Instrument

The Prayer of St. Francis invites us to ask God to use us as instruments.

I am feeling like I have been well played.

Today my eldest marks her last birthday in her twenties. Twenty nine years ago I was little prepared for the heart-stretch wonder of being a mother. I so savored carrying her life within my body. Certainly I loved her unfolding and promise as she grew and claimed her space within me.

But nothing prepared me for the stunning miracle of the way her eyes and heart and hands are so fully open to life and love. Nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of responsibility and the deep sense of completion found in being her mother.

The shine of her eyes during night feedings and the song of her morning salutations live in a place in my soul where I am pregnant yet with life.

There are many words that describe my being in the world.

Leah’s birth gave me the name of my most resonant calling. I am Leah’s mother, blessed with bearing witness to the song that is her life.

Well played.

gratitude and grief

When I began ministry at Richfield UMC, I was the first woman appointed as Lead Pastor.  It became clear that there was some swirl of unease and unhappy about that.  It also became clear that there was plenty of ease and happy about it as well.

At my introductory interview, one of the good men seated at the table informed me that the lead pastor always led the Men’s Bible Study at 8:00 AM on Wednesday mornings.  He shared that information as a way to inform me that come Wednesday, I would be studying scripture with men of the church.

And so I did and so I do.

The group of men gathered on Wednesday mornings has powerfully impacted my ministry.  From the grand vantage point of more than ten years of life shared, I am poignantly aware that being able to share life and faith with the men gathered every week has helped me to grow as person and as pastor.

I have fallen in love many times over with the cast of goodness, wisdom and heart brought to the table by each of the men.

Learning to love is not without pain.

“My guys” are dying.  I just concluded the funeral of a man grounded and near illegally funny.  He would take in what was going on around him and with impeccable timing he would lob out a one-liner that split us wide open with laughter.  He was a man who loved tenderly and largely.  I will miss Charlie greatly.

As I was readying to lead a wedding on the day of Charlie’s funeral, I picked up the phone to check on another one of my teachers.  He has been struggling with cancer as long as I have known him.  He has done so with the kind of grace and willingness to be honest about challenge that has marked his being in the world.  The cancer is run amok in his body.  He is dying. 

When I came to Richfield, he observed the antics of some of the not-so-keen-on-having-a-woman-pastor folk.  He saw it going on and took upon himself the role of mediator and protector.  Respected by his peers, he sought to grow understanding and grace and he had my back and forevermore he has my heart.

He lived his discipleship in the trenches of church muck;  heroic Jesus-following for sure.

I’m not sure how to live my thanks for the love shared with these and so many other fine souls whose lives have blessed and stretched me.  I can tell their stories at funerals and hear the hearts of their families as they grieve and share the good news of ongoing life in the heart of Jesus and all these things are true and so too is this:

Love is grand and life is peopled with stunning glory and my heart beats gratitude and grief.

A wonder it is to love and be loved.

land forms

My forebears came to this country from Scotland.

While visiting Scotland I felt at home. It was as if the land spoke the language of my soul.

After visiting Scotland, I understand why my ancestors settled in the Duluth area. Having spent precious growing up years in Duluth and having had the opportunity to raise my own children there, it is so very clear to me that northern Minnesota echoes with the rocky and chiseled power of Scotland.

Land forms us and helps us find our way.

After spending a tense three weeks navigating the emotional angst of having a very ill son, the coast became clear for some time away.

We headed for the north shore of Lake Superior and there the land held and blessed. We were able to clamber up rivers and sit in the flowing streams. The big lake soothed and the sun-warmed rocks leeched the tired and worn places of soul-clench.

My cells knew that I was home.

And so I am.

apples, trees and wonder

Today was the wildly joyful wedding of two people who have and will bless this world.

The service lasted nearly three hours. That was amazing.

Also amazing was the fact that my eldest daughter Leah took the pulpit.

She read from the Hebrew bible the account of how it was God appeared to Moses in the burning bush. It is a tale that calls Moses to remember that God is in all places and it ends with a recounting of how it is God was present through the generations. All those named as God-companioned were, of course, men.

