Wonderings--January 12

Grrrr.... Today has not gone according to plan, and sadly, I think I know why. 

At 6 AM I awoke to find that God had painted our grass white with a gentle frost--a frost that I knew was coming. It was cold outside, but as I stood in the dark yard with Bianca I decided that it wasn't that cold. So as I got ready for work today, and enjoyed my breakfast, a decision was made. . . While a half-a-pot of coffee was brewing that I planned to take to work today, I would take Luna on a morning walk. She and I both enjoy it very much. 

Checking the temperature outside, I grabbed my vest to help stay warm and said the magic words: "Luna is it time for a walk?" 

She jumped. She ran and cried. Meeting me at the back door she 'got dressed' and we ventured into the cold as I began some worship music on my iPhone. 

But like I said, there was a frost out there; it was cold. As I entered the cemetery for our walk, I could feel my ears were getting cold, my nose started to run a bit. I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my sweater to keep them warm and thought 'this is going to be a cold one.' Luna's breath, and my breath, were both visible as we walked together this morning. 

Returning to the parking lot of the church, Luna was still running around happily. She barked at a family pulling to the CDC across the yard and ran to get the nearest stick for me. Yes her breathing was more labored after walking the first of a planned two laps, but she was still happy and eager. But I was cold. I was really cold. 

So I took her back inside the house. Poured my coffee into the travel Yeti that I use, and went to the church to begin my day. The walk was shorter than planned, but hey, it's cold out there. . . Yet, that shortened walk, that 'thing' that I do each day that helps frame my day and create time for prayer and worship, was cut short by nearly 15 minutes. . . As such, the rest of my day would be off. 

My morning reading never connected with me. My session devotional isn't coming together as I expect. My plans for this evening aren't working well. Even my regular office tasks and emails are taking more time and feeling less productive--and I wonder why? 

Perhaps you have done the same thing recently? Forgone part of your morning plans with the Lord when you should have stayed close to God and listened?

If you have joined me in cutting time with God out, I wonder how you might re-create that time today? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek 

Wonderings--January 11

All around us we see and witness so many people suffering. . . They suffer from emotional pain, from physical pain. If we listen long and hard enough we might notice that they suffer in silent pain that they think no one understands; no one wants to understand. 

Many of our youth know of the pain that comes from alienation--from society in general and with peer groups in particular. They walk their own path feeling like they cannot escape from the isolation. In a word they feel disconnected and isolated--and that is not what God wants for us. Those who suffer, regardless of age, can struggle to find the point of connection. 

As I walked this morning I thought about this and wondered about the truth of this claim. 

Do we suffer because we have been told by 'those out there' that we are on our own? What role does the covid-19 pandemic play in not only creating this disconnection, but what role does it play in fostering it? Is there a way back to connection and unification with God and in the local church?  

We all know that we are better together. I have not met a person during this covid-19 pandemic who does not affirm that we are better together. They long for that 'togetherness' that comes from being the church who gathers. And yet so many of us do not know how to re-tie ourselves back into the community or into the church. 

As we physically suffer, and as we emotionally suffer, we need something to ground us in a common shared experience. Brazilian theologian Leonardo Boff fwrites these helpful words for us as we look around to find how we can be together again: 

"To say 'I believe in God' means that there is Someone who surrounds me, embraces me everywhere, and loves me, Someone who knows me better than I do myself, deep down in my heart, where not even my beloved can reach, Someone who knows the secret of all mysteries and where all roads lead. I am not alone in this open universe with all my questions for which no one offers me a satisfactory answer. That Someone is with me, and exists for me, and I exist for that Someone and in that Someone's presence. Believing I God means saying: there exists an ultimate tenderness, an ultimate bosom, an infinite womb, in which I can take refuge and finally have peace in serenity of love. If that is so, believing in God is worthwhile; it makes us more ourselves and empowers our humanity [and brings us together]."

