Saints on Safari

No, that THAT Green Arrow.   

The one on the traffic light pole…   

Driving in South Florida is entirely different from driving the narrow, twisting roads of West Virginia. In WV, the greatest danger is potholes big enough to swallow the car, or at least break an axel…and drivers careening around curves in the middle of the road…and falling off the shoulder-less road and rolling down the mountain…and…other adventures incurred only while driving in a mountainous state where everyone wants to have the right of way, including deer and bears.  But that is entirely another tale, for another day.

When we first arrived in Florida, Abby was still not allowed to drive, following her heart episodes of the summer. I was designated driver for several weeks, which turned out to be a good thing. It helped me grow more comfortable with the wide avenues, six to eight lanes of boulevards, actual shoulders along the road edges, and long, straight, flat stretches of roadway.

What took the most adjustment was the turning lanes. When traffic is flowing from four directions, the lights are vital to avoid entanglements. I still have to remind myself to look beyond the red lights to the green arrows.  The round red and green lights are for the straight ahead traffic, but beyond them are the lighted arrows that direct the turning lanes.

Often, I prepare to stop at a light that is red, only to discover that beyond it is the green arrow, telling me that it is safe and. actually wise, to turn now, lest some vehicle hit me from behind.

For me, there is a lesson in this.  How easy it is to reach a road block in life’s journey, and stop, thinking that the way ahead is closed.  But, when we look beyond the red light, we see a way opening to us in a different direction.  That turning place may lead to an adventure not yet dreamed, and a fulfillment not yet imagined.  Safaris are seldom journeys of straight lines.  We need to be flexible enough to turn, sensitive enough to know where and when to change our course, and stubborn enough not to stop in the middle of the road.

“ And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, This is the way, walk  in it, when you turn to the right hand, and when you turn to the left.”  Isaiah 30:21

Posted on October 18, 2009 on Dr. Abby’s and Rev. Carol’s Place http://www.drabbyreynolds.com/2009/10/a-reflection-from-preaching-as-antoinette-brown-blackwell-by-carol-crawford-rowe/

I had the privilege of preaching at a church near by, where I was asked to speak in my Civil War persona as Rev. Dr. Antoinette Brown-Blackwell. The worship service was an interesting experience, with four components that troubled me.

I do not know who normally presents the Children’s Message, but in the absence of the pastor, one of the lay speakers did so. She was doing a great job, reminding them that Jesus is better than their best friend, always present, always loving them. Then WHAM! She told the children that, when they become adults, Jesus will occasionally “smack you upside the head” when you do something that you shouldn’t do, or fail to do something that you should. I know that she was trying to be cute and clever, but she missed by a mile.

And we wonder why the little ones, who sing “Jesus Loves the Little Children” with such enthusiasm, disappear from our congregations when they become teen agers and young adults. If I were awaiting the day when Jesus ceased being my friend and began to batter me instead, I also would rather leave while I’m ahead.

I was the guest speaker. Should I have interrupted her to tell those young ones that Jesus does not hit us? I believe that, when we fail to do what is good and just, Jesus lays a hand on our shoulder and says, “I’ll bet you’re sorry that you did that in that way. Would you like me to help you fix it?” I wanted to say STOP! You are not talking about the real Jesus. Being polite to her, I confess to you that, by my silence, I failed those young people as badly as she did.

Why should God cease to be a friend and loving presence, and become a harsh, judgmental taskmaster, just because we grow old enough to recognize our failings and mistakes? Is this really the theology that we want our children to learn?

Second, after this disheartening message, every person in the sanctuary age sixteen and under was led away by a cordon of adults, presumably to engage in some activity more appropriate to their age level than the sermon. Huh?!

I was sharing God’s working in the life of Antoinette Brown Blackwell, the first woman in the United States to be ordained a minister of the gospel. She knew as a young child that God had a plan for her life. That knowledge led to a life preaching peace, love, and inclusion of the marginalized and abused. Was this inappropriate for the young people to hear? When did worship become a venue in which children are not welcomed? When are they supposed to learn their roles in the Church and in the world?

