day 20 - loving that crazy collage.

One of the guys in my youth group (the awesomely creative Ian Erickson) introduced me to this incredible artist, Swoon. Watching this and seeing her passion, inspired me to reconnect with my own creativity. I've been trying to read and write more, and simply to look for beauty and inspiration everywhere. Too often we lose our artist selves to the business of daily tasks and the stress of every day living. I love the way that art always awakens me to life. Swoon reminds me to see the beauty in the living chaos of the city. She talks about loving the crazy collage, and I can't think of a better metaphor for the magical mess that is life.

day 19 - in this light.

The very rainy month of March is coming to an end, and at last the sun has come out. The whole world seems different in the soft sunlight: awakened and bursting with life. It's as if we are all emerging from the cocoons of winter rains, stretching our newly grown wings for the first time. Days like today make it easy to praise: easy to see God in the joyful fresh faces, and the dewy green of the grass. There seems to be light everywhere, as if it has always beens just beneath the surface of things, waiting to break open the dim. Instead of fighting against the harsh edges of things, we are all softened in this daylight, able to see with the eyes of hope and compassion that we should have been gazing with all along. For at least a brief moment in this spring air, we are able to pause the constant battle to change one another, and just see all this battered beauty, and hold it in our loving gaze.

William Meredith's poem seems written for just this sort of day:

Consequences by William Meredith

ii. of love

People love each other and the light

Of love gilds but doesn’t alter,

People don’t change one another, can scarcely

By taking will and thought add a little

Now and then to their own statures

Which, praise them, they do,

So that here we are in all our sizes

Flooded in the impartial daylight sometimes,

Spotted sometimes in a light we make ourselves,

Human, the beams of attention

Of social animals at their work

Which is loving; and sometimes all dark.

The only correction is

By you of you, by me of me.

People are worth looking at in this light

And if you listen what they are saying is,

Love me sun out there whoever you are,

Chasing me from bed in the morning,

Spooking me all day with shadow,

Surprising me whenever you fall;

Make me conspicuous as I go here,

Spotted by however many beams,

Now light, finally dark. I fear

There is meant to be a lot of darkness,

You hear them say, but every last creature

Is the one it meant to be.

day 18 - play in the mud.

With my Jr. High students at confirmation we talked about Miracles this week. As we discussed about Jesus calming the storm, we made connections to God's redemptive and creative work with water elsewhere in the Bible. From God's spirit hovering over the waters in the first act of creation, to the parting of the red sea, to the story of Jonah being swallowed by a fish, to the new testament images of water turned to wine, baptism and walking on water. In each story, the youth talked about the ways God used water to cleanse, to heal, to reveal, to mystify, and to bring about redemption. Jesus' calling the storm to be calm was not a one time miracle; its a part of this much larger narrative of redemption. Of God speaking over and out of the waters of chaos, to bring grace, wholeness and resurrection.

Father Rick Moley makes a similar observation about the mud in the story of Jesus giving sight to the blind man. He writes, "I can't shake the poetic links to God digging in the dust of the ground in Eden, and giving us his breathe that we might live. God lifted us out of the earth in the Beginning, and Jesus is still in the business of lifting us up. And opening our eyes. And bringing us Life.

And, as the Way of Jesus, it is meant to be our way too. There are a lot of broken lives out there that need picked up. Whole countries of lives, in fact. Japan. Libya. Sudan."

God doesn't use extravagant methods. No magic potions or expensive jewels. Just a little dirt and water. Jesus is unafraid of getting his hands dirty. Because that's the way healing happens: not in pristine, sanitized cathedrals, but in the real organic dirt of people's lives. And I think we are called to do some miracles. We are called to follow Jesus and play in the mud.

day 17 - several lives worth living.

I was flipping through radio stations on my ride home from work last night, and I found myself listening to a man's voice on a public radio station. He describes the lives he imagines he could be happy living. He said he imagined himself being a repair man who fixed the parking meters. He described the joy he would feel walking outside on a sunny day, checking the machines and providing a small and simple need. He also said he imagined being a bread delivery man in the city. He imagined loading the freshly baked bread into the truck in the early hours of the morning, smelling that warm toasty fragrance as he drove through the almost empty streets. The he imagined delivering the loaves to restaurants across the city, and chatting with chefs as they began their prep work the day and started to simmer their stews. He imagined sitting in the almost empty kitchen and drinking a cup of coffee as he and the chefs called each other by their first names and made small talk.

These wonderful imaginings brought to my mind the line from a Mary Oliver poem: "I know several lives worth living." I like the idea of being freed to imagine the particular beauties of your unlived lives, from the most glamorous to the most ordinary.

Here are several lives worth living:

A nanny, wiping away tears, playing games, feeding, clothing and loving the most precious little ones.

