Just a few seconds of fun recording Scout out in the backyard. She didn't exactly cooperate with the camera, but I hope you enjoy, at least a little, watching her run.
I know I do.
That's her best friend on the other side of the fence.
One of my goals is to get a longer play session sometime this winter.
Scout does like winter better than I do. I have noticed that when we walk on the street, though, sometimes the pads of her feet start to hurt, and she limps a little. I think it might be the salt.
Anyway, wishing you seven seconds of glee sometime today, and the opportunity to visit with YOUR best friend across a fence.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Three out of Four Bumpers Agree....
I'm not quite at the point that I can joke about this, but I am beating myself up a little bit less today. I also DO realize that it could have been a lot worse. I was driving to the hospital Saturday after the church service when the traffic on the freeway came to a sudden stop. (There is a lot of road construction around here, and it is winter.) I tried to slow down and stop, discerned that I might not be able to stop in time, and attempted to make a lane change into the right hand lane, which was clear. That's when my car suddenly started to spin. A moment of terror. Two other cars had some damage as well, but nobody was hurt.I'm still a little down, although after calling my insurance company, and visiting the auto body shop, it appears that they will be able to fix the car. They aren't sure, of course, until they open the hood, which they advised me not to do.
Tonight we are getting our getting our first honest-to-goodness "snow advisory". Three to four inches of snow is falling. It's pretty, but it makes me want to stay in, not go out. I did enjoy watching Scout play in the snow for a little while, which calmed my soul. She also kept me company Saturday evening when I was feeling like a dolt. Dogs are good that way. So are husbands.
I'd like to glean a nice religious lesson from this, but I don't have one yet. Except that for calming the soul, often, just a small miracle will do.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Sunday Sermon
Preparing in the Wilderness
Isaiah 40:1-11
"How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" That’s the question I’d like to ask today, on this 2nd Sunday of Advent. "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" In fact, I’d like us all to ask this question together, as printed in your bulletin: "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" At first glance this might seem to be a strange question.
It might seem strange to us because this is, after all, the season of singing, or at least listening to music. There’s music everywhere: in the stores, on elevators, in offices, in our homes, in the car. It’s true, generally speaking, that most of the time, we don’t sing together like we used to.
Most of the year we leave it to the experts. It’s just at Christmas that we sing: "Joy to the World! The Lord is come!" "O Little Town of Bethlehem" "What Child is this" or even "Silent Night." We sing and we remember the promise of "peace on earth, good will to all." So, why is it that, now, of all times, I want us to consider the question of singing? "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" That’s going to be our question today. So – let’s say it again.
I want us to consider this question because it was, first and foremost, the Israelites’ question. It was the question that they were asking in the midst of their Babylonian captivity, so many years ago. It was a time of hopelessness and defeat and bondage for them. They had been defeated by the mighty armies of Babylon; Jerusalem had been destroyed. And many of them had been taken captive; they were living in exile in Babylon. They were living in a strange land where the people worshiped strange gods, and where no one knew Yahweh, and where no one respected their traditions or their god. And the question on their lips at that time was, "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" How can we keep God’s commandments? How can we practice our faith? Maybe even – how can we believe it’s still true?
I also want us to consider this question because this was a question that the people were asking when John the Baptist came on the scene, the voice crying in the wilderness in our gospel. In those days the Jewish people were strangers and in exile in their own land. They were occupied by the mighty Roman army. And so they too might have been asking this question, the question we are asking today, "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" But why are we asking this question? After all, we’re not strangers in a stranger land, are we? Their experience is not ours. We are not conquered. We are not displaced people, refugees, living in exile – are we? Or are we? Just what does it mean to be the church, God’s people, in the winter of 2008, in the season of Advent? What does it mean for us to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, "Prepare the way of the Lord!" What season are we preparing for, and what are we waiting for? What mountains need to be lowered and what valleys raised?