For all our choices, and all our societal pressures and expectation, and all that we hope will reconnect us with each other, it is often the simplest choices, the most foundational, that help us come together when we suffer and be the Body of Christ. 

Do you feel you suffer? Alone or in public? 

If so, perhaps Boff's words might provide a helpful way to reconnect? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek

Wonderings--January 10

A number of years ago while I was serving as a hospital chaplain, I found a little book whose title intrigued me. I first read this little book while on duty in the Emergency Room as a chaplain. I would sneak a page or two or three in between cases when I was not needed. 

At that time, the area in which we lived was marred by extreme violence. Per capita it was one of the most violent communities in the country at that time. Gun shot wounds, car and motorcycle accidents, domestic abuse were a constant presence in the ER. I felt like I was often holding the hand of a family member who wondered what this happened to them? "Why was God letting this happen?" they would ask. 

As such, Wayne Oates' book The Revelation of God in Human Suffering was a helpful gift in my spiritual journey. It helped me frame what was happening in my mind so that I could offer support to these families who were in pain.

We know that suffering is often unique to the person because the way that we respond to that suffering is quite personal. For instance, I handle the death of a loved one, or the suffering of a friend, from a certain perspective as a pastor and as a father and husband. Jenifer handles that same incidence from a different perspective. Her perspective involves lived-experiences and how she, as a mother and wife, will address the pain that she witnesses. 

Neither is better than the other; they are just personal to us. And yet in that 'personal-ness' we can find God. Oates says it this way: 

"Faith is not a road map of other people's experience. it is not a gyroscope of self-sufficiency, confidence, and certainty. It is not a radarscope to pick up the commonly agreed [up]on opinions of the group. . . Faith in God is like a seaman's sextant. The sextant keeps a person's direction true when he is out of sight of [the] land or man [or God]."

Faith guides us through suffering. It does not minimize it and it does not 'paper over' the pain that we experience. It doesn't cliche it away. Faith takes the suffering of the moment and reframes it in a way that helps us to see God's hand guiding and supporting us through the moment in ways that we cannot imagine. When we feel that we cannot do this or don't know how to handle what is happening, faith points us toward an unseen God who is guiding us through the rough waters of suffering and pain because of his great love for us. 

As a church we have felt that pain. . . We have watched covid raving our church. We have witnessed the suffering of families who have lost a loved one to death. We have seen the suffering of individuals from our church come and break us down a bit and wonder why is this happening again! 

But today I want to remind you about faith and about God. 

You may respond and address suffering in your own way. You may think that no one else is dealing with this issue or that it's too raw to share with another. But we are in this together as The Body of Christ and our faith will help us find the Land.

I wonder how you might be present for another person who is suffering themselves? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek 

Wonderings--January 6

Thank God we are fearfully and wonderfully made. . . 

Today I read the words of theologian Kate Bowler as she reflected on the foundations of her life that made her into who she is and who she is becoming in the Lord. I chuckled particular parts of her narrative and enjoyed hearing about "Divine CPR" as she talked about God 'breathing life into our bodies' that first time. His breath literally entering into a place where breath was not and making breath become. Giving us life and presence. 

At the end of the section that I was reading she wrote these words. They echo her point about God creating the foundation of our lives and invite us to see how we are brought together. She writes:  

"Whether it is our parents, our teachers, mentors, friends, churches, or neighbors, people have been pouring into us. We are standing on a foundation. It should come as an incredible relief. Our only job is to build on what we’ve been given, and, even then, even our gifts we can trace back to the creativity, generosity, and foresight of others. Thank God we are a group project."

Finishing her words I leaned back and agreed with her assertion: Thank God that we are a group project. 

Recently life at Bethesda has become a bit more serious. Covid cases are on the rise. Both inside and outside the church we are hearing about more and more families who are dealing with the virus--and people are becoming anxious and fearful. But they are not the only ones who suffer. . . 

