The Wilderness...

Last week, as part of the Martha Stearns Marshall month of preaching, I was asked to preach at Crozet Baptist Church in honor of my dear friend Colleen.  It was her final Sunday as Co-Pastor as she moves on to a small church in Charlottesville.  Unfortunately, it snowed about 6 inches on Saturday. I was already on Colleen's farm..but church ended up being cancelled.  

The following is my manuscript from this sermon.  

The Wilderness

Mark 1:9-15

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved;with you I am well pleased.”  And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.  Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” 

Where do you go to find yourself? When you’ve feel you’ve lost everything about who you are as a person, as a student, as a husband or wife, mother or father… where do you go to get YOU back? Where do you find peace? Is it sitting at the kitchen table sharing a meal with your family? Is it fishing on the lake on an early morning when you’re the first to touch the water? Is it hiking in these beautiful mountains that surround us? We see Jesus in the wilderness a lot.  I think that’s where he went to find himself.  It’s where he was tempted by reality, but it’s where he went to re-discover his mission and to listen to what God was calling him to do. 

There aren’t a lot of places where I find peace.  Being a total type-A, and admittedly, a high-maintenance person (well, I call it passion..other people call it high-maintenance), I get too caught up and too stressed about the tiniest things.  So typically wherever I go, I’m thinking about what I‘m leaving behind..or what I’ll be returning to.  I take the baggage of life with me.  I’ve never been too good about being present in the present.  But there’s one place.  It happens to me the moment I see any sign for the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Growing up in the upstate area of SC, we were only about an hour from the NC border.  We would spend weekends in Asheville (my parents are still there almost every weekend).  We would meet the grandparents for a picnic near Pisgah, and then find new roads on the parkway, new mountains to climb, and new trails to hike. 

A few years ago, I had accepted my first full-time position out of college.  I was the program coordinator at a group home for teenage mothers and their kids who are in foster care.  We were under-staffed so there were days that I would leave my house in the dark, return in the dark..only to go to sleep and do it all over again the next day.  The group home was on the back lot of a camp.  The camp was on a beautiful lake, about an hour from Charleston.  It wasn’t two months before I decided I needed to be near the mountains.  I needed to breathe in the fresh air, remember who I was, and remember whose I was.  I was hating this adult-life that reality had thrown in my face.  So I left.  I went home for the weekend.  I walked in the door, put my stuff down, hugged my parents, and we jumped back in the car.  We drove to Asheville.  I saw the mountain range, and I immediately felt at home.  I took a big sigh of relief.  The wilderness was calling.  It’s away from the city that I find myself.  It’s where this ADHD girl can have silence- and listen to what God is calling me to do.  After Jesus is baptized and about to begin this beautiful ministry, he takes forty days to reflect.  He listens to what God’s calling him to do- in the middle of the reality that’s being thrown in his face.

Something that I find interesting in this passage is that   “the spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.” Jesus didn’t voluntarily spend 40 days alone.  He didn’t ask for it.  He was forced.  He was driven into the unknown, into the darkness.  This is where we see the humanity of Jesus.  We see temptation and how Jesus may have felt lost or confused.  This is where we see the opposing view of the wilderness.  You’re feeling lost and abandoned.  You don’t know who’s around to help or guide you- you don’t know how to read a compass or the moss on a tree trunk to try and get out.   You look at the sun to try and determine what time it is.  You don’t know where you are, or how to get out. All you know is that you ended up here alone.

Maybe that’s how you feel right now- lost and confused.  Maybe you’ve been forced in the darkness.  You didn’t ask to go to the wilderness. You were okay with the way things were going.  Life was comfortable.  And then all of a sudden, you’re driven into the wilderness.  You’re forced to face things you didn’t really want to face yet.

