This is the fourth in a five part series, “Unexpected Treasures in the Desert.” It is a sermon series for the congregations I am serving, known collectively as Prairie Faith Partners. This series is provided to help you navigate the COVID-19 epidemic “wilderness” we are experiencing together.
For each sermon I am writing my own reflections on the texts, which I like to do in free verse (below). To read the sermons, you can go to my “Lectionary Sermon of the Week” page, even though these aren’t on the lectionary texts. I’m afraid this page will change every week, so you might want to view the messages on the PFP YouTube page. I would appreciate your comments in this space. Thank you for visiting!
It was our first
most cherished treasure
discovered in the desert,
a new word
for a new way of being.
Shabbat.
Cease.
Rest.
When Moses instructed us
to begin this rhythm
of six normal days
then a holy seventh
we were dumbfounded
afraid, even.
What would we do with ourselves?
The first few times
we were jumpy
nervous
expecting…what?
That a guard
would materialize
and punish
or that Yahweh
would have second thoughts
and snatch it away?
As the months passed
we got our bearings
made the challah
lit the candles
leaned into the blessing
And when we were tempted
to let the work creep in,
it was the children who
pushed it away and
called us back to joy.
This is the third in a five part series, “Unexpected Treasures in the Desert.” It is a sermon series for the congregations I am serving, known collectively as Prairie Faith Partners. This series is provided to help you navigate the COVID-19 epidemic “wilderness” we are experiencing together.
For each sermon I am writing my own reflections on the texts, which I like to do in free verse (below). To read the sermons, you can go to my “Lectionary Sermon of the Week” page, even though these aren’t on the lectionary texts. I’m afraid this page will change every week, so you might want to view the messages on the PFP YouTube page. I would appreciate your comments in this space. Thank you for visiting!
What is it?
A strange coating
the dew left behind.
Tedious work to gather it,
like the grain
we picked out of the stubble
back in Egypt.
Moses said it is God’s gift
to keep up our strength.
So we can do it all again tomorrow.
What is it?
A seed I hold in my hand
stray remnant of the bagful
we tried desperately to save for planting
but at the last
it was all we had to eat.
So now it is gone
they are gone
and it seems this will be
my last meal.
God, bless this food.What is it?
A wafer placed in my hand.
A tiny glass of wine.
I didn’t know I was so hungry
until I heard it:
Body of Christ, given for you.
This is the second in a five part series, “Unexpected Treasures in the Desert.” It is a sermon series for the congregations I am serving, known collectively as Prairie Faith Partners. This series is provided to help you navigate the COVID-19 epidemic “wilderness” we are experiencing together.
For each sermon I am writing my own reflections on the texts, which I like to do in free verse (below). To read the sermons, you can go to my “Lectionary Sermon of the Week” page, even though these aren’t on the lectionary texts. I’m afraid this page will change every week, so you might want to view the messages on the PFP YouTube page. I would appreciate your comments in this space. Thank you for visiting!
It was one of the best days
in all those forty years,
the people bringing their finest.
First the gifts hastily pressed into their hands
as their neighbors begged them to leave
so their land could heal from the plagues.
Easy come, easy go.
But it didn’t seem enough.
Gratitude turned their eyes
to the treasures long hidden
since the days of freedom in Egypt,
unearthed and packed along with
the unleavened bread.
Baubles that graced great-grandmother’s ears.
Jewels, fine dyed thread,
intricately carved acacia.
Offerings mounded high
for Bezalel to use for the tabernacle project.
Buoyed by their generosity
Moses went to his tent
found the old box
sat down and blew off the dust
drew out his mother’s bracelet.
A gift from Pharaoh’s daughter
to Jochebed for being Moses’ wet-nurse.
He was told he fingered it as he
fed at her breast.
She used it to teach him about circles
but he was more taken by its beauty,
captivated by its strange, golden glow.
Jochebed said it was very valuable,
but it was nothing
compared to him and his brother Aaron,
her greatest treasures.
