Lenten Series-- Promises in the Night:  A New Relationship

Jeremiah 31:32-34 with Mark 14: 66-72

Lent is a self-reflective time when we are asked to slow down and reconsider parts of our lives that we might just rush through at other times of the year.

So, in the spirit of the season, I'd like to ask you this morning to reflect upon a few things with me just a minute. Consider a time in your life that you wish you could forget. This could be a time when you said something hurtful to a loved one, a time that you acted out in public in an embarrassing way, or even a long stretch of time when you rebelled and turned your back on all the good things in your life. If you were standing before God at the pearly gates right now, what are the moments of your life you wish that God would forget?

PAUSE

When I think about my life, I wish God would forget that day I ruined my father's car by running over a cinder block (and wasn't honest about it) just one week after getting my driver's license.

I wish God would forget that day early in my marriage to Kevin that I was so angry I threw a shoe at him.

I wish God would forget the countless times I failed to love the Lord with all my heart, all my soul, and all my strength and to love my neighbor as myself.

I, like you, have many times that I wish just didn't happen-- that God would just forget.

When we meet the apostle Peter, in the latest installment of Jesus' dark night of the soul this day, we encounter him during a few moments in his life that I bet would be on his "I wish God would forget this" list too. Peter, does the unthinkable as Ken illustrated for us this morning as our worship began: he turns his back to his best friend.

And this is the scene: Jesus has just been arrested. He has been seized by the Pharisees and the chief priests and taken in for questioning. Peter follows Jesus to the courtyard of the house where the high priest held him. And though it appears that this will become his shining moment-- being the only among the named 12 disciples who even follows Jesus after his arrest-- such is not the case. No not at all.

When one of the maids, a young girl who served the high priest noticed Peter's presence and remembered his face as one of the traveling companions of Jesus, she asks in verse 66: "You were with Jesus the Nazarene" weren't you?

And though Peter should have said and could have said a simple "Yes. Yes, I was with him. Yes, I knew him." , fear paralyzes Peter. He denies any connection to this man who had inevitably changed his life saying: "I neither know nor understand what you mean."

What Peter? Are you serious Peter?  Yes, he was. He denied any knowledge of knowing Jesus.  It was going to cost him too much. Maybe they'd soon be arresting him as well. He couldn't bear the thought of that.

So, as the young girl with a good memory-- she just knows she recognizes  Peter as having been a friend of Jesus-- asks the same question and again, again and again we get the same answer. He even goes as far to swear. "I do not know this man of whom you speak."

And at that very moment, the cock crows for the second time to fulfill the prediction that Jesus had made of this "I wish I could forget it" moment of Peter's life.  Peterremembers that the Lord had told him: "before the cock crows two times, you will deny me three times."

It might have seemed at this juncture that all was lost for Peter and his relationship with Jesus. It might have seemed that Peter royally screwed up so bad that from that moment all would be lost. It might have seemed that Jesus would never speak to him again.  It might have seen that all of those years Peter prepared for this moment where all eyes were on him to make a confession were a complete waste.

In the same way, when we read the prophetic book of Jeremiah, we could easily be completely depressed too. Jeremiah affectionately known in modern times as the prophet who should have been on Prozac but wasn't.  Scholars often called Jeremiah, the "weeping prophet".

But, why? Commentator, Wil Gafney writes of the context of Jeremiah saying, "Jeremiah lived through the demise of his civilization when the Babylonians invaded Judah, assaulted Jerusalem, and reduced the temple to rubble, exiling, or killing the royal family, priests, prophets, and majority of the population."[i] The nation of Israel turned their back on God's plans for their nation. And thus, God allowed his beloved to experience the consequences of their own actions.  The nation was in exile. The temple was in ruins. Family members had died during the siege. There was certainly a lot to be sad and cry about.  It was a dark, dark night in the chapter of Israel's history. It was a chapter, too, that I bet they'd wish that God would forget.

In particular when we read earlier in the book of Jeremiah, such as in chapter 5, we hear how bad things had gotten. Jeremiah was asked by God to tell the Israelites: "Announce this to the house of Jacob and proclaim it in Judah; Hear this you senseless people... [you] have stubborn and rebellious hearts..." Not exactly the warm fuzzies anyone would want to hear.

The nation of Israel, like Peter, rightfully shared guilt. They'd messed up. They could have assumed that the relationship and the shared history was over.

But,  the tune of verse 31 of Jeremiah chapter 31 tells a different story. "The days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the people of Israel and the people of Judah."

I don't know if you are like me, but when I mess up (and I know it!) there's nothing more I want to do than bury my head in the couch for a while. Most certainly, I don't want to hear of some new hopeful plan. Licking our wounds feels good for a while, doesn't it? But, the Lord would have none of it.

Sure, Israel had messed up. Sure, they'd fallen short. Sure, they'd broken all of the covenants they made with God up Mount Sinai. They'd worshipped other gods. They'd had affairs. They'd not kept the Sabbath. They'd not welcomed the foreigner or blessed the stranger. It was grounds for divorce.

And so, because Israel had broken the covenant, God had EVERY reason to set them aside.  Israel had certainly checked all the boxes that were grounds for divorce. God kept God's end of the deal, but Israel had not. God could walk away knowing God did all that could be done.  Certainly, God could try again with this "my chosen people" business with another group.

But, instead, a re-marriage ceremony is offered. God says to Israel verse 33:"This is the covenant I will make with the people of Israel after that time . . I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts."

Stacy Simpson writes of this God we encounter in Jeremiah saying, " In the evangelical tradition in which I grew up, we spoke of "letting Jesus into our hearts." He stood there patiently and knocked, waiting as long as it took, and when we were ready, we swung the door open and invited him in. But, the God of Jeremiah will have none of that. This God has grown weary of people’s inability to keep his law. No more will the covenant be written in stone, a covenant which was external and could be broken. Instead . .. God says "I will write it on their heart." The heart of the entire people will bear the covenant."[ii]

God takes an active role in restoring the broken relationship. Which is another way of God going to marriage counseling with Israel saying, "Let's start over. Because I want to make a new relationship with you."

But, how could God do this? Doesn't God remember all the pain of heartache, rejection and loss? Doesn't God know that if he works toward reconciliation that it all might go sour again?

Such is why the final verse of promise is important. Look with me at verse 34 as the Lord says, "For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more."

This new relationship was based on 100% forgiveness. To move forward and to have a chance of the coming of the new-- the past needed to be forgotten. And, God makes this move.

How many times in relation to the topic of "forgiveness" have you heard the phrase, "forgive and forget?" And I think as equally number of times that this phrase is spoken aloud, thoughts of those who hear it also think, "I cannot forget. Maybe I can forgive, but forget is something I can't do."

For there's something about the human brain, isn't it that just wants to hold on to things, especially the unfavorable stuff.

In a recent conversation with a friend, we sat around a coffee table and recounted all of the negative things family members, classmates or even perfect strangers said to us at one point in our lives. And it was easy to make the list long. And if you were to make a list too, I'm sure you could without difficulty make one.

There was that time in the 4th grade that one of the well-liked, well-dressed girls told you that you were fat and your teeth were crooked. You've never felt the same about your body since.

There was that time in college when you rushed for a fraternity only to not make the cut because you family name didn't have enough money associated with it. You've been trying to make as much money as you can with your chosen career ever since.

There was that Christmas holiday when who you thought was your favorite aunt came over and found fault with all your home's decor. You've been afraid to host a family gathering since.

And there was that time you expressed interest in painting and began creating beautiful pallets of color and texture and a friend walked into your studio said, "Well maybe in 10 years you'll find some talent." You've put down the brush ever since.

No matter what your  "there was this time" story is, I think it is safe to say that we all have them. We all have times in our lives that something has been said to us or about us that we'd wish we could forget.

So what good news this is to all of our ears-- what a promise in the night God's gift of a new relationship can be!

For just as we mess up, as the nation of Israel did time and time again, and just as Peter denied Jesus on a night when it mattered the most, we worship a God who promises us a new start.

But not just  any old new start. A new start where those chapters in our lives that we most want to forget are forgotten, but also the painful wounds imposed on us by others can also be forgiven. We are not God of course,  so we probably are never going to be able to forget the ill that has been done and said against us, especially those deeply traumatic memories. But, we take heart and remember that  God can do what we can't. God can forget so we can live. And, as beloved children of the heavenly parent, we too have words of this covenant are written on our hearts-- so no matter what, we'll never be left alone. We have a sign of God's relationship always with us. There is nothing we could ever do that would not keep God's love from us. Nothing.

So in light of this, and in response to this sermon today, I want you to find a comfortable seated position where you are right now for a moment of meditation. Clear everything off your lap and place both feet on the bottom of the floor.  And, close your eyes and take your hands and place them at the center of your lap with your palms facing open.  And right now, I want you to call to mind the two things that we talked about in the sermon for this morning.

1. Something you'd done in your life that you'd wish God would forget.

2. Something someone has done to you that you wish you could forget.

And in the quietness of this moment, I want you to imagine that you are holding both of these somethings in your hands. Holding them tight by balling up your fists with them in it. One in one hand and one in another.

Now, as I re-read the passage for this morning-- Jeremiah's promise in the night, I invite you to listening closely. And, as you listen imagine these somethings being released. Of letting them go, as you are able, why? because in grace, God has already forgotten.[iii]

³¹The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah.³²It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, says the Lord.³³But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.³⁴No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.

Thanks be to God who makes all things new!

AMEN

"Will you please make my life better NOW?"

Being a pastor, as many of us know, is a "one size fits all" kind of job filled with lots of expectations placed on our shoulders from many. People certainly want happier lives all the time. And because of this human condition, it is not unusual that we are asked to do so much more than attend to the spiritual lives of our members.

