Walking Psalm 51

Last week, to finish up a Lenten Sunday School series on creative prayer forms, we explored prayer labyrinths a bit. The folks in the class were kind of mixed when it came to experience with labyrinths. Some of us were seasoned walkers, others had never heard of anything like it.

There's nothing like learning through experience, and since my congregation does not have a labyrinth of walking size, a friend and I created on in the Fellowship Hall. Never underestimate the possibilities of two women with a box of sidewalk chalk! For a few hours and with the help of coffee and a pattern, we measured and taped and chalked,

(masking tape is your friend)

added a few little details,

and some text.

The result was a rough but rather pretty labyrinth ready for the walking feet of the adult Sunday School class the next morning. Soft music, a bowl of water at the center and some colored stones created some tangible elements during the class.

Kari summed part of the day up in video form for you viewing enjoyment.

Much of the joy of this day for me was in how this lovely prayer form flowed right into the context of the services we had come out of or were walking into. The sermon this day was on Psalm 51. If you desire to read it, the text of both can be found here. But more importantly, I realized that we took the time to hear the word of God on repentance and then gave the folks of the congregation a tool, even if it was an unfamiliar tool, to do something with it. This is the joy of ministry that is starting to take hold in my spirit, and I thank God daily for opportunities such as this.

I've walked this labyrinth myself several times this week as it slowly surrenders to the vacuum and fades. And I've kept Psalm 51 close to my heart. Those words of the psalmist have brought me to more self-awareness this week than ever before. As my feet follow the curves and my heart sings those lines, brokenness is not a negative. It's the first step to healing, healing in the arms of the God who loves me. The God who loves you. Psalm 51 is a marvelous invitation to repentance, restoration and response. As you walk these last days of your own Lenten journey, perhaps that speaks to your soul a word of God's most precious peace.

Blessings on your week.

~Leslie

Just a few thoughts on The Hunger Games

I read Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games and the other two novels in the trilogy about a year ago, just about the same time the movie began to be publicized. I will admit, I read the first book in one sitting. The characters drew me in, the story line was intriguing, and I knew it would provide quite a bit of discussion material from the opening chapter. The violence in these pages, however, was horrifying to me and the thought of seeing the movie was not one I entertained for long. My initial feeling was that books allowed the reader to enter into the world of Panem on the level of the Tributes. Even the Capitol folk have traits that emerge in little conversations, thoughts and observations by Katniss, and Collins' own descriptions. The big screen version, however, would necessarily be void of some of these written helps. The very fact that the book consists of televised games, games we as viewers would soon be watching on a big screen, seemed to put the viewer right in the place of a Capitol viewer, watching the story for the entertainment alone, just waiting for the next "exciting" death.

That was my initial thought.

My plan not to see the movie was foiled by my middle school youth group's planned outing to the drive-in theater, which happened to be on the calendar before we realized The Hunger Games was opening that night. Well, you try to convince a bunch of teenagers to see The Lorax when all their friends are buying up tickets weeks ahead of time for year's number one (projected) film! So after thinking it through, we decided the kids would see it anyway, so why not take the opportunity to talk about some of the moral layers in the stories and try to watch the film reflectively?

So on opening night I found myself seated under the stars in a lawn chair with a sandwich and a youth group seeing the movie I had sworn I would not go anywhere near. (On a side note, we really need to bring the drive-in back to popularity. It's a great way to watch a movie.)

If you do not want to know anything about the content of the movie, please stop reading here.

Basically, after seeing the film, I wish I hadn't. The movie was, for all intents and purposes, very well-done. The directors stayed fairly faithful to the novel. Can't quite figure out why dialogue at points was word for word, but the cat was black and white. ??? The characters were beautiful. The scenery was beautiful. The soundtrack was beautiful. But in the end, it was still a movie that made children killing children into entertainment, and I could not like it. Suzanne Collins constructed her stories in such a way that the reader is hard pressed to cheer for any tribute in the games. Even the final arrow that effectively makes Peeta and Katniss victors is shot with hurt, pity, and despair. The crowd at the film let out a collective whoop when the same event occurred on the screen, and I realized that instead of watching the movie with an eye to the futility of violence and the potential for love of neighbor, everyone was simply cheering on the "hero" of the film. So what Collins so beautifully lays out for her readers is all but ignored when actual faces take on the identities of these characters.

