My Sister

That is my mother and my sister a while back in my living room. It was the day we heard that my sister has Alzheimers. I knew a long time ago, but didn't want to know. I'll be going to see her tomorrow...gone for a week. This will break my heart, and I hope I learn some things and find joy as well.

Together for the Gospel

I copied this from Suzanne McCarthy's blog. A few comments from me are at the end.

T4G on Women.

The Together for the Gospel Conference Article XVI

We affirm that the Scripture reveals a pattern of complementary order between men and women, and that this order is itself a testimony to the Gospel, even as it is the gift of our Creator and Redeemer. We also affirm that all Christians are called to service within the body of Christ, and that God has given to both men and women important and strategic roles within the home, the chuhrch, and the society. We further affirm that the teaching office of the church is assigned only to those men who are called of God in fulfillment of the biblical teachings and that men are to lead in their homes as husbands and fathers who fear and love God.

We deny that the distinction of roles between men and women revealed in the Bible is evidence of mere cultural conditioning or a manifestation of male oppression or prejudice against women. We also deny that this biblical distinction of roles excludes women from meaningful minstry in Christ's kingdom. We further deny that any church can confuse these issues without damaging its witness to the Gospel. The teaching office of the church is assigned only to those men who are called of God in fulfillment of the biblical teachings.

Suzanne adds, "If this is the conference whose registration form I read earlier, then it had a 'no women need apply' condition. I understand from this that if a woman preaches the gospel it damages the church's witness to the gospel."

Here is a link to the Together for the Gospel site. I went and took a look and then took a short trip down memory lane. In my late 20s I sat under the ministry of one of the speakers. He was an amazing communicator and a gifted teacher of the scriptures. My life was significantly influenced by this brother, and I can vividly recall sitting in a large crowd of young people, pouring over my Bible and writing notes like mad.

Reading Article XVI and remembering the amazing potential and power of this man, and also realizing what a meeting with him would likely be like today....well, it made me deeply, deeply sad. I grieve for my evangelical brethern, for the denomination of my childhood, for the men, and women too, who believe this and would never comprehend that it is not what God ever intended but instead was the plan of the enemy of our souls and of the Church of Jesus Christ.

Suddenly I'm Visible

It was a strange district council for me.

It was good. (That is not the strange part.) The business went smoothly. The district is moving in a good direction. The music was skillfull and uplifting. The preaching and times of prayer were encouraging. The ordination service was a highlight, as always, and it was good to see a young woman I know receiving her "license to preach" (the middle level of ministerial credentials). Then I attended a nice little gathering for the alumni of my alma mater.

Someone introduced my husband as his sister's pastor. Dear Husband corrected him, of course, but this only happened one time.

The strange part was that suddenly I was...well...I was visible. I don't know how to explain what I mean, and I do not mean to be disparaging or critical of years when I was not. It is simply that I grew accustomed to being mostly not spoken to, except by friends. I do not mean that people were intentioally doing this. It was more like being invisible. I've been in this district for 21 years, and this has always been the case, more or less.

At one of my first councils a pastor from a neighboring town walked up to my husband and me, and we both greeted him. Pointedly ignoring me, he said to my husband (who is a chaplain now but was pastoring at that time), "I hear that you let her preach. What are you thinking? Aren't you afraid of what might happen?" We, a bit stunned, thought he must be joking, and my husband replied in that vein. I don't remember what he said, but the other pastor looked daggers at him, spun oh his heel and stalked away. We looked at each other in shocked silence.

That was, thankfully, the only time something like that happened at a disrict council, and it was a long time ago. Mostly I just was just not noticed much. This year, all that changed. Suddenly, people seem to see me.

Everyone smiled at me, as well as at my husband. People spoke to me and called me by name. People asked about how things are at my church. Several people who I did not know seemed to know me (now that was strange). A well-known official who used to avoid eye contact (I don't know why) now stops and chats with me and is genuinely interested in what I am saying. He asked about something we had spoken about several months ago, and was encouraging and complimentary.

What has changed? This is a good thing, but honestly, I found it a little bewildering, even though it was good. I don't know what is happening.

Is it about me? Is it about the women ministers in our fellowship? That is my hope.

It worked!

We have a bit of tweaking to do, but the video projector worked, the new mic worked, the altar area looked wonderful, the people were full of joy, the preaching and ministry were wonderful. And the trees are showing tinges of green. The grass will soon need mowing. Yay!

Now I am off to our district council (business meetings and ordination service, etc.). Three days of rushing, and hopefully meeting old friends--and other good things here and there.

Good Changes

This won't mean much to most of you, but my church is coming into the latter half of the 20th Century. Chuckle...

