Newsletter articles

A broad selection of writings from over the years.  The first one, from September 2006, was awarded the 2007 Episcopal Communicators' Polly Bond Award of Excellence for Theological Reflection.

September 2006

Dear Friends,

            Debate within the church about who is eligible to be “in” and who must be excluded is nothing new.  It was a main feature even of the very first years after Christ.  That first debate was so long ago, and so decisively settled, that it is hard to realize today just how difficult of a question it really was: Can Gentiles be included in the Christian church?

            Gentiles (non-Jewish persons) were responding to the good news of Jesus in great numbers.  But the question for those already “in” the early church (the Jewish followers of Jesus) was: don’t they first have to become Jewish?  The scriptures (the Old Testament, the only scriptures that Jesus had) were very clear about access to God.  Gentiles were unclean.  Their access to God was limited because of that uncleanliness.  They were so unclean that it was contagious: contact with a Gentile or eating a meal in a Gentile home would render a Jewish person unclean and ineligible for access to the temple for a period of time.  According to scripture and tradition, to have access to God Gentiles must first convert and become Jewish.  Which meant they had to take on the outward sign of that Jewish covenant with God – the sign of circumcision.

            So what about these Gentiles who now followed Jesus?  According to the scriptures, they were still unclean Gentiles.  If they wanted to be part of God’s community, shouldn’t they do what was necessary to be clean and holy?  Shouldn’t they follow all the parts of the law?  Shouldn’t they first be circumcised?  The argument from what seemed to be a clear and unquestionably correct reading of Scripture could have appeared unassailable, except that it was met by the experience of the working of the Holy Spirit in the midst of this new community of faith.  Jewish Christians spoke up on behalf of the Gentile Christians, speaking about what they had seen in their lives.  They had seen repentance, forgiveness, and transformation as these new believers had welcomed the gospel message.  They had seen evidence of the presence of the Holy Spirit in the lives of the Gentile believers, just as they had seen it in their own.  After much personal internal struggle, the apostle Peter baptized Gentile believers without requiring them to first be circumcised.  When challenged about this, he defended his actions in this way:  “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?  (Read Acts chapters 10-11 and 15 for the story of this debate and its resolution.) 

            The Gentile believers already knew that they had been accepted by God.  But allowing them into the human expression of that—the church—took the work of those already inside.  It took the “in” group to argue on their behalf.  Otherwise, it could have just been passed off as “the Gentile Agenda.”  It took the Jewish Christians to recognize it as “the Gospel Agenda” for the church to move into places where God had already gone.  God had to work within the community of faith to help it live into what God was already doing.  Peter recognized God already there within the believers who were Gentile.  And chose, rather than to try to hinder it, to embrace it in the face of resistance and the seemingly clear meaning of scripture about Gentiles.  Peter chose to speak out for the Gospel, as he spoke out on behalf of the Gentiles.

            Can we similarly find God already at work, and choose not to hinder that within our own lives and our own faith communities?  “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)  Can we see the full inclusion of blacks as not “the Black Agenda” but rather “the Gospel Agenda”?  Can we see God at work in the lives and ministries of women, and support it, recognizing “the Gospel Agenda” rather than “the Feminist Agenda”?  Can we recognize holiness of life and the working of the Spirit in the lives of gay and lesbian Christians, and welcome their presence and their ministries as part of  “the Gospel Agenda” rather than “the Gay Agenda?”

            It’s not an easy place to be, in many ways.  Many still accuse women of having a “Feminist Agenda” when we exercise our equality in Christ.  How fortunate I am, that I have so many faithful Christian men speaking out on behalf of that equality for me.  They help the world hear my ministry as “Gospel Agenda.”  They allow me to strive to be known as a “good priest”, and not just a “female priest.” They allow me to be a minister of the Gospel.  But, in doing so, they have been the target of scorn and rejection themselves, from those who cannot see my ministry as being of God.

            Now it is time for me, as a straight person, to speak up.  I can bear witness, like Peter, to seeing the work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of those whom the church has traditionally said were “unclean” and “unfit” for consideration as members of Christ’s body.  I can bear witness to seeing and experiencing in my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters lives of repentance, forgiveness, and transformation through Jesus.  (And “transformation” does not mean that Gentiles become Jews, blacks become whites, women become men, or gays/lesbians become straight!)  I can speak out for “the Gospel Agenda” and in doing so, I hope that the gay and lesbian members of our church can be recognized as being a part of that Agenda as well.  I pray that our bishop can focus on his Gospel ministry, being a “good bishop” rather than just a “gay bishop”.  It is up to you, and to me, to be like Peter and not hinder God but to welcome God’s grace in the lives of others.  That, my friends, is the good news of the Gospel.  That is the Gospel Agenda.

                                                                                            

September 2002

Dear Friends,

            New times bring new challenges as well as new opportunities, and I feel like I’m living in new times indeed!  A new home, a new town (in a new state), a new parish, and all these new faces and names.  There are old stories I need to learn before I really know how to answer the new questions I face.  And there is always that wonderful dance as the wisdom and tradition of the years gone by takes the hand of new visions and energy and begins to waltz anew to the melody of God’s love.  What a blessing it is indeed for me to be so warmly welcomed into that dance with you, as together we move forward in the life God calls us to here in the Mount Washington Valley. 

            In this new time, however, patience is needed on all our parts.  Sometimes it will look like my learning curve is very slow, and I ask your patience as I bring together all the new pieces of my ministry here.  If something needs my attention, however, please don’t hesitate to let me know!  I may be embarrassed that you have to tell or remind me, but that is much better than letting something or someone feel ignored or forgotten.  And I will try to have patience as well, as I seek ways to have vision and reality meet.  God’s time sometimes doesn’t seem to move quickly enough for me!

            But most of all this new time is a time of hope and joy, because of our reason for being– God’s love given to us through Jesus Christ —which isn’t a new thing.  In the words of the Eucharistic liturgy:  “It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks . . .”  Together we share the gifts of being a part of God’s family.  And that is reason enough for hope and joy in any time—new or old! 

                                                           

January 2003

Dear Friends,

During the holiday season, I spend a little more time than usual reflecting on my family and the ones I love.  I remember my father, who died 18 years ago just before Christmas.  This year, as I revisited a camp that he used to bring us to, in Lovell on the shores of Kezar Lake (had it really been 30 years since I was last there?), I found myself thinking a little more about who he was, and about what it means to be his daughter and to carry his name (I am the only one of my sisters to retain the Buchanan name).

On the Episcopal calendar, January 1 is known as the feast of the Holy Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  Eight days after giving birth, Mary and Joseph present Jesus in the temple and he officially gets his name – the name given him by the angel – Jesus.  Jesus is a form of the name Joshua, or “the one who saves.”  And at that time both Simeon and Anna praise God for this child.  They recognize the gift that is in their hands, and look to what this child will mean to the world, both then and in the future.

On the world’s calendar, January 1 is known as New Year’s Day. Traditionally, it is a day in which people think about fresh starts. They make resolutions – plans for the coming year.  Changes for their lives.

Maybe this year we can try to combine the two?  As we were born anew at our baptism, the gift of new life was placed in our hands.  We are named “Christian” – ones belonging to Christ.  We are children of God.  Heirs of the Kingdom.  What does it mean to be a child of God, and to carry Christ’s name?  How do I live into both the challenge and the promise of that? How might this affect my own New Year’s resolutions?

As the new year dawns, may we remember by what Holy Name we have been called.  May we understand the reality of whose children we are.  And may we seek ways to live into the depths and the joys of both the challenge and the promise of that life.

February 2003

Dear friends,

I must have looked pretty odd - standing there in the dark and the cold, shuffling slowly first one way and then the next as I peered intently off into the trees.   The others had already retreated to their sleeping bags in the shelter there on the Appalachian Trail, while I continued to stand and stare and shuffle.  Did I mention that it was cold?  I had gone to Virginia hoping for a little warmer weather for my January backpacking trip, but it had been only 6 degrees that morning as we had taken to the trail.  It had warmed up slightly during the day, but not much.  And there I stood in the cold and the dark, staring and shuffling.  I must have looked pretty odd . . .

. . . unless, of course, you were able to look over my shoulder and see what I was seeing.  The full moon was rising.  Breaking just over the ridge, the light sought spaces between trees and branches, trying to reach me where I stood.  I have camped under a full moon many times before, but this one seemed different.  At this point you couldn’t see any of the round shape of the moon because of all the trees, and the fullness of the moonlight itself wasn’t able to reach the ground where I stood.  But the small sparks that did find a way through had an intensity that was almost unbearably beautiful.  So I stood, and stared, and shuffled from one side to the other, seeking different spaces in the branches, different errant sparks of dazzling light.  My shuffling created for me an ever shifting display.  It was as if I had my very own personal fireworks show going up behind the trees.  Sparkling first one way, and then another.  Changing shapes and patterns.  Each beam reaching out to me as if to set me on fire.  I shuffled for quite a while before the cold won out and I, too, retreated to my sleeping bag. 

And there in that relative coziness, I lay and thought about that amazing light.  It didn’t come from the moon, but from the sun.  It looked like fire, because it came from fire, reflected off the moon’s surface and dancing through to me in the winter air.   The source was out of sight, but the reflection meant that I could be the recipient of an amazing gift that night.  It reminded me of what we’re looking at during our Adult Education time each Sunday during this season after Epiphany.  We’ve been catching sparks of the light of God, reflecting off the lives of people of faith.  In January we looked at different people during the last 2000 years.  In February we’ll look at the lives of people of faith as found in Scriptures.  But in each one of those cases, we are gifted with glimpses of the fire of God’s love as it reflects off of faithful lives, and dances its way to us. 

And the greater challenge, but which is also gift, is that we are each called to let that light reflect off our own lives, so that others around us might catch a glimpse of that fire.   So shine on . . . even if it seems like there might be an awful lot of trees in the way!   The spark of God’s love that your life reflects might just be what someone’s cold, dark moment needs.

                                                                     

March  2003

From the liturgy for Ash Wednesday, Book of Common Prayer:

Dear People of God:  The first Christians observed with great devotion the days of our Lord’s passion and resurrection, and it became the custom of the Church to prepare for them by a season of penitence and fasting.  This season of Lent provided a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy Baptism.  It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful were reconciled by penitence and forgiveness, and restored to the fellowship of the Church.  Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. 

*****

Dear friends,

I am always so grateful for Lent.  Not because I’m into self-denial and fasting.  Not because I like to spend time in self-examination.  I am grateful for Lent because I don’t do those things otherwise.  And they are good for my soul.  

In the third grade I began to play the violin.  My parents not only put up with those initial squawks and sour notes, but they seemed to actually enjoy hearing them.  As each year went by, the squawks changed gradually into melodies, and others (besides my parents) began to enjoy hearing them as well.  I had some natural talent, but that would not get me anywhere without a lot of repetitions of scales and fingering and bowing drills.  I had a softball accident my senior year in high school, and put the violin down while my hand healed.  A year later, when the pain in the little finger was gone, there I was in college - a Biblical Studies major rather than a music major.  Then came kids and work, and years went by without scales and practice.  I get my violin out again now and then.  The years of practice still show, somewhat.  The years of no practice show more. 

My spiritual life would be the same, except for the gift of Lent.  Each year it comes, and each year it brings me back to the basic exercises of my faith.  Fasting and self-denial gift me with a soul-deep understanding of my dependence on God alone.  Self-examination and repentance keep me mindful of who I really am, and who God truly is.   Reading and meditating on God’s holy Word provides me with the knowledge and understanding of what God has done for us, and wishes to do through us.    I invite you to join me this Lent in taking on a spiritual discipline, that our faith may rise in joyous melody that all the world can hear and enjoy.                         

                                                                      

April 2003

Dear Friends,

            When I’m out backpacking, there is nothing quite as exhilarating as that moment when the agony of the steep climb up the mountainside is replaced with the splendor of the view as it opens up to you from the top. Step by step you crawl your way up the rocky path, leg muscles becoming less and less willing to cooperate and lungs screaming as they are unable to pull in enough oxygen. There is no real transition point – first you are struggling and climbing, then you are there – at the top.  And you forget that, while you were climbing, you more than once wondered why you were doing this.  You forget how many times you considered giving up and turning around. You forget just about everything else as you are overwhelmed with the world as it spreads out before you.  And somehow, the glory of the top of the mountain is made sweeter because you also know so many of the rocks on the side.  Driving to the top is not at all the same thing!

