The Mainline Minister

"Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!" So said the heavenly host that joined the angel who shared the news of Jesus' birth with the shepherds.  On this Christmas, let us join with these celestial citizens and with all Creation in praising the One who came to live with us that we might live anew.  Gloria!

So, when exactly, does the last day of Advent end and Christmas Eve begin?  At our church, one could argue 5:00 pm, when the Children's Pageant service begins.  But maybe it will be at 10:00 am, when I begin streaming the Lessons and Carols Service from King's Chapel in Cambridge, England.  Marking out a hard and fast delineation isn't as easy at it seems; one just seems to morph into the other.  That seems especially appropriate on this day when the Kingdom of God manifests itself in our lived reality in the person of an infant.  One realm doesn't displace the other.  Instead, the holy permeates the mundane, subtly yet powerfully recasting everything.  The border between Advent and Christmas is porous, one leading seamlessly into the other.  So, perhaps we shouldn't ask when Christmas Eve begins but how it will unfold, what it will change, and how we will respond. 

We're almost there.  But where is there?  Is it the end or the beginning?  Is it a destination or a way station?  How we experience the conclusion of Advent informs how we'll experience Christmas.  How has this season of watching and waiting, preparing and praying, been for you?  Are you exhausted or exhilarated? Anxious or amped up?  Are you ready to stumble across the finish line or do you have a second wind that will carry you through to Epiphany and beyond? On this last ordinary day of Advent I invite you to join me in reflecting and praying on these questions.  Doing so, I believe, will ground us as we enter into the miracle of Christmas.

With the winter solstice now behind us, the days will grown longer, the nights shorter.  It's a timely seasonal corner for us to have turned for with the imminent birth of Jesus, all of Creation will head in a new, welcome direction, one in which the light prevails over darkness.  Sometimes, though, it's hard to see that anything is different.  In the coming weeks, the sun will still set early, and there will be times when winter's hold on us will seem unshakeable.  So too in the life of faith, there may be moments when we wonder if hope has any chance against despair, if love can every possibly triumph over hate.  Don't lose heart!  For Christmas will come this week, spring will return in due course, life will be renewed - and the loving, gracious, reconciling God who comes as an infant will triumph.  Will light will overcome darkness? You can count on it - for we've turned the corner!

Today is the winter solstice and, appropriately enough, snow is falling as I type these words.  For many, this is a season of great joy, a time for merriment and rejoicing, partying and song.  And why not?  The whole reason for the Yuletide season is to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.  But as we do so, we should remember that he has blessed those who mourn, that he has cast his lot with the broken and the brokenhearted.  It's not just "okay" to feel blue; it can be faithful.  So on this day of the longest night, if you feel down, if you have an ache in your heart that won't abate, hold fast to God and God's love.  For this is the reason He is coming: to heal us, to make us whole again, to save us.

I'm still trying to come to grips with the fact that it wasn't until about 11:30 this morning that I noticed the sky was blue and the sun was shining; it's as if the clouds and gray skies had been with us so long that I'd lost the ability to recognize anything different.  Something like this can happen with Jesus.  Even after he arrives, we can be so conditioned to life without him that we go on as if nothing has changed.  But of course with his arrival, everything changes.   Advent affords us the opportunity to prepare ourselves for the great disruption that comes with the Christ child; it provides us the space we need to ready ourselves to see that the clouds have parted and the brilliant light of God's love is shining bright upon us, bathing us in our maker's life-giving grace.

On this last Friday of Advent before Christmas I invite you to join me in a devotional exercise.  Think of three people - one with whom you're close, one from whom you're estranged or with whom you're angry, and someone you've never met - and pray for them.

Astute readers of these reflections noticed a typo in yesterday's offering - I referred to manifestations of angles, rather than angels.  But that got me to thinking of the geometry of Advent.  You may remember that there are different kinds of angles.  Some are obtuse, others acute.  We tend to think of ourselves as being the latter - perceptive, discerning, wise.  But Advent encourages humility.  As we watch and wait, we would do well to think of ourselves as being a bit obtuse, at least spiritually.  By doing so, we acknowledge that we need to be that much more determined, that much more focused, if we are to be receptive to the Spirit of the Lord, which bids us to make ready for the Christ child this season.  So take a moment, do the math, and pray.  With God on our side, everything will add up in the end.

Earlier this morning I sat in the sanctuary.  I could hear the rain falling on the roof and the sounds of cars cruising on slickened roads by the church.  There I was, surrounded by silence, yet acutely aware of the world around me.  At once I felt alone, apart from everything, and yet intimately part of the wider world.  It was a still moment, the kind that I seek out, but never experience unless I relinquish control of the moment and let the Holy Spirit guide me.  There were theophanies, no manifestations of angles.  Just the children's nativity set before me with all it represents and a feeling that, if only for a moment, I had actually slowed down, been quiet, and lived into the promise and call of Advent.

