When I was a child, my body was my friend. I ran barefooted in hot summer sand, climbed the chinaberry tree in our front yard and perched in a fork to read in its cool shade. If I saw an interesting grasshopper or dung beetle, I would squat down and follow the bug as he made his way through our yard. I jumped for joy skipping rope with gleeful abandon. My fingers were nimble and quick as I played the piano.
Like most of us, body self consciousness came with adolescence. Suddenly my thighs were too big and my neck was too long. My face was too round and those cute little freckles were no longer cute. Even though my body still was flexible and strong, I found little joy in it because of its perceived lack of perfection.
As an adult, I made peace with my body in a way. While recognizing what I saw to be flaws, I also took responsibility for it and began to exercise, eventually teaching aerobics classes. The onset of high blood pressure at the birth of our third child forced me to face some of my body’s other limits that had nothing to do with looks. I took medicines but exercise was also my medicine.
In my thirties, the Minister of Music at our church bullied me into joining a sacred dance group she was establishing. The world of dance had been forbidden to me as a good Baptist child. One was allowed to walk, run, skip, jump or fall but one was not to be caught on the dance floor when Jesus returned. Now I leaped, crossed the studio floor doing triplets, learned jazz, modern and ballet movements. Awkward inside and out, I slowly began to regain the connection with my body. Now however, I explored the junction of body and soul. The expression of faith in movement became very important for me and I celebrated the body that made that possible. In my memory, I still am able to dance those dances that helped me transcend my body so that I danced with body and soul.
Now in my sixties, I am having to learn to live with body limits that come with age. One of my fingers freezes sometimes when I bend it. My high blood pressure has not gone away. My legs are not as strong or as fast as they used to be. I need a mounting stool to get on Junie B. My hip is beginning to give me warning twinges and my feet creak when I get out of bed. My body shape has changed again and I find myself struggling to adjust to a new self image. Neither bodies nor souls are static. They are constantly changing.
Jesus spoke of his body as a temple and Paul reminded us that our bodies are temples for God’s Spirit, a place for God to rest within us. This perhaps is the one function of our bodies that does not change over time. As little children and as old ones, God still chooses to be a part of our bodies here on earth. When they are young and free, when they are old and tired, our bodies are evidence of God’s great gift of life to us. I am grateful for this gift that has been lived out in my freckled face and my Baptist hips. Life with God in residence has been and continues to be good whatever the limits I must face in movement and shape. Thanks be to God for all the bodies that surround me. They are reminders of the Great Dappled God that loves us just as we are...and who loves us enough to live within us.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Table manners...
We went out to eat with friends last night and I caught myself leaning on the table with my elbows. My mother’s voice began ringing in my ears...”Keep your elbows off the table if you’re able!” Since daddy’s family was short on the graces of most kinds including social graces, it fell to mama to raise us right in this regard. Breakfast and supper were teaching opportunities for my mother in the fine art of table manners. We learned as little children how to set the table, where to place the fork, to put the glass at the tip of the knife on the right side of the plate. We sat up straight in our chairs with our napkins in our laps, passed the food to one another while having conversation. Daddy was exempted from the conversation rule because he often sat in silence when he was mad about something. That something was difficult to determine since he wasn’t speaking. His silence gave the rest of us plenty of time to talk and talk we did.
Home Ec in high school expanded my world of table manners. Mrs. Barton taught us there were two forks not just one and butter knives and soup spoons and at least three different kinds of glasses. I learned how to pick up my silver from the outside in and to recognize a finger bowl. Serving food was an aesthetic experience with centerpieces and artfully arranged food. Good table manners were the ticket to fine dining and the world of cultured folks. I was an avid learner.
Once the mechanics were learned, good table manners boiled down to be kind, listen to others and don’t interrupt, share what has happened to you today, eat gratefully, thank the cook. This is, I think, a pretty good pattern to follow for living in general.
The first Bible verse I learned, “Be ye kind”, works not only at the table but at the grocery store checkout line and with my children. Family, friends and strangers all need kindness as do I. Listen first and speak later is a discipline that helps others feel they matter, that what they say is important to you. Being heard and understood gives all of us a sense of belonging. When it is your turn to speak, running the risk of sharing what is going on in your world can open others worlds to you.
In the picture framing class I teach, I often see this happen. Last Thursday, there were only two women left in the room at the end of class. We began speaking about our lives, our struggles to find a new self in the last third of our lives. One woman, a professional photographer in her work life, now yearns to be a watercolor artist. When a painting is finished, she hears her mother’s voice telling her it is not good enough. The other woman began telling of a painful childhood. She was the child of a man her mother did not marry and her presence in this world was a visual reminder of that painful event. Consequently her mother treated her badly and she learned to live with a non-mothering mother. The conversation flowed on to the topics of forgiveness, grace and spirituality. As I drove away from school, I marveled at their willingness to open the doors on their pasts and be so vulnerable with each other... strangers who are now friends because they risked something big for something good.
