The Mainline Minister

Imagine Peace in our time. Imagine Love without borders. Imagine Broken bits healed. Imagine Delighting in difference. Imagine Communion, holy union. Imagine God dwelling among us. Imagine Plows over swords. Imagine Redemption the norm. Imagine Grace superseding. Imagine On earth, as in heaven. Hope seeks only permission. Hear the knock? Clear the path. From imagine, expect. From expect, demand. The dream of God, as near as our hands. Imagine This poem, which I share with you as a gift on this Christmas Day, was written by an old friend, the Rev. H. Mark Smith.  During the early part of the last decade, Mark and I were one of the lay teams that led morning prayer at Trinity Church Copley Square in Boston.  Mark is now a vocational deacon in the Episcopal Church. With the prayer that you experience the love and joy of the new born Jesus, the risen Christ, this Christmas day, Yours faithfully, Steve

It's Christmas Eve Day, but that doesn't mean that the premise of Advent, that we are called to make a place in our lives for God, is moot, that the moment to get ready has passed.  To the contrary, this day, when we will welcome the Christ child through song and prayer and Scripture, is the perfect time to do so.  When all attention is focused on the story of or Lord's nativity, we are afforded that rare opportunity by our society to finally slow down and be quiet, to contemplate God's work in our lives.  So, there's still time -- time to prepare, time to anticipate, time to welcome, time to be transformed by the birth of an infant in a manger.

We're almost there. But where, exactly, is there? The end of Advent?  Christmas Eve?  An invasion of family or friends?  A long sought vacation?  An extra shift at work? Where, exactly, is there? There, paradoxically, can be many places.  It's a date on the liturgical calendar, it's a frame of mind, it's a new way of being.  And, hopefully, it's a place where we are more fully prepared to meet and be met by the Christ child. Not there yet?  It's okay.  For while we're almost there, there's still more time, time provided by an ever gracious, ridiculously loving God.

It's 10 pm and a light snow is falling; all is quiet, all is peaceful.  My day has been punctuated by grace, an unexpected opportunity to comfort someone here, an intense sense of God's presence there.  The chance to reflect on this now is welcome, especially with all the activity, which can preclude reflection, that comes in the final approach to Christmas Eve.  I give thanks to God for this moment, and for all the blessings I have received this day. How has God made his presence known in your life today?  How have you experienced God's grace today?  I invite you to reflect upon and to pray over these questions, and to then give God thanks and praise.

At last count, 34 homeless people in New Hampshire have died since last December 21.  That's 34 people who didn't have a home, security, or even a continuing sense of the familiar, things we can all too often take for granted.  That's 34 people who often found themselves not having a warm, safe place to retreat to on days with the kind of nasty, raw weather we're experiencing today. This evening at 5:00 pm people from across the Upper Valley will gather at the Haven in White River Junction for a vigil to remember those of our homeless neighbors across New Hampshire and Vermont who died during the last year.  If you are able, please consider attending.  If you're not, please offer a prayer, for those who have passed away, for those who are without a home or shelter this day, and for the strength to work for a world in which all people have a place to call their own.

With Christmas almost here and talk of wintry weather tomorrow, you might have missed the significance of this day: it's the last day of fall.  Mind you, autumn already seems like history -- those golden, fiery leaves are long gone, now turned a pallid brown.  Yet, it is still autumn, even if the mercury and precipitation lead us to feel otherwise.  Likewise, it's still Advent, and will be right up until Christmas Eve.  There's still time to be present in this moment, even with family returning or trips about to be made; with last minute trips to 12A or purchases on the internet looming; with a sense that there's not enough time to do everything that needs to be done before Christmas.  Yes, there's still time.  Time for preparation, for anticipation, for making room for the Christchild in our lives.

Some of you responded to my invitation to share your favorite Advent hymns with our Reflection community (mine is O Come, O Come Emmanuel).  Here's what you offered: O Holy Night (Two people named this hymn) Deck the Halls Silent Night What Child is This Now, the liturgical sticklers among us might protest that these are not Advent hymns.  They're Christmas carols!  We'll have twelve days beginning on Christmas Eve to sing these beloved songs. Yet.  Yet. As I considered your messages, I found myself being reminded that a little flexibility is a good thing for our spiritual lives; too much rigidity and we're bound to shut out the Holy Spirit, which so often reaches us by surprising us.  It's not the form (in this case particular words) that prepares us for the arrival of the Christ child, but the process (here the act of consciously picking music that helps us ready ourselves for the nativity) that will enable us to be fully present as we join the angels

"Enjoy this day!" were the words with which a member of the congregation closed a message to me this morning.  But how am I supposed to do that on a dray, dank, cold, wet day?  Perhaps by being mindful of my blessings.  Perhaps by striving to appreciate this season of Advent, which now seems to be rapidly slipping away.  Perhaps by reveling in all of God's creation. Perhaps by remember that this day can be sacred time, if only I am ready to let it be. Enjoy this day?  I'd do my darndest!

Like many parents across the Upper Valley, my schedule was disrupted by the inclement weather and the delayed start to the school day it caused.  The special extra time with Chip was welcome but as a preacher preparing for five services in four days, a weather delay would have been far more welcome AFTER Christmas.  However, the timing of snow and ice is something over which I have no control.  What I can exert influence on is my response.  I can begrudge the intrusion into my routine or I can welcome a moment of grace.  This seems like the archetypal no-brainer choice but in our lives we can often be so caught up in what needs to be done and where we need to be and who we have to call and the errand or meeting that demands our attention that it can be difficult to recognize this.  Today, I was fortunate enough to see what had fallen into my lap.  I hope and pray that in these final days of Advent, and in the time that follows, we are all so blessed.