If my colleagues' weeks are anything like mine, folks regularly want to chat with me about everything from martial relationships, how much money is in their bank accounts, their health, and/ or how they feel our church is or is not meeting their social/ emotional needs. Practically, on a given week, I could be found driving someone to a doctor's appointment who could not find a ride otherwise, talking with a struggling single mom about where to get assistance to pay some of her past-due bill, or even taking calls from the social workers of some of our mentally challenged church members about her developmental progress. This is all outside that sermon that always must be prepped and ready by Sunday at 11 am (you know, what folks think is our main job).  Though we know that being "all things to all people" is an impossible task and equipping the people of God for the work of ministry is our ultimate goal (i.e. pastors do not do all the work themselves or alone), this does not change the expectations others seem to pile on us week in and week out. Fair or not, it is just the way it is. Sometimes folks, I find, just need someone to blame for their unhappiness in their life and the church and its leadership is an easy scapegoat.

Sometimes we are told as pastors:

If you would just preach a clearer 3-point sermon, then I'd know God's will for my life.

If the church would just start a new ministry for people in my life situation, then I wouldn't be as lonely anymore.

If the pastor had just visited my mother-in-law at the hospital one more time, then she wouldn't have been so discouraged.

"Will you please make my life improve and improve now?" Such pastoral shoes are heavy ones to put on sometimes. Sometimes pastors and the churches they serve feel as helpless to improve the quality of life of its congregants simply because of ALL of the responsibilities before us. It certainly can be overwhelming without lots of prayer.

With all of this being true, I found myself listening to the White House staff I met with this week differently. As part of a 60+ member delegation to converse with White House staff via an invitation from Associate Director of the Office of Public Engagement, Paul Monteiro, I sat before some of the most hard-working and most severely criticized public servants in the country. On topics of concern including the environment, human trafficking, housing, credit and immigration, our pastoral delegation listened and dialogue back with the staff about concerns stemming from our "front line" experiences of ministry. A civil and respect-filled encounter existed between us, I am proud to report. However on countless occasions, questions from the pastors to the staffers came in the form of "I wish that the Obama administration could do more on this . . ." This line of questioning felt like a broken record that went on for the duration of the three-hour meeting. We all wanted our government to do MORE. We hoped our government would fix more of our deepest brokeness as a nation. We wanted change soon, and as soon as possible. And as I listened, I couldn't help but whisper to my colleague, Rev. Abby Thornton sitting beside me, "I want to say to these White House staffers, I know how you feel."

Of course, my work in my congregation is on a much, much smaller scale, but the expectations and the constant "fix me" is something I do understand. And, I am sorry that my those who we elect to serve or are appointed to serve us in government have to feel this way too. I can't imagine what it is like to meet with citizens day in and day out receiving little praise for the good work you are doing instead being surrounded by voices that must sound like that of needy preschoolers who constantly ask their teachers for "Help me now! More, more!"

For, while we all have power to lead change, especially in positions of leadership, none of us are saviors, none of us are miracle workers. I know no matter who we elect to the executive office, he or she can not ever address every problem we face as a nation and as global citizens either. I also know that no matter how prepared, studied up or experienced in a multitude of situations as a pastor, I can not save my congregation from their deep woes either. Only God can.

While it is easy to want to expect the impossible from our government leaders, I hope I will think with more compassion the next time I'm in a conversation that begins with "I wish this administration would do . . ." There's more work, great work to do, of course, but we also must remember the people behind the scenes are just people after all. Like pastors, they can only do so much.

As a citizen as of this democracy, if I want to complain, I need to be willing to do something about the change.

 And, I know the same is true of churches across our land. If you don't like what you see, do something about it: be a part of the solution, not just the complaint. Like Gandhi once said, "Be the change you want to see." And, so let's get to work, all of us.

Promises in the Night Lent Sermon Series

I Will Remember You: Genesis 9: 8-17 with Mark 14:10-21

Can you remember the last time you got forgotten, left out of something you should have been included in or felt altogether betrayed by someone you trusted?Anyone experience such this week? There can be no more lonely feeling when someone acts without concern for your feelings, especially in a public forum.

And, if we were to take time this morning and share such stories, all of our tales would be different. But, there would be one thing in common and that is, we all have "I was not remembered" stories. Somehow being mistreated by those who love us most happens to be part of what it means to be human-- a world where all is not as it should be.

And, certainly Jesus-- as we examine his life as it was lived here on earth-- 100% identifies with us in his shared humanity. Though he was called, "Emmanuel, God with us," Jesus was not a man immune from some of life's deepest pains of betrayal.  He certainly knew what it was like to feel left out.

In the gospel lesson we heard read at the beginning of the service this morning, taken from Mark 14, we read of one such moment in Jesus' life when he experienced a great loss. And it is in the moment  of our text that we begin to see Jesus' dark night of the soul unfold.

For three years of learning, of traveling and of serving alongside of him, Jesus particularly chose each companion for the journey. No choice was random. No choice was made without care. No choice came from Jesus simply picking just anybody he saw when he woke up one morning.  No, there was a greater plan. Each disciple came to the super 12 dream team with just the right gifts for the tasks at hand. And most of all, when Jesus called each, he loved each one. He loved them so much that he desired to take the time to invest in their lives in a deep way.  In particular, with the disciple, Judas, Jesus trusted him enough to make him the chair of the finance committee-- a great responsibility.

And it would be Judas, a leader among the group,who went to the chief priests and promised to help plot Jesus' death. (And we all know that dreadful things can happen when money and power begin to mix). No loyalty. No remorse. No gratitude for all that Jesus had done for him. Simply, Judas, a close friend would betray him. Therefore, Jesus' last supper with his followers, a meal that we remember and celebrate to this day, would become tainted by Jesus' words of, "I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me-- one who is eating with me."

Hear this: Jesus did not even get his last supper in peace-- even death row prisoners get better than this! Judas-- not a naysayer in the crowd, not a haughty religious teacher, not even a Roman solider, but one of Jesus' beloved sitting around his supper table turned against him. Betrayal ran deep. It was a dark night. It was a very dark night indeed for Jesus.

Over the course of the next couple Sundays throughout the season of Lent, we're going to sit with Jesus in some of these very dark moments. We'll do this to see what we all can uncover about the "nights" in our lives too. 

We began this conversation, if you were able to make it, almost two weeks ago at our Ash Wednesday service. We began by sitting in the darkness. Realizing that as we turned out the lights and sat in the pitch dark, past sun down, that even in a sanctuary with little natural light-- there was still light. Even if light was faint or seemingly small-- light was still with us.

With this metaphor as a guide for us today and for the next couple of weeks, let's ask ourselves, as we sit with Jesus in this moment of betrayal, is there any hope for us in such similar experiences? Or are there times in our lives when we are simply screwed and without hope at all?

Using our Old Testament lesson as our "promise text" for today, let's uncover how in the most desperate of life-destroying places, we serve a God who says to us always, "I will remember you."

What we get as we dive into the lection taken from Genesis 9, is the happy ending of a story which I believe most of us know.  When I say, Noah you say, "ark?" Right? If we spend any time in church as children, the Noah story is one that we most certainly learn if not from popular culture or even the recent movie, Evan Almighty.

In the "kids version" of this Bible tale, we learn that God loved Noah and though he was going to send a flood to destroy the whole world, Noah and family would receive protection.  Not only was Noah's family saved, but 2 by 2 of every living creature. For their salvation, they all piled into the ark the length of several football fields that Noah and his sons had built for this grand adventure of faith. It's a sweet story about God's love for those who love him back. The end, right?

Well, the more you and I really dig into this text, the more, I can imagine that you'd say like me that Noah is no Bible story for kids. It's no Bible story that is all about the beautiful murals that we paint on church nurseries. Genesis 6-8 are chapters of the Bible that we should actually place age limit on before teaching it. For within, it's a pretty scary tale of divine anger, abuse, destruction and eventually of new beginnings-- if we can stomach it long enough to get to the end.

And this is the real story: for much as creation began with God's desire to "make man in God's own image" and to be in relationship with a beloved creation called man and woman-- things did not go as planned in those early years of the earth. God wasn't very happy. No, God was not happy at all.

No need to watch soap operas, for in fact, Genesis 3 through 6, gives you all the juicy drama you need of creation not exactly respecting their Creator. Man began to hate woman. Woman began to hate man. Sons became jealous of one another and lives were taken in anger.  Everyone on the earth began to do what was right in their own eyes. God's grand plan of peace, harmony and love all was awry. You could say in fact, that God felt betrayed. What God expected from humanity, what God longed for in humanity simply was not.

And, so we see God becoming angry-- a view of God that we often don't like to admit or even talk about is there-- saying to Noah in Genesis 6:13, "I am going to put end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them."

Yes, we read of a very direct God who wants creation gone. It was not a game. No, not a game at all. We hear words of regret that creation happened at all by our Creator."What a mess has come of my world! Why did I need humanity in the first place?" God says. Scary words, if you ask me.

And, so the flood waters come and they come. And, after the 40 days and nights of rain, we learn that only Noah, his family and the ark full of animals is left on the earth.  But this is the grace: the flood becomes the re-creation moment for God to get the do-over.  God is up for trying again.

Theologian Elizabeth Webb writes this about the state of things after the flood waters begin to reside, saying this: "All of creation is given a new beginning, a new opportunity to live in the harmony that God intended. Note, however, that this new beginning is also a continuation; God does not create new beings, but begins anew with a remnant of the beings created in the beginning."

And these are the new beginning words scripture tells us came from God in verse 8 of Genesis chapter 9, "As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals and everything animal of the earth with you. . . . I will establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth."