Can you believe it?  Christmas is in just nine days.  Odds are, Joseph and Mary are packing their bags, getting ready to hit the road for Bethlehem for the census.  Do you think they were organized?  Or did they rush about, trying to get everything in order at the last minute?  They were people, just like you and me, who enjoyed or loathed travel, who were homebodies or adventurers, who lived, laughed, cried, yelled, loved.  Take a moment and imagine Mary and Joseph as they prepare for their journey.  Then offer a prayer for travelers, reluctant and enthusiastic alike, everywhere.

Today begins the last full work week of Advent.  Perhaps you have a to-do list at home or the office.  As you think of what needs to be done in the coming days you might consider an Advent to-do list.  Keep it simple: pray, rest, reflect.  Imagine how good you'll feel as you check off each of these items!

Day of rest?  Are you kidding?  With worship, caroling, plays, tree trimming, house cleaning, and who-knows-what-elsing that needs to be done? Rest?  When?  Maybe after Christmas? Perhaps.  But maybe that's okay, for one can observe sabbath without resting - here's how: recall that on the seventh day, when God rested from his creative labors, he blessed and hallowed his work.  We, too, in all our busyness and toing and froing can seek to make holy our various endeavors.  We can take a moment to pray, to give thanks, to reflect.  And in doing this, we will not only recognize in the seemingly mundane the wondrously holy, we will re-examine our priorities and find time to rest. Because the odds are that the who-knows-what-elsing that needs to be done can be done tomorrow.

I really meant to send this out this morning at about 7:30.  But that was then and this is now - about 2:30 in the afternoon.  One thing after another arose today.  Bim bam boom.  More than half the day gone, just like that, in the blink of an eye.  And not just half a day - but half of Advent, too!  It seems like we only just began this seasonal journey but now we're beginning to close in on Christmas.  Perspectives, priorities are changing.  Can you feel it?  What does it mean for you spiritually?  Are you comforted or unnerved - or both?  Questions to ponder and pray upon this Advent Saturday afternoon ...

The New York Times carried a story this morning about Pope Francis' observation to a distraught child who wondered if there was a place for heaven for his deceased dog.  Not surprisingly, the Pontiff who took the name of the patron saint of animals offered assurance that there was indeed a place in paradise for pets. Francis' ruminations were not meant to be a doctrinal pronunciation but a pastoral word.  Still, his comments energized the long-running debate about whether animals have souls.  Ultimately, we don't know.  But given we're in a season preparing for the arrival of the Almighty in the form a mewling infant, I wouldn't put it past God to bless creatures others than humans with a soul.  After all, dogs and cats, lions and tigers and bears (oh my!), and all sorts of creatures great and small, cute and cuddly, ugly and ornery, are all fashioned by the hand of God, and thus good, blessed beings to be treasured, celebrated, and cared for.

It's hard to believe, but we're almost halfway through Advent.  How are your preparations coming?  How is the watching and waiting going?  Are you feeling ready for Christmas?  What about the arrival of the Christ child?  If you're like me, the answer to all of these questions is less than satisfactory.  You're feeling rushed, hurried, as if time is running away from you.  It's enough to make one want to give up in frustration.   But I wont', I don't, I can't.  There's still time.  Maybe I'll fail to do all that needs to be done but I can still try.  God, after all, isn't looking for perfect people but willing pilgrims.  I'll never be the former but I know that I can try to be the latter.

This is the kind of day I suspect Rosetti had in mind when writing that famous carol.  It's gray, wet, cold.  The streets are filled with slush and ice.  Drear comes to mind.  My spirit sags, there is no song in my heart.  Bleak, indeed. Yet it is into the midst of this gloom that the light of Christ will break forth, warming and illuminating all.  That, at least, is the promise.  For the hope to be fulfilled, the vision become reality, we must prepare through prayer, devotion, reflection.  We must will aside the shadows, make room for the child to be present.  Sometimes, that can seem too hard to do and muddling on with our unsatisfactory circumstances appears to be the lest difficult way forward.  Don't be fooled.  The clouds can part, the sun may shine.  Just give God some time.  Take a moment.  Pray.  And give thanks.

I'm trying to do what needs to be done at the church quickly so I can take my sermon reading home to the parsonage before the weather turns nasty.  I'm rushing, I'm busy, I'm focused.  The door bell rings.  Who are these people?  I don't recognize their vehicle in the parking lot.  I don't have time to this.  Don't they know there's a no'easter coming?  The Southern telemarketer who called me earlier did.  Don't they? I go to open the door.  Relief is expressed.  They need gas.  I invite them in.  I get a card.  We chit chat.  I surprise the person needing assistance when I tell I her, no, there aren't forms to fill out.  It's why were here, to help our neighbors.  We exchange some more pleasantries.  The person says thanks and leaves. My time is mine again.  And I thank God for reminding me that while I was worried about getting done what needed to be done at the church I was in the m...

