When I was a child I was afraid of the deep water. When someone said, “we’re going to the deep end” of the pool, I was immediately full of fear. These days, I live in the deep water. Sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes it’s scary. I’ve finally learned that no matter the circumstance (scary, fun or otherwise!) … Read more About
God of Peace and Mercy God of Wisdom and Grace We acknowledge you who hold all things and are in all things. Thank you for the ways you reveal your glory to us and around us. The stillness of the summer air in June The watchful eye of a hawk in the morning The love in households where people are preparing for the day; The silence in places where nature is the companion.
Rush in, Holy Spirit. Rush in Great Redeemer. Rush in to change the conversations among families and friends, work teams and leaders, strangers on the street and whomever is in our path. We welcome you, Holy God, to turn our attentions where they need to be so that we can see your mighty hand at work. We know and trust, Holy God, that you are indeed present and acting right now. Mold us into what we do not know Transform us bit by bit or all at once; we need you. We trust you completely so we yield all of ourselves… to you. Thank you, Lord, for your steady faithfulness and for not giving up on any of us.
We love you. Amen.
The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter til the full light of day. But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble. – Proverbs 4:18-19
We left the church last night in silence, after watching the purple vestments of the Lenten season carefully removed from the altar. Each pastor lifted the stole from the neck of their robes and handed them over, expressing the surrender and darkness of what is unfolding. It was all taken away…the bread and cup, the vestments, the vessels, and the crucifer.
I had a deep sense of pending loss. Of persecution or injury, perhaps, to the church that we know. A time when our practice is rejected. A season in which we are called to face the reality of what we have allowed, or not allowed. Maybe complacency. Or perhaps enjoying the comfort and security of a religion that has largely moved us along in a direction we could all embrace. It didn’t require more than we were willing to give.
But what is this? What is this cross that keeps showing up in the middle of our beautiful practice? What is this pain that keeps emerging? Some discomfort that says something is not quite right. What are these signs that say, “no more”? The cross is part of the redemptive story; we can’t remove it. If it is the way of redemption, why do we treat sacrifice as if it doesn’t belong in the story we are living every day?
Is that our denial? Like Peter, “we don’t know him”, because it doesn’t match anything we expected out of life. What a disappointment it must have been for Peter. He thought he was part of God’s kingdom coming to fulfillment. Instead, the one he has known as Messiah is under arrest and all signs point to crucifixion. It’s messy. It’s awkward. There’s too much mercy in all the wrong places. Peter took such a risk to go down this path, and it’s falling apart. “I don’t know him”.
It feels better when we can point to someone else’s failure or sin as the cause of our disruption. It makes it easier to not see the cross in my own house if I’m peering out at my neighbor’s unkept lawn. I can forget that I may be contributing to the injustice in our world if I keep my eyes focused on the way my colleague, or family, or friend, or enemy is doing life so imperfectly. Ughh…. So many voices were there on what we call “Good Friday”.
Pilate in his role of leadership and order. High priests in their role of religious expertise and upholding the righteousness of God. Disillusioned and disappointed disciples that can’t understand why Jesus is letting this all happen. Crowds that love the drama and the chance to express their anger onto a helpless man whose sheer physical suffering makes them feel powerful. Shouts of cruelty. Physical injury. The sport of condemnation and humiliation. Women who refuse to leave and can’t hold back their tears for what the men are doing to one another and to the one they know is Christ; observers of those in charge. Others who are ready to take advantage of the moment and get what they want out of the situation; making sure their seat in eternity is secure.
So many voices were there. Enough that I can find myself somewhere in the scene, although it would feel much better to imagine I’d be walking through those hours more faithfully than they did.
Sitting with the text of Good Friday, I do wonder, in what ways am I ignoring the part of the gospel that teaches us that sacrifice is included in the way of redemption? The kingdom of God is fulfilled on earth, not by my comfort, but by through sacrificial suffering and living with Christ’s death and resurrection. The invitation Jesus makes is to let our selfishness die, allowing God’s spirit in us to become fully alive.
