"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone; the Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." - Philippians 4:4-7
Dear Friends in Christ -
On the one hand, I think this is one of the most beautiful invitation/promise packages in the Bible. On the other hand, I think that if God expects ME to do this, He expects too much. Rejoice, be gentle, don't worry, tell God your requests . . . wow. That's a lot.
As I was sharing with God my sense of being overwhelmed by all this, God responded, "Just do the first thing, and then get back to me."
OK . . . so that would be "Rejoice." That's the first step. Even in the midst of my everything and whatever. OK. Rejoice. So this is me, giving rejoicing a little try:
I'm rejoicing in the midst of the cold grey slush (which makes this really cool sqwuishing sound when cars drive through it on the street).
I'm rejoicing in the midst of lack-of-caffeine-no-coffee-in-the-house doldrums (thank God I have both the money and the time to pick up a pound of coffee on the way home from school pick-ups).
I'm rejoicing in the midst of the two-foot-deep clutter in several rooms of my house (I can deploy my energetic kids to help me pick it up!).
I'm rejoicing with my friend in the midst of her desperate illness (whenever I call to cheer her up, she ends up cheering me up because she refuses to listen to my whining and makes me tell about 'the good things').
Don't look now, but this may be working. Too well, in fact. Tomorrow I might have to work on the next step!
Faithfully muddling through Lent on this slushy day,
Janet+
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Revival?!
"O Lord, I have heard of your renown, and I stand in awe, O Lord, of your work. In our own time revive it; in our own time make it known." - Habbakuk 3:2
Dear Friends in Christ -
What do the years 1727, 1792, 1830, 1857, 1882, 1904, 1906, 1930 and 1972 have in common? They're dates of past Christian revivals in the US. Notice anything missing? A recent date!
Especially in the midst of this era of crude politics and tough economics, God is on the move. Where will He break through next? How will His glory be revealed?
Our individual ways of being faithful in Lent open the eyes of our hearts to see God at work. Our united ways of being faithful in Lent open space in our midst, inviting God to do something amazing among us. Revival? Yes, we pray, "in our time, make it known"!
With you in faithfulness,
Janet+
Dear Friends in Christ -
What do the years 1727, 1792, 1830, 1857, 1882, 1904, 1906, 1930 and 1972 have in common? They're dates of past Christian revivals in the US. Notice anything missing? A recent date!
Especially in the midst of this era of crude politics and tough economics, God is on the move. Where will He break through next? How will His glory be revealed?
Our individual ways of being faithful in Lent open the eyes of our hearts to see God at work. Our united ways of being faithful in Lent open space in our midst, inviting God to do something amazing among us. Revival? Yes, we pray, "in our time, make it known"!
With you in faithfulness,
Janet+
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
"Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!": A Sermon for Ash Wednesday
Following is today's Ash Wednesday sermon. May it guide you into a Lenten season of delight! Faithfully yours, Janet+
"Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!": A Sermon for Ash Wednesday – Gospel Text: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Do you remember your first love?
Do you remember how it felt to notice someone
To notice them more
To hope they noticed you
To contrive to be close to them
To risk trying to speak to that person
The rush of having that person speak to you
In today’s Gospel reading, you just received some invitations from God, the living God who has noticed you and put some invitations out to you in order to woo you closer. An invitation to go into your room and shut the door and pray. An invitation to put oil on your head and wash our face so that, in fasting, you can make a secret rendezvous. These invitations are given to you by the who calls you in this season of Lent to: “Arise, my fair one, and come away.”
This Lent could be something more than a dour season of duty and drudgery. It could be a season of delight.
Delight? Hey, isn’t all the fun stuff supposed to be reserved for Easter, when the lilies are up and the sun is out and the birds are singing?
No. Actually, no.
Delight begins now. The purpose of this season of dimness and quiet is to come away with the God who beckons us to himself. Because He loves us. And longs to be with us. And longs for us to long to be with him.
God – loves – YOU. He notices you every day. Every moment of every day. He hopes you’ll notice him back.
Yet, even as God contrives to be close you to – in the beauty he surrounds you with, in the truth he stirs you to know in your heart – things get in the way. Every romantic movie plays on this theme of things that get in the way of love. Whether the movie ends up being a comedy or a tragedy depends on what happens with the lovers. In the end, in spite of all odds, do the lovers find each other and stay together, like in the movie “When Harry Met Sally?” Or do they permanently, tragically miss each other, like in “Romeo and Juliet.”
