Tell Me Again

Tell me again

how death lost its sting.

Remind me of how

you made everything.

Show me the glow

of your evermore.

Illumine the rooms

You go for me, before.

Lend me your staff

That I might lean.

Spare me the rod,

it’s comfort I need.

When does the lion

lie down with the lamb?

When in the hell

are you coming again?

Jericho’s walls are crumbling down.

Hearts are crumbling,

do you hear the sound?

It whispers, it screams:

“Why am I my brother’s keeper?

Try as I might, I just couldn’t keep her.”

So tell me again

how death lost its sting.

Remind me of how

you made everything.

LTM 8/25/23

SHE

There’s nothing quite like the balance of holding grief and faith in tandem. I can believe in the sure and certain hope of our resurrection with Christ in God’s kingdom, while weeping in the pain of loss on earth. My heart overflows to bursting when I think of the broken hearts of those of us left behind, all the while giving thanks that my person will no longer know pain. There is no way out, but through. And so we must soldier on.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

She was ocean. She could roar like thunder or meet you serene. She had breadth and depth uncharted. But she’d greet you with frothy mirth and make you feel at home. A force. She moved with the moon. She’d fill you up as long as she could, and surround you, to bolster you on a wave of her strength, and guide you back to shore. Whenever she receded, she left you remembrances, glimmering, like shells on the shore—eyes dancing blue green sunshine on the surface of the sea.

For Katie. 10/28/83-8/19/23

Energy of the sea

Energy of the Sea

Darkest blue to lightest teal

white sand stretched beneath.

And a little fish darting to and fro

Shockingly just beneath my torso--

that’s the energy of the sea.

Shriveled toes on kicking feet,

face submerged in the sun’s down beat.

Splashing out of the expanse beaming,

freckles popping, ocean rivulets streaming--

that’s the energy of the sea.

Hands outstretched with treasures found,

tiny perfect shells abound.

From inside one a hermit crab breaches,

miniscule claws leave us speechless--

that’s the energy of the sea.

LTM 8/13/23

Psalm 104:24-25

24 O Lord, how manifold are your works!
   In wisdom you have made them all;
   the earth is full of your creatures.
25 Yonder is the sea, great and wide,
   creeping things innumerable are there,
   living things both small and great.

Sweet Massanetta Charm

Hanging basket

potted soil,

beneath dirty nails

shows gentle toil.

Geraniums bright purple,

primrose, kaleidoscope red.

Is it breeze or drought

that would droop their heads?

Dangling strands

of minty green,

beneath their movement

peace beckons me.

That I might sit

and stay awhile.

Have a quiet rock

on a porch that smiles.

LTM 7/26/23

“But Shepherd, I Want”

Psalm 23

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
   my whole life long.

Sermon  -“But shepherd, I Want ” Rev. Loren Tate Mitchell

These passages have been rolling around in my head all week long.  Psalm 23 a passage often referred to in our darkest times of illness or grief, has been a living litany in my mind.  I don’t know why, except to say—I don’t know why.  I don’t know why God takes from among the healthy, living, breathing witnesses who transform our lives by their presence—and then asks why we are looking for them among the dead.  I don’t know why the shadow of death passes over the homes of the wicked, the faithless, the inhumane, and crashes into our kitchens when we’ve painted the blood of the lamb over our doorposts. I don’t know why cancer exists.  I don’t know if the pearly gate and the golden streets of heaven are for real, or why God didn’t answer our faithful pleas and fervent cries. I’m sorry if you thought you were paying me to know, but I don’t. 

Nothing about the way the creator has meticulously designed the world makes sense.  And I don’t think it’s supposed to.  I don’t think God means for us to know all that God knows.  I don’t think God wants us to seek with reason or logic, but rather faith.  We weren’t supposed to eat of the tree of knowledge—we were warned.  And I think maybe it is because we cannot know with the certainty of the Creator.  We were not born as the Word.  The word was with God, and the word was God—and all came into being through him.  But we are not Him.  We are not the Christ.  Hallelujah!  

The problem is that we do not want a shepherd.  We do not want to be made to lie down in green pastures or be led beside still waters.  We want our own paths, to hell with the right ones… we want to blaze a trail for our own name’s sake! We do not want to sit at a table with those people.  We don’t have time to sit down at a meal anyway.  Anointing our heads with oil sounds messy, we don’t want goodness and mercy to follow us, we want it to be us and the house of the Lord better have single rooms with a view!-- The psalm says, “I shall not want” but we do want, thank you very much! We want tangible things to show for our efforts.  We want life to be simple. We want our people to be happy.  We want life to be fair (for us) and we want to live forever in a bubble of our own making.  And we want God to give us whatever we ask for, whenever we ask for it.  If it were that easy though, we could just pack up and go home.  No need for prayers or pews. 

