Friday, December 29, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Back to the topic of play….
This is the like the “Rest of the story,” from my study leave experience a few weeks back. After the retreat and the botanical gardens, we stayed at Columbia Theological Seminary to check it out and do a bit of touring. We worshipped with the community on Thursday morning, and instead of a sermon, “The Rowing Endeth,” a poem by Anne Sexton was read. come play….
I’m mooring my rowboat
At the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
And there are many boats moored
At many different docks.
“It’s okay,” I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed—
saving themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
A glue-skin pocked with tapioca.
I empty myself from the wooden boat
And into the flesh of The Island.
“On with it!” He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play—can it be true—
a game of poker.
He calls me
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.
A wild card had been announced
But I had not heard it
Being in such a state of awe
When he took out the cards and dealt.
As He plunks down his five aces
And I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
The laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
And into mine.
And such laughter that he doubles right over me.
Laughing a Rejoice-Chorus at our two triumphs.
Then I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
The sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.
Dearest dealer,
I with my royal straight flush
Love you so for your wild card,
That untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
And lucky love.
This is the like the “Rest of the story,” from my study leave experience a few weeks back. After the retreat and the botanical gardens, we stayed at Columbia Theological Seminary to check it out and do a bit of touring. We worshipped with the community on Thursday morning, and instead of a sermon, “The Rowing Endeth,” a poem by Anne Sexton was read. come play….
I’m mooring my rowboat
At the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
And there are many boats moored
At many different docks.
“It’s okay,” I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed—
saving themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
A glue-skin pocked with tapioca.
I empty myself from the wooden boat
And into the flesh of The Island.
“On with it!” He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play—can it be true—
a game of poker.
He calls me
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.
A wild card had been announced
But I had not heard it
Being in such a state of awe
When he took out the cards and dealt.
As He plunks down his five aces
And I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
The laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
And into mine.
And such laughter that he doubles right over me.
Laughing a Rejoice-Chorus at our two triumphs.
Then I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
The sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.
Dearest dealer,
I with my royal straight flush
Love you so for your wild card,
That untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
And lucky love.
-Anne Sexton, 1975
Monday, November 27, 2006
MORE, GREATER, BIGGER.....
Somehow, these words became synonymous with Christmas--more presents, greater gifts, more shopping, higher credit card bills, a bigger stack of catalogs in the mail. It's kind of overwhelming.
So let me share with you my latest "indulgence." Canceling catalogs.
It is SUCH a beautiful thing! Each day, I was recycling several of them. Now I let them stack up on the kitchen table--Signals, Eddie Bauer, Plow and Hearth, Whatever Works, Harry and David..... Don't get me wrong, I LOVE looking through catalogs--turning down the corner of a few pages and sticking them in a pile, or worse yet (I am from the US, after all), picking up the phone and ordering the must-have-thingamajig. But now I let them stack up until I have the time, usually Saturday morning, and call all those 1-800 numbers. And as sweetly and politely as I can, "Please remove me from your mailing list." The reaction is instantaneous--absolutely, not problem, we can do that right away (they legally must respond like this, so I've heard). The most hassle I get from this simple phrase is, "May we ask why?" Well, who can resist an environmentalist who says their website is so easy to use? "I understand, ma'am."
And that's it, I'm free! Twenty phone calls later, I'm looking forward to a catalog free January. Whee! It's such a rush. I feel like a Macy's balloon after being snipped free of all the ropes. I love it!
It's hardly contemplative. Only loosely theological. But I thought I'd pass around my latest Christmas joy!
Somehow, these words became synonymous with Christmas--more presents, greater gifts, more shopping, higher credit card bills, a bigger stack of catalogs in the mail. It's kind of overwhelming.
So let me share with you my latest "indulgence." Canceling catalogs.
It is SUCH a beautiful thing! Each day, I was recycling several of them. Now I let them stack up on the kitchen table--Signals, Eddie Bauer, Plow and Hearth, Whatever Works, Harry and David..... Don't get me wrong, I LOVE looking through catalogs--turning down the corner of a few pages and sticking them in a pile, or worse yet (I am from the US, after all), picking up the phone and ordering the must-have-thingamajig. But now I let them stack up until I have the time, usually Saturday morning, and call all those 1-800 numbers. And as sweetly and politely as I can, "Please remove me from your mailing list." The reaction is instantaneous--absolutely, not problem, we can do that right away (they legally must respond like this, so I've heard). The most hassle I get from this simple phrase is, "May we ask why?" Well, who can resist an environmentalist who says their website is so easy to use? "I understand, ma'am."
And that's it, I'm free! Twenty phone calls later, I'm looking forward to a catalog free January. Whee! It's such a rush. I feel like a Macy's balloon after being snipped free of all the ropes. I love it!
It's hardly contemplative. Only loosely theological. But I thought I'd pass around my latest Christmas joy!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
I spent some time earlier this month on spiritual retreat as part of an ongoing Covenant group of women in ministry through Candler School of Theology in Atlanta. The Covenant Colleagues holds a retreat every fall and every spring. Each time I go, I am amazed again at how time on retreat--learning something new (usually the focus is the life of a particular contemplative--though this past retreat was on the idea of being both a shepherd and a sheep), reflecting, and fellowshipping with other ministers--is such a powerful refill for my soul.
I often come away with one special reminder or spiritual growth that sustains me. This particular time was the reminder from my spiritual director that God is calling me to play.
After the retreat was over, a friend and I went into Atlanta and visited the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. The traveling art installation was Niki in the Garden--"the world's largest exhibition of internationally renowned artist Niki de Saint Phalle's outdoor sculptures ever presented." Niki's sculptures are a combination of imagination and playground equipment--giant marbled sea creatures, jazz musicians, and (above) a two-story head. The theme of the exhibit is, "come play."
An important invitation--from artist Niki and Artist Creator.
I often come away with one special reminder or spiritual growth that sustains me. This particular time was the reminder from my spiritual director that God is calling me to play.
After the retreat was over, a friend and I went into Atlanta and visited the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. The traveling art installation was Niki in the Garden--"the world's largest exhibition of internationally renowned artist Niki de Saint Phalle's outdoor sculptures ever presented." Niki's sculptures are a combination of imagination and playground equipment--giant marbled sea creatures, jazz musicians, and (above) a two-story head. The theme of the exhibit is, "come play."
An important invitation--from artist Niki and Artist Creator.
Monday, November 06, 2006
From Marilynne Robinson's Housekeeping
Ruth, the main character, is reflecting on learning about her aunt who became a missionary. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do....
"In this box I found page 2 of a brochure of, it seemed, great and obvious significance. It was slick and heavy, like a page from National Geographic, and it was folded in thirds like a letter. At the top of the page was printed, Tens of millions in Honan Province alone. Then there was a series of photographs. One showed a barefoot boy standing in stark sunlight, squinting at the camera. Another showed a barefoot man squatting against a wall, his face hidden in the shadow of a large hat. Another showed a young woman feeding a baby from a cup. The fourth was of three old women standing in a row, shading their eyes with their hands. The fifth was of a squinting girl and a thin pig. The pig was not facing the camera. At the foot of the page was printed, in italics, I will make you fishers of men. This document explained my aunt Molly's departure to my whole satisfaction. Even now I always imagine her leaning from the low side of some small boat, dropping her net through the spumy billows of the upper air. Her net would sweep the turning world unremarked as a wind in the grass, and when she began to pull it in, perhaps in a pell-mell ascension of formal gentlemen and thin pigs an old women and odd socks that would astonish this lower world, she would gather the net, so easily, until the very burden itself lay all in a heap just under the surface. One last pull of measureless power and ease would spill her catch into the boat, gasping and amazed, gleaming rainbows in the rarer light.
"Such a net, such a harvesting, would put an end to all anomaly. If it swept the whole floor of heaven, it must, finally, sweep the black floor of Fingerbone, too. From there, we must imagine, would arise a great army of paleolithic and neolithic frequenters of the lake--berry gatherers and hunters and strayed children from those and all subsequent eons, down to the earliest present, to the faith-healing lady in the long, white robe who rowed a quarter of a mile out and tried to walk back in again just at sunrise, to the farmer who bet five dollars one spring that the ice was still strong enough from him to gallop his horse across. Add to them the swimmers, the boaters and canoers, and in such a crowd my mother would hardly seem remarkable. There would be a general reclaiming of fallen buttons and misplaced spectacles, of neighbors and kin, till time and error and accident were undone, and the world became comprehensible and whole. Sylvie said that in fact Molly had gone to work as a bookkeeper in a missionary hospital. It was perhap only from watching gulls fly like sparks up the face of clouds that dragged rain the length of the lake that I imagined such an enterprise might succeed. Or it was from watching gnats sail out of the grass, or from watching some discarded leaf gleaming at the top of the wind. Ascension seemed at such times a natural law. If one added to it a law of completion--that everything must finally be made comprehensible--then some general rescue of the sort I imagined my aunt to have undertaken would be inevitable. For why do our thoughts turn to some gesture of a hand, the fall of a sleeve, some corner of a room on a particular anonymous afternoon, even when we are asleep, and even when we are so old that our thoughts have abandoned other business? What are all these fragments for, if not to be knit up finally?" (Housekeeping, 90-2)
Ruth, the main character, is reflecting on learning about her aunt who became a missionary. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do....
