A Year of Contrasts

This year has been filled with contrasts, firsts, unexpected crisis, and surprises. Because of all that, there has been no time to write the traditional Christmas letter.  In fact, the Christmas cards just got mailed today. Here’s a glimpse at our year.

• I’ve taught district leadership training and Lay Servant classes; traveled across Virginia to have conversations with clergy and laity, residents and staff; and led a Lenten study. Yet, I’ve struggled to learn how to operate my new washer.
• Events have been planned, articles written, my first special offering emphasis carried out, and the fall donor appeal completed.  And I forgot that I paid the last half of the personal property taxes and sent Steve to stand in line at the County Administration Building on the day before the deadline to see why we hadn’t received a bill.
• I’ve been to board meetings of all kinds, conferences, and trainings.  I’ve talked to General Secretaries for a number of United Methodist Agencies and more medical personnel than I care to count.  But I can’t remember my brother’s phone number without looking it up on the contact list of my phone.
• Awards have been presented, unexpected elected positions accepted, and leadership given for a prayer retreat (- of all things for me if you’ve ever heard me talk about my prayer life).  A keynote address was followed by a couple of nights in really uncomfortable chairs in the hospital next to my mother, one where I thought we were in the midst of a terror attack.  Turned out it was just 2 Polident tablets in a closed denture cup that got a little too hot and fizzy.
• With family, I took care of the last cleaning of my Mom’s apartment, then helped move her to residential care while with work colleagues, I’ve focused on Culture Change in long-term care and “de-institutionalizing” senior communities.  I struggle with this contrast daily.
• We celebrated a 20^th wedding anniversary and a 65^th birthday in the same week. Then a few months later - all in one week – we had the birth of the newest family member, a 90^th birthday that at times during the summer we didn’t think we’d reach, and the sudden death of Steve’s niece at age 42.  We’ve welcomed the strong embraces of family and friends, and started new family relationships with young adults we never knew existed.
• I’ve talked to Bishop Cho more this fall than in all my years on the Conference staff, all while trying to focus on the meaning of the little drops of water of my baptism.
• I’ve been to Nashville twice for church meetings, Boston for a senior services conference, and Las Vegas for fun.  Variety is the spice of life, right?
• I’ve seen some of the most beautiful pieces of artwork, architectural masterpieces, natural scenery so amazing that it takes your breath away, and black & white pictures of my grandmother’s pet pig.
• In a place where 24 World War II veterans and spouses live, I was blessed to offer the benediction for a Veteran’s Day program, then had my mother tell me that she was beginning to forget what my Dad, a WWII paratrooper, looked like. Her birthday present was a framed set of black & white photos of her and Dad, Ralph and Jane, and me and Steve.
• There has been the best wine in fancy glasses, new beers from local brew houses, moonshine from my favorite (legal) distillery, and the best Styrofoam cups of iced tea the hospitals and rehab/health care centers could offer.
• I’ve eaten the freshest scallops you can find in New England, the worst airport food you can find at O'Hare, more flavors of cupcakes for birthday celebrations than you can imagine, and dozens of corn muffins and spoonful after spoonful of pinto beans at Country Cookin’ because it’s easily accessible by decorated rollator.
• I’ve never prayed so hard or so long, cried as often (especially while driving), sung so little, or questioned so much. 

Now with Christmas upon us and 2015 coming to a close, I’m reminded of the words of talented writer and artist, Agnes M. Pharo:

“What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace.”

All my questions won’t be answered in 2016.  All my tears won’t stop or laughter be silenced, but there will certainly be blessings rich and eternal.  My prayer is that you may also find tenderness, courage, and hope!

Open Doors

I awoke this morning about 1:45 AM - which is nothing unusual at this stage of life.  But tonight, I woke up in a very different way.  I was very vividly dreaming about the house I grew up in, the house my Mom and Dad bought as a young couple, and that my mother lived in almost as long as a widow as a married woman.  In the dream, Steve and I were living there.  We were asleep in the back bedroom when I heard one of our dogs barking outside.  Not knowing how they would have gotten out, I went to find them. I walked down the hall and reached to flip on the light switch.  An electrical shock ran through my right arm, one of those where you can't seem to let go, even when trying to pull hard against the current. Stupidly, when I finally did let go, I reached over to flip the switch off.

I looked over at where the recliners my Mom and Dad sat in would have been.  Around the chair came both dogs, stretching and yawning as if they'd been asleep for hours.  I looked to my left into the kitchen and saw the doors - the wooden door with the skeleton key and the screen door - wide open.  It had been raining; I could see a puddle of water on the porch.

I awoke to our quiet house.  Steve (and the dogs) sound asleep.  But my right arm was tingling...and I've been pondering ever since what those open doors meant...and why we were living in that house...and why I needed to be shocked so badly at 1:45 AM.

A couple of weeks ago during one of my visits with Mom, she told me she had been dreaming about Gene, my father. The way she told me was unusual itself in that I can only remember a few times when she has ever called him by name to me since he died 40 years ago.  It's almost always been "Your Dad," not "Gene."  Mom described how she was seeing this man that she thought was Dad, but he was not dressed like he normally dressed, which was confusing her.  A few seconds later she looked at me and said, "I think I'm forgetting what he looked like."

