Romney and the 47%

The following post is not mine.  It is reprinted from here.  Click to see the original if you would like to view pictures.  Anne Robertson is a blogger and a preacher and a thinker who I have recently discovered. If you click on the link in order to read the original article, I suggest you read the comments as well.

I will post some thoughts of my own at the end of Anne's letter to Mitt Romney. 

It is personal now. You have insulted my family, and your policies embody an actual threat to my mother's life. Mitt Romney, meet my mother.

Dear Mr. Romney,

I watched your comments to those who paid $50,000 to have dinner with you. If you weren't a candidate for President, I would simply be disgusted and keep my peace. But you are trying to take the helm of my country--to shape policies that will affect my life and the lives of those I love. The video, taken when you thought no one was watching, reveals a frightening callousness that I can only pray never darkens the door of the Oval Office.

I'm sure you remember your words, as you have refused to disown or even moderate them, saying only that you somehow didn't say it just right. Au contraire, I find your words crystal clear:

"There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That that's an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what…These are people who pay no income tax."

It is personal now. You have insulted my family, and your policies embody an actual threat to my mother's life. Mitt Romney, meet my mother. Yes, that's her in the picture. You'll note that she has such a sense of entitlement that my brother has to feed her. Shame on her. She won't even pick up a fork.

It's true. She pays no taxes. And it's true that she will not vote for you. Actually, she won't vote for anyone. In 2004 she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and I'm afraid at this stage she would be considered a "low-information voter." She does not speak and often doesn't remember how to swallow. A "good" visit is a day when she opens her eyes. My last meaningful conversation with her was almost a decade ago. She will not be voting.

You see her in this picture in the dining room of the nursing home that gives her excellent care. She is well-beyond the stage where anyone in our family could care for her. In her day, she was a shrewd money-manager, making the best of her pension as a public school teacher and the life insurance money she received when my father dropped dead at age 47. But, alas, it still was not enough.

Every scrap of savings and investment she once had are now gone, as my (Republican) stepfather did everything he could to avoid taking a dime of government money. But she has good genes. She has been in a care facility now for eight years. Her pension was enough to let her live a comfortable life in retirement, but her nursing home care is twice her monthly pension amount. We have just arranged to donate her body to science at her passing, since there will not even be funds to have a funeral.

It is now the Medicaid program that makes up the difference between her pension and the cost of her care. Mr. Romney, you haven't talked much about your running mate's proposal to cut 34% from the Medicaid program. You do realize, don't you, that 2/3 of the people on Medicaid are seniors in nursing homes like my mother? Nobody on Medicaid pays taxes. Do you care? Oh, I forgot, you addressed that with your donors:

"And-- and so my job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for for their lives."

What are we to do when you take away my irresponsible mother's Medicaid? Oh, yeah--you answered that, too. She should go to the Emergency Room. Are they prepared for her to live there?

Just as an aside, Mr. Romney, my parents were Republicans, embodying the best of the "compassionate conservatism" that once characterized the GOP. They were both public school teachers and guidance counselors who never did join the union, but who counted union members as lifelong friends and allies. When the teacher's union went on strike they did not cross the picket line. Instead they went and served coffee, while wincing at the misspelled signs of protesters who came to mock those on strike.

When times were tough in the seventies, my parents struggled. I remember my mother sitting down with me in those hard times and asking me about the silver service she had been given when she and my father were married. Was it something I would want one day? Times were getting tough and she was thinking of selling it, but she would find another way if I wanted it. The silver was sold. The RV that had taken our family on two cross-country camping trips was sold, as was much else. They did not ask for a handout, they made it work, even while maintaining their tithe to the Baptist church where they were officers and Sunday School teachers.

My parents took in students in crisis, fought for civil rights in our town, took out a second mortgage on our home to send me to college. And yes, they paid taxes. They did it the hard way. They gave of themselves to others in need, even when it didn't result in a tax deduction. They were people of faith, and they had no independent sources of income apart from their jobs.

My father served in the army and in the first years of their marriage they rented a small home to live in--but only during the winter. During the summer they lived in campgrounds near the California army base where my father was stationed. My mother was raised by her great-grandmother. My father's family lost their small business in the Depression. When they went to Brown University (Pembroke for my mother) as undergraduates, they could not ask their parents for a loan. They later scraped together more money to go to grad school. Both of them pulled their way up from poverty to the middle class through their own hard work and sacrifice.

Come to think of it, my mother actually might be just the teensiest bit "entitled" to help with a devastating illness in her senior years. She's been a good citizen of these United States. She has fulfilled civic duties, gave her life to public education, and did her best to embody Christ's command to love her neighbor as herself. And now, Mr. Romney, you would have her feel shame that she doesn't have $8,000 a month to pay for her care? Now that she is in need, your administration would view her as a parasite and it won't be your job as President to worry about her and people like her?

Like the Grinch, Mr. Romney, your heart appears to be at least two sizes too small. Since you have refused to articulate the details of your actual policies, I can only assume that they will reflect that too-small heart.

You have said quite plainly that your job is not to worry about people like my mother. In your estimation she sees herself as a "victim," and she feels "entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it." Alzheimer's is an awful disease. But, Mr. Romney, I am so glad that my mother is not able to comprehend your words. I would not add your insult to her injury, even for all your millions.

Postscript from me:

I'm relatively conservative.  Not as much as my very conservative spouse, but I lean to the right, most times.  Not always.

This is a presidential election, like others I have known, where I am very unhappy with the choice I have. I don't usually post political stuff. I have very dear friends who are passionate Republicans, and other equally dear friends who are passionate Democrats. But Romney's gaffe struck a very discordant note, brought tears to my eyes, and made me think of my own mother, pictured to the left.  She died a few years ago, but she had many similarities to Anne's mother.  She was very thrifty, absolutely refused government aid for which she would have qualified in her later years, was a lifelong conservative, a giver to church and charity, and a very proud woman. 

She saved and went without so that she could gain a bit of a nest egg.  That nest egg disappeared about one year after she entered a nursing home.  She lived two more years.  She never knew that she was on Medicaid, because she had dementia.  If she had known, she would have been deeply ashamed.

I also live with someone who made some bad life choices which result in him being a recipient of services that come from your tax dollars.  I am sad about that, for many reasons.  But...the fact is that Ken and I could not afford to get him the services he needs in order to live.  Sometimes, even with his medical bills covered, it is a stretch for us to have him in our home.  I wonder, sometimes, if my conservative friends realize that it is often the families of the "47%" who would struggle along with their loved one. 

Just something to ponder...

The OASIS Begins

If you read the fragment posted earlier, my apologies.  I hadn't finished and it was supposed to be saved as a draft.

We have held two gatherings of "The OASIS" at the former Salvatorian Center/JFK Prep School near St. Nazianz, Wisconsin. This is for those who have asked for an update.

We met in a corner of the former gym. Much of the area contains items for the thrift store that is located downstairs.  The space is illuminated by old halogen lights that were probably state-of-the-art 40 years ago.   One corner has a cross, area rugs, chairs, a little sound board, and a podium.  There is an electric piano and a drum kit--and the obligatory silk version of ficus trees.  (Does anyone know why it is always ficus trees?)  Kathy, a new friend, played the electric piano for us.  Thirty -two people attended, and we needed to find a couple of extra chairs.  I wrote a litany for the occasion, we sang (a bit awkwardly) a lovely traditional Catholic hymn and a couple of newer songs.  We shared communion.  I answered some FAQs about this new gathering.

I read Ezekiel 37:1-14.  Here is is:

The hand of the Lord came upon me and brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley; and it was full of bones. Then He caused me to pass by them all around, and behold, there were very many in the open valley; and indeed they were very dry. And He said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”

So I answered, “O Lord God, You know.”

Again He said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them, ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! Thus says the Lord God to these bones: “Surely I will cause breath to enter into you, and you shall live. 6 I will put sinews on you and bring flesh upon you, cover you with skin and put breath in you; and you shall live. Then you shall know that I am the Lord.”’”

So I prophesied as I was commanded; and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and suddenly a rattling; and the bones came together, bone to bone. Indeed, as I looked, the sinews and the flesh came upon them, and the skin covered them over; but there was no breath in them.

