Lumunos Blog

Prayer as Lent Begins

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 13:43:00 +0000

by Angier Brock

Lent comes around again this week. Seems like it was just here, but no, that was the 2011 version. This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday 2012, the holy day that marks the start of Lent. The liturgical season of prayer, fasting, penance, reflection, and almsgiving is once more with us.

Some years I have greeted Lent with open arms, eager to use its various practices to seek a closer connection with God or to deepen my relationship with the Jesus of the Gospels. Other years, I haven’t felt quite so enthusiastic about being penitential, let alone about undertaking a particular spiritual discipline, increasing my charitable giving, or relinquishing a specific habit or luxury for the forty requisite days. This year I confess that I have been more in the latter frame of mind than the former. So what’s a would-be pilgrim to do?

Because I love language, I turn to etymology. My dictionary reminds me that the word “Lent” comes into English by way of the German and Dutch words for spring—“Lenz” and “lente,” respectively—both of which derive from an Indo-European word root (“del-”) that means “long” (in the sense of length). The liturgical season of Lent thereby references the geo-physical lengthening of days here in the northern hemisphere.

Several other words can be traced back to the same root, making them linguistic kissing cousins of Lent. Two of them— “long” (in its other sense of yearning or having a great desire for something) and “linger”—are words I find particularly rich and evocative. I begin to reconsider the forty days of Lent as a time during which I am called to become more fully aware of my deepest longing and to think of Lenten practices as ways of lingering with that longing.

Somehow that simple shift has melted my resistance to embracing Lent this year. As I write this, I have not as yet committed myself to a particular practice, but I feel more open to the possibilities. That alone seems a grace, and one which leads me to this prayer as Lent begins: That through my longing—and my willingness to linger in this liturgical season—I may move from grace to grace, growing in the love of God and in the habit of letting that love reach through me out into the rest of the world.

No matter what else happens during this time, the forty days of Lent will lead us through the last few weeks of winter and into the first few weeks of spring. No matter how you choose to observe—or not observe—Lent this year, may you too be touched by the grace and generosity of the season.

Taking Laughter Seriously

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 19:32:00 +0000

by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

Who do you laugh with easily? It might be worth spending more time with that person.

It is middle of winter here in northern New England. We could all use a little playfulness about now. That is my very unscientific observation from looking around. But it turns out that there is some data to back it up.

Researchers at the University of Maryland School of Medicine in Baltimore have shown for the first time that laughter is linked to healthy function of blood vessels. They assert that laughter appears to cause the tissue that forms the inner lining of blood vessels to expand. This helps increase blood flow, which has a healthy effect on your arteries and reduces your risk of cardiovascular disease. Their conclusion? “We recommend you try to laugh on a regular basis.” (The Creation Health Breakthrough, by Monica Reed, M.D)

Playfulness is an important part of relationships as well. One study looked at couples that had been married between 15 and 61 years who said they were happy in their relationship. Of those interviewed, an overwhelming majority agreed on the importance of play and humor in their relationship. (The Play Solution: How to Put the Fun and Excitement Back into Your Relationship, by Jeanette C. Lauer and Robert Lauer)

Forced laughter or playfulness usually backfires, at least for me. If someone tells me that they want to tell me a joke, I usually think, “This is not going to be funny, but I am going to feel pressure to laugh.” By and large, jokes don’t make me laugh.

But there are certain people who are gift to me because of the way they evoke my laughter. And it is worth thinking about ways that my wife and can play together.

Krister Stendahl was the archbishop of Stockholm for many years. Before that, he taught at Harvard Divinity School (not a very playful place). In his 1984 Commencement Address, he said “Joy is closer to God than seriousness. Why? Because when I am serious I tend to be self centered, but when I am joyful I tend to forget myself.”

Back to the original question: With whom do you laugh easily? Who helps you play? Might want to spend more time with them.

Harmony in Winter

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 13:51:00 +0000

by Tom Pappas

My town of Lincoln Nebraska had the fourth biggest snow in a 24 hour period in its history last Friday night and Saturday. It was a beauty. While it measured 11.1 inches it had to weigh 11 pounds per inch. Literally a wet blanket. Lots of sagging tree branches. Lots of broken limbs. Lots of people without electricity. The city workers did a magnificent job digging us out.

I had just brought my snow blower back from being serviced and I was ready. Thankfully my neighbor did our long driveway with his tractor because frankly, I’m getting old.

Less than a week before this storm a local nursery notified its email list that our dry winter was stressing the evergreens and it was advisable to get out hoses and sprinklers or expect damage to, or possibly loss of these trees. I consider it a royal pain to put away hoses when it’s warm and they’re flexible, but since we have lots of spruce and pines I got out there and watered a whole day.

One of my deep held beliefs is that we live here on this glorious planet because of God’s goodness and grace. It’s a gift and a wonderful puzzle to piece together the clues about how to be in harmony with God’s good creation.

I like it that we can cool and dehumidify our homes in the summer and keep ourselves warm in the winter. I don’t like it that bedbugs are making an impact on dorm life at our University. But it all is part of the package which is this puzzle of life. It’s fun and it’s scary at times. My neighbors and I live under massive trees that could have collapsed on our homes under the weight of the recent snow. The same trees I love and enjoy are threats to my safety and economic well-being.

God continues to be beyond my comprehension. As was explained to Lucy about Aslan. [my paraphrase] “He’s a lion, of course he’s not safe, but he’s good.”