Our culture breeds dissatisfaction within us and contempt for that which is out of reach or incomprehensible.  We struggle to accept that God’s gifts for us are true—life, community, creation, the capacity for food, shelter, and cherishing one another. 

What Psalm 23 is telling us is that God provides for the needs of the nation…not what they desire, but what they need.  God provides guidance, discipline, presence, and protection.  And guess what? The good news for us is that we do not need to have all the answers in order for God’s providence to be with us.  No, we are justified by the gift of God’s grace, and through  the gift of God’s grace.  God is faithful when we are not.  So faithful that the shepherd became flesh and laid down his life for the sheep. 

Psalm 23 is personal in a way that other psalms are not.  It says, “the Lord is my  shepherd.” The psalm is set in the present tense, and it is personal.  Rev. William Brosend writes, “The Lord is my shepherd, who leads and restores; I fear no evil; your rod and staff comfort; you prepare and anoint.  Only verse 6 is translated with a future tense, ‘shall follow, shall dwell.’ So why, if I say, Psalm 23, do you ask, ‘ who died?’  That makes about as much sense as treating 1 Corinthians 13 as if Paul wrote it for a wedding liturgy.”  He goes on to say, “Psalm 23 is the repetition of God’s relation to his people, particularly in how he relates to his people in the living of one individual person.”[1] 

Here’s the crux of the text.  “In death’s shadow and darkness, Christ accompanies us.” The how and why do not matter so much.  “Into the hell of God forsakenness, Christ descended, so that even when we make our beds in hell, we will not be without him.  As the messenger of the empty tomb announced, “He is going ahead of you” not only to prepare a dwelling place for us at the end of life, but also to prepare a table in the midst of life with all its joys and sorrows, its hopes and fears.  Christ has promised to remain with us as the good shepherd even to the end of time, so that in life and in death we may be confident that we do not belong to the powers of evil, sin and death, but to him of whom we can say with confidence and trust, ‘the Lord is my shepherd.’”[2]

The passage from Revelation today backs this up.  There is tension between those who worship the Lamb and the powers that be in the human empires.  Pain and suffering are a part of any Christian life. We see this in Rev. 7:14—the ones who are robed in white are the ones who have come out of the great ordeal, they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the lamb.  They experienced hardship but also can rest in the promise, they will not know hunger or thirst, the sun will not scorch them, the shepherd will guide them to springs of the water of life and God will wipe away their tears.   Can you imagine how wonderful it must be?  Can you imagine our loved ones seeing what John saw—all tribes, all languages, all creatures standing before the throne of God, worshiping.  It is because they have come through the trials that they worship God--day and night!

Dana Ferguson relates, “Listening to the promise of the text, we learn a lot about letting go—of the definitions of victory enforced by our culture, of our great need to control all the circumstances of our lives, including their ultimate outcome.  Every person in this passage has come through a great ordeal.  Every robe needs washing.  Their suffering has prepared them for worship and for victory—but by God’s definition, not their own.” She goes on to say, “whatever ordeals we are facing—some of our preparations may not be what we want.  Accepting the food that God offers us, even when it does not taste as good as we had hoped.  Other days the food will be delicious, as we study, pray, and worship together, putting on ‘spiritual weight’ for whatever lies ahead.  Ordeals are not all God has in store for us.  There is also joy, as we share in the beloved lives of those around us and celebrate the good things of life.  All of these are ways that we feed ourselves, and God feeds us as we live in between times.”[3]

So, I don’t know much.  But I’m learning to trust.  And by God, that’s enough.  Amen.

[1] William Brosend, Feasting On The Word Year C, Vol 2 (Louisville: WJK Press, 2009) p 435

[2] John B. Rogers, Feasting On The Word Year C, Vol 2 (Louisville: WJK Press, 2009) p 436

[3] Dana Ferguson Feasting On The Word Year C, Vol 2 (Louisville: WJK Press, 2009) p 442

Jesus The Bright Morning Star

Scripture:2 Peter 1:12-19 (NRSV)

 Therefore, I intend to keep on reminding you of these things, though you know them already and are established in the truth that has come to you. I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to refresh your memory, since I know that my death will come soon, as indeed our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things. For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’ We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain. So, we have the prophetic message more fully confirmed. You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

Interesting Facts:

• The second letter of Peter is thought to have been written after Peter’s death with the writer attributing the words to Peter, which was widely accepted at that time when creating ‘testaments’ of great figures. Considered written between 80 -90 C.E.

