Fingernail moon

watch the sky

turn dark

to day

remember, remember

fingernail moon

and sunrise

trade

remember, remember

you are

a child

of the light

you will

survive

darkest night

remember, remember

LTM 3/25/25

From B.B. King to The Sugarhill Gang: How Music informs ministry

I’ve been taking a class on Tuesday evenings for the last few weeks entitled “Bless Your Soul”.  I was intrigued to take this online class offered by Union Presbyterian Seminary initially because one of my favorite people, Rev. Bill Buchanan is leading the course.  Bill was the Associate Pastor of my home church; he was the youth minister there and without him I doubt very seriously I would be in ministry today.  Bill was the pastor who baptized me when I was fourteen years old and preached at my ordination service in 2010.  I do not exaggerate when I say he is one of my favorite people on the planet.

The class that Bill is leading explores theology and faith through the lens of American music history.  Each week we’ve explored a different genre, each one building upon the ones before it.  We’ve explored the roots of the music, the types of instruments and musicality, and the culture from which the genres stemmed.  We have discussed blues, jazz, soul, funk, and hip hop.  After we spend time talking about the music, listening to various songs, we talk about how the genre’s notable elements might inform life in the church.   This doesn’t mean we talk about how we can incorporate jazz music into a worship service (although I have seen that done beautifully).  Rather, how the structure of the music might inform us.

For example, in Jazz music, a defining feature is that there is room for every instrument to have a solo.  The solo space isn’t defined, nor is it only for the percussionist or the guitar, but everyone has a chance to let loose and put their own spin on the song.  Furthermore, you get your one opportunity to have a solo, then you slide back and let someone else take the spotlight.  This could apply in the church as we remember that every member has a voice to be heard, whether that be in church leadership as an elder, or teaching and preaching.  You may recall an important of the Presbyterian faith is being “the priesthood of all believers.”

Another example would be hip hop.  Bill calls hip hop the music of reformation. Now considering that Bill once came on stage at Montreat Youth Conference under the name The Right Rev. Smooth and sang a rap about Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation… I was really excited to hear him talk about hip hop.   When hip hop first came on the stage it was in response to disco.  Where disco was the upbeat, dazzling dance party of the upper class…hip hop was that which illuminated the extremely difficult and troubled experience of black people living in the Bronx. And at a time when music and the arts were not available in schools, young black artists who didn’t have access to the instruments of the previous generations used ingenuity to create their own sound by pulling beats from their parents’ records and rapping over those beats.  Much like the blues they spoke hard truths.  Much like jazz, there were often collaborations among artists.  For our context, hip hop can be a reminder to build upon our traditions and find ways to honor them while also retooling them to speak into a changing worldview. 

It has been a really interesting exploration of the intersection of music and faith, and something I would not have participated in had someone whose wisdom I deeply value had not been leading the class. I don’t know a lot about music, but I do enjoy thinking metaphorically and creatively about ministry and faith.  It has been a good reminder to put ourselves into situations that challenge and ultimately inspire us if we are open to it.  

March Winds

March winds

rattle at the door.

There was a time

when I hated nothing more.

The blowing bluster

swirling Winter-brown leaves, lackluster.

Until I met the ruach.

Ruach is the wind rolling over rock.

Ruach is the Spirit, rustling your frock.

Ruach is the breath, the very breath of God.

LTM 3/16/25

Miraculous

Have you experienced a miracle in your life?  Maybe it was the birth of a child, recovery from a serious illness or survival of a horrific accident.  Or perhaps it was being introduced to someone who changed your life, or being in the right place at the right time.  Perhaps your situation was like that of Esther, placed in a position ‘for such a time as this.’   When you reflect on these miracles, whatever they may be in your life, I want you to remember what Mary Grace said in worship on Sunday morning when we heard the story of Jesus multiplying the loaves and fish, “Only God could do a miracle like that.” Praise the Lord! Amen and Amen. 

What wonderous love

As we approach the season of Lent, may we be attuned to the music of life, both its joy and melancholy. From dust you come, to dust you shall return.

