Our hotel rooms in Ethiopia and Kenya did not have TV and usually they did not have phones.  There were never newspapers in the lobby.  Usually the only place we would see a TV was in the airports.  As we were waiting one morning for a flight from Gondar to Lalibella I noticed pictures of Times Square on the news.  I moved closer so I could read the sub-titles and learned there had been an attempted bombing in Times Square three days earlier.  It was still the top story even though the bomb failed, no one was injured and no one was killed.  Two months later when we returned to the states the story was still on the front page of the New York Times.

On Saturday, June 12th we checked in for one night at the Serena Hotel in Nairobi.  We were traveling to Amboseli on Sunday.  We had a room on the fifth floor overlooking a beautiful park.  I looked in my handy-dandy Lonely Planet guide and discovered our hotel was right in the corner of Uhuru Park in Nairobi.  We checked out Sunday morning and drove out of town through the park.

That evening we were in Amboseli.  But in Uhuru Park in Nairobi, very near the hotel we just left, three hand grenades went off at a political rally killing seven people and injuring more than 120 others.

My first thought was that we needed to send an email and let everyone know we were OK.  Then I realized that no one knew we had been in Nairobi that night so maybe no one would worry.  That was also the time when my computer battery ran down and our transformer caught fire and exploded so we could not recharge anything.   I worried that folks at home might be worried.  I never suspected that the bombing would not even make US news.  We decided finally to wait and see if anyone had heard the news.  Sara finally admitted she saw a tiny article in the back section of the paper and did worry for a moment.  No one else ever even knew.

A non-bombing with no injuries is worldwide news for two months, but a real bombing that takes lives and injures many is basically ignored outside of Kenya.  Why the difference?

It is the same question this trip has raised for me around HIV/AIDS and the orphans.  If we had a school where one half of the student body were orphans due to HIV/AIDS wouldn’t we do something?  Half of the students in this elementary school are living in what they call “Child headed households”.  That means there is no adult in the house.  The parents are dead and the oldest sibling is trying to raise the rest.  It might be a fifth grader trying to care for a second grader and a toddler.  Could your fifth grader do that?  Would you want them to?

The politicians in Ethiopia and Kenya are frequently accused of taking bribes or pay offs for voting one way or another.  That is called political corruption.  When we do it in the US it is called lobbying.  Seems like a distinction without a difference.

Why is there this disparity?  Why are different lives seemingly valued differently?  It simply cannot be a matter of black and white, can it?

At the Amboseli Lodge I was sitting in a quiet spot on the beautifully landscaped patio writing.  There was a young Masai warrior walking back and forth across the edge of the porch- just a few feet away.  He was dressed in traditional Masai warrior attire- a red cloth wrapped and belted, falling just to his knees- a second red “blanket” draped around his shoulders- beaded jewelry covering his neck, wrists, and ankles- Bare feet- a short club and a machete tucked into his belt- a long stick to lean on.

  His pacing made me nervous.  Finally I smiled and spoke.  He introduced himself and asked my name.  He explained that his job was too guard me from the yellow baboons residing on the property.  Sure enough- wherever guests were seated there was a Masai warrior nearby on guard duty.

Most Masai do not read or write.  They raise goats and cattle.  They eat goats and cattle.  They drink milk and animal blood.  The Masai have never killed wild animals for food as some other peoples have done and that is why the largest game parks are on Masai land.

Everyone in the Masai village has a job.  The children tend goats and cattle starting at a very young age.  The only children who go to school are the ones who mess up and loose too many animals.  Little girls learn from Mama how to walk up to ten miles for water, how to build the family home from mud and cow dung, and how to cook the family’s meat (if they decide to cook it at all).  The boys will tend the flocks and herds, become warriors at 16, come back to the village to marry around 25, and raise cattle and goats.  To make ends meet some warriors will guard tourists from baboons and some women will sell their beads and handiwork.

I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been born to a Masai family rather than middle-class folks in Ohio.  Would I have tended goats or been sent to school?  It goes without saying that I never would have dealt with weight issues.  Would I have accepted the norms of the village or would I have been a difficult and rebellious child?

I am really blessed in that I do not have to worry about food and shelter and safety every day of my life.  I have had so many choices and so many options.  I feel very lucky that I get a three month sabbatical instead of guarding baboons for some rich tourists.  But then he gets to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth.  He can see the stars every night.  He can hear the lions in the distance announcing a kill.

I keep wondering- what is fate?  What is self-determination?  How much control do we really have over our own lives?

I did not miss TV or telephones at all.

I did miss good internet connections and the ability to communicate with friends and family.

I did not miss any particular foods (except cheese) but I did miss the opportunity to cook.

I did not miss my bed, we had very nice beds everywhere.  I did miss my shower- actually my entire bathroom- and I really missed being able to brush my teeth with water from the tap.

I missed ice.  My first stop when we landed at Dulles was the Starbucks for a black iced tea.

I thought I missed reading the newspaper, but on the rare occasions when I had the opportunity I discovered I really didn’t miss it after all.  Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

I can’t believe I am saying this, but I missed my workouts at the Y.  In Ethiopia we did a lot of walking and even a couple of hikes.  But in Kenya we rode a lot and sat a great deal.  I missed the physical activity.

Thanks to my Kindle I have not missed reading good books.  Thanks Mother for the Kindle and thanks to Northminster for filling it!

I have not missed cleaning house, doing laundry, shopping, running errands, standing in line at the bank or the pharmacy.  My sabbatical from those chores may go on for several more months.

Each morning I get up early.  I have to finish my coffee and my morning exercise and my breakfast then get into my swimsuit all before Linus wakes up asking for his grandmother.  Then I must hold the baby until it is time for him to eat again.  Then I have to go sit by the water for a while and watch the waves.  The beach walk is required daily as is a float on the raft.  After lunch I need to hold the baby while his dad runs and his mom gets to walk the dog on the beach.

At five I am in charge of preparing happy hour and contemplating the possibilities for dinner.

If that isn’t enough I also have wineries to visit, cute little towns to wander through, novels to read and an occasional run to the grocery or the fish market.  So I am sure you can understand why the computer sits in the corner, untouched, most of the time.  This grandmother business is demanding.

Today Linus is back in the city while his mom and dad take care of some appointments.  So who knows, maybe something else will be accomplished here.  But no matter what I come up with to fill the day, it will not be nearly as important or wonderful as holding my grandson.

The screeching sound of a tree hyrax woke me this morning at 5:30.  I rolled over in our huge king size bed, pulled up the heavy down comforter and reached for one of the hotwater bottles the staff had left the evening before.  We are at Sweetwater Camp- right on the equator and the mornings and evenings are very cold.

At 5:45 I layered several shirts and jackets, opened the flap to our tent and stepped out to survey the sunrise across the savannah plains of central Kenya. The quarter moon was setting over Mt. Kenya. Warthogs, zebra and gazelle were gathered around the watering hole just 50 yards away.  We grabbed a quick cup of coffee and by 6:30 we were off on our morning game drive.  We returned to camp at 9:00 for the huge champagne brunch. 

By 10:30 we were off again to see the chimpanzee sanctuary.  They have 43 orphaned chimps that were brought here from Rwanda by Jane Goodall to save them from extermination.  After the chimps we encountered a bull elephant along the road.  As he was crossing the road about 25 feet behind our land cruiser he turned, stomped, lowered his head and prepared to charge.  I thought it was kind of fun and just kept taking photos until I heard the panic in Preston’s voice as he shouted at Star to start the vehicle and get going.  Three more bulls came from the trees and we just kept moving.

The morning game drive ended just after noon so we could be back for the buffet lunch, a swim or massage, a nap and some afternoon tea before we head out again at 4:00.  We will stay out until dark at about 6:30.  After watching the sunset we will return to camp and clean up before dinner at 8:00.  Then back to the tent (which is bigger than our last hotel room) plug in the camera to recharge and off to dream of more animals and birds.

Every morning I wake up and give thanks to God for Eli Lilly and the folks at the Endowment who made this all possible.  Then I thank God for Northminster not just allowing, but encouraging me to take a sabbatical.  Then I go through my whole list- Phil and Beazy for making sure I had a new camera for the trip, Ruth and Andi and the whole staff for making it so easy for me to leave, and on and on and on.  Then the tree hyrax screams and I forget about Indiana for a while and enjoy Kenya.

We are on the border of Kenya and Tanzania at the Mara Serena Safari Lodge in the center of the game park.  This is our first day of safari and so far we have seen-

Gazelle, elephant, giraffe, buffalo, antelope, hippos, crocodile, zebra, baboon, wildebeest, warthogs, jackal and more birds than I can ever remember.  Our guide, Preston, is wonderful and so knowledgeable.  Our driver is Stanford but goes by “Star”.

We will be in this park for three days doing game drives morning and evening.  We have coffee at 6:00 and then go out until 9:00.  We return to the lodge for breakfast at 9:00 and go out again until noon when we come back for lunch.  In the afternoons we can sit by the pool or take a hot air-balloon ride or go to the spa. Early evening is another drive then a late dinner before bed. .  It is rough but somebody has to do it. 

When we were planning this adventure I had great difficulty finding a safari that fit our timing and our budget.  I mentioned the problem one day in the office and Allen McCormick over heard me.  He told me about Preston.  Allen met Preston’s daughter when she was a student at Kenyon College.  Allen introduced us by email and Preston worked with us to plan the safari.  So we have a seven passenger safari land cruiser for just the two of us.  We stop when we want to stop and we go when we want to go.  I am being spoiled. 

5 June

Up before sunrise, yes, even me!  A quick cup of coffee and then out into the park.  In just a short time we saw four male lions sleeping.  Then a cheetah with three cubs.  Finally, we located two of the female lions.

Back to the lodge for breakfast.  Preston grew up in eastern Kenya.  As a child he looked for birds he could shoot with his sling-shot.  One day he was sent on an errand to the African Inland Missionary’s home.  The missionary had a bird feeder that was attracting many birds.  He explained to Preston that God created these beautiful creatures and he began to teach him about the birds, their names, their calls and their habitat.  Soon Preston knew all the birds.

After finishing secondary school Preston’s family had no more money for his education.  It was about that time that the government of Kenya decided to invest in tourism.  The Swiss built a college for tourism and Preston was enrolled in guiding school.  He taught his children about birds and wildlife.  He turned his small family garden plot into a wildlife sanctuary.  Eventually he built a building and began education children on birds and wildlife.  Now he is a gold level (highest possible) guide and one of the leaders of the Kenyan Guiding Association.  All because of a missionary and a bird feeder.

Things I did not expect-

The colorful variety of birds.  I am not a birder by any means but have found it fascinating to see the colors and shapes.  I’ve learned to identify some by call and others by nest design.

Fishermen and hippos in the same section of lake.  Some of the hippos near the resorts are so tame that our guide said we could ride them if we wanted.  We did not want, thank you.

Distinctive smells.  The Kenyans smell different than the Ethiopians who smell different than Europeans.  I don’t mean that judgmentally, it is merely an observation.  Americans really are obsessed with cleanliness.

Eating with my fingers in Kenya.  I knew that we would eat injera and wat in Ethiopia with our hands.  I did not know much about Kenyan food and have enjoyed the discovery of ugali and chapatis and the lack of silverware.

People asking directly for money.  I was expecting the beggars on the street but the security guard in the hotel asked if we would buy him lunch.  The barman asked for help with his children’s tuition.  The woman selling crafts refused to give change.  The pastor of a church asked if we would pay for one of his members to attend secondary school.

The variety of modes of transportation on the streets- trucks, SUV’s, buses, cars, motorcycles, tck-tck’s (three wheeled- enclosed motor bikes) bicycles, mules, foot.

The youth.  People are young here.  The average life expectancy in Kenya is only 52.  There are not a lot of older people.  They die of HIV/Aids, Cholera, Malaria, or accidents.  Even in the churches the people are very young.

The pride all Africans and particularly Kenyans take in their “son” Barak Obama.  Everyone asks about him.  There are pictures of the first family everywhere.  They name shops after him.  They lecture the school students about how he came from a poor family with only one parent and became president.

How much fun I am having.  Today we took a boat ride on Lake Victoria to see hippos and birds and a fish market.  I enjoy just walking the streets.  I can draw huge crowds by taking photos of children and then showing them the photo in the digital camera.  Even adults will line up to have their photo taken.  Of course shopping at the craft stalls is right up my alley but we have about reached our limit of bags for the flights home.  Today we shopped at the fair-trade stalls where widows and orphans are trained to make local handicrafts for sale.

How quickly the time has gone.  I cannot believe we are more than ½ over.

Next to our hotel is a place called "A Cut Above".  The sign says they specialize in Asian and European Hair.  The ad didn't mention American hair but we took a chance.  All came out well and we can begin safari well groomed.

Our last visit to a school was rather interesting.  We met with about 80 secondary students who are the Umoja Scholars.  They "earn" their school tuition and fees by studying hard and maintaining excellent marks.

At one point in the gathering the students broke into small groups and the adults each sat with one group.  i was with a group of high school age boys.  They were told they could ask us anything they wanted and we could ask them.  I asked about their interests, their sports, and their career goals.

The questions the students asked me-

What contributes to the economy of indiana?

What team do you support for the World Cup?

How do you heat your home?  What is air conditioning?

What do you pay for a candy?

What is your climate like?

How do you travel?  What do you eat?  Do you grow it?

Are your politicians all corrupt?  Do you like Obama?

How do your schools work?  Who goes to college and why?  When must students decide thier life career goals?  Must they take national exams?

Do you have national parks?  What animals are there?

What do the people in your country know about the people in our country?  What would they like to know?

Many of our families live on less than 75 shillings per day.  Does anyone in America live on that amount?  (75 shillings = $1.00)

We had some wonderful discussions.  These kids are bright and inquisitive.  They go to school all day six and a half days per week.  They take national exams and have the results posted for the entire nation to see.  They do their own laundry (in basins), take care of siblings, find food and firewood, and most of them do it with no parental or adult assistance.

What would you ask them?

Saturday morning we went to the home of Michael and Lillian.  They are both administrators and faculty at Comtiah College in Kisumu.  We enjoyed their hospitality at home and then moved to the college campus for worship.  Michael and Lillian are members of the Seventh Day Adventist Church so this was their Sabbath.

After worship with the students we toured the campus, the homes where boarding students live, and the second location and office suite in downtown.

Comtiah is a new college offering education for those who do not qualify for University or cannot afford to go to University.  They offer certificate programs and degree programs in areas such as business, IT, social work, community development, and accounting.

The reason for our visit was a desire to develop a partnership between Umoja and Comtiah.  Right now Umoja gets students through secondary school and then they are on their own for college.  But Comtiah offers a special program for orphans.  For about $47 per semester an orphan can attend college.  This gives them the opportunity to develop job skills they can use for life or they can earn the money they need for the university later.  There is real possibility it seems in this new area.

Sunday morning we traveled to Chulaimbo again.  We attended worship at the Anglican Church of Kenya.  The pastor is Charles and he is also the chair of the Umoja Board.  We met Charles last fall when he and Joseph visited Indianapolis.

Charles made it perfectly clear that with two visiting clergy in the congregation he had no intention of preaching.  So Jack read the scripture and prayed and left me the fun of preaching.  Most of the service was in English but Charles translated the sermon.  Much of the music was familiar.  Since this denomination was started by European missionaries in the early 1900’s we felt pretty much at home.

On 27 May we drove three hours from Malindi to Mombasa at 5:30 am, waited two hours, flew to Nairobi, waited five hours, flew to Kisumu and finally checked into the St. Anna guest house at 9:00 pm.  Our host in Kisumu is Joseph, the director of the Umoja Project.

Thursday morning we went to visit Ogada Primary and secondary schools.  In the afternoon we saw the Kawino Primary and Secondary schools.  Friday we went to Chulaimbo Schools.  These schools are all part of the school lunch program supported by Umoja and the Indianpolis Hunger Initiative.

This program identifies orphans and vulnerable children.  They provide lunch at school every day for these kids.  Umoja also provides school uniforms and shoes.  If it is a child-headed household they also receive kerosene for the lamp so they can read at home, kotex for the girls, food support, and a blanket.  The dream is to provide the child headed homes with new cook stoves and water purifiers in the near future.

Umoja has worked in partnership with Heifer to design and build new cook stoves for the schools in the project.  They were burning a lot of firewood preparing the lunches over open fires.  The new stoves use less firewood, are more energy efficient and cost effective.

