Distraction

Thursday in the Second Week of Lent

Your adversaries roared in your holy place;

they set up their banners as tokens of victory.

Psalm 74:4

The email alert banners scuttle across the top of my screen catching my eye every time. So much so, that my friend with whom I’m zooming asks me if I need to attend to them. Like when your phone rings and the person you’re talking with says, “Do you need to get that?”

Slightly abashed, I assure her it is nothing. But it is something. It is a distraction that I have allowed, an invited disruption that pulls me from the moment so that I am cheating her out of my full attention. And I have given this distraction power.

In how many other ways have I set myself up so that my attention is scattered?

I am not yet halfway through the Lenten journey. There is time. Time to focus. Time to pray. Time to scatter the distractions from my path and fix my attention on goodness, on friendship, on what is life-giving. On the Holy.

Encompassed

Wednesday in the Second Week of Lent

Let your loving-kindness be my comfort,

as you have promised your servant.

Psalm 119:76

The rain seems to aid and abet my procrastination as I delay facing into the day. There is nothing ahead to worry me, so I examine my impulse to postpone with suspicion. Am I giving in to a tactic of the enemy who would love to numb my senses? Or am I tired and in need of more rest. And how do I distinguish between rest and avoidance?

Having begun to question, I lean into the Lenten practice of self-examination. I carefully probe my feelings and motivations as if gently examining a wound. And in doing so, I feel the relief of God’s healing touch.

I am safe. I am loved. There is nothing that this day holds that is not already encompassed by the hands of the One who holds the caverns of the earth and the heights of the hills. I breathe in the loving-kindness of God, and stretch into the day.

Alone in prayer

Tuesday in the Second Week of Lent

For God alone my soul in silence waits,

from whom comes my salvation.

Psalm 62:1

As the two of us sit down to dinner, I light the candles in our Lenten desertscape that sits on our dining-room table. The candles are stubs, left over from some other time. I placed them there because Lent seems like the right time for remnants. And they still give light. They are held by the sand that fills a wooden tray, and in between them is a small wooden peg, a person alone in the wilderness.

Our diner table is a sacred place in our home. Countless meals have been served and shared here, countless graces said, countless conversations offered about how the day went. My spouse and I ate and prayed here in the early years, we raised our children around this table, and now this is where we welcome them and their partners home.

I relish the solitude of the wilderness. I am strengthened by the silence. I wait and listen for God’s word. And…I am surrounded by the prayers of others. Those who have crossed the wilderness before me and those who are my companions along the way now. And even those who have yet to set foot on this way. For God’s time is always and God’s way eternal.

Restless

Monday in the Second Week of Lent

For your loving-kindness is greater than the heavens,

and your faithfulness reaches to the clouds.

Psalm 57:10

The fatigue wraps around me like a blanket. I am ready for bed, yet when I see the time, I am surprised; it is really early. But then the day has been full. Of worship, of new music for a new season, of abundant food and community, of deliberations, of sacred conversations, of artistry. Of comfort and of being stretched. 

I can feel my need for restoration in my belly. And I know where to place my exhausted body and soul. In the hands of the One who is ever faithful, who holds me dear, who created kindness and compassion.

God will bring the new day and place me in it, still on the Lenten path, with vast opportunity for the restless wandering that brings me ever closer to where true rest can be found.

Turning

Saturday in the First Week of Lent

Restore us, O God of hosts;

show the light of your countenance, 

and we shall be saved.

Psalm 80:3

The softness of night cradles me as I gently wake. I lie quiet and listen. Wind. Crackling of baseboard heat. Windchimes. A passing car. Familiar creaks of the house. Highway traffic in the distance. And soon the birds. Caws of crows and riotous song of sparrows.

I see light through the window, the beginning of dawn and streetlights, one strengthening while the other wanes. Taking turns.

The seasons in my own life take turns as well. My current yearning in the wilderness nudged aside the bright reflection of the turning of the year. And eventually, it will yield to the fullness of spring and new life.

But not yet. Turning takes the time it takes. And in the meantime, I will bend my ears toward the sounds of restoration. I will keep watch for what will unfold. 

