Come on Down!

Craig and I went to see Coldplay last night at the Verizon Center. The concert was a special event for us since our first date was at a Coldplay concert on March 2, 2006. The concert was fantastic. The energy of the band is electric. The dancing, the singing, and the playing are all amazing. I highly recommend seeing the group play if you ever have a chance. I think it was one of the best concerts I have ever seen, and it is filled with surprises - from balls in the sky to paper butterflies that shower from the ceiling. Yes, we loved it! But we also loved what happened before the concert started.

Craig and I were sitting in the seventh row. We arrived at about 7:00 p.m. for a 7:30 p.m. concert. At about 7:20, we watched as many very excited teenagers started to fill the rows in front of us. Some of them looked as though they had won the lottery. Slowly, more and more excited young people started to arrive in the first and second rows. We soon learned that these people had come from the very top of the Verizon Center. Some of them were sitting on the back row and others were sitting on the next to last row when someone came, tapped them on the shoulder, and offered them a better seat. The performance organizers were filling up the front rows with people in the very back rows. Those with some of the worst seats in the house were being given the best seats in the house.

It was such a blessing to watch the reaction on these individuals' faces when they saw their new seats. Many of them looked so surprised. They looked as though they could hardly believe what was happening to them. The last were becoming first. Those who had been placed in the very back were coming to the very front.

Is this not what can happen in the church every time we gather?

The church is called to bring to the inside anyone who has been pushed aside - anyone who has been told they are not good enough or they are not smart enough or they do not love the right way or act the right way. The church is called to bring to the front anyone who has been cast off. The church is called to radically reach out and say, "You belong here. You are precious in the eyes of God. You are our honored guest. Come on down to the front."

One of the things I love about Mount Vernon Place is that there are people here who stand at the center of our community who receive little value everywhere else. There are people in our congregation who are at the core of who we are as a community who have been tossed aside in so many other places by so many other people - but here they are valued.

We still have a long ways to go when it comes to flinging our doors open as wide as they can go. Still, we are working on it. And, I hope and pray I get to see more reactions in church like I saw at the Coldplay concert last night - people saying to others, "What, you want me to sit here?"

"Excuse me, you are allowing ME to be in the front row?"

"Are you sure about this?"

Yes, I am sure about this!

One Year Ago Today

It has been one year since my friend, Tracy, died. It was one year ago today when we received the horrible news of her passing.
I remember where I was when I received the news.
I remember gathering with Tracy's friends that afternoon at the Irish Times.
I remember crying my eyes out, not understanding her choices or her death.
And, I remember Tracy.
I remember her joy.
I remember her sparkle.
I remember her zest for life.
I remember her crush on certain boys.
I remember her beauty.
I remember her great shoes.
I remember her ability to give gifts - one-of-a-kind gifts.
I remember her love of the song, "This Little Light of Mine."

Today, I remember Tracy's friends and family. My hearts and prayers are with you. The sting of the pain never seems to go away. I feel it with you this day. And, I give thanks and praise that Tracy was part of my life and the life of our congregation at Mount Vernon Place. May God's peace be with us all.

Room for us?

We are coming home this weekend at Mount Vernon Place. We left our sanctuary in August 0f 2006 for an extensive renovation project. We first worshipped in our old theatre beneath the sanctuary and then moved over to the Carnegie Library in February of last year. Meanwhile, a top-to-bottom makeover has been taking place. The stained glass windows have been restored. A new roof has been installed. Leaks have been repaired. Air conditioning systems have been replaced. The chancel area of the sanctuary has been flattened. A new altar, pulpit and lectern have been crafted. The building is shining once again. We are excited about coming home!

Earlier this week, we had visitors from England who are excited to be coming home with us. This family stopped by the church to explain how they were here 40 years ago and stayed with a member of our church family. They visited the church back then. They saw it filled to capacity with thousands of people here on a Sunday morning. They shared how excited they are to be here on our first Sunday back in the sanctuary. They then asked a question, "Do you think there will be enough room for us?"

Do you think there will be enough room for us?

Their question made me laugh - out loud. Our sanctuary now seats 499 people, down from around 600 before the renovation. There was a time when the sanctuary was standing room only - when people would line up long before the organ prelude began. But that time is long ago.

When I arrived at Mount Vernon Place three years ago, the people told me over and over again that they had tried everything. Nothing worked. It was time to close. The people would spend the endowment until it was gone, close the doors, and return the keys to the United Methodist Church. At the time, we had about 40 or so people here on a Sunday with an average age of 82. Things had changed. The sanctuary was no longer full. Everyone could sit together, in the front rows of the middle section.

Things are now changing again. We are growing once again. New people are coming each Sunday. But we are still a small congregation, averaging about 58 on a Sunday morning.

Do you think there will be enough room for us?

I quickly explained to the woman visiting from England about how much the church had changed - how small the congregation had grown - telling them that there would be plenty of room for them. But I keep thinking about her question.

She asked the question as one who knew the church filled to capacity. She asked the question as one who came, and found herself snuggled between dozens of other people in the same pew. She came and found a church filled - filled to capacity. It was the people around here - these memories of the past - that propelled her to ask the question about whether there would be room for her this Sunday.

But I wonder how many other people do not think there is room for them at the church. How many other people do not feel they are dressed right or that they act right? How many other people feel they are too dirty or too filled with doubt to come inside? How many other people have been told that they are not welcome inside the church?

Do you think there will be room for us?

Yes, there will be room for you - on this Sunday and next Sunday and the Sunday after that. There is room for all of you at Mount Vernon Place. There is plenty of room. As I say to the congregation each Sunday morning, "It does not matter who you are or where you have been. It does not matter whether you are here every single Sunday morning or whether you just got up in the nick of time to be here this morning. It does not matter what you have done or what you have left undone. It does not matter what you have said or what you have failed to say. It does not matter who you have loved or who you have failed to love. You are welcome here. I believe with all of my heart that God is here and that God knows everything about us and loves us in spite of it all. I also believe that this God longs to encounter us here, in this space, as we come to worship our living Savior."

Do you think there will be room for us?

Yes. There is plenty of room for you and for you and for you and for you.