• Peter is defending his honor, being accused by his opponents that he was lying about the future coming of Christ.

• Verses 16-18 refer to Jesus’ Transfiguration before Peter, James, and John and was met by Moses and Elijah. (Matt 17:1-8)

• The morning star is Christ at his coming in glory.

Ponder:

• Have there been times when you have had to defend your faith? What was that like for you?

• Where else does God say to Jesus, “You are my beloved in whom I am well pleased?” Does this remind you perhaps of the conversation with Nicodemus? How so?

• There is also reference to a lamp shining in a dark place. How can we be this lamp until the morning star rises in our hearts?

• If we follow the thread through the week from Abraham to Jesus’ Birth, Jesus’ ministry, and the message of his disciples, what stands out to you? What links these stories together and what themes do you find in them?

Jesus Meets Nicodemus

Scr John  3:1-21 (NRSV):  Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, ‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.’ Nicodemus said to him, ‘How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?’ Jesus answered, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, “You must be born from above.” The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.’ Nicodemus said to him, ‘How can these things be?’ Jesus answered him, ‘Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? ‘Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. ‘Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.’

Interesting Facts:

• Tradition holds writer is John  son of Zebedee (the beloved disciple)  80-90 C.E.

• Nicodemus only in John. Jn 19:39  helps Joseph of Arimathea prepare JC body for burial.  

• The gospel of John makes many references to night/day and dark/light.

• The Greek word translated as “from above” also means “anew”

Ponder:

• Nicodemus makes a confession, what is it? What is he missing?

• What do you think it means to be born of water and Spirit?

• Why does Nic visit Jesus in the dark of night? Do you treat your faith the same, tucked away and hidden?  What can we learn from this story about our faith?

Jesus’ Birth:Follow the star

Scripture: Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
   are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
   who is to shepherd my people, Israel.” ’

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary, his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Interesting Facts:

• Matthew was likely composed between 80 and 90 C.E.  Though widely thought to have originated with the disciple Matthew, the late date would suggest otherwise.

• The wisemen were likely courtly priests who practiced astrology. King of the Jews is meant to be a foil to King Herod.

• “His Star” refers to Num. 24:17 “I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near—a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel”

Pondering:

• Why would this be relevant that Jesus had gentile (non-jewish) men come to worship him?  

• What significance do the gifts (gold, frankincense, myrrh) given by the magi hold?

• In the following verses, Jesus’ parents flee to Egypt to keep him safe from Herod. How might this story inform how we treat ‘the other’, ‘the outcast’, ‘the immigrant’?

God & Abraham’s Covenant

Scripture: Genesis 15:1-6

After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, ‘Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.’ But Abram said, ‘O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?’ And Abram said, ‘You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.’ But the word of the Lord came to him, ‘This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.’ He brought him outside and said, ‘Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.’ Then he said to him, ‘So shall your descendants be.’ And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

Interesting Facts:

• The book of Genesis was likely assembled from various sources that date from the tenth,  eighth, and sixth centuries B.C.E.

• In chapter 12 Abram is told to leave his homeland and travel to the land God will show him (Canaan). He would have followed and slept under the stars.

• In chapter 13 Abram tells Lot, his nephew, to separate himself from them and make his own way.  Abram and Lot both have plenty of livestock and possessions. 

• In chapter 14 Abram is blessed by King Melchizedek of Salem after winning a battle.  You only hear of Melchizedek again in Hebrews where Jesus is named as a priest in the order of Melchizedek.  Thus, Jesus is linked to a king/priest and to Abram in genealogy.

• Eliezer of Damascus mentioned in 15:3 is likely a steward of Abram’s house. He is concerned that with Lot separated from him, he will have no one to share his reward with as they are childless.

Pondering:

• Can you think of other instances in the scripture in which there is a vision and message, “Do not be afraid?”  The phrase is used 365 times in the Bible.  Do you think it helps the hearer to not fear?

• Do you think he remains faithful of God’s promise? Why or why not?

• Flesh out the story, what happens next?  How does God’s promise come to be fulfilled?

• What does this mean for us in our present-day experience?

Spirituality Is…

Visionary.

It ignites and invites like

Blue sky Texas eyes,

River-wide smiles and

Austin city limits, sparkling.

Nimble joy and wild as Bluebonnets.

Tender. Timeless. Radiant.

Loren Tate Mitchell

May 22, 2023

For Aimee.