In this morning's reading from Luke 3, John the Baptist calls his audience a "brood of vipers," or children of snakes.  Wow.  This is tough stuff.  These do not seem to be words of encouragement. Yet after he lashes out at his audience, he offers them, and by extension us, a word of hope, a way forward.  Through repentance, through changing the way we live our lives, we can be something far better than the children of snakes; we can finally claim our identity as children of God. During this season of Advent we are called, we are invited, we are beseeched by our Creator to do just this.  Why?  Because God wants us to create space for him in our lives for he loves us.  It is with this in mind that John issues his challenge: are we ready to be loved?

Tomorrow is the third Sunday in Advent and there's ten days until Christmas Eve.  That which we've been anticipating - the arrival of the Christ child - is coming into focus.  It's no longer off in the far distance, but approaching us.  What have we done, what are we doing, what will we do as the holy baby's birth draws ever nearer?  As we consider these questions, we should recall that according to Luke's account of the Baptist's preaching (see Luke 3:7-18), John not only calls us to repentance, but to action.  With the clarity that comes from moving deeper into Advent, let us pray that we are guided by the Spirit to the way of Jesus and vocations of holy living.

This morning I had planned to write on the subject of chaos -- both good and bad, how it can present an opportunity for new activities and ways of living, how it can upend and disrupt our routines. But that was then.  Before the news of the school shootings in Connecticut.  There chaos, in its elemental, primal sense, erupted.  There chaos, the kind of chaos that the Bible alludes to, the chaos that threatens to tear apart the cosmos, made itself known.  We're still learning the details of what happened at the Sandy Hook Elementary School, but what we know is already horrific and heartbreaking. Once again, scores of innocents have been killed by gunfire.  Once again, the pointless, numbing debates that will change nothing will soon begin.  And once again, God, the God we know in Jesus Christ, the God who will make himself known in the person of a baby in a manger, grieves. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5.4

A confession: I've felt bad about the randomness with which these reflections are sent out each day.  Sometimes it's early in the AM, sometimes midday.  Once it's been late at night, another time before the sun even rose.  In a perfect world, I've thought, I'd send out a reflection at the same time each day, without fail.  When I shared this with a member of our Advent Reflection community, I was surprised, and pleasantly so, by this person's response.  I was told that it was nice to have these messages show up at different, even unpredictable times; it was serendipitous, a nice reminder during Advent to be watchful and ready for the unexpected. What a blessing this observation was, is!  With this in mind, let's all give thanks for the unanticipated during this season of anticipation.

You're most likely familiar with the old question, "If a tree falls in the woods and nobody's there to hear it, does it make a noise?" Well, today's version, by way of the parsonage, is, "If a Christmas tree falls in the living room and nobody's there to hear it, does it make a noise?"  The answer, of course, is: "Does it really matter?  We still had to deal with the situation." The timing was exquisite: I had a 7:30 meeting.  I'd made sure last night that everything was ready for the morning.  All was going according to plan and we were all on schedule to leave the house and embark on our respective days.  Then I went to water the tree and discovered it had other ideas. No relaxed progress towards the door.  No-sir-ee.  Instead, we had to right the tree, clean up the water, deal with the mess, and do it quickly.  This we did.  And as harried as we may have felt, we did so calmly and with perspective.  I can't help but

Early this morning I went to water the Christmas tree of some friends who are away.  As I drove down their street after leaving their house, I came to the intersection where, in the yard of one home, appeared to be every single inflatable holiday lawn decoration ever made.  Santa in a plane.  Santa in a helicopter (complete with spinning rotor).  Snoopy on his dog house.  Santa playing poker (North Pole hold 'em) with three of his reindeer.  It's quite possible there may have been a creche in there, but if there was, it wasn't given pride of place. Of course, it's easy to criticize the other guy.  We should be asking, "Where are our creches?"  Where, for us, is the holy family -- with its hopes, its fears, its anxieties, its anticipation -- during this season of Advent?  Are we making room for the Christ child?  Or when he arrives will there be too much stuff taking up space? What's on your spiritual lawn? What's on mine?  Advent is a good

What a gray, dreary day.  It's as if every cliche about Mondays was dropped off at the weather factory, where they were then lovingly (spitefully?) assembled to produce a cold, dank, dispiriting start to the week.  All I can say is "Bleh." Fortunately, I recalled the lectionary passages for the Second Sunday of Advent.  We didn't read this one from Baruch, but I found the word of hope it offers to be especially uplifting.  I hope you do, too. Baruch 5:1-9 Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.  Put on the robe of the righteousness that comes from God; put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting; for God will show your splendor everywhere under heaven.  For God will give you evermore the name, "Righteous Peace, Godly Glory."  Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height; look toward the east, and see your children gathered from west and east at the word o

It's the second Sunday of Advent.  Our service at FCC, and services at churches across the world, promise to be filled with wonderful music that anticipates the coming of the Christ child, that helps us make room for God in our lives, that enables us to be present in this moment of anticipation. What music helps you enter fully into the season?  Take a moment.  Think about it.  Then hum a few bars. P.S. If you're so inclined, let me know your choice and I'll share your responses (without attribution) with our little Advent 2012 reflection community.

Our dog Henley sheds. A lot. While I expect this in the summer, when it's hot, it's always a surprise when it happens in the colder months, even though it's nothing really novel.  Yellow labs shed, end of discussion. During this Advent season, it occurs to me that we'd all benefit from some shedding.  Imagine how much more we could live into the lives God intends for us if we were able to shed our anxieties, our resentments, our fears, our sins.  Well guess what?  We can.  It's our choice.  Then, when we do, we'll create a new, clean space in which God's grace and love can spread out. So let's shed!

