Sunset as Sunrise

Here in DC, we have been gripped by the snow frenzy. We've had three measurable snow storms in one week, the most recent of which has smothered us in two feet or more. This storm was of such magnitude that the names all had an eschatological sound to them, "Snowpocolypse II," "Snowmaggedon," "SNOMG!," and so forth. We have fought the crowds to lay in our snow supplies. We have bought up every shovel in a 200 mile radius. We have listened to or watched snow coverage for hours on end. We have prayed for the power to stay on. We have watched the tree branches bow low from the weight of the piling snow even as we have been bowed low by the gray, gray skies pressing down from above as we have pushed and shoved heavy, heavy snow to clear a small path that gets snow piled again and again...

Our world had become all about survival -- getting through the storm and this winter that keeps reminding us what winter is all about.

Then in the midst of uploading photos to Facebook, I happened to glance out the window as I waited for the computer to do its work. Something caught my eye. There was a hint of a glow. I decided to investigate and ran up to my attic window and sure enough, by craning my head and looking far, far to the west, I could see a clearing in the clouds on the horizon and the bright golden pink of the sunset bathed the blanketed snow in an amazing glow. And this, this setting light was grace abundant at the close of a gray winter day. This light was sign of the storm's end and a reminder that winter too shall fall away into spring.

Thanks be.

Book Store Confessional

Earlier this week I walked between my morning appointment and my lunch meeting. It was a nice day and I had plenty of time. Well, somewhere along the way on K Street I came across a Catholic book store. With time to spare, I entered. OK, let me be up front, I have learned that Catholic bookstores can be a treasure trove for really tacky church gifts -- like cheap plastic fans with each little slat adorned with a sticker of some unnamed obscure saint -- or a picture of the bleeding heart of Jesus with red blinking fiber optic lights. Such imaginative items are a source of amusement and delight for me. This particular store had far more books than gift ware -- which was just fine for this bibliophile. I browsed hoping to find some interesting titles from Orbis or other such publishers. This store seemed to stock far more conservative Catholic texts and lots of paraphernalia with the Pope's photo on it. I did find one interesting book which I bought -- about women in the early church -- the "Desert Mothers." Anyway, when I went to check out, the lady working the desk asked if it was my first time in the store. I acknowledged that it was. Then she said that I needed to see their chapel and told me about the schedule for masses. After making sure she had completed the financial transaction for the purchase of the book, she guided me to the back of the store and grandly opened the closed double doors to reveal a dim, cool chapel. I indicated that it was a very nice chapel. Then, this clerk (who I am convinced was NOT a nun, because of the quantity of make up she wore) herded me further back into the store, down a small hallway to the confessionals... hmmm, she seemed SO very eager to deposit me in a confessional booth. Confessionals in a bookstore? What's up with that? Is this bringing the church into the contemporary world? Is it some kind of holy or unholy alliance between marketplace and sanctuary? Does the eager clerk get a bonus for each customer that enters the confessional? Would penance include reading some book that could be purchased at the store? Is this a savvy way for the Catholic church to reach out to working professionals in the heart of the city?
I managed to extricate myself from the confessional cattle shoot and head back out to the sidewalk. Somewhere in the midst of that encounter, I made the decision to just listen and receive what the clerk wanted to share, but not to reveal that I was a protestant clergywoman. It seemed easier not to go there. I was willing to accept who she was and the spirit of outreach she brought to her work (though, I'm not sure assuming that everyone walking in off the street NEEDS to go to confession, is the best outreach strategy). At the same time, I did not feel the need to define myself as one apart from her or to enter into a discussion about Christian unity and the ordination of women. Somehow that would have felt like I was challenging her obviously fervently held beliefs -- that is not a battle I need to fight -- the Catholic church is the Catholic church, good, bad, indifferent. The United Methodist Church is the United Methodist church, good, bad, indifferent. There are plenty of ways that all denominations and individual members can be at work for the common good and the building of the kindom. So, if you ever do feel a need to confess, let me tell you about this book store on K Street.

City Sights

A little more than a month ago, I moved to Washington D.C. from the Maryland suburbs. This is my first experience of living in the city and it's fun learning all about my new community and city life. Today I ventured forth and tried public transportation, riding the "Circulator" bus -- all in all it was a far more pleasant way to get around the city than driving in traffic. I visited a colleague, who is also pastor of a DC church and this morning we witnessed some typical city sights -- one charming and the other disgusting. As we left her church to go for coffee, abandoned in the parking lot was a used condom -- yuck! At least, someone is using condoms -- DC has a high rate of HIV infections -- which reminds me of another city sight -- this one witnessed out the bus window: the public health awareness poster on a bus stop wall which read "Aids, DC's Katrina." Both of these served as a reminder that the hard edges of the city are found not only in the lines and angles of the buildings, but also in the societal challenges. To move on to the charming sight -- around the corner from the coffee shop there is a child care center and on this hot summer day, the staff had cordoned off a bit of the plaza and the tykes were out playing with water -- the pavement was wet, the children were dripping and the faces were smiling. Meanwhile, other little ones were being pushed in those 6-seater strollers and all six of the little cherubs were fast asleep -- heads lolling, limbs dangling and rubbery -- as precious as all get out. These little ones served as a reminder that joy, innocence and possibility are also part of the complex energy and ethos which is life in the city.

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.