"In this box I found page 2 of a brochure of, it seemed, great and obvious significance. It was slick and heavy, like a page from National Geographic, and it was folded in thirds like a letter. At the top of the page was printed, Tens of millions in Honan Province alone. Then there was a series of photographs. One showed a barefoot boy standing in stark sunlight, squinting at the camera. Another showed a barefoot man squatting against a wall, his face hidden in the shadow of a large hat. Another showed a young woman feeding a baby from a cup. The fourth was of three old women standing in a row, shading their eyes with their hands. The fifth was of a squinting girl and a thin pig. The pig was not facing the camera. At the foot of the page was printed, in italics, I will make you fishers of men. This document explained my aunt Molly's departure to my whole satisfaction. Even now I always imagine her leaning from the low side of some small boat, dropping her net through the spumy billows of the upper air. Her net would sweep the turning world unremarked as a wind in the grass, and when she began to pull it in, perhaps in a pell-mell ascension of formal gentlemen and thin pigs an old women and odd socks that would astonish this lower world, she would gather the net, so easily, until the very burden itself lay all in a heap just under the surface. One last pull of measureless power and ease would spill her catch into the boat, gasping and amazed, gleaming rainbows in the rarer light.
"Such a net, such a harvesting, would put an end to all anomaly. If it swept the whole floor of heaven, it must, finally, sweep the black floor of Fingerbone, too. From there, we must imagine, would arise a great army of paleolithic and neolithic frequenters of the lake--berry gatherers and hunters and strayed children from those and all subsequent eons, down to the earliest present, to the faith-healing lady in the long, white robe who rowed a quarter of a mile out and tried to walk back in again just at sunrise, to the farmer who bet five dollars one spring that the ice was still strong enough from him to gallop his horse across. Add to them the swimmers, the boaters and canoers, and in such a crowd my mother would hardly seem remarkable. There would be a general reclaiming of fallen buttons and misplaced spectacles, of neighbors and kin, till time and error and accident were undone, and the world became comprehensible and whole. Sylvie said that in fact Molly had gone to work as a bookkeeper in a missionary hospital. It was perhap only from watching gulls fly like sparks up the face of clouds that dragged rain the length of the lake that I imagined such an enterprise might succeed. Or it was from watching gnats sail out of the grass, or from watching some discarded leaf gleaming at the top of the wind. Ascension seemed at such times a natural law. If one added to it a law of completion--that everything must finally be made comprehensible--then some general rescue of the sort I imagined my aunt to have undertaken would be inevitable. For why do our thoughts turn to some gesture of a hand, the fall of a sleeve, some corner of a room on a particular anonymous afternoon, even when we are asleep, and even when we are so old that our thoughts have abandoned other business? What are all these fragments for, if not to be knit up finally?" (Housekeeping, 90-2)
Monday, October 23, 2006
Home
I’ve learned a lot about home over the last four years. Home is where the heart is. Very true, but when you leave all your family and friends several hours behind, you leave most of your heart there as well. So admittedly, it’s hard to find home spots so far away.
One of my favorite home spots here in NC died last week—a dear woman named Selima Johnson. She was 93. She falls easily under probably everyone who has met her as one of your favorite old ladies. In the last two years, she had lost pretty much all her eyesight, and she had a hard—quite hard—time hearing. Very loudly, I would say, “HI SELIMA. IT’S JESS FROM CHURCH.” “Who?” And I would repeat myself, “JESS SCHOLTEN, ONE OF THE MINISTERS AT FIRST PRESBYTERIAN.” She would kind of nod, and—wondering if she’d heard well enough to realize who I was or if her memory was not as sharp as it had been at my last visit—I’d proceed into the conversation, checking in on how she was doing and the latest great-grandchild news. A few minutes later, without fail, she would say to me, “Is that Jess?” She said it just so every time. I should name a tone here that would help you understand it was sweet and gentle but full of energy and thoughtfulness, but there isn’t a word for the care and welcomingness that she had. Love, I suppose works, but not just that. It was inclusive. It was home.
We get a lot more “Ya’ll aren’t from around here, are ya?”s then we ever get of, “So glad you’re part of us.” But I always felt welcomed home with Selima. She read her Presbygram, listened to the church service on the radio, and paid attention to the church news. She kept up with me more than I could even keep up with her—in a way that reflected love and prayer and care.
So Thursday night, Jesus said, “Is that Selima?” and she was welcomed home. I should say, “Thanks be to God,” for she was ready to go. Except that I’m homesick already, and I will miss those loud conversations and the dawning of love that always came in the question, “Is that Jess?”
But for that light, for that care, and for the love and home she gave to so many… Thanks be to God!
I’ve learned a lot about home over the last four years. Home is where the heart is. Very true, but when you leave all your family and friends several hours behind, you leave most of your heart there as well. So admittedly, it’s hard to find home spots so far away.
One of my favorite home spots here in NC died last week—a dear woman named Selima Johnson. She was 93. She falls easily under probably everyone who has met her as one of your favorite old ladies. In the last two years, she had lost pretty much all her eyesight, and she had a hard—quite hard—time hearing. Very loudly, I would say, “HI SELIMA. IT’S JESS FROM CHURCH.” “Who?” And I would repeat myself, “JESS SCHOLTEN, ONE OF THE MINISTERS AT FIRST PRESBYTERIAN.” She would kind of nod, and—wondering if she’d heard well enough to realize who I was or if her memory was not as sharp as it had been at my last visit—I’d proceed into the conversation, checking in on how she was doing and the latest great-grandchild news. A few minutes later, without fail, she would say to me, “Is that Jess?” She said it just so every time. I should name a tone here that would help you understand it was sweet and gentle but full of energy and thoughtfulness, but there isn’t a word for the care and welcomingness that she had. Love, I suppose works, but not just that. It was inclusive. It was home.
We get a lot more “Ya’ll aren’t from around here, are ya?”s then we ever get of, “So glad you’re part of us.” But I always felt welcomed home with Selima. She read her Presbygram, listened to the church service on the radio, and paid attention to the church news. She kept up with me more than I could even keep up with her—in a way that reflected love and prayer and care.
So Thursday night, Jesus said, “Is that Selima?” and she was welcomed home. I should say, “Thanks be to God,” for she was ready to go. Except that I’m homesick already, and I will miss those loud conversations and the dawning of love that always came in the question, “Is that Jess?”
But for that light, for that care, and for the love and home she gave to so many… Thanks be to God!
Monday, October 02, 2006
Stay plugged in to keep the light shining....
I'll apologize ahead of time for the level of cheese, the sheer triteness, of this blog entry. But it was a good chuckle for worship yesterday.
Here's another worship secret. On the back of the pulpit there is a small, round light. The "on" button for this light is controlled by Judith, our organist. It alerts ministers to the actual ending of the prelude/choir selection to avoid that awkward, "Should I stand up or is there more to come," moment that I'm sure you can imagine.
Yesterday, all three of the ministers--we prefer jokes that allude to the Trinity as opposed to the Stooges--were up front, which inevitably leads to more chatting by the worship leaders than usual. I was lost in what I am sure was some sort of Holy Thought--not at all a moment of "I'm hungry--wonder what's for dinner"--when there was a lengthy pause after the organ stopped for the prelude. Ken whispers, "I guess I do the announcements?" and steps to the pulpit.
No light. No guide saying, "Yes, it's okay to stand up and speak." I'm sure he was filled with trepidation in starting without the light--the last time he did this, Judith was on "pause" between movements and missed playing the full Prelude.
Announcements/prayers/scripture/sermon/communion-later, we're back to Holy Thoughts again as the choir sings the morning's anthem and the offering is given.
An elbow-nudge interupts my contemplation of offerings: (should I offer Tom left-overs or Taco Bell?) "See that plug hanging there?" I stare into the darkness of the back of the pulpit--I see the three silver prongs hanging down from their dangling cord. "Bet that's supposed to be plugged in...."
And wham, every cheesy moral from forwarded emails or bad children's messages comes flying into my brain in one, concise thought:
You have to be plugged in to the source for the light to shine.
Too true, too true.
Shine on,
Jess
I'll apologize ahead of time for the level of cheese, the sheer triteness, of this blog entry. But it was a good chuckle for worship yesterday.