BTW: This site was emailed to me in real time as I was writing this blog:

Winter Watering

The Shortest Month

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 15:59:00 +0000

by Terry & Tracy Moore

Given that February is the shortest month of the year; I find there are a number of things to write about. Valentine’s Day is of course the standard, and then this year is leap year which adds an extra day to the month. There is also, at least here in the northeast, Groundhog Day, which is also Candlemas Day and then I came across the reminder that there is also the feast day (or month if you live in Ireland) of St. Brigid.

In doing some research on St. Valentine I found there are actually 14 of them, although only one is credited with having anything to do with the holiday as we know it. Turns out there is really very little information about him, the main point being he was thought to have been martyred by Emperor Claudius III on February 14, 269AD, the same day that had been devoted to love lotteries in the roman Empire. There are legends stating that he was a kind and generous man, helping out the poor and needy and also marrying young Christians, against the orders of the emperor, who had decided that young men going into the military were more willing to do so if they did not have a wife, girlfriend, and children. It was his act of marrying them that caused him to be beheaded.

Groundhog Day has nothing to do with Love, at least that I can find. Leap year is the time when a woman can propose marriage to a man (based on an old Scottish legend). Candlemas is a Christian holiday celebrated by the Roman Catholic and Episcopal Church. On this day, people bring candles to church to have them blessed, either for use at home or as a donation to the church for use during the coming year.

St. Brigid, I believe, has much to do with the kind of Love we refer to as Agape, the Love Jesus shared with all. Her life stands as an example of how to live out the command to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and to Love your neighbor as yourself.” I recently read an account of a woman on pilgrimage to St. Brigid’s well in Kildare Ireland. She tells of 5 story prayers that were told of how Brigid was: a woman of the land; a peace-maker; a friend of the poor; a woman of the hearth; and a woman of contemplation. She came from a wealthy family and there is a story of how her father gave her a horse to ride and she immediately gave it away to a farmer she met on the road. She is said to have created a cross from some rushes on the floor of a house and one can find them today in stores which carry Irish merchandise. They are meant to hang over your entry door as protection from evil and to prevent fires. We have friend who have one hanging over their front door as a sign of welcome and peace.

May you find time to share your presence with loved ones this month. May you find time for some silence and solitude, as you listen for what God has planned for you as Springtime approaches. May the seeds of Love fill your hearts to overflowing.

Prayer After Thinking About Bees

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 17:13:00 +0000

by Angier Brock

My church is considering keeping bees. Several dozen parishioners of all ages gathered last Friday night to watch a movie about bees, and later this week there will be a follow-up meeting where those who are interested will learn more and begin to discern whether some in our parish, either collectively or individually, have a call to beekeeping.

I am intrigued. I have been hearing for several years about “colony collapse” and the attendant warning that as the bees go, so will go humans. Without bees to pollinate many fruits and vegetables, our food sources will be greatly compromised. The direst warnings predict that our food will be reduced by 30–40%, bad news for a planet with a burgeoning population and other threats to agriculture such as water shortages and climate changes.

After seeing the movie, I did a quick search of various translations of the Bible, looking first for the word “bee” and then for the word “honey.” The particular concordances I used turned up “bee” in only one place. The word “honey,” however, abounded, appearing fifty-some times. The surprising difference in the frequency with which those two words are used in our scriptures makes me wonder: Are bees yet another creature in our universe whose gifts to us humans we take for granted?

Certainly I often forget to consider the energy, the labor, or the good will, let alone the cost behind many things I rely upon—or merely enjoy. How easy to assume certain gifts, in this case not only honey and wax but also the pollination of fruits and other plants, without giving much thought to the source, in this case Apis melifera, the bee itself. Except that now that the health of bees is imperiled, with grave implications for our own well-being, we seem to be waking up to yet another sign that we have not been good stewards of this earth.

As citizens of our planet, twenty-first century human beings still have much to learn about the interdependence of God’s creatures. The bees are but one example. Now that my church has begun looking at the possibility of a beekeeping ministry, we parishioners have much to learn about what might be involved in that specific sphere.

I do not know where this will lead, but I do know that because of thinking about bees, my prayer this week includes renewed awe at the complexity and interconnections of the world. It also includes my confession that I am often not a very mindful steward of the many resources at my disposal. It embraces the hope that I can yet live in ways that enrich the earth rather than deplete it. And it includes gratitude for all God’s creatures.

Especially the bees. For the sweetness they provide. For their fragrant wax that lets us make candles to light our way. And for their work of bearing life-renewing pollen from blossom to blossom. May I too be such a faithful servant.

Drive

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 13:43:00 +0000

by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

Daniel Pink has a new business book called Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. The book is well written and the research and examples are fascinating. That said, the ‘surprising truth’ isn’t all that surprising—it is meaning and purpose that motivate us. He ends the book with this sentence: “…we know that the richest experiences in our lives aren’t when we’re clamoring for validation from others, but when we’re listening to our own voice—doing something that matters, doing it well, and doing it in the service of a cause larger than ourselves.”

Money and acknowledgement are important to a point, but that point is probably less important than we thought. Using our time and energy on the things that matter to us, and making the world a better place—that is what motivates us. It sounds an awful lot like listening for call to me.

This past Sunday I cried my way through the memorial service for my good friend Susan. Listening to the eulogies, and rummaging through my own memories, a clear picture emerged of Susan. Here was a woman who was motivated by her own values and her faith. In her work, relationships, and volunteer activities, Susan’s “drive” was to use her gifts and experiences for the good of others. (She also loved her week at the spa, nice dinners, and a good show on Broadway. She would cringe at being turned into a saint.)

How about you? What drives you?

