On my walk yesterday morning, I found myself pondering again the recent decision that the United Methodist General Conference made concerning gay marriage. The vote surprised me for a couple of reasons. First, it pointed out to me how little I pay attention to such things. Secondly, it reminded me of how insular my life can be. Thirdly, I was reminded with sorrow how hurtful church can be. Here I must add a disclaimer: I am part of a faith community that I deeply love. I love it for what it does well, and I also love the tattered places where we seem barely to hang on. I love hearing the prayers of the people even as I wonder why our prayers are so orderly. Yet, I treasure the opportunity of hearing the joys and the struggles because I sense people growing, maybe in fits and starts, but growing nonetheless in faith and love. Surely this is what church should be: a place where love is broadened, and where preconceived notions of right and wrong are released. Only then can there be room for people to learn to live into who God is calling them to be. There is tremendous vulnerability in this new growth, and we must be careful how we tend to that vulnerability.
As I walked, I thought of all of this. Also as I walked, I waved hello to the man who works at our local gas station as he swept the driveway. A young cyclist stopped at the crosswalk greeted me, and I asked him how he was doing. He laughed and replied that he was chilly. Then, as I crossed the parking lot, a neighbor came up from behind me and we walked together for a minute or so. She had her yoga mat with her, and we talked about our classes, and then she walked on. These were very brief interactions, but I realized afterwards that not only was each person unique, each left me with a sense of deep gratitude for the way that we humans continue to be knitted together in this life. Psalm 139:13 speaks of being knitted together in our mother's womb as a private historical birth event. I believe this knitting is ongoing and it is communal. We are still being created together in the womb of life, and we are being connected in surprising patterns. In John 15 we hear Jesus describing this deep connection as staying on the vine. He reminds us that branches cannot live unless they stay connected. This is how we abide in love.
March 6 is Ash Wednesday, and as far as I can see, it can't come a moment too soon. Earlier this week, I drove past a sign in front of church that encouraged people to stop by and receive what I call "ashes to go." There probably is value about the surprise factor of being offered the ashes in middle of your journey to work or school. Sometimes, you don't even have to get out of your car. However, if at all possible, let us take the time to be in community. Let's pause, get out of our busyness, and sit down and pray and sing together while we acknowledge the impermanence of our lives and yes, even our churches. We Christians owe the world our collective prayers of repentance, humility, and hope. We of the San Lorenzo Community Church will be gathering on Wednesday at 7:00 in our Fireside Room for our Ash Wednesday service. You would be most welcomed!
"And among these people, if they are faithful to their own calling, to their own vocation, and to their own message from God, communication on the deepest level is possible. And the deeper level of communication is not communication, but communion. It is wordless. It is beyond words, and it is beyond speech and beyond concept."
Thomas Merton, as quoted in "On the Brink of Everything" Parker J. Palmer
The attached photograph was taken a few days ago between storms. What I appreciated about this plant was its tenacity. It was quite windy that day, and it seemed impossible that the blossoms could continue to hang on. I was curious how the photograph would turn out. It seems the iPhone is pretty tenacious as well.
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