Also He said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, ‘Thus says the Lord God: “Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live.”’”  So I prophesied as He commanded me, and breath came into them, and they lived, and stood upon their feet, an exceedingly great army.

Then He said to me, “Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They indeed say, ‘Our bones are dry, our hope is lost, and we ourselves are cut off!’ Therefore prophesy and say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord God: “Behold, O My people, I will open your graves and cause you to come up from your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel. Then you shall know that I am the Lord, when I have opened your graves, O My people, and brought you up...you shall live, and I will place you in your own land. Then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken it and performed it,” says the Lord.’

Something amusing and remarkable happened.  I shared that I had no sermon, no "study" but that I  believed the Holy Spirit had led me to share the "dry bones" passage.  "And," I added, "I started singing, 'Dem Bones' and have been singing it for two days now.  Does anyone know the song I mean?"  Kathy, behind me at the piano, started playing it.  I glanced back and she had an odd look on her face. 

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones
(repeated 3 times)
Now hear the word of the Lord...

I asked, though I knew the answer, "Did I tell you I was going to read this passage?"   Then Kathy shook her head "no" and said something like this: "I had to search for a piano book from my teaching days, because I think I was 'told' I would be playing this...I practiced it last week.  And then getting ready to come tonight, I felt I should bring it with me...that I was going to play it."    She pointed to the book on the piano rack.  She smiled. I stared at her, and then I laughed, as did several of those gathered.

Can you imagine what she was thinking as I began to read that strange passage from Ezekiel?

We shared communion while Kathy softly played "Dem Bones" in the background.  That may be a first in all of Christendom.  We closed with the Lord's Prayer. 

Afterwards, we drank coffee and ate my homemade chocolate chip bars. People stayed and talked for a long time.  Except for the "Dem Bones" incident, the evening was not exciting or remarkable in any particular way.  But it was a beginning.

On our second week, there were 33 of us, including several people who were not present last week.  Chris (a different person from the Kris I've mentioned), one of the staff, rang the bell as we gathered in the candlelit church (there is no electricity)  to share acapella songs of praise.  Kathy, who also plays violin and harp, brought her violin and played "Alleluia" as we shared the bread and the cup. 

We sang several songs together--to me these were moving and holy moments.  As I had assumed after the previous time of singing in the old sanctuary, the sound of our voices filled the space and it would have been impossible to tell if there were 10 or 100 of us.  The sound in that church is just amazing.  Several people told me later that they were in tears.  The time there seemed both holy and peaceful.  Someone said to me this past week, "I could see the devastation of the beautiful old church, of course, but even in sadness I had such a sense of hope."

I briefly read, once again, from Ezekiel.   It was getting dark at that point, so we moved across the drive to the gym.  Jim and Linda and Kris shared a bit of history about Father Oshwald and others who had been part of the site in years past, discussed the current state of the property, and shared some of their hopes.  We finished with a time of extemporaneous prayer for them and others on the staff.

Once again, people stayed and chatted and munched cookies for a long time.  It seems we need to make room for that!  A visiting couple from Michigan played guitar for us and sang as the rest of us talked and drank coffee.  He told me they had spent the day with Jim and Linda Frasch and thought they might be moving nearby, that they wanted to help, and that we would likely see them again.

Next week, unless it is too cold, we will be meeting outside around a fire pit that is located to the side of the gym.  I'm thinking I might make chili.  No pattern to what is happening, as of yet!  I think this is a good thing.

The OASIS at St. Nazianz, Part 6

Here is the front of a potcard I mailed out last week.

Just a short update...

Today I went out to St. Nazianz to find out how to turn on the relatively ancient lights in the gym, and familiarize myself with the electronic things, etc.   A friend, Peggy, and her daughter, Sarah, met me there. 

As it turned out we spent some time drinking lemonade in the community kitchen of the remodeled "boiler building."  Jim and Linda have an apartment there, and others have living spaces too, but they share a common kitchen and dining room.  We met  a new friend, Dave Petri, who had dropped in to talk to the Frasch's.   He and his wife are starting a ministry in Manitowoc, "The Prodigal Project," for  people who need a live-in environment while they deal with life-controlling problems. 

They also have a handyman business that helps support their efforts.  So I think Ken and I know who we are going to call for some badly-needed repairs and projects at our house.  Hooray!  Here is his website, in case you live in the area and need a handyman like we do!

Linda and Kris took all of us over to the old church.  After wandering around a bit, we were all gathered near the front, and Linda or Kris started singing the chorus "Alleluia."  Peggy and Sarah and I joined in.   Just five female voices harmonizing...and...oh my! 

It was glorious. Our voices soared to the vaulted ceiling and all around and for a few minutes the beautiful old church was full of sound and song and praise.  I had goosebmps, and tears in my eyes, and when we finished I thanked them for singing and getting us started so we could hear...and sing too. 

"Can you imagine how it would have sounded with 600 people joining in a chant?"  Linda asked. On the way out, Kris pulled a rope to ring the bell that still hangs in the church bell tower. I really like church bells (Sadly, not a usual feature in Assembly of God church buildings). I loved the sound of the bell...thinking to mysel that it was saying, "Listen! Come to worship! Somethng new is happening here!"  

We are going to spend some time worshipping a capella in that church before it is too cold and too dark.  Even if there is only a handful of us.  Wow! 

The Oasis at St Nazianz Part 5

In the spring, Ken and I went out to St. Nazianz Christian Center, its new name. We toured some of the buildings, which Ken had never seen, with Jim and Linda.  We talked a bit about their hopes for the place.  We prayed with them briefly.

On the drive back home I asked Ken if he had any sense that we were supposed to volunteer or help in some way. 

"Well, we will keep praying, and I hope things go well.  But, no."

"Me neither."  (I think, after the kitchen visitation, that I expected something profound.)

"But if there is something, you will know when the time is right.  I can't do physical work, and that seems to be what they need most.  I wish I could, but...."

"I know." 

That, it seemed, was that.  I watched, waited, prayed, kept busy at work and at home and at church.  I'm still busy at work and at home and at church...but something shifted.  Conversations, circumstances, sermons, songs--all combined to make me aware that it was time to do something.  I can't say how I knew, but I told Ken, "I am supposed to do something on a Saturday."

"Something?  What?"

"I don't know.  Some ministry.  And it is supposed to be on Saturday."

"Okay."  Always the stoic, that Ken.

Not long ago, a young man who had grown up in my former church died tragically.  I was asked to do the funeral.  Somehow in the midst of tears, wrenching conversations, loving people and trying to share some good news, I knew that the time was coming very soon.  I began to feel a sense of urgency and decided that I needed to take some sort of action.

Not knowing what else to do, I talked with the Frasch's.  I shared a little of my thoughts.  They were gracious and open but said someone was already doing something on Saturday nights.  There are only a few spots with electricity on the property.  It gets cold in Wisconsin in the winter. 

Jim asked me if Friday would be okay. I said I'd think about it, and I did.  I thought and prayed for about a week.  Nope.  Not Friday.  Saturday.  But I had already told the Frasch's that I would meet with them on Sunday to take a look at the space and see what might work. In addition to the Saturday night group, a different group is meeting there on Sunday, starting a new church and using the space for a while. 

I wondered if there could possibly be a different space to use. I wondered how to tell Jim that Friday would not do, that it had to be Saturday.  That seemed unreasonable, but I couldn't shake it. 

So a few Sundays ago I drove out to the property and entered the building that houses the thrift store and food pantry downstairs.  Upstairs is the former gym, the place where, ten years ago, my friend and I had seen lights on but one one around.  Now the space holds furniture and other large items for the thrift store. 

In one corner were rows of chairs, a cross, a podium and other things for church.  A few people were gathering, and I sat by Linda.  Jim joined us and sat on my other side. After greeting me, Linda announced, "Well, the guy who was holding services here on Saturdays is gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes.  He told us yesterday that he wouldn't be back."

"Won't be back...period?"

Jim chimed in, "The group is relocating to Rhinelander."

"Rhinelander?"  Maybe they were thinking, "Is there an echo in here?"  I stared at Linda.

"Oh my!  I was going to tell you guys that I really believe whatever I do is supposed to be on Saturday, and I was feeling unreasonable....oh my."

