"Tonight we will come and have the ashes of last year’s celebratory palms burned to symbolize the joy that is departed and the suffering that will ensue imposed on our foreheads, and on our lives. The ashes symbolize our confession that from ashes we have come and to ashes we will one day return. In humility, we surrender to this Lenten season and we journey with Christ in his suffering all the way to the cross. This is lent. It is not about chocolate or beads or fish on Fridays, it is about suffering.
Suffering’s not that difficult, I’ve actually got suffering down quite well, thank you – you may say. And I grant you, this world offers its unfair share of hardships under which we all labor, but in choosing to suffer alongside Christ, we often choose to deprive ourselves of something – you know the routine. We give up something and pretend the loss of caffeine or alcohol or television is actual suffering.
But choosing to suffer alongside Christ as we journey to the Christ means choosing to give up something else if we reflect closely. Suffering requires giving up our pride. Suffering requires admitting our sin. And that may be the hardest sacrifice we make: admitting we are wrong and giving up our sin.
At the front of the pews is a pile of leaves. Deadened by the winter winds and cold, these once green leaves have dried and fallen from their life source. They were found lying beneath their origin. And so does our sin cripple and diminish us until we are crusty, dull colored replicas of what we originally were created to be. We will each take a leaf.
And then we will bring that leaf to the front table. We will write our sin in permanent marker on it. We will acknowledge it in our lives and then we get rid of it. We will take the dead leaf with our sin written on it and we will crumple it into the bowl. For just as leaves die and fall from their source, so does their decomposition eventually nourish the tree to bring new life.
We choose a sin. We give it a name and then we give it away. We crumple it and we choose to walk away. And though sin is dangerous and lures us back time and time again, for this time, we acknowledge our weakness and we walk away. We humble ourselves, confess our sin and choose to walk with Christ to the cross where indeed, soon enough, new life will rise again.
Amen."
Last night, before we received the ashes, we each took a dried up leaf, confessed a sin by writing it on the leaf in permanent marker, and crumbled it in our palms letting it fall into a clear bowl set on a black-clothed table underneath the cross. I was the first to go forward after giving the above introduction. I was startled by how loud the leaves crunched in the silent sanctuary with all eyes on my back. Did they wonder what I wrote? Were they guessing, judging me, estimating my confession? Crunch, crackle. The dismantled leaf tumbled into the empty bowl. I wiped my hands on my jeans and returned to my seat, a little overwhelmed. How would I move from the symbolic decomposition of my sin-filled leaf to the true repentance and turning from sin in my own life? I sat down and exhaled.
It took a second, as most communal activities do, and then people crowded patiently into line, anxious for their leaf, ready to confess their chosen sin and let it go. Old women, who couldn't walk by themselves, scuffled up front with their dead leaves. Youth, always quick to participate and bright enough to grasp the symbolism, picked up the markers resolutely. Those who would criticize even doing a "catholic" service wrote on the leaves. Pristine business partners crumpled the dead leaves to dust between their manicured hands. Mothers and daughters, the sick and the well, all lined up for the leaves, and most even lined up for the ashes.
After the service, I picked up the bowl of broken leaves to dispose of them. It was all I could do to keep from spying into the dusty remains to piece together leaf fragments and sin confessed. We are forever voyeurs, fascinated by evil. I didn't, though. I sighed knowing my own sin was enough to keep me busy and dumped the leaves into a trash bag.
Ash Wednesday. From dust you have come and to dust you shall return. 39 days to go.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Journey to the cross...
Ash Wednesday.
I intended to celebrate Fat Tuesday in the usual debaucherous fashion, but alas, I fell asleep at 9:30pm. So Ash Wednesday rolled around without the chimes of glasses chunked together or gluttonous feasts being gulped down.
Truthfully, I haven't decided what exactly to give up anyway. I have decided that it would be a good spiritual discipline to write every day, so be prepared :) Either in my journal or on my blog I need to more in tune with where I am spirtually and emotionally and writing will help me do this.
I also confessed to myself that all I really want to do is walk with people to the cross. With all the pain and lamentations that have risen up in my church community over the past two weeks, that seems like the best thing I can offer God... to walk with God's people, to make a difference simply by being.
I'm reminded of this poem that I have taped to the front of my computer at work, Tell Me... by Mary Oliver.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth in stead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Journey to the cross.
I intended to celebrate Fat Tuesday in the usual debaucherous fashion, but alas, I fell asleep at 9:30pm. So Ash Wednesday rolled around without the chimes of glasses chunked together or gluttonous feasts being gulped down.
Truthfully, I haven't decided what exactly to give up anyway. I have decided that it would be a good spiritual discipline to write every day, so be prepared :) Either in my journal or on my blog I need to more in tune with where I am spirtually and emotionally and writing will help me do this.
I also confessed to myself that all I really want to do is walk with people to the cross. With all the pain and lamentations that have risen up in my church community over the past two weeks, that seems like the best thing I can offer God... to walk with God's people, to make a difference simply by being.
I'm reminded of this poem that I have taped to the front of my computer at work, Tell Me... by Mary Oliver.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth in stead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Journey to the cross.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Daisy Shadows
while filing my taxes from 2006 into my already overstuffed file cabinet, i became frustrated with my tendency to save EVERYTHING and began to clean house. after recycling probably 200 pages of notes from classes in college that i cared nothing about then and even less about now (you know those classes they force you to take, not the beautiful ones like Faulkner and Minority Literature), I ran across a folder full of poems I've written over the years.
keep in mind that i quit writing poetry probably three years ago and even by then, the poems were few and far between. the glory years were in college when an off and on three year relationship with a guy provided excellent material for sad bastard poems.
so, at the risk of being ridiculous and nostalgic, here's a poem from 2001 (post-college)...
When all noise has gone to sleep
Save the ringing in my ears
Daisy shadows on the wall
And the candle that cannot tell all
Attract attention from the bed.
I remember last night when I
Asked if you wanted me to leave,
To go, and
You answered no,
And momentarily something
Shivered inside with your
Acceptance of me
And I realized I was pleased, that I
Wanted to stay and that you had
Said more than just no,
You didn't want me to go.
keep in mind that i quit writing poetry probably three years ago and even by then, the poems were few and far between. the glory years were in college when an off and on three year relationship with a guy provided excellent material for sad bastard poems.
so, at the risk of being ridiculous and nostalgic, here's a poem from 2001 (post-college)...
When all noise has gone to sleep
Save the ringing in my ears
Daisy shadows on the wall
And the candle that cannot tell all
Attract attention from the bed.
I remember last night when I
Asked if you wanted me to leave,
To go, and
You answered no,
And momentarily something
Shivered inside with your
Acceptance of me
And I realized I was pleased, that I
Wanted to stay and that you had
Said more than just no,
You didn't want me to go.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
NBC Atlanta Observations
my roommate at the New Baptist Covenant gave a short synopsis in numbers the first night of the NBC. I found it helpful and quick, so i'm re=posting it with my own answers. truth be told, i'm really tired, depressed and feeling guilty about not blogging. So this is my quick-fix way of blogging. love to all anyway...
"the Celebration of a New Baptist Covenant by the numbers,"
MLK references by major speakers: 9 day one (but stay tuned to Tx in Africa for the full count)
Exes run into: 1
Number of times semi-acosted by members of the Secret Service who were escorting Jimmy Carter through: none - i wish i'd been accosted by Carter's secret service. that means i would have perhaps been able to shake his hand. i was about 20 rows behind him for one of the sessions though and it was awesome!
Level of fanhood of Al Gore: higher than before
Total number of sermons that Tony Campolo still has: 1 (according to Tx in Africa)
Quality of Tony Campolo's one sermon: skipped it to sleep in - knew i had heard it before :)
Best sermon: aw man... um... james forbes/joel gregory/charles adams - that's cheating, i know.
New hero: Julie Pennington Russell - i want to be her someday - except i want to be me being her.
Number of times I grabbed my neighbor's arm and whispered, "Can you believe we're about to hear Clinton? Where IS he!?": 3
Number of times I called Jimmy Carter "cute": innumerable
Number of welcoming and affirming Baptist groups allowed to sponsor the NBC: 0
Number of welcoming and affirming Baptist groups that have a booth at the NBC: 1
Number of buttons I wore to protest the welcoming and affirming Baptist groups not being allowed to sponsor the NBC: 1 (thank you Alan)
Number of buttons I had supporting welcoming and affirming Baptist groups: 2
Most ridiculously over-the-top displays in the entryway to the plenary hall that can apparently be bought when your president plans the event: Mercer University. (I didn't even find Truett's booth until the last day!)
Number of times our alarm clock made a funny, inexplicable sound all night long every hour on the half hour: 6
Amount of REM sleep I got, even with earplugs: 0 - plenty of nightmares though
Parts of my life from which I have run into people associated with those times and places: Truett, William Jewell, Mosaic, Current, IME, SWBYC, Austin, CBF...
So that's her quiz with some of my answers. It was such a beautiful experience. I will try to write more when I'm feeling better. Unity is amazing.
And these three remain: faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.
"the Celebration of a New Baptist Covenant by the numbers,"
MLK references by major speakers: 9 day one (but stay tuned to Tx in Africa for the full count)
Exes run into: 1
Number of times semi-acosted by members of the Secret Service who were escorting Jimmy Carter through: none - i wish i'd been accosted by Carter's secret service. that means i would have perhaps been able to shake his hand. i was about 20 rows behind him for one of the sessions though and it was awesome!
Level of fanhood of Al Gore: higher than before
Total number of sermons that Tony Campolo still has: 1 (according to Tx in Africa)
Quality of Tony Campolo's one sermon: skipped it to sleep in - knew i had heard it before :)
Best sermon: aw man... um... james forbes/joel gregory/charles adams - that's cheating, i know.
New hero: Julie Pennington Russell - i want to be her someday - except i want to be me being her.
Number of times I grabbed my neighbor's arm and whispered, "Can you believe we're about to hear Clinton? Where IS he!?": 3
Number of times I called Jimmy Carter "cute": innumerable
Number of welcoming and affirming Baptist groups allowed to sponsor the NBC: 0
Number of welcoming and affirming Baptist groups that have a booth at the NBC: 1
Number of buttons I wore to protest the welcoming and affirming Baptist groups not being allowed to sponsor the NBC: 1 (thank you Alan)
Number of buttons I had supporting welcoming and affirming Baptist groups: 2
Most ridiculously over-the-top displays in the entryway to the plenary hall that can apparently be bought when your president plans the event: Mercer University. (I didn't even find Truett's booth until the last day!)
Number of times our alarm clock made a funny, inexplicable sound all night long every hour on the half hour: 6
Amount of REM sleep I got, even with earplugs: 0 - plenty of nightmares though
Parts of my life from which I have run into people associated with those times and places: Truett, William Jewell, Mosaic, Current, IME, SWBYC, Austin, CBF...
So that's her quiz with some of my answers. It was such a beautiful experience. I will try to write more when I'm feeling better. Unity is amazing.
And these three remain: faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I am in Atlanta and I am tired.
This past week - actually the past five days (not counting today) have been some of the hardest days of my 10,848 days of existence. (don't ask me what compelled me to attempt the math on that). That's one reason for the lack of blogging. Even my ever-faithful grandma has almost given up checking.