I really found myself with very little emotional investment in the screen version. There was little character development, especially when it came to background. We really have no idea why we are supposed to care about the people of district 12 at all. The death of Rue, possibly the most poignant moment in the book, did not bring me even close to tears, leading me to the realization that the characters, with the exception of Katniss, were not developed enough to make the viewer care about them. Thus, when Katniss broke down after Rue's murder, my heart felt it much more acutely. Cinna, by far my favorite character in the books, was convincingly played by Lenny Kravitz but not given the screen time necessary to let him into the heart as a brilliant and passionate ally. And the Prep team might as well have been ignored all together. There was no time to let Katniss come to any sort of understanding of the Capitol world she was suddenly thrust into, leaving the viewer wondering who or what she was fighting - for or against.

In a world where the week's news was filled with the deaths of innocent people, I believe books like The Hunger Games have a place. They call us to look within ourselves, to recognize the violence that exists in all of us. There is a rather striking point in Mockingjay where the tributes are talking about how easily they all killed when it came down to it, and the realization makes them really think about the whole system and their role in it. Are they any different than anyone else inside or outside the arena?  These are the questions worth asking. We read these books, we identify with the characters, we look within and say, "How am I a Capitol viewer today, indulging my every desire?" or "How am I Katniss, competing out of love for my family but willing to compromise to save my own skin?" Movies can do the same thing, but it's incredibly rare.
This one just didn't.

Bikers welcome!

Short thought this evening. After spending a day this week driving around with about a million bikers, seeing signs everywhere that either said "No bike parking anytime" (or something along that line) or "Bikers welcome," I stopped here for a bit.

There was a time in my life when this would have made absolutely no sense to me.
I would have given you every reason under the sun why a church cannot be "drive-in," why there are probably no "real" members, and basically tried to convince you that this is not a church.

But we all grow and change, and my understanding of who the church is has undergone a bit of personal examination.

The gospel for today, the third Sunday in Lent, is John 2:13-22. It's a story we often don't know what to do with, because Jesus getting torqued and whipping the heck out of a bunch of folks making a decent living in the temple doesn't make sense to us. So we make it all about the corruption in the temple and the religious authorities, and it's easier to take.

But Scripture makes a claim on us. At some point we have to suck it up and say, "Yep, I'm just as misled and misunderstanding and caught in my own ways as everyone in that courtyard. That whip should sting my ankles and throw me to my face in front of this Word of God, who reveals his glory to the world.

I admit, I love my earthly temples. Nothing makes me happier than a stained glass window, a stenciled dome, or an exquisite baptismal font. This day also included a stop at the Basilica of St. Paul, where 70 foot ceilings, beautiful murals, and huge spaces create a holy space for a thousand or so.

Yet my heart keeps coming back to this little drive in church by the beach.

If we take Jesus at his word, then the temple he raised up in himself invites us to meet our God in the reality of Christ's presence. And we don't need vaulted ceilings and marble floors, beautiful as they are. We need space to pull up and spend time with the Creator of the ocean that's pounding across the street, space where  a preferred mode of transportation, or any other visible or invisible characteristic, does not define us, space to worship in the community that is the body of Christ not tied to a particular architectural form but in sanctuary of our Lord's presence.
And all are welcome.

Surf's up!

I admit it readily. An internship in Florida in many ways is an internship in Paradise. For this girl from the high plains, proximity to the ocean was a dream come true. Living a block away was beyond my wildest expectations.

But I will also admit, the water still makes me nervous. I'm not scared and I won't drown, but I just don't love the vulnerability of a massive body of water with things in it that would like to eat me. I love to sit on the shore, stick my feet in, dig in the sand, watch the crabs in tide pools. But I rarely let the water get above my knees.