The Captain and the Ship

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 09:29:00 +0000

by Tom Pappas

I am fixated on Francesco Schettino. If there ever was someone who needed a moment in time back, it is the captain (need I say former captain) of the cruise ship that ran aground off Italy.

What have you read? State of the art, brand new ship. “Fly by” the island of a crew member’s family as a favor. Left the ship before the passengers were safe. Lied that all the passengers were off. Lied that he was not even the captain. Refused to go back to supervise evacuation. Horrible, horrible, horrible!

No need to stand in judgment. I observe with a broken heart and ache for the victims and their families. For the passengers. For the crew. For the owner of the vessel who trusted Schettino with a huge piece of equipment. For the danger to the pristine seacoast. For the industry. Here is a man who will never again use a vast skill; and neither will he be at peace with himself – ever.

I grieve the diminished optimism all of us have suffered this week. Any one of us is capable of a lapse of attention while driving. (The blind spot is always a menace!) I certainly am not immune to the bad decision – or the impulse to show off. To provide something memorable. It is easy to look over the arc of my years and see times that the slightest variation could have spelled disaster.

What does God do for a person in this predicament? When I did prison ministry any number of inmates said this sentence or a variation of it, “I know God forgives me for what I did, but I will never be able to forgive myself.” Wow, what a challenge to grace. But I can see their point.

I don’t know the answer to the question in the paragraph above. If you shoot me a Bible verse I would almost automatically find a way to minimize what you think it means. I need to struggle with this one for a while. How about you?

Prayer on the Birthday of an Old Friend

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 13:02:00 +0000

by Angier Brock

Today is the birthday of my best friend from childhood, Elizabeth. She lived just across the street, and my first sleepover away from my family was at her house. Her mother, a children’s librarian, signed me up for my first public library card when I was six. Her family had one of the earliest black-and-white TVs in our neighborhood, and it was in her living room that I encountered the original Mouseketeers—Annette, Jimmie, Karen, Cubby—and watched I Love Lucy before there was any such thing as reruns of I Love Lucy. As teenagers, we told each other our secrets. Together we laughed and cried over boyfriends, and we played Johnny Mathis and Christy Minstrels albums for hours on end. We also swiped—and smoked—the freebie cigarettes her father stashed in a hall closet, cartons and cartons of Marlboros he received as a job “perk” (he was a chemist for Phillip Morris before lung cancer killed him). When she turned sixteen, her family got a second car, a baby blue convertible, in which we tooled around town on weekends. Six months later when I turned sixteen, she threw a surprise birthday party for me. That’s also the year we insisted on sitting together—and apart from our parents—at the midnight Christmas Eve service at the neighborhood Episcopal church.

Even though we attended different colleges, our history of friendship kept us close enough to be bridesmaids in each other’s weddings. But after she and her husband moved several states away and her visits home became less frequent, we began losing touch. I am not sure when I saw her last. Perhaps at her father’s funeral sometime in the 1980s? Her mother developed Alzheimer’s, and I did not learn she had died until weeks after the fact. I felt sad that I had not known, and I wrote Elizabeth and told her so. I never heard anything back. That was fifteen years ago.

Thinking about Elizabeth today, her sixty-fifth birthday, I am filled with gratitude for the many gifts of our friendship, particularly for the ways in which I learned from her what it means to be a friend. But I confess to still carrying a little hurt that she did not let me know about her mother’s death, and I cannot help but wonder if, prior to that, I had done something that hurt her. Probably I will never know—though I have come to understand that friends, even mature friends and even best friends, can inadvertently wound one another. That’s one of the risks of being vulnerable, which we are, I think, with our friends.

This, then, is my prayer. That if there is some way in our past in which I have aggrieved her, that she can forgive me. That if ever she thinks back to our long friendship with fondness and gratitude, that she can rejoice. Most especially I pray that her life continues to be blessed, as mine has been, by the presence of friends: people to whom she can tell her secrets; people she can sit with in church on Christmas Eve; people with whom she can tool around town, even if not in a baby blue convertible, and listen to music, even if it’s no longer Johnny Mathis.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth. Thanks be to God!

Even the Wise Men Asked for Directions

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 15:12:00 +0000

by Alice Ling, Guest Blogger

The Magi were disciplined and focused in ways that I’m often not. They didn’t let one day roll into the next. They studied their own history and sacred texts in a way that prepared them to recognize a sign of something special when it appeared. And even though they were clearly fine scholars, they didn’t always have their noses stuck in books. They paid attention to the world around them, and were motivated to respond by what they saw.

Once they saw the star, they got their feet moving to go and check it out, rather than just sitting and talking about it with the first person to walk through the door. They knew their knowledge was limited. So they asked directions along the way: sometimes in the right places, and sometimes in the wrong places, like when they asked Herod which way they should go. Once they reached their destination and had accomplished what they set out to do, even then they remained vigilant, learning they couldn’t stay with the child long and should not go back the way they had come.

What do you think this year might be like for any of us if approached it with that kind of mentality? Not with a half-hearted list of resolutions, but with a keen sense of who we are and where we come from, combined with attentiveness and openness to what’s going on around us. Add to that readiness to listen to something you can’t quite explain and a willingness to strike off for someplace you’ve never been before, asking directions along the way.

It’s hard to know where we might end up or who we might encounter along the way, but I have no doubt but that God is ready to lead us and guide us to insights and experiences we’ve never even dared imagine.

[Alice Ling is currently the pastor of the Richmond (VT) Congregational church.]