Have A Sticker

 On Sunday morning, one of our youngest disciples at New Providence was running around the fellowship hall after church giving everyone stickers.  She didn’t say a word, she just ran up to people, placed a sticker on their hand and jubilantly ran off to gift another to someone else.  A few individuals chuckled to each other and said, “what did you do to earn a sticker?”  The reply was, “I don’t know” or “nothing!”  And so, it is with God’s grace.  What is the phrase in Isaiah, “and a little child will lead them?”

This is what I want everyone to feel when they come into the doors of New Providence (these heavy, creaking, century old doors), that you are welcome and loved for no other reason than you are a child of God.  Whether you are 3 or 93 there is a safe sanctuary for you here, where you will be enveloped in open arms, known by name, and seen as beloved. 

We should all behave a little bit more like our children.  They wave to everyone with abandon.  They have no qualms about singing (whether there is music playing or not).  They listen (with at least one ear).  They talk about their lives. They pray (for anything and everything without shame). They give generously (from their piggy banks and their plates). They believe without doubt.   They express joy. 

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”—Matthew 19:14

Movement

Movement.  In the desert.  A flurry of activity from a cookie-cutter civilization.  Movement toward a common goal.  Build a tower.  Build a grand tower brick by brick to scrape the sky. To stand so high you watch clouds float by.  Movement. Upward mobility, the type of which would bring a great name for a people unto itself.

Movement. In the desert.  The Lord came down. Always down, to meet the people of God’s creation.  The humanity which he brought with the breath of life. The humanity he had named.  They dared to make a name for themselves. Only God names.  Movement.  The Lord scatters the people. God divided their tongues.  No longer one language, no longer one culture, no longer one people.  Movement. Scattered like dry leaves from a strong wind. 

Movement.  Generation after generation the people scattered upon the earth. Divide, then multiply. Then divide again.  All strive to make a name.  All strive to hold their own power.  All strive to be like God. All strive to be favored by God.  And all fail. Until….

Movement.  The Lord came down. Always down, to meet the people of God’s creation.  The humanity in which he had breathed life, the humanity God named--Emmanuel. God with us.  Only God names.  Movement.  Jesus walked among us, gathering the scattered, healing the lame, feeding the hungry, speaking the Word.  All strive to give him names.  Son of Man, Son of God, Messiah, Rabbi.  All strive to give him power. Make him King.  All strive to be like God.  All strive to be favored by God. 

Movement.  A walk to death, a place on the cross. A final breath. A burial. A stone rolled away.  A stranger on the road, a stranger on the beach. A savior, who once was dead and now is alive. Raised to the God who always comes down, to be seated with God at the throne of grace.

Movement.  Shifting eyes and sweaty hands. Feet shuffling on the dusty floor of a cramped room.  Disciples of a Rabbi who had gone ahead of them. The students must become the leaders. When the day of Pentecost had come, they were gathered in one place. But that was as far as they’d come.  As far as they could go.  They no longer knew movement.  They were stagnant. Weighed down by the crush of fear. 

Movement.  A strong wind. God’s breath, the very Spirit of God tore through windows, whipping the robes and sashes of the people. People gathered yet scattered. It filled the house.  Divided tongues of fire rested on each head.  Movement.  Once frozen in fear, now thawed.  Filled with the Holy Spirit they knew the words to speak.  They spoke in other languages. And they began to comprehend. Amazed. Astonished. Movement.  God’s people scattered. God’s people gathered.  Children of God. Heirs of God. United with Christ-- brothers and sisters.  Go out. Go out. Go out.  Movement. 

Why do you stand looking toward heaven?

Acts 1:6-14 The Ascension of Jesus

So when they had come together, they asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He replied, ‘It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up towards heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up towards heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

There are just a few things I want to highlight from this scriptural account of Jesus’ ascension that are important for us as we (still) await the return of Jesus Christ.

1)      We are not meant to know then when and how of God’s plans for the second coming.  Whether it be another hour or another century, the clock is ticking for us. God is God and we are not, thank goodness.

2)      We are not to stand around gawking at the sky, scratching our heads as we wait.  Again, the clock is ticking for us, we are not meant to be idle (nor busy ourselves with meaningless distraction).

3)      The Holy Spirit is given to us so that we may have the ability to be witnesses to the good news of Jesus Christ.  We need not fear that we are not equipped for the task.

4)      We are meant to stick together in this work of witness, to be in community and not become siloed.  Witnessing takes many forms; it is in the warm greeting of a stranger, the carefully packaged box of food, in the hands of those who open the doors.

5)      We are to devote ourselves to constant prayer for our mission.  There is no person too close to Jesus who need not pray without ceasing, see even his mother was a participant.  There is no individual who can do this work without being in conversation and relationship with the triune God.  And so, let us pray.

