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.

Caught in the Spinning Mirror Ball

In The Message translation of the Gospel passage for the fourth Sunday of Advent this year (Luke 1:47-55), Eugene Peterson has Mary tell Elizabeth:

"I'm bursting with God-news;

I'm dancing the song of my Savior God."

I will never cease to be amazed at how God works to focus my attention.  Weeks ago when I posted the cover picture on my Facebook page (which I've also put below) of my Christmas parade debut as a dancer, I had no way of knowing that in the last week I'd be reading Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life by Richard Rohr.  I bought the book last summer, hoping to read it before starting my new job.  That didn't happen, and the book, along with 4-5 others I had ordered, sat on the bookshelf until last week.

In the early pages, I was struck by a quote that Rohr uses from author and psychologist, Bill Plotkin:  "...many of us learn to do our survival dance, but we never get to our sacred dance." Later as Rohr talks about the spiritual journey of the second half of our lives, he notes that as we age the dance "has a seriousness to it, but also an unself-conscious freedom of form that makes it bright and shining."  I'm beginning to embrace the "unself-conscious freedom," and liking it.

I moved from tap and ballet lessons as a 6 year old to dancing behind the closed door of my bedroom along with vinyl records turning on the portable record player to somehow emerging on the disco floor as a late teenager.  This week's addition to the Advent altar is a scarf that reminds me of the ones I wore as Donna Summer blared through the speakers.  It also represents how my dance has changed.  In the late 1970s, the scarf was a decorative accessory meant only to flow with the movements of the music, shimmering in the light of the disco ball.  Now, the scarves I wear have a purpose - to keep my neck warm, my ears covered from the wind, and my nose from turning bright red.  Oh, the mystery of life that continues to unfold with growing older: That life's ultimate meaning does not come in youth or defined by our culture, but through a difficult, yet amazing walk of faith, recounting God's presence on the journey and discovering new ways to draw closer to the Sacred.

So why is it that churches hesitate (or just plain fail) to challenge adult faith?  We're too often content to focus our energies on supporting and nurturing "adults" where they are right now in their faith. Yet God isn't calling us to do that.  God is urging us to realize that the 50 year old ballerina costumes don't fit any longer, that we're dancing to different music - much less that the record player has all but disappeared, and that the years have brought new purpose and meaning to life. 

We need to transform how the church is in ministry with maturing adults before the scarf gets caught in the spinning mirror ball and chokes us.... 

Confession is Good for the Soul (Especially on Sleepless Nights)

This third weekend of Advent has been quite a musical one.  It started with a somewhat private concert at the Christmas Gala at The Hermitage in Richmond on Friday night and ended with rousing choruses of “Because He Lives” with all those gathered in the living room at the Lydia Roper House in Norfolk. In between, there were three offerings of the Christmas cantata at Shady Grove UMC.  Now, here it is 3:30 AM on Monday morning as I sit with a cup of chamomile tea trying to make myself go back to sleep. It’s not working, and a few minutes ago I realized why.

As I reflect on this Advent Sunday that is supposed to remind us of joy as we move closer to Christmas, I must confess that I haven’t been there when it comes to my own faith life for quite a while now. This is the first cantata that I have sung in four years, and I’ve offered a lot of excuses when people have asked me why.  The joy of singing – well, no…if I am really being honest and confessing my sins…the act of public worship – had become a “job.” It wasn’t until I was reading a book by Jane Marie Thibault recently that I suddenly was slapped in the face with where I have been spiritually.  In A Deepening Love Affair: The Gift of God in Later Life, Thibault wrote that there are many who go through life “doing church” when their inner spirit is stagnated.  I read her description and wept because that’s where I’ve been for a long time now.  I’ve known it…. I’ve talked to Spiritual Directors, Pastors, friends, lay leaders, and strangers about it and how it impacts the church…. I’ve attempted to cast it aside or cover it up…. I’ve tried to help others with it but never confessed it for myself.

So in reflecting on this Gaudete Sunday weekend, there were many joy-filled moments, and most of them had to do with music. 

·    “Little St. Nick” sung by a barbershop quartet of amazing 60+ year old men just has to make you smile.  As they talked about channeling the Beach Boys, Steve and I sat with new friends that a year ago we could never have imagined being in our lives, in a place that I never saw as a part of my faith journey at this point in my life.

·     I pondered the experience of the cantata in a special way with all those who had multiple generations of their families singing, playing instruments, and representing the characters of the Christmas story together. I was 13 when I finally got to sing in the Adult Choir.  I could hardly wait for the day that I could join my father in that choir.  We got to sing one cantata together in 1974 before he died the next February.  So thank you to all those in the Shady Grove choir who let me relive that experience this weekend with you and your children.   You had no way of knowing that you were helping me experience that joy once again.