A Time for Sentimentality

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 14:07:00 +0000

by Tom Pappas

I packed up Nena’s nativity set this morning. Juanita Delbridge was my first wife’s centenarian grandmother who provided her progeny with china, tea sets and every manner of beautifully hand-painted ceramics. I have displayed the nativity faithfully since Fredrena died suddenly in 1999.

It occurred to me that the line of succession for Fredrena’s things should be to our children directly, with me not slowing it down. When I mentioned to Christine that I would love to send the set home to Oklahoma with her (where it originated) after this Christmas visit, she was visibly pleased. Here words were, “I’m honored to have this wonderful keepsake.” No mention was made that this was the child who snuck the Big Bird ornament off the tree each year for him to make a guest appearance in the crèche.

Was it symbolic that the larger pieces went into the box first? I tried to make it so in my mind. The camels and magi were at the bottom. Clustered together next were layers of animals, shepherds, angels and the holy family. Does it mean anything significant? To me it says that God is busy visiting this earthy world and blends in with the daily stuff. I know God is the God of all but if there’s a God bias, it’s for the day-to-day.

I don’t mind it that the holiday season is a time for tempered and intemperate sentimentality. I hope you had a time to laugh hard with others this season. I hope you had a chance to sing. I hope you had a chance to wipe tender tears away during a candlelit "Silent Night" or the Muppet Movie. I hope you had a chance to pass on a keepsake, or a needed affirmation, or bit of love.

Prayer at the Dark of the Year

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 14:23:00 +0000

This time of year, I love to “walk the sun down”—that is, to take a walk just as the sun is setting. I love watching the day’s last light swim through bare branches of trees in shades of rose and lavender. Then the sky goes dark and stars become visible. Lights come on in my neighbors’ windows. Something rustles in the shadows of shrubbery—a sparrow settling onto her nest? a rabbit taking cover? Sometimes the dark feels magical.

Of course, not all darkness is cozy, and particularly during the holiday season, darkness can be a place of loneliness and heartache. Sometimes darkness is not something we can choose to move through quickly. Sometimes it is thrust upon us and we experience it as a period of seemingly endless fear or ferocious pain. Yet even in that kind of darkness, treasures can be found. A brush of kindness. A flutter of hope. A glimmer of light.

In the deep darkness of this week, as we ponder our own stories either in conversation with others or in solitary reflection, may we each find some treasure, no matter how small or fragile. And may we thus be reminded again that God is with us.

AWAKE

The dark, a wonder. The deep. A wonder
the wait, sitting in silence, watching each breath.
Wind, a wonder, winding in and out. And tonight,
whatever aligned the planets just after sunset.

All flesh, a wonder. The bitter cramp of wounds.
The fitful itch of scars where skin pulls tight.
A habit amended, a wonder. The reach of inner space.
The drift of time. The marble stance of death.

Flight, a wonder, the open gates of earth,
a childhood friend descending from the stars.
A wonder, fire contained in succotash or flaming in a grate.
Greens wound into the comfort of a wreath.

I, a wonder. Whoever God. Whatever shakes
down snow. A wonder, you. The long night’s
stories. The dark. The deep. The wait.

Angier Brock © 2011

The Response After the Response

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 12:11:00 +0000

by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

When was the last time someone wrote you a $100,000 check at a holiday party?

A few weeks ago Susan was conflicted about going to a holiday gathering. Actually she was pretty clear that she didn’t want to go. But there was this inner nudge, this intuition telling her just to show up. She listened and she prayed. Then she got dressed and went to the party.

Backstory: Susan is a therapist, working with people with eating disorders. She and a group of others are fundraising to open a new residence house for those struggling with anorexia, bulimia, and other issues. As a survivor herself, she cares deeply about those in the grip of an eating disorder.

Long story short, she met a guy at the party whose life had been touched by anorexia. This guy had a lot of money, and on the spot he wrote her organization a check for $100,000.

Fun as that story is, this isn’t a blog about eating disorders, fundraising or holiday parties. What struck me most about Susan’s experience was her willingness to follow her intuition and get past her resistance. At Lumunos we talk a lot about willing to pause long enough to listen more deeply. We have to get past the default yes or no.

Most of us have a quick response to invitations. The invitation may be to a party, a volunteer opportunity, a potential relationship or anything new. Sometimes that default response is a yes and sometimes it’s a no, and the reason we have the set response is usually due to a number of factors. Sometimes the default response is the right one. But not always.

Around the holidays, there are default yesses and no’s flying all over the place. “Yes we will buy gifts for the cousins because we always buy gifts for the cousins even though we can’t afford it.” “Yes we will go to that party even though people drink too much and it is too loud to talk and we would much rather have a quiet evening at home.” “No, I will not introduce a new tradition into the family even though I have an idea I keep thinking about, because I’m not the kind of person who stirs things up.”

Listening for call means getting beyond the default yes or the default no. Even if you take just a few moments, it may help you hear a deeper Truth. As Morton Kelsey writes in The Drama of Christmas, “Sometimes our religious experience needs to displace our conventional human wisdom. Saints are those who follow their deepest inner promptings, even when they make no worldly sense.” Mary may well have had a default “no” before she pondered the angel’s words in her heart. We know Joseph had a well deserved “no” on his lips. The Wise Men had a default route back home until a dream changed their mind. The Christmas story is a story of people listening deeply, and then having the courage to go beyond the default response.

What is your default response to something new?

Help from Mary

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 16:02:00 +0000

By Doug Wysockey-Johnson

Here is what is going on this weekend (so far): Work all day Saturday, Christmas party, greeting at church, teaching Sunday School, ski club meeting, Cub Scouts, getting the Christmas tree, putting up decorations, artists workshop, and three play dates for the kids. This is as of Wednesday. Slowing down to reflect during Advent? Bah Humbug!