With all of the transitions Mom has faced since July, here is yet another.  One that has nothing to do with loss of physical possessions, nothing to do with loss of independence and mobility, but everything to do with loss of relationships.  Maybe I needed to be reminded tonight of the relationships built in and around that house in Fieldale.  Maybe I needed to see a physical reminder of the many doors that opened in my life because of those who came and went across that back porch - and maybe I need to find the skeleton key to close the door on some of the memories.  Maybe on this Thanksgiving weekend, I just need a shock to remind me to be grateful for the many, many blessings in my life.  Maybe I just need to spend tomorrow looking at all of Mom's pictures and scrapbooks that are now in my possession.  Maybe....

Who knows the reason for this dream tonight?  I am certain it is another lesson for me on aging.  Those lessons come often these days, usually in the least expected ways.  For tonight, in these early morning hours, I remember...and give thanks for open doors.

 

A Commitment to Prophetic Love

Today, all of our United Methodist churches in the Virginia Annual Conference were asked by Bishop Young Jin Cho to observe a “Day of Confession, Repentance, Prayer and Commitment to End Racism.”  The conditions in our world today call us to do so much more, but I recognize what a giant step this call to action was today for some of our congregations.  

Not long into my tenure on the Connectional Ministries staff, I received a call to meet with the Trustees of a southside Virginia church about accessibility of their sanctuary.  It was clearly evident as I drove up to the small rural church that there were multiple entrances to the sanctuary.  I pretty much knew that in their history one entrance was for the landowners, the other for their indentured servants.  The first thing I did was ask those gathered to tell me about the church.  The immediate response came from a man as he pointed up toward the back.  His words were, "That's the slave balcony."  Note the words were not, "That used to be..." or even "Prior to the War Between the States...."  No, he said "That's the slave balcony."

I wish I could say that was my only encounter with an "-ism" in the church but racism, sexism, ageism, classism, heterosexism, ableism, criticism and every other "-ism" raises it's ugly head far too often.  

I have been blessed by my 3 years of service on the board of directors for UMC Discipleship Ministries in untold ways.  Despite times of challenging discussion and decision-making, I continue to be amazed by the deep faith and witness of those with whom I serve.  We have our differences in theological understandings and at times as individuals find ourselves on different sides of issues.  But this has been one place where we have entered into holy conversation and come forth with beautiful statements of faith that have captured what none of us alone could say.  What follows is the most recent example. Several of my colleagues have already posted this statement in various places, and you may have seen it when it was released to United Methodist Communications following our July meeting.  Even if you have seen it before, I invite you to read the statement once again today and commit to more than just an end to racism - commit to prophetic love.

An Outcry Against Hatred and Hate Crimes and a Commitment to Prophetic Love

Those who say, "I love God," and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.

1 John 4:20

Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses. 

Proverbs 10:12

In light of continuing acts of violence, destruction, and murder based upon hatred, racism, fear, bigotry and prejudice:

We recommit ourselves to the life to which our church’s baptismal liturgy calls us—a life in which we “renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness...reject the evil powers of this world...and accept the freedom and power God gives [us] to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”

We stand united in our conviction that all human beings are of sacred worth, beloved by God and created in the Divine Image. We therefore denounce all hate crimes committed against women, men, youth, and children of all our racial or ethnic identities.

We deplore the evil of racism and its continued expression in the hearts and institutions of our culture. We therefore repudiate all forms of violence and mistreatment that are fueled by racist hatred and toxic bigotry.

We affirm that all are precious to God, regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity. 

We therefore decry all crimes and violence against people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or queer.

We maintain that justice must be pursued with both integrity and equity. We therefore denounce police brutality in any form. We also denounce the unjust targeting of law enforcement officers.

We deplore all acts of terrorism, whether foreign or domestic and all forms of social injustice, systemic discrimination, and dehumanizing oppression.

We reject and condemn all hate-fueled crimes of abuse and violence, believing that such crimes are an unacceptable assault on the sacredness of our shared existence.

We believe in the countercultural love and the transformational grace of Jesus Christ, in whom “there is no longer Jew or Greek...slave or free...male and female” (Galatians 3:28). We commit ourselves to building lives and communities in which love, justice, and mercy are as natural as breathing and every bit as urgent. We call for strategic partnerships and meaningful action plans that will lead humankind more deeply into God’s redemptive future.

We believe that God is relentlessly good; that God is far more devastated by our hatred and violence than we are; that God weeps and grieves over the unthinkable distortions of how God created things to be; and that God, even now, is redemptively and dynamically present in the brokenness, holding suffering souls in the quiet depths of the Divine Heart and ushering the church and world into a renewed commitment to justice, oneness, and agapic love.

We the church repent of the ways in which we have nurtured and reinforced hatred, both individually and communally, through our actions, our silence, and our toleration of distorted priorities. We call the church to a deeper and more holistic devotion to the way of Jesus, where grace transforms hatred into love, fractured relationship into reconciliation, and crippling fear into life-giving and world-shaping hope.