"Well, I guess that's that then."  Like Ken, Jim is a man of few words, it seems.

After church we gathered in another spot in the gym, a small room in a back corner.  It contains a stove and refrigerator, and room for about 40 chairs or so.  It presently is holding a few tables and Jim and I sat with Jack, the man who is leading the church until they can locate a pastor. 

"So, you are Dorcas.  You used to pastor Jubilee AG, right?"

"Yes.  How do you know that?"

"I'm a Gideon.  We pray for all the churches and pastors in the area. I've prayed for you several time, so I remembered your name.  It is unusual.  So, Jim tells me you want to do something on Saturdays...."  Interesting conversation followed about people he knew that wanted a Saturday night place to worship.

After church I sat with Jim and Linda on the flat roof of the boiler building.  Now it is their front patio and overlooks a lake and woods.   Linda told me that they like to sit where they can face away from the property with its battered and broken buildings and weight of responsibilithy.  Like me, Linda loves the old church, even though she knows it doesn't make much sense to try to save it.  

We talked about many things.  Jim told me that if it were up to him he would just get rid of the church.  "But," he said in his matter-of-fact way, "God said no."

"God said no?  What do you mean?

"God said no.  God said, 'Save the church.'"  Jim sighed.  "So we are.  That is why we put a temporary roof on the church.  To save it.  I don't know if we will be the ones who do anything else with it.  Maybe it will be us....maybe it will be future people.  God knows."

I didn't ask Jim just how God spoke, but I wondered.  He went on to share some very practical needs, some frustrations, some ideas about church and our country and the world. 

On the visit I had mde there with Ken, Jim had shown us the miniature golf set up, the paintball area, the garden, and what will be two small lakes.  He had spoken of camps, of places for churches to come, of ideas for the various buildings.

Now he began to tell me just a little bit about why he and Linda had come there in the first place.

"I'd rather be out on the water on a boat or something."

"Seriously?"

"Yes.  It would be easier."

"Well...yeah. For sure."

"But a long time ago I had a vision of a place in the country.  A large place with grass and trees, water and plenty of room.  A place of safety and refuge.  A place of peace.  A place where people can come to be refreshed."

"Like...like an oasis?"

"Well, I think of it as an ark.  A place of God's presence.  A place for restoration and healing.  A safe place in difficult times.  Yeah, you say oasis, I say ark.  Kind of the same, in a way."

We talked for a couple of hours.  

I left knowing that the OASIS acrostic was about to be resurrected.  A few days later I called Jubilee AG and inquired about the banner.  Honey, still the church secretary, located it rolled up in a corner of a basement storage room.  Not long after, I had the banner in my possession and the present minister, Pastor Jake, had said I could have it.  I am not sure yet how I am going to cover the "Jubilee Assembly of God" part of the banner, but I'll find a way.

We are going to start meeting on September 8th at 6:30 PM in the corner of the former JFK Prep gymnasium.  Maybe sometimes, before it gets cold and dark early, we will meet in the old church and do what we can to fill it with prayer and praise. 

When winter comes we will meet in the small back room of the gym.  I overheard Jim telling someone that he thinks he has a way to section off and enclose a larger portion of the gym so that if gatherings outgrow the smaller room they can heat part of it without trying to heat the entire large space.

After we get started, perhaps I will share about the people who are coming together, some of whom I don't even know.  I don't have any idea what to expect.  I do not have much of a plan.  I know a few things.  Only a few, for now.

This is the Oasis at Saint Nazianz, and I think perhaps we will be reading Isaiah 43 from time to time.  (Smile.) 

We are not competing with any church in our area.  It is not church in the traditional sense, but it is church in the sense of people gathering together. 

I believe it is supposed to be genuinely non-denominational.  It needs to be a place where Catholics, Lutherans, Presbyterians and Pentecostals--and those who don't identify with any church at all--will feel loved and safe and welcome.  It will sometimes be informal.  It will sometimes be liturgical.  Sometimes we will sing hymns.  If one of the individuals who contacted me is able to help, we may have hymns played on a violin.  Or on the old that sits in the gym.  I hope we'll have guitars and drums and who knows what all. 

About the only thing I know for sure right now, other than the fact that this gathering is to be on Saturday, is that every week we will share in Communion, or the Eucharist, or whatever the person leading wants to call it.  We shall see. We may only continue this gathering for a short time. Or for a long time.

Do I know how to do this?  No.

Jim Frash (Linda's husband) said to me, "We are here, and God is here, and life is here now, and that's what we care about."  Later he added, "We've been waiting for you."

I'm still pondering what that might mean. 

Interesting reflections from a photographer. Some of her impressions are much like my own.
http://www.jmscustomdesignz.com/2/post/2010/10/jfk-prep-visit.html

More pics from the photographer's blog--the church as it looks now, the chapel, graveyard and more.
http://www.jmscustomdesignz.com/jfk-pictures.html

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Some religious humor, courtesy of  Wesleyan Arminian for you philisophical types.  My favorites?  C.S. Lewis and Billy Graham.  The Mark Discoll one, I confess, did make me lol.  Sadly.  I added to the list.  Can you think of any more?  Have a fun day!

Greg Boyd: It’s a possibility that the chicken crossed the road.

Rick Warren: The chicken was purpose driven.

Mark Driscoll: Because of the rooster’s leadership.

Rachel Held Evans: We’re talking about chickens here, not pigs.

Pelagius: Because the chicken was able to.

John Piper: God decreed the event to maximize his glory.

Irenaeus: The glory of God is the chicken fully alive.

C.S. Lewis: If a chicken finds itself with a desire that nothing on this side can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that it was created for the other side.

Billy Graham: The chicken was surrendering all.

Pluralist: The chicken took one of many equally valid roads.

Universalist: All chickens cross the road.

Annihilationist: The chicken was hit by a car and ceased to exist.

Fred Phelps: God hates chickens.

Martin Luther: The chicken was leaving Rome.

Tim LaHaye: The chicken didn’t want to be left behind.

Harold Camping: Don’t count your chickens until they’ve hatched.

James White: I reject chicken-centered eisegesis.

John Wesley: The chicken’s heart was strangely warmed.

John Calvin:  The chicken was predestined to cross the road.

Thomas: I won’t believe the chicken crossed unless I see it with my own eyes.

Philip: The chicken teleported to the other side.

Rob Bell: The chicken. Crossed the road. To get. Cool glasses.

Brennan Manning:  Because God's love was drawing her, dirty feathers and all.

Creflo Dollar:  The blessings and prosperity would only come if the chicken exercised faith and stepped out into the road!

The Oasis at St. Nazianz Part 4

About a year ago, Honey (remember, she had been my "church secretary") called.  After the usual small talk, she said. 

"I have something to say which will make you happy."

"Um...okay.  What's up."

"Remember how you were so disturbed about the site of JFK Prep years ago when you went out there with the other pastor?"

"Yes.  Actually, I'm still pretty disturbed" (chuckle)

"Well, it changed ownership a time or two, I heard.  About a year ago, some Christian people bought it.  They have a thrift store out there and a food pantry.  And I'm not sure what else."

"Um...did you say a thrift store?" (doubtful tone)

"Yes, and Pastor Roy [who followed me at Jubilee AG] wants us to get involved and help them out, and John says..."

"Are they millionaires?"  (rude interruption)

"Um, I doubt it."

"Well, it would take millions...maybe billions you know."

"Well, they are out there and have been for a while.  I met them, and I think you might want to go see what they are doing." (undeterred tone)

"Um...okay.  Want to come with me and introduce me to the new owners?"

"Sure.  Gene [Honey's husband] has been doing some volunteering out there.  Can we bring him too?"

____

We never did go out to St. Nazianz together.  But one evening some time later, I stopped by Gene and Honey's house to drop off something from a mutual friend.  Sitting at an their kitchen table chatting, I eventually said, "So, what is happening with the people out at St. Nazianz?  I know we never did get out there, but I'd still like to do that."  I'm not sure what else was said, but it was nothing unusual or strange or remarkable.  I think we may have been talking about the food pantry.  Pretty mundane stuff.   

Then something strange happened.  I can only describe it as Presence.  A little stunned by something that felt pleasant but...heavy, I bowed my head, not knowing what else to do. 

