Community in Silence

Yesterday was Good Friday and my church participated in the cluster service with other United Methodist churches. It was good to gather with brothers and sisters of faith from several congregations, to come together for the common purpose of observing Good Friday. For me, one of the most moving parts of the service was the silent ending.
Now, in an average week, much, maybe even most of my life is spent in silence. In my home, it is rare for me to have the radio on or music playing and I gave up television 3 years ago. So, my home space is fairly quiet. Yet when I am with people, there is almost always conversation and dialogue and singing and talking and chatting -- particularly where there are large numbers of people.
Last night, the preacher asked that the congregation would leave in silence -- not unusual for a Holy Week service. However, last night, the silence held. The preacher led the recessional out of the sanctuary and once outside, he stopped on the parking lot and turned to watch everyone else exit. We all followed his example -- we gathered on the parking lot and stood in silence as pew after pew of worshipers came forth and joined us, as the last faint strains of the keyboard faded, and the silence held. With reverence and without restlessness, the silence held. Other times when services have ended in silence, people can hardly contain their voices and hitting the parking lot has signaled a release from the quiet. Not last night; last night quiet reigned gently and in the that stillness the Spirit stirred reminding me of the treasure which is the gathered community of faith and for a moment that mundane parking lot was sacred. I believe that it was in our collective silence that we were able to feel the brush of the ever-present Spirit which is so often missed in our busy-ness and daily lives. The silence held and the Spirit was felt. Thanks be.

Let Hope and Virtue Be Re-Born

During his inauguration speech, President Obama quoted George Washington, "In this hard winter, where only hope and virtue can survive..." Those words have grabbed my imagination and returned time and again to the fore-front of my mind. I believe that President Obama was insightful to remind us of these words, and more importantly, these concepts. For too long, we have allowed a sense of lethargic resignation to hold sway in our lives. We have been content to live with things the way they are. We have been lulled into security because in the grand scheme of things, our lives here in the U.S. are pretty darn good. We have focused on consuming more and more, on stockpiling money & stuff, on being entertained & distracted. Gripped with a purchased contentment, apathy has held us in its grip. Fighting in the Middle East? We think, "Oh, they've fought for centuries over there. That's never going to change." Domestic violence? We think, "That's a personal matter, we can't do anything about that." Global warming? We think, "Nothing's going to change in our lifetime, why should we change?" We have forgotten how to hope. We have forgotten that for something to be achieved it needs be imagined, conceived, dreamt. We have let go of a dream of world peace and opted for a false sense of security through a show of strength. We have let go of the hope that every man, woman and child has the inherent right to dwell without fear of harm because we have complicitly agreed that violence is just a part of life. We no longer hope for a world envisioned by the prophets as a peaceable kindom, where swords become plough shares, where the lion and the lamb dwell together. Such images seem the stuff of fairy tales rather than a blueprint for how the world can be. We need a re-birth of hope -- a stubborn, persistent hope that believes absolutely we can change the world for the good, that we can feed the hungry, that we can be just peacemakers, that we can live into a future where each one is valued & appreciated, that we can care for creation, that we can treat everyone with respect. We need a rebirth of hope and a rebirth of virtue. Virtue? When did we last hear anyone talk about virtue? Where along the way did we set virtue aside? When did we start asking "Can I get away with it?" Instead of, "Is this the right thing to do?" From big issues to small ones, we need a return to virtue. We need to make decisions based on what is right, what is ethical, what is honorable, what is true. So let's begin, you and me. Let's hope in a bright, just, peaceful future. Let's embrace virtue. And together we will begin to transform the world for the common good.

Favorite Quote

One of my all time favorite quotes is from Isak Dinesen, "The cure for anything is salt water -- sweat, tears or the sea." I believe there is great truth in these words. Certainly, with physical ailments, it is often a sweat that signals a fever breaking or a turn toward health. Working up a good sweat can assist the body in getting rid of toxins. Salt water may also be the cure for life's ordinary troubles. Sometimes we just need to pick ourselves up and get back to work. In the day in and day out familiar routine of work we sweat our way through a whole host of issues. Sometimes we need a good cry. I've learned the hard way, that if the tears come, they are a sign that I need to pay attention. Tears are cleansing and they honor the deep emotions that prompt their flow. Sometimes we just need to sit on the edge of the sea, listening to waves lap and crash and whush upon the sand, watching the water continually rolling over and over and over. It begins to sink into us, that to the sea, we are as tiny and as significant as a grain of sand. The awareness of the immensity of the sea helps to put the rest of life into perspective and we begin to remember that compared to nuclear war, whatever it is we are facing just isn't so bad.