            In his letter to the Diocese this month, Bishop Theuner quotes Alfred North Whitehead: “It is not that Christianity has been tried and found wanting, but that it’s been found hard and not tried.”  We really do find ourselves this Lent on a particularly hard journey.  The War with Iraq has challenged us all in many ways.  We struggle with the difficulties of how our own faith can address the political issues, and what paths we, as Christians, should take as a result.  We carry the burden of fear for the safety and well being of all those whose lives are caught up in this conflict. We even must contend with the difficulties we face as we find ourselves disagreeing on the course of action, and the rush to war.  And I find myself struggling with a fear of hopelessness: fearing that this will be too much like some of my mountain climbing experiences here in the White Mountains –greeted at the top, not with a glimpse of glory, but only with clouds and fog.  Or even worse, that I won’t be equal to the climb.

            “It is not that Christianity has been tried and found wanting, but that it’s been found hard and not tried.” Christianity is hard.  Sometimes it feels like it asks too much of us.  As if there is no way we can take that next little step, much less any substantial leap of faith.  The way of the cross is a way that asks us to let go of our own selves, and that is never an easy thing to do.  But struggle on we must.  We are never called to abandon the journey. 

            But don’t forget that, even in the middle of Lent, we always remain Easter people.  People who know that the mountain is crowned with the glory of life and love triumphing over death and selfish greed.   We are people who know that we do not have to blaze a new trail, only follow the trail laid before us by the one who calls us forth.  May we continue to seek that way together, no matter how hard that might be, and help each other carry the burdens whenever they threaten to overwhelm us.

                                                                    

May 2003

Dear Friends,

            Spring is upon us.  Sometimes it seems like it sneaks up, a little at a time.  A few budding leaves on the lilac bush.  The chirping of a couple of birds.  A breeze that you realize no longer carries a wintery bite.  Other times there is no sneaking at all - it reaches out and totally envelopes you in its smells and colors. It bursts out in a wild and overwhelming riot of life!  Nothing subtle or even very predictable about it.  First all is grey and brown and muddy.  And then, without much warning, you are caught up in the green shoots that seem to burst out all over. 

            Life with God is often like that for me as well.  I seem to have my seasons - including slower, almost hibernation times when I feel like I need to bundle up my soul to protect it from the blasts, and it can be hard to venture out into the surrounding territory. I sometimes want to fight against those times - like they shouldn’t be there.  Maybe I should take courage from the seasons around me - and from the realization in my life that no matter how long the winter might seem, God always has a spring for me. 

            Sometimes a new period of rejuvenation seems to peek its head out at me shyly - the Spirit leaving bits and hints of its presence for me to delight in discovering, one at a time.   The recognition of God’s love breaking through as a young acolyte’s face beams with delight at the knowledge that he or she knows how to lead the rest of us in worship.  The unexpected call from an old friend, just when you’re feeling a bit down and lonely.  That phrase, that has always been there in my Bible (I know it didn’t just appear on that page yesterday!), but which has never stopped me before - and which had just the right cadence of words to catch my heart and challenge me anew. 

            And then there are those times when God can just totally overwhelm me with undeniable, unmistakable, unpredictable soul-Spring.  When I am simply swept up into a riot of Spirit life.  Such a spring can take your breath away!  “And the trumpet shall sound,”  and that Easter trumpet did sound and somehow took my soul soaring along with it.  Someone makes a comment: “you are a god-send” and you realize that, despite yourself, it is true!  God has you on that Spirit wind and is sending you wherever God happens to want you to go.  It didn’t seem like much, from your perspective, but God opens up a whole new vision to you, and you realize that you can be god-sent into someone else’s need.  And the thaw is complete.  God needs you, and fills you, and there’s nothing much you can do to hold back the breaking forth of it all.  So you might as well rejoice in it!

            Such life started up slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the early church after Easter, and then broke forth totally unstoppable at Pentecost.  May it continue to break forth in us, and may the Spirit carry us where it will.   But be forewarned - it’s not always a very predictable ride!

                                                                    

June 2003

Dear Friends,

            The baptism of a baby.  The ordination of a deacon.  The calling of a rector.  The election of a bishop.   What an unusual month this is for us, as all of these are a part of our shared life here in this place! 

            Oh, and of course, there’s that little thing called Pentecost, right there in the middle of it all.  Pentecost - the day on which those first Christians first knew the reality of the Holy Spirit lighting their hearts on fire.  We celebrate the birth of the Church on Pentecost, for that is truly when those first Christians were transformed into Church.  They started as a gathering of people who were convinced of the resurrection of Jesus and of his role as Lord of their lives, but were still frightened for themselves and unsure of what they were to do. On Pentecost, they were transformed into a community that knew the power of God’s presence in and with them. 

            The gift of the presence of God’s Spirit made them bold and sometimes a little brash, and always willing to share the good news that God has come to be with us.  They no longer needed to fear, for God’s power and love and joy were not something out there but had come to be with them in Jesus Christ, and now empowered them through the gift of the Holy Spirit.  They knew that they had something that the rest of the world needed.  And that lived out in their lives in what can only be described as ‘generosity”. Nothing held back, they gave of themselves and their possessions and their very lives to each other, and to the world around them.   They wanted to share what they had found with the whole world.

            And that brings us back to the baptism of that baby.  For that is the most important piece of all that we will do this month.  We welcome a new child into the enormity of God’s love, into the reality of God’s power, into the gift of God’s Spirit within her.  And that is the reality of each one of us - we are all baptized.  We have each been gifted with the power of that Spirit. 

            Bishops? Priests? Deacons?  They are nothing except those who are called to serve the reality of what the church is about - which is each baptized person overflowing with the gift of the Spirit in ways which share that Spirit with the world around them every minute of every day of their lives.  The specialized ministry of the ordained is minor compared with the holy calling of each and every person that God has gifted with the Holy Spirit.  That Spirit wishes to set each one of you on fire, to turn you all loose upon the world.  To be bold and maybe even a little brash, joyful and overflowing with a generosity of love that knows no bounds, because it comes from the wild winds of a Holy Spirit that knows no bounds.  Whether bishop, or priest, or deacon, or lay person - we all share of that one Spirit.

            There are many ways we will have to celebrate the gift of that Spirit this month.  Why don’t you start by joining us on Pentecost, June 8?  And wear something red - it’s the liturgical color of the Spirit, and a great way to speak visually of that gift within each of our hearts.  

                                                     

July-Aug 2003

Dear Friends,

            I really do try to use my head.  Honestly!  I like to think things through.  Connect point A with point B.  Get out the map and compass and figure out what that distant mountain is, or what might be the best route to a much needed water source.  I like to figure out why things are the way they are.  Make some rational sense out of the world.  Know where I’m going.  But sometimes, no amount of deep thinking will sort it out for me.  I can see all the pieces, but can’t figure out how or why they really do fit together or got the way they are.  And at that point, I simply have to sit back in wonder and rejoice at the mystery that is still a part of life.

            I feel caught up in that mystery right now as I look back over the past year or so.  You, at one point, thought you were getting a different priest.  I thought God was leading me to a different place.  But it didn’t work out that way for any of us.  Your possible priest-in-charge said no after first saying yes.  The places I thought God had been preparing me for ended up no longer available, or no longer physically possible for me.  So instead, you got me, and I got ya’ll (that slight touch of a southern twang will always continue to slip in there now and then!).  And God has called us all to ministry together here in this place, at this time.  And it has been a year of wonder, and joy, and new possibilities.

            One of the pieces that has made no sense to me has been a growing sense of being ‘home’ even as I struggled with the reality of my kids being so far away.  How could I be ‘home’ so far from where my roots were so firmly planted for so many years?  It didn’t make rational sense, but it was happening.  North Conway was becoming home. 

            And now the Vestry has called me to remain ‘home’ here, as Rector of Christ Church.  And I look at the joy in the faces as we are gathered together around God’s table on Sundays.  And I listen to the faithfulness in the voices in the Thrift Shop as the needs of a regular customer are remembered with an, “Oh, this would be perfect for her!  Let’s set it aside.”  And I am challenged by the hunger to learn more about the Bible, about God’s story and our story.  I find myself enjoying learning “your story” (both individually, and as a community of faith) - the places you have been, the things you have been called to do, the joys and sorrows which have helped shape you and this parish.  And I am blessed, because I can say “yes” to being here.   I look forward to celebrating the “yes” I can say, and the “yes” you can say, to ministry together in this place.  The Bishop will come at some point this fall to lead us in a liturgical celebration of that.  But that liturgy will be sign and sacrament of what we are called to live into and celebrate each day.

            I don’t know what all God has in store for us in the coming years.  I don’t know where we’ll be challenged to go, and what we will be challenged to learn, and how God’s love, through us, might touch the world around us.  And I may never be able to figure out the journey, even as we move forward in it.  Parts of it will be mapped out.  But parts of it will seem like mysterious bushwacking.  All of it, I believe, can be in our lives a part of God’s mystery, love, and incarnate wonder . . . as long as we never forget that we travel with God.

                                                           

September 2003

Dear Friends,

            Moving is usually considered one of those top “stress events” of a person’s life (right up there with change of job, marriage or divorce, death of a family member).  Moving calls upon a person to uproot patterns of living, relating, as well as self-identification.  Stress isn’t always a bad thing, but it is something to pay attention to.

            I am moving.  Admittedly, this is nothing like the stress of the move I made last year from Virginia to New Hampshire, but I have bought a home in Jackson and am moving out of the rectory.  I am bit by bit taking van loads of “stuff” and figuring out where it all goes.  How do I squeeze big furniture into much smaller spaces? What will my cats do without that screen porch? And I have yet to meet my new neighbors (which in this location, are few in number). 

            But on the other end of the spectrum are those things which I suspect will lessen the daily stresses in my life.  This house has lots of glass and rises into the treetops (it was referred to as “the tree house” by the realtors).  I was known in high school and college as the girl “up a tree” because I would literally take my books and climb a tree to read or study, always feeling the need to be surrounded by the leaves and the wind - so living surrounded by such greenery on a daily basis will be food for my soul indeed.   And it will be good for me to “go to work” as well as “go home from work” - something I wasn’t so skilled at doing when I lived and worked in the same building.

            But I’m not the only one “moving”.  As I move out of the rectory, our parish will move in. Moving and decorating by committee can be stressful. And the added challenges and unexpected financial expenditures which might occur in such a project can also add to our shared stress. How do we come to a final decision on which program gets which space?  What works for us now?  What about 10 years from now?

            But on the other end of the spectrum for us as a congregation are possibilities of new life and new ministry - to ourselves and to our community.  The vestry has made our commitment to young families a top priority, and now we have the space to live into that commitment in a new way.  Room for Sunday School classrooms!  For Adult Education!  For Youth! We’ll be able to do Vacation Bible School, and occasional special weekday offerings that now would interfere with the running of the Thrift Shop.  And speaking of the Thrift Shop - it would be able to set up attractive, more permanent arrangements in the Memorial Room (where the current Sunday School meets) and still leave us with room for dinners and meetings. 

            Moving can be both exciting and invigorating.  May together we handle the stresses of it by maintaining our commitment to God’s work in this place, supported by our time together in worship, fellowship and prayer.

                                                           

November 2003

For all weather watchers, but especially for my favorite weatherman, Briggs Bunker, and for our new neighbors, the Mt. Washington Observatory Museum

Dear Friends,

            I love weather.  All kinds of weather.  I love days that feature a blazing sun as well as those that have howling winds and driving rain.  I love crisp cold autumn mornings that startle you as you walk out of the house.  I love the many varied sweeps and puffs and permutations of clouds that move across this particular area of the world.  I love the stillness of the big fat wet flakes of snow as they fall slowly.  But I also love the wildness that comes with the smaller snowflakes in a driving wind.   Weather is an ever-changing source of fascination for me. 

