A Holy Free-for-All

I've never forgotten a Maundy Thursday service I attended years ago at St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Milwaukee.  At the end of the service, anyone could come up to the altar area, grab something and remove it. Holy things - all handled with care by the women of the altar guild, the choir director, the pastors, the neighborhood children who came without parents, the church secretary, strangers, me.

People really got into it - everything that was not nailed down had to go. So focused on the task, some of the kids would have removed the furniture and rolled up the carpet if asked -- a somber, dead serious, holy free-for-all.

Like many churches, St. Paul's has an altar built against the wall. Behind the altar was a cloth backdrop.  If I remember correctly, it was a curtain or banner in the appropriate color of the season - probably a Lenten purple. When the custodian jumped up on the altar in his work boots and pulled down that cloth, I was shocked -- so completely appalled and offended, I remember it vividly years later! 

These days of Holy Week are like that - or should be.  Not so tamed down that we are not offended by the dead seriousness of the Cross.  Not so routine that we are not blown away by the new life that follows - God's holy free-for-all.  

Hold on.  Easter is coming.

An Early Alleluia!

Today a young child skipped and skee-daddled up to my communion line to receive a blessing.  I had already admired her lovely Easter dress and striped tights as she headed to Sunday School, worn a week early because - really - who can wait? This little girl first arrived in Advent, brought by her grandparents for the Christmas program rehearsals. They sat together on the steps of our fellowship hall while she learned the songs around the corner - just in case things didn't go smoothly. As Advent progressed, a younger granddaughter tagged along and they all  - grandparents and the littler one - played in the nursery while they waited. 

This morning, she had a sizeable group of admirers there to hear her sing with her Sunday School friends. She and most of the other children made it all the way through the long service, palm branches waving. When she skipped forward to the communion rail, pulling a grandmother in each hand, I couldn't help it - even with the somber ending to our passion story still ringing in my ears and the subdued Lenten hymns in the background. I couldn't help it - I laughed out loud, grateful for the many surprising ways God has been at work in our midst and - on the cusp of a week that can feel more harried than holy - blessing me with this little girl and her joy.  Alleluia!  A week early because - really - who can wait?

Loving the Library

I made a trip to the public library in downtown St. Paul yesterday to gather resources for a spring project on mythical creatures. The whole shelf of books on unicorns in the far reaches of adult non-fiction came as a surprise to me. A whole shelf!

The library is one of my favorite places. When the kids were smaller we visited so often, the librarians greeted us by name. They hunted down elusive titles, recommended authors, forgave fines, repaired torn pages and hauled stacks of books to the car when we accidentally checked out more materials than we could carry. In turn, I offered a listening ear when they moved elderly parents into assisted living facilities and when budget cuts eliminated positions and library hours. There were summers we diligently recorded every minute we spent reading in order to claim the (lame) prize of an inflatable baseball, months we borrowed nothing but origami books or cookbooks, many days when the "free" resources we couldn't locate under the couch or beds had to be replaced.

I am grateful that my children share my love for reading and have no complaints about whiling away an afternoon wandering through the stacks, pulling out the titles that grab our attention, sitting down on the floor to begin reading while other patrons maneuver around us.  The possibilities are endless: learn to fold a paper crane, plan a dinosaur birthday party, assemble and frost an impressive cake, wean a child, travel to another country, explore a culture, repair an oven door, paint a room, learn a yoga pose, draw a unicorn.

After finding the books on fantastic beasts we needed, I wandered through the little-explored biography section. I enjoyed some of the titles:

You Better Watch Out by Greg Malone
Dreams Can Come True by Susan Boyle
The Good Fight by Walter Mondale

And two of my curious favorites:
Never Tell Our Business to Strangers by Jennifer Mascia
A Supremely Bad Idea: Three Mad Birders and Their Quest to See It All by Luke Dempsey

I wondered on the way home what title would be appropriate for a book about my complicated, messy, wonderful life and was disappointed that A Supremely Bad Idea was already taken by those three wacky bird lovers. Here are some alternatives:

No, I Don't Have Any Thoughts about Supper
Mission Impossible: When Ministry and Motherhood Collide
Love, Love, Love: That's What It's All About

Have you read any good books lately?
What would be a good title for a book about your life?

Smooth Sailing

Our ten year-old daughter has outgrown her old bike - both the size and the princessy purple and pink colors. Her new one is a beautiful aqua blue, her first with gears and no pedal breaks.  This afternoon was warmish and sunny so we ventured out for a ride. 

Our suburb, which borders the Mississippi, has a wonderful bike trail with the river and its wildlife and barge traffic on one side and active train tracks on the other. Throw in the busy dog park along the path and it's almost sensory overload! 