And so an agreement between two parties (God and humanity) for  God not do something ever again is established.  We call this agreement a covenant. And, while there will be other covenant giving moments as the story of scripture goes with folks like Abraham, it is important to note here how unique and special this particular covenant was. And, not for the obvious reasons of this covenant coming with a sign-- a rainbow in the sky-- but because of what was asked of humanity in this covenant making story.

And the answer is nothing. God asks man and woman to do nothing in return as this covenant was made. God will do all the work. It's not a conditional covenant, an "if/ then" promise that we will see later on in the history of the nation of Israel, but with Noah and all of us-- it is an eternal covenant. The "I will never send a flood to destroy the earth again" promise is a statement that God is making and says will be kept forever. Forever.

Hear this again, only God has a responsibility. Only God.  Which is a another way of God saying to all of us, "Ok, human beings, in my effort to be in relationship with you in the future, I am not going to go the route of total destruction again. I am going to work with you. I am going to be with you. And no matter how many different ways I have to try and no matter how suborned and disobedient you become toward me, I am going to keep at it. I am going to keep pursing you. Why? Because I love you. And, I won't let you go."

Several weeks ago, as several of you might know from reading my blog, I sat glued to the television set for four hours as singer Whitney Houston's funeral went on and on. In this "world goes to church" sort of experience CNN broadcasted the entire service without commercial interruption. As the memorial came to a close as a family friend, Marvin Winans, offered a homily. Though I struggled to follow his train of thoughts at points, one message of he offered mourners has stuck with me ever since. In referring to some words of the Apostle Paul when he writes that God shall supply all of our needs according to God's riches and glory in Christ Jesus-- Pastor Winans says, God is telling you today, just as he told Whitney over and over in her life, "I've got this." "I've got this and so you don't have to worry about the rest." Just trust me. "I've got this."

And, I think in many ways, this is what God was saying to all humanity in the covenant making of the rainbow-- "I've got this. I promise you. I will stay in relationship with you my beloved children no matter what." Every time you look up at the sky and see a rainbow, know that "I've got this."

What balm, then this is to our weary selves who are sitting in the dark, crawling in the dark, wandering in the dark if God had lost God's mind-- like I'm sure Noah and family felt as they de-boarded the ark that day. That to us, that to all of us, God promises this eternal good: "I will be in relationship with you. I will remember you, no matter what."

It's hard to accept such a light into the dark parts of our lives, isn't it? Because it is rare if ever that we receive such a gift of a promise kept that we are remembered, that we are loved,  that we are seen  even when it feels that everyone else has tossed us away and thrown us aside. Even our most beloved friends and family sometimes turn their backs on us. If it happened to Jesus, it most certainly will happen to us.

But, "I will remember you" is the promise that God offers us today-- a promise as bright as a radiant rainbow on an afternoon of summer rain. It's a promise that no matter how abandoned we feel, no matter how dead our most important dreams seem, and no matter how dense the fog is around us that we couldn't possibly even stand without help-- God will remember us.

God will guide us to light. And, no we are not going to have to stay in the darkness forever. For we serve a God made known through Jesus Christ-- who too once cried out from the cross, "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" and rose to life on the third day.

And, what a gift to our Lent waiting in the dark this year. Because if you know anything about the dark nights of betrayal-- often it is at these low points of our own lives that we can't even fathom moving an inch. But, we need not worry. God is with us and says what? "I will remember you."

Today we have the opportunity to eat of this supper that the Lord persevered through-- even as it was that night for Jesus that a friend became an enemy-- and eat of the bread and drink of the cup, that our Lord drank. For we are remembered forevermore.

Let us taste and see that the Lord is good as we go to the table.

AMEN

I don't know when is the last time you sat in complete darkness? How did you feel? What did you sense? What did you notice about your body, your fears or even your surroundings?

These are all questions that I want you to consider-- as we sit together in as dark of this room this evening. I invite you to clear your mind, relax and simply be in the dark as we turn all the lights off now. (Pause for 5 minutes)

----------------------

Church: in these moments of dark, what did you notice about yourself? What did you notice about this room that you did not play attention to previously?

Over the course of the next forty days, a season in the church we call Lent, our worship theme will ask us to consider again the darkness. Not only the darkness of our own souls-- the ways that we each fall short of God's best for us-- but simply to pay attention to the darkness in our world. Where are there places without hope? Where are there places without God's light? Where are there people hurting because they feel God has abandoned them?

The funny thing is about darkness, is that the more you sit it in, the more sensitive you become to any spark of light, even if just a crack through a window.  But, only if you sit with it.

One of the first times our power went out in our current home, right after we first moved in, with boxes still strung everywhere-- piled in the hallways, blocking doors and by the staircase-- I felt immediately paralyzed.

Being new to our home and not being able to "feel" my way around and furthermore not knowing where the candles or matches or even flash lights were, I quickly began to stumble around hoping not to injury myself too badly (You know, I'm not too good at sitting still).

But, I had never been in this kind of darkness before. Everything in my surroundings felt out-of-place without any memories to guide me. So, hoping not to break a leg, I stayed put on the couch and tried to enjoy the quiet. Luckily, the power came back on within an hour.

By the next time that we experienced a power outage at night, Kevin and I were well settled into our current address. We knew the drill. All of the important boxes were unpacked. The journey upstairs to find the flash light didn't feel like so much of a risk of life because we'd journeyed through the darkness to the space before-- we knew how high to raise our feet in climbing the stairs, we knew where the walls divided rooms and we could feel our way around the bed and find the candles and lighter on the nightstand.  Darkness didn't seem as scary because we'd previously experienced this space as safe.

Darkness, with practice wasn't as bad as we thought.

In our gospel reading for tonight taken from Matthew 6:1-6, we are asked to commit ourselves tonight to a different way of life than the norm. We are asked to prepare our hearts through waiting. We are asked to fast. We are asked to pray. We are asked to consider serving God in ways that might feel new to us.  But, we are asked to all of these things without drawing attention to ourselves or making a big fuzz about how wonderful we are to be taking care of our spiritual lives.

In fact, Matthew's gospel tells us in verse 5 that "when we pray, we must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. . . . but when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your father in heaven who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you." Which is another way of reminding us of the benefits of sitting in darkness. While it may be more fun or more pleasurable to our egos to say our prayers or do our good deeds this Lent for all the world to see, we are asked to sit in darkness. We are asked to do in the shadows, not the limelight.

For some of us, this season of sitting in the darkness may taste like one of those disgusting flavored cough syrups our mother forced in our mouth as child. In fact, we've never been one to sit in the darkness at all. We run from it. And, what I'm asking you to do "this whole sitting in the darkness bit" could seem as scary as the day I was alone in our home in the dark for the first time.  Without resources for light-- you are simply afraid.

If this is where you find yourself this Lent-- unfamiliar with this spiritual darkness-- then I say, just sit. Sit and know as you do, you might just recognize more light around you that you could not have noticed any other way. And, what a gift this Lent can be for you as you wait. 

But, if you are a person who knows the shadows of the dark night of the soul-- who has been in dark season before because of some personal circumstances of your own choosing or even just because life's cruelties-- I invite you too to this season of Lent too.

This is your promise tonight: just as a space called a home can become more familiar over time, the same is true for darkness as you continue to experience it. For, as we sit in darkness, as we cleave to our prayer closets of grounding our hearts and souls in Christ's light for our life, darkness can become a friend. We know that it won't kill us to sit in darkness-- eventually the light will come. We've seen it all before and lived to tell of the surprising joys of the darkest times.

So, as we receive these ashes tonight and commit as a church to the 40 days of darkness, cling to the hope of the promise. Return to your God, who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in love.

AMEN

Today is Valentine's Day . ..  a day that I know many of my friends hate. I even saw someone recently wearing a t-shirt like the picture to the right. I totally understand. It can be a rough world out there in the commercialism that we call American holidays especially for those who don't have what our culture says is a "must have" (i.e. a happy romantic relationship).

But, though I am happily married (and I know this means that some of you will stop reading here), I need to tell you that I love Valentine's Day.  I have loved this day even in my "I'm sad to be single years."  For me it has never been about the special someone in my life. It has been a day about love, something we all know something about.

I love this day because it is a wonderful excuse to tell the beautiful people in my life how much I love them. I love the beautiful people who make up my congregation who model for me the faith calling of simply being themselves! I love the amazing people-- though the number is small-- who still keep in touch with me from college and high school who remind me who I've always been. I love the faithful saints of friends who are in my every day life-- who make every day trips to the grocery store or out to dinner a major event of laughter. I love the colleagues that I have in ministry who are all across the world who challenge me and encourage me to keep going even when I feel like quitting. 

I love this day because I am one of those people who often feels like the intentional ways I like to show my love to others on other "normal" days of the year can be too much. You know, authentic expressions of love can be intimidating for some not accustomed to receiving. So for me, Valentine's Day is perfect. It's a day all about showing and telling those in your life that you love that you do love them. So, I do a lot of it!

I'm sure some of my affection for this day comes from the fact that I grew up in a household where Valentine's was one of our most celebrated days. While in grade and high school, my mom always hid presents in our chairs at the breakfast table with Vday gifts. Neither of us were big chocolate or candy eaters (I know weird) so we always got small gifts. Usually I found a new red t-shirt to wear to school or new pj pants. We'd always be served heart-shaped toast . . . a tradition I still keep up with whoever is in my household on Vday.

Then, my Vday love started to get out of control when I made that last-minute visit to Duke Divinity School in exploration of a call to go to seminary there on Valentine's Day 2003. It was the day I met with the admissions director, Donna Claycomb and also met three folks who would become some of my closest friends in the journey of seminary ahead: Abby Thornton, Jenn Brown and Clark Williams. At the end of the day, Donna gave us all cookies on a stick in the shape of hearts as her pastoral way of saying, "Thank you for coming." She wanted to show her love to us as we were in this scary time of trying to figure out what would be next in our lives. It was on that cold Friday, Valentine's afternoon that I left Durham knowing that Duke was the seminary for me.

