we have arrived!!!

After 5 days of traveling, we finally made it to the village of Maar, in the Diocese of Twic East in South Sudan! Jim Yeates and I began the journey on Friday morning, flying from Omaha to Minneapolis and then to Amsterdam, where we met up with the medical mission team from Mississippi (Bishop Duncan Gray, III; Dr. Frank Criddle; Dr. Addy Henderson; and Peter Malual, a pharmacist originally from South Sudan). The six of us flew to Nairobi, Kenya next, where we spent two nights (which was a welcome break). In Kenya we worshiped at St. Luke's, a Sudanese Episcopal parish in Nairobi that worships in the Dinka language (one of the tribes of South Sudan). I was also fortunate enough to meet up with my friend Jenny Korwan, who is doing the Young Adult Service Corps (YASC) at Be the Change, Kenya. It was great to see her again! On Monday we left Kenya for Juba, the capital of South Sudan, staying overnight in the Episcopal Guest House. We got up bright and early to get to the airport so we could board a charter plane (which we had hired through Mission Aviation Fellowship, or MAF, who fly specifically for Christian missions). After figuring out how to balance the weight of the luggage and people, we were off! The charter plane has 11 seats, plus 3 in the back if you don't have much luggage. We were traveling with 8 trunks full of medicine for the doctors to use in the clinic, so we needed all the space we could get! From the air we were able to see the Nile below us--what an incredible view! The pilot, Jane, made the smoothest landing I've ever experienced, and on a landing strip made of dirt! When we arrived in Mabior or Panyagor, the county seat of Twic East, we were greeted by a host of people, including Bishop Ezekiel and the District Commissioner, Dau Akoi Jurkuch. The Commissioner invited us to his office, where Bishop E. introduced us to him. Then we went by truck to Maar, an hour's journey on dirt roads filled with the worst pot holes I've ever seen. The whole village had turned out to greet us, and we were welcomed with joyful song and dance. The rest of the afternoon was filled with intermittent song, dance, prayers, and eating. Such a wonderful welcome!

Some info about our life in Maar:

• We are in a compound made up of several huts and space in the middle for meetings. Bishop Duncan has his own hut, and this is where we eat our meals and have tea. Jim, Frank, and Peter share a hut. I am in a hut with Addy, and we sleep on beds with freshly treated mosquito nets. It's quite spacious, and I slept very well last night. 
• The moon doesn't show up until about 2am, so once the sun goes down it is completely dark. I was able to spot the constellation Orion, though, which was comforting. 
• We eat rice, meat, beans (they got them especially for me, since I'm vegetarian), a sponge-like bread, and Dinka Donuts (fried sweet bread).  
• I am writing to you from the solar-powered internet cafe right outside the compound. This is a way for the people of the village to be self-sustaining. How ingenious!

Today we worshiped in the community center and took a trip to the medical clinic. Who knows what the rest of the days will bring, but each day is an adventure (my word of the year), and I am blessed to be here!

A picture of a hut like the one we live in! Photo found here.

*Sorry for the lack of personal pictures; I don't have a way to transfer them to the computer. However, this will leave you something to look forward to when I get back :o)  If you have any questions or things you want to know about, let me know and I'll try to respond. Don't know how much free time I'll have to write, but I will do my best to answer! Love to all!

light shines in the darkness

All Saints Episcopal Church

December 29-30, 2012

First Sunday after Christmas, Year C

Here are the readings for today.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). 

May only God’s word be spoken, and may only God’s word be heard. Amen.

photo of light on Bald Head Island by Daniel Stroud, December 2012

I’m just going to go ahead and put this out there: I am afraid of the dark. There, I’ve admitted it. I’m afraid of the dark; always have been. And not in the, “Oh, the dark’s a little bit creepy” kind of way. I’m talking hair-raising, quake-in-my-snow boots kind of scared. I’m not afraid when there are other people around, but when it’s just me and the dark, I’m terrified. Case in point: my housemates have been gone this week, and while I have enjoyed having plenty of introvert time, when night comes I have to dash from each room as soon as I turn off the light. It’s ridiculous.