We have a keyboard that looks like a keyboard instead of a toy. We just set it up. It sounds great!

We figured out a way to hook our bass guitar into the sound system which means that a 4 foot tall speaker and ugly green amp can be thrown out the window...er...stored.

This meant we could move an altar table to a more advantageous spot, which changed the whole look of the platform for the better.

We are in the final stages of getting our new video projector and laptop set up so we can throw our clanky overhead projector out the window...er...store it. It might even be ready by this Sunday!

In a few minutes I will be on my way to the music store to purchase a wireless lapel mic.

All in one day! I can hardly contain my glee!

And tomorrow I am heading out for a two-day break in a nearby city. Saturday night I will be picking up a wonderful evangelist, professor and saint of God from the Green Bay airport. I am excited about his ministry with us for two services on Sunday. Saturday night my daughter and son-in-law will arrive and join us for church Sunday (guest speaker is one of her favorite professors from her Bible college days). I don't get to see them all that often, so this makes me happy.

These external changes at church are part of deeper changes and that is good. Very good.

I'll be back to the blog next week sometime.

It Was a Candlelit Week, it Seems

The Thursday before Palm Sunday, we read the passage about Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus with spikenard...and Jesus commending her. That started me thinking about Mary. She truly must have been amazing. First we see her defying convention in an incredibly brave way by daring to sit at the rabbi's feet and learn from him. And later she seems to understand something that the 12 disciples still did not, even a short time before the end. She understood, it seems, that Jesus was going to die.

I finally stopped struggling with a sermon for Palm Sunday and dressed up in a costume and did a monologue instead. It was well received, and I may do more of these.

Then on Thursday we gathered for candlelight communion. The sanctuary was lit with dim purple light on the back wall. The only other light was lots of candles. Most often we share communion by having the deacons pass it to the congregation and then we all take the bread and cup together. Sometimes I do it various other ways though. This night I asked people to come up to the candlelit table, where I held the matzah and my husband held the tray of little cups. (I really don't like matzah, but it seems right to use the correct bread when it is Passover.) As each person stepped forward I looked into their eyes as I said, "_________, the body of Christ was broken for you." And DH said, "___________, the blood of Christ was shed for you." Since it was a somewhat small group, and no visitors, we could call each one by name. The reactions varied from tears to a hurried pass with no eye contact.

The next night was an ecuminical Good Friday Tennebrae service at a church that is out in the countryside. It was completely full of people, elderly to infants. Nine clergy participated, and of those, six were women. Isn't that unusual? Two Roman Catholic priests, a Presbyterian, a Lutheran, a Methodist, a few UCC, and one Assembly of God pastor (me). It was a very traditional and very beautiful service. The sanctuary grew darker and darker as candles were extinguished one by one and lights were dimmed. Then the church bell tolled...such a mournful sound it was...and we sat in darkness as we listened.

My husband and I went out for ice cream with some of our parishoners who had attended. Is it right to eat ice cream on Good Friday?

And this morning we entered our church's lovely little sanctuary to the sounds of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today." There were many visitors, which is not always the case for us on Easter Sunday. The cross was draped with a gleaming white cloth, and the crown of thorns was replaced by a golden king's crown. Lots of candles. Lilies, gardenias and azaleas filled the room with a sweetly fresh scent of springtime. Teen Challenge women were our guests today. That is a Christian program for people with life-controlling problems (very successful and one of my favorite ministries). They shared a ham dinner with my mother and me and many others at the lake cottage of one of our church couples, and each of the Teen Challenge women received an Easter basket. Precious women. New life from darkness. Thanks be to God!

Strange in a way, Good Friday was a beautiful sunny day. The temperature reached 70 degrees (yippeee)! Easter, on the other hand, was grey and cold and drizzling.

A nice ending note, the Teen Challenge director told me that our church was the warmest and most wecoming congregation they had visited in the state. Yay for us! :-)

I hope the day was filled with joy for you. Time for a nap for me. Whew.

Bugs on the Windshield

I said I was looking for signs of spring. This is a clear one. I drove to our district office, about 75 miles away, and when I started for home I had to stop to wash the windshield because I couldn't see. Really, this is a good thing!

Other signs:

1. Tiny green buds on my front hedge.

2. Birds are singing happily

3. The birdbath in my front yard has water in it instead of an ice chunk

4. The stream behind my house is gurgling

5. Our church's lawn guy is out with some sort of machine that takes gravel (from our parking lot, pushed there by a snow plow) out of the lawn

6. There are beautiful lilies, azaleas and gardenias in a corner classrom waiting for Sunday--ahh--the smell of flowers

7. I'm wondering if it might actually be warm enough to wear something springy and bright on Easter

8. I put the snow shovel in the shed

9. I wore a sweater today (instead of a coat)

and last but not least....(drum roll)

10. My Texas-born-and-raised mother is thiking about whether to doff her long underwear!

Heading into "Holy Week"

It's a few days before "Holy Week" but I'm struggling with Sunday's sermon.