Prayerfully offered by the Board of Directors, GBOD

Pray NOW!

Never again will I question how much change can occur in a short amount of time.  Seven weeks ago today, life seemed pretty calm.  A visit with Mom right before Annual Conference had been a “normal” part of my routine each time the Virginia Conference UMC met in Roanoke over the last 15 years. 

 

This one was different.  She was battling an infection and resulting reaction to medication that was prescribed to help her get better.  The home health nurse sent to follow-up for a few weeks made her first visit the day I was there, offering diagnoses that I had not heard before. I knew things were a little off when Mom asked me to call and see if she could receive the weekday meal service from the Area Agency on Aging.  She had refused that type of “help” for years, having learned from her sharecropping father and strong mother that you worked for what you needed and didn't take handouts.  Those lessons were still strong after almost 90 years.

 

Then came the days of the Annual Conference session and suddenly, my name is at the top of the laity balloting for General Conference delegates.  That came after two days of peddling really good milk chocolate to people stopping by the VUMH display. Life as I knew it changed the moment that Saturday afternoon when I was handed the thumb drive with all of the records from the 2012 cycle of General and Jurisdictional Conferences.  I’ve been trying to keep track of the time spent on this work so far. I’m up to 41 hours, and it’s only the first week of August.

 

Two ER visits for Mom, under the watchful eye of amazing cousins and church family members.  Another visit to Martinsville on July 4^th to find her continuing to struggle with her health, then a fall later in the weekend. My brother, Ralph, took her to the doctor that week.  After talking about our continuing shared concerns, it was decided that I would go the next week to check on her.  Even though the home health nurse was at the apartment, it was clearly time for immediate response when I arrived.  The decision was made to go to the hospital in Roanoke where Mom was admitted for a three night stay.  I spent the first night in the room with her, arriving home late on Friday night to try to pull myself together for the first delegation meeting the next morning.  I give great and unending thanks for all those who offered help and assistance, making things look good and keeping me calm (and awake)!

 

With a bad overnight experience in a rehab facility in Martinsville, Mom made the trip to Culpeper where Ralph and his family are within 30 minutes of her.  It’s an hour and a half trip for us, but that’s better than 3 ½ each way to Martinsville.  With sadness and grief, guilt and trepidation, it was time for us all to begin having that conversation we’ve anticipated, but still found ourselves unprepared for, about the future. 

 

Add in the move of our corporate office.  A week in temporary quarters before the transition into bright new spaces this past Monday.  This is my second time doing this in a year.  I’ve realized that it is much easier to move a second time after clearing out 14 years of acquired stuff last time.  The comment I heard most from my colleagues was, "How come you only have 4 boxes?" At the end of my day of being present for the move-in, the call came that Mom was in the ER, her breathing labored and difficult. "You need to come." Steve and I spent the first night with her, and I returned yesterday to spend the day.  While she is getting stronger, many questions remain…and the life changes continue for all of us.

 

No matter how prepared you think you are, you’re never ready for a parent to say, “I asked God to take me, but he said ‘No.’” When Mom made that statement a second time yesterday, I responded back with something like, “Well, none of us ever knows when God will take us - maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now, maybe 15 years.”  Her response: “I think 3 years.”

 

Who knows what changes will come about in our lives in three years?  I’m struggling to make it 3 days until the end of this week.  Yet, the importance of faith and being part of a community of believers has never been more in focus.  Pastor Tom Durrance from Fieldale UMC called yesterday morning while I was with Mom.  The doctor has told her not to talk so that she can concentrate on her breathing.  For a woman that loves to talk, she’s doing pretty well with that instruction, refusing to talk to people on the phone when they call.  However, as she heard me beginning to close the conversation with Pastor Tom, Mom reached out, and said “Hold my hand, and ask him to pray NOW.” With Pastor Tom on the speaker, we prayed. 

 

As you read this, take a moment and pray NOW.  Pray for those in your family who need to feel the love and care of God’s hand.  Pray for your friends and neighbors.  Pray for your church and community.  Pray for our denomination and its leaders.  Pray for our country and the world.  Pray for the Republican Presidential candidate debate, or for the Nationals to come back up in the MLB standings, or for the end to the wild fires in the West.  Pray that every life matters.  Pray that the shark attacks off the coast of North Carolina have ended. Just pray. NOW.

It All Started with a Few Drops of Water

I’ve always aspired to journal as part of my spiritual disciplines.  I like to write, but no matter what I’ve done, there has been no discipline in my journaling.  Over the years, I’ve bought and been given the most beautiful journals…and the plainest.  I’ve bought wide-lined ones and some with blank pages, but the everyday practice of using them just eludes me.  With the same good intentions, I started a blog right after Annual Conference in 2013 – a digital journal.  My intention was to share my experiences as a way of opening up dialogue about lay leadership in the church. For those of you who have been kind enough to read an entry, thank you for putting up with my stories.  Since Google can tell me everything about myself…I know that the highest number of people read my blog post back in the middle of July last year when I talked about leaving the Connectional Ministries staff. I’m still trying to figure out what that tells me!