All the schools have gardens or small farms on site.   The students work in the garden to learn basic agricultural skills and also top provide some of the food for the schools.  The hope is for each school to develop an income generating project to fund the school lunches.  The project is again a partnership between Umoja, the school and the guardians of the children.  Heifer is working in four of the schools to begin animal husbandry programs.  The animals will provide a teaching opportunity, give milk and/or eggs for the lunches, and eventually allow the program to sell milk or eggs and use the manure on the farm.

HIV/AIDS is still the leading cause of death in East Africa.  On top of that the area suffers from extreme  poverty and tribal conflicts.  There are many children who have no parents or only one parent.  Some live with other relatives, neighbors, or alone.  Umoja and IHI allow these kids to stay in school.  The meal they receive at noon is often the only meals they have all day.  It is a plate full of beans and corn, or beans and rice.  Sometimes they get some boiled bananas (plantains) along with the corn.

The fifteen schools being served by this program all report that the number of orphans attending school is up.  The performance of the students on the national exams is up.  The children are healthier and they have a future.  But the need is still so great.

In the 15 schools served there are 2700 children receiving assistance.  It costs $17 to feed a child lunch for an entire year.  They feed the students for just under nine cents per meal.  In the secondary schools it costs $325 a year to keep a child enrolled.

I am absolutely amazed at what a difference a few dollars can make in a person’s life.  These children are beautiful and they really deserve a chance.

Today we were telling the barman that we leave tomorrow.  He asked where we go next and we told him about the mission project in Kisumu.  He wanted to know how he could get some of the mission money we give to them.  He has five children and two are in secondary school.  It is very expensive to pay tuition and buy uniforms, books, etc.  He was very sincere in his question and we did not have a good answer.

Every day wee meet people whose lives could be changed with the money we will spend for a couple nights at a hotel.  It is so hard.  So today we gave the barman tuition for one of his boys for a year.  It cost us $200.  Seems like a good investment to me.

I am spending my 56th birthday at the Driftwood Resort  in Malindi, Kenya.  This is a coast town about 2 hours north of Mombasa.  We are here in the off season.  It is winter.  It is sunny and in the 80’s and very humid but it is winter because it rains off and on all the time.

After breakfast in the open air dining room I went for a fast walk on the beach.  There are no other tourists so the only folks I passed are local.  Everyone is polite and eager to sell me something- wood carvings, scarves, jewelry, stone carvings, fish, squid, sandals.  They all know we are Teri and Jack and we are staying at the Driftwood.  Words spreads fast.  They also know it is better to wait for Jack since he is a soft touch and he doesn’t walk as fast.

This morning I was walking for the exercise.  I do feel guilty walking past these folks.  I walk because I eat too much.  They walk because they have nothing to eat unless they make a sale.  I do not beleive this is the way God intended the world to be.  there is so much here that does not make sense to me and there is so much that makes sense but i do not like it.  There is also much I love.

But for tonight I will just sit in the open air bar sipping a Kenyan beer, looking at the Indian Ocean, giving thanks to God and to Eli Lily for all my blessings.

They tell me that Ethiopia sensors email and that anything with the words “election” or “ruling party” may have been ‘lost’ last week.  That does not seem to have been the case but I am not sure who is getting what.  But now we are in Kenya so I will speak freely.

The election is scheduled for Sunday, May 23rd.  The ruling party has been in power for almost 20 years, ever since the Derg (communist rule) was ousted and democracy came in.  Five years ago there was considerable violence when the election results were reported.  The people of Addis voted overwhelmingly against the ruling party but they won anyway.  The woman who was considered the winner was thrown in prison and remains there until this day.  But this is a democracy with free and open elections.

The comment from everyone we talk to is- The Ruling party will win the voted where they can.  Where they cannot, they will still win the votes.

The European Union election observers have been invited in to watch the process.  American observers have not been invited in.  Americans have been told we must register with the Ethiopian government if we are in the country and plan to leave the city limits of Addis.  They seem to fear that we are secret observers and we might say something negative about the process- like that it is a sham?  The American Embassy has ‘suggested’ that we remain low during the election weekend and for the first week or so following the election, until the results are announced.  We had no desire to sit in a guest room for a week so we came to Kenya early.

We finished most of what we wanted to do in Ethiopia but would have enjoyed another week.  Too bad these people have no way to change their future.  They went from a King to Communist rule and now to this democracy that does not appear to be very democratic.  Some things have improved under this government but many have not.  Education and health systems are not good and yet more than 50% of the population is under the age of 20. Electricity works only some of the time.  So many people are so poor.  I do not understand a country where a government employee drives a Porsche SUV (taxed at 150%) and a farmer still uses yoked oxen pulling a wooden plow.  We were in homes with large screen TV’s and computers for the kids and then we were in homes where the animals and the people share the same rooms.  It is a country of contradictions.

We have been warmly welcomed everywhere by the people.  On other world travels we became accustomed to people saying- We love Americans, but we hate your government.  At the same time the governments of those places would say they liked America.  Now, in Africa, folks yell- We love America!  We love Obama!  To be suspect in the eyes of the government feels strange.  But such is life.  So rather than take chances we moved on. 

Ato Tefere- Administration of the Bethel Synod Mekane Yesus Girls School gave us a tour of the school and campus.  There are 1,159 students in K-12.  There are 6 departments and 50 staff.  Some teachers are part-time who come from other schools to teach particular subjects.

The students pay to come to this school and they are required to attend chapel each day for 30 minutes but the school is open to anyone.  Chapel is led on a volunteer basis by faculty and staff.

Ato Tefere has been principal here for 12 years.  He has a degree in political science but was called by God to serve in this way.  He has two children preparing for college and he worries about them.  He would like to study in US for three years to get a masters.  He is trusting God to lead him and open the way.

There is a new three story building which was built over the old church building.  The chapel is on the ground floor.  The second floor will be the Betsy Muldrow Library.  The lights and electrical outlets are in but the rest is unfinished.  Windows are to be installed tomorrow.  Nice large, light room and will provide library and study space for the school.  The school needs library resources.  They need books and computers.

The third floor has two large apartments which will house volunteer English teachers.  The apartments will be spacious and beautiful when finished.  Tiled floors, verandas, nice kitchen, two bedrooms, bath and a storage room.

Current library is dark and crowded.  Eighth graders were taking an exam in there.  Old dormitory building is now used for classrooms on second floor.  Third floor houses some employees left over from the time of the Derg.  They are trying to reclaim the space from the government.

At the end of 12th grade the girls are given an exam to qualify for university.  They have a 100% completion rate.  They also have 100% passing the 8th grade and 10th grade exams.  There is a waiting list to get into the school.

There is a new cement block wall all the way around the campus.  This provides safety and security for the students.  Because they are all girls there had been instances of people throwing stones at them through the old fence.

We had coffee in the staff lounge and received permission to attend chapel tomorrow with the students.  We received word that a young woman who graduated two years ago was in a TV competition between two universities.  She won the contest answering questions about the upcoming elections and political processes of the country.  She won 4,000 birr.

May 14 we attended the chapel service for third through 7th grades.  I was asked to bring greetings.  When I told them they each had received gifts from God that would enable them to change the world they cheered!

Thomas called over 30 hours ago to say Sara’s water had broken and they were going to the hospital.  I called once to check on them and it took me about three hours to get them.  Finally, this morning they called to say Linus Alexander Taylor had been born on May 14th at about 1:30 AM New York time.  He is healthy and beautiful and Sara is tired and Thomas is glowing- I can hear it in his voice. 

I want to see my grandson and Thomas has already sent a photo by email.  I go to the office to find out why the internet is not working in the guest house.  She comes and tries the CDM.  It will not work, I cannot get on line.  We take a taxi to the Piazza.  Another taxi to Mexico Square.  At a big hotel I go to the business center and pay for internet access.  After 20 minutes I finally reach the Comcast page and sign in but it will not open to my email.  We go looking for the office that sells the CDM.  I will pay the $300 to buy one to get my email on my computer and see my grandson.  It is pouring rain- we are walking through mud and s*&t and urine trying to find the store.  We end up in the wrong place five times.  It is pouring now and we are completely lost.   We will go back to the guest house and try again tomorrow.  Meanwhile Jack has lost the cell phone , the taxi driver has over charged us to get back to our room and the laundry has disappeared from the clothes line outside.

I make a cup of tea and sit down and cry.  All I want is to see my baby grandson.  Just this once cannot something please go right.  I guess  not.

But later, Michael Weller shows up at the guest house with a computer and a wireless device and I am allowed to see a photo of Linus for the first time.  He is beautiful and looks so much like Thomas did when he was born.  I can't wait to get my hands on this kid.

Life is good again and i am having a great time.  My frustration has been relieved.  Thanks to Michael.

The flight from Addis to Bahir Dar took about 30 minutes.  It takes two days by bus!  The city is the capital of the Amhara region of Ethiopia.  The Amhara have traditionally been warriors and farmers.

Driving into the city we see folks returning home from the Saturday market.  Some are in carts drawn by oxen or burros, most are walking, but a few ride in “ctk-ctks.”  These are little three wheeled taxis- like a motor scooter with a cab.  The men carry dulas- sticks about a meter long.  The dula can be used to carry a heavy load, or to lean on during the never ending church services.  Most often it is carried across the shoulders as the man walks along.  He wears short pants and has a gabi (toga) wrapped around his upper torso.  They wear sandals or are barefooted.  The women wear traditional dresses, scarves and wraps.  They tie heavy loads on their backs or carry babies, or both.

Tilihun, our guide, suggests a walk through the market section of town before dinner.  As dusk settles we see children everywhere on the street jumping up and down and laughing and screaming.  Finally we see the flying insects that have arrived with darkness.  The kids are trying to catch them.  We finish the evening with some Lake Tana tilapia on a restaurant balcony overlooking the lake.

Morning arrives and we have no electricity and no hot water and no one is the least bit surprised or upset.  We took off for our boat trip on Lake Tana.  Lake Tana covers 3500 sq km and is the largest lake in Ethiopia, the third largest in Africa. Tana is the source of the Blue Nile River.  There are 37 islands in the lake and 20 monasteries, some dating to the 16th or 17th centuries.

We spent our Sunday morning at Ura-Kidanemhret.  The church is literally covered with old paintings.  As we walked through the round hut like structure Tilihun tells us the stories held in the paintings.  Many we know, the annunciation, the birth of Christ, the flight to Egypt, miracles, Palm Sunday, the Last Supper, the crucification and the Trinity.  There are stories from the Old Testament as well.  Mixed in are pictures of the Saints of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.

We learned quickly that in an Orthodox Church everything means something.  Every design, every carving, every ornament has a meaning.  The church is divided into three sections because of the Trinity.  The cross on top is surrounded by 7 ostrich eggs.  Seven for the days of creation, the number of heavens and something I forgot.  The ostrich egg is a symbol of faith because it is strong and difficult to break.

So many people in Ethiopia are illiterate.  They cannot read or write.  But they can worship and their faith is strong- because everything means something.  The pictures, the structures, the movements teach them the stories of our faith, a faith that is strong and very hard to crack.

The emotional visit to Shimelba concluded we return to the village of Sheraro and our “not quite the Hilton” Hotel.  Solomon drops us and he goes off in search of Zenabesh.  Zenabesh is Meharet’s mother.  Meharet, her husband Dawit and her children Alexander and Indiana have become active participants of Northminster.  We have carried photos and gifts for Meharet’s family.  It is also at Zenabesh’s home that we hope to meet Angesum.

Background-

Mekonen and Abrehet came to the US almost five years ago with their sons Keflome and Tesfome.  The way it works in the refugee camp is that a family enters a lottery.  If your name is drawn you get to leave and it happens quickly.  Keflome has a twin brother named Angesum.  He was living with Abrahet’s father because she could not afford to support the whole family.  When the family’s name came up they had to leave quickly.  There was no time to get Angesum.

Several months ago Abrehet received word that her father had died.  Angesum stays with Abrehet’s sister, but is pretty much on his own.  They sent word ahead asking him to go to Zenabesh’s house to meet us.

Back to the story-

Solomon returns with the brother on Zenabesh.  We go with them through the village to the home of Zenabesh.  The entire neighborhood is outside watching for the ferengies from America.  The first face we see looks just like Keflome.  “Angesum?” we ask.  He smiles and we know.

Zenabesh welcomes us into her home with a coffee ceremony.  We look at photos and tell stories.  Our driver, Solomon, is a translator and a friend by now.  He joins us at the table as we are fed doro wat, eggs and injera.  Angesum tries on the clothes Keflome sent with us for him.  His smile is magical.

It is late when we leave, promising to return in the morning. 

In the morning we accept the gifts being sent back to Meharet.  We offer to drive Angesum and his uncle back to their village.  Two hours later we drop them.  I am crying.  How can we leave this boy?  He asks us to tell his mother, “My life here is hard.  I have no family.  I want to be with my mother and my brother.”  We promise to do what we can to make that happen.  We give his uncle some money for his care.  We give Angesum some money for school expenses.  We hug and kiss.  As we drive away I pray for a way to get him to his mother.  There must be a way.  We must find it.

But everything is working out well.

Friday morning, May 7th we left Axum early for the long trip to the refugee camp.  After four hours of heat and dust on bumpy roads with more camels than cars we arrive in Sheraro.   With the help of our driver, Solomon, we find a motel.  The room, a concrete block cell, barely holds the double bed with mosquito netting over the four posters.  There are bars on the windows and the steel sheet door has four warehouse style deadbolts with a padlock.  I am not thrilled by the fact that the bathrooms are outside and around the corner- two shower stalls, one sink, two squat toilets (holes in the floor) all dirty and smelly and gross.  Little do I know that by nightfall this will look like the lap of luxury.

We drive another hour out of Sheraro to the refugee camp, Shimelba.  Looking at the stark, barren landscape Jack says, “If this is not the end of the earth it is darn close.”  We wander from office to office trying to find the officials who will grant us entrance to the camp.  Alem and Hewit (Eritreans in Indianapolis) have put us in touch with an official in Addis.  We had lunch with him last week and he promised to make all the arrangements.  The word from Addis just yesterday was that we are all set and they are expecting us.

Now, sitting in the office of Samuel of the International Refugee Committee, the door has been slammed in our face.  He is not expecting us and cannot let us in the camp without permission from Addis.  He cannot even take our gift of money from the congregation in Indianapolis and distribute it for us because he has no permission.  He thanks us for the kindness of our mission and apologizes but there is no way.

We try to reach our contact in Addis but cannot get him on the phone.  Samuel and Jack begin to chat.  You know how Jack is.  We are from a Presbyterian Church in America.  Oh, there was a Presbyterian mission where I grew up.   Where was that?  Dembi Dollo.  Really?  Did you know Dr. Lambee?  Yes, I did.  Do you know Joann Griffith?  What about Dr. B at the Mekane Yesus Seminary? We are staying there with a friend.  Do you know…yes he works at the guest house…he is my best friend…oh my goodness…small world.

After making all the personal connections Samuel leaves the room, returning shortly with a smile on his face.  “I have for you very good news.”  He called his boss who was in town for the day and the boss said, “Oh yes.  I forgot to tell you they were coming.  They are approved.  Let them in and assist them.”

Before we know it we are in a small church building inside Shimelba Refugee Camp meeting with four of the elders from the Ebenezer Fellowship.  We tell them about Mekonen and Abrehet and how they came to Northminster from Shimelba.  We tell them about the children and the other families who have arrived- Dawit and Maharet, Ababa, Helen, Alexander, Indiana, Amahadari, and all the others.

We talk of welcoming strangers for by doing so we may entertain angels unaware.  By now Samuel and Jack are both crying.

The elders tell us about their congregation.  They have about 400 members.  Some were church members before coming to the camp; others have become believers inside the camp.  Their congregation has a three stage membership process.  First they learn about Bible and faith.  Then they must learn how to give service to others.  Then they become evangelists.

A woman arrived in the camp a few years ago.  Her husband was gone and she had three children and no way to support them.  The church gave her some money to start a business.  The business was good, she built a house, she supported her children and she helped the church care for others in need.  When the time came for her to be re-settled in America she gave her house and her business to others in need.