My friend, Howard

My friend, Howard, turned 100 on Tuesday. Howard is this incredible man who is a member of our congregation. For the last three years, I have had the amazing privilege of being his pastor. Two years ago, Howard brought me a book. He told me I could be the best preacher ever if I took time to read the book. The book, published in 1942, is titled, "Training the Speaking Voice." Howard swears that I have read the book - but what I have really done is to listen to his request to slow down when I am preaching.

We have new chairs in our new chapel at the church. Half of them have arms in them because of Howard. It was Howard who reminded me that "old people need arms" in order to stand.

Howard has also taught me about generosity. He loves supporting the least and the lost. He loves sharing what he has with others in order to make this world a brighter and better place.

Howard loves the church, and he loves God. He makes me laugh often. When I saw him in the hospital last month, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He responded, "You can feed me like a baby." I tried my best to feed him spaghetti without getting it all over the hospital bed.

When I asked Howard what his prayer request was on Tuesday he replied, "I am tired. I am worn. I need my underpinnings to work." His body is tired and he desperately wants to keep walking. But Howard is far from tired. He is really quite remarkable. He represents one of the many blessings at Mount Vernon Place and he is one of the many reasons why I love being the pastor at this place.

Thank you for your faithfulness, Howard. Happy 100th Birthday! May you live until you are 110 since you think that "turning 100 is no longer impressive since so many other people are doing it."

First Impressions

Craig and I are in Quebec City for a few days, starting our honeymoon in this quaint, historic city. Throughout our time here, we have been overwhelmed by the sincerity and generosity of the people who call this city home.  

Gen, the concierge, has delighted us with her knowledge of the city and her pure passion of what she does for a living - telling others what to see and what to eat.  Patrick, our waiter night before last, made sure that we had a great meal.  He delighted us with a charming tray of chocolates complete with a "congratulations" chocolate in the middle and then two glasses of Quebec's own iced cider at the end of the meal.  The shopkeepers have gone out of their way to speak with us even with limited English.  The man at the table next to us during last night's dinner gave us a list of places to see on our next stop, Montreal.  The people have contributed so much to our time in this city.  They have made Quebec the lovely, charming, romantic and kind city that we have experienced.  Their words and their actions have made a lasting impression.

Throughout our time in Quebec, I have been very aware that Craig and I are also making an impression on these people.  Whether we like it or not, people are aware that we are not from this place.  We are Americans - we are visitors - and our actions, our words, our acts of gratitude - speak for more people than just the two of us.  In some people's eyes, we are speaking for an entire nation - a place called America.

There is so much power wrapped up in an impression, particularly a first impression.

I keep thinking about the impression of the church.  The church makes an impression all of the time - whether we like it or not.  We make an impression with our property - by how well it is maintained but also by how we use it.  We make an impression with our programs and ministries - by what we do for and with each other and especially by what we do for others.  We make an impression when we are inside the church but especially when we are outside of the church - by how we speak, by how we live, by the words and actions we embody.  And unfortunately, too much of the church's impression has been negative at times.   So often, I encounter people who want nothing to do with the church because the church, for them, has been a place of judgment, a place of hatred, a place of exclusion.  And, just as I do not want to be associated with some of the loud, always forgetting to say 'thank you' Americans who we have encountered in this city, I would rather not be associated with this part of the church.  

I love the church.  I love being a part of a people who look and act like Christ.   But what if we worked even harder to be like Jesus?  What if we went out of our way to embody the best of Christ?  One woman in this city walked all the way back into her building to get us directions.  She looked as though she was in a hurry, but she allowed us to slow her down by at least five minutes.  Are we willing to go out of our way to encounter the lost?  Are we willing to go out of the way to see that others are fed - the very best of what we have?  Are we willing to provide hospitality - extravagant hospitality to the stranger who might be an angel unaware?

Lord, help us to embody your love and your grace.  Enable us to show your light shining through all we say and do.  Use us to build your church!

Now it's off to Montreal!

Wedding Photos

It's Official

We are officially married!  We loved our wedding weekend and are so thankful for the incredible gift of it all!

Here is one picture for now...

There are a thousand more to come later.

We're off to our honeymoon!

Wedding Day

It's my wedding day.  In about eight hours, I'll be Mrs. Donna Sokol.  (I suppose that this reason is the reason why I have not written on my blog for a very long time.  I'll be back on schedule soon!)

It has been a time of celebration.  It seemed as though everywhere I turned yesterday, I was gazing upon another person who means the world to me.  Father Joe, one of the clergy assisting with our wedding, said it best when he said, "This time is the only time the two of you will have all of the people who love you the most all in the same room."  We have been so blessed to see many of these faces arriving in Durham for the weekend - college friends and church friends, relatives and parents' friends, neighbors and dearly beloved people in our lives.  

I have been reminded often in the last few days of how it takes a village to not only raise a child but to also enable a marriage to last a lifetime.  One of the cards we received this week said it best when a friend took time to say, "We will not only be with you this weekend to witness your wedding, but we will also be here as a resource for you anytime you need it."  I know this woman well enough to know that her marriage is one worth imitating - that her marriage is one filled with life and joy.  They have already taught me much about what it means to seize life and enjoy life -- together.

But what if we all had this approach, particularly in the church?  What if we all said, "I am not just going to be part of your wedding day, I am going to be part of your life.  I am going to walk alongside of you.  I am going to mentor you as a couple.  I am going to be there in the good times and in the bad."  Can you imagine what might happen?  I can.

I am going to make vows to Craig today.  I can hardly wait to tell him today how I will be with him always.  I am so thankful for Craig.  He is a big gift from God who is filled with so many wondrous surprises and points of joy.

I am also thankful for the witness of the church, our friends, and our family - a gathered group of very special people who will be in the church with us today and for all of the people who will be lifting their hearts up in prayer in different places around the world - as we take our vows at 3:00.  

We welcome your wisdom.  We welcome your prayers.  We invite you to walk alongside of us - in this precious gift from God called marriage.

Thanks be to God.  It's going to be a great day!  

Whoo hooo!  It's my wedding day!