In an earlier post I said I had been in a rather dark time and I was watching for signs of springtime. I meant it in both a literal way and a spiritual way.
This morning as I sipped a cup of coffee I looked out the window and saw a definite tinge of green on the back lawn. A small miracle that happens seemingly overnight! The pussy willow bush is covered with those lovely soft and fuzzy harbingers of spring on the way. Iris shoots are appearing in the flower bed. The sun is shining brightly in a lovely blue sky. Pairs of birds are flitting around the feeders. This morning I saw a new pair--bright yellow goldfinches whose canary-colored wings flashed in the sunlight.

I am dreaming of warmer days and home-grown tomatoes and packing the coats away. But it is still cold outside. There is a sharp northern wind blowing, and the trees are still bare. Looking out the window makes me anticipate warmer days, but stepping out the door is a different matter!

I refuse to wear a hat or gloves. Done. Fini.

What does this have to do with Holy Week?

I know spring is on the way and there is a new lightness in my heart, but it seems so long in coming. I am weary of cold and grey days and bare trees and snow. I want to fling the windows open and air out the closets and dig in the dirt. But...not yet. Sigh.

I feel the same in a spiritual sense. Last Sunday I entered the sanctuary and gazed for a moment at the cross on the back wall with its dark purple drape and the crown of thorns. My heart was sad as we shared communion together. I have a strange mix of anticipation and sadness. I know Jesus is risen...but first I must take time to ponder anew the wondrous mystery of the last days of his life, the miracle of Lazarus, the anointing of Jesus for burial, the upper room and the Master taking the place of a servant (something none of the disciples, apparently, were willing to do) and picking up the basin and the towel. Then the heartbreaking interlude in the garden. The obtuse disciples. How like them I am! Forgive me, dearest Lord.

Then the agonizing betrayal, humiliation piled upon humiliation, Peter's denial, the horrible beating, jeering crowds, standing mute Herod, Pilate washing his hands. Carrying the cross to Golgotha. Weeping women. His mother's agony of mind, body and spirit. Blood, pain, darkness, loneliness, death. The tomb.

Amazing Love! How can it be?

There is no resurrection without death, no joy in the morning without a dark night of the soul. No spring without winter. I know. This is true of my personal life, both physically and spiritually, and my church's life. I see signs of spring, and my heart lifts...but, oh, it seems so very long in coming.

Precious Jesus, thank you for the signs of spring in my life. Thank you for wonderful times of respite like the recent conference. Thank you for sending encouraging people who touch my life along the way. Some briefly, like Lee Grady, and some for a long time, like those who have stood with me and watched and prayed through good times and bad. Bless each one, Lord. Help me faithfully stand. May I wait and watch in the garden with you. May I not grow weary in the tasks before me. May I be faithful in the waiting time, and please grant that I may come to see the fruit of the watching and waiting. The joy of resurrection, new promise, new life, new hope. Amen

As Tony Compolo preached in his wonderful sermon, "It's Friday--But Sunday's Comin'!"

Back from the mountain

Today I heard that I am an "uppity feminist" who talks about stuff she has no business with.

Should I laugh or cry? Or yell?

I guess a good choice would be to ask for God's grace to love with love beyond my own.

Meeting One of My Heroes

Last week I attended a conference at which J. Lee Grady was the main guest speaker. My friend, Pat, and my daughter, Kris, were with me. Each of us was blessed and encouraged in an extraordinary way.

Grady is the editor of Charisma magazine, the author of "Ten Lies the Church Tells Women" and an advocate for women. I told him he is one of my heroes, because he took a stand which cost him friends, income, readers and platforms in the Evangelical church world. But he did it because God directed him to.

I'm still processing some of the things that happened to me last week. Some make me rejoice, some make me sad or angry, and some make me a bit afraid of how I might get "stretched" in the future. I may share some things later, as they become more clear to me.

It truly was a conference where the presence of God was with us. I've never experienced anything like it. At one point it was like a blanket whcih enveloped the whole congregation. We just sat in silence.

But I can tell you that it was a JOY to my heart to see Lee Grady interact with women. I know some wonderful men of God, but I don't think I've ever sensed the kind of respect and positive regard that just seems to exude from this man. He is down-to-earth, real, approachable, funny, and he is compleltely free and unselfconscious. And he is a champion for women in a way I cannot even describe.

