Lately I have been moved by the ways people are beauty, one for the other.

I sit at table with a group of men every Wednesday morning for bible study.  Some of them walk to get to church.  Others are dropped off by their wives, because they are no longer able to drive.  One man comes to bible study because every week his church friend comes to pick him up.  The man who is picked up is 93.  The man who picks him up is 91. Every Wednesday they come to drink coffee and swap one-liners and prayers.

Without a ride to church, one of our number would not be able to share in community.

Kindness matters.

I watch people reach out for squirmy babies.  I watch people listen attentively.  I watch people bite their tongues when a retort would feel lovely.  I watch people quiet themselves in the presence of people they trust and feel safe with.  It is like watching flowers unfold in order to soak in sunlight.

I am in the midst of these ministers.  Daily I witness grace.

The ways we live kindness bears witness to our faith convictions in ways no words can voice.

I’m grateful to be in community where hearts are woven into a web of care and compassion.

Daily I witness beauty.

I glanced up and there was a masked man on our front porch, peering in the window.

After my heart lurched, I realized that it was son Jameson.  He is one of those winter bikers.  He is swaddled head to toe in gear.  At first glance, his own mother didn’t recognize him.

He was here to pick up his college books.  The wonder of used books on Amazon is great,  so having pushed buttons, said books arrived here and were awaiting pickup.

What a treat.

It is good to love my work.  Throwing myself into the sea of people on a Wednesday night at church is gift.  We have a church dinner that serves sixty or so people and at table I get a chance to catch up with folk about life and life always has to do with family.

Coming home after such a time to an unexpected appearance of my own flesh kin was so fine.

The books were unwrapped, stories swapped, hugs shared and he was off.

I went to bed feeling the kind of wholeness that comes with being able to see and hear and touch and sniff my children.

There are wonders aplenty in the world.

The fierce warm that is love is life kindling.  In the physical cold of a Minnesota winter, it sparks the heat of wonder.  In the sometimes emotional and spiritual stagger of life, it sustains, does love.

The chair arrives.

When we got married and blended households, Cooper brought into our home a variety of furniture stuffs.  One of the most beloved by him was a man chair.  You know the type:  recliner overstuffed happiness.

When we tried to sell our house years ago (oh what folly, that) we worked with a realtor who helped us stage our home.  Most every piece of furniture Cooper brought into our home got tagged for removal.  Mostly, that was not so bruising.  But perhaps the first thing tagged was the man chair.

Since then, he has valiantly made nest in a comfy chair we have.  But there has been a sense of loss for him.  At first I laughed it off, figuring that a chair can’t really be that vital.  But as time went on, as Cooper has accommodated many comings and goings of children and critters through this porous thing called home, realization has dawned.

It matters.  Having a spot of one’s own matters.

So, for his 60th birthday, his son Louis and I went to furniture land and gleefully chose a fitting nest for our mutually beloved.

Today it gets delivered.  Cooper’s long sojourn is over.

It will have the place of pride in our house, facing the front door and a newly gifted depiction of “Dogs Playing Cards” given him by my children.  That story too has much to do with making claim on decorating ambiance.  It’s not on velvet (thank God) and it makes us laugh.

What I’m celebrating is that through the bumps and ruts and highs of blending homes and families, there are opportunities to mark milestones and make nest.

It matters.

When presented with the wonder that is Jesus, one of the approached soon-to-be disciples cannot believe that anything good can come out of Nazareth.  Big shrug.  Why bother?  He almost loses the chance of a lifetime because of his reliance on what he thinks he knows.

So our Director of Spiritual Formation did a children’s sermon with a green pepper as her object lesson.  She had the kids smell it and feel it and talk about the assumptions they had about what was inside of it:  seeds, the usual green pepper accoutrements.

As the children’s lesson wound down the kids were losing focus and interest and I could feel the sanctuary making the internal shift from children’s lesson to what was to come next.

And then this amazing thing happened.  Marcia took off the top of that green pepper and do you know it was chock-full of M & M candies!!!!

Holy cow, I have NEVER felt the energy in the sanctuary shift with such gusto in my eight plus years at Richfield.

Chocolate!  In a place unexpected!  How can we keep from singing!

I’m still laughing.  I think the kids and adults gathered got the message:  prejudging can cost the world a heart.

As for me, I learned that if, while preaching, I get the sense that people are slipping away from me, I will unveil a green pepper stuffed with chocolate.

And then look out!  Anything is possible.

The years go by.  For a time in my life buying shoes seemed an endless task.  With three children, it seemed like every time I turned around someone needed shoes.