I ask this question after, last weekend hearing the story of the man who was trampled to death by shoppers at a Wal-Mart in Long Island. As I read, people were so eager for bargains, that they did not even want to make way for the ambulance crews that tried to save the man’s life. The "stuff" they were seeking was more important than the stranger dying on the floor. When you hear a story like that, do you ever feel as if you are living in a strange land? Or did you read the story yesterday – closer to home – about the nurses’ aides who taunted, abused and laughed at the residents in a nursing home in Albert Lea? The administrators, when they first heard the story, thought it must be an exaggeration or a lie – it couldn’t be true. When you read a story like that, do you ever feel like you are living in a strange land? And in the mean time, the furor over whether to say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" is returning. And I have to say that it seems to me more important how we treat each other – at this time or at any time of year – than whether we say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas." What really matters is whether we see the man dying on the floor, the person in front of us in line at the grocery store, struggling to make change, the child born in a homeless shelter rather than a real home.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? How can we live as God’s people at this time and in this place? That’s the question.
There are many kinds of exile, and there are many ways we might feel like strangers in a strange land – especially at this time of year. People who are suffering any kind of loss or grief, people who have heard bad news, people who have gotten laid off from work, also feel a sort of exile in this season and in these times. They walk around hearing the carols and seeing the visions of abundant family celebrations, and abundant presents, but they are living in the foreign land of grief, or loneliness, or hunger, or death, and struggling to find hope. For so many of the messages of this season proclaim that our hope is in presents, our hope is in family, our hope is in good health. And perhaps they are wondering whether they can sing the Lord’s song this year – and when they will again.Perhaps they are wondering how they can live their faith – or even, believe it’s still true.
Just the other day I sat with a woman who is losing her battle with cancer. She and her family tried many different treatments and many different avenues of healing. But now, just recently they have gotten the news that none of those treatments have worked. So now they are learning to adjust their lives, adjust their hopes, and live each day in God’s promise of eternal life. As we sat the other day, we read the words of the prophet Isaiah, "Comfort, comfort my people," the Lord told the prophet. "Speak tenderly to Jerusalem; and cry to her that she has served her term.....A voice cries out....in the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.....the grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever." And as we spoke, tears welled up in her eyes, as if she were saying, "how can I sing the Lord’s song in this foreign land, in this wilderness" ... and as if God were answering her question, right there, in the Scripture. "In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, for the Lord is coming to the wilderness."
Just as the prophet came to people living in exile so long ago, so also the prophet’s word comes to us today, "In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.... every valley shall be lifted up and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the rough places will be made a plain." In the wilderness, in the foreign land, in a strange place .... prepare the way of the Lord.... for the Lord is coming to you, wherever you are, in whatever wilderness you find yourself today. If you are grieving, if you have strayed, if you feel like giving up, if you have put your hope in the wrong place, if you hunger and thirst for a righteousness you do not see .... prepare the way of the Lord .... for the Lord is coming to the wilderness.
It was back in 1981. I was living in Tokyo, Japan, although I was living among missionaries, and studying Japanese in a school with other foreigners from all over the world. I met many different people from different parts of the world. Some were in Japan to work, some to study. One of our classmates was a young woman from Germany. I believe she was a student, and I don’t think she had much connection to a faith at all. And though we were all studying Japanese together, we mostly conversed in English. On the last day of our school year in December, all of the students and teachers had a Christmas party. Strange in this place where only about 1% of the people claim to be Christian. But we brought treats and laughed and exchanged presents with one another. And we sang. Christmas carols. In English. And in Japanese. And I remember turning to this German girl, my classmate, as we began to sing "Silent Night," and she was singing in German, and she had tears in her eyes.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? How can we live as God’s people in the world right now, despite injustice, despite our sin, despite our grieving?
We sing because God is coming to us in a foreign land. We sing because God is coming to us in the wilderness. And we sing by working for justice in the places where strangers are trampled on. We sing by offering forgiveness in the places where people are lonely. We sing by learning new languages to share God’s love and by opening our hearts to the children who surround us. We sing by providing a place for the homeless and by working to end homelessness. We sing to prepare the way. And we sing because God is coming to us here, where we are, in the wilderness, where hopes are dashed, where people are broken, where children are homelesss
Prepare in the wilderness.