Awesome is a much overused word.  But this was awesome.  I was awed by...something or someone.  It felt somewhat like a big bubble.  I know that sounds amusing, but I'm trying to describe something indescribable.  It was as though the three of us were suddenly and without warning enclosed.  Enfolded in something powerful.  I didn't want to move.  Long moments passed--I'm not sure how long.  Then, almost as suddenly as the whole experience began, it ended. Feeling a little stunned, and having a sudden realization that the others at the table might be wondering what was wrong with me, I slowly raised my head--to see my companions both slowly raising their heads too.  After a bit, I said, "What was that?  It felt like a bubble..."  Gene nodded wordlessly and Honey said, "So, you felt that too?"  We just sat, not sure what to do or say, and then we decided to pray.  We prayed for the owners of the St. Nazianz property, Jim and Linda Frasch and I'm not sure else, but it didn't take long. The prayer was nothing special.  It was, in fact, a bit awkward.  I left shortly afterwards.

____ 

Several months later, I found myself feeling angry.  It had been more than three years since I resigned my position as pastor at Jubilee.  I had expected to find some place of ministry.  Not necessarily as a pastor...but something.  Many disappointments had followed.  I had lost track of how many sincere people had told me, "There will be something.  God uses willing vessels......" 

I was (and am) working at a small financial firm in Plymouth. Among other things, I had obtained my insurance license and was hoping for growth as I focused on the senior citizen market.  But on a small table in my office I had placed a little ceramic sheep. a present from a former parishioner.  I meant it as a reminder that, whatever else I might do in life (and I've done lots of different things and worn lots of "hats") that at my core I know I am to be a "shepherd."  It might be in an official way, or it might be informal, but I know my calling is to be a pastor.  (There are many people in the Church with such gifts, and not all stand behind pulpits.)

I had tried to be patient.  One night my patience was pretty much gone and I lay awake remembering things I didn't want to think about.  Remembering hope deferred, people who had been part of a joyful journey but were no longer in my life, remembering the oasis idea, and remembering it made me more frustrated than ever.  I pictured the joy of our special "Oasis Sunday" and I recalled the words of Isaiah 43.

I wasn't complaining aloud, since my husband was asleep next to me, but I was complaining pretty loudly inside.  Something like this:  "And another thing, God, what about the new thing from Isaiah 43, the thing I kept praying and preaching about...what about the water for thirsty people...what about...I give up.  I just give up." I punched my pillow and turned over, intending to go back to sleep.  "And I never want to read that chapter again!"

There seemed to be a reply.  It was one of those "loud" things that makes no sound.  The reply was something I can't share right now.  But it shut me up with surprise. 

The next day, because of an invitation for the two of us from one of her family members, Honey and I attended one session of a retreat.  During the drive to the retreat location, I shared ust a bit of my late night pondering.  I left out plenty, but I did mention that, once again, the passage from Isaiah had been much in my thoughts.

The worship band that was leading at the retreat was wonderful, and I was enjoying participating with the singing and the worship in a way I had not been able to do for some time.  Suddenly the keyboard player, who I later learned was named Sarah, stopped.  She looked directly at me.  She began to quote a passage of scripture.  Can you guess which one?

“Do not remember the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth;
Shall you not know it?

I couldn't help it.  I think I made a little face, and I think Sarah saw me, because she continued, saying something like this, "Yes, I am speaking to you.  You are wondering if you are finished, but you are not.  You are about to enter a new season of ministry, a season of favor.  You will need help."  She emailed me a bit more a few days later.  I don't want to share everything at this point, and I'm pretty wary of "words from God." But to say I was flabbergasted would be putting it mildly.

Hearing I was a minister, someone introduced me to a woman attending the retreat who they called, "Pastor Kris."  A little conversation revealed that Kris was the main coordinator at the St. Nazianz thrift store, living there in one of the remodeled apartments (in the same building as Jim and Linda Frasch.)  We talked a little about Jim and Linda and their ministry endeavors in other areas of Wisconsin. Kris had been part of their ministry team for some time. 

She told me there was a man holding Saturday night church services in the former JFK Prep School gym.  I told her maybe I'd show up sometime.

And I went home with no idea what to do next.

______



Here is an article/short video from about two years ago. It features my new friend, Linda Frasch.  I hadn't met her yet, nor her husband, Jim.  And the second link shows Linda with Kris and tells more about their hopes for the property.

http://www.fox11online.com/dpp/news/restoration-underway-former-JFK-prep

http://www.iwantthenews.com/main.asp?SectionID=9&SubSectionID=11&ArticleID=10565

The Oasis at St. Nazianz Part 3

If you want to read parts one and two, click on the "Oasis Sermons and Suff" label below.   On with the story...  

A few years later, the church I served developed an O.A.S.I.S. theme. I remember the day the idea came to me.  I had been praying with a group of fellow pastors who had been participating for some months in a church revitalization project sponsored by our Assemblies of God WI and N. Michigan District.

An OASIS.  A place of peace, of restoration and refreshing.  A place of spiritual "water." 

I remembered how, some time back, and before I had even come to pastor in the little town of New Holstein, I had repeatedly read the beautiful words of Isaiah, chapter 43.  I couldn't get the words out of my head.

“Do not remember the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I will do a new thing,
Now it shall spring forth;
Shall you not know it?
I will even make a road in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert...
Because I give waters in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert,
To give drink to My people, My chosen.
This people I have formed for Myself;
They shall declare My praise."

I knew the passage referred to the nation of Israel.  I wasn't sure what it had to do with me or why I  felt so drawn to it, but I used the passage to meditate, to pray, and I preached on it more than once.  That Isaiah passage does sound like a spiritual oasis, doesn't it?

At first, I rejected the oasis idea. How silly. We aren't in tha kind of place--it's lush and green here. It is Wisconsin.  

But the oasis idea didn't die.  I eventually shared it with others at the church and together we developed an acrostic.  I remember the day, and the memory makes me smile, when the last part was put in place.  We had everything but the O.  A group of church folks were sitting with me in a classroom doing some brainstorming.  We were enjoying each other's company, but nothing much was coming of our interaction.

Then John, a deacon and a friend said suddenly, "Offer hope."  The rest of us stared at him.  It grew quiet for a moment, then we all said, almost in unison, "That's it!"  We had our completed acrostic. 

O   Offer Hope
A   Advance God's Kingdom
S    Share God's Love
I     Invest in People
S    Seek God's Purposes

I developed a Advent devotional book based on the theme and I preached a series of sermons. I preparation for a special OASIS Sunday, we build a small oasis in the entryway, complete with fountain and pool and palm trees.  We even had dessert "rocks" made from grocery bags.  Crumpled brown paper and a little spray paint can make a great scenic prop!   A friend designed a banner which hung in the sanctuary.  It was a good time at Jubilee AG, a time of hope and connection.  The label "OASIS Sermons and Stuff" links to some of that, as well as this current story. 

Of course, when I resigned some years later the banner was removed from the sanctuary wall.  It was time for new vision, new leadership and new ideas, as is always the case when a pastor leaves a church.  The banner hung in a basement hallway for a time. Then it was rolled up and stashed in a storage room. 

End of the oasis idea.  Except I couldn't quite let it go. 

The Oasis at St. Nazianz Part 2

I returned to the my church office next day after a night of dreaming about the old Catholic church and the other buildings I had seen--disturbing, defaced, broken relics of a bygone era.

I dreamed about beautiful stained glass windows, about St. George slaying a mythical dragon, about the wrecked library that had been built on one side and the long dorm that had been added much later.

I dreamed of how it must have looked when a group of monks worshipped there, organ music soaring to the vaulted ceiling, incense filling the air, and how it must have been years later when the JFK Prep School students were there.  I wondered about why the school building felt so intensely creepy. 

I wanted to go back to St. Nazianz, but I couldn't understand why. The place was sad, spooky, smelly and ruined. What would be the point?  Several times that night, I prayed, without quite knowing what I was praying about.

Next day, I told my administrative assistant, Honey, about the experience, adding that I hadn't slept well.  It made me deeply angry that such a beautiful place had been abandoned to the elements and vandals and gangs.  It still makes me angry as I recall the conversation.  It seemed wrong on some sort of deep level. It should, I felt somehow certain, be a place of blessings and good things.