Lately, though, with said children grown and launched, the adventure of shoe seeking is a mother-less affair.  This is good.  Self-sufficiency is a good thing.

But today I get to participate in a ritual whose grooves I know well.

Really, it is not about the shoes.  It’s about tending.  Even though children grow and leave and commence living, they are always tied to their parental units with heart cords.  For the life of me, I haven’t much figured out how not to scan them every time I see them:  are they eating well?  Are their teeth tended?  Are they shod in ways that will keep them dry and warm?  What about that bike helmet?  Are they happy?

The many calculations live in me.  I have to squelch most of the questions I might ask.  I encounter enough eye rolling in our time together.  Said rolling eyes tell me that I have a limited fussing budget to work with, so I have to check in judiciously.

The last time we were together my question had to do with shoes.  Bless him, my son agreed to allow me to replace the beloved (and many-holed) shoes he was wearing.

It felt like victory.

If all goes well, Jameson will walk and bike his way through the winter city in dry and comfortable shoes.

And his mother?  She will feel the warm good of caring for one of her babies.  Sleep comes easier when basics are assured.  As important, I’ll get time to be with one of my favorite people on this planet.

As I anticipate the joy of this seemingly mundane thing, my heart lurches a bit.

I can buy these shoes.  I can fuss and tend and see to it my son is warm and dry.  We’re even going to buy them new, without taking the time to cruise thrift stores, which is often our wont.

This we can do.

What of the so many who cannot?

Every year when Good Friday comes around my soul must have that sing.

And it is feeling that need on this day.

On Sunday we will gather in a mostly racially segregated church to name, among other things, the way that the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s message was sprung from the teachings of Jesus.  We will hear some of his words and sing songs that harken back to a time when the church took blinders off and took action based upon the teachings of Jesus.

Today I was engaged in an electronic conversation involving some of the clergy who have signed a document saying that we no longer feel bound by a church teaching that conspires to barricade grace from same-sex committed couples.  The conversation had to do with how do we as clergy and lay advocates for full inclusion open dialogue and how do we maintain a conversation space free of hate speak and how do we move this crucial conversation out to a world sore weary for want of grace and I want to sing “Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble” because we ARE there every day, positioned at the foot of the cross where our sisters and brothers in Christ are crucified crucified crucified by the unwillingness of God’s people to rise up and say that we will no longer collaborate with the forces of fear.

I am a tired and heart-sore singer needing a good wail and tremble is so real.

Wail I will, and then I will get up, pick up my voice and my heart and search for others who long to do the same and together we will overcome.  We will overcome.

Because the heart of God demands our response.

Heaven help us if we sit through tidy and safe commemorations of MLK without turning to now, to us, to what is, and asking ourselves how it is we can go along when so much is yet to be.

May the blinders be banished and our hope and fury be sung from belly and pulpit.

This is a shout-out to all those who come to church on the first Sunday of the New Year.

Today in worship we shared words and heart longings hundreds of years old. We shared a part of Wesley’s Covenant Service.  The thought is that when we are mindful of that which we seek, we are more apt to give ourselves over to it.

What we prayed about and recommitted ourselves to is living in a relationship of trust with the Holy.  We named our desire to let go of the worry nattering that clogs our soul-waves.  We named our desire to give our lives and our hearts over to God’s keeping.

And then we shared the meal of Jesus together.  It was a seemly first feast in this year we trust will be grace.

Wherever it is you find yourself on this day, the prayer is yours for the holding today and all days:

I am no longer my own, but thine. Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt. Put me to doing, put me to suffering. Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee, exalted for thee or brought low for thee. Let me be full, let me be empty. Let me have all things, let me have nothing. I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal. And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it. And the covenant which I have made on earth, let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

Covenant Prayer From John Wesley’s Covenant Service , 1780

Let us be full, let us be empty according to God’s desire for our unfolding.

Happy New Year!

This past year rings with a lovely soul hum.

My core relationships with partner and children have deepened and been freed.  My guy turned 60 this past week with a house full of friends from decades back and being a part of celebrating the relationships that make for life was gift.  My children are all residents of Minneapolis.  Last night two of three did swing-throughs, celebrating full refrigerators and lives.  To be able to share life casually is stunning gift.

The church I am part of tending has stretched and grown.  We trust each other more and most powerfully, we are opening to the wash of grace.  During the past year we rededicated our pipe organ, refurbished our sanctuary, prayed plenty and worshipped more.  We are a people celebrating transformation.