T-Shirts that We Wear

After Monday's post, a friend of mine asked if I had heard the song by Derek Webb about t-shirts. Its words follow well with the last two posts. Here they are:

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear

they'll know us by the way we point and stare

at anyone whose sin looks worse than ours

who cannot hide the scars of this curse that we all bare

they’ll know us by our picket lines and signs

they’ll know us by the pride we hide behind

like anyone on earth is living right

and isn’t that why Jesus died

not to make us think we’re right

chorus when love, love, love is what we should be known for

love, love, love it’s the how and it’s the why

we live and breathe and we die

they’ll know us by reasons we divide

and how we can’t seem to unify

because we’ve gotta sing songs a certain style

or we’ll walk right down that aisle

and just leave ‘em all behind

they’ll know us by the billboards that we make

just turning God’s words to cheap clichés

says “what part of murder don’t you understand?”

but we hate our fellow man

and point a finger at his grave

chorus

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear

they'll know us by the way we point and stare

telling ‘em their sins are worse than ours

thinking we can hide our scars

beneath these t-shirts that we wear

The Best Job Ever

I spent a portion of last Wednesday with someone who is about to turn 100. This man was in the hospital, and when I asked him what I could do for him he responded, "You can feed me like a baby." With these words, I started to cut up the spaghetti on his plate and feed him. Needless to say, he loved it. We then started to dream together about our futures. I was dreaming about getting married. He was dreaming about his 100th birthday party. Together, we planned the events - thinking about all of the ways God is blessing us. It is a privilege to be a pastor.

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to talk with someone who is entering the process that leads to ordination. We talked about our callings, our hopes for the future, and the nature of the church's ministry. We laughed together. We prayed together. We talked about how frustrating it can be to be a pastor but most of all about how much life comes with this vocation. It is a privilege to be a pastor.

On Sunday morning, I did one of the things I love most. We have started a practice at Mount Vernon Place where two lay people serve the bread and the cup while the pastor and the intern are available to lay hands on people and pray for them. This part of the service is now my favorite. It has been holy ground to stand and pray for people - praying for new jobs and new babies, for broken relationships and broken promises, for job prospects and housing prospects. I have learned so much about the people I serve through this practice. It is a privilege to be a pastor.

And then today I received an email from a member of our congregation. It is one of those emails that tell you even more what a privilege it is to be a pastor. With permission, I include a portion of this email here:

I also had a bit of a revelation last night regarding faith and religion. My small group watched 'The Bible Tells Me So' and I was reminded of all that drove me from attending church, the prominent conservative evangelical Christians that judge and condemn more than love and serve. I have been so worried that if I proclaim my faith and embrace Christianity, I will be confused for one of them. But it seems to me that I am running from a calling, a calling to represent another way to be Christian, another way to have a relationship with God. The easy path would be to leave organized religion and berate it for being intolerant and exclusive. The difficult path is to stand up for one's faith and beliefs and demonstrate what it means for one to be a tolerant and loving Christian community. And lastly, I am scared of truly embracing my faith, because I think deep down I know that it will radically transform me, and that's frightening. Again, it's easier just to think that I am already a changed person, that I am already doing all I can to be in service to others, that I am already working hard to live like Jesus. I think I'm on the cusp, and I don't know how long I will be here, but I don't think I can step back from this edge. It's just a matter of time before I take the plunge.

This email comes from someone with whom I have been able to journey - telling the individual that it is okay to doubt some parts of our faith - that it is okay to be frustrated with the church - that it is okay to have all of these feelings and still come anyway. The person has kept on coming. The person has joined the church. And, the person's life is being transformed. This person's email captures my vision for this church - a radically open place for all of God's children - a place that practices Christianity instead of Churchianity - a place that is tired of being just another church but instead wants to be a sign - a real sign of how the Kingdom of God is at hand - a place where the blind receive their sight, the lame leap, the poor have good news proclaimed to them and the oppressed are set free. I love standing on the edge with this person. Like her, I am often scared of all the risky places where Jesus leads us - but I have found taking the plunge to be better than anything else I have ever done.

It is a privilege to be a pastor.

All God's People Got Love?

As a child, we learned a song about how all of God's people got love. I do not remember all of the words but I remember how my Sunday school classmates and I would sing over and over again about God's love - how all of God's children are called to love. At the heart of the Old Testament stands a call to love God and our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus' words in the gospels are full of love and a call to love. As people of faith, we are called to love.

Why is it, then, that there is so much hatred within God's people? Why is it that there are so many words of division spoken by people of faith?

It did not take long for me to realize today which group is meeting at the Washington Convention Center, directly across from our church. When I got off the Metro at the Convention Center stop, I was greeted by sirens and large tour buses. I knew immediately that the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, "America's Pro-Israel Lobby" is in town.

Traffic was at a standstill while buses of convention goers were escorted through the neighborhood by police cars.

Armed security guards were everywhere.

From my experience as one with an office directly across from the Convention Center, the AIPAC meeting is the only gathering of convention goers with the power to stop traffic as their buses go through town at the height of rush hour. This gathering is the only gathering that I have witnessed in the last three years with the power to have local police escort them through town, no matter how bad the traffic buildup might be as a result. And every time I hear these sirens and see these buses, my mind takes me back to my journey through the Middle East almost ten years ago.

My eyes were opened as we visited with Israelis and Palestinians who shared stories with us of homes being demolished, of people being moved without notice, of bulldozers coming and clearing the way, all because the Israelis' claimed that the land belonged to them - no matter how many hundreds of years a Palestinian might have been there. My heart ached every time my eyes beheld a red-roofed settlement. I knew that each red roof represented a family that had been moved away - relegated away from their home to another place.

Each time I hear the sirens today, I wonder how it is that the people who are attending the AIPAC convention are more important than the people trying to get to work this morning or get home tonight. Why is it that traffic is stopped for this convention, that the police force are employed for this convention, and not for any other convention?

I also keep thinking about the argument I saw this morning. On one corner, outside of my office, is a group of Hasidic Jews who are protesting. They are carrying a sign denouncing Israel's unjust practices and the unfair ramifications of Zionism. This morning, I listened as these Hasidic Jews passionately argued with another Jewish man, clearly marked by the fabric on top of his head.