He is an exuberant worshipper, very "charismatic" in style, and very prophetic (I was amazed) but he also was very frank about the abuses he is seeing in the church, both the Pentecostal/Charismatic folks and others. He travels a great deal and sees much.

While he expressed dismay and concern, he also had this to say about the direction he believes God is taking the Church:

1. From superstardom to servanthood (Glory be to God!)
2. From buildings to the organic Church
3. From pulpit to people
4. From racism to reconcilliation
5. From male-domintaed to egalitarian
6. From hidden sin to healthy holiness
7. From human ability to supernatural power
8. From excapism to conquest
9. From wimps to warriors

May it be so, Lord!

He told me I was a warrior for God. :-)

People of the Presence

Last June one of my blog posts was about an awareness of God's presence. I asked people to share insights and experiences. A few left blog comments, others wrote me emails. Some of the stories were amazing. One of the most memorable for me was an email from a cyber buddy who told me about the time she was experiencing serious trauma as a child and was curled up in her bed feeling completely alone and lost. A silent and unseen presence came to her and wrapped her in a warm embrace, complete with soft, rather plump arms and a distinctly feminine chest. She was alone--but not alone. And she was comforted by a tender Mother God.

Last year I went through a several week period of time when I was aware of God's presence in a way that is impossible to describe but, at least to me, was very real.

I've pondered this ever since, trying to grasp just what the presence of God is, how it is revealed, why some times people are more aware of it, and so on. I also had a conversation recently with a parishioner and good friend who was wrestling with the whole charismatic idea of "experiencing" God--and just when is that real and helpful and valuable, and when does it cross the line into manipulation and emotionalism and worse.

I believer we are never to seek experiences. That leads to many kinds of trouble. We are to seek God. Sometimes a somewhat emotional experience may result, and sometimes not. To focus on the experience is to cheapen the Almighty, I think. But I have no problem with enjoying the sense of nearness or joy or freedom that sometimes comes to me as I seek a deeper awareness of God's nearness.

Sometimes at our church we use soft music, candlelight, kneeling, silence--or exuberant music, vocal prayer, and standing with arms raised in joy or surrender. Others have organ music, stained glass, beautiful anthems sung by a choir, and focused liturgy. It's all good, as far as I'm concerned, if it helps us step out of the mundane, the casual, the usual, and focus our attention on the Divine.

Can it be manipulation? Yes. But it needen't be. Personally, I sometimes need a little help quieting my mind (or releasing joy and praise).

All that to say--whew--that when a brochure came in the mall titled "People of the Presence Confernece" I took note. The cover is eye-catching, a blue background with a dove feather floating down. The featured confrence speaker is J. Lee Grady, editor of Charisma magazine. He also is one of my personal heroes, because he took a stand (and took a lot of heat) when he published Ten Lies the Church Tells Women. He has recently started something called The Mordecai Project that aims to assist women who want to be in Christian ministry. I'd post a link, but it seems something is amiss with the website.

The workshop titles are intriging as well. Here's one title: Where are the Women of Fire? and another, Prophetic or Pathetic? There's one about the new interdenominatiol practice of "healing rooms." I've been hearing about this and want to learn more. When a workshop is not in session there will be continuous worship music and prayer (live music during the day, taped at night).

I'm going. I have a mix of anticipation and a little concern. I don't like hype or manipulation, and I am all to0 aware that there is all too much of this in charismatic circles. But something seems compelling about the timing of this.

I'll report when I get back. Next week sometime.

At the Checkout

Yesterday I went to the local grocery store to get potatoes. We're having an Irish worship celebration at my church this Sunday, complete with fiddle, pipes, gaelic harp....lots o' fun expected. And of course, corned beef, cabbage and potatoes afterwards, which was the reason for my trip to the store. But..to the point...


As I waited in the checkout line I glanced over the headlines of the tabloids.



One cover had a large picture of a computer on a desk, and in front of the computer was an acutely miserable-looking woman blowing her nose.

And the headline?


COMPUTER VIRUS SPREADS TO HUMANS!

Don't say I didn't warn you.

B.B. King--"King of the Blues"

The legendary B.B. King, who recently won his fourteenth Grammy, is on his "Happy 80th Birthday Tour."

Monday night I went to hear him and the B.B. Blues Band rocking the house up in Green Bay. It was one of those casino venue shows, so the seating was not good. It was a stuffy large "ballroom" with many rows of tightly packed chairs flat on the floor, and we were on the next-to-back row. However, the show sold out in three days, so we counted ourselves fortunate to be there in any row.

It was an interesting crowd. Children, Baby Boomers, dating couples, seniors, bikers, etc. Quite a mix!