What if today, Ash Wednesday, we accept the mark on our forehead as a mark of belonging, belonging to a God who loves us passionately and without end. What if the season of Lent is a time of falling in love with God – for the first time, or again?
In the last years or decades of your relationship with God, there was probably a point at which you were in love with God. Or at least there was a time when God came to your rescue and you wanted to repay him by drawing closer to him. Whether you haven’t felt close to God in a while, or whether you feel held close in His loving arms each day, this season of Lent is a time filled with opportunities to notice the God who is always noticing you, and to spend time with Him.
The fact that you’ve shown up today is a sign that you’re interested in your relationship with God. You’ve likely come because you sense that this is a place, a time where you can draw closer. What will you do beyond this day? In this season of Lent, will you risk praying and giving and fasting – and finding out some things about God that might encourage you . . . as well as some things that you might not have wanted to know, things that challenge you? God’s invitation to prayer and giving and fasting is an invitation to do just that: as you pray and give and fast, to let your questions and concerns rise to the surface so that your loving God can respond.
Right now, in this time of worship, I offer you three ways to forge a deeper connection with the One who calls to us “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away . . .”
First, there’s a little slip of paper in your bulletin, it invites you to write a question. If there’s something you’ve been wondering about, some worry or doubt or fear that’s been on your mind, I invite you to ask the question. Write it down and give it as an offering to God and put it in the plate when it’s passed during the offering. Put your question out there so it’s not stuck in here, getting in the way of your relationship with God. And perhaps putting it out there will help us, together, find an answer. During the Sundays of Lent, the sermons will be shaped by the questions you ask. Perhaps, in putting your questions out there, you will help us all hear some of God’s thoughts and sense His presence.
Second, in just a moment, you’re going to receive some ashes, a mark of belonging and belovedness, a sign of right relationship with the God who loves you. When you receive the mark, I pray that, as you are reminded that you’re mortal, you will also know that you are returning to dust only so you can be raised with Christ to be with the God who loves you, forever.
Third, after the imposition of ashes, we will say some prayers, prayers of penitence in which we confess some of the things that might be getting in the way of our love relationship with God. As you offer up your repentance, I pray that you will be unburdened and free to enjoy his embrace as he reaches out to you day by day this Lent. As you seek to keep a holy Lent, may you hear Him say to you,
“Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land . . . Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. . . . Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. It’s flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench [my] love [for you], neither can floods drown it.” (Song of Solomon 2:10-12,13b; 8:6-7a)
Amen.
"Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!": A Sermon for Ash Wednesday – Gospel Text: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Do you remember your first love?
Do you remember how it felt to notice someone
To notice them more
To hope they noticed you
To contrive to be close to them
To risk trying to speak to that person
The rush of having that person speak to you
In today’s Gospel reading, you just received some invitations from God, the living God who has noticed you and put some invitations out to you in order to woo you closer. An invitation to go into your room and shut the door and pray. An invitation to put oil on your head and wash our face so that, in fasting, you can make a secret rendezvous. These invitations are given to you by the who calls you in this season of Lent to: “Arise, my fair one, and come away.”
This Lent could be something more than a dour season of duty and drudgery. It could be a season of delight.
Delight? Hey, isn’t all the fun stuff supposed to be reserved for Easter, when the lilies are up and the sun is out and the birds are singing?
No. Actually, no.
Delight begins now. The purpose of this season of dimness and quiet is to come away with the God who beckons us to himself. Because He loves us. And longs to be with us. And longs for us to long to be with him.
God – loves – YOU. He notices you every day. Every moment of every day. He hopes you’ll notice him back.
Yet, even as God contrives to be close you to – in the beauty he surrounds you with, in the truth he stirs you to know in your heart – things get in the way. Every romantic movie plays on this theme of things that get in the way of love. Whether the movie ends up being a comedy or a tragedy depends on what happens with the lovers. In the end, in spite of all odds, do the lovers find each other and stay together, like in the movie “When Harry Met Sally?” Or do they permanently, tragically miss each other, like in “Romeo and Juliet.”
What if today, Ash Wednesday, we accept the mark on our forehead as a mark of belonging, belonging to a God who loves us passionately and without end. What if the season of Lent is a time of falling in love with God – for the first time, or again?
In the last years or decades of your relationship with God, there was probably a point at which you were in love with God. Or at least there was a time when God came to your rescue and you wanted to repay him by drawing closer to him. Whether you haven’t felt close to God in a while, or whether you feel held close in His loving arms each day, this season of Lent is a time filled with opportunities to notice the God who is always noticing you, and to spend time with Him.