 

I often use that digital journal when I am find myself reflecting on happenings of a particular day or as I process experiences that have touched my soul.  That question weighed heavily on my mind as I returned to Richmond after the last board meeting for Discipleship Ministries.  The gate at the airport in Nashville was filled with college students headed out for spring break. I curiously watched a young man work the crowd of other students at the gate with the greatest of skill and ease.  He not only stood out because of his extroverted questioning of the others’ plans for their breaks but because his hair was bright pink. I told myself that whomever he sat next to was going to have an interesting flight….Guess who that ended up being.

 

The window seat was taken by an anxious-looking young woman.  Norman, my new young friend, was seated in the middle and started the conversation with her.  She was a freshman planning to become a teacher for students who are deaf. They chatted about their colleges and campus life.  Norman told us he was a sixth year senior – who was still not going to graduate this year - because he had changed majors so many times.  Philosophy was his final chosen area of study. His plan was to go to seminary, but to teach, not preach, and to be able to debate religion with his mother - who by the way did not know his hair was pink. Norman then turned his attention to me. I silenced him for a moment when upon his asking where I worked, I described my role with Virginia United Methodist Homes.  When he spoke again his question was "Did you always want to grow up to work with old people?" He laughed when I responded with "No, but I always wanted to grow up to be one!"  

 

So, there on the plane, the question came again.  How did I get to this place in my journey of faith?  The answer is in a few drops of water...

 

I’ve lived in Richmond over 30 years now, but people still often ask me where I’m from.  I think it has something to do with the way I talk. If you were to take I-581/Route 220 South out of Roanoke and drive for about 45 miles, you’d end up almost in the backyard of our family home in Henry County.  Go about 15 more miles and you’ll be across the state line in North Carolina.  I call Fieldale a village.  The Federal government calls it a census-designated place which I think translates to a community with its own post office. For some reason, Fieldale with its vast population of around 800 people has three exits off the 220 By-Pass around Martinsville.  Think of this in comparison to the City of Fredericksburg for those of you who travel Interstate 95.  Technically, there is 1 exit with signage just for Fredericksburg on a highway that ranks 16^th in a list of most traveled interstates in the United States.   My hometown has three exits. Take the third exit for State Route 609, drive past my old house, wind around the curves, and you’ll come to the Smith River.

 

I went down to the river on Thursday and scooped up a jar of water.  These drops of water started as headwaters somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  As they trickled down from mountain springs to the creeks that feed the Smith River, I’m sure they picked up an accent that would sound like mine if they could talk.  The drops of water flow on into the Dan River near Eden, NC, then into the Roanoke River, join into the Albemarle Sound, and finally grace the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.  All along that journey, these tiny drops gain power and strength as they merge with other waters, supplying energy to villages and cities, sustaining the lives of those who live nearby, shifting the river banks and coastline.  Transformation – that started with only a few drops of water.

 

It was water from this river that was scooped up and placed on my head at the baptismal font of Fieldale Methodist Church 54 years ago.  The people of the congregation who took vows along with my parents that day to teach me how to grow as a disciple of Jesus Christ came from the mountains further to the west and from the big cities of the north and east. Over the years, what they modeled and taught me grew stronger and became more deeply ingrained.  All along my journey, those tiny drops of water have:

·       reminded me of the power and amazing possibilities that come with being a part of the Body of Christ in this United Methodist Church,

·       have given me strength to make it through challenging times,

·       sustained me when my faith turned to doubt, and

·       have guided the shifting of my understandings of who Jesus is and who he calls me to be.

Transformation – that started with only a few drops of water.

Each of us is called through our baptism to be a disciple in all areas of our lives and a living example of Christ’s love to the world – to bring the Gospel to life in our communities. To do that, we have to be willing to share our faith, our story, our call.

We need to reclaim our identity as people of God, all created and gifted by God for unique life in the body of Christ and in the world. To do this, our attitudes and expectations about church have to change. We have to move from the comfortable place of being recipients of services - asking what the church is doing to meet our needs - to a much more dynamic partnership of sharing in the gifts of the community, moving from consumers with a membership mindset to truly shared ministry.  This moves us to ministry where all Christians are the signs and bearers of God’s love, where we – no matter what our titles, status, ability, or politics – show that we are Christ-centered people working for a needy world – bringing about transformation.

Transformation – that starts with only a few drops of water.

The ways we each respond to God's call upon our lives are unique and varied, yet one thing is absolutely clear.  We are all as the “laos” - the whole people of God - called by our baptisms to be ministers. The structure of the church sets some apart for specific work, but we are all called to offer our gifts and talents to the mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.

And I continue to be amazed at how God works in my life - this humble child of God baptized by little drops of water from the Smith River.

·       God still calls me as a disciple of Jesus Christ to say “yes” even when I don’t think I have all the talents and graces for the task ahead.

·       I’m called beyond the limits of my knowledge and experience in some way almost every day to step out in faith.  

·       I’m called to never stop learning or exploring my faith or questioning my beliefs. You never stop growing as a disciple.