Here's another worship secret. On the back of the pulpit there is a small, round light. The "on" button for this light is controlled by Judith, our organist. It alerts ministers to the actual ending of the prelude/choir selection to avoid that awkward, "Should I stand up or is there more to come," moment that I'm sure you can imagine.
Yesterday, all three of the ministers--we prefer jokes that allude to the Trinity as opposed to the Stooges--were up front, which inevitably leads to more chatting by the worship leaders than usual. I was lost in what I am sure was some sort of Holy Thought--not at all a moment of "I'm hungry--wonder what's for dinner"--when there was a lengthy pause after the organ stopped for the prelude. Ken whispers, "I guess I do the announcements?" and steps to the pulpit.
No light. No guide saying, "Yes, it's okay to stand up and speak." I'm sure he was filled with trepidation in starting without the light--the last time he did this, Judith was on "pause" between movements and missed playing the full Prelude.
Announcements/prayers/scripture/sermon/communion-later, we're back to Holy Thoughts again as the choir sings the morning's anthem and the offering is given.
An elbow-nudge interupts my contemplation of offerings: (should I offer Tom left-overs or Taco Bell?) "See that plug hanging there?" I stare into the darkness of the back of the pulpit--I see the three silver prongs hanging down from their dangling cord. "Bet that's supposed to be plugged in...."
And wham, every cheesy moral from forwarded emails or bad children's messages comes flying into my brain in one, concise thought:
You have to be plugged in to the source for the light to shine.
Too true, too true.
Shine on,
Jess
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
God in the Ordinary
A friend of mine went through a crisis in faith in college. She felt as if she really couldn't know God or even maybe believe in God because she had never had a real, "mountain-top"-like experience of God.
But the more I reflect on that the more I want to remind her that God isn't really about the mountain-top experiences but rather the ordinariness of life.
It's like losing someone you love. You don't miss the magic moments. When I first became a minister, in trying to help people grieve, I would ask what they had missed most about a loved one who died. I don't ask that anymore because the answer is always the same--people miss the ordinary things: sitting on the porch together, watching a favorite tv show, reading together. No one ever said, "The huge, amazing vacations we would take," or "Buying a new house together." It seems to me that love is in the ordinary things of a relationship.
I'm reminded of the play, Our Town, where Emily, after death misses earth so much she wants to go back and experience life for a day. The advice given to her is to pick an ordinary day, for it will have enough life.
If you read the Parade insert of the newspaper this past Sunday, you may have read Mitch Albom reflecting on this as well: "We often fantasize about a perfect day--something exotic and far away. But when it comes to those we miss, we desperately want one more familiar meal, even one more argument. What does this teach us? That the ordinary is precious. That the normal day is a treasure."
To God in the ordinary.
A friend of mine went through a crisis in faith in college. She felt as if she really couldn't know God or even maybe believe in God because she had never had a real, "mountain-top"-like experience of God.
But the more I reflect on that the more I want to remind her that God isn't really about the mountain-top experiences but rather the ordinariness of life.
It's like losing someone you love. You don't miss the magic moments. When I first became a minister, in trying to help people grieve, I would ask what they had missed most about a loved one who died. I don't ask that anymore because the answer is always the same--people miss the ordinary things: sitting on the porch together, watching a favorite tv show, reading together. No one ever said, "The huge, amazing vacations we would take," or "Buying a new house together." It seems to me that love is in the ordinary things of a relationship.
I'm reminded of the play, Our Town, where Emily, after death misses earth so much she wants to go back and experience life for a day. The advice given to her is to pick an ordinary day, for it will have enough life.
If you read the Parade insert of the newspaper this past Sunday, you may have read Mitch Albom reflecting on this as well: "We often fantasize about a perfect day--something exotic and far away. But when it comes to those we miss, we desperately want one more familiar meal, even one more argument. What does this teach us? That the ordinary is precious. That the normal day is a treasure."
To God in the ordinary.
Monday, September 11, 2006
“But babies are being born and people are falling in love!”
I roll my eyes at my husband, who is standing above me attempting consolation while I curse everything in sight for running out of floor stripper with precisely one 3x3 square plot of waxy, dirty floor to go at 11 o’clock at night.
He’s quoting me, which actually makes it worse. The evening before, after a week of hearing about friends being diagnosed with cancer, going through divorces, or dying suddenly after hiking, it seemed the whole house was full of gloom. Gloom is okay for awhile, but the truth is the whole world is not falling apart.
Babies are being born and people are falling in love.
I had started the week with a devotional at our staff meeting written by Barbara Brown Taylor in the Christian Century. She was reflecting on a news story about a young girl who was kidnapped from her bed. The news story was everywhere. A neighbor had responded, “Children aren’t even safe in their own beds.” But the truth is millions of children really are perfectly safe in their own beds.
While people we loved were being told about cancer, other people were experiencing healing and new life. And while our friends are breaking up, it was Friday evening and plenty of couples were getting married right while we despaired. “But babies are being born and people are falling in love,” I blurted out into the gloom.
And then the words came back to me as my paused my cursing to reflect. True.
Today, even five years after the shock of watching the Twin Towers collapse, the gloom weighs heavy—whether or not you’re listening to the constant talk of it on the radio or watching the news reels play it again and again. The grief is amazingly fresh.
But in the midst of it all, babies are being born and people are falling in love. Thanks be to God.
I roll my eyes at my husband, who is standing above me attempting consolation while I curse everything in sight for running out of floor stripper with precisely one 3x3 square plot of waxy, dirty floor to go at 11 o’clock at night.
He’s quoting me, which actually makes it worse. The evening before, after a week of hearing about friends being diagnosed with cancer, going through divorces, or dying suddenly after hiking, it seemed the whole house was full of gloom. Gloom is okay for awhile, but the truth is the whole world is not falling apart.
Babies are being born and people are falling in love.
I had started the week with a devotional at our staff meeting written by Barbara Brown Taylor in the Christian Century. She was reflecting on a news story about a young girl who was kidnapped from her bed. The news story was everywhere. A neighbor had responded, “Children aren’t even safe in their own beds.” But the truth is millions of children really are perfectly safe in their own beds.
While people we loved were being told about cancer, other people were experiencing healing and new life. And while our friends are breaking up, it was Friday evening and plenty of couples were getting married right while we despaired. “But babies are being born and people are falling in love,” I blurted out into the gloom.
And then the words came back to me as my paused my cursing to reflect. True.
Today, even five years after the shock of watching the Twin Towers collapse, the gloom weighs heavy—whether or not you’re listening to the constant talk of it on the radio or watching the news reels play it again and again. The grief is amazingly fresh.
But in the midst of it all, babies are being born and people are falling in love. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Okay, my brain for as much catch-up as it is trying to do in the US, is quite clearly still on Peru. Seems like there are just too many stories to share....
Even though most of the congregation has heard this story, there are several of you who have not that are regular blog readers. On the first evening in Moyobamba, Ken led the devotion and encouraged us all to keep our eyes open to God-moments. Here's the crowning one for those of us who were also on last year's trip....
Saturday evening just before we fly back to Atlanta, we're having dinner down by the Lima coast at this fantastic seafood restaurant that overlooks the Pacific ocean--where we have gone the last 3 years on our last night. Another waiter in the restaurant comes up to our table and asks if we are Christians. One of our group says yes, and asks if he is a Christian. He says, "Yes, because of Norma," and points to a member of our group who is one of our translators. Then he pulls out his wallet in which is a tract Norma gave to him at that same restaurant a year ago and tells how his life has changed over the last year because of what we shared with him.
How amazing is that!
God is good,
Jess Scholten
Even though most of the congregation has heard this story, there are several of you who have not that are regular blog readers. On the first evening in Moyobamba, Ken led the devotion and encouraged us all to keep our eyes open to God-moments. Here's the crowning one for those of us who were also on last year's trip....
Saturday evening just before we fly back to Atlanta, we're having dinner down by the Lima coast at this fantastic seafood restaurant that overlooks the Pacific ocean--where we have gone the last 3 years on our last night. Another waiter in the restaurant comes up to our table and asks if we are Christians. One of our group says yes, and asks if he is a Christian. He says, "Yes, because of Norma," and points to a member of our group who is one of our translators. Then he pulls out his wallet in which is a tract Norma gave to him at that same restaurant a year ago and tells how his life has changed over the last year because of what we shared with him.
How amazing is that!
God is good,
Jess Scholten
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The plan was to post one or two pictures that captured the week in Peru. Right. Check out below and you’ll get a general overview instead. The problem with trying to find one picture is mostly that we were doing so many different things. At the same time a medical clinic was held in a small village without electricity that we had to cross a river and hike through the jungle to get to, the other group was shoveling a pipeline for Yantalo—which has no running water—and heading up a Vacation Bible School. So we had three big projects going on. And of course all the other moments as well.
