I Am Only the Driver

Every month I pick up one of our volunteers so she can join us for worship.  Esther (not her real name) is small, very spry, and probably one of the most opinionated people I know.  She walks just about everywhere she goes, and she would walk to the home we serve together if it were just a bit closer.  She is educated, speaks several languages, is very frugal, and maybe even more stubborn.  In the years that I have known her, I do not know if I have ever seen her dressed in anything but tweed and sturdy shoes.  She has never missed a worship service.         

This week as we were returning home, she said, "Would you look at my hand?"  The middle joint of her small finger was swollen.   

"Esther, that looks like arthritis."  

She looked surprised, as if it was a rare condition just recently discovered in this country.   

"Well, you are 85.  It is amazing that it is just now showing up."  I don't know why I was so confident I knew her age, but foolishly, I jumped right in those dangerous waters.      

She huffed and quickly replied, "I am most certainly not 85.  Try again."  

"OK.  84." 

"Nope. Barely a day over 83. Furthermore, do you know where I was Saturday night?" 

She is always asking me if I know, and, of course, I do not.    

"I was dancing." 

Now I was the surprised one.  I simply could not imagine this tidy woman in her sturdy shoes and practical tweed jacket gliding along the dance floor.  She went on to tell me that her son and daughter had taken her for an evening out, and that she danced, not just one dance, but every single number that the band played.   

I had to ask.  "Esther, what did you wear?"  

"Well, an evening dress, of course." I could almost hear her thinking, "You really do not know much, do you?"

 She smiled, "It was slit up the side.  You know, my husband loved to go out so he was always bring such dresses home (she said this in such a matter of fact way that she could have just as easily said that he was always given to bringing home stray cats).  People were particularly surprised when I danced the tango. Do you really think this is arthritis?"  

"Yes, I do, but talk it over with your doctor."   

"You can let me off at the corner."  She says this every month.    

'No, I can't. YOU KNOW  I can't just drop you off at the corner."  

"All right, darling.  You did a nice job today.  I'll see you next month.  You know, the band leader blew me a kiss when we left."     

  

So did I. But you know not at the corner.  Band leaders and chauffeurs know what they need to do. 

The Gift

One of our volunteers has played music with her children, now adults, all of their lives.  Yesterday, her daughter,who plays a flute, joined us for worship.  As we began setting up and settling in, she asked if I would like them to play a prelude.   The residents, all who have Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia, had been gathered, and our good mornings had been said.   As the music began, I had one of those wonderful moments of not needing to do anything but to simply  witness.   As I listened to the beautiful music and watch the people's faces, I felt love filling the room.  I felt my very pores opening, and I wept.   Just because everything was so beautiful.  Just because I felt I was right where God wanted me to be.  I heard the voice of the very wise Ms. Edna, who has lived in a convalescent hospital for over four years, saying "God always gives us the community we need."  And I knew the gift, both seen and unseen, was right before me, and in me, and all around me.      

 

 Yesterday, Sister Maureen pondered keeping her song sheet.  However, she eventually decided that singing alone was not what she wanted to do.  "It is not as nice."  This home we serve twice a month, so I was able to reply, "I will be back soon so we can sing together again."   She said her thank you, and I took her hand.  We smiled. Together.  

 

May those who sow in tears 

reap with shouts of joy. 

Those who go out weeping, 

bearing the seeds for sowing, 

shall come home with shouts of joy, 

carrying their sheaves.    

                                                  - Psalm 126:5-6  

 

And they sang a new song.  

                                                  - Revelation 5:9   

Giving Thanks

Yesterday, our worship service started, literally on a beautiful note, although the pianist mentioned the pedal was not working.  Undaunted, she began to play the hymn, "Give Thanks."  We all began singing as we went about the tasks of greeting people, handing out song sheets, and setting things out for communion, simple tasks that I never seem to tire of.  I see Barbara in her usual spot.  She always sits in front, very upright, with her small  purse in her lap, giving me the sense that we are all waiting for the bus. The whole time I have known her, she has always politely declined communion.   However, this week, I heard the quiet response of "Yes, I believe I will."  In ministry, yeses, no matter how softly spoken, ring loudly.  It is as if I am hearing the peal of church bells.

  

Our ministry has always been well received in this home.  Often, several staff members will stop their work to sing a hymn with us or take communion, and this day was no exception. After worship, the activity director came up to me, and excitedly said, "Oh, Reverend (she always chimes the word in three distinct syllables), I have something to tell you.  I am being baptized the Sunday after Thanksgiving!"   We hugged, and an image of Mary and Elizabeth greeting one another came to my mind.  It is difficult to describe, but that moment seemed so full of the mystery of what had come before, and what lies ahead. I was reminded of the beauty of faith-filled friendships and why I tend to the table. Yes, I wear a stole, but an apron would do just as well.        