Third, the congregation was right “with” me, as I told of the nineteenth century struggles and challenges. They were smiling, nodding, laughing when appropriate. But when I reminded them that we are called to right the wrongs of the twenty-first century, just as nineteenth century heroes and heroines were called to their time, the congregation froze. The smiles disappeared when I reminded them that Jesus also loves people with purple hair, painted skin, and piercings. Their slogan says that they are ministers in the world, to the world. The nods gave way to stiff-necked stares.

Their minds were closed, as were their hearts. As I looked around the mostly grey-haired group, I realized that their doors were also closed to any who are different from their idea of normal and acceptable. Many of the children who were present at the beginning of the service had come with a grandparent. Their parents were not there, an entire generation, mostly missing. What have we done?

And, last of all, at the door, while people were politely shaking my hand, with the compliments that really mean; “I’m not going to take THAT message with me into my world this week”, an elderly man took my hand and said, ‘I’m old fashioned. I believe that God created people to fulfill certain roles”.

I have been condemned before, for being a woman called to ministry. Perhaps that is why my answer came so fast. Smiling, I patted his shoulder and remarked, “Oh, so you believe that a woman belongs in the kitchen. Or, are you willing to allow her into the living room, if she needs to vacuum the carpet?”

The howls of laughter from the surrounding women made it all worthwhile! But I traveled home, saddened in spirit, for the empty shell that our religious institutions have become. To quote an old and dear retired pastor friend, “Who wants to spend their lives in an institution?”

And I felt Jesus’ hand on MY shoulder, as he spoke to me. “You are called to be my messenger. What they do with the message is their responsibility”. Help us, Lord, please help us!

Yesterday morning, a young mother just a few miles from here killed her four teen-age and pre-teen children, before taking her own life.  I did not know her, but my heart aches for her and her entire family.  Who of her neighbors and extended family had an inkling of her pain, pain so debilitating that continuing life was unbearable?  Yes, there was a history of problems – problems in relationships, problems with the law, and, undoubtedly, problems with a hopelessness so deep that she could see no glimmer of relief.

I wonder what help was offered her.   I wonder what judgment was heaped upon her.  I wonder how many hands were extended to her in blessing, how many fists raised against her in condemnation.  I can not help her now.  The question for me remains:  Would I have reached a hand to her if I had known her?  Or would I have joined the legions who criticize and damn?

Teddy Roosevelt suggested that those who go far “speak softly and carry a big stick”.  That may be true, especially in this land of lions and alligators, but I think that we are called to embrace the cry of the prophet Micah, to live justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with the Good Shepherd (6:8).

It is better, I think, to extend the shepherd’s crook to rescue people from the brink, than to raise the stick to club them into despair.

God of us all, help us to see each other through your loving eyes and embrace each other with your understanding heart. 

Mother’s Day is gone for this year.  Father’s Day is approaching, followed by all the holidays where we traditionally spend obligatory time with members of our families.  Yet there are many who have no family, or do not have the Norman Rockwell ideal relationships with family members.  As a pastor/ therapist / psychiatric nurse, and just- plain-friend, I have heard countless numbers of complaints regarding the lack of family connections.  Estrangement and perceptions of neglect haunt everyone from time to time.

There is no reason to be without a family.  Those who know my personal story are aware that I am a believer in adoption, which is nothing more, and certainly nothing less, than creating a family that goes beyond the boundaries of blood.  Adoption does not have to be a legal process.  Sometimes, it is recognizing and accepting heart ties that are stronger than legal ties.

I know a woman whose grandchildren live far from her, but who is regularly visited and honored by her brother’s grandchild.  She chooses to mourn the lack of what she does not have, instead of embracing that other grandchild, who does honor her and give her the gift of time.  What a tragedy we bring into our own lives, when we fail to recognize that family is loving presence, and not simply shared DNA.

Are you lonely?  Go find someone who needs your friendship.  Does no one visit, phone, give you gifts, invite you to dinner? Visit, phone, gift, invite someone to share a meal or a cup of tea.    Has your family of origin forgotten, failed, disappointed, and abandoned you? You are chosen to be part of God’s family. Create from that vast multitude of relatives a family with whom you can share love, offer grace, and enjoy your personal safari.