And, my heart ached.

My heart hurt.

I do not like to see two people of one faith fighting with one another. I hate seeing two people - two of God's children - shouting words of hatred and judgment against each other.

I am convinced that this disagreement, that people of one faith arguing passionately about justice, is not what God had in mind when he called us to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with God.

But it is not only my Jewish friends who are causing me to question. My own faith and my own denomination has also had its share of people disagreeing in recent weeks. My heart ached more than once at our recent Annual Conference when statements were made about gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people. My heart sinks when I hear words of hatred being spoken about my gay brothers and lesbian sisters. And every time we argue, I wonder how many people we are sending away. Every time we appear to be at odds, I wonder how many people are saying, "To hell with the church. I'd rather follow Jesus."

I believe that we were all created in the image of God - Jew and Greek, slave and free, gay and straight, black and white, young and old. I believe that we all have God's image stamped across our heads. I believe that we are all called to see this radiance in one another. I believe that God gave creation enough - enough space to sleep, enough food to eat, enough water to drink, enough fiber to wear - for every single person. I believe in God's call for justice, mercy and humility. I pray for people of faith to come together. I pray for people of faith to see how our disagreements hurt the church - mightily. I pray that we will see that no one - not one single person - Israeli or Palestinian, Democrat or Republican, rich or poor, powerful or meek, President or pauper - is better than another person.

God, help us to be like you. Help us to love as you love. Take away our divisions. Take away our eagerness to exult some while lowering others. Make us one, Lord. Make us one.

Superwoman

For the last two weeks, I have been running around trying to do it all.  I have been a student in a Doctor of Ministry program in preaching at Wesley Theological Seminary.  I have been the pastor of a church that is about to make a major transition as we move from borrowed space back into our home sanctuary following a major renovation.  I have been a member of the Baltimore Washington Annual Conference that met this past weekend at the National Harbor.  I have been a friend and fiance.  And, I have been a wedding coordinator, finalizing many details for a June 28 wedding that is fast approaching.  I have done many things, trying my best to succeed.  I have been many things, wearing a variety of hats as I try to check more things off of the list.  And, I have often neglected the core of center - my relationship with Christ - in the process.

I have been Superwoman.  And, Superwoman is very tired.  Yet, Superwoman is also thankful that somehow I made it through these difficult weeks and find my heart restless to find itself centered on God once again.

This morning, I turned to the pages once more of the small devotional book, "Bridges to Contemplative Living with Thomas Merton," where I found these words:

"Our meditation should begin with the realization of our nothingless and helplessness in the presence of God.  This need not be a mournful or discouraging experience.  On the contrary, it can be deeply tranquil and joyful since it brings us in direct contact with the source of all joy and life.  But one reason why our meditation never gets started is perhaps that we never make this real, serious return to the center of our own nothingless before God.  Hence, we never enter into the deepest reality of our relationship with God."

Merton then continues, "'Finding our heart' and recovering the awareness of our inmost identity implies the recognition that our external, everyday self is to a great extent a mask and a fabrication.  It is not our true self.  And indeed our true self is not easy to find."

All this stuff I have been doing, as much as I like it, is a mask - a fabrication.  All of this stuff I am doing - no matter how important it makes me feel - is not important.

And so, I awaken myself once more today.  I admit that while I am so thankful for all that is going on in my life, I am exhausted.  I am tired.  

I am going to sit this morning as my true self - one that would long to stay home all day and do nothing but sit alone with God - one who longs to dance with God - one who longs to rediscover where my core is.  It is not in trying to do everything while praying that a ball I am juggling does not fall to the ground.  It is not trying to please someone by accepting more invitations to do things than I can possibly get done.  At my core, at the center of my being, is the fact that I am a beloved child of God - whether I am finishing a doctoral of ministry program or not, whether I am seeking to be the best preacher or not, whether I am planning a memorable wedding worship service and reception or not, whether I am trying to please everyone or not.

God loves us.  God longs to be in relationship with us.  God longs for us to put God first. 

God, awaken my center once more.  Enable me to be poured out for you.  Amen.

His Eye is on the Sparrow

When we arrived at the Carnegie Library Building on Sunday morning for worship, I kept hearing the sounds of a little bird. I could not see the bird - I just kept hearing the bird. It was clear that a bird was stuck in the building. Following worship on Sunday, the bird had come down far enough where we could see it. It was sitting on a window ledge, looking as though it would do anything to get outside.

I saw the bird. I heard the bird. But I did not think much else about it when I left the place on Sunday. People had opened the door in an effort to try to get the bird out. Nothing was working, and I did not put much time or energy into the effort.

On Monday, there was a message on the office machine that has made me think a lot, however. One of our church members left a message about the bird. She went into detail describing the bird to me - telling me how the bird was sitting on a window ledge, how it was a brown sparrow, and how the bird could not get out. She explained how she had stayed up thinking about the bird. She wanted us to do whatever we could to get the bird out. She wanted to make sure that someone in the building knew about the bird and would do what they could to get the little brown sparrow out of the building.

This woman noticed something that many of us did not think much about. Many of us had concluded that there was nothing we could do - that the bird would be okay - or shamefully that life would be okay without one little sparrow should the sparrow die in the building.

But this woman took time to notice the bird, to do what she could to get the bird out of the building, and then to remain concerned about the bird the next day.

What if we all had eyes like hers?

What if we noticed the parts of creation around us that were trapped in something they were not designed to be in?

What if we looked - really saw - everything and everyone around us who is crying out for our help?

What if we saw the wounded veteran on the street asking us for money and then continued to allow his image to stream through our head at night, forcing us to really think about what we could do to help him?

What if we saw the man sitting underneath a plastic wrap that he built in a park more than a year ago and then tried to do something to get him out from under the wrap and into a shelter with more permanent walls?

What if we noticed - really noticed - places of pain around us and then took time to call people to find out what could be done to help?

