hard to remember

Its hard for me to remember that students who are in high school now grew up with a different set of expectations. In the midwestern town where I went to Elementary school, it was a big controversy when a teacher ended up fired for putting down and roughing up the only black kid in our school. Its hard because somehow the state of the world we grow up in becomes "normal."

Its hard for me to remember the story one my preaching professor told, only once, about being shot on the way to a civil rights demonstration. He was in the hospital recovering when three little girls died in a church bombing. Its hard to remember because its hard to think of him or them hurt like that.

Its hard for me to remember how much further the world has to go in learning to let, (heck to help!) every human being flourish. Its hard because I have a pretty comfortable life, and my kids have all the options they need. ITs hard to remember because I have to slow down and widen my view.

Its hard, but its worth it. -Karen

George's Sunday Sermon: Anticipation

Amanda reminded me after Thursday’s choir practice that this morning, I would be preaching to the choir.

I got to thinking about that, because I use the term often. Preaching to the choir means that I am delivering a message to a group that is already well aware of the message.

The difficult part of delivering a sermon, for me, is this:  I’m always uncomfortable suggesting that I have any special scholarly insights for you. So please understand, this morning, that I know I am preaching to the choir.

In today’s Gospel reading, the multitudes are anticipating the arrival of Jesus Christ. John the Baptist tells them, “he who is mightier than I is coming.”

What are you anticipating as you sit in your pew this morning?

If you are anticipating a profound message from me, you are about to be sorely disappointed!

Let me ask a different question. When Pastor Munson tosses out an open-ended question and looks hopefully at you for a response, do you cringe?

Our faith is not for spectators. We’re not here to be entertained by the folks up front. We are expected to get onto the field, into the game. This is not a one hour every Sunday event. It’s an every minute every hour every day commitment.

Sure, it’s not always comfortable. Sometimes what we’re called to do is well outside our normal boundaries. But it is what is expected of us.

It took a long time for me to understand this, and even longer to act on the understanding. I’m still working at that, actually.

When I was a kid, every summer we attended Methodist Camp in Winthrop. Because I also lived in Winthrop, I would leave camp in the evening to play in my little league baseball games. I was on the field and in the game. But it was the wrong field and wrong game.

Even after Lin and I started attending church here in Readfield, I was still a spectator Christian, happy to deliver our kids into the care of Susan Baker, enjoy the service, and go home. I soon joined the choir, but I got more enjoyment out of the singing than I ever brought to anyone else by my singing. I was in the choir for me.

But then one year I participated in a small group learning about the power of prayer. That led, eventually, to joining the prayer tree. And then the church fair became an eagerly anticipated event in my life, a time for fellowship and service.

No one needs another committee meeting less than me, but I joined the SPRC, and found myself actually enjoying this opportunity to serve. The meetings are stimulating, full of fellowship, offering an opportunity to get onto the field and participate in God’s game.

And finally, after waiting a while for someone – anyone- to step up to chair our Finance Committee, I stepped onto that playing field this month. Of course, if I had known that it included an evening tutorial from our long-time Finance Chair Rocko, for which he brought the Gritty’s, I might have signed up a long time ago!

And believe it or not, this diversion leads us back to my original question: What are you anticipating this morning?

Let me start the confessions. In my pew on Sunday morning, I am often anticipating the writing of my newspaper column. It must be submitted no later than Monday morning and I often write it on Sunday afternoon. And there is many a Sunday morning, as I sit here in church that I have no clue what I’m going to write about. Karen bails me out quite a lot, by giving me an idea for a column subject as she presents her morning message.

Lin always knows when this happens because she’ll glance over and I will be writing feverishly on the back of my church bulletin.

In my pew, I am anticipating the game of volleyball that Robin will be leading from 4 pm to 6 pm this afternoon.

A lot of the things I anticipate as I sit in church are pleasurable, mostly things I do for myself. It’s still, regrettably, all about me.

Anyone here this morning anticipating some fun events in your own life? Maybe an upcoming vacation? The Patriots game on TV this afternoon? How many are eagerly anticipating that?

We drove by a church yesterday that displayed this message outside the church: Come visit our home Sunday before the game.

It is also possible that you are anticipating bad things in your life. Surgery. An unpleasant task at work.

We all bring our anticipations to church on Sunday morning.

And for me, the challenge is to change those anticipations from things for and about me to things for and about God.

You all know that I love to hunt and fish. In my world, God made nothing more beautiful that a brook trout – especially a trout attached to my line.

My favorite fishing quote is this: “the charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.”

Imagine applying this thought to every minute of your life, spending that life in the pursuit of what God has made attainable for you, a perpetual series of occasions for hope, realizing that God’s playing field may be elusive, but its always attainable, and anticipating those opportunities to play in God’s game. Those opportunities are available, and not just for an hour on Sunday morning.

They are attainable in everything this church offers and does, and in so many places, on so many fields, outside of this church.