I bet some of you (whether or not you admit it) are afraid of the dark, too. But what exactly are we afraid of? What is it about the darkness that scares us? The dean of my seminary shared an interesting story in one of his classes. He had had the opportunity to travel to Africa, and in one of the conversations with the people there he asked them if they had doubts about God. “Of course!” they exclaimed. But when the Dean probed further, he discovered that what they questioned was not the existence of God, but rather whether or not God was strong enough to overcome the darkness in the world. 

We are constantly being reminded that we are surrounded by darkness, that we live in a broken world: violence, hunger, poverty, crime, war, disease, genocide. 

But Scripture is full of instances of where the light is not overcome by the darkness. Let’s start in the beginning. “¹In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, ²the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters” (Genesis 1:1-2). But also “[i]n the beginning was the Word” (John 1:1). And the Word that God spoke brought forth light and “separated the light from the darkness” (Genesis 1:4). The very first creation is light! God was overcoming the darkness from the beginning of time! 

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14). We heard about this just a few days ago, but perhaps, if you’re like me, you got distracted by the image of the cute little baby and forgot to take in what this birth really meant. In a dirty stable, surrounded by smelly animals and rotting hay, when the teenage Mary lovingly peered down into her son’s face she was, in fact, looking upon the face of God. God, the Creator of the universe, the one who separated the light from the darkness, chose to demonstrate God’s love for creation by living within human limitations. The child Jesus grew up to be a man whose teaching and healing “made [God] known,” helped us to better understand this God who is so enigmatic (John 1:18). Jesus, the “true light,” referred to himself as “the light of the world” several times in John’s version of the Gospel (John 1:9; 8:12, 9:5). At one point he even explains, “I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness” (John 12:46). Up until Jesus, the only way we knew how to relate to God was through a complex system of rules and rituals. But when Jesus was born, God went from being way beyond our grasp to being made of the same atoms and molecules, having flesh and feelings just like us, able to fully understand and appreciate what it means to be human. Through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we learned more about what God was really like and how we could better relate to God and to each other. God in Jesus pulled us away from the barrier we had created between us, pulled us away from the darkness. “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.” (John 1:3-4). 

God is not finished with us, just yet. In the final chapter of the final book of the Bible, the Book of Revelation, Jesus describes himself as the “bright morning star,” foreshadowing things to come (Revelation 22:16). The morning star appears just before the sun rises; it heralds the dawn. A new day lies on the horizon, waiting to break forth and scatter the darkness. The light that was at the beginning of creation, that was born on earth over 2,000 years ago, will return to us! “[T]he home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; ⁴he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away” (Revelation 21:3-4). “⁵And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever” (Revelation 22:5). God will, once and for all, overcome the darkness.

In the meantime, darkness still remains. Yet we are not powerless against it. One of the most moving scenes in all of the Harry Potter films comes in the sixth movie, right after one of the main characters dies. As the students and teachers gather around his broken body, the group responsible for his death places a symbol in the sky known as the Dark Mark. The Dark Mark consists of a skull with a snake slithering through it, a terrifying reminder of the power of the forces of evil and darkness. However, rather than cower or remain incapacitated by fear and anguish, a single teacher raises her wand, projecting a small beam of light onto the Mark. One by one other teachers and students raise their wands, filling the Dark Mark with such light that it is turned into vapor. The light shines in the darkness. 

Lights shone in the darkness when people held candlelight vigils after the recent tragedy in Connecticut. Light shines in the darkness whenever we take a stand against poverty, violence, disease, and injustice. Light shines in the darkness whenever we move from exclusion and hate to inclusion and love.

Throughout the ages, this reading from John has provided a sense of comfort when tragedy strikes and we begin to fear that the darkness will win. It reminds us that the God who created us, who came to earth and “lived among us,” who “destroyed death,” rose again, and promised to return, will defeat the darkness (John 1:14, BCP 374). Indeed; God already has. 

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5; italics my own emphasis).