As we squeezed in and shifted around to try to get comfortable (I mean tightly packed chairs and my husband is a big guy), some slightly drunk and more-than slightly-loud concert goers filed into the back row right behind us. I had a moment of trepidation.

A few minutes later the house lights went down, stage lights went up, and the band came onstage. In seconds the crowd was enthralled. AWESOME musicians. Well, the King of the Blues would have the best in his band, after all. Wow. They were amazing. The drummer never stopped for just about the whole show. The keyboardist had a Hammond organ, a piano, and several keyboards. He often played the organ with his right hand and the keyboard with his left.

Jazz trumpets, guitars, the largest sax I have ever seen or heard (one of my favorite instruments), a bass guitarist that kept the place thumping, and more. It was fun! They played nonstop for nearly half an hour, and then someone introduced B.B. King. Out he came with his guitar, "Lucille," cradled in his arms, and the crowd jumped to their feet and gave this amazing old blues man a thundering ovation.

He sat for the entire concert, and he didn't play on every song, but when he did play it was obvious that he's still "got it." Amazing hands. Especially for an 80 year old diabetic. I watched him on the screen (being in the back rows I rarely caught a glimpse of him on stage) and marveled at his dexterity. He joked with us, rambled a bit (for which we all forgave him), and sang with that familiar gravelly voice which is only a shade different than in his younger years. Maybe it's better. He recalled his days picking cotton as a poor sharecropper, and he seemed genuinely grateful for the praise the crowd heaped on him after each number. He said that this was supposed to be his last tour--the 80th birthday finish to a long career spent mostly on the road. But he says he is not so sure that he will really stop touring.

I found myself thinking, "I hope those guys on stage really are still having fun, really are still enjoying making this amazing music." And I prayed for B.B. King. I remember reading an article by his daughter some years ago. Life was hard back home for the wife and daughter of a man they almost never saw and who was really married to "Lucille." His daughter is a Christian, and she prays for her dad, so I added my prayers to hers.

If you click on the link above you can hear just a few measures of B.B.'s signature song, "The Thrill is Gone." As we listened to him close the show with that famous number, I pondered the wonder of doing what you love at 80. He sang it with the full band backing him up, but the version you hear at the link is my favorite. Mostly just that voice and that guitar.

Even the guy talking loudly on his cell phone behind us, (really!) "I thought I'd share this experience with you!" couldn't spoil the moment.

May I be so blessed as to be 80 years old and still doing whatever I do with warmth and passion.

Doves are Heard in the Land!

Song of Solomon 2:11-13
For the winter is past, and the rain is over and gone. The flowers are springing up, and the time of singing birds has come, even the cooing of turtledoves. The fig trees are budding, and the grapevines are in blossom. How delicious they smell! Yes, spring is here! Arise, my beloved, my fair one, and come away.

In the northland, spring is longed for like a long-lost love. After months of rain, sleet, ice, snow, slippery roads, blizzard warnings, school (and church) closings and grey skies, we watch for any indication that winter will eventually end. We know it will, of course, but we feel like it might not.

The first day of spring falls in March--the 20th, this year. What a tease. For us March is often one of the worst months of winter, complete with at least one whopping snowstorm.

But around this time we start talking about tulip and daffodill bulbs and crocuses, and we think about packing away our sweaters and parkas and mittins. We don't do it, but we think about it. My husband is already telling me that the house is stuffy and that I have to open the windows. (It is 35 degrees outside.)

The first robin is greeted with whoops of delight at my house. I haven't seen one yet, but one of my church ladies showed me a picture she snapped on her digital camera. "Proof!" she crowed happily. This one isn't it. Note the green leaves, and no snow. This robin must be in a warmer climate.

Last Friday I slopped across our muddy church parking lot to the back door. (Another sure sign of Spring...mud in the church parking lot.) But the sun shone warmly on my face and the sky was a lovely blue. The thermometer hovered in the mid 40s. And then I heard one of those unmistakable signs of spring in the Upper Midwest. Cooing. There they were, a pair of mourning doves, standing together on the side lawn. The male is larger and darker than the female.

The first time I hear doves in spring I always think of the passage above. The sound of doves says sunny days, green grass, flowers, leafy trees, all are coming.

This morning I looked out my kitchen window and saw that the pussy willow bush is in bud. It is always the first thing in my yard to brave the elements by pushing forth some new signs of life. I immediately popped outside to see close up, padding across the rainy deck in my bare feet. No matter that today the sky is grey, snow is forcast for much of Wisconsin, or that right now my sweater feels comfy in my chilly office.

Spring will come.

The same is true of our spirits. Winter comes to us in many ways: lonliness, sadness, discontent, disappointment, frustration...but the promise of Solomon's song is real. The spiritual seasons change, just as surely as the physical ones do. Not as regularly or predictably, I admit, but change comes, nonetheless.