I gaze around every Sunday and find occasions for hope supplied by members of this congregation who live their lives on God’s playing field, teaching Sunday school, serving at the food bank, going to Slidell or Cambodia to build houses, traveling all the way to Kaoma to teach children. I admire each of you who sit here this morning anticipating these things.

And I recognize that you spend more of your time on God’s playing field than I do. Most of my time is still spent in my own game, for my own pleasure.

But when I do get out of my own game and into God’s game, I am so richly rewarded as to wonder: why don’t I do this more often?

And then there is that greatest of anticipations: that when the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there. Ah, that elusive goal, but a goal that is attainable. I hope!

I was writing legislative testimony early Wednesday morning, anticipating a very busy day at the State House, and happened to look up from my laptop to see a beautiful sunrise.

Suddenly, the day’s anticipated events seemed far distant, and I marveled at the beauty that God puts in front of me every day. My day brightened, even before the sun rose over Bowen Hill to the east. And I wished I had more time to spend in God’s game. But I had to get that testimony done.

My prayer for you is that every one of your days may be brightened by all that you anticipate, that your feet may be placed down on God’s playing field every minute of every hour of every day. And for me, that once in a while, I will join you there.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...
fluffy snow out as far as I can see!

Last night "church cancellations" started scrolling across TV screens.

We've only had to "cancel" worship twice here in ten years, that I can remember.
Mainers are a pretty hardy group, weather doesn't stop us. Its just gets us going with ingenuity. Common sense does sometimes divert our energy.

So this morning at 9:00 AM with a clear parking lot, but several feet of powder piled against the doors and up the Torsey stairs, I find myself contemplating what "cancel Church" means.

The Roman Empire tried pretty hard to cancel church permanently just as church was getting started.

If we really cancelled church now, what would the world lose?
(Leave your thoughts in the comment section below!)

Maybe we can re-think church to where we are today, moving it instead of "cancelling it."
 In fact, if we try using "church" as a verb rather than a noun,
we could be churching in any number of ways!

Maybe reading today's Gospel, John 1: 10-18, in front of a fire that echos the light of God filling our world.

Maybe humming "O Little Town of Bethlehem" as we clear the streets and sidewalks of our community for travelers. Maybe even thinking about others way to make our homes and world welcome source of God's loving light for all traveling life's journey. (I love the phrase in United Methodist Communication's recent mailing: ACT justly, LOVE mercy, WALK humbly.)

Maybe for those of us who'd really like to be imagining a warmer place, how about re-thinking church in a tropical theme? How would you worship on a light filled beach? hmmmmm.

Toay is the 10th day of Christmas, the end of the first ten years of the millenium. The news is full of dire descriptions of a difficult decade. But the light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it. 


We may not be worshipping the way we usually do (which is, after all, not the way "its always been done"), but that's no reason not to seek Christ's light today.  Or, to let that love light shine through our lives as we seek to serve him.

Getting to know Brother Lawrence

We're being introduced to a fellow who may seem strange at first glance, but whose "claim to fame" is the ordinary nature of his life and approach to faith.

Born in 1614 as Nicholas Herman, poverty forced the young man who would become "Brother Lawrence" into the army where he was promised food and a little bit of money. When an injury made it impossible for him to serve, he became a nobleman's valet. But discouraged by his life, Nicholas entered a Carmelite monastery in Paris as a lay brother. He didn't have the education needed to become a monk.

Among the brothers he became "Brother Lawrence," and was rather dismayed to be assigned to the kitchen crew, another task he felt woefully inadequate to perform. He adapted by grower ever more humble, letting go of common notions of success and putting himself utterly in the service of God and his brothers. No one was more surprised that Brother Lawrence himself when his gentle, unassuming manner began to attract admirers.

Brother Lawrence's attractive "ahah" was that growing close to GOd didn't need to be as hard as we often try to make it. "Men invent means and methods of coming to Gods love, they learn rules and set up devices to remind them of that love, and it seems like a world of trouble to bring oneself into the consciousness of God's presence. Yet it might be so simple. Is it not quicker and easier just to do our common business wholly for love of him?"

Don't be deterred by the old fashioned language of "The Practice of the Presence." If you have trouble getting started, try this reading plan:

Begin from behind. Read “Gathered Thoughts” first.

Exercise: What questions come to mind? Make a list.

Next, move on to “The Character of Brother Lawrence.”

Exercise: Write a min-biography of brother Lawrence in your own words.

Third, read the letters, one at a sitting.

Exercise: After each letter, write your own letter, to God, to Brother Lawrence, or to a trusted friend.

Finally, read “The Conversations.”

---------Read more about Brother Lawrence at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brother_Lawrence

image from www.spiritualityandpractice.com/days/features.php?id=16440

Re-Think Church

This month we've started re-thinking church at our local level. The term comes from the United Methodist Church's 10,000 doors project. It dovetails perfectly with the place we find ourselves in our life together: living in mission, searching for new ways to grow in Christ together.