Although it is not appropriate to share details of these five days on the internet, suffice it to say I have a very hard job. It's right up there with social workers and psychologists and probably acrobats.
But I'm alive. I'm breathing. I have hope. And not everyone is that lucky.
So I'm counting my blessings and helping others count theirs. And helping them to count their sorrows. Because lamentation is a key element to spiritual health and also healing.
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we thought of home so far away.
On the branches of the willow trees we hung our harps, and hid our hearts from the enemy.
And the men that surrounded us made demands that we clap our hands and sing.
Please don't make us sing this song.
It used to be happy when we were free and home.
If I can't remember, may I never sing a song again.
And so, if you think your life is hard, call me and I will tell you about the lives of my friends. And I will tell you about the stellar staff that I work with, and the amazing church that i call community. This will remind you that you are not alone... or make you feel bad for complaining.
The church of Christ in every age, beset by change, but Spirit led,
must claim and test its heritage and keep on rising from the dead.
This past week - actually the past five days (not counting today) have been some of the hardest days of my 10,848 days of existence. (don't ask me what compelled me to attempt the math on that). That's one reason for the lack of blogging. Even my ever-faithful grandma has almost given up checking.
Although it is not appropriate to share details of these five days on the internet, suffice it to say I have a very hard job. It's right up there with social workers and psychologists and probably acrobats.
But I'm alive. I'm breathing. I have hope. And not everyone is that lucky.
So I'm counting my blessings and helping others count theirs. And helping them to count their sorrows. Because lamentation is a key element to spiritual health and also healing.
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we thought of home so far away.
On the branches of the willow trees we hung our harps, and hid our hearts from the enemy.
And the men that surrounded us made demands that we clap our hands and sing.
Please don't make us sing this song.
It used to be happy when we were free and home.
If I can't remember, may I never sing a song again.
And so, if you think your life is hard, call me and I will tell you about the lives of my friends. And I will tell you about the stellar staff that I work with, and the amazing church that i call community. This will remind you that you are not alone... or make you feel bad for complaining.
The church of Christ in every age, beset by change, but Spirit led,
must claim and test its heritage and keep on rising from the dead.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
a poem
neglect. neglect. neglect.
I know, know, know.
But I'm too tired to go.
So milk the cows yourself today.
I know, know, know.
But I'm too tired to go.
So milk the cows yourself today.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Book Tag
As one of the two people who I guess read his blog, I've been tagged by Blogging Yosarian.
1. One book that changed your life:
Genesis by God, the Yahwists, the Elohists and probably a few other people...
2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
The Bible - I know, I'm just like that. It's so long though! And it'd keep you occupied for days. Months even!
4. Two books that made you laugh:
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott
5. One book that made you cry:
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
6. One book that you wish had been written:
The one in my head...
7. One book that you wish had never been written:
Any book by Ann Coulter :(
8. Two books you’re currently reading:
Watermelon by Marian Keyes - the children's minister at my church handed it to me and said, "this is what I imagine your family is like..." awesome.
Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt - I don't actually own it. I started reading it in a Barnes & Noble on the Plaza and now need to finish it!
9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama - I'm quite curious about him and Hilary.
10. Now tag five (or so) people:
Lynnette Davidson
Sam Davidson
Sarah Pitre
Michelle Gold
Frank Drew
1. One book that changed your life:
Genesis by God, the Yahwists, the Elohists and probably a few other people...
2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
The Bible - I know, I'm just like that. It's so long though! And it'd keep you occupied for days. Months even!
4. Two books that made you laugh:
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott
5. One book that made you cry:
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
6. One book that you wish had been written:
The one in my head...
7. One book that you wish had never been written:
Any book by Ann Coulter :(
8. Two books you’re currently reading:
Watermelon by Marian Keyes - the children's minister at my church handed it to me and said, "this is what I imagine your family is like..." awesome.
Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt - I don't actually own it. I started reading it in a Barnes & Noble on the Plaza and now need to finish it!
9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama - I'm quite curious about him and Hilary.
10. Now tag five (or so) people:
Lynnette Davidson
Sam Davidson
Sarah Pitre
Michelle Gold
Frank Drew
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Epiphany Sermon
The first Christmas present I received this year arrived in the mail late November. I opened the brown box with my name embossed in black permanent marker to find a crèche inside. “My first nativity,” I squealed, “and it’s Olive wood.”
I called my mother before I had even finished unwrapping the scene and sure enough, she had purchased it from her pastor who excavates in Israel every year and always brings home extra gifts. “Thank you,” I told her. “I love it.”
There was the stable with a star shooting over the top of it. There was a palm tree and a cow, a Mary, a Joseph and a removable Jesus in a manger. There were two shepherds complete with removable crooks, two sheep and two wise men.
Two wise men.
“I’m missing a magi!” I cried in dismay.
“Come on Ann,” my roommate said. “You know we don’t know how many there actually were anyway.”
“Of course I know that,” I retorted. “But I want three. This is my first crèche and I want the traditional three magi. I want them to stand just a bit further off than the shepherds since they arrived late and I want three of them.”
I mean, who puts only two magi at the manger scene?
It’s not even aesthetically pleasing.
Of course I set up my crèche on top of my grandma’s old record player anyway and resolved not to tell my mother she bought a nativity scene missing a wise man. I didn’t want her to feel bad. It did come all the way from Israel. ☺
The magi however came from the East – in the original story. They followed a star, so we call them astronomers and they brought at least three notable gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh, so we call them rich.
Truth be told, they probably were astronomers, or better put, astrologers, since they attributed meaning to what they observed in the sky. Everyone in the Middle East did. So if Herod hadn’t been so paranoid about the baby king, he would have been troubled by the appearance of the star alone. The text says all of Jerusalem was. Stars and comets and galaxies meant something tangible to the people back then and moving celestial bodies certainly drew everyone to attention.
The magi probably were Gentiles too, foreigners from Persia-Babylonia although in tradition we like to designate the three men as from Africa, Asia and Europe. This is our efficient way of assuring that we communicate that the magi were definitely foreigners. But these Gentiles speak of a desire to see the King of the Judeans. This was not terribly out of the ordinary. Everyone in ancient Mesopotamia was waiting for a messiah, or in the case of the Essenes, messiahs. And when these foreigners saw the star over Judea, the set out to find what special event accompanied it; they set out to find the king.
These magi were not, as they are now commonly called in Christmas carols, kings, but curious men who bowed before the Jesus-child and chose to call him king. Though they weren’t kings, they knew well enough to bring gifts fit for a king and despite his humble beginning; they bowed before the young child in worship.
And while I may insist on three magi next to my manger, there may have been as many as five or 15 persons who took that long trip to Jerusalem, and brought the king of the Jews the three treasured gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. The however many men or women pooled their riches into their treasure chest and began to head west.
For as little as we know about them from these 13 verses in this one gospel, we do know enough to recognize them. Like several of the people listed in Jesus’ genealogy, the magi were foreigners who knew enough of Israel’s God to know to worship the little king. They looked to nature to teach them about the world and as Paul points out in Romans, the natural world is a valid reminder of our amazing God. They headed off on an adventure, not sure of their destination, but sure they had to go nonetheless. In an attempt to locate themselves alongside the Jewish scripture and religion, they stopped at the local palace and received a private consultation with a paranoid ruler. And they are the men, and perhaps the women, who pooled their resources to offer God the very best. We don’t know much, but we know enough to recognize them.
I’ve encountered the wise men in my life before – have you?
The wealthy people who have everything they can get their hands on but who still search the sky for something they can’t put their finger on. The lost people, the outsiders, the foreigners asking directions of the ones who hold the power, the prestige, the privilege... the map. The optimistic people who insist on giving the very best just based on a hunch that it is only in giving that they will receive. The people who start out unsure of their destination, but with a destiny they surely have to keep. The people who look to the natural and find the scriptural. The magi are all around us and in us and they describe us.
Some of us may be the startled shepherds, the ones off in left field, caught off guard in the middle of the night, but most of us are the magi – in a slow process of discovering Christ. Some of us get the lightening bolt encounter with Christ complete with angels singing and bright lights (the conversion story every youth group longs to hear), but most of us pack up our observations about the world and our questions about God, and head out on a journey to find out if what they say about Christ really is true.
The magi make sense. And yet, they make no sense at all.
I mean, who does that? Who abandons their homeland to go in search of a king of another region – and not just to find him, but to offer him gifts and worship? Speaking of worship, who worships a child, adorned not in purple majesty, but Osh Kosh overalls? Who packs a bag full of presents fit for a king, but doesn’t know who that king is yet?
The story, for all its familiarity, seems a little far-fetched.
But then, much of Matthew has so far.
This gospel writer starts his story with a genealogy that includes royalty. Now, I admit, this part is a little exciting. How many people can say they’re actually related to a king? I mean, the closest I get is that I’m a MacBeth, but that just means the women in my family are prone to killing their husbands. ☺ But Jesus’ genealogy goes beyond royalty into the depths of poverty and deprivation. His lineage includes a prostitute, explicitly noted in the text, not for her vocational infamy, but for her heroism. It includes a story of incest, also not swept under the rug below the family tree, but forthrightly stated with the daughter-in-law-turn-mother, Tamar, named and honored alongside her father-in-law/husband Judah and their twin children. This rather infamous lineage seems a little far-fetched considering it births God incarnate. Certainly God should come from royalty, but a long line of royalty and upstanding citizens. Senators maybe and preachers. Only the best of the best. ☺
And certainly God shouldn’t have been born in a cave. He shouldn’t have been born to a young girl made comfortable on old hay with hungry animals bellowing and stomping nearby. He should have been born to a princess with midwives and cool cloths and oil all around. He shouldn’t have been placed in a feeding trough but in a bassinette, golden with satin pillows and soft toys. The idea of God being born in a cave seems a little far-fetched Matthew, come on.
And shepherds being the first ones to make it to honor the birth – that doesn’t seem quite right either. Might as well have been the tattoo artists, or the café waitresses or the cattle farmers who scurried in that night smelling of their craft and trade. It should have been notable people, foreign dignitaries who came to visit God become man. Thank God the magi showed up. At least they had money to offer adequate gifts and their clothes were surely suitable; indeed the text says they bowed before the king of the Jews. Finally, God gets what God deserves.
Except that these magi, for all their expensive gifts and long travels, were not considered the most trustworthy crew. Astrologers, sages and magi were considered shifty back then - sinister sorcerers. Anyone skilled in the magic of pagan religions ought to be kept at arms length. And they were foreigners. They worshipped other gods, looked to idols for inspiration and probably even ate ham on the holidays. They were foreigners, outsiders, unclean.
And they got lost. They began to doubt the star’s ability to guide them and so they stopped in Jerusalem to consult yet another idolatrous man, King Herod. And what did that get them besides a lesson in Old Testament scripture… nothing! The text says the star eventually led them to Joseph and Mary’s dwelling! But King Herod, King Herod as we learned last week, ordered a slaughtering of the innocents after his encounter with the magi who never returned. Kill every child under two years of age!