So today I am grateful for my life, for the opportunity to sit at the table with all those around me. I partake of the food and experiences set before me with a thankful heart. I see resurrection all around me as well as crucifixion. Both are a part of life. And I thank the heavenly Cook, the One who prepared this feast for me and set me down in the middle of the South to learn table manners from a mother who cared. If I forget and put my elbows on the table, I will never forget to be gracious in remembrance of the One who brought me into being and who has shared the banquet of my life. I am ready for some table talk, God. Pass the creamed corn, please.
Home Ec in high school expanded my world of table manners. Mrs. Barton taught us there were two forks not just one and butter knives and soup spoons and at least three different kinds of glasses. I learned how to pick up my silver from the outside in and to recognize a finger bowl. Serving food was an aesthetic experience with centerpieces and artfully arranged food. Good table manners were the ticket to fine dining and the world of cultured folks. I was an avid learner.
Once the mechanics were learned, good table manners boiled down to be kind, listen to others and don’t interrupt, share what has happened to you today, eat gratefully, thank the cook. This is, I think, a pretty good pattern to follow for living in general.
The first Bible verse I learned, “Be ye kind”, works not only at the table but at the grocery store checkout line and with my children. Family, friends and strangers all need kindness as do I. Listen first and speak later is a discipline that helps others feel they matter, that what they say is important to you. Being heard and understood gives all of us a sense of belonging. When it is your turn to speak, running the risk of sharing what is going on in your world can open others worlds to you.
In the picture framing class I teach, I often see this happen. Last Thursday, there were only two women left in the room at the end of class. We began speaking about our lives, our struggles to find a new self in the last third of our lives. One woman, a professional photographer in her work life, now yearns to be a watercolor artist. When a painting is finished, she hears her mother’s voice telling her it is not good enough. The other woman began telling of a painful childhood. She was the child of a man her mother did not marry and her presence in this world was a visual reminder of that painful event. Consequently her mother treated her badly and she learned to live with a non-mothering mother. The conversation flowed on to the topics of forgiveness, grace and spirituality. As I drove away from school, I marveled at their willingness to open the doors on their pasts and be so vulnerable with each other... strangers who are now friends because they risked something big for something good.
So today I am grateful for my life, for the opportunity to sit at the table with all those around me. I partake of the food and experiences set before me with a thankful heart. I see resurrection all around me as well as crucifixion. Both are a part of life. And I thank the heavenly Cook, the One who prepared this feast for me and set me down in the middle of the South to learn table manners from a mother who cared. If I forget and put my elbows on the table, I will never forget to be gracious in remembrance of the One who brought me into being and who has shared the banquet of my life. I am ready for some table talk, God. Pass the creamed corn, please.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Because I said so! That's why!
It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers. James Thurber
We begin as children asking our first question, “Why?” We ask it until our mothers and fathers resort to the answer they swore they would never use... Because I said so, that’s why. Some of us keep on asking questions all our lives and never get answers that meet our needs. Some of us have enough answers to satisfy us and accept what comes our way. Job was one of these kind of people.
The most obnoxious people are the ones who have all the answers to questions, are convinced their answer is the only right one and share it with you whether you asked for it or not. Religious folks unfortunately can be the worst offenders in this regard. It doesn’t seem to matter whether Christian, Jew or Muslim defines the faith system because there are “true believers” in every camp ready, willing and able to explain why their way is best. Politicians on both sides of the aisle also seem chock full of answers to our deficit problem, immigration concerns and healthcare issues. Just once I would like to hear a politician acknowledge the questions without rushing to give an easy answer.
Living with the questions is not comfortable. In music an unresolved chord left hanging leaves a feeling of suspense. And, unanswered questions, unanswerable questions can leave us feeling suspended over the abyss of unknowing. We are programed to want to know... Why does the sun rise? Why does the light go off when I close the refrigerator door? Why does mama have to die? Why is there so much war? Why won’t God make everything right?
One of my favorite question askers in the New Testament is Nicodemus, a man of some importance in the community, who comes to Jesus by night to engage in a game of Twenty Questions. Concerned about his reputation and uncertain about this strange teacher who does miracles, night darkness is both safety and a symbol of the state of his soul. Question asking brings confusing light because the answers defy common sense and the order of the natural world. Sometimes answers bring more questions. And Jesus doesn’t say, “Because I said so, that’s why!”