Advent is the perfect time to talk about call. Because Advent is a lot like life, only more so. If call has something to do with translating our deepest priorities into the daily calendar, then it is especially important that we listen for call during the holidays. There is just a lot more going on.

Ron Farr writes, “God’s call is the basic organizing principle of our lives. It wells up from our deepest priorities and inspirations, and determines how we manage our time, focus our energies, relate to others, organize our day, and make plans for the future.” If ever there were a time to focus our energies on the things that matter, Advent would be it.

I am going to follow Mary’s lead on this one. I am going to spend a few moments pondering before I say, “Here I am.” I just want to make sure that each of these commitments is a part of my call today. Wrestling the kids into the car for church or scouts or school usually doesn’t feel like call at the moment. But if I ponder it for a few seconds, I see the connections. Parenting is a call, and part of parenting is providing opportunities for my children’s growth.

There are two things I suspect will happen in the next few days. One is that I will have flashes of frustration, wondering why I am racing all over town, wondering if I am “missing Christmas.” Those moments are not fun.

But there will also be times of sensing something deeper. It may happen in a quiet moment at church, or it could happen driving to scouts. It will be a brief epiphany where I understand that it is into this world, this time, and even into my life that Christ comes again. Let it be with me according to your word.

The Adventures of Acolytes by Tom Pappas

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 14:02:00 +0000

One of my favorite activities at the end of worship is to anticipate the adventures of acolytes. (book to follow) It’s impossible to predict what they will encounter/manufacture as they approach the candles during the last verse of the last hymn, transfer the flame to their candle-lighter, snuff the candle and then process out in front of the pastor.

These are elementary school students, coached by a parent. They are cute as can be in their white robes and clunky tennis shoes. Sometimes siblings serve in pairs and it's clear that for some brothers it makes a difference to finish far ahead of sister. Sometimes an over-eager acolyte will put out both candles and disappear from the chancel leaving the partner high and dry. Sometimes the wick will be pushed out too far and the candle-lighting device will sport a much too big flame. Sometimes the hymn is short and their duties can't possibly be completed before the singing stops. The benediction waits.

Last Sunday I anticipated a new anecdote for my catalogue of misadventures when I noticed that one of the lectern candles was out for most of the service. What would these kids decide on the fly? How would they work it out? To my delight they nailed it.

The girls both approached the lit candle, in turn they lit the wicks of their candle-lighter, then the second girl put out the candle and they turned and processed out the middle aisle. It put a smile on my face. Children solving what I hadn’t figured out.

In the afterglow of Thanksgiving I love having additional reasons for gratitude and hope. Forgive me for being weary of our culture of me-firstness. I’m thankful for Jesus’ devotion to children. Could it be that he taught these girls a Kingdom lesson before adult "values" could interfere.

God is God - of the big and little. Big and little people – big and little events.

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/Your-first-Advent-Reflection-from-Lumunos.html?soid=1101290962592&aid=TLP7LKLx-8E

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 14:38:00 +0000

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/Your-first-Advent-Reflection-from-Lumunos.html?soid=1101290962592&aid=TLP7LKLx-8E

Prayer After Giving Thanks by Angier Brock

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 15:04:00 +0000

Thanks-giving is a political act.

Most American history books—and holiday ads and decorations—link thanks-giving to 1621 Plymouth, Massachusetts, and to pilgrims and Indians. My home state of Virginia, however, claims Virginia as the site of the first thanks-giving, because in December 1619, English settlers sponsored by the London Company landed at Berkeley Hundred with instructions to observe the day of the ship’s arrival “yearly and perpetually as a day of thanksgiving to Almighty God.”

On the other hand, a Texan might place the first American thanks-giving either in Palo Duro Canyon in 1541, with the Spanish explorer Francisco Vasquez de Coronado and Teya Indians as participants, or somewhere along the Rio Grande River in 1597, with Spanish explorer Juan de Onate, Native People of that region, and Franciscan missionaries.

What those thanks-giving celebrations have in common is that they followed weeks or months of hardships. In Texas and Massachusetts, many had died of starvation or thirst. What too often gets ignored is the myriad ways in which Native Peoples of all tribes had given thanks on this land for centuries before any Europeans showed up—and the cost to them of the arrival of the Europeans. We would do well to remember that the names of Plymouth, Berkeley, Palo Duro, and Rio Grande are European names, not indigenous ones.

Thanksgiving is a political act.

At the urging of Congress, George Washington declared a national day of thanksgiving in 1789. In the early 1800s, Sarah Josepha Hale, a New Hampshire writer and editor, urged the creation of a national Thanksgiving Day. In 1863, in the bleak middle of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln proclaimed such a day—though it was not until 1939, under Franklin Roosevelt, that Thanksgiving was set as the fourth (rather than the last) Thursday in November, ostensibly to help retailers by adding a week to the Christmas shopping season.

Thanksgiving is a political act, and any statements about the things for which we give thanks are political statements. I give thanks for my food; I have money to purchase it and transportation to stores that stock fresh fruits and vegetables. I give thanks for my health; I have insurance to help pay for good doctors and the medicines they recommend. I give thanks for the roof over my head; unfair mortgage practices have not cost me my home.