It really does mean, “not my will, but thine”. It does mean setting aside my pride and desire for success and taking up obedience in whatever way God asks me to be obedient in any season. Like Jonah appointed to Nineveh or Peter being instructed to eat what was once “unclean”, it means Jesus becomes Lord of my life, and I follow him.
It means I need to stop telling myself a story that makes me feel better about the cross I’m refusing to take up to follow Jesus.
So many voices were there at his arrest, while the humiliation and trials take place; the condemnation is secured, as the crucifixion is planned and executed.
Lingering on Good Friday, I am struck silent in realizing how many voices are present right now, doing the same: hurling insults, inflicting injury, making fun, condemning, discounting, and shouting, “crucify!”.
I remember echoes of Jesus teaching something like: “whatever you did for the least of these you also did for me.” And “whatever you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me.” – Matthew 25:31-46 (NIV)
Is it a misinterpretation to say, whatever I do to someone else, I am also doing to Christ?
I hear a voice speaking through my pondering. It is clear. There is a way we are to live in all seasons. Seasons of war and peace. Seasons of plenty and seasons of famine. Jesus gave the disciples a new command. It has not changed over time. There is no “revised” version. It contains no trademark, logo, denomination, flag or label:
Love one another as I have loved you. This is how they will know you are my disciples.
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” – John 13:34-35 (NIV)
Lord, on this Good Friday when we tell your story, help us to tell it humbly and truthfully. Lord, on this Good Friday, when we hear the story, help us to receive it fully. Lord, through this Triduum, help us to see the places in our lives where we are denying you and refusing to carry the cross that will lead us into the kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. We have no good apart from you, Lord, and we are quite helpless to save ourselves. Come quickly Lord Christ to assist. Thank you for not giving up on us. Amen.
I live in this holy sacred space Silence our shared language Mystery of the morning hours Returning at night when dreams make sleep move over to the other side Leaving me with scenes to ponder.
Prayer comes breath by breath grounding me somewhere you Ask me to be. I don’t always know where you’re taking me.
Your presence is Always enough. Like the sound of the voice of Someone I love You almost need to do nothing except make me aware of your Presence.
“…in your presence there is fullness of joy and life everlasting.”
Psalm 16:11 Ash Wednesday, 2024 Vona Rose Wilson 2/14
Creator of All, you are the Light of morning you are the comfort in the dark. Thank you for the way you greet us today. We are in awe of your mighty hand – painting the sky and forests for us sending the river across the rocks hurling through the bends of current running… refusing to be stopped, living fully. We are in awe, Lord, of your strength and mercy your covenant and forgiveness your certainty and freedom. Thank you for loving us even as we try to make you into the image that we can comprehend.
We misunderstand your greatness. Please keep surprising us with your mighty hand making all things new. New in our hearts and minds New in our communities and in your world. We love you. We trust you completely. We yield the day, the week, our lives…into your hands. Amen.
A cold winter day in January with lingering snow on the ground is a good invitation for prayer. After a week of pause in yielding to nature’s course, the days may hold too much. It doesn’t all have to be crammed into Monday, or even Tuesday. Faithfulness to a day’s work is enough. The past week is not “lost”, it was provided. Playing in the snow or reading a good book, even dealing with busted pipes, it all “counts” as fullness in living.
Take the day and live it. Fully. With tears when grief is present. With laughter and all out joy if that gift is offered. With strength and mercy, compassion, and wisdom. Carefully. Fully. Humbly. As one deeply loved, even when you don’t know it.
I was just looking for something, I’m still not sure what it was or is; her booth was there and inviting. I took a step in to see. Is what I’m looking for here? Is there some cultural expression that makes sense out of my season of wonder? Is there something I’ll touch and know I’ve found a piece of the puzzle, a piece of who I am?
The young woman greeted me with all the same sense with which I entered. I spoke my broken Spanish so she would know I came as one who searches. She understood. Our conversation soon surpassed the goods of her booth and granted us space for sharing. Newly married, she was still on the heights of love found, embraced, and living. Her face aglow with the joy of it. Life shared in love and wholeness. Full.
Eventually our words drifted toward my reality too. “What do you do?” she asked the familiar question. Occasionally I get glimpses of why the answer to God being asked, “what is your name?” in Scripture is often answered with, “I AM”. I don’t want to say, “I am a pastor”, but I do, because I can’t find better words in the moment; she recognizes what I say. Conversation opens up to a new place, far beyond the goods in her booth or even the news of her recent marriage.