A dog walker in the city, leading playful furry friends through the chaos of the streets and the freedom of parks.

A folk singer/songwriter, putting all the beauty into words.

A museum security guard, standing almost imperceptibly among such brilliant creativity.

A baker, combining simple ingredients to create mouthfuls of joy.

A worker in an orchard or at a winery, plucking the fruit from its branch at the brief moment of perfect ripeness.

A teacher in Jr High or High School helping students discover their favorite novel or poem for the first time.

day 16 - breaking the stone, sharing the story.

Tomorrow morning I am preaching from the story of the woman at the well (John 4:5-42) , along with the wilderness story of the moveable well in the dessert (Exodus 17-1-7).

I've been wrestling with Jesus' promise that those who drink of the water will never be thirsty again. I know so many people who are so very thirsty -- and whether or not they have faith seems to have little to do with it. Christian people still hurt, still face loneliness, still struggle, longing and needing good health, love, acceptance, and an endless list of wants. We are thirsty people.

And this woman at the well was no different. She was thirsting. A woman who had been through five marriages, gone through more loss than most people experience in a life-time. She had been discarded, considered used up and therefore of no worth -- tossed aside like trash.

But with this man Jesus, she is seen. Really seen. And counted as a person of value. This short conversation changes everything. In reality her circumstances are the same: her past hasn't disappeared. Her reputation still proceeds her. Whatever prejudice, rejection and isolation she faced before the encounter with Jesus, she will still face afterwards.

But still, she goes away changed because he broke open the stone of her life. With his open ears, his knowing gaze, his few words, Jesus held her story. He held the hurt, the pain, the regret, the fear, the hopes. Holding someone's story is a powerful thing, and for her that was all it took. She didn't need for her life to be fixed. She needed to be seen and heard. It was such a powerful experience, that she told as many people as possible; she shared the story, and allowed them to become a part of it.

When we gather for worship we come to a well of rich stories. Like the early Jewish people drank of the Torah when they had no temple, and nothing else, we come to worship and in the Eucharist we drink of the living Word, drinking from the deep well of a God who forgets no one. We eat of the Living Word -- a Word that isn't just the story of Jesus, but a Living Word that holds within it, all our own stories. Just as he broke through the stone of the life of the woman at the well, the moveable well of Christ breaks through our own stony hearts to quench our deepest thirst: to be seen and heard. Through worship, even in this wilderness of lent, the stony earth of our sin and mistakes is for a moment broken open with possibility, as we hear God's story, and each others stories, and know that in this community we are seen and known. In being known, we are transformed, as we see ourselves as part of the story of God.

day 15 - be a child.

I rode a ferris wheel today and smelled cotton candy. I walked a dog through a happy chaos of tourists, street artists and food vendors. I watched the ocean and laughed with friends.

There are moments, when I think I would give up every book, every class, all the knowledge I've acquired in years of higher education, for just a few minutes of the pleasure of salty sea air and child-like joy.

day 11 - sabbath is good.

On Saturday, I enjoyed a sabbath for the first time in more than two weeks. No work, no class, no place I needed to be. I slept in and awoke to a stormy day, and no reason to get out of my sweatpants. I drank a cup of tea, got caught up on school work, read almost an entire book for fun, read poetry, looked at art, started my sermon, blogged, cooked a real dinner with homemade somosas, did laundry and prepared a sunday school lesson. I prayed and I rested, and I felt like I got so much done with time to spare.

Just that space of one open day, made me realize how important taking a sabbath is. Over the last few months both Kyle and I have had our parents in town for weekends... while seeing family is always a blessing, it is rarely a sabbath. You are out and about -- site-seeing, entertaining, walking or in my case learning to ski (a tale of pain, discouragement and ultimate triumph for another time). All of that is fun. But it is not relaxing.

I feel that for the last month, I've been playing catch-up. When I'm at school, I feel there's some work thing I should be doing. When I'm at work, I'm thinking of all the things I've left undone at school and at home.

So, I am overwhelmingly thankful for a sabbath: a day to just stay inside listening to the rain, getting a few things done, but more importantly just enjoying the act of just sitting and being cozy.

After this weekend, I came to Monday ready. Ready for the wildness of Jr. Highers at confirmation, the sermon and paper writing, the planning, the commuting. All of it. Sabbath makes me into a better, kinder, more patient person. I hope that when I am no longer juggling full-time work and full-time school, I will be better at making time for these kind of days. These sabbaths are the days that allow us to be our best selves, that prepare us for the work ahead, that let us celebrate the life we've lived and the life that is coming. To allow yourself to just be is such a rare and significant gift.

day 10 - the shape of absence.

These lines from a poem by Christina Hutchins cause me to feel sad, wistful, free, warm, regretful, at-home and far-off all at once. All from one simple image of a crumpled pair of jeans... I love when I read something that makes me fall in love with poetry all over again.

