Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2
Beagles are the traveling salesmen of the canine community. Another one showed up at our porch this morning, tail wagging, grinning, “Have I got a deal for you!” During hunting season dogs often get separated from their pack and wander into the wilderness looking for a place to light. This is the second one for us this season and I am sure there will be more. He is cute, neutered, well fed and obviously well socialized as evidenced by his joyful leap into bed with me. He and Rufus are cavorting while Barney looks on with patient curiosity. The away room seems too small for all this energy. After breakfast and playtime, perhaps they will settle down and sleep a little. If this one follows the pattern of earlier beagle visitors, he will spend a day or two gathering himself together, then leave quietly searching for home once again.
Sometimes I feel like the beagle... lost, lonely, looking for a place to light. And other times, folks end up on my porch needing some time to knit up their raveled ends. The need to be seen and heard, the desire to share what is weighing you down, the call to listen to others hurt and lost places is what defines church community for me. We are all lost beagles (or sheep) looking for some respite care. Our backgrounds, needs, hurts, journeys, and tolerances are often sharply different but that didn’t matter to the writer of Galatians. The instructions are clear. Carry each other’s burdens... “feed my sheep” said Jesus.
There is no judgement attached to these instructions... feed only those like you... be kind to those who are kind to you...they brought it on themselves, they deserve it... ignorant, poor white trash need not apply... rich people are different from the rest of us... only the words that say “carry each other’s burdens”. It doesn’t matter whether you agree with them politically or theologically. If you are well to do and they are poor, not important. The assumption is that all of us carry burdens, invisible and visible. Our calling as Christians is to share the load, pass the heavy burdens around so that no one sinks under the weight of what they are enduring.
Elie Wiesel says “Our lives no longer belong to us alone; they belong to all those who need us desperately”. Many times I see the desperate need of those who are abused, the poor, the forgotten in this world, those at the bottom of the pile and miss the need of the normal looking young mother sitting next to me in church. Christ’s face and voice comes to me in all the people who cross my path whether they look like they need something or not.
Church community provides the starting place for practicing this calling. And it is not easy... far easier to carry the burdens of those you do not know well than to shoulder the hurts of those you know well and disagree with. Doesn’t matter to Jesus how righteous we are or how right we are or how hard we have worked pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps (one of my least favorite phrases). All he wants is for us to share more than our money and time. We are called to share ourselves, warts and all, and help bear the burdens of those who walk with us. Lord, have mercy... This is so hard for me. I don’t know where to start except to start where I am. I remember an old hymn we used to sing...”Brighten the Corner Where You Are”...It was bouncy and fun, pitched a little too high but still a treat to sing. The words... Do not wait until some deed of greatness you may do, do not wait to shed your light afar. To the many duties ever near you now be true, brighten the corner where you are. Just above are clouded skies that you may help to clear, let not you narrow self your way debar, though into one heart alone may fall your song of cheer, brighten the corner where you are. Here for all your talent you may surely find a need, here reflect the Bright and Morning Star. Even though from your humble hand the bread of life may feed, brighten the corner where you are. Brighten the corner where you are...someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar, brighten the corner where you are.”
Today, Dear One, keep my narrow self at bay and help me brighten my small corner by sharing the loads of those who are my kinfolks, known and unknown. Loved and known by you, I must extend the same care to others... beagles and sheep are we all. Amen.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Tied down and bound up...
It is autumn in the mountains... colorful leaves, cool, rainy weather, crisp sunshine with startling blue skies, a young bear in our driveway looking for food and shelter, a gazillion walnuts on the ground, mallards on the pond, and stewardship sermons in all the churches. Like falling leaves, stewardship sermons are dropping on churchgoers ears this season of harvest.
In my childhood at Clyattville Baptist Church, there were two schools of thought about stewardship campaigns. One group, to which my daddy belonged, believed that you took financial responsibility as a church member as seriously as you did attendance without the prodding of another committee. Another group believed most people needed reminders to support the financial life of the church and without a stewardship campaign, the church would go bankrupt. So the pastor very wisely made room for both points of view with a low keyed stewardship campaign that consisted of one sermon, special envelopes in the pew racks and announcements for one month giving everyone a chance to do as they wished with the budget needs of the church.
The sermons used one of two gospel stories... the rich young ruler, or the man who gathered all his harvest into the storehouse then laid back to celebrate. The point of the sermons was always the same. To whom much has been given (and that meant ALL of us), much was required. And in case we forgot the point from last year’s sermon, we would be reminded that it is harder for a rich man to enter heaven than to thread the eye of a needle with a camel. The hymn selection always included “Bring Ye All Your Tithes Into the Storehouse” and “I Surrender All”.