They say it's darkest before the dawn and, given the uncivilized hour at which I'm awake so I can catch the early bus to Boston, I have no reason to demur.  It is dark outside.  So dark it's hard to wonder if the light will ever shine again - which is a remarkable thing to imagine as sunrise is not too far off. During Advent, as we wait for the arrival of the Christ child, we may have moments when we wonder when, indeed if, he will ever arrive.  Perhaps we will then feel guilty.  Don't.  Just keep waiting.  For as surely as the sun will rise in the morning, God will keep his promise and come to us, Emmanuel.

Today is the Second Sunday of Advent.  It is also, by our Christian calendar, the Sabbath, the day of rest.  During this hectic time of year, with shopping to do, parties to attend, people to help, and more, more, more, taking a cue from the Creator of the Universe is especially important.  If God, who still had to run that cosmos He'd just created, could find time to rest, then so too can we.  We may have a lot going on in our lives, but do really have to deal with as much as God?  I thought so.  After worship today, I'm going to put up my feet for a few minutes, reflect on the goodness of God's holy, sacred world, give thanks, and rest.

Today is the Feast Day of St. Nicholas of Myra.  This ancient figure from the history of the church, the progenitor for today's St. Nick or Santa Claus, is the patron saint of children and those who care for them.  On this day during this season of waiting and watching, as we prepare for the arrival of the Christ child, let us recommit ourselves to the care and nurture of the young people in our midst and beyond.  It is hard to think of a more fitting present to give to our Savior as we celebrate his birth.

Boy Scouts (and I’ll presume Girl Scouts, too) are taught to be prepared, which involves mastering a host of skills, habits and attitudes that will enable the scout to respond to a wide variety of situations.   During Advent, Christians, too, are called to be prepared.   And they, too, must master skills, habits and attitudes.   What might those be?   Some, but not all, would be intentional prayer, discerning God’s will, honoring the Sabbath, serving those in need.   By doing these things we prepare ourselves for the arrival of Jesus.   And while we may not receive a merit badge, we’ll be able to more fully experience God’s unfolding kingdom.

No it's not Santa Claus, at least according to Mark's Gospel.  Instead, we should be on the lookout for John the Baptist.  No red suit here.  No bag full of toys.  Just an animal skin and an arresting call to make way for one greater than him.  During this season of Advent we are invited to emulate John, not necessarily by donning a hair shirt or by eating locusts, but by telling people about the imminent arrival of Jesus and how we still have time to make ready for his coming.

During Advent we talk about the virtues of patience.  It's one thing to talk about be patient; it's a wholly other matter to be patient.  The former involves an abstract concept; the latter the practice of a discipline.  I've been reminded of this difference by the onset of a doozy of a cold.  Chills, fever, sneezing, runny nose, and the desire to sleep, sleep, sleep.  I'm done.  I'm ready for it to be over.  But beyond taking my meds, drinking lots of fluids, and getting rest, there's really not much I can do, is there - other than wait for this to pass by.  So, I can be impatient and fret, or be patient and calm.  The latter is proving to be a more satisfying course.  "Be patient," we say.  That's easy.  Be patient, we do.  That's tougher.  But far more rewarding.

Tuesday, Tuesday My e-mail in box is being inundated with asks from various and sundry philanthropies on this Giving Tuesday.  Click a link, go to a site, and in moments I can donate to my favorite cause.  It's that easy.  Of course, I can dispense with the whole enterprise, go to Guszano's or Margarita's and celebrate Taco Tuesday, an occasion familiar to any parent who has watched the Lego movie.  Or, maybe as this is Advent, I can observe Patience Tuesday.  On Patience Tuesday, I'll sit quietly, intently, and wait for the Holy Spirit.  I don't know how it will make itself known, whether sooner or later, forcefully or gently, but something tells me my patience will not be in vain.  That if I am faithful and watch for signs of God's new creation, which will be made known in a strikingly new way in the Christ child, I will not be disappointed. Patience Tuesday.  Let's give it a try!

Keeping Watch This morning four small snowmen are keeping watch over the church - and offering a welcome to anyone who approaches the front door.  Built by the kids during yesterday's decorating party, these diminutive sentinels will soon melt away.  But while they'll be gone, the need to keep watch and offer hospitality will remain.  Will you step up?  Will I?  As we begin Advent, it's a question worth pondering.   Are we ready to be patient, to stay alert, so that the Christ child will receive a warm welcome later this month?  Or will we, too, melt away, leaving behind silence and an empty space?