Jesus said, when you do it for the least of these you do it for me.  I explain that we raised the money for the least of these.  We want women to have the supplies they need.  We want our gift to go to the poorest and the neediest.  We hand them 20,000 birr.  We stand in a circle holding hands, praying, thanking God for the congregation who raised the money, the congregation who will distribute the money, the officials who have helped us and God who has brought us all together- making angels out of strangers.

We moved from the Hilton to the MekaneYesus Seminary Compound.  We are staying with a PC(USA) missionary, Carolyn Weber.  Carolyn arrived in Addis in February of this year for a three year assignment  teaching at the seminary.  Carolyn and I first met when we were both living in Omaha in the early 1980’s.  She has graciously opened her home to us for a few days.

Yesterday afternoon we attended a prayer meeting of local missionaries from various denominations and agencies.  The stories we heard were all very similar- not enough money, too much need, too much bureaucracy, and immense joy and gratitude for the opportunity to serve this way.

Religiously, Ethiopia is unique among the African nations in this area. Everyone has different statistics to make their point but it seems that the population is divided about 50-50 between Christians and Muslims.  That is a marked increase in Islam.  The majority of Christians are Orthodox or Coptic Christians.  The historic sites, churches, and monasteries we will be visiting are all part of this tradition.

The mainline American churches, including the Presbyterians, have been involved in mission work in Ethiopia for ages.  Eventually the Mekane Yesus Church was formed.  They are the church we partner with in mission along with the Lutherans and other Reformed denominations.  Another denomination of Protestants also formed from the Baptist and evangelical traditions.  They are commonly referred to as Pentes- short for Pentecostal.

After the prayer meeting we all went out for Chinese food.  Returning to Carolyn’s we prepared for the night by candlelight.  Electrical service in Addis is on again off again with lots of off again.

Tomorrow- May 1st we will be heading up North to tour some sites and visit Shimelba refugee camp.  Hopefully, I will find a way to get this posted before I go.  I will not take my computer with me for the next 10 days.  We have to lighten our load so we can carry the gifts for the camp and there is also not much internet service in the areas we will visit.  So we hope to be back in touch after May 10th.

Yesterday was spent trying to make arrangements.  The Hilton IT guy tried to determine why my netbook would not connect to the hotel LAN.  He was very helpful and not very successful.

Attempts to connect with some folks here in Addis who are friends of folks we know in Indianapolis were also unsuccessful.  We seem to have some wrong numbers.

The better part of the day was spent with the owner of a local tour company, Tsegaye.  I had been in email contact with him for a couple of months and it was clear that nothing could be finalized until we arrived here.  So we met to plan a tour for Northern Ethiopia.  Then he left to make airline reservations, hotel reservations, and set up drivers.  He was back and forth a few times but by 5:00 or so we had a tour arranged.  Then Tsegaye took us on a quick drive around Addis.  The multi-million dollar Sheraton complex sprawls across the hillside just across the road from an area filled with tin shacks.  It makes the Hilton look like a Motel 6.  There are many new homes and apartments with fancy American SUV’s in the driveways.  On the wall surrounding each compound was a zebunya (guard) dressed in rags.

Tsegaye lamented the growing divide between the rich and the poor here in Ethiopia.  The poor are some of the poorest in the world.  The rich just keep accumulating wealth.  He attributes much of the problem to the demise of the extended family.  When families stayed together for generations they took care of one another.  No one was homeless because the family would not allow it.  Now those family supports are gone and people fall through the cracks.  Children came up to the windows of our car begging.

After the tour it was time to stop in a local kebele for a beer.  It is always nice to get away from the tourist spots and experience the real neighborhoods.  We were the only ferenjie (white/foreigner) in the place.  The children here did not beg but they sure did stare.  We sat outside and watched the moon rise over the city as we sampled the local brews.

I just finished reading a book- There is no Me Without You by Melissa Fay Greene.  The subtitle is- One Woman’s Odyssey to Rescue Her Country’s Children.  This is a powerful story.

The book (non-fiction) is an account of Haregewoin Teferra.  She is a middle-class, middle aged, Ethiopian housewife when her husband dies very suddenly and very unexpectedly.  Shortly after his death she also loses one of her two adult daughters.  Haregewoin’s grief is deep and devastating.  She decides to become a cloistered woman and go into solitude.  The priest tells her that before she enters the cloister he needs her help.  He has a young boy who is an orphan, living on the streets since his parents died of HIV/AIDS.  The boy needs a place to live, some food, and some supervision in his life.  To the shock and dismay of her friends and family Haregewoin takes the boy into her home.  Before she knows it the priest is back with a young girl.  Then there are the twins, then more children, younger children, healthy children, sick children.  The police bring kids they find on the street.  Neighbors bring abandoned babies, parents on the verge of death leave their children at her gate to praying she will take them in and care for them. 

Before long Haregewoin is running an orphanage.  This woman who knew nothing of AIDS or politics or international adoption is a full blown entrepreneur changing the course of her country and the lives of thousands of children and families.

The book raises differing sides of some complex issues.  While it doesn’t debate the issues it at least asks the questions about international adoption and the effects on nations and children.  It addresses the harsh realities of poverty in Ethiopia, one of the poorest nations in the world.  The author also provides heart breaking statistics about the spread of HIV/AIDS in Africa, the efficacy of anti viral drugs, and the prohibitive costs that allow thousands and thousands of fathers, mothers and children to die.

Haregewoin is not a saint and she is not perfect.  She makes mistakes and she makes a difference.  Her story is moving, heartwarming, infuriating and captivating.  I am glad I read it before we arrive in Addis Ababa and I begin to meet these children who changed this woman’s life and I am confident will change mine as well.

Jack has a broken hand.  Three bones are broken.  His other injuries are healing although his face looks pretty bad.  He saw the orthopedic doctor today.

I am threatening to leave him at home and take someone with me who is capable of lifting a suitcase.  His grandson Colin has already volunteered.

But it does raise that issue of stuff again.  What stuff am I willing to leave behind now that I have to carry everything myself?  What stuff am I willing to do without in order to have Jack along?  Maybe I will need to think on that one a little longer.

Yesterday when I was saying good-bye to a friend he comments on how brave we are to be making this trip.  Brave?  I never thought of us as brave.  Lucky?  Yes.  Blessed?  Sure.  Adventurous?  To some extent.  But brave?  Hmmm.

 We packed up the car with everything we will need for the next three months.  We have one large suitcase for the next week as we travel to Connecticut, New York and DC.  Then we have two smaller carry-on bags for our two months in Africa.  Another large suitcase will wait for us in the car full of stuff for the beach when we return to the states.  Surprisingly small amount for three months. 

 I looked around the house as we left.  There is a still lot of stuff in the house.  If we don’t need it for the next three months do we really need it at all?  I thought about that most of the day.  Then I began thinking of things I had packed that we really didn’t need to have along.  What do we really need in life?  How much “stuff” do we have just because we have it, not because we need it or maybe even want it?

 When missionaries come home to the US after serving in other countries the most common reaction I have heard is how overwhelmed they are in the grocery and the store by all the choices and all the “stuff”.  This will be interesting to see what possessions I miss, what I wish I had with me, what I brought that goes un-used, and finally what I end up cherishing.

 Of course we all know that in the end it isn’t the stuff that is important.  I was reminded of that again as we drove through Pennsylvania.

 We stopped just into PA at a Love’s to get gas.  The usual pattern is that Jack fills the car and I go to the restroom.  But when I came out of the restroom I found Jack just standing by the counter with blood all over his shirt and dripping from his eye.  It took a minute to register.  He was holding bent up eyeglasses in his hand as he tried to explain.  He tripped on the gas hose and fell on the concrete between the car and the gas pump.  Both knees were skinned, both upper arms scrapped, one cheek bleeding and there was a huge gash in his eyebrow where his glasses had evidentially slashed him.  His right wrist was already turning black and swelling.

 We had been working with a personal trainer at the YMCA for the past month.  One of the things she was helping us do was strengthen our core muscles.  She said it would improve balance.  In fact, Traci said, “If you ever feel yourself start to fall remember to tighten your core and it will help you regain your balance.”  So as my bleeding husband is trying to explain how he fell with his sandal flying ten feet behind him in the parking lot, his glasses ending up under the car, blood dripping down the car door, I stand there in the first aid aisle of the convenience store and ask, “Did you remember to tighten your core?”

 Looking back, I am not sure that was the right question for that particular moment.  He went to the men’s room to wash up while I bought some Band-Aids and Neosporin.  Suddenly the two of us heading to Africa for two months does sound like a brave thing to do.  Isn’t there something about a fine line between brave and stupid?  Hmmm.

Imagine for a moment that you have absolutely nothing.  You have been forced to leave your home, your community, your job, your country.  You are living in a makeshift camp with thousands of others who have nothing.  You have barely enough food to get by, limited water and no electricity.

Now, along comes a do gooder from the United States who asks, “What can I bring you when I come?”  It would be like our fairy godmother appearing or the genie from the magic lamp.  You get one wish.  What will you ask for?  “We have money.  We can get you whatever you want.  Just ask.”

When we made that offer to residents of Shimelba refugee camp in Northern Ethiopia the response was swift and consistent.  Please bring us feminine hygiene supplies and soap.  They could ask for absolutely anything in the world and they want Kotex and Dial.  My husband and I will travel to Shimelba as part of my sabbatical which begins this week.  We will deliver the supplies they have requested from funds raised by our congregation.

It doesn’t take a great deal of money or effort to significantly improve the lives of many people in the world.  Often the solutions to poverty, illness, or conflict are so elementary it is difficult to comprehend why we aren’t trying them.  The book Half the Sky:Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by  Nicholas D. Kristof and  Sheryl WuDunn reinforces that point with studies, statistics and stories.  They show how the worldwide problems of sex trafficking, gender based violence and medical issues associated with child birth can be addressed simply by educating women. 

Our government tries to help underdeveloped countries by pouring money into their militaries.  Too often our only solution to hunger is sending food.  The oppression of women in these cultures has either been  ignored or tacitly condoned by the faith communities.  People of faith are called to tend to the bodies, the spirits and the minds of all God’s children.  That means education and it is very difficult to get an education if you cannot go to school one week every month because of your period.

When we asked the refugees of Shimelba what we could bring them I thought it might be a stove, or I-Pods, or even a radio for news.  I thought they would want batteries or food.  I never imagined that on my first trip to Africa I would be delivering  Kotex and Dial.

The application was hand delivered the day before the deadline.  It went into a pile with hundreds of other worthy requests for limited funds.  Then I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  The June announcement date was pushed to July.  Finally, in July of last year I received the letter saying I had been awarded a grant.

I was thrilled but it still seemed so far off.  Besides, we were in the middle of the building program and staff changes and work and all that took priority.  So sabbatical moved to the back burner.

Then last fall I realized I needed to start making plans for guest preachers so I took care of that.  Then came the travel plans and just as I began Jack got sick.  New issues came up that I had honestly never considered.  What if jack was not able to go with me?  Would I go alone?  Would I take someone in his place?  Would I stay home and give the money back?

I prayed and decided simply to wait and see.  I amazed myself with my lack of worry.  Surgery in December promised to take care of everything.  Then a return to the hospital in January put more doubt in the picture.  Finally in late January I took the plunge and booked the airline tickets.  As jack recovered I booked the safari.  As he continued to improve I made arrangements to visit mission sites and found guest houses where we could stay.  By early Lent the plans were in place and Jack was going with me to the YMCA to prepare physically for the trip.

Still no time to get excited though.  I still had to get through Lent.  Then the somber, sober strains of Holy Week kept my focus on worship and my own faith.  Even Easter Sunday was thankfully all about Jesus and the resurrection.  My work at the church was over and sabbatical could begin.

Still, not much excitement.  One more hurdle to cross.  I had agreed two years ago to teach a class at the Benedict Inn for the second class of Women Touched by Grace.  So the week after Easter I came to the Inn to team teach Pastor as Spiritual Mentor.  It has actually been a magnificent way to begin my time off.  Teaching has helped me clarify my own focus for sabbatical and for my ministry when I return.  This has been superb.

Last night, after evening prayers I returned to my room.  My cell phone was beeping that I had a reminder.  There was a note I had put in two months ago.  “Begin malaria medication.”  We take the first pill two weeks before entering the infected area.  As I took the pill it hit me.  In two weeks I will be in Addis Ababa.  I could not sleep.

This morning I am focused again on the class.  I finish that today and head back home to begin laundry and packing.  I still feel amazingly calm considering what lies ahead.  Actually, I am feeling grounded in the present, and that feels splendid.  I am enjoying each moment of each day and appreciating God’s presence in the now.  Most of my life I have spent focused on the future.  I always look at what is coming, what happens next, where I am headed, what is my next goal, what task has to be accomplished next.  Finally, today I am able to simply be in the present.  I feel content.  I feel blessed.

The excitement washes over me in waves and I am sure the waves will become more intense and more frequent in the next week.  But for now I am just enjoying this feeling that life is good, God is great, and I am simply content.

God set me on the path again.

Turn me to the rising sun

                when I need to be inspired.

Turn me to wilderness

                when I need to be lost.

Turn me toward the business of the world

                when I need to work.

Turn me toward the mountain

                when I need to be refreshed.

Then turn me toward the sunset

                when I need rest.

Amen

I sat in the chapel for evening prayers.  The Christ candle was in a prominent position but it did not appear to be lit.  It was so tall, it was hard to tell.  The tiny, short Sister Amelia who always lights and extinguishes all the candles was watching nervously.  Finally, Sister Maureen entered.  Short Sister Amelia quickly took her the candle lighter.  She needed a tall Sister to light the Christ candle.  Tall Sister Maureen could not get it lit.  She could not see the top, where was the wick?  Was it lit? 

I found myself wondering if Jesus was ever hard to light.  Did he ever run out of gas?  Did he ever get so run down, so exhausted that no flame could be seen?

I remember the story when he eats with the Phoenician woman and basically tells her to get the crumbs after the dogs have finished.  Really rude.  I think he was tired.  What he said was right and true to his understanding but he was too exhausted to be delicate or tactful.

I remember Jesus tossing over the tables in the temple.  When I am run down and tired one of the fist signs is that my temper flares.  The second sign is that I forget appointments.  Jesus flew off the handle at the money changers.  Again, he was correct theologically, but he was rather harsh and out of character.  It really makes me feel better.

So my question is answered.  Just like the Christ candle, Jesus was hard to light sometimes.  He could get tired and run down.  So I think about that as I begin this sabbatical- this Clergy Renewal Program funded by the church’s one foundation, Lilly.

I am wondering if God has an answer for this exhaustion that comes from ministry.  Before I can think about that we are singing a Psalm and I sing the lines from Psalm 20:5- “May he grant what is in your heart, and fulfill your every plan.”

I am confident that God will restore and grant and fulfill during this sabbatical time.  My job is to be open to that.  God’s job is to make it happen.  That brings me comfort on day two of sabbatical.

By the way, Sister Luke took the candle off the stand and lowered it to where the others could see and it was finally lit.

On the way in to church this morning I was singing.  I do that most Sundays but not with quite as much energy as today.  I make up words to familiar hymns as I drive.  Today I found myself singin petitions-  I hope that by the time I return…

I sang

I hope that by the time I return the heating and airconditioning will work.

I hope that by the time I return the coat closets and lost and found will be cleaned out.

I hope that by the time I return the congregation will know the difference between an African and an African American.

I hope that by the time I return John’s new music stand will be in the chancel.

I stopped at the light at 73rd and Meridian and suddenly it hit me.  This is all about the congregation.  You will do what you will do while I am gone.  That is out of my hands and into yours and Gods.  What about me?  What do I want to be different when I return?

That will be my question for this week at the monastery.  I will keep you posted.

Jesus was not sent to hell.  Jesus went to hell.  Jesus came into the world to rescue sinners- all of us- even those already gone.  Jesus had to suffer everything we might suffer.  Jesus had to experience all that we might experience.  Jesus went into the place of the dead so that we know there is no place where he cannot reach us.  Jesus went to hell to show us that we are never beyond his reach.  Never.  Absolutely never.

walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, he briefly

introduced a guest minister who was in the service that evening.  In the introduction,

the Pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest friends

and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the church and share whatever

he felt would be appropriate for the service.

With that introduction, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak.

"A father, his son and a friend of his son were sailing off the pacific coast," he began,

"when a fast approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to the shore.  The waves

were so high that even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep

the boat upright and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized."

The old man hesitated for a moment making eye contact with two teenagers who were,

for the first time since the service began, looking somewhat interested in the story.

