spirit moving in the little things. But remember, Pentecost was an event unlike any other, the disciples had slow moving days when they had to look for the Spirit too.

I once heard a priest say that word of mouth is the greatest evangelical tool for growing the church. He went on to explain that Episcopalians were the least likely of any denomination to invite their friends to church which is a major reason that our churches are shrinking. Now, I am not sure where he got his facts, but it wouldn't surprise me. The Episcopal Church is seen from the outside as an exclusive club. When newcomers enter our doors they discover the need to juggle multiple books, learn special hand signals, and sing out in a culture that tells them keep their songs to themselves. //  //  //  Pentecost is the day when God sent God's Spirit down to tell them to take their hope as Easter people out into the world. Each year we celebrate Pentecost as our common call to be witnesses of Christ's redeeming love in the world. What about being witnesses even with our neighbors and friends?

So, where is the Spirit raining down in your life? We don't receive gifts of the spirit so we can be better at the things we are doing; we receive them so that we can go forward to do the work God is calling us to do. Oftentimes, that work is scary. It is something we could not have imagined on our own. And it is something that we feel in the very core of our being that something other than ourselves is willing us forward.

When I went to Myanmar in January I went expecting my heart to be broken open for the people there and for the plight they were facing. I went already planning my next mission trip to Tanzania for this summer. I went telling the Spirit what I expected to get out of it. //  Those are the times when God laughs the hardest; when we tell God our plans. // If you had told the disciples that the Holy Spirit was going to rain down fire upon them and they would instantly become multi-lingual evangelists for the Gospel of Christ, they would have laughed. It seems that despite all of the amazing things they witnessed during their time with Christ they still thought they had it all figured out. //  Myanmar broke my heart open, but in ways I wasn't anticipating or ready for. //  This summer I will be living in Maine. I am not going to Tanzania; the Spirit told me that I wasn't supposed to go on that trip.

The Spirit is a funny thing. She comes into our lives when we least expect her, and like hurricane winds whipping through the house, She tends to disrupt everything in Her path. Because everyday can't be like Pentecost, the major difference for us from what the disciples faced that day so long ago is that we must intentionally focus our hearts on hearing the rustling wind of the Spirit in each moment of our lives.

The old woman smiled at me expectantly. I looked to my translators and they said, “She would like you to pray for her family.” I didn't know this woman or her life. I had only been in the country for 24 hours and was already experiencing major culture shock. I was tired and overwhelmed.

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and asked the Spirit to enter my heart. Then I prayed. //  // //  I have no idea what I said that day. I felt inadequate and unqualified, but then I remembered Jesus telling his disciples not to worry about what they would say for in that moment the words would come to them. // It seems that in that moment, prayer became the Pentecostal, universal language. // I pray that we can going forward using this universal language to share the good news that has been gifted to us. To share it with our neighbors and friends. To invite them to our church. And to open our lives to the transformative power of the Holy Spirit.//

fearfully and wonderfully made

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 
   your works are wonderful, and I know them well." Psalm 139:14

This is a psalm that I return to time and time again. Have you ever stopped to think about your life -to really slow down and think about it. Think about your body first: all of the systems that have to work together in order for life to happen and continue. Think about each tiny hair on your head. Think about how your eyes are your fathers and your lips are your mothers. Think about your hands, the miracle of the way they move even before you consciously realize you have sent them to do so. Our bodies are miracles.  Now think about your personality. The things you love and the parts you wish you could change. Your sense of humor. Your propensity towards pessimism. Your curiosity at nature. Whatever they are: All of them are parts of who you and all of them were fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Now, I don't know about you, but when I am praying I find it easy to thank God for the people who are blessings in my life. There is often a long list of loved ones for whom I pray. But I do not often stop and pray for myself. To thank God for the awesome gift of making me just as I am. For my voice and my compassion. For my emotions that sometimes run wild, but always help me connect with the present. Today I am thanking God for the quiet breeze, the gentle rain, the gift of rest, and the wonder of being embodied. 