Connection

Friday in the First Week of Lent

The Holy One put a new song in my mouth,

a song of praise to our God;

many shall see, and stand in awe,

and put their trust in God.

Psalm 40:3

The drive takes me along winding roads, through winter-bare forests, across a river and into another state. I arrive to find my friend already waiting for me for our long- anticipated lunch. It has been five years.

Five years along winding roads, landscapes that often seemed winter-bare, across a pandemic and into this new time, this renewed way of being.

Our friendship has weathered this time, as have we. Older. More seasoned. Strengthened by mutual support and respect. Still sustained by a faith in God’s goodness. A faith that is the root of our connection, that grafts us to the tree of life, that calls us to flourish. 

This day

Thursday in the First Week of Lent

Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving

and make good your vows to the Most High.

Psalm 50:14

I watch one neighbor getting into her car for her drive to work and I see another return from her morning run. A school bus passes by. Soon there will be children walking to school. Another Thursday morning in another February in another Lent.

But it is not any day. It is today, and only today. What opportunities will unfold before me this day? Occasions to be kind. Chances to make things right. And many reasons to practice gratitude.

And so I begin, thanking God for the sunshine and for the beginning green of tulips and crocuses pushing through the vestiges of snow. For hot coffee in a favorite mug. For my neighborhood. For each child that walks by my house. For the teachers who cherish them. For a community in which to offer my gifts and grow closer to the Holy One. For this Lent and this time to repent and return and for a Savior who never stops calling me home.

In the moment

Wednesday in the First Week of Lent

God looks down from heaven upon us all,

to see if there is any who is wise,

if there is one who seeks after God.

Psalm 53:2

I smile as I hear my friend’s familiar voice over the phone, and in my mind I can see her smile as well in greeting. I have been trying to unravel a difficult issue, to find a good way forward on a murky road. She is often a sensible guide in such times.

As I lay out my conundrum, my friend is ready with a helpful aphorism, from scripture even, “Do not say, ‘Why were the former days better than these?’ For it is not from wisdom that you ask this.” (Ecclesiastes 7:10). It is not helpful to compare one time to the next, one person to another, one outcome with another. Where we are is now. What’s in front of us is this moment. This time with God.

I laugh happily at this reminder of what I already know. How staying present to the moment is life-giving. That breathing in the holiness that surrounds me will always carry me forward. True wisdom is simply this: to seek God.

Patient determination

Tuesday in the First Week of Lent

We have waited in silence

on your loving-kindness, O God.

Psalm 48:8

I carefully add water to the saucers which hold the small plants, marveling at how their leaves stretch toward the sun. In late December, the owner of a small garden had gifted them to me because she did not want to throw them away--the last four of the African violets that had not sold. And so I adopted the sad plants that needed some water and sunlight and tender care.

They remind me of my grandmother, who was some kind of an African violet whisperer. She always had some blooming on her windowsill no matter the time of year. Purple, and pink and a rosy in-between color.

There are no blooms yet, but my adoptees seem determined to thrive. I feel like we are in this together, the plants and I. The five of us silently, patiently, waiting for what we know will be a long time, while leaning into the surety that our lives are held in the loving care of God.

Precious in God's sight

Monday in the First Week of Lent

I said, “Lord be merciful to me;
heal me, for I have sinned against you.”
Psalm 41:4

As I step out of the car, a bit of bright color on the wet pavement catches my attention. On closer inspection, it turns out to be a tiny plastic fish, abandoned in the grocery store parking lot.

I immediately think that some child has lost their trinket. It does not look valuable to me and could easily be overlooked. But I imagine it was precious to that child, who even now is grieving the loss.

How often have I stepped on the treasures of others, disregarded what someone else valued, gave no weight to an opinion or solution or path that did no match my own?

I recognize an unhealthy pride the assurance that I know what is best. I pray to God to heal my blindness. To the needs, the wisdom, the faithfulness of my companions on the wilderness path. 

Weathering

Saturday after Ash Wednesday

Weeping may spend the night,

but joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:6

I wake to a gentle fall of snow and the particular quiet that such weather brings. Yesterday, I woke to wind, gusting through the tops of the trees, making the branches sway and dance with each other while the trunks remained steadily upright. And tomorrow?