Scene from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

o come o come emmanuel

All Saints Episcopal Church
Advent 3, Year C
Today's readings

“O come thou Dayspring from on high
and cheer us by thy drawing nigh.
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
and death’s dark shadow put to flight.
Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.” Amen.
("O Come O come Emmanuel," H 56)

Rejoice! Rejoice! Today, the third Sunday of Advent, is nicknamed Gaudete Sunday. Now "gaudete" is the Latin word for "rejoice." Three out of the four readings for today call us to rejoice. Traditionally, this Sunday is meant to be a pick-me-up during the season of waiting and preparation, a foretaste of what the future holds, a little bit of light and comfort as the days grow shorter and the temperature drops. But this weekend hasn’t really lent itself to much rejoicing.

Friday morning a man walked into an elementary school and killed 26 people, then himself. As the day went on, I sat in horror as I discovered the details of what had happened. My heart broke as I saw pictures of panicked children and hysterical parents broadcast on TV and across the internet. Among the dead were the principal, the school psychologist, teachers, and 20 kids. I cannot even begin to imagine how terrified the children must have been as gunshots interrupted their morning lessons. Or what their parents felt like as they desperately tried to find out if their children had survived. Or the grief upon learning that their kid hadn't.

This is supposed to be a happy time of preparation to welcome the Christ-child, of carols and decorating and making travel arrangements, not funeral arrangements.

Whenever tragedies like this happen we can go through a host of emotions: shock, fear, sadness, anger, distrust, and perhaps even numbness. These are all perfectly normal and appropriate feelings; a school is supposed to be a safe place, not the site of a mass shooting. But, unfortunately, cases like these are becoming increasingly common in this country. There have now been ten mass shootings in the U.S. --just in this year, alone: 7 killed in Oakland, CA, in April. 3 African American men killed and 2 wounded in a racially motivated killing in Tulsa, OK, also in April. 5 plus the shooter killed in Seattle in May. 12 dead and 58 wounded in an Aurora, CO, movie theater in July. 6 members of the Sikh community killed as they prepared a community meal in Wisconsin last August. 5 plus the shooter killed in Minneapolis in September. 2 plus the shooter killed in Oregon just this past Tuesday. The shooting in Connecticut Friday. And one more yesterday morning in Alabama, in the hospital where I was born. There have been 65 mass shootings since January of last year (huffingtonpost.com). And it’s not just happening somewhere else; it’s in our backyard. Many of you will remember the shooting 5 years ago that resulted in the deaths of 8 people plus the shooter, just a mile and a half from here at the Von Maur department store. When gun violence claims the lives of 86 people each day in the states (PolitiFact.com), there is no denying that we live in a broken world.

Times like these bring up many questions: Why did this happen? How could a loving God let innocent children die? Why didn't God intervene? Where was God, anyway?

Many theologians have struggled with these questions over the years. There are a myriad of responses, but what nearly all of them have in common is that they believe that evil is a consequence of free will. Evil exists because we can choose whether or not to act out of love, and as we see all too clearly, some choose not to act out of love.

I’m not convinced that we can ever really know the answers to these difficult questions. But I firmly believe that God does not wish tragedies like this to happen. God does not enjoy the suffering of God's people. God does not want parents left staring at unopened Christmas presents under the tree on Christmas morning.

We were not created to live lives filled with pain and sorrow.

I believe this because we worship a God who knows first-hand the meaning of pain, loss, and death. In just over a week we will celebrate Jesus' birth. But the quaint, familiar image of God's Son lying in a humble feeding trough is not the whole story. We tend to forget that shortly after Jesus’s birth, an angel came to Joseph, warning the Holy Family that Herod was not too pleased with all the attention the baby was getting. Mary and Joseph took Jesus and fled to Egypt. While they were gone, in a move reminiscent of that of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh, Herod had every boy age 2 and under killed (Exodus 1:15-22; Matthew 2:16).

Jesus was born into a culture of violence, and eventually suffered a violent death at the hands of the Romans. At the end, stripped of his clothes and abandoned by his closest friends, he cried out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46, a reference to Psalm 22). Christ knows what it means to be scared, helpless, and alone.

We remember Christ’s brokenness each time we celebrate the Eucharist: “do this for the remembrance of me” (BCP 362). We memorialize Christ broken on the cross. But Christ crucified is not the end of the story; death does not have the final word. Christ has conquered death and triumphed over the grave.

