The Gift

  I got a call on Monday night from the church administrator at a neighboring congregation.  I knew that their pastor was traveling for ministry so I had an idea why she might be calling me.  

She told me that someone connected with their congregation had had a stroke, and was entering hospice, and they wanted a pastor to come out the next day.  I said I could come.  

It's not so common any more for me to do a ministry visit with someone I don't know.  I've been at my congregation for a few years, so my ministry calls are usually for people that I have known for a long time.  They are people with whom I share some history.  My colleague and I often say we will cover for each other while we are gone, but frankly, it hasn't been that often that we have had to make good on our offer.  I spoke with a daughter in law, and prepared to go to the hospital and meet the man.  

Also, I had a brand-new communion set, that I had not used yet.  I packed it up in the morning, and was looking forward to using it for the first time.  It is cedar, and it smells so good when I open it.  The smell reminds me of the verse in the Old Testament, "let my prayers rise before You as incense."  The cedar smells like prayer to me.  And this one has a place for anointing oil  I have never had anointing oil in my communion set before.  

I will be retiring in just a couple of months.  So perhaps it seems like an odd time to buy a new communion set.  But I got an unexpected gift, and decided that this was the way I would use it.  I'm not sure what this says about me.  I will still have a couple of months to visit people and give communion, to sit with people and pray and read scripture and talk about our lives.  It is all communion.

And then there was Tuesday.  I got to the hospital at about noon.  I introduced myself to the man.  His son had not arrived at the hospital yet.  I introduced myself to him, and we tried to have a conversation, but his stroke made it difficult for either of us to understand the other.  I tried to tell him what church I was from.  I asked him about himself.  Once in awhile I understood something.  He did keep saying, "Open the door."  The door was open, but I opened it wider.

I did sing a couple of songs:  "Amazing Grace, "What a Friend in Jesus," "Jesus Loves Me."  It is one of the things I do when I don't know what to do.  

Then his son arrived.  I introduced myself, and asked what would be most helpful.  His dad was on a feeding tube but he could be anointed.  I could read scripture and pray.  His son said, "He is afraid.  Help him to know he doesn't have to be afraid."  I asked, "Is he afraid of leaving you, or is he afraid for himself?"  "For himself," he said.  "He knows we will be okay."

I remembered how my dad worried before he died.  He worried about his salvation.  Even though he had believed his whole life, now he was worried he was not good enough.  And how I asked my dad, "Do you trust Jesus?" and he said, "Yes."  And I told him, "Then you are okay."  And my dad said, "You mean it's that simple?"

So I said to the man who had had the stroke, "Do you believe that Jesus loves you?"  He nodded.  I said, "Don't be afraid."  And I stretched out my arms and said, "He is ready to welcome you, just like this."  And I read from Isaiah 43, and John 11, and prayed.  And then I opened up my brand new commuion set, and took out the vial of oil.  It smelled a little like balsam.  

And when I anointed him, the oil got all over my hands, like the oil running down Aaron's beard, and it was messy and smelly and wonderful.

All the way home I thought of how the man said, "Open the door", and I wondered what he meant.  The door was open.  And of course I don't know, but suddenly I thought of how Jesus said, "I am the door."  

May Jesus the door be open to him.

May Jesus the door be open to us, all the days of our lives.

It is this I am called to do -- to make the sign of the cross with oil, and remind people who are dying that they are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever.  

For two more months and forever -- I am called to remind people they are marked by the cross of Christ.  I am called to remind them of the door that is open, the grace that is wide, the oil running down the beard of Aaron.  The gift.

Ministry of Presence

So last week we had homeless families staying in our church overnight every night.  People come and prepare the dinners every evening.  Some prepare breakfasts.  Some help them with their evening activities.  I was asked to stay overnight with the families one evening.

It's not a hard job.  It does not require any particular skill set, just being willing to sleep on an air mattress.  It's always possible that there will be a middle-of-the-night emergency, but it hasn't happened yet.

So what I do is come over and meet the families, and talk with them, and, at some point, go to sleep on an air mattress in a room nearby.  That's it.

This was a particularly easy week.  There were just two moms and two babies.  One of the babies was teething, and this required a little extra rocking and singing, which is something that I can do, although I claim no special skill at rocking and singing.  I do know this one Swedish song that my grandfather sang to me when I was a little girl.

Then on Saturday morning, I got up and went home.