We picked up a real estate brochure today at the super market.  One of the featured homes was an entire floor of a high rise building on Singer Island, a little up the coast from us.  It was reduced from three million dollars to two-and-a-half million.  Four bedrooms, several baths, and a room for just about any purpose that residents could desire, and yet – The building offers guest suites for visitors, so that they do not have to intrude into the residents’ personal space.  I find that interesting.

Please know that I am not condemning those who choose to live this way.  God loves rich people, too.  I simply can not understand, or identify with, such a life, when there are so many in our world who are grateful simply for a blanket and a corner of the pavement where the wind does not blow.

Yet, it is easy to be self-righteous and complacent, believing that our minimalist style of living makes us better stewards of what God has given us to share.  The prophet Micah says it this way:  He has showed you what is good, and what the Lord requires of you.  Do justice.  Love mercy.  Walk humbly with God.  (6:8)

No matter how much we may have, or how little, gratitude, fairness, compassion, and a humble spirit are more beautiful than a fortune in the bank, or in the condominium.

We have had a very gentle week, with few responsibilities, no requirements  and a very short list of measurable  accomplishments.  I began to feel guilty, because I could not account for much progress in my list of “shoulds”.   

Then I remembered a recent article on burnout, geared toward clergy, who typically invest many more hours supposedly doing their jobs than caring for themselves.  But it could, in reality, apply to anyone who thinks that his/her profession, job, or care-giving position takes precedence over personal care. 

We are taught from childhood to be unselfish, giving, sharing, helping members of our families, the groups to which we belong, society, the world.  Too seldom are we taught to take time simply to be good to ourselves. 

This is the month that we celebrate motherhood.  Way too often, we hold mothers to impossible standards of self-giving love.  We blame defective mothering for our own short-comings and failures to be(c0me) what we think we should be.

As a therapist, I often told my clients that it was time to grow up, to give to themselves the caregiving that they believed they had not experienced in earlier times.  Jesus tells us to love God with all that we are and have, and to love others, AS WE LOVE OURSELVES. 

Remember that every safari includes times of rest as well as times of self-stretching.  On your personal journey through life, please take the time to rest in the love of the One who gave himself for you.  You are precious.  You are worthy of the God who died so you can live.  Love God, love others, and do not forget to love you!

What DOES Easter really mean?

The world says: Spring has sprung. The days are longer. It it time for gardening, new life erupting. Let’s celebrate with candy, bunnies, new clothes, family dinner. The Church says: Death is conquered. Eternal life is ours. God rules. Lent is over. The time of sacrifice is ended. Let’s celebrate with Allelujahs!

Is that all there is? Is it enough? Because for some, the concept of ongoing life is almost unbearable. They live with continuing loss, ongoing hunger, persistent abuse , unending loneliness, constant failure, day after day of surviving with unmet needs.

The women who came to Jesus’ tomb were filled with unbearable sorrow, yet their love was rising to the task at hand. What could be more difficult and more distasteful than tending to a body that had been entombed three days in a hot and humid climate? Who wants to live forever in circumstances like that?

The male disciples were huddled in a secret place, with their guilt, their shame, their fear. They had given up their careers. They had left their families. For what? This tragic and terrible ending? Some could go back to fishing. Could Matthew return to his job with the Roman government? Could they make up for the years of their children’s lives that they had given up? They had paid a price, for a hope now vanquished. Now they had no hope, no security, no future. Who wants to live forever in a situation like that?

It might have been better to have the courage to die with him, or, like Judas, for the shame of their choices because of him, than to live without him…and try to figure out where to go from there. What was the message of Easter for them?

We know the rest of their story, but what is the real message of Easter to those who go to church on that day and at Christmas? We hear that Jesus was born, to be our Savior. We hear that Jesus died, to be our Savior. But what does any of it mean to life in this century, to the people who are living here and now?

The real message of Easter is that God loves us enough to become one of us. God loves us enough to die for us. God loves us enough to live for us!

I know how it feels to be in that garden like the women, having lost loved ones. So do you. I know how it feels to huddle in fear and despair, wondering what to do with the rest of my life. So do you. I know how it feels to leave all that I know and all that I have to follow him. Some of you do, too. I know how it feels to be unappreciated and unloved in the process. You do, too. I know how it feels to have evil spoken falsely about me, to be accused of acts for which I am not guilty. So do you.