What Wonderous Love is This? - performance by Hymnology

https://youtu.be/ohxSXsVgV-A?si=GRYGa2_qzVQ9bX-f

The Man Who moved A Mountain (And the Woman the Mountain moved)

You may be familiar with the story of Rev. Bob Childress, or read Richard C. David’s book, The Man Who Moved A Mountain. Bob grew up at the turn of the 20th century on Buffalo Mountain, an isolated community infamous in its poverty and citizens penchant for moonshine and violence. Bob was not without participation in such activities, but at age 30 he felt the call to ministry, completed high school and Davidson College, then after a time serving in law enforcement, attended Union Theological Seminary where he graduated in 1926. It had not occurred to me until now, but it is highly likely that Bob met and gleaned wisdom from New Providence’s influential pastor of the same years, Rev. Henry McLaughlin.

When he returned to Buffalo Mountain, Bob Childress was instrumental in the formation of multiple Presbyterian churches in the area.  In his 30 years of service Bob was well known for breaking up fights, inviting people to attend church, and driving his neighbors over the mountain for medical care. It is said that Bob would regularly preach at five churches every Sunday!   These became known as “the rock churches” and were placed on the Virginia historic registry in 2007.   

I was given a copy of this book by a dear man who has since passed, named Cliff Harvey, upon my arrival at my first call in Appomattox, VA. I think Cliff wanted me to understand the impact that a minister could have on a small town if that person were committed to knowing and loving the people.  Little did I know that a decade later I would find myself serving at two of Bob’s churches following the retirement of Bob’s grandson Stewart who had been ministering to them for several years.

 As I told you a bit about my own personal sense of exile in worship on Sunday , this is the story of how God reclaimed the scattered and brought me home.  Upon my sudden departure from my call in Roanoke, our General Presbyter who had been a wonderful co-worker and friend to me said that two yoked congregations on the edge of the Presbytery needed a supply pastor and would I be willing to travel up to Patrick and Carroll Counties to preach on Sundays at Mayberry and Bluemont churches. Well, yes indeed, I jumped at the chance.  My future in ministry was decidedly up in the air, dejected as I felt, but this was an opportunity to bless my family.  A few Sundays turned into an 18-month position as a “temporary bridge supply.” I was basically an interim without the official title and with guidance from an established interim minister, I walked through the process of preparing for a new pastor with these two congregations.  More than a substitute filling in, these congregations gave me a job! They paid me a salary and supplied our health insurance.  Even more important, they loved me.  Members there looked me in the eye and told me they trusted me; they believed in me.

They breathed new life into me and reminded me that I was indeed called to the ministry.  For much of 2019 I made my hour and a half trek to the parkway twice a week.  On Sundays I would leave the house before the sun came up and head to Mayberry for worship, then leave there and drive 12 miles further down the road to Bluemont.  Two individual congregations with their own distinct personalities, but to me they became “Blueberry.”  When covid hit we soldiered on, I would send out worship materials, not unlike our Worship Guide here, and we would meet on Zoom as well.  When the weather broke, we spent the summer worshiping outside.  Blueberry reminded me of the beauty of rural life and small church ministry.  Our son was just beginning kindergarten while I was with them, and just as he is welcomed here, he was in those churches as well.  He would sit with me behind the pulpit and stick his head out from behind my legs to peak at the pews.  At Bluemont once he was down in front around the Communion table and I had to stop preaching to tell him he had finally become too much of a distraction!  Ah, but he felt safe there.  And loved. At Mayberry he would go into the basement of the fellowship building and play with all the toys.   On those summer Sundays outside, a member of Bluemont with grandsons of his own would take him for walks out in the yard to look for bugs when he got restless.  I was present to celebrate Bluemont’s 100th anniversary and Mayberry celebrated theirs last year and were thoughtful enough to include me in the recognition of their pastors. 

As they began the search for an installed minister, I began my search as well.  And God led me to you, New Providence.  Had I not had those 18 months with Blueberry, my path may have looked very different.  It was there that my confidence as a pastor was rebuilt and my faith in the precious goodness of God’s people revived.  It was there that I was reminded of all that I loved about serving in a small church. It’s like Cheers, where everybody knows your name (haha)! Truly, I recalled that when I visited Appomattox, I felt nothing but warmth and welcome. And I should interject here that I was blessed by my call in Roanoke as well, while a different position within the church I have fond memories and sweet relationships from that time. Its not that it was not good, it was simply different and in a season of life that was difficult. When I went to the rock churches, it was the very same sense of warmth.  And not just because my first Sunday at Mayberry I was met by a retired race car driver, and at Bluemont the most soft-spoken farmer I’d ever met! I knew then—that’s it—that’s the feeling the Spirit will give.  And so, I felt that here with you.  As I wound around Raphine Road and admired the views from the winery to the mill.  As I turned the curve and our beautiful church in all her glory came into view. I still feel it when I look down on the church from the front porch on the hill.  But more than that, it’s the wonderful people of this congregation and the ways you love each other, and the ways you serve the Lord.  I’m reminded of the little song I was taught in my grandparents’ church as a child, “there’s the church, there’s the steeple, open the doors, and there’s the people.”  It’s the people.  And I am honored to be counted among you as we call this place home. 