The irony of the ashes

The irony of this quiet day is not lost on me. Today is Ash Wednesday, and also a quiet day here at VTS. Quiet days are my favorite days of the semester. We started the morning with Eucharist and imposition of ashes followed by an opening meditation by the Rev. Martin Smith. His meditation focused on the need to allow ourselves the vulnerability of getting dirty before we are ready to be washed by Christ. He quoted Thomas Merton who said, “We have what we seek. It is there all the time, and if we give it time it will make itself known to us.” Merton is referring to those things we seek in prayer, and Rev. Smith was using this quote to illustrate that our time of intentional prayer and quiet, when we seek to open ourselves to God, is actually us opening ourselves to the mind of Christ which is already in us. (I Corinthians 2:16)

After talking about this he took a comedic turn and talked about the American obsession with hygiene. As a Brit, he said that it was a culture shock to move to this country and be bombarded with advertisements for tooth whitening, deodorizing, anti-bacterial, etc... products at every turn. Our obsession with cleanliness is quite different than a lot of the rest of the world. Through his meditation he encouraged us to embrace our dirtiness today; to realize the grace inherent in our weakness. He said: “We cannot become priests until we know the sacramentality of our shadow.” This resonated deeply with me. He encouraged us to go off and embrace the dirt we had wiped on our foreheads as a symbol of the dirt in ourselves. He told us to go off and become, “dirty angels.”

The irony comes after that point when I returned to my room to engage in what I had already discerned as my practice for this quiet day. It was to start with a nice, hot bath. I returned to my room and thought about it for a short time. Was I disregarding what I had heard this morning? No, I was not... I was internalizing it. I drew the water into the tub and soaked for a bit as I thought about the inability of that water to clean what was really underneath it all. I do some of my best thinking in the tub and so this was, just as I discerned, a perfect start to my quiet day. I remain amused that Rev. Smith's opening meditation spoke so directly to my private plans for the day.

The rest of my day has been spent simply resting with God. I read some of my book about the Ignatian Examen prayer. (The Examen is the spiritual practice I am adopting for Lent.) I laid on my bed and simply listened for God. I enjoyed lunch, silently, with my peers in the refectory. And I have breathed. Oh sure, I have taken a break here and there, but all in all I felt called to a very intentional day of Sabbath and I am grateful that VTS sees the importance of such a habitual practice in the school calendar.

Our closing meditation begin in a half hour. I intend to go to that meditation and then return to my room for continued Sabbath, meditation, prayer, and maybe some sermon writing -if the Spirit is feeling so inclined. It is days like these that make this finite journey feel infinite. I can here the beeping of construction trucks off in the grove but aside from that my heart and my head are quiet. It is nice to enjoy a day of solitude with God. For me, this is the perfect entry into the wilderness.

there's no place like...

...dorm. There is no place like a dorm. Dorms are a wonderful place. I have a room all to myself, a common room to share a glass of wine and a song, and study rooms to... well, to store the vacuum actually. Living in community is a curious thing. You spend all of your time with these people from various walks of life who have all converged because of a shared calling. We are all called to be ministers of one sort or another. Some lay, some ordained, all crazy in our own little way. Fascinating.

Every Wednesday night at 9 we gather for "Whine on Wednesday." A lovely little get together where we share a cup and some laughs to gear up for the rest of the week. Tonight I found myself looking around the room feeling proud that I will be sharing in church leadership with these folks.

Jenny and Jonathan wrote a lovely Eucharistic prayer that the former presiding bishop of the Episcopal church prayed as he presided at the table. Lara and Ginny sang some fabulous songs. Murmuring in the background rumbled along about preaching for the first time in homiletics class, the Ethics exam that schooled us this morning, and the Church History paper that will take over the lives our the junior class this coming week. I found myself thinking how lucky I am to be here and that my biggest concern, at this the halfway point in my seminary career, is how I am to spend my summer of formation.

God is good, all the time.

final project.... I think so!

Click here to view this photo book larger

This is part of my final project for the Myanmar course. I have ordered this book that I built to accompany me as I make presentations.

Enjoy!

The parable of the lost camera

(atop Wat Arun in Bangkok, the day before we left for Myanmar)

This is a story about humility, friends, shared humanity, gratitude, and hope.

Humility

There was a woman who had grown up in Maine and had a dream of seeing the world through her own eyes and bringing that world back to share with those she loved. Finally, the opportunity came to engage in mission in the far off land. The woman had followed God’s call to a seminary in Virginia and from that seminary she would travel to meet God’s children in Myanmar. The woman was thrilled and grateful for all of the people who supported her so that the opportunity was possible. So the woman from Maine flew to Thailand and brought along her trusty little camera so she could bring the world home withher. She took pictures of everything she saw: the people, the trees, the fruits, the animals. All of the mundane beauty was captured so that she could show this new world through her own unique vision.