Let's Stay Put! Today we begin the Advent season.  And while the old standard tells us that it's "the most wonderful time of the year," the reality is sometimes closer to the most hectic, the most busy, the most stressful time of the year.  In all of our doing and coming and froing, we can lose sight of the gift of this season of the church year: an invitation,  no, a call, to be still, be silent, to wait and watch. Advent's here -- so rather than rush off, let's stay put!  You never know what might come your way - grace, respite, peace.

Praise God for all he's done.   Hallelujah! Praise God with joy.  Hallelujah! Praise God with abandon.  Hallelujah! Praise God wherever you are, with whomever you find yourself.  Hallelujah! Praise God who does amazing things. Hallelujah! Praise God who gives new life, who loves his people, who is recreating the universe. Hallelujah! Praise God this Easter Day! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise God in the holy temple; * give praise in the firmament of heaven. Praise God who is mighty in deed; * give praise for God’s excellent greatness. Praise God with the blast of the ram’s-horn; * give praise with lyre and harp. Praise God with timbrel and dance; * give praise with strings and pipe. Praise God with resounding cymbals; * give praise with loud-clanging cymbals. Let everything that has breath * praise the LORD. Hallelujah!

"Do you work wonders for the dead?" asks the psalmist in verse 11.  Today, in the aftermath of the crucifixion, the seemingly obvious answer would be no.  But our God is a mighty God, full of wonders, power, and love.  So we wait and we anticipate.  We join the author of Psalm 88 and ask the question hoping, praying, believing that the answer will be yes.  We do so, knowing that our God can do anything. On this day of waiting, we reflect, we prepare.  We consider all the cruelty and hate the world can offer and we ask if is there is another way.  We do so looking to the promise of Scripture, the commitment of our Lord, the hope of the Resurrection.  We do so knowing the answer, God's answer, will be yes, there is another Way. 1      O LORD, my God, my Savior, * by day and night I cry to you. 2      Let my prayer enter into your presence; * incline your ear to my lamentation. 3  ...

Attentive readers of these reflections know that thanks to the vagaries of the Daily Office and one or two idiosyncratic choices, we have visited a psalm more than once during our Lenten journey.  Psalm 22 is among this cohort.  And as we stand before the cross this day, it is right that we return to this text, especially to its first, anguished verses. Jesus, we recall, cried out plaintively "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"  With the gift of time, we can engage in deep and valuable.  theological reflection.  We can look back upon that moment and try to discern its meaning.  But that, I would suggest, can wait.  At this hour, let us be present with Jesus.  As he holds us, as he nurtures us, let us do the same for him.  Let us be to him what he is to us: a reflection of God's steadfast presence.  Let us stand with him, knowing that even though God has not forsaken him, even as God never forsakes us, we can still...

The psalmist harbors no doubt.  God is surely listening to his prayers. It's easy to make this assertion when all is going well. But what about during times of trouble?  What about now, Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will meet with is disciples, one of whom will betray him?  What about now, the eve of Jesus' crucifixion?  Was God listening to Jesus?  Will he listen to us? Yes. Yes. Yes. God is listening.  Though it may not be obvious, God is listening as if nothing else in the world matters, as if there is nothing else in the world to hear.  God hears his people.  To God, each person is precious. Remember this.  Respond to this.  And yes, as odd as this word may seem today, rejoice in this. 116:1 I love the LORD, because he has heard my voice and my supplications. 116:2 Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live. 116:12 What shall I return to the LORD for all his bounty to me? 116:13 I will...

In verses 7 - 9, the psalmist writes of fleeing his troubles, of wishing he could take flight like a dove.  This expression of hope, of an escape from one's woes and travails, is lyrical and moving.  When troubles seem insurmountable, the desire to take flight, to run away, can be very appealing. The words "running away" don't always have the most positive connotation.  They can suggest cowardice and avoidance.  Of an evasion of responsibility.  But under the right circumstances, running away can be prudent, wise, and, yes, even brave.  Think about running away from a bear.  Or a fire.  Or, all those things that tempt us to stray from God. Then there's the question of where one is heading when one runs.  Is it into further trouble, deeper into the woods?  Or is it towards our rock and our salvation, to the God who sustains and nurtures us? At some time, each of us will run away.  In these final days of Lent, we ar...

It can be hard to repent.  As we reflect on our actions, our choices, our priorities, we can lose heart.  Sometimes, it's possible to lose any sense of self worth.  And when that happens, when we can't forgive ourselves, we wonder how anybody else, including God, could.  Here, the psalmist calls us back to the truth with honesty and pathos.  As far as we've fallen, as grievously as we've erred, as blatantly as we've sinned if we are willing to turn back to God with open and willing hearts, if we're willing to own to what we've done and not done to separate ourselves from God and God's people, we can be sure that we will be accepted by the One who has made, who loves us, and who will heal us. 1  LORD, do not rebuke me in your anger; * do not punish me in your wrath. 2  Have pity on me, LORD, for I am weak; * heal me, LORD, for my bones are racked. 3  My spirit shakes with terror; * how long, O LORD, how long? 4  Turn, O LORD, ...