Perhaps this what Barbara knows - that we are not waiting for the bus, but rather we are already on it.  And there Christ is.                           

          

Lightening Up

Recently I learned that a man who used to rent a house in our neighborhood had passed after having had a heart attack.  He had been terribly burdened by at least one addiction and very poor health.  Eventually even keeping a roof over his head proved to be too much.  Nonetheless, most of us in the neighborhood had liked him.  As one neighbor put it, "I think at the bottom of his heart, he liked people.  He could not get his life together, but I think at the bottom of it all, he was a good man." 

 

Since that conversation, I have been thinking of the heart as a basket that periodically needs cleaning out.  There are many ways to do this sort of housekeeping: prayer, meditation, or even a good conversation are some of the ways we can lighten the load we are carrying.  It is important that we find a way to do this.  Sometimes we need to hand our burdens over, or at least set them down for awhile.  We just don't need to carry it all, and truly, we cannot.   Some burdens are for God alone.  It really is possible to lighten up, and even discover some long forgotten goodness stuffed at the bottom of an over-weighted heart.      

  

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,

for I am gentle and humble in heart,

and you will find rest for your souls. 

For my yoke is easy and my burden light.  

                                                               - Matthew 11:28- 30    

     

 Go with God, my friend.  You can now travel light.  

Portraits

For months now, at some point in the service, Sarah will close her left eye and then gaze at me intensely with her right.  Then, in a slow cadence that I think must surely belong solely in the realm of oracles, she will pronounce, "God has blessed you."     

Today, the oracle spoke before the service began, just before May was brought to our circle.  May is very reserved and modest, so I am surprised to see her dressed in a bright pink hat and a deeper pink floral blouse and pants.  Her very spring outfit was particularly striking against the back drop of pumpkins, cardboard autumn leaves, and other Halloween decorations.  I found myself immediately  throwing out anything I ever thought I knew about the logical progression of the seasons.  Here, in the midst of autumn I found spring blooming.  I could not help but exclaim, "How beautiful you look!"  She smiled and whispered "thank you," the only word I think she ever speaks aloud.      

Later, just as I am about to give the benediction, Rita walks in from her time spent with the Catholic lay minister who comes every month to give her communion.  As I raise my arms, she comes immediately to my side, gives me a warm hug, and laughs her robust laugh.    I keep my left hand lifted, and place my right arm around her.  She puts her left arm around me and raises her right hand.  "Let us go forth knowing God gives us the gift of friendship." Rita echoes me.  "And let us go forth knowing that God gives us the gift of love." She echoes me once more.   It is one of the rare moments when I wished someone was there to take a picture.  It would surely be a fine portrait of the ministry - two of us arm in arm, laughing and claiming our blessings, blooming unexpectedly in this time of our lives. 

  

Light, Reluctantly

I cannot remember where I bought this set of candles, but they inspire my curiosity because they are a little slow to light.  This is strange because for most candles, illumination is their sole role. However, as I wait the few moments for the flame to rise and stabilize,  I think of the human heart.  Often, it, too, is slow to be kindled.  Perhaps God finds it odd that we can be so reluctant to accept the one thing we are here to do - to be a small light in this very big world. 

 

May your gifts and your light shine brightly today.  

 

You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning;

my God turns my darkness into light. 

                                       - Psalm 18:28    

Ponderings

As many of you know, Tyler and I adopted a rescue standard poodle in June.   That meant that we have spent quite a bit of time this summer in obedience classes.   When training our dogs, our goal is  never absolute perfection, but rather safety and good manners.  However, we have always asked our dogs to be good ambassadors.  Jack is making much headway, but he struggles with learning to trust, and that has been an interesting lesson for us all.  There is no command for trust.    

 

The following paragraph from the book The Big Book of Christian Mysticism by Carl McColman is really too long for Ponderings, but it is beautifully clear and succinct, and that is always one of my goals in my writing and sharing.  Every one of us is call to be an ambassador.  We are called to help the world to trust that love is real.  And, of course, we can only do that when we step over the threshold of our fears and journey there ourselves. 

   

God is love.  God loves all of us and wants us to experience abundant life. The means abiding in love - love of God, and love of neighbors and ourselves. Through prayer and worship, meditation and silence, we can commune with God, experience his presence, have our consciousness transformed by his Spirit, participate in his loving nature, and be healed and renewed in that love. This new life (what the New Testament calls "the mind of Christ") will not only bring us joy and happiness (even when we suffer), but will also empower us to be ambassadors for God, to bring God's love and joy and happiness to others.  There is much work to be done, and the task is overwhelming. Even our own need is very great, for we tend to resist God's love, even as we hunger for it. Yet, God continually calls us back to his love, and continually empowers us to face the challenge of bringing hope to our broken world.