Yesterday I walked by a toy store window that featured a display helpfully reporting the number of days remaining till Christmas.  Not so helpfully, I was informed that we had 28 days to go.  Now, one need not be a math major to know that on Dec. 6 that information was just plain wrong.  Why wasn't the information updated?  Why had it been left unchanged for a week?  All sorts of possibilities presented themselves: people were too busy, too harried, too distracted, too forgetful.  Honestly, I haven't a clue as to why the store was telling passers-by that there four weeks to go when in truth there were less than three. But I wondered: what if they were stuck?  What if the folks in that store couldn't imagine moving forward?  Routine can be comforting.  It can be a source of support and reassurance.  Staying where we are can help us feel grounded in turbulent times.  But doing so can also cause us to miss out on possibilities and opportunities, on growth and hea

Sometimes these reflections will come at the end of the day.  Not often, but sometimes.  The opportunity to reflect on where the day has gone, to ask how we have experienced God's grace is something that is especially worth doing in Advent.  As we prepare for what is to come, it is helpful to see where we have been, to consider how God may have been at work in our lives -- particularly if our first inclination is to think he hasn't been present.  It's in those moments when we don't expect to encounter God, when we don't see any indication of his activity, that he is often busiest trying to catch our attention, to call us to a new path. So take a moment.  Look back at the day (or, if you're reading this on Friday morning, look back at yesterday), and look for God.  I promise you'll find him.

I have to hand it to Macy's graphic designers.  The little girl they've created for their seasonal holiday campaign is adorable.  She's been popping up in different ad venues since Thanksgiving and there she was again this morning in today's Times, popping a letter to Santa into a mailbox. Now this wasn't your garden-variety mailbox, with a US Postal Service eagle on its side.  No, this one was emblazoned with the word "Believe" -- a word that also showed up in giant letters on the front of Macy's flagship store on Thanksgiving Day. But what should one believe in?  Santa?  The therapeutic benefits of shopping?  During Advent, our faith invites -- indeed calls -- us to believe in the promise, the hope, the redemptive power of the nativity, and to encourage others to do likewise. So, by all means, be inspired by Macy's ads, and follow their advice, even if not in the way they intend.  By all means: Believe!

"Rekindle the season" the Starbucks window display urged me.  "What does that mean?" I wondered.  "Seasons aren't flammable." The phrase struck me as being a prime example of marketing nothing-speak, that dark form of the language in which fine, intelligible words are strung together to produce vapid, meaningless slogans.  I wanted to be annoyed, put out, irked that commercialism was once again doing it's best to undermine the purpose of Advent. But as I thought about it, I meditated on the truth that God speaks to us in odd, surprising ways.  If he could talk through a burning bush, why not a storefront ad?  And if I looked at it that way, "rekindle the season" seemed like good advice, especially at the start of Advent.  We get to choose what the season will be like.  So, if we take some time to pray, to study scripture, to engage in service and fellowship, we can indeed rekindle the season.  And we won't have to buy an o

Monday: the traditional start of the new work or school week.  Classes, meetings, assignments, papers and more beckon.  But what if Monday, or to be specific, this Monday were also the beginning of something else, like a new season of spiritual disciplines? What would you adopt, what you would start doing today?  It need not be the kind of the activity that would require a one-way trip to the monastic life nor faith so heroic that one would be guaranteed sainthood.  No, it can be something far simpler, much easier, yet still of great meaning: A commitment to pray for five minutes at a set time each day. A pledge to meditate while walking. A decision to read a book that will feed or challenge your faith. You choose.  But do choose.  And then amaze yourself by what you can do and how, even if takes just five minutes a day, your new discipline can begin to reshape your life.

I write this early on a quiet Sunday morning.  Few cars, few people were out and about when I headed to the church, few are still to be see.  I know this will change, though.  As the day unfolds, people will head to worship, to work, to shop, to play, to do a thousand and one different things.  Empty roads will fill with cars and trucks and buses.  Quiet will give way to bustle. Advent in the 21st century can seem this way, too.  All too soon we'll be caught up in preparations for Christmas, year-end project deadlines, parties and potlucks, travel to places near and far.  But for now, at the beginning of this month, at the start of this liturgical season, even knowing what's ahead, we can take a moment to pause, to enjoy the stillness, to be alert for what God is about to unfold around us, for how God is going to envelop us. Advent is hear.  Be alert.  Be present.  Be quiet.  Be blessed.

Today, as we observe Memorial Day, we do so as both Americans and as Christians. As citizens of this republic, we note the sacrifice of those who gave their lives during our nation's wars.  Some of these conflicts were noble, some not, but in each instance, the men and women who died under arms did so wearing our country's uniform, serving on behalf of their fellow citizens, you and me included.  It is with gravitas and gratitude, then, that we recall what others have given for our nation.  As Christians, we lay aside our patriotic preferences and take a step back, offering a prayer for all who have died in war - soldiers, civilians, allies, enemies, all of whom are children of God. This day, then, let us recall the words from Isaiah, ... they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,    and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation,    neither shall they learn war any more. And let us also pray that the prophet's vision soon c

We've done all we can do. We've marked Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, his passion and his passing. Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday: all are history. Now, there is nothing left to do. Except wait. And pray. And be faithful. And keep vigil. And trust in God's promise of everlasting life. And see. For soon there will be something amazing, something wondrous, something transformative, something infused with boundless, healing love to see. You can count it.

It will soon be noon and we'll begin out three hour Good Friday afternoon vigil. Some of us will be able to sit, pray, and meditate for the entire time, others may just be able to snatch away a few moments. We may have he luxury of time today or we may be pressed to get things done. No matter. We will all be called to bear witness to the cross, each in his or her own way. We will all be given the chance to stand by our Lord in his time of trial, each in his or her own way. We will all be blessed by God's love, a love that will prevail, even at the darkest, direst of times.