Honey told me about the times the location had hosted Halloween parties, that it is rumored to be haunted, and then added that her daughter-in-law, Wendy, had been a student at JFK Prep.  I later talked to Wendy, who was sad that her alma mater was now, at best, just a hang out place for teens bent on mischief or a scare.

Unable to stop thinking about it, or wanting to return there (I didn't), I wondered what was wrong with me.  Come on, I reasoned with myself, it's just old buildings.  Okay, it really is too bad about those beautiful windows not being seen and appreciated.  From an artistic standpoint alone, someone should have done something.  But the church is not a building.  The church is people. That old place is just an abandoned building.   And it's not like you are even Catholic!  You are a Pentecostal preacher from the opposite end of the church spectrum.  You wouldn't have ever fit in worshipping there in any case.  Let it go.  End of story.

But I thought about the site of the abandoned JFK Prep School for at least a month.  I dreamed about it many times.  I felt almost compelled to go there again, and I consciously resisted.  Still, I prayed every day, sometimes several times a day, that something good would somehow happen there, that the beautiful location would be redeemed.  I prayed that if there was someone meant to change things, that they'd find out about the site and do something.

Later I heard that the woman who had purchased the property, who was reported to be a strange woman indeed, gave up and put it up for sale.  I forgot about it.  Mostly.

The Caught-In-Between

This morning I read Rachel Held Evan's latest blog post: Her list of things she agrees with in the liberal and conservative church camps doesn't look exactly like mine would. I'm not posting my own lists because it doesn't matter and because I don't want to start arguments with brothers and sisters I love and value.

I am posting this link because I understand what she is saying. The spirit behind her post, and the number of people I know who don't go to church anywhere anymore, are part of why I am pondering what may be the purpose of, "The Oasis at St Nazianz." I'll share Part 2 of that story soon!

Liberal Christianity, Conservative Christianity, and the Caught-In-Between

The Oasis at St Nazianz Part 1

I have not had much to say for a while.  Now it seems time to begin sharing a story.  Some people may find the story interesting from a historical point of view.  Some may think I am superstitious. Or silly.  Or some sort of religious nut.  Some of the story seems, even to me, the teller, a bit odd.  Mystical.  Fanciful.  I know that.  But it is the truth, as much as I can make it.  I am not trying to make any sort of point.  I just feel the need to begin telling a story that I don't quite understand. 

I do not know the end of the story.  I don't even know the middle of the story.  I do know the beginning, and so...in the words of "Do Re Mi" from The Sound of Music, "Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start..."

Well, not quite the beginning.  Just the beginning of my own part of the story.

About ten years ago on a sunny summer morning, I stopped working on a sermon for the church where I was serving as pastor. It was a lovely summer day, and Deena, another woman pastor (from a Methodist church not far away) had suggested a ride out to the "old JFK Prep."  She seemed surprised that I did not know what she referred to, but she promised to fill me in on the ride over.  Someone, a "friend of a friend," had purchased the property and had invited her out to take a look.

We drove through the farmland that covers most of the area where we live, and as people who live in a rural area often do, we talked of the weather and admired the lush fields of corn, alfalfa and soy beans.  We talked about our respective congregations, our families, her daughter's excitement about preparing to show off her horse at the county fair.

Finally, my companion talked a little about where we were headed. The abandoned property, she told me, had once been a campus that began as a Catholic seminary meant to train those who were considering the priesthood and then late became a somewhat prestigious private high school. There was a short-lived orphanage (a century ago), a small nunnery, dorms, a large boiler plant, and so on. She said the place had hosted dubious Halloween parties, was rumored to have been a spot for major drug deals involving gangs from Chicago, and she added that there had been plenty of late-night vandalism over the years. 
Then conversation trailed off as we arrived at an imposing stone gate, crosses etched into large granite posts.  Beyond the gates I saw many beautiful old trees with gnarled and twisted trunks, lushly green grass, and a gently curving landscape.  The JFK Prep School building, abandoned more than 20 years earlier, was directly ahead, visible beyond the trees.  "Why," I said in surprise, "It is beautiful!" 

The ruin of what had obviously once been an imposing church stood sentinel on our right, a blue tarp covering part of the roof.  A square bulding (pictured) and a long, low building of more modern origin was attached to one side. 

No one seemed to be around.  We pulled up on weed-studded gravel in front of the church and approached the door.  It was partly off its hinges and cracked and peeling paint hung in long strips.  I could see that the church still had its beautiful stained glass windows, and I was surprised that they seemed mostly intact.

We glanced at each other.  I remember gazing up at the steeple, wondering if there was still a bell.  I noticed how intensely blue the sky was, a few clouds, white and puffy, the sun bright and warm. It all seemed strange, incongruous, in stark contrast with the ruins around us.

"How terrible to let this place just....just waste away."

"Shall we go in?" 

"I'm game if you are."

"I love old places."

"What if we get in trouble?"

"Well, I was invited."

So without much difficulty we stepped over broken stones and squeezed in the door.  A stained glass portrayal of St. George slaying the dragon, vivid and beautiful, greeted us.  We were assaulted with the stench of rot and mold.  The pews, still in place in the long sanctuary, were mostly sound, but the communion rail was broken.  The walls were defaced with graffiti, some obscene, some occult, some just silly.  Debris covered much of the floor.  But the windows, tall and glorious and ablaze with color, arose on each side of the ruined sanctuary.  Rays of sunlight poured over us, illuminating the artistry of a century ago.  

We stood for long moments in silence.  Then one of us whispered, "The windows--glorious aren't they?"

"And...and all this ruin and graffiti and vandalism...and yet the windows aren't shattered."

"No.  Maybe it was some spark of...of holiness...of beauty...and people just couldn't throw rocks."

"Why are we whispering?

Nervous laugh.  "I don't know."

The two of us, Protestant ministers, made our way up the center aisle and onto the altar area of this historic Catholic sanctuary.  In spite of the ruin, the overwhelming odor, the graffiti, we were silent, feeling a need to be reverent.  To the right of the altar was a smaller window, it's purple, blue and red glass particularly striking.  I stared at it for a long time before we walked back through a sacristy, its damaged wood cabinets retaining some of the beautiful craftsmanship of  long-ago. 

We squeezed through a partial doorway and walked down a hallway lined with small dormitory rooms, complete with tiny sinks.  Some still had faded and tattered curtains in colors popular in the '70s, a bed or two.  We agreed that if someone could afford the cost of restoring the site, it would be a wonderful place for a retreat center, a shelter, a refuge.  I thought of the silent retreats I have participated in at the beautiful Norbertine Center for Spirituality in DePere, a place I love.  This should be, I thought, a place like that.

We turned back to the church.

The sadness was almost overwhelming.  It was, in the way only abandoned places can be, eerie.    And yet, it seemed to me, it was holy too.  I turned my head, hiding the tears in my eyes.  This was just wrong.  This place was beautiful and terrible.  It had been built as a place to honor God and I didn't want to think of what might have happened within the church walls over the years. 

We left the church and crossed the drive to enter a back door of the school.  We didn't go far.  The floor was covered in a deep layer of dried mud and dirt, and it was dark.  And it was very spooky in a way I can't describe.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up as my companion said, with a forced grin, "It feels...not good in here.  We'd need a gallon of anointing oil to pray over this place..."  She forced a grin, but she wasn't joking.  We exited, grateful for the sun on our faces, and headed over to the former gym, which seemed to be the soundest building on the property.  It was unlocked and someone had turned on the old halogen lights, so we figured the owner must be somewhere about.

"Wonder where the electricity is coming from?"

"Hello...hello...hello?"    No answer.

We decided not to visit the nearby cemetary. We could see the small chapel and some of the graves on a nearby knoll, but we both felt, I think, overwhelmed with the beauty and the lonliness and the sadness of the place--and the senselessness of its present state of decay and ruin.

It was time to go.  We climbed into the car and drove down the exit road and out through the stone gate, silent pillars to a bygone era.

"It would take a fortune to restore that place."

"But something should be done.  I wonder if the new owner is a billionaire?"

"I was told she wants to make the gym an art center of some sort."