While surfing denominational internet web sites, I saw not much has changed... shame and blame for being rich, shame and guilt for not sharing enough, blame for being more than and less than at the same time, exhortations to do more and give more.
But last week I heard a sermon preached by our friend, Russell, that stood the rich young ruler story on its head and blew apart what I thought I knew about this story in Mark. Russell put the story in context. We heard a brief explanation of the character of the Gospel of Mark... no muss, no fuss, no pretty singing angels, no resurrection, like Jack Webb on “Dragnet”, just the facts, ma’am. He laid out the time line for when this young ruler showed up to talk to Jesus. Jesus was probably packing up, getting ready to move on when this young man approached him. Perhaps Jesus didn’t even look up when he was addressed because his first response was perfunctory... keep the commandments, he said. But when the young ruler responded saying he had kept the commandments since his youth, Jesus looked up, saw him and loved him. He saw him and loved him... and according to Russell, he saw what had the young ruler tied up in knots, crunched and bound. It was not the money but the love or need for the money to keep the hole in his soul filled.
So Jesus said what the young ruler needed to hear. “You won’t be free until you can let go of what is holding you back. Money is your god. When you can give it away to the poor, you will set yourself free.” Literalism keeps us tied to one interpretation of this story and indeed, we should be willing to give generously of our riches to those who need it. But, that is not the only layer to the story of this encounter. Bondage, slavery of the soul, stiff necks and tight jaws, clenched fists and cold hearts... where am I in slavery? What keeps me tied up in knots” How can I let go of my perceived wants and needs? Wipe away the illusion that I am in control of me, myself and I? Let go of the holding back that keeps me from living free, giving with joy and gratitude for all I have been given? How can I love God enough to let my whole self be seen and loved, bending my head to take the yoke that is easy and light when I surrender all to the One who sees me and loves me not in spite of but just because.
Russell had us sing the old hymn “I Surrender All” as our closing hymn and for just a few minutes, my heart cracked open, my head bent, my soul took a deep breath as the prayer took root in my heart. This week I have lived with surrender to God written on the tablet of my heart. “All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give. I will ever love and trust him, in his presence daily live. All to Jesus I surrender, Lord, I give myself to thee. Fill me with thy love and power, let thy blessing fall on me. I surrender all, I surrender all, all to thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all.” It helps to sing this old hymn now and then as a reminder and as a prayer... number 82 in the Broadman hymnal if you have it. I will still be singing it this week. Sing along with me if you want to...
In my childhood at Clyattville Baptist Church, there were two schools of thought about stewardship campaigns. One group, to which my daddy belonged, believed that you took financial responsibility as a church member as seriously as you did attendance without the prodding of another committee. Another group believed most people needed reminders to support the financial life of the church and without a stewardship campaign, the church would go bankrupt. So the pastor very wisely made room for both points of view with a low keyed stewardship campaign that consisted of one sermon, special envelopes in the pew racks and announcements for one month giving everyone a chance to do as they wished with the budget needs of the church.
The sermons used one of two gospel stories... the rich young ruler, or the man who gathered all his harvest into the storehouse then laid back to celebrate. The point of the sermons was always the same. To whom much has been given (and that meant ALL of us), much was required. And in case we forgot the point from last year’s sermon, we would be reminded that it is harder for a rich man to enter heaven than to thread the eye of a needle with a camel. The hymn selection always included “Bring Ye All Your Tithes Into the Storehouse” and “I Surrender All”.
While surfing denominational internet web sites, I saw not much has changed... shame and blame for being rich, shame and guilt for not sharing enough, blame for being more than and less than at the same time, exhortations to do more and give more.
But last week I heard a sermon preached by our friend, Russell, that stood the rich young ruler story on its head and blew apart what I thought I knew about this story in Mark. Russell put the story in context. We heard a brief explanation of the character of the Gospel of Mark... no muss, no fuss, no pretty singing angels, no resurrection, like Jack Webb on “Dragnet”, just the facts, ma’am. He laid out the time line for when this young ruler showed up to talk to Jesus. Jesus was probably packing up, getting ready to move on when this young man approached him. Perhaps Jesus didn’t even look up when he was addressed because his first response was perfunctory... keep the commandments, he said. But when the young ruler responded saying he had kept the commandments since his youth, Jesus looked up, saw him and loved him. He saw him and loved him... and according to Russell, he saw what had the young ruler tied up in knots, crunched and bound. It was not the money but the love or need for the money to keep the hole in his soul filled.