The aged minister continued with his story.

"Grabbing a rescue line, the father had to make the most excruciating decision of his life:

to which boy would he throw the other end of the life line.  He only had seconds to make

the decision.  The father knew that his son was a Christian and he, also, knew that his

son's friend was not.  The agony of his decision could only be matched by the torrent of

waves.  As the father yelled out 'I love you, son!' he threw out the life line to his son's friend.

By the time the father had pulled the friend back to the capsized boat, his son had

disappeared beneath the raging swells into the black of night.  The body was never recovered."

By this time, the two teenagers were sitting up straight in the pew, anxiously waiting for the

next words to come out of the old minister's mouth.

"The father,'  he continued, ' knew his son would step into eternity with Jesus and he could not

bear the thought of his son's friend stepping into eternity without Jesus . . . therefore, he

sacrificed his son to save the son's friend.  How great is the love of God that he should do the

same for us.  Our Heavenly Father sacrificed His only begotten son that we could be saved.

I urge you to accept His offer to rescue you and take a hold of the life line He is throwing out

to you in this service." 

With that, the old man turned and sat back down in his chair as silence filled the room.

The Pastor again walked slowly to the pulpit and delivered a brief sermon with an invitation

at the end.  However, no one responded to the appeal.

Within minutes after the service ended, the two teenagers were at the old man's side.

"That was a nice story," politely stated one of them, "but I don't think that it was very realistic for

a father to give up his only son's life in hopes that the other boy would become a Christian."

"Well, you've got a point there," the old man replied while glancing down at his worn bible;

A big smile broadened his narrow face.  He once again looked up at the boys and said,

"It sure isn't very realistic is it?  But, I'm standing here today to tell you that story gives me a

glimpse of what it must have been like for God to give up His son for me.  You see . . .

. . . I was that father and your Pastor is my son's friend."

That goes against everything our culture teaches us.  We are taught to pull ourselves up by our boot straps.  Never let them see you sweat.  Survival of the fittest.  This message is so clear in our world.

I think if you are male the message is particularly strong.  Don’t cry.  Don’t act like a girl.  Show them what you’ve got. 

The message is also strong for women, particularly those in jobs dominated by men.  Suck it up.  Act like one of the guys if you want to get ahead.  Don’t show your emotions.

Why are we so afraid of being who we really are, showing how we really feel, and letting go when we simply can’t carry it any longer?  I spent over 40 years trying to control my world.  I wanted to leave nothing to chance and I really wanted to be in control of myself and my circumstances.  I thought I was doing pretty well at it until I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Suddenly my whole world was out of control, my body, my emotions, my care, my future.  I had no choice but to let go and surrender.  It changed my life.  I became much more trusting, more loving, less angry, more patient and understanding.

Today’s Psalm is awesome.  “The Lord is my strength and salvation; whom then shall I fear?” Psalm 27:1.  Ain’t it the truth.

Search your heart and try to become aware of your deepest desire at this moment.

Now sit quietly.

Stretch out your right hand with the palm open and up.

Place in your hand your deepest desire, your yearning.

Offer it to God.

Bring your hand back to your lap.

Now raise your left hand to God.

Wait and see what God puts in your empty hand.

Bring this hand back to your lap.

Sit in silence.

Holy mystery, my life is in your hands.

This exercise and the daily devotionals we are using for Lent come from Praying Through Lent with heart, soul, mind, and body by Kristine A. Haig published by PC (USA).

I was thinking about that hymn as I drove into the office this morning and tried to remember all the verses.  I finished with – Were you there when he rose up from the grave?  Of course I sang that one loudly and joyously (thank God for closed car windows).

 But now I am looking at the hymnal and that verse is not there.  The version in our hymnal ends with – Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?  I guess that is why it is listed as a Holy Week hymn and not an Easter hymn.

 Most of us try to avoid the pain of Holy Week.  We don’t like to think about the suffering, the betrayal, the desertion, the pain and agony.  But this is a time to ask ourselves that question- were you there?  Imagine the story.  Were you there?  Where?  With whom?  Were you at the foot of the cross crying with Mary?  Were you on the edges of the crowd watching from a distance with the disciples?  Were you with the soldiers wondering what was true and what to believe?  Were you with the criminals hoping to be caught up in whatever goodness Jesus had to share?

 Were you there?  Where?  Why?  Are you there now?  Same place?  Where would you like to be?  Imagine that.

I really used to believe that I could think my way through anything.  I have learned that is not true.  I agree with the saying that we act our way into believing.

I have a friend who was going through a difficult time in her 10 year marriage.  She read books and talked to people trying to get the “feelings” back.  She missed the romance and wasn’t sure she really loved her husband anymore.  Then she adopted a Lenten discipline of having sex every day during Lent with her husband.  By Easter the romance was back, the feelings had returned and the marriage was in much better shape.

I spoke with a young man recently who was pretty depressed.  He wasn’t happy with his work situation or the relationships in his life.  He was on anti-depressants but still wasn’t happy and wondered if he should just give up.  I asked him how he would behave differently if he were happy.  After he described “happy” behaviors I challenged him to act that way for a week.  I suggested he “pretend” to be happy and act that way for the entire week.  Sure enough, by Friday he was feeling better.  His job was better and his relationships were improved.

 Repentance- that big Lenten word- is about actions and behaviors- not thoughts or ideas.  It is about physically turning in a new direction.  Are there any turns ahead for you?

The book cites studies that say if you want to have a significant influence in a poor nation you don't send traditional foreign aid- instead you educate women.

The authors tell stories of girls and women in India, Taiwan and Africa who are sold in the sex trade, raped in wars, abused, and die in unassisted childbirth.  Women who are educated have more options, get jobs or start businesses, have fewer children, delay having children, educate their children, eat better, take better care of their families.

The problems that hold women back in many parts of the world would be unheard of in the US.  The cure for many of those problems is not only simple, it is cheap.

While we are on sabbatical we will visit a fistula hospital in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.  A fistula is an opening between the vagina and the bowel.  Women develop them as a result of injury (rape) or from unattended child birth.  The fistula allows urine and feces to drip from the woman's body causing infection and odor and mess.  Women are sent out of the village to live alone because of the smell and embarrassment.  They are eaten by hyenas or die of infection.  A simple surgery can prevent all this.

Things we take for granted everyday can save lives other places in the world.  The book is heartbreaking, horrifying, and challenging.  When Jesus talks about the least of these I will think of these women.  I hope you will read it sometime.

 Strong's Concordance 7965 - Hebrew Shalom ..... A word study in the New King James version for SHALOM says: Completeness, wholeness, health, peace, welfare, safety soundness, tranquility, prosperity, perfectness, fullness, rest, harmony, the absence of agitation or discord.

 Shalom comes from the root verb Shalom meaning to be complete, perfect and full. In modern Hebrew the obviously related word Shelem means to pay for, and Shulam means to be fully paid.

 Sar SHALOM (Prince of Peace) is one of the descriptive names the Bible uses to indicate the ministry and personality of the Messiah: Isaiah 9:6 - The Son of God is completely perfect in all things.

 So in essence, when you speak out the word SHALOM - you are not only proclaiming peace, but all the above meanings of the word over that person - that's a mighty blessing!!!

 My assumption is that the tears are not the result of an awful sermon.  At least I hope not.  Sometimes you are wrestling with grief or sorrow.  Sometimes it is a health issue you or someone you love are facing.  Sometimes a hymn or a song or a scripture verse of even a word will take you back to the wedding or the funeral or the baptism in your memory and that will spark tears.  Sometimes you just cry because it feels like a safe place to cry.

 I get teary up front on occasion.  I cry when I see new parents come in with a baby, when I see a cancer patient sitting in the pew, a college kid home for vacation, or a grandchild visiting with a grandparent.

 I cry when I see one person sitting where two used to be.  I look out and see those of you I know are suffering deep sorrow or battling illness or struggling in your relationship with a spouse or parent or child.  When I see you all I can do is thank God that you have this wonderful community of faith to hold you and support you.  Sometimes you come out after worship and apologize for your tears.  Please don’t apologize.  We all need a safe place to feel our deepest emotions.  We all need somewhere to let go and turn our feelings over to God.  If we can’t be that place for each other then something is missing.

 Being a community of love and compassion is a wonderful gift we offer each other.  Do you know someone who needs this gift?  Bring a friend or neighbor to join us when you know they have some special cares or pains in their life.  Offer them our support and our prayers.  We have been given this gift and we just have to share it with others.  It is too powerful to keep to ourselves.  Keep on crying.

 The Bread for the World web site says this about justice-

 When we examine the Scriptures, we find out how central justice is to the life of the Christian. There is no concept in the Old Testament as significant as justice for all relationships of human life. The people of the Old Testament were in relationship with God because of the covenant that existed between God and Israel.

 As a member of this covenant community, each person was in relationship with every other person, including poor and needy people, one's family, and even strangers and aliens. Out of these relationships arose responsibilities and demands. The just person was faithful to these responsibilities and demands.

 to see more go to-

http://www.bread.org/get-involved/at-church/biblical-basics-on-justice.html

 Where do righteousness and peace need to kiss in your life?

 The first person that came into my mind this morning when I read this was Traci, my personal trainer at the YMCA.  She makes me hurt.

 But I immediately realized she does not really fall in this category.  I am paying her to make me hurt and she is simply doing her job.  She has my best interest at heart (I keep telling myself) and she wants me to be healthy and strong.

 How often do we turn people who want what is best for us into enemies?  Watching the health care debate was so painful.  Everyone has villianized those who disagree with their position.  The people who disagree with me have the best interest of others at heart, I hope.  They are not evil or enemies yet that is what partisan politics has made them out to be.

 Do you really have any true enemies in your life?  Someone who wants to keep you from worship?  Someone who wants to physically hurt you?  Can you see them as a child of God?  Can you see the Senators who disagree with you as children of God?

 As I sit here at my computer it is easy to see Traci as a child of God.  the trick is to see her that way tomorrow morning at 7 am.

1. Become aware of God’s presence. Look back on the events of the day in the company of the Holy Spirit. The day may seem confusing to you—a blur, a jumble, a muddle. Ask God to bring clarity and understanding.

2. Review the day with gratitude. Gratitude is the foundation of our relationship with God. Walk through your day in the presence of God and note its joys and delights. Focus on the day’s gifts. Look at the work you did, the people you interacted with. What did you receive from these people? What did you give them? Pay attention to small things—the food you ate, the sights you saw, and other seemingly small pleasures. God is in the details.

3. Pay attention to your emotions. One of St. Ignatius’s great insights was that we detect the presence of the Spirit of God in the movements of our emotions. Reflect on the feelings you experienced during the day. Boredom? Elation? Resentment? Compassion? Anger? Confidence? What is God saying through these feelings?

God will most likely show you some ways that you fell short. Make note of these sins and faults. But look deeply for other implications. Does a feeling of frustration perhaps mean that God wants you consider a new direction in some area of your work? Are you concerned about a friend? Perhaps you should reach out to her in some way.

4. Choose one feature of the day and pray from it. Ask the Holy Spirit to direct you to something during the day that God thinks is particularly important. It may involve a feeling—positive or negative. It may be a significant encounter with another person or a vivid moment of pleasure or peace. Or it may be something that seems rather insignificant. Look at it. Pray about it. Allow the prayer to arise spontaneously from your heart—whether intercession, praise, repentance, or gratitude.

5. Look toward tomorrow. Ask God to give you light for tomorrow’s challenges. Pay attention to the feelings that surface as you survey what’s coming up. Are you doubtful? Cheerful? Apprehensive? Full of delighted anticipation? Allow these feelings to turn into prayer. Seek God’s guidance. Ask him for help and understanding. Pray for hope.

The idea of repentence or turning around does not simply turn us away from sin but it gives us a different perspective on life.  When we turn around we see things differently.

SOmeone sent me this today and it seems to fit.

Life Is a Gift


     Today
     before you say an unkind word -
     Think of someone who can't speak.

     Before
     you complain about the taste of your food -
     Think of someone who has nothing to eat..

     Before
     you complain about your husband or wife -
     Think of someone who's crying out to GOD
     for a companion.

     Today
     before you complain about life -
     Think of someone who went too early to heaven.

     Before
     whining about the distance you drive -
     Think of someone who
     walks the same distance with their feet.

     And when
     you are tired and complain about your job -
     Think of the unemployed, the disabled,
     and those who wish they had your job.
    
     And when
     depressing thoughts seem to get you down -
     Put a smile on your face and think:
     you're alive and still around...

Tell us about your experience.

On Monday morning, three days after my last radiation treatment, I loaded the convertible and headed west toward the mountains.  Way back in July when this had only just begun I sat next to Lon Dring at a meeting.  “What are you going to do to celebrate when this is over?” he asked. 

 I had difficulty thinking that far ahead but remembered the cover of the AAA magazine that had arrived earlier in the day.  “Maybe I’ll go to a spa and reclaim control of my own body,” I pondered outloud. 

 “Great idea!”, Lon almost shouted with his gleeful smile, “Did you know Jan and I have a house at Coolfont.  It was named by the Post as one of the best spas in the country.  I will talk to Jan tonight and if the house isn’t rented it is yours.  When are you finished?”

 So almost two months later I head off toward Coolfont Spa.  I had a two o’clock appointment for a massage in Berkley Springs.  I arrived at the house about noon, unload, checked out the house, put sheets on a bed and headed for town.  The massage therapist ran through the standard questions- ever had a massage before?  Any problems?  Any surgeries or injuries I should know about?

 “Yes,” I interrupted, “I have just completed surgery and radiation treatment for breast cancer.  I am having back pain from not wearing a bra and from sleeping funny.  My armpit still is very tender from the surgery so be careful there.”

 Her entire countenance changed.  She spoke softly, kindly, as she might to a frightened child.  Her manner became more gentle and sympathetic.  The massage was great.  She taught me some breathing techniques to help be less present as she worked on some knots in my back.  When we finished she refused my tip and instead gave me a big hug and told me I was brave.  I didn’t even try to explain to her that I am not brave.  I am and always have been terrified.  I do what I have to do and then go on to what is next.

 At Coolfont I walked for hours every day.  I could feel my strength and stamina gradually returning.  I ate three times a day- no snacks.  Water was the only liquid I allowed myself except for the morning coffee and the evening herbal tea.  I prayed for an hour every morning and then wrote in my journal for hours.  The story gushed from my body.  Memories sweated from every pore.  I couldn’t write fast enough to let go of all the stuff that had been inside for too long now.  I had to get it out.  My body was cleansing itself in every way possible.  It had to go.

 I wrote letters spilling out thanks to friends who had been so supportive and sending kind words to others who were sick.  I read books and wished for more hours in the day.  I wanted this week to last forever.

 On my last full day I had scheduled another massage.  Four days had transformed me.  Physically rested and restored, even my emotional health seemed to be better.  Concentration and focus had finally returned.  I had hope and purpose.  I could make a list of things I wanted to do right now.  Motivation and purpose had been restored.  I am OK.  I walked into the massage room and Kathy started through the questions.

 “Yes, I have had massages before.  The only concern is that I have just completed a summer of treatment for,” before I could say breast cancer my eyes had filled again with tears and my voice disappeared deep into my chest.  What brought that on I wondered.  I was doing so well.  “But I’m just fine.” I choked out.

When we were in Turkey there was a prayer rug in every hotel room.  Muslims have a prescribed movement to go with their  prayer.  I tried it a few times and found I was so distracted trying to do the right moves that my prayers were lacking.  I am sure once I learned the moves they would become automatic and enhance the prayers.

While I never really mastered all the moves I did find kneeling to be good.  I like have a special spot (the rug) and the posture of kneeling.  Somehow it made the prayers different. I was given a prayer rug by a family in Turkey and brought it home thinking I might use it.  I don't.  Habit takes over and familiar is more powerful I guess.

Sunday, February 28 – Second Sunday in Lent

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God.” (1 John 3:1)

I have pictures of our three children on my dresser in our bedroom. When I get around to dusting that dresser, I pick up each picture and look into the sweet eyes and smile of our daughters and son (the pictures were taken when the children were 1 year old.) I remember bathing them, dressing them, diapering them, reading to them, and tucking them into bed at night. Now I go to bed before they do, and only our youngest – Emma – still lives at home.