Sing the Lord’s song in a strange land. Sing of God’s mercy and work for God’s justice.
Raise up the valleys and make the hills low.
For the Lord is coming in the wilderness.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
Let every heart prepare him room. AMEN
Isaiah 40:1-11
"How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" That’s the question I’d like to ask today, on this 2nd Sunday of Advent. "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" In fact, I’d like us all to ask this question together, as printed in your bulletin: "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" At first glance this might seem to be a strange question.
It might seem strange to us because this is, after all, the season of singing, or at least listening to music. There’s music everywhere: in the stores, on elevators, in offices, in our homes, in the car. It’s true, generally speaking, that most of the time, we don’t sing together like we used to.
Most of the year we leave it to the experts. It’s just at Christmas that we sing: "Joy to the World! The Lord is come!" "O Little Town of Bethlehem" "What Child is this" or even "Silent Night." We sing and we remember the promise of "peace on earth, good will to all." So, why is it that, now, of all times, I want us to consider the question of singing? "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" That’s going to be our question today. So – let’s say it again.
I want us to consider this question because it was, first and foremost, the Israelites’ question. It was the question that they were asking in the midst of their Babylonian captivity, so many years ago. It was a time of hopelessness and defeat and bondage for them. They had been defeated by the mighty armies of Babylon; Jerusalem had been destroyed. And many of them had been taken captive; they were living in exile in Babylon. They were living in a strange land where the people worshiped strange gods, and where no one knew Yahweh, and where no one respected their traditions or their god. And the question on their lips at that time was, "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" How can we keep God’s commandments? How can we practice our faith? Maybe even – how can we believe it’s still true?
I also want us to consider this question because this was a question that the people were asking when John the Baptist came on the scene, the voice crying in the wilderness in our gospel. In those days the Jewish people were strangers and in exile in their own land. They were occupied by the mighty Roman army. And so they too might have been asking this question, the question we are asking today, "How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?" But why are we asking this question? After all, we’re not strangers in a stranger land, are we? Their experience is not ours. We are not conquered. We are not displaced people, refugees, living in exile – are we? Or are we? Just what does it mean to be the church, God’s people, in the winter of 2008, in the season of Advent? What does it mean for us to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, "Prepare the way of the Lord!" What season are we preparing for, and what are we waiting for? What mountains need to be lowered and what valleys raised?
I ask this question after, last weekend hearing the story of the man who was trampled to death by shoppers at a Wal-Mart in Long Island. As I read, people were so eager for bargains, that they did not even want to make way for the ambulance crews that tried to save the man’s life. The "stuff" they were seeking was more important than the stranger dying on the floor. When you hear a story like that, do you ever feel as if you are living in a strange land? Or did you read the story yesterday – closer to home – about the nurses’ aides who taunted, abused and laughed at the residents in a nursing home in Albert Lea? The administrators, when they first heard the story, thought it must be an exaggeration or a lie – it couldn’t be true. When you read a story like that, do you ever feel like you are living in a strange land? And in the mean time, the furor over whether to say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" is returning. And I have to say that it seems to me more important how we treat each other – at this time or at any time of year – than whether we say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas." What really matters is whether we see the man dying on the floor, the person in front of us in line at the grocery store, struggling to make change, the child born in a homeless shelter rather than a real home.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? How can we live as God’s people at this time and in this place? That’s the question.
There are many kinds of exile, and there are many ways we might feel like strangers in a strange land – especially at this time of year. People who are suffering any kind of loss or grief, people who have heard bad news, people who have gotten laid off from work, also feel a sort of exile in this season and in these times. They walk around hearing the carols and seeing the visions of abundant family celebrations, and abundant presents, but they are living in the foreign land of grief, or loneliness, or hunger, or death, and struggling to find hope. For so many of the messages of this season proclaim that our hope is in presents, our hope is in family, our hope is in good health. And perhaps they are wondering whether they can sing the Lord’s song this year – and when they will again.Perhaps they are wondering how they can live their faith – or even, believe it’s still true.