And so those magi, the ones who actually seemed to know how to honor the birth of a king, those sorcerers, those foreigners, were the instigators, albeit innocent, but the ones who frightened the king enough to wreak havoc on an innocent town. Truly, they’re the reason pain and anguish accosted the Bethlehem community. It was their questions that ushered in a genocide, albeit unknowingly, to be associated with, spoken of in the same sentence as the birth of God.
They may have trusted greatly and brought gifts and bowed before the little king, but at what cost?
This whole story is ridiculous. Fit for Stephen King or Flannery O’Conner, not Jesus Christ, Savior of the World. What kind of a story is this where the baby King’s own people don’t know enough to worship him, so a bunch of Gentile magic men have to come in to make things right? What kind of a story starts off in cattle stall, provokes the murder of innocent children and ends up eventually with the hero dying the victim of capitol punishment?
Our story. God’s story. That’s how God’s story goes.
And ours joins right alongside it. Here we sit at Epiphany. After Advent and Christmas comes Epiphany: the celebration of the foreigners who knew enough to bow before God. Epiphany: the celebration of the beginning of Christ’s life, baptism and ministry. Epiphany: The magi came to see Jesus, and over the years, the people just kept coming – people like you and me.
Epiphany wraps up this twisted Christmas story with what will mark Christ’s career – all people being brought to God – all people: foreigners, idolators, the rich and the poor, people with names, people unworthy of being named – all come before Christ and receive the blessing of being called a child of God.
And we all get to begin again.
Epiphany. The magi. The baptism. The new birth. The new year. The closing of one chapter and the construction of a new.
As we pack up Christmas and put away presents and decorations and the only-two-magi nativity scene, may we remember the wise men, the foreigners who knew only enough to take the journey, and follow their dreams, follow the stars, and follow the stories home to God.
May this first Sunday of this new year initiate a journey for all of us to move closer to Christ in every aspect of our lives. Whether like the magi we follow nature and find scripture, or give back our gifts to the first gift-giver, or even if our journey means rejecting the Empire and choosing to go home with God – may we embrace that path without fear but with joy and worship in our hearts. He may not be where we expect him, but truly we will find the king.
Amen.
Ann Pittman
First Baptist Church January 6, 2008
I called my mother before I had even finished unwrapping the scene and sure enough, she had purchased it from her pastor who excavates in Israel every year and always brings home extra gifts. “Thank you,” I told her. “I love it.”
There was the stable with a star shooting over the top of it. There was a palm tree and a cow, a Mary, a Joseph and a removable Jesus in a manger. There were two shepherds complete with removable crooks, two sheep and two wise men.
Two wise men.
“I’m missing a magi!” I cried in dismay.
“Come on Ann,” my roommate said. “You know we don’t know how many there actually were anyway.”
“Of course I know that,” I retorted. “But I want three. This is my first crèche and I want the traditional three magi. I want them to stand just a bit further off than the shepherds since they arrived late and I want three of them.”
I mean, who puts only two magi at the manger scene?
It’s not even aesthetically pleasing.
Of course I set up my crèche on top of my grandma’s old record player anyway and resolved not to tell my mother she bought a nativity scene missing a wise man. I didn’t want her to feel bad. It did come all the way from Israel. ☺
The magi however came from the East – in the original story. They followed a star, so we call them astronomers and they brought at least three notable gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh, so we call them rich.
Truth be told, they probably were astronomers, or better put, astrologers, since they attributed meaning to what they observed in the sky. Everyone in the Middle East did. So if Herod hadn’t been so paranoid about the baby king, he would have been troubled by the appearance of the star alone. The text says all of Jerusalem was. Stars and comets and galaxies meant something tangible to the people back then and moving celestial bodies certainly drew everyone to attention.
The magi probably were Gentiles too, foreigners from Persia-Babylonia although in tradition we like to designate the three men as from Africa, Asia and Europe. This is our efficient way of assuring that we communicate that the magi were definitely foreigners. But these Gentiles speak of a desire to see the King of the Judeans. This was not terribly out of the ordinary. Everyone in ancient Mesopotamia was waiting for a messiah, or in the case of the Essenes, messiahs. And when these foreigners saw the star over Judea, the set out to find what special event accompanied it; they set out to find the king.
These magi were not, as they are now commonly called in Christmas carols, kings, but curious men who bowed before the Jesus-child and chose to call him king. Though they weren’t kings, they knew well enough to bring gifts fit for a king and despite his humble beginning; they bowed before the young child in worship.
And while I may insist on three magi next to my manger, there may have been as many as five or 15 persons who took that long trip to Jerusalem, and brought the king of the Jews the three treasured gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. The however many men or women pooled their riches into their treasure chest and began to head west.
For as little as we know about them from these 13 verses in this one gospel, we do know enough to recognize them. Like several of the people listed in Jesus’ genealogy, the magi were foreigners who knew enough of Israel’s God to know to worship the little king. They looked to nature to teach them about the world and as Paul points out in Romans, the natural world is a valid reminder of our amazing God. They headed off on an adventure, not sure of their destination, but sure they had to go nonetheless. In an attempt to locate themselves alongside the Jewish scripture and religion, they stopped at the local palace and received a private consultation with a paranoid ruler. And they are the men, and perhaps the women, who pooled their resources to offer God the very best. We don’t know much, but we know enough to recognize them.
I’ve encountered the wise men in my life before – have you?
The wealthy people who have everything they can get their hands on but who still search the sky for something they can’t put their finger on. The lost people, the outsiders, the foreigners asking directions of the ones who hold the power, the prestige, the privilege... the map. The optimistic people who insist on giving the very best just based on a hunch that it is only in giving that they will receive. The people who start out unsure of their destination, but with a destiny they surely have to keep. The people who look to the natural and find the scriptural. The magi are all around us and in us and they describe us.
Some of us may be the startled shepherds, the ones off in left field, caught off guard in the middle of the night, but most of us are the magi – in a slow process of discovering Christ. Some of us get the lightening bolt encounter with Christ complete with angels singing and bright lights (the conversion story every youth group longs to hear), but most of us pack up our observations about the world and our questions about God, and head out on a journey to find out if what they say about Christ really is true.
The magi make sense. And yet, they make no sense at all.
I mean, who does that? Who abandons their homeland to go in search of a king of another region – and not just to find him, but to offer him gifts and worship? Speaking of worship, who worships a child, adorned not in purple majesty, but Osh Kosh overalls? Who packs a bag full of presents fit for a king, but doesn’t know who that king is yet?
The story, for all its familiarity, seems a little far-fetched.
But then, much of Matthew has so far.
This gospel writer starts his story with a genealogy that includes royalty. Now, I admit, this part is a little exciting. How many people can say they’re actually related to a king? I mean, the closest I get is that I’m a MacBeth, but that just means the women in my family are prone to killing their husbands. ☺ But Jesus’ genealogy goes beyond royalty into the depths of poverty and deprivation. His lineage includes a prostitute, explicitly noted in the text, not for her vocational infamy, but for her heroism. It includes a story of incest, also not swept under the rug below the family tree, but forthrightly stated with the daughter-in-law-turn-mother, Tamar, named and honored alongside her father-in-law/husband Judah and their twin children. This rather infamous lineage seems a little far-fetched considering it births God incarnate. Certainly God should come from royalty, but a long line of royalty and upstanding citizens. Senators maybe and preachers. Only the best of the best. ☺
And certainly God shouldn’t have been born in a cave. He shouldn’t have been born to a young girl made comfortable on old hay with hungry animals bellowing and stomping nearby. He should have been born to a princess with midwives and cool cloths and oil all around. He shouldn’t have been placed in a feeding trough but in a bassinette, golden with satin pillows and soft toys. The idea of God being born in a cave seems a little far-fetched Matthew, come on.
And shepherds being the first ones to make it to honor the birth – that doesn’t seem quite right either. Might as well have been the tattoo artists, or the café waitresses or the cattle farmers who scurried in that night smelling of their craft and trade. It should have been notable people, foreign dignitaries who came to visit God become man. Thank God the magi showed up. At least they had money to offer adequate gifts and their clothes were surely suitable; indeed the text says they bowed before the king of the Jews. Finally, God gets what God deserves.
Except that these magi, for all their expensive gifts and long travels, were not considered the most trustworthy crew. Astrologers, sages and magi were considered shifty back then - sinister sorcerers. Anyone skilled in the magic of pagan religions ought to be kept at arms length. And they were foreigners. They worshipped other gods, looked to idols for inspiration and probably even ate ham on the holidays. They were foreigners, outsiders, unclean.
And they got lost. They began to doubt the star’s ability to guide them and so they stopped in Jerusalem to consult yet another idolatrous man, King Herod. And what did that get them besides a lesson in Old Testament scripture… nothing! The text says the star eventually led them to Joseph and Mary’s dwelling! But King Herod, King Herod as we learned last week, ordered a slaughtering of the innocents after his encounter with the magi who never returned. Kill every child under two years of age!
And so those magi, the ones who actually seemed to know how to honor the birth of a king, those sorcerers, those foreigners, were the instigators, albeit innocent, but the ones who frightened the king enough to wreak havoc on an innocent town. Truly, they’re the reason pain and anguish accosted the Bethlehem community. It was their questions that ushered in a genocide, albeit unknowingly, to be associated with, spoken of in the same sentence as the birth of God.
They may have trusted greatly and brought gifts and bowed before the little king, but at what cost?
This whole story is ridiculous. Fit for Stephen King or Flannery O’Conner, not Jesus Christ, Savior of the World. What kind of a story is this where the baby King’s own people don’t know enough to worship him, so a bunch of Gentile magic men have to come in to make things right? What kind of a story starts off in cattle stall, provokes the murder of innocent children and ends up eventually with the hero dying the victim of capitol punishment?
Our story. God’s story. That’s how God’s story goes.
And ours joins right alongside it. Here we sit at Epiphany. After Advent and Christmas comes Epiphany: the celebration of the foreigners who knew enough to bow before God. Epiphany: the celebration of the beginning of Christ’s life, baptism and ministry. Epiphany: The magi came to see Jesus, and over the years, the people just kept coming – people like you and me.
Epiphany wraps up this twisted Christmas story with what will mark Christ’s career – all people being brought to God – all people: foreigners, idolators, the rich and the poor, people with names, people unworthy of being named – all come before Christ and receive the blessing of being called a child of God.
And we all get to begin again.
Epiphany. The magi. The baptism. The new birth. The new year. The closing of one chapter and the construction of a new.
As we pack up Christmas and put away presents and decorations and the only-two-magi nativity scene, may we remember the wise men, the foreigners who knew only enough to take the journey, and follow their dreams, follow the stars, and follow the stories home to God.
May this first Sunday of this new year initiate a journey for all of us to move closer to Christ in every aspect of our lives. Whether like the magi we follow nature and find scripture, or give back our gifts to the first gift-giver, or even if our journey means rejecting the Empire and choosing to go home with God – may we embrace that path without fear but with joy and worship in our hearts. He may not be where we expect him, but truly we will find the king.
Amen.
Ann Pittman
First Baptist Church January 6, 2008
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Beginnings
Beginnings.
The New Year. You gotta love it. Saying good-bye to anything and anyone even remotely unpleasant from your year and in a flash, in a matter of seconds, in a couple of bubbles swirling up out of your champagne, you call out five… four… three… two… and it’s over. A whole entire year will cease to exist ever again and a new one is upon us.