            I think what we need to learn is that the wilderness, the darkness, is okay. It’s necessary.  It allows you to appreciate the light when it comes. My church in Richmond is reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark during this Lenten season.  As I was reading through it- it’s clear how comfortable BBT feels in the dark.  On her farm in Georgia, Taylor invites a friend’s daughter to come spend time with her.  Taylor needs to move her chickens (and its easiest to do this at night when the chickens are sleepy), so she invites Anna along.  It’s pitch black and they’re walking down to the chicken coop- Anna’s complaining the whole walk. It’s dark.  It’s   Taylor keeps telling her “be patient.  Your eyes will get used to it.” Taylor gets to the coop and realizes that Anna is nowhere to be seen…except walking back into the house, back into the light.  Taylor says, “it was not her fault, it was mine, for forgetting that she was a city girl and that walking in the dark takes some practice.  But it was also the fault of everyone who taught her to fear the dark, convincing her that it is dangerous- all of it, all the time, under every circumstance- that what she cannot see will almost certainly hurt her and that the best way to protect herself from such unseen maleficence is to stay inside after dark with the doors locked and sleep with the lights on” (page 35).  We’re taught that the darkness is bad.  It’s time to come inside when the streetlights come on.  It’s dangerous! We get hurt.  What Taylor teaches us is that walking in the dark takes practice.  Walking in the dark is good for the soul! Finding the wilderness and immersing yourself into it is exactly what Jesus (kinda) did. It’s what we need to do.  It’s about courage.  Taylor asks, “How do we develop the courage to walk in the dark if we are never asked to practice”? (37) If we never set out into the wilderness, how do we ever find the light? How do we ever listen to what God’s calling us to do?

            Yesterday morning at breakfast, I was sitting with Max and Colleen and Paul.  Max, the kid who hated getting dirty, didn’t know how to eat his Heuvos Rancheros without getting his hands dirty.   As a kid, he hated getting his feet dirty- he’s grown since then…but, being the mom that Colleen is- she used to pull him through the pudles.  She drove him out of his comfort zone, through the puddles of water.  Not that I’m connecting God to Colleen- but at what point do we get out of our comfort zone? At what point do we allow the spirit to drive us into the wilderness, to have reality thrown in our face? At one point do we allow God to pull us through the puddles..into the light?     

So, now what?  Maybe this becomes a Lenten practice for you.  This is where we get our 40 days of Lent after all. Maybe finding yourself in the wilderness is exactly what you need.  When you find yourself in the wilderness, God will meet you there.  When you are thrown into the wilderness, God will meet you there.  When reality slaps you in the face, causing you to deal with things you didn’t want to deal with quite yet, God will meet you there.  When you find the courage to practice walking in the dark, God will meet you there. May we all learn to walk in the dark. May it be so. Amen.

Lent 2.

Monday- I used to take piano lessons (for about ten years). I kick myself a lot for not keeping up with it like I should.  Playing the piano (especially when it's tuned) brings peace to my soul.  Whether it's a hymn, or the only song I memorized from my lessons (Rondo Alla Turca..be impressed), when my fingers gently press on each key, I feel at home. 

Tuesday- quite the scare.  When you're impatient and close down your computer finished updating its OS, sometimes Word doesn't like to work.  Stress really hit when I desperately needed Word to finish (ahem. start) an exam due Thursday. No worries, guys. I fixed it.  I just had to finish updating Yosemite (all done during the Bachelor, of course) and then update Word. #appleshouldhireme

There are lots of reasons why I love BTSR.  Hilarious professors who banter with you is in my top five.  

Thursday- Snow Day #2! We got another 5 or so inches Wednesday night into Thursday morning.  Classes were cancelled.  The roads were okay so my roommates left me with the house to myself.  I caught up on all my shows, Stella and I took lots of naps, and I watched two new Netflix movies (yes- Chef; no- White Bird in a Blizzard).

Friday- this is a flashback (also, this is the only picture I took on Friday).  Stella was a BABY (and I think still a girl at this point- long story).  He was maybe a year old.  Isn't Timehop just the best?

