Seeking Asylum (12.29.19)
Over the holidays, my family has watched a lot of Disney+, particularly the reality series Encore in which former high school drama groups reunite 15-25 years later for an encore performance of their best remembered high school production of a musical, now in their 30s and 40s.
As we’ve watched these shows together, I realized my children have somehow never seen one of my childhood favorites, The Sound of Music. My grandmother bought the two VHS box set for me when I had the chicken pox, and I watched it over and over again. As I was the only one singing along to Encore, I stopped to explain the plot of the musical and that it was based on a real story. As Mother Superior sang “Climb Every Mountain,” we talked about the sisters of the abbey stealing car parts from the nazis’ engines to give the Von Trapp family more time to escape on foot, heading for safety and away from their home with only what little they could carry.
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Christmas Eve Homily (12.24.19)
It started that night. The humble birth of this little one, obscure and unceremonious as it seems it would have been, the birth did not, could not go unnoticed. The legend tells us that his calling began to radiate from that little back house stable and pulse with the same rhythm of the shining star overhead. The first ones to feel that calling and its draw to the infant were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.
Shepherds were not respected. Shepherds were mistrusted, at best, because they often grazed their sheep on other people’s land. Their sense of property lines were loose, and sheep are stinky. It seems that somehow these shepherds aren’t participating in the big registration that the Emperor requires. They aren’t traveling to hometowns and making their income known to the government. They also aren’t bunking with livestock because it was the warmest place they can find that night. No, this is their life, wandering the fields, hopping the fences, tending the sheep outside of the structures.
And it’s here among these unimpressive men, even less impressive than the back house stable, that the first call comes. An angel of the Lord stands before them, in that place that is beyond the civilized places, and the glory of the Lord shines around them way out there in obscurity. The Emperor may not know where they are or who they are, but the Divine surely does. And this grand welcome scares them to death, these men who are probably not scared of a lot and have seen it all. The angel’s first words are: “Do not be afraid.”
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When Joseph Awoke (12.22.19)
There’s been a lot of talk about dreams around here lately. I’ve heard maybe a dozen of you share your recurring dreams, vivid dreams, upsetting dreams. I’ve listened in on amateur dream interpretation in the kitchen and the fellowship hall. One of the Sundays of Advent, the children and youth talked about paying attention to dreams and even writing down dreams that seem important. One of my recurring dreams happened again last night (or so early this morning that I completely overslept): extra rooms in a house. Rooms we’d forgotten about or didn’t know where there. This time they were wonderfully decorated and useful rooms. Rooms I very much wish we could access and would love using. Guest rooms, sitting rooms, grand hallways. And I always discover these rooms and their contents as we’re planning to move out of the house. I open a door or turn a corner and discover I’ve only been living in one small portion of what is actually the home. I’ve heard your dreams of flying. Dreams of trying to run but having legs like concrete. Dreams of a very targeted tornado striking a local business. Whatever the dreams, they are a mysterious part of our lives that we often readily dismiss, but the ancients viewed dreams as a portal—a window of seeing into another realm.
This is a dreaming season. We’ve just come out of the longest night of the year—the winter solstice of more dark than light. And Advent calls us to tap into an imagination so big and so extraordinary that an entire world can be changed through the birth of a baby boy. What will it take for us to be people of dreams and imaginations? Dreams in scripture are a mystical reality that confer spiritual truth, serve as a sure sign of God’s presence, and become a way for humans to hear the message of God. That’s what we are invited to consider today: when is dreaming a holy portal into imagining a totally new way of being in the world. So new that the world itself might be made over?
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Baptizing in the Wilderness (12.8.19)
With all that we have going on right now (The St. Charles Center nearing full funding, holding board meetings, soon to announce and host its first major event; The Fund for Sacred Places guiding us into a season of capital and endowment campaign as we care for this historic structure and continue to imagine it’s sacred use for years to come; newly stained concrete floors in the 1925 building begging for a vision of what new life that space will hold; the ongoing life and work of this congregation at 120 years; my own growing children approaching big birthdays in the new year; the fullness of Advent and Christmas seasons), I find myself preparing for rest in a meaningful, intentional way. It seems a bit far off still, but I am imagining sabbatical.
In 2020, I’ll mark my 7th anniversary, and that brings the promise of an intentional step away after that 7th year is complete. And the most renowned granting source for sabbatical funding has its deadline for 2021 sabbaticals in just three months. So in the midst of all of this life and work at St. Charles and the full richness of all of my life and work at home, I’m imagining our written proposal (it will be ours and not just mine) for a purposeful, thoughtful, deliberate stepping out-of-time for a season. My stepping outside of this place, and your reimagining during that same time, that will better enable us all to continue to minister together purposefully, thoughtfully, and deliberately here.
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Beginning at the End (12.1.19)
I’ve never been much for blockbuster summer movies in which a charming hero saves the world from annihilation. After 90 minutes of explosions and heart-racing music, the hero emerges from a cloud of smoke, dripping in sweat, dirt smeared across his face. And if it’s a true summer blockbuster, then he also gets the girl and lives happily ever after. The thing about these movies is that the hero is the hero because he helped us all face the end and then avoid it. Destruction was right at the two hour mark, and he stopped it with ten minutes to spare. We’re exhilarated and relieved, grateful to the hero for sparing us and providing escape from one of our biggest fears. Today’s lesson has a different ending…it…ENDS.
It’s an odd way to start a story, but here we are again at the beginning of a new liturgical year, lighting the candle of hope and talking about the capital “E” end of everything. We mark this shift into a new church year not with the creation poetry of Genesis or the birth narratives of Jesus. We mark this shift with some kind of story telling us: the End will come. And it very likely won’t be at all what you imagined. And it certainly won’t involve Will Smith or the Rock waving guns around and saving the day.
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Of Shoots and Vineyards (11.17.19)
I’ve spoken before about our love for Monty Don, Britain’s favourite gardener. We’ve watched Monty tour the great gardens of Italy, the romantic landscapes of France, but our very favorite encounters with Monty are on Big Dreams, Small Spaces. Monty visits the homes of ordinary gardeners with small allotments or courtyards or even a rocky rooftop over an old cliff-hewn garage, and he listens to their dreams for what can exist in that space.
To prepare for their limited, one-on-one engagement with Monty, the amateur gardeners have drawn sketches and maps of what they want to plant. The most prepared ones even have lists of plants and flowers and have studied when the sun hits or which areas are shady. Monty will coach them to reconsider parts of their plan and make suggestion based on what he, as a master gardener, knows to be true about simple-yet-impressive planting.
Monty them leaves the gardeners for a time, and their job is to begin preparing the soil (which sometimes means excavating an entire yard and filling it in again with a rich soil and compost blend), tearing out overgrowth, and hauling away anything that stands in the way of their dream garden. Then Monty returns about halfway through the project to offer one day of assistance with whatever their biggest need is at that time.
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