And so he brought it too
along with memories of his mother
and placed it on the pile.
On the day of the dedication
he inspected all the furnishings
ran his hand over the fabrics
admired the great altar for burnt offerings,
the basin,
the menorah,
the table.
When he came to the altar of incense
the rings on its side caught his eye—
familiar carvings in gold.
Jochebed’s bracelet multiplied,
their details blurred by his tears
that fell
and blessed the altar
anointing it
with his mother’s love.
This week I am beginning a five part series, “Unexpected Treasures in the Desert.” It is a sermon series for the congregations I am serving, known collectively as Prairie Faith Partners. This series is provided to help you navigate the COVID-19 epidemic “wilderness” we are experiencing together.
For each sermon I am writing my own reflections on the texts, which I like to do in free verse (below). To read the sermons, you can go to my “Lectionary Sermon of the Week” page, even though these aren’t on the lectionary texts. I’m afraid this page will change every week, so you might want to view the messages on the PFP YouTube page. I would appreciate your comments in this space. Thank you for visiting!
When someone thinks he owns you
like a Pharaoh
you must create a still place
a corner here or there
where nothing can touch you
where you can find a piece
of yourself
Mine was a spot
where the wall met the floor.
I fixed my gaze on it
when I lay down exhausted,
recapturing a remnant of myself
that I came to know
in the constancy of my breath
There was no time to pause
before my secret altar
when we fled.
I try to picture it
but it is a mirage
that vanishes as I approach.
This desert has no corners
no walls to hold the stillness
I claimed as my own.
Only sand
and heat
and stars.
I heard a casual remark the other day that started me thinking about our cultural atmosphere, both right now and before the quarantine measures began. Three months ago we were still in the throes of the vicious political rhetoric that has despoiled public discourse as well as family mealtimes and friendships. Now that we are more than two months into the epidemic, nasty rhetoric is increasing again, making an uninvited comeback after a few weeks of hoping we could work together well to fight this thing.
The remark I heard was that right now, we have to treat each other’s breath as though it is poison.
Wow. It’s a startling but realistic way of looking at it. That is what distancing, masks, and canceled gatherings are all about. We cannot get close enough to breath each other’s exhalations. The droplets contained therein could sicken or even kill us.
But I wonder, what were we doing to each other before the corona virus invaded our world? We were at times spewing poison, doing real damage to our relationships. It could be argued that our accusations and character assassinations were as damaging as the virus we are fighting now. We let our anxiety drive us to say terrible things to each other.
You might think I am minimizing the current crisis with this comparison. I am not. I have lost a family member to COVID-19. But I daresay even my late brother would agree that the harsh statements coming through our mouths and our computers can be literally as damaging as any physical disease we can suffer. Hate is the root of violence, both physical and psychological. It has been spreading like an epidemic these past few years, and we have all felt its sickening effects.
The irony is that, while we have to struggle mightily to fight the corona virus, we have much more control over what we say. We can choose whether to take the easy, low road of blame and distrust, where we jump to conclusions about each other and quote those who agree with our opinions. Or we can choose the high road of restraint and compassion, where we seek understanding and common ground. It is hard to take the high road. Here is the good news: God gives us the power to do hard things. We will celebrate Pentecost this weekend, when the followers of Jesus were given the Holy Spirit to empower them for telling everyone everywhere about the love of Jesus.
There was an earlier kind of “Pentecost” that happened on the very same day as Jesus’ resurrection. He appeared to his followers in a locked room, saying, “Peace be with you.” He breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” (Jn 20:21-23) It’s interesting that the power of the Holy Spirit was granted to them, and then forgiveness—the real heavy lifting of relationships—was the first task given to them.