The next year, when Vday came around again and Abby, Jenn and I were hanging out (maybe studying?), we made cookies on a stick (thanks to directions from Donna) in thanksgiving of being friends for a year. Now, every February, I make heart-shaped cookies on a stick and continue to celebrate with these folks and new friends too. Now as a pastor, I often go visiting to shut-ins and widows on Valentine's Day-- taking cookies and saying a word to them about how glad I am to have them in my life, even on a day that might bring up memories of sadness.

Today, I am not able to keep up the shut-in visitation or the heart-shaped toast part of my Vday tradition because I'm taking a couple of days off to spend with my husband in the Midwest. I'm tagging along on his business trip because we both really wanted to be together on this day. I love him so much to suffer through some really cold weather and the piles and piles of snow on the ground 🙂 I'm of the belief that if you have something good in your life (and Kevin is one of the really goods for me), then it needs to be celebrated and celebrated big.

So, what's the point to this personal ranting "I love Valentine's Day" blog?

Maybe I can not win you over to my level of Valentines love, but I hope I can encourage you to get out there and tell someone who you love them. It doesn't have to be a spouse, a boyfriend or a partner, but  someone. No matter who we are, we all have people in our lives that we love and hopefully love us in return. What a great day to just do something for one of these folks, so there is no doubt in their minds how we feel about them! Spread the love, my friends. Spread the love. It really can be a great day.

I was getting to know a new colleague on Twitter yesterday, Elaine who did some reading on our church website. She uncovered a sermon of mine that I preached in the first month of being pastor of Washington Plaza called, "Why this Church?" I had forgotten about it, but read it again last night and was surprised at how true these words still are about the congregation I'd hoped I'd love at the time and now know I do.

I know this is a time of the year that folks who might not otherwise be interested in church or things of faith get intrigued and start searching. So if such is your situation-- looking for a place to gather at Christmas in the Northern Virginia area-- I thought I'd post this sermon just for you. It tells the story of why churches like Washington Plaza exist and are positioned to thrive in the years to come. We are what many are looking for but just don't know is out there!

Why This Church?

Acts 10:34-43

Last week, we discussed together about why it is that the church itself is important for Christian faith—being a place where in community building and our community doing, we show the world an entirely different way of being through the name of Christ. We talked about how at its best, the church is the place where God’s kingdom comes on earth and our hands and feet are used for God’s good purposes in the world. And, we talked about the hope for the Church universal as people of faith contribute their gifts to its being.

Yet, I said very little about the particulars of this congregation, how we as the people of faith gathered here each Sunday morning at 1615 Washington Plaza fit into this story.

What is it that we have to offer as a local church to the larger Body of Christ? Why are we important?

Why should we keep working diligently at the sometimes difficult task of being a church that leaves a legacy of faith for future generations?

Speaking to these specific questions is the entire purpose of my sermon today—a sermon that I hope will encourage the goodness of God that shines so brightly here as well as challenge us about the seriousness of the journey in our future.

In our New Testament lesson this morning, we have the opportunity to peak in at a huge moment on the faith journey of Peter once again. A moment that I believe (if we look at closely) will help us know how God might be encouraging us as a church that we are doing some good things.

As we have been talking about all month, Peter’s path of faith was righteous early on. He was among the first of the disciples to publicly define how you could remain a good Jew and still follow Christ. Yet, his preaching and teaching had one primary audience: the Jews. Peter insisted that following Jesus meant still following the Jewish law—including eating foods according to the Law of Moses and worshipping in the temple.

However, the story in Acts 10 emerges as a turning point for Pete.  As he was going about his devout practice of praying on the rooftop, he fell asleep. God tells Peter three times to get up and eat what Peter knew contraband foods in the Jewish law. Of course he objects, saying, “By no means Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.” Yet, the Lord tells him to eat for the foods are now clean. And just as Peter is in the process of scratching his head wondering what just happened, a delegation of men arrives to see him from the house of Cornelius. The men invite Peter to go Cornelius’ home in Caesarea, a thoroughly Gentile city.

So, what happened in a matter of minutes was weird. Jews just didn’t go to social events with non-Jews out of fear of the “uncleanness” of the Gentile’s home. The risk of religious impurity was at stake, so it just wasn’t done.

But, Peter was on his way. God’s Spirit told him it was going to be alright. It was a calling of the Divine’s doing. Yet, I know as Peter made this long journey; thoughts must have been going through his head like:

“What I am thinking hanging out with these Gentiles?”

“I’m sure I’m going to be the laughing-stock of the disciples and my friends from the temple when I get back!”

“I know everyone is going to think that I’ve lost my mind going all this way to see this Gentile man I’ve never met: Cornelius!”

This is probably why we hear Peter telling Cornelius and his loved ones upon first meeting them that: “You yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile.” Peter sets some boundaries in the beginning, so that Cornelius’ family knew what kind of devout person they were dealing with in talking to him.

However, it is important to note here that Cornelius wasn’t your average non-Jew. He is cited in Acts 10:2 as “a devout man who feared God with his entire household, who gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God.” Cornelius loved God!

And, as Cornelius begins to share about his faith—Peter had quite a moment of epiphany. This is where we find our text for this morning picking up in verse 34 as Peter addresses the crowd saying: as one modern translation puts it: “I see very clearly that God shows no favoritism In every nation he accepts those who fear him and do what is right.”

Let me stop and read that again. “I see very clearly that God shows no favoritism In every nation he accepts those who fear him and do what is right.” Do you hear how powerful Peter’s statement truly was?

And in that moment of declaration, I believe a whole new way of seeing the world came about for Peter. Peter knew his theology had to change. He saw that the gospel was not only for those who spoke, acted, or lived as he did. He gained a friend from a different tradition than his own. And, he received from Cornelius, who was previously the kind of person he would not associate with in a religious sense, a greater understanding of what having a relationship with God meant: “God shows no favoritism.” God’s invitation of relationship was for all people, it wasn’t about the code of law anymore.

So, there was nothing for Peter to do besides give testimony to who he personally knew Jesus to be: Lord of all! And if we finished reading the chapter, we would discover that amazing spiritual electricity lit up the room. The Holy Spirit came upon all who heard Peter and the entire household received the baptism in Christ’s name. Peter’s faith was changed. You could say that he had an “inclusive conversion.”

At a previous congregation, I was assigned the same text for this morning, and hardly slept at all the night before I had to preach it. I was afraid that what I knew I had to say about it might get me fired. You see, because in reading and studying this text as I have just presented it to you, it was obvious to me that the call of Christ is one of inclusion. A non-Jew in Jesus’ day was considered to be an outsider, yet Christ was calling Peter to accept. And the same message, too translates to the “outsiders” of our time: that no matter what your race is, no matter what your religious background is, no matter what your sexual orientation is, no matter what that God loves you and wants you to know about this love. Yet, this is just not the way most modern churches function including the one I served at the time.

As marvelous as the stories of healing, peace, and justice which we find in the gospels about Jesus are, what you find in many churches today is completely different.  For many faith communities the message is: come be like us, follow our interpretation of scripture, come fit in, and don’t dare to be question — because we don’t know how to deal with unanswered questions.

And while this way of  being church works for many people who want a scripted pattern of what knowing God will be like (and I respect these folks as my brothers and sisters in Christ), such kinds of churches just don’t work for everyone.

These kinds of churches don’t work for the person who has an imperfect family.

It doesn’t work for the person who has doubts about their faith from time to time.

It doesn’t work for the person who believes in the priesthood of all believers.

It doesn’t work for the person who is told he or she is evil because of their sexual orientation.

It doesn’t work for the person who believes in diversity.

So, enter into the picture, Washington Plaza Baptist Church. A community that was founded as Baptist congregation, but where all the first residents of Reston knew they were welcome.

A community that has historically stood up for justice—affirming the gifts of women in ministry, helping the homeless, celebrating beautifully great Civil Rights workers of our time like Martin Luther King, Jr. and welcoming any who come in these doors.

A community where you don’t have to have agree with everyone else to be accepted. A community unlike any other in Reston and I dare say in the Northern VA area—so much so that we have regular attendees who drive miles each week to be a part of what we are.

A community where you can come with all your questions, all your uncertainties, all your burdens and find hope that there are people here who love you and want to care for you.

My new friends, this is what being church is all about. This is the kind of church that I knew I wanted to be the pastor of. This is the kind of church that I am proud to be the pastor of. This is the kind of church that the community needs to know is here.

So, why this church? Our mission focused on service and justice, our welcoming fellowship, our hopes for being an even greater presence in the Lake Anne neighborhood is exactly what Reston needs. We are the only Baptist presence of our kind in Reston!

This is a truth I believe with all my heart: our church is exactly what so many people are looking for, yet they are sitting at home this morning thinking it doesn’t exist.

We are not a congregation that looks exactly like our neighboring churches. We are not repeating something for the 20^th time that has already been done. We have great purpose in our uniqueness. We are living the dream of what so many great saints of the past wished they could see.

And though we may not be the type of congregation that grows to have thousands of members one day with our own parking deck, it doesn’t mean that we aren’t important. It doesn’t mean that we aren’t doing something very valuable and needed for those who choose to join us.

We are, my friends, in our existence, living and sharing with others, Peter’s proclamation: “I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism, but accepts people from every nation who fear him and do what is right.”

This is the message God has given us to share with the world that even as we face this New Year with all its problems, all its hurts, all its collapsed dreams— our community has the answer: love. Just as the American journalist turned social activist for the poor and homeless, Dorothy Day once said: “The only solution is love,” so this church must continue sharing this message. Our doors need to be open to provide such a hope.