Lord of life, 
We do not know the face of the future,

any more than your disciples did. 
Like them, we have many questions:
how to live 
how to bear witness. 
Like them, we thirst for the spring waters of the Spirit 
to inspire us in our living 
to give us a heart language in our testimony.

You have been raised in glory

that we might rise with dignity 
You live in power that we might live in peace 
You are present everywhere

that we might be fully present in our own lives 
This we believe 
This we step out on. 

~ Prayer originally posted on the Monthly Prayers page (now Weekly Worship) of the Christian Aid website. https://www.christianaid.org.uk/churches/weekly-worship

Rainbow Connection

Red is for the bloody thorns and life that blooms eternal
Orange for the sun setting while his body rested in the tomb
Yellow for the glow above, a lamb’s paschal moon
Green is for the scrubby shrubs just beyond the grave
Blue for the light thread of hope on the horizon
Indigo for the night sky that summons early dawn
Violet for the royal shroud as the King arises.

LTM 5/7/23

The Beauty of Belonging

I went home to Hollins this week, twice actually.   On Tuesday I visited on my own.  I had some time before an appointment, so I left early and went for a walk around the campus loop. On Saturday I returned with my family because Kemper wanted to walk around, and we happily obliged him to return to the place where our relationship began.  Kemper stopped at a campus map and asked me to show him the buildings where I had classes and the places where I lived.  He said it seemed like they were far apart, and he was surprised we did all that walking.  I had to laugh because with the exception of my life here, it was the only place where I could get up five minutes before I had to be somewhere and still arrived on time.

Twenty years ago (twenty?!) Hollins was a haven.  It felt like a little bubble of a sanctuary in the middle of a city.  When you drove up the hill and around the curve, the noise of the neighborhood fell away—we were out of mind and out sight.  I idealized the notion that when you drove through “the gate” (there is no gate) you were just a Hollins woman…all that needed to define you was your physical presence and whether you were in Lily Pulitzer and pearls or sporting Birkenstocks while smelling like Patchouli you were Hollins.  I honestly cannot imagine a more eclectic group of women than those milling around that campus in the early 2000s.  Sculptors, dancers, writers, business majors, psychology majors, scientists, and historians.  But it would be a lie to say we lived harmoniously all the time.  We were as segregated as anywhere else in America. If you divided the campus into quadrants, the upper crust had one corner, the bohemians another, the international students were a small sliver and the black students perhaps even more underrepresented.  But, in the end, I like to think we were all hyper aware that we were 800 women working in tandem to break the glass ceiling.

The campus was quiet this week.  I only saw a handful of students on each visit.  I walked the loop amazed at the new apartment houses that were constructed a few years ago and shook my head in disbelief at how lucky “these girls” have it. But I wouldn’t have traded my asbestos ridden freshman dorm for anything in the world.  As I took in the view of Tinker Mountain, and the white fences lining rolling hills, I had to wonder if I ever really appreciated the beauty of the place when I was living in it.  Isn’t that always the way?  While the young women I saw were still eclectic in the ways they chose to assert their personalities through physical accoutrements, I noticed something almost all of them had in common.  For the most part, they were running or walking the loop or quad alone, and they all had on earphones.  Truly, I only saw one group of women who were chatting together as they walked, seemingly returning to campus after an outing together.  This made me sad in a profound way.  Because the one thing I cannot fathom (although I know some people would feel this deeply) is being alone at Hollins.  We may have listened to our iPods sometimes, but more often than not, we were blasting our music through our computer speakers or the jukebox in the cafeteria for all to hear and share in the fun. Apart from walking to (some) classes alone, we moved in packs years before the era of Taylor Swift’s girl squad.  We walked to meals as first-year students as a hall…a gaggle of 20 girls winding their way across the back quad to the dining hall, where we would sometimes shut the place down…sitting at the table together for so long we went back for second dinner.  My memories of taking classes together, sitting on porch steps together, solving the problems of the world together, are some of my most treasured experiences. 