I always wanted to be a mother. I used to think I would have at least 6 children, but then I had our first 2 so close together that I was exhausted! So we settled on 3. But the love I have for our children still amazes me. And even though they are almost grown, I still feel such responsibility for them. I worry about them. I love them. I try to support them. And I am amazed by them and all they have learned and accomplished. Our children have been the light of my life and I am so grateful for having had the chance to be their mother – well at least most of the time! (The teenage years are a little tough.)

Today I invite you to think about the children you have loved or love in your life and how special that connection is, and then try to realize that the love God has for you as God’s child is even greater. You are beloved – yes you! You are loved unconditionally just because you are you and a child of God. So try to remember that today, feel that love.  Have a blessed day, Ruth.

Monday, March 1

“Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” (Psalm 96: 9)

Where do you see beauty in your life? Where do you encounter the holy? I felt in the presence of the holy when I walked around the grounds of Pokagon State Park in late January. With the beauty of the surroundings and the stark contrast of the white snow and the dark bare trees, I was overwhelmed with the beauty of God’s creation. Children are so much better at noticing beauty – a blue sky, a rainbow, even a dandelion in your green grass, all seem to be noticed better by children than adults. So this Lenten season I am trying to look for beauty. I saw it last week when I baptized Catarina Foga and watched her delight in the water of the baptismal font and in her pretty new dress for that special occasion. I see it when I notice a couple holding hands in the pews. I see it in our new Gathering Place. I hear it when the choir sings an anthem on Sunday morning. Where do you see beauty in your life? Can you sense the holy in that beauty? Have a blessed day, Ruth

Tuesday, March 2

“For with you is the well of life, and in your light we see light.” (Psalm 36:9)

I am writing this blog in February when I don’t think I have seen the sun for 2 weeks. Indiana is so cold and gray in the wintertime. Maybe by today we have a little sun and some warmer temperatures.

I have a small confession to make – I am scared of the dark. I have to have the hall light on at night just so I don’t have to sleep in complete darkness. I had a night-light when I was a child and our children did too. Light makes me feel more secure, less afraid, and more aware of my surroundings. You can’t see people’s expressions in the dark.

Christ is the light of the world. He illumines and personifies God’s love and purpose for our lives. Let him illumine you, so you can shine and be the person God wants you to be. Try to look today for ways to be a light of love in the life of someone. Shine the love. Have a blessed day, Ruth

Wednesday, March 3

“The eyes of all wait upon you, O Lord, and you give them their food in due season.” (Psalm 145:15)

As many of you know, our family welcomed 2 puppies last August. They are supposed to be Emma’s dogs, but you know how that goes. So Mark and I have grandpuppies now to take care of. Their names are Claude and Louise. They are named after my grandparents and look and act very much like their namesakes. They will lie at my feet as I cook dinner hoping I will share some juicy chicken or hamburger. They love green peppers. Mealtime is their favorite time of day.

Our bodies have a need for food and we have other physical needs as well. And then there are the needs of our hearts, and the needs of others that we care about. My greatest need right now is for gainful employment for our son and another friend – both of whom are underemployed and looking for more challenging work – work that will use the gifts that God gave them. My prayer each day is for opportunities for those who are unemployed and underemployed. What are your deep needs right now? For whom do you pray for that has needs that are not being met? Can you be patient enough to wait for your prayers and needs to be met in God’s due season? Have a blessed day, Ruth.

Thursday, March 4

“Come now and look upon the works of the Lord, what awesome things God has done on earth.” (Psalm 46:8)

Where can you look and see God’s power and divine nature? Can you look at beautiful mountain ranges covered with snow and not believe in a divine creator? Can you look at a newborn baby and not believe in miracles? If the weather is nice today I encourage you to take a walk outside. Look for signs of spring and the miracle of renewal and new life.

Look around your house today and try to rediscover something that awes you. Is it a picture of your wedding – are you still married after all these years? – that’s pretty awe-inspiring! What about pictures of your family? Even if everyone doesn’t always get along, the love that families share can be awesome. Look for the presence of God today – inside, outside, at work, at home, in the grocery store, and in the sunrise or sunset. Look for the presence of God all day long.

Have a blessed day, Ruth.

Friday, March 5

“What are human beings that you should be mindful of them? Mortals that you should seek them out? You have made them but little lower than the angels.” (Psalm 8:4-5)

The bible tells us we are made in the image of God and that we were created good. But there are very few days that I feel like I do much for God’s image. When I was doing my chaplaincy internship at St’s Vincent about 10 years ago, my supervisor told me that when I went into a hospital room I could be the presence of Christ that day for that person. At first I thought I couldn’t do this – who was I to presume that I was the presence of Christ? But then I realized it was an honor to be that presence and that if I loved and listened and cared for that patient maybe they could get a glimpse of the way we are loved by God. So I went out into that hospital each day and tried to be the presence of Christ to strangers, outcasts, the sick, the lame, the mentally ill, the sinners and the dying – all beloved children of God. It was a privilege for me to represent at least one image of God.

So today I encourage you to look for God’s image in the people with whom you interact. Can you see some love? Can you see kindness? Can you see or feel some mercy and grace? Can you reflect back that love, kindness, mercy and grace? Have a blessed day, Ruth.

Saturday, March 6

“Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing: go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor.’” (Mark 10:21)

I thought we got all our talk about sin out of our systems on Ash Wednesday! But it pops up again in our reflections and pray for the day. Love and judgment is the topic, but I just want the love! But how can we have a realistic relationship with Jesus if both judgment and love are not present. The judgment keeps me honest, it keeps me accountable, and it keeps me on my toes. It forces me to be honest with myself and God. It is unrealistic for me to sell all I own and give the money to the poor – that would be irresponsible to my family and their needs. But the truth is, I have more than I need and I fall short of being the generous person I could be. Sin and judgment.

But I also know that nothing – nothing I did or did not do in this life – separates me from the love of God in Christ Jesus. (Romans 8:39)

Lent has traditionally been a time to examine our lives, to see our sin, and to repent or turn around and away from what separates us from God. Ask God to forgive your sins this day, knowing that your sins will be forgiven – because  even though there will be judgment, in the end there is always mercy and grace.

Sunday, March 7

“Taste and see that the Lord is good, happy are they who trust in the Lord!” (Psalm 34:8)

As you read this on March 7th I will hopefully be in Cancun Mexico with our youth director Julie Shannon. (I know, Mexico in March, pretty tough working conditions wouldn’t you say?!) Julie and I are in Mexico for the ordination of our partner church’s pastor, Neri Tomas. Neri has been studying and preparing for this day for many years and Northminster has provided support and encouragement to him and to the church he serves – Principe de Paz.

 Our Lenten suggestion and prayer is about eating simply. We probably won’t be eating simply at the celebration tonight, but our Mexican sisters and brothers in Christ certainly know about eating simply. This congregation that we partner with is in a very poor section of Cancun. Many of the houses around the church are really just shacks – metal siding walls and a tent for a roof. The people in the community are quite poor and many of them have limited food sources. So keep Julie and me in your prayers for the next few days as we travel to and from Mexico. And pray for the congregation of Principe de Paz – as their needs are great, some of them are hungry and many of them are malnourished. Have a blessed day, Ruth

Monday, March 8

“Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.” (Psalm 51:15)

How can our mouths proclaim the goodness and glory of God? Well I thinking singing is a wonderful way of praising God and I am so appreciative of the hymns we sing on Sunday morning and how the choir anthems enrich our worship. But my words don’t always praise God. I have been known to say a swear word or two (but not in the pulpit like some pastors I know – ha, ha!) Plus what comes out of my mouth is not always positive or encouraging or loving. I don’t say enough words of appreciation or gratitude. If nothing unworthy of God is to pass my lips today, I am going to have to be very careful of what I say. The tongue as the apostle Paul reminds us can be very hurtful, and that is my prayer for today. May everything I think and say today glorify God and be words of thanksgiving, praise and gratitude for the wonderful blessings I receive from God. Have a blessed day, Ruth

Tuesday, March 9

“They feast upon the abundance of your house; you give them drink from the river of your delights.” (Psalm 36:8)

Our devotional guide encourages us to look and consider all that went into the preparation of the food in front of us. As most of you know, I am not much of a cook. I obviously love to eat, but I have little interest in cooking, and when I do it rarely comes out like the recipe says it will.

One time I tried to make Jell-O Jigglers for the children when they were little. I followed the directions on the back of the Jell-O package. The kids helped me make them and they were so excited about eating those wiggly sweet Jell-O treats. But I obviously didn’t pay enough attention to the directions (that is usually my problem) and they stuck to the pan and wouldn’t come out. I tried to put the pan in some warm water and as I pulled the pan out of the sink all the Jigglers slid out and down the drain. I used words you shouldn’t use in front of children and they cried. I have never made Jigglers or anything with Jell-O since!

When we are in Mexico our brothers and sisters at our partner church always cook something special for us. One year they made tamales. Not only are these expensive to make, they take hours to prepare. I’m not a big fan of tamales, but I eat every bite, because I realize the time it took to make them, the sun, soil and rain it took to grow the corn, and because I realize they were made with love. Although we can abuse it, food can be a reminder of how we are loved and cared for by God and by those who cook for us. I give thanks to God for all the people who have grown the food, prepared the food, cooked the food and served the food that has fed me all of my life. I am truly blessed and I wish you a blessed day today. Ruth 

Wednesday, March 10

“My soul is athirst for God, athirst for the living God.” (Psalm 42:2)

Our Lenten devotions for today encourage us to fast. Have you ever completely fasted for a whole day – no food all day long? Except for medical reasons I have done this about 10 times in the last decade – wow – about once a year. Not much to brag about is it?!

Maybe you can’t fast due to medical reasons, but fasting from food for 24 hours is very difficult. By lunchtime you are really hungry. And by dinnertime it is all you think about. How can I think about God when I am so hungry?

But when you are hungry is does remind you of how primal that need and urge to eat is and how necessary to your well being it is. What if you went a whole day without praying – would you notice it as much as not eating that day? We do need God, each and every day, and each and every minute of our lives, but we take it for granted that God will always be there. So try to fast today and let me know how it goes. I hope this discipline will help you know how important your need of God is. Don’t take it for granted. And make sure you drink plenty of water so you stay hydrated until you eat again tomorrow.

Have a blessed day today. Ruth

Thursday, March 11

“Come, let us sing to the Lord; let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.” (Psalm 95:1)

I love music. I like and love all different types of music. I played the cello for about 25 years until life intervened and children and work took so much of my time. I loved playing the cello, and for a while I was pretty good at it. It just fed my soul somehow. The cello has such a rich and mellow sound  and sometimes when I was playing I just felt like it was an extension of my body – it was like my body was singing somehow.

I love classical music, blues, jazz, rock and any song by James Taylor. I have even started to like country music and have enjoyed listening and singing along to Roseanne Cash’s new album The List. I love listening to “oldies” radio stations and I can often be found singing along to the radio in my car. I still remember camp songs and songs we sang in my high school youth group. I used to sing those songs to the kids when they were babies.

Singing is often a way for me to pray and praise and shout to God. The melody helps express my mood and the words help me to express my thoughts and feelings. What songs help you express your thanks and praise to God for life and love? What type of music helps you feel closer to God? What type of music makes you feel alive and joyful?

I hope you have a joy filled and blessed day today. Ruth

Friday, March 12

If any of you think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.” (James 1:26)

Today we are to search our hearts and consider whether we have made any thoughtless or unkind remarks recently. Is the author serious? I think the question should be when have I had a week without making a thoughtless or unkind remark! Over the years I have said so many mean things to my husband it is a wonder he even talks to me. And gossip. The church is rife with gossip. But that often happens in groups, especially ones where they know each other well.

Lent is a time for repentance, to acknowledge our sin and to repent or turn from it. I have gotten better at not just speaking in the heat of the moment – I guess maturity has some benefits. But words have great power and they can be so destructive and hurtful. So my prayer today is for God’s help in curbing my tongue and for God’s forgiveness when I fail. May you feel God’s love and forgiveness in your prayers today too. Ruth

Saturday, March 13

“How sweet are your words to my taste! They are sweeter than honey to my mouth.” (Psalm 119:103)

I never used to have much of a sweet tooth. When I had food cravings they were for salty foods like chips and nuts. Well something has changed in my old age and I crave sweet things and chocolate all the time. I just ate a Hershey’s Kiss and there is nothing like that sweet milk chocolate melting on your tongue!

What are the sweet words we hear from God – especially if we listen? How about “I love you – or you are forgiven.” “I will not leave you.” “I will always be faithful to you.” “I have sent Jesus to you to show you how much I love you and for the redemption of the world.” “I want to bring about healing and wholeness in your life.”

 Listen for God’s word to you today. Listen for God’s word in scripture. Spend some time in silent prayer and just listen. “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) Have a blessed day, Ruth

 I wasn’t here to make friends.  I came for personal spiritual renewal.  I wanted to get close to God, not four strangers.  I wanted a free trip to Italy, not touchy-feeling gush.  I would go along with the routine- but only to a point.  I didn’t see a thing these women could give me that I really needed.

 So we sat and shared-

 Karin, a 67 year old Episcopal priest from Virginia.  Her husband is dead, her kids are all spread out.  She is in an awful church mess.  One of those vicious congregations that chew up clergy then spit them out to watch them die.  She is so broken and so angry.

 Betty Lynn is United Church of Canada, a co-pastor with her husband.  She is brilliant but also a tad bit naïve.  She seems pretty steady, sharing her wisdom and experience as appropriate.  She is so strong and gutsy.  But finally through tears we learn of her father’s death, just days ago, and the pain and sorrow she has been kept to herself.

 Laurie is young, beautiful, smart, athletic, and sweet.  How perfect can one person be?  She has a beautiful daughter and a handsome husband, a Lutheran Church job she loves.  What kind of support can a perfect person want or need?  But as Laurie speaks we hear the pain and begin to see the empty space in her core.

 Linda, a Mennonite from Boise, speaks so softly we must strain to listen.  She will need the support of this group.  She is sick.  The victim of childhood abuse, chemical poisoning in Zimbabwe, food allergies, drug reactions, a heart problem.  She will need us.  But all we can do is listen.

 I just started a new job.  I’m not even sure why I am here.  The support group I used to have got me thru a divorce, thru cancer, thru so much.  But it took years to build to build that trust, the love, the respect.  What can we possibly accomplish is three short years?

 During the silent retreat we made 1237 beads to put on rosaries.  We rolled and cut and poked holes- and sliced- and cussed- and messed up- and doubted- and wondered- and amazed ourselves.  In the kitchen we baked into the wee hours- drinking- laughing- loving our art and the women represented in the beads. 

 Through the years we told the stories of our lives, our joys our pain.  We prayed Karin into retirement from pain and misery, then through her daughter’s cancer.  We prayed Laurie into a sabbatical of exploration and discovery as she filled herself with new creations.  We prayed Linda through a broken heart, an irritated bowel, and the sorrow of missing Italy.  We prayed Betty Lynn through her graduation, then from Saskatchewan to Toronto, from the parish to a new phase of her life.

 Now we gather as five women who would never have self-selected and we simply relish the company of one another.  We drink deeply of the spirit we share.  We touch each other with no more than a glace, a smile, a nod.  We light the candle and share the box of Kleenex on the table.

Part of the difficulty with this assignment is that we do not all agree on what is contrary to the gospel.  I just saw The Last Station. 

In 1910, famed novelist Leo Tolstoy (Christopher Plummer) and his wife Sofya (Helen Mirren) vehemently disagree over the rights to Tolstoy's literary legacy. Sofya believes her husband should bequeath them to her upon his death, while Tolstoy's chief disciple, Chertkov (Paul Giamatti), has nearly convinced the writer to sign the rights over to the Russian people.

The debate through the entire movie is what it really means to be a follower of Tolstoy.  We have the same difficulty being followers of Christ.

The gospel is clear on sharing with and caring for others so does that make anything that urges us to be over-consumers anti-gospel?

The debates on TV over health care do not sound like the gospel to me.

Reports on the war- wasn't Jesus a pacifist?

We have equated Christianity with being an American for so long I think we have lost touch with all the ways the gospel really does challenge our culture, our lifestyle, our priorities and our commitments.

What do you think?

Nature provides so many images for me, but the most profound experience is at someone's death.  I often have the privledge of being present when a person dies.  There is no description for the experience of God's presence in that time- the overwhelming sense of peace and calm and love.

Where do you experience that "beyondness" of God?