During Lent people often talk about the things they've given up as a sacrifice.  That offering can seem like a burden.  Sometimes that's good, sometimes that's not.  It's good when we part with something that matters so that we can deepen our faith.  It's not when in doing so, we act as if we're doing God some kind of favor, one that deserves praise and acknowledgment.  The psalmist, along with the prophets and others in Scripture, not to mention Jesus, knew this reality.  They knew that it was all too easy for people to fake sacrifice, to look like they were doing something for God but in reality were doing something to boost their own reputation righteousness.  Here, in verses 17 and 18 and Psalm 51 we are told what God really seeks from us: not an animal on an altar, but real introspection and an honest accounting of our sins.  "Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice, but you take no delight in burnt-offerings.  ...

The psalmist declares that God has done a wondrous thing: he has chosen to use the one that others have rejected.  The Christian church has often read this text as pointing to Jesus. While potentially satisfying, such an anachronistic approach isn't appropriate.  The psalm should be read on its own terms.  When we do that, we find a testimony to God's power and his love.  The psalmist reminds us that God isn't bound by the standards of the world; those we might reject as unsuitable can be just the one's to do God's work.  We can take heart from this good news for there will be times in our lives when we will feel like the rejected stone.  At those moments, God may be sizing us up to be the cornerstone for some new work of divine love and mercy.  Keep this in mind as you enter in Holy Week.  Draw strength from this knowledge of what God can and does do with us and then honestly and forthrightly engage in reflection, repentance and re...

The psalmist asks, "O LORD, what are we that you should take care for us? mere mortals that you should think of us?"  He observes that, "We are like a puff of wind; our days are like a passing shadow."  Then, without hesitations, he asks God to do mighty things on behalf of his people.  Though our lives may be short and we may seem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, the author of these verses knew that God still loved his people, that to him they mattered.  We can take heart from this and rejoice.  But as this is Lent, we should also take pause: for the God who loves his people care about what they do.  He wants them to live righteously, to do justice, to show mercy, to walk humbly.  During this season we should reflect on whether we responding fully and faithfully to God's call and then act accordingly, not hesitating to call on God for his support and encouragement as we seek to do and discern his will. Blessed be the LORD my...

We encounter this psalm in one week as we mark Good Friday.  The first verse gives voice to a sense of abandonment that many of us have felt in one point in our lives, of being alone and wondering where God might be.  The psalmist, in offering up this lament, like Jesus who echo these words, reminds us that part of the life of faith includes doubts.  But it also involves engagement and an element of blind trust in our Creator.  Read on and the confidence that the author of these words has in the steadfastness of God is breathtaking and inspiring.  It offers us encouragement and support as we move through the dark periods of our lives, a reminder that while God may seem far, he is always by our side. 1  My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? * and are so far from my cry and from the words of my distress? 2  O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; * by night as well, but I find no rest. 3  Yet you are the Holy One,...

Four short verses.  Four profound verses. Here we are offered an attitude and approach for faithful living.  As Lent draws to a close, it's worth reflecting on how much closer we are to stilling our souls and making them quiet so that we can wait upon the LORD.  We may still have more to do, and we may not do it all by Easter but we need not worry: God will be reaching out to us as we reach out to him, whenever and wherever we are. 1  O LORD, I am not proud; * I have no haughty looks. 2  I do not occupy myself with great matters, * or with things that are too hard for me. 3  But I still my soul and make it quiet, like a child upon its mother’s breast; * my soul is quieted within me. 4  O Israel, wait upon the LORD, * from this time forth for evermore.

Make your way down to verse 164 and consider what the psalmist has to say about his daily prayer routine.  Talk about commitment!  He's serious about offering praise to God.  He's all in.  After you've taken sometime to reflect on this verse, continue reading, and give thought to what else is said about the life of prayer.  Does this comport with the reality of your prayer life? All too often in our modern world, we want to do and we want to do it now.  Prayer, though, calls us in another direction, one of being attentive.  We offer up our hopes and dreams, joys and concerns, fears and wishes, but we also listen and wait and pause.  The psalmist's way of prayer isn't the only valid model, but it does speak to a seriousness of purpose, a dedication, a devotedness and devoutness, that we should all aspire to bring to this most fundamental of spiritual disciplines, particularly during Lent, when we turn to God, seeking to turn back to...