How will then, people know that we exist? Why will this church have a future?

“They will know we are Christians by our love.”

No matter what we face in our future: it is our love that will continue to allow us to shine. Our love will make all the difference. Our love will bring new people to us. Our love will help us meet community needs. Our love will carry us on for years and years to come.

Thanks be to God for such a love and such a beautiful community to live out our faith.

Amen.

Luke 1:26-38 (Common English Bible)

²⁶When Elizabeth was six months pregnant, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a city in Galilee, ²⁷to a virgin who was engaged to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David’s house. The virgin’s name was Mary. ²⁸When the angel came to her, he said, “Rejoice, favored one! The Lord is with you!”²⁹She was confused by these words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. ³⁰The angel said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary. God is honoring you.³¹Look! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus.³²He will be great and he will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of David his father.³³He will rule over Jacob’s house forever, and there will be no end to his kingdom.”

³⁴Then Mary said to the angel, “How will this happen since I haven’t had sexual relations with a man?”

³⁵The angel replied, “The Holy Spirit will come over you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the one who is to be born will be holy. He will be called God’s Son.³⁶Look, even in her old age, your relative Elizabeth has conceived a son. This woman who was labeled ‘unable to conceive’ is now six months pregnant.³⁷Nothing is impossible for God.”

³⁸Then Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be with me just as you have said.” Then the angel left her.

I don't know about you, but I am already feeling the stress of Christmas. It may be "the most wonderful time of the year" but only if wonderful means the "busiest time of the year."

For each of us our stress comes in different ways. Sometimes it is from special holiday events to attend that all seem to fall on the same day (i.e. we have to figure out how to be in five places at once). Sometimes it is the stress of the requirement to see family, when we've just spent a holiday with them only weeks ago. Sometimes it is the stress of figuring out how it is that there will be Christmas gifts under our tree this year-- jobs have been lost and the budget for Christmas shopping is just not looking that good.  Though we hear carolers sing songs about there being "peace on earth" and "silent nights," peace can be the furthest virtue in our lives every December.

Yet, more than from stress our lack of peace often comes in estranged relationships.

Recently while attending at family gathering, I heard the story from one of my uncles about a fight he was currently having with his mother-in-law (unrelated to me). As the story went on and on and I heard every detail of the tale-- who said what, who did what, and of course everything that was wrong about the other person, I truly felt like I became a character in the disagreement from how vivid storyteller was in the details.

When I asked my uncle about when the fight took place, my jaw nearly dropped when I heard it was 3 years ago. "What?" I asked. "And you haven't reconciled yet?" "Nope," he said. Because of the tension this unresolved fight continued to birth, plans for the upcoming Christmas family dinner were anything but peaceful. Because the two couldn't stand to be in the same room together, everyone was seeking to go out of their way to ensure the contact between my uncle and his mother-in-law  was limited.  Even though weeks away, I could only imagine how un-peaceful my uncle's Christmas dinner table would be. And I gave him my sympathies.

And upon later reflection of this situation, I was reminded once again how much energy we must expand as we hold on to what has gone wrong in the past.  We literally exhaust ourselves by holding on to anger as bitterness swells in our hearts. And, in turn, keep ourselves from the new life and joy and love that could be ours for the taking if reconciliation occurred.

But, what about God? Have any of you been mad at God lately? Has anyone found themselves at a spiritual crossroads when you've felt like God has asked you to do something that you didn't actually want to do?

Well, if there ever was a good reason for someone to be in a position of anger with God, it would be the main character in our gospel passage for this morning. Though we normally think of Mary as the favored one, angelic like mother of our Lord, when the angel Gabriel came and gave her the news of her Holy Spirit conceived son -- she too found herself in a state without peace and possibly even anger toward God.

Luke 1:26-38 is among the scriptures that we read almost every year during this season and probably most of the sermons you've heard on this text and probably even most of the sermons I've preached on this text have focused our attention on verse 37 when angel relays to Mary, "For nothing will be impossible with God."  The announcement that teenage Mary will soon be pregnant just like her elder cousin, Elizabeth serves as a miracle story of God. Reminding us that the God we serve uses the lowly to bring hope for the nations through Christ who was born. And when you and I hear such a story, it is usually our first instinct to consider how amazing it is that Mary was chosen, that she said yes to the coming of this child within her, and that with the friendship of Elizabeth who would soon serve as her mentor, all would be well.

But, I believe the gem of this story is missed if we move too quickly from verse 29.

"Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be." (NIV)

And this is what we need to know: Mary found herself in a situation that she did not want and that she could not change.

Mary didn't want Joseph to die. If we pick up the book of Tobit-- a book not found in our Protestant scriptures but within the apocrypha held as sacred by our Catholic brothers and sisters-- we read of a popular folk tale that Mary surely would have known. It's the story of a jealous angel who appeared on a bride's wedding night each time she married and killed her bridegroom.  One scholar writes, "Against the background of this popular story, the fear of a betrothed girl (Mary) at the appearance of an angel is all the more understandable. Could it be that she thought an evil spirit was threatening her marriage?"[i] Certainly the appearance of an angel before her was nothing that she had ever heard of being a good thing. She hoped that her planned marriage would go to Joseph as had hoped it would.

Then, when Mary was told she would soon be with child, she didn't want to be punished. Being a pregnant before the betrothal period was over was more than a cultural taboo, it was a religious no-no. During the betrothal time, which Mary found herself in with Joseph, she was still living under her father's roof.  And, it would be until a year after the betrothal began that she would go to live at Joseph's house and thus have marital relations with him. Thus, for Mary to begin showing her pregnancy from the "overshadowing of the Holy Spirit" would be considered strange, inconceivable and ultimately could cost Mary her life if Joseph didn't claim the baby as his own. The sin of adultery could be placed over her life, unfairly of course.

And, furthermore, Mary probably did not want to be pregnant yet. Though girls married and had children as young as 13 or 14 in this era of time and having children was part of her responsibility to fulfill the laws of the Torah, I can imagine that it wasn't the leap into adulthood that girls like Mary dreamed for themselves. To soon face the potentially life-threatening complications of child-birth when she had not even had time to life much of her own life must have been overwhelming and unfavorable to say the least.

For all of these reasons and probably many more that Mary didn't even have time to think of in this very moment, she found herself in a situation that she didn't want and she couldn't change.

But, what was she to do? Especially as she was learning that this "thing" about to happen to her was from the hands of "the Lord." No longer could she go back to her girly innocence of thinking about goings on in her town. No longer could she be normal just like everyone else. No longer could she silently pray in temple without having to put feet to the words of prayer she had been saying all her life.  God was about to change her life. And there were choices in front of her:

1. She didn't have to believe it. She could have said as we heard Zechariah say last week, "How can I be sure of this?" asking for a sign or proof of her pregnancy before she accepted it.

2. She could have balked at this word from the angel. Responding with something like, "No way. You're going to have to find yourself another girl, Gabriel. There ain't no way I am going to carry the 'son of God' in me. That's ridiculous."

And in each of these scenarios, Mary could have found her soul much like the state of my uncle who is dreading the forced gathering with his mother-in-law this Christmas. Bitterness could have crept in. Hatred could have begun to corrode her sweet heart. Having peace, well, Mary would have to kiss that goodbye as she hung on to dreams for her life that would just no longer work for her.

But, then there was another choice and that was to make peace with God. To accept that in our discipleship journey, we might have to endure transitions that are harder than we could have ever imagined. To accept that in this sinful world, often times there are good and even bad things that happen to us that we can't control or make better, as hard as we try. To accept that having this one named Jesus, who would save her people from their sins was the next step for her life.

If we keep reading the text, we know that the final choice-- making peace with God-- was ultimately Mary's chosen path.  In verse 38, Mary responds to the angel saying, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with him according to your word."

Yet, as quick as the transition is in our text from verse 29 to the acceptance of verse 38, I'd like to think that the transition of this "making peace with God"  took longer than it did for Kirby to read this passage for us this morning.

I like to think of Mary as one who joined the great line of saints who were known to wrestle with God when faced with a difficult challenge: Abraham, who didn't want Sodom and Gomorrah destroyed completely, Jacob was willing to fight it out with God until his hip was thrown out of whack, and Hannah who prayed and cried and pleaded until the Lord gave her Samuel, the great prophet of Israel.

That when Mary said, "Here am I... let it be, according to the Lord's word" Mary allowed some things to die. Not in the physical sense of course, but emotionally and spiritually. Letting go of what her expectations and her plans were for her life. Letting go of constantly performing to others' expectations of her. Letting go of hiding innocently in the crowd, believing she was a nobody. Instead, letting peace reign in her being so that her life would exclaim about the Lord, "Let it be." Whatever, you want to come, God, let it be.

Sue Monk Kidd, popular author of the book Secret Life of Bees, writes in her earlier memoir, When the Heart Waits, of her struggle to "let it be."  At this juncture in her life she details in the book, perched at middle age with children growing into adolescence and her role as mother and wife changing-- Sue finds herself on a spiritual search to figure out why she was so unhappy. And though it doesn't seem to have a name or a direct cause, Sue begins intentionally stopping more often and seeking to figure out what exactly was going wrong.

And in this process, one afternoon around this time of the year, right before Christmas, Sue went into her attic to get out some Christmas decorations, and found a stack of old Christmas cards in the process. Though she chastises herself upon finding the pile saying, "Why do I insist on being a hoarder of such cards, from as a far back as 15 years ago?" she  found herself stopping to re-read some.

As she picked of one of these old cards with a picture of Mary on the front which read on the inside simply, "Let it be," Sue stops and recognizes this moment just for her. Maybe the experience of Mary wasn't as far from her life as she thought.  Writing later on: "I sensed that the words were about to take up residence and sing their little aria of letting go."