It's been a bit of a dark time for me. Has it been so for you? Watch with me for the signs of God's spiritual spring.

Gimme a Head With Hair

Squinting into the sun with my son, who so far has no grey hair. He broke the genetic string, apparently.

Here is the Rev Gals Friday Five Meme, courtesy of Songbird. Perhaps some "nitpicking at her house inspired the hair meme.

1) Do you like your hair?

Yep. Always have, except in the latter half of the 60s, when I ironed it. (Yes, we actually did that. Sheesh!)

2) Have you ever colored your hair? If not, would you consider it?

If you look at the previous post you will see a picture of my mother. See what lovely white hair she has? Eveyone in her side of the family was prematurely grey, which means WHITE in old age. My hair started sprouting grey in a noticable manner when I was still in high school. By my 20s it looked frosted, which was kinda cool, but then I started coloring it. My mom never did, and I have no memories of her withoug steel grey hair. She looked older than her years. So from mid twenties I colored my hair my original color, which was a very dark brown. Everyone on mom's side had dark hair and blue eyes....Irish roots? I used to resemble the younger Lisa Minnelli. I grew it out at age forty. It was a nice greyish silver color, but I looked 50. I colored it again right away! I stopped again about five years ago. The growing-out process was horrendous. I looked like a skunk, and then like a calico cat, but I persevered, and as you can see from my profile picture and these other ones, my hair is now silver. It took months!

I do look older with this silver hair, and I wish I had waited till becoming 60 to do the deed, but I am not going back now. It was too difficult to get through the growing-out process.

3) What's the longest you've ever worn your hair? The shortest?

Wore it to my waist as a child. I had thick, shiny dark hair and I was a bit vain about it. Usually it was in braids or poneytails. Shortest? Well, I am chagrined to recall this, but I once sported a very short, kinky Afro. I think it was about 1974.

4) When and what was your worst. haircut. ever?

When I decided I was sick of long hair my mom cut it. Big mistake.

5) Tell us a favorite song or scene from a book or movie dealing with hair.

Well, since the Cream reunion concert has me thinking of flower power (lol) I guess I'll have to say "HAIR" from the musical of the same name. That song cracks me up. Hence the title of this blog post.

Now here is a woman wiht great hair. This is my friend, Deacon Pat. She is a teacher but could have been a hair dresser. Almost every Sunday she hustles me into my office where she works a small miracle on my hair. I wish she could fix my hair every morning.

And my most recent picture. Since it is black and white, I can pretentd I'm a blonde too!
That was kind of a narcissistic post, wasn't it? Blame Songbird.

Could it be Alien Body Switching?

Here is my cute 89 year old mother with her new cat, Patches, a Christmas present from my husband.





Life is ironic.

My mother lives with us. She is basically a fundamentalist who loves TBN. She NEVER watches t.v. (except TBN and ice skating). She rarely listens to music other than hymns. She never reads a book that does not have a religious theme of some sort. She thinks all movies are questionable unless they are produced by Disney.

The other night I flipped on Public Television, sitting sleepily on the couch and waiting for my husband to come home and tell me to go to bed. Instead of anything "high brow" I found myself watching the reunion concert of Cream. Ah, those guys weren't as well known as the Beatles or the Beach Boys, but the sound of their music can sure transport a Baby Boomer right back to 1966 or so. If you go to the link and click on sound samples and listen a little, you will see what I mean.

I was never a Cream fan exactly, back in the day, but I listened to the guys, admiring their talent (especially Eric Clapton--wow!), considered how tired drumming like that for two hours would make one, pondered the fact that they all looked wrinkly and--well--old.

My mother came in and sat down silently. I waited for a comment like, "What awful noise. How can you listen to that?" Instead, after a few moments of watching the t.v. with a quizzical look on her face, she said, "What kind of music is that?" I replied, "Rock. Well, rock with blues and jazz overtones...but rock. Yes." "Rock? Really? Hmmm" my mother said.

A few minutes passed. I was on the couch kind of bobbing my head and thinking of riding to the beach in my sister's little red convertable on a sunny California day about 40 years ago, many pounds lighter, sans wrinkles or grey hair, full of anticipation for life. In the back seat were our bags with swimsuits, towels, coconut smelling suntan cream, a radio, and two meatball sandwiches. And I cranked up the radio to listen to Cream cranking out "Sunshine of Your Love." Amazing what music can do for my memory!

Meanwhile, my mother was over in the recliner, silent and still, alternately gazing at me and the television.

She eventually got up, and as she headed for her room she quietly said, "They're pretty good."