Haiku blues

The days elongate

Wind bends trees, a rush, a gust

Promises of spring.

LTM 2/16/25

“PIVOT!”

One of the most well-known scenes from the television series, Friends, is from an episode in season five.  In this scene, Ross has bought a new couch for his apartment, but he doesn’t want to pay the delivery fee.  He enlists Rachel and Chandler to help him carry the couch up the stairwell to his place.  Hilarity ensues as the angles of the stairwell make it impossible to move the bulky furniture.  Ross is seen yelling, “Pivot! Pivot!” as they awkwardly become stuck on the stairs. 

The last few weeks we’ve been pivoting a lot around here. When our music director Valerie experienced an unexpected health crisis a few Sundays ago, “PIVOT!”  Aggie was miraculously in town and jumped in to play the piano on the spot and the choir selected a simpler hymn to sing for the anthem.  And so began the search for folks to fill in while Valerie is away.  Linda Jean has graciously agreed to play frequently and taken the reigns in rallying the choir. I’ve made a solid list of possible hymns for the next few weeks and organized substitute musicians.  Furthermore, Isabelle has kept the bell choir informed and organized a practice the last two weeks.  We were even able to get Valerie on Zoom to guide them.  Oddly enough, she could hear us speaking but not the bells playing!?  “PIVOT!”  Turns out, FaceTime worked better. 

This was a fun, full Sunday as we welcomed new members and held a baptism, all while celebrating a Kirkin’ o’ the Tartans Sunday! Aggie returned and the bell choir played beautifully.  We also had a bagpiper, Kathy Boyer, in the house! I was up early reading over the order of worship and making a list of all the things that needed to happen before 11:00 AM: set up the camera, pass out family tartan banners, fill a pitcher with warm water…and then the phone rang.  It was Jeanne, it turns out she and Thad are under the weather.  Jeanne was set to be the grilled cheese master for our soup & sandwich lunch after church! “PIVOT!” I quickly reached out to Kathy & Linda who graciously agreed to step in. Fortunately, after church there were at least six ladies in the kitchen bustling about.  Thank you, Jesus!

All to say, there have been a few moments where I was worried I would be like Ross, pinned to the wall by the proverbial couch, but fortunately I’ve had wonderful folks to help me pivot.  These are prime examples of what church should be.  Individuals come together, bringing their gifts to a situation for the greater good of the community.  And I want to point out that any outsider coming in today would never have known about these hiccups.  The worship service and fellowship went smoothly and were full of joy, no matter how chaotic we may have felt behind the scenes. But, I wanted to say thank you to everyone at New Providence who always make everything happen as a team.  God is good!  

The Angel of the Rockies

I’m currently reading The Small and the Mighty, by Sharon McMahon.  The book tells the stories of twelve Americans who were vital to our nation and changed the course of history. And yet, their names are largely lost to us. It is fascinating to hear about these unsung heroes who simply by living their convictions paved the way for us today.

One such figure is Clara Brown. Clara was a slave in Kentucky in the 1830s. When her owner died, the family sold Clara, her husband, and their children, all to different buyers in order to settle their estate.  Over the next 20 years, Clara lived with the Brown family and raised their three daughters. She never learned to read or write, but the family helped her find out what happened to her kin.  It turned out that her daughter, son, and husband had not lived, but the youngest daughter, Eliza, who was sold to a slaver in Kentucky was rumored to have headed west in 1852.  Upon George Brown’s passing the family set Clara free as was stipulated in his will and they even helped Clara find a job in St. Louis cooking for German immigrants.  When the Brunner family moved to Kansas she agreed to go along, all the while asking everyone she could if they had heard of Eliza. 

In the spring of 1859, the Colorado gold rush was in full swing, and Clara wondered if perhaps her daughter had headed that way with the pioneers.  She began a laundry business to raise money of her own to go further west in search of Eliza.  She joined up with a thirty-wagon caravan! She cooked for twenty-five men three meals a day and in turn they hauled her laundry equipment.  She walked the entire 700 miles alongside the wagon train. 