Saturday- my proudest moment to date. I ran SIX miles on Saturday.  My big race is March 28 (6.25 miles) up an down Monument Ave.  I hope my running partner will stick with me (Thanks, Theresa!).  You can read more about my appropriate runners' high here.  

Sunday- I spent the morning in Mechanicsville preaching for a good friend of mine.  It was a lovely church with green carpet that reminded me of Fernwood.  I took a nap and knew my room needed to be picked up before this week truly began.  I turned on Saturday's episode of Prairie Home Companion, tucked Stella into bed, lit a few candles, and cleaned.  It's beautiful now.  Clean also brings peace. 

On Running/Jogging/Walking/Crawling

CAR UP. CAR BACK. ICE. CLEAR.

     It was about this time last year that I woke up on a Saturday morning to those words.  I had a few choice words on my own I wanted to use.  My house is on the route of the Northside YMCA 10k Training team.  Who in their right mind would wake up so early...on a Saturday...in the middle of winter to go run? Idiots.

     Well, today, I'm proud to say that I am one of those idiots.  There are some days (most days, rather) that I can't wait to move away from Richmond.  It's too big.  I miss the mountains.  Etc.  But today..as I was running up Wilmington Ave. (at the halfway point..coincidentally right by my house, too), talking with Theresa (finally someone who runs at a similar pace!), I fell in love.  I fell in love with Richmond.  I fell in love with this new community I've found.  I fell in love with running.  This new love pushed me through the ice, through the traffic, through one, two, three, four, five miles.  After almost two weeks of not exercising at all, I was incredibly nervous and dreading my run this morning.  As Theresa and I were chatting (me, without a lot of breath), we decided that we would run 6.  My novice group was only running five (remind me to talk about the fact that there were only THREE of us with Al in the Novice group).  I was feeling good (you tend to do that after you fall in love, I think), and we decided to keep going.  I knew if I stopped, I'd probably collapse.  But we ran.  There was no walking.  There was no crawling (until we got inside).  I experienced my first runners' high.  It was incredible. Might I say, even better than the drunk feeling. We'll see if the soreness is better than a hangover.  I'll let you know.

     As part of my Lenten discipline, I'm working on what it means to be comfortable in your own skin- today helped me.  Today helped me learn to love myself a little more... it's a pretty awesome feeling. What do you do to help feel comfortable in your own skin?

Lent.

The Lenten season-

I didn't grow up going to any Ash Wednesday services.  While I knew the meaning of it, it was something that my parents never really wanted to do. Mom says "it just wasn't my thing." 

Up until now, Lent is a season that was never incredibly important to me *lightning strike now*. But I've grown to understand the importance of it. I've grown to understand the humanity of Jesus... What he did for every one- the unconditional love that he has for all of God's children. 

I've certainly never done anything for Lent. I've never given anything up. I've never taken anything on. 

When I was 20, my grandmother gave me some money to buy a (quasi) professional D-SLR camera. I loved that camera. I'm almost 25 and I really hate I haven't used that camera as much as I should these last five years. There have been a lot of beautiful moments I haven't captured. 

This Lent, I've decided to do the whole a picture a day thing. I'll post every Saturday with the pictures from the week. I'll talk about why I chose that photograph- I'll share a little bit of life with you lovely, lovely people. Excited for this Lenten journey. What does Lent mean to you? How do you participate in this season?  

The beginning: Ash Wednesday through Saturday (2/21)

Wednesday included a cancelled Ash Wednesday service, dinner with a handsome roommate (Bryce, not Stella), snuggles with my favorite dog, Cookout sweet tea, and a nail-biting UNC/Duke game. 

I love BTSR. I love the ways people love people. (Love note found on the mirror in the women's restroom)

Chicken eggs from Daisy Hill Farm- spending the weekend with my good friend and beautiful pastor, Colleen. Preaching on Sunday on her last day at Crozet Baptist. New things are coming her way. So excited...