May you always have as much salt water as you need, but may those times of salt-water-need be few and far between!

Christmas Tree

My Christmas tree is up. Actually it has been up since last Wednesday (the day BEFORE Thanksgiving). Now granted, the tradition in my family as I was growing up was that the tree and Christmas decorations went up the weekend after Thanksgiving. As an adult, I have not always followed that tradition and in fact, last year, just a couple of days before Christmas, I finally put out a little miniature tree not much more than a foot tall. This year... this year the song line that keeps circling in my head is "I need a little Christmas, right this very minute." So my tree is up ... and it is a 4 foot pink tree swathed in 72 feet of bead garland. It is a bright, silly, cheerful spot in my living room and it makes me smile.

I think many of us need a little Christmas. I think we are longing to re-focus our thoughts and energy on something besides the economic crisis, besides politics with its never-ending commentary and analysis, besides the war in Iraq, besides the crime rate starting to climb. So, yes, we do need a little Christmas; however, we need Christmas in more ways than the happy distraction it can provide. We need Christmas for the message that is at the heart of this celebration. We need to remember Emmanuel, God-with-us. Christmas celebrates the incarnation of God in Jesus of Nazareth. Christmas is all about a God that loves us so much, that God chose to be born in human flesh, to understand humanity from the inside out. Christmas reminds us that God is immanently close and involved in our world. We need a little Christmas to remember that God is with us, that we are not alone in our struggles, and that God will help us face whatever we must face.

We are not alone. God IS with us, closer than the air we breathe. God loves us with a steadfast, abiding love. This knowledge, this truth lifts my spirits and renews my hope. And my silly pink Christmas tree is simply a symbol that points me back to the center of my faith.

Plaintive and Hopeful

Earlier this week, I attended an event at the Washington National Cathedral. The evening included selected readings of Rumi's poetry accompanied by traditional Turkish instruments. One of Rumi's poems was about one of those instruments -- a reed flute. For me, the sound of the reed flute was mesmerizing. At one and the same time it was plaintive and hope-filled. As Rumi suggested, these two disparate qualities are reflective of the human condition. For most of us, life is a mixture of rough seas and smooth sailing. Sometimes the rough seas go on and on and on and we naturally lament such difficulties. And yet, and yet, inside most of us is a resiliency that arises from the deep within -- a sheer, possibly tenuous, hope which rises on the stubborn will to live. Evocatively the reed flute was able to blend both the plaintive and the hopeful into one gently poignant sound and between the note-sounding and the ear-hearing the Spirit wafted past. Thanks be.

Kindom Circle and Picasso

Hanging in my office for as long as I have been in ministry is a print of a Picasso art piece. It is one of his later works -- a rainbow-colored crayon sketch of people in a big circle holding hands and a dove with an olive branch in the center. The simple lines suggest dynamic movement. The colors express joy. For me, this is an image of the kindom of God -- the "harmony of harmonies" that God is continually luring us toward. Last Sunday, I shared the print with the congregation as a visual for my sermon. Much to my surprise when the service was over, one of the members shared with me that years ago he interviewed Picasso. To quote at tried but true cliche' -- what a small world. And what a wonderful reminder of the ways that we are all pulled into the circle of life and God's love.

Breathing Room

I am recently returned home from a retreat. I journeyed to the Mandala Center outside of Des Moines, New Mexico. Yep, that's right, not a typo -- Des Moines, NEW MEXICO. It's kind of right next door to the middle of no where and it was wonderful being there. Living as close as I do to the great metropolis of Washington DC and all the surrounding urban/suburban sprawl, I lose sight of the toll the population density and the congestion can take on one, until I get away from it. As I drove up I-25 from Albuquerque, there were stretches of highway where no other car was in sight. The landscape spread out around in wide open space and the sky stretched high and tall and I could feel my being unwinding and relaxing in a way that I never do living beneath big city lights. The photo above is the view from the deck of the retreat center. Twas good for my soul to be out where I was reminded of the grandeur and vastness of God's creation. Twas good for me to be where there was lots of elbow room. Both of which are what retreats are all about -- time away from the things that crowd up every day life so we draw closer to God and regain perspective. I wonder if when Jesus went away from the crowds, he too, was looking for elbow room, wide open space, and a reminder of God's immense reach?