Our speech involves not only our breath, but our will (choosing the high ground) and our tongues. James writes, “The tongue is a fire.” (James 3:5b) He expands on this, and I like Eugene Peterson’s version in The Message: “It only takes a spark, remember, to set off a forest fire. A careless or wrongly placed word out of your mouth can do that. By our speech we can ruin the world, turn harmony to chaos, throw mud on a reputation, send the whole world up in smoke and go up in smoke with it, smoke right from the pit of hell.” (James 3:5-6)
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio
James also says, “Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.” (James 3:17-18, The Message)
We can’t do this very well. But God can, and God offers us the power and the love we need in order to make the choice and live it every day. They are ours for the asking! May you know the love and power of God in your life today and every day, during the epidemic and beyond.
Reality. It is a stinker right now. We would rather not have to endure this overwhelming stoppage and restriction that has us anxious and impatient, irritable and sad.
But now is all we have. It is all we ever have, if you think about it. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow exists only in our imaginations. But “living in the now” seems like a silly statement. Isn’t that what we are always doing?
Not if we are stuck in our memories. Not if we stake our happiness on expectations for the future.
There are gifts in the present moment. I realize the present may be excruciating for you if you are dealing with loss or suffering in other ways. Yet many who have endured suffering have been able to look back and see the gifts that were there: the love of family or a friend, the gracious help of caregivers, an unexpected moment of humor, the wisdom accrued in solitude and even austerity.
We don’t have to wait for the wisdom of hindsight to seek and find the gifts of the present moment. Perhaps these days are a setting for you to recognize gifts you have previously overlooked: a healthy heart beating in your chest, the view out of your window, the rich taste of coffee, the pleasure of using a cherished memento. Even a lack of beloved connections can be a gift to make you more aware of God’s presence that you didn’t take time to notice before.
Here is a poem I wrote in one such moment. If you would like to read a longer poem on the subject, you can check out this one about the glory of the present. (Instructions on the spiritual practice appear at the end of this post.)
July Morning
I look out at the non-air-conditioned
unvacuumed, untidied backyard
and see life teeming
every leaf unfurled from a bud two months ago
goldfinches hatched from eggs.
My cat sleeps on his tail-cushion.
He was a kitten once
and I was an embryo before that.
The rug under my feet came from seeds
fibers woven by some hands
that once rested on mothers’ breasts.
Native life
and processed life
but all life
silently pulsing with
the casual wisdom of having been created
being here
now
for this.
So. How to “be present?” Here is one way.
Take a few deep, slow breaths. Notice the abundance in your lungs filling up and the release of tension as you exhale. Take your time.
Repeat to yourself slowly, as often as it feels right: “Now. Here. This.”
If you notice something in your surroundings, give it your undivided attention for a few moments.
Let the peace of the moment settle into you as you gently move into the next part of your day.
Fasting is an ancient practice that invites us to abstinence for the sake of spiritual focus. I am no expert; you can find information and guidance in books devoted to this practice alone or to a range of spiritual disciplines. My first experience with fasting happened in college when I decided to fast from lunches on Mondays during Lent and to give the money saved to a charity to alleviate hunger. Occasional fasts since then have taken my mind off myself, my growling stomach reminding me of people who have too few choices about their nourishment and health.
We usually think of fasting as abstinence from food, but abstinence can apply to anything: social media, spending, personal vices or attitudes, and so on. The reasons for fasting also vary. In general, the practice shifts your focus and teaches you about your appetites and habits. Communal fasting can help you to act and pray with intention along with others, focusing your efforts to learn together and perhaps act in harmony to achieve shared goals. Individual fasting can deepen your prayer life, heighten your awareness, and help you live your baptism with greater intention.
Right now we are experiencing what might be called a “forced” fast. We are abstaining from personal contact and community. We are doing without some luxuries. If this describes you, it may be a good time to accept the conditions and see what you can learn about yourself. If you stop resisting the discomfort and open yourself to God’s presence in the midst of it, you may find that you will actually change your relationship with food, Facebook, money, activity, etc. moving forward.