This week, I am taking a class called "Hearing the Voice of the Poor in the Bible." My first assignment was to write about whether this is an appropriate title for the course. I concluded that it absolutely was an appropriate title. I know how many years I went to church without ever being asked to hear the voice of the poor. I know how many times I have read the text without allowing myself to be touched - without allowing myself to be penetrated in such a way that I need to get on my feet and out into the world.

My church member heard a little bird that I had decided was insignificant. She heard the bird and then went to see the bird. She then went to see what could be done to get the bird out.

There is a song about how God's eye is on the sparrow and so I know God watches me. God's eye is on every living thing. Who is God calling us to place our eye on today? Who is God calling us to see? To hear? And then to help escape?

Parental Instincts

I have several window boxes on my condo balcony where I planted flowers last year. The flowers added a great deal of beauty, making me smile each time I saw them. This year, however, I was a little late in my planting. The flowers did not get planted until last week. I was able to plant flowers in four of the five window boxes. The fifth box, however, is one I cannot currently touch.

You see, a bird chose to make a nest in this box. A mama bird chose this box as the place where she would give birth to her next baby. For the last few weeks, I have watched as this bird has sat and sat and sat in this box. When she went away once, I ran outside to catch a glimpse of the egg. She soon returned and kept sitting on the egg, and I kept watching her. Nothing seemed to be changing. There was nothing new in the window box until Friday morning.

On Friday morning, I noticed that the mama bird had a piece of shell in her mouth. She seemed to be chewing on the shell that once held her baby. Soon, she flew away, and I caught a glimpse if this tiny baby bird. It is the smallest little bird I have ever seen with a body covered with hair. It is amazing, and I feel so privileged to be a part of the process - for her to have selected my balcony as the place to give birth (it shows you how much I use the balcony!).

This process has also made me think a lot about parental instincts and especially the ways in which God, our parent, works.

The mama bird is currently sitting on top of her baby. She has not left the nest once when I have been watching. She is doing whatever she can to protect this little baby. When I open the door to the balcony, her eyes immediately turn to me. When I move by the window in my home that leads to the balcony, she immediately hunkers down, providing the baby with more protection.

I like to believe that God works the same way. I believe that God, the one who is our ultimate mother and father, does whatever God can do to protect us. When God sees something coming our way that could harm us, I believe God's hand of mercy outstretches even further to try to protect us. I believe that God's eyes are always upon us and the things around us. I believe God is always with us - God is always wanting what is best for us, God's children. And, more than anything, God wants to protect us, to keep us from harm.

Yet, just as this mama bird cannot protect the baby from everything, there are times when she has to leave the nest to go get food or drink, so we cannot be protected from everything. We have the gift of choice. Some of the choices we make bring good while others bring harm. There are times when bad things happen despite how much God is with us. We cannot be kept from harm's way at all times. Still, God is with us. God has promised to never leave us or forsake us. And this promise is enough to prepare me for the week ahead. I go out into this week knowing that God is with me - that God's hand will never ever leave me.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Snooze

I am getting married in exactly 66 days. And, like most brides I am very, very excited while also doing things that I normally don't do. I am spending more money than I thought I would spend. I am getting china that I never thought I would own. And, I have started to exercise more regularly. I have dropped 20 pounds and want desperately to lose another 15 before June 28. I can visualize a few more defined lines on my arms. I want a waist that is a bit smaller. I want a chin that shows no signs of being doubled. I want it all, and I started a bit too late. Still, I have been going to the gym often and walking with a neighbor when I can.

Joy and I made plans to meet this morning at 6:00 a.m. to walk. I first woke up at 5:10 a.m. My thought was to get out of bed, write a note and go put it under Joy's door. The note would explain how I was just too tired to get up or had a headache or pushed myself too much last night in step aerobics' class. I wanted desperately to sleep longer. I did not want to walk. I could think of a million reasons why I needed to sleep more than I needed to walk. Still, I knew that Joy would be waiting for me. I had made plans with Joy to walk with her. We had made a commitment to be in the lobby at 6:00 a.m. for our walk.

Needless to say, I got out of bed at 5:45, put on my gym clothes, tied my tennis shoes, and walked out the door. We walked to the National Zoo and back. I saw turtles and animal life before the sun had risen over Washington. I was refreshed. I was invigorated. I was ready to face my day.

But I almost did not go. Had it just been me, I would have easily gone back to bed.

So often I set my alarm early in an effort to have quality study and prayer time before I get in the shower. I want desperately to have a set time each morning in which I spend time going to God, giving God thanks for a good night's rest and turning over to God the concerns on my heart. All too often, however, I push snooze so many times that I leave very little time for God. I too often have just enough time to get myself ready, pack a lunch, and head out the door.

Still, God is waiting. God has made a pack with me that God will never leave me nor forsake me. God is always ready to hear from me. God knows everything about me and longs to be in relationship with me. Just as Joy was waiting in the lobby this morning for our walk, God is always waiting for me to turn to God and say, "Good morning," or "thank you" or "I need you."

Why is it that we so often keep God waiting, pushing snooze instead?

"Red"

By far, the one event that has had the biggest impact on my life is my parents' divorce. My parents were married for 23 years before they split - a happening that came as a big shock to me when I was in junior high school. A lot of healing has happened since then, and I now feel so fortunate to have a beautiful relationship with both of my parents and their spouses.

My mother married James in the summer of 1998. She had dated "Red" as we all affectionately call him for years before they finally decided to marry. Dating was a big deal for my mother. She did not want to do anything to mess up the relationship she had with my sister and me. She devoted all of her time and energy to the two of us before she ever thought about finding another man. Yet, Red came into our lives and immediately grabbed a part of each of our hearts.


Red taught agriculture at the local community college for just under 40 years before retiring. Ranching was once a passion, and it had become his profession when he and Mom married. He had hundreds of Black Angus cattle, a lot of Quarter horses, and thousands of acres of land. For years he taught livestock judging, and his team was always the best in the nation. Red could tell you every name of every member of every judging team he ever coached, along with the years in which they were on his team. He had a memory that seemed to be photographic. He never forgot a name. Details were always stacked in his head, one after another.