Sue goes on to make sense of this experience by calling on the wisdom of St. Teresa of Avila. Sue remembers that St. Teresa once compared the soul to a silkworm: "It is necessary for the silkworm to die . . . as it does completing what it was created to do . . . A little butterfly comes forth. Oh, greatness of God! "

And, Sue realized  then that God's call for her life was like that of Mary: to let die in her what was of the past, what would not be in the future, so that God could enable new life to spring up in and all around her.

Today, as we sit, also on a journey of waiting, also on a journey of soul-searching called Advent, we too are asked to make peace with God.

I hear people asking me all the time how it is that they can find peace, how it is they can move past the hurt of loss, and how it is that they find God's new plans for them after life-devastating pain.  And, to this, I invite us to consider Mary, her witness of making peace with God by letting die in her what could no longer be.  Mary ushering in peace, by saying to God, "let it be according to your word."

I can imagine that some if not all of us gathered here today have areas in our life in which we too are in need of peace. And to all of us I say, we too have a choice like Mary did.

So, I ask you what needs to die in you? What do you need to let go? Who do you need to forgive so that as we approach the table this morning, we have the chance to make peace with God?

I hate it that what I must preach this morning is about death to dreams, death to wishes, death to ideas we held dear about our lives-- for death is one of my least favorite things to talk about or to practice myself.  But, even with this true, I must tell you today that THIS is the ONLY way to peace. For after all we follow a Christ who died so that we might have life. And, it is our call to way in this way.

Won't you join me at this table this morning. Let us make peace with God before we approach this table as we pray . . .

AMEN

"Everything happens for a reason" such are words that we, as pastoral care givers are often tempted to use though they are not in the Bible anywhere.

We deal with so much crisis. We get tired of saying profound things. We want to feel good about the care we are giving, knowing that our care is making a difference. We want to give people hope that their suffering is not in vain, that it will amount to something greater in the end. We want to be an expert with something to offer the pain of those in whom we are called to care about.

But the truth is we are not God. Sometimes there are no answers. And trying to give a plastic answer often makes it worse. (Read the book of Job lately?)

When I hear the words "everything happens for a reason," it's like scraping the chalkboard of my soul. For, as much as I am tempted to say such as a way to easily explain away life's pains for myself and others as a pastor myself, I simply can't say (or even hear) these words.

For everything doesn't happen for a reason. Sometimes life just sucks in this sin sick filled world we live in.  And often it is not our fault. It just is.

I grew up in a tradition of faith that taught when bad things happened in your life it was the result of either a) a major personal screw up b) being out of touch with a close relationship with God via doing things like regular Bible reading, church attendance and tithing regularly. I was taught about a "if/ then God."  If I do what God wants, then God will bless me.

I truly bought in to this way of thinking as a child, believing that if something was going wrong in my life, it was somehow my fault. God must be punishing me or trying to teach me a lesson. I remember the day my youth group leader told us that you could tell who was living right by who God was blessing with good grades, winning sport games at school, and happily finding mates after completing their "true love waits" pledge to remain sexually pure until marriage. What lies. And it got worse . . . we were told that those who faced difficult life circumstances such as death of family member, the coming of an earthquake or fire, or whose marriages fell apart usually resulted from sin. The reason for these horrible things happening was God saying: "Clean up your act."

Maybe for those of us who are leaders in giving care to others, we can find ways not to either explain away life's troubles with "it will all be good in the end" or "it is somehow your fault" instead to simply be with those in pain. Sure, there might be something beautiful that comes out of life's most tragic moments, but it doesn't take away the gut-wrenching grief of the process.

For I believe it is not important to figure out the why's of suffering-- life is simply too complex and mysterious such answers-- rather to simple be present in life's moments whatever they may be.  Knowing that as we stay close to whatever emotions we are feeling, whatever is troubling our souls, there will be a path of peace to lead us to quieter waters someway somehow.

Let us stop, my caregiver friends, making this pastoral fail. I wrote this blog for this reason.

There is Always Hope

Luke 1:5-20

If you were among the millions who did any shopping out and about or simply breathed this weekend, there's no mistaking in  our culture, what is coming. For the anticipation has been building for weeks now. . . .

 Walk into Starbucks (as I seem to do a couple of times a day with Kevin) and what do you see and hear? Festive music and large signs inviting you to try out a gingerbread latte with whipped cream on top.

Do some grocery shopping at Traders Joes and what do you see at the checkout? Pre-packaged gifts of chocolate for children in the shape of candy canes and Mrs. Claus.

Drive around your neighborhood and what do you see? Lights, wreaths and lawn animals beginning to adorn the walkways.

Hit the scan button on your radio dial and what do you hear? Pop and rock stations seeking to outdo one another with how hours and how commercial free their holiday music selection goes on in a given day.  (With such going on since nearly Halloween, you'd think that the climaxing event was this week!)

What is coming of course is Christmas. There is no mistaking this. And, so even though we haven't officially even turned the calendar to December yet, we begin our pre-Christmas festivities here at church this morning. We do so not as a church that is taking our cues from the hyper obsessed "All I want for Christmas (you fill in the blanks)" culture. We do so not so that we can get our fill of Christmas spirit here this morning and rush out from the sanctuary and sing, "This is the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." We do so not as a church who is trying to hit over the head our neighbors of other faiths, seeking to say, "We've got the market on 'Jesus is the reason for the season'  so you'd better listen to us."

Rather, we claim this Sunday as the beginning of our celebrations as a community in anticipation of what is to come on Christmas Eve because we know we've got some work to do before we're really ready to receive.  We call this coming Advent.

And, in celebration of Advent, we take our cues from the heart of what Advent is about-- waiting, anticipating, and readying our hearts to believe again that something amazing is coming. We go about the conspiracy of setting our hearts on the stuff that money can't buy and can't be ruined by the most dreadful of family dinners awaiting us a couple of weeks and that comes in gift boxes we will remember receiving 10, 20 or 30 years from now. For what is coming is actually going to fill our souls . . .

This morning, we began this journey by lighting the candle of hope. And seems appropriate doesn't it to begin such a journey of Advent, doesn't? For isn't this how most physical journeys you and I start, begin with hope.

When becoming a teenager, we can hope to receive our driver's license and thus our freedom soon. When we start college, we can hope to finish in 4 years. When we get our first job, we hope we won't get fired on the first day. When we find ourselves in mid-life, we can hope I'll make it to retirement with our  sanity intact. And, the list of "hopes" can go on and on.

Rarely to do you and I start something that we don't hope we can finish. And, finish well.

When we consider our gospel lesson for this morning, a story essential to the Christmas narrative, but often overlooked for it never appears in the lectionary (I just had to add it in on this day), what we find is an elderly married couple who we can assume began the story of their lives together with hope as well. They dreamed of having a productive life. They hoped and expected children. They hoped to grow old happily together. But, what we quickly uncover as we read this tale, is that their dream of "there is always hope" had seemingly passed them by: they found themselves well on in years with not exactly the life they'd planned for themselves.

Scripture tells us that Zechariah was of the priestly line of the order of the priests of Abijah. It was the kind of guy who had his life together and had tried really hard throughout to do the right thing and usually did. Not only was he a priest, as his family lineage had asked of him, but he married good girl, Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the daughter of a priest and of lineage of Aaron-- the first priest ever and brother sidekick of Moses.  Look with me in verse six to hear the narration about them: "[Zechariah and Elizabeth] were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord."

(And, isn't our assumption that if we do the "right" things in life and don't offend God too much that we can find our way into "living a good life" category?)

Well, in this case, the Zechariah and Elizabeth were known to have a good life-- a really good life, except one thing: they couldn't have the son or any child for that matter that would ensure their lineage for generations to come. Long before the idea became popular in modern times that a woman or man's worth was not determined by their childbearing status, in this time and place, having a child was everything. Absolutely everything to "success" in life as a Jew, where the growth of the nation had everything to do with Jewish families birthing more Jews.

And it is to this state of affairs, we find ourselves at the moment when it was Zechariah's turn to offer the incense offerings on behalf of the rest of the community-- a privileged honor that only happened once in one's lifetime--  that a visitation occurs with an angel. And, not just any angel: Gabriel.

As the hopes Zechariah and Elizabeth had of passing on the good thing they had going on to a child, were already long past (verse 18, tells us that Elizabeth was long past childbearing years), Zechariah hears the proclamation of hope.

Look with me in verse 13. The angel says:  "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son and you will name him John."  Consider this, the name John, that the baby to be would be asked to take, meant in fact, "Yahweh has shown favor."

And, it was true after all of these years that Zechariah and Elizabeth were going to be biological parents!

Though today as we hear this story and the ones to come about Joseph, Mary and the shepherds, our natural response is to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. However, what we might not realize at first glance is that truly it was a LONG road of feeling as though God had forgotten this family and pure hopelessness for YEARS and YEARS to get to this moment. Though it is easy to focus on the "happy ending" saying, yes, everyone finally got what they really wanted-- life, as we know it too, often spends more times on the process than it does with the "happy" solutions. There's always a process to get to the end-- and often the process can be quite dark and quite painful.

Consider this: while we read our Bible from cover to cover and see a seamless transition between Old and New Testament-- a transition for us that is as speedy as the time it takes to turn the page-- in actually the transition to the good news of the New Testament was not that fast.

Did you know that there was 400 years of silence, as far as prophetic words of the Lord went between the time the acts of the first testament ended and the second testament began? 400 years. If you consider our nation as only been an independent entity for 237 years,  with pages and pages of history books telling what happens in this nation in this story period of time, can you consider 400 years of nothing from God? Nothing new? Nothing.

With this true, I wouldn't have blamed them for thinking that God had forgotten them, would you? After such a rich history of prophets and leaders to guide them at every step and from generation to generation in the bad times and the good, to go SO long without as much as a word from God, would be the epitome of life without hope.