In addition to my awareness that so many of these ladies were seemingly in their own little world, drowning out the sounds of nature and conversation with earbuds and walking alone with their heads down, faces in a phone; the other thing I was acutely aware of was that I was a visitor in a place I had once called home.  Hollins is an open campus, the library is used by the public, people often park and walk the loop around the perimeter of campus for exercise, Hollins hosts many events that are open to the community at large.  But something about covid and the state of the world has altered that.  Hollins administrators have been incredibly cautious about protecting students in the pandemic, which I greatly appreciate! But, it doesn’t feel like I can roam the quad the way that I once did or enter the library for a quiet place to work.  I was also hyper aware of the fact that for all our young, fanciful thinking, Hollins is not actually a snow-globe filled with glitter…but that bad people could burst the bubble as easily as the good.  Seeing a stranger, especially a male, no longer makes me feel just cautious, but a little afraid.  Who knows if they have a hidden agenda. Twenty years ago, I had no qualms about Michael leaving my dorm to walk across the quad to see our friends in another building without an escort.  There were enough people who recognized him along the way that he didn’t seem to pose a threat. Boys at Hollins were like unicorns…there were usually only a few, they were mysterious, and everyone stared at them. But on this visit, I was hypersensitive, even with no one else in sight, that I didn’t want Michael or Kemper to get too far away from me.  Taking them into the chapel to use the restroom felt like an invasion. Even while Michael made jokes that he didn’t want to get near the security office, because they might come after him with all his unpaid campus parking tickets! I was very aware that I was now a stranger there too and I tried my best to blend in and be non-threatening while sporting my Hollins hat and tennis shoes. 

Why do I say all of this?  It’s a reflection on space and community.  It is a reflection on the beauty of place and the beauty of belonging.  I was fortunate to have both in my time at Hollins.  I don’t want to forget.  And I want to shake these young women and say, “Don’t fritter it away. This is sacred ground.  This is holy space.  This is where you find your people! This is beauty. This is home.”   

Do you have a sanctuary like this?  Do you have a place that gives definition to a particular season in your life?  Do you ever revisit it? Is it still a part of your daily experience?  What is it like to return somewhere after being away? 

The Bedford Girls

My great-grandmother, Pearl Katherine White Beard, was a writer.  I honestly do not know much about her, except that as a married woman she lived in Bedford County where she married my grandfather Roy Craft Beard, in the shadow of the Peaks of Otter at Kelso Mill and had five children.  I know that when my great-grandfather died, leaving her to raise five children she found herself faced with a difficult decision.  She sent her two sons to work on another farm with their uncle.  She took her three daughters to the Bedford train station and sent them to the Miller Home Orphanage in Lynchburg.  My grandmother, Shirley Pearl Beard, was just five years old, so the year would have been 1923.  This is pure speculation on my part because I would have to go back and look at dates to verify, but I suspect that as a widow, my great-grandmother took up writing as an additional source of income.  I remember seeing article clippings that she had penned for the society pages in the newspaper describing a wedding, and particularly the bride’s beaded gown in lavish detail.   As an adult, I cannot help but think about how hard it would have been for her to send her children to be taken care of by someone else because she felt herself uncapable of doing so.   When my grandmother, Pearlie, as we lovingly called her, would tell me stories as a child I just thought her mother must have been so cruel to ship her daughters away.  But I wonder if it pained her to write those flowery articles as she recalled her own wedding day, and the life she imagined she would have.  If she thought, amid her struggles, how irrelevant the number of beads hand stitched in lace were in the grand scheme of things.

When Pearlie became a young woman, she left the orphanage and married my grandfather Grover Carl Holt, Jr.  After years in the orphanage, even with visits from her family on occasion, she was eager to move on and begin a family of her own.  They lived in Hurt, Virginia on a little farm that reached all the way to the railroad tracks by the river. I feel like she was quite the practical woman.  She laundered and canned and sewed all their clothes. When she found the style of shoes she liked, she bought an extra pair. On Sundays she put on her clip-on earrings and powdered her nose with care.  She gave birth to five children and only two made it to adulthood.  My Uncle Glen, and my mother who was eight years his junior. Two sons died very young, and one son was placed in a home for the disabled when he was in his teens.   Instead of describing bridal gowns and wedding guests, Pearlie wrote cards, letters, and grocery lists.  She set the Sunday table for the extended family and when her mother became feeble, she gave her a room in her own little home.  When I was a child, she taught me the days of the month and the seasons of the year.  She took me to church. Now, even still, she teaches me a lot about forgiveness.

My mother, Belvia Sue Holt Tate, is also a writer.  She kept this little secret for a long time, amid her other notable hobbies of painting and gardening.  I recall her taking literature and writing classes at the local community college when I was a little girl and how vivid the narrative about her daddy came to life. By then my parents and I were living back on the land my grandfather farmed near my Grandma Pearlie.  My grandfather, Crebo (they called him since he was a child), passed away when I was a baby.  Suddenly, my practical grandmother, ever the caregiver, was rattling around in her little grey house all by herself, surrounded by the memories of all she had lost.  I became her purpose.  Mornings, evenings, and summer days were for Pearlie’s house; where I baked mudpies, played with dolls, and watched Pearlie dress her long white tresses in rollers. 