Clara settled in Central City and was likely the first black woman to cross into the territory.  Can you imagine? It was no more than a shanty town when Clara sat up shop cooking and washing clothes for the townspeople, most of whom were young men.  Clara was quick to feed these fortune seekers and give them a place to sleep until they could find employment.  She even began prayer meetings and the Union Sunday School with two Methodist ministers.  By the end of the Civil War, she had made quite a name for herself and amassed $10,000 ($250,000)!

As more people moved to Colorado, they quickly heard of Clara who was always ready with a meal, a bandage, or a place to lay one’s head.  They called her, “The Angel of the Rockies.”  The governor even caught wind of her charity and determination and sent her back to Kansas to try to convince more people to move to Colorado. She visited church communities and schools telling Black people of all the opportunities she had found in Colorado. She even paid double the going rate to have some of her kinfolk moved to Colorado. Amazingly, she invested her money in rental properties, vacant lots, and mining claims she hoped would bear fruit.  Sadly by 1873 she had lost much of her property to flood and fire, most of her savings were embezzled by a scoundrel lawyer who had promised to help her because she was illiterate.   When the state of Colorado declared that they would give a pension to any “pioneer” who entered the state before 1865, Clara applied for the program but was denied.  People who loved Clara campaigned on her behalf and Clara was soon included, the first woman to receive the designation as “pioneer.”

Finally, finally-- at the age of 82 someone she spoke with said they might know her daughter Eliza, and she was living in Iowa.  Her beloved community raised funds for her train ticket.  Sure enough, in 1882 Clara found her daughter Eliza and had three years with her and her grandchildren before she passed.   A stained-glass portrait of Clara Brown hangs in the Old Supreme Court Chambers in Denver and she is memorialized at the Smithsonian.   She was a ‘self-made’ American in every sense of the word.  As McMahon writes, “when people were at their most vulnerable—sick, poor, about to give birth, desperately lonely—Clara Brown could be trusted.  A woman with hands and feet that embodied what it meant to be just, peaceful, good, and free.”[1] 

Isn’t that just what we’d hope people would say of you and me?  

[1] Sharon McMahon, The Small and the Mighty (USA: Penguin Random House, 2024)  p.42

What can I do?

It’s hard to believe, but sometimes, I run out of words.  Sometimes no amount of coffee or peanut M&Ms is enough to reboot.  It’s a sure sign that I’ve either been thinking too much or shutting down because my mind is overwhelmed. 

What can I say, Lord?  And the silence says, “pray.”

What can I do, Lord?  And the silence says, “pray.”

Do you ever ask such questions?

What can I do in the face of illness? What can I do with my grief?  Pray.

How can I mend broken fences and repair broken hearts? Pray.

What can I do when the sky goes dark? When I cannot see the stars? Pray.

What can I do when the world’s problems dare to overwhelm, and all is grim? Pray.

How can I release my anger and how do I let go of fear? Pray.

Whatever questions you throw into the atmosphere, it is here you’ll find your answer. Pray.

Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.-Romans 8:26

Herd Mentality

Our cats love to wake me up around 3 or 4 in the morning to either come inside or go outside. I call it “the changing of the guard” because the boys seem to trade their posts several times once darkness falls.  A few nights ago, when I got up to open the door, the full moon illuminated at least eight deer in the front yard in the grass atop the hill where the snow had melted.  While all eyes were on the house and ears perked at the sound of the door opening, not one ran away.  I suppose I am glad that they feel safe on this hill—although I wish they would tell their cousins over in Brownsburg to stay off the road!

Herd mentality can be harnessed for good or ill.  One of my dearest friends participated in The People’s March last Saturday in DC.  She truly felt compelled to attend and witness the power of peaceful protest.  This is the first time she has ever attended anything like this, and she traveled with a group on a bus from Richmond.  She went alone, not having any other friends going along and met other women on the way.  As a faithful Christian, she felt that God was calling her to join others in being a voice for the voiceless, standing up for the rights of the oppressed, the imprisoned, the widowed, the orphaned, the marginalized.  While I admire her tenacity, I confess I prayed all day for her safety, because as we know, we live in a time when senseless violence is the norm. 