“I played the trumpet in my church!” is how she responded to knowing I am a pastor. “I played the trumpet in my church.” The words were strong. And faithful. She was announcing to me who she is. I paused to listen.
“And now? Do you play the trumpet in your church now?” I wondered aloud.
“No mas. Mi esposo no gusta. No mas, no me jugo la trompeta en la iglesia.” She laughed, a little nervously, almost apologetic, but also just tentative.
“No more. My husband does not like me to play the trumpet in my church.”
The woman was strong of spirit. Her joy was on her face. Hospitality, devotion, and intention were in every move she made. And her husband did not want her to play the trumpet…it was too strong? It was too much? Her pain was present, but she never faltered in her joy, nor her deep love for him. She was just naming her new reality.
Her husband didn’t know what is behind the joy of her playing the trumpet. He doesn’t know that what fuels her passion of playing, also fuels her love for him. He doesn’t know that quietening one part of her gives sure death to another part, possibly the very depth that drew him to her in the beginning. He doesn’t know he married a whole woman, not fragments of a hollowed spirit.
It’s been a while since I was at her booth. Several years. But every time I hear a trumpet, it has caused me, for years, to offer a prayer, “Lord, please give her a way to play her trumpet. Lord, help her husband to embrace her love and passion.”
And I wonder. Is she in training for the heavenly chorus? Because it seems like trumpets might be played in heaven. Is she already chosen for a choir that is eternal? Is her playing in her church just practice for the worship she will assist with in eternity? She exudes a joy that points to something beyond this earth. Has her love been taken captive or will the one who loves her find a way to not be afraid of who God created her to be?
What can we say? Cultures tell us many things, and much is to be honored. Sometimes it will work out very well. Sometimes it won’t, and there may be a death of spirit. Sometimes people will long for something that was under their nose and never understand what they were given. In all of it, you hope, you pray, each person finds what brings them peace, and that they can follow that discovery with freedom and grace. Even when peace means closing doors because what’s offered them is simply more than can be received.
What else can we say? If you have the capacity to let someone play their trumpet….let them play! If you have the peace to embrace the whole of a person, whatever the whole might be, embrace them! And if you are in that place where the doors just cannot be opened, be graceful in the ways you say, “please don’t blow your trumpet” near me.
Prayer: Lord, we are afraid of many things. Loving fully is certainly one of them. Whatever you might do to assist us along our way of accepting people as you have created them to be, we welcome that help. Forgive us, if ever we ask someone to diminish the light placed inside them by you. Thank you for not giving up on any of us. Thank you for loving us in whatever way we come to you today. We love you, and we trust you completely. In the name of Jesus; Amen.
Joy to the World (Gabriel Trumpet Ensemble and the Tabernacle Choir)
Need a little heaven on earth as you walk into the week? Wisdom given by Jesus is an invitation into the kingdom of God on earth. It is experienced as we put it into practice. This might be a good week to check your foundation.
Therefore everyone who hears these words of mind and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on rock. – Matthew 7:24-25
No one wants their house to fall. We don’t want our families to fall apart either. And we don’t want our lives to be meaningless. Quite the opposite! We want a place to be safe and well cared for. We want love and community that brings encouragement and joy into our daily lives. We need to know our lives are with purpose and meaning.
Jesus is offering a powerful teaching about life as God wants us to live it, (Matthew 5-7) https://bit.ly/46rnHq6 that culminates with this statement:
“…everyone who hears these words of mine and put them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.”
And then he mentions the storms of life. Because there are storms. Whether they come toward us like the rain above, or something that rises and surrounds us like a river, or a wind that blows from a direction we least expected – there will be storms. Life is full of them.
Even though I’m familiar with this teaching in Matthew, I never cease to be amazed and sometimes even shocked at this way Jesus encourages us to be in the world. It’s not “normal” at all. This is a very different way of doing life.
This way of being in the world directs attitudes, actions, relationships, business, discernment, spiritual practices, economy, and even prayer. The teaching is packed full of wisdom for life. No wonder he says, “enter through the narrow gate”; this is a special road to walk. It is even hard to find, which is why we are unable to do it on our own.