And I'm taking the high school students on a surfing retreat.



I love it.

More to follow. Prayers much appreciated.

Ms. Leslie, I have a miracle!

"Ms. Leslie, I have to tell you my miracle..."  This sweet refrain has followed me around for the past week and a half, and I rejoice every time I hear it. It all started last Wednesday when it was my turn to lead chapel for our school kids, preschool through middle school, in four different gatherings. Our text for the day was the wedding at Cana, and though I didn't focus on miracles as the point of the lesson, the word "miracle" grabbed my littlest ones, so I camped there a bit with all of them. Our working definition was something like this,

miracle: something amazing God does in the world that we just can't explain, so we say, "That's amazing! Thanks be to God!!!"

They started naming miracles for me. Not surprisingly, the younger the group, the longer and simpler the list. They see God at work everywhere.
"When someone is sick and then they are better."
"There's a crash and nobody gets hurt."
"You fall on the playground and you get back up and keep playing."
"When birds are flying."
"My new baby cousin."
"It's morning and then it's nighttime and then it's morning again!"  (I think that was my favorite.)

The middle schoolers were pretty hesitant, but with a little encouragement, the list grew. The final and most perfect addition:
"Well, I would think Jesus forgiving all our sins is a pretty big miracle. Isn't it?"
Oh yes, dear one!

As we wrapped up chapel each time I challenged them to be on the lookout for miracles, and told them I wanted to hear them. Because a miracle is a chance a praise God together for what God is doing every day.
I haven't been disappointed.
"Ms. Leslie, I have a miracle. My brother was sick and suddenly he was better!"
"Ms. Leslie, my miracle is I found a shell!"
"Ms. Leslie, Jesus rose from the dead. He's not in heaven because he died, he's in heaven because he rose up! It's a miracle"
(Loved this. Six year olds tend to skip Lent altogether)

So how about you? Do you recognize the work of God all around you as miraculous? Do you take the chance to say, "That's amazing. Thanks be to God!" Maybe today is the day to put on the eyes of a little one and see a miracle in the simple acts of life. Or maybe just focus on Jesus for a bit.
I really do want to hear them. Let us rejoice. Together.

Remember you are dust...

I love Ash Wednesday. It wells up in my spirit with a rush that dumps me into the joyous solemnity of the Lenten journey with all its giving and giving up and buried A-------s and dismal hymnody.
I love every aspect of it.
Usually.

This year, not so much.
The hymns that typically accompany my journey's start were not a part of my day, which I really cannot blame on anyone but myself. I do work at a church, play the piano and own 30 hymnals. But somehow I did not get to that place I expected to launch from. My intentional stillness was amplified by a blazing head cold that left me flat in bed without any motivation toward any sort of contemplation. Even more not like me.

And then this song got stuck in my head. Give it a listen.

And suddenly, in the quiet of this evening, I'm beginning to get it. A favorite pastor of mine said in her sermon tonight something to this effect: We repent on Ash Wednesday because God longs for us. Not the other way around.
Perhaps all my intentional "remembering" of my mortality and creative lentenizing was getting in the way of where my focus needs to be, on a restoring relationship with the God who has a place in his heart for me.

I'm going to leave it there for a bit.
Lenten blessings to you.

litany for a Monday evening

A friend of mine had a rather intense day. I knew it was coming, and when I woke this morning, it was on my heart to write her a litany. Now anyone who knows me knows I have made a rather intense journey from my Pentecostal heritage to the more liturgical expressions of the Lutheranism to which I hope to be ordained. Liturgy has become my way of thinking when it comes to prayer. I think this is because I have become acutely aware of community in worship. This faith we live is very particularly ours, but it is by no means completely individual. So when I pray for another, my mind immediately turns to the community of faith. How can WE pray for one another? What are WE praying for when two or more of us gather in Christ's name before the throne of  our Lord? And how do we approach the God who created the world AND loves to spend these quite moments with our feeble hearts?