It's hard to believe, but our Lenten journey has brought us to the Triduum, the three great days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. It will be easy at times to allow our thoughts to skip forward to Easter Sunday, with its celebrations, music, and joy. But if every there was a moment to be focused on the present, it is now. We must confront the darkness, the loss, and the despair that will tinge these next few days. Not because we are masochists, not because we revel in the depressing, but because by doing so we will be able to fully appreciate the scope and scale of the miracle that God works through Jesus for all of Creation.

Some have traveled to the far ends of the Earth seeking enlightment, scaling mountains, fording rivers, braving deserts. I only needed to go to Hanover for breakfast. This morning I pulled into a spot on Main Street, got out of my car, and noticed the vehicle to my left was sporting a bumper sticker that proclaimed: Grace happens. It sure does! And it's worth remembering, holding onto, trusting in, as we make our way into the heart of Holy Week. My you experience grace happening this day and every day.

The opportunities to rant today are manifold: the continued fallout from the Trayvon Martin shooting, the Maryland lottery winner who may be stiffing her co-workers of their share of a nine figure jackpot, a Newsweek cover story titled "Forget the church, follow Jesus," a Kentucky blowout in last night's NCAA championship that confirmed just how corrupt and cynical college sports have become. The list goes on. Then I learned that the National Gallery in London has launched a new on-line feature called "Easter at the Gallery" featuring images from their collection (http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/easter/). Fulminate or appreciate? Art wins out and I give thanks for this providential gift that helped me focus on something affirming rather than discouraging.

The Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Holy Week occupy a unique place on the liturgical calendar, falling between the epic events of Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday. These days have no name, carry no adjectives. Yet in their anonymity, they hold great power. In their silence, they call our attention to the storm that is about to break, giving us a chance to prepare for what will come. If you can, find some time these next three days to sit quietly and reflect on your Lenten journey to date - and where you think you might be heading. Ask God for illumination, grace, and forgiveness. And get ready for the harrowing, but ultimately life affirming adventure, that will soon begin.

Sunday ... Earlier today Chip asked if we knew why the day was called "Sunday." As five year olds are wont to do, he then proceeded to offer an answer: "It's called Sunday because Jesus is God's son." Cleric that I am, I can work with that! Seriously, though. While my son's etymological offering may be flawed, he's right that this day is the Son's Day. We've celebrated Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, with great excitement, joy -- and foreboding. We've envisioned the crowds and the cheering -- and images of what's to come. As we've done so, we've also hopefully had a chance to steel ourselves for the darkness that will gather, knowing that as bleak as things may seem, God's love will triumph in the end.

The oddest real estate sign went up across the street from the parsonage earlier this week. There's the familiar part advertising the agency and agent. But suspended beneath wasn't the customary "House for Sale" or "Apartment for Rent" -- instead, there was a teaser that announced, "Coming Soon." What's coming soon? A sale of the house? New condos? Jesus? Well, I don't know about the first two, and the real estate people may not have been thinking about the third, but Jesus is indeed coming. Tomorrow we'll recount the way he rode into Jerusalem to the acclaim of the crowd, a crowd that completely misunderstood just what the newly acclaimed king was all about (sort of the way we do, too, all too often). But despite the obtuseness of the citizenry, and their later abandonment of him, Jesus forged ahead, right through to the cross. We'll remember these events in the coming days. And as we moved deeper into Holy Week,

The big yet not consequential news today is the half billion dollar lottery jackpot that has millions of people rushing out to the store to buy a ticket or two or ten in the hope, however slim, that they might win a fortune. For the interested, one can pick up a ticket in one of 42 states or the District of Columbia for a 1 in 176,000,000 chance at winning (according to NPR a math professor has calculated that the odds of being struck by lightning are fifty times greater). So let's say one plays. And one wins. Life would be different, no? No more financial worries. No more bills to pay. Yet there'd still be stress and anxiety and cause for concern: Who to help. What to do about those pesky relations seeking a handout or a new house. Choosing an investment advisor. Setting priorities. Avoiding fights with friends and family. Life might be more materially comfortable, but it would still have the room for plenty of pain, disappointment, and anomie. Which bri

These past weeks we've spent time talking about repentance and letting go, of dropping grudges and opening our hearts. Perhaps we've made some progress in doing so. Let's find out. Please join me this evening in taking a few minutes to sit down in a quiet place, think of someone who we know who is annoying us or making us angry, and then pray. Pray for that person. Not that he or she will see things our way, or come around, or stop being a twit or jerk or roadblock to whatever it is we want to get done or have our way. Just pray for that person. Pray for his or health, well-being, and spiritual happiness. Pray without reservation; without ifs, ands, or buts. Pray with joy.

Visitors to my church study over recent months may have noticed the two tall, ever-growing stacks of books on the coffee table. To me, the table was just another surface on which I could new acquisitions until I figured out how and where to shelve them (oddly enough, that figuring out never seems to occur). A couple of weeks back, a fresh perspective in the person of Rachel walked into my office, took a look at the tower, and suggested that I might want to do something if I wanted people to feel welcome to visit. After all, why have a coffee table if there's no where to put coffee. She was, of course, right. So I began to look at the stacks each day. Staring didn't do much, but it gave me something to mull over. Today, finally, I shuffled the books. And in doing so, I began to move others around. Which ultimately led to me to the conclusion that some would have to go. If you know me, letting go of a book isn't an easy thing for me to do. Still, it had to

Lent is a time for reflection, contemplation, and introspection. And this is all for the good. But as we look into our hearts, we must never forget our call as Christians to do. Jesus makes clear that our vocation is to be one of active service, a way of live involved in helping the poor, the oppressed, the forgotten, the bereaved. Now is the time for us to identify and name those things and attitudes that draw us away from a life grounded in the Gospel and then ask where and when we might better serve God. So, let's not ask that others take care of the world's problems, but that we be inspired to tackle them; let's pass on bemoaning what's gone wrong, and seek inspiration to make things right; let's pray that our reflection is transformed into action.