"An art center?  Groan..."

I'll share more in the next entry.  For those who are interested, here are a couple of links.   I'll share more links in a future post that will show you some more of the story.

This first link has some history, a lot of "hooey" and some good pictures of how the site looked around ten years ago, about the same time I visited with my pastor friend. Some things have not changed much. The blue tarp on the church has been replaced with a temporary roof. The boiler building is largely renovated inside, and provides a pleasant home for several families. Sadly, some of the beautiful church windows now have holes in the glass. But you will get a sense of the beauty, and the sadness, of the place as it was a while back.
http://www.infiltraterz.com/jfkchurch.html

From Wikipedia, about the church and the founders, and I'm not sure why the link isn't working, but just click on the link at the top of the Wikipedia page, "Are you looking for___?" and for some reason it works that way: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Ambrose_Church_(St._Nazianz,_Wisconsin)

Paul and Masculine/Feminine Leadership

I thought this article from Jesus Creed to be worth a read.  You might think so too!

Odds and Ends of Life

 

First, my apologies for not getting all the prayers up that I pIanned leading up to Easter.  I badly need a new computer at home.  Hopefully soon.

Second, I think it is time to share a picture of my grandson, Noah, and his daddy, my son, Joshua.  I can hardly believe that Noah will be a year old in June!  My daughter, Kris, and granddaughter, Trinity (who turned five in January), and I will be visiting them next week.  So excited...I don't get to see them often.  I want Noah to know who Grandma is!

Third, a few people  who read my blog once in a while and are also friends on Facebook but don't know me in "real life" have asked what I'm doing these days.  When I resigned the pastorate of Jubilee AG (three years ago, not long before Easter) I expected that my "path" would become clear in a reasonable time.  Why did I think that?  I do not know.  Wishful thinking, most likely! 

I am still working at Veritas Financial Services, a small (but excellent) firm in Plymouth, Wisconsin.  I started doing data entry and a little office support and figured it would last for a few months.  I needed the paycheck, so that was fine.  Three years later, I am still here.  After I was working about 3 or 4 months I started doing more marketing, writing articles, setting up a blog and Facebook page, and other things too.  Last year I decided to get my insurance license so that I could market Medicare-related insurance (a natural fit for me, but I won't bore you with why that's the case). 

Recently, I decided, after much soul searching, that I would stop the marketing/office part of my job, so while I still have an office at Veritas I am not working "for" the company and not getting a salary.  I get commissions on policies.  It has been slow going and a "step of faith."  However, I want to be able to focus energy on other things.  I don't think that being an insurance agent is all God has for me...not that there's anything wrong with that. ;-)  

I am almost finished with my novel, "Finding Little Big Foot" and hope to get that finished up and start looking for an agent--or otherwise getting the book published.  Have ideas for two other books, and I would love to speak and travel. I have so much to share (at least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it).  Not sure quite what to do about that or how to begin.  

I think life is likely to change soon in another big way that I am not yet free to share, but I'm watching and waiting and praying.  Isaiah 64:8 says, "And yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand."  He is the potter and I am the clay.  Feeling a little smashed and not very useful lately, but refusing to take myself off the wheel.

I had a wonderful weekend, which I hope to share a little about soon.   



An Easter Story: Part 2 "He is Risen!"

Part One is HERE.


From Luke 24
Now on the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they, and certain other women with them,came to the tomb bringing the spices which they had prepared. But they found the stone rolled away from the tomb. Then they went in and did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. And it happened, as they were greatly perplexed about this, that behold, two men stood by them in shining garments. Then, as they were afraid and bowed their faces to the earth, they said to them, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen! Remember how He spoke to you when He was still in Galilee,saying, ‘The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and the third day rise again.’”

And they remembered His words. Then they returned from the tomb and told all these things to the eleven and to all the rest. It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them, who told these things to the apostles. And their words seemed to them like idle tales, and they did not believe them. But Peter arose and ran to the tomb; and stooping down, he saw the linen cloths lying by themselves; and he departed, marveling to himself at what had happened.

Lucifer was anxious. His initial glee at watching the suffering and death of Christ had dimmed as time had passed. He had begun to remember things that Jesus had said about being dead but later being raised to life. He remembered the dead girl that had lived again, the widow's son raised during his own funeral procession--and worst of all was that weakling Lazarus who had been dead four days and now was walking around in Bethany, a picture of health and stronger than he had ever been!

The Prince of the Power of the Air had dispatched two of his strongest demons to inspect the stone in front of the tomb and to look inside if they could. Now he awaited their return, pacing, snarling curses and hideous words of filth and hatred.

++++++++++++

Near the garden tomb, the temple guards were growing restless. The highest ranking one among them understood their growing murmuring, even though he did not show it. This is  the most foolish assignment any of us could imagine, he thought. Are we guarding the tomb from grave robbers? It was high time they returned to their posts in Jerusalem at the great temple. The one called Jesus of Nazareth had owned little as far as the guard could tell, and even his robe had been won by a Roman soldier. What was so special about yet another man claiming to be God's anointed? Yet...something seemed strange. It was almost as if they were guarding the tomb to insure the corpse inside stayed put. I am  a fool!  He snorted in derision at his own thoughts. The dead man had been someone special, that was certain.  But the man was dead. 
Then something...shifted.  He felt it in the ground beneath his sandals, in the sudden stillness as the birds stopped their early-morning chirping, in a subtle change in the growing light of the approaching sun.  And then, with bone-chilling awareness, he heard it --the slow, grinding scrape of the huge stone moving along the ground! He whirled and saw two men in white. That was the last he knew for a while, as he and his fellow guards fell to the ground, unconscious.

+++++++++++

Above on the paapets, the excitement was building. The saints and angels had gathered together once again, watching, waiting, looking to each other with sparkling eyes and barely suppressed laughter. "Soon...soon now..."they whispered. The seraphims flew above the throne of God, singing ceaseless praise, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty who was and is and is to come!"

"Be ready! It is almost time!" Gabriel said to Michael as they stood once again on a great porch of the heavenly city. "The Almighty One is about to call to us."

Then each of them looked at the other, and both shouted aloud in joyful excitment. "There! There is the command from the Highest.  The Spirit of Life has done the work, and Christ is risen and ready for us!"

Laughing and singing, they were gone from the wall.  Behind them, a great shout of triumph arose from the gathered throng.

++++++++

Mary had slept little for two nights. Her head ached and her usually sparkling eyes were swollen from weeping. She moved with her friends through the mist of early morning. The light of approaching dawn was faint, and the women stepped carefully and quietly, hoping to remain unseen. None spoke. As one and then another had joined the group, they had embraced each one in shared sorrow. Each woman added something to their store of precious spices and ointments, placing them carefully in a basket that Johanna carried.

As they neared the place of the tomb, Mary softly spoke at last, a frown creasing her forehead. "How are we going to move that enormous stone at the entrance?" No one answered, but no one stopped walking either, a group of sad and silent women in the grey before first light, sandles pattering against the earth.

+++++++++

Not far away, Jesus moved through the trees, gazing at the new day with a sense of wonder. How different it all seemed today! He stopped in a sun-dappled clearing and lifted his hands heavenward in praise and joy. Large holes pierced his handss, but the edges were healed and his skin was smooth and glowing with life. "Thank you, Father, for this day of wonder and joy! I will soon be home."

++++++++

Mary had moved ahead of the others, trying not to cry in front of them, afraid that she would be unable to remain silent.  Now she stopped, confused and frightened. Temple guards lay sprawled on the ground, apparently senseless. At first she had thought they were dead, but then she saw the chest of one rising and falling.

She glanced back at the other women, who had also stopped.  They were  looking at her as if for direction. She shrugged, and then slowly, step by step, Mary moved around the prostrate soldiers and on to the tomb, past the entrance and then inside. There was the slab where Jesus' body should have been, and the graveclothes, neatly folded..

No body.

It was gone! Grief assaulted her anew, and she gasped in shock and anger.  "The body is gone! Someone has taken our Lord away!" Half-dazed, the others moved foreword and peered, one by one, inside the dimness of the hewn rock.