Litanies are a beautiful way to begin. They center us in our identity as children of God coming before a loving father with praise and adoration, with honesty and truth, with as much proclamation as we can muster when our hearts may be breaking or even if they are overflowing with joy.

So this morning, not quite knowing how to word my prayers for my friend, I began with a simple litany. As I've carried through the day with me, I've prayed and let it preface my prayers on many subjects. It seems fitting to end the day. Add whatever is on your heart at the end.





~~~~

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen

Lord you are good.

When the days are joyous and the burdens light, we proclaim it.

Lord you are good.

In days of shadow and uncertainty we proclaim it.

Lord you are good.

When the road is bumpy and we trip and fall. When those around us have short-sighted commentary on the life we live as your beloved children, we still proclaim it.

Lord you are good.

When your will seems hidden but the days march on and we long to know your plan in detail, we proclaim in faith,

Lord you are good.

Shedding tears for a prophet taken

"Yeah I know, shut up." That's at least how I translated Elisha's response to the company of prophets who insisted upon reminding this young prophet that his beloved master was about to pass from his presence. I relayed that to my adult Sunday school class this morning, and I think they thought I was a little off. But I fear we often read Elisha without the emotion that drips from the pages of 2 Kings. If ever there was an historical passage that illumines the humanity of God's prophets, this is it. On a day when we encounter Christ's disciples coming face to face with the divinity of Christ and the caught-in-the-middle-somewhereness of Moses and Elijah and the inevitable death of this Son of Man they've only begun to know and love, emotion seems completely appropriate.

I've been trying my hand at biblical storytelling. What I've found it that these stories we know by heart start to take on a whole new vitality when told aloud with all the emotion one can put into the reading, as one might do with a storybook and a group of children. The difference is, this is the living word of God coming to our ears in just a slightly different tone, inviting us to engage with not only our ears, but our hearts, eyes, movements, and emotions.

Elisha was crying, screaming for the master he respected...and loved as one loves a father. We needn't confine his response to Elijah's departure to a soft reading lacking all the lament and devastation our human hearts know was there. Hence, my "shut up" translation a little earlier. For what it's worth, I picture him slapping the water with all his might, too. Nothing noble or graceful, just frantic splashing.

For the next few weeks I would like to invite you to join me in an audible reading of the New Testament. Take some time and read large portions of scripture aloud. Put yourself in the shoes of each character and see the events of each narrative through their eyes. Read aloud. Shout when necessary, cry if you need to. Let the word sink into your soul in a new way.

I'd love to hear what you discover.

Sing a new song...

A couple years ago during Advent, I found myself at the labyrinth at the seminary where I was studying. It was a chilly evening, about nine o'clock in the evening. The candle I had lit in the center was a perfect reflection of the full moon overhead and I started walking. The words to O Come O Come Emmanuel were sitting in my heart, so I let myself sing them aloud. As I followed the curves of the path, I was struck by the way the words and melody of the hymn seemed to follow and lead and follow one another along those curves and turns. For those of you who make labyrinths a part of your spiritual journey, that emptying of the inward journey can be a little jarring at times. This was definitely one of those moments. It was as if God was saying to me, "Keep walking, child. Keep singing. You don't know where the road leads, but you know my presence is everlasting. My song is yours.Keep walking." Needless to say, I stopped when I reached the center and let myself cry out some of the tears that had been lurking just below the surface.

I tell you this story because my song needs to be renewed. And at this time of Lenten repentance and reflection, my feet need to follow those paths anew and seek the presence of the companioning God I long to trust more than anything. Care to join me? What is your song? Perhaps you need to start with O Come O Come Emmanuel and center your walk on the God who is with us in Jesus Christ. Maybe the cries of the mystics reflect the state of your soul.

My song this season is centered in creed. The words are said to be St. Patrick's. Whether or not they are is not of great importance. What does matter is the renewal of understanding that will guide this part of my journey, a journey of identity, of discipleship, and of love for the one who loved me first. I leave you with these words. Peace be the journey.

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb,
His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of cherubim;
The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,
The service of the seraphim,
Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,
The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the star lit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility

I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
By Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.