Then the time came for the true mission to begin. The woman traveled with her friend to Myanmar. They flew to this country were few others from home will go. The need for images became even more important to the woman. As soon as the group arrived in this far-away land, the woman was struckby the “otherness” she perceived. One of her goals was to look beyond the “otherness” to identify and capture the shared humanity of this place. She took out her camera and began what was to be a month in search of mutuality.

(The taxi driver pushing the cab to get it started)

The journey had been long and the culture shock had already begun to sink in. After dinner with her traveling partners the woman retreated to her room to journal and she turned to her camera for the images from which the words would be born. Alas, the camera case was empty. She calmly, but meticulously, searched her belongings. With a thud of recognition she remembered an audible thud from the taxi ride. What she had dismissed as simply her water bottle falling to the floor had actually been her beloved camera: her parter in memories and communication. You see, the woman has found that she appreciates capturing the simple beauty in the everyday, and photography is her means of communicating that beauty with the world.

A friend from her group helped to confirm that she had not overlooked the small piece of electronics:it was gone. In a final effort checking the hotel lobby, the night manager of the hotel asked what was happening. The woman explained,with tears beginning to well in her eyes, that she had mistakenly left her camera in the taxi and if it was returned to please call her. The woman than went to her room where finally, after a long day of travel, she began to cry. And that is where our story begins.

Friends

Shortly after returning to her room the woman received a telephonecall from her trip leader asking for a description of the camera and where in the taxi it had fallen. The trip leader explained that the night managerwas moved by the woman’s tears and was trying to track down the taxi. (Now, you must understand: Myanmar taxis are not like US taxis. There is no radio, no meter, this taxi even had to be push started on the journey from the airport.) With some words of encouragement she hung up the phone. Daring not to hope, the woman continued to unpack and organize her belongings while kicking herself for her oversight. A couple hours later, close to midnight, the phone rang again. The woman was exhausted, but unable to sleep. She walked to the phone and answered. It was the soothing but tired voice of the trip leader, “I have just returned from the airport with the night manager. Your camera will be returned tomorrow morning at 8:00. Try to get some sleep now.” Stunned, and unable to form coherent sentences the woman simply said, “Thank you, I think I can now,” and hung up the phone. The next morning at breakfast the woman found the trip leader sitting alone. She sat down to join her and the trip leader calmly regaled the tale from the night before:

Shared Humanity

(The night manager of the hotel in Yangon)

“After you returned to your room last night I got a call from the night manager telling me what had happened. He explained that you looked very upset and he was trying to track down the taxi number. He asked which taxi, what your camera looked like, and where in the taxi your camera fell. A short while later he called me again and told me that the guard stand did have the taxi number and he was going to the airport to look for the taxi. I told him to wait because I would go with him...” She continued to explained that they hailed a taxi and negotiated a rate for the night. They went to the airport and found the gates closed and locked: the flight the group was on had been the final flight in that evening. -This was good and bad news because it meant the taxi driver likely had no other fares, but it also meant the taxi driver had gone home. They drove to where some of the airport taxi managers were and learned where the taxi manager for the international terminal lived. They traveled to his home.

It was a road in poor shape with many dilapidated houses and huts lining the street. They pulled up to one and the night manager went to knock on the door while the trip leader was asked to wait in the taxi. The night manager explained to the taxi manager what had happened. They spoke for several minutes in Burmese and the taxi manager glanced back at the cab where the trip leader waited. After a long while the night manager returned to the car with the airport taxi manager and gave an address to the driver: they had the address for the taxi driver.They traveled further down the dark, difficult road to another modest home. There, in the driveway, was a van with a cracked rear window: this was it. The night manager and the airport taxi manaer went and knocked. No answer. He knocked harder and louder. Eventually atired looking man opened the door. It was him. The three men spoke for a long time. The trip leader waited in thecar wondering what was happening. After several long minutes they returned to the car and the taxi driver retired to his home. The night manager said that he had the camera and would bring it to the hotel at 8:00 the next morning. The trip leader said that she tipped the driver who had brought them around the night before witha crisp $20 bill and that was that.