Just the other day I sat with a woman who is losing her battle with cancer. She and her family tried many different treatments and many different avenues of healing. But now, just recently they have gotten the news that none of those treatments have worked. So now they are learning to adjust their lives, adjust their hopes, and live each day in God’s promise of eternal life. As we sat the other day, we read the words of the prophet Isaiah, "Comfort, comfort my people," the Lord told the prophet. "Speak tenderly to Jerusalem; and cry to her that she has served her term.....A voice cries out....in the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.....the grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever." And as we spoke, tears welled up in her eyes, as if she were saying, "how can I sing the Lord’s song in this foreign land, in this wilderness" ... and as if God were answering her question, right there, in the Scripture. "In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, for the Lord is coming to the wilderness."
Just as the prophet came to people living in exile so long ago, so also the prophet’s word comes to us today, "In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.... every valley shall be lifted up and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the rough places will be made a plain." In the wilderness, in the foreign land, in a strange place .... prepare the way of the Lord.... for the Lord is coming to you, wherever you are, in whatever wilderness you find yourself today. If you are grieving, if you have strayed, if you feel like giving up, if you have put your hope in the wrong place, if you hunger and thirst for a righteousness you do not see .... prepare the way of the Lord .... for the Lord is coming to the wilderness.
It was back in 1981. I was living in Tokyo, Japan, although I was living among missionaries, and studying Japanese in a school with other foreigners from all over the world. I met many different people from different parts of the world. Some were in Japan to work, some to study. One of our classmates was a young woman from Germany. I believe she was a student, and I don’t think she had much connection to a faith at all. And though we were all studying Japanese together, we mostly conversed in English. On the last day of our school year in December, all of the students and teachers had a Christmas party. Strange in this place where only about 1% of the people claim to be Christian. But we brought treats and laughed and exchanged presents with one another. And we sang. Christmas carols. In English. And in Japanese. And I remember turning to this German girl, my classmate, as we began to sing "Silent Night," and she was singing in German, and she had tears in her eyes.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? How can we live as God’s people in the world right now, despite injustice, despite our sin, despite our grieving?
We sing because God is coming to us in a foreign land. We sing because God is coming to us in the wilderness. And we sing by working for justice in the places where strangers are trampled on. We sing by offering forgiveness in the places where people are lonely. We sing by learning new languages to share God’s love and by opening our hearts to the children who surround us. We sing by providing a place for the homeless and by working to end homelessness. We sing to prepare the way. And we sing because God is coming to us here, where we are, in the wilderness, where hopes are dashed, where people are broken, where children are homelesss
Prepare in the wilderness.
Sing the Lord’s song in a strange land. Sing of God’s mercy and work for God’s justice.
Raise up the valleys and make the hills low.
For the Lord is coming in the wilderness.
How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
Let every heart prepare him room. AMEN
Friday, December 5, 2008
Simple Advent Friday Five: hopes and longings
Sally over at the Revgalblogpals asks us this very simple, but profound question for our Friday Five this week:
What do you long for this advent? What are your hopes and dreams for the future? What is your prayer today?
In the vein of simplicity I ask you to list five advent longings
1. I will simply state what my friend PS said she longs for (in the comments of my last post): "I'm longing for an America that isn't driven by shopping for more stuff that eventually goes to the thrift shop."
2. I'm longing for a renewed congregational vision: where we see ourselves as disciples of Jesus, giving ourselves away to bring the good news to our family, our community, our world. I'm longing for a congregation that becomes intentionally mult-ethnic, just as our community and our school is becoming. And I'm longing for a renewed congregational vision of us as forgiven sinners, humble and empowered at the same time.