It happens that fast.
Some things in life happen like that. Some things occurred so quickly we forgot to breathe or so fast that we didn’t get a chance to get everything said or done and then suddenly, there’s no going back. The moment’s gone, the situation has changed, the people aren’t there any more. Good and evil happens quickly sometimes and there’s no going back to change it.
Other things happen much more slowly, like forgetting. For as fast as 2007 leaves us and 2008 ushers us in, the events or people we wish would disappear, we wish would finally dissipate like the last embers of a fire, truthfully still remain. They’re still burning and heating and giving light to what we may wish was the darkness of a closed door, and even if they don’t, the ashes still remain, diligent as we may be to sweep them under a rug.
As fast as the clock’s hand ticks over to 12am, life generally transitions much more slowly. For while events may happen in a second: “You’re fired.” “We’re pregnant!” “Happy 40th Birthday!” “She passed away,” the repercussions of those seconds may last a lifetime. And the clock keeps on ticking whether we want it to or not.
And so while in life oftentimes we get a chance to begin again, we also get the chance to put to rest what caused us to begin again in the first place.
With everything in life, there are doors opening and closing, sometimes so many and so often, we can’t keep track of where we are and often I don’t wonder if I’m in one great big revolving door.
The birth of a child is a beginning of a new life and a closure of the type of life the mother lived before. A new job means less free time. A lost job means more time for reflection. A new pet means more trips to the pet store and more trips to the Vet. A new hobby means a financial cutback elsewhere. A new boyfriend means fewer outings with old friends.
Doors open and close and slam shut and creak open and swing on their hinges to the point that sometimes I can’t tell my beginnings from my endings. What gets left behind and where do I start again?
That’s why I like holidays like New Year’s. It forces one to stop. Reflect. Not go to work, but instead to celebrate. Not to participate in the mundane of every work week, but to interrupt it with cause for reflection. Holidays force us to alter our schedules and in doing so often force us to alter our egos as we pause to examine ourselves and our lives and realize, maybe something needs to change.
Maybe I need to watch what I eat.
Maybe I watch too much TV every night.
Perhaps I should call my parents more often.
Why do I rely on other people’s spirituality to get me through life?
What if I stopped being so co-dependant, and tried taking my own initiative?
I like holidays because sometimes they afford us the opportunity to slow down the clock, examine ourselves and perhaps even, start over.
Begin again.
Beginnings. They’re scary, but refreshing; overwhelming, but exciting.
***
In the beginning before there was land or water or the sky or sea, God made the heavens and the earth. Then God made humanity, and it was good. In the beginning, before there was a manger or a mother or shepherds with their sheep, there was a genealogy, there was a preface, there were the people who brought us finally to the birth of a child, to a new beginning to a new goodness.
Who brought you to where you are today? Who went before you and opened doors that you could walk through them? Who walked beside you in the past, and who walks beside you now? Who in your genealogy defines who you are?
In the beginning there were shepherds and astrologers, familiar faces and foreigners who chose take their story and begin again with Christ at the center of it. In that beginning they chose to worship and they chose to go home another way. How have you reacted to encountering Christ, to hearing the story and experiencing the wonder that is a God who became a human?
In the beginning there was nature to enchant us. Kindness to humble us. Peace to center us. In the beginning as children maybe, we might have called those things God. As teenagers they might have told us that was God. As adults we have to choose to believe that is God. Over the years we might have called those experiences science, a stretch of the imagination, hormones even. But what in the beginning brought you to God? What continues to enlighten you to the grace of God now?
What happened in the beginning that needs to be remembered?
How do we need to begin again?
Maybe I should watch what I eat.
Maybe I should watch less TV.
Maybe I should call my parents more often.
Maybe I should stop relying on the spirituality of others to make me feel better.
Maybe I should stop being so co-dependant, and make up my own mind for myself.
Or maybe we should remember. Remember the beginning when God created the world and it really was good. Remember who came before us to light the way… Abraham and Isaac and Rehab and Ruth and the shepherds and the Magi and President Lincoln and Eleanor Roosevelt and Gandhi and Rosa Parks and my grandparents and my parents. All of them in their imperfect states, finding perfection only in Christ, laid the path for me to be here today.
Maybe we need to remember where we came from – that we came from God, a gift to the world. We came from the creator of the all things to participate in creation. We came to save the world, just a little bit at a time, even as God is little by little saving us.
Maybe we need to remember that life is a process – that we are always in transition. That as many doors as we would like to shut and lock, life doesn’t always work like that and metaphors will never adequately describe how life actually is. We need to remember that when life is hard, God is present and when life is amazing, God is present. And that through all the transitioning and processes and beginnings and endings one thing remains the same: God is always with us. Emmanuel. God with us. Imago Dei in us.
Amen.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth January 3, 2008
The New Year. You gotta love it. Saying good-bye to anything and anyone even remotely unpleasant from your year and in a flash, in a matter of seconds, in a couple of bubbles swirling up out of your champagne, you call out five… four… three… two… and it’s over. A whole entire year will cease to exist ever again and a new one is upon us.
It happens that fast.
Some things in life happen like that. Some things occurred so quickly we forgot to breathe or so fast that we didn’t get a chance to get everything said or done and then suddenly, there’s no going back. The moment’s gone, the situation has changed, the people aren’t there any more. Good and evil happens quickly sometimes and there’s no going back to change it.
Other things happen much more slowly, like forgetting. For as fast as 2007 leaves us and 2008 ushers us in, the events or people we wish would disappear, we wish would finally dissipate like the last embers of a fire, truthfully still remain. They’re still burning and heating and giving light to what we may wish was the darkness of a closed door, and even if they don’t, the ashes still remain, diligent as we may be to sweep them under a rug.
As fast as the clock’s hand ticks over to 12am, life generally transitions much more slowly. For while events may happen in a second: “You’re fired.” “We’re pregnant!” “Happy 40th Birthday!” “She passed away,” the repercussions of those seconds may last a lifetime. And the clock keeps on ticking whether we want it to or not.
And so while in life oftentimes we get a chance to begin again, we also get the chance to put to rest what caused us to begin again in the first place.
With everything in life, there are doors opening and closing, sometimes so many and so often, we can’t keep track of where we are and often I don’t wonder if I’m in one great big revolving door.
The birth of a child is a beginning of a new life and a closure of the type of life the mother lived before. A new job means less free time. A lost job means more time for reflection. A new pet means more trips to the pet store and more trips to the Vet. A new hobby means a financial cutback elsewhere. A new boyfriend means fewer outings with old friends.
Doors open and close and slam shut and creak open and swing on their hinges to the point that sometimes I can’t tell my beginnings from my endings. What gets left behind and where do I start again?
That’s why I like holidays like New Year’s. It forces one to stop. Reflect. Not go to work, but instead to celebrate. Not to participate in the mundane of every work week, but to interrupt it with cause for reflection. Holidays force us to alter our schedules and in doing so often force us to alter our egos as we pause to examine ourselves and our lives and realize, maybe something needs to change.
Maybe I need to watch what I eat.
Maybe I watch too much TV every night.
Perhaps I should call my parents more often.
Why do I rely on other people’s spirituality to get me through life?
What if I stopped being so co-dependant, and tried taking my own initiative?
I like holidays because sometimes they afford us the opportunity to slow down the clock, examine ourselves and perhaps even, start over.
Begin again.
Beginnings. They’re scary, but refreshing; overwhelming, but exciting.
***
In the beginning before there was land or water or the sky or sea, God made the heavens and the earth. Then God made humanity, and it was good. In the beginning, before there was a manger or a mother or shepherds with their sheep, there was a genealogy, there was a preface, there were the people who brought us finally to the birth of a child, to a new beginning to a new goodness.
Who brought you to where you are today? Who went before you and opened doors that you could walk through them? Who walked beside you in the past, and who walks beside you now? Who in your genealogy defines who you are?
In the beginning there were shepherds and astrologers, familiar faces and foreigners who chose take their story and begin again with Christ at the center of it. In that beginning they chose to worship and they chose to go home another way. How have you reacted to encountering Christ, to hearing the story and experiencing the wonder that is a God who became a human?
In the beginning there was nature to enchant us. Kindness to humble us. Peace to center us. In the beginning as children maybe, we might have called those things God. As teenagers they might have told us that was God. As adults we have to choose to believe that is God. Over the years we might have called those experiences science, a stretch of the imagination, hormones even. But what in the beginning brought you to God? What continues to enlighten you to the grace of God now?
What happened in the beginning that needs to be remembered?
How do we need to begin again?
Maybe I should watch what I eat.
Maybe I should watch less TV.
Maybe I should call my parents more often.
Maybe I should stop relying on the spirituality of others to make me feel better.
Maybe I should stop being so co-dependant, and make up my own mind for myself.
Or maybe we should remember. Remember the beginning when God created the world and it really was good. Remember who came before us to light the way… Abraham and Isaac and Rehab and Ruth and the shepherds and the Magi and President Lincoln and Eleanor Roosevelt and Gandhi and Rosa Parks and my grandparents and my parents. All of them in their imperfect states, finding perfection only in Christ, laid the path for me to be here today.
Maybe we need to remember where we came from – that we came from God, a gift to the world. We came from the creator of the all things to participate in creation. We came to save the world, just a little bit at a time, even as God is little by little saving us.
Maybe we need to remember that life is a process – that we are always in transition. That as many doors as we would like to shut and lock, life doesn’t always work like that and metaphors will never adequately describe how life actually is. We need to remember that when life is hard, God is present and when life is amazing, God is present. And that through all the transitioning and processes and beginnings and endings one thing remains the same: God is always with us. Emmanuel. God with us. Imago Dei in us.
Amen.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth January 3, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
New Year's Day
I'm not ready.
I'm still processing Christmas; I'm not ready for New Year's.
There are still so many stories to tell, to laugh at again, to reflect upon. There's family history to scrutinize, presents to put away, cars to wash after the long drive home. I'm not ready for resolutions and reminiscing and black eyed peas.
I'm still in Christmas. I'm not ready to move on yet. The world is moving too fast.
Stop the World I Want to Get Off.
My father met my mother during that show. He was the only man and she played one of the many women. I wonder if they feel like that was just yesterday - if just yesterday they were at Jewell acting in plays - if just yesterday they were taking pictures of newborn Baby Ann - if just yesterday they discovered they were pregnant with Emily - if just yesterday Amy was getting accepted into Med School - if just last week was Christmas and how could it already be all over...
That's how I feel.
I'm not ready for the New Year. 2008, day one, and I'm already behind. Quite an unpleasant feeling actually - or that could be the remains of last night's champagne - something else that managed to sneak up on me. "I know it's the day of, but could I get reservations for dinner tonight?" It's daunting to feel left behind - or at least a day late. The party was yesterday. The wedding was last Saturday. Oh, they moved from this house a long time ago. It's like the rest of the world is progressing and celebrating and embracing newness and success and I'm still staring at the Christmas tree wondering when I'll find time or motivation to take it down.
Dear Santa, for New Year's I don't want something New. I just want to savor what I've Got.
I'm still processing Christmas; I'm not ready for New Year's.