·       God gives me the strength and the words, even when my knees shake and the sweat begins to roll as those scary words of “testimony” and “witness” become a sharing of my story of faith with you at this Laity Luncheon or on the street with a stranger.  

·       And just like so many others that we know from Bible stories who were just minding their own business when God recognized their gifts and potential, I am called – and you are called - over and over to a life of servanthood as the hands and feet of Jesus in the world today.  

I think I just defined what it means to be a disciple…and it started with a few drops of water.

 

A Way Too Long Reflection on Conferences Past

This will be my first Annual Conference in 15 years without having to “work” every minute. As I packed my car today, I was remembering some of the interesting, unexpected things that happened behind the scenes, things that most people never knew anything about, or had any idea went into Annual Conference planning and execution.

• The first year (2001) having my hotel assignment change about every 30 minutes on the way to Virginia Beach and as I unpacked the car.  Had no idea where I’d be staying until almost 9 PM that first night.
• Annual Conference 2002 in Roanoke when the construction workers' conversations came across the hearing assistance devices and the Civic Center staff shared that their system sometimes picked up the orders from McDonald’s across the street.
• Being the only one brave enough to take the forgotten trash can up to the stage to place under the Bishop’s table when it was not there at the opening.  A clergy friend made me special business cards after that experience, listing my title as “Trash Can Bearer for the Bishop.”
• The year in Roanoke when I stayed in the dark, empty heart of the Civic Center with Carol Vaughan until about 2 AM after finding out that the sound in the Power Point presentation for the Council on Ministries report to be offered the next morning didn’t transfer to the computer being used.
• The seats that broke, the wires that tripped people, the stairs too steep to maneuver safely in all the various venues, the cars that got hit in the parking lots…and many a late night parking lot conversation.
• Getting the worst looking basketball out of our attic, asking an intern to paint it bright green and white, just so the Bishop had a ball to fake a shot with in 2007 after the “Nothing But Nets” video – only to have it raise $150,000 in one of the most memorable hours of recent Annual Conference history.
• The people (not to be named here in order to protect their identities…) that got stuck in elevators, on lifts, and in bathrooms. Those who experienced respiratory distress in meeting and hotel rooms due to environmental concerns. The ASL interpreter's husband who was approached by a "lady of the night" at the pretty seedy motel where we had them staying. Very interesting conversations with facility staff over accessibility and general human need issues, including really bad food options in concession areas and the coldest…or saltiest…or poorly served banquet meals.
• More doughnuts than I can count to keep sound guys, staff members, and interns happy.  Package after package of Jolly Rancher hard candy and Hersey Kisses to keep volunteer fingers typing.  Pencil sharpener after pencil sharpener to make sure #2 pencils could fill in scan sheets.

The list could go on and on, but I’ll stop there. Oh, the things you end up doing for Annual Conference when you’re on the staff.

This year, I get to take care of a display and greet people.  And, instead of making sure the money is collected for tickets like at the past 14 Annual Conferences, I am honored to speak at the Laity Luncheon.

Yet one thing hasn’t changed – in this year of electing delegates to General and Jurisdictional Conference – our lack of unity around what Jesus Christ tried to teach us seems to be more evident than ever.  As email requests have come asking for a statement of where I stand on wording in The Book of Discipline of The UMC and clergy roles and responsibilities, I’ve debated whether to share my stances openly here in this blog.  I don’t need to do that…mainly because this picture from the 2012 General Conference was broadcast all around the United Methodist Connection.

 

But I think it is important to share a portion of my response to one of the requests for clarification as to my support or non-support for a petition before us in the Virginia Conference this week....

Early in the 2012 General Conference during debate over adding a phrase to the introduction of our Social Principles, it was clearly evident that our U.S. conservative and liberal biases were driving our deliberations.  My heart cried when our vote was divided 56% to 44% to make our statement read:  “We stand united in declaring our faith that God's grace is available to all, that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.”  My heart broke even further when one of our Virginia Conference delegates passed another during a Love Feast a few days later, stating that the bread could not shared because of their different stances on a difficult topic. 

At those times, I had to feed my soul and the only way I knew to do that was to feast at Christ’s table.  I spent lunch joining with others in services of Holy Communion by the water’s edge.  Through our tears, we remembered whose we are and why we were present:  to share the message of the Gospel with a hurting world.  When the protest followed the vote on the wording of our Social Principle regarding human sexuality, I feasted with others at Christ’s table.  I received the bread and juice from one of the young clergy with whom I shared leadership in the legislative committee.  As he turned away and moved to the next person, another person came toward me with bread and cup in hand.  I looked at him and said I had just received, but would do so again, and I did it again, and again.  In teaching about spiritual disciplines, John Wesley instructed that we should partake of Holy Communion as often as possible and that’s what I did. It’s what I needed to do…to be reminded that God’s grace carries me, and in return I am called to love unconditionally.