Yet, sometimes it takes a really long wilderness of despair to position us for what is next in this sin sick, broken world of ours. We just can't avoid the pain, no matter how good we are.

But, if we consider the meaning of Zechariah's name, "Jehovah remembers," we understand that he was the right guy to hear the news of promises of what was to come next. For, as this gospel opened: there would be a new calling for the entire community. No longer were they to go about business as usual. Now was the time to know that there is always hope. For if angels were now appearing to ordinary priests and older women, long past childbearing time were conceiving, and if grown men went mute in awe of the word of the Lord, then, reason to hope could be alive and well.

Though I really want to take issue with the Lord on this one-- "400 years, really, what did you expect them to do if you were truly quiet this long? and "Why, why, why?"-- what was coming was in fact so good that it was long worth the wait.

Though in the context, hearing that a barren couple was going to have a baby was not that big of deal, was it? It was just one couple, right? Though I am sure it was a painful life for the two of them, what really was the point for the community gathered around this story then and for those like us gathered around the story now?

As is the case with any blessing of God-- blessings are not meant for self only. We are given much so that others can receive much as well. Sure, it was going to bring Elizabeth and Zechariah a lot of joy to finally have the child they thought they'd never enjoy (which I'm sure God wanted to overflow in them), but this son of theirs would play a much larger role in salvation history.

John, the cousin-to-be of Jesus, would be full of the Spirit and would be used by God at this crucial time in history to bring about the coming of God's favor: a favor for all people in manner unprecedented before or since.

So, not only would Elizabeth and Zechariah receiving blessing from cuddling and showing off their miracle baby, but God would use their offspring to send a message to the entire world of: get ready, I'm about to remind you that there is always hope.

But, why?

Hope, as concept is one of the hardest things to lose when life's seas get rough, isn't it?  Sure, we might keep going, but it is so easy in your life and mine for bitterness to seep in when we find ourselves  with nothing but broken pieces in our hands.

Yet, the "why" of this great hopeful message comes in claiming and seeing ourselves in the particularities of the characters of the story.

Though it might be easy to say, "I'm old" and if life really needed me to do anything important "it would have happened years ago" the example of Zechariah and Elizabeth reminds us that if we are still breathing then there is always hope. So I ask you today, are you still breathing? Check your neighbor to the right and see if they are still breathing. If so, tell them: "In your life there is always hope."

Though it might be easy to say, "I'm broken" as Elizabeth must have felt-- her body was broken and couldn't seem to do what came to every other woman so naturally, this story reminds us that God's time-table does not take cues from the untruths we think of ourselves. For no matter how broken we feel in our bodies, our spirits or even how broken talents are, there is not a single one of us that is too messed up for God to give us our particular part to shine in. Look at your neighbor to the left and say, "No matter how broken you may feel, there is always hope.

And, though your life story might tell a tale of being sight unseen in a crowd, being the one who was left out in your childhood family when plans were made, being the one whose birthday gets forgotten year after year, or the one who just feels as if though no one has understood you in years, find kinship with Zechariah and Elizabeth and their soon to be outlaw preacher son, John. Though from humble and as ordinary as they come beginnings, God saw them and God used them to be the catalyst in God's great plan to bring hope to the world again. So, turn behind you to someone different and say to them too, "I see you and there's always hope."

Author Emily Dickerson describes hope like this: "Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all." So, though we may walk through many dark nights and cold shadows to get to the place where you and I are to go, we keep singing. For there is always hope.

This, my friends, is the good news of the first Sunday of Advent. No matter who we think we are. No matter who we think we aren't. No matter where we have been. No matter how old, washed up or how many broken pieces there are around us, today we lit the candle of hope to remind us as we prepare our hearts for Christ's coming that what? "There's Always Hope!"

AMEN

The One Who Said Thank You: Luke 17:11-19

If your mother or parent figure in your life was anything like my mother, there was one thing certain after any birthday or Christmas celebration with family. We'd be required to write thank you notes. Who cares that it was the "job" of my grandmother and father (right?) to buy us toys for Christmas, or that I never actually met the real Santa, anyone who gave my sister and I a gift got a "Thank you so much for ___" note, from us.

If you are 5 or 10 or even 16 and your mother is making you sit at the kitchen table and pen out a thank-you note when you'd really rather be outside hanging with your friends, the practice of saying thank you becomes a dreaded exercise. "Do we have to, Mom? Can't we do this later at some other time?" was always the cry of my sister and I.

Of course now, as I recognize the good parenting move in my mom in this manner-- as I receive (and don't receive) thank you notes when I purchase gifts for my younger nieces and nephews-- I have come to believe that gratitude is a life style that never goes out of style. That time spent writing those thank you notes was indeed not wasted. In fact, expressions of gratitude are among the best ways we can give love back to our community. For, who doesn't want to be sent a "thank you" note or told by a friend or loved one "I appreciate you?" We all do.

But, what about Jesus? Today being the last Sunday of our liturgical year-- knowing as the celebration of Christ the King day on the eve of the American holiday of Thanksgiving, have you ever thought about how often Jesus receives words of thanks from folks like ourselves who say we're on a life path of following him? How often do you think Jesus was thanked when he lived on earth? How often do you think he is thanked now?

Well, when we encounter our gospel reading for this day, we uncover a situation where we find those two beautiful words uttered in the direction of Jesus: "thank you" by unlikely character, who simply did not forget how Jesus had blessed him.

The story goes that Jesus' was taking his ministry on the road. No longer staying simply in Galilee, he makes the trek with his disciples toward Jerusalem. And on the way, he finds himself stopping at a village where ten lepers approach him.

If we've been around scripture for very much time, we are certain to become familiar with a disease that seems to appear frequently called leprosy. Leprosy, known to us as Hansen's disease, the disease that causes grave skin malformation and open sores, but in Jesus' time, any who was labeled a "leper" as a person suffering from a range of skin issues and thus not allowed to worship or participate in cultural activities due to the regulations in the religious laws. The priests called lepers unclean.

So, for the ten lepers to approach Jesus was a very big deal. Though we often don't think of Jesus this way and at the time, his "radical" reputation was growing-- Jesus was still a Rabbi, a teacher of the law and thus for the lepers to come near Jesus at all was completely against the rules. So, what were they thinking?

I can imagine that they were thinking that they wanted to get better. And no matter how crazy this idea was to approach Jesus and ask for healing, they were willing at this point to try anything. If Jesus was a God inspired healer, as word was getting around town about him, then maybe by calling out: "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" might just do the trick.

And this was Jesus' response in verse 14: "He saw them, [and] said to them, 'Go and show yourselves to the priests.' And as they went, they were made clean."

And, WOW, to be labeled as "clean" meant everything to their future. Because really it wasn't the skin condition that they had which was killing them, but the isolation of being left out of everything in society. To be called clean again meant these "lepers" would be invited back into society as 'normal' human beings (and to be "normal" is what we all really want in life, isn't it?).

No longer would they be left out of  invitations to family parties and religious ceremonies. No longer would they be asked to live outside of the city limits. No longer would by-passers point and stare behind their backs when they walked into a room. What Jesus gave them when he looked these lepers in the eye and said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests (the clearing committee of the time)" was giving them their life back, before their skin disease came in and took it away.

I don't know if you have ever dealt with a long period of waiting, hoping or longing for something-- such as whether it is to be married, graduate college, or hear from your doctor that you are indeed cancer free.  In the midst of waiting, the process to get to the day when everything is right, everything is ok, is often excruciating isn't it? Nights of not sleeping, long days of hoping, and hours of daydreaming what it might "feel" like the day that you get the good news that you've long been waiting for.

But what happens when it such a dream day actually does come true? What does life feel like when the good news finally comes? If you are like most people in situations like this, once you reach a desired state of life, often, you not dare go back in the direction of what happened out of fear of it happening again. It's just too painful.  You are ready to move forward.

With this true about our own experience, we understand the bee line for freedom that the 9 of the 10 lepers expressed that day. Even with SO much to be thankful for, it doesn't necessarily make you thankful, does it?  After being healed, we never again hear about what happens to the 9.

However, in this text, there is one who forges a different trail-- a trail paved in gratitude.

"Then, one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice."

It is significant to note here that this one leper was the ONLY person in the entire gospel account that ever said thank you to Jesus. Though hard to believe, there was only one!

Of course, Jesus said "thanks" a lot. Thanking God for the blessing of food. Thanking God for God's presence with him. Thanking God for the gift of his disciples.  But, never, except this one account, do we hear of Jesus being thanked by anyone.

And, if you think with me a moment about all of the healing stories and life changing moments that disciples and the surrounding crowds experienced during Jesus' time on earth, it seems outrageous that only ONE came back to say thank you.

But, while shocking to us, such a phenomenon is not outside our own realm of experience. We don't say thank you as much as we should, not because we don't feel it nor think it, but we forget too. We figure the person or persons for whom we are grateful know how much we love and appreciate them. We figure someone else has already told them, so we don't need to. We figure that those who serve us like teachers, parents, or those in position of leadership in our government do so without any need for "thanks" in return-- so why waste our energy?

But, might we be missing out on the lifestyle of gratitude that was modeled for us by the leper who came back?

In Kathryn Stockett's bestselling novel, The Help, she tells the story of a recent college graduate girl, Skeeter, living in Jackson, Mississippi who begins a writing project about the African-American women who are "the help" to the white women in their homes in 1960s. During the course of her project, Skeeter, convinces several of the town's maids to secretly meet with her and share their experiences anonymously  of working for white women in a segregated society.

During one such interview Skeeter encounters a maid who worked for a woman who has recently died. The maid, though like a family member to this affluent white family, was never treated with the dignity and respect she deserved especially as she was known to work wonders with the family's colic prone children, often staying up in the wee hours of the night with them.