3. I'm longing for schools that value and respect each student, and give each of them the opportunity to succeed. I'm longing for communities that see a vision of each child as a child of God.
4. I'm longing for communities where some people are not trampled on so that other people can have their desires satisfied.
5. I'm longing for the hungry to be fed, wherever they are. I'm longing for the thirsty to be satisfied. And I'm longing for true community, both the depth and the pain when people truly commit themselves to one another and to a mission.
Come, Lord Jesus
Be Our Guest -- and Our Host.
Amen.
What do you long for this advent? What are your hopes and dreams for the future? What is your prayer today?
In the vein of simplicity I ask you to list five advent longings
1. I will simply state what my friend PS said she longs for (in the comments of my last post): "I'm longing for an America that isn't driven by shopping for more stuff that eventually goes to the thrift shop."
2. I'm longing for a renewed congregational vision: where we see ourselves as disciples of Jesus, giving ourselves away to bring the good news to our family, our community, our world. I'm longing for a congregation that becomes intentionally mult-ethnic, just as our community and our school is becoming. And I'm longing for a renewed congregational vision of us as forgiven sinners, humble and empowered at the same time.
3. I'm longing for schools that value and respect each student, and give each of them the opportunity to succeed. I'm longing for communities that see a vision of each child as a child of God.
4. I'm longing for communities where some people are not trampled on so that other people can have their desires satisfied.
5. I'm longing for the hungry to be fed, wherever they are. I'm longing for the thirsty to be satisfied. And I'm longing for true community, both the depth and the pain when people truly commit themselves to one another and to a mission.
Come, Lord Jesus
Be Our Guest -- and Our Host.
Amen.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
What I'm Giving up For Advent
Oh, you don't have to give anything up for Advent?
Well, I'm doing it anyway.
I'm giving up potato chips and french fries for advent.
You can hold me to it.
Perhaps you are wondering: what does this have to do with Advent? Is this some sort of hitherto unheard of new-agey "Advent Discipline"? How is it different from, or better than, say, keeping an advent calendar, lighting an advent wreath and saying a prayer, or making an advent chain?
I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'm hoping that I won't be in another, even larger, dress size before January. I'm hoping that the cold weather won't want to make me obsessively eat even more calories than I am taking in right now. I'm hoping that I can stay even minimally active for the next month.
That's what advent is all about, isn't it? Hope.
Actually, besides these practical matters, here's what I'm thinking: I'm thinking about Christmas presents. And I'm thinking that I don't really NEED any presents, when you come right down to it. I have plenty of clothes, I have a lot of good books, I have a warm house, I have a nice dog, I have music, and I have shoes. I have a family and friends and meaningful employment. I don't really need anything. But (I'll be honest here) I do want presents. Or, to be even more honest, I want something that presents represent.
I think that the potato chips and the french fries are also kind of like that.
I'll be meditating on that for the next few weeks.
Well, I'm doing it anyway.
I'm giving up potato chips and french fries for advent.
You can hold me to it.
Perhaps you are wondering: what does this have to do with Advent? Is this some sort of hitherto unheard of new-agey "Advent Discipline"? How is it different from, or better than, say, keeping an advent calendar, lighting an advent wreath and saying a prayer, or making an advent chain?
I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'm hoping that I won't be in another, even larger, dress size before January. I'm hoping that the cold weather won't want to make me obsessively eat even more calories than I am taking in right now. I'm hoping that I can stay even minimally active for the next month.
That's what advent is all about, isn't it? Hope.
Actually, besides these practical matters, here's what I'm thinking: I'm thinking about Christmas presents. And I'm thinking that I don't really NEED any presents, when you come right down to it. I have plenty of clothes, I have a lot of good books, I have a warm house, I have a nice dog, I have music, and I have shoes. I have a family and friends and meaningful employment. I don't really need anything. But (I'll be honest here) I do want presents. Or, to be even more honest, I want something that presents represent.