Gratitude

The woman sat speechless for a moment. A man whom she had nevermet and her trip leader, who had been just as jet lagged and exhausted as she had been the night before, had spent hours traveling all over Yangon in search of a simple camera that the woman had foolishly dropped. She was humbled and very grateful. She thanked the trip leader in the only words she could find at that time. After a moment, the woman realized how close to 8:00 it wasand she gathered herself to ask how much would be appropriate to tip the man who was coming with her camera. And that, the trip leader explained, led to the rest of the story:

She began to tell the story of two parishioners who entered hospice care just before she left on this mission. One of the people, a kind and joy-filled soul, was in care in Bangor -several hours from her home. The week before she left, the trip leader traveled to Bangor to administer the Sacrament and to visit. Before she left he gave her an envelope with a crisp $100 bill inside. This was not a man of great means; this gift was tremendously generous. She asked about it and he told her that he wanted her to use the money for an unanticipated expense on her trip. He wanted her to use this money for something important and that was he could travel all the way from his hospice bed in Maine to Myanmar with the group of seminarians and their leader: a beloved parish priest from Maine. The night before the trip leader had used some to tip the driver who traveled the dark streets. She used a portion to tip the amazing night manager who went above and beyondin recognizing a burden and deciding to alleviate it. And this morning, she handed another crisp bill, a portion of the man’s great offering, to the woman and said, “He would want you to use this.”

Hope

Literally, just then, the front desk workers told them that the taxi driver was there. The woman and her trip leader went to the parking lot. The man was humble and timid as he approached the woman. She had a broad smile on her face and fought tears as she reached out to shake his hand. Instead, he pulled the small, blue camera out of his pocket and put it in her hand. He looked her in the eye for only a moment and then looked at the ground and backed away. She said “thank you so much” as she reached out her hand again to shake his. This time he smiled broadly. His teeth were stained with beetle nut and his eyes crinkled at the sides as he shook her hand. She then handed him the crisp bill and again thanked him. His eyes widened at the sight of the bill and his smile grew wider. The taxi driver and the airport manager got back in the van to drive away when they were waved back by the trip leader and the woman. “Can I take a picture with you?” she asked.

(The taxi driver from the airport)

Epilogue

There is so much about this trip I am still processing. If you know me at all, you know that it takes me a lot of internal time to process events before I can find the words to express accurately how I feel and see the world and my experiences therein. (Once I process, as evidenced above, I am rather verbose. *grin*) My camera is the way I capture future words. They say that a picture is worth 1,000 words. In my case this is more than true. Myanmar contained learning that Icannot yet verbalize. Learning that is vital for my formation as a minister in the church. I formed relationships, felt new feelings, breathed the Spirit, and met Christ in an entirely new ways. The gratitude I feel for The Rev. Kitty Babson (our trip leader), Khru Maung Sau (the night manager of the hotel), the modest taxi driver, and Kitty's generous parishioner can only be expressed in the imagescontained in the 4,000+ pictures I returned home with on my camera.

I'm just looking for someone to walk with me...

I spent this morning writing my Ash Wednesday sermon. This may sound a bit odd in light of the fact that it is the day after Thanksgiving and only 3 days before Advent 1, but I assure you, all of these things played a heavy role in the text that resulted. First of all, the sermon is for my preaching class and since I do not have another sermon to be preached at field ed this semester I figured it would make good sense to write a sermon that I will use next semester. Second, since Advent is another penitential season of the church year I was able to settle into the task quite well. For me, the connection between Lent and Advent is intrinsically bound so going to that place required commitment to begin the journey a few days early.

Ten years ago, when my mother died, Advent became my Lent -A role reversal of sorts that works on the outside because they are both penitential seasons, but in the hustle and bustle of the commercial Christmas season can be quite a difficult feat. 

Now, as I prepare for the ten year anniversary of that season and that day, my whole world is different. I am more the woman my mother knew I could be, but that I, in my adolescence, had no knowledge of. I still ache for her: this time of year more than any other. But I smile too, because she would be proud. Advent is my lent. I prepare for a birth as I prepare for a death. I search my heart and ask what God wants of me. My adolescence stopped abruptly and I wasn’t ready. In that time I was so angry and wanted to know what I had done to deserve the ache; but now I ask what I did to deserve such a wonderful woman to be my mother for even those 19 years.

So this Advent will begin with the traditions I learned growing up: with the preparation for a birth. I will decorate. I will sing. I will worship. I will sit quietly and know that God is God. I will be thankful. But a different tradition that I have added to my repertoire is that I will remember. I will remember who it is that God has called me to be, and I will remember the many gifts that God has given me along the way to help me become the woman I am called to be. I will remember and give thanks for my mom.