·     Bill and Gloria Gaither came up several times this weekend – from a conversation in our living room on Saturday afternoon with a friend who was recalling how his mother loved to listen to their music to those rousing choruses Sunday afternoon led by Group Therapy from Messiah UMC in Chesapeake – otherwise known as “The Roper House Band.”  Oh, the power of spontaneously singing together - strangers and friends. It amazes me how many times God can work in a short period of time to try to get a point across!

So today’s addition to the Advent altar is a Methodist Hymnal, 1964 edition, given by neighbors of my grandparents to Fieldale Methodist Church in memory of my great grandmother, Martha Lovell.  With it comes tremendous gratitude to all those who have instilled in me a love of church music and been so instrumental in my discipleship – even those of you who forced me to wear those little white choir poncho-type things with big red bows under my chin!

 

"Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them. Help them see that the Master is about to arrive. He could show up any minute!”

Philippians 4:4-5 (The Message)

 

Halos Made of a Gold Strand of Tinsel

I received my first angel ornament as a Christmas present in 1982.  Then, the ornament was just a wonderful way to remember 4 years as a Meredith Angel.  The person who gave the gift had no way of knowing that it would start a 32 year tradition of asking for and purchasing angel ornaments as memories of people and places.  The original is hanging near the top of our tree. With it are angels from Bermuda and Hawaii, homemade and expensive, stained glass to straw.  The list could go on and on since almost every ornament on the tree is an angel.  Each holds special memories.  Two things always top our tree:  an angel with head and hands of porcelain that was my first real purchase for my own Christmas tree (and still put away each year in the original box with a price tag from Globman's Department Store in Martinsville) and a halo made of a gold strand of tinsel with hanging stars.

 

There have been so many people who have entered my life and guided me on my faith journey - some for a short time, others for a lifetime.  Each has left a lasting impression on my heart and soul.  Some have taught me what true faith should be.  Others have shown me what it shouldn't be.  When I moved into the first apartment on my own in Richmond, I started searching for a United Methodist Church to make my church home.  I visited a number of churches in the West End of Henrico and have interesting stories I could share about those experiences.  Honestly, I visited Shady Grove a couple of times early in that journey, but it didn't feel right at the time.  I was still searching when I went back in December of 1992.  That afternoon, I put on my most ragged, comfortable clothes and pulled out all the craft stuff I was going to use to make Christmas presents.  Things were spread out all across the living and dining area of my little condo.  Soon there was a knock at the door, and before me stood two women who introduced themselves, said they were from Shady Grove, and handed me an African violet.  While I desperately tried to apologize for how I looked and the state of my home, Diana Atkins showed me nothing but the most unconditional acceptance.  It wouldn't be long before Diana had me cooking dinners for the Short Pump Ruritans, chairing the UMW bazaar, and joining her in all kinds of antics at church - one of which was an Advent drama about angels.  Our angels wore white sweatshirts, poster board angel wings, and halos made of a gold strand of tinsel with hanging stars.

 

Diana was one of the most authentic people I have ever known.  She battled cancer, dealt with a multitude of family issues, struggled as we all do, but through it all you knew Diana loved you and loved Jesus.  She would give all she had to please God - with no pretense or pride.  A hair stylist by trade, Diana had to do my hair for the first family portrait that Steve, Ashley, and I had taken.  And even though our wedding was an intimate gathering of family and friends, Diana was insistent on doing my hair again - with the same professionalism that she would have given to a bride having the most lavish of weddings. Only a few years would pass before Diana's health would take a turn for the worse, and soon she would be gone.

 

The day after I received word that Diana had died, I pulled a small, thick envelope from our mailbox.  I recognized the address, and was floored to find a tiny book about friendship inside from Diana.  She had written short notes on a few pages, placed stars by quotes she liked, and underlined words and phrases.  She was continuing to offer me her unconditional love even in death.

 

Diana always reminds me of what church should be: a place where you are loved no matter what the first impression may be, a place where others take the time to recognize your gifts and help you find ways to use them to serve others, a place where no matter what your backgrounds or circumstances in life you can laugh, learn, and love together.  The Rev. Dr. Russell Levenson, Jr., rector of St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Houston, TX, wrote in his sermon for the 2nd Sunday in Advent in 2011 that the lectionary reading about John the Baptist calls us "to be beside one another - building paths for each other and all the while, allowing Christ to increase."  That was Diana's lesson for me. As I put the tiny little book and halo made of a gold strand of tinsel on my Advent altar this year, I pray that my life may have the same impact on others.

Diana - angel on the right.

The Story of the Green Lion

It was 1972.  I was 11 years old. Our Girl Scout troop, which met at Fieldale UMC - my home church, was preparing for our Christmas party and gift exchange.  It was to be one of those typical children's parties where everyone was to bring a gift worth a certain amount of money.  I have no idea what that amount was, but for some of the girls in our troop it must have seemed like a fortune.  Now remember, this was Henry County, VA, where most of our parents worked hard in furniture and textile factories.  They provided for their families, saved all they could, and still took out loans for vacations and special purchases. They had a pride in their work that showed in each piece of wood that was cut, each stroke of stain that was added, every piece of yarn that was woven into a sweatshirt or a towel, and each thread of nylon put onto a spindle. 