            I also love the things that the weather does.  The changing of the weather changes the world.  Right now it is painting the leaves in such incredible colors.  I know I will also love the green it will bring out in the world come next spring.  Some of the changes are almost too slow for me to ever see: the mountains are worn down bit by bit, the spring floods help the rivers carve deeper into the valleys.  Other changes, such as the growth of the trees, I can notice but not ‘see’ happening.   But it is the visible, tangible, quick changing weather itself that grabs my daily attention.             

            That’s not to say that I understand much about the weather.  It  surprises me, how much I am fascinated by it and yet how little I know.  Maybe having the Mt Washington Observatory Museum next door to the church will lure me into learning a bit more about it.  Or maybe I’ll go on through life being blissfully ignorant.  I do know that, either way, the weather will continue.  It will swirl and change and go on doing what it does. But what if I were to put some time and effort into learning something about it? It always seems that to actually see something, you need to know what it is you’re looking at.  The more I learned of music theory, the more I was able to “see” the intricacies of a Bach Fugue.  If I learned more about the weather,  what might I notice and be delighted by that I’m totally blind to right now? 

            And like most of life - this isn’t just about the weather either.  It’s also about the wonders of the way that God appears in our lives.  Different every day, much of it we notice and appreciate and even delight in. But what are we simply unaware of? What things might we see differently, if we only took the time to learn a bit more about God, to search a bit deeper, to open our eyes to new wonders? 

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.   “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”  The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him.   Lamentations 3:21-25

                                                          

April 2004

Dear Friends,

            I have a rock collection.  I started it back when I was 13 and on my first real backpacking trip.  As I made my way across the vastness of the Grand Canyon, surrounded by all those incredible layers of rock that told a story of time long ago, I picked up a small stone.  Not much more than a pebble, actually.  But it was my stone, to take home with me, to remind me about my trip through time there in the Grand Canyon.

            A week later, still on that same family trip, I was hiking up the Grand Teton and decided I wanted a stone from that trail as well.  And thus began my rock collection.  Nondescript pebbles from many places where I have traveled.  Each one part of a place and a story that had surrounded me.  Little stones from around the country and the world.

            When I would get home with a stone, it would go on top of my dresser where I could see it and remember.  But after a while, it would end up in the top dresser drawer along with the others.  I probably wouldn’t be able to reach into that drawer today and tell you if the stone I pulled out came from Alaska or North Carolina.   My special stones have become just a collection of pebbles, unable to tell me their stories anymore.  I still hang onto them, because they are “important” to me - but they’ve lost a lot of the meaning they once had.  And I am unable to share that meaning with anyone else. 

            My first local hike after I moved to New Hampshire two years ago was across the Moat Mountains that overlook North Conway.  A friend who was dropping me off at the trailhead that morning asked if I would mind meeting his uncle first.  Uncle Dave was waiting for me with his rock collection - stones that he had picked up from his wanderings and explorations all over the Moats.  He was no longer physically able to be up there himself, but he wanted to make sure that the story of the Moats would not be lost on me as I hiked them that day.  He showed me the different types of rocks I would see along my way, each specific to a part of the geological development of the Moats.  Rocks which told the tale of how the earth moves and forms.  Of the shifting of the earth’s crust and the upthrust of molten rock.  Of cooling and heating and the separating and combining of different elements.  Rocks that told the story of the specific development that make the Moats geologically unique in the White Mountains.  Uncle Dave not only picked up stones from his wanderings.  He also came home and learned the fuller stories behind those stones.  And wanted me to share in that wonder and that story.  I came home from that hike with not just a pebble, but with a substantial rock (which is now a bookend rather than a dresser drawer dweller).  And to help me continue to learn about the stones along my journeys and their stories, Uncle Dave later sent me a copy of his book (Peterson Field Guides: Geology, Eastern North America, by David C. Roberts). 

            I think we all pick up stones along our spiritual journeys.  Spiritual “rock collections”.  A verse of scripture that spoke to you in a dark moment.  The lyrics or tune of a hymn that caused your heart to soar.  The feeling of security and peace that was so special when you first sang “Yes, Jesus loves me” as a child.

            Some of those just get tucked away in the top dresser drawer of our lives.  We know they were important.  We know that they had meaning.  We can’t quite get rid of them, because they are part of our own story now.  But we also can’t bring them out and tell their story to others, because we’ve never really learned much more about those stories.  We treasure, but cannot share.

            What might happen if we took the time to learn more about those spiritual stones - about the richness and depth of meaning that their surface just hints at?  What wonders might we better understand and more fully be able to appreciate?  And what stories might we be able to help others understand? 

            I started thinking about stones this week as I pondered these particular stones that are part of our Holy Week and Easter journey, and the stories these stones have to tell:

From the Gospel for Palm Sunday:

       Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher,

       order your disciples to stop." He answered, "I tell you, if

       these were silent, the stones would shout out."

From the Easter Gospel:

       But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came

       to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared.

       They found the stone rolled away from the tomb.

                                            

June 2004

Dear Friends,

            “Moose Crossing, Next 17 Miles”.  On my way home each day, I’ve now driven by that sign for over 8 months.  And for 8 months I have not seen a moose.  Some “Moose Crossing”!  I began to smile to myself every time I saw the sign.  “Must be there for the tourists,” I began to think.   I knew what seeing that sign had done to my kids when they came up for a visit.  The excitement level in the car as they expected to see a moose was absolutely palpable.  Of course, they never did see one.  And neither did I.

            Until last week.  It was one of those early evening times.  I was in the back of a line of 6 or 7 cars, meandering our way alongside the Ellis River.  And suddenly, a dark shape in the trees caught my eye.  I pulled over, as the cars in front of me kept on going. 

            She was almost beautiful - as only a moose can be almost beautiful.  And as I watched her, I realized that there was another moose with her.  A calf.   A spring miracle, just a mile from home!  But then a second miracle walked out of the shadows under the trees.  She had had twins this year.  Another car pulled in behind me to watch with me.  The car that had been in front of me turned around and came back.  Mama Moose walked another 15 feet up the side of the road, to the midway point between the blind curves in the road, and giving a look over her shoulder at her calves, she stepped out onto the asphalt and made her way to the other side.  Once across, she turned around and looked back at her twins, gave them a nod of her head, and waited for them to cross over to her.  Safely on the other side, the three of them faded into the woods, once more out of sight, although not far away.

            Two days later, not far from that multi-moose road crossing, I was watching a little closer and once again a dark shape caught my eye.  I pulled over to watch a bull moose, new velvety antlers sticking straight out of the sides of his head, wading around in a marshy spot right next to the road.  He wasn’t happy with me stopping, and climbed out onto solid ground.  Three or four steps later, and he was all but hidden in the edge of the trees.  And there he stood.  Driving by at that point I would have totally missed him.

            After Pentecost (May 30) we move into what the church calls “Ordinary Time”.  The color on the altar switches from the ‘more special’ purples or whites or reds, to our everyday ‘ordinary’ green.  We move into the day in and day out flow of church life, without the special markers of Advent and Lent, of Easter and Pentecost.  This is the long green season, which will take us into the summer and on through the fall as well.

            It’s good to remember that God’s miraculous presence is really there in the everydayness of our ordinary times.  The “God Crossing” sign of Easter is not simply about one day, but a warning to keep our eyes open throughout the journey ahead.  Just because we’ve not seen anything before, doesn’t mean God isn’t there.  And maybe when we do stop and notice, when we do slow down and look closer, when we sing our praises and bear witness to that presence - sometimes others who had begun to wonder if all the signs saying “God crossing” were just for show might also begin to see just what it is that we have discovered. 

                                                                      

Sept 2004

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

                                                                                                Matthew 18:5

Dear Friends,

            When I was in college, I jumped at the chance to take Astronomy one summer at the school’s Science Center in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  I had always felt pulled by the starry skies.  Their mystery and beauty moved me in deep ways.  But I didn’t know anything much about them - a few bits and pieces I had picked up haphazardly over the years, but nothing that allowed me to appreciate the real wonder and miracle that the heavens above truly are.  Being “educated” about the stars doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes still simply sit in wonder before them.  It doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes “play” by making up my own constellations (my daughter and I have our own “dead cat constellation” named for our cat, Boris, who isn’t dead, but who does ‘dead cat’ tricks).  But it does mean that I can sometimes look even deeper into what the stars are and what they mean, and understand a little more about my own place in this universe.  Education does that.

            And education is even more important when it comes to our lives of faith.  We can be drawn by a sense of God in the world, but it is in learning about that God that we understand what God can mean in our own lives, and where our own lives fit in this universe. 

            We are just days away from the first use of our new Sunday School classrooms, and what a joyous time we have right before us as we prepare to welcome children in a new way!  What a commitment you have made to that welcome and to their education, as you’ve empowered the vestry to put aside money in preparation over these last two years, and as you’ve painted and prepped and prayed. 

            I am so thankful for the dedication and faithfulness of those who have given of themselves as teachers over these last years.   I believed that line from the movie would apply to us: “If you build it, they will come.”  But I didn’t realize how many would be coming even before we ‘built it’.  The new faces that have joined our Sunday School during this last year have become a delightful and valuable part of our parish family.  Much of that was due to the welcome the teachers were already putting forward.   And now, with space dedicated to them,  we have the chance to tell both them, and the children, just how important a part of our lives they all are.   And just how important we believe an educated faith is. 

            The new education spaces we’re providing are a big, bold step forward for us.  Retrofitting an old home to be used as public space for children has been more costly than we anticipated.   But we also believe that the welcome and education we will be able to offer to these children will be treasure beyond our understanding.       

                                                         

December 2004

Dear Friends,

            I had a couple of weeks free before moving to New Hampshire, so I headed to the trail.  I wanted to spend the time outdoors, wanting to soak up the beauty, and the challenge, of being in the woods.  I wanted the chance to see things and experience things that I don’t normally see and do in my everyday life.  I’ve always claimed that hiking, for me, was not just about reaching a destination, but was even more about the journey along the way.  I wanted to spend a little time on that journey.

            The first night, as my hiking partner and I pulled into the shelter area, we met two young men who were just starting out on a big hike.  Despite the fact that neither had ever spent a single night in the woods before, one of the two was hoping to walk all the way to Maine.  As an experienced backpacker, I listened to their tales of their first day and tried to offer some encouragement.  I marveled at the amount of gear they were carrying though, and smiled as I thought about all they would decide they didn’t actually need in the days and miles to come.          

            The next day, because they hiked faster but stopped more often, we passed each other many times on the trail.  Mike had a large bird identification book and a pair of binoculars.  I would never carry such stuff—because it weighs too much!  But as the day went on, I became more and more envious of the things they were able to stop, and see, and know about.  Several times they shared the binoculars and a particular bird they had found.  And that evening at the shelter, as other “experienced” backpackers focused on camp chores, these two continued to take time to marvel at the wildlife around them, even sharing with me a wonderful peak through the binoculars of the owl who would then serenade us during part of that night.

            We’ve entered this season of Advent with its watchwords of “prepare” and “watch”.  “Advent” comes from the latin meaning “the coming”.  It is a time during which we focus on the coming of the Christ, and prepare for that coming in our own lives. Preparing for the coming of God into our lives is something that is much bigger than simply preparing for Christmas.  It’s about preparing for God’s presence all along the journey, now and at the end of our lives. It’s so easy to forget that, though, and find ourselves caught up in the best way to get to a Christmas destination.

            So watch, and take note of God’s presence in your lives today.  One of those things that we think we don’t have right now is time—will we manage to get everything done before Christmas?  But don’t disregard that necessary taking of time which makes the journey what it can and should be.  Take the time, even though it might seem to be counter to your goal of getting to Christ’s coming at Christmas.  Even though more “experienced” Christmas revelers insist that certain things have to be done in order to make it to Christmas properly.  Take the time to prepare your heart today for God’s coming.  To notice where and when God’s spirit blows into your life.  It does take time, and it might take new tools and helps to identify it.  But don’t miss it!  And then don’t hesitate to share that with a fellow traveler who might have failed to notice.  They’ll appreciate it!