Stories and prayer requests have been shared with me about family members, church members, who are sick, in the hospital, or who are now in the loving hands of Hospice. In the midst of these prayers I spent parts of this week sitting with people and reminding them:

"This is the Body of Christ, given for you. . ."

"The cup of Salvation, poured out for you. . . "

In that place there is an interesting thing happening. . . an acknowledgement of the foundation that we stand upon as the church. While suffering may come, and while covid cases rise, and those we love are in the hospital, and as we become more anxious, we are together because we are the church. 

We lean back upon each other. Support each other. We care for each other sacrificially. We hold each other up to God.  

I wonder today if you might know someone who needs to be reminded that we are a 'group project?' A project with a divine, loving, ever-present God who can, and does, take care of us. . . Perhaps give that person a call and remind them that we are better together, better when we come together in prayer, in service, and in love.

Blessings

Rev. Derek 

Wonderings--January 5

Isn't it strange what we remember? And more than that, isn't it interesting how our memories are triggered? Let me explain. . . 

Today I had the pleasure of taking communion to another member of Bethesda who is unable to worship with us physically right now. Nettie and her daughter welcomed me into their home with open arms and we celebrated the sacrament together. They warmly received me into their world. 

We talked about the church and how we are doing during this covid-time. 

They asked about my history; about my seminary experience and my family. 

We talked about Nettie's health and how beautiful today has been. (It is after all 57 degrees and sunny. . . what a blessing during the winter). 

But throughout our conversation one thing nagged against the back of my brain. One memory kept popping up that made my initial question come to bear: our Maltese, Bella. 

You see this family shares the house with Mollie a white, 8-pound, Maltese. Except for the difference in haircut (we kept Bella trimmed short and they prefer Mollie to be more traditionally cut), these two could be sisters. I smiled as Mollie barked and barked while wagging her tail at me. It was so adorable to see her slowly creep up to me, just as Bella would. After all, we are friends, we just haven't met yet. 

I watched Mollie climb into the laps and lick their hands just as Bella did. While painful to witness, it was also a joyful memory. This experience led me back to my first question about how memories are formed and what triggers them. 

Climbing back into my truck my attention rested on Mollie and Bella. But something was different. Sure I still missed Bella, and I suspect that I always will. But gathering around God's word, with someone else, someone who shares my experience and my perspective was meaningful. 

A couple weeks ago I might have felt too emotional to serve the sacrament, but now, with those memories in my heart, and with a commonality with church friends, something was different. I felt different as I drove back to the church.Yes, I was still silent and meditative, but God felt closer. As I thought about the whole experience I concluded that I must have felt this way because of how someone in the community (in this case, the church community), made me feel less isolated by my pain. 

And so this made me wonder about your faith walk. . . I wonder how you have chosen to be so present to another person that their pain, private as it might be, was healed by the balm of God's love and God's silent presence? I wonder if you might be able to find someone to be present for that could help them deal with their own silent pain? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek

Wonderings--January 4

Well after nearly two years I experienced the silence of an early morning and it was both familiar and yet it felt new. 

As I posted on Facebook this morning, Emma headed back to the classroom for the first time in a year and a half. She was up at 6:15 today and quietly roamed the house gathering her necessary school supplies. While she made lunch I could see the hint of a smile come across her face. With coffee in hand, she left the house. 

About a minute later, Jennifer kissed me good-bye, said good-bye to the dogs, and headed for her car. I handed her a cup of coffee as I held the dogs back from joining her in the front seat of her car. Then it was just me and the house felt so large and empty. 

I walked back into the house to see a pair of cute girls sitting at the door wondering why mom and Emma have left today. . . "I mean seriously this is not how our mornings go," they whispered to me. Instead of joining Emma on her bed or couch while she did virtual school work for a nap, they were relegated to their beds. I made a final cup of coffee for the morning and left. 

Closing the door to the house I reached for my AirPods to begin a new podcast as I 'commuted' to work across the parking lot. But as I opened the case, I paused. . . closing it I placed them in my pocket and looked out into our wooded backyard. 