We live in the hope that Emmanuel, God with us, will return again someday. "On that day," Zephaniah tells us, "you shall fear disaster no more,"--it will be a time of celebration, homecoming, and rejoicing (Zephaniah 3:15). During times of pain, suffering, anger, and death, we remember the hope we have in Christ. We remember that death is not the end. And we remember that Christ will come again.

Until that day, we pray, O come, o come, Emmanuel.

Sources

Huffington Post article

PolitiFact article 

photo of Nebraska sunrise

how can we keep from singing?

All Saints Episcopal Church
Proper 28, Year B
November 18, 2012

May the words I speak and the words you hear be God's alone. Amen.

We’ve come to the time of year when darkness is more prevalent than light. The days are shorter, the air is colder, and each morning it becomes more difficult to get out of our warm beds. The recent Superstorm Sandy and nor’easter have plunged many on the East Coast into darkness, thousands of whom remain without power to this day. This summer we experienced the worst drought in half a century. And on the horizon, there are “wars and rumors of wars”: Afghanistan, Israel, Palestine, Syria, Sudan, Iran (Mark 13:7). We might feel as if we are experiencing the “birthpangs” mentioned in today’s Gospel reading (Mark 13:8).

The recipients of the letter to the Hebrews are experiencing darkness as well. The letter is addressed to a community of Jewish and Gentile believers undergoing hardships, possibly even persecution. Written 30 to 60 years after Jesus’ death, it takes place in an era where to be a Christian means risking one’s life. Just think about what some of the earliest apostles go through: Paul and Peter travel all over, delivering the good news of Jesus Christ. In return, Paul is beheaded by the Romans and Peter is crucified--upside down. Before Christianity is made the official religion of Rome in the 300s, Christians are forced to choose between their faith or their lives. Surprisingly, many choose their faith.

Understandably, the community of believers receiving the letter is weary and disheartened, and many have stopped gathering or participating in worship. In response, the author of Hebrews is trying to lift up his audience’s spirits, to encourage them to persevere in the midst of tribulation. The author stresses that although it may appear that the darkness is taking over and hope is but a distant memory, actually the opposite is true. What we are experiencing is the in-between times: Christ has conquered sin and death, but the final victory remains to be seen.

Christ has conquered sin. Instead of sin clinging to us like a reappearing stain that must be scrubbed out again and again, we have been washed clean through the “single offering” of the incarnate Lord (v. 14). This does not mean that we shouldn’t own up to things that we’ve done wrong; it means that we don’t let our past mistakes take control of our life. Our hearts are “sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies are washed with pure water” (v. 22). Purified, we are now able to approach the world in a “new and living way” (v. 20).

Christ has conquered death. Being a Christian doesn’t mean that we escape adversity. We know this. But whatever struggles we go through, whatever hardships we face on earth, we know that this life is not the end. Because of Christ, death has “no dominion” over us (Romans 6:9). Our stories are not finished when we take our final breath; the epilogue will contain wonders too glorious for us to even imagine!

With this knowledge of our salvation, we are able to face even the darkest nights of the soul. This is exactly what the first Christians did. They could not keep this Good News of Jesus Christ to themselves; they were compelled to share it with the world, no matter the cost. Through adversity they found strength. They knew that they were not alone; their God had come down from heaven to “share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to [God]” (BCP 362). Christ walked the same dusty roads, he shared meals with friends and strangers, he experienced disappointment, failure, loneliness, heartbreak, and a violent death. And he did all this for us! With such a demonstration of love, in the words of a Christian hymn, “How can [we] keep from singing?” In one of Paul’s final letters, as he was sitting in jail, contemplating his imminent death, he wrote, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice” (Philippians 4:4).

So how do we respond to Christ’s amazing act of love? The author of the letter to the Hebrews suggests that since Christ has sanctified us, made us holy, we are therefore called to live a life that is holy. But what is a holy life?

