My New Favorite Devotional Book

I have used a lot of different devotional books in my day, with varying degrees of success.  I remember being enamored, long ago when I was in college and sort of a Jesus-fanatic, of a classic called God Calling, which I read more-or-less faithfully for awhile.  (I don't remember how long.)  God Calling was supposed to be the Voice of God, coming directly to me, and all of the other people who bought the book, as well.  I also vaguely remember a book called "Come Away, My Beloved".  The title makes alone time with God seem sort of, well, seductive, in a way.  I don't remember if the contents of the book delivered on that promise.

Then there was the task of finding a daily Bible reading.  It seemed so simple back then.  Had I ever read the entire Gospel of John?  No, I had not.  So, I did.  A little every night.  Afterwards, I waded through Romans, with no outside help from theologians.  I had heard a lot of Bible in church, but had not sat down and read most of it for myself.

Sometime later, everything seemed to get more difficult.  No bragging here, but between those old Jesus-fanatic days and seminary and the work of being a pastor, I actually have sat down and read a lot of the Bible for myself.  What do I do now?  I would find myself at a loss as to how to order my days.
I still longed for the structure of daily devotions, but somehow I had a hard time sticking to a daily discipline.  Even now, this is true.  I think I should have a daily discipline, and I have tried many many good daily discipline ideas.  There is nothing wrong with any of them.  (Well, maybe there have been a couple which were kind of cheesy….) I have prayed in color and prayed while knitting.  I have prayed the hours and prayed the Psalms.  I have prayed with beads, with icons and I am now curious about praying the alphabet.

But a couple of weeks ago, I stumble upon a kind of devotional book which I think is absolutely brilliant.  It is not a book of Bible readings and prayers.  The content is not explicitly Christian.  It is such a simple idea that I can't believe I never thought of it.

The book is called Your Daily Rock. The author (Patti Digh) has written a thoughtful paragraph for every day of the year.  Underneath there are two simple questions, one for the morning, and one for the evening.  In the morning, the question invites  me to live what I read in the paragraph during the day.  In the morning, the question is something like this:  "Well?  How did that go?  Did you discover anything today?"

That's all.  So simple.

One thing I have discovered after all of two weeks is this:  It's not so easy to keep what I have read that day with me all day.  More than once I will become immersed in my day, and suddenly look up and say, "What was it that I was invited to reflect on today?"  I feel like the man described in the letter of James, who looks at himself in the mirror, but as soon as he goes away, forgets what he looked like.

Another thing I am thinking after all of two weeks is this:  What if I read scripture this way?  What if I read a passage, however short, every morning, and came back to the same passage in the evening.  What if in the morning I read "Let your light so shine before others" or "Love your enemies" or "You have been saved by grace through faith", and lived with that short Scripture passage all day?  And then, in the evening, what if the only question was, "Well?  How did that go?  What did you discover today?"

So, for today, here is my short scripture reading:  "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  And at the end of the day I will say, "Well?"

Maybe it will be the same verse, tomorrow.

How I Spent My Advent

It is almost Christmas Eve, and I am thinking about my Advent practices this year, especially those that were unintentional, the ones that just came to me, and for which I am grateful.  I hope that God uses these, even more than whatever devotional practices I try, and at which I fail miserably.  I am not yet ready to Christmas, but I pray that God will make me ready, is preparing me.

1.  Babysitting.  
Babysitting was my first job, the one I thought would prepare me for the life I was told I would lead.  But my life went a different direction, and I haven't babysat for many years, not since my nieces and nephew were young.  But the newest member of our family is four years old, and one Sunday afternoon I had the great privilege of watching her.  I got out my ancient Barbie dolls, and we changed outfits again and again.  We had a tea party with apple juice served in tiny tea cups.  We played with the dog, petting her and brushing her (with a little hugging as well).  I put on the song "Let it Go", from the movie "Frozen", and she danced, and danced and danced.  At one point she said, "I need a cape!" and after a moment of wondering, I remembered an old towel I had, with pretty fringe.  I wrapped it around her shoulder and fastened it with a safety pin, so that she could be a princess.   I thought about how I always thought I would be a mother, and my heart hurt a little for what I missed.  But I also felt so happy to remember that an old towel can be a cape, that you can have a tea party with apple juice, that I could witness the dance, even just in a flash.  O God: at Christmas, give me a cape, and help me to dance again.