Then light that came from everywhere and nowhere filled the tomb and the area around it, illuminating the faces of the fallen guards. A strange and stirring kind of music filled the air.  The women, badly frightened and already confused from grief and lack of sleep, gasped in surprise and dropped to their knees. Some hid their faces.

Michael and Gabriel shone with a radiant spectrum of light, robes glowing as if from within the cloth itself. They reached out their hands in blessing, large smiles spreading across their faces. Michael thought to himself, as strength flowed through him and out to the women, "This is the most wonderful assignment I have even been given!"

"Get up, daughters of the Most High," encouraged Gabriel. "Why are you looking for Jesus in this tomb? Why are you looking for a live savior in a place of the dead?" The women gazed at him in awe, unable to speak at first. Finally, Mary the mother of James found her voice. "Who...who are you?"

Gabriel laughed softly, "Go on now, go tell the others. They won't believe you at first, but tell them the news. He who was dead is alive again, and death is swallowed up in victory!"

Lucifer screeched in frustration and hatred, hiding his eyes from the light and crouching down in fear.

The throne room of God rang with shouts and songs of joy. Michael looked at Mary Magdalene, she who had once been almost destoyed by the powers of evil.  "You are the first to hear the glorious news."

The ancient messangers, shining in reflected glory, spoke in unison, voices ringing with power and the authority of the One Who Sits on the Throne and of the Lamb. "He is not here! He is risen!"

As the rays of the rising sun illuminated the morning, the women ran for town.

An Easter Story Part 1 "Now We Wait"

Don't examine my grammer or my theology too closely, blog readers. I wrote this in a hurry.

May the peace of Christ be with you.

Luke 22:41-42 He withdrew about a stone's throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done." An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.

The archangel Michael covered his face with his powerful wings and wondered if an angel was supposed to cry. His companion, Gabriel,  leaned far over the parapet and stretched out his great hand as if to reach Gethsemane. “Oh, may I leave now, God of All, and give him a message of your love?’

Assent was given--and the ancient messenger was gone.

Not far away stood Abraham and Moses, silently gazing at the scene below. And Michael saw that Deborah and Miriam had moved to the balcony as well. Others were gathering, a great cloud of witnesses. Behind him, Michael heard rustling and soft murmurs of conversation between many of his fellow heavenly beings. They shared his confusion and concern. Everyone understood that the Anointed One had gone to complete all that was given him to do. And they knew only too well how cruel and capricious life on the world of Earth could be—clouded as it was since Lucifer’s victory over humankind so long ago.

But this? Could this really be necessary? One seraphim was singing softly of the days when the Son was with them in their Heavenly Kingdom. How long it had seemed, even for beings who knew no limitations of time or space. Michael sighed, half longing to be with his fellow servant, Gabriel, and half relieved that he did not have to witness the agony of the Eternal Word who had been sent to live in the world of people. “How long, O Lord?” he wondered. There was no answer from the One on the throne. Just an unusual deep silence.

“Oh, Gabriel, my friend, do your work well! Help him!”

The anguished cry of a human man, Yeshua of Nazareth, reached his ears, “Oh, Father, is there no other way? If it is possible, do not give me this bitter cup! Let it pass from me!” Behind him, the angels grew even more still. Michael wept, something he had never experienced. Could nothing be done to change this?

++++++++

Even at night the garden was full of the warm scents of spring: blossoming trees, grass, renewed life.  In the cool darkness, Gabriel stood gazing at the three disciples who were near the Lord. Peter was half sitting up, his back against an ancient olive tree. He was snoring, one hand open on the ground beside him, the other clenched in his lap. James was stretched out on his back, and John lay curled like a child.

Gabriel felt a moment of impatience.  Then as the ancient angel looked closer, he saw the lines of strain and the tracks of dried tears on their faces. It had been a strange few weeks for them, full of contrasts and emotional turmoil. They had seen Jesus transfigured and witnessed a glimpse of God's glory on the mountain, had observed as the Master had seemed to deliberately taunt some of the Pharisees, watched Lazarus step from the grave, listened to Jesus assertions that he was going to die, wrestled with Jesus' seemingly inexplicable actions. He sensed the confusion and fear that wrestled with anticipation and hope in their spirits as they dreamed. “Ah, they are sleeping the sleep of exhausted sorrow. They cannot understand.” He felt both pity and compassion for these frail but beloved children of God.

Then he sensed the gathering darkness and tensed. A battle would be waged this night, he knew.

He moved near to the weeping man by the rock, compassion filling his being like a wave of seawater. It was, he knew, partly his own sympathy and partly that of the One above. He knelt and reached a hand to Jesus’ back.

“Beloved of the Father, we all know you are able to endure, to finish  all that is to come.  All that must be done” There was no answer, only a deep groan that seemed to come from the very ground itself. He moved closer, and then he stroked Jesus’ hair as if the human man before him was a child. How strange to feel the coarseness of the hair, the dust, the blood and sweat.

He was awed, for a moment, at the wonder of such a thing. How could the Holy Son be in this flesh? How could he have done this, emptied himself so completely?

Jesus was drenched with sweat and he shivered with cold and--something else. “What if,” the Son of Man whispered, “What if I am wrong about this? Why could they not receive me?”

Gabriel felt a strange sort of shock and surprise as Jesus looked up at him, face contorted with grief and horror. “Oh, Gabriel, how I longed to gather them as a mother hen does her chicks!” The Savior shuddered. “Oh,” he cried out, “oh, they would not! My own, those made in my own image, my dear men and women--and my chosen ones--they would not receive me! Why would they not hear?” Then, after a pause, “What if I am not who I believe I am? What if I am--merely deluded?” His face twisted.

Gabriel was stunned, dismay clouding his perception. After a moment, he understood. Jesus was filling up the cup, experiencing every temptation, every grief, every sorrow. Even doubt, even rejection, even questioning the eternal plan. It had to be. It was part of what would make him the heavenly high priest, able to intercede for humankind with total comprehension.

“We are all watching with you, dear Son of the Father. The angels, the righteous ones from through the ages, and…”he paused, “And the Holy One on the throne.” We will be watching all of it, and waiting for you.“ He glanced back at the sleeping disciples. “We are not asleep , and we are waiting for the completion of your journey and your return to us.”

++++++++++

The kingdom of their great enemy was in a state of excitement. The former archangel, Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness leaned forward towards the garden in a strange sort of mockery of Michael’s posture on the portico above. His hand, like Gabriel’s had done, reached out. Surprisingly, it was smooth and well formed, but deep purplish bruises covered it.

"Ah,” he breathed, “ah, now we shall see who is going to win this ridiculous contest!” He laughed, and behind him the chilling sound was echoed by numberless beings, crouching in the darkness like dogs at a cruel master’s feet. Darkness slowly licked his lips, as if obscenely savoring some forbidden pleasure. His once-beautiful face was twisted in a mockery of what he used to be. He could, when he chose, look beautiful still, sinuous, hypnotic, soothing. But the beauty was a mask, no longer his true visage. On such a night as this one, he stood among his minions with no need to wear any disguises. His eyes grew wide with delight and anticipation.

Suddenly he was gone from his sevants.

He stood behind Jesus in the darkness of Gethsemane, hissing in gleeful spite. “Hail, Anointed One of Israel.  Why are you not celebrating Passover?  Why are you out here,” he glanced at the sleeping disciples with a sneer, "out here all alone?" 

Gabriel wore an expression of wrath that was second only to what the One above, even at this moment, was experiencing. His subdued glow grew intensely bright. His wings extended and his eyes flashed fire. “Begone, Dark Prince. You are not welcome here!”

Near him, Jesus rose to his feet as the angel moved between him and the hissing snake-angel. Lucifer winced at the brightness and his eyes became slits. “Oh no, my old ally and colleague. No, no. Don’t you understand? I'm not going anywhere.”

Gabriel’s hand went to his sword, and then he slowly returned it to its sheath at the instant command from the great throne. “

"Ah yes!” The serpent man hissed again, growing larger as his forked tongue licked towards them. “Ah, I see you do understand, after all.” He smiled, with a horrifying sweetness. “It is my time, foolish archangel" He spat the words. "My time! You will soon wish you had joined us in the rebellion. You will soon be sorry that you chose to stay,” he gestured toward Jesus, “with that one.”