For too many, this is not simply a fast but a major disruption leading to empty shelves and unpaid bills. Choosing abstinence is one thing; unexpected loss is another. If this describes you, I can only hope that those of us who are not as devastated by these conditions will fast in some form in solidarity with you, and will open our hands in generosity for your sake. I urge you to contact your pastor if you are struggling, so that your fellow church members may have the opportunity to help. This could be done with anonymous donors and receivers. “God provides” often means God’s people are mobilized to help.
May all of us emerge from this fast—forced or otherwise—with a keener sense of trust in God and love in community together.
In a time when our emotions seem like a soup with lots of unexpected ingredients, it is tempting to find ways to numb ourselves. It’s too much! Yet ignoring our emotions is not a habit I recommend. It is helpful to turn to the Psalms of the Bible, where the realities of the human condition are expressed vividly. They could help you express your own anxieties and joys.
This week’s practice, writing a psalm, might seem daunting at first. But if you simply practice it as a personal expression of how life feels to you at the moment, it will help you to regard the daily ups and downs more thoughtfully, with compassion for yourself and perhaps even deeper faith.
You can follow the pattern and theme of any psalm and just rewrite it in your own words, to fit your circumstances and feelings. Start from scratch if you prefer. If you do that, I suggest you follow these guidelines:
· Spend some time in quiet prayer, discerning what is on your heart. Is there a feeling, an image, or a word that is weighing on you?
· Once you land on a theme, decide whether you will start with praise, thanksgiving, or expressing fear and doubt.
· Make your psalm personal, and use descriptive language.
· As with any spiritual writing, resist the temptation to edit. Simply write what comes to you.
Here is what I wrote a year or two ago as a response to Psalm 23. It was a time when I was in a period of intentional sabbatical. I was yearning to be part of a congregation for a season, where I wouldn’t serve as a leader or pastor. You’ll see that yearning reflected in the psalm.
Today’s practice is the Prayer of Loving Kindness. The beauty of this prayer is in the many ways it can be used. My first introduction to it was in a contemplative mode, praying it slowly and repeatedly, for yourself and others. First, for yourself, taking your time. Then pray it for someone who has blessed your life, a benefactor. Then for a friend, then someone who needs it, and so on.
I have used it as a benediction. I have used it when I can only get beyond “Lord, have mercy!” for someone when I don’t know what else to pray. It is a wonderful prayer to use for someone I struggle to understand. I use it for those I love sometimes before falling asleep. I pray that it will be the gift for you that it is to me.
As its author Jack Kornfield says, no matter what arises while you meditate on this prayer, simply continue to “plant the seeds of loving wishes.” We can be sure they will bear fruit.
The quality that we so often seek in our lives is joy. When we become wise enough to know that joy cannot be manufactured through short-lived pleasures, we might settle for less. We might resign ourselves to what the writer of Ecclesiastes concludes: “there is nothing new under the sun.” (Eccles. 1:9)
Or we could learn the secret to joy: gratitude.
There was a time in my life when I felt broken by the demands of ministry and my own compulsions. I picked up Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts. She helped me find my way back to joy by quickening my awareness of the goodness in every day. When we pay attention to the small wonders, the gifts that we did nothing to deserve, joy slowly emerges and makes its home in us:
“Do not disdain the small. The whole of life—even the hard—is made up of the minute parts, and if I miss the infinitesimals, I miss the whole…There is a way to live the big of giving thanks in all things. It is this: to give thanks in this one small thing. The moments will add up.”
“…life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time.” (p.57)
It takes time to develop the habit, but it is worth it. It did change my life, and it could change yours.
You might start with a gratitude journal. At the end of each day take a few moments to write down those things for which you are grateful but did nothing to earn. They might be as small as a smile or a snatch of birdsong. They could be as big and significant as a renewed friendship or a better job. In this way you will train your eyes to see the good that surrounds you. It will expand your horizon and your heart, to see all that the Creator gives freely to you every day.