Something eating at you? Ticked off with somebody? Holding a grudge? Finding it easier to bottle things up inside or talk to other people than the guy or gal who's got your goat? If your answer to any of these questions is "yes" then Lent is the season for you! We talk about this being a time for renewal, reflection, and repentance. But if we are to do these things, we also need to release, we need to let go of the attitudes, certainties, anger, frustrations, animus, you get the picture, that we sometimes lovingly embrace and other times don't even recognize if we are to make space in our heart for the Holy Spirit to work. Admittedly, letting go may not be easy. But consider the alternative: when we don't let go of the things that preclude God's love from inhabiting our lives, we'll find that some pretty dark forces won't let go of us.

It's a gray, rainy, cool morning. After last week's weather, it seems like a veritable cold snap. Yet anyone with a passing familiarity with New England weather knows that today's conditions are normal, even a bit clement, for this time of year. How we see and experience the weather is, of course, a matter of perspective. We can think wistfully of the glory days of last week, grouse at the chill with which we begin the week. Or we can give thanks for some desperately needed precipitation, and anticipate the warmer weather that we know will surely come in the weeks ahead. Perspective, we know, is part of what Lent helps us achieve. Taking a step back, taking stock, allows us to see with fresh eyes our condition, our relationships, our walk with God. May this rainy day be one in which each of us is granted a new way of seeing God's Creation, God's work in the world, and God's hopes and desires for each of us.

Tomorrow is the fifth Sunday of Lent. With it, the last full regular week of this liturgical season formally begins. But for me, today is in many ways the end of "ordinary time" in Lent. With tomorrow, Palm Sunday and Holy Week will begin to emerge over the horizon. The time of wandering in the spiritual desert will begin to come to a close. That's unfortunate in a way for we can begin to make prematurely the transition out of Lent. Instead, we should work to be ever present in this moment of the church year. For if every there is a time when we need to reflect, renew, and repent, it is now.

As the proverbial mercury once again heads off into record setting territory, people across the region are preparing for another glorious day. People will walk, bike, run, play hooky. After all, an 80 degree in March is an unalloyed blessing to be enjoyed, right? Well, yes, but there's a catch. What to some is an unalloyed blessing is to others a source of worry, a reminder of the exceedingly clement winter we've just experienced. One person's delight in the absence of snow and ice feeds another's concerns about reservoirs running dry, forests becoming susceptible to fire, or a winter sports business that fell on hard times. Every coin, goes the old cliche, has two sides. What comes up, must come down. If I win, you lose. There is no free lunch. Except when we're talking about God's grace. When God shares God's grace with you, it's not at my expense. When I experience God's grace, there isn't any less for you. Lent is a time

I'm looking out my window at the kind of sky and cloud that evoke thoughts of Maxfield Parrish, Frank Benson and Thomas Eakins: grand and glorious, luminous, even. But the cloud I see also gives rise to images of God. Among the names ascribed to God by the ancients was Yahweh. We still aren't sure how to translate or, to be honest, even pronounce, this name, but we know it harks back to the idea of the divinity as a Storm God, mighty in battle, manifested in thunderheads and strong winds. It's a vision of power. And it's a vision that is radically transformed when seen through Jesus, the lens through which we can see power in a new way: instead of compelling force, it becomes enabling possibility; instead of a tool of aggrandizement, it is meant to be used in service; instead of a means for bulllying and oppression, it offers room for humility and sharing. During Lent, we are invited to wander off into the desert to gain a new perspective on things, to

I suspect that each of us has been blessed with at least one figure - a parent, friend, pastor, teacher - who has influenced our faith, perhaps by offering a model of Christian living, maybe by encouraging us to ask questions, or through a life of service to the Gospel and God's people. Memories of these saints, for that is what they are, can help us when we find ourselves in the desert places of our own spiritual journeys. It seems especially right to think of these mentors in faith during this season of lenten pilgrimage. I hope you will join me today in thinking of, and giving thanks to God for, the special people who have served as guides, exemplars, and beacons to and in the Christian life.

Step outside today and it's easy to forget that, at least as far as the calendar is concerned, it's still winter. The mercury in our thermometers (or digits on our LCD displays), the buds on the trees, the crocuses pushing through the earth, all may tell us otherwise. Spring, they proclaim! Spring is here! Yet the calendar says otherwise. Until tomorrow morning, it will remain winter. And, deep in the recesses of our hard-bitten New England souls, we know that even when we've formally turned the page and officially begun spring, a nor'easter could still come rumbling through the region, depositing a foot of most unwelcome snow. So, we have a choice: embrace the joy and possibility of spring, knowing there's a possibility it will be snatched away for us. Or live in fear of weather that may happen and refuse to embrace our meteorological good fortune. As we contemplate the life of Christian faith, we find ourselves presented with a similar choice:

I've noted elsewhere that John 3:17 receives nothing like its due, especially when compared with John 3:16, the verse so familiar to sports fans. While the latter's message that God gave his only son is a powerful assertion about the depths of God's love, the former tells us something equally powerful, and even more surprising given the way our world works: Jesus sent Jesus to save, not condemn, the world. Think about that. God, the omnipotent, omniscient creator of the universe, knowing full well what the people he has fashioned are going to do to his son, nonetheless sends him anyway and with the mission of saving those very same people. Amazing. Just think about it. Simply amazing. No wonder we need Lent! We need this extended period of time to repent, to reflect if we're going to have any chance of even beginning to grasp what Easter is all about. One can critical about signs like the John 3:16 that appears in the stands of football and other game

Saturday is the day of the Jewish Sabbath. For a host of reasons -- theological, liturgical, and sociological -- we Christians moved our Sabbath to Sunday. But there's something appealing about a Saturday Sabbath. Having the day of rest come at the end of the week's labors suggests that we should be pacing ourselves, restoring ourselves, refreshing ourselves. It's a day to take stock (remember, God surveyed God's handiwork after six days of Creation). Lent, of course, is also a time to take stock. But after we've done that, what's next? Do we rest on our laurels (or lose ourselves in despair)? Or do we keep moving forward? I believe the answer is the latter -- the Christian life, after all, is a pilgrimage, a path into the life God wishes for each of us. Sabbath time -- whether it's on a Saturday or Sunday -- helps us be ready to embark on the next phase of our journey into faith.