In his answer to Nicodemus, Jesus speaks one of the best known verses in the Bible. “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall have eternal life.” Questions and answers begin tumbling over in my mind. Questions... Why did God send Jesus? Was he really God’s Son? What happens to those who don’t believe in Jesus? Where and how and what is eternal life? The answers that settle in my soul are God loves the world, Jesus is the face of God in my world, and I can be with God here in this world and in the world to come. It is enough. Every question does not deserve an answer.
Be patient with all that is unresolved in your heart. And try to
love the questions themselves. Do not seek for answers that
cannot be given. For you wouldn’t be able to live with them.
And the point is to live the questions now, and perhaps without
knowing it, you will live along some day into the answers.
Rainier Maria Rilke
These quotes came from worship Sunday at College Park Baptist, Greensboro, N.C.
We begin as children asking our first question, “Why?” We ask it until our mothers and fathers resort to the answer they swore they would never use... Because I said so, that’s why. Some of us keep on asking questions all our lives and never get answers that meet our needs. Some of us have enough answers to satisfy us and accept what comes our way. Job was one of these kind of people.
The most obnoxious people are the ones who have all the answers to questions, are convinced their answer is the only right one and share it with you whether you asked for it or not. Religious folks unfortunately can be the worst offenders in this regard. It doesn’t seem to matter whether Christian, Jew or Muslim defines the faith system because there are “true believers” in every camp ready, willing and able to explain why their way is best. Politicians on both sides of the aisle also seem chock full of answers to our deficit problem, immigration concerns and healthcare issues. Just once I would like to hear a politician acknowledge the questions without rushing to give an easy answer.
Living with the questions is not comfortable. In music an unresolved chord left hanging leaves a feeling of suspense. And, unanswered questions, unanswerable questions can leave us feeling suspended over the abyss of unknowing. We are programed to want to know... Why does the sun rise? Why does the light go off when I close the refrigerator door? Why does mama have to die? Why is there so much war? Why won’t God make everything right?
One of my favorite question askers in the New Testament is Nicodemus, a man of some importance in the community, who comes to Jesus by night to engage in a game of Twenty Questions. Concerned about his reputation and uncertain about this strange teacher who does miracles, night darkness is both safety and a symbol of the state of his soul. Question asking brings confusing light because the answers defy common sense and the order of the natural world. Sometimes answers bring more questions. And Jesus doesn’t say, “Because I said so, that’s why!”
In his answer to Nicodemus, Jesus speaks one of the best known verses in the Bible. “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall have eternal life.” Questions and answers begin tumbling over in my mind. Questions... Why did God send Jesus? Was he really God’s Son? What happens to those who don’t believe in Jesus? Where and how and what is eternal life? The answers that settle in my soul are God loves the world, Jesus is the face of God in my world, and I can be with God here in this world and in the world to come. It is enough. Every question does not deserve an answer.
Be patient with all that is unresolved in your heart. And try to
love the questions themselves. Do not seek for answers that
cannot be given. For you wouldn’t be able to live with them.
And the point is to live the questions now, and perhaps without
knowing it, you will live along some day into the answers.
Rainier Maria Rilke
These quotes came from worship Sunday at College Park Baptist, Greensboro, N.C.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Preaching for fun and profit...
I gather up their past orders of worship to carry home for devotional reading. Worship matters at College Park Baptist (not the usual kind of Baptist) and it shows. The order of worship is chock full of scripture, pithy quotes, songs, news and announcements. Organized under the headings of Gather, Grace, Grow, Give and Go, we are led through worship with good humor and attention to detail. Sitting in the pew with our daughter, her husband and young son, I give thanks for this particular community of believers. It is not the perfect communion of saints, far from it, but it is an interesting conglomeration of believers who care enough to show up for worship and work in the name of Christ.
The pastor, Michael Ussey, comes to the pulpit wearing a robe with a handcrafted stole over an open neck shirt. That reflects the style of College Park accurately... non-stuffy formal worship where souls matter more than style. I settle in and begin to listen to the sermon.
As the wife of a preacher, I remember how difficult it was for Michael to speak for God every Sunday. Standing in front of folks you know all too well, trying to dredge up verbal pastoral care for modern day Israelites who are just as cantankerous as the original Twelve Tribes sometimes, can be an overwhelming charge. Daring to hope your words will transform, praying for truth to emerge as you speak, listening for God’s words to you in your own sermon... this takes a peculiar kind of courage and persistence. It is not easy to preach Sunday after Sunday knowing what you say matters so very much to those who sit in front of you... or not.
There are many different kinds of preachers. Some preachers are terrible in the pulpit but live lives that are sermon masterpieces. There are preachers who stick to the Bible in their sermons with no intrusions from other sources. And, there are preachers who skim by the Bible and focus on causes and being “doers of the Word”. Other preachers preach for fun and profit, the prosperity gospel. Mostly it is the preachers’ fun and profit that is realized not their parishioners. I wonder though, what authentic fun and profit preaching would look and sound like.