This is one of the great pilgrimage psalms, sung by those heading to Jerusalem to worship. The anticipation, the wonder, the excitement are evident.  Here, the psalmist and his compatriots stand at the gates of the city.  They've almost arrived.  Almost. So too with Holy Week and Easter.  In just a few days we'll celebrate Holy Week and begin a spiritual and liturgical journey that will bring us to the depths of despair before delivering us to a place of joy and life triumphant.  But we're not ready to start, not yet.  We still have a few days of "ordinary" Lent before us.  We still have time to prepare ourselves for what's to come.  Let's take a moment, let's reflect, let's pray, let's sing a song of peace.  Then we will be better prepared to enter into Jerusalem. 1  I was glad when they said to me, * “Let us go to the house of the LORD.” 2  Now our feet are standing * within your gates, O Jerusalem. 3  Jeru...

Troubles and travails beset the psalmist.  He feels isolated, afflicted, abandoned.  Yet throughout it all, he is confident that he can call upon God, that the LORD will be steadfast and faithful - even if he, the psalmist has "become a reproach ... even to my neighbors."  No matter how far he has fallen, the author of the psalm knows that he can call on the Most High, the God of Israel.  It is with similar confidence that we are invited, no called, to turn to God during Lent, to repent, to reflect, to pray for the inspiration, the courage, the faith to pursue a new course, the Way of Jesus, the way of life and love. 1  In you, O LORD, have I taken refuge; let me never be put to shame; * deliver me in your righteousness. 2  Incline your ear to me; * make haste to deliver me. 3  Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe, for you are my crag and my stronghold; * for the sake of your Name, lead me and guide me. 4  Take me out of ...

Who are you waiting for?  What are you waiting for?  Samuel Becket mined this question for all its existential worth in his play "Waiting for Godot."  So, too, does the psalmist.  True, there's nothing of the absurd to Psalm 130, but it still confronts us with the matter of our expectations, the repository of our hopes, even the focus of our lives.  Here, the psalmist waits on the LORD, and he waits in hope.  What about you?  What about me?  Do we have the patience, do we have the faith?  Who do we watch for?  Jesus or the latest celebrity?  As we begin this fifth week of Lent, let's pray about and reflect on our priorities, asking our Creator to set us on a new path so that our waiting is not in vain.  Remember, while Godot never shows up, God already has. 130:1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD. 130:2 Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications! 130:3 If you, O LORD, s...

I am grateful for the notion of the psalmist waking up the dawn, especially on a gray, dreary, cool day when my Lenten abstention from coffee is beginning to wear on me.  These verses are full of a joy and enthusiasm that is invigorating, that reorients and refreshes me, which is perfect for this season of renewal. Pray, repent, reflect, rejoice.  It's Lent! My heart is firmly fixed, O God, my heart is fixed; * I will sing and make melody. Wake up, my spirit; awake, lute and harp; * I myself will waken the dawn. I will confess you among the peoples, O LORD; * I will sing praises to you among the nations. For your loving-kindness is greater than the heavens, * and your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Exalt yourself above the heavens, O God, * and your glory over all the earth. So that those who are dear to you may be delivered, * save with your right hand and answer me.

Vultures. Owls. Sparrows.  This psalm is a veritable aviary. Birds have long fascinated humans.  Their beauty, their variety, and, of course, their ability to fly, something that was beyond the reach of our kind until just the last century.  Nowadays, we can fly, even to the moon.  But we still need the help of machines.  Not so birds.  They are made to fly.  Yet hear they do something else: they scavenge and they are alone.  Symbols of freedom have become emblems of desperation.  Hope is lost.  Yet, the psalmist knows that loss can be reversed by God; indeed, he's counting on it.  Though he never writes as much, we can imagine the birds of his psalm once again taking flight, soaring above God's creation.  And during Lent, we are a reminded that we too, empowered by a renewed relationship with our Creator and our Creator's people, can also take flight again. 1  LORD, hear my prayer, and let my cry come befo...

Psalm 69 is a truly extraordinary prayer, and deserves far more than a morning blog post.  The language, the imagery, the theology, the faith are all remarkable.  Take time to read the words, savor them, pray on them; you will be fed and challenged. Still, as this is Lent I would like to suggest focusing on verse 7: "Let not those who hope in you be put to shame through me, Lord GOD of hosts; let not those who seek you be disgraced because of me, O God of Israel."  In the midst of his travails the psalmist asks that others who love God not suffer because of him.  This ability to focus on others is a sign of a deep and generous faith, of a person wholly shaped by his (or her) love of God.  It is this kind of selfless faith that Jesus shared with his disciples, his community, and ultimately the world. Today we can ask ourselves how we might be more giving as we try to follow the Way of Jesus.  For each of us the answer will be different.  ...

The psalmist begins with a lovely sentiment: he'll sing of mercy and justice.  But by the end, he talks of taking down the wicked in the land.  His passion and zeal are impressive, inspiring, and, honestly, a little bit unsettling.  During Lent, though, we are meant to be unsettled.  It's easy to find reasons to not do the right thing, to turn away when wrongs are being committed.  In this season of the church year, we are called to ask what is keeping us from following God's path and to then chart a new course.  Doing so may upend our expectations, but it will bring us to where we need to be. 1 I will sing of mercy and justice; * to you, O LORD, will I sing praises. 2 I will strive to follow a blameless course; oh, when will you come to me? * I will walk with sincerity of heart within my house. 3 I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; * I hate the doers of evil deeds; they shall not remain with me. 4 A crooked heart shall be far f...