When I got home, my husband told me "There's more bad news."  It does seem like there has been a lot of bad news lately, but this morning there had been an attack on a synagogue in Pittsburgh.  Tree of Life.  We watched in horror, as the news unfolded.

Later on I went to visit a shut in couple from our congregation.  She had just broken her ankle.  Their daughter was staying with them over the weekend, helping them out.  We all sat down for conversation and communion.  I found out their daughter was active in a small Baptist church with a large children's ministry.  She worked with third graders; some of them came from "tough backgrounds".  I could tell that she loved working with the children and giving them a firm foundation.  They decided that despite their size, they could somehow make an impact on the children in their community.

We had all been watching the news, too, about the synagogue.  We talked about how it was the older people who were there that morning.  How many of our churches are filled with older people?

The daughter asked me about something she had heard on the news.  "They said it was Shabbat," she said.  "What is Shabbat?"

It is the Sabbath, I answered.  It was their Saturday morning worship service.

We read the gospel, prayed together, shared Holy Communion.

All this week, I've been thinking about that widow, the one who gave her last two copper coins.  Like they would do any good, compared with the enormity of the world's tragedy.  Why did she give them?  Other than as a sermon illustration, what good would they do?

And yet it was her whole life.  So small.

You sleep overnight with the homeless families, or you make them a meal.  You visit shut-ins, and you give them just a little piece of bread, an a sip of wine.  You make someone a meal, or you just sit there while someone cries, because, what else can you do? You go to worship, like you always do.  You go for God, and you go for the other people who will be there.  You are present, and you are giving your whole life.

All God asks is for us to be present to Him, which means to be present to one another.  Be there.  Be the widow with her two copper coins.  Or, at least SEE the widow with her two copper coins.

All God asks is our whole life.  No special skills are needed.

Communion

I held two small first communion classes for a few students from the church.  It had been awhile since I organized a class like this, so I felt a little rusty.  The book that I used to use (and that I loved) had gone out of print.  I cobbled together some resources and we talked about baptism and sacraments and words along with things that you can touch.  We drew pictures and watched a scene from the movie "Holes", and read a couple of stories about meals in the Bible.  We talked a little bit about the Passover, and we ended up talking about trusting God, that God comes to us in this meal.

It was not everything but it was something.

Holy Communion is a meal with many names, I said.  There is more than one meaning to it.  It is life and forgiveness, communion with God, bread for the journey, and even more.  Someday you will know.

We made tiny individual cups at a place called the Potter's Wheel.  We did not bake bread.  I made note to include bread-making the next time I have a first communion class.

And then on Sunday at church two of the three young people were invited to put out their hands and eat the bread and drink the wine.

Then, today, I sat down with two women from my congregation and we talked about taking communion to shut-ins and people in the hospital.  We want to put together a workshop so that a few people from the church can engage in this ministry along with me.  One of the two women talked about how it was important to know who can receive and who can't receive communion.  Her words brought back a memory.

I came with communion to a woman in hospice care.  Her daughter and her daughter's best friend were there.  So were other members of her family.  Her husband was there too.  He had been pretty open with me about his questions about the Christian faith and about his exploration of other spiritual traditions.  So, when we all gathered around in a circle to begin the communion service, I did not know what he would do.

I was surprised when he joined the circle and decided to have communion with us.

It was a long while later that I found out two things:  he was getting remarried, and he was re-commiting to the Christian faith.  He was becoming Catholic, in fact.

What was it that drew him back?

It was the Mass.  Holy Communion.  That's what he said.  There was something about taking communion.  What was it?  Was it life or forgiveness?  Was it bread for the journey?  Communion with God?  Or even more than that?  A foretaste of the feast to come -- all of us sitting in a circle, hands outstretched, the borders between life and death erased?

Someday you will know.

In the meantime, take and eat.

It is Holy Communion.

It is everything, in your hand.

How I Measure

I have a wedding this weekend.  It is my first wedding here, in my new-ish call.  The couple at whose wedding I am officiating are fairly new members of the congregation.  She came and visited not long after I started.  A little later, he visited as well.  I have some affection for the first few people who showed up, the same hot summer that I did.

I took three young people to make chalices on Saturday.  They are going to make their first communion at the end of April.

I have a baptism on the same Sunday, at the early service.  It will be my third baptism, although my first baby.  The first baptism was a three year old, and the second was five.  A boy and a girl.