WHAT?

The Road to Hell....etc.

Yesterday I went to my primary physician for a long-overdue physical check up.

Doc: How are you, stranger?

Me: Well, mostly okay.


Doc: How are things at the church? Still pastoring in ________?

Me: Fine, and yes.


Doc: Have you scheduled a mammogram?

Me: Umm, no, but I'll call right away.


Doc: Have you been working out a few times a week?

Me: Umm, no, but I do have an exercise bike.


Doc: Are you eating several servings of fruit and vegetables a day and cutting down on red meat?

Me: Umm, yeah, sure. Well, sometimes.


Me (feeling sheepish): I had good intentions. Does that count?

Doc: (looking grumpy): Does it in YOUR business?

Me: Ouch.

Ash Wednesday Musings

Genesis 3:18 "...For from dust you were formed, and to dust you shall return."

Isaiah 58:5-7 (The Message)"Do you think this is the kind of fast day I'm after: a day to show off humility? To put on a pious long face ad parade around solemnly in black? Do you call that fasting, a fast day that I, GOD, would like? "This is the kind of fast day I'm after: to break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation in the workplace, free the oppressed, cancel debts. What I'm interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families."

I'm from a church tradition that usually does not celebrate Ash Wednesday, or for that matter, take much notice of the Lenten Season. Until about 10 years ago, I had no idea what this day was about, even though a large part of the church world celebrates it in some way.

I have vague memories of two neighbors, coming over to play one Wednesday after school. They both had smudges on their foreheads, and when I asked about it they rolled their eyes at my Protestant ignorance and said, "It's Ash Wednesday. Don't you know?" Well, no, I didn't. And I did not know how to respond to the follow up question, "What are you giving up for Lent? I'm giving up chewing gum!" The other was giving up chocolate. They could not explain why, except to say something about doing penance. My Baptist sensibilities recoiled at the very idea...and that was the end of the conversation. I expect they thought I was some sort of Protestant pagan, and as for me, I thought they were a weird pair of Pope worshippers. Ashes on the forehead? What next?

How sad for all of us. For my two friends, that they really had no idea of what the ashes meant, and for me, that I summarily wrote off all "ritual" as useless.

I admit that in my childhood Easter Sunday, with it's joyful celebration, seemed to spring out of nowhere. We seldom even had a Good Friday service, sad to say. That changed later in my church life when we relocated to the Midwest of the USA, which is basically Lutheran/Catholic country. Almost all churches "up north" do take notice of Good Friday, at least.

A few years ago I "celebrated" my first Ash Wednesday at the church of a friend. She pastors a neighboring Presbyterian congregation, and she joined with our Methodist clergywoman friend in a service of remembering--graciously allowing whoever of us Assemblies of God folk who wished to join them. I sat in the lovely old sanctuary, so different from my own, and I absorbed the peace of organ music and candlelight and ashes and prayer. It was significant. Last year they joined us here. I joked that we may have been one of the only AG congregations in the nation to have "the imposition of ashes" happening in our church.

This year we are not having a special service, but I will not let it go by unnoticed. I read the above scriptures this morning, and I've been thinking about the beginning of Lent. Tonight we will begin our usual Bible study with some silence and prayer and we will read together about the kind of "fast" that pleases God. Wow! The Message is kind of blunt, isn't it?

A Little Poem for Ash Wednesday.

"Take up your cross and follow me,"
I hear my Shepherd softly say,
And I, the sheep, with timid eyes,
I falter, I look, I stop and stay...

Dearest Master, don't you see,
How nice it is here in the grass?
How bright the sun, how sweet the flowers,
The peaceful water gleams like glass!

I'll follow where you lead me,
You know I trust you, Lord, I do,
But don't you want to stay here with me,
And the others...can't we, too...?

Can't we stay where life is calm,
In fragrant meadows, sweet and green?
Pastures of rest and plenty beckon,
Playing and sleeping, no trouble seen.

The Shepherd looks with at me with love,
"The valley ahead is where we'll go,
In the dark of grief and sorrow,
That is the place where you will grow."

My steps are slow, my heart is sad,
I don't want to...but I'll go,
To the valley of the shadow,
To that place we all must know.

For I know that he is with me,
Holding tightly to me there,
Dust we are, to dust returning,
I will follow, all the way.

After the cross of dying...dying...
In his glory I will share.
I will look to you, my Shepherd,
I will trust you, come what may.

If no grief there is no joy,
If no loss, no victory won.
After dying comes the living,
After darkness comes the dawn.