So Jesus said what the young ruler needed to hear. “You won’t be free until you can let go of what is holding you back. Money is your god. When you can give it away to the poor, you will set yourself free.” Literalism keeps us tied to one interpretation of this story and indeed, we should be willing to give generously of our riches to those who need it. But, that is not the only layer to the story of this encounter. Bondage, slavery of the soul, stiff necks and tight jaws, clenched fists and cold hearts... where am I in slavery? What keeps me tied up in knots” How can I let go of my perceived wants and needs? Wipe away the illusion that I am in control of me, myself and I? Let go of the holding back that keeps me from living free, giving with joy and gratitude for all I have been given? How can I love God enough to let my whole self be seen and loved, bending my head to take the yoke that is easy and light when I surrender all to the One who sees me and loves me not in spite of but just because.
Russell had us sing the old hymn “I Surrender All” as our closing hymn and for just a few minutes, my heart cracked open, my head bent, my soul took a deep breath as the prayer took root in my heart. This week I have lived with surrender to God written on the tablet of my heart. “All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give. I will ever love and trust him, in his presence daily live. All to Jesus I surrender, Lord, I give myself to thee. Fill me with thy love and power, let thy blessing fall on me. I surrender all, I surrender all, all to thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all.” It helps to sing this old hymn now and then as a reminder and as a prayer... number 82 in the Broadman hymnal if you have it. I will still be singing it this week. Sing along with me if you want to...
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Home making...
I am a home maker... Home, how it looks, how it feels to the family and friends, has always been important to me. Even when we were poor as church mice, I visited wallpaper discount stores, rummaged through bins of fabric, bought returned paint and mixed new colors, sewed curtains and pillows and roman shades, pulled up filthy carpet and polished the wooden floor underneath, used cloth napkins and place mats for everyday meals. I needed the physical surroundings to reflect the home I wanted to come into being.
I have had some wonderful teachers in the art of home making. My mother taught me the basic skill set... how to set a table, how to clean the house, how to wash and iron clothes, how to can and freeze vegetables, how to be a part of a family in one house sharing life together. Mary Lynn, my Cherokee work camp mom, taught me how to cook for a crowd and to always have flowers on the table even if you are only eating beans and franks. Celeste taught me the art of entertaining, making your house and table settings gleam like jewels, providing food and comfort that draws people out of themselves into a safe haven.
Home making as a career choice is not well paid, does not have status or a benefit package. In some circles it is seen as a cop out from the real world. And yet, we all long for home, for what home has meant to us or the dream of home that we did not have. Whether we live in a studio apartment or a palatial house, home is separate from the square footage of our living space.
Last week I spent a morning getting the farmhouse home ready for a gathering of ministers. They will be meeting here once a month for the next year taking time for respite and growth at Sabbath Rest Farm. I moved Diane’s furniture around and added chairs, made dried flower arrangements, placed candles to light. Diane provided welcome and coffee the morning they arrived and they have a home now for their group. One night this week a friend’s visiting family came to our house for dessert and coffee. A fire in the fireplace, candles lit, coffee, tea and a mayonnaise cake made by a family member, conversation around the table, laughter and stories... home away from home flickered into being. This weekend Alison, our daughter, will be bringing some of her young mother’s group from her church in Greensboro home for a weekend retreat, time away from children and chores. Pop will cook his famous Lemon Chicken for supper and pancakes for breakfast. There will be clean sheets on the beds and fresh towels, bubble bath and time for walks, horseback riding and donkey petting, egg gathering and sitting by the fire, hugs enough to go around and firelight, Mexican Train Dominos and nap time if you need it. Home...
Sometimes visitors will say how much they love coming here... it feels like home... it reminds me of going to my grandma’s home to visit...it is such a comfortable place... These words make my heart sing. The housecleaning, cutting the grass, scrubbing the tubs and toilets, arranging the flowers, setting the table and cooking the food, lighting the candles, all that work of preparation has been worth it. They feel the heart of home when they are here, the welcome, the joy, the grace we say over being able to share some of what we have been given.