The morning after the General Conference ended I sat by the water and read Three Simple Questions: Knowing the God of Love, Hope, and Purpose by Bishop Rueben Job.  The words were what I needed that morning to make some sense of what I had just experienced.  Here are the words that touched me most:

“We know we cannot do everything to change the world, but we can, by God’s grace, each do our part.  We can, each one of us, live what we are – a creature of the God who is Creator of all that is, a beloved child of God, a responsible member of God’s global family, and a follower of Jesus Christ as a part of God’s faithful family.  Every day that we live as Jesus lived, we change the world.”

That is why my name is in the pool again this year – one last time – because to be a responsible part of this global United Methodist Church, I am called to embody that last sentence: “Every day we live as Jesus lived, we change the world.

Just Hatched or the End of the Road?

My morning yesterday unexpectedly focused on turkeys.

Before getting in the car for a trip to Roanoke, I glanced at Facebook.  One of the posts that appeared was from a friend in the western part of the country.  It showed a newly hatched turkey poult surrounded by few additional eggs, some showing hairline cracks.  The caption my friend included was, “Thanksgiving dinner has arrived!”  

On I-64 just west of Charlottesville, I came up behind a truckload of turkeys on their way to processing.  As I drove through a tunnel of white feathers, I looked up to the top right of the truck.  In the highest cage was a turkey, neck straight up, head moving as if it was taking in all the beautiful mountain scenery as it traveled, unaware of the fate soon to be encountered.  Then, my eye immediately caught sight of a turkey on the opposite side of the truck.  It was obvious that its neck was already broken, its head dandling upside down on the outside of the “bars” holding it and the others hostage.  

It struck me that within just a little more than an hour, I had witnessed the entire life cycle of a turkey.

I shared the morning with representatives from 6 local United Methodist Churches and staff from the Hermitage in Roanoke in a Learning Circle. The Learning Circle is a model from Action Pact, Inc. (www.culturechangenow.com) to develop common ground and mutual respect through facilitated discussion around a particular topic.  We’ve been using the model to learn more about the role of the church in ministry with older adults in our congregations and communities and how we can support each other in our efforts.  The question for yesterday had to do with our perceptions of the biggest unmet needs for older adults in our communities. The main take-away from the conversation was that we as a church could do a lot more to help people “learn to grow old” – to age with purpose.  As one participant said, to prove the great worthiness of every person until death. That same individual made an observation that hurt my soul – hurt because of its truth and because I had to confess it myself.  The unmet needs of older adults in our congregations and communities stem from our negligence…the sin of failing to value the wisdom and experience of those traveling the road ahead of us, the sin of not being present with our older adults, the sin of ageism in our churches, the sin of letting someone feel forgotten.

So, whether we’ve just hatched, are watching the world go by with wide-eyed optimism, or traveling toward the end of the road, we are called to age faithfully and to support one another on the journey.  

“…But even if our bodies are breaking down on the outside, the person that we are on the inside is being renewed every day.”

2 Corinthians 4:16 (CEB)

Wondering Again...

As I'm processing a day of training on offering support for caregivers, I find myself wondering again about how I got to this point in my faith journey and walk of life. I found myself today in a room of experts on aging - from a program manager with the Alzheimer's Association who could rattle off every statistic about dementia-related diagnoses to retired and current state employees in the field of aging. And here I am...still trying to learn as much as I can about senior living and issues of aging so I can be a better resource for Older Adult Ministries with our Virginia United Methodist churches. And I feel so inadequate among this group.  But here I am, called to this place at this moment to attempt to make a difference.

It's at times like this that God usually puts someone or some situation before me to let me see where I have been and add a little light to the darkness.  Today, that came from twin sisters, probably 10 - 12 years my senior, who were also in the training.  They cheered when I mentioned in my introduction that I was originally from the Martinsville area. During a break, I shared with one of them that I was really from Fieldale.  At which point, the question became "Where in Fieldale?"

I could see her eyes grow wider as I described our house just around the big curve up from Carver Road.  "That holler is where our father grew up. So you must have gone to school at..." I finished her sentence before she could with "Carver." Her eyes grew even wider. Now, their father - and the two sisters had they not lived in the city - would have gone to G.W. Carver High School when it was segregated.  They would have been living in the holler with the segregated community swimming pool.  The road that divided their side of the holler from our's created a line that wasn't crossed until I was in the second grade.

There we were: two opposite ends of the Boomer Generation having lived totally different experiences in the same little town. Now we find ourselves trying to become experts in caring for those who fought for justice and equality.  And I wonder how I got here?  I wonder if those fighting similar battles today will recognize how much we have in common instead of how different the concerns may seem?  Forty-seven years have now come and gone since Carver High School first educated students of all colors, yet our talk today focused on a road that divided two areas of a tiny village. 

My prayer is that the church will begin to lead in transformative conversations rather than continue to stoke the divisive fires - whether about race or human sexuality or politics or whatever else. There are too many roads that still divide.  Too many eyes that still widen when controversial topics and history that we'd like to keep hidden are raised.  All while a radical Jesus keeps calling us to live by the greatest commandment: love God with all our heart, soul, and mind, and love our neighbors - without any conditions...or roads to cross.