The last couple of years have not been easy for Red. Nearly two years ago he was kicked by a bull and suffered a broken hip. At the beginning of this year, he fell while crossing the street and broke his other hip. He had recovered and was doing well, but he has been forgetting things. He forgets to eat, forgets to go to the bathroom, and cannot remember every person's name, let alone the years they judged cattle with him.

Yesterday, Mom and Red got news that any family hates to hear. Red has an advanced stage of Alzheimer's. Nearly 1/3 of his brain cells are already gone, and the physician told Mom that she should be prepared for Red not to recognize her or other members of the family at Christmas.

Out of all of the diseases and illnesses known to man, I cannot think of anything any more cruel than Alzheimer's. I do not understand why anyone should have to suffer by watching their loved one's mind disappear. I do not understand why anyone should have to go through a time when the love of their life no longer recognizes them. I cannot fathom the pain of this disease, and I would give anything if it would just go away. Is there any kind of suffering that is any worse?

A part of me wants to be angry with God. Why would such a gifted, amazing, kind, good person be stricken with such a terrible thing? God, why would you allow this to happen? My mother's heart has been broken once, why would you break it again?

I do not know the answer to these questions. However, when I opened the pages of my Bible this morning, the words of Psalm 16 touched me again:

Protect me, O God, for in you I take refuge.

I say to the Lord, "You are my Lord, I have no good apart from you."

...Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows;

their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out or take their names upon my lips.

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

I have a goodly heritage.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;

in the night also my heart instructs me.

I keep the Lord always before me;

because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices,

my body also rests secure.

For you do not give me up to Sheol,

or let your faithful one see the Pit.

You show me the path of life.

In your presence there is fullness of joy;

in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

My GPS

My mother is visiting this week from Southeastern Colorado. She lives in a community where it is rather easy to get around. There is not much traffic in her town. There are several stoplights but not too many. She seemingly always knows where to go.

I do not always know where I am going.

Our church members live all over the area - in Virginia, DC and Maryland. I remember in my first weeks as their pastor, when I was going to visit someone in Fairfax, I arrived to a very disappointed face. I had gotten lost on my way. I was very late. In the process of my finding the member's home, the souffle had fallen. She had tried her best to prepare a grand lunch, and I nearly missed it.

For all of these reasons and more, I was thrilled when Craig purchased a GPS system for me for Christmas this year. I love my GPS. I love how it always knows where I am, how it knows when I have made a wrong turn, and how it can always get me back on track again.

My mother had never seen a GPS until this week. She is amazed. I punched in the shopping center on Monday, and it navigated us directly to the parking lot. I punched in Target, and we were soon inside the store. I then hit, "Go Home," and it led me home. Mother keeps saying, "That is just amazing."

It is amazing, and it reminds me often of God.

I have mentioned this to a developer friend before, but each time I think of the amazing power of the GPS, I think even more of the amazing power of God. The Psalmist who penned Psalm 139 wrote about how God has "searched us and known us" even from afar. He continues to state how there is no where that we can go that is beyond the range of God's love. Furthermore, God knows everything about us before a word is even on our tongues. God knows everything!

The GPS system knows where I am at all times. When I turn the wrong way, it says, "recalculating." It shows me when I am off track. It is always ready to return me to the right path. And, it can always lead me home.

Our living God knows all of this and more.

Thank you, Lord, for always knowing my whereabouts. Thank you for seeking to lead me along the right path. Thank you for getting me back on track when I have made the wrong turn. Thank you for always telling me how I can get back home - into your all-embracing arms - arms that are always ready to welcome home that which has been lost.

Interior Changes

The process of renovating the sanctuary at Mount Vernon Place is nearing completion. We'll be back in the building in less than four months, and I can hardly wait to have a worship space of our own once again. I can hardly wait to show up on Sunday mornings with the candles already in place, knowing that everything that needs to go on top of the altar is already there. I am excited. I am very excited.

I love what is happening inside the building. I love the new windows that cast light inside. I love the new bathrooms with shower facilities. I love the walls. I love the new stairwells. I love the openness of the new entry to the sanctuary - a door in which all will enter whether in a wheel chair or on two feet. I love the openness of the chancel area. I love how the completely white walls showcase the stained glass windows. I am excited. I am very excited.

Yesterday, the chair of the Steering Committee and I took a group of church members through the building. Don and I have worked countless hours on the building. We love walking inside and seeing the changes taking place. We were excited about taking people in the building to show them what is happening - individuals who have not been inside the building in a year.

We were excited. We were excited until we realized that not many positive things were being said. The individuals with us seemed more ready to point out what is different - what is missing - than all of the great changes that are happening. They said that the hallways look more narrow. They wondered why some ceilings have been lowered. They commented on how much space the new energy-efficient heating and air conditioning system takes. They then continued to focus on gold paint missing from the sanctuary - paint that was not part of the original structure and paint that eventually turns black.

It was hard not to be discouraged. It was hard not to be frustrated. We were so excited. They had little positive to say.

Why is it that we always look for the negative instead of looking for the positive? Why is it that we are so good about sizing something up by its appearance instead of looking deep within? How is it that we are so quick to draw a conclusion without taking the time to search within or find out more information? And, why is it that we too often prefer the past instead of embracing the future?

Our current sermon series at Mount Vernon Place is "UNconventional Wisdom." We are looking at the unconventional wisdom of God - wisdom that says the people who are considered the lowest in society are the ones who are blessed, wisdom that welcomes on the inside all who are on the outside, wisdom that is based upon a cross where one was crucified, wisdom that describes the good life as having nothing to do with power or possessions. I love being reminded of the unconventional wisdom of God because it is so different from what we are accustomed to. The unconventional wisdom of God tells me to look for the good in every person and every situation - something that is not always easy to do - but something that always reaps great rewards.

Dear Lord, please help us to be more unconventional.

The Contemplative Life

Two weeks later, I am still thinking a lot about my time at the monastery. A trip to the Washington National Cathedral this weekend brought forth this deep thirst for the holy again as I perused the bookshelves in the store, looking through books about this holy longing. I then visited the Botanical gardens where the orchids - all kinds of orchids - brought forth reminders of the gift of new life that is emerging all around us.

I could not help but to praise God.

I long for the contemplative life.