In Psalms I read, “God gives the desolate a home to dwell in”. And in John I read, “I will not leave you desolate...If you love me, you will keep my word, and my Father will love you, and we will come to you and make our home with you”. If I do the housekeeping, the preparation, get my heart ready, God will come and make himself (and herself) at home with me. I need never leave home to find God. All I have to do is love God enough to provide a welcoming space, a place where the Heart of God can rest... “There is a place of quiet rest near to the heart of God”. Today I will hold a quiet loving place of rest in my heart for You, O God. You are welcome and I want You to live in my heart’s home. May we both find home with each other today.
I have had some wonderful teachers in the art of home making. My mother taught me the basic skill set... how to set a table, how to clean the house, how to wash and iron clothes, how to can and freeze vegetables, how to be a part of a family in one house sharing life together. Mary Lynn, my Cherokee work camp mom, taught me how to cook for a crowd and to always have flowers on the table even if you are only eating beans and franks. Celeste taught me the art of entertaining, making your house and table settings gleam like jewels, providing food and comfort that draws people out of themselves into a safe haven.
Home making as a career choice is not well paid, does not have status or a benefit package. In some circles it is seen as a cop out from the real world. And yet, we all long for home, for what home has meant to us or the dream of home that we did not have. Whether we live in a studio apartment or a palatial house, home is separate from the square footage of our living space.
Last week I spent a morning getting the farmhouse home ready for a gathering of ministers. They will be meeting here once a month for the next year taking time for respite and growth at Sabbath Rest Farm. I moved Diane’s furniture around and added chairs, made dried flower arrangements, placed candles to light. Diane provided welcome and coffee the morning they arrived and they have a home now for their group. One night this week a friend’s visiting family came to our house for dessert and coffee. A fire in the fireplace, candles lit, coffee, tea and a mayonnaise cake made by a family member, conversation around the table, laughter and stories... home away from home flickered into being. This weekend Alison, our daughter, will be bringing some of her young mother’s group from her church in Greensboro home for a weekend retreat, time away from children and chores. Pop will cook his famous Lemon Chicken for supper and pancakes for breakfast. There will be clean sheets on the beds and fresh towels, bubble bath and time for walks, horseback riding and donkey petting, egg gathering and sitting by the fire, hugs enough to go around and firelight, Mexican Train Dominos and nap time if you need it. Home...
Sometimes visitors will say how much they love coming here... it feels like home... it reminds me of going to my grandma’s home to visit...it is such a comfortable place... These words make my heart sing. The housecleaning, cutting the grass, scrubbing the tubs and toilets, arranging the flowers, setting the table and cooking the food, lighting the candles, all that work of preparation has been worth it. They feel the heart of home when they are here, the welcome, the joy, the grace we say over being able to share some of what we have been given.
In Psalms I read, “God gives the desolate a home to dwell in”. And in John I read, “I will not leave you desolate...If you love me, you will keep my word, and my Father will love you, and we will come to you and make our home with you”. If I do the housekeeping, the preparation, get my heart ready, God will come and make himself (and herself) at home with me. I need never leave home to find God. All I have to do is love God enough to provide a welcoming space, a place where the Heart of God can rest... “There is a place of quiet rest near to the heart of God”. Today I will hold a quiet loving place of rest in my heart for You, O God. You are welcome and I want You to live in my heart’s home. May we both find home with each other today.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Farm time... short time
All of a sudden, overnight it seems, it is dark in the morning when we wake up...not dark with light around the edges but really dark, like the middle of the night dark. The rooster, Cock a Doodle Doo, is crowing later. I can’t gauge the time by the amount of light spilling over the mountain ridge. This discombobulating process is akin to jet lag and always comes as a surprise to me even though I have seen it happen year after year. Darkness sneaks up on me. It is a part of farm time.
Farm time is different from any other way of measuring time for me. Farm time has a rhythm that is connected to nature and its time schedule. It allows you to stop what you are doing to chat with your neighbor who just drove up while you were outside splitting wood. You spend your time off mowing, teddering, raking and baling hay because your cows will need to eat this winter. Living by farm time gives you moments to set a spell and watch the little band of six does and fawns that walk through your front yard to the hay field to graze. The bear that walks down the road by the farmhouse is living on farm time and the mama duck setting on her eggs has a farm time schedule.
The connection to Nature’s time table keeps me grounded (yes, Thad, I mean that pun) in more ways than one. I do literally stand on hallowed ground, ground made holy by the generations of farmers before us who walked these fields, depended on them for their daily bread. Before them there were the Indians whose lives were lived by the creek that runs through our farm. We still find remnants of their tool making when we plow the ground.