Surgical procedures may not be fun, but there's a certain buzz about the whole thing (at least when it's planned and doesn't involve something of a life-threatening nature!). There's the lead up, the hubbub at the hospital, the people fluttering about being solicitous. Then there's the procedure, the discharge, and the sense of having completed whatever needs to be done. And then -- recovery. Which isn't completed overnight but really does take time. Everybody told me this, but now I'm living it. And, to be frank, the novelty has worn off. I'm done. Ready to be 100%. Raring to go. Except, if I'm honest, I'm really not. Lent can be a lot like this. There was the build up, the anticipation. Then Ash Wednesday and settling into disciplines. But the novelty has worn off. There's still more than two weeks until Palm Sunday. I feel like the kid in the liturgical car who has one question to ask: are we there yet? The answe

... the Ides of March. You knew it was coming. Now, while we may not need to be on guard for murderous political intrigue, there's much for us to be watching for during this season of renewal and repentance. We need to beware temptations, attractions, and distractions calling us away from the way of Jesus. The siren song of the easy answer, the indulgence, the cop-out, the cynical ways of the world all lead us into sin. Fortunately, our faith gives us resources with which to be alert, to look for those signs of the things that can turn us away from God. Prayer. Meditation. Scripture. The Church. An openness to the Holy Spirit. The list goes on. So beware. And be prepared. Not only for sin -- but for the opportunity to engage with God on the Ides of March and all the days beyond.

Since arriving in the Upper Valley two years ago to serve as First Congregational's pastor, I've visited DHMC quite a few times. Most of the time, it's been to see a member of the congregation. Today, it was take advantage of the Hitch's medical services (as most of you know, I had a "hernia repair" -- this makes me feel like a car, something the 8 year old boy in me thinks is just fine). As you might imagine, the experience of registering, donning hospital fashions, riding on a gurney and in a wheelchair differs from signing into the clergy book and roaming at will. The sense of autonomy and freedom I normally have was replaced by one of dependence. On top of this, though, were additional feelings I was able to enjoy: trust, reliance, confidence. While I wasn't in charge, I knew I was in good hands. This, of course is what we're supposed to experience when we turn our lives over to God. So, in addition to a successful procedure, I als

Mondays are often filled with meetings and yesterday was no exception. Two in which I participated yesterday were prime examples of why meetings can be so valuable and even enriching. "How's this so?" some of you may ask. Here's how: both meetings were grace-filled reminders that reflection need not be a solitary exercise but one that takes on powerful dimensions when done with or in the company of others. And so, I invite you to this morning to take a moment today to think of others who have helped you engage in some spiritual or theological reflection; then offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessing they have shared with you!

We've been looking at Mark during the Forum hour this Lent. One of the key themes of this Gospel is that of the "Suffering Messiah". Israel had long awaited a messiah, the anointed deliverer, to free them from their oppressors. We know that their longing was fulfilled, but just not in the way expected. The oppression that was overthrown was not that of Roman rule and corrupt clergy but sin, alienation, and death itself. Some were excited, others disappointed, many just plain confused. How could Jesus claim to be King if he could be defeated by a second-rate political hack like Pilate? How could he claim to save us when he couldn't save himself from the machinations of the priests? How is it that he defeated death when he was executed? We know the answers -- we've heard the stories, read Scripture -- God works in ways that defy our understanding, God operates at a deeper level than the one we focus on -- yet we still find ourselves perplexed, co

An easy, but hopefully rewarding, exercise to begin the third week of Lent: This morning's reading from the Psalter (Psalm 19) tells us that "the ordinances of the LORD are true and righteous altogether ... sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb." Do you have a favorite food or drink? If so, go enjoy some -- and while you do so, reflect on the goodness of God's word and how in Jesus the Good News became tangible for us. Then, if possible, share some of what you've enjoyed with someone else.

Tonight's not just the end of the second week of Lent; it's also the last day of Standard Time. Tomorrow, we'll have set our clocks ahead, losing an hour of sleep and gaining an hour of daylight at day's end. Do you feel like you're about to change? To be transformed? That your world will be different? Or will everything be the same, despite the shift? Perhaps a bit of both? At this point in Lent, I feel a bit of both. I've had a chance to develop my seasonal routine, to work on my disciplines, to engage in some thought and reflection. Yet the normal distractions of everyday life, the personal foibles and failings, remain. Happily, I go to sleep tonight knowing that tomorrow I'll get another shot at getting the balance right, that I'll have another opportunity to work on renewal and a new beginning in the Spirit. And it doesn't even matter if I forget to set my clocks forward ...

What if I told you TGIF stood for "Thank God I'm Fasting!"? Something tells me that your enthusiams might, just might, not be as great as it would be for "Thanks God it's Friday!" But why? Why shouldn't we, why aren't we, excited about adopting spiritual disiciplines? What is it that gives us pause, that keeps us from taking that next step on our spiritual pilgrimages? Most of the time and with most people, I don't think it's laziness, or even a lack of commitment. Instead, I think it's fear. A fear that we may not make the grade, that our efforts will be lacking, that we can't be as holy as the other guy or gal. Nonsense. Spiritual disciplines aren't a competitive activity. God doesn't rank us against one another. Rather, God only asks us to look into our hearts, ask what we can do, and then do our best, whether we're praying, serving, meditating, or even fasting.