However, between our house and the bike trail is a really steep hill.  It usually takes me several weeks of biking before I've worked up enough strength to get back up without stopping to walk.  It's not just that I'm out of shape, the hill is just that big. I've tried every possible street in town that leads away from the river and, although some hills are better than others, they're all bad.

The hardest part of our bike ride today was letting Sarah ride down the hill. What if she went too fast, fell off her bike, slid on the gravel, ran into a car, used the hand brakes too enthusiastically?  Her new bike seemed suddenly enormous and dangerous to me but she was confident and un-princesslike with her long hair flying, her unzipped sweatshirt flapping, her laughter tinged with both delight and fear. Sure, we had to walk back up at the end of our ride, but the conversation and the purple crocuses along the road eased the way.

How many of us inch down the big challenges and opportunities of life, both hands on the brakes, worried that we might make mistakes, go off the trail, have to limp back up?  Some risks are worth taking.

Next time, she plans to ease up on the brakes and go a little faster down the hill. 

I may have to send her with her father.

Thank you very much.

At lunchtime today, I hoped to do a quick errand at a local bank but the line was long and slow moving. I should have connected the dots-- lunch hour... bank ... errand ... Monday -- and anticipated a long wait.  As I was reconsidering the errand, a bank employee noticed the delays, grabbed his clip board, and worked the line in a way I had to admire. He introduced himself to each person, checked to see if they had the right forms filled out correctly, switched flawlessly between English and Spanish as needed, thanked us by name for our patience, and pulled people out of line when he could complete the simpler transactions himself.

As I watched, I was reminded of a gentleman who works at the information desk of an area hospital. Arturo embodies hospitality - something so valuable in a setting where people are very often anxious, overwhelmed and disoriented.  He greets me like an old friend, thanks me profusely for visiting "our" guests, and makes me feel like I am the most important person to visit the hospital's most important patient. Overhearing him answer the phone and respond to questions, I realize, of course, it's not actually all about me. He has a real gift for greeting each person with genuine warmth and delight.

I learn something from these folks about how together we can create and sustain a faith community that welcomes, that notices and responds to needs, that celebrates and utilizes the gifts of all.

Do you have any Arturos in your life?

Say Cheese!

Our congregation is putting together a new picture directory. It's been fun to hang out downstairs talking to people as they arrive for their portraits. Some families or couples choose to be photographed in color-coordinated apparel.  One member rushed in from work and may not have taken off his coat for the camera. Others look far fancier than I've ever encountered them on a Sunday morning. Then in comes those who have lost or divorced a spouse since the last directory several years ago. Being photographed alone isn't something they ever imagined doing. For some members, it might be a first family photo. For others, it will likely be the last. There are even some folks I've never seen in church, yet for some reason they still value the connection. Perhaps one day I will learn why.

Though we sometimes think of church as a stable place where change comes slowly, where people and attitudes can be stuck in the past, I find that our community is a fluid one, with people and mission coming and going at a pace that is sometimes unsettling in a lifetime that seems all too fleeting.

I will treasure this directory - a snapshot of people who have planted seeds of ministry and faith, of those who will water and weed, of those who will reap the harvest and turn over the soil. And between the pictures I will remember with gratitude those who are missing -  the ones who have died and those who have, I hope, found other communities in which to thrive. With anticipation I will also imagine those who are yet to come, praying that this community's heart is big enough to welcome, embrace, equip, and send back into the world everyone God sends our way.

The wind blows where it will...

I am thinking about Nicodemus for Sunday's sermon as I read about the aftermath of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan and the resulting crises with the affected nuclear power plants. Nicodemus, a prominent Pharisee, approached Jesus at night with his curiosity and questions. As part of his response, Jesus talks about the untamed gift of the Spirit: "The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." (John 3:8)

Worrying about which way the wind blows has taken on new urgency as we consider the possible effects of radiation that cannot be fully contained. People are urged to move many miles away from the damaged plants - perhaps leaving behind hope of finding missing loved ones from within the rubble. I watch and wonder about those brave people who--when others are wisely moving away--they instead move in, risking their own health and even their own lives to rescue, recover and repair.

Many years ago, I visited the nuclear power plant about an hour from our home - a mandatory field trip for middle schoolers. I remember being awed in the fullest sense of the word - filled with wonder, curiosity, unanswerable questions and fear. That combination of wonder and fear led to some restless nights, then and now, about what the future holds in the wake of natural disasters, economic uncertainties, and serious tensions locally and around the world. I pray that the Spirit blows where it will, carrying with it compassion, generosity, wisdom, and courage.

We don't know what the future holds but we know who holds the future - a God who loves and redeems us. Jesus offers Nicodemus - and us- this promise: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." While clinging to the hope given to us in Christ, we do what we can to love and serve our neighbor in difficult times and in all times - however the wind may blow.