                                                               

August 2005

Dear Friends,

            This summer, while on vacation, Rick and I got to spend part of a day at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC.  After once again marveling at the windows and stone work, wandering through many of the little side chapels, watching some women prepare amazingly large flower arrangements, and spending some quiet time in both prayer and memories (and that place where both of those come together), we made sure we had enough time to also visit the Cathedral gift shop. 

            Talk about Episcopal shopping heaven!  We each managed to restrain ourselves to just a few books, delighted in the assortment of bookmarks and knickknacks, wished we could manage to both afford and transport the large gargoyle who would have been perfect guarding our house, and discovered that we both were drawn to icons.  After admiring some of the wonderful ones they had, we reluctantly concluded that they, like the gargoyle, weren’t exactly in the vacation budget, and headed outdoors to find the car. 

            It wasn’t to be that easy.  They were having a Tent Sale!  No stone gargoyles to be seen, but lots of icons.  We deeply enjoyed sorting through the offerings under the tent.  We both love a good bargain, and left with four icons, as well as a few other assorted treasures.

            Bargain icons.  It now strikes me as a bit of a strange concept.  Religious icons are meant to be more than just ‘paintings’.  They are supposed to help the one viewing them to meet God.  They’ve been called visual prayers or visual sermons.  They are the visual Gospel. As St. Basil said, "What the word transmits through the ear, the painting silently shows through the image, and by these two means, mutually accompanying one another...we receive knowledge of one and the same thing."  Icons help show us what God has done for us - and who we are to become as a result.  They help us to see the Holy, so that God can help to make us holy too.

            Too often I fear we seek a bargain Gospel.  Like tourists at a Cathedral, we wander into the world of faith now and then to be awed by God’s love and forgiveness.  To wonder at the compassionate ministry done in Christ’s name.  But then we wander back outside and jump at what we think is a bargain - we pick up the feel good religion with no cost to us.  Just enough piety to make us believe good things about ourselves, to believe that we are helping to make our children into good people.  We hear that God’s gifts are freely given, and don’t live into the other side of that mystery.  It will also cost us the giving of our whole lives - all that we have and all that we are.  It is in that giving, that cost to us, that God is then able to pour out upon us abundant life in return.  Real life.  Holy life.  God’s very life, for us.  There is no bargain tent in the life of faith.  It’s no bargain if what you find is a fake. 

                                                                     

October 2005

Dear Friends,

            You walk through the gates of the Fryeburg Fair and all of your senses are assaulted with wonders. For 155 years this fair has brought people in, both entertaining and educating them. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, touch. They all conspire to keep people coming!  The carnival lights beckon, drawing those of strong stomach to tackle the twists and the turns of the rides.  Taking in the murmur of the crowd, the bite of an ax into wood, the squealing of little piglets, the laughter of children, the crowing of a rooster.  Savoring a sausage with onions, and topping it off with the real fair food: fried dough.  Wandering through the textiles and delighting in the softness of angora  and the sturdiness of a newly crafted pair of felt mittens.  The distinct aroma wafting on the breeze from the barns, letting you know that more goats and pigs and some of the largest horses you will ever stand next to are all waiting for you to find them.  How could you NOT come?

            A string of little girls, each hanging onto a rope connecting them with a sheep twice their size, passes me in a barn, the little girls giggling and serious all at the same time.  And it strikes me that this is what it is all about.  This is what brings people here year after year.  The Fair celebrates our connection with the earth.  We relish being reminded of, and celebrating, our dependence upon and connection with produce and beast, with wood and fiber.   When we go to the fair, we find ourselves standing there, giggling and serious all at the same time, connected to the real stuff of this physical life.  Other things, like midway and carnival, have grown up around the basics.  But it is for the basics that we return, again and again. 

            It should be the same with church!  We sometimes forget why we go.  Why we gather.  We get caught up in the activities, the music, the liturgy, the learning.  And it takes that glimmer of a moment when we see through the rest, and remember.  I ask the little child what is happening at communion, and she says, with a sparkle of great joy in her eyes, “I’m going to see Jesus.”  And I remember why I, too, have come.  To see Jesus.  To be reminded of and to celebrate my connection to the source of my very being.  To my connection to the God who speaks to me of forgiveness, of new life, of arms-open welcome.  I come to be reminded of, and to celebrate, God’s unconditional love which daily surrounds and sustains me.  I hope and pray it is also why you come.  Potluck Suppers and Thrift Shops and Choir Anthems are all there to help us know and celebrate that gift of God’s love.  They help us understand it and see it.  All these “things” that make up our life as a community of God’s love are not unimportant.  But they are not the basics.  And it is for those basics that we return.  That we take part.  That we seek.

            I went to the Fair because good friends shared with me their own joy and delight in being there.  That is how I discovered it for myself.  How will your friends discover God’s love?

                                                                      

January 2006

Dear Friends,

            There are many different approaches to heading out into the woods.  The best known trails often lead to some of the more spectacular places—the mountaintop with a view to take your breath away, or the plummeting waterfall that refreshes so on a hot summer day.   For some people, those few spots seem to be enough.  Having ventured forth and experienced the highlight spots, they feel themselves to be “outdoors” people.

            Others search the maps and try new trails and more out of the way places.  They begin to understand, not just the moment spent at the spectacular spot, but also the joy of the whole outdoor journey.  And often they discover that when they do return to that popular mountaintop view, it has gained wonder and meaning for them because they’ve wandered in the many valleys seen below.  The power of the waterfall touches them more deeply, for they know the gentle glades the water nourishes further downstream.  Some begin to love the woods and the trails so much that they hone their skills in map and compass and are capable of beginning to wander off the trails into new territory, and even find their way home again. 

            I sometimes think it’s pretty similar in our various approaches to searching for God.  Maybe it was the large crowds that showed up for the Christmas Eve services that made me think of it this way.  There’s nothing wrong with just taking the main ‘trail’ that leads to Christmas or Easter, and feeling like that is enough.  But for many of us, the wonder of the babe in the manger gains even more meaning for us because we’ve wandered other trails and searched out other places and times of God’s appearing in our lives.  We have wandered, not with map and compass, but with Scripture, Tradition and Reason to help us spiritually navigate and recognize where we are and where we’d like to go.  Scripture, Tradition, and Reason have long been regarded as the three essential elements of Anglican theological thinking.  I like to think of them as my spiritual GPS system (God’s Positioning System?).  GPS can’t tell you much with a reading from only one satellite.  It works ok if you have readings from two satellites. But it only works well when you get readings from three.  Scripture, tradition, or reason alone won’t get you far, but together, you begin to understand where you are and what’s around you.

            In this new year, may we each strengthen our resolve to “get out there” more in our search for God.  And to do so, we need to pay attention to the skills and tools we need to make such a journey—maybe recharge the batteries of our spiritual GPS system.  The more we study the Bible, the stronger the ‘signal’ we’ll be able to gain from Scripture.  The closer we stay connected with the worshipping community, the more alive Tradition will be for us, rather than remaining a fuzzy relic of a long-ago confirmation class.   And we need to continue to think and ask questions, so that our God-given ability to Reason is not wasted or neglected.  And maybe we’ll each then discover, not the path to God, but a God who is on the path with us.

                                                                      

February 2006

Dear Friends,

                        “And the nominees are . . .”

            Yes, it’s that time again, and the questions begin to swirl: “Who will win?  I never heard of that person!  And why isn’t ‘so-and-so’ on the list? Who gets to vote?  How would you ever choose between them?  Yes, it’s quite an honor to win, but then what?  Does it really matter in the long run who wins?”

            Actually, I’m not thinking about the Oscars or any other ‘award’, but about our next Presiding Bishop.  The election of a Bishop to succeed Frank Griswold will take place at the General Convention of the Episcopal Church this June in Columbus, OH.  (General Convention is the triennial gathering of bishops along with clergy and lay people elected from each diocese to deal with the ‘business’ of the church—kind of like a national vestry meeting, although structured closer to the government of the USA.)  The new Presiding Bishop is elected by the House of Bishops, with their selection going to the House of Deputies (clergy and lay people) for approval.  Although originally simply the bishop who would “preside” at meetings of the House of Bishops, the role has grown over the years to become also a national spokesperson as well as our representative in many gatherings with the heads (also known as Primates or Archbishops) of other provinces of the Anglican Communion around the world. 

            Four nominees were announced last month: J. Neil Alexander, Bishop of Atlanta; Edwin F. Gulick, Jr., Bishop of Kentucky; Katharine Jefferts Schori, Bishop of Nevada; and Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Bishop of Alabama.  And the sole piece of information that leads most stories about these four is this: three of them voted in favor of our bishop’s consecration, and one voted against it. 

            I grieve that we are in this position where some feel that leadership can be measured in such small terms.  When Jesus models leadership for us we find him eating with sinners, talking to the outcast, touching lepers.  We find him stepping forward to do the task that everybody else seems to think they’re too important to do (washing feet—the servant’s job) and reminding the disciples that greatness where God reigns is not measured in the same way that the world measures it.  Instead the last will be first, and the first will be last.  He calls us to not seek to save our own lives, but to give our lives.  Jesus doesn’t seem to be much interested in correct theological pronouncements from his followers, but what they’re doing with what they say they believe.  How is it affecting those around them?  Are they being loved, fed, welcomed, healed?  Are others finding new light in their world? 

            And as I found myself wanting to know, not how these nominees have voted, but how they have served, I found myself also realizing that it’s the same question I need to be asking of myself.  It’s the same question I hope each of you asks yourself.  For each of us has been called to follow Christ, not to claim position or greatness.  And  following Christ is not about theological correctness, but about the daily pattern of our lives. It’s a question I’m going to look at deeply in my own life as I think ahead to what my Lenten discipline might need to be this year.  In what ways do I need to be shaped or reshaped to better lead by serving?

            Besides asking these questions of ourselves, I also think they have to do with us as a parish.  As long as we worry about our own importance, our own growth, or our own theological correctness, we’re missing some of the most important things.  And the more that we worry about the health and well-being and welcome we extend to those around us, the closer we come to being the kind of parish that Jesus calls us to be. 

        

March 2006

Dear Friends,

            I begin my reflections for this month’s newsletter as I’m on a journey.  In fact, I’m writing this as I’m stuck in an airport, finding it very hard to get where I’m supposed to be (which is home).  Problems in my booked ticket (however in the world did I manage to book a return flight on March 27 instead of February 27???) meant a very early morning scramble at the airport ticket counter trying to find an open seat on any flight today.  It’s not promising.  I’ve sat here and watched flight after flight take off without me, the stand-by seats not appearing.  I’m learning new things about journeying.  I already knew that I needed to know where I wanted to go.  I needed to pack accordingly.  And now . . . now I need patience.  I hope this is not a foretaste of what my Lenten journey might be like! 

            “Lenten journey.”  Our Christian lives, as a whole, or particular parts of them, are often talked about in terms of a journey.  Jesus says, “Follow me.”  And off we go, on the journey.  Following.  But where?  I fear that is one of the problems of this language about our Christian lives.  Our journeys are so often simply about getting to a destination.  We focus on the end of the journey (I must confess that today, as I hang out in this airport, that’s all I really care about).  And so, for many Christians, the Christian journey has become simply about getting to heaven.  An afterlife destination.  A little patience while we’re on the way might be helpful, but it’s all about where we’re going to. 

            I admit, that was the way I have seen it for so much of my life.  But the more I have read and thought about the Bible, the more I have begun to believe that Jesus doesn’t much focus out there.  Jesus’ destination seems not to have been a place, but a way of being.  Jesus talks about now.  Jesus came . . . not to get to heaven, but to serve here on earth.  If you think of a journey as something with a goal, rather than a place, at its end, then maybe it’s a little easier to grasp.  Jesus seems to have a goal of serving all who come to him, as well as the goal of helping us all realize that way for ourselves.  The kingdom of heaven is not out there for us to get to, but at hand, for us to live into. 

            And that, for me, is the answer to my Christian journey questions.  It’s not simply a way to “get to heaven.”  The goal of the journey can actually be more clearly realized in the present moment.  May all our Lenten journeys lead us to being more deeply a part of Christ’s destination, serving the world in Christ’s name and with Christ’s love, so that, wherever our paths may lead us, we will find the kingdom of God at hand.  Even in us.