I love this psalm.  It starts off with a bang, the author bragging on just how awesome the LORD is.  He is the center of the universe, and all creation dances about him.  He is to be worshiped and praised.  The God of the psalmist, the God of Israel, is Numero Uno. And what does this mighty, wondrous, powerful cosmos-ruling sovereign want?  Power?  Glory?  Nope.  He wants faithfulness.  Righteousness.  A turn from evil.  And he wants it from us. During Lent, as we pray over our priorities, we do well to remember what's important to the LORD.  If God, who has the option to focus on anything, instead chooses to concern himself with things like faithfulness and right living, maybe we should to! 1 The LORD is Sovereign; let the earth rejoice; * let the multitude of the isles be glad. 2 Clouds and darkness are round about you, * righteousness and justice are the foundations of your throne. 3 A fire goes before y...

This psalm begins with a declaration of intent: its author pledges to sing forever a song proclaiming God's faithfulness.  He then proceeds to offer a sample of what he has in mind.  Read his words, and be impressed, not just by the psalmist's creative prowess but by the sheer joy and enthusiasm his song exude.  This is just what we need to be reading during Lent. Lent is not often associated with "joy" and "enthusiasm."  There are no upbeat Lenten hymns, nothing you'd want to hear played by a marching band.  Yet "joy" and "enthusiasm" are exactly what the season calls for as we engage in the serious business of reflection, repentance, and renewal -- for the One to whom turn is faithful, steadfast, ready to give us another chance.  The Creator of the Universe wants you, wants me, to get things right.  Think about that.  It's sobering.  But it's also exciting and a cause for celebration. What we do during Lent coun...

Read this beloved psalm carefully and you'll notice that a small but significant shift takes place: Verses 1 through 3 refer to God as "he" - the third person is used.  But in verses 4 and 5, God becomes "thou" - the second person.  What does this mean?  For the psalmist, we see his confidence in God made manifest.  When things get tough, when disaster looms, he doesn't offer a theological assertion, "The Lord will be with you."  Instead, he states what to him is the obvious, "You are with me."  For the psalmist, God is an ever-present benefactor, source of strength, companion. The good news this day is that God is also a companion for us and we still have three more weeks of Lent to figure out what we've been doing and not doing to create distance between ourselves and the Lord and to then make changes.  Think about it, pray about it.  And remember: it's personal. Psalm 23 1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want...

In this psalm we encounter one of the most familiar observations in Scripture: "The span of our life is seventy years, perhaps in strength even eighty."  That's it - seven, maybe eight, decades and then we're gone, turned back to dust.  God will "sweep us away like a dream; we fade away suddenly like the grass."  Sobering, no?  Still, against the the melancholy ruminations of this psalm is the amazing declaration at its start: "Lord, you have been our refuge."  The One who has fashioned the universe, who is the author of time itself, pays attention to, cares about, indeed loves us - us! - mortal though we be.  If this doesn't make us want to be in right relationship with God, what will?  If this doesn't make us want to make the most of the Lenten season, what will?  Time's fleeting; God's love is not.  Let's not waste the former when the latter is on offer. Psalm 90 Lord, you have been our refuge * from one genera...

The psalmist and his contemporaries believed that this life was it.  The notion of a full-fledged afterlife didn't take hold in the Jewish world until fairly late in the Biblical day.  While one might continue as a shade, the idea of an ongoing existence with one's defined personality intact wasn't part of the mental or spiritual landscape.  So, death really was final and therefore the premium on making the most of this life was exceedingly high. We can't say what comes after this life; we can only confess a belief.  But whether one believes that the days we have on this earth are but a prelude to something else or the only turn on the merry-go-round that we'll enjoy, there's something to be said about living this life as if it's all we've got. But if this is true, then what should we do with our time?  During Lent, as we reflect on our sins and the possibilities for growth and change and repentance,  we can contemplate this question, pray ...

My first thought on reading today's NRSV translation of psalm 42 is that it's a hart, not a deer, that longs for the water-brooks.  The change from hart (used in both the KJV and the RSV) was one of choice; it's not necessarily more accurate (The Jewish Publication Society opts for hind; the NIV translators use deer).  Messing with a perfectly good translation, one rooted in tradition and immediately recognizable to many of the faithful strikes me as gratuitous.  But, then, so too is my high dudgeon. Yes, tradition and poetry are good and estimable.  But what really matters is what the psalmist is communicating: a deep longing for God, a longing that is akin to a thirst that begs to be quenched.  You know the feeling of being parched on a hot summer's day?  Of really, really wanting a cool glass of ice water or lemonade?  Of imagining the taste, of envisioning the beads of condensation on the glass?  Of seeing the ice cubes bobbing...