There are still so many stories to tell, to laugh at again, to reflect upon. There's family history to scrutinize, presents to put away, cars to wash after the long drive home. I'm not ready for resolutions and reminiscing and black eyed peas.
I'm still in Christmas. I'm not ready to move on yet. The world is moving too fast.
Stop the World I Want to Get Off.
My father met my mother during that show. He was the only man and she played one of the many women. I wonder if they feel like that was just yesterday - if just yesterday they were at Jewell acting in plays - if just yesterday they were taking pictures of newborn Baby Ann - if just yesterday they discovered they were pregnant with Emily - if just yesterday Amy was getting accepted into Med School - if just last week was Christmas and how could it already be all over...
That's how I feel.
I'm not ready for the New Year. 2008, day one, and I'm already behind. Quite an unpleasant feeling actually - or that could be the remains of last night's champagne - something else that managed to sneak up on me. "I know it's the day of, but could I get reservations for dinner tonight?" It's daunting to feel left behind - or at least a day late. The party was yesterday. The wedding was last Saturday. Oh, they moved from this house a long time ago. It's like the rest of the world is progressing and celebrating and embracing newness and success and I'm still staring at the Christmas tree wondering when I'll find time or motivation to take it down.
Dear Santa, for New Year's I don't want something New. I just want to savor what I've Got.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
She has arrived
770 miles later, I am back. With 36.5 mpg on the highway my new (to me) toyota corolla has done me well. She is a cousin of the late toyota corolla, BlackBelle may she rest in peace. The Kia Sportage on the other hand is stuck still in Fort Worth. She's in purgatory.
But I'm home.
I left Missouri and the 36 year record-breaking December snow to come home to dust and dirt.
Around Waco I lost the lower register of my voice and by Austin, the tickle in my throat had surfaced yet again. Is it possible to be allergic to a city, because I think I am.
Too bad I like it here. :)
This week brings not only the festivities and required reflection on 2007 and toward 2008, but it brings back work: two sermons to write, auditions to plan, emails to send, meetings to have, people to encourage, love and serve. And of course more Christmas shopping for co-workers since I was sick the week i was planning on finishing that up and handing gifts out. sigh. i'm already behind.
But, Lynnette and Sam will be here because Sam's speaking at my church tomorrow at 9:30 and they both will be leading in worship at 11!! To pick up a copy of Sam's new book, click here! Tomorrow's Sam's B-day, Lynnette's was just four weeks ago and New Year's Eve is upon us. We can't wait to celebrate!!
Only the medicine and computer bags have been unpacked. Always start with the essentials. Surely the rest will fall into place.
Like what in the world I'm going to do with a dead car in Fort Worth.
But I'm home.
I left Missouri and the 36 year record-breaking December snow to come home to dust and dirt.
Around Waco I lost the lower register of my voice and by Austin, the tickle in my throat had surfaced yet again. Is it possible to be allergic to a city, because I think I am.
Too bad I like it here. :)
This week brings not only the festivities and required reflection on 2007 and toward 2008, but it brings back work: two sermons to write, auditions to plan, emails to send, meetings to have, people to encourage, love and serve. And of course more Christmas shopping for co-workers since I was sick the week i was planning on finishing that up and handing gifts out. sigh. i'm already behind.
But, Lynnette and Sam will be here because Sam's speaking at my church tomorrow at 9:30 and they both will be leading in worship at 11!! To pick up a copy of Sam's new book, click here! Tomorrow's Sam's B-day, Lynnette's was just four weeks ago and New Year's Eve is upon us. We can't wait to celebrate!!
Only the medicine and computer bags have been unpacked. Always start with the essentials. Surely the rest will fall into place.
Like what in the world I'm going to do with a dead car in Fort Worth.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Christmas Eve.
After a few fights, a couple glasses of wine, a visit from the neverending neighbor, and a case of Diet Coke (the true spirits of the American family), the Pittman family managed to get to get dressed in our finest attire, attend the Christmas Eve Candlelight service, get our pictures taken and get into bed.
Of course, I have to get you to this point of sugarplums dancing in dreams first. Santa comes tonight, and I've got to get my last bits of goodness out, not to mention the naughty. And so it goes.
As you'll remember, Christmas began shortly before Halloween this year with the decoration change in department stores completely skipping Thanksgiving. The inability to find decorations for the current holiday to hang at your Halloween party due to the display of decorations for the holiday after next, may be indicative that we in America have gone a little overboard with the Christmas thing.
But I'm not a hater. I love Christmas. I politely wait until the day after Thanksgiving to turn on my lights (even if they're hung before), I always abbreviate X-Mas with the understanding that I'm not X-ing Christ out of Christmas, only using the original Greek symbol for his name; I even drink the eggnog (store bought) and don't think twice about the calories.
Neither do I mind the shopping. I admit, this year I had trouble thinking of things for my list. Working in downtown Austin can make one a little self-conscious about asking for things. And since in over two years I still haven't gotten over the fact that the paychecks keep coming in (who knew?) I feel overly blessed.
But after Mother's third menacing phone call, I mustered up a list and have been adding to it ever since.
"How will I know what to get you if you don't ask for a new car, Ann?" she threatened, making fun of the fact that every year since I was 16, I asked for a car for Christmas. Very funny mom. So I put a Vespa on my Christmas list as a joke.
Unfortunately, if any year I should have asked for a car, it's this one.
Four hours outside of Austin, my car overheated.
AND DIED.
Did I take it in to a groovy shop that shall remain anonymous (ahem!) for this very problem not five days earlier when my car overheated on the way to a nursing home? Yes I did. Did they put in a new radiator and radiator cap? Yes they did. Did they do a 72 point check and write down all the things wrong with my car that they found? Yes they did. Did they strongly suggest I get a new battery before I drove to Missouri? Yes they did. Did I buy one at Wal-Mart the day before I left? Yes I did.
Do I have a car now? No I don't.
Because it overheated, burnt the engine and died on the access road just outside of Fort Worth.
"Do you want McDonald's for breakfast or IHOP?"
"Um... McDonald's I guess. IHOP will take too long and if we do McDonald's we will make it by dinner to St. Joe."
"K." We begin to pull off the highway. "Uh... the car... it's hot... it's..."
After pushing the car into IHOP's parking lot and eating the breakfast I hadn't chosen, I began the arduous task of calling my parents.
"Mom, my car is broken. Get on the internet and figure out where I am."
Fortunately, my old friend from Seminary was raised in Fort Worth, so I called her. She called her dad who called a friend who eventually recommended Christian Brothers Autobody Shop. Then I called a tow truck. Then a cab.
Because I had two cats, a dog and a boyfriend stowed away in my car. I kid you not. And the tow truck had a two "people" max for it's cab and refused to "tow" anything living.
I thought the cab driver was going to crap his pants when I started tossing cats into his car, but he sucked it up and dropped us off. In I waddled into the autobody shop with Zorba, Potter and Janie.
When the mechanic came to talk to me about my car, he didn't do it from behind the counter as his did with everyone else who came in during the FOUR HOURS I sat in that shop. Rather, he came out the door into the waiting room, sat on the couch next to me and said remorsefully, "I have some bad news."
Long story short, we arrived in tact in St Joe around 10:30pm on Friday in a rental car without a CD player. "That's okay," encouraged Grandma, "You and your boyfriend can sing together, and talk, and really get to know each other."
Yep, great. Like a freaking CD player would have been too much to ask for after emerging from Hell.
"I was hoping you left Zorba at the mechanic's," Mother said over the phone.
Fabulous.
The cats have been locked in my room ever since because my sister's psycho dog scared the begeezus out of them when we walked into the house.
The other sister was having a party.
I walked into the kitchen after five days of lying ill in bed, two days on the road, $1000 on the credit card, after losing my car and after losing my mind (but not crying once the whole day), and I looked at all those 22 and 23 year olds in their swank clothes sipping on rum and cider, and sighed. "Will someone please get me a beer?"
Fortunately, things have managed to move up from that point. God graced my merciless travels with 6 inches of snow (consequently ruining the travels of the rest of the county) the morning after I arrived. Church was cancelled (hallelujah and forgive me Jesus) the next day the boyfriend who's never seen snow, the sister who never fails to rekindle her childhood, the neverending neighbor and I all went sledding. Amazing. About halfway through we realized that if someone stood at the bottom of the hill and called out to Amy's dog Sophie, she would tear down the hill with us on the leash and the sled behind her, thus doubling our speed and our sheer terror. It was awesome. I haven't done that since college.
And Christmas with the extended family went off without a hitch too. No one brought up Jesus or George Bush, so we all got along fairly well.
With no Sunday morning Church there was no way my sisters and I could get out of going to the service tonight despite our pleas to watch movies, eat out and open gifts. It was another winner, with the man in front of us moving over one seat to avoid my coughs and my mother refusing to allow me to go to the restroom during the prayer to get a tissue for my nose. Amy fell asleep, and Emily snorted, stifling laughter, when the smell of calliflower fart drifted our way. I got tired of waiting for the minister to tell us to eat the bread and drink the cup during communion, so I put my wafer in my mouth to get the ball rolling. With one eye on the family minister, my sisters and mother did the same which resulted in more stifled laughter from the youngest when she realized we were out of sync with the rest of the congregation.
These are not all the terribly normal and terribly disfunctional stories I have from my Christmas vacation thus far, but the confessions have begun and processing it now may save me some therapy time later. :) I will keep you posted for sure.
I just hope Santa still shows up.
After a few fights, a couple glasses of wine, a visit from the neverending neighbor, and a case of Diet Coke (the true spirits of the American family), the Pittman family managed to get to get dressed in our finest attire, attend the Christmas Eve Candlelight service, get our pictures taken and get into bed.
Of course, I have to get you to this point of sugarplums dancing in dreams first. Santa comes tonight, and I've got to get my last bits of goodness out, not to mention the naughty. And so it goes.
As you'll remember, Christmas began shortly before Halloween this year with the decoration change in department stores completely skipping Thanksgiving. The inability to find decorations for the current holiday to hang at your Halloween party due to the display of decorations for the holiday after next, may be indicative that we in America have gone a little overboard with the Christmas thing.
But I'm not a hater. I love Christmas. I politely wait until the day after Thanksgiving to turn on my lights (even if they're hung before), I always abbreviate X-Mas with the understanding that I'm not X-ing Christ out of Christmas, only using the original Greek symbol for his name; I even drink the eggnog (store bought) and don't think twice about the calories.
Neither do I mind the shopping. I admit, this year I had trouble thinking of things for my list. Working in downtown Austin can make one a little self-conscious about asking for things. And since in over two years I still haven't gotten over the fact that the paychecks keep coming in (who knew?) I feel overly blessed.
But after Mother's third menacing phone call, I mustered up a list and have been adding to it ever since.
"How will I know what to get you if you don't ask for a new car, Ann?" she threatened, making fun of the fact that every year since I was 16, I asked for a car for Christmas. Very funny mom. So I put a Vespa on my Christmas list as a joke.
Unfortunately, if any year I should have asked for a car, it's this one.
Four hours outside of Austin, my car overheated.
AND DIED.