                                    See you in church, once I finally catch a flight home,

October 2006

Dear Friends,

            I’ve been enjoying the leaves this year.  That sounds so tame, actually, as a way to describe the real physical jolt of delight that goes through me as the colors take over my senses.  Even the word “delight” seems tame for this.

            I’m aware of all the science that is shared each year as well.  The explanations of why the maples turn so red, and the birches so yellow.  There is always so much going on behind and underneath the wonders that surround us.  Why the mountains are here.  Why snow is white.  Why lights come on when you flip a switch.  Why an airplane flies.  I’ve often contended that it’s all really “magic”, and that science is just a way of describing the “magic”.  It still doesn’t really explain WHY.  And so, I remain constantly amazed when the sky turns flaming colors in the evening, and the leaves turn brilliant hues in the fall, and the world turns soft and white in the winter.  I actually enjoy learning the science, but the miracle of the magic itself still sits as wonder in my heart.

            I think I run almost the exact opposite when it comes to people.  The wonders of their lives and what they do draw me, but it is the explanations behind it - their stories - that fill me with awe and amazement.  I hear the stories of the Amish community this week that has already forgiven the man who killed so many of their little girls.  I want to know the explanation behind such a wonder.  How has the Gospel so penetrated their souls that they can be so God-like in such a situation?  I fear I would let myself pass in such a situation, and say something like “Yes, God might be able to forgive him, but I’m not God.”  How have they allowed themselves to know forgiveness so deeply, that they too can forgive?

            But it’s not just the big people events that catch my eye.  Nobody has to go to church these days to be a ‘good citizen.’  Nobody has to take time out of their busy lives to serve in the Thrift Shop.  Nobody has to share what they have, to welcome a stranger, to smile an encouragement at a mother struggling with a three year old who simply can’t sit still today.  And yet, I see these events, and so many like them, happening around me.  And my soul delights in them.  And wants to know the stories.  The whys.  Each event is about giving of oneself - in forgiveness or compassion or time or love.  I guess I believe that anywhere such things happen, there is the gospel good news of a God who gives of God’s own self.  Who welcomes, and forgives, and shares, and encourages.  There is a story of someone who has, in some way, been touched with God’s love.  And that is a story worth hearing, and knowing, and being awed by.  And I don’t think I’m alone.  There are people around you who would be blessed, and awed, and maybe even transformed themselves, if you’d share your story with them.

                                                

November 2006

Dear Friends,

            This summer there was a television ad for the Episcopal Church that featured a young woman (looked to be in her 30s) digging in her garden and talking about why she goes to church.  After giving some very good reasons, she also added that people might wonder about her if she didn’t show up since, after all, she was the rector! 

            I am the only one in this parish who has to be there each Sunday.  It’s my job. (“I tell them it’s against my religion to work on Sundays . . . but they still expect me to show up and preach every week” is my standard, one line joke!)  But the basic questions remain the same for every one of us.  Why do I go to church?  Why am I an Episcopalian?  And, at the heart of it all, why am I a Christian?

            I suppose I came back to these questions as we prepared to welcome the ministry of our new Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori.  In many ways, her ministry symbolizes anew for me why I’m an Episcopalian.  While in college, I discovered the wonder and beauty of liturgy, of worshipping in the words used by people around the world and through the centuries.  I also discovered the deep gift of a way of doing theology as the people of God that welcomes all questions and struggles.   That gift was so needed in my life at that time, as I had just been kicked out of a church that had no room in it for questions.  No room for someone on a journey of discovery.  I discovered that place in the Episcopal church.  I love gathering at God’s table with people who don’t always agree with me on specific issues, but who do agree with me in our delight at the fact that God welcomes us all.  That it is God’s grace that brings us there, not our own “getting it right.” 

            I go to church, not because it is God’s requirement of me, but because it is God’s gift to me.  I’d go (almost) every week even if I wasn’t the priest.  I need that time each week to focus my life back into God.  To reconnect with the community of faith.  To know that I’m not alone.  I need to be nourished in spirit through word and sacrament.  By specifically setting aside the time each week to acknowledge God’s presence and place myself in that presence with others,  I am so much more aware of God’s presence the rest of the week.  It feeds me, focuses me, grounds me.  It is truly a gift that I take great joy in being able to welcome regularly.

            And I am a Christian, not because it is the only way that God speaks truth in this world, but because I believe it is the clearest expression of God’s love.  The Word of God speaks to this world in many ways and through many voices.  But it is in the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ, that we see and know and are brought into God’s presence most clearly. 

            Why are you here?  Tell yourself.  And then tell others.  Let them know that we’re here to welcome them as well.

                                               

March 2007

Dear Friends,

            Who knew that my being on vacation the first week of March, and thus not getting the newsletter out until this week, would be so useful in getting this information to you!  Here’s what we know at this point:

            On Tuesday, March 6, the ECW had their meeting in the Memorial Room.  Everything seemed normal in the church building.  On Wednesday morning as the Thrift Shop volunteers arrived to prepare for the day, they discovered that the building was extremely cold, and there was water dripping from the overhead pipes in the Memorial Room. 

            At some point between Tuesday noon and Wednesday morning (on the coldest night of the winter!) the boiler turned off.  We still don’t know why that happened.  It is, of course, being investigated by our insurance company and also by the company who installed it and who we turned to this week for repairs (they’ve not had oversight of the unit since installation).  But the result of this was that all of the heating pipes (it’s a hot water system) and the upstairs radiators froze solid.  All the cast iron joints in the system broke into pieces.   Then the water pipes also froze, and we had a burst pipe in the sacristy, flooding through the ceiling over the stairs to the Memorial room from the back door.  Estimates at this time are that it will take at least a week to put it all back together again.  In the meantime, we have had to close the Thrift Shop, relocate groups who meet in our building, and reschedule this week’s worship.  We hope to at least have use of the Memorial Room for Sunday, March 18, but updated information will be found on the church answering machine as soon as we know, and will also appear in our Saturday newspaper ad next week. 

            I want to encourage as many of you as possible to join us this Sunday at Nativity Lutheran.  This is such a frustrating and challenging time, and yet we have such a positive experience that can come from it. 

            My original “cover article” for this issue of our newsletter was planned to reflect on the recent Primates’ meeting of the Anglican Communion (with our new Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori, being our representative there).  At that meeting a handful of the other Primates refused to go to the Eucharist to receive communion with our Presiding Bishop.  Such a stance was not new.  I personally saw it at our last two General Conventions (in Minneapolis in 2003 and Columbus in 2006) as many of the so-called “conservative” members of the Episcopal Church refused to take communion with the rest of us in our daily services, but instead held their own alternative services. 

            I had planned on reflecting on how Lent calls us to examine ourselves, and how instead so much of what I see happening in the church results from us spending too much time examining each other.  “They” couldn’t take communion with others that they perceived as unrepentant sinners.  And I, in my own turn, spent too much time reflecting on just how awfully self-righteous they were. Too much “holier-than-thou” on both sides, if you ask me!

            But, instead of just having this “we don’t take communion together” event to reflect upon, we now also have an opportunity of “we DO take communion together” before us.  As we learn to “examine ourselves” this Lent, rather than just seeing how much time I spend negatively examining others, I now have this opportunity to also spend time positively reflecting on how differences DON’T have to divide us!  Our friends down the street are not Episcopalians and we’re not Lutherans.  They don’t “do church” the same way we do (although it’s not all that different, either), and they don’t always express their faith the same way we do.  But we are ALL God’s people.  And what unexpected Grace to come our way in the midst of this challenge—this chance to spend time with “others” celebrating the God who loves us all. 

            I think it gives us an unexpected chance to celebrate an especially Holy Lent.

                                                 

May 2007

Dear Friends,

            Each year, spring seems to begin by creeping up on us ever so slowly.  Too slowly.  It feels like an illusion . . . like snow and winter could descend upon us again at any minute (and I guess that’s because it really can!).  But Spring keeps on coming anyway.  It’s the little things that give it away – the slight tinge of red leaf buds in the treetops, the mere minutes of daylight we gain each day, the birds trying to get the nest started in the corner of the front stoop.  The nights might still get downright chilly, but the afternoon sun begins to regain its ability to soak warmth into everything.  From one day to the next we might not notice much of a difference, but then, suddenly, there’s no denying it!  After teasing, and slow starting, it seems to come on like gangbusters.  The minutes add up and we find ourselves with extra hours of sunlight each evening.  That slight hint of new color bursts into the amazing green of the willow, and the wild yellow of forsythia.  And we walk out the door in the morning and realize we didn’t grab a jacket . . . and it’s ok.  We don’t need it. 

            It reminds me of my faith, this gathering of the evidence of spring.  I don’t believe on the basis of no evidence, but sometimes the evidence seems lost to me—yes, even I still have my winters of doubt.  Tragedies, pain, and the everyday normal demands of my reason pile up until I’m tired of digging through it all trying to find a clear path to walk. 

            But I’ve also reached a point in my faith life where I know that spring will come again.  The tell-tale signs of God’s presence peek out once again at me.  Sometimes I wish it would come quicker—I want it to clobber me with a riot of God’s love and presence.  But if I watch, I’ll see the signs.  I’ll see once again, not the valley of the shadow of death, but signs of the One who walks there with me.  Mostly it comes through those who also walk that path with me.  The Body of Christ.  That’s where the One is found.  In you.  And if I let the spring of my faith warm me, in me as well. 

                                             

November 2007

Dear Friends,

"Sabbath keeping is not about taking a day off but about being recalled to our knowledge of and gratitude for God's activity in creating the world, giving liberty to captives, and overcoming the powers of death."                                            - Dorothy C. Bass

I seem to be stuck.  I wrote last month about Sabbath time, and that’s where I still find myself.  I realize that I probably should be writing something about Stewardship, but there’s something nagging at me (God does that, you know), telling me that I need to go deeper than that right now.  Stewardship is not unimportant!  It’s about expressing our connection to God - - a tangible way of expressing both our reliance upon God alone rather than upon ourselves, and also a tangible (and necessary) commitment to the community that God has called us into.  But keeping Sabbath time is about making that connection with God.  It’s foundational.  How can we expect people to tithe as an expression of a connection that isn’t there? 

So, why am I so stuck here?  Probably because I’m so bad at keeping Sabbath.  I joke about it, saying,  “I tell everyone that it’s against my religion to work on Sundays  . . . but they expect me to show up and preach anyway.”  (Ba-da-boom)  But, joke aside, “working” on Sunday (or on Saturday, which is the actual Sabbath Day) is not the problem.  That’s just an excuse for me.  An excuse to not really keep Sabbath anytime.  (And, having worked for 12 years in the restaurant business before being ordained 13 years ago . . . it’s not even a new excuse for me!)

Over the years I got good at convincing myself that I was keeping Sabbath “moments”, Sabbath hours, Sabbath breaks.  But never a Sabbath Day.  I was too busy.  I was too necessary (to my family, to my community, to my job). People needed me!  I was too important to take that kind of “time off”. 

But I’m really becoming convicted now about that attitude.  After all, GOD took time off from creating!  And God keeps coming back at me, trying to recall me to my foundations.  When I was doing all the self-reflecting and writing that are required of someone entering the priesthood, I  wrote that my basic weakness was “relying on the gift (my talents), rather than on the giver (God).”   Some things haven’t changed! 

Keeping Sabbath time is an opportunity to refocus on the giver—the giver of life, of love, of work and of play.  It’s a need in all of our lives.  Time to reflect, go deeper, reconnect with God.  Keeping Sabbath pays attention to the foundation.  It’s like paying attention to the soil in your garden, before you actually get excited about the seed packets.  With the soil in proper condition, then the garden can flourish. 

In Orthodox Jewish homes, they physically mark the beginning of Sabbath time by lighting candles, and gathering for prayers and a meal. They prepare themselves, and their families and homes, for the presence and reconnection with God.  And connecting with each other is also extremely important (to the point that Orthodox Jewish couples are supposed to make love on the Sabbath!). 

We’ll soon be entering the church season of Advent - - the season of preparing for God’s coming.  It’s a season that calls us to particular attention to Sabbath Time.  To preparing ourselves every week for God’s coming.  For God’s presence.  We’ll light candles.  We’ll gather for prayers and for God’s meal.  And may we find it gift to us, as we reconnect with God, and with one another. 