By some reckonings, the average salary of an American CEO today is as much as 185 greater (or perhaps even 325 times greater) than that of the average worker. I wonder what things will make the thanksgiving lists of those CEOs this year. What about those who have lost homes, or jobs? And what about those in the Occupy Movement? What will they say this year when they give thanks? I have to admit that they too are on my list. I give thanks for them, for their non-violent witness and for the ways they have spoken truth to power—and money. Thanksgiving is a political act. It is also an economic one.

And so as Thanksgiving approaches, surely it is right to take stock of our blessings, both individually and as a nation, and to offer God our grateful hearts. But here is my prayer: that out of our gratitude will come not only words but also a more equitable sharing of the resources with which God has blessed us—so that thanks-giving can become a more equitable political act.

Lumunos November e-News: Giving Thanks

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 21:42:00 +0000

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/Lumunos-e-News--Giving-thanks---November-2011.html?soid=1101290962592&aid=1POdkfYcxPc

The Call to Coach by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:49:00 +0000

Coaches are in the news these days for all the wrong reasons. We are sickened and angry to hear about the coach at Penn State who betrayed the trust of some young boys. It is easy to feel cynical and even suspicious about coaches these days.

At this time I think it is especially important to hear about a different coach, a coach who is called to coach for all the right reasons. Joe Erhmann was an All-American at Syracuse and an NFL star for the Baltimore Colts. Since then he has been a high school football coach and a minister. Speaking about the crimes at Penn State, this is what one coach had to say to other coaches:

Moral courage is what sustains the basic freedoms and responsibilities of life in community; we belong to each other; we need each other; we affect each other. What is painfully missing in this horrific story at Penn State is the lack of moral courage displayed by men who spent a lifetime in education, leadership, sports, coaching and working with young people. Courage can be divided into two types: physical and moral. Of the two however, physical courage is the more recognized virtue in the world of sports. Coaches talk about physical courage, encourage it, and hold up examples to the team often in the context of fighting through injuries, rehabilitation, and pain. There is far too little emphasis, teaching, modeling, nurturing and developing of moral courage.
Blog, Nov. 14, 2011

Joe Erhmann coached high school football for years. He wanted to win, and his teams did win quite often. But the mission was much larger. He wanted to help his boys become men. Here is how he defines masculinity:

Masculinity, first and foremost, ought to be defined in terms of relationships. It ought to be taught in term of the capacity to love and to be loved. At the end of your life, it is going to come down to this: What kind of father were you? What kind of husband were you? What kind of coach or teammate were you? What kind of son were you” What kind of friend were you?

And I think the second criterion—the only other criterion for masculinity—is that all of us ought to have some kind of cause, some kind of purpose in our lives that’s bigger than our own individual hopes, dreams, wants, and desires. At the end of our life, we ought to be able to look back over it from our deathbed and know that somehow the world was a better place because we lived, we loved, we were other-centered, other -focused.
Seasons of Life by Jeffrey Marx

Even in this discouraging time, I am thankful for coaches. I am grateful for the people in my life that took the time to be my coach. I am grateful for the coaches that today take the time to lead my son and daughter.

And I am grateful for people like Joe Erhmann for whom coaching is a call with a larger mission than to win games.

Who was your favorite coach?

The Heart & Soul of Knitting by Andi Johnson

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 16:11:00 +0000

Knitting is an art, a craft. You need some mathematical ability. You need to have some dexterity. You need to have good eyesight. And, if you don’t knit, please consider this some life lesson, substitute the word “crochet”, “weaving”, “woodworking”, or whatever other craft you do.

Last spring, I was given an opportunity to purchase a book in honor of Administrative Assistant’s Day from a certain publisher. I chose a book I’d been drawn to called, The Knitting Way, by Linda Skolnik & Janice MacDaniels (Skylight Paths Publishing, 2005). When I received the book, I allowed it to take me on its journey through the patterns.

“Knitting keeps me sane.” As one who is ADD, I bring my knitting everywhere. It helps me focus and concentrate on the speakers and conversations. And, I suppose I knit for sanity, for stress-relief. Can you be upset when you knit, while you knit? Stressed out about events happening around you? Think about that. How connected do you feel when you knit? With your past, connecting to your present, connecting to your future. When you are thinking the stitches involved in an intricate pattern, turning a heel, or purling & knitting when you should be knitting and purling, how can you be stressed?

The spiral is on the cover of the book. I’m drawn to spirals, eternity, the circular pattern of the spiral. I had to knit the spiral. The book explains,
“This spiral is a reminder that we are on a journey. As your hands work this pattern, reflect upon where you are along the journey and be content with your progress.”

After many years’ hiatus, I picked up the needles when I became a caseworker. I brought my knitting into peoples’ homes while I sat and talked with them. If I happened to finish a hat while there, I’d hand it over to the mom, saying, “You need to take better care of yourself, and this is a start.”

A few years later, one of the women in our church began a Shawl Group. It began as a spiritual group, beginning in silence and meditation, with a reading, and just knitting for a while. The shawls would be given to parishioners who had lost someone, who needed just that bit of comfort in their lives during a tough time. And, so we continue with our shawls. Not in silence, and not always together after the service, sometimes in our homes, out in public, and usually in church. I feel the connections we make in church through our knitting, whether we knit in a group, or in our homes, make us stronger, build a better community, sharing skills, patterns and yarns. We recognize the need for someone to take care of themselves with the finished project as we pass it on. In that way, we connect our spirituality in the work we do.

The colors and textures can be luscious. I’m reminded of sunrises, sunsets, mountains, rocks, flower gardens, oceans…I love perusing yarn shops. When I pick up a skein of yarn, I am awed that I can turn this beautiful yarn into something wearable, something usable, and something beautiful. My heart flutters a little.