A holy life is a life of confidence. Christ, in his death, defeated death. In the water of baptism “we are buried with Christ in his death...share in his resurrection...[and] are reborn by the Holy Spirit” (BCP 306). When we are baptized, our sins are forgiven (BCP 858). Rather than come to worship with our heads bowed and brow furrowed, the author of the letter invites us to let go of our fear and guilt, and live confidently with the knowledge of our salvation through Christ.

A holy life is a life of community: we encourage, excite, and sometimes nudge one another. In the baptismal covenant, we promise to break bread together, to repent when we “fall into sin...proclaim...the Good News of God in Christ...” love our neighbors, “strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being” (BCP 304-305). We are able to do this with God’s help, and by helping each other. Sometimes that means speaking against the existing conditions: think Martin Luther King, Jr., writing to fellow Christian leaders in his Letter from Birmingham City Jail. Sometimes it means sharing successes. In a world where it seems like mostly bad things are happening and where Christianity seems to be growing obsolete, we come together as a community to recount tales of hope that inspire us to continue to love and do “good deeds” (v. 24).

A holy life is a life of hope. Living in in-between times is not easy. But the God who formed the earth and all creation, who brought the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt to the promised land, who healed the sick and calmed the stormy seas, who hung upon the cross to once and forever free us from sin and death--that same God will not abandon us. We are an Easter people; we live with the hope of resurrection, we know that death does not have the final word. Despite what is going on outside or what difficulties we face, we “hold fast” because we know that the one “who has promised is faithful” (v. 23).

Finally, a holy life is a life of anticipation. Although the stores may have gotten a jumpstart on Christmas music, in two weeks we begin the season of Advent, preparing for the arrival of the incarnate Lord in our midst. The light of Christ coming into the world pierces the darkness that threatens to consume us. But the birthpangs of a young Jewish girl in a crude stable are also a foreshadowing of the birthpangs announcing his return. We “see the Day approaching” when “Christ will come again,” and “we await his coming in glory” (v. 25, BCP 363, 368). In this in-between time, we face whatever comes our way, “approach[ing] with a true heart in full assurance of faith” (v. 22).

Until that Day comes,

“[Our] life flows on in endless song;

Above earth’s lamentation

[We] hear the sweet though far off hymn

That hails a new creation:

Through all the tumult and the strife

[We] hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in [our] soul[s]—

How can [we] keep from singing?

(How Can I Keep From Singing? by Robert Wadsworth Lowry)

My Goddaughter and her twin brother making music

it's a matter of trust

Sermon from October 14, 2012 (my first attempt at a stewardship sermon!) Here is a link to a recording of my sermon (only up temporarily).

Here are the readings (I chose Amos). I preached on Mark 10:17-31.

 

Christ and the Rich Young Ruler

“All things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.” Amen.

Last week in Genesis we learned about how God made us stewards of creation. This week in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus teaches us about being stewards of wealth. 

Now, even back then, money was not a comfortable topic, and you can practically see the disciples grimacing and groaning as Jesus broaches it. The whole discussion begins, as most of them do, while they are traveling on the road. A man comes running up and throws himself on the ground in front of Jesus. “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (v. 17). Jesus replies with a summary of the commandments that deal with relationships between people. The man replies that he’s a faithful Jew; he’s kept the commandments his whole life. Jesus searches the man’s face and smiles, loving him. “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor...then come, follow me” (v. 21). At this point the man leaves dejected, “shocked...and grieving, for he ha[s] many possessions” (v. 22). 

Over the years, it seems the man in this passage has been painted as a miserly, Scrooge-esque character. After all, when Jesus lists the commandments, he changes “You shall not covet” to “You shall not defraud.” Apparently, the man has been stingy with his wealth. The man believes that he has followed the commandments, but perhaps not as closely as he thinks. It’s not that the man is rich that’s keeping him from eternal life. It’s that his wealth gets in the way of how he treats others, and therefore gets in the way of his relationship with God. “Jesus...discerns in the rich man’s wealth an obstruction to his participation in the dominion of God and calls him, for his own good, to abandon it and follow him” (Marcus* 723). As singer Billy Joel would say, “It’s a matter of trust.” 