Living Witnesses

From The Hermitage at Cedarfield's 2015 Lenten devotional, April 2, 2015:

 

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.  And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.  And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

 

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

 

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” 

- Mark 1:9-15 (NRSV)

 

I keep several reminders around of my baptism: a certificate, blanket, and dress. But more important is the constant reminder of God’s grace:  the grace that comes from a voice that calls me “beloved,” that constantly tells me I am “chosen” and marked by God’s love. That’s the true meaning of our baptism: God’s grace is with us throughout our entire journey of faith, through good and bad, and in return, we are called to be faithful disciples and examples of Christ’s love to the world.

 

From the moment of his baptism, Jesus came up from the water a changed man.  He was a man on a mission, a man bent on bringing the message of an intimate, merciful, liberating God to all people.  He took on this mission, knowing that it would cost him his life.  We’ve been given the same mission. Are we living witnesses to the power of our baptism?

 

This day and every day, dear God, help us remember the truth of our baptism: we are claimed; we are chosen as your beloved; we are empowered to step out in faith to make a difference in the world.  Equip us, God, for the mission.  Amen.

 

My baptism, April 1961, with Granddaddy "Lefty" Harrington, me and my Dad, Mom, and Grandmother Harrington

 

The next generations, Sara and Cael, with Mom today, April 3, 2015

Emitting Positive Thoughts

From Shady Grove UMC - Glen Allen's 2015 Lenten devotional, What's Your Story?, April 2, 2015

 

“Yahweh’s there, listening for all who pray, for all who pray and mean it.”

(Psalm 145, Eugene Peterson’s The Message)

 

I entered graduate school at VCU in 1983 with a small, diverse group of students.  We were all sure we could rid the world of injustice and hurt as professional social workers.  Eight of us had the same classes together that first term, spending 6 hours a day, 2 days a week together.  The other three days of the work week, we completed internships in state offices around Capital Square and met for lunch each Friday. 

 

Bill stood out in our group.  A Vietnam veteran serving other vets, he was a true free spirit:  long blond hair, 1960’s style clothing, and alternative world views. I admired Bill for his lack of conformity and his spirituality.  During one of our lunches, someone asked for prayer for a family member.  I clearly remember Bill’s response.  While others offered their prayer support, Bill said he would “continually emit positive thoughts” for the person. Maybe Bill’s words have stuck with me because his understanding of prayer seemed so very different from mine.  It wasn’t what I learned from family and church. But if you think about it, doesn’t Bill’s description define what prayer truly is?

 

In 1742, John Wesley published a pamphlet titled “The Character of a Methodist” which listed qualities of the Methodist life.  One reads: “Methodists pray without ceasing (1 Thessalonians 5:17).  Even when they are not in a church or on their knees in private prayer, they continually walk with God (1 John 1:7); and their hearts are ‘ever lifted up to God, at all times, and in all places.’”

 

My prayer life is a continual walk with God.  Sometimes that constant communication comes with closed eyes and head bowed.  Most of the time it doesn’t.  Sometimes it’s done corporately in a beautiful place of worship.  Other times, it’s in the sacred space right where I am at that moment.  My prayer is in each song I sing and each step I take. How we pray, where we pray, and why we pray are very personal, reflecting our individual understanding of who and what God is.  Despite our differences, prayer connects us to God and to one another.  This Lenten season and always, may our lives be rooted in prayer for one another, for our church, and for our world. 

 

Bill (looking professional with hair styled and cut), Christmas 1983

 

Fall of 1983 (Meredith friends please note the "Class to Bee" sweatshirt.) 

 

 

 

 

Another Lent, Come and Gone...

Tonight was the final night for our Lenten small group at Shady Grove based on Mike Slaughter’s Renegade Gospel study.  We were just beginning when I wrote the last blog entry.  At that point, I was making a commitment to myself to be better at posting than I had been since starting my new job.  Well, another Lent has come and gone, and my commitment lasted about as long as the ashes that didn't get imposed due to the snow on Ash Wednesday.  The blog posts never got written, but the Holy Spirit has been at work in mighty ways trying once again to teach me important lessons. Some of the things I've learned in these 40 days of Lent:

• Young adults and Boomer generation folks are more alike than different when it comes to attitudes about church.  Whether you're a "NONE" or a "DONE," a new believer of young age or old, we have a lot to share and teach one another.  And I look forward to continuing the conversations that have been started.
• Relationships are so vitally important across every age and life situation.  During Lent one of my disciplines has been to write  notes to folks to tell them the difference they have made in my life, to say thank you, or just to tell people I was thinking about them.  I've spent time listening to and writing stories of people I had not met until the last 6 months.  What a rich experience that has been!  (You'll see two of those stories in the May Virginia Conference Advocate.) I've shared wonderful times of fellowship with friends.  All have reminded me of the connections that our faith brings to and nurtures in our lives.
• I've realized that not everyone who comes to church knows the words of "Jesus Loves Me" and that makes me sad.  For 14 years working with Camp Rainbow Connection, I must have sung that little song 100 times a year.  I recently was with a group of about 30 where only 2 could sing along with me on the first verse and chorus.  Draw your own conclusions about how we "mature" Christians have failed in teaching that little understanding of God's love to others.
• You never move away from or outgrow your roots.  I walked into a meeting a two weeks ago in the Danville District and was greeted with "You're not Martha Stokes. You're Martha Ensley."  That same week I was sharing with clergy in Williamsburg that when I was little,  my cousins on Fire Island, NY used to put me on the ottoman in the living room as soon as we got to our relative's house to visit and say, "Now talk," just to hear my accent.  One of my VUMH co-workers quickly added, "She doesn't realize it but we do the same thing in the office."  I've even had the chance this Lent to try to explain to a Bishop from The Philippines how you make true southern pound cake, including the fact that you have to be very still and quiet in the house while the cake is in the oven - otherwise, you're the one in big trouble if the cake falls.  The real fun in that experience came after my description of a pound of sugar and a pound of butter going into the cake when the Bishop took his first bite of a very sweet brown sugar pound cake and said, "I understand what you mean."  And then last night I found myself telling a clergy friend who may be headed to the Danville area not to be surprised if, at the sign of first cough, a gift of a "moonshine toddy" appears at the parsonage door with a note indicating that it will cure all ills.

God has continued to amaze me during this Lenten season - even down to the fact that I submitted writings for two different Lenten devotions which oddly enough are in both booklets for the same day: tomorrow, April 2.  So...for tomorrow and Friday, hopefully I'll get those two devotions posted here.  But if not, God must have had something else in mind to teach me.

Right Before Our Eyes

This coming Sunday is Transfiguration Sunday, the bridge between Epiphany and Lent, when we read the accounts of Jesus being transfigured right before the eyes of his disciples.  Jesus, after praying, showed the radiance of one who had been in the presence of God.  On Mt. Tabor, the disciples saw Jesus’ inner glory.  They saw right before their eyes who Jesus truly was - the divine Son of God. 

Tonight, we start a Lenten small group at Shady Grove based on Mike Slaughter’s new Renegade Gospel study.  Before you say anything, I know Lent hasn’t officially started.  Our schedule had to be altered a little to allow us to be part of the Ash Wednesday service. I think this is actually a pretty risky study for us in many ways.  In offering to lead, I challenged myself to go where I have been longing – to a nontraditional, potentially disruptive opportunity to sit with friends for holy conversation.  As of this morning, I have 28 friends who will be joining me. 

In preparing for the study and pondering a variety of things that have happened in the last few days, I’ve been thinking about how we as Christians are called to demonstrate who we truly are: God touched witnesses of the power of Christ. God’s touch, or “radiance,” as shown in our lives tells people a lot about us.  Yet too often, it’s our lack of Christ-like radiance that says the most about us.

Francis Dorff, a priest in the Norbertine order and author, tells a wonderful story called “The Rabbi’s Gift” in his book, The Art of Passingover: An Invitation To Live Creatively (© 1988, Paulist Press).  The story illustrates how our treatment of others can be changed as we look for Jesus, the Messiah. The story goes like this.

There was a famous monastery which once had been full of monks and visitors seeking spiritual guidance. But the monastery had fallen on dry years when their spirituality was very low. Few pilgrims came to seek guidance, and few young people gave themselves to become monks. At last, there was only a handful of elderly monks going about their work, their prayer, and their study with heavy hearts. The only time their spirit seemed to lift was when the word went out that the rabbi was walking in the woods. You see, in the woods near the monastery, there was a small hut that this rabbi had constructed as a place of retreat. He came from time to time to fast and pray. When the monks knew he was fasting and praying, they felt supported by his prayer.

One day, the abbot of the monastery, hearing that the rabbi was walking in the woods, decided to go see him. When he reached the little hut, there was the rabbi standing in the doorway with his arms outstretched, as if he had been standing there for sometime to welcome the abbot. They greeted one another, and then went in the simple hut where there was a table with an opened book of scripture. They sat there, silently prayed, and then the abbot began to weep. He poured out his concern for the monastery and for the spiritual health of the monks. Finally, the rabbi said, "You seek a teaching from me, and I have one for you. It is a teaching which I will say to you and then I will never repeat. When you share this teaching with the monks, you are to say it once and then never to repeat it. The teaching is this. Listen carefully. The Messiah is among you."

Well, when the abbot heard that teaching, he thanked the rabbi. He went back to the monastery to gather the monks. He told him, as he was instructed, that he would say the teaching once, and then they were to talk about it no more. "Listen carefully," he said. "The teaching is this: One of us is the Messiah." It wasn't exactly what the rabbi had said, but they began to look at one another in a whole new light. Is Brother John the Messiah? Or Father James? Am I the Messiah?

In the days to come, as they went about their prayer, work, and study, they began to treat one another in a whole new light. Each one of them might be the Messiah. This new treatment of one another, this new sense of expectation, was noted by the few pilgrims who came. And soon the word spread. What a spirit of concern and compassion and expectation could be felt at the monastery!  Young people began to offer themselves in service. Pilgrims began to come in great number, all because they looked at each other as people of highest worth.

May God's glory, radiating in the Risen Jesus, be so reflected in me and in you that people everywhere see Jesus in us.