While I always resist I do find breathing and stretching and moving to be powerful ways of encountering God.  I pray while I walk- developing a rhythm of steps and thoughts.  I pray the labyrinth.  I have a breath prayer I have used for over 25 years.

But right now I am sitting on an airplane so I can hardly move.  I close my eyes and imagine the labyrinth, step, step, breath, exhale, emptying and then inhaling God.  Try it.

Comments???????

Our reading tells us that the word “law” can also be translated as “teaching” or “instruction”.  It can also be translated as “path”.  I like that translation.

The wonders of God’s path are many.  A path is not always clear, sometimes it wanders, often it takes us to unexpected places, it may fork and give us a choice.  A path is a journey, not a destination.

The path causes us to consider those with whom we travel- our speed- our nourishment.  As a hiker I have learned that paths have many unexpected ups and downs and you never know what might be around the next bend.

Path- I like that as a symbol of God’s leading, teaching, instructing.  If the Beatitudes are a path they take us to a place unlike anywhere we have ever been before.  They take us to a world that is different from Indianapolis, Indiana today.  Where does this path take you?  What is the first step?  What is the most difficult section?  What preparations must you make?  Are you ready for the hike?

There is a great quote floating around that I think is from Gandhi.  It says- Be the change you want to see in the world.  Today’s passage from James seems to tell us to be the church we want to experience ourselves.  I am truly blessed to see the church through a very wide angle lens.  I wish everyone could see what I see.

Ruth fell down the steps and had to be rushed to the ER.  Another member, Joan, went and sat with her all afternoon at the hospital and saw that she got home safely.  Jackie took food and checked in on her daily at home.  Kate called to be sure she was recovering.

The week before Christmas is busy and hectic in the church office.  John and Cheryl prepared and delivered a delicious lunch for the entire church staff.

On a very hot summer day during the building project one of the secretaries ran out for ice cream bars and popsicles to pass out to construction workers.

A member drops off $500 during the worst of the recession and asks that it go to someone in need.

In less than a week the congregation donates nearly $5000 to disaster relief in Haiti.

A young couple, new to the church, discovers that the man they sit near each Sunday has a wife in the nursing home.  They drop off flowers and visit.  When she dies they attend her funeral.

James calls us to be full of mercy and good fruits.  Mercy, mercy, mercy….

Way back in the days when I was serving as a youth pastor I brought a bus load of kids from Omaha, Nebraska to IU in Bloomington for the first Youth Triennium of our denomination.  Other than the heat and humidity I don’t remember much except the refrain to one song we sang over and over all week- Be not afraid.  I go before you always.  Come follow me and I will give you rest.  When I think about God that refrain says perfectly what I know in my bones to be true.

I know it because I have experienced it.  I have known God’s comfort and peace in times of trial, adversity, fear and sorrow.  I have discovered God’s courage when I had none of my own.  I have followed into places I wasn’t sure I should ever go and found God with me.  My heart has rested in the Lord when I needed refreshment, renewal, inspiration or hope.  Been there, done that, got that T-shirt.  I know in my bones and in my heart that it is true.

I have also seen it in others.  I have been with many people at the time of death and been completely convinced that they were being “led” out of this world.  They were not alone and they were not afraid.  Can I explain that?  Absolutely not.  Do I know it to be true?  Absolutely!

“Lord, let me know my end and the number of my days, so that I may know how short my life is.”  Psalm 39:4

I cannot consider the span of my days without thinking of my experience with cancer.  I cannot consider that experience without a sense of deep gratitude for the changes it caused in me.

Most people say they would not like to know how or when they are going to die ahead of time.  I don’t want to know.  But having gone through a time when I realized I could be dying I had to come to terms with the idea.  I vowed that I would stop wasting time and putting off important things in my life.  I moved my family up in my priorities, I started traveling more, I focus now on the joy of the moment rather than waiting for delayed gratification.  These learnings have been precious.  I don’t have a lot of regrets.  I know that life is short and I want to treasure every moment.

“My days pass away like a shadow…”

First of all, I have a confession to make.  In order to get these devotional reflections up on-line each day I knew I would need to work ahead.  If I did them in real time I would undoubtedly run into a funeral or the flu or something that would put me behind schedule.  I know you are all just sitting at your computers eagerly awaiting the next installment, so I decided I had best be prepared (yes, I was a Girl Scout).

So, I am sitting on Ft. Myers beach as I write this.  A snow storm in Atlanta caused our flight scheduled for 6:00 this morning to be cancelled so we are “stuck” here another day.  It has been very cold but today it is almost 70 and the wind has let up and we are actually on the beach.  As long as the sun is shining we can sit here and enjoy watching the people and the surf.  However, when the sun goes behind a cloud it suddenly gets very cold and I wrap up in the beach towel and snuggle back into the cabana out of the wind.  When the sun comes back out the towel comes off and I bake myself a little more.

In the shadow I just wrap up and wait it out.  I shiver and shake and curse the shade.  I wait for the sun to return.  But my time on the beach is passing quickly and I hate to waste it wrapped in a towel.  Finally, I jump up and start off down the beach at a fast clip (fast by MY standards).  Even in the shadow now I am warm.  Even the shade time has purpose and is enjoyable.  I will not sit curled up in a ball waiting for the warmth- I will create my own warmth in the shadows.

Right up there with my mother and my grandmother in the list of significant women in my life is my Aunt Ilo.  I think she was the third born of 12 children in my dad’s family.  She and her husband, Uncle Smitty, practically raised my father.  Ilo and Smitty had no children of their own but they had me and my 30 some cousins.

Ilo and Smitty lived on a farm outside of Findlay, Ohio.  We used to go stay with them at the farm and I loved it.  We picked corn from the field, vegetables from the garden, gathered eggs from the chicken coup, climbed in the hay maw, rode in the back of the pickup and even got to drive the tractors on occasion.  

Uncle Smitty and Aunt Ilo were God-fearing, church going Methodists.  If any of my other Aunts and Uncles went to church I did not know it.  Nobody talked about the faith like Ilo.  She took us to church when we went to visit.  We prayed before we ate at her house.  When I decided to go to seminary she was thrilled and encouraged me all the way.

When Uncle Smitty died it was hard on Ilo.  She was strong and able to care for herself.  She had always been very independent.  But she a Smitty were really soul mates and she missed him terribly.  She never had any doubt that he was in heaven with his Lord and that softened her grief.  But as the years passed Ilo lost her sight, could no longer drive, moved to assisted living, had a stroke, and needed a walker to walk her three miles a day.  When I would visit she would always say how she missed Smitty and how ready she was to join him.  She’d had a good life and she was ready to go home.  She really believed  that with all her heart.

When Ilo died last summer I was sad for me but not for her.  She was finally where she had wanted to be for the last 10 years.  She left me the diamond heart necklace Smitty had given her for their 50th wedding anniversary.  It reminds me of her, the good life she lived and shared with me, and it reminds me that she is finally home.  I believe that with all my heart.

When I was a kid we all thought ashes on the forehead was a very Catholic thing.  The only people who did it were Catholics, the same folks who wore head coverings, ate fish on Friday, and “crossed” themselves.  At lot has changed since then in the Catholic Church, in the Protestant Church, and in me.

In the Protestant reformation we rebelled against the ritual of the Roman Church.  Some days I fear we went too far.  Ritual can carry important meaning.   People cling to ritual.  Think about your kids and their bedtime ritual- it is comforting, they know what to expect, they know where it leads, it makes them feel safe.  That is what ritual can do.

We have maintained the rituals of baptism and communion.  Confirmation has a little ritual in it.  Weddings and funerals have ritual.  Some families establish their own religious rituals.  We used to have an Advent wreath at home every year when Thomas was young.  Some families have prayer rituals at meal time or at bed time.  Many couples have daily morning devotions together before they begin their days.  These rituals give us a sense of being grounded.  They make us feel safe.

The past six years I have been part of Women Touched by Grace- a group of Protestant clergy women who meet regularly for study and renewal at Our Lady of grace Benedictine Monastery.  My experience worshiping with the sisters and in visiting so many cathedrals around the world has led me to adopt the ritual of blessing myself with holy water when I enter or leave the sanctuary.  I dip my fingers into the holy water and make a cross on my forehead.  I remind myself that I am baptized.  I am a child of God.  I am claimed and loved.  That has become a meaningful ritual in my life- very simple and very small- but very significant.

Tonight we will make that same sign on foreheads with ashes.  Instead of saying “You are baptized.”  We will say, “From dust you came and to dust you shall return.”  This is another ritual.  It means different things to different people.  What about you?

 Avatar is the Smurfs Meet Rambo.  It is science fiction and fantasy and magic rolled up in a battle of good verses evil.  The movie is good and the effects are great and it is definitely worth seeing.  However, it is fantasy.  In the battle of good verses evil the characters are all very one dimensional, except the hero Jake Sully.

  Set in future on an alien moon called Pandora, Avatar tells the timeless story of greed, immaturity, and ignorance and the violence that arises out of them.  But it is all too simple.  The bad people are really bad from head to toe.  They have no redeeming qualities at all.  The good people are perfectly good.  They are in harmony with the earth, the animals, nature, each other and their God.

 It is a nice story and a fun movie but pure fantasy.

Hurt Locker is the exact opposite.  The movie is bloody, violent, reality from start to finish.  The movie is full of explosions and hectic scenes of combat. It is not about the causes and consequences of the Iraq war.  The movie depicts men who risk their lives every day on the streets of Baghdad and in the desert beyond, and who are too stressed out, too busy, too preoccupied with the details of survival to reflect on larger questions about what they are doing there.

The movie left me wondering who was good and who was bad?  What was right and what was wrong?  None of the characters were pure good and none were totally evil.  They were human and real and mixtures of goodness and sinfulness.

I cannot say I really “enjoyed” this movie.  It was hard to watch and even more difficult to digest.  I certainly did not provide the escape from reality I found in Avatar.

It is a not so nice story and an unentertaining movie but pure reality.

I have never been one to memorize scripture.  I read it.  I like to read it because I see something different each time.  But on Christmas Eve my favorite part of the service is the Benediction when I can recite one of the few passages I know by heart-

Fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in the manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host singing Glory to God in the highest.  And on earth peace.

I memorized that speech of the angel when I was in the second grade.  I was cast as the angel in the school Christmas pageant.  Obviously, this was before the days when religion was banned from the public schools.  I had the biggest part in the play and I was so excited.  I spend weeks learning my lines as my mother listened over and over and over again.

The really cool part of the whole play was the costume I got to wear.  The shepherds had bathrobes and Mary and Joseph were in dingy stuff.  But I was the angel and I got to wear a beautiful white gown with wings and of course, a halo.  My mother made the costume.  My mother always made our costumes for everything.  She could turn us  into pumpkins, fairies, monsters, almost anything.  She was amazing that way and my costume was glorious.

But then, just weeks before the big production, I fell from the monkey bars (yes, even angels play on monkey bars) and I broke my arm.  I remember crying in the hospital emergency room, more from fear than from pain.  Then once the cast was on I really became worried.  I was to be the angel in just a few weeks and the doctor said I was stuck with the cast for six weeks.  How could I possibly be an angel with a cast?

My mother told me not to worry and she let out the sleeve and enlarged the arm hole so I could still wear the costume.  So it would be possible, but I would still have a cast.  There is no such thing as an angel with a broken arm.  Even my mother’s creative costuming could not make that look right.  It was hopeless.  I was convinced my cast would ruin the whole play.

The day before my stage debut my mother came into my room.  She had a roll of red masking tape in her hand.  She sat down and gently took my cast in her lap and began wrapping the tape around and around and around.  When she was finished she announced, you are no longer an angel with a broken arm.  You are now an angel with a huge candy cane.  How cool was that!!

I think of that every year as I say those words.  How cool is that.

As much as I believe in God’s unconditional love and forgiveness as a Christian, I also believe in personal responsibility (or lack there of) as an American.  I do believe we avoid working to make the world better by believing that nothing is our fault and therefore we can do nothing to fix it.

Liz Neterval shared a quote from “Speaking of Faith” with me.  I think it was Abraham Heshel…Not everyone is guilty but everyone is responsible.

 Then Russell Wharam told me about this song and I listened to it this morning.  Check it out and then spend some time in your journal.  What am I being called to repent this Advent and what difference will it make in the world?

You can listen here-

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/j/jack_johnson/cookie_jar.html

 Cookie Jar by Jack Johnson

I would turn on the TV but it's so embarrasing
To see all the other people I don't know that they mean It was magic at first when they spoke without sound
And now this world is gonna hurt you better turn that thing down
Turn it around

"It wasn't me", says the boy with the gun
"Sure I pulled the trigger but it needed to be done
Cause life's been killing me and the censor begun
You cant blame me cause I'm too young"

"You can't blame me sure the killer was my son
But I didn't teach him to pull the trigger of the gun
It's the killer on this TV screen
You cant blame me its those images he seen"

Well "You can't blame me", says the media man
Well "I wasn't the one who came up with the plan
I just filled my camera with what the people want to see
Man it's a two way mirror and you cant blame me"

"You can't blame me", says the singer of the song
Or the maker of the movie which he based his life on
"It's only entertainment and as anyone can see
The smoke machines and makeup
Hey you cant fool me"

It was you it was me it was every man
We've all got the blood on our hands
We only receive what we demand
And if we want hell then hells what well have

And I would turn on the TV
But its so embarrasing
To see all the other people
I don't even know that they mean
And it was magic at first
But it let everyone down
And now this world is gonna hurt
You better turn it around
Turn it around

Amos is talking about preparing to meet the Lord.  He thinks that means being ready to be held accountable for actions and/or behaviors.  We don't usually think that way in our preparations for Christmas.

Preparation- well, the house has to be cleaned, find the decorations, put up the tree, decorate the mantle, shop for gifts, wrap gifts, mail gifts, worry about gifts, plan the worship, plan the Session party, don't forget the staff lunch, preparation, preparation and we just keep hoping it will all be over soon.

The funeral home just called to say one of our members died.  I guess she doesn't have to prepare for Christmas.  But then Amos says, Prepare to meet your God.  I guess her preparations are over but they still matter.

We are better at preparing for a nice, sweet baby who teaches us to share than we are preparing for the second coming of Christ who will judge.  Advent doesn't call us to fear judgment, but to prepare so that we are free to serve and free to love.

Are you ready for Christmas?  Are you prepared to meet your God?  What remains on that to-do list?

Jeremiah 33:14-16

14The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 15In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 16In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.”

Tonight President Obama will be making a speech about the war in Afghanistan.  What a mess we are in.  What would it mean to “execute justice and righteousness” in that land and is that something we are even capable of doing?

Justice and righteousness seem to look different depending on where you sit.  In the current health care debates there is great fear that we not lose any of the health care we currently have.  It would not be just to take away what we have now.  But what does justice look like for those who have no health care?  Is it just for some to have much while others have none?

Jeremiah and his people were in exile and their greatest hope was that God would restore them to their land.  What would you like to see God set right in the world?  Some folks are very passionate about hunger or human rights or war or AIDS.  What would you most want to see God set right in the world?  What from your perspective is most painful?  Write about that in your journal.

Then look at what you have written and ask how God might use you in the healing of the world.  How can you be a beacon of light and justice for the Gospel’s sake?

How about getting into Advent?  This is a time of waiting and preparation.  I picked up an Advent Journaling booklet this year called Prepare the Way of the Lord.  You might also call it- Journaling to Bethlehem.

Today’s suggested scripture reading is this…

2 Peter 1:1

1Simeon Peter, a servant and apostle of Jesus Christ, To those who have received a faith as precious as ours through the righteousness of our God and Savior Jesus Christ: 2May grace and peace be yours in abundance in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. 3His divine power has given us everything needed for life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. 4Thus he has given us, through these things, his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may escape from the corruption that is in the world because of lust, and may become participants of the divine nature.

The question is- What gift do you have to contribute to the world?

Growing up I never thought I had much in the way of gifts.  My older brother was the smart one and my little sister was the pretty one.  I was just the middle child.

I wonder if we can really be aware of our own gifts or if others need to point them out for us.  When I started working and getting performance reviews I began to hear people tell me what I do well.  Shouldn’t have surprised me that what they thought I did well was usually something I really enjoyed doing.  But those same evaluations would point out that my greatest strengths were also my greatest weaknesses.

I have the gift of commitment and determination.  Carried too far that becomes stubborn and inflexible.  I have the gift of being able to see things pretty clearly and speak clearly.  When I am not careful that can border on tactless or offensive.  You get the picture.