Today it was 60 degrees. Yet there's snow on the ground. And leaves from last fall on some of the trees. Can anybody tell me what season it is? Sure, the calendar says it's still winter but the senses say otherwise (and seemingly in more than one way!). It's enough to leave one feeling disoriented and confused. Which makes this the perfect weather for Lent. If we're going to repent and renew our lives, we need to let go of the familiar, the excuses, the rationalizations that so often enable us to avoid any kind of transformation. A little bit of disorientation, which can knock us off kilter, can help us wake up to the possibilities of a new engagement with God and God's world. So, let's not worry about the weather or Lent throwing us off stride--God will be there to steady us, help us make sense of what's going on, and be with us as we find our way forward.

During this season of introspection, when we seek to amend our behavior, we might think we should be focusing remembering all the things we've done, all the times we've fallen short. While recalling our shortcomings and failings is something we must do if we're to reorient our lives, we should also make an effort to remember things that bring us joy and happiness. I was reminded of that this morning when the carpool came for Chip. I noticed that one of the riders was reading Calvin and Hobbes, which immediately triggered all sorts of happy memories of favorite strips. Engaging such memories can be a way of reminding ourselves of how good life can be, indeed of what the Kingdom of God is all about -- full, rich life. So join me in taking a walk down memory lane. For by going back to the past we may find our way into God's future.

Politicians do it. Celebrities do it. For all I know, bees do it. No, not that. Issue non-apology apologies. You know: "If any offense has been caused, I most sincerely apologize" or "I've been serving the community for thirty years, doing amazing things, and in this one instance I might possibly, conceivably, in the opinion of overly sensitive people used an unfortunate verbal formulation that might have been construed as a personal attack which, of course, was never, ever my intent. If this is indeed the case, I apologize." Saying sorry is often a difficult thing to do. Yet acknowledging that we've wronged others is part of repentance. So, a spiritual exercise for today. Think of someone you've wronged; it doesn't matter how or when. Then find them, in person or on the phone but in some way that involves actual contact, and apologize. Doing so may make you feel uncomfortable, but it will clear some space in your heart and soul f

Have you ever heard anyone say "Thank God it's Monday!" I didn't think so. Monday is the Rodney Dangerfield of the days of the week. The back to work day, it gets no respect. To many, it's an inconvenience, a nuisance, something to be endured, gotten out of the way. Sometimes, Lent is tread that way, too. And that's a shame. The idea that we should get through Lent so we can enjoy Easter is a reflection, in part, of our society's addiction to speed, to moving on, to enjoyment without commitment. Like Advent, Lent is a season of preparation, a time to slow down. To savor the moment and it's possibilities. So let's take a fresh look at Monday, the day of new beginnings, the moment of possibility for the week ahead. Then let's say, "Thank God it's Monday (and Lent)!"

I just received an email from the iTunes bookstore alerting me to the availability of, among other things, Marvel graphic novels. Now, I may be showing my age, but let's get a few things straight: First, they're comic books, not graphic novels (just like the Chevy or VW I might by with 20,000 miles is still a used car, not a "pre-owned vehicle.") Second, they're meant to be printed on paper, saved in boxes, and then tossed out by Mom so we can discover they're now worth thousands of dollars; they're not supposed to be a bunch of data appearing on my iPad or computer screen. Third, just because change is inevitable doesn't mean I can't grouse. Okay, perhaps my first and second rants have little do with Lent but the third one strikes to the core. Lent is all about change. Change in our lives, change in our habits, change in our attitudes, change in our hearts. It's not always easy to change, especially when that change involves repen

As I write this, I can look out my window and see the neighborhood bathed by gentle late-afternoon sunlight. Though there's still a picturesque snow cover on the ground, a fair amount has melted this day. What I see now, would would not have inferred from the weather this morning, when there was cloud cover and, in the early hours, cold-weather precipitation. March 3 has been a mild but effective example of Twain's old adage that if one doesn't like the weather in New England, one need only wait a minute for it will change. Our emotions in Lent should be like this. As we examine our hearts, seeking renewal and pursuing repentance, we should open ourselves up to the full range of our feelings, allowing the Spirit to enter in and work its will within us. The stereotype of Lent as a time to be dour is unfortunate if only because it implies that amending our lives and turning back to God should be marked by sadness. While there may indeed be sadness as we ack

Galatians 5.16-end "Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God "By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by th

As an adult with a full schedule of meetings to attend, services to plan, and things to do, a late-winter school-closing storm is not welcome. Work has to be juggled, meetings adjusted, not to mention the cars that have to be cleared and driveways shoveled. Talk about inconvenience! But, not surprisingly, a child looks at a late-winter school-closing storm very differently. "It's a snow day!" Chip exults at 5:45 am (yes, it's actually possible to exult that early in the morning). Visions of snowmen, sledding, hot cocoa and romping in the snow quickly came into focus. I don't think I'm offer any great revelation by noting that one of these perspectives is filled with a bit more joy than the other. Play or fret. Wonder or anxiety. Inconvenience or serendipity. It's all about perspective. And perspective is one of the things Lent is meant to help us develop. We have these forty days and forty nights to step back and look anew at our lives and

Lent is a great time to practice the spiritual discipline of prayer. Today, I offer a challenge (one I'm planning on taking up): at that moment when the day seems like it might be spiraling out of control, getting away from you, take a moment to pray for calm, for a sense of being grounded in God's love. Or, at that moment when everything seems perfect, when all is as it should be, pray for illumination, for the ability to see what you're missing.