                                                                                                

Eastertide 2008

Dear Friends,  

            Maybe it’s a good thing to still have lots of piles of snow on Easter Sunday.  I know that spring and tulips and daffodils have come to be associated with Easter in the Northern Hemisphere, but that is almost too easy of an image.  Of course spring growth is about new life, and that’s what Easter is about as well.  But one of the advantages of having Easter at its almost earliest possible date this year (it can’t ever be earlier than March 22) is that we can’t actually live into such a springtime image.  We’re stuck in winter, and the white and brown that dominates our world does not easily speak of new life. 

            But that’s where the Easter message is needed the most.  In those cold, dark moments of our lives, when it feels like the winter of our souls will have no end.  When hope seems to fade, and things do not seem capable of any life . . . that is what Easter really speaks to. 

            And it’s a totally new kind of life as well.  Not just a recycling of what we’ve done before.  Not just a renewal of something that had gone dormant.  Jesus’ resurrection speaks to us of something brand new.  Something we don’t have the words or even enough imagination to wrap our minds and hearts around.  As I struggle with issues of life and death within my own family at this time, I lean on the Easter promise to be something beyond the flush of spring green.  I need that cold dark tomb totally blown open with new life. 

            I may not actually be singing “I’m dreaming of a white Easter” . . . but I am finding myself deeply resting in an Easter promise that finds it’s fullest expression in the winter moments of our lives. But at the same time, you probably won’t hear me complain about a little spring three years from now when Easter falls one day shy of it’s latest possible date (it will be April 24, 2011 - you can find all these dates on page 882 of the Prayer Book).

                                    Alleluia, Christ is Risen!

Summer 2008

Dear Friends,                                                                          

            We’re heading into a very different summer.  I won’t be with you!  No, I haven’t taken a new job.  Not being with you is part of my job.  It’s called a sabbatical.  And it’s not only offered to clergy of this diocese, it’s also expected that when we have earned a sabbatical, we will take it.

            Sabbatical is about renewing soul and mind.  Some clergy use a sabbatical to go off to places like Oxford to study.  They immerse themselves in books and lectures and the wonderful world of the mind.  They come back with deeper knowledge of the bible or of theology or of church history.  It’s not a bad way to spend sabbatical time.

            But I am feeling called to study in a different way.  I’m going off to immerse myself in the world outside of our church walls.  To the world outside of the ‘institution’ of church. I’m going to walk town-to-town in New Hampshire and sit in pubs and coffee shops and parks, and instigate conversation. I’m going off to listen to those who AREN’T in church, with a heart that I hope is open to their search for God and for the ‘spiritual’, even as they fail to connect with a church community (or, as the church community fails to connect with them).  Someone has commented that it sounds like I’ll be the “GrannyD” of church reform. After a month of walking and listening around New Hampshire, I’m going to spend some time with some folks who are doing ’church’ in new or different ways.  And finally, for the last month, I’m going to spend some time alone, walking in the woods and thinking about what I’ve heard, doing some reading to learn more about what I think I’ve heard, and trying to listen to God for some new ways to respond to the world.

            I’ve heard it said that the attitude of the church in the 21st century needs to change from “you come to us” to “we’ll come to you.”  I don’t know quite what that will mean here in North Conway, but I’m going to try to listen to what God might have in mind.  I love the church that God has called me to be a part of—both the Episcopal Church, in general, as well as Christ Church.  I want to treasure who we are and the traditions and history and amazing things we are and have been.  But I also think God has new hopes and new dreams for us as well.  I’ll be listening.  I hope you’ll keep your ears and eyes and hearts open this summer as well for what God might be saying to you.

                                                  

November 2008

Dear Friends,

            Driving by our church in the ‘evening’ these days means driving by in the dark, with the front light illuminating the church for all to see. 

            As we struggle with our parish budget and the challenges facing us all, I at first wondered if that use of electricity was a wise thing.  Would the money (and energy) be better spent in another way?  But then I found myself awash in a flood of connections with all the seasons so quickly coming at us. 

            Advent - (beginning November 30) - a church season focused on the longing for God’s appearance.  On preparing a place in our hearts and in our world for God’s presence.  On being pregnant with hope.

            Christmas - the Incarnation.  “And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”  A celebration of God’s physical real fleshly presence - here with us. 

            Epiphany - the season of the Wise Men.  Of searching.  Of a shining star leading the way in darkness to new hope, new promise.  Leading to an understanding of where God is present among us. 

            And I thought of the candle we light at Easter, reminding us of Christ as the light of the world and the light of our lives.  And the smaller candle we light and give to each one as they are baptized, to remind them that they share in that Christ light, and are called to be that Christ light in the world. 

            I looked once again at the flood of light, shining on our beloved white church building.  And it felt sacramental to me.  Like our parish community Christ candle, given to all of us as a sign of what we, as a church community, are to be in this world.  A light in the darkness of whatever fears and foes beset our world.  A real physical visible presence  - the incarnation of God’s love - here in the midst of a world that hungers to know that love in their lives.   A beacon in the darkness that might lead others to know that God is present among us.  And a place that prepares us, both individually and as a faith community, to welcome and nurture God’s very presence in and among us. 

            So I find myself thinking - leave the flood light on. Let us be seen. And leave the light in our own hearts shining bright.  May this parish grow stronger and more ‘light giving’ in this community.  May we, with Thanksgiving, realize that as treasures in this world prove unreliable, people more and more need to know the treasure of God’s love that never fades away. 

January 2009

Dear Friends,

            “I give thanks to God always for you”   So many of the letters to the various early churches, letters that have become part of our Bible, start out this way.  This, my letter to my church, is brief, and has moved to the back page.  It’s because I wanted the front “eye catching” page to be dedicated this month to a ministry that is at the heart of who we are as Christ Episcopal Church.  A ministry for which I give thanks to God for - always! 

            We are stepping into some very difficult times - as a nation, as a world, and also as a parish.  Our own economics here will face us with some hard choices.  We could get ourselves lost in our fears or in our insecurities.  But we could also use this time as a challenge to refocus on what we’re really about.  We’re not about bills and buildings.  We’re about being a community of faith. 

            There are two parts to that phrase.  We are a community!  God calls us to be in this together.  To journey together.  To care for each other.  To share our joys and our sorrows. 

            And we are about Faith.  Faith in a God who loves us.  In a God who journeys with us in our joys and in our sorrows.  Faith in a God who forgives our failings, and calls us to be new.  Who gifts us with new vision that leads us beyond ourselves and into a world that also yearns for God’s love, God’s presence, God’s forgiveness, God’s new life. 

            And I believe that our Thrift Shop ministry, at its best, can lead us in new ways into all those things.  Into being a community.  A community of faith in God.  A community that is led beyond itself to bring God’s love and care to the world around it.

            We really can’t be a “church” community without gathering to worship.  But neither can we be a “church” community without gathering to serve. 

            I give thanks to God always for the gatherings of this church community.  To worship.  And to serve.

                                    

February 2009

Dear Friends,

            I’m learning to play the harp.  I have a beautiful 24 string cherry wood Celtic lap harp.  A joy to hold and a delight to learn to play.  I have always wanted to learn, and now have the opportunity to follow this particular passion. 

            I’ve had the harp for a year now.  But already I find that a week goes by . . . two weeks go by . . . and I realize that I haven’t taken the time to pick it up.  I haven’t practiced the lessons I need to do to learn new things.  And I haven’t even gone over the songs that I can already play, and that I take such delight in.  I haven’t had time for something I love so much.

            I know that I’m not alone.  God certainly knows that I’m not alone!  Why are we all so like that???  We find ourselves moving so fast and being so busy with so many things, that we too often leave on the edges of our lives the things that we love.

            We are coming up on the season of Lent.  A gift of a season to remember what it is that we too often leave behind.  And especially a gift of a season to be called back to the One who loves us.  A time, not to punish ourselves by forcing ourselves to give up something we love, but a time to move back into our relationship with the God we love by removing some of the things that keep us too busy or too distracted.

            I encourage you to use this Lent to remove the distractions from your life.  Slow down.  Pick up “your harp”, whatever that might be.  Spend time with yourself: remembering just how deeply God loves you.  Find ways to spend time with those you love: remembering how deeply God loves them too, and the blessing God intends as he brings us together in families and with friends.  And especially, this Lent, find ways to spend time with the God who loves you so very deeply.

            This Lent - don’t move so fast past all that love.  Let go of the things that aren’t as important as all that love.  Know that God loves you.  And spend some time practicing being in that presence. 

                                                        

March 2009

Dear Friends,

            The garden Rick has planted in front of the house is still under a lot of snow.  We placed a three foot tall St. Francis statue in it a couple of years ago, and I thrilled to watch St. Francis’ tonsured head begin to come out of the snow on a recent warm weekend.  I took pictures and shared it online with some friends. 

            The next day, it snowed.  St. Francis began to sink back down, with a funny pile of snow sitting on top of his head, too.  I took another picture and shared that.  You know how our March goes around here.  After the snow, the next day provided some more warmth and Francis’ shoulders appeared.  My friends (especially the ones from down south) were hooked on following his progress each day!  The day after, of course, more snow and even his nose disappeared. 

            I figure I’m pretty well committed now to sharing St. Francis finding spring in my yard.  But he’s also gotten me to thinking about my Lent and the coming of Easter.

            My Lent has been going a lot like St. Francis.  I seem to “make progress” with my Lenten disciplines.  Something melts in my heart.  Some window into God’s love for me seems a little clearer.  And then . . . .well, then something like normal life seems to dump stuff back on top of it all.  I once again get too busy and too distracted to pay attention in the way I’ve asked of myself this Lent.  

            But I know that St. Francis is not too long from being once again surrounded by the wonderful green of the hostas in our garden.  And I know that just as surely, God is going to continue to melt away my own resistance to being at peace in God’s love.  Easter is about that promise.  That melting.  That assurance that, no matter what, God’s promise of life WILL prevail.

            

June 2009

“Love one another, as I have loved you.”                   - Jesus

Dear Friends,

            I think that for each of us, there is something really basic that defines our faith.  Something that is at the heart of why we follow Jesus.  What speaks to me above all else is God’s call to follow Jesus in caring for each other.  God’s forgiveness of me or the peace I feel when I can settle into the belief that God cares about me personally - - these things are definitely important to me.  But it is when God, through Christ, calls me to care about others that I know I’m getting somewhere other than my own self-centered needs.  I don’t naturally start there, so when I find myself being called there - that’s when I know that I’m somehow stepping closer to “thy kingdom come on earth”.   That’s when I know that God is at work in my own heart.  “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

            Usually I tend to think in terms of the “feed the hungry, clothe the naked” type of categories when I think of caring for others.  And those are not to be taken lightly, for they often call us to look out beyond ourselves as a community to the world around us.   But I’d like to point out two opportunities that present themselves to us as a community that are more basic in our attempts to care for each other who are part of this parish community.

            First: The Swine Flu Pandemic.  At this point it looks like the Swine Flu (H1N1) will be no more (nor less) dangerous than the flu varieties we face each year.  But it did bring to the foreground our responsibilities as a community to care for each other.  Although a case of the flu may not pose a serious threat to many people, others face more serious consequences of picking up any such illness.  Many things can make someone more susceptible to problems with the flu - from chronic respiratory conditions to treatments for other conditions that can suppress a person’s immune system.  So, rather than saying, “It wouldn’t harm me” and not worrying about it, we are called to make sure that what we do won’t harm those around us.  Precautions we have taken to help take care of each other here during worship include:

            - encouraging those who wish to simply greet others at the passing of the peace with a word and a nod, rather than a handshake

            - hand sanitizer station at the front of the aisle for people to use on their way to communion

            - reminding people that their hands are the most likely way of passing germs, and to keep fingers and hands out of the wine and off of the chalice rim if they intinct (dip their wafer into the wine). 

These things are not simply for “pandemic” times, but are tangible ways of caring for each other at all times!  Love one another.