I stood there for a moment when I remembered the spiritual teaching of Jim Finely. He works for the Center for Contemplation and Action and was formerly a student of Thomas Merton. As I share what Jim taught, I wonder if you might find your own space, as I did, to practice it? 

In the silence of the morning, an unfamiliar silence certainly, I sat down on the cold stone step and thought about a bible passage that came to mind. The words were familiar and also foundational for my spiritual walk in times like this. Psalm 46:10.

Jim teaches that we should read the verse by cutting the words apart and allowing space to mediate upon what each word or phrase means for us as guided by the Holy Spirit. It would look something like this: 

"Be still and know that I am God." 

"Be still and know that I am. . . "

"Be still and now. . . "

"Be still. . ."

"Be.. . "

Pausing between praises I sat there in the total stillness of my morning and soaked in the presence of God on a quiet, chilly, silent day. 

We are often in such a hurry. Our lives are so full of noise and presence. What would it look like today to just pause and practice something as simple as what I just outlined? I wonder what God and you might discover? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek

Wonderings--January 3

Over the last 48 hours the weather and I have something in common. And as I think about it, I wonder if you too share something common with me and with what just happened outside? 

Sunday as we began our worship time together at Bethesda my liturgist, John, stood before the congregation and spoke about how he read that the upcoming weather forecast was going to usher in some 'winter-like' weather. Chuckling he said to me, the recent transplant from Pittsburgh, that the folks here in South Carolina do some crazy stuff when freezing rain comes into our lives. I braced myself for the cold, but I don't know if I was truly ready for it. 

We haven't had a lot of cold as I was accustomed to before my time with Bethesda. It been a bit chilly but nothing a warm sweater won't fix. But the upcoming weather signaled that winter was coming. . . and the rain did come. 

Throughout Sunday evening and into early Monday morning the rain fell hard. The wind blew. Outside large tree limbs fell from the trees and broke into smaller bits that litter my yard. I witnessed some lightening and heard a little clap of thunder. The temperature dropped from 65 to 40 in just a couple hours and as it did my shoulders dropped a bit too. 

Waking up on Monday to take the dogs out I saw that it was still raining. The wind still blew and the water was wet on my face as I petitioned the girls to come back to the house. I quickly walked through the rain to the office and could feel myself getting chilled to the bone. I sighed and said to no one in particular, "I didn't miss this" as I unlocked the church and turned on the lights. 

And the rain kept coming. Now in sheets the rain flooded the parking lot a little. Puddles began to form as large as a car and I could hear the wind whipping through the windows and doors. 

The weather was a beating up the world outside, and by extension I felt a little beaten up by it as well. 

I wonder if you have felt the same way today--beaten and bruised. Covid has been with us so long. I am hearing about more and more friends who have be diagnosed with the virus. I hear stories more consistently of false positives and asymptomatic results. I read emails and answers calls that hint at wishing we could go back to normal but at the same time those calls and emails don't know what normal looks like anymore. 

The storms of life have made us forget just as easily as they have bruised our souls. . . 

But then I looked up. I slid my book away from the front of my desk, and gazed outside. The air is still chilly, it's still January (even in the south), but the rain has ended. . . the clouds are gone. . . those large puddles are drying up and disappearing.  

What started as a feeling of oppression and pressure has lessened and I see the blue and I remember that God is with me. He is with me even when I feel bruised and worn. God is with me when the rains of my life bring more positive tests and more pressure to be evangelistically silent. God will drive the clouds away and we will feel his warmth again. God is with me even when I hurt or when I grieve and feel alone.  

Perhaps you have felt the same way today? Maybe that feeling is with you even as you read these words. If that is the case then I wonder if you can take a step back and notice that God has not given you up. Sure the rains of life came, but so did the promise to never leave and never forsake. 

Maybe even on a rainy day, we can find a reason for hope? 

Blessings

Rev. Derek