Except when Leah read it. She read the account with energy and meaning and it ended with the voice of God assuring Moses that God had been present to his mother and to her mother and to Sarah and to Rebecca and to Leah and to Rachel.

And I thought as I watched my daughter launch her heart into proclamation that for too long astute and powerful women have been subjected to a recounting of God’s story that does not include them.

I have known this. I have named the scriptural and traditional gender warp that has too often cast women as bit players. I have mourned the ongoing (still???) challenge it is to find hymnody or liturgy that is fully inclusive of women as Holy reflectors.

Today, I know the enormity of woman loss in a place deeper yet because my daughter took the pulpit and made the story her own.

Isn’t that what we are waiting for?

Isn’t that what it’s all about?

From generation to generation it is our story.

It’s time for the women to speak.

in a day

This morning I was witness to holy leave taking.

A church member, vibrant of soul and young of age, breathed her last.

She was surrounded by the resonant beauty of her fine life: Her partner, mom and sister acted as resurrection midwives. She had prayed that her death might be grace filled. And so it was.

All day today the church has been alive with the sound of music.

Tomorrow we will celebrate the marriage of two amazing folk. They have collected a tribe of singers and dancers who will lead us in a full-hearted celebration of love. There is music happening in most every space available. Our day care children are in awe, as am I.

Love. It’s what life is all about.

Today as Lori let go and tomorrow as Drew and Cassie cleave it is love that moves the loosing and binding that is life.

Love.

Born in the heart of the Holy.

Savored by the wise.

weave

This has been a summer of prayer school.

Sure. I talk about it. I teach it. I do it.

And then family hearts break because of impossible tragedy. Then the chaos of misery strikes my child.

Then I realize that I am held by a weave of hearts connecting to the Holy and in that weave I am grieving sister and aunt and wracked mother and I am raw want and I am held.

I am held.

Love breathes through prayer. The number of people who have prayed and are praying for my loves and for others in this God blessed world is wondrous.

The song of prayer, whispered and bellowed and sung minute by minute and heart by heart.

Prayer; the heart longing of God reached out and returned as the breath that is life.

I’m learning.

Hallowed be.

tender

My dad said this about the thing called being a pastor: You get to love and be loved. 

And isn’t that life?  We get to love and be loved.

Wow.

I spent some time today sharing coffee and sweet goodness with a couple married nearly 70 years.  They are experiencing the kinds of challenges that being tough just can’t vanquish.  And, just as they have done for nearly seven decades, they are doing it together.

We get to be in community with soul titans.  Life gets busy and we scurry about doing that which we have convinced ourselves is crucial and right before our very eyes and hearts lives a universe of glory found in the people God has given us to love.

We get to love and be loved.

Communion is.

Palm Sunday now

The story of Jesus is not some long-ago drama we come to church to hear.

 

The story of Jesus is NOW.

 

All of the things that Jesus did and taught and longed for us to know with our whole lives.

 

Those things are NOW.

 

And the wild hope of Hosanna and the brutal chill of silence as lives are hung on a cross and left to die.

 

Those things are now too.

 

Jesus rides into Jerusalem yet.

 

Jesus rides in on the back of a humble beast meant to remind us that the way of power used by the world is not the way of God.

 

Jesus rides into the halls of power yet and the hopeful raise their song yet and Palm Sunday is now.

 

It is now.

 

Palm Sunday is now while the legislature of our state is in session hearing the cries of the hopeful – save us! – as housing for homeless and marriage for same-sex couples and health care for the poor and adequate education for our children are tussled over in the halls of power and Jesus rides into schools where bullying is being addressed and Jesus rides into nations grappling with how to deal with violence that mangles the souls of women.

 

Palm Sunday is now.

 

On Palm Sunday we acknowledge that Jesus is riding toward the cross.

 

The cross: the place where the passion of love hangs in agony as the wounds borne by those who work with their lives to overcome hatred and injustice are hammered time and time and time again.