Did I take it in to a groovy shop that shall remain anonymous (ahem!) for this very problem not five days earlier when my car overheated on the way to a nursing home? Yes I did. Did they put in a new radiator and radiator cap? Yes they did. Did they do a 72 point check and write down all the things wrong with my car that they found? Yes they did. Did they strongly suggest I get a new battery before I drove to Missouri? Yes they did. Did I buy one at Wal-Mart the day before I left? Yes I did.
Do I have a car now? No I don't.
Because it overheated, burnt the engine and died on the access road just outside of Fort Worth.
"Do you want McDonald's for breakfast or IHOP?"
"Um... McDonald's I guess. IHOP will take too long and if we do McDonald's we will make it by dinner to St. Joe."
"K." We begin to pull off the highway. "Uh... the car... it's hot... it's..."
After pushing the car into IHOP's parking lot and eating the breakfast I hadn't chosen, I began the arduous task of calling my parents.
"Mom, my car is broken. Get on the internet and figure out where I am."
Fortunately, my old friend from Seminary was raised in Fort Worth, so I called her. She called her dad who called a friend who eventually recommended Christian Brothers Autobody Shop. Then I called a tow truck. Then a cab.
Because I had two cats, a dog and a boyfriend stowed away in my car. I kid you not. And the tow truck had a two "people" max for it's cab and refused to "tow" anything living.
I thought the cab driver was going to crap his pants when I started tossing cats into his car, but he sucked it up and dropped us off. In I waddled into the autobody shop with Zorba, Potter and Janie.
When the mechanic came to talk to me about my car, he didn't do it from behind the counter as his did with everyone else who came in during the FOUR HOURS I sat in that shop. Rather, he came out the door into the waiting room, sat on the couch next to me and said remorsefully, "I have some bad news."
Long story short, we arrived in tact in St Joe around 10:30pm on Friday in a rental car without a CD player. "That's okay," encouraged Grandma, "You and your boyfriend can sing together, and talk, and really get to know each other."
Yep, great. Like a freaking CD player would have been too much to ask for after emerging from Hell.
"I was hoping you left Zorba at the mechanic's," Mother said over the phone.
Fabulous.
The cats have been locked in my room ever since because my sister's psycho dog scared the begeezus out of them when we walked into the house.
The other sister was having a party.
I walked into the kitchen after five days of lying ill in bed, two days on the road, $1000 on the credit card, after losing my car and after losing my mind (but not crying once the whole day), and I looked at all those 22 and 23 year olds in their swank clothes sipping on rum and cider, and sighed. "Will someone please get me a beer?"
Fortunately, things have managed to move up from that point. God graced my merciless travels with 6 inches of snow (consequently ruining the travels of the rest of the county) the morning after I arrived. Church was cancelled (hallelujah and forgive me Jesus) the next day the boyfriend who's never seen snow, the sister who never fails to rekindle her childhood, the neverending neighbor and I all went sledding. Amazing. About halfway through we realized that if someone stood at the bottom of the hill and called out to Amy's dog Sophie, she would tear down the hill with us on the leash and the sled behind her, thus doubling our speed and our sheer terror. It was awesome. I haven't done that since college.
And Christmas with the extended family went off without a hitch too. No one brought up Jesus or George Bush, so we all got along fairly well.
With no Sunday morning Church there was no way my sisters and I could get out of going to the service tonight despite our pleas to watch movies, eat out and open gifts. It was another winner, with the man in front of us moving over one seat to avoid my coughs and my mother refusing to allow me to go to the restroom during the prayer to get a tissue for my nose. Amy fell asleep, and Emily snorted, stifling laughter, when the smell of calliflower fart drifted our way. I got tired of waiting for the minister to tell us to eat the bread and drink the cup during communion, so I put my wafer in my mouth to get the ball rolling. With one eye on the family minister, my sisters and mother did the same which resulted in more stifled laughter from the youngest when she realized we were out of sync with the rest of the congregation.
These are not all the terribly normal and terribly disfunctional stories I have from my Christmas vacation thus far, but the confessions have begun and processing it now may save me some therapy time later. :) I will keep you posted for sure.
I just hope Santa still shows up.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Christmas at Ann's House
Putting up my modest Christmas decorations...
Potter likes to climb into the tree and nap...
I added a deer to my outside lights this year!
Potter likes to climb into the tree and nap...
I added a deer to my outside lights this year!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Living Next to the Griswold's
Clarence finally finished his yard. This does not show the plethora of lights in the backyard - please keep this in mind as you feast on what he has prepared...
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Wish List
Dear Santa,
I don't have a fireplace. Most Texans don't. Grandma used to say you came in through the furnace in situations like this. I'm surprised I believed her.
So if it's true about the furnace thing, here's some things I'd like for Christmas...
a wii
new windows in my bedroom (just go ahead and put those in while you're here - i don't mind).
a pet turtle
or a pet bird
gift certificates to Home Depot, IKEA, Big Red Sun
movies: Little Miss Sunshine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
any cool shoes size 6 women or size 4 children (i'll pass on those pointy things the elves wear though)
funky jewelry (especially earrings or necklaces)
cute long sleeve shirts
plants, especially cactii
I don't have a fireplace. Most Texans don't. Grandma used to say you came in through the furnace in situations like this. I'm surprised I believed her.
So if it's true about the furnace thing, here's some things I'd like for Christmas...
a wii
new windows in my bedroom (just go ahead and put those in while you're here - i don't mind).
a pet turtle
or a pet bird
gift certificates to Home Depot, IKEA, Big Red Sun
movies: Little Miss Sunshine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
any cool shoes size 6 women or size 4 children (i'll pass on those pointy things the elves wear though)
funky jewelry (especially earrings or necklaces)
cute long sleeve shirts
plants, especially cactii
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Travelers: Following the Story
First came the shepherds. They heard the news, through a chorus of angels no less. With such storytelling devices as bright light and trumpets and being able to fly, it’s no wonder the shepherds left their jobs and scurried off to Bethlehem. They followed the news to a stable - not quite a barn, more like a cave - where they found the child.
I wonder if the stray cats and dogs didn’t beat them to the manger first though. The moo’s and spitting and snorting of the barn animals with the screams of a young girl giving birth probably scared the stray animals away at first. But when the donkeys and sheep settled down and the mother began to rest from her hard work, I imagine the baby crying. Softly… loudly… not at all. I bet that baby’s cry silenced the barn animals and I picture the stray cats, always intrigued by a human’s tears, sneaking in around the stones, through the legs of the stalls and up on a ledge to spy on the newborn child.
Some people knew the story was coming, waiting to be told. They followed the story before they even met the characters or knew their names. Simeon and Anna were two such people. The story tells us that Simeon waited day after day; such was his faith that he would see the Messiah before he died. And without any hint except the urging of the Holy Spirit, Simeon went up to Mary, Joseph and Jesus and added to the story. He said the baby would bring salvation. Maybe he said this because the baby’s name means “God saves,” but he added that the child would be a light to all the people. He predicted pain would accompany salvation, but he blessed the new parents nonetheless. And Mary and Joseph were amazed as the story continued to unfold. Anna soon joined them and brought her prayers and blessing upon the child.
The magi too heard the story. They had to gather bits of it piece by piece. First there was the star. It didn’t seem a part of any constellation they knew, so they began to search for its origin. The learned more of the story of the birth and the location when they met the King of the Jews. And finally, they met the main character of this drama that had brought them from so far away. And they worshipped the young boy. They told the story of a child-king and true to their heritage, they offered the king expensive gifts to honor him.
And the story continued as people began to hear about the baby and follow the news to where the boy, the child, the man was.
Everywhere Jesus went, news of his nature preceded him. “Jesus, we have heard you can heal – heal me!” “Jesus we have heard that you raise people from the dead – raise my child” “Jesus, we have heard you are the Son of God – save yourself if this is true!” Everywhere people followed the story of a baby, the story of a man, the story of a God.
That’s what we do today too, is it not? We follow the story. Sometimes we stand far off and just watch God at work. Other times we gather in close, compelled by the awesome tale, and we peer into its mystery. We watch historical events unfold and we marvel at those stories retelling themselves even in our own lives. We follow the Jesus story just like we would follow any other story: the ice storm in the Midwest, the war in Iraq, what Brittany Spears has done now. But unlike these other stories, this story changes everything.
It doesn’t just change which icy roads we avoid or does it change national border lines… it changes us. It changed history. It changed rules. It changed people. It changed the world.
Which is probably why we keep on telling the story today. Why we follow the good news of a God who demonstrated love by becoming like those he loves. This is why we watch God moving in the world and we pray God will move in us. It is why we peer into ourselves, into our hearts, into our minds and open them to the mystery of God. When this happens, we stop following the story and begin experiencing it ourselves. Instead of just watching the story, we join the story. Like the shepherds we move from hearing the news to seeing the baby. Like the magi we move from one location to another - be it geographically or spiritually - in an effort to honor the king. Like Simeon, we who have waited to be healed, to feel whole, when we encounter the story, in the flesh, in front of our face, we are changed.
This is not just a story to accompany Santa Clause and Frosty the Snowman. It’s not just a picture book you read or a crèche you set up on a mantle. It’s not just a myth to put children to sleep or a fable to get children to behave. It’s the story of an event, of God breaking into human history as a human being. It’s a story of poverty and richness, of oppression and freedom, of love and betrayal. It’s a story we experience every day. And it’s the story that will save our souls.
Indeed this is a story that will change us. It will redeem us and help us to keep on going. It is a story that gives hope and peace. It’s a story we have to work hard at allowing to be the story that defines our lives. So many other stories will compete to define who you are, but stories of loss and shame and bitterness are not the stories God has told for you. God’s story may have elements of those in it, but Jesus’ story begins with a baby and ends with an empty tomb. God’s story begins before creation and calls us good. God’s story trumps whatever we have reduced ourselves to and opens us up to who we can become…and how we can change the world by telling our stories.
And in telling the world our stories, indeed, we are telling God’s.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
December 13, 2007
I wonder if the stray cats and dogs didn’t beat them to the manger first though. The moo’s and spitting and snorting of the barn animals with the screams of a young girl giving birth probably scared the stray animals away at first. But when the donkeys and sheep settled down and the mother began to rest from her hard work, I imagine the baby crying. Softly… loudly… not at all. I bet that baby’s cry silenced the barn animals and I picture the stray cats, always intrigued by a human’s tears, sneaking in around the stones, through the legs of the stalls and up on a ledge to spy on the newborn child.
Some people knew the story was coming, waiting to be told. They followed the story before they even met the characters or knew their names. Simeon and Anna were two such people. The story tells us that Simeon waited day after day; such was his faith that he would see the Messiah before he died. And without any hint except the urging of the Holy Spirit, Simeon went up to Mary, Joseph and Jesus and added to the story. He said the baby would bring salvation. Maybe he said this because the baby’s name means “God saves,” but he added that the child would be a light to all the people. He predicted pain would accompany salvation, but he blessed the new parents nonetheless. And Mary and Joseph were amazed as the story continued to unfold. Anna soon joined them and brought her prayers and blessing upon the child.
The magi too heard the story. They had to gather bits of it piece by piece. First there was the star. It didn’t seem a part of any constellation they knew, so they began to search for its origin. The learned more of the story of the birth and the location when they met the King of the Jews. And finally, they met the main character of this drama that had brought them from so far away. And they worshipped the young boy. They told the story of a child-king and true to their heritage, they offered the king expensive gifts to honor him.