The weather in my soul also varies from day to day, sometimes from moment to moment. And if I am attentive to it, I can perceive the beauty as well as the fierceness, I can grasp the hand of the One who created me out of the dust, breathed life into me, and calls me to joy.

Mercy ahead

Friday after Ash Wednesday

Into your hands I commend my spirit,

for you have redeemed me, O Lord, O God of truth.

Psalm 31:5

I find the solitary drive through the woods soothing even as I have to pay attention to the twists and turns. I have been craving quiet and respite from the noise, from the news, from the worry of things left undone.

I throw a prayer to God like a lifeline:  into your hands, I commend my spirit. Where else can I place my troubled spirit, my tragedy-ravaged soul, my despair at what we have made of the world?

Where will I find the courage to move ahead into the Lenten wilderness when what I want to do is hide, cower, cover my head? Yet it is along the wilderness road and every road that salvation waits. The One who has already redeemed me beckons me ahead, promising mercy.

God's light

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

God will make your righteousness as clear as the light

and your just dealing as the noonday.

Psalm 37:6

The light reflects off the snow in the early morning adding a layer of beauty to my contemplative spot by the window. The space includes sacred and ordinary objects, holding both my daily practices and aspirational hopes.

Yesterday, in the midst of ashes, I leaned into God’s mercy, having nowhere else to go with my worry about the world. I reminded children of their goodness. I encouraged adults to return to God with all their hearts. I whispered to myself that dropping my bit of compassion onto troubled waters would make a difference.

And it does. Because God takes our small kindnesses, our feeble attempts at forgiveness, our muddled striving for justice, and makes more of them. God called light into being. And as I enter into another day, I will hold close to my heart the knowledge that the light within me and the light I see in others is a reflection of God’s love. 

Uncovering. The road ahead.

Ash Wednesday

For the Lord knows whereof we are made;
and remembers that we are but dust. Psalm 103:14

Yesterday, layer upon layer of snow filled the yard, buried the drive, covered the bushes, obscured the sky until the early afternoon sun began a reversal, a slow uncovering that will take some days.

Last evening, soft layers of smoke filled the church yard as youth burned last year’s palms for this morning’s ashes. Ashes that will soon be blessed, pressed onto foreheads, worn for moments or the day, marking an intentional reversal of things done and left undone that will take some days.

We will repent. We will turn. We will uncover forgotten vestiges of past unfaithfulness exposing ourselves to the warmth of forgiveness, and the dust of the road ahead, and the knowledge that we are fully known.

 

Preaching love for Matthew Shepherd. Again.

Last fall was a heavy lift for my family, as we marked the 25th anniversary of Matt's murder. I have needed some time and space before I could post about it here. 

25 years ago, as my spouse Jim and I were celebrating our firstborn’s first birthday, we were also carrying in our hearts Jim’s sweet cousin Matt, who lay in a hospital after being brutally beaten and left tied to a fence. When Matt died on October 12, 1998, his murder elicited an outcry from a multitude of souls. 

On October 16, 1998 I preached at Matt's funeral while protesters lobbed hateful words at us outside of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming--Matt's home parish where he had been an acolyte. 

Now, Matt's resting place is the Washington National Cathedral where his ashes are interred in the crypt. I cannot say enough about the grace and hospitality offered by WNC. The Cathedral has taken good care of Matt, and of our family. Each year now, the cathedral staff offers a service of remembrance for Matt on his birthday, December 1. I am particularly grateful to Canon Rose Duncan, who crafted a stunning liturgy last November in A Service Honoring Matthew Shepherd and prayed me through it, to Head Verger Scott Sanders, who gracefully insured that all went well, and to Bishop Mariann Budde, whose presence warmed my heart.

I am also thankful for the kindness shown by Peter O'Dowd and Adeline Sire of NPR's Here and Now, who treated me and Matt's story with compassion when Peter interviewed me.

When it comes to walking the way of faith and love in the world, they only way we can do it is in community.

What follows is what I preached last fall. You can also  watch/listen to the service.

Remember, Reflect, Resolve

25^th Anniversary of Matt’s Murder

November 30, 2023

 

 

What would it be like

to never be driven away?