"For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
Saint Paul

I can't stop humming the hymn, "Savior, like a shepherd lead us, much we need thy tender care..." And I know it's bad poetry, but the best I could do on a busy afternoon. ;-)

For a wonderful post on dying to self, see Hazlenut Reflcetions. Thank you Emily.

Sheep: Part Two

Look at these little sheep in their green pasture!

After church today I took off my suit and donned my pajamas. (I'm not feeling quite up to par.) Then I dug out an old cassette from my days at college. It's a cassette of Nova Choir. One of my best college memories is of singing in this group of 15 choir members. We traveled one spring break, and the Lord did wonderful things among us. I wanted to remember a song that was quite popular at the time, "The New 23rd." I thought I might even play the tape on Wednesday as part of the Bible study.

Wow. Perspective changes. On the cover, in the second row of the choir, I stand smiling. I'm wearing an afro though. Eek! I'd forgotten. Something is really wrong about that. The cassette tape is scratchy and tinny, and the sopranos are....oh dear....a bit flat on some of the high notes of the song. Sigh.

I loved the 23rd Psalm then, and I still love it. I loved sheep imagery and I still do.

Thank you, Good Shepherd of the sheep, for still calling to us. May we follow where you lead us.

Baaaa -- Sheep: Part One

Psalm 23 A Psalm of David.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside still waters;
He restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
For you are with me;
Your rod and your staff,
They comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup overflows!

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.


Someway or other, I have started collecting sheep. I didn't decide to collect sheep. It just sort of happened. I don't mean real sheep. I mean toy sheep. I think it started with a large painting called "The Shepherdess." It used to hang in a rather dark spot in my church building till I moved it into my office, and then when my office location changed the little shepherdess and her two sheep moved into the sanctuary where they grace the back wall. I often look at her when I am preaching. It's a good reminder of just who I am and just how humble it looks to be a caretaker of sheep.

A mom and her teenaged daughters in our congregation bought a small ceramic one, and then there was a Beanie Baby sheep, and a silly ceramic bobble sheep with sad eyes. Someone at church gave me a lovely small carved shepherdess and lamb. Then it was those cute sheep called "Woolys" (I think) from DaySpring cards. I bought myself one at a Christian bookstore, and then a friend bought me a second one. And then one from the local "thrift store," and then another from another thrift store...and then one from the Hallmark store. It's getting out of hand!

I've started a series on Sundays about Jesus. (How original, eh?) Well, really. My recent Sunday sermons are based loosely on a Bill Hybels Bible study that we are gathering to share on Wednesday nights. Today it was time for "Jesus: the Shepherd."

Of course, we read the 23rd Psalm together. It is so familiar--but no wonder. What imagery, if we just take time to ponder it. Jesus, the one who cares, guides, protects, disciplines, comforts....and so much more. There is a key word in Psalm 23. It is not enough just to quote it, or sing it, or pray it. David says, "Because the Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need..."

The Good Shepherd wants us, his sheep, to listen to him. Jesus said, "My sheep hear my voice." The shepherd, Jesus, loves us so much he gave his life for us. But he wants sheep who listen--and stop when he says stop--and come when he calls them.

You know what? After the prayer, I said, "...and all God's sheep said..." and the congregation answered "..Baaaaa." Can you believe it?

Today I talked about what a difference a word makes. And I believe the Lord asked us the question, "Am I your shepherd?"

At the end of service as everyone was exiting, a young black man came up to me. He attended our church for a while but we haven't seen him lately. I know he's in some trouble. Today he said quietly, "I need to change." Tears filled his beautiful but deeply sad eyes. I asked him if he knew what to do about that, and he said no. I asked him if he was willing to follow Jesus, the Shepherd. He nodded yes, wordlessly. A good friend, our worship leader, had come up with him and now stood near with a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder, and I knew he was praying silently.

We spent some time talking, and then we spent some time praying, and I leaned my head forward. What a funny picture we must have made, in a way. A tall young black man, and a white, silver headed, lady pastor, heads touching as he leaned over and we prayed together. I thought of David's words, "You anoint my head with oil..." and I reached for a small bottle of spikenard scented anointing oil I keep in the pulpit. I placed a small cross of oil on the forehead of this young man, and then I gently placed my hand on his head, as we bowed in prayer.

My church is in a small town of mostly German descent. I couldn't help but smile inside, as I felt his short and thick wooly hair. And I couldn't help but think of how God had led this little sheep to our Anglo congregation. According to Revelation, chapter one, Jesus may have hair like that.

"Jesus," I prayed, "This wandering sheep wants to become part of your flock..." Later, in the entryway, I asked him to tell someone what had happened to him. He turned to one of our older parishioners, and said shyly, "I became a sheep." The church lady smiled and said, "Wonderful!"

Please pray for him. He has a rough time ahead.