I long for more time with God.

In my quest for the holy, I opened a book this morning that I purchased at the abbey's bookstore, "Bridges to Contemplative Living: with Thomas Merton: Two: Becoming Who You Already Are." The book is designed to be used in a small group study, and I can imagine the power of its words in such a place. For now, I am journeying through it on my own.

The book includes words from a Psalmist, words from Merton, and words from another source. Today's "another voice" is Anthony DeMello who writes:

I imagine that today I am to die. I ask for time to be alone and write down for my friends a sort of testament for which the points that follow could serve as chapter titles.

DeMello then provides the following outline-

1. These things I have loved in life (things I tasted, looked at, smelled, heard, touched):
2. These experiences I have cherished:
3. These ideas have brought me liberation:
4. These beliefs I have outgrown:
5. These convictions I have lived by:
6. These are the things I have lived for:
7. These insights I have gained in the school of life:
8. These risks I took, there dangers I have courted:
9. These sufferings have seasoned me:
10. These lessons life has taught me:
11. These influences have shaped my life (persons, occupations, books, events):
12. These scripture texts have lit my path:
13. These things I regret about my life:
14. These are my life's achievements:
15. These persons are enshrined within my heart:
16. These are my unfulfilled desires:

I am going to start writing my responses. Perhaps I'll share a few.

What are your responses?

A Holy, Holy Week

Last week was the most amazing Holy Week I have ever had. I continue to be awed and amazed by all of the ways in which God showed up - the resurrected Christ who stands in our midst, calling us by name. As I reflect back upon the week, I am reminded of many things that stand out, making it very distinct and special.

Last week, I prayerfully wrote three sermons. Starting with the task on Monday and finishing by Thursday afternoon, I wrote sermons for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter. I diligently searched the texts, but I also prayed the texts. This work was focused work because I told people what was important to me. I did not do anything building related last week. I refused to meet with anyone on the property development or building detail. Instead, I focused fully and abundantly on being a pastor.

I now wonder how many other weeks during the year need to be spent without meetings on the building but only things that are necessary - only things that give life - visits to the shut-ins, prayers at bedsides, personal notes written for encouragement, lots of study, lots of prayer, lots of sermon preparation. Why is it that we pastors allow ourselves to get so distracted on things that were never mentioned when the Bishop laid her hands on us, ordaining us to a ministry of Word, service, sacrament and order?

On Thursday evening, I preached at Mount Olive Baptist Church, the church of one of my colleagues in the Doctor of Ministry program at Wesley. Mount Olive is a large, African American Baptist Church in Arlington, and this congregation provided me with the most amazing preaching experiencing I have ever had. I am so thankful.

On Friday, I gathered with individuals from the downtown community at nearby Asbury United Methodist Church for the Seven Last Words of Christ service. As always, it was a blessing to share in this sacred space on this most sacred of days.

On Sunday, we had a glorious Easter celebration at Mount Vernon Place with the largest crowd of people that I have seen in my nearly three years at Mount Vernon Place. Last year, we let go of some of the things we always do - like passing the peace and asking people to share their joys and their concerns - in order to save time on Easter. But this year, we did what we always do - we tried our best to faithfully be the Body of Christ - an authentic community of faith. I hope and pray that all who came were blessed.

As I look back upon last week, the time that stands out to me more than any other is Maundy Thursday. I keep thinking about the mandate Jesus gave to us on the night before he was crucified. On this night, Jesus got down on his feet and washed the feet of his disciples. On this night, Jesus wanted to teach the disciples what people in the church - what his followers should do - what kind of love they should embody - so Jesus washed feet - on his knees. The mandate given to us by Jesus is that we should love one another as Christ has loved us - serving one another as Christ has served us.

Can you imagine a church filled with people on their knees?
Can you imagine a church filled with individuals who want to serve like Christ?
Can you imagine a church filled with men and women who are willing to wash feet - to wash the dirtiest part of a person's body?
Can you imagine what it might look like if we really lived this mandate?

As I sit in the construction trailer where my office is now located, my desk vibrating because of the machinery that is working on our church building just outside, I keep thinking about everything that could happen in that building.

We will have showers. Who will we wash?
We will have a kitchen. Who will we feed?
We will have a nursery. Whose children will we welcome?
We will have a sanctuary with lots and lots of doors. How wide will we open them?

"This is my commandment," Jesus says, "that you love one another as I have loved you."

Come to the Easter Party!

I think on Easter morning we should throw confetti in church!

No?

What about a little fanfare?

A deafening drum roll?

A three minute standing ovation?

What?

Have we had the drums beaten out of us, that we in the celebrative community can’t really get excited about God’s aliveness

About God’s love given to us unconditionally?

Have we given Easter to the lily bearers, the bunny rabbits,the patent leather shoes?

Let’s face it: We live as though we don’t believe in Easter.
We’re the crowd- easily swayed, easily scared,easily calling for blood.

We’re the good church people who can’t believe Jesus meant love one another-

Not all the one anothers, not drug addicts and criminals.

We hate injustice when it’s injustice towards us.

We love mercy when it’s mercy for us.

We walk humbly with our God when it’s convenient.

We’re babe believers who resist the resurrection;

We’re Christmas Christians who are very good at celebrating Christ’s birth.

We can cling to the babe.

We’re even Crucifixion Christians, agonizing, sympathizing,relating to the hero on the cross.

We can rock a baby; we can weep for a Dead Man;

But what can we do with a 33-year old who won’t let the story end?
Easter scares us

because we’re the people who can’t believe that God gives us abundant life.

We think we have to earn it.

In our pull-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps society

It’s hard to remember that God doesn’t buy the self-made person.

So we in the church spend our lives showing God

What good people we are,

What achievers we are,

How much we deserve God’s love.

We want to pay our own way but Easter says it’s already been paid!!
Easter says, no matter how prodigal, we can go home again!!

So come to the Easter party!!

Let’s celebrate the amazing grace that in Christ’s resurrection

We are still loved even at our most outrageous.

The Lord has given us the music, all we need to do is dance!