So Peter says we are given our gifts to help us participate in the divine nature, in other words, to do good, to give life, to be creative, to share love.  Advent is a good time to think about the gifts we have been given and how we use them.  Will you join me in journaling to Bethlehem?

My first lesson about God came on a quiet summer day on our short street in a new subdivison. I was young, probably in kindergarten, which made my little sister about 3.  We were in the driveway making mud pies after a morning rain.  The mud was dark and smooth like the chocolate batter we imagined it to be.  I tried to get Jennifer to eat one by pretending to do so myself.  She balked.  I pushed. She pushed back.  I smacked.  She cried and ran to mom.  I jumped on my tricycle and raced down the street.  If I could get around the corner she would not be able to see me.  The corner appeared and I was going way too fast.  Spin out.  Gravel.  Pain.  Tears.  The handle bar missing the rubber grip on its end had torn across my belly scrapping skin and drawing blood.  Leaving the tricycle in the grass, I ran home screaming.  Mom plopped me on top of the dryer as she tended the wounds with little sympathy.  Finally, all clean and bandaged, the lecture began. 

 Do you know why you were hurt?

 Yes, the rubber cap is missing on my bike.

 But do you know why you fell?

 Yes, I was going too fast at the corner.

 No, you got hurt because God was punishing you for hitting your little sister.  Now, go apologize to Jennifer and then clean up the mess out front.

 God.  Sitting in the sky.  Looking down and watching my every move.  Just waiting for me to screw up.  Just waiting for me to do the wrong thing.  Just waiting to zap me, punish me, and make me pay for my evil ways.

 So God was to be avoided, hid from, steered clear of, and so was my sister.

 Gradually, I grew up.  The country was divided over the Vietnam War.  Earth Day was established to help us focus on the environment.  Racial conflicts erupted in the city and the high school.  I wore wire-rim glasses and a floppy hat with my bellbottom jeans and Mrs. Mueller in World History called me the hippie.  My good friend hanged himself in his basement and I never had to ask why. Occasionally there was a vague sense of that long forgotten God up there watching me break the rules, but nobody else ever seemed to notice.

 One day Betty Ann asked if I wanted to go on a trip.  Her church youth group was going to visit mission sites in New Mexico and Arizona.  For two weeks away I would have gone anywhere.  Sign me up.

 That trip took me to heaven and introduced me to a different God. 

 Far from the city, up in the hills the collection of shacks was the only indication that life existed at that altitude.  Nothing came close to resembling the doctors’ offices I knew from home.  Barely diapered babies crawled across the dirty floor while sniffling, coughing, vomiting children filled the broken chairs that lined the walls.  From the exam room came the sounds of pain, the smells of illness and the sights of compassion.  A clinic, serving the poor and forgotten was a vision of hope in a world I believed no longer cared.

 Families, old men, young women unhurried gradually filled the pews.  At least “pew” is what they called the rough, hard planks balanced across the stumps.  The drums and guitars filled the log building with melodies of enjoyment.  Voices were raised in songs of delight.  Something was making it possible for these people to sing in their dreary surroundings, to praise in their needy circumstances, to find joy in a community that by all appearances was so depressed.  I could feel the presence of something making that joy possible, something I could not see and still did not understand.

 Stars filled the sky as we spread out sleeping bags on the abandoned ski slope.  People I did not even know 10 days earlier were now my friends and companions.  We shared questions, insights, dreams and fears.  The sense of being close to another person in a caring way was comfortable and inviting yet unfamiliar.  I felt others touching me, inside and out and began to understand how love feels.

 One by one, step by step, one experience after another, I was meeting God.

 A God who built hospitals on reservations.

A God who stood up against the war.

A God who created our world and wanted us to protect it.

A God who cared for people- even Native Americans- even children- even me.

A God who welcomed me wholeheartedly into a community of faith.

A God who picked me up off the path I was traveling and moved me to a new road, a road with meaning and purpose and hope and promise and a big bunch of people who knew my name and cared about me.

A God who saved me.

 I know I have no right to compare myself to them.  After all, they are older.  Who would have dreamed that by skipping two years of school I would look so much younger than all my classmates?  

 I am remarkably unchanged.  I am the same height I was in high school and unfortunately about the same weight.  My hair is the same color it has always been and just beginning to turn grey.  Not even my name has changed.  Oh OK, it has changed.  But it’s now back to where it started so these people don’t know any different.

 Six of us gather at a table in the corner and we remember other meals shared on brown plastic cafeteria trays and served by grouchy ladies in hair nets.  After school we would all go to Linda’s and flop on the old sofas in her basement.  Dave would sometimes serenade us with his dark, depressing songs.  Ken, our self-appointed academic advisor, walked us step by step through the Algebra homework.  Debbie and I never would have passed without him.  Steve was the one with a car and an older brother who could buy cigarettes and beer.  We all thought we would be friends for life but life had other plans and we all lost touch.

 Our conversation moves quickly to children, spouses, where we live and finally, what we do with our lives.

 “So Teri, what do you do?” somebody asks.

 “Why don’t you try to guess?” I teased.

 Dave takes the first stab, “I bet she tends bar in a dark, smoky French Quarter Jazz Club.  She drinks with the customers and listens to their stories.  She probably sells pot from the back room.  She’s got that biker babe thing going with tattoos, leather and chains.”

 “No, no, she was always more ambitious than that.” Debbie points out, “She is a Columbian drug Lord lounging by the pool all day with servants tending her every whim as she samples the merchandise and counts her money.”

 Linda jumps to my defense, “Oh come on you two, she wasn’t ALWAYS in trouble.  Remember all the plays she was in?  She could be an actress in some off-Broadway theatre specializing in those risqué avant guard productions that make people think really hard and then embarrass them.”

 Ken confidently throws out his prediction. “Don’t overlook the protest she organized at graduation.  Can’t you see her marching in a picket line around the Capitol calling Senators obscene names with excellent volume and perfect diction?  She has probably been in lock up at least 100 times by now”

 “Now wait a minute gang.” Steve insists, “Need I remind you of English class?  Mrs. Owen was always reading Teri’s papers to us.  This girl is a writer.  She writes books- novels- the kind where the sex is so bizarre you have to actually move your body to see if a person can really bend that way.”

 Concerned about where this might be headed, I finally confess, “I am the pastor of a Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis, Indiana.”

 Linda’s gasp causes our waiter to worry she might need the Heimlich maneuver.

 Steve’s spoon halts midway between the bowl and his mouth while steaming soup dribbles on his pressed khaki lap.

 Dave downs the merlot remaining in his glass and signals the server for another round.

Debbie stares at me as if I’d just handed her an iguana wrapped in a pink feather boa.

Finally finding his voice Ken laughs, “Good one Teri.  But hey, wouldn’t it be great if there really was a God powerful enough to do that to you?”

When I think about it I recall visiting St. Benedict’s cave in Subiaco, Italy and my reaction to that peace, quiet, beauty and solitude.

“I could live here for three years.  Especially if someone brought me food every day.”

We were standing in a small white cave. The whitewash on the walls could not disguise the craggy, cold stones.  Empty, except for the statue of Benedict, the space felt full- close- almost dense.

It was the cave where Benedict experienced his spiritual awakening and the spirit was still present.  As a young man he’d gone to Rome for his education.  Turned off by the crowds, the noise and the sinful living he left for the mountains and found this hole in which he took up residence.   An abbot living near by lowered bread and water in a basket on a rope.  Liberated from worldly concerns Benedict was free to spend his time in prayer and devotion.

Envy filled my heart.  How wonderful to have no obligations in the world other than prayer.  How I would love to have a simple, bare space to sit and pray and think and wonder and write.  What a privilege to be alone, totally alone, in peace and quiet to listen to God.  I stood there imagining the joy of it all.  Not forever, mind you, but just for three years.  For three years I could go without baby carrots and seared sea bass, Mad Men and Criminal Minds, my Prius, the whirlpool tub, flannel sheets, the Braun coffee maker.  I’d like to keep my laptop, just for writing of course.  And the view from the cave was simply stunning.  The sky was clear, crisp blue dotted with puffs of clouds.  The trees were changing into their fall colors and reds, yellows, and oranges spotted the mountain side.  And when I listened carefully I could hear the silence- the caw of the raven floating on the wind.  I could absolutely live in this place.  Imagine no worry about quarterly taxes, no dinner to plan, no knick knacks to dust, no microwave to break down, no one to please, to clock to tell me I’m late, no calendar to drive my days, no cell phone to interrupt my thoughts.  Nothing.  Nothing except me and God and my laptop.  Oh yes, I do need a Bible and maybe a box of books.  But that’s all.  Nothing else..

“Yes, I could live here alone for three years.” I said out loud.

Lowering her camera, Sr. Mary Luke turned and responded, “But if you lived here alone, whose feet would you wash?”

I share my office with a ghost.  We get along amazingly well since I used to be terrified of ghosts.  Casper was friendly but other stories and movies made them all out to be rather frightening and dangerous.  The only ghost I’ve ever actually seen was Uncle Nubby.

Uncle Nubby was my mom’s uncle, or cousin, or some distant relation.  He died over Thanksgiving while we were visiting Grandma.  None of us had packed funeral clothes for the trip.  Actually, I didn’t even know what they meant by funeral clothes.  At the local discount store I learned quickly that funeral clothes were ugly, scratchy, dark colored dresses for me and Jen, some long pants and a button up shirt for my brother.  Dad didn’t think we should bother going to the visitation and we certainly didn’t need new clothes.  Mom thought it would be good for us.  She said now that we were all in school we were old enough to see a dead person and since we didn’t know Uncle Nubby very well, this would be a good one to start with.

It was hard to see in the funeral home.  Lots of old people were standing around talking and a few sat crying in chairs by the wall.  There wasn’t enough light and big, heavy drapes covered up all the windows.  It smelled funny like Aunt Ilo’s parlor.  People kept walking over to a box by the wall and looking at something inside.  Curiosity got the best of me.  I motioned to my brother and sister and we took off through the sea of legs.  Tom stood back away from the box and Jen was too short to see over the edge.  I walked right up, peered over the edge, and found myself face to face with dead Uncle Nubby.  I’d never seen him in a suit before, or with makeup on.  I stared to be sure he wasn’t still breathing.  I wanted to ask him if it hurt, if he was sacred, if he knew we were there.  As I reached out to touch his carefully folded hands Mom pulled me away and sent me to a chair for the rest of the evening.

After the visitation, we loaded into the station wagon for the three-hour drive back home.  I was in the way back so I could lie down.  Being susceptible to carsickness did have its advantages.  Lying on the blankets in the back, I watched the lights flash by the window.  Rolling over I glanced out the other side of the car and saw it.  It was a ghost.  Actually, it was Uncle Nubby, but he was a ghost, and he was flying along side the car.  He wanted to tell me something; I could feel it.  Too frightened to move I just watched as he flew beside us mile after mile.  At some point, my eyes must have closed because I awoke as we pulled into the driveway at home.  I jumped out of the car and searched all around.  Uncle Nubby was gone.  I hoped we had lost him at the state line but I checked my closet and under the bed every night for weeks.

Never seeing another apparition I gradually lost my fear, which is a good thing since I now share my office with a ghost.  You can call it a presence, a spirit, a ghost, call it whatever you like, I call it Fred.

Fred Mathias was my predecessor at Northminster.  He is the one who moved the pastor’s office into this room from the smaller one next door and he occupied this space for 11 years.  I am confident the décor was appropriately handsome for the time.  There is no feng shui for me in the maroon carpet, heavy wooden desk, worn out furniture and dark paneled walls.  After almost five years, I still feel like I am borrowing someone else’s office.

I never met Fred.  In September of 1996, he announced his intention to retire as Pastor of Northminster.  In December of that same year, Fred and his wife Cleta were brutally murdered in their home.  The couple’s bodies were found beside their Christmas tree, bound with ropes and beaten.  An ax was buried in Fred Mathias’ head.  A sixteen-year-old boy, a member of the church youth group, was eventually charged and found guilty.  The church had some difficulty finding a new pastor after that.

A significant part of the congregation disappeared after the murders.  Money was tight.  People who stayed were sad.  The investigations and trials lasted for three years.  Folks were tired.  Staff people were afraid.  So much more than a pastor had been lost.  Everything became very serious and sober.

Meanwhile, 585 miles away in Washington DC, I decided it was time for a change.  I had been through cancer and was fine but everyone still looked at me as if I was sick.  The Presbytery no longer held any excitement for me and the work felt increasingly pointless.  I wasn’t making a difference in the world.  I wasn’t affecting people’s lives.  My faith had little to do with my work and I no longer felt called.  I really wanted to try being the pastor of a church.

I believe God speaks to us in a variety of ways.  Restlessness can be the voice of God.  You know that antsy feeling you get that life needs to change.  Boredom could be God’s way of calling to something new.  Sometimes God even speaks through the voices of family, friends, counselors, or strangers.  For the last couple of years, every time I preached, someone would stop on the way out of church and say, “you really should quit this Presbytery stuff and go to a congregation.”  Eventually I realized that could be God calling and I decided to listen.

Trusted friends and colleagues assured me my dream was both impossible and ridiculous.  For 18 years, I had not only been out of the parish but I had been serving as the number one enemy of many congregations- the Presbytery Executive.  Who wants a church bureaucrat as a pastor? 

I struggled with my ambivalence.  I felt called but knew it was an impossible leap.  The thought of starting a totally new ministry was frightening and exhilarating.  I felt compelled to do something different.  I was terrified.  I was thrilled.  The whole thing was out of my hands.  I had no choice.  I had to try and I had to start with Northminster.

I needed a congregation who would let me be myself.  Northminster needed a pastor who was not like Fred.  I needed people who could appreciate my irreverence.  Northminster needed to laugh.  I needed a congregation who could tolerate some mistakes as I learned with them.  Northminster knew more about grace than any group of people I have ever known.  I didn’t realize how much I really needed a place where I could feel loved.  They were not conscious of their deep desire to love again.  God’s fingerprints were all over this match, I hoped.

Have you ever heard a voice telling you what to do with your life?  I have never heard God sound like Charlton Heston or George Burns.  As I look back over my life I can see influences that led me to make certain decisions and callings that led me in certain directions, but of course, it is always clearer in retrospect.  At the time it is pretty confusing and frightening.

I moved to Northminster.  Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”  (Wishful Thinking, p.119)  With all my heart, I knew that I was in that place and with all my mind, I knew that I was in over my head.  Even working 60-hour weeks, I was behind before I ever started.  It took me forever to write a good sermon every week.  Names of people jumbled and jostled in my head with most of them leaking out and disappearing.  The more I did the more people expected me to do.  Five funerals in one month felt impossible until I had to do three in one week.  People just waited to die until the new pastor arrived.  Everyone wanted to meet me.  Every group wanted me to visit.  Every troublemaker had an issue.  Every leader had a plan.  O, my God what have I gotten myself into?

Wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake, I grabbed a hymnal from the office shelf to finish yet another bulletin.  Flipping through the pages, I saw the writing, Fred’s writing.  There were dates at the top of the page indicating when a hymn had been sung.  Notes were scribbled at the bottom.  Staring at the handwriting, I felt a presence in the office with me.  For the first time I felt comfortable in the over-sized desk chair.  Clutching the hymnal I leaned back, closed my eyes, and waited.  A calming presence washed over my stressed body.  My anxious mind relaxed.  My whole being went limp as tension and fear dissolved.  Instinctively I knew it was Fred, so I introduced myself.

I knew this was insane and even wondered if I could be having a nervous breakdown, but it felt so good I didn’t really care.  After a while, I opened my eyes and shut the hymnal and Fred was gone.  I knew exactly what I had to do.  Life is precious and short, Fred reminded me.  I am just passing through the life of this congregation and my impact will take forms I neither intend nor imagine.  God will do the work if I step back and leave some space.

That hymnal now sits within easy reach on my desk.  When the message grows dim or I begin to feel out of control or I am having trouble with a person or an idea I just open it to any page and sit.  Fred is always available with calm and encouragement.  I wonder sometimes if it isn’t Fred.  I wonder if maybe it’s God.  No, I assure myself, it has to be Fred.  If I sit in here talking to God people might think I am crazy.