There are two 8th graders who are getting ready to be confirmed this summer.  I haven't been involved in most of their confirmation instruction, but we are going to get together and design their confirmation service.  They are going to pick the songs and the scripture readings and think about what else they might want to have in their service.

One wedding.  Three first communions.  Three baptisms.  Two confirmations.  That's what I get excited about.  That's how I measure, even.

There are probably better ways to think about this.  I could think about new ministries we have started, except that we are moving slowly and we haven't started any new ministries except for our tiny first attempts at cross generational activities.  I could think about successful stewardship campaigns (which by the way, we had, this fall), or I could think of new members, or I could think of new songs we have learned.  I could measure by the strangers I have met (which would not be a bad way to measure, actually), or the new places I have been.

But I don't.

I measure:  1 wedding.  Three baptisms.  2 confirmations.  Three first communions.

I measure:  the girl who got to help serve communion for the first time on Maundy Thursday, and says:  "I want to do that again!"

I measure:  the woman who said that her granddaughter had her first sleepover the other night, and she invited her friend to our church.

I measure:  the two girls who love to sing Holden Evening Prayer together, and sing so that everyone can hear them.

I suppose that the best measure is transformed lives.  That is what we are about.  But sometimes transformation is not visible to the eye.  It is what goes on inside, and it could be happening, even when I have no idea.  All I can see is the outstretched hand, the singing voices, the little hugs, the food left outside the church door.   All I can do is trust that God is using us, even me, to bring transformation.

1 wedding.  Three baptisms.  2 confirmations.  Three first communions.  And in so many other, ordinary ways, God is transforming us.

That's what I trust.  That's how I measure.

Hands Outstretched

Lately I have been thinking about a little boy I used to know.

I didn't know him very well.  I knew his older sister, because she came to confirmation classes.  And I knew his little sister, because she used to come to church and Sunday school by herself.  Everybody called her "the church girl" because she seemed to like it.  People teased her, a little.

The family lived on the edge of town.  You could walk in to church if you wanted to, and the girls wanted to, sometimes, without their parents.  Their parents didn't come.

The boy came too, less frequently.

His favorite service?  Maundy Thursday.  It wasn't a popular service with children, as you might imagine.  He stuck out, especially when he came up to kneel for communion.  I asked him once what it was about the service that he liked.  He just shrugged his shoulders and said he sort of liked having church at night.

At one point all three of the children expressed an interest in being baptized.  So we got them all baptismal sponsors, gave them some instruction and they all got baptized one Wednesday evening in Lent.

Not long after I left I heard that he was killed in an accident.  He was 14 years old.

Now, this is my most vivid memory of him:  kneeling in front of the altar on Maundy Thursday, his hands outstretched.

I imagine him there, at the table where we are all reconciled to God and to one another, where we will all be gathered up together, lowly lifted up, hungry fed, outcast welcomed.

Hands outstretched.

"Bread And Wine: a Love Letter to Life Around the Table": A Reflection

I just finished reading Shauna Niequest's lovely book, "Bread and Wine," which I have been reading in fits and starts for awhile now, mostly just before bedtime.  The writing is lovely, and sometimes even mouth-watering, which is understandable given the fact that the book centers around hospitality and cooking and what happens when we welcome one another and care for one another at the tables we set for each other.  There's an intimacy in this book:  the stories around the table are filled with people she loves, both rejoicing and broken-hearted, in moments of sorrow and celebration.

I am going to confess right now that I don't do much entertaining, Christmas and Easter and a couple of other occasions are about all I can manage.  Although all of her recipes sounded delicious, I can't imagine myself trying a single one.  Shauna encourages her readers to plan dinner parties, to make entertaining a Christian discipline, although for most of her book, this is implicit in her writing, not stated aloud.  Life around the table is transformative, she tells us.

I believe her.

I believe that life around the table is transformative, as she says.  It matters not whether the meal is elaborate or simple, there is something about eating together, that activity most necessary for life, that binds us to one another and transforms us, makes us family.

I still remember the rare occasion that my family would go out to eat:  at a popular Italian restaurant in the downtown area of our city.  It was supposed to be a big deal, and of course it was; we all still remember the occasions.  But what I also remember is that all of us knew the truth:  my mom's spaghetti was far superior to what the restaurant offered.   My mom's spaghetti was one of the things that bound us together, and not because it was a gourmet recipe.  Simply because it was my mom's spaghetti.  I actually made it for Easter once, when my niece and nephew were little, and my parents were away for the holiday.  I was exhausted from Easter worship, but I wanted to have my brother and his family over, so I made my mom's spaghetti and salad.