There are times during Lent when I resent the small disciplines I've adopted.  I really, really want a cup of coffee (and given that I drink decaf, this is admittedly pathetic).  I really, really don't want to write a reflection.  Maybe I can take a break, skip a day, I muse.  But I know that if I drop the ball, I'm going to experience an acute disappointment.  That's not because I'm particularly holy, but because I know in my gut that these Lenten disciplines aren't shackles, but opportunities for spiritual growth and reflection.  This perspective is what shapes the psalmist's paean to the law, the Torah.  Those statutes and commandments, so often misunderstood by the Pharisaical,  derided by misguided Christians over the years, were never intended to hem in God's people but to help them live fully in God's kingdom. Lent is a time for us to reflect upon and reevaluate how we understand the demands and traditions of our faith.  ...

Who are God's chosen people? According to the psalmist, everyone.  That doesn't mean that Zion - Israel -has been displaced, that they have been set aside or replaced.  Instead, God's promise is being shared with all creation.  All too often, people think in terms of zero sum games - if you benefit, I must lose.  But that's not the way God operates.  In God's economy, everyone will win - for the bounty of blessings of God are without limit, freely available, generously intended for all. During Lent, we have the chance to consider how we feel about the promise of Psalm 87.  Does it gladden us or threaten us?  Perhaps a bit of both?  In the coming days, let's reflect on our feelings, pray upon them, and then act to do what is necessary to make sure we are right with God and God's people - wherever they are, whoever they may be. 1 On the holy mountain stands the city God has founded; * the LORD loves the gates of Zion more than all th...

It's easy to pray to God when everything's just ducky.  But how about when it's all falling apart?  It's at those moments we can feel that God is most distant.  Yet it's at those times that we most need to reach out, to act on the assumption, the belief, the conviction, that God is close by. That's what the psalmist did in the wake of catastrophe.  Israel has been overwhelmed by her enemies.  Some claimed that was a sign of God's abrogation of his covenant with his people.  The psalmist rejected that idea.  Instead, he lifted up the plight of Israel to God, called upon him to deliver her and, in doing so, revitalize the bond between the shepherd and his flock. Offering prayers like this can be difficult, but it can also be affirming and empowering.  During Lent we can reflect on our prayer lives and how they might be enriched, how we might venture into new spiritual territory, and how we might challenge ourselves to reach out to God....

Trust me.  Why is it that whenever someone says those words an immediate instinct is to do just the opposite?  Perhaps because we've been burned by too many politicians, used car salesmen, cheating boyfriends or girlfriends, duplicitous colleagues, the list goes on. This psalm reminds us that there is one we can, indeed should trust, one who is beneficent, loving, gracious.  One who is patient.  One who has been let down in the past but is willing to give his people another try.  One who fashioned us, holds us, nurtures us. Trust me, says God. This Lent, let's give it a try. 95:1 O come, let us sing to the LORD; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! 95:2 Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! 95:3 For the LORD is a great God, and a great King above all gods. 95:4 In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. 95:5 The sea is ...

A question to ponder on a Saturday afternoon: when's the last time, outside of Sunday worship, you said "thanks" to God?  What did you thank God for?  Was your thanks expressed haltingly or with exuberance?  Did you want to do a little dance or did you feel awkward?  Finally, why did you thank God?  Was it because you felt obligated or because you wanted to?  The answers to these questions will tell you something about your relationship with God and how, during this season of Lent, with prayer and introspection, you might enrich this most important of connections -- and in doing so, find yourself with another reason to thank God. We give you thanks, O God, we give you thanks, * calling upon your Name and declaring all your wonderful deeds. “I will appoint a time,” says God; * “I will judge with equity. Though the earth and all its inhabitants are quaking, * I will make its pillars fast. I will say to the boasters, ‘Boast no more,’ * and to th...

At times of trouble, in moments of crisis, we can feel alone, as if we've been abandoned, like nobody can even comprehend what we're experiencing.  Psalm 69 offers a reminder that this is not the case.  God, the psalmist asserts, can be turned to, even, no especially, during the midst of the worst that life has to send our way.  This isn't an abstract claim, airily made.  Instead, this text makes clear that this belief arose in the midst of profound, personal suffering. Further, not only will God be present for us; God, Christians confesses, knows our pain, our loss.  Read verse 23 and the Passion comes to mind: the image of a thirsting Jesus on the cross, offered vinegar to drink by the soldiers, looms large. This is the God with whom we seek to make things right during Lent.  Not some remote deity, but One who has taken on our form, lived life as one of us, who knows what we know, feels what we feel, who seeks neither gold nor power, but a r...