On one side of us is a family of four, the parents and their girls, who look to be about 4 and 6.  Lucy grabs a bucket a runs toward the waters edge.  Mom starts screaming, “Lucy!  Get away from that water right now!”  For hours the girls want to play in the water and mom refuses to allow it.  “It is not safe.”  “You might drown.”  “It is too dangerous.”  Finally, Dad comes and wants the girls to go into the ocean with him.  They scream and yell and refuse.  They are now terrified of the water and what it might do to them.

On the other side a dad and his son (who looks about 5) are playing together in the sand just where the surf comes in.  The boy begins to move away from the approaching waves but Dad holds his hand and says, “It is ok.  I will hold you and you will be fine.”  The boy moves from terror to shear joy in a matter of moments because dad is with him, holding him and assuring him.

Water can be fun and exciting and life giving.  It can also be very frightening and destructive.  The scripture talks about the great flood and the stormy sea.  But it also talks of the waters of life.  As you read scripture pay attention to the wells.  Whenever there is a well in a story God’s presence is about to be experienced by someone.

The water is a great symbol for God’s presence in so many ways.  It might be interesting to think about how we learned to fear the water or to respect and enjoy the water.  How did we learn to fear God?  How about respect and enjoy God?  Did someone yell at you and tell you to be careful or did someone take you by the hand and walk in with you slowly and patiently?

I cannot get this hymn out of my head.  I have been singing it since the first day on Montreat and I find myself singing the chorus as I walk the beach each day.

There is water in the river

Bringing life to tree and plant.

Let creation praise its giver:

There is water in the font.

Hymn #494 Out of Deep Unordered Water in The Presbyterian Hymnal

Last week there were 19 of us from Northminster at Montreat to attend the Worship and Music Conference.  The theme this year was, “Come to the Water.”

I have always been a water person.  My Grandmother lived by the philosophy that as soon a child could walk the child should swim and as soon as a child could swim a child should ski.  So I grew up going every summer to Rocky Fork Lake in southern Ohio and water skiing from sun up to sun down.

I still love the water, swimming, sunning, floating, boating.  Being near the water is relaxing and renewing for me.  There is nothing else quite like it.

I thought of all that during the Montreat Conference.  We were talking about the waters of baptism, the living water Jesus gives, and the water that flows from the throne of God.  Water is such a great image for God.  But sometimes I feel like water is also a symbol of my faith.

My faith feels so much like the ocean.  It comes in waves and is never the same twice.

One day my faith is so shallow I can walk over the sand and shells, feel the pain, and barely dampen my toes.  The next day the waves knock my feet out from under me and I swallow and breathe the salty waters.  One day I float on top of the gentle, calm pool, slipping in to cool off only when the heat of the sun is too much.  Another day the stormy waves frighten me away.  Crashing surf and powerful undertow pull me places I would not go.

The ocean, like my faith has so many faces, so many moods and none of them are within my control.

I can go to the water.  I can put myself there.  But the tides, the water, the surf, the currents are in God’s hand.  When I am feeling strong and confident and more than capable of riding the huge curls and fighting the frightening currents, I go to the beach and find the tide is out and I’m left with shallow pools in the sand.  When I am exhausted or wounded and simply want to float in the amniotic waters of earth’s loving womb I may discover a faith that it stormy and tosses me to and fro.

I used to think that faith was always a gentle, comforting presence that would make me feel warm and happy.  When those feelings were absent I feared faith was absent too.  Now I know the only water that is gentle and warm and smooth is a very small pond in a very isolated spot.  I want more than that.

I want the ocean with all its faces and moods and mysteries, a salty surface to buoy me to hold me up, keep me afloat in the glistening sun, ocean depths full of darkness, mystery, life, unexpected, unexplored, undiscovered.  I want faith that is refreshing and relaxing, like a vacation with God, and a faith that is challenging and fearsome and always holds something new in its depths.

When I shut myself in my office to pray I put a sign on my door that says, “In Conference.”  I think I want a new sign that says, “Gone to the Beach.”

Then along comes the surprising best seller- The Shack- by William Young.  This book has created quite a stir.  It was a self-published attempt of a man trying to explain his faith to his kids.  Now it is a best seller.

The Shack addresses many topics including: forgiveness, the church, evil, knowledge, etc.  It was never intended to be a theological work.  But a significant portion of the book gives an interesting depiction of the Trinity.

The main character, Mack, meets God in a shack in eastern Oregon.  There is a story that leads up to this encounter but that is another whole thing.  When Mack arrives there is a large African American woman named Papa, a young Hebrew carpenter named (you guessed it) Jesus, and an Asian woman named Sarayu.  These are the three persons of the Trinity.  They are each part of the others, all one, and yet all three distinct individuals.

The Shack's depiction of the Trinity has caused quite a stir in religious circles.  The conservatives have had fits that any part of the Godhead is depicted as a woman.  Papa actually goes on at great length explaining to Mack that s/he is neither male nor female.  She expresses herself to him as a woman because he has a number of father issues to work through in his own life and she did not want those to interfere with their relationship.

The critics also complain because Papa, Jesus and Sarayu are all equal participants in this one God.  Some folks think there is a hierarchy in God with the Father being over the Son and Spirit and the Spirit being subordinate to the Son and Father.  There is not much agreement on this issue.

So the depiction of the Trinity in the Shack is provocative and interesting.  How does it fit with your image?   Do you even have an image?  Does the Trinity mean anything to you or to your personal faith?

What really makes the ascension unique is that it seems to be the event in Jesus' life that we care about the least.  Why is that?  What does the ascension mean for your faith?  Is it important?

The ascension was considered so important by the early church folks that it is included in all our creeds.  They saw it as a foretaste of the great resurrection promised to us all.  It reminds me of an episode of Six Feet Under.  A couple of guys were moving a net filled with blow-up human dolls filled with helium.  The net broke and all the human forms began floating up into the sky.  A devout woman driving her car on the next street saw the bodies being called to heaven and thought it was the second coming.  She caused a crash and died.

In his most striking commentary on the Ascension Calvin says: "Since (Christ) entered heaven in our flesh, as if in our name, it follows, as the apostle says, that in a sense we already sit with God in the heavenly places in him (Christ). At the Ascension, our humanity, our "flesh," has been "taken" (Acts 1:11) by God's Beloved One into the very heart of God. This is profound good news for us as Christians and for our whole world. It means that we are more deeply valued, loved and held by God than we may have known before.

Does that do anything for you?

 In the passages we read this month from Acts they all seem to be about who is in and who is out.  Of course the catch is that with God being love, everyone is in.

 The issue in the days these passages were written was primarily between Jewish Christians and Gentiles who were converting.  The two groups were not what you would call BFFs. 

 So what are the places in your life where these issues come up?  What questions do you have about love?  About who is in and who is out and why?  Or is this all just old hat and you have heard it all before and wish we would move on to something more interesting?

I get a number of questions from folks about sin, or actually about forgiveness.  But how can we understand forgiveness if we do not understand sin?

So, what do you think of when you think of sin?  What pops into your head first?  How does it make you feel?  What questions does it raise for you?

If you can respond to any of these questions it will help me frame the sermon for this Sunday and I will be very grateful.

The answer to that question is the plot of the movie.  Flashbacks take us to points in Jamal’s life with his brother Salim and another orphan, Latika.  Jamal’s childhood crush on Latika turns into undying love and devotion.  He is convinced that they are meant to be together and that their love can overcome any obstacles.  Each flashback sequence supplies him with a valuable life lesson as well as an answer to the game show’s questions.

Through his life Jamal and his brother must make difficult choices about how to survive and who to trust.  Jamal learns the hard way not to trust “friends”, or authorities, or the powerful, or even family.  He trusts the power of love.  Because he trusts, he is willing to wait.  Yet, even while waiting everything he does is out of that love and the conviction of his destiny.

The contrasts in the movie are powerful- the rich and the poor, the good and the bad, compassion and self-interest.  This is a wonderful movie.

I need to catch up on some movie reviews...

Trouble The Waters is a documentary that begins with a young woman in New Orleans taking home video the day before Katrina. She interviews her friends and neighbors about the storm that has been predicted. The film continues through the storm and the aftermath. Using the home video along with actual news footage and documentary filmed later the movie is very engaging. Definitely not a feel good, but not a downer either. This is a film worth seeing.

Happy-Go-Lucky is a feel good movie. It is very funny and very entertaining. Nothing is very deep and yet there is real substance to the movie. Poppy is an elementary school teacher in London and she is happy in her life. The film follows her through her days as she encounters other happy people, people who are unhappy, and some folks who are down right nasty. It doesn't sound like much of a plot but it really is a wonderful story. If you are sick of all the bad news in the world this is a wonderful relief.

Secret Life of Bees is as good of a movie as it was a book. I read the book some time ago so I didn't remember all the plot turns but the movie felt very true to the original. The acting was excellent. This is a story of a young white girl and her black nanny who end up running away from home in the deep South during the Lyndon Johnson administration. The racism is real and heart wrenching but the story line is tender and heart warming. Human kindness in the midst of human hatefulness.

Quantum of Solace is the new James Bond movie. I went to this in order to be with people I love, not because I like James Bond movies. Since I have never liked a James Bond movie this one did not disappoint. I hated it. If you like this type of movie it was well done. My companions all enjoyed it immensely. I slept.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is not a children's movie. This is a very adult treatment of the holocaust. The story focuses on the eight year old son of a Nazi soldier who has to move with his family so his dad can run a concentration camp. While exploring (beyond parental boundaries) he discovers the camp and meets an eight year old Jewish boy being held prisoner. The naiveté of the children and others is both refreshing and terrifying. Every character in the movie goes through dramatic changes as they learn more about their nation's treatment of the Jews. This movie is very powerful and raises a lot of feelings. Don't talk to anyone about it before you see it but be sure you have someone to talk to afterward.

Haven’t made it to the film festival yet but do have some movie comments to make…

Body of Lies- yuck. I did not like it at all. It demonstrated how we have great technology to win wars but we lack human intelligence. I guess I have trouble with war and torture being called entertainment. The acting was good but the story was fairly predictable- very bloody- and really so very sad as a commentary on life.

“W”- I am not sure why I went to this but I am so glad I did. I think it just felt so good to realize I have not been the only person in the country feeling that our President’s motives were less than I’d hoped for. I saw this the day before Colin Powell endorsed Obama and it was like a continuation of the movie. I recommend this one. The acting was great by all the cabinet members. Problem was I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry through most of it.

Last Mistress- depressing. I thought it was going to be a love story but it was really not about love. It was about control and about sex. I came out very, very sad.

Burn After Reading- I usually like the Coen brother’s movies. This one was so-so. The characters were fun and well acted. The story was bizarre. The whole thing just did not click for me. The over use of the F word was tiresome and it takes a lot for that to bother ME. It was a good show but nothing memorable.

Religulous- At the end of the film I wanted to ask the audience to remain seated and talk to me about what they thought. I would love to have known who they were and how they responded.

I happen to be one of those people who think Bill Maher is funny. Since this film is really more about Bill Maher than it is about religion, I thought it was funny. He is making fun of people of faith which is likely to offend some folks. The particular kinds of people of faith he chose to mock were easy targets. He really does talk only to fringe people- fanatics- literalists- odd balls. He claims you cannot be intelligent AND have faith. I happen to disagree with that assumption in general, but in the particular people he chose to talk with, I think he was right. (With the exception of Francis Collins who is brilliant and a man of deep religious convictions but then Maher did not really let him say much) His conclusions are not unlike those drawn by many devout believers- religion can be distorted and abused to the harm of innocent people. That is true. What he neglects to ask is whether anything good can come from it.

I love book referrals. Some of my favorite books are ones that a friend suggested I read. So why was I so suspicious when everyone started telling me I just had to read this great book called The Shack.

I read about the book first and I guess that made me suspicious. Mack is a 56 year old father of three, husband, fallen away Christian. While on a family vacation his youngest daughter, Missy, disappears and is assumed to be another victim of a child serial killer. The story begins several years later when Mack gets a note from God inviting him to the shack where Missy was killed after her abduction.

So it is one of those stories that is real and fantasy all mixed together. I usually have trouble with those, like The Lovely Bones. But my mother finally bought it for me to get me to read it and a church member hand delivered me another copy, so I decided it was time.

So have you read it? What did you think? Good? Bad? Mixed?

Let’s start with this- Just imagine you are in Mack’s shoes. You lost your youngest child to a savage murderer, while she was under your supervision. Your family has been irreparably damaged by the guilt, the loss and the sorrow. You have lost what little faith you had to begin with and feel totally abandoned by God. Now you have the opportunity to sit at the kitchen table and talk with God. God is a large African American woman who cooks delicious goodies to feed your hunger. (that is just the creator part, there is also a jesus and a spirit) You sit together, close enough to touch. You have God’s undivided attention and all the time in the world. What would you ask God?

Some days are just full of new adventures.  What fun.

Now after a year or more of attack ads I find I am much less excited. I used to think that the candidate I did not want to win would still make a bearable president. I am much less sure of that today. One year ago I was proud of the candidate I do want to win for being above nasty politics, name calling, etc. Today I am less proud.

Why do we have to turn people against our opponents?  Why can't I approve of the positions of one more than the other without hating either?  I get emails every day full of lies and attacks on both Obama and McCain.  I'd rather get messages telling me their strengths, their values, their commitments and let me choose the better of two goods.

It feels to me as if everyone has already made up thier minds and we are just trying to trash the other guy (or gal).  If my guy wins that is not a problem.  If my guy loses I am stuck with another president I have been taught to make fun of, distrust, and be ashamed of.  I don't want that for another four years.

So, here are some questions to consider...

Why was this story worth telling?

Did the book "Lamb" increase your interest in the biblical story?

What do you think will be your lasting impression of "Lamb"?

As I was listening to a news program last night, I watched in horror as Barack Obama made the statement with pride, 'we are no longer a Christian nation; we are now a nation of Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists. As with so many other statements I've heard him (and his wife) make, I never thought I'd see the day that I'd hear something like that from a presidential candidate in this nation.  To think our forefathers fought and died for the right for our nation to be a Christian nation--and to have this man say with pride that we are no longer that. How far this nation has come from what our founding fathers intended it to be.

Now regardless of whether a person is “for” or “against” Barak Obama, this statement is just so wrong.

We are NOT a Christian nation and we have NEVER BEEN a Christian nation.  What our forbearers died for was the right to be a nation that is not of any one faith.  There were attempts to include the words “Christian” and/or “Jesus” in the US Constitution when it was being written.  There have been attempts every so often since our country was founded to say that we are a Christian nation.  Each and every time the attempt has been made it has been soundly defeated because we are NOT a Christian nation, we are exactly what our forbearers intended us to be-  we are a secular nation where all faiths and doctrines are to be respected and permitted.

So like it or not, we are a nation of Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and more.  And there is actually no way to blame that on Barak Obama.

Scary thought?  Somebody told me they did not think Biff was a good representitive of Jesus.  They thought Biff didn't take the whole Messiah thing seriously enough.  What do you think?

If you were the first person a seeker encountered what would they think about God?

I went to a dinner the other night and one of the speakers kept using the phrases "our Christian values" and "our Republican values" interchangably.  If I were a person looking for God I would have decided God is a republican, God is white, and I might not be welcome if I were neither.

In church last Sunday a young mom was sitting in a reserved pew (where we asked her to sit) with her family waiting for her son's baptism.  A member of the church came up and told her she was in her pew and she needed to move.  If she had been a person looking for God she would have decided God is set in traditional routines and not very welcoming.

If a person looking for God met Biff first what might that person believe about God?

If someone looking for God reads this blog what would it say to them?

I have just finished reading a book called "Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal" by Christopher Moore.

I laughed out loud through a good part of the book and some parts actually made me think.

So beginning in August I am going to lead a book study by BLOG on this book. I am telling you now so you have time to read it if you wish to participate. I have never done this before so I am not exactly sure how it will work but it should be fun. I am not issuing a general invitation to the whole congregation because many people would find this book offensive. Some would have difficulty with the use of the “F” word. Others might feel it makes fun of Christ and Christianity.Some people will find the book just plain stupid.  It does have thhose moments.  In the end, I think it just raises interesting possibilities and questions and I think it is funny. I don’t care if people disagree with my take on the book at all.My hope is that we can get some heated discussion around the book. I just don’t want to offend anyone.

So if you are interested start checking my BLOG on August 4th and try to read the book before then. If you know others who might be interested please feel free to pass this message along.  Happy reading.