I listened to a Kris Delmhorst song on repeat for much of my sermon writing process and I offer you now the words of the chorus:

"I'm not on no yellow brick road, got a mind and a heart and guts of my own. I'm not looking for a one to set me free. I'm not on no yellow brick road; I'll find my own way home. I'm just looking for someone to walk with me." -Yellow Brick Road by Kris Delmhorst

So, I invite you now to walk this Advent road with me. I invite you to remember what it is that we are preparing for even when the commercials and store displays try to distract us from the truth. And I invite you to give your loved ones a hug and to thank them for walking with you. Thank you, my friends, for walking with me.

goodbye dear friend.

I suppose it is fitting that my last service at the Virginia Theological Seminary chapel was the Thursday evening prayer and praise service; it was, after all, the Thursday evening service that solidified my understanding that I belonged at VTS. When I toured VTS two years ago I arrived on a Thursday afternoon. After a nightmare-ish cab ride and wandering around lost for several hours a helpful student pointed me in the direction of the welcome center and there I learned that there would be a prayer service in the chapel at 5:30. We sat together in the choir on the raised chancel and sang songs led by some students with guitars and banjoes. I was asked to read a lesson and after the service the students brought me to the refectory. In my first few hours on campus I was afraid I had made a terrible mistake coming to visit VTS, but when I sat in that chapel looking at the stained glass window of Jesus at Gethsemane and heard familiar songs on the guitars I felt at home.

Our chapel got a hard rap. Some people didn’t think the chapel at the seminary was aesthetically pleasing. There were four different colors of stained wood, the windows didn’t match in color or style, it was not a moveable space and it looked like it was designed for a high church crowd when we are decidedly broad church, if not low. But I thought it was beautiful. Oh sure, I went along when we dreamed of ways of improving it, but at the end of the day... I hate change and I really liked it just as it was. It was at least comfortable... homey. Last fall when I was having a tough week I was walking out of the chapel and I saw a prayer stone left on the lip of one of the stained glass windows. It had been there for months, since the FTE conference that met there in July, and seeing that stone on that day reminded me that God was right there with me. The prayer stone remained on the window sill all year long. No one ever moved it. There were a couple nights last year when I went to the chapel in the middle of the night just to sit and be still with God.

Today I stood out on the lawn in the grove as we watched the chapel burn. White smoke was barreling out of the roof, I was one of the first to spot it and call 911. It was too late. I listened as the slate tiles on the roof popped and cracked. I watched as the orange flames broke through the roof. I cried with my classmates and the staff as we helplessly watched the stained glass windows shatter and the roof fall away. I looked on in horror as a place I loved so much went away.

But I did something else too, something besides simply watching: I prayed. In the midst of it all I felt a classmate grab my hand and I looked over as students, teachers and staff all joined hands. Then, Ginny -the middler class president and all around classy lady- started the Lord’s Prayer. We prayed. I prayed for the firefighters who worked hard to ensure that the other buildings were safe. I prayed for the alums who couldn’t be there with us. I thanked God that no one was inside and no one was injured.

I am on a plane on my way home for a week. It hurt my heart to walk away from school today -to turn my back on the people I love as they stayed and watched and cried. But it is where I am supposed to be. I heard that they held a prayer service in Scott Lounge at 5:00 while I was waiting at my gate. I prayed too. I called my friends who went to VTS in the past. Peter was at his diocesan convention and he texted me to let me know that the Diocese of Western Massachusetts was praying for us. Mostly, I was in shock because as much as I prayed and as much as I talked it hurts. I am grieving. I am sad that I will never walk into that chapel again.

Last night at the Thursday evening Prayer and Praise service we sang my favorite song. Caleb and Ginny played guitars. I read the OT lesson from Ezra. I arrived at the service early because I was having a stressful day and I wanted to sit and be still with God. God met me there and I left feeling revived and thankful. I am going to miss the VTS chapel. I will miss hearing Charlie Price’s piano and the beautiful music that people make on it. I will miss the Gethsemane window that I used to sit and study. I will miss the mission window with the man riding the donkey into the village. I will miss my seat in one of the back pews on the right against the pillar. And, of course, I will miss the six toed Jesus. (Yes, I said six toed Jesus.) But most of all I will miss the quote on the east wall that everyone jokes is preached about too often: “Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel.” It was a daily reminder of my call.