The fact that you’ve shown up today is a sign that you’re interested in your relationship with God. You’ve likely come because you sense that this is a place, a time where you can draw closer. What will you do beyond this day? In this season of Lent, will you risk praying and giving and fasting – and finding out some things about God that might encourage you . . . as well as some things that you might not have wanted to know, things that challenge you? God’s invitation to prayer and giving and fasting is an invitation to do just that: as you pray and give and fast, to let your questions and concerns rise to the surface so that your loving God can respond.
Right now, in this time of worship, I offer you three ways to forge a deeper connection with the One who calls to us “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away . . .”
First, there’s a little slip of paper in your bulletin, it invites you to write a question. If there’s something you’ve been wondering about, some worry or doubt or fear that’s been on your mind, I invite you to ask the question. Write it down and give it as an offering to God and put it in the plate when it’s passed during the offering. Put your question out there so it’s not stuck in here, getting in the way of your relationship with God. And perhaps putting it out there will help us, together, find an answer. During the Sundays of Lent, the sermons will be shaped by the questions you ask. Perhaps, in putting your questions out there, you will help us all hear some of God’s thoughts and sense His presence.
Second, in just a moment, you’re going to receive some ashes, a mark of belonging and belovedness, a sign of right relationship with the God who loves you. When you receive the mark, I pray that, as you are reminded that you’re mortal, you will also know that you are returning to dust only so you can be raised with Christ to be with the God who loves you, forever.
Third, after the imposition of ashes, we will say some prayers, prayers of penitence in which we confess some of the things that might be getting in the way of our love relationship with God. As you offer up your repentance, I pray that you will be unburdened and free to enjoy his embrace as he reaches out to you day by day this Lent. As you seek to keep a holy Lent, may you hear Him say to you,
“Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land . . . Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. . . . Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. It’s flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench [my] love [for you], neither can floods drown it.” (Song of Solomon 2:10-12,13b; 8:6-7a)
Amen.
Ash Wednesday - Do you know what it's about?
Dear Friends in Christ -
I invite you to come to church at St. Paul's today (we're worshipping together at 7:00 a.m., noon and 7:00 p.m.) and hear something you might not expect: why Lent is a season of delight, and not - as we often fear it is - a season of dour duty and drudgery.
Do you know how much God longs to be with you? Do you hear Him calling to you, "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away . . . ???
Come join us today, and receive the mark of ashes, which is nothing more or less than a mark of our belovedness, a mark of belonging.
Delighting in God's love on the threshold of a holy Lent,
Janet+
I invite you to come to church at St. Paul's today (we're worshipping together at 7:00 a.m., noon and 7:00 p.m.) and hear something you might not expect: why Lent is a season of delight, and not - as we often fear it is - a season of dour duty and drudgery.
Do you know how much God longs to be with you? Do you hear Him calling to you, "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away . . . ???
Come join us today, and receive the mark of ashes, which is nothing more or less than a mark of our belovedness, a mark of belonging.
Delighting in God's love on the threshold of a holy Lent,
Janet+
Thursday, January 5, 2012
DAY 12 - SO NOW WHAT . . . ?
Dear Friends in Christ -
Not just one but all twelve of the days of Christmas are now over (almost - today's the last day).
What will the season of Epiphany hold?
Time. Second longest season of the year after the "Ordinary Time", the long summer/early fall season.
Time to think about fresh hopes and important ideas. Time to begin to live into "The Work of Christmas . . ." (poem by Howard Thurman)
"When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins.
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart."
In the days and weeks to come, may God pour into you all His goodness, that it may pour through you to the places you go and the people you meet.
Blessings,
Janet+
Not just one but all twelve of the days of Christmas are now over (almost - today's the last day).
What will the season of Epiphany hold?
Time. Second longest season of the year after the "Ordinary Time", the long summer/early fall season.
Time to think about fresh hopes and important ideas. Time to begin to live into "The Work of Christmas . . ." (poem by Howard Thurman)
"When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins.
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart."
In the days and weeks to come, may God pour into you all His goodness, that it may pour through you to the places you go and the people you meet.
Blessings,
Janet+
Monday, January 2, 2012
THE SIGNS LEAD ME TO . . . PRAISE!