Life around the table is transformative, and Shauna writes so well about how the food and company shared got her through hard times and somehow made life holy.

And yet, believing all this, I still think that something is missing.  As I reflect back on the transformation that has happened around tables for me -- I realize that many of those moments involve not the intimacy of sharing with family and friends, but the utter grace of sharing with strangers.  There were the curry rice lunches after church at Hiyoshi Church in Tokyo, especially at the beginning when I knew no Japanese. There was the meatball dinner my church prepared and served at The Banquet in South Dakota.  Then we sat down to eat and share stories with all who were hungry.  There was the time I was living in community in Denver Colorado, and we were told that a number of Arminian refugees would be staying with us for the weekend.  It was my night to cook, I realized with fear and trembling, as I tried to figure out what to make for twenty people instead of ten, half of whom did not speak English.

Life around the table is transformative.  This is most certainly true.

Shauna Niequest's vision is a compelling one.  She tells us that it's not just Holy Communion, but every meal shared, that can be Holy.  Every table can be the Lord's table.  I can see the candles burning down, the table set, the wine glasses poured.  I would love to be a guest at her table.  I know I would learn much about what it means to be loved and welcomed.  I wish I had her cooking courage.

And yet something is still missing for me.  Perhaps it is because, when she brings up the sacrament of Holy Communion, the Lord's Supper, what comes to mind for me is not just the intimacy of eating together, but the utter grace of sharing with strangers, and how our tables and our churches are still, for the most part, not inclusive enough, in matters of race and class.

 The stories she tells are holy, and the tables she sets are holy.  But for me, more stretching needs to be done.  My heart yearns for a hospitality that is even wider, a table set to welcome strangers.

Eucharistic Prayer for Pentecost 5 Year A

Gracious and Holy God,

Creator of farms and seeds and soil,

You have given us so many things:

Sun and rain, flower and fruit,

All green and growing things,

All animals leaping or swimming,

Crawling or flying.

Let all who have eyes, see

The abundance of your love.

You came among us, in the hands and the eyes

And the feet and the words

Of our friend and savior Jesus,

Who healed the sick

And forgave sinners,

Who welcomed children

And who spoke to us in parables.

Let all who have ears, listen

And hear the story of your love.

We give thanks to you,

For the scattered words,

For the scattered seeds

Of Jesus’ love for us

Poured out for us

And for this whole creation.

Send now your Holy Spirit to us

As we share this meal. 

As we share your life.

Prepare our hearts to receive you.

Open our Hearts to share your extravagance, your life,

Your love.

Amen.  Come Lord Jesus.

(to Words of Institution)

Priests, Multiplied

On Saturday morning, we had our first training session for Homebound Ministry at my congregation.  I have to tell you, that even though I have been at this congregation for a long time, I keep being surprised by the variety of gifts I keep discovering.  Our team leader, for example, is a social worker who deals with Alzheimers; another presenter is a psychologist who works with the Veterans Administration.  Another of our leaders was trained as an elementary school teacher.

It was an exceptional morning, well-organized and planned, and full of knowledge and wisdom.

But it wasn't just the leaders who provided the wisdom.

For the past few years, there have been a handful of lay people who have already been going out, giving communion to shut-ins.  We want to expand this ministry so that it includes more than just communion ministry.  We also want to expand the number of communion ministers.

Among the participants on Saturday morning were some of those visitors.

There are two women who have been working as a team for the past couple of years.  One of them drives; the other one doesn't feel comfortable driving, but she leads the communion service.  They actually came to me and told me that they wanted to visit a friend of theirs who was a member of the congregation and who was experiencing memory loss.  Since it was a transition time in the congregation and we were short-staffed, I was glad to say yes.  Later on, they added one more friend to their list of visits.

On Saturday, during the presentations, we left time for questions and sharing.

One of the two women spoke up about their visits.  She told me of the privilege of visiting their friends, and how one of them even questioned her, "why are you doing this?"  She answered, "Because you are my friend."  She told us now that one of their friends now was not able to receive the sacrament in the same way as she had before.  "So now we just dip the tiniest bit of the wafer in the wine, and put it on her tongue."

She said it with such tenderness and grace, and I thought, "Who says that this woman is not a pastor?"