She told me that all along the sidewalks as the marchers passed, there were “Christians” lined up with signs emblazoned with hate speech and vitriol was spewed from the mouths of people claiming to do so in the name of God.  This was heartbreaking for her to witness.  Regardless of where we might stand on the issues and rights facing humanity today—I hope we can all agree that our God is a God of love, not hate.  1 John 4:8 says, “Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” 

Today I am contemplating, in a time when our faith, our denominations, our country and world are so divided, how can we harness the herd mentality for good?  Or perhaps, rather than a herd, you’d consider it a flock?  How can we--as faithful Christians and faithful community participants, as faithful members and friends of New Providence church—how can we move together as a herd toward that which is good and glorifying to God?  It certainly takes respect for one another and love for one another.  It also takes commitment to the cause (the cause being disciples for Christ).   I hope in 2025 we can raise our banners declaring that our God is Love.  I hope we can in our words and actions be the church that serves God and community, as we have done since 1746.  And I hope we can do it guided by the Holy Spirit and united under the auspices of grace.

The Frozen Chosen

You may have heard by now that during our Sunday Funday time for the children at church yesterday, the kids all went sledding! Our church property has a great hill for sledding (and slip and slide in summer)! Everyone brought their snow clothes and sleds and took off for the snow, supervised of course.  They also had a brief lesson; the subject of the day was “good and bad choices.” Perfect. I asked one of the kids if we should just cancel church and let all the grown-ups go out and sled too and she said, “yeah!”  After church service was over, they all traipsed in for fellowship time, steam practically rising from their heads, snow tracks melting along behind them.  They went straight for the cookies and lemonade, clearly worn out from their fun.  Throughout the fellowship hall, all the adults had a fun sledding story to share. Everyone was reminiscing about their own snow days. It was a bonding moment for all that I did not anticipate.  We spent our worship considering our core identities (children of God), and our children making core memories about family, friends, and church.  Maybe one day they’ll sit around a table and tell their kids about sledding at church. I won’t soon forget it.  Looks like Presbyterians really are ‘the frozen chosen’ after all. 

Winter Wonder

Snowflakes

F

 A

   L

      L

         I

           N

              G

B l a n k e t (all the)

N-O-I-S-E

Peace

                          G             

                     N

                   I

              S

           I

     R

A

Capture (all the)

J-O-Y-S

LTM 1/5/25

a little Fuller

When my dear Hollins sister Katie was ill, her husband Seth and our friend Jeremy put together one of the flower bouquet Lego sets for her.  When Seth took it into the room for her to see saying, “What do you think?” She said, “It could be a little fuller.”   So, Seth bought a second set and filled in the bouquet.  While this shows a couple of things about my dear friend—that she always spoke her mind, and never stopped giving Seth a hard time—there’s also some deep truth to what she had to say….

As we approach 2025 (this boggles the mind), I wonder, could life be a little fuller?  I know, I know…many of us have been trying to make our calendars less full.  But the flurry of here to there and back again isn’t what I mean.  It is what we fill our time with that is important.  The days between Christmas and New Year’s often have me in an odd state of limbo.  Hard as I try to embrace the idea of living off cheese ball and cookies, hibernating like a bear, I can only go for so long with “nothing” to do.   But sitting still is important.  Letting go of what doesn’t serve us is valuable.  And replacing that which does not serve with that which does nourish us is vital.

I read a suggestion that when the Christmas Tree comes down (ours will remain until Epiphany or close to thank you very much) that you pack your decorations in an orderly way so that next year pulling them back out isn’t chaotic. This I am already on top of!  Furthermore, you should also have a trash bag with you.  Any decorations that are worn out or broken should be discarded.  Well now, I have ornaments that have been on the tree since before I was born… so this might be tough.  But I am determined this January to take a really hard look at what we have, because each year we get more ornaments—and we’re running out of tree branches upon which they can hang!

It's like pruning right? Jesus had something to say about that.  You trim back the branches so that the plant grows back healthier.  What can you set down going into 2025 and what can you pick up, that might make the bouquet of your life fuller this year? 

Twas the Saturday Before Christmas

A silly little reminder not to take yourself, or the secular spin of the holidays too seriously. :)

Twas the Saturday before Christmas

And all through the house

I’d done the cleaning to prepare

the arrival of the parents of my spouse.

Our packages were bundled

Our lights twinkled merry

I made mama’s cheeseball

So good it was scary.

I was quite nervous

To play the host

For Christmas to be perfect

I wanted to boast.

I hustled, I bustled

But my husband said stop

We are with our family

How could it flop?

