A Graveyard Stroll

 A stroll through a graveyard ... 

Every marker, a testament to a million prayers,

A million prayers for healing, for mercy, for added days.

A million prayers crying out for life,

Just a little bit more, to love and to live,

To touch once more those we love, 

And know the comfort of their smile.

But every such prayer, finally, met:

A firm and resolute No! 

This far, and no further.

Time catches up with us, if you will.

Time lays down a boundary.

A boundary inviolable, finally and firm.

This far, and no further.

Time catches up with us.

Mortality muscles in and has its way.

This far, and no further.

Yet, how many prayers we've uttered.

In moments of desperation and fear.

How many such prayers have passed our mumbling lips.

Prayers answered with a firm and resolute Yes.

This far, and a little further.

A few more days.

A wee bit of love.

Laughter and peace.

This far, and a little further.

A firm and resolute Yes.

To God be the glory.

In life and in death.

In days added, and days bounded.

Time given, or time ended.

This far ... and I am with you always.

A firm and resolute assurance.

Prayer in Days of Distress and Hope

 Everlasting God, the Father of all mercies, the Mother of all hope, we cry out to you in lament and in love … 

we cry out to you for the sake of the earth, and all its creatures, great and small … 

we cry out to you for the sake of loved ones, friends and families … 

we cry out to you for the sake of colleagues who share with us the burdens and demands of responsibility … 

we cry out to you on behalf of the dying and those who care for them … 

we cry out to you, O LORD, for the leaders of nations, for scientists and health workers, for all who labor long and hard for the welfare of this earth … 

We cry out to you, O LORD, as your people have always done in times of distress and need … trusting in your great promises to be at work in all things for good … trusting in your great promises that every prayer is heard and well received, and every prayer answered according to your gracious will and eternal purposes.

You have seen us through thus far, O God … through the wilderness of disease and confusion … you have seen us through thus far, O God, with manna in the morning and water from the rock … by pillar of cloud and column of fire … you have seen us through thus far …

And with steps of faith, taken slowly and wearily, and steps taken with delight and fresh energy, too, O LORD our God, we march on in the name of Christ. With the saints behind us, the cloud of witnesses around us, and the Promised Land ahead of us, O LORD, we promise with might and main that we will not fail you … through Christ our LORD we pray … Amen!

Advent with Pademic

 We wait four weeks as we advent to Christmas.

But haven't we been waiting since last March?

For something?  For relief?   For a time without masks?  For an embrace? 

We wait some more.

In the new year a vaccine will come to save us.

Some were not saved.  Some did not make it to this day.

From my friend Bob ...

Some . . too many are not here today.

There is deep sorrow in this coming, this advent.

And deep darkness along this path to light.

We have tilted, with the planet, into longer nights and shorter days.

Into deeper dark and thinner light. 

Why is this Advent different from earlier Advents?

Advent in pandemic.

Pandemic before, during and beyond Advent.

In the dark, death stalking.

In the dark, we long for light.

Maybe this Advent is different from other Advents

  because we are engulfed by more darkness than ever before.

Maybe this Advent is unique because our yearning for light

  and love is as close as and as distant as an embrace, a cure.

Even one small flickering candle will do. 

A wave across the distance. 

Since last March

A light at the end of four weeks 

A birth of someone

A coming to us

An embrace

A welcome like we've never known before

Truth Ought to Matter

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/30/opinion/trump-conspiracy-germany-1918.html

Truth ought to matter to Christians ... "I am the way, the truth, and the life" said Jesus ... truth is nothing less than the breath of Jesus inspiring the disciples ... truth, clarity, honesty, insight - are these, then, not the goals, the tools, the means, by which Christians live out their lives? Certainly one doesn't have to be a Christian to know the truth, and to be set free by the truth. God, as I understand God, created the world in such a way that anyone, anywhere, any time, if they but knock, and seek, and ask, will gain the truth. God puts no price on the truth other than a willing heart and an open mind, and perhaps some willingness to bear the truth as Christ did the cross - it's that important, it's that necessary, it's the heart and soul of life. In 1918, Germans told lies to one another, lies crafted and compelled by greed and nationalism and hatred, the seedbed of lies. And these days, we're inundated by lies; lies told by Trump, repeated by FOX News, blasted around the internet like a merry-go-round gone mad, cheered on by QAnon, embraced by the lost and the lonely, taken up by social conservatives who relish the lies of racism, and by evangelicals who believed gawd to be telling them to vote for the victor, for the man of lies, and now cannot fathom their error, their misjudgment, their pride and the loss of power. Evangelicals are incapable of admitting error. 