Back in Jesus’ time, wealth was thought to be a reward from God for being faithful (this is why it is so shocking to his disciples when Jesus says that the wealthy have a hard time entering the kingdom of God). This idea of wealth as a reward has resurfaced recently in what is known as the prosperity gospel. The prosperity gospel claims that God wants us to be happy, so if we are truly faithful, then we will receive economic prosperity. But joy is not found in material wealth. True happiness is found by being in right relationship with others and with God. In today’s world, the idea of giving away all one’s possessions is counterintuitive. The whole concept of money and possessions is that they keep you wanting more. Bored with your wardrobe? Get the latest fashions! Missing the latest technology? Update to a newer model! Have a bad day? Fix it with retail therapy! I succumb to this over and over again. But the problem is that accumulating more things or more money does not replace the emptiness. Only God can fill that void. We are called to trust that God will provide for us, that God really will fill that void. 

“You lack one thing,” Jesus tells the man. What is the one thing you lack? What is the one thing that gets in your way of trusting God completely? For some of us, like the man in the story, it could be money or possessions. Or it could be holding grudges. Or maybe it’s guilt, busyness, self-consciousness, or pride. Whatever it is, Jesus is inviting us to let it go, to release its hold over us, and to follow him. 

“What must I do?” the man in the story asks. But the thing is, his question misses the point. There is nothing we can do. We cannot inherit eternal life on our own; the very word inherit implies this. Just as inheritances are given, so eternal life is given to us. It is God’s to give, not ours to earn. We trust that God will save a place for us. 

I’ve always felt a little sorry for the man in this passage. He seems to be genuine in his attempt to live a life of faith, to follow the commandments. And Jesus loves him for it, as a father loves his child. This is the only time Jesus is said to love anyone in Mark’s Gospel; it should give us hope! Jesus loves us when we try, even though we fall short--and we all fall short. None of us can follow all the rules, none of us can enter the kingdom. It’s impossible. But not for God. “[F]or God all things are possible" (v. 27). 

Most people think that the man walks away grieving because he realizes he is unable to give up his many possessions. But we actually don’t know what happens to him; the passage leaves his fate open-ended. Here again we find hope. There’s a chance that the man grieves for a while, then ultimately realizes that his possessions really aren’t making him happy. There’s a chance that he decides to let things go, trusting in the mercy and love that Jesus demonstrates time and time again. 

It is this trust that Jesus refers to in the section just before this passage, when he says that we can only enter the kingdom as little children. Children cannot provide for themselves; they must rely on their parents in order to survive. The man in this passage’s “...trust in delusive security afforded by his wealth prevents him from becoming a ‘child’ who relies exclusively on the [generosity] of the heavenly Father” (Marcus* 724). If he can only let go of his need to control his fate and trust that God will take care of him, then he will have removed his obstacle to eternal life. 

We are invited to examine our lives and see what is lacking. We are invited to explore what our priorities are and what we are able to let go of. We are fallen, but--in Jesus--God has torn down the barriers separating us from God. Listen: Jesus is reaching his hand out to us, calling us to follow him! Trust in him and enter the kingdom.  

Christ and the Rich Young Ruler by Heinrich Hofmann, ca. 1890

*Marcus, Joel. Mark 8-16. Yale University Press: New Haven, 2009. 

all creatures great and small

Sermonette from last Sunday (Oct 7, 2012). Here are the readings.

“The LORD God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.’ So out of the ground the LORD God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name” (Genesis 2:18-19). 

May the words I speak and the words you hear be God’s alone. Amen.

We are gathered together today on this crisp fall morning to celebrate God’s glorious creation by sharing in the blessing of the animals. I’m guessing that many of you know that this tradition is a way we honor the memory of St. Francis of Assisi, the man who began the order that came to be known as the Franciscans. He was born a wealthy man, but gave up his wealth to embrace “Lady Poverty” and her life of simplicity. Francis might be most well known for his love of animals. He is said to have organized the first Christmas manger scene, so the next time you see a nativity set or play, you can thank him for the inclusion of camels, donkey, sheep, and other animals. In fact, Francis loved animals so much that some legends say he preached to flocks of birds and even blessed a wolf that had been terrorizing a village (don’t worry; he only blessed the wolf after he set up an arrangement between the wolf and the villagers). As silly as some of these stories sound, the point is that St. Francis recognized the true gift animals are in our lives. Not only do they bring us joy, they are some of life’s best teachers.