Anne Lamott, in her book, Traveling Mercies, says that the two best prayers she can think of are “Help me, help me, help me” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” To help and joy and tears and reunions and work and sweat and God-moments—thanks, thanks, thanks be to God.
In Christ,
Jess
Anne Lamott, in her book, Traveling Mercies, says that the two best prayers she can think of are “Help me, help me, help me” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” To help and joy and tears and reunions and work and sweat and God-moments—thanks, thanks, thanks be to God.
In Christ,
Jess
Saturday, August 05, 2006
| Hola! It was not quite as easy to email and update the blog in Moyobamba on a regular basis as I had hoped, so I'm sorry for not keeping you better posted. We are now back in Lima and have had an amazing week. We are safe and healthy. The traveling medical clinic saw 350 people in four days, and the construction/VBS group has fantastic stories of shoveling and singing. We are all looking forward to salads and hot showers when we're back home again, which is about 24 hours to Atlanta. See you all then! En Christos, Jess |
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
Find Your “Ness”
I’m stuck on You, Me, and DuPree. Yes, your associate minister does things normal people do like going to the movies. No, your associate minister does not just sit around singing hymns in her free-time. Owen Wilson, 36 and floundering, is waiting for the mothership (whatever that means—you late-comers will understand) to make clear his “calling” in life. It comes in the form of spreading the word about our finding and preserving our “–ness.” Ness? you ask. Yes, your you-ness. Carl (Matt Dillion) has his own Carlness. I’ve got Jessness. You have you-ness.
Think on anything long enough and it will become theological, but somehow it strikes me this is not an Owen-original, but rather a call for each of us to discover who it is we genuinely have been created to be. Not a call from the world, not a selfish “this is who I am,” but a call of Christ reminding us of who we are and whose we are.
To ness!
(Next blog—Hola de Peru!!!)
I’m stuck on You, Me, and DuPree. Yes, your associate minister does things normal people do like going to the movies. No, your associate minister does not just sit around singing hymns in her free-time. Owen Wilson, 36 and floundering, is waiting for the mothership (whatever that means—you late-comers will understand) to make clear his “calling” in life. It comes in the form of spreading the word about our finding and preserving our “–ness.” Ness? you ask. Yes, your you-ness. Carl (Matt Dillion) has his own Carlness. I’ve got Jessness. You have you-ness.
Think on anything long enough and it will become theological, but somehow it strikes me this is not an Owen-original, but rather a call for each of us to discover who it is we genuinely have been created to be. Not a call from the world, not a selfish “this is who I am,” but a call of Christ reminding us of who we are and whose we are.
To ness!
(Next blog—Hola de Peru!!!)
Monday, July 10, 2006
Not About Us...
In the most recent Christianity Today, Andy Crouch interviewed a bishop from Africa and what would be the most helpful gospel-thing North American Christians can do. The Rt. Rev. Dr. David Zac Niringliye tells it like it is. He observes that North American Christians greatest threat is our power--that we view it as something for our success.
Crouch:"What couuld equip [North American Christians] to be more countercultural, living in a nation that is very much at the center of power?"
Niringliye: "We need to begin to read the Bible differently. Americans have been preoccupied with the end of the Gospel of Matthew, the Great Commission: 'Go and make.' I call them go-and-make missionaries. These are the go-and-fix-it people. The go-and-make people are those who act like it's all in our power, and all we have to do is 'finish the task.' They love that passage! But when read from the center of power, that passage simply reinforces the illusion that it's about us, that we are in charge.
"I would like to suggest a new favorite passage, the Great Invitation. It's what we find if we read from the beginning of the Gospels rather than the end. Jesus says, 'Come, follow me. I will make you fishers of men.' Not 'Go and make,' but 'I will make you.' It's all about Jesus."
(Christianity Today, "Experiencing Life at the Margins: An African Bishop Tells North American Christians the Most Helpful Gospel-thing They Can Do," an interview by Andy Crouch, p. 34)
In the most recent Christianity Today, Andy Crouch interviewed a bishop from Africa and what would be the most helpful gospel-thing North American Christians can do. The Rt. Rev. Dr. David Zac Niringliye tells it like it is. He observes that North American Christians greatest threat is our power--that we view it as something for our success.
Crouch:"What couuld equip [North American Christians] to be more countercultural, living in a nation that is very much at the center of power?"
Niringliye: "We need to begin to read the Bible differently. Americans have been preoccupied with the end of the Gospel of Matthew, the Great Commission: 'Go and make.' I call them go-and-make missionaries. These are the go-and-fix-it people. The go-and-make people are those who act like it's all in our power, and all we have to do is 'finish the task.' They love that passage! But when read from the center of power, that passage simply reinforces the illusion that it's about us, that we are in charge.
"I would like to suggest a new favorite passage, the Great Invitation. It's what we find if we read from the beginning of the Gospels rather than the end. Jesus says, 'Come, follow me. I will make you fishers of men.' Not 'Go and make,' but 'I will make you.' It's all about Jesus."
(Christianity Today, "Experiencing Life at the Margins: An African Bishop Tells North American Christians the Most Helpful Gospel-thing They Can Do," an interview by Andy Crouch, p. 34)
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
A Sunday morning God moment
By the time this past Sunday morning had rolled around, I had yet to prepare for worship. So about 9, I sat at my desk, bulletin in hand, scoping out the Scripture passage for the day and the sermon title.
Blank.
I’m sure Ken was holding out on official planning until he had known exactly what to preach on after coming back from General Assembly, at which point the bulletin had already been printed. But that gave me little to go on to try to write a prayer that might somehow reflect the sermon it would follow. (If you’re new to the blog, scroll down to October 10 and you’ll get all the philosophy of spontaneous and written prayers.) But I’m not a Sunday morning, wing-it kind of gal, so I took a guess at a topic I thought might come up in the sermon—the General Assembly.
So many weighty and important issues. So many big decisions. So much pressure on those casting the vote. But all I kept coming back to (or being brought back to?) was that it’s not up to us—the weight of the world does not fall on the shoulders of Presbyterians, of Christians, of any of us. The weight of the world is on the only one who can carry it—Jesus himself.
And so the prayer went.
Doggone it if I couldn’t have had you in my head on Sunday morning to have the Scripture passage from Mark 4:35-41—Jesus calming the storm—be the passage of the day and hear the sermon that followed. This is 5 paragraphs too long of an explanation for such a condensed and amazing moment.
Cool.
Back to the spontaneous vs. written prayers issue. Yes, a spontaneous prayer would have helped me connect to the sermon easily as well, if not more. But I would have missed the God-moment. Yes, the holy Spirit flows spontaneously, but she also flows ahead of time, preparing the way for an encounter with the Divine.
Thanks be to God.
By the time this past Sunday morning had rolled around, I had yet to prepare for worship. So about 9, I sat at my desk, bulletin in hand, scoping out the Scripture passage for the day and the sermon title.
Blank.
I’m sure Ken was holding out on official planning until he had known exactly what to preach on after coming back from General Assembly, at which point the bulletin had already been printed. But that gave me little to go on to try to write a prayer that might somehow reflect the sermon it would follow. (If you’re new to the blog, scroll down to October 10 and you’ll get all the philosophy of spontaneous and written prayers.) But I’m not a Sunday morning, wing-it kind of gal, so I took a guess at a topic I thought might come up in the sermon—the General Assembly.
So many weighty and important issues. So many big decisions. So much pressure on those casting the vote. But all I kept coming back to (or being brought back to?) was that it’s not up to us—the weight of the world does not fall on the shoulders of Presbyterians, of Christians, of any of us. The weight of the world is on the only one who can carry it—Jesus himself.
And so the prayer went.
Doggone it if I couldn’t have had you in my head on Sunday morning to have the Scripture passage from Mark 4:35-41—Jesus calming the storm—be the passage of the day and hear the sermon that followed. This is 5 paragraphs too long of an explanation for such a condensed and amazing moment.
Cool.
Back to the spontaneous vs. written prayers issue. Yes, a spontaneous prayer would have helped me connect to the sermon easily as well, if not more. But I would have missed the God-moment. Yes, the holy Spirit flows spontaneously, but she also flows ahead of time, preparing the way for an encounter with the Divine.
Thanks be to God.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Marilyn Chandler McEntyre is troubled by bumper stickers that read: 'The Bible said it. I believe it. That settles it.' Instead, she would like to see bumper stickers that say: 'If you can't handle paradox, get out of the pulpit.' Or 'If you can't handle metaphor, get out of the ministry.' She says that the Bible is 'arguably the most mysterious, strange, challenging, complex book in the world,' and should be approached with a sense of mystery, not wooden literalism. Reading it should be considered an invitation: "'Come,' it says over and over. Come to me and I will give you rest. Enter it. Sit and eat. Dwell. Consider. Trust. Look again. The ground of all theology lies in that invitation. First and last, it is a proposal, sent in love by the heavenly Bridegroom, that summons us into a relationship more intimate than any we can know this side of heaven."