Here is the warmth of my stride, left in a heap

on a rug beside the bed, blue jeans shed

in the shapes of my legs. I, too, have held

the shape of an absence.

day 9 - the moveable well.

Next Sunday, I will be preaching on two stories of thirst. The first comes from the exodus narrative as told in Exodus and Numbers, when the people wandered through the dessert, and began to complain of thirst. Miraculously, God provides, spilling fresh clear water from a broken rock:

"From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?" But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried out to the Lord “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go.I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?” -Exodus 7:1-7

In my art class, we've been talking about how this story is represented in Jewish and early Christian art. The story became such a deep part of the culture when people had no Temple to go to, that it was no longer thought of as a one-time miracle event. Instead, it was a living legend known as the "moveable well." People spoke not of just one rock, but a deep well that followed the people all the way from Sinai to the promised land and never ran dry. This legend became particularly important after the temple fell and the dream of the promised land was fading. It seemed a promise that no matter where they traveled, God would feel their thirst and fill them up with what they needed. They imagined that the springing up of the well occurred every time Moses gathered the people for worship and set up the tabernacle.

So, on the walls in Synagogues the movable well is painted, reminding people that although the Temple has fallen and they are displaced, God's presence is welling up in their worship. That as they read scripture and participate in the liturgy, God is still quenching their thirst. Through worship, they are bathing in the deep spring of life that never runs dry.

I love to think of worship as our moveable well. Each time we gather together, lifting our voices in song and prayer, retelling the story of God, and sharing in the mystery of sacrament, we are breaking open the stone of our lives, letting the river of God rush in once again.

day 8 - the sun.

Is thankful for a day of sunshine, laughter with my youth over coffee, voicing doubts, fears and sadness to my always understanding and compassionate husband, dark chocolate, red wine and Mary Oliver. Sunny days always remind me of my blessings - both big and small.


the sun. By Mary Oliver:

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

day 7 - wonder.

Hagia Sophia is a breath taking worship space originally built under the rule of Justinian in 6th century Constantinople. It is magnificent -- in scale, in craftsmanship, in materials. Even looking at photos you can feel a bit of the sense wonder one would feel standing in this expansive space. The marble floors are wavy like a sea, allowing anyone who enters the chance to be a participant in the Biblical narrative. You are with Peter as he takes those shaky steps across the water toward Christ. You are in the midst of those mysterious moments of creation when the spirit hovers over the waters. Looking up, as the massive dome arches toward heaven, you feel closer to the infinite. Nothing in symmetrical, everything in disorienting, drawing the viewer past a world of understanding, into a mystical experience. As we study these pictures in art, I am reminded of the power of beauty to draw us into the heart of God.

day 6 - sound deep.

In my dance meditation class we join in a practice called "sound deep to the witness of God." In this prayer you choose a partner and sit facing each other. Then a scripture is read. One of the partners closes their eyes and reflects prayerfully on the passage, expressing their prayer through slow intentional embodied movements with each outward breath. These movements can be as small as lifting or raising your arms, folding your hands in prayer, or bowing your head. As the person moves, their partner sits across from them and gazes at them, holding them in prayer.

I cannot describe the deep intimacy and gentle mystical power that I feel doing this activity. When I was the partner doing the prayer movement, I felt so embraced and so cared for as I moved in the safety and comfort of my partner's prayerful gaze. And even more powerful for me was being the one who held the other in watchful prayer. It feels so sacred to be allowed to witness the prayer life of another person. Although I was sitting still, it was as if my soul was moving with hers. While her body moved, I was moved internally. I was so blessed as she bowed and as she reached for God, my heart was also bowing and reaching. It was as if we were praying the same prayer although we exchanged no words.

I want to do this activity again and again and to work to create more of these moments of deep connection with one another. Too often we talk in such general terms about God, and never stop and truly sound deep to the witness of God in each other.

day 5 - i am home.

My schedule the last few weeks has been crazy. Almost every day I am at work and school from 9am until 9 at night. In all the busyness of this semester, it sometimes feels impossible to rest in the presence of God. I am wondering how to find and make time for creativity, reflection or prayer, when to be honest, I come home at the end of the day, all I want to do it lay on the couch and watch tv.

I am still growing in this area, struggling to figure out how to make time for what my body and soul really needs.

One small way that has helped me find stillness in the midst of chaos these last few weeks is the practice of walking mediation. I do this on my to class, or even from the short walk to and from my car. It is a practice in which you count the number of steps you take as you inhale and exhale. As you walk, you become aware of your breathing and of your own presence as your feet find the ground. Then you can begin to pick words to meditate on with each step or breath.