In spite of all that I will miss, though, I know that it is only the building that is gone; because the chapel is really a combination of the talents and hearts of those who worship there. We loved that building but as my classmate Jennifer said, “It’s okay, the Holy Spirit is out here with us.” Our hearts, our songs, our words, our prayers: we are VTS.

What is your mulberry tree?

"I came to church in a difficult place this morning and now I am leaving changed."

"I don't ever take notes during church, but I couldn't stop writing."

"Your sermon was pretty."

Above are three of the comments I received after preaching my first field education sermon this past Sunday at St. Anne's. I think the lessons I learned this summer preaching two, let's face it, not so hot sermons at home was: listen to my own inner voice. I spent so much time stressing about what others would want me to say that I lost my voice this summer. Sunday, I think I took a little of that back. Thanks be to God. My sermon below is based on the lectionary texts from this past Sunday:

2 Timothy 1:1-14 and Luke 17:5-10.

Why is it that the Gospels are constantly calling on us to do hard things? I am waiting for the gospel lesson that says, “Jesus told them they were doing a great job and that they should keep up the good work.” But I don't think that one is coming anytime soon. // Last week we heard the story of Lazarus and the rich man. As Fr. Jim pointed out, this was an excellent lesson to start our stewardship kick off, but a difficult lesson nonetheless. The Lazarus story calls on us to share our material wealth while this week we are called upon to share our faith. // At first glance this gospel lesson looks a little less challenging. Jesus is telling the disciples to use the faith that they have. It may seem less challenging, however, immediately before this section of the gospel text, Jesus says to the disciples, “It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble.” He goes on to explain that even if the same person sins against them 7 times a day, they must

continue to forgive that person if they repent. // When I consider how I feel when someone has done wrong by me I recognize how difficult a challenge this charge can be. Sometimes it feels like it will be impossible. // And then, when I look at the claim that Jesus is making I am even more confused. Jesus tells the disciples that if they had even a little faith, they could tell a tree to plant itself in the ocean and it would obey. In the gospel parallels of this verse Jesus tells them they could tell a mountain to move aside and it would. // Forgiving those who wrong them, not leading others into sin, and moving obstacles the size of mountains or trees... that sounds like a lot to ask of one person. // So that brings me to the question on my heart: How am I to move the mulberry tree in my life?

We all have those things which seem impossible to bear –those obstacles which are too tall to even consider scaling. // For the disciples, their challenge was following Jesus' directive to forgive those who sinned against them and to keep from leading others away from the true path. It can be hard enough to keep one's self on the right track, but for Jesus to tell the disciples that they must also consider how their words and

actions will affect others seems a tall order. // And after all that, there is still the mulberry tree in our way. Even if we are able to forgive and to guide others on the path there is still more to do.

One of the things that attracted me to St. Anne's when I was looking for a field education parish was the amazing involvement of parishioners in the many ministries that are offered here: Christian formation classes, youth group, Koinonia small groups, a 20s/30s ministry, programs aimed at feeding the homeless, a partnership with ministry teams in Liberia, a thriving lay reader and lay Eucharistic minister ministry, successful music programs... the announcements go on and on! This church has its hands extended out to the world. That means there are numerous opportunities to plug in; and I imagine that sometimes it can feel overwhelming. // Juggling soccer schedules, client meetings, family obligations, and all of the other things that pull on us from many directions it can feel like any one of them has become your mulberry tree.

In a society so caught up in what more we can do, this passage is actually asking us to do less. // Less holding of grudges, less desiring of those things which we think we lack, less perseveration on the difficulty of the task ahead: // this passage is inviting us to let go and to trust that God has given us all we need and that the bit of faith we have is strong enough to get us through. // What Jesus is instructing in the example of the mustard seed of faith is that contained within that one, tiny seed is the possibility of so much more. The fact that so much possibility can be contained in such a tiny seed seems impossible. // Jesus is asking the disciples to stop doubting that what they have is enough and to start trusting that God can and will work through the gifts they already possess. He is asking them to let go. // If they hold tight to the seed for fear that it is too small to amount to anything they will never have the opportunity to experience what it could become when planted and cared for.

Less fear makes room for more faith. When we let go of a grudge we make room for more love. Less desire for things we lack means more gratitude for the blessings we enjoy. Less fear of the journey ahead means more curiosity about where the path will lead. Less obligation to the task at hand means more joy in the act of charity contained therein. It is only when we loosen our desire to control the outcome that we are able to cooperate with God who is already working through us.