(The Christian Century quoted from Weavings, January/February)
(The Christian Century quoted from Weavings, January/February)
"'If you find the godless world is hating you, remember it got its start hating me. If you lived on the world's terms, the world would love you as one of its own. But since I picked you to live on God's terms and no longer on the world's terms, the world is going to hate you.'" (John 15:18-19, The Message)
I was having a conversation about church life with a group of ministers on a retreat I was on in Atlanta. We were talking about the concept of the church as the body of Christ versus the church as the country club. One minister mentioned that for some folks the church ranked just barely above Rotary. Another minster commented, "Most of my folks actually have better attendance for Rotary than Sunday morning worship, since it's requred for Rotary." Nervous laughter went around the table.
It was nervous because we all knew it to be true.
Ken and I had a similar conversation yesterday. How are we as the church in the world but not of the world? In so many ways, we simply aren't. Even most of the programs that we as ministers find meaningful and deeply rooted in Christ are hardly counter-cultural. The closest we could come to is Interfaith Hospitality Network--welcoming the stranger in the name of Jesus Christ.
As I reflected on this throughout the day, in terms of giving, service, attendance, and genuine relationships, most of sorority members in college are more faithful their letters than the average church member in the US if faithful to the call of Jesus. There's something deeply wrong with that, a great unfaithfulness in how we understand "church" if we treat it similarly to our clubs.
"Contemplative" lets me off the hook for answers, but somewhere deep at root in this has to be how we understand the love of God--a means to an end or sheer pleasure that we are deeply cherished by the one who creates, redeems, and sustains us, so cherished that we cannot help but share that with those around us?
"I picked you to live on God's terms and no longer on the world's terms...."
In Christ,
Jess
I was having a conversation about church life with a group of ministers on a retreat I was on in Atlanta. We were talking about the concept of the church as the body of Christ versus the church as the country club. One minister mentioned that for some folks the church ranked just barely above Rotary. Another minster commented, "Most of my folks actually have better attendance for Rotary than Sunday morning worship, since it's requred for Rotary." Nervous laughter went around the table.
It was nervous because we all knew it to be true.
Ken and I had a similar conversation yesterday. How are we as the church in the world but not of the world? In so many ways, we simply aren't. Even most of the programs that we as ministers find meaningful and deeply rooted in Christ are hardly counter-cultural. The closest we could come to is Interfaith Hospitality Network--welcoming the stranger in the name of Jesus Christ.
As I reflected on this throughout the day, in terms of giving, service, attendance, and genuine relationships, most of sorority members in college are more faithful their letters than the average church member in the US if faithful to the call of Jesus. There's something deeply wrong with that, a great unfaithfulness in how we understand "church" if we treat it similarly to our clubs.
"Contemplative" lets me off the hook for answers, but somewhere deep at root in this has to be how we understand the love of God--a means to an end or sheer pleasure that we are deeply cherished by the one who creates, redeems, and sustains us, so cherished that we cannot help but share that with those around us?
"I picked you to live on God's terms and no longer on the world's terms...."
In Christ,
Jess
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I see your pain and want to banish it
with the wave of a star,
but have no star.
I see your tears and want to dry them
with the hem of an angel's gown,
but have no angel.
I see your heart fallen to the ground and want to return it
wrapped in cloths woven of rainbow,
but have no rainbow.
God is the One
who has stars, and angels and rainbows,
and I am the one
God sends to sit beside you
until the stars come out
and the angels dry your tears
and your heart is back in place,
rainbow blessed.
~Ann Weems
with the wave of a star,
but have no star.
I see your tears and want to dry them
with the hem of an angel's gown,
but have no angel.
I see your heart fallen to the ground and want to return it
wrapped in cloths woven of rainbow,
but have no rainbow.
God is the One
who has stars, and angels and rainbows,
and I am the one
God sends to sit beside you
until the stars come out
and the angels dry your tears
and your heart is back in place,
rainbow blessed.
~Ann Weems
Monday, May 08, 2006
I passed a good looking car this morning on my way into the office. I was curious that I didn’t instantly see the checkered-circle or almost-a-peace-sign. When I looked closer to see what it really was, imagine my surprise when I saw it was a Kia. A Kia! I’m no car connoisseur, but it seemed disjointed to me that such a sharp looking car would be such a, well from my impressions, wannabe kind of a brand.
How do you market something like that? I wondered. People that can afford the kind of car it looks like just buy those kinds of cars. People that can’t, well—do they know they’re buying a wannabe? My brain kept racing—maybe the target audience could be those kind of people looking for a “simpler” life, something where they are limiting their debt or in fact actually paying cash for things so they aren’t looking for the most expensive item, people concerned with stewardship, Christians perhaps looking to live more simply that they could give more to those in need. “Maybe that could be their market niche,” briefly floats through my mind.
Whatever. That would cover like, what, .01% of the population? Living within our means, paying cash for things, simplifying life… these don’t seem to be American ideals.
I’m no saint at this either, but even on a good day, I really do question how most U.S. citizens prioritize our spending, myself included. For instance, for all my work at buying only necessary things, I’ve already come up with three boxes of stuff for the church yard sale. How do I accumulate so much? I remember when Tom and I moved into our house, we had empty closets everywhere. Now almost every closet is over half way full, if not full.
I’m not sure what would convict me that we abuse our finances if I weren’t a follower of Christ. But being a Christian, I am really appalled at how much we think we need that we could easily do without. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” (I John 3:17)
Philip Yancy writes in Christianity Today of an account he read of someone’s stay in a monastery: “’I hope your stay is a blessed one,’ said the monk who showed the visitor to his cell. ‘If you need anything, let us know, and we’ll teach you how to live without it.’”
To filling our lives with love and not stuff,
Jess
How do you market something like that? I wondered. People that can afford the kind of car it looks like just buy those kinds of cars. People that can’t, well—do they know they’re buying a wannabe? My brain kept racing—maybe the target audience could be those kind of people looking for a “simpler” life, something where they are limiting their debt or in fact actually paying cash for things so they aren’t looking for the most expensive item, people concerned with stewardship, Christians perhaps looking to live more simply that they could give more to those in need. “Maybe that could be their market niche,” briefly floats through my mind.
Whatever. That would cover like, what, .01% of the population? Living within our means, paying cash for things, simplifying life… these don’t seem to be American ideals.
I’m no saint at this either, but even on a good day, I really do question how most U.S. citizens prioritize our spending, myself included. For instance, for all my work at buying only necessary things, I’ve already come up with three boxes of stuff for the church yard sale. How do I accumulate so much? I remember when Tom and I moved into our house, we had empty closets everywhere. Now almost every closet is over half way full, if not full.
I’m not sure what would convict me that we abuse our finances if I weren’t a follower of Christ. But being a Christian, I am really appalled at how much we think we need that we could easily do without. “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” (I John 3:17)
Philip Yancy writes in Christianity Today of an account he read of someone’s stay in a monastery: “’I hope your stay is a blessed one,’ said the monk who showed the visitor to his cell. ‘If you need anything, let us know, and we’ll teach you how to live without it.’”
To filling our lives with love and not stuff,
Jess
Monday, May 01, 2006
Called. Tricky business being “called,” (in the spiritual sense that is—as in, a call from God.) I’m pretty specific when I refer to being called as God’s call for me as oppose to my call to ministry. For theological reasons but also ‘cause I one-upped Moses for making up reasons why I shouldn’t be a person God called into ministerial leadership. (My call for my life would look a lot different than how God has led me through this process!) I very distinctly understood God to be directing me to seminary and reluctantly agreed.
The other night at our monthly Session meeting we heard from Megan and Eric, two of our young adults who will both begin seminary this coming fall. It was a blessed mix of joy, holiness, laughter, community, and spiritual growth. It was quite clear both Eric and Megan were called to ministry through the work of the Holy Spirit.
So yesterday in a meeting I got my whole sense of how God calls us to ministry dumped upside-down. The opening devotion was a reflection on Isaiah 6:8—“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’” The devotion was from Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest:
It is not a question of God singling out a [person] and saying, "Now, you go." God did not lay a strong compulsion on Isaiah; Isaiah was in the presence of God and he overheard the call, and realized that there was nothing else for him but to say, in conscious freedom, "Here am I, send me." Get out of your mind the idea of expecting God to come with compulsions and pleadings. When our Lord called His disciples there was no irresistible compulsion from outside. The quiet passionate insistence of His "Follow Me" was spoken to [people] with every power wide awake. (January 14th)
Good reminder. Yes, there are clear calls from the Holy Spirit—those indescribable communications that make known what it is we are to do. But we also must be wide awake to hear the call that is constantly being communicated by Jesus—feed my sheep, do unto others, share, pray, love…. ‘Here I am; send me!’