Personally, the decision to eat a vegan diet has changed my relationship with my own body.  The energy I feel is amazing, and the sense of reverence for the fuel that motors my flesh through the day is deep.  It isn’t all that hard.  The gifting is immense.  And, the implications for the health of the planet are real.

Socially, it feels like the world is waking up.  We are realizing the shattering that happens when the disparity between the rich and the poor widens.  People are speaking up and naming injustice and this is good.  Hopefully the movement of Jesus,  grounded on the core teachings of care for all of God’s people, will step up and speak out.

Our state is facing a wrenching watershed.  On the ballot this coming fall is an amendment seeking to ban marriage between people of the same sex.  The money and effort that will be thrown into this melee breaks my heart.  With a world literally starving due to a lack of generosity of heart and resources, monies spent to barricade love seems obscene.  But we will witness and fight and dear God, defeat this travesty of legislative bullying.

The United Methodist church will meet for General Conference this spring and once again seek to open the doors to grace for all of God’s children.  Currently we do not ordain “self avowed practicing homosexuals” and we do not allow our clergy to officiate at same sex blessings or marriages.  It is heart ache.  It is embarrassing. It needs to change, this policy that condemns love lived between holy creations.  I pray that the Holy Spirit will unfetter the clenched hearts that keep our movement bound.

Looking into 2012 I pray for a growing sense of communal grace.  It won’t come without the courage to look at what is and decide what we can do to live the world into healing.

There is so much good.  We are good.  Sharing that goodness in order that all might be blessed seems a good way to live into transformation.

Happy new year indeed.

I find myself amazed at the power and grace of our church.

Each funeral requires a team of ministers.  Our organist provides powerful music to hold families and friends.  Vocalists and instrumentalists share their gifts.  Our communications person produces bulletins to aid worship.  The women and men of the church bake bars and cakes.  Those bars and cakes are offered, along with coffee and beverages and other foods by the people of the church who know how important it is to feed the hungry and offer drinks of compassion to the thirsty.  They welcome all through the doors: community members, families, estranged and beloveds alike.

People come to mark the lives of their brothers and sisters in Christ.  They sing and pray and give thanks for the time spent making life together.  And, they name before God their gratitude for life and life eternal in the company of the Christ and the flotsam and jetsam that is family and friends.

We have shared powerful worship over this past month.

Today, four different people stopped me and told me this:  they are praying for me.  Knowing that hearts get linked and it is hard to say goodbye to so many in such a short time, they offered me the powerful gift of their prayers.

To serve in the midst of such ministry underscores the teaching of Jesus.  He taught that living discipleship is about building the kindom of God on earth.  The time for compassion and grace and blessing is now.

I’m seeing it at church.  And for sure, I am feeling it in this now.

Three worship services are still thrumming in my body.  Christmas Eve is an amazing time to be church.

For the early (4:00) service chaos is an expected guest.  Kids are amped, parents are excited, grandparents shine with wonder, and all that energy is gathered within the walls of a sanctuary that has for decades held the prayers, celebrations and heart aches of a people.  The dispersed come home to celebrate life.

We have a tradition of inviting one of “our own” church sons to play classical guitar for the early service.  He grew up in the church, a musical son of musical and heart-huge parents.  A month earlier we had been together in the sanctuary to give thanks for the life of his mom.  It was a sweet and achy thing for him to share his musical gift without the physical shine of his proud mom.  And, for all that, she was present.

Richfield UMC has an amazing depth of musical heart.  We shared the witness of strings and voices and organ and children song and heard the story of how it was Jesus was born and the angels wove grace into our hearts.

You could see it in the candle-lit faces of those gathered.  Star shine was taken in and shared.

Christmas day worship was a romp.  We declare Sunday Christmas Days to be “slipper Sundays” so folk came with outlandish feet regalia.  The whole church took a deep gulping breath of nostalgia when one of our children came up for the children’s lesson in his sleeper jammies and slippers.  We sang, we heard the heart speakings of two of our members, we laughed and we celebrated the birthday of the Prince of Peace.  And leading worship in my slippers was delicious!

There are those who feel sorry for clergy at Christmas time.  Don’t.  True, the needful things that must be done are amplified when preparing a church is added to preparing for a home for Christmas.

But the gifts I received will long linger.  Seeing faces lit by candles while singing “Silent Night” is holy communion.  Watching people share love and light is salvation.  Being a part of the song and heart weave that is Christmas Eve and Christmas Day worship is amazing grace.

And, I was blessed with the candle-kissed sight of my own beloveds; children and husband and former husband too.  Seeing those faces in a shared pew on a night meant for knowing that with God all things are possible.  I was in the presence of emmanuel, God with us.

So it was.  So it is.