I feel at home in most kitchens (hold all women in the kitchen jokes, please). But I really love this kitchen. The place where meals are made to share together. Where the eggs are washed, where the dogs are fed..where so many conversations are had. 

Silent Night, Holy Night...

Last night at Fernwood (the most wonderful home-church out there), I had the honor of praying the Christmas Prayer.  As we take time to enjoy Christmas with the ones we love, we also take time to pray for others...

"Silent night.  Holy night. Come, thou long expected Jesus, we have room for you.

The family has arrived.  It’s a joyful reunion.  We’ve hurried this season to prepare for the kids, grandkids, grand-pets that will soon crowd our house.  We’ve hurried to prepare the food that goes on the table.  We’ve trimmed the tree and set out the decorations and filled the stockings that are hung on the mantle.  We’ve hurried to clean the house and wrap all the presents.  And now it’s show time.  But come, thou long expected Jesus.  We have room for you.

It’s in this busy time that we remember the cries; the cries of panic, the cries of hope, the cries of a promise. We pray for the injustices around the world. We pray for those who are sleeping in the cold tonight…who have absolutely nothing.  We pray for the children who will go the bed tonight with an empty stomach—and find nothing waiting for them when they wake.  We take a moment now to pray that we find our voice; and that we be a voice for those don’t have one.  We pray that we be a welcoming community that feeds the hungry and clothes the naked. Come, thou long expected Jesus, we have room for you.

It’s in this busy time that we remember our hurt. Lives have been changed this year.  In a time that is joyful for so many, tonight, we are made aware of the absence of ones that we love.  We pray for those living far away, those taken by death, the family members from whom we are estranged, or the family we never had.  We take a moment now to pray for those who are absent.  We pray that they feel your love, oh Lord, and that they feel our love, too.  Come, thou long expected Jesus, we have room for you. 

It’s in this busy time that we remember to simply be still.  Help us to stand in awe of your power and strength.  You come to use as a tiny light born in the night. In the midst of darkness, show us the light and give us the power to be the light to others.  Show us grace when we mess up.  Allow us to show grace to others, and to ourselves.  Help us to be a community that sets a table where every one is welcome.  We pray that we love our enemies; and to love our strangers; and to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.  Come, thou long expected Jesus, we have room for you. 

God, we ask that you meet us here tonight.  Meet us here at your manger.  Come, thou long expected Jesus, we have room for you. Amen."

Merry Christmas..

God Will Meet You There...

On November 9, I had the beautiful opportunity to worship with the community at Azalea Baptist Church in Norfolk, Virginia.  This is (mostly) the manuscript from that sermon..

Matthew 25: 1-12 

Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. 2 Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. 3 When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; 4 but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. 5 As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. 6 But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ 7 Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. 8 The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ 9 But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ 10 And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. 11 Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ 12 But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’

Bridesmaids.  David’s Bridal has earned a pretty penny from me.  From the last three weddings in the last few years, with two more in the next 8 months, I, for one, understand how those bridesmaids could’ve been tired.  With all the planning that's involved, I really can’t blame all ten of them for falling asleep on the job (please know that they're worth every minute and every dollar spent!). And to be honest, they probably should have made sure at least one of the bridesmaids was with the groom, right? To make sure he was staying on time…then none of this would have happened.

From my New Testament class where we’re studying Jesus and the Gospels, I learn that this parable is unique to Matthew. Certain features of the wedding it describes seem realistic, while others are strange. In ancient Palestinian weddings the marriage feast was at night; the groom was met with lamps, and he wasn't actually supposed to be on time. Others seem a little off; these bridesmaids assumed that the oil shop would be open, and it seems that the groom was supposed to be late, but not midnight late.