And in the blink of an eye

I had nothing to dread

For in came the family

With cheer to be spread.

So, I in my red and black

Buffalo plaid pants

Tried to sit back

As they entered the manse.

On Auntie, on Uncle

Grams and Papa they came

With presents and goodies

All wrapped with our names.

We scarfed down the food

Opened gifts with elation.

Then filling the lull,

To quote Christmas Vacation,

My dear brother-in-law said,

“Stop it, Clark!

I don’t want to spend the holidays dead!”

LTM  12/22/24

ANTICIPATION

Angels

Nod

To

Incarnation

Christ

Immanuel

Preparation

Animal

Tableau

Invitation

Overture to all the
Nations

LTM 12/14/24

Our Lady Of Paris

When one looks upon Notre Dame in former photographs and videos, what you see is a towering structure, an architectural feat with intricate carvings and frescos, gigantic stained-glass windows.  The first stone was laid in 1163.  The famous south rose window was placed in 1255.  At her completion the year was 1345, 182 years in total. To stand in her shadow is to look up in awe at the ingenuity, creativity, and sacrifice it took to construct her.  The cathedral’s gothic architecture was groundbreaking, particularly in the creation of flying buttresses, those long, spindly external stone supports that bear the weight of stone. This allowed the building to be built taller and narrower, with much larger windows to let in light. When I visited Paris in college I didn’t go inside Notre Dame because the lines were long, and this was a quick trip with much to see.  But we certainly walked around her and admired her architecture…though scaffolding was built around it in certain places as these ancient buildings are always under repair and restoration.  Over time, I believe what we saw of Notre Dame was a shadow of her former glory.  Her interior was dim, her stones gray, her windows clouded, her frescos dull. Now, as the world sees glimpses of the cathedral following her restoration from the 2019 fire, we can truly see what she would have looked like in 1345.  The nave is so bright and airy! The stonework is bright, the marble is shining, the frescos are vibrant with colors that don’t seem to exist in the natural world.  It has always seemed inspiring, but truly to look upon this structure takes one’s breath away.  I cannot imagine standing in the center of her vaulted ceilings hearing her bells ring out over the city!

This is the nature of Advent.  In the deep, dark night we wait, we wait for the light to rise and shine all around us.  We wait for the coming of the son.  

Isaiah 9:2 reads, “The people who have walked in dark have seen a great light: those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death. Upon them a light has shined.” This is also found in Matthew 4:16. 

Micah 7:8 says, “Though I have fallen, I will rise.  Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.”  

1 Peter 2:9 charges us, “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light!”

Like Notre Dame, we stand on the faith of centuries, of the saints who have come before us.  Without close attention, time passes and we become a shadow of our former selves.  We become covered in the muck and mire of the world.  Our light becomes dim. And perhaps, perhaps the flames that threaten to destroy us, come to refine us.  And the smoke that threatens to choke us and cover us in ash, comes to redefine us and purify us for the next part of our journey as followers of The Way. 

 I love that the workers who restored the cathedral are called Companions of Duty. Notre Dame could not be restored to the purest version of itself without the dedication of multitudes of individuals bringing their expertise and craftsmanship to the table.  It is the same for us.  For our light to shine as a city upon a hill, we too need each other as companions.  To remind us of our true colors. To help us reason together, as Isaiah tells us, that though our sins may be scarlet, they shall be made white as snow.   As one news article tagged the Cathedral’s story: “From Ashes to Glory”.  May it be such a season for us, also. 

Going the distance

Did you know that Bethlehem is only six miles south of Jerusalem? And Nazareth, the city of Jesus’ childhood home was ninety miles from Bethlehem.  Thus, the real distance between where Mary began her journey of motherhood and where it ended was less than 100 miles.  Remember, she pondered all these things in her heart.  She knew God was present, she also knew how things could end for her son.

During his ministry, it is thought that Jesus traveled roughly 50 miles east and west and up to 150 miles north and south.  But the region of Galilee, where Jesus performed most of his miracles and ministry was only about 3.5 square miles! Now, when our children and grandchildren tell us there is nothing to do ‘way out here’ we can say, “Jesus lived his whole life in a space no larger than the distance from Lexington to Richmond.  And furthermore, the fullest years of his life happened within 3.5 miles…. that’s less distance than from the church to the elementary school.  Now, git!”