 

The gifts were to be numbered as we placed them under the Christmas tree in the church fellowship hall.  Later, we would each have our chance to draw a number and select the gift that matched.  I have no memory of what I brought.  Before the gift giving began, our troop leader pulled me aside.  The way I remember it, she shared with me that one of the girls was not able to bring a gift that was worth as much as the others but she and her family could not afford more.  If I would accept the gift that she had brought so that she would not be embarrassed, Mrs. Wilson would bring me another gift later.  So I took the number.  What I found inside the wrapping was a ball and jacks.

 

A short time after the party, Mrs. Wilson gave me a ceramic green lion: the same green lion with a tear coming from its eye that this day sits in a curio cabinet in one of the bedrooms of my house.  Each time I look at it, I'm reminded of the real meaning of the Advent season and Christmas.  Yet this year with all that is going on in the world, I'm drawn to the tear. 

• Our Christian belief in the true meaning of Christmas calls us to love each other, no matter how much money we have or where we live.  Today, there seems to be more hatred and questioning of each other than love and certainly little understanding of differing opinions. Maybe we all need to shed a tear this Advent.

• Christmas should remind us of the necessity of honoring one another as children of God, no matter what color our skin tone or number of years of experience on this earth.  But just listen to the news stories. We're about as far away from living in community as we can get. If we’re ever to become the beloved community of God, we need to shed lots of tears this Advent.

• If the collective whole is to thrive, the unique gifts each person offers must be recognized, appreciated, and respected: whether they are gold, frankincense, and myrrh or friendship, laugher, balls and jacks.  But sadness surrounds us because we can't see the value in one another or more importantly, even the value of life as stories of violence around the world escalate.  How can we not shed tears this Advent?

• And sometimes, we have to wait, eagerly anticipating what is yet to come - just as Advent calls us to search our hearts for a few weeks as we anticipate the celebration of the birth of Emmanuel. However, as I write people are still battling with each other to get inside retail stores for the best deals on material stuff that a few weeks from now will mean little.  I wonder if Jesus is shedding a few tears over us this Advent?

I've decided that this Advent, I'm going to place a reminder from my journey of faith beside each correctly colored candle in my not-so-traditional Advent candle holder.  The green lion will be put out today.  And with it, if I can find them, will be a set of jacks with a ball.  May they continue to remind me of the most sacrificial gift I’ve ever received - God's Son - and keep me grounded in the real meaning of the season.

Make My Life an Alleluia

I was blessed recently to hear Ruth Elaine Schram's choir anthem, "Make My Life an Alleluia," for the first time.  I've found myself thinking about the second verse numerous times since then.

"Make my life an alleluia, a gift of love to You, my King.

I will join with all creation in the song that the heavens sing!

The earth will turn, and the planets spin, 

as the seasons ebb and flow;

Still, Your grace surrounds me as I go.

Lord, make my life an alleluia."

I have really found myself discerning the ebb and flow of the seasons, and how they return.  This might have a little to do with the fact that I now spend my work days focused on people who are aging, and the resulting impact that my job change is having on my contemplation of my own life course. Experiences of this week have added to all this deep thinking....

- "The earth will turn..."  I was on the Eastern Shore for a Learning Circle at the Hermitage on Tuesday.  I had just sat down to have breakfast when a familiar face appeared to my right.  There stood a former Exceptional Education teacher that I had worked with in the Henrico County Public Schools more than 15 years ago.  A reunion in the least expected place.  

- "...and the planets spin..."  During that Learning Circle, I was struck by a story shared by one of the participants.  He told us about both of his grandmothers who would tug on their gray hair and say, "You don't get this by being stupid."  I had to stop momentarily and consider how God's grace has sustained me to this point of gray hairs and the amazing people of generations before me who have mentored me by their wisdom and experience.  

- "...as the seasons ebb and flow..."  I was at a conference in Nashville several weeks ago when a woman asked if she could join the three of us who were sitting together.  As she introduced herself, I realized that she was the woman I had been sharing emails and telephone conversations with for 6 or more years as part of my service on the SEMAR Board of Trustees for the Southeastern Jurisdiction of The UMC.  Through all those years, we had never met, but suddenly in Nashville, we found each other.  She asked before leaving if she could take a selfie with me just to prove to all the others she worked with that I really did exist.  Today, one of her coworkers who had been in on many of those same emails and phone calls, called our office asking for the development person.  He got to me, and we talked as if we had known each other for years - not just as faceless voices, but true friends. 

God's plans, not mine.  God's timing, not mine.  God's grace: thank God it's mine! Now if my life can just be an alleluia, a gift of love in return.