If we look to the reading from Timothy we see a faith that has been passed along through the generations by the Holy Spirit. // It is described as a “sincere” faith and the author is encouraging Timothy to “rekindle the gift of God that is within [him]... [because] God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.” // The gift of God that is within him. // It is already there, Timothy is being invited to use his mustard seed of faith. // The spirit of power, love, and self-discipline is all contained within that tiny seed. Timothy is being encouraged, along with all of us here this morning to let our light shine from within rather than doing more to force the light out. // The ministry opportunities at St. Anne's do not require us to stand before Christ and to ask for more faith or more gifts; the ministry opportunities invite us to spend less time worrying about the skills we think we lack, which will in turn give God the space God needs to work through us with an authenticity of our faith. // When we hear members of St. Anne’s standing up for the stewardship drive in the coming weeks asking for our offering of time, talent, and treasure it is a chance to search within ourselves to ask what is the “more” we are doing that could be getting in the way of what God would like to do through us. // Which mulberry tree is Jesus asking you to send out to the ocean?

When discussing the passages for this week with a friend I was introduced to an image from Julian of Norwich that has remained in my prayers ever since. Julian writes, // // // // //

---> (hold up hand with an acorn between my thumb and forefinger.)

"In this vision he showed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut, and it was round as a ball. I looked at it with the eye of my understanding and thought "What may this be?" And it was generally answered thus: "It is all that is made." I marveled how it might last, for it seemed it might suddenly have sunk into nothing because of its littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: "It lasts and ever shall, because God loves it."

What a gentle, lovely image. Everything in all of creation contained within a single ball the size of a hazel nut. All that has been and all that will be contained within something so small she has fear of losing it. (put acorn away) But there needn't be any fear because, “It lasts and ever shall, because God loves it.” Less fear, more love.

Before coming to seminary I worked as a Child Life Specialist, helping pediatric patients to cope with their illnesses and injuries. About seven years ago I had the privilege to work with a 17 year old girl named, Jessica. Jess was a senior in high school. She was beautiful and smart and talented. // One September morning while driving herself to school, Jess was traveling up a hill and as she came to the crest of the hill the sun momentarily blinded her. When her eyes adjusted to the light it was just a moment too late. // A school bus was stopped right in front of her. She slammed on the brakes but her car continued forward and ended up underneath the school bus. // She was paralyzed from the neck down. // Jessica came to the hospital for months of inpatient treatment and rehabilitation. She had to learn how to do everything differently. She would never regain any movement in her limbs. She had to learn to operate a wheelchair using a straw she blew air into. She had to learn about her medications and about complications she might experience. This beautiful, 17 year old girl who had just gained so much freedom and was applying to colleges had to learn how to rely upon her parents for everything from getting dressed to washing her face to feeding herself. Jess's life seemed to be crowded with Mulberry trees. // But there was something very special about Jessica: her smile. // Jessica was always smiling. She would sit at the nurses' station telling them stories and singing songs. She asked me to give her voice lessons because her injury affected her diaphragm and she wanted to regain breath support so she could sing in her church choir. // Jess told everyone who would listen that God had a plan for her. She didn't yet know what that plan was, but it was her intention to continue to sing God's praises everyday trusting that eventually it would be clear. Jessica chose the road of less: less anger, more joy; less blame, more curiosity; less complaining, more singing. Jess chose to take the mustard seed that was given to her and to see what God would do with it if she let him.

Jessica has a lesson to teach us all: we don't have control over what is given to us, we only have control over what we allow God to do through us with that which we have been given. // A few minutes ago we baptized five new members into the body of Christ. Five new people were reborn into the possibility of everlasting life. But when it came time to collectively join in the baptismal covenant we did not promise to persevere in resisting evil, strive for justice and peace, or seek and serve Christ in all persons all by our selves: // we promised to do those things with God's help. // Jesus didn't tell the disciples that they had to move the mulberry tree all by themselves: Jesus told the disciples that if they had but a mustard seed of faith, they would know to trust God working through them to accomplish great things.