I was in second or third grade, probably around 1993 when I started writing short stories and poems.  I would sit by Pearlie’s chair in the living room, next to the heat vent on the floor and weave words to the sound of the morning news. Weather report by one Mr. Willard Scott, of course.  When I got older, I would sit on her porch and journal about how life wasn’t fair, and I hated my parents because we were moving.  We moved to Bedford County, under the shadow of the Peaks of Otter, just a few miles from Kelso’s Mill as the crow flies.  And Pearlie, she came with us.  And my mama took care of her, just like she did for her own mother.  As a teenager I could hardly wrap my mind around it, how my mama had watched her mama do the same thing in their home years before.  Preparing meals for everyone, doing the cleaning and the laundry, shuttling Pearlie to doctors’ appointments and me to everything under the sun. All the while working and going to school.  She didn’t have time to write or paint then, or really anything for herself except working in her garden, which she tells me was therapy. It wasn’t until Pearlie died, and I was grown, and mom had faced incredible life-changing experiences, that she wrote her story.  Now, even still, she teaches me about being a caregiver to others, but perhaps even more to myself.  To not lose the essence of who I am even as I grow as a wife, a mother, and a daughter.

A question was raised in Sunday School, “Can you think of someone who has made a huge sacrifice for you, who was it and why?”  And the point was raised that our parents make countless sacrifices we know nothing about, nor do we understand until we are much older.  I come from a long line of strong women who knew the undeniable truth of self-sacrifice.  I come from a long line of women who were incredible caregivers and sacrificed so much of themselves for the good of their children and their parents as they aged.  I hope I can be as strong as them.  I hope I can see the beauty in small details, like Pearl, even when life gets ugly.  I hope I can find my way to nurturing forgiveness in the middle of the mundane like Shirley.  I hope I can make time for my son in flurry of responsibility like my mama did for me. And I hope, I always have the words to share the stories of courage, sacrifice, forgiveness, and love.

southern spring

Raspberry-rose-magenta tendrils bloom as the

Enchanted forests awaken in kelly- greens.

Dogwoods dance in the wind of a

Blue Ridge backdrop rolling

Underneath a cerulean sky.

Delicate, grace-full, awaited.

Spring.

LTM 4/17/23

The Unexpected Detours

Trying to entertain your child(ren) over Spring Break can be challenging.  Trying to entertain your PK (Preacher’s Kid) on Spring Break during Holy Week adds an extra level of finesse. On Tuesday we planned to go to Lynchburg to have lunch and play putt-putt before I dropped him off at Beba & Papa’s (my parents) house for a sleepover.  This was exciting for a couple of reasons.  First, I do not think he had spent the night with my folks on his own since before covid.  Second, the kid loves putt-putt. You may not know this about me, but I do like to have a plan if possible.  So, I kind of had an idea of the timing of the day and how things would unfold. It was a gorgeous day! I love the drive on 501 to 122 along the James River.  So many Redbuds blooming, it was just beautiful.  So, we stopped at an overlook for a few minutes and went on our way.  Kemper wanted to stop by the river again, even though we were already hungry for lunch and so we pulled off once we got to the bottom of the mountain.  Turns out we had stopped at the James River Foot Bridge.  We were not aware that we could walk across this bridge spanning the river and discover walking trails on the other side.  We spent almost an hour exploring the area on the other side of the river.  We had a great time! It meant that we got to my parent’s house a bit later than anticipated and it put me later getting home, but I wouldn’t trade that little detour for the world. 

You know, the scriptures have a lot to say about unexpected journeys and detours.  The disciples certainly took one when they dropped their nets by the sea of Galilee and started wandering around with an itinerant prophet—surprise, the Messiah! Paul had every intention of persecuting the earliest Christians when he was stopped on the road to Damascus. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus encountered the risen Lord and ended up retracing their steps back to Jerusalem to share this news.  An angel of the Lord sent Philip traveling south from Jerusalem to Gaza and met an Ethiopian Eunuch and baptized him.  I guess what I’m saying is, our best laid plans being disrupted might just be God nudging us to pay attention and see him at work.  What detours might you welcome into your life this week?

