19 November, 2010

Open Palms

Kneeling at the altar with open palms. What does that mean? Why do we come to the altar? What do we hope to gain? What do we have to give up? Why do we open our palms?
In that simple act we are giving up and we are receiving. We are giving up all the hurt and pain form the past week that we have had done to us and that we have done. We are releasing the anxieties and worries of this life. And we are giving thanks to the God who gives us grace and allows us to start again. Open palms say, “I am vulnerable; I don’t have all the answers; I don’t know; I am sorry; I am thankful.”
And into these hands we receive. We receive the body of Christ that fills us, renews us, and grounds us. It says, “you are mine; you are forgiven; you are loved; go and do the same. Go and be the same.”

18 November, 2010

The Bible isn't a Laundry manual

Many years ago I decided that instead of resenting all the laundry I had to do I would use the time for prayer and reflection. When I do the ironing, I pray for the person whose clothes I am ironing. When ironing sheets I pray for rest for those who will sleep in them, and when ironing napkins I pray that the food will be blessed and the fellowship around the table will be joyful. I sometimes do the same thing when folding clothes.
The truth is, there are still many times I find myself grumbling doing laundry. I get frustrated with the mismatched socks, the wadded up clothes that I have to untangle, and the ever present shirts inside out.
Growing up, I was told, "If you leave it inside out, it gets washed and folded that way." So as often happens, I just follow that along into adulthood. Until a few weeks ago--I decided that I would turn every shirt and pray while doing it. I decided that this would be an act of love and service. "Really," I thought to myself, "What's the big deal?" For several weeks I have very proudly turned every shirt as though each was a notch in the peg of becoming world's greatest mother. I admit I even thought, "One day the children will remember this."
Yesterday while doing laundry and reflecting on this, and I must admit thinking about how I was so unlike my own mother. I realized how incredibly full of pride I was for turning shirts. My act of love and service had become a way for me to glorify myself and honestly a way to criticize my mother. Pride and arrogance had taken the place of servanthood and love. And I began reflecting-
Why did my mother not turn our clothes? Perhaps it was because she was in a hurry or perhaps it was because she was trying to teach us. Perhaps she was trying to teach us how to care for our clothes, trying to teach us to care for the things we have been given and the things we have bought. Perhaps there is a bigger lesson in this. Perhaps there is the lesson of caring for all that we have and do and treating things as well as people with respect. And I began to think about what all this could mean theologically. What does this mean for me as a Christian? Does it matter if I turn the clothes or not? What is the Christian thing to do? I couldn't come up with an absolute.
So often in our lives there are no absolutes. Every incident we encounter, every choice we have to make cannot be looked up in the Bible as though it was a policy manual. So how do we make those decisions; how do we know what the "right" thing to do is; and is there always one "right" thing?
Jesus loved. Every act he did was out of love and service to others. Jesus taught and Jesus served. He got angry and frustrated with his disciples, and he was tender with them. But everything came from love.
How should this guide my life? I must ask the question, "Why am I doing what I'm doing?" Do I turn the clothes as an act of love and service, or do I not turn the clothes as an act of love and teaching? It all comes down to love.

15 November, 2010

Saint and Sinner Reflections on a Woman I Love

She didn't think I was perfect--but I was as close as you could be.
She held me accountable, but gave me all the grace I needed--and then some.
She loved me fiercely and unconditionally, but some just saw her fierceness.
Her speech built me up, gave me security, wise wisdom and faith to live by, but it could also be wielded like a weapon to tear others down.
She taught me life lessons, how to live and how to love, she taught others how not to be and who to avoid.
Within her was saint and sinner, good and evil, life giver and life taker
Where is that line within me?

13 November, 2010

Sticks and Stones

"Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

Really? Because I'd rather stay up, sitting on the edge of my child's bed administering pain medication for a broken bone than sit up all night holding my child racking with sobs because she's hurt to the depths of her soul.

Give me some morphine and multiple fractures--

03 November, 2010

Beautiful but different

A few days ago I was trying to set the table and was getting frustrated with what I considered my lack of serving pieces. The ones which were the right sizes for the dishes I was serving did not match the china and were even chipped. I spent a ridiculous amount of time searching for matching serving pieces the right size. I finally gave up and just used the ones I had. A few minutes later, I entered the dining room, saw my family sitting around the table with matching plates and mixed matched serving dishes and thought to myself, "Actually this is perfect. It all coordinates in its own way. It worked out just the way I needed it too, and it's beautiful."

My struggle to build friendships these past few years reminds me of setting the table that night. I have searched and searched for those friends I thought would be perfect matches for me and my family. I have worked hard to cultivate friendships with others who I thought fit me, and I have been disappointed and hurt time and time again. And with all this effort, I have continued to overlook those standing right in front of me. I have continued to overlook those who seemed too different from me to be deep long lasting friends. These past few days have been difficult for a variety of reasons, and as I look through the haze of the emotions I see and feel beautiful deep friendships which have been slowly built over time. The patterns don't match but they enhance me, and I pray I enhance them. I pray that I have served them in spite of our differences and our brokenness. I look at these friendships, and they're beautiful.

As we gather around the altar each week to share in the Eucharist, are we searching for those who we match or are we awestruck by the beauty of the difference?