In Christ,
Jess
The other night at our monthly Session meeting we heard from Megan and Eric, two of our young adults who will both begin seminary this coming fall. It was a blessed mix of joy, holiness, laughter, community, and spiritual growth. It was quite clear both Eric and Megan were called to ministry through the work of the Holy Spirit.
So yesterday in a meeting I got my whole sense of how God calls us to ministry dumped upside-down. The opening devotion was a reflection on Isaiah 6:8—“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’” The devotion was from Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest:
It is not a question of God singling out a [person] and saying, "Now, you go." God did not lay a strong compulsion on Isaiah; Isaiah was in the presence of God and he overheard the call, and realized that there was nothing else for him but to say, in conscious freedom, "Here am I, send me." Get out of your mind the idea of expecting God to come with compulsions and pleadings. When our Lord called His disciples there was no irresistible compulsion from outside. The quiet passionate insistence of His "Follow Me" was spoken to [people] with every power wide awake. (January 14th)
Good reminder. Yes, there are clear calls from the Holy Spirit—those indescribable communications that make known what it is we are to do. But we also must be wide awake to hear the call that is constantly being communicated by Jesus—feed my sheep, do unto others, share, pray, love…. ‘Here I am; send me!’
In Christ,
Jess
Friday, April 28, 2006
Easter Mountain-tops
Last week I was on a few days of post-Easter mayhem study leave up in VA and spent some time in the Shenandoah National Park doing some hiking. I love to hike. I love to be out in nature—mountains, waterfalls, dunes, forests, lakes. I love it all. First Pres is gorgeous, but it just doesn’t touch the outdoors as a sanctuary.
I ended up chatting with a few backpackers who had just finished a five-day wilderness excursion. They were reflecting on what a spiritual experience their travels had been (one of them was headed to seminary this coming fall), especially having hiked along a ridge on Easter morning.
Hiking on Easter morning! I confess sheer covetedness to my very core. There are things I love about ministry, but hiking on Easter is a treasure I will likely never collect.
In addition to our weekly encounters with God in the community of fellowship, may we also be seeking God outside the four walls of church.
Happy hiking,
Jess
Last week I was on a few days of post-Easter mayhem study leave up in VA and spent some time in the Shenandoah National Park doing some hiking. I love to hike. I love to be out in nature—mountains, waterfalls, dunes, forests, lakes. I love it all. First Pres is gorgeous, but it just doesn’t touch the outdoors as a sanctuary.
I ended up chatting with a few backpackers who had just finished a five-day wilderness excursion. They were reflecting on what a spiritual experience their travels had been (one of them was headed to seminary this coming fall), especially having hiked along a ridge on Easter morning.
Hiking on Easter morning! I confess sheer covetedness to my very core. There are things I love about ministry, but hiking on Easter is a treasure I will likely never collect.
In addition to our weekly encounters with God in the community of fellowship, may we also be seeking God outside the four walls of church.
Happy hiking,
Jess
Monday, April 17, 2006
I believe in… the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting. Amen.
Well, I’m a week late on this one (although I’ve been inconsistent enough that I wonder if I’m only writing to myself anyhow?) but how could there be any more appropriate part of the Apostles’ Creed for the day after Easter than to remember again that we are forgiven, resurrected, life-filled Easter people.
May your week be filled with reminders of all that is the grace and love and joy of Easter morning!
Peace,
Jess
Well, I’m a week late on this one (although I’ve been inconsistent enough that I wonder if I’m only writing to myself anyhow?) but how could there be any more appropriate part of the Apostles’ Creed for the day after Easter than to remember again that we are forgiven, resurrected, life-filled Easter people.
May your week be filled with reminders of all that is the grace and love and joy of Easter morning!
Peace,
Jess
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I believe in… the holy catholic church, the communion of saints...
Here’s one that confuses a bunch of Reformed folk—members of First Presbyterian confirming week after week that we believe in IHM out on Johnson. Sort of, actually, but not really. Yes, we love our Catholic brothers and sisters at Immaculate Heart of Mary; and yes, we do know they are a Catholic church of High Point. But what we affirm on Sunday morning when we say we believe in the holy catholic church is that we are ALL part of the church—the Church universal. Catholics, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodist, Baptists… and so the list goes. We affirm in one Church established through Jesus Christ.
And we follow that up with the belief in the communion of saints—that we as brothers and sisters in Christ, part of the holy (set apart) church universal and gifted for service to others, are bound to one another in fellowship.
Reflecting on the one holy catholic church is a pointed reminder that in all things we are to love one another and to share with the world our unity as the body of Christ. May we be strengthened by the Holy Spirit to do so in our one-on-one relationships within our own congregations as well as the church universal.
Grace and peace,
Jess
Here’s one that confuses a bunch of Reformed folk—members of First Presbyterian confirming week after week that we believe in IHM out on Johnson. Sort of, actually, but not really. Yes, we love our Catholic brothers and sisters at Immaculate Heart of Mary; and yes, we do know they are a Catholic church of High Point. But what we affirm on Sunday morning when we say we believe in the holy catholic church is that we are ALL part of the church—the Church universal. Catholics, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodist, Baptists… and so the list goes. We affirm in one Church established through Jesus Christ.
And we follow that up with the belief in the communion of saints—that we as brothers and sisters in Christ, part of the holy (set apart) church universal and gifted for service to others, are bound to one another in fellowship.
Reflecting on the one holy catholic church is a pointed reminder that in all things we are to love one another and to share with the world our unity as the body of Christ. May we be strengthened by the Holy Spirit to do so in our one-on-one relationships within our own congregations as well as the church universal.
Grace and peace,
Jess
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I believe in the Holy Ghost
The Holy Spirit is definitely the part of the Trinity we talk about the least. And yet there are pages upon pages that could be written on the person of the Spirit—sermons, books, whole theologies. But somehow it seems easiest to me to sum up the Spirit with the understanding that all good actions come from the Spirit. Moved to financially fight poverty? A gift of the Spirit. Being prompted to send a caring note to a brother or sister in need? A gift of the Spirit. An overwhelming sense of peace, even in the midst of stress or grief? A gift of the Spirit. Reconciling with a family member, the ah-ha moment on a Sunday morning, that feeling of communion with a friend, understanding Jesus on a new level, joyous laughter—all gifts of the Spirit. Galatians 5:22-23 is a better summary than you or I could ever come up with: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”
The Spirit lives in us, convicts us of sin, opens our eyes so that we see the world as God sees the world, gifts every person for ministry, and moves us into closer relationship with the Triune God. May you be open to the presence of the Spirit, for while she is powerfully overwhelming at times, she is also very much like sheer silence Elijah hears in the cave in which he hears the voice of the Lord. May your Lenten journey include the silence and stillness needed for the presence of the Holy Spirit to be known.
The Holy Spirit is definitely the part of the Trinity we talk about the least. And yet there are pages upon pages that could be written on the person of the Spirit—sermons, books, whole theologies. But somehow it seems easiest to me to sum up the Spirit with the understanding that all good actions come from the Spirit. Moved to financially fight poverty? A gift of the Spirit. Being prompted to send a caring note to a brother or sister in need? A gift of the Spirit. An overwhelming sense of peace, even in the midst of stress or grief? A gift of the Spirit. Reconciling with a family member, the ah-ha moment on a Sunday morning, that feeling of communion with a friend, understanding Jesus on a new level, joyous laughter—all gifts of the Spirit. Galatians 5:22-23 is a better summary than you or I could ever come up with: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”
The Spirit lives in us, convicts us of sin, opens our eyes so that we see the world as God sees the world, gifts every person for ministry, and moves us into closer relationship with the Triune God. May you be open to the presence of the Spirit, for while she is powerfully overwhelming at times, she is also very much like sheer silence Elijah hears in the cave in which he hears the voice of the Lord. May your Lenten journey include the silence and stillness needed for the presence of the Holy Spirit to be known.
Grace and peace,
Jess
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
AND we believe the good news that “[Jesus] descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”
Fully human? Yes. Fully divine? Yes. Not either/or, but both/and.
In the weekday kindergarten chapel last week, we were talking about Jesus being sad when we are sad. One small Batman-clad five-year-old declared that he was actually sad BECAUSE of Jesus—he wished Jesus were still around and not in heaven. “Well, that’s the great thing about Jesus,” says I, trying to keep my ministerial cool, “he’s both in heaven and alive right here in our hearts.” Frown, says the little boy’s face. “That’s kinda weird, isn’t it?” Pause. Fair enough, says the little boy’s face. And we moved on.
Somehow, having said it outloud that it’s hard to understand Jesus worked for that child. Not always, but sometimes kids can handle the ambiguity better than adults. Faith like a child. Belief grasped in innocence. It’s the only way to believe all that we believe—to hold fast to those moments of clarity when we know (not with our minds, but with our hearts) that Jesus was indeed raised from the dead and is alive both in heaven and in our hearts, sustaining us with his love and waiting to greet us in his Father’s house.