Why Are You Weeping

My name is Mary of Magdala.  My name means “bitter one” and it is true that I have led a bitter life.  At least this was the case until I met Jesus.  I felt his healing touch, I became his friend and was the first of my companions to greet Jesus, our risen Lord.  It was early morning, just before dawn, the sky was still dark except for a sliver of orange light on the horizon.  As I walked to the tomb I was distracted by my own mournful thoughts.  The previous three days had been a blur; as if I had left my heart there at the foot of the cross the moment Jesus breathed his last.  Although I was exhausted, I made my way to the tomb carrying a heavy jar of spices made to ensure that my teacher and my friend has a proper burial.  As I approached the tomb, something was off, I couldn’t believe my eyes, the stone was rolled away!  I peered into the darkness, looking for the shrouded form of Jesus in the niche carved for his body, but he was not there!  I dropped my jar of perfume, and it shattered on the stone floor.  Drawing my skirt up around my knees I ran, tripping and stumbling over roots and stones as I hurried to the village.

I entered the house where the disciples were staying and breathless as I was I said to Simon Peter and Jesus’ beloved disciple, “Jesus is gone! I do not know where they have taken him, go and see for yourselves, Jesus is not there!”  No doubt they thought these were the ramblings of a hysterical woman wrought with grief.  After all, unlike them I had never left Jesus’ side until he was laid to rest in the tomb and since that time, I hadn’t slept at all.  They looked at one another and ran from the house, down the street and toward the place where we had wrapped Jesus in the shroud and placed him.  I followed after them hoping for answers.  It had taken five strong men to place the stone, who could have moved it away?  Why?

Upon their arrival the disciples found, just as I had told them, the wrappings of Jesus lying on the ground, but his body was nowhere to be found.  Peter found the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head set aside, folded neatly by itself.  There was terror on their faces.  They began to argue as to who could have moved his body.  Was it the Romans? Was the enemy close at hand?  What were we to do without Jesus to guide us?  Surely, in some of those riddles he spoke he could have left us some instruction.  They fled back to the house leaving me alone beside the boulder.

I was exhausted, too overwhelmed to move.  My friend, my teacher, my Lord, why had these terrible things happened to him?  He was a good man, why did he suffer? And why could he not be put to rest in peace, this is all we had wished for him.  I believed with all my heart that he was our Messiah, for he had shown us wonderful signs and worked miracles, even in me.  I remember thinking, “now he is gone, how am I to go on without him?”  I fell to the ground amongst the flowers, the dust settled on my cloak, and I wept.  I had been strong, but I could bear no more.

I heard a voice behind me ask me why I was weeping.  How could I respond?  This person would not understand all I had seen, all that we had been through over these last days.  I became angry then, I turned further away from the man behind me, “They have taken my Lord, I do not know where they have taken him!”  The man appeared to be little more than a nosey gardener, I had a mind to put him in his place, but he asked again, “Woman, why are you weeping?”  Had I not already answered him?  As I wiped tears from my eyes with clenched fists I cried despairingly, “If you have carried him away tell me where you have put him, so that I can take him away!”  Then the man called my name, “Mary.”  Then I turned around and came face to face with my Lord Jesus!  “Teacher, teacher!” I cried and threw my arms around him.  Jesus gently pulled me away from him as though it pained him and told me not to hug him so, but instead to go back to my brothers, the disciples and tell them that he was ascending to God.

My jubilation at seeing him alive, warm to the touch was quickly mixed with sadness that he was not here to stay but merely to help us understand in our unbelief.  I regained my strength as I had been given a mission; the Lord had trusted me, a woman of little consequence in the world to share his Word.  My beloved teacher was now more than a teacher, he was truly the Messiah and he had asked me before all others to spread the good news.

My heart full of joy I ran back to the house and told the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!”  They struggled to believe me that day, especially Thomas, but Jesus appeared to them as well on three different occasions.  We all had to see him to believe it was true, but Jesus asked Thomas, “Do you believe in me because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”  And now I must wonder if Jesus perhaps appeared to me first because of my belief.  I cannot be sure but perhaps my belief in Jesus as Lord caused him to appear to me first.  I never left Jesus, I was near him as he carried his cross, I wept at his feet as he died, and I lingered at the tomb as a pup who had lost its master.  Now I understand what our Lord meant when he told us of the things he was passionate about, a world filled with love and justice for all people.  Jesus’ kingdom had come, and we must all strive to live into that kingdom each day.  Our Lord died for us, wiping away our sins and has gone ahead of us to prepare a place for each of us.  I know it is hard to believe in a Messiah you cannot see, but he is there, alive in each one of you.  Indeed, I now understand Jesus’ words; perhaps one must believe, to truly see.

Sentinel

Standing watch

strong but delicate

graceful dancers

poised to plie—

pink blossom hair

dancing in the spring breeze.

Sisters Three

branched arms tangled

as roots stretch long.

A nesting place,

a feast for the bees.

They keep vigil

with the pines that hold

crows in their boughs,

over the generations

they weep.

LTM 3/26/23