When I mentioned to someone about writing about knitting, they said to be sure to tell you that mistakes are okay. We learn from them. They can be corrected, but they don’t always need to be corrected. They can make our finished pieces interesting and creative. And, isn’t that the way life is. Is there anyone here who does not make mistakes?

When you knit, you pick up from the last stitch you knit, connecting the yarn, row to row. And, on and on it goes. You connect the loops. Stories are told, occasions are celebrated and recognized. You are carrying on a tradition that is hundreds of years old. It is a craft passed down from generation to generation, within families, among friends. Connections: yarns to yarns. Connections: women to women, and, even between the sexes. Connections: community.

How is it you connect your heart and soul to your community?

Enough by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 14:58:00 +0000

Wayne Muller has written a book with the intriguing title “a life of being, having and doing enough.” I’m suspicious of the grammar, and he doesn’t even capitalize the first letters in the title. (But readers of this blog will already know that he who is without sin casts the first stone, and I sin boldly when it comes to grammar.) Rather, it is the word “enough” in the title that has caught my attention.

I think Muller has found one of those words that has layers and layers of meaning around it. It is a word that raises questions about my life, both practical and spiritual.

· Am I working hard enough in my job?

· Do I have enough money?

· Am I doing enough for the needs of the world?

· Am I praying enough?

· Am I spending enough time playing with my kids?

Muller writes:

First, how do we know we have secured enough food, shelter, sanctuary, health and security for ourselves and our loved ones? And second, as members of our global human family saturated with unnecessary suffering and death, what is enough for us to do, to give to contribute? As we listen together to these challenges, I expect we will discover that these two basic human needs—to have enough and to do enough—live within us as two chambers of a single beating heart.

When Jesus told us to love our neighbor as ourselves, he seems to be pointing to this same question: How do we balance care of ourselves with the needs of the world? How much is enough in either of these areas?

Without offering any easy answers, Muller raises up the importance of our choices. Specifically, he speaks of “the next right thing.” He says,

“Every single choice we make, no matter how small, is the ground where who we are meets what is in the world. And the fruits of that essential relationship—the intimate, fertile conversation between our own heart’s wisdom and the way the world has emerged before us—becomes a lifelong practice of deep and sacred listening for the next right thing we are required to do.”

Sometimes the needs of the world and within me feel overwhelming. Shortening the scope by focusing on the next right thing might well be enough.

What About Bob by Tom Pappas

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 12:54:00 +0000

My friend from church, Bob, had his name in the obituaries this morning. Part of the newspaper information made me wonder if there was another person with his not very common name. The age was right. Seatbelt worn, no alcohol involved - seemed right. But he lives in Lincoln, not the nearby village mentioned in the article. Maybe he moved. Services at the cemetery, not the church; I wondered about that. The church secretary indicated that it wasn’t “our Bob”.

There is a bit of guilt in being happy for my friend knowing that some other family of his namesake has lost a son, father, brother. I am relieved, nonetheless.

I am taken back twelve years when my marriage of 30 years was abruptly ended by an entirely unexpected seizure in the night. My world changed forever in an instant. In the ensuing days, I became acutely aware of one of life’s qualities. God gives us this wonderful, fragile gift and we don’t really own it.

In pondering that reality, I found it appropriate to make a promise to myself to eradicate a certain phrase from my experience. Too many times I would finish an experience or a conversation and wonder to myself, “Why didn’t I . . .?” It seems as if I were being unnecessarily cautious with what I said and did as well as giving too much weight to my imagined opinions of others.

I don’t for a minute believe God would cause Bob to die so I would get back in touch with this personal pledge. (I have been generally happy with my ability to keep it!) But I do think it’s fair and the right way to honor the life of another to use a sad event to live truly for God.

“Our Bob’s” Facebook page didn’t mention his name being listed in the obits until I wrote on his wall. I wonder how his life or view of life will change because of it? What moves you to change your perspective?

A Prayer After Liberating a Tree by Angier Brock

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 13:35:00 +0000

The tree, a common hackberry, stands across the street from my house on a small but steep embankment. Even the one relatively flat approach to it presented challenges: the tangled ground cover was a tripping hazard and it hid the entrance to a groundhog burrow, itself an ankle-twisting hazard. Moreover, the ivy vines climbing the trunk had grown way too large for pruning shears. To cut through them required the use of a pruning saw. What all this meant for my aging and sometimes arthritic joints was that the job was strenuous work. But it was also straightforward work. The point was to rescue the tree from the ivy that threatened to strangle it, and rescue it I did, in about thirty minutes.

I have to admit that I enjoyed thinking of myself as a liberator, even of a tree, even if briefly. And no wonder. Our planet earth is in dire need of being freed from famine, over-population, pollution, poverty, and a host of other things so numerous it is hard to list them all, let alone know where to begin tackling them in order to make a difference. So too in my own life there is much from which I could use a little liberation. You know the kinds of all-too human afflictions I mean. Greed, prejudice, self-righteousness, self-absorption, depression, loneliness, fear, and rage are but a few. What if a good saw and thirty minutes of vigorous work would free us and our world from the “vines” that threaten to strangle us physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually?

Alas, it is not that simple. Or perhaps it is. My experience with the hackberry tree reminds me that while I cannot do everything—I cannot rescue all of the trees in the world, or even in my own neighborhood—I can do something. It also reminds me that while pruning shears and handsaws are not appropriate for every task, there are nevertheless tools I can pick up and use day after day. Reflection is one, time spent in intentional silence. Another is service. A third is reading: whether it be poetry or prose, fiction or non-fiction, sacred or secular, the point is to spend time with words that foster in me a more discerning heart, a greater generosity, and, above all, the courage to try again.