Though I have always believed fervently in the priesthood of all believers, I confess that I used to reserve the word "pastor" for the ordained.  But why?  After all, the priesthood of all believers means that we are all priests to one another, feeding, reflecting, mediating the presence of Christ for one another.

There are many homebound people in my congregation.  There are also grieving people, lonely people, wondering people, dying people.

As it turns out, there are many pastors too.  More than I ever knew.

Teamwork

About a week before Easter, I got a call from a woman at church, letting me know she had put together an extra individual communion kit.  Could I make sure it got on the altar on Sunday?  There were two women from the church who said they would like to take communion to a third woman, a friend of theirs who had become shut in recently, and was experiencing memory loss.

We have lay communion ministers, who go out to shuts once a month.  They are sent out usually on the second Sunday of the month with their kits and the prayers of the congregation.  They have been trained for this ministry.  There is always a sheet of paper in their kit, so they know the order of service. They also bring a bulletin from church.  But they also bring themselves.  It is their presence that is so important; it is not just the pastor that remembers them.

Myself, I love visiting shut-ins.  But we have 50 or 60 shut ins are our church.  We can't do this ministry ourselves.  And I do believe that the ministry of the whole community is important.  We have just a handful of communion ministers, but they are good at what they do.  I have heard some of the stories of what happens when they visit.  They bring many kinds of bread.

So I put the communion kit on the table for the two women to take to their friend.  One of the women used to be one of our communion ministers, but she recently had decided that she couldn't do it any more.  She doesn't see well enough to drive any more.  It was too hard for her, although she enjoyed it.  The second woman said she could drive.  The third woman is their friend.

Later at church, one of the women told me that the arrangement works in so many ways.  "I get to minister to my friend.  I receive ministry from the driver.  Each one of us gives and receives ministry."

Teamwork.

The church was full on Easter Sunday.  It was amazing.  Two services, lots of people, loud voices.  It is the same every Easter, but it still amazes me, somehow.

Then, a few days later, I ran into a woman from my congregation.  She was out shopping, and she stopped me to gush about the Easter crowds.

"Just think about what the church could do if the church was that full every Sunday!"

I know this woman pretty well, and I don't think she was talking in a theocratic way, about the church lording it over people.  Instead, she may have thinking about all of the wounds we could bind up, all of the hungry we could feed, all of the homeless we could house, all of the vulnerable for whom we could speak up, all of the weak we could empower.

Teamwork.

And each of us gives and receives ministry.  Because each one of us is strong, and needs to be lifted up, each one of us has bread, and is hungry, each one of us has gifts, and is wounded.

70 Children and Two Communion Services

I spent the morning at the Public Library with about 70 children ages 4 1/2 to 12. (don't worry, there were other adults present.) We were finishing off Week 1 of our Vacation Bible School by beginning research on "Bible Science Projects", which will be displayed at a program for parents at the end of next week.

What is a Bible Science Project, you ask?

I'm not quite sure. All I know is, our group's project was to discover "Why did God create bugs?" One girl read up on mosquitoes, another on spiders, a boy was having trouble finding anything positive about ticks, and a little girl had help learning about bees. There were eleven other groups. I know one group was researching the animals on the ark, but beyond that, I'm curious about what the other science projects could have been.

I am in awe of our Children's Ministry Coordinator. I left the Library dead tired, with a half a day of work still ahead of me. I love kids (I mean it), and everyone was pretty well-behaved, but there is something about being around about 70 kids at one time that is just kind of tiring. Yet our Children's Ministry Coordinator keeps everyone together, is extremely well organized, and is just the right blend of tought and tender. And she gets results.

Our group had seven children. The youngest was 4 1/2 and was just there to be with his brother I think. The oldest was twelve, a beautiful Hispanic girl who goes go Sagrado Corazon Church. She decided to study spiders. One eight year old girl kept watch over the 4 1/2 year old and his brother, and helped them study gnats. Another nine year old finished her study of mosquitos and read all about bees to a 6 year old girl. It reminded me of all the strengths of a one room school house.

After the morning at the library, I had two communion services at senior apartments. I tied up the communion ware in a square Japanese cloth called a furoshiki. I just discovered this method, and it does seem to work, and keep everything stable.

We sang, we prayed, we confessed, we listened to Scripture. I read Exodus 19:2-8, about God carrying the Israelites to himself on eagle's wings.

That pretty much took care of my afternoon. I think I had time to make two phone calls, and organize two things for Sunday.

How was your day? Are you tired?