 

The cross is the price of hope and loving:  tell me that is not so.

 

It was and it is and Jesus teaches us that we must be willing to know the pain of the cross.

 

It is our own.

 

The cross, as theologian Dorthee Soelle names it, is the world’s answer, given a thousand times over, to attempts at liberation.

 

In long ago Jerusalem, Jesus rode into the streets to the cheers of his hopeful followers.

 

He knew that the audacity of his message – that we are to love God with all our hearts and minds and imaginations and our neighbor as our very selves – he knew that such teaching was going to challenge those who made money and wielded power through cultivating a world where money and privilege were enjoyed by the few when the needs of the non-elite were deemed a non-issue.

 

Jesus knew that liberating the poor and the marginalized from the grinding injustice that kept them invisible and powerless could not be allowed to be imagined in the hearts of others.

 

He knew keeping people cowed and poor kept the privileged in power.  He knew.

 

And yet he got onto the back of that donkey and rode toward the cross.

 

The cross.

 

The place that waits for all who dare to love.

 

Come, you that love the Lord.

 

Allow yourself to feel and feel deeply.

 

Allow yourself to be swept into the hope in Christ Jesus that swells your heart with Hallelujah and shout it shout it shout it and follow it to the place where God calls you to witness for justice – in your school and in your work place and in your community and in your nation and in your home – and allow yourself to feel the pain of loving because through the present power of Christ Jesus – through the NOW of Christ Jesus – you are no stone.

 

You are a called disciple of Jesus. You are walking love and you will not let hatred and indifference to the pain of others numb your heart.

 

Oh, that we would ride into the Jerusalem that awaits us each.

 

Palm Sunday is now.  Jesus rides with us yet.

 

Amen

signs and wonders

The seminary that held and stretched me as I trained for ministry has a giving opportunity that is providing me challenge and grace.

Said seminary was also the place where my pastor father served as adjunct faculty for a time.  United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities sent into my growing-up church and life long-ago seminary interns that are kindred yet.

United Theological Seminary is a place of life-change for me and for so many.

The seminary is offering the purchase of paving stones to complete a stunning chapel that now radiates grace on its campus.  On the paving stones the donor may inscribe names and words of gratitude and witness.

I will purchase one to name my father.  I am hungry for a place where his name will be made permanent; trod upon by those seeking ground.

When we were in Ireland this past fall, Cooper and I were moved by the power of memorial.  We spent silent and powerful time beside the graves of people who made life so very long ago.  To read their gravestones and wonder about their stories made us aware that we too will be in that number.

What do we want, we who are living?  What do we want for others to remember as they pause and remember our being?

How can I speak in five lines or so the quirky power of my father?  What words can name his witness and the snargle and shine of his remarkable life?

It is a powerful question.

For now, I am paying attention.  I am paying attention to the deep longing that calls me to this witness.  My father lived.  He lived and touched and blessed and provoked.  His witness spools yet.

I trust that the words will come.

In the meantime, I savor the assignment.

love

Image

love

On Valentines Day I gathered with thousands of others to name conviction that love is sacred gift.

We rallied at the State Capitol to show support for equal access to rights and inclusion for all families in Minnesota. After working across our state to defeat an anti-marriage amendment that sought to barricade rights for same-gender loving couples, we are a people.

We are a people who are gay and straight and Christian and Jewish and all gradations of rainbow goodness created by our God.

We are a people united in hope.

What we proclaimed at the rally was a fervent belief that in Minnesota, a state long graced by values grounded in respect for all, it is time to allow same-gendered couples to be legally married.

We value children and families. We know how vital it is that children are raised in stable and loving homes. We want all families to know the power of communal support.

We believe in the power of love.

I was proud to be one of the 130 clergy present. I was proud to have church members present. I was moved by the ways that the struggle for justice has created a people who will not be stilled.

And, when this state deconstructs barricades to full inclusion in community, I will be so very proud to be a Minnesotan.

It will be so.

The time is come.