2.  Blessing Gifts.
One morning I walked into the church building and found a woman from my congregation sitting there.  She wasn't waiting for me, exactly.  She was waiting for whichever pastor would show up first, and that happened to be me.  She said that she had a gift that she was going to send to Mississippi, to a Sister she knew there, someone who changed the course of her life when she was a young woman.  She wanted to say thank you, to let this woman know what she had done, how her life had borne fruit.  Now the Sister was an old woman, still working in the mission, but she wanted to say "thank you; you saved my life."  She asked me to bless her gift.

Now I am not an expert about the blessing of objects, but I put my hands on her gift:  a beautiful tea set, engraved with dragonflies.  And we prayed that God would bless the gift, and its journey, that it would be a sign of love and a gift of love, and that it would bless both the giver and the receiver.  We prayed that it would be used for comfort and for hospitality.  And then we sent it off.  O God:  at Christmas, bless me and send me on a journey of blessing.

3.  Hearing Christmas songs at the Mall.
We were shopping at the large mall one morning, not really finding anything, wandering around, just looking.  It had not been such a productive morning, really, and we were thinking about going home, and doing something else, when we turned the corner and we heard them:  a choir from a local middle school, singing Christmas carols.  They were in the middle of "Deck the Halls" and we stood there listening.  Then they began singing "Joy to the World", and the tears formed in the corners of my eyes, right there in the mall.  I know they say that we should be singing Advent songs now, and I love them too.  But there is something about the Christmas songs, and I don't think it is just the accumulated memories of singing them, or the sentiment, but it is the yearning for the peace they promise.  It is the hope and the faith and the doubt all rolled up, and wanting to grasp something, in the middle of a world where some people can't even find it in their heart to pray for the family of Michael Brown, or dare to feel their pain.  O God:  at Christmas, soften my heart and help me to believe in your world, your peace, and the wonders of your love.

Don't Make the Gift Too Ethereal

A couple of weeks ago, I sat down for supper at the community meal hosted by our congregation.  At the table was a young family from our congregation and a woman from our neighborhood , a woman I didn't know.  We had a good time sharing small talk with one another, trying to convince the two young children that the turkey casserole was just as delicious as pizza, and sharing small bits of our lives.

After some time the children and their father left, the children off to choir practice, and I continued to talk with the woman for a little while.  I don't remember either of us saying anything very earth-shaking.  She praised the food and the company.  She said she really enjoyed coming here for supper and mentioned that she had attended funerals at our church, on occasion.  Then she looked around and said that she really liked the fact that there were all ages, including children, eating supper together.  "There aren't any children in my life right now," she said.

This past week I didn't see her at supper;  I had finished early so that I could prepare my short advent meditation for the worship that evening.  However, I saw her in passing right before worship and she mentioned that she had left a small gift in my mailbox.

The next day I discovered it:  a short note thanking me for our conversation the previous week, along with two bottles of Ensure and a "Bless Our Home" wall-hanging.  She said I should use those things however I saw fit.

A lot of people say they are praying for me, but I have to say that I was touched by this particular gift.  It was something simple and ordinary and real, and it was not ethereal at all.  It was not a symbol of Hope or World Peace, not a great grand gesture which is a symbol of Something Else Entirely.

It's been one of those Advents for me, when everything seems to be getting away from me.  I always have these great intentions of devotional discipline during Advent.  I will light candles.  I will write.  I will read.  I will pray.  I will move along the path toward enlightenment, and then I will share that enlightenment with my congregation.  But, to be honest, the enlightenment has mostly eluded me this year.  I keep saying that Advent is about waiting, about watching, about preparing.  But all of those things seem very ethereal to me right now, slipping through my fingers like a piece of thick fog.

But then there are two bottles of Ensure and a wall-hanging.  I can hold them in my hands.  They are a gift to use as I see fit.

I am thinking about laying off the deeper meanings of Advent for awhile, and just holding on to the ordinary things, the things I can touch:  a simple meal, a few words, a small gift to use as I see fit.  Instead of straining toward a far horizon, I will touch, and look at what is right in front of me.  And I will say that somehow, God is right here, at the table, in the simple mess, not ethereal at all.

Take and eat.
Taste and see.
The true meaning of Advent.