All of those who came before me know what I know. Our time on this piece of God’s earth is limited. We are what my daddy called “short timers”. And as short timers, we need to look around us and savor the wonderful gifts of the land we take for granted. Even if we live in the city, we are surrounded by little miracles we take for granted... the rising and setting of the sun, rain storms and cloud formations, the changing of the seasons.
Most of us live our lives insulated from our outdoors by air conditioners to cool us that require us to keep the doors and windows closed, invisible heat that flows through duct work to keep us warm without having to split wood or build a fire, food that arrives in bags from the grocery store that we neither grew nor preserved, Walt Disney animals that are sanitized for human consumption, light that appears with the flip of a switch. We forget how to live connected to the natural world around us. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that if we were required to live on farm time, outdoors everyday for some work and play time, our lives would change in some fundamental ways.
My life has changed since I began living on farm time. Sara Miles in her book Take This Bread ,speaks of her life as a Eucharistic life, one of gratitude, a good description of how I now live. When we have dusty roads and dry fields, I rejoice in the rain. The bear sitting on Tim and Jeannie’s porch becomes an occasion for the neighbors to gather and wonder about the bear’s life. The barn full of good hay put up with the help of neighbors and other friends causes me to sing a song of thanksgiving. Canned tomatoes, beautiful red jars gleaming in the mason jars, bring visions of winter time soups and I give thanks for the harvest. I, who had a small extended family of origin, now say grace over meals shared with a large family. This family loves and cares for me in ways that take my breath away and I am grateful. My little church community values my gifts and forgives my inadequacies. God is in heaven and even though all is not right in this world, all is well and all shall be made well if we but remember to be grateful in our living.
Farm time... short time... to every thing there is a season the Bible says. So as I enter this season of darkness, I give thanks for the memory of light past and choose to live hopefully knowing the light will come again. Thanks be to God for all time, my time, your time, the times of our lives. Amen.
Farm time is different from any other way of measuring time for me. Farm time has a rhythm that is connected to nature and its time schedule. It allows you to stop what you are doing to chat with your neighbor who just drove up while you were outside splitting wood. You spend your time off mowing, teddering, raking and baling hay because your cows will need to eat this winter. Living by farm time gives you moments to set a spell and watch the little band of six does and fawns that walk through your front yard to the hay field to graze. The bear that walks down the road by the farmhouse is living on farm time and the mama duck setting on her eggs has a farm time schedule.
The connection to Nature’s time table keeps me grounded (yes, Thad, I mean that pun) in more ways than one. I do literally stand on hallowed ground, ground made holy by the generations of farmers before us who walked these fields, depended on them for their daily bread. Before them there were the Indians whose lives were lived by the creek that runs through our farm. We still find remnants of their tool making when we plow the ground.
All of those who came before me know what I know. Our time on this piece of God’s earth is limited. We are what my daddy called “short timers”. And as short timers, we need to look around us and savor the wonderful gifts of the land we take for granted. Even if we live in the city, we are surrounded by little miracles we take for granted... the rising and setting of the sun, rain storms and cloud formations, the changing of the seasons.
Most of us live our lives insulated from our outdoors by air conditioners to cool us that require us to keep the doors and windows closed, invisible heat that flows through duct work to keep us warm without having to split wood or build a fire, food that arrives in bags from the grocery store that we neither grew nor preserved, Walt Disney animals that are sanitized for human consumption, light that appears with the flip of a switch. We forget how to live connected to the natural world around us. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that if we were required to live on farm time, outdoors everyday for some work and play time, our lives would change in some fundamental ways.
My life has changed since I began living on farm time. Sara Miles in her book Take This Bread ,speaks of her life as a Eucharistic life, one of gratitude, a good description of how I now live. When we have dusty roads and dry fields, I rejoice in the rain. The bear sitting on Tim and Jeannie’s porch becomes an occasion for the neighbors to gather and wonder about the bear’s life. The barn full of good hay put up with the help of neighbors and other friends causes me to sing a song of thanksgiving. Canned tomatoes, beautiful red jars gleaming in the mason jars, bring visions of winter time soups and I give thanks for the harvest. I, who had a small extended family of origin, now say grace over meals shared with a large family. This family loves and cares for me in ways that take my breath away and I am grateful. My little church community values my gifts and forgives my inadequacies. God is in heaven and even though all is not right in this world, all is well and all shall be made well if we but remember to be grateful in our living.
Farm time... short time... to every thing there is a season the Bible says. So as I enter this season of darkness, I give thanks for the memory of light past and choose to live hopefully knowing the light will come again. Thanks be to God for all time, my time, your time, the times of our lives. Amen.
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