Second: Safe Church Training.  Our diocese provides a one day course known as “Safe Church Training”.  It is required of all clergy, staff, wardens, Eucharistic Visitors, and Sunday School teachers.  The purpose of Safe Church Training is to educate people in ways to prevent and/or recognize situations that place our parishioners, and especially our children, in possible harm’s way.  The specific focus is on preventing sexual misconduct, but the training opens peoples’ eyes to many ways that our buildings and programs could be made safer places.  It doesn’t assume that any person taking it is at risk of offending, but does assume that everyone taking it can be a part of a system that keeps our children and our community a little safer.  Such training has never been held closer than an hour’s drive from us before, but this summer it is coming here!  I urge every one of you to consider committing Saturday, July 18, 8:30 am - 3:30 pm, to this training.  I realize that it is a big commitment, especially when you are not “required” to be there.  But if we are to be a community that welcomes ALL, that means that we also need to be a community that is safe for all.  If a registered offender wished to worship with us, could we be a place that was safe for all of us?  If many of us have taken this training, we would be better equipped to provide an environment that was safe for us as well as safe from temptation for the offender.  It could, and most likely would, still be scary, but with God’s help we could do it.  And, with God’s help, we can be a place that takes care of all within our doors, whether we are aware of the presence of a previous offender or not.  I do not want us to be the place where someone first gets caught!  I think it takes all of us to provide that - not just our clergy, wardens and Sunday School teachers.  “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

                                                                                               

July 2009

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

                                                                                    Romans 12:15

If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.                               1 Corinthians 12:26

Dear Friends,

            I have to admit - I really do enjoy Facebook.  Touted as a ‘Social Networking’ tool, I have found it to be a wonderful gift of connectedness.  I’ve found old high school friends.  Young adults who were in my youth group in Virginia a decade ago.  My mother is on Facebook!  My sisters and their kids and spouses.  Long lost cousins and their children.  People I know because of hiking.  People I know through a variety of church connections.  There are even a few of you who get this newsletter that I’m connected with on Facebook.

            When I choose to be someone’s ‘friend’ on Facebook I get to see what’s going on in their lives (at least what they choose to share with their Facebook friends).  And they get to hear about what’s on my mind.  It feels like the modern way of stopping by the General Store and catching up with friends and news - some of it big news, some simply the minor details of everyday life.  Dave passed the bar exam.  Sam is tired of the rain.  Jessica moved out of New York.  Mark drew a new cartoon and shared it.  Debbie picked the first ripe tomato of the season.  It all matters.  But we live too far apart, and are too busy, too unconnected normally to ever know all these things.  Facebook feeds the hunger for connectedness.

            And there does seem to be such a hunger for that in our world today.  We are so mobile.  So few of us anymore stay in one place or have our kids settle in the same town.   The world of the connected village life - the world of the General Store - is no longer our world. 

            And instead there is a hunger to be noticed.  To be connected.  To know that somebody knows and cares about your everyday life.  I think that’s the true root of the popularity of Facebook, and other online connection tools (like Twitter). 

            Maybe that’s the part of God’s Good News we need to be sharing these days.  God notices.  God cares.  God follows (and enjoys) all the little details of your life.  And we, too, are called to notice, to care, to follow each other’s lives.  We are called to be connected in such a way that we do rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.  And we get to do that in person.  That’s something that Facebook can never provide.  It’s a hunger in this world that God, through our local church community, can answer.                           

                                                           

August 2009

Dear Friends,

            As most of you well know by now, one of my absolute favorite pastimes is to get out in the woods for a walk.  It can be an afternoon stroll or a multi-day trek, but it is one of the important things that I do to refresh my whole outlook on life.

            When I know that I’ve got an opportunity for a hike, I pull out the maps.  Often my fingers will retrace favorite (or not so favorite) routes I’ve been on in the past.  I’ll remember some challenging climbs as I see those contour lines squish together real close.  My eyes will pause over trails that I haven’t yet tackled.  “Am I ready for that one yet?” I look at the “x” that marks a particular peak I haven’t yet reached, almost taunted again by how close it looks on the map to a route I hiked last month.  If only . . . But I know I made the right decision to not add it to that other hike. Too much to tackle at once.  I have learned some of my own limits.  I breathe deep, a sense of calm descending as I become aware of some of my own hard-gained wisdom and how it serves me well.  I look back to the map, praying that I will continue to gain more wisdom.

            Then I turn to my trail guide books (some getting quite worn from frequent handling).  I read descriptions of trails and how to get to them.  Usually there is some kind of estimate on how long it takes to hike different sections, and I’ve come to know how my hiking speed compares with the authors’ hiking speeds.  I get on the internet and compare notes with a wide range of hiking friends.  They usually have good advise, as they pull from their own varied experiences and wisdom. Sometimes I gain a hiking partner for a particular trip. I check the weather reports.  My hiking gear is looked over to make sure the headlamp and first aid kit are still in there.  Listening to my own heart and mind, as well as my resources and community, I choose a path and head out on my adventure.

            There is a church word for what I do in preparing for a hike.  It’s called “discernment”.  You can often hear it used in a sentence like this:  “I was in discernment and feel that I am called to ministry.” 

            The problem with that sentence is that there are two words in there that have been ‘highjacked’.  “Ministry” is often used as if the only kind of ministry is the ordained ministry.  And “discernment” is used as if the only thing one can discern is that one is supposed to be a priest.  But the fact is that ministry is anything we do that helps fulfill God’s desires for this world.  And we are all called to exercise discernment as we seek to discover how to live our own particular life as we follow God. As Christians, we are all called to ministry!  Our job is to discern what that looks like in our own particular lives.

            So we think about what gives us joy.  Where we’ve already been.  What we’ve learned along the way.  What skills and wisdom do we carry with us already?  We look back over our journeys so far, and reflect on what they’ve taught us about ourselves and our place in this world.

            And we think about the world we live in.  What does God desire for the world around you?  A meal for a hungry child? A friend for a lonely soul?  The end of our abuse of our environment?  God’s desires for this world range far and wide.  God has deep desires for wholeness and joy for each situation and person you meet.  How might you help bring such joy into being?  That’s ministry!

            Then discernment calls us to turn outside of ourselves and listen to others.  We turn to our community of faith—where others are also paying attention to their journey of ministry and can share stories of different paths, and different wisdom gained.  Where sometimes we end up with companions for particular parts of our journeys. We turn to the scriptures—our written record of God’s desires for this world and the responses of the people of God.  And we turn to prayer (which involves listening, not just telling God what you think!).

            Some may discern that God is leading them to a particular shape of ministry as an ordained person. But most of God’s desires for this world can only be met outside the walls and structures of our churches.  So most of God’s leading into ministry will take us out into the world in which we live.

            Are you ready for a new adventure?  God always is.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

                                                                                                             - Frederick Buechner 

December 2009

Dear Friends,

            I remember a time in my life when my heart was solidly set on getting one particular thing for Christmas.  I was a young teenager, and I wanted a saddle.  Not just any saddle - I wanted an English saddle. 

            I lived on a camp property where my dad was the camp director.  The camp had horses there all year, so I didn’t need to ask for a horse.  But all the camp had were western saddles, and my best girlfriend rode English.  I wanted to ride like she did.  I was not going to be satisfied with anything else for Christmas.  That was the only thing I wanted.

            Although they weren’t sure it was a good idea, my parents managed to get me a saddle that year.  I thought I would never be so happy again!

            That joy lasted such a short time. I had been so sure that the saddle of my dreams would make my life complete.  But trying to be like my girlfriend led me into the formality and competition of her style of riding (she competed at horse shows) and that wasn’t at all why I loved to ride.  So I quietly slipped back into a western saddle, went back to enjoying the freedom of riding through the woods and meadows, and sheepishly ignored my much begged-for Christmas present.

            I still hold in my heart the joy that I had in knowing that my parents loved me so much to actually hear the depth of my desire.  But I also have learned to not be so set on what would be “perfect” for me.  I pray differently because of that saddle.  I believe that a loving God wants to hear my deepest desires, but that a loving God can also see bigger pictures than I can.  Because of that saddle, I can more easily pray “thy will be done.”

            Humanity yearned for God to send a mighty savior, who in one fell swoop is capable of banishing all evil and setting all things to rights. And instead we get a baby, born to a simple peasant girl, in a backwater town.  Who of us would have asked for that?  But the angels sing ‘Gloria’ and our hearts are warmed by the wonder of ‘thy will be done’. 

            We want God to fix everything, and instead we get Jesus who gives us the mission of fixing things, one heart, one hurt, one problem at a time. And the angels sing ‘Alleluia, he is risen’ and our hearts again are amazed with the wonder of ‘thy will be done’.

            And when we can’t fix everything, we still yearn for God to return to earth again and set it all right.  So many still yearn for the coming of irresistible divine power, taking on the evil things of this world.  What might God be doing instead?  Can we see it and welcome it this Advent?  Can I pray, in the midst of my own desires, ‘not my will, but thy will be done’?   May Gloria and Alleluia be our song as God’s will is revealed, in all its unimagined gentle wonder.

                                                                 

Lent 2010

First Things

One of the scribes . . . asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, "The first is, 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.'                 Mark 12:28-30

Dear Friends,

            Heading into Lent this year, I find myself wanting something more than “one” thing to “do” for Lent.  I find myself wanting something broader or deeper.   And it occurred to me that maybe I should just start with the first thing that Jesus pointed to - Love God. 

            I am glad that Jesus broke it down into heart, soul, mind and strength.  It gives me a little more specificity in how to approach such a huge thing as “love God”.   I can think about how I love another person through those categories, which helps me get my head around how I might focus my energies in Lent to love God in those ways.  I’ve also used them to help me shape some Lenten offerings for this parish (see page 2).

            When I love another person with all my heart, I know that means I get great joy in being with that person.  Loving with my heart always seems to involve creativity along with that joy. Maybe for me, loving God with my heart this Lent might mean writing poetry or music. 

            When I love another with all my soul, it brings me to a sense of awe at the wonder of their very being.  I look forward to spending a little more time in prayer personally this Lent, but especially having another opportunity on Wednesday evenings to share Eucharist with you.

            When I love another person with all my mind, I believe it means that I spend time learning about them and thinking about them.  I have a particular book I will be reading during Lent, one I’ve “been meaning to read” for a long time. 

            And loving God with my whole strength - I’m still working on what that might mean for me during Lent.  I know very clearly what that means when it refers to another person - I do specific things to care for them!  Maybe loving God with my strength means doing something specific to care for those God cares for? 

            And to help me from slipping into simply “doing” four different things for Lent, I know I’ll need to read Jesus’ words daily - Love God.  Then all my doing becomes something new, for it is about being in love.

           

                                                        

Easter 2010

Dear Friends,

I am so glad to celebrate Easter in the northern hemisphere, where our celebration of new creation and new life in our resurrected Lord seems to find so many echoes in the new spring life bursting out all around us.  I think it would be hard to feel the same way about Easter if the world around me was getting ready for winter.  I think that where we put our attention does affect us.     

            The late Bishop Jim Kelsey (1952-2007) spoke these words not long before he died:            “This is something I have found to be true without exception: that when we, any of us, focus on things in our lives that are passing away, we get scared, we get anxious, we get depressed, we lose hope. And when we focus on things that are being birthed and are coming newly into creation, we get excited, we get imaginative, we get optimistic, we feel drawn closer to one another, we feel as if we have meaning and purpose in this life, and we have joy. We are given change as an ingredient in life.  We can be frightened and anxious and resistant to it, or we can embrace it as a tool to transform us.”         

            Bishop Kelsey spoke these words about institutional change, and its impact on congregations and the larger church.  They echo much of what I have come to experience and believe as I have journeyed from my sabbatical learnings of two summers ago.  The world has changed drastically, and many still mourn the passing of a time when Sundays were free of competing schedules, and neighbors wondered about neighbors who didn’t go to church, and people trusted the church.  That has passed. But what is being born now?

            I’m not sure that we can even begin to imagine what new life for the church might look like.  But we are Easter people.  We are people who place the foundations of our faith in a God that raises from the dead.  It can be unsettling and downright scary at times when we focus on how the church is changing, or what is being “lost” from the way “we’ve always done it.”  But God’s deep abiding love for a world which claims “I’m spiritual but not religious” means that we will be changed. God’s never-failing love means that wondrous new life will emerge, and that the joys of being a community of faith, journeying together on The Way* will continue to spring forth with new life.  I am hopeful, and excited, and believe that we can be imaginative together as we are welcomed into God’s work of new creation in this century.