Lately, my meditation is simple. "I have arrived. I am home." So, as I walk, I am aware that I am stepping into just the right moment, the right place on the earth. It brings me a sense of rest, and with each step I feel I am coming into the embrace of the divine.

day 4 - the shelter of each other.

Last night I had the opportunity to go see the Rock and Worship Roadshow at the ARCO arena in Sacramento with my youth. I admit that Christian music can sometimes be cheesy and repetitive, but it can also be so amazingly powerful. Great music speaks to souls in a way that spoken words just can't.

One of my favorite new songs of the night was a song called "Shelter" by Jars of Clay. It's incredibly simple, but I like the idea of having worship songs that express not only our communion with God, but also our communion with one another.

The lyrics go like this:

To all who are looking down
Holding onto hearts still wounded
For those who’ve yet to find it
The places near where love is moving
Cast off the robes you’re wearing
Set aside the names that you’ve been given
May this place of rest
In the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
You will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Never walk alone
In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Your arms are all around us

If our hearts are turned to stone
There is hope we know the rocks will cry out
And the tears aren’t ours alone
Let them fall into the hands that hold us
Come away from where you’re hiding
Set aside the lies that you’ve been living
May this place of rest
In the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
We will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Never walk alone
In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Your arms are all around us

Here's the video of Jars of Clay talking about it:

day 3 - where is god?

Yesterday, one of my Jr. High youth at our after school coffee house hours said that he thinks that God exists, but also that God more or less gave up on earth and humanity for the time being and left. He explained that he still believes that God watches over us, but that God hasn't really worked miracles or acted on earth in the last few thousand years. This led to a really powerful discussion about how God acts in the world, the truth of the Bible, and what makes something a miracle. While one of my youth felt certain that God doesn't work miracles, I left the conversation feeling certain that God is so deeply present in and around us, and that miracles are happening every day.

Here are a few of the ways that I see the Divine moving:

the willingness of young people to wrestle with deep theological questions.

the passion and creativity of the high school students I work with.

the love of my husband.

the enduring symbol of the mark of ashes.

the laughter and imagination of children.

music that awakens my soul.

the peace that comes from the practice of walking meditation.

my talented, loving, supportive, incredible friends.

the communion we share each Sunday through the eucharist.

the amazing young adults who volunteer their time week after week to help with youth ministry.

the way the light looks alive as it dances on the bay.

the work being done by city of refuge, glide, and other inner city ministries.

the power of a poem to transport and transform its reader.

That's just the short list of infinite ways I see God working. I know that during lent, as I continue to pray with others and share this journey that I will find countless miracles to add to this list.

day 2 - praying for transformation.

Too often, my prayers are selfish. I pray to feel closer to God. I pray for personal transformation. About a month ago, I memorized this well-known prayer of St. Francis. Now, I try to pray it at least once a day. As I pray these well-worn words, whispered by the lips of so many others, I try to think of the real places of hatred, darkness and doubt, and ways that I, today, can be an instrument of God's love, light, and hope. These words call me to be something better than I am. Instead, of a prayer for personal transformation, it is a prayer that prays for the courage to transform the world. Each time I speak or write or think these words, no matter how I've fallen short, I am humbled and inspired.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love,

Where there is injury, pardon,

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled, as to console,

to be understood, as to understand,

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and in dying that we are born to eternal life.

day 1 - beginning the journey.

This year for the season of lent my goal is to reflect on my blog, and to pray with at least one person each day. On Wednesday, this first day of Lent, I had the opportunity to pray one-on-one with my Senior Pastor and later in the day I prayed with one of the amazing young adults at my church (Rachel Lambros). Both of these prayer times reminded me of the intimacy and power of sitting with another person and lifting up a few small words to God. For me it is one of the deepest forms of communion.

As I begin Lent, I feel excited for an opportunity to intentionally make space in my life for God to speak and move. I'm hoping that by carving out time and space for prayer and reflection, I will be more aware of the Divine call that is whispering beauty and hope all around us.

A few days ago, one of my professors shared a story about her daughter that I think describes the power and purpose of lent perfectly. My professor comes from a UCC background and didn't raise her daughter in a very liturgically oriented church, so as a young girl of 8 or 9, her daughter didn't have any familiarity with lent. Around that time she visited a different church with a friend where she learned for the first time about Lent. She was enthralled with this new idea. Ash Wednesday that year fell just a few days before the little girl's birthday. Early on that Wednesday morning, she jumped on her parents bed, giggling and shouting, "It's here! It's finally here!" Her mom, with eyes barely open, sleepily said, "No, honey, your birthday is still 2 days away. It's not here yet." But the little girl smiled radiantly, and answered, "No, Mom, not my birthday. Today is Ash Wednesday! Starting today we have 40 days to do good things for God."

So, starting today, we have 40 days to do good things for God. What could be more exciting than that?