What about you? What tools of liberation are at your disposal? When and how do you use them?

The ivy around that hackberry tree will probably grow back. Sooner or later it will need pruning again, though if I am vigilant, the task next time may not be nearly so onerous. In the meantime, other vines will threaten other trees, and weeds will creep into the garden. My prayer is not so much to take care of any of them once and for all. It is rather to be able to keep close at hand the tools that can help me be an instrument of liberation. And to remember to use those tools over and over and over. . . .

The Borders of the Seasons by Terry & Tracy Moore

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 14:52:00 +0000

I wonder what life would be life if we didn't try so hard to live within rigid borders. As I sit at our dining room table and watch the color-filled, cascading leaves raining down, I become aware of how the change of seasons flow one into another. It’s not like there is a line of demarcation between them, one day it’s spring than the next summer, then one day it’s summer and the next fall. And then one day its fall and the next winter and then the seamless cycle begins again as winter flows into spring. We as humans seem to perceive borders between things as necessary and real. We create or try to anyway, borders around us to keep us safe and protected, when what they actually often do is only keep us separate one from another and from the rest of God’s glorious and magnificent Creation. We are created to be relational with our Creator, with each other and with all manner of created things.

It feels funny to me, now, to think of how we even now ‘border’ things within manmade time frames, instead of within the flowing cycles of the moon, as our ancestors did. Like the seasons listed above, someone decided that there are 4 specific dates on the calendar when one season changes into another, like the recent September 21^st, which here in Michigan is often celebrated by organizations with an “end of summer” festival. There is a much older way to honor this change – they are called the spring and fall equinox and the summer and winter solstices and they do not fall on the same calendar date each year, rather they are based on the movement of the moon through her cycles.

I do understand why we feel the need to create borders, whether borders of time, that allow our days to have some structure, or borders between locations, like countries, so that we feel our place and space belong to us alone. Seems to me that our ideal places, like the Garden of Eden and Heaven, are places without any borders.

One of our favorite poems is called Footprints and it depicts a scene along the seashore where there are footprints left in the sand. Sometimes there are two sets and sometimes there is only one and the author asks God why and God replies that when we see only one, it is because God is carrying us. As I picture this scene now, I am aware of the ever changing line between the seashore and the water. This border changes on a regular basis as the tide ebbs and flows and so, the footprints are impermanent, being washed away each time the tide comes in. If we are to remember that God is always with us, we need to have faith that even though we may not see any footprints at all, our Creator is with us, sometimes walking alongside us, sometimes carrying us, always within us, where there are no borders created by our physical form to keep us separate.

Spiritual Amnesia by Doug Wysockey-Johnson

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 14:13:00 +0000

This morning I came down with a case of spiritual amnesia. Spiritual amnesia is that illness where you forget the things that have connected you with God. (Don’t try to claim it on an insurance form, because I just made it up.)

I raced into the office this morning, running late. There was the stop at school to bring the forgotten gym shoes, then the bank, then the dry cleaners. I had lots on my plate, so there would not be time for my usual practice of beginning my day with journaling, scripture, and prayer. This is spiritual amnesia.

I forgot that gratitude matters. I forgot that, even on a busy day, prayer helps. I forgot that especially on a busy day, prayer helps. I forgot that writing in a current journal or reflecting on an old one often brings helpful perspective for the day. I forgot that bringing my life to God is what sustains me over the long haul. I had spiritual amnesia.

The great thing about spiritual amnesia is that God never forgets. So when I did sit down to pray, the gifts of that spiritual practice were there once again.

Now if I could only remember where I left my car keys….

In Praise of Apples by Andi Johnson

noreply@blogger.com (Lumunos) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 14:28:00 +0000

"What a healthy out-of-door appetite it takes to relish the apple of life, the apple of the world, then!" ~ Henry David Thoreau, Wild Apples

[Warning: This blog may be hazardous to your diet.]

Here in the northeast, it’s apple pickin’ time. It probably is where you live, too. And, most of us know a place to pick the “best” apples. I know several. It’s a true community and family event at these places. You get your basket, go into the rows of trees, and pick those ripe, juicy apples from the trees. You strike up a conversation with the person at the next tree over, making a connection with that person. (If you’re lucky, these places also sell the cider, and perhaps cider donuts. If you haven’t had a fresh, warm cider donut, you’ll have to find one.)

Eating one of apples on your way home, and thinking about whether you have the ingredients to make a crust, and eat the pie. (Don’t forget the butter…and the vanilla ice cream or sharp cheddar), your mind wanders through your years: watching your mom or grandmother make that perfect apple pie. The making of the crust: rolling it out, and placing it in the dish. Peeling & cutting the apples. Adding the spices, a little sugar, and placing it all into the bottom crust. Carefully rolling out the top crust, and crimping the edges. You bake it in the oven, and making the house smell scrumptious.

Of course, Pillsbury makes it easier, and we all must have apple corer-slicer-peelers for just such occasions. I could even pick up the local apples at the grocery store.

But, for a change, I think I’ll make my pie the way my mom and grandma did: to honor the past, to think about the connections of the generations before me. Stopping for the food rituals, going through the old recipes, often help me think of those who have gone before me.

Time to go apple pickin’.

How are you called to make connections with your ancestors?

P.S. Don’t forget to put on the coffee or tea, and invite a friend over to share in your creation. And, it’s okay to have apple pie for breakfast.