For if we do not, then as Paul says in I Corinthians 15:14, “…then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” The good news in Jesus Christ is that… “he descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.” It’s Lent, so we traditionally we refrain from raising our Alleluias, but praise God Easter morning is coming—when we celebrate that Jesus did indeed rise from the dead—fully human, fully divine.
Fully human? Yes. Fully divine? Yes. Not either/or, but both/and.
In the weekday kindergarten chapel last week, we were talking about Jesus being sad when we are sad. One small Batman-clad five-year-old declared that he was actually sad BECAUSE of Jesus—he wished Jesus were still around and not in heaven. “Well, that’s the great thing about Jesus,” says I, trying to keep my ministerial cool, “he’s both in heaven and alive right here in our hearts.” Frown, says the little boy’s face. “That’s kinda weird, isn’t it?” Pause. Fair enough, says the little boy’s face. And we moved on.
Somehow, having said it outloud that it’s hard to understand Jesus worked for that child. Not always, but sometimes kids can handle the ambiguity better than adults. Faith like a child. Belief grasped in innocence. It’s the only way to believe all that we believe—to hold fast to those moments of clarity when we know (not with our minds, but with our hearts) that Jesus was indeed raised from the dead and is alive both in heaven and in our hearts, sustaining us with his love and waiting to greet us in his Father’s house.
For if we do not, then as Paul says in I Corinthians 15:14, “…then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” The good news in Jesus Christ is that… “he descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.” It’s Lent, so we traditionally we refrain from raising our Alleluias, but praise God Easter morning is coming—when we celebrate that Jesus did indeed rise from the dead—fully human, fully divine.
“We believe… in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”
Fully human; fully divine. How do you wrap your mind around that? As I was outlining some thoughts on this section of the Apostles’ Creed, I titled it, “PREQUEL to the Gospel.” I guess at the time I was thinking the good news in Jesus is all the resurrection stuff. Perhaps that day was golden enough that I wasn’t bogged down in the mess of being a human being. But on days when I am just that, heavy with all the junk of earth, the good news in Jesus Christ has a lot more to do with his full humanity. Max Lucado, in his book, God Came Near, writes:
"It all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment… that was like none other. For through that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred. God became a man. While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb… God as a fetus. Holiness sleeping in a womb. The creator of life being created. God was given eyebrows, elbows, two kidneys, and a spleen. He stretched against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluids of his mother. God had come near. [And] For thirty-three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. He felt weak. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He was susceptible to wooing women. He got colds, burped, and had body odor. His feelings got hurt. His feet got tired. And his head ached. To think of Jesus in such a light is—well, it seems almost irreverent, doesn’t it? It’s not something we like to do; it’s uncomfortable. It is much easier to keep the humanity out of the incarnation. He’s easier to stomach that way… But don’t do it. For heaven’s sake, don’t. Let him be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him can he pull us out."
We believe the good news that Jesus… was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”
Fully human; fully divine. How do you wrap your mind around that? As I was outlining some thoughts on this section of the Apostles’ Creed, I titled it, “PREQUEL to the Gospel.” I guess at the time I was thinking the good news in Jesus is all the resurrection stuff. Perhaps that day was golden enough that I wasn’t bogged down in the mess of being a human being. But on days when I am just that, heavy with all the junk of earth, the good news in Jesus Christ has a lot more to do with his full humanity. Max Lucado, in his book, God Came Near, writes:
"It all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment… that was like none other. For through that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred. God became a man. While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb… God as a fetus. Holiness sleeping in a womb. The creator of life being created. God was given eyebrows, elbows, two kidneys, and a spleen. He stretched against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluids of his mother. God had come near. [And] For thirty-three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. He felt weak. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He was susceptible to wooing women. He got colds, burped, and had body odor. His feelings got hurt. His feet got tired. And his head ached. To think of Jesus in such a light is—well, it seems almost irreverent, doesn’t it? It’s not something we like to do; it’s uncomfortable. It is much easier to keep the humanity out of the incarnation. He’s easier to stomach that way… But don’t do it. For heaven’s sake, don’t. Let him be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him can he pull us out."
We believe the good news that Jesus… was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”
Monday, March 06, 2006
The Apostles’ Creed
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth….” What shall we eat for lunch? Oh, better not forget my purse. What’s the number of the next hymn?
We recite the Apostles’ Creed toward the end of worship on a regular basis. And since the words are burned into our memories, it’s tempting to just begin gathering your stuff and thinking about what’s coming up next instead of concentrating on the words themselves.
But the words themselves are important—like our faith in a nutshell. So I’d like to spend a little time reflecting on them over the next few weeks.
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” These first two lines are pretty basic to our faith. First, we believe. We have been given the gift of faith, to make the choice in trusting one God, and leaving the others behind. We don’t believe in some higher being, but the Higher Being, the one who created the world out of a formless void, the one some call our heavenly Father.
On the surface, this begining is like a basic fact—not much reflection involved, but underneath, there’s so much more. Like believing itself—what does it entail? How do we arrive at it? Why “Father”? And of course the whole creating idea?
Oooh, it’s tempting to try to answer some of these questions for you, but it’s Lent after all—a time of reflecting, for our faith is often as much about questions as it is about answers.
That’s why we call it “faith” and not “fact.”
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth….” What shall we eat for lunch? Oh, better not forget my purse. What’s the number of the next hymn?
We recite the Apostles’ Creed toward the end of worship on a regular basis. And since the words are burned into our memories, it’s tempting to just begin gathering your stuff and thinking about what’s coming up next instead of concentrating on the words themselves.
But the words themselves are important—like our faith in a nutshell. So I’d like to spend a little time reflecting on them over the next few weeks.
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” These first two lines are pretty basic to our faith. First, we believe. We have been given the gift of faith, to make the choice in trusting one God, and leaving the others behind. We don’t believe in some higher being, but the Higher Being, the one who created the world out of a formless void, the one some call our heavenly Father.
On the surface, this begining is like a basic fact—not much reflection involved, but underneath, there’s so much more. Like believing itself—what does it entail? How do we arrive at it? Why “Father”? And of course the whole creating idea?
Oooh, it’s tempting to try to answer some of these questions for you, but it’s Lent after all—a time of reflecting, for our faith is often as much about questions as it is about answers.
That’s why we call it “faith” and not “fact.”
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Part of my Lenten discipline is going to be keeping up with weekly reflections in here. I've decided to do that through an Apostles' Creed 101--dividing up the Creed into 6 parts, one for each week in Lent. I've had my own questions about the creed--who doesn't wonder about Jesus hanging out in hell--but now's your chance to ask your questions about the Creed. Feel free to email me: jess@firstpreshp.org or drop a comment.
Also, for those of you that have a hard time remembering when to check (or have gotten tired of my not consistantly posting), let me know and I'll be glad to send out a reminder email when I've done the weekly post.
I hope you've eaten some terrible today to honor fat Tuesday. And I hope you have some reflecting of your own in store for this Lenten journey.
Peace,
Jess
Also, for those of you that have a hard time remembering when to check (or have gotten tired of my not consistantly posting), let me know and I'll be glad to send out a reminder email when I've done the weekly post.
I hope you've eaten some terrible today to honor fat Tuesday. And I hope you have some reflecting of your own in store for this Lenten journey.
Peace,
Jess
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Busyness—One of the “Seven Deadly Sins”
“I’m SO busy!” They are uncountable, the number of times we’ve heard this phrase—from co-workers, family members, overheard cell phone conversations. Busy, busy bees we all are. It’s as if we value the fact that we are busy—like a badge we wear. Pinning on the “I am busy” button somehow seems to equal the “I am somebody special” sticker—as if the busier the better, the more worth we have.
It doesn’t sit well with me, though. My preaching professor in seminary introduced me to Eugene Peterson, the minister-mentor-through-writing and theologian from whom I not-all-that-cleverly stole my blog name. Peterson writes again and again of busyness as the antithesis of spirituality, drilling in a sense that to be busy is no badge of worth but rather some sort of character flaw equated with laziness.
“The word for ‘busyness’ in Russian is also the word for ‘vanity.’” I ran across this in a quote in the Christian Century from Social Research a few months ago. And it seems about right. Perhaps not in the world’s eyes, where we are proving again and again who we are by what we do. But in God’s eyes, where what we do will not change how much God loves us, where we could cross off everything on our to-do list—or better yet burn it—or better yet, take out the batteries and resist the temptation to hotsynch—and we are still loved completely and wholly for who we are and not a bit for what we do.
Thanks be to God!