As the story goes, while attending the deceased woman's funeral, the maid, tells Skeeter, that she receives a note written by the woman she served right before she died. And, this is what the note to the maid said: "Thank you for making my baby stop crying. I never forgot it. Thank you."

The maid went on to tell Skeeter why it was important for her story to be recorded in the book. The maid said, "If any white lady reads my story, I hope they realize that saying thank you when you mean it and remembering what someone has done for you is so good."

In hearing the maid's story, Skeeter is surprisingly convicted about her own lack of gratitude toward her life-long maid, Constantine, whom she loved even more than her own mother, but never said thank you to either.

Though we talk a good talk about gratitude at this time of the year, when the truth boils down in your life and mine, we might just have to confess that we haven't been that one who remembered to say thank you too.

Life has gotten in the way. We've been too busy. And, before we know it, those in whom we want to say thank you to the most have passed away and our opportunity to express gratitude is gone. But, does this have to be our story?

But, if we sit for a while with the words of our text once again, we realize the exhortation placed before us today.  Though it may be our natural tendency to get through difficult circumstances, rough patches in our lives and never look back, Christ's call of gratitude is to never forget the journey and though who have walked with us through life's dark days or who have stood in the gap of our lives at times when we needed them the most.

On Thursday afternoon, at the Ladies Bible Study that meets monthly currently at Eleanor Penney's home, the women gathered and I found ourselves in a conversation about gratitude.  Janet Rickert shared a testimonial about a recent practice of hers-- writing notes to those in whom helped to raise and guide her becoming as a child who weren't members of her family. Taking the time as adult to write a note of gratitude for how her life had been touched by their contributions to it. When we asked her what happened next-- did she receive any response to the notes? She said yes. Those who received her cards got word back to her how happy they were to actually know of how her life had been blessed by them.  What a rarity, they noted, in our world to receive words and gestures of gratitude!

And, after Janet told this story, I could help but think, what might our lives be like if such was a regular practice of our lives-- not just in cards, but in every day words and deeds? What if it didn't take a season of the year for our lives to overflow in thanksgiving for how God has watched over us, protected us and guided us through our days?

What if we slowed down our lives at such a pace that we were able to say "thank you" more often to those in whom we've had a soulful connection that has encouraged our hearts?

What if we told teachers, doctors and family members who care for us in our hours of need, thank you for their love and care? What if we looked around this room right now at the faces of our church family and said to someone how grateful we are to have them as part of our lives and as part of our worshiping community?

I believe there is something about gratitude that changes us. It connects us again to our larger human family. It takes us out of our self-centered pity parties. It opens up our hearts to make room for deeper relationships-- relationships that can truly feed our souls. Gratitude reminds us that we never journey alone.

So, might you consider practicing gratitude this morning as a way of giving feet to this sermon-- so that none of us can leaving saying that we didn't tell someone thank you today.

So, as Ken begins to play in just a moment the music of our commitment hymn, I want you to live into your thanksgivings today.  So, this is what I want you to do: go to one person in this room and say thank you, to tell them that you are grateful for either their presence here today and/or their presence in your life for a particular reason.  Knowing that as you do it will do your heart good as much it will do for the one who hears your thanksgivings.

Then, we will gather together again and sing the hymn "Count Your Many Blessings" as a way to thank the One for whom we ultimately all our lives to anyway, Jesus Christ who is our Lord.

Let us practice thanksgiving today.

AMEN

I find myself being aware of the fact that I think about time almost all the time. . . . .

How I don't have enough of it. How fast it seems to fly on Saturdays: the one day of the week I get to spend completely with Kevin and other non-church friends.

How slow it seems to tick on Monday afternoons when it is just not time to go home yet.

How I'm already hoping God grants me some bonus years so I can go and do and see all I dream about experiencing, though I realize I'm only 31, with seemingly a lifetime ahead of me.

And, most of all, I think about how time is the great leveler for us all, rich, poor and middle class alike. We all get a chance at the same amount. Though 'they' say you can buy happiness, no one can buy time.

I have a friend, Sarah who lives with her husband and two small children in intentional community in North Carolina. Intentional community is just a fancy way of saying that she lives with others, both married and single alike, by choice, creating a makeshift family where all contribute to the financial and emotional load of the house. Sarah does not work full-time as most thirty somethings fresh out of school do. It's a lifestyle she began even before she had kids or was married. It has been her choice to devote her life to causes that she believes in first rather than her time being eaten up by the demands of a paycheck.

When I asked her why she chose to work less (and how in the world could she pay the bills?), she told me that the more she worked, the less simply she could live. And, living was more important for her.

Sure, she'd miss out on buying new clothes or getting fancy haircuts or go on trips without the consistency of a full-time income, but she'd also have the gift of time in exchange. She'd have time to garden. She'd have time to read. She'd have time to help the kids in her neighborhood with their homework whose parents were sight unseen. She'd have time to share lunch with her husband and friends who came in town to visit. Most of all she'd have time to contribute to the human race by breathing alongside it and actually being aware that she was doing so.

It's been years now since Sarah and I had this conversation, but its delightful tone has pierced me ever since.

More work= less time but more stuff (do we really need it?)

Less work= more time but less stuff (but stuff really isn't that bad when we need it?)

However, unless the solution to all of our time problems is to live in co-housing communities with one another (which simply just don't work with every lifestyle), what are we to do to make our lives simpler? Where are we to find time?

Thanks to my new ministerial colleague, Mary Ann, I've been musing more about the concept of Sabbath. Mary Ann, her husband and kids are engaging in a project of celebrating Sabbath (a day of rest from work) intentionally and she's writing about their experience in book to be published in 2012 called: The Sabbath Year. Mary Ann's project  (and the act of writing about it too) is forging a way of keeping the Sabbath as a lifestyle-- in the craziness of life in the DC metro area with three small children alongside-- enjoying time as God's gift to us.

What if we all weren't in a race against time? Practically, Mary Ann's words have stirred me to re-think Kevin and my run around crazy on Saturday trying to get errands done routine. Do we really have to go to Target every week?

Because isn't time is what we all make it to be? In the same way that my friend Sarah has made choices with her vocational pursuits to carve out time for people and things that matter in her life, so we all have the opportunity to make similar choices in each week's plans.

Though the phrase "I'm busy" or "I don't have time to ____" seems to rattle off all our tongues as quickly as "I'm hungry," we often have already made the choice to be busy. We allow our time to be eaten by stuff, no matter if the decision is conscience or not.

So, do we really have all the time we need-- in our weeks (to get the house chores done), in our months (to attend to the goals at work we'd said we complete asap), in our years (to fulfill all our dreams for ourselves and our families)?

Maybe we do in a spiritual frame of reference of time. Maybe such is possible, if less consuming lifestyle habits and Sabbath days of rest found its rhythms into us. Maybe. I'll keep thinking about it.

Today, I'm celebrating my fourth wedding anniversary alongside a man I think is a really amazing guy, but instead of turning this blog post into a purely personal narration of how much I love this man I admire more than any other in the world I wanted to consider marriage in a much larger context.

As part of my vocation, I probably get to talk about and participate in more marriages than the average person. People come to me for marriage counsel. I receive requests to officiate the weddings of others, most for whom regular church attendance is not a part of their week. I lead pre-martial counseling sessions for couples entering into the unknown of martial bliss.

And, in all of this, one thing is for certain, we all have screwed up ideas in one way or another of what marriage is. It takes time and long (actually very long) conversations and life experiences to work it all out. Whether it is because of the marriages (or lack thereof) that we've observed growing up, or unrealistic expectations of  what a partnership can be imposed to us from our culture, or unmet desires within our own lives that we hope another can "complete" us if we just find the right person . . . marriage, if we choose to enter it is often doesn't turn out how we might have planned. It can be both better than we ever imagined or worse.

There is one thing I know for sure about marriage and that is both partners have to be in 100% at all times. Nothing more and nothing less. Because:

Marriage is not finding a relationship that will meet all of your needs. Larger networks of friends and family are always important to sustaining the ebbs and flows of any long-term partnership. For me, I dare say that my girlfriends and other family connections are what have helped my marriage keep going especially at its lowest points.

Marriage is not a relationship with someone who you can expect to stay the same year after year. As much as you hope grow wiser ever year and maturity through the good and not so good choices you make, so will your spouse. Change will come not matter if we like it or not, so marriage has always been and always will be about a lifelong relationship of learning.

Marriage is not about bliss every single day. Fighting over what movie to see, disagreeing about what kind of chicken to have for dinner, and miscommunication about some of the deepest emotions your partner shares happens in even the best marriages. Just because you have a bad day it doesn't mean the marriage is bad. . .

Marriage is not about committing to someone whom you know and love perfectly on your wedding day-- for the journey has just begun. As I look back on our wedding pictures, I think "I barely knew Kevin then" (though I thought I knew him amazingly well at the time) for what we've been through together over the past four years. I think in many ways we've both surprised each other-- both receiving what we didn't expect on the day we first said, "I do."

Marriage is not salvation from the home life that you are trying to escape. No person, no matter how amazing they are can transport you to a world where your past life experiences aren't important in shaping your becoming. In making a new family together, you have to honor the past.

Marriage is not just about having sex without guilt and/or having children.  For those who get married out of the guilt of "we've already had sex so we must get married now" I fear this is not a good reason to start a lasting partnership. Marriages are about sharing your whole life with one another of which sex is only a part. And, children, when they are present in a home, are ultimately not enough to keep marriages strong. The adults have to work on this . . .

I wish someone had told me all of this about marriage when I first begun this adventure. But, I'm sure, as I know four years is only a short period of time, that my learning about what marriage is and isn't has only just begun.