I was lying out in the oak grove at school last weekend reading a book. A great wind stirred up and a shower of acorns clamored to the ground. What if each of those acorns was a mustard seed of faith, or, like Julian of Norwich describes, a little container of all that has been made... imagine the possibility contained in the acorn allowing itself to fall with the gravity rather than struggling to remain on the branch... // at the beginning of my sermon I said that I was waiting for the gospel lesson that says, “Jesus told them they were doing a great job and that they should keep up the good work.” // I think that is the opportunity presented to us today. Let's write that gospel lesson together: with less fear and more faith God will be able to do more through us because God loves us and has already given us all that we need. Remember, “I will, with God's help.”

if at first you don't succeed...

Last month I preached the first sermon I ever had real reservations about. At 11:30PM the night before I finally had to put it to rest and say "it is enough." Inspiration was hard to come by and I was having a hard time allowing myself to rest in the preparations. I spent the whole week thinking about the passages and I feel like my heart had a direction that it wasn't communicating to my mind. I preached and experienced another first: my first ever coffee-hour sermon dissection. An intelligent and faithful woman asked me if I would like some constructive criticism and I invited it. She proceeded to articulately point out the shortfalls of my sermon as well as to offer advice for where I could have expanded. I took it all in and tried to remember to take it constructively. It stung. Although I was not particularly proud of the words I delivered, I wanted everyone else to feel fed. I felt as though I had failed.

Reflecting on it over the past few weeks I have embraced the opportunity embedded in this experience. I was disappointed in myself but I have to remember that I cannot hit every single sermon out of the park. In addition, I cannot expect to please all people even if I preach the best sermon of my life. I need to balance my expectations of myself. But, I need also to learn to ask for help sooner in the process when I need it. I wish I had structured my preparation time differently. I wish I had invited conversation with peers before the full introspective examination of the verses. I wish I had breathed more. I am proud of the beginning of my sermon. I was authentically myself in the beginning but then it just unraveled.

I am excited to start preparation for my next sermon. I am preaching at the end of the month on the passage where Jesus teaches the disciples to pray the Lord's prayer. I need Jesus to teach me to pray right now... to give me the words when all of my own words escape me. I want to be okay with hearing a friend say, "To tell you the truth, I was disappointed with your sermon." I want to trust Jesus and the Holy Spirit to meet me where I am and to help me in the process of writing but for them to find the space I must structure my time properly. Come, Holy Spirit.

There's much I to do in the coming weeks, the most important of which is to breathe.

The song I carry in my heart this week is:

Breathe on me, Breath of God

Fill me with Life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

In Christ's Immeasurable and Indescribable Love,

Audrey

tales from the book fort

If I could live in a library I would. And not one of these new fangled libraries with their computers everywhere and teenagers busy chatting in the corner. I would live in a musty smelling brick castle of a library with shelves from floor to ceiling and ladders to reach the upper most shelves. There would be panes of glass warped from time and brass desk lamps with green glass shades. There would be overstuffed brown leather arm chairs in the corner and oriental rugs in front of marble fireplaces. And it would smell of old books and there would be lots of friendly faced patrons reading quietly, engrossed in the wonder. I would want my library to be situated near a stream with weeping willows along the bank so I could bring my treasures out to read by the water.

There are not enough hours in the day. There are too many things to do and places to go. And there are too many books that I want to read. I haven't had time to read this summer and I want to very badly. Perhaps this will be a good self-care goal: to read. It took so long for me to get the hang of reading that I feel my life will be spent catching up on all of the reading I missed earlier.

Today I will start a book. It will be grand.

CPE survival blog

So, I am sitting on my bed drawing a total blank when it comes to writing my CPE reflection paper for this week. So, what do I do instead? Compose a blog posting of course!

This past week I stayed on Peaks Island for the whole week. I rode the Ferry, breathed the salt air, swam, and generally relaxed. This is a good thing because CPE itself has been tremendously difficult. We had mid-unit evaluation, presented a paper about our personal experience with suffering, and then I presented a verbatim of a difficult interaction I had with a patient. I am feeling a bit beat down, but I also see the potential for growth that can be born of these experiences.

For my own survival as a minister I MUST learn how to chill out. I am far too keyed up and stress too easily. I make most things harder than they should be. Self care is an absolute priority. If I don't figure this out now, my life as a clergy woman of the church will suffer. I talked to two of my closest friends in the past couple of days and those ladies are really floating me through. I see God in the day to day and the interactions I am having. God's presence is definitely seen... and there are days I can feel God. That is truly a blessing for which I have been praying.

This weekend I will unpack. And go to the beach. And play with my nieces. And go hear some music. And run. And take a walk to the river. And relax. This weekend I will breathe. And it will be good.

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.

Amen.