“I’m SO busy!” They are uncountable, the number of times we’ve heard this phrase—from co-workers, family members, overheard cell phone conversations. Busy, busy bees we all are. It’s as if we value the fact that we are busy—like a badge we wear. Pinning on the “I am busy” button somehow seems to equal the “I am somebody special” sticker—as if the busier the better, the more worth we have.
It doesn’t sit well with me, though. My preaching professor in seminary introduced me to Eugene Peterson, the minister-mentor-through-writing and theologian from whom I not-all-that-cleverly stole my blog name. Peterson writes again and again of busyness as the antithesis of spirituality, drilling in a sense that to be busy is no badge of worth but rather some sort of character flaw equated with laziness.
“The word for ‘busyness’ in Russian is also the word for ‘vanity.’” I ran across this in a quote in the Christian Century from Social Research a few months ago. And it seems about right. Perhaps not in the world’s eyes, where we are proving again and again who we are by what we do. But in God’s eyes, where what we do will not change how much God loves us, where we could cross off everything on our to-do list—or better yet burn it—or better yet, take out the batteries and resist the temptation to hotsynch—and we are still loved completely and wholly for who we are and not a bit for what we do.
Thanks be to God!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Happy Valentine's Day!
"Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God." (I John 4:7)
So on this day, love your spouse, love your friends, love your family--but make a special effort to love someone that you might not choose or want to--a stranger, perhaps an enemy, that person that drives you crazy with irritation--in the name Christ this day.
Love,
Jess
"Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God." (I John 4:7)
So on this day, love your spouse, love your friends, love your family--but make a special effort to love someone that you might not choose or want to--a stranger, perhaps an enemy, that person that drives you crazy with irritation--in the name Christ this day.
Love,
Jess
Friday, February 03, 2006
As far as I know, there isn't a direct commandment about bragging. Sure, there's all that about pride and such, but I've never read anywhere in Scripture, "Thou shalt not brag."
But there's something I kind of like to brag about in my head about First Presbyterian Church. Not that I have any credit in it, but I am pretty proud to serve a church where we have a two young adults in missions--one in Miami and one in Tanzania. Megan and Andrew were grown up and off to college before I ever got here--but it says something about their church family (our church family) that they had their ears and eyes open to God's call.
So when I got my latest addition of National Geographic, I was pretty excited to see a big chunk of it designated to images of the Serengeti and Crater Highlands of Tanzania. It brings some of Andrew's experience to my living room. And then the last few pages were a special on a photography camp NG hosted in Little Haiti, Florida--and suddenly a piece of Megan's experience is also in my reading chair.
Coincidence or providence? Your call, but I thought it was a pretty cool God connection.
But there's something I kind of like to brag about in my head about First Presbyterian Church. Not that I have any credit in it, but I am pretty proud to serve a church where we have a two young adults in missions--one in Miami and one in Tanzania. Megan and Andrew were grown up and off to college before I ever got here--but it says something about their church family (our church family) that they had their ears and eyes open to God's call.
So when I got my latest addition of National Geographic, I was pretty excited to see a big chunk of it designated to images of the Serengeti and Crater Highlands of Tanzania. It brings some of Andrew's experience to my living room. And then the last few pages were a special on a photography camp NG hosted in Little Haiti, Florida--and suddenly a piece of Megan's experience is also in my reading chair.
Coincidence or providence? Your call, but I thought it was a pretty cool God connection.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Speaking of worship...
Ever walked out of a worship service with an overwhelming feeling that you "got it"? That the sermon, the hymns, the prayers all worked together for you. The Holy Spirit is at work in every worship service for those aha moments.
There are many places the Spirit is at work in worship--and in the days and ages (in the case of our hymns) in preparation. At First Presbyterian, the Spirit is at work in the choir room about 10 am on Wednesdays as Judith, Elizabeth, and whoever is preaching on Sunday choose the music that will help bring the service together.
So it's not really random that things gel on a Sunday morning, since we've spent time as a staff working together on different parts of the service. Most of the time, the hymns, prayers, and sermon fit together as planned--it will seem like as a staff we worked and organized properly. And you walk away with that "I get it"--focused and inspired.
But even on the most planned Sundays, we worship leaders too are amazed at ways God is at work in tying things together even we didn't notice or plan. Those are great moments.
So plan and organize--work and serve--but keep your eyes wide open for all the Holy Spirit moments that maybe be heading your way.
Ever walked out of a worship service with an overwhelming feeling that you "got it"? That the sermon, the hymns, the prayers all worked together for you. The Holy Spirit is at work in every worship service for those aha moments.
There are many places the Spirit is at work in worship--and in the days and ages (in the case of our hymns) in preparation. At First Presbyterian, the Spirit is at work in the choir room about 10 am on Wednesdays as Judith, Elizabeth, and whoever is preaching on Sunday choose the music that will help bring the service together.
So it's not really random that things gel on a Sunday morning, since we've spent time as a staff working together on different parts of the service. Most of the time, the hymns, prayers, and sermon fit together as planned--it will seem like as a staff we worked and organized properly. And you walk away with that "I get it"--focused and inspired.
But even on the most planned Sundays, we worship leaders too are amazed at ways God is at work in tying things together even we didn't notice or plan. Those are great moments.
So plan and organize--work and serve--but keep your eyes wide open for all the Holy Spirit moments that maybe be heading your way.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
"For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of the light--for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true" (Ephesians 5:8-9)
When I began the whole blog thing, I had intended it to be a bit of Christianity 101--a sort of, did you know... kind of a deal. So, thinking about light shining in darkness and the light of Christ in the world, did you know that our acolytes aren't just fancy and cutely dressed up kids who light the candles up front? Their job is to symbolically bring the light of Christ into the sanctuary at the beginning of the worship service. In that same manner, they bring the light of Christ out into the world at the end of the service.
So there's your interesting worship symbolism for the day.
Let your light shine!
When I began the whole blog thing, I had intended it to be a bit of Christianity 101--a sort of, did you know... kind of a deal. So, thinking about light shining in darkness and the light of Christ in the world, did you know that our acolytes aren't just fancy and cutely dressed up kids who light the candles up front? Their job is to symbolically bring the light of Christ into the sanctuary at the beginning of the worship service. In that same manner, they bring the light of Christ out into the world at the end of the service.
So there's your interesting worship symbolism for the day.
Let your light shine!
Monday, January 09, 2006
Happy New Year--here's to 2006!
In addition to a whole new year and all the reflecting we do on such occasions, I turned 30 today. Wow! I've probably lived out a third of my life. I've lived three decades. And now in most cultures, I'm officially an adult (unless you're a hobbit--I've got three more years in that case). The last one I had taken hard a few times upon introspection until I let go of the fact that I don't have to act any more adult-like than I already do--which some days is far too much and some days probably isn't nearly enough.
Tom and I stayed up til the wee hours of the morning reminiscing about life, the universe, and everything. The most fun was trying to pinpoint the happiest day of every decade. In my 20s, the answer is easy: June 12, 1999--they day Tom and I were married. Of course, it was fabulous to think of all the runner-up days of days spent on traveling adventures or snowed in during a Michigan blizzard. In my 10s, my 16th birthday has always stuck out as a great day, mostly for the fact that at one point during the day I was moved to tears with the recognition of how blessed I was with friends and family--a pretty significant moment for a self-absorbed 16 year old. And before that, the best day is by far the day that is actually probably about 100 days compressed in the mind to one of sunshine and bike riding and haystack climbing and cops and robbers playing and trampoline jumping and popcicle licking and starwishing day of summer fun.
And it's all wrapped into the one great blessing that is life--the gift of our Creator, breathed into us each and every day.
Happy Birthday to us all!
In addition to a whole new year and all the reflecting we do on such occasions, I turned 30 today. Wow! I've probably lived out a third of my life. I've lived three decades. And now in most cultures, I'm officially an adult (unless you're a hobbit--I've got three more years in that case). The last one I had taken hard a few times upon introspection until I let go of the fact that I don't have to act any more adult-like than I already do--which some days is far too much and some days probably isn't nearly enough.
Tom and I stayed up til the wee hours of the morning reminiscing about life, the universe, and everything. The most fun was trying to pinpoint the happiest day of every decade. In my 20s, the answer is easy: June 12, 1999--they day Tom and I were married. Of course, it was fabulous to think of all the runner-up days of days spent on traveling adventures or snowed in during a Michigan blizzard. In my 10s, my 16th birthday has always stuck out as a great day, mostly for the fact that at one point during the day I was moved to tears with the recognition of how blessed I was with friends and family--a pretty significant moment for a self-absorbed 16 year old. And before that, the best day is by far the day that is actually probably about 100 days compressed in the mind to one of sunshine and bike riding and haystack climbing and cops and robbers playing and trampoline jumping and popcicle licking and starwishing day of summer fun.
And it's all wrapped into the one great blessing that is life--the gift of our Creator, breathed into us each and every day.
Happy Birthday to us all!
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