What I want us as followers of the babe born in Bethlehem, the babe whose destiny it was to travel up to the mountain of God in Jerusalem, is that his ministry was impactful even though it occurred in a rural location.  You’ll recall people like Nathanael asked Phillip, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?”  Obviously, we believe the answer is yes.  But do we believe anything good can come from our little corner of the world? Do we trust that we have the energy, the intelligence, the imagination, and the love to be instruments of God’s grace?  Do we dare to believe that in the five- or ten-mile radius between our little Presbyterian church signs along the roadways that point to our building, we can make a difference? You’ll recall Jesus charged his closest followers to make disciples of all nations before the inventions of the planes, trains, and automobiles! They were to begin in Jerusalem right where they were. And as their ministry gained momentum it would travel into places beyond their comfort, Judea, Samaria. And finally, to all the earth.

What Jesus did in Galilee you can do here at home.  In fact, I suspect you already are! Jesus would stop along the road and chat with the folks working in the fields or along the shoreline.  Perhaps taking a noonday break under a scrub tree for a bit of sustenance.  Do you stop and check in on your neighbors that way?  Jesus would often be invited into someone’s home for supper. He would graciously accept these invitations even though these were often people that would be shunned in other circumstances. Do you visit the sick and infirm? Do you deliver meals, do you invite others to eat with you? If we are to love our neighbors as ourselves, I daresay what we often describe as being neighborly, is in fact being Christian.  So before you tell yourself you cannot make an impact remember what Jesus accomplished in just 3.5 miles. 

Hide it under a bushel?No!

In yesterday’s sermon I shared some of the story of Corrie ten Boom, a watchmaker living in Holland during the German Occupation of WWII.  Corrie and her family were an instrumental part of the Dutch Underground which successfully spirited thousands of Jewish people to safety.  Eventually, she and her family were arrested.  Her father and sister died while they were imprisoned.   I used Corrie’s story as an example of our identity as Christians to be salt of the earth and light of the world.  After worship several folks said, “You didn’t finish the story!  What happened to Corrie ten Boom?” 

After being held at a political camp called Scheveningen, she and her sister, Betsie, were relocated with many others to Ravensbrück. It was there that Betsie died from illness.  Before her death, Betsie and Corrie had ministered to many of the women in their barracks. Betsie had a vision that after the war she and Corrie would open a home for those deeply wounded from the war—for Betsie this included the soldiers and camp staff who had committed all the terrible atrocities of the Holocaust.  She envisioned a mansion with large windows, a grand staircase, and sprawling grounds where those living there could tend the gardens.   Just twelve days after Betsie’s death, just before Christmas in 1944, Corrie was released from Ravensbrück.  As it turns out, ten Boom’s release was a clerical error; all the other prisoners of her age group were sent to the gas chambers the following week.  

Corrie made her way back home and began telling people what she and Betsie had learned, particularly about God during their imprisonment. She described Betsie’s vision for a home in Holland where people could recuperate.   After one such talk, Corrie was approached by Mrs. Bierens de Haan who lived in a wealthy neighborhood in Corrie’s hometown of Haarlem.  She was invited to visit the woman’s large estate, with a 56-room mansion that was just as Betsie had described.  This became a place of refuge for those who returned to Holland and needed a safe place to heal from their trauma.  A few years later, Corrie returned to Germany.  One day a relief organization worker came up to her to ask her for help with a rehabilitation home in Germany. The gentleman told her that they already had a place where it could begin, a former concentration camp at Darmstadt. As Corrie walked through the camp, she no longer saw misery or fear but a place that, once again, Betsie had described—a place with window boxes and lots of brightly colored paint and a garden with flowers coming up in the spring.  The camp opened in the spring of 1946. 

Corrie ten Boom died on April 15, 1983—her 91st birthday, after dedicating her entire life to spreading the truth of God’s love.

Corrie’s story is an incredible testament to God’s continued movement in the world.  Corrie and her family were guided by God’s will and did not lose sight of their faith even in the darkest of times.  After her release, she could have returned to her little home and reopened her family watch shop…but God had other plans for her.  Corrie continued to minister to humanities most traumatized and broken individuals.  She modeled forgiveness and witnessed to God’s grace for all people.  

You can read Corrie’s story in her book, A Hiding Place (we have a copy in the church library). 

Salt & Sunlight

Salt & Sunlight

Salty tears-

laughter ringing in ears.

Sunlight fades to twilight-

 first twinkles wink.

It’s her, I think.

LTM

11/18/24

Matt 5:13-16 Salt and Light

‘You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.