Timing, we are told, is everything. The early bird catches the worm. A stitch in time saves nine. These hoary maxims all share the the idea that we're in control of the clock. Yet you and I know that, though we do are best, there are events that are often beyond our control. An earlier bird might find the worm first. The worm may decide to go elsewhere. The bird might not even like worms! All of which invites us into the realm of humility, something we need if we're to truly repent and renew ourselves. We need to admit that we're not in charge, that even if we believe we're in control, we're often actually succumbing to an illusion. I think of those times when a great coach like Bill Belichek, expert at running out the clock at the end of the game, watches his carefully crafted game plan, the jealously protected lead, come undone because of an offside player or a fumble. All of a sudden, everything is up in the air. The playbook has to be tos

Yesterday, the Gospel lesson told of Jesus' sojourn in the wilderness. During this time, he prayed, fought off temptation, and prepared himself for doing the work God called him to do. If you were driven into the wilderness, what would you do? Now, I can't speak for you, but I wonder whether I'd have the presence of mind, the focus to concentrate on my spiritual life. Given that I've never really been the outdoors type, I suspect that I'd be preoccupied with my discomfort, wondering where my next meal was coming from, annoyed by the lack of creature comforts, and, more than ready to get back to civilization. Yet, despite all this, I also suspect that God would be working creatively to get my attention, ready to help me overcome distractions, committed to my renewal. I'd just need to start paying attention to the things that truly mattered. These forty days of Lent are our time to test drive living in the wilderness; they afford us a chance to

No sooner has Jesus received heavenly approbation in this morning's lectionary reading (Mark 1:9-15) than he's sent out -- "driven" according to the NRSV -- into the wilderness. What gives? Why is Jesus sent out to the middle of nowhere to be tempted? He's God's beloved, the one with whom God's well pleased. Why not treat him a little more, well, gently? Let him bask in the approval, perhaps? Because being chosen by God isn't meant to be a free pass. It means being invested with the confidence of the Creator, of knowing that God believes one is able to serve God's people. And that takes preparation. And alertness. And prayer. Jesus, like Israel before him, reminds us that being God's chosen can be a call to sacrifice, to setting aside our needs for those of others, to surrendering our priorities for those of God. Doing that isn't always easy. It requires time, it requires patience, it requires prayer -- sometimes 40

7:59 pm: I'd really planned to write and distribute a message early this morning. But then I biked. And we had breakfast. And I went to the Prepared to Serve conference and gave a presentation. Then we ran errands. And went to dinner. And did this, that, and the other thing. But here I am, finally, writing something. Better late than never, right? Well, if the topic is repentance, the answer is definitely yes. God intentionally gives us lots of time to reform and amend our behavior because God knows we are good -- very, very good -- at deviating from the plan, falling behind schedule, getting distracted, forgetting what it was we were doing, finding a reason to do anything other than what we need to do. This gift is a grace note, an accommodation, a sign of just how much God wants us to get things right with God and one another. So, let's give thanks for the time God gives us, as symbolized by the forty days and forty nights of Lent, to look inward, take

An alert reader informed me that I'd thrown her for a little bit of a loop by dating yesterday's email post 2/27. The 27th, of course, is this coming Monday. Beyond my ever present need to pay more attention to detail, this faux pas offers another lesson: the need for humility as we enter into Lent. It's easy to feel good about our practices and disciplines, to feel, dare I say it, holier than thou. But the whole purpose of these exercises is to recognize we're far from holier than thou - or as holy as we might be. While we aren't seeking to tear ourselves down, we should seek to acknowledge our finitude and limitations. And, having done that, rejoice that the One who created the universe desires to be in relationship with us, despite our shortcomings, our failings, our crankiness, even our trouble keeping straight the date.

This morning the parsonage was preternaturally quiet as the human alarm clock known as Chip is away on a trip with his grandparents. While the silence and calm were welcome, as was the ability to sleep past 6 am, it was jarring, unusual, disorienting. So, too, the absence of my morning cup of Joe, which, as is my custom, I've given up for Lent. Which means my Lent is getting off to a good start. This is supposed to be a time of reflection and penitence. The routines we adopt, the patterns we fall into, make it difficult to do this. When we're comfortable, able to operate on auto-pilot, take things for granted, we're unable to step back and take stock of what's going on in our faith lives. Disruptions to the familiar ease our entry into Lent (and help us prepare for the Great Disruption known as the Resurrection). So, as odd as it may sounds, I hope something throws you off your stride today, that you experience a little bit of spiritual disorientation,

A confession: I'm not ready for Lent, not in the slightest. Don't get me wrong. My message for tonight's service is done, the bulletins have been printed, the ashes are ready to be mixed. All manner of activities have been planned and scheduled for the weeks to come. Spiritually, though, I'm not there yet. I feel like I've shown up at the train station just in time to watch the 5:25 pull away (I've done this. More than once. Talk about deflating.) I should have ended that last meeting sooner; I should have left a few minutes earlier; I should have ... You get the picture. Fortunately, whenever I found myself stewing as I watched the commuter rail pull out of Porter Square Station, I was able to remind myself that in ten minutes or so another train would come along. The same is true of Lent. Yes, today's Ash Wednesday, and, yes, the season of Lent begins today, ready or not. But this is a season of preparation, one that lasts forty da

Earlier this week Facebook filed for a $5 billion IPO. That's a lot of money, but Facebook and its money people believe there's a boat load of money - multiples of $5 billion to be exact - to be made through social media. Given the number of people who use Facebook and the time spent there, I suspect they're right. Like hundreds of millions of others, I've got an FB account. It's been a nice way to stay in touch with some old friends who live far away. It's also been useful to me in my ministry. But something about this week's IPO has me on edge. Relationships are fundamental to who we are as humans; for Christians, relationship is at the heart of the Trinity. Facebook, and the web in general, are supposed to help us come together yet all too often they do the opposite. Who amongst us hasn't experienced all the glories of passive aggression via Email? On social media sites, people can and do post comments they'd never share face to face. And