There are the foolish maids and the wise maids.  One of my biggest questions is "is this really how we define a wise person, as someone who only takes care of herself"? Is this the kind of story we want people to identify with us church folk; people who preach the wisdom of stockpiling, because we believe that if people are in need, it's their own fault? Can you imagine reading this with someone of no faith? I can’t imagine that this parable would bring them to church.  Though a big question, it’s probably not the hit of the parable.

And of course, the parable doesn't say whether the bridesmaids had any oil at home. It doesn't tell us if the wise ones were hoarding it or the foolish ones hadn't had time to get to the store yet. It doesn't tell us what they had in their savings accounts or how generous they were with their goods. For all we know, the wise bridesmaids were down to their very last flask of oil, and the foolish bridesmaids were sitting on barrels of the stuff; the parable doesn't tell us. Its only concern is what they brought with them when they left the house. It doesn't say a word about motives or extenuating circumstances or reasons why five women might conceivably have left their oil flasks at home. And that's significant, I think. Maybe this is not a story about how much oil you have. Maybe this is a story about the kind of oil you carry with you (and how you find that oil). And the parable is very clear: all ten bridesmaids had lamps, but five of them were foolish and five of them were wise. The wise ones brought flasks of oil with their lamps when it was time to wait for the groom. The foolish ones showed up with lamps and nothing to keep them going. And when your lamp goes out, you may have gallons of oil sitting at home; but it's not going to do you any good there.

So what does that look like, the kind of oil you carry with you? What does that look like?

Maybe it depends on the kind of oil we're talking about.  I want you to envision that I have an oil lamp with me.  As I light the lamp, you remember that you are “the light of the world.” We watch the lamp burn. But because there was only a tiny bit of oil in that lamp, it only burns for a few moments. What happens when the oil runs out? Well, the lamplight goes out, and you have nothing to give. And a pastor with no oil, a Christian with no oil, you can't be the light of the world for anybody, no matter how much they want to.

Friends and family, what fills you up spiritually when you run dry? What replenishes your oil? Where do you find God, and how can you make sure that you get enough of that oil for your lamp, so that God can fill you up again? Because you will run dry. And when you do, you can't be a light for anybody. Remember the safety speech we hear on airplanes? "In the event of an emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling; please be sure to secure your own oxygen mask first before assisting others."

It seems fairly simple.  When your gas light comes on, you are going to run out of gas. If a two-year-old doesn't get a nap, she is going to crash. When you haven't had a conversation with your spouse in three weeks that hasn't revolved around carpooling logistics or what's for dinner, your marriage is getting dry. If you have worked eighty-hour weeks for longer than you care to know, your relationships are going to suffer. It's not really something any of us can avoid. There are some kinds of fuel that just are not negotiable; and if you eat junk food for twenty years, your body is going to let you know about it.

There are also some kinds of oil you can't borrow from anyone else. Teenagers learn this, at a certain point; you can borrow someone's homework and get by on the assignment, but you can't borrow the hours they put in studying for the test. There are some kinds of preparation we can only do for ourselves. You can't borrow someone else's peace of mind or their passion for God. You can't say to your friend, "You have such a happy marriage, don't you? Could you give me some of that?" It doesn't work. You have to find it yourself. You have to figure out what fills you up, spiritually, and then make sure you have some to carry with you, every single minute of the day, because that's how often you'll need it.

And here's the thing: you will run out. Time will run out. The hour gets late, everyone gets sleepy. We all doze, we all put it off, saying, "One of these days, I'm going to quit working so hard and I'll put in that quality time with my kids." "One of these days, I'm going to take up painting again; I've always wanted to do it." "One of these days, I'm going to stop writing checks and really get involved down at the shelter." We all doze. We all put it off. And then the shout goes up: "He's coming!" It's time. And one of these days is today, and it's over, and you never did bring your flask of oil.