Growing up, my first pets were a pair of goldfish named Jack and Jill. Now, the two of them were pretty and all, but all they did was swim in circles; I couldn’t teach them tricks. What I really wanted was a dog. Being the oldest of four, I took it upon myself to make this petition to our parents. We had been begging them for years, but when I was 15 or 16 I decided to show them that I really meant it this time. I went to the library to research what breeds were good with children and what were the best methods of caring for and training them. When I presented my parents with what I had researched, they finally agreed to start looking for a dog. When we finally chose a dog, I, as the oldest, became in charge of taking care of him. Caring for Muddles taught me about responsibility and sacrifice. I woke up 30 minutes early every morning to feed and then play with him. Granted, it was more difficult in the winter months when it was bitterly cold outside, but it was worth it to spend time with him, watching him grow from a puppy to a full grown dog. 

Muddles also taught me about selfless love, forgiveness, and pure, unadulterated joy; he was always happy and excited to see me when I got home from school. I used to chase him or get him to chase me. Then I would fall down exhausted and play dead, which would cause him to come sniff my face and ears, which--of course--would tickle and cause me to laugh, which would make him bounce around gleefully, which would cause me to laugh harder. I treasure these happy memories. 

Another thing Muddles taught me about was the value of life. Unfortunately, our pets do not have the same life span as we do, and when that sad day comes, it is if we have lost a family member. One morning we woke up to find that Muddles had died in his little house, facing the back door. We went out back by the creek, dug a hole, and buried him in his blanket. Then each of us stood around his grave and shared our favorite memories of him. He had lived life to the fullest, and our lives were fuller because of him. 

In today’s reading from Genesis, we hear from the second creation story. In this account, God creates Adam first, and then all the other creatures. Did you notice that when Adam needed a helper as his partner, God did not immediately jump to Eve? Instead, God “formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air” (Gen. 2:18). I think that God realized how much we get from their companionship, how much we can learn from them. You see, when we care for animals, we learn how to care for each other better. St. Francis said it best: “If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.”* The love we show our pets is a model for the love we have for one another, and a window into the love Christ has for us.

On this day of animal blessings, pause for a moment and think about the animals that are or have been a part of your life. Think about their sloppy greetings, the gifts they leave on the back porch, the joy they bring you. Even if you’ve never had a pet, you can still marvel at the beauty of God’s creatures: the graceful flight of the cranes at sunset, the adorable baby giraffe and sea lion at the zoo, the cows grazing peacefully in the pastures. God knew that we needed animals in our lives. Our world would be incomplete without them and our lives are richer because of them. And for that, we give thanks. 

My dad and Muddles

*You can find the St. Francis quote here.

experiencing eternity

On a day when I will have visited both someone leaving this world and someone who just entered it, I found today's meditation particularly relevant:

     "Eternity is not endless time or the opposite of time. It is the essence of time.
     If you spin a pinwheel fast enough, then all its colors blend into a single color--white--which is the essence of all the colors of the spectrum combined.
     If you spin time fast enough, then time-past, time-present, and time-to-come all blend into a single timelessness or eternity, which is the essence of all times combined.
     As human beings we know time as a passing of unrepeatable events in the course of which everything passes away including ourselves. As human beings, we also know occasions when we stand outside the passing of events and glimpse their meaning. Sometimes an event occurs in our lives (a birth, a death, a marriage--some event of unusual beauty, pain, joy) through which we catch a glimpse of what our lives are all about and maybe even what life itself is all about, and this glimpse of what 'it's all about' involves not just the present but the past and future too.
     Inhabitants of time that we are, we stand on such occasions with one foot in eternity. God, as Isaiah says (57:15) 'inhabiteth eternity' but stands with one foot in time. The part of time where he stands most particularly is Christ, and thus in Christ we catch a glimpse of what eternity is all about, what God is all about, and what we ourselves are all about too."

~Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner

 Image of pinwheel galaxy found here.