I don't have any great wit or charming story to go along with today's scripture reading. Today's selection hits me hard for some reason and I don't know how to talk about it but to go directly into the text. 

This verse is a part of the larger "love" verses often used in weddings. 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 are a beautiful piece of prose, these statement are so much larger than a singular marriage. These statements get down to the nitty gritty of what it means to be a Christian and how to live out our faith in this world. 

"Love is patient, love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable of resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. "

Paul is describing love as an action. The church in Corinth to whom Paul is writing has not been acting in loving ways. He's pointing out to them what they've been missing and is trying to steer them back on the right track. We would do well to take Paul's advice as well.

As I watch the events in Baltimore unfold, this passage draws me into thoughts of how little we actually live out love. Love is a verb in this context. It is an action. It means we do something. Love means we stand up for justice. Love means we fight oppression. This kind of love means we love as God loves. 

This kind of love, agape, requires us to be fully alive and engaged in our world. This is real love.

My heart hurts right now for all the unloving actions I see in the world. Are we willing to carry out the kind of love Paul describes in this letter? 

Blessings,
Lisa

Let just get straight to the point where I’m confused. At first glance, I can’t even wrap my head around these verses. 

Wait.  Is that Shakespeare?  No, it is Dave Matthews.  Whah?  How is it that I don’t know this passage of scripture?

Okay, back up. Time to research.  I’m particularly fond of the NIV Faith in Action Study Bible; when I’m completely confused, the footnotes do wonders – page 1895, if you’re following along. 

These lines are couched in a larger conversation about bodily resurrection.  Not just the “ethereal spirits floating around” variety, but the full “we’re taking these bones with us” kind.  Eek.  Really?  This is the body I’m taking with me?  Forever?  You’re kidding, right?  I was kind of counting on that weightless, anti-gravity thing.  Dang.

Basically, Paul is saying that if we aren’t raised, we may as well just give up, eat the buffet, sleep it off, and then do all it again tomorrow.  Let’s all be carbohydrate zombies while we wait on the apocalypse. 

Don’t act like you haven’t succumbed to a food coma.  Or a hangover.  Or some other kind of over-indulgence that left you feeling like you were walking waist-deep in mud.  You have.  Everyone has.  But Paul’s argument is that we are going to be resurrected, in whole, in Christ Jesus.  So we need to take care of these bodies and all this “human” stuff in such a way that we can focus on what matters.

It is time for a diet and exercise regimen that is easy to follow and you don’t have to think about it.  It is time to clear out the clutter and get things organized so that you aren’t looking for your keys and your phone every time you leave the house.  Seriously.  Every. Time.  It is time to stop talking about work/life balance and actually make the tough choices to achieve it.  Okay – so maybe those are my things.  My things that I need to manage so that they aren’t taking my focus off of the real stuff…God, marriage, family, parenting, friendships, leadership, accountability, character, sustainability… 

Yes, really, I'm working on all of those.  But, right now, I'm listening to Dave Matthews and drinking a glass of wine.

Is that wrong?

Blessings, Amy

As a protestant pastor, it has always confused me about the relationship that we have with Mary, the mother of Jesus, especially as I interact with the Catholic Church.  I've studied and read a variety of books (probably not enough), and I understand it when it to a certain extent, but in the same breath I will say that I still don't fully understand.

It brings to mind the belief that we need some kind of mediator in talking and interacting with God; God is so impossibly and utterly holy, that our humanity prevents us from seeing God fully, or interacting with God fully.  Some believe that Jesus is exactly this mediator, while still others maintain that there has to be even more that help us see God more fully.  Some utilize the saints as those who are able to help us see God and Jesus more fully - and some utilize Mary.

Regardless of how we express it, it seems clear to me that we are always looking for ways to see God more clearly and to understand the Divine presence in ways that are sometimes foreign to us.  Paul maintains that the heart has eyes for us to see God more clearly.  We may never understand that biology, but we do understand that the heart helps us to see in ways that the eyes cannot.

When the disciples and others were witness to the resurrected Christ just days after his execution, I'm sure many of them questioned their eyes - are they really seeing HIM?  It is the heart that helps us to answer with a resounding "YES! No matter my questions about the plausibility or the biology of seeing Christ - THIS IS CHRIST."

My prayer for each of us this week is that we are able to utilize the eyes of our hearts more and more, to see God in Christ in ways that the eyes on our heads might never allow.

READING:
“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.  Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
                                                 - Luke 10.30b-37


REFLECTION:
The sabbatical project that I will soon begin will retrace in miniature the steps of a journey. Not just any journey, mind you; but a journey begun years ago in the Deep South; a journey of discovery and growth that has led me from the segregated South of my youth to a faith of joyful inclusiveness. This is my story writ large, the macro-story of my life and faith, the “Big Story” if you will that defines, for better or for worse, the man I have become.