 

to never have a door closed in your face

to never be told there is no room for you

            to never have someone whisper insults behind your back

                        or to you face

What would it be like

            to never have to run or hide or cower

                        for your own safety?

How would you hold yourself

            if you knew that all of who you are

would be welcomed with open arms?                         

 

Jesus says, anyone who comes to me I will never drive away

anyone who comes to me I will never drive away

can you imagine such an encounter

                                    such welcome

                                                such healing    

 

25 years ago

I carried Matt’s ashes in my lap 

as my spouse drove us to the church for the funeral

                        our one-year-old safely buckled into a car seat in the back

we turned a corner

            and suddenly encountered hate--

                        protesters shouting and wielding hateful signs

                                    Matt’s face with ugly words 

                                                some of them carried by children

I instinctively shielded the precious burden in my lap

            as I simultaneously threw a mother’s protective love

over our own child

            not wanting a wisp of that hate to touch them       

Five years ago

            at this Cathedral 

instead of hateful signs, the rainbow flag flew

our profound sorrow enfolded in profound love

 

and now, a return, a remembrance, 

a time of pilgrimage

 

I lift up my eyes to the hills,

            from where is my help to come?

 

the psalmist echoes for all time

            our yearning in a broken world

                        our searching for relief and solace

                                    and our determination to hope

this is a psalm sung by those making pilgrimage

            the physical and ritual journey to a sacred place

                        in order to encounter the divine

                                    and gain…what?

            perhaps wisdom

                        perhaps sustenance

                                    perhaps an inkling that the brokenness around and within us

                                                is not the whole story

and a pilgrimage is more than the destination

            it encompasses the landscapes traversed 

                        the steps taken

                                    the exertion and fatigue and growing strength

                                                the contemplation and wandering thoughts and emerging vision

            and the doubts

for me

            perhaps for you

                        this is a moment of pilgrimage

                                    and yes, Matt’s resting place is a sacred destination for me

and it is more

            this moment calls me to reflect on the landscapes I have traversed to arrive here

 

Before I was ordained 28 years ago

            I was already struggling with a church that did not fully accept 

the plurality of gender identity expressed in God’s creation.

            Although it took longer than I wanted

                        that has changed

                                    --thanks be to God

 

When someone on the NYC subway 26 years ago complimented my infant child saying

            “she’s going to turn boys heads someday”

                        without a beat I said “or maybe girls”

                                   -- little did I know how true that would be

Sophie, our oldest, would be a teen before they identified themselves as non-binary.

            gender fluid nonbinary lesbian, to be exact

                        we are so proud of them

and of a church that offered a session on “queering the Bible”

                        at the Episcopal Youth Event they attended

            and a congregation that supported them with Love through their teen years

                        in fact, before Sophie came out to me and Jim formally, 

they told their Sunday School class

This is the church at its best

            this is the kind of community that is possible

                        this is why I continue to practice hope

 

a pilgrim does not remain

            at the sacred site or even in the sacred encounter

                        but moves on

                                    heads toward home

                                                reengages with everyday life

and so this time here together also calls me to resolve

            to gather up all that has brought me here to this moment

                        and see what I can make of it

what can I weave from these strands--

            from each of your presences

                        from the artistry of song and poetry and prayer inspired by Matt’s story

                                    from tears and sighs and wistfulness

                                                from the admiral courage and witness of Judy and Dennis

                                                            and so many of you

 

What I knew 25 years ago

            I still know

                        we are each of us created in God’s image, the image of love

                                    we are each beloved of God

                                                Matt, you, me

                                                            God’s love for us is irrevocable

there are people and institutions in the world

            who speak and act otherwise

                        who will tell some that they are not welcome

                                    who want you to believe you are less-than, not-lovable

                                                who insist there are parts of who we are that must be hidden away

--and all of that is a shameful lie of the enemy!

 

the voice of God

is the voice of love

                        the voice of Jesus who says

                                    anyone who comes to me I will never drive away 

 

a pilgrim does not remain

            at the sacred site or in the sacred encounter

                        but moves on

                                    heads toward home

                                                reengages with everyday life

our time here together also calls each of us to resolve

            to gather up all that has brought you here to this moment

                        and see what you can make of it