The real message of Easter is that – SO DOES JESUS! SO DOES GOD!

The human condition is not unknown to God, who took our form and lived as one of us. Every human experience and emotion is known to God who died in our place. The real message of Easter is that God loves us enough to come to us in our loneliest, most sorrowful, most terrifying, most isolated moments. Jesus came to Mary weeping in the garden. Jesus came to the disciples hiding in a room, with the doors locked.

The real message of Easter is that nothing can separate us from the love of God! There is no place, no circumstance, no situation, no desolation where Jesus does not find us. And when he finds us, the message is always the same. Hear Jesus’ message to those devastated people who loved him: I am not returning to Calvary. That is the place of death. I am not remaining in the garden of the tomb. I have already triumphed there. I am going to Galilee. Come meet me there. I am going to the places where we lived and walked, where we shared in ministry, where we met the needs of people, where I met your needs, where we played with children, where we talked of the Kingdom of God, where I showed you who the Father is…and who you are because of who God is.

I am going before you. I am going to Galilee – to the roads of life, the safaris where people seek life itself. And when you get there, I will be there, waiting for you.

What is the message of Easter? Not just a never-ending life, someday, somewhere, not just a triumph over sin and death, but life TODAY filled with the presence of Jesus, who eats with us, and talks with us, and teaches us, and promises never to leave us unattended in the world. Because death and the grave can not hold him, life can not hold us back from him. Go and share this good news on your personal safari!

This entry is from an author whom I have admired, and whose words have encouraged me in my personal safari through the wilderness of life.  I hope that you are blessed by them.

from The Liturgical Year by Joan Chittister (Thomas Nelson)

Hope is a Slippery Thing

Holy Saturday is a day nobody talks about much in the liturgical year.
There are no public ceremonies, no particular liturgies to interrupt the sense of waiting and vacuity that mark the day. For the most part, we are simply left on our own on Holy Saturday. And yet every human being who has ever walked the earth has known what the emptiness of Holy Saturday is about.
Everyone who has ever lived, who will ever live, will someday undergo a Holy Saturday of our own. Someday we will all know the power of overwhelming loss when life as we know it changes, when all hope dies in midflight. Then, and only then, can we begin to understand the purpose of Holy Saturday.
The importance of Holy Saturday lies in its power to bring us to the kind of faith the spiritual masters call mature. Holy Saturday faith is not about counting our blessings; it is about dealing with darkness and growing in hope. Without the Holy Saturdays of life, none of us may ever really grow up spiritually.
Hope, you see, is a slippery thing, often confused with certainty, seldom understood as the spiritual discipline that makes us certain of only one thing: in the end, whatever happens will be resolved only by the doing of the will of God, however much we attempt to wrench it to our own ends. We have seen, for instance, how often what is dark leads nevertheless to the light. For some, there is no commitment to good until they have really experienced evil. For others, faith cannot flower until they realize that despair has not triumphed. So there is hope here, too, surely.
There is the hope that we will learn the meaning of hope, that we will give ourselves to the certainty that in the end God will work God’s will, despite how much anyone tries to subvert it.
There is the hope that God is in the twilight parts of life as well as in its lucent ones, in the night of the soul as well as in the dawn of life, since both light and dark, night and dawn belong to God.
There is the hope that we will eventually cease calling only what we ourselves want as good and begin to recognize that good can come in strange guises, in shepherds and maidens, in fishermen and tax collectors, in presumptuous thieves and cowardly ones. We can hope to stop painting our world in our own colors alone.
There is the hope that we can finally find security in the fact of God’s understanding of weakness: Go and sin no more ( John 8:11 NKJV), we hear again. Today you will be with me in Paradise (Luke 23:43), we remember said to a thief on a cross. This is the hope that comes out of the icon of mercy as well as in what the world calls strength.
There is the hope that we can begin, finally, to see the world as God sees the world and so trust that God is indeed everywhere in everything at all times in the abstruse as well as the luminous, whether we ourselves can see the hand of God in this moment or not.
To be able to come to that point before the beginning of the Easter Vigil, before the cantor sings the Exultet into the darkness, is what Holy Saturday is really all about. Then loss is gain, and silence is a very clear message from God.