Preachers and other ministers can drown in the sea of earnestness and be crushed by the weight of responsibility for the words they speak. The Curse of the Call is to take yourself too seriously as a Savior when you preach. They need the grace and good humor of Do Overs. They don’t always get it right but like Avis, they try harder.
Perhaps when a preacher stands in the pulpit, he or she should post a sign that spells out your rights to a refund and their rights to speak uncomfortable truths. Our contract with one another should include mutual respect, careful listening and reasonably righteous responses on both sides of the pulpit. Standing at the back of the church, shaking hands with the congregation as they leave and hearing the response of individuals to your sermon is as difficult as sermon preparation. It is your pass/fail report card once a week. Conversation over a cup of coffee is a much more Christian way to deal with differences than a loaded one liner delivered at the door as you shake hands and leave.
Laughter in worship is not profane but sacred. Preachers who help us laugh at ourselves, who laugh at themselves, who refuse to take life SERIOUSLY are among my favorites. They know a secret... none of us are as important as we think we are. They also know that laughter exercises our souls in ways that are pleasing to God. Souls that have laugh line wrinkles are winsome, beautiful and draw others to them with pleasure. They are a witness to the power of love.
Thank you, Michael Ussey for your sermon “Praying for Fishooks” Sunday. It set me to thinking. And thanks for including Clement’s Prayer in worship I will be praying that prayer all week. “Lord, I believe in you; increase my faith. I trust in you; strengthen my trust. I love you; let me love you more and more. I am sorry for my sins; deepen my sorrow. I worship you as my first beginning, I long for you as my last end. I praise you as my constant helper.” Thanks be to God for those who speak and those who listen. Let us each do what we are called to do with gratitude and laughter, remembering in all things we are the children of God.
The pastor, Michael Ussey, comes to the pulpit wearing a robe with a handcrafted stole over an open neck shirt. That reflects the style of College Park accurately... non-stuffy formal worship where souls matter more than style. I settle in and begin to listen to the sermon.
As the wife of a preacher, I remember how difficult it was for Michael to speak for God every Sunday. Standing in front of folks you know all too well, trying to dredge up verbal pastoral care for modern day Israelites who are just as cantankerous as the original Twelve Tribes sometimes, can be an overwhelming charge. Daring to hope your words will transform, praying for truth to emerge as you speak, listening for God’s words to you in your own sermon... this takes a peculiar kind of courage and persistence. It is not easy to preach Sunday after Sunday knowing what you say matters so very much to those who sit in front of you... or not.
There are many different kinds of preachers. Some preachers are terrible in the pulpit but live lives that are sermon masterpieces. There are preachers who stick to the Bible in their sermons with no intrusions from other sources. And, there are preachers who skim by the Bible and focus on causes and being “doers of the Word”. Other preachers preach for fun and profit, the prosperity gospel. Mostly it is the preachers’ fun and profit that is realized not their parishioners. I wonder though, what authentic fun and profit preaching would look and sound like.
Preachers and other ministers can drown in the sea of earnestness and be crushed by the weight of responsibility for the words they speak. The Curse of the Call is to take yourself too seriously as a Savior when you preach. They need the grace and good humor of Do Overs. They don’t always get it right but like Avis, they try harder.
Perhaps when a preacher stands in the pulpit, he or she should post a sign that spells out your rights to a refund and their rights to speak uncomfortable truths. Our contract with one another should include mutual respect, careful listening and reasonably righteous responses on both sides of the pulpit. Standing at the back of the church, shaking hands with the congregation as they leave and hearing the response of individuals to your sermon is as difficult as sermon preparation. It is your pass/fail report card once a week. Conversation over a cup of coffee is a much more Christian way to deal with differences than a loaded one liner delivered at the door as you shake hands and leave.
Laughter in worship is not profane but sacred. Preachers who help us laugh at ourselves, who laugh at themselves, who refuse to take life SERIOUSLY are among my favorites. They know a secret... none of us are as important as we think we are. They also know that laughter exercises our souls in ways that are pleasing to God. Souls that have laugh line wrinkles are winsome, beautiful and draw others to them with pleasure. They are a witness to the power of love.
Thank you, Michael Ussey for your sermon “Praying for Fishooks” Sunday. It set me to thinking. And thanks for including Clement’s Prayer in worship I will be praying that prayer all week. “Lord, I believe in you; increase my faith. I trust in you; strengthen my trust. I love you; let me love you more and more. I am sorry for my sins; deepen my sorrow. I worship you as my first beginning, I long for you as my last end. I praise you as my constant helper.” Thanks be to God for those who speak and those who listen. Let us each do what we are called to do with gratitude and laughter, remembering in all things we are the children of God.
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