Strangely, this new stage of growth seems to be simplifying, rather than complicating, our community. We've streamlined our workhorse of a mission statement to: We are a welcoming community of believers seeking to grow in Christ and to serve in mission.

We're re-thinking meetings, opening them up, inviting new voices in. We're rejoicing in worship, re-inventing our adult spiritual growth groups, and remembering with gratitude the work of saints before us who laid faithful foundations to launch this flight into the future.

In everything, we aim to grow together in love and service. Brother Lawrence is our companion guide this year. Pick up your copy of his writings while you're coming and going from worship, or stop by during office hours: Tuesday-Friday from 9AM-noon, Thursday nights 6:30-8:30PM.

summer worship temptation butterflies

Flutter by season 'tis....

When favorite summer folks show up in worship.

Inexpensive butterfly fans stirred the hot august air in worship today,

creating a lovely, lively, dance pattern across the congregation.

Pollinating visitors have been busy brightening our gardens.

May your heart be as light as the butterfly's wings,

unweighed by worry,

but lifted on prayers of praise and words of hope,

strengthened by pollinating work of justice and mercy.

Seeing What’s Around Us

 

By George Smith

Reprinted from the July 22, 2009 Kennebec Journal.

 

            Sometimes it takes more than open eyes to see everything around you.

            The black mask covered his face when I glanced his way after hearing him speak. If he expected the mask was sufficient to prevent him from being seen and recognized, he should have paid more attention to the rest of his wardrobe.

            From the neck down, he was covered in bright yellow.

            I boldly stepped closer, 10 feet, 8 feet, 5 feet, and he appeared unalarmed, continuing to speak to me in a low, gutteral “tchcuk.”

            The black mask, white-eyebrow, and yellow belly allowed me to easily identify him as a warbler, the Common Yellowthroat. There’s nothing common about this beautiful bird.

            Seeing him in the streamside bush as I waded along in search of brook trout was one of the moments when you are certain there is a God. There’s no other explanation for the perfection and beauty of this tiny bird.

            I watched him flit around in the bushes for 10 amazing minutes, thankful that – only recently – I’d become an avid birder – taking the time to see what’s around me. All those years and I’d never noticed all these colorful birds.

            Fifteen minutes later, I cast a small fly – a nymph – into a bend pool and saw the quick flash of a trout darting from it’s hiding place to grab the fly.

            Quickly bringing him to hand, a sleek 7-inches adorned with red and blue spots and a gorgeous yellow belly, it was another God moment. If He’d only created one fish, the brook trout would have been it. Absolute perfection.

            The trout in Sourdahunk Stream are very dark on top to match their habitat. I didn’t used to notice, too busy casting and catching. Now I really study each individual fish, unique in its own way.

            Sometimes after he’s released, a fish will fin there in the water beside my foot, unaware that he’s free. Then the dark tail flips and he vanishes. What doesn’t vanish is the smile on my face.

            I gaze at Mount Katahdin covered by clouds, at the rapids ahead, into the trees along the shore, drinking it all in. I’m surrounded by beauty and want to see it all.

            Three years ago Linda and I enjoyed a “mushroom walk” with Mount Vernon’s Barbara Skapa. Boy, did that open my eyes!

            The diversity and quantity of mushrooms seen in a couple of hours, all within two miles of our home, was astonishing. We decided to focus on the tastiest (of course!) and learned to recognize, with confidence, chanterelles.

            From late June to mid-August, our eyes focus on the ground, searching for those yellow treats. Last night Lin sautéed two dozen in butter for a delicious pre-dinner appetizer. Wow.

            A few weeks ago a lovely lady named Carolyn called. She and her husband Ralph shared a European trip with Linda and me 30 years ago, arranged by the University of Maine Alumni Association. It was our honeymoon.

            Carolyn had been looking at an old album of the trip and saw a photo of Linda and me and decided to track us down. We hadn’t heard from her in 30 years, yet she remembered so many details about that trip and us.

            Here’s a lady who sees everything around her, I thought to myself.

            The conversation with Carolyn was a very pleasant surprise, but made me wish I’d been more observant 30 years ago. She sure remembered a lot more than I did!

            There was a time when I only saw what I wanted to see or had to see. As a sportsman, I’ve always thought I saw more than most – but until Linda and I started birding I was missing a lot.

            Kids don’t miss much.

            The fishing for smallmouth bass in mid-June on a remote Kennebec County pond was slowing so my 5-year old grandson Addison turned his attention elsewhere and pulled up a water lily pad to discover – and show Grampy – frog’s eggs underneath the pad. I’d never noticed them before.

            When is it we lose that wonderful ability to see and sense all that surrounds us? When do we become too self-absorbed and busy to really notice what goes on around us?

            Wait. As I write this column, I hear a Northern Parula warbler outside our camp window. Now, I’m even hearing all that surrounds me!

            And it makes life so much richer.

            Amazing things surround us. May you see and hear them all.