Monthly Archives: January 2011

“The people you have to lie to, own you. The things you have to lie about, own you. When your children see you owned, then they are not your children anymore, they are the children of what owns you. If money owns you, they are the children of money. If your need for pretense and illusion owns you, they are the children of pretense and illusion. If your fear of loneliness owns you, they are the children of loneliness. If your fear of the truth owns you, they are the children of the fear of truth.” —Michael Ventura

“If change is to come, it will come from the margins. It was the desert, not the temple, that gave the prophets.” -Wendell Berry

“Trust your hunches. They’re usually based on facts filed away just below the conscious level.” – Dr. Joyce Brothers

Last year at this time I posted every day for a week in my One Year Here blog. It was one of the toughest weeks of my life. But I got through it.

I got through it.

And now, One Year Later, I’m really starting to feel like I’m no longer in danger of going under, my head is above water. Joy is creeping back in, every day gets a little easier and a little easier.

Thank you for being there through this with me … even if it was just for today.

First He Looked Confused

I could not lie anymore, so I started to call my dog “God.”
First he looked
confused,

then he started smiling, then he even
danced.

I kept at it: now he doesn’t even
bite.

I am wondering if this
might work on
people?

—Tukaram (c. 1608-1649)

No, that isn’t the title of a movie (besides, that’s “Three Weddings and a Funeral”), that’s is what has been happening at St. Timothy Episcopal Church this month.

The two that were married were blessed. The three that were buried will be missed.

When life is good in community, it is very, very good. Seeing the happy couple makes us all take heart and rejoice.

When we lose someone in our community, it is from within that community that we can take our broken hearts and pour them out together, and heal. Even in loss we can celebrate.

As the song says — and I know the harmony by heart now, having sung it loud and long three times in a week — as the song promises, He will raise us up.

I am the bread of life;
they who come to me shall not hunger;
they who believe in me shall not thirst.
No one can come to me unless the Father draw them.

Chorus:
And I will ra-aise them up, and I will raaaa-aise them up!
And I will ra-aise them uuu-upon the la-ast day!

Do me a favor and try this tomorrow, while you are in church in prayer: hold both hands cupped behind your ears, let your fingertips rest lightly on the outside of your ears, then listen.

Just listen.

Then come back and tell me — not what you heard, but how you heard and how you felt hearing it.

This is my favorite moment of the Sunday gathering, after communion and service of the bread and wine is over and we all rise together as one to say:

“Eternal God, heavenly Father, you have graciously accepted us as living members of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ, and you have fed us with the spiritual food in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart; through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

And then the priest raises his hand in blessing and says over us:

“The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, be amongst you, and remain with you always. Amen.”

And then the priest and the lay reader walk down the center aisle toward the door, and the lay reader turns just before leaving to remind us of our weekly assignment, just in case we didn’t hear it the first dozen times we went over it during the service:

“Alleluia! Alleluia! Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.”

We have now entered the season of Epiphany, my friends, when the Light of the world became known. It is our duty to keep that light shining through our own eyes, minds, and lives.

When you see your friend’s light dim, it is your honor to rush to your friend and help him/her to rediscover their light.

When you see the world’s dim light, it is your place to raise your own light high, so others can see and be comforted.

When your own light feels heavy and grows dim, it is your commissioned duty to turn to your brother or sister to allow them the honor of helping you to rediscover your own light.

Rejoice and say:

“Thanks be to God. Alleluia, alleluia!”