I will chronicle this sabbatical journey as it unfolds, in a blog – wakingthewind.net – that will also feature pictures and videos of the many exotic sites we will visit. Upon our return I will combine this micro-story with an exploration of the faith and convictions that led me even to consider such a journey, much less stay the course through thick and thin over the many years and countless miles of my ministry. The resulting book will be entitled Waking the Wind. One man’s journey from Southern segregation to joyful inclusiveness. I have been blessed with a glimpse of God’s boundless embrace of all people; and for that reason cursed and vilified by many whose vision is more narrowly focused. After all, why would I, a protestant Christian, extend fellowship not only to Christians of every stripe and color, but as well to those of different faiths altogether? Why would I recognize as neighbor those whose faith, skin color, gender, or sexual orientation doesn’t match my own? My answer is simple; I have been compelled by faith, enticed beyond myself by the love of Christ that refuses to rest content in my life, but insists on splashing joyfully into the lives of others… any and all others.

What better way to introduce this journey than by recounting one of the early experiences on which it is founded? Thus, in preparation for our celebration on Sunday, I include here for your reflection and prayer the first draft of the prologue to my faith journey:

“The day was sweltering and downright oppressive; that is to say, a typical summer day in the Deep South of my youth. On such a day it ain’t even possible to imagine anything worse, with the possible exception of that same sultry heat during two-a-days; two weeks of morning and evening football practice in preparation for the season ahead. This was the season we dreamed of all year in a kingdom where football reigned with divine sovereignty. Two-a-days were simply the wilderness wanderings we had to endure to make it to the Promised Land.

On such a day I finally understood the notion of neighbor expressed by Jesus in his parable of the Good Samaritan. This notion was radical, alien, and intimidating; because it defied the understanding of neighbor recognized in Southern culture and preached from pulpits far and wide every Sunday. Our notion, you see, excluded those who didn’t match our skin color, share our doctrines, or serve the same meal – pot roast & gravy – every Sunday following the most segregated hour in the fair land we call America. The notion of neighbor taught and lived by Jesus of Nazareth… for now let’s just say it is much broader.

My eureka experience was made possible by Louis Moore, one of a handful of Blacks bussed into my high school in the mid-sixties; the only Black who had the courage to compete successfully with a hundred or so “Good ol’ boys” on the gridiron for a spot on the varsity squad. Our lockers were bookends on a row separated by a dozen or so others. One summer evening following a particularly grueling practice, I sat exhausted on the bench before my locker, drenched in sweat, stripped of pads from the waist up, slouched with hands on my knees, trying to summon the will to rise and make the painful trek to the showers. All of a sudden the row cleared out; swept away, as it were, by a divine hand. I looked down the row and there was Louis, sitting exhausted on the bench before his locker, drenched in sweat, stripped of pads from the waist up, slouched with hands on his knees, trying to summon the will to rise and make the painful trek to the showers. That’s when it dawned on me. “We are the same,” came a voice from deep within, “We are one.”

In that moment the blinders fell away, and years of indoctrination were silenced by the roaring wind that wakened in me; the wind of Spirit that lifted me up and caused me to soar to new heights. Taking as a model the notion of neighbor embodied in the life and teachings of Jesus, I began the journey that would take this “Good ol’ boy” from the segregated south of my youth, to a spirituality of joyful inclusiveness. This is my story.”

Please join us on Sunday for worship and a dinner celebrating my sabbatical. Worship is at 8:30 or 10:30, with the dinner following at noon. I hope to see you on Sunday. 

The first time I read this passage, I was very young in faith…an adult, but wholly immature regarding scripture.  Back then, I imagined that Peter and Andrew were strangers to Jesus.  I pictured a scene where Jesus is walking on the beach in a bleached tunic; he carries an air of quiet contemplation.  (Give me latitude - I didn’t know anything about over-turned tables or post-resurrection appearances, yet.)  So, he’s walking.  And far in the distance, he sees two men working at their boats.  As he gets closer, he nonchalantly invites these two to come into his inner circle.  “Follow me. And I will make you fishers of men.” They drop their nets and go. [End scene.] 

No conversation.  No questions.  No hesitation.  Just, “Okay,” and they follow.

A few years and a little spiritual maturity later, I assume that Jesus, as he grew into his role as teacher and Savior, spent a few sleepless nights figuring out which of the people around him were best for the tasks of his ministry and that he was looking for just the right set of skills in those people. 

So, what was it about Peter and Andrew?  What makes these fishermen special?  It takes skill to make and mend nets, patience to accept that a small haul is part of a fisherman’s lot, and strength to pull a huge haul over the side of a boat.  It takes strong will and steadfast perseverance to catch fish and feed people day by day. 

Jesus understood the great metaphors in life and taught with them often, so it is possible that he simply liked the humor of “fishers of men.” (Come on. He has a sense of humor. It is a good play on words.)

I would like to believe that he watched his friends and learned their hearts, planned the parts they would play on his team, what he would have to do in order to develop them, and all of this before he invited them.

Church leaders, staff and lay-persons alike, lament over the lack of volunteers in ministry.  We cite society and culture as reasons that our fellow followers bow out of the hard jobs. But have we really done what is necessary?  Have we watched people, identified their strengths, and planned for their inclusion in ministry?  Or are we just throwing our nets out there, hoping for a good catch?

- Amy