I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. - Psalm 34:1
Dear Friends in Christ -
As we stand on the prow of the year, we strain to see what lies ahead, seeking a sign. This year, whether we peer into the annals of history or the pages of the NYTimes or the words of the pundits and politicians, all seem to bear the same message: 2012 promises to be a momentus year. The winds of change are blowing, and fiercely so. There will be great challenges in weather, in war, in politics, in economics.
In the face of dire predictions, some may be tempted to fear, but I'm opting to take the advice of yesterday morning's preacher, Deacon Knute Hansen, and meet the year with praise. Praising God and His world's goodness lifts my eyes from this present moment to the glories of the past and the hope of the future. Praising God and His world's goodness sets the current press and rush in the context of the grand flow of time, reminding me that what has been will be again, and what has not been may yet occur.
I invite you to join me in praise, and I offer to you a poem, from another troubled time, the days following the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001. May it nourish your spirit today and in the days to come . . .
Faithfully with you,
Janet+
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
—Adam Zagajewski
(Translated, from the Polish, by Clare Cavanagh.)
From THE NEW YORKER issue of September 24, 2001.
Dear Friends in Christ -
As we stand on the prow of the year, we strain to see what lies ahead, seeking a sign. This year, whether we peer into the annals of history or the pages of the NYTimes or the words of the pundits and politicians, all seem to bear the same message: 2012 promises to be a momentus year. The winds of change are blowing, and fiercely so. There will be great challenges in weather, in war, in politics, in economics.
In the face of dire predictions, some may be tempted to fear, but I'm opting to take the advice of yesterday morning's preacher, Deacon Knute Hansen, and meet the year with praise. Praising God and His world's goodness lifts my eyes from this present moment to the glories of the past and the hope of the future. Praising God and His world's goodness sets the current press and rush in the context of the grand flow of time, reminding me that what has been will be again, and what has not been may yet occur.
I invite you to join me in praise, and I offer to you a poem, from another troubled time, the days following the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001. May it nourish your spirit today and in the days to come . . .
Faithfully with you,
Janet+
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
—Adam Zagajewski
(Translated, from the Polish, by Clare Cavanagh.)
From THE NEW YORKER issue of September 24, 2001.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A NEW YEAR'S PLEA FOR 2012
When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? O LORD, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth! - Psalm 8:3-4,9
Dear Friends in Christ -
There's no more faithful way to start the New Year than to humbly come to God with prayers of praise and pleas for help. My own prayers this day are guided by one that was written by Edgar Guest, an immigrant who came from England to the US as a young man, and who worked as journalist and writer through two World Wars. I invite you to join me in Guest's prayer for courage, discernment and faithfulness.
Wishing you a blessed New Year,
Janet+
A New Year's Plea
Lord, let me stand in the thick of the fight,
Let me bear what I must without whining;
Grant me the wisdom to do what is right,
Though a thousand false beacons are shining.
Let me be true as the steel of a blade,
Make me bigger than skillful or clever;
Teach me to cling to my best, unafraid,
And harken to false gospels, never.
Let me be brave when the burden is great,
Faithful when wounded by sorrow;
Teach me, when troubled, with patience to wait
The better and brighter to-morrow.
Spare me from hatred and envy and shame,
Open my eyes to life's beauty;
Let not the glitter of fortune or fame
Blind me to what is my duty.
Let me be true to myself to the end,
Let me stand to my task without whining;
Let me be right as a man, as a friend,
Though a thousand false beacons are shining.
By Edgar Guest
Dear Friends in Christ -
There's no more faithful way to start the New Year than to humbly come to God with prayers of praise and pleas for help. My own prayers this day are guided by one that was written by Edgar Guest, an immigrant who came from England to the US as a young man, and who worked as journalist and writer through two World Wars. I invite you to join me in Guest's prayer for courage, discernment and faithfulness.
Wishing you a blessed New Year,
Janet+
A New Year's Plea
Lord, let me stand in the thick of the fight,
Let me bear what I must without whining;
Grant me the wisdom to do what is right,
Though a thousand false beacons are shining.
Let me be true as the steel of a blade,
Make me bigger than skillful or clever;
Teach me to cling to my best, unafraid,
And harken to false gospels, never.
Let me be brave when the burden is great,
Faithful when wounded by sorrow;
Teach me, when troubled, with patience to wait
The better and brighter to-morrow.
Spare me from hatred and envy and shame,
Open my eyes to life's beauty;
Let not the glitter of fortune or fame
Blind me to what is my duty.
Let me be true to myself to the end,
Let me stand to my task without whining;
Let me be right as a man, as a friend,
Though a thousand false beacons are shining.
By Edgar Guest
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