I think that's one of the hardest things about this parable. The time will come when you have to draw on the oil you have, right there, on your body, in your flask. And it isn't going to come from your pension savings, and it isn't going to come from your good intentions and your long range plans; it's going to come from what fuels you spiritually right now. It's going to come from where you see God, today. And where is that? Well, Jesus tells us, 

I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me. I was in prison, and you visited me. I was sick, and you comforted me. (Matthew 25)

Driving down to Norfolk last night, I turned on NPR in hopes of a re-run of Wait, Wait.  Instead, I got an hour of TedTalks.  Worth it.  Rebecca Onie, intern at the Greater Boston Legal Services, spent her first nine months speaking to her clients, the patients who were being evicted from their homes because they couldn't afford their medication.  She felt like whatever help she was trying to give was just a little too late.  They came to her when they were already deep in their crisis.  It was hard to help when it was too late.  In 1995, with the okay from the Doctors and her supervisor, she walked into the Boston Medical Center pediatrics clinic and observed/spoke with the patients at that clinic.  She would speak with the Doctors and ask them: "If you had unlimited resources, what's the one thing you would give your patients?"  They would always say:

"Every day we have patients that come into the clinic -- child has an ear infection, I prescribe antibiotics. But the real issue is there's no food at home. The real issue is that child is living with 12 other people in a two-bedroom apartment. And I don't even ask about those issues because there's nothing I can do. I have 13 minutes with each patient. Patients are piling up in the clinic waiting room. I have no idea where the nearest food pantry is. And I don't even have any help."

Even today, that clinic has two social workers for 24,000 patients.  Health Leads was born through the conversation Onie was having.  This organization provided "a simple model where doctors and nurses can prescribe nutritious food, heat in the winter and other basic resources for their patients the same way they prescribe medication. Patients then take their prescriptions to our desk in the clinic waiting room where we have a core of well-trained college student advocates who work side by side with these families to connect them out to the existing landscape of community resources." 

This organization has changed lives (feel free to read a lot more about her TedTalk here).  It's in these moments that we find Jesus. That's where we get filled up. That's where we gather the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. All of those things.. they're not books that we can check out of the library, and it's not a cup of sugar we can borrow from our neighbor next door. All of those things that are just there for us to gather, we never were ready to do it.

I think those church folk who use this parable as a way to scare us all straight are missing the point. You don't fill your lamp because you're afraid you're going to get locked out of the Kingdom of Heaven. You don't stockpile oil because then you can turn everyone else away and that's so much fun. No, you just stop at the filling station and fill your flask and take it with you, because you can't wait to meet the groom. You fill it out of joy. That's the only price of oil, when you think about it: the desire to meet Jesus when he comes.

As we live out our faith in an imperfect, troubled world, this parable can motivate us to take action in response to injustices while we can still make a difference. In this parable, Matthew retains the urgency of the return of Christ in his community, while acknowledging that it is not necessarily immediate. Christians have the responsibility to continue in good deeds in the extended present, in the knowledge that the time will come when they lose the opportunity to make a difference. We are constantly failing at this.  The maidens in this parable fail by inactivity. They presume a gracious future without preparing for it by active discipleships. This, I think, is the definition of foolish for Matthew.

I find myself in this story. I’ve probably been each of this parable’s characters. You probably have been too.  I’ve been the foolish one whose lamps have run out. I’ve been the wise one who feared sharing and losing what I had. I’ve been the groom who refused to let people in.  Where do you see yourself in this story? 

If you find yourself feeling like the foolish bridesmaids, remember to wait in the darkness. Don’t run from it. It is a holy place and God will meet you there.

So if you find yourself feeling like the wise bridesmaids, remember to share what you have, even if it scares you. Don’t trade temporary comfort for lasting community. The chance to give of yourself is a holy place and God will meet you there.

So if you find yourself feeling like the groom, remember to open wide the door to the banquet feast. Don’t let hurt feelings and fear insulate you from others. Welcoming those who have made mistakes and who walk in darkness is a holy place. God will meet you there.  May it be so.  Amen.