I think that the potato chips and the french fries are also kind of like that.
I'll be meditating on that for the next few weeks.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Looking for Mr. Hokusai...
Whenever we go to Chicago, we try to spend some time at the Art Institute. Sometimes we only have an hour or two, sometimes we get the better part of a day to nose around, but we always enjoy stopping in to see the miniatures, American Gothic, or a room or two of the Impressionist paintings.I've noticed every time we leave, that there are t-shirts, post cards, and coffee mugs stamped with one of my favorite images: The Great Wave off Kanagawa. I've known this print since I lived in Japan many years ago; it's one of Hokusai's 36 Views of Mount Fuji. Though I've never seen one of the original prints, copies are also ubiquitous in Japan. I figured that they must have a print somewhere in the museum, so we spent part of Friday looking through the Asian art sections of the Institute.
Unfortunately, we didn't find it.
Because of the delicate nature of the many of the prints, they are rotated every three months.
It did get me thinking though: what is it about this image that is so compelling? In Japan, Mount Fuji holds religious and national significance; Mr. Hokusai was not the only artist to give us 36 views (check our Mr. Hiroshige as well). But something about this particular image -- The Great Wave, the Little Boats, and the image of the mountain in the background -- speaks the truth to me.
It's an Advent truth, and this is Advent. It's the truth of the Great Waves: whether they are the Great Waves of the End Times, or the Great Waves of economic uncertainty, or the Great Waves of terrorists in Mumbai, India, or the Great Waves that killed a store worker on Black Friday. Everywhere Great Waves threaten us, rock us, cause us to stumble.
And still, in the background, there is the mountain. Sometimes, you can't even see it. Sometimes we see it only by faith. It seems to disappear in the fog, like Mt. Fuji in certain seasons. But every Japanese knows that the mountain is still there.
On Friday, I didn't find the print of the Great Wave off Kanagawa. But I think I caught a glimpse of the mountain, once or twice, up close or in the background.
The question is, did you? And if you did, perhaps you can point the way for those who are overwhelmed by the Great Waves.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Psst! It's not about the shoes....
I started blogging in April of 2007, just about the same time I turned 50 (give or take a couple of days). I started blogging for a variety of reasons: I wanted to write; I wanted people to read what I write; I heard it was an emerging technology; my stepson blogged; I read the article in the Christian Century.
I thought blogging was about writing, about getting my message out there, about not hiding my light under a bushel.
Turns out I was only about 1/2 right, maybe a little less than that.
In the course of the last almost-two years, I've connected with people from a lot of places: Texas, New York, South Dakota, Corpus Christi and Austin, Texas, Washington, Lousiana, Jackson, Minnesota -- New Mexico, Nebraska. Unlike Hank Snow, I haven't been everywhere, but I feel like I've been more places than I could have imagined, because of you, my dear bloggy friends. I feel that my life, my faith, my perspectives have become enlarged and enriched by the conversations and exchanges that have gone on here.
I've even gotten to meet a few of my blogging friends, starting with RevDrKate of Prairie Light. I now count Jan, Fran, HotCup, Pastor Eric, Auntie Knickers, and Jodi among my friends, as well as quite a few Revgals I met in Minneapolis last May (for example, Singing Owl and Juniper).
Last Friday I got to meet my friend Jennifer from An Orientation of Heart. Turns out she serves a congregation about five minutes away from some of my relatives. We got toget
her over coffee at a local (and quite busy) coffee shop. It was delightful meeting her, and sharing some ministry and music stories (turns out her children are quite musical; so is my husband), dog stories (Scout has an open invitation to visit) and just-plain-life stories.
her over coffee at a local (and quite busy) coffee shop. It was delightful meeting her, and sharing some ministry and music stories (turns out her children are quite musical; so is my husband), dog stories (Scout has an open invitation to visit) and just-plain-life stories.I would never have guessed that the communion of saints could be glimpsed through a computer screen, shared with coffee, and verified with a picture of shoes.
But it can.
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