We often find ourselves asking for divine assistance. We especially seek God’s guidance to navigate the context of our lives right now. There is a lot of disruption and upheaval. People are grabbing news or priorities from a one-line social media post or the most recent AI suggestion. We all want to “do the right thing” but seem to be struggling with finding what that “right thing” is in a world where our context changes so quickly.
Our mental health is more vulnerable than it has ever been, and spiritual places of rest have, in many cases, become full of the tension in our world. We need God’s help. We need wisdom that is beyond us. We need sacred, ancient teaching that doesn’t fade with changing contexts.
The teaching in Matthew 5-7 offers us that depth. It is humbling and invites us into a space of surrender. Jesus spells out some very practical wisdom. He reorders priorities and clarifies what may have been misunderstood. The way he brings this to a close tells us how important it is: we are not going to withstand the storms of this life without this wisdom. It is not there to burden us or harm us. This is way to live into the abundant life even during the storms and wind and rising waters. There is a way to stay on solid ground.
If we want to create a checklist, we can make one from Matthew 5-7. There is a caution with that, however, because the Holy Spirit doesn’t abide by our checklists. The practice of surrender and seeking divine guidance undergirds everything. Still, if I go through these chapters and make some notes for my journey through life, I’m going to be fully engaged in the simple obedience of practicing these teachings.
It does give me guidance for how I do my work today. It does help me prioritize how I step into this week of Thanksgiving celebrations. It offers a reset and a realignment to what is important in the kingdom of God. This teaching actually invites us to step into the kingdom of God.
As we practice what is here, we experience glimpses of God’s kingdom coming to earth as it is in heaven. Coming into our hearts and into our lives. If you’re feeling as though you’re in need of a bit more of heaven in your life, perhaps finding just a verse or two from Matthew 5-7 will usher that blessing into your heart. What better foundation to hold you up as you begin a new week? You can read the whole text here: https://bit.ly/46rnHq6
Holy God, we are grateful for your teaching. We know you can see us and you already know there are many days we feel overwhelmed by life. It’s easy for us to get distracted, and in instances we may even feel disillusioned. We set up new rules and guardrails, they eventually fail. We grasp for help in so many places and sometimes forget that you have already provided a way for us. You teach us a different way to live. We trust you and we want to walk in a way that leads to life. Help us to let go and ask for your help. We need a little heaven to come to earth. We welcome you in whatever way you reveal yourself to us this week. We love you and we trust you completely. Thank you for giving your wisdom. Thank you for creating us with capacity to experience the fullness of your grace. We are watching for a little heaven on earth today. We know you are already here. Amen.
We were sitting in the Chapel of my hometown church in Princeton, Kentucky. The casket of a community legend focused our attentions. She was a teacher in a small town. There is not a life here that is left untouched by her 90+ years. Fall flowers offered beauty and praise. And we visited. Old friends. Our stories and memories colliding in the wrinkles of our faces. Laughter. Gratitude. Surprise. Collectively we have lived many years. We hold so much from this small town.
The drive there and back is blessed by the trees of Tennessee and Kentucky. We get it all! Every color. The depth of changes. Some green lingers to remind us change is around the corner, or just a few hours down the road. A few bare limbs make clear the winter ahead. Stories shared along the way full of new life springing up from old. Mom tells the story of the first time Dick attended church with her when they were dating. We listen a little deeper.
My reading this morning includes the fifth and sixth chapter of Mark. I am struck by the power that is experienced with just a touch of Jesus. The desire and seeking of many people just to get close enough to touch him, with the hope of being healed.
55 They ran throughout that whole region and carried the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. 56 And wherever he went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed. (Mark 6:55-16 NIV)
The halls of my hometown church hold their own memories. I ran and walked those halls with all the love and comfort a community of faith offers. Every adult, both young and old, knew my name and watched for me as part of that love. Someone was always paying attention. We were loved and we knew it, even though we didn’t know what we were experiencing.
I suppose we were like the people who ran from wherever they were to see if they could touch Jesus. Or that Jesus might see them and reach out with a touch. A touch that holds love. And healing. And hope.