Gabriel stepped toward him. “Be silent!”

And Darkness was gone.

Jesus rose to his feet, took a long breath, squared his shoulders and moved to Gabriel with an expression of gratitude. “I must do the will of my Father. I understand, and I embrace what is coming.” As Gabriel reached for Jesus’ hands, the Master of Storms smiled gently,  receiving the strength that flowed from the throne of El Shaddai to him. “I embrace this, Gabriel. I embrace it even though I despise it, you understand.” He looked to where he knew his friends were sleeping. “All of the humanity in me shudders at the horror of it, not just the pain, but all of it. The mocking, the nakedness, the vulnerability and shame that I must willingly endure.”

It was his  turn to comfort the messenger from his Father. ” I thank you for your assurance that the hosts of Heaven will be watching. I will look past the horror, my friend and servant. I will look past it to the glory. Not only the glory of the heavenly Kingdom—no, even more is the glory of defeating Death. Defeating Darkness and making a way for humankind to return to us. I will look forward, Gabriel, to the joy ahead.”

He dropped the angel's strong hands. As he moved toward his friends, slumbering  in the darkness, he glanced back. “Don’t listen to that evil father of all lies. You will not regret your faithful service to the One who made you.”

Gabriel bowed deeply and was gone.

Jesus spoke to his friends, “Ah, go on, sleep and rest now.” They stirred, looking sheepish as they sat up. “My hour has come.”

The disciples jumped to their feet, hearts pounding and all thought of sleep gone as they heard the approach of many feet and saw the glow of torches through the trees. “My betrayer is arriving with a few soldiers. He does not understand that they will not take my life. I will give it.”

“No, Lord,” Peter cried, “not if I can help it!”

+++++++++++++++

Hours had passed. Hours of deception, lies, sleeplessness, injustice, denial from one who loved him deeply.

Abandonment.

Hours of ridicule, fists, slaps, and mocking. Of spittle dripping down his beard. Of unutterable thirst and pain and shocking misery. Of a scourging that would have killed him if he had not been the Master. Of thorns in his head, making it throb to the rhythm of his heart.

And now the worst had come. He had hung, suspended in agony, for hours that seemed like years. The pain he felt had moved beyond what he would have believed possible. He had grieved for his mother, had forgiven the poor people below, blind and deaf and lost in darkness. He had experienced something he had never imagined in all his days and nights as a man of earth--growing, being taught, learning who he was. Nothing had prepared him for the final anguish. He felt alone. Completely alone. Where was the Father?

Had he failed in his mission to the world?

And then it was time. He knew, somehow, it was done. Ignoring the hot agony in his feet, the pain of his lacerated back on the rough wood, the tortured, twisted muscles of his arms, his chest, he heaved himself up one last time and gasped for air.

Michael, Gabriel, the angelic hosts of Heaven, and all the departed ones gasped with him as they leaned forward to listen.

Darkness too, and his evil horde, were filled with a sort of nervous excitement and glee. “Look at him!” he chortled, “Almost done now, my friends. Almost. Can you just taste it? So close now….”

His mocking laugh rose to a perveted, joyful screech that echoed off the rocks and hills, rolled down the valley, swept across the waters. “Almost all mine now! Those fools, thinking they could defeat us. As if Light could ever really be stronger than Darkness.”

And from the man on the cross came the cry, “It is finished.” Jesus, in his last act as the man from Nazareth, Mary's boy, former carpenter, healer, teacher... Jesus turned his tortured face heavenward.

“Father, into your hands I trust my spirit.”

The Prince of Darkness howled in unholy excitement and raised his fists. “Oh yes, Son of God, you are finished all right.”

A Roman soldier fell to his knees in the bloody mud. Mary covered her face and her shoulders shook as she silently endured.  John held her gently. A Pharisee gasped in fear. Zaccheus, former tax collector and puppet of the Romans, burst into tears of anguish. Mary of Magdala sobbed without restraint, holding tightly to her friend Johanna’s hand. Far away, a disciple shuddered, deep sobs shaking his great frame. The Pharisee Nicodemus questioned God. What had his conversation with Jesus all meant?  Joseph of Arimathea made a decision to risk his standing in the religous community—maybe even his life. He was a son of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and he would act like one.  He would ask for the body of his rabbi and friend.

In the temple, the great curtain before the holiest place tore from top to bottom, and the walls shuddered and creaked. Outside, Caiphas, standing at the altar with the sacrifice lamb in his hands, fell to the ground as the earth moved beneath him.  One of the nearby Levites shouted, "Blessed are you, O Lord our God, maker of Heaven and Earth....have mercy on us" Lightning flashed, rain poured, and the earth, grieving for her creator, heaved and buckled.

Above, the hosts of glory remained silent. Wings were folded. A profound stillness swept over the cherubim, the seraphim, the elders, the prophets, Daniel and his three friends, David, the patriarchs of Israel, the women, and on and on through the numberless crowd who observed this scandalous beauty.

Not a sound echoed in the halls of God’s Kingdom. Never before had the throne room been completely silent. A long moment passed.

Gabriel turned to Michael, “Now, my friend, we wait.”

Part Two is here.

Lenten Prayer #30: For Prisoners and Their Families

Psalm 69:32-33  You who seek God, let your heart revive.  For the LORD hears the needy and does not despise His who are prisoners.

We pray that people in jails and prisons will hear the Good News and have opportunities to follow Christ.  We pray for the fellowship of believers to multiply.  We pray for chaplains and volunteers and others who do their best to help, sometimes under very trying conditions, restrictions and locations.  We pray for protection from violence and forces of spiritual evil.  We pray that the spouses and families and loved ones of inmates would be sustained, protected, provided for and honored rightly.  We pray that released prisoners find strength and wisdom to live abundant lives.  We pray for employment, for churches with open hearts and doors, for genuine repentence and for renewed minds. Amen

Lenten Prayer #29: For Disabled People

Isaiah 63:9 In all their distress...his presence saved them; in his love and in his compassion  he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.

God, today we pray for those with mental and/or physical challenges.  We pray for physical stamina and healing.  We pray for resources and financial provision for therapy or special care.  We pray  that they will be treated with dignity and respect, and we pray that they will both know and display the love of God.

March 21st is World Down Syndrome Day in the US.  I am posting a prayer from a new friend, Sarah. Ethan is her son, but perhaps you might like to insert the name of someone you know.

Today I say a prayer... for the world that I live in. I pray that Ethan continues growing up surrounded by love. That the world grows more accepting and tolerant. That people see him for the wonderful boy that he is. I pray that people see a beautiful little boy with brilliant sparkling eyes. I pray that people see a smile that lights up a room. That his milestones are celebrated and that others have patience with his delays. I pray that people see a little boy, then a teenager, then an adult, NOT a diagnosis. That he will not be sold short before given a chance. That he will be able to share the gifts that God gave him and will be able to serve others and not just be served. I pray that he grows up to know that God loves him and that he realizes he is a work of divine art. I pray that when he acts up that people around him see a child acting like a six year old and not attribute everything negative to Down syndrome, it’s insulting. I pray that I am a good parent and give him what he needs; LOVE, Peace, joy, patience, as well as discipline and fairness. I pray that I listen to what God tells me and I do right by him. I pray that I will help Ethan use who he is for the glory of God. Lord watch over us all and keep our eyes on you.  Amen

Lenten Prayer #28: For God to be Revealed Through Answered Prayer

Psalm 65:2,5
You who answer prayer,
to you all people will come.
You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds,
God our Savior, the hope of all the ends of the earth
and of the farthest seas...


You, God, are the hope of people everywhere.  People have always prayed and you have heard them and have sometimes answered with power and wisdom that was surprising.  Hear us now as we ask you to surprise us as never before.  Listen to the cries of desperate people as they cry to you for help!  Hear us as we pray for our neighbors and our cities.  As you answer, may those who pray become those who see you.  And may those who see you pray and believe for even greater things!

Luke 19:37
When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen.

Lord Jesus, each of your miracles was in some way an answer to prayer.  Continue to do the same today.  Reveal yourself by answering prayers of people who may be far from you.  Enable us to pray with empathy and faith.  Show your kindness and power so that we can celebrate as your disciples did, with the same loud and unselfconscious joy!