* “The Way” was the designation used for the earliest Christians in the book of Acts.  When we follow Jesus, we find ourselves on the way that Jesus walked.  It is a way of new life!

June 2010

Dear Friends,

            Trinity Sunday, celebrated just recently on May 30, got me thinking deeply about the nature of our own reality as we see it through our understanding of the nature of God.  We struggle with the words to talk about our understanding of God as Trinity.  Three in One.  Trinity of persons and Unity of Being.  But I have come to believe that our struggle is actually to find a way to describe a God whose very essence is relationship.  Father-Son-Holy Spirit.  Creator-Redeemer-Sustainer.  Not a relationship of hierarchy or power.  The Father is not more important than the Son or the Holy Spirit.  Rather than a hierarchy, this is more like a circle dance.  Father-Son-Holy Spirit is a way of talking about that dance in relationship to itself.  Creator-Redeemer-Sustainer is a way of talking about that dance in relationship with us - the created, the redeemed, the sustained.  God in relationship is a dance of life and love and joy and hope.

            And if relationship is a fundamental aspect of the reality of God, what does that say about us, if we are created in the image of God?  To me it says that we, too, must dance in the relationships of our life.  We are called to live our lives of faith, not as isolated individuals, but as a community, called to dance life and love and joy and hope into being for ourselves and for the world around us.  It means living in harmony, not hierarchy.  I think that is what is meant by the image of the lion laying down with the lamb.  That is God’s dream for us, and God’s call to us. 

            And I think it means we must honor the relationships we have with the rest of the created world.  We are currently watching in daily horror at the unfolding environmental catastrophe taking place in the Gulf of Mexico.  I believe it is a sure sign of living in a power relationship with creation, a relationship in which we act like the lion devouring the lamb. 

            It is well past time that we restructure the ways of our lives in order to not continue to despoil this beautiful world.  We are so gifted to be able to live in such an amazing part of it, but our responsibility is to the whole.  We consume more than we need.  We demand unlimited energy. 

            This summer our parish is going to take some important steps toward being a better dance partner with our world.  We have received a loan from the diocese to get us moving forward to finish insulating the church, putting on a new roof, and then painting it all.  But I hope and pray that the insulation, which should drastically cut our demand on oil supplies, is only our first step in “going green.”  I hope that our dreams for being in relationship with God’s incredible earth can take us into areas of renewable and sustainable energy.  As a community, we need to dance God’s dance with creation, in witness to God’s love for the whole world.

                                                

July 2010

Dear Friends,

            I’m now a golfer.  Well, at least I have now played five holes of golf.  I’m not positive that actually qualifies me to claim “I’m a golfer,”  but it’s a start.  I’ve even begun buying some equipment.  I’ve found a used set of irons, and a used bag.  Still looking for drivers, though. 

            I realize that the golfers reading this will already be sputtering just a bit.  Me claiming at this point to being a golfer reminds me of how I sometimes feel when people I meet claim to be a Christian.  Having a bag and a few clubs, and teeing off a few times, doesn’t particularly make me a “golfer” yet. Owning a Bible and showing up at church once or twice in your life doesn’t particularly make you a follower of Christ.  But it’s a start!

            I was given a few really good tips this past week as I took up golf, that might also apply to those who have made a start in following Christ:

Always have a loose grip.  Keep your head down.  Follow through.

            Always have a loose grip:  It seems that my tendency to try to strangle the grip on the club is at cross purposes with my hoped for result of a straight drive.  As Jesus sent out the seventy into the world ahead of him (our lesson from last Sunday from Luke 10:1-11, 16-20), he told them to not try to be self-sufficient and to not worry about results.  To depend on God and not try to put all your effort into forcing things to happen the way you want them to.  Keep your grip on things loose.

            Keep your head down:  When my head moves around when I’m trying to swing the golf club, nothing else seems to connect the way I want it to.  In our Sunday reading two weeks ago (Luke 9:51-62) we heard Jesus say that “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”  As we follow Christ, it matters where our head (and thus our heart) is looking. 

            Follow through:  Just because I’ve managed to actually get the club to connect with the ball doesn’t mean the shot is over.  Follow through is just as important for a successful shot as is the grip and your head.  This coming Sunday we’ll hear the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37).  It’s really a story about follow through in the life of following Christ - moving from knowing that “love your neighbor” is the way of Christ, to actually living it.

            One last piece of advise I received this week, and one that I’d never heard from any golfer before:  don’t keep score.  It will help you enjoy the process of becoming a golfer (or a follower of Christ) so much more.  And God doesn’t keep score either.  Or, to paraphrase last Sunday’s reading a bit:  Don’t rejoice in your success, or weep at your failure.  Rejoice that you get to be a part of the game.

                                    

October 2010

Dear Friends,

A little reminder from our Catechism:

Q.  What are the sacraments?     A.  The sacraments are outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.

            We are a sacramental people.  Because we partake in the “great” sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist, we also learn to recognize the presence of the grace of God in tangible aspects of our daily life.    All of life can take on a sacramental nature, and become tangible signs of God’s grace and presence.

            I’ve been struggling a bit with the amount of money our parish is needing to spend to put on a new insulated roof, to insulate the walls, to paint.  Why do we spend money on a big building when there are so many needs in this community and in this world?  I believe what we spend our money on is always a good question to struggle with – but this summer it has also led me to a new vision about our building. 

            When you drive into town, there we sit.  Visible.  An outward and visible sign of God’s presence in our community.  It is NOT the only place where God is present, at least not in the sense that God is present there to the exclusion of other places.  Rather it is an outward and visible sign of the presence of God that permeates our community and our world.  It is a sign for all to see.

            I’m beginning to be convinced that, instead of church buildings becoming obsolete in a century in which fewer people actually attend church, our building is becoming more important – as a sacramental reminder of God’s presence, and God’s accessibility, to a community full of spiritually hungry people. 

            But it does require something of us – we need to change our own perspective on our building.  The history of church buildings tends to be steeped in the belief that our buildings are there for our benefit.  We have tended to think of our buildings as, well . . . “ours”.  They are there for us - to worship, to baptize our children, to be married, and to be buried from. 

            But instead, I truly believe that we need to begin to believe that Christ Church belongs to the Mt Washington Valley.  It stands as a sacramental sign as you enter into the town, saying, “God is here.  For you.  For all.  Don’t forget - God is present.”

            I am touched each time someone turns to the church, because they don’t know where else to turn.  But they see the building, and they can see that we are here.  They can begin to believe that God is here.   And if God is here for them, maybe they can believe that God is other places for them as well.                                                              

November 2010

from last month’s newsletter cover:

A little reminder from our Catechism:

Q.  What are the sacraments?     A.  The sacraments are outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.

            We are a sacramental people.  Because we partake in the “great” sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist, we also learn to recognize the presence of the grace of God in tangible aspects of our daily life.    All of life can take on a sacramental nature, and be so much the richer for being tangible signs of God’s grace and presence.

*************************

Dear Friends,

            Last month I wrote about the sacramental nature of our church building.  But this month I want to talk about YOU.  If our building can have a sacramental character, how much more can you—the people of God.  After all, Jesus didn’t go around collecting buildings.  But he did go around collecting people to follow him. 

            Actually, there is nothing more precious to God than you are.  God has no more precious relationship, and no more precious resource, than you.  It’s an amazing thing to really believe that deep in your soul.  You are the beloved child of God.   No matter what challenge or trouble assails you, you are held in that love.  No matter how badly you fail God or how long you wander in different directions, that love will wait patiently for you and will wrap you up in perfect forgiveness.  You are the joy in the heart of the Creator.  And living in the light of that love can transform your daily life.  You will carry with you the Peace of God which will be a sacramental sign to those who you meet throughout the week - the spiritually hungry who won’t come into our building to find God.  You’ll take the presence and love of God to them - because they, too, are precious to God.

            And every other person who gathers in those pews with you each Sunday are also precious to God.  Yes, the one who tends to be impatient with others, and the one who snapped at you at the last church gathering, and the one who doesn’t come very often, and even that preacher up front who sometimes forgets some very important things in your life.  Each one, so very precious to God.  Living into that belief can transform a community.  Together, we can be a sacramental people that point beyond our normal human nature to the reality of God’s love, living and holding and forgiving and creating us anew.  We can point to a God who truly cares about every single one. 

                                                           

February 2011

Dear Friends,

We are blessed this year with a LONG Epiphany.   The Epiphany season follows the 12 days of the Christmas season, and lasts until we get to Ash Wednesday and Lent.  It always starts on January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany, but its length is dependent upon the date of Easter. Being the Sunday after the full moon that occurs on or after the spring equinox, Easter can fall anywhere from March 22 to April 25.  This year, Easter is April 24 - almost as late as it can possibly get.  Which means that Ash Wednesday is also late this year (40 days before Easter), falling on March 9. We get a whole month more of the Epiphany season this year than we did three years ago, when Ash Wednesday was on February 6.

            However, unlike the general consternation that occurs when the winter season lasts a month longer than we expect, having a lengthy Epiphany is a true gift.  Instead of moving out of the season of Epiphany this month, we get to linger with its focus on the light of God’s love and God’s revelation as it shines into our world and into our hearts.  We get to linger in ways that hopefully help us to savor the wonder of the appearance of God’s grace in our lives. 

            We talk about having an “epiphany” - an “aha!” moment.  That point when recognition of something breaks through to our hearts and our minds.  The stories from the scriptures that we associate with Epiphany are like that.  They are stories of the recognition of God’s presence, God’s love, God’s grace, breaking in through Jesus.

            In the first Epiphany story, the magi are led by a star -  a beacon speaking to them of a new birth of great importance.  They follow the light, and find this new king born, not in a palace, but to a humble family in Bethlehem.  Aha!  God is doing a new thing.

            The second Epiphany story is the baptism of Jesus.  The heavens open.  The spirit descends like a dove.  A voice is heard, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.” -  baptism, not as cleansing from sin but as identification as God’s child.  Aha!

            The third Epiphany story takes place at a party.  It is a wedding banquet.  A time of rejoicing and promise for the future.  They run out of wine, and Jesus turns gallons and gallons of water into the best wine imaginable.  “Aha!’ think those who witness what has happened. 

            I pray that we will each have time to linger with our own stories this Epiphany season.  That we will each have the opportunities to once again focus on the light that leads us, the baptism that claims us, and the joyful celebration that God enters into with us.  May you find God’s presence made apparent, and be blessed with much “Aha!”

                                                      

March 2011

Dear Friends,

            Instead of starting in the midst of deep winter, this year Lent begins as we look out on a world that is beginning to show the first signs that it just might thaw.  Some storms now could bring rain instead of snow.  Daytime temperatures sometimes push well above the freezing point.  I begin to believe that the many feet of snow burying the ground in front of my house might actually have a chance to melt away.  We feel the world trying to push toward a new bursting forth of spring life. 

            Lent should be that way in our hearts and our lives as well.  Every year we hear The Book of Common Prayer’s service for Ash Wednesday put the call to Lent this way:  “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.”   

            An invitation.  I like that language for this.  “You’re Invited!”  An invitation is not a demand or a requirement.  An invitation is an open door and a welcome.  It’s a possibility to which you are given the opportunity to say “Yes!”.

            Will you say “Yes!” this year?  The church offers us an invitation to a “holy Lent.”  That word “holy” helps me better understand what I’m invited to.  I believe that things are made holy by the presence of God.  Although that list of activities (prayer, fasting, self-denial, reading and meditating on God’s Word) might sound a little hard or bleak, I’m reminded by the invitation to “holy Lent” that what they’re really about is making room for God in my life.  Those activities are at heart an invitation to being with God.  And being with God can melt the frozen places in my heart and my life.  I need such a season of holy Lent to prepare myself for the fullness of life that God’s presence can bring. 

            Jesus said, “I have come that they might have life, and might have it abundantly.”  May you accept that invitation this Lent, making room for God’s presence and abundant life to blossom in your heart.