It is raining this morning and the leaves will drop at the arrival of wind and colder temps. The beautiful colors will soon be replaced by the stark strength of bare limbs standing strong, clearly prepared for the coming winter. This week is a change, marked not by dates on the calendar but by the surrounding voice in creation showing us; the time has come.
I suspect there are many of us who are running towards something right now to see if we might experience just a touch of healing. My faith tells me that there are also many of us who carry the love, hope, and grace of Christ to share. Maybe our collective prayer today is simply that our paths allow us to connect, for healing to come, and for the love of Jesus to touch us again.
Lord, thank you for the many ways you offer us your love and healing touch. However we need to experience that today, help us to receive it. And if there is any way you have equipped us to share your healing with someone else, we trust you will allow our paths to connect just as it needs to be. Thank you for the grace we see in your creation’s beauty; thank you for the grace we experience in our ordinary lives.
Sing to the Lord a new song! Sing to the Lord, all the earth! Sing to the Lord! Bless his name! Share the news of his saving work every single day! Declare God’s glory among the nations; declare his wondrous works among all people because the Lord is great and so worthy of praise. He is awesome beyond all other gods because all the gods of the nations are just idols, but it is the Lord who created heaven! Greatness and grandeur are in front of him; strength and beauty are in his sanctuary. – Psalm 96:1-6
Does singing really matter? My grandfather had a habit of singing while he drove his old truck down country roads. Occasionally I had the unexpected pleasure of riding with him. I remember a song he made up and sang often: I know a little song Not too long Tulip! Tulip! That’s all gone!
He also talked about time with God while he was on the tractor, which was hours upon hours of his life. I suspect there were many songs that came from his lungs and mouth in that time.
The song we sing in faith is not about the quality of our voices or the melody that flows. It is what happens to our bodies and spirits when we lift out of our situations and circumstances and just sing. Try it. Make it up if you need to. If you were going to sing a song of God’s glory today, what would it be? What melody or words are within you of praise for God’s greatness right now?
God, I thank you for your peace that moves through our lives in all seasons. I praise you for the many ways you show us your creativity that is new every moment of the day and throughout the long night. I sing “Holy! Holy!” when no other words can say what you are stirring within me. We shout “Thank you! Hallelujah!” for your grace and mercy that is beyond our comprehension. We offer our praise and adoration today for your love that never stops reaching out and revealing itself among us. Help us to sing a new song today. Move into our moments of grief, celebration, play and work. Help us to sing of you! Amen.
When you need a little help getting that song going, God has blessed people with incredible gifts to assist. Enjoy!
Silence. Illusive. Revealing. Vulnerable. Real. I remember the silence in the house after my brothers death many years ago. It was deafening. We shuffled across the floor one moment at a time trying to figure out how to live. Just through the next hour. I was young. Life hurt. And it was so silent.
Recently at a Jesuit retreat house I enjoyed 48 hours of a silent retreat. The birds and scurrying of animals unseen offered sound. The wind blew through the trees and sang a melody every morning and again late at night. Occasionally I noticed the sound of my breath when I encountered something of beauty unexpected. It was restoring and offered much peace.
Surprisingly what lingers is the sound of dishes and silverware in the communal dining room. Sounds I have come to love. Signs of my neighbors (and mine) presence. Sounds of the basic need of food. The notes of music that say, “morning has come, let’s gather and eat, embrace the day.” Sacred.
Getting up from the table in my home I hear it again. Rinsing dishes. Dropping silverware in the sink. The clanging, tinkering, loud sound of life. I remember when that sound spoke of our grief and loneliness. There were many days we could not speak, the weight was too much. Today the clanging of dishes speaks of life. I couldn’t hear it until I stepped away and the silence revealed the blessing. A grace unexpected. A gift of silence redeemed.
May the peace of God bring blessing into the silent places of life. Providing, revealing, assisting, and offering to make something ordinary brand new.
This song was a favorite of my Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Tom. It was often a sound in our home – on the piano or the stereo. We never spoke about it except to know that after Uncle Tom’s death, it was a song we couldn’t play it in her presence.
Life in the Deep End 