Truth matters, and those who claim the name of Christ must be sure to make truth their

companion - the truth of the times, and the truth of what has happened in the election. Anything less is a crucifying of Christ anew; killing him as a truth-teller, and embracing the lies of Rome and the Jerusalem elite.

Truth matters ... and thank God for those who tell it ... and especially those historians and pundits who tell the truth when Christians fail in this task. Sadly, it's not the first time that Christians have been on the wrong side of truth, nor will it be the last. But God sees to it that truth-tellers are found all over the place, so the truth can be found, so the truth can be lived. And Christ is pleased.

Not Surprised!

Why am I not surprised?

In our first crisis, the Revolution, a good chunk of the "nation" chose to stay with Great Britain.

In our second crisis, the Civil War, a good chunk of the nation wanted to undo it, in order to keep slavery.

In our third crisis, the Great Depression, a good chunk of the nation hated FDR, hated SS, hated everything and anything government did for the people.

Now, in our fourth crisis, a good chunk of the nation still wants a king, desperately wants to keep POC in "their place," and despises the government doing anything for anyone - except the rich and white evangelicals.

I'm not surprised ...

But it's very disappointing!

That in all the 400 years we've been in formation, we've not moved beyond this division, that a good chunk of the nation is still more than happy to undo the nation in order to create their version of a "free land" - harsh, violent, white, evangelical, non-cooperative, militaristic, and aggressive.

Not surprising, but so very disappointing.

There Are Times ...

There are times I wish I could lose myself in theological reflection, but every time I try, the very theology I love to ponder calls me to this earth and it's pain.

It's always Abel's blood crying out to me. It's Jesus and his dadgum Beatitudes, and Paul the Apostle and his deeply ethical ideas of creation and salvation and resurrection.

It's God who calls me out of the Elijah cave of consolation to hear the still small voice, which then tells me to hit the road, anoint some kings, and get on with the prophetic business of political engagement.

That maybe, just maybe, justice might roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream!

History and the Pilate Routine

History.

Read it as a child.

Enjoyed it in high school

Majored in it for college.

Focused on it in seminary.

Been reading it all my life.

A joy to keep probing the dots.

And follow the lines that connect them.

But a burden, too.

I look at others, and note the absence of history.

The absence of the times.

The absence of the present mess, crisis, and whatever.

For them, sweet Elysian fields.

Platitudes and campfires.

Bible verses and cute stories.

The intricacies of dogma - what fun.

S'mores and laughter.

Fun and games.

Middle Class comfort and easy going.

Christian solace and the sweet by-and-by.

Praise God for our ease.

As for:

The Pandemic?

BLM?

Protests?

Environmental disasters?

Income inequality?

And a thousand other realities, truths, hardships, and pains.

The Pilate routine works just fine:

Wash hands.

Shake head.

Walk away.

Clean hands feel good.

Shaking the head seems so astute.

Walking away - comfy.

Damn.

The history muses won't let me alone.

I keep seeing the dots.

And all the lines.

And all the pain and sorrow.

I had a history teacher in high school.

He once scrawled on the black board.

With great drama.

Drama I've never gotten:

HISTORY = HIS STORY.

Well, maybe not HIS.

But certainly God's story.

A story unfolding.

In every season under heaven.

And to think about God, at least for me.

Is to be a student of God's Story.

A student of history.

I cannot do the Pilate thing.

Though what I do is never enough.

But a little work is better than nothing.

And I will do my little work.

For as long as I can.

And in some small way,

I hope that I am following the call of Christ.

The words of the prophets.

And the lives and hope of everyone.

Devoted to seeing the dots.

And connecting them.

For the sake of truth.

For the sake of faith, hope, and love.

For the sake of grace, mercy, and peace.

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Mother, Daughter, and Holy Love.

All that's right and good.

Strong and lovely.

Bright and beautiful.

Great and small.

For the story.

That:

We Shall Overcome!

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*Dedicated to Heather Cox Richardson ... and those historians of past and present who will not rest on their laurels, but press on to know the truth, who stir the pot and keep us disturbed.