And the story continued as people began to hear about the baby and follow the news to where the boy, the child, the man was.
Everywhere Jesus went, news of his nature preceded him. “Jesus, we have heard you can heal – heal me!” “Jesus we have heard that you raise people from the dead – raise my child” “Jesus, we have heard you are the Son of God – save yourself if this is true!” Everywhere people followed the story of a baby, the story of a man, the story of a God.
That’s what we do today too, is it not? We follow the story. Sometimes we stand far off and just watch God at work. Other times we gather in close, compelled by the awesome tale, and we peer into its mystery. We watch historical events unfold and we marvel at those stories retelling themselves even in our own lives. We follow the Jesus story just like we would follow any other story: the ice storm in the Midwest, the war in Iraq, what Brittany Spears has done now. But unlike these other stories, this story changes everything.
It doesn’t just change which icy roads we avoid or does it change national border lines… it changes us. It changed history. It changed rules. It changed people. It changed the world.
Which is probably why we keep on telling the story today. Why we follow the good news of a God who demonstrated love by becoming like those he loves. This is why we watch God moving in the world and we pray God will move in us. It is why we peer into ourselves, into our hearts, into our minds and open them to the mystery of God. When this happens, we stop following the story and begin experiencing it ourselves. Instead of just watching the story, we join the story. Like the shepherds we move from hearing the news to seeing the baby. Like the magi we move from one location to another - be it geographically or spiritually - in an effort to honor the king. Like Simeon, we who have waited to be healed, to feel whole, when we encounter the story, in the flesh, in front of our face, we are changed.
This is not just a story to accompany Santa Clause and Frosty the Snowman. It’s not just a picture book you read or a crèche you set up on a mantle. It’s not just a myth to put children to sleep or a fable to get children to behave. It’s the story of an event, of God breaking into human history as a human being. It’s a story of poverty and richness, of oppression and freedom, of love and betrayal. It’s a story we experience every day. And it’s the story that will save our souls.
Indeed this is a story that will change us. It will redeem us and help us to keep on going. It is a story that gives hope and peace. It’s a story we have to work hard at allowing to be the story that defines our lives. So many other stories will compete to define who you are, but stories of loss and shame and bitterness are not the stories God has told for you. God’s story may have elements of those in it, but Jesus’ story begins with a baby and ends with an empty tomb. God’s story begins before creation and calls us good. God’s story trumps whatever we have reduced ourselves to and opens us up to who we can become…and how we can change the world by telling our stories.
And in telling the world our stories, indeed, we are telling God’s.
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
December 13, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Let It Snow... Let It Snow... Keep Your Ice...
"It's worse than the one in 94," my dad said on the phone. "Hold on," he continued, "I think I just caught my pillow on fire."
You may have seen my hometown on the news. St Joseph, Missouri making it big yet again as the recipient of one of the terrible ice storms destroying the midwest.
Mom, dad, grandma and grandpa spent the first day and night huddled around my parents' fireplace trying to find a hotel/motel (all booked) and wrestling with the idea of driving to kansas city (in an ice storm?) to find heat and a place to sleep.
Day two proved more productive. My home church has electricity, so the four of them headed out there for the day. While at the church, the youth minister showed up with a generator as a gift to my family! So last night they slept in heat!
Dad said there was a picture of my neighbor on national news. I guess our street looks really bad because the C Span truck is camped out at the end of our block.
I remember the storm of 94. I was a sophomore in high school and it is one of the most vivid memories I have. The ice makes you feel like you are in a wonderland, while feeling strangely scared at the same time. Everything glitters and glows. And when the transistors blow, a blue light bounces, radiating through all the ice. It's eerie too though because it is silent. Completely quiet. No sound except the sound of a gunshot (a branch breaking under the weight of ice) and then glass breaking (the ice shattering as it hits the ground). I'll never forget those four days in 94 with my family camped out in our living room with blankets and games and the fire blazing. It was surreal: like playing Little House on the Prairie except we didn't have to pretend the weather part.
So thanks to everyone for your questions and concern for my family. So far so good (in an ice storm). And as my dad said, "It's sad watching everything (the trees and nature) be destroyed, but we lost a lot in 94 too and we were surprised at what came back." There's something beautiful about watching something being reborn. Through the fire and now refined. Under the water and now reborn.
Sometimes there must be ice to appreciate the sun.
You may have seen my hometown on the news. St Joseph, Missouri making it big yet again as the recipient of one of the terrible ice storms destroying the midwest.
Mom, dad, grandma and grandpa spent the first day and night huddled around my parents' fireplace trying to find a hotel/motel (all booked) and wrestling with the idea of driving to kansas city (in an ice storm?) to find heat and a place to sleep.
Day two proved more productive. My home church has electricity, so the four of them headed out there for the day. While at the church, the youth minister showed up with a generator as a gift to my family! So last night they slept in heat!
Dad said there was a picture of my neighbor on national news. I guess our street looks really bad because the C Span truck is camped out at the end of our block.
I remember the storm of 94. I was a sophomore in high school and it is one of the most vivid memories I have. The ice makes you feel like you are in a wonderland, while feeling strangely scared at the same time. Everything glitters and glows. And when the transistors blow, a blue light bounces, radiating through all the ice. It's eerie too though because it is silent. Completely quiet. No sound except the sound of a gunshot (a branch breaking under the weight of ice) and then glass breaking (the ice shattering as it hits the ground). I'll never forget those four days in 94 with my family camped out in our living room with blankets and games and the fire blazing. It was surreal: like playing Little House on the Prairie except we didn't have to pretend the weather part.
So thanks to everyone for your questions and concern for my family. So far so good (in an ice storm). And as my dad said, "It's sad watching everything (the trees and nature) be destroyed, but we lost a lot in 94 too and we were surprised at what came back." There's something beautiful about watching something being reborn. Through the fire and now refined. Under the water and now reborn.
Sometimes there must be ice to appreciate the sun.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Transition...
Wednesday November 28…
I am lying in my bed propped up on pillows. My dog sleeps beside me stretched out where a boyfriend or husband should be. It is nighttime and I am processing my day.
A friend texted me this morning, panicking about another mutual friend. He said all these things and it hurt her feelings and he’s being a hypocrite and she can’t handle it and his new girlfriend is affecting their friendship… and finally we are at the heart of the issue. New and old. Just found and always been around.
This afternoon I listened to a son’s confession that his parents were divorcing. He told their story which is inextricably his story. From living quarters to family dynamics, much will be changing. Familiar and unfamiliar. Only known and the unknown.
Tonight I drove to a friend’s house to wish his mother good luck on a very invasive surgery scheduled for this weekend. Her daughter was there with her new baby and I watched my friend’s mom cuddle her grandchild. It was quite the juxtaposition: a healthy baby body held to the breast of a sick, older body. Even with the warmth and optimism of the family, the impending surgery and weeks of recovery reminded me what a transition this time would be in their lives. Everyone adjusts: gets assigned new tasks around the house, new weekends to drive to the hospital in Houston, new prayers to offer up to God.
Transition.
It’s constantly confronting us, is it not?
Starting college means saying goodbye to high school: it means making new friends, improving study habits, making new (to you) decisions, and it means learning to drop the teenage attitude and preparing to live maturely as an adult. Some of the transitions happen quickly like moving out of your house and into a dorm, others may take you the whole four years to process. Starting college means saying goodbye to high school.
Getting a new boyfriend means really letting go of the old one. It means stopping the obsessing over old injuries and giving someone new a chance to do something right. It means adjusting to different mannerisms, different habits, different favorite restaurants, different favorite songs. It means you take a risk to let this be its own relationship – not an extension of one you wish you still had or lament you ever engaged. Getting a new girlfriend means really letting go of the old one.
Losing your job means hunting for a new one and then adjusting to working in that new place. It means accepting terms of resignation and being faced with the option to improve. It means re-evaluating your dreams, goals, and desires in life. It means telling your family and friends, facing old hurts, creating new ones. It means settling for or gratefully accepting a new salary. It means meeting a new boss, new co-workers, discovering who makes the coffee in the office and whether or not it’s too strong. It means learning who to avoid on Monday mornings and who is great to go to with questions. It means taking down the pictures in your old cubby and deciding whether they are still fitting for your new one. Losing your job means hunting and adjusting.
Transition is all around us. And no matter what traditions we uphold to keep the past the present, change will always make its way in. Amidst they hymns come the praise songs; where there once were candles, flickering lights now brighten our tree. Summer of your sweet 16 comes summer of your sweet 26th and some things never stay the same.
This is the perfect week for transition. In most places in the country, the trees are fully colored and perhaps even turning brown. The first snows fall signaling winter and our house decorations experience their own changing of the guard as well. If you have managed to avoid Christmas until after the Thanksgiving holidays, then this past weekend you threw away the pumpkins and brought out the reindeer to decorate your yard. The red, brown and yellow fall leaves scattered across our tablecloths last week have given way to the green and red of holly and mistletoe. Boxes are pulled out, dusted off and emptied while others are returned, put away until next year. It’s transition time. We pull out our winter coats and hang up our jackets. In Texas, we put away our swimsuits and set out our scarves. Transition happens that fast. Toys are changing, new, improved; faster, funnier, fuzzier toys take to the shelves and leave behind the competition.
It’s that time of year.
Transition. It is all around us. Some of it we anticipate, yearn for even – those warm fires, those happy holiday feelings. But some of it comes with the ebb and flow of life and it catches us off guard – almost every time.
Transition. The old is gone, the new has come. And that was just yesterday.
* * * *
The old has gone and the new has come and it has caught us off guard. Sometimes transition is slow and we feel like it is more manageable when we can adjust in small doses, but a death or a diagnosis never falls softer than a rock and even so it never hurts any less.
As the world changes around us, we have several choices. We can reject transition and pretend it isn’t happening. We can resist it with the core of our being and in doing so allow our own destruction, bitter and blinding. Or we can seek an alternative.
To everything, turn, turn, turn. The world is turning, our lives are changing, and we will make ourselves sick resisting transition.
But be transformed, God says, by the renewing of your mind.
When transition is frightening or even just unsettling, we must offer God our minds and our hearts, and in faith, we must allow God to change us and grow us. Transition will not destroy us unless we let it. But if we allow God to work good in our lives, then as transition comes, as the old moves on and the new moves in, we become more like Christ, more dependant on God to carry us through, more enabled to help others experiencing their own transition.
We must look up. When we are afraid, we must look up. When change overwhelms us, we must look up. God is with us and around us and in us and God will not let us live scared of newness and scared of life. Rather, God will give us the courage to face this changing world head on. God has given us community to work with, to encourage us, to love the world. God has given us beauty to give us hope, give us an outlet for creativity, to remind us God is present. God has given us the Spirit to comfort us, to stimulate us, to grow us, to sustain us, to enable us to change the world.
For even as the world seeks to change us, so do we challenge the world to change too.
