Remembering on September 11

It’s Saturday, September 11th, and God has given us a beautiful day to remember.  We are invited to remember the loss of life that has occurred due to and in response to violent acts of terror.  We are invited to remember that evil is crouching at our door, that our way of life has been preserved by the sacrifice of others, that freedom isn’t free, and that united we stand.

It’s Saturday, September 11th, and tomorrow we will share in communion.  In communion, we remember that God entered into a violent world and was willing to die for his enemies rather than to see them perish.  In communion, we remember that evil is indeed crouching at our door, for “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

In communion, we remember that the way of life is only preserved by following Jesus’ service and sacrifice with our service and sacrifice — even for our enemies.  In communion, we remember that freedom isn’t free.  It comes with a cost that looks like a cross.  In communion, we re-member through God’s Spirit as the body of Christ, standing in unity with God and each other.

It’s Saturday, September 11th, and it’s a good day to remember.  It’s just that sometimes we forget how to remember.  In communion, we remember Jesus. May God help us remember today what we will remember tomorrow.

Retreat

Styles Falls (Shawsville, VA)

Last week, I took a four-day personal retreat at Camp Alta Mons outside of Shawsville, Virginia.  Besides crackling goodnight phone calls to Sarah (the cell phone reception was bad), I think I averaged maybe four words a day. (And most of those words were “Hi” to people I met along the way!).   I found this time alone to be deeply meaningful.

When I first arrived, I read a journal article and began making notes in the margins with my ideas and questions.   I wanted to take advantage of this time, to make it worthwhile.  Then, it struck me — God gave us the Sabbath as a gift.  The Sabbath is not meant to be just another day to invest so that we can increase our production or efficiency.  Sabbath calls us back to our Provider. We are more than what we produce.  After putting  my journal and pens away, I went on a hike and began working on a simple Sabbath poem.  (See previous post below.)

My days were organized around hikes to Styles Falls, about an hour and half round trip.  I decided to do this twice a day, though I used somewhat different routes and hiked at different times of the day.  I liked how I noticed different things depending on how the sun shined through the trees.  You can see a couple of pictures below.

At the falls, I sat on top of rocks and kept things low-key — I mostly sat and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings, but I also read from the Psalms, prayed, and did some writing.   I enjoyed this rest, the silence, and the time alone with God.

I think the Sabbath is God’s way of leading us back home.  And I was happy to be home again, too.

Styles Falls

Illuminated Rock

Sun, water, rock

They walk for water

[In preparing a sermon about Jesus' encounter at a well with a Samaritan woman, I thought about how the setting for that story has been repeated daily for thousands of years.  We who turn the faucet for water tend to miss the impact of what Jesus means when he calls himself  the source of living water.  But the Samaritan woman didn't. "Give me this water," she said to him, "so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water."  (John 4:15)]

Around the world, every day,
women are walking for water.
They go to the well, to the river, to the lake
with one hand on their side,
with one hand holding the pot above.
They walk
slowly, carefully, gracefully,
like swans stepping through tall green grass. 

Around the world, every day,
women are walking for water.
They walk through sand, in mud, on streets,
with babies on their backs,
with children by their sides.
They walk,
pictures of strength, and sweat, and style,
bracelets, buckets, scarves, and stains. 

Around the world, every day,
women are walking for water.
They wear reds, and blues, and browns.
They carry plastic, and clay, and metal.
They scoop, they fill, they lift,
they walk
from here to home, from home to here.
Each day, the tides ebb and flow. 

Around the world, every day,
women are walking for water.
To boil, to rinse, to drink, to soak
to cleanse, to nourish, to save, to live,
they do what their mothers did –
they walk.
The proud, the shamed, the old, the young,
they go to the source, then they go home.

God & the Reds on Radio

Here’s something that I wrote a while back about our perception of God’s presence . . . and absence.

Abide in me as I abide in you.  (John 15:4) 

On those long road trips that go into the night, I enjoy listening to baseball games, and, preferably, the Cincinnati Reds.  It’s great to travel with a baseball game on the radio. If it is night, and the weather is just right, I can pick up the Cincinnati station pretty clearly almost anywhere we travel. 

But, of course, that’s not always the case.  The reception fades as we go over mountains and through valleys.  And clouds, lightning, and power lines produce static that can get noisy.  There are times when the reception gets so bad that I can’t hear anything except crackles and fuzz.  

But, sometimes, if I have the patience, something happens.  Suddenly, I can hear the game crystal clear.  The sound of the bat.  The vendors in the background.  The stadium organist.  And then, just like that, it’s fuzz again.  And so it goes.  Sometimes, I hear the game clearly.  Sometimes, I can’t hear it all.  But whether I can hear it or not, the game is being played.  I know this because I heard it once.  And I know where I can find it on my radio dial.  And so I stay, locked in to AM 700, thinking that if I just get past these power lines or if I just get over that mountain, the reception will be better.  The station isn’t moving.  I am. 

May you keep your ears open to that distant beauty in static noise.  God is stirring in our midst, patiently shaping, forming, transforming us.  Sometimes this is felt as distance.  Sometimes this is felt as judgment.  But, through the Holy Spirit, we as Christians “are always confident . . . for we walk by faith, not by sight.”  (2 Corinthians 5:6-7)