The world will never stop turning and change will never leave us be. The same old, same old, doesn’t really exist and truly things are always changing. But we do not have to be afraid. We must take courage and be very brave. For in Christ even we are changed and offered the newness of life in Christ. Newness that will never end and newness that makes all the difference in the world…
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
Nov. 29, 2007
I am lying in my bed propped up on pillows. My dog sleeps beside me stretched out where a boyfriend or husband should be. It is nighttime and I am processing my day.
A friend texted me this morning, panicking about another mutual friend. He said all these things and it hurt her feelings and he’s being a hypocrite and she can’t handle it and his new girlfriend is affecting their friendship… and finally we are at the heart of the issue. New and old. Just found and always been around.
This afternoon I listened to a son’s confession that his parents were divorcing. He told their story which is inextricably his story. From living quarters to family dynamics, much will be changing. Familiar and unfamiliar. Only known and the unknown.
Tonight I drove to a friend’s house to wish his mother good luck on a very invasive surgery scheduled for this weekend. Her daughter was there with her new baby and I watched my friend’s mom cuddle her grandchild. It was quite the juxtaposition: a healthy baby body held to the breast of a sick, older body. Even with the warmth and optimism of the family, the impending surgery and weeks of recovery reminded me what a transition this time would be in their lives. Everyone adjusts: gets assigned new tasks around the house, new weekends to drive to the hospital in Houston, new prayers to offer up to God.
Transition.
It’s constantly confronting us, is it not?
Starting college means saying goodbye to high school: it means making new friends, improving study habits, making new (to you) decisions, and it means learning to drop the teenage attitude and preparing to live maturely as an adult. Some of the transitions happen quickly like moving out of your house and into a dorm, others may take you the whole four years to process. Starting college means saying goodbye to high school.
Getting a new boyfriend means really letting go of the old one. It means stopping the obsessing over old injuries and giving someone new a chance to do something right. It means adjusting to different mannerisms, different habits, different favorite restaurants, different favorite songs. It means you take a risk to let this be its own relationship – not an extension of one you wish you still had or lament you ever engaged. Getting a new girlfriend means really letting go of the old one.
Losing your job means hunting for a new one and then adjusting to working in that new place. It means accepting terms of resignation and being faced with the option to improve. It means re-evaluating your dreams, goals, and desires in life. It means telling your family and friends, facing old hurts, creating new ones. It means settling for or gratefully accepting a new salary. It means meeting a new boss, new co-workers, discovering who makes the coffee in the office and whether or not it’s too strong. It means learning who to avoid on Monday mornings and who is great to go to with questions. It means taking down the pictures in your old cubby and deciding whether they are still fitting for your new one. Losing your job means hunting and adjusting.
Transition is all around us. And no matter what traditions we uphold to keep the past the present, change will always make its way in. Amidst they hymns come the praise songs; where there once were candles, flickering lights now brighten our tree. Summer of your sweet 16 comes summer of your sweet 26th and some things never stay the same.
This is the perfect week for transition. In most places in the country, the trees are fully colored and perhaps even turning brown. The first snows fall signaling winter and our house decorations experience their own changing of the guard as well. If you have managed to avoid Christmas until after the Thanksgiving holidays, then this past weekend you threw away the pumpkins and brought out the reindeer to decorate your yard. The red, brown and yellow fall leaves scattered across our tablecloths last week have given way to the green and red of holly and mistletoe. Boxes are pulled out, dusted off and emptied while others are returned, put away until next year. It’s transition time. We pull out our winter coats and hang up our jackets. In Texas, we put away our swimsuits and set out our scarves. Transition happens that fast. Toys are changing, new, improved; faster, funnier, fuzzier toys take to the shelves and leave behind the competition.
It’s that time of year.
Transition. It is all around us. Some of it we anticipate, yearn for even – those warm fires, those happy holiday feelings. But some of it comes with the ebb and flow of life and it catches us off guard – almost every time.
Transition. The old is gone, the new has come. And that was just yesterday.
* * * *
The old has gone and the new has come and it has caught us off guard. Sometimes transition is slow and we feel like it is more manageable when we can adjust in small doses, but a death or a diagnosis never falls softer than a rock and even so it never hurts any less.
As the world changes around us, we have several choices. We can reject transition and pretend it isn’t happening. We can resist it with the core of our being and in doing so allow our own destruction, bitter and blinding. Or we can seek an alternative.
To everything, turn, turn, turn. The world is turning, our lives are changing, and we will make ourselves sick resisting transition.
But be transformed, God says, by the renewing of your mind.
When transition is frightening or even just unsettling, we must offer God our minds and our hearts, and in faith, we must allow God to change us and grow us. Transition will not destroy us unless we let it. But if we allow God to work good in our lives, then as transition comes, as the old moves on and the new moves in, we become more like Christ, more dependant on God to carry us through, more enabled to help others experiencing their own transition.
We must look up. When we are afraid, we must look up. When change overwhelms us, we must look up. God is with us and around us and in us and God will not let us live scared of newness and scared of life. Rather, God will give us the courage to face this changing world head on. God has given us community to work with, to encourage us, to love the world. God has given us beauty to give us hope, give us an outlet for creativity, to remind us God is present. God has given us the Spirit to comfort us, to stimulate us, to grow us, to sustain us, to enable us to change the world.
For even as the world seeks to change us, so do we challenge the world to change too.
The world will never stop turning and change will never leave us be. The same old, same old, doesn’t really exist and truly things are always changing. But we do not have to be afraid. We must take courage and be very brave. For in Christ even we are changed and offered the newness of life in Christ. Newness that will never end and newness that makes all the difference in the world…
Ann Pittman
Beresheth
Nov. 29, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thanksgiving Reflection
What does Thanksgiving mean to me?
I called my sister Thanksgiving morning to see how she was doing. She didn't answer so I called my parents. My dad answered. We chatted for a while about where I would eat lunch, to whose house I had been invited for the holidays, where he and Emily were in the decorating process, the usual. Then he said, "I'm going to tell you I love you, but don't cry - okay?"
"Okay."
Thanksgiving means family, and Amy, the middle sister, is spending her first holiday really alone, away from family. So when my father had his morning chat with her and told her he loved her, she burst into tears. Now she was on the phone with my mom who was trying to pick up the pieces. That's why she hadn't answered. She was talking to my parents.
I remember my first time really being away from home. Moving to Texas and being a poor seminary student didn't allow for the luxury of returning home for such pithy holidays as Thanksgiving and Easter. Only the really big ones like... Christmas and Summer. Since 2001 I've been learning what it means to be away from family, to be away from home, to re-create love in new places, places it perhaps needs to be nurtured, places perhaps where it just needs to be recognized. This love becomes the substitute for love Amy and I experienced as children and adults growing up in our family.
So, friends. Thanksgiving means friends. It means re-evaluating what family means and creating family out of friends. Thanksgiving helps me remember that community keeps us alive. We were designed for it and without it, we will perish. (Has anyone seen Into the Wild?) Community is not only who we "live" with, but also how we live. How we relate to people, how we treat one another, how we care for the downtrodden, how the encourage the excited - all this is community. Community is why I go to church, why I have people over for dinner parties, why I have a roommate, a boyfriend, a best friend. Community is why I tithe, why I pay my taxes, why I donate money to charity.
Thanksgiving means charity too. It means flipping through the World Vision catalogue and wondering which of my gift recipients would rather have 2 chickens given to a family in Uganda for Christmas instead of receiving a new sweater or CD. It means commitment Sunday at church. It means cutting back on consumerism and cutting checks for Compassion children. It means that even as I bask in the love of people in my community and in my family, I must remember there are many who do not have that luxury. There are lonely people in America who may have everything but no one to share it with, and there are family people in Laos who have no means to provide for those they love. Thanksgiving means sharing hope and sharing resources with those who will die without either. Thanksgiving means being mindful of my neighbor. It means sharing.
Thanksgiving means transitioning. It's the time we put away the leaves and pumpkins and scarecrows and pull out the lights and ornaments and light-up-Santas. It's a time that reminds us we are moving, moving from fall to winter, from pumpkins to evergreens, from thanksgiving to rejoicing. It means preparation (which always means transition): getting ready for Christmas, getting ready for winter, getting ready for the coming of the Christ and giving thanks. And transition always means remembering. As we move from one season to another, from one phase in our lives to new realizations and realities, transition teaches us to remember and to look forward. Thanksgiving means remembering to be thankful, being reminded to give thanks. It means remembering our neighbor and our God. It means looking back and looking forward, all at once.
This is what Thanksgiving means to me and so much more...
Thanks be to God.
I called my sister Thanksgiving morning to see how she was doing. She didn't answer so I called my parents. My dad answered. We chatted for a while about where I would eat lunch, to whose house I had been invited for the holidays, where he and Emily were in the decorating process, the usual. Then he said, "I'm going to tell you I love you, but don't cry - okay?"
"Okay."
Thanksgiving means family, and Amy, the middle sister, is spending her first holiday really alone, away from family. So when my father had his morning chat with her and told her he loved her, she burst into tears. Now she was on the phone with my mom who was trying to pick up the pieces. That's why she hadn't answered. She was talking to my parents.
I remember my first time really being away from home. Moving to Texas and being a poor seminary student didn't allow for the luxury of returning home for such pithy holidays as Thanksgiving and Easter. Only the really big ones like... Christmas and Summer. Since 2001 I've been learning what it means to be away from family, to be away from home, to re-create love in new places, places it perhaps needs to be nurtured, places perhaps where it just needs to be recognized. This love becomes the substitute for love Amy and I experienced as children and adults growing up in our family.
So, friends. Thanksgiving means friends. It means re-evaluating what family means and creating family out of friends. Thanksgiving helps me remember that community keeps us alive. We were designed for it and without it, we will perish. (Has anyone seen Into the Wild?) Community is not only who we "live" with, but also how we live. How we relate to people, how we treat one another, how we care for the downtrodden, how the encourage the excited - all this is community. Community is why I go to church, why I have people over for dinner parties, why I have a roommate, a boyfriend, a best friend. Community is why I tithe, why I pay my taxes, why I donate money to charity.
Thanksgiving means charity too. It means flipping through the World Vision catalogue and wondering which of my gift recipients would rather have 2 chickens given to a family in Uganda for Christmas instead of receiving a new sweater or CD. It means commitment Sunday at church. It means cutting back on consumerism and cutting checks for Compassion children. It means that even as I bask in the love of people in my community and in my family, I must remember there are many who do not have that luxury. There are lonely people in America who may have everything but no one to share it with, and there are family people in Laos who have no means to provide for those they love. Thanksgiving means sharing hope and sharing resources with those who will die without either. Thanksgiving means being mindful of my neighbor. It means sharing.
Thanksgiving means transitioning. It's the time we put away the leaves and pumpkins and scarecrows and pull out the lights and ornaments and light-up-Santas. It's a time that reminds us we are moving, moving from fall to winter, from pumpkins to evergreens, from thanksgiving to rejoicing. It means preparation (which always means transition): getting ready for Christmas, getting ready for winter, getting ready for the coming of the Christ and giving thanks. And transition always means remembering. As we move from one season to another, from one phase in our lives to new realizations and realities, transition teaches us to remember and to look forward. Thanksgiving means remembering to be thankful, being reminded to give thanks. It means remembering our neighbor and our God. It means looking back and looking forward, all at once.
This is what Thanksgiving means to me and so much more...
Thanks be to God.
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