Come to the Easter party!!
© Ann Weems in “Reaching For Rainbows”

More Wisdom from Brother Mark

This entry is the fourth entry about my time at Holy Cross Abbey last week. You may want to start at the first one if you are reading for the first time and then read up instead of reading down.

Brother Mark is 89 years old. He was a practicing physician prior to entering the monastery, and he still has an active medical license. He is funny. He smiles often. He laughs at his own jokes. And, his wisdom continues to inspire me as I think about my spiritual life and my vocation as a pastor.

After teaching me about the five kinds of prayer, Brother Mark proceeded to tell me what the three S's stand for that he had written on the piece of paper. "The first S is for 'spiritual reading.' You need to be reaching as much scripture and theology as possible," he explained.

"The next S is for 'sacraments.' I won't get into that with you, you're a pastor, after all," he said.

And then he said, "The final S is for self denial." It is here where a rich lesson took hold of me.

Brother Mark's words on self denial are life giving. He quoted a saint who said, "Every act of pure obedience is an act of pure adoration." He then said that we must deny ourselves for the sake of something greater than ourselves.

"Do you know what the definition is of a professional?" Brother Mark asked. "No," I responded.

"A professional is someone who does their work well regardless of the circumstances. Look at Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods plays golf well whether it is raining or the sun is shining. He plays golf well at all times because this is his profession." Brother Mark then continued, "Do I want to get up every morning at 3:00 in order to be in the chapel by 3:30? No, damn it. But I do it because this is my profession. I am a professional."

I wonder how many times I have complained about something that is part of my profession of pastor. I wonder how many times I have not done something to the best of my ability - creating the liturgy, visiting an older adult, praying, preaching, or teaching - because I did not feel like it that day.

I am a professional. I am a professional pastor. Whatever I am called to do this day - tend the sick, write the Easter sermon, respond to some emails, pray for people who are hurting, be interrupted countless times, look at the recent financial statement, think about next year's student intern, talk with our administrative assistant, proofread the bulletin one more time - I need to do it well. I need to do it with thanks. This is my profession.

And, if I deny myself of what I would really like to do or how I am really feeling - then something amazing might happen. If I deny myself of some extra sleep or extra time surfing the Internet, then more people might be blessed when I try to faithfully interpret a Biblical text on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Morning. If I let go of a little of myself, then quite possibly, this entire church might be blessed in some way.

Let it be so for me and all who gather in this place on Easter morning!

Brother Mark

I went to Holy Cross to find God again. I went seeking an encounter with the Holy One. I wanted to feel God in a tangible way and to fall in love with God again.

The mountains provided my initial introduction to God's majesty and power. I could not help but to recite the words of the Psalmist over and over again, "I lift up my eyes to the hills." The glorious sunsets made me want to linger outside each evening as the heavens told the glory of the Lord. I could see God in this place, away from the hustle, bustle, traffic and crowded streets of Washington. Still, I knew that I needed to work harder to take part of it back with me. I knew that I wanted more spiritual depth - a depth that would continue to find a lot of time for God upon my return. It is for this reason that I placed my name on the appointment schedule for time with one of the brothers.

My appointment was scheduled for 11:00 on Thursday morning. I went to the place where I was to meet the brother. The door was still closed. I paced back and forth for a little while. I went back to my room. I picked up a book. I went back to the library. It was now 11:10, and the door was still shut. "Why is he keeping me waiting?" I asked myself. I then got up from my chair, walked over to the bulletin board and crossed my name off the schedule. My return to the room did not last long, however, as I found myself going back down the hall to the room where I was to meet the brother. Finally, the door opened at 11:15, and I went in.

"My name is M - A - R - K," the brother told me. "Now what can I do for you?" he asked. We set down, and I asked, "Will you please tell me about your call to this place?" I thought that if he told me about his call, I would hear about how his heart longeth after God - about how God is so alive in his life, and that I would then be able to capture some of this passion.

Brother Mark looked at me with a perplexed look on his face. "What are you, a reporter?" he asked. "No," I responded. "I am simply an exhausted pastor who is having a hard time making space for God in my everyday life. I desperately need to be refocused," I said.

"Oh," he said. "Now I understand what you are looking for." With these words, Brother Mark took a pad of paper from the bookshelf next to him and started to write four letters. He then handed it back to me. I glanced at the paper which read:

P


S


S


S

Brother Mark then said, "Now, start taking notes." With that, Brother Mark started to tell me how I could find more of God.

"P is for prayer. There are several different kinds of prayer," he said. He then said, "Please draw 5 lines. The first kind of prayer is thanksgiving. This one is rather easy, especially here. I see a glorious sunset, and I say thanks. I see the mountains, and I say thanks. I also say thanks when I see the ocean from time to time.

The next line is for reparation. This is a reactive kind of prayer. One of our brothers goes through the newspaper each day, looking for people to pray for. He seeks to make reparations for these people through our prayers.

The next line is for adoration. This one is rather simple.

The next one is for petition. We pray for people and situations here all of the time. We petition God on their behalf.

The final line is for meditation. I encourage you to set in your room for 20 minutes each morning and 20 minutes each night. I want you to sit on the floor and cross your legs. Close your eyes and say over and over again, 'I love you, Lord or 'Jesus I love you.'" Brother Mark then continued to tell me how his former Abbot, Thomas Keating, taught him this method. "You have to make room for God - to adore God. And, don't always expect God to show up, just keep praying," Brother Mark said. "You must spend 20 minutes doing this twice a day."

"All of these principles are like plowing the field. You never know when something might be successful - when something might sprout, but we keep plowing," brother Mark told me.

I have yet to set aside 20 minutes, two times a day for mediation. I can imagine such a life, of course. For now, I am trying hard to offer my thanks over and over again, to make reparations for myself and the world, to adore God, and to pray for others.

I can't wait to tell you what else Brother Mark taught me.

Almost Empty

Each month, I gather with other clergy members from this annual conference for what is called "Discipler Group." We gather to talk about how best we can lead our churches to celebrate in worship, connect as one, serve like Christ, develop as Disciples and share our faith. There are times when the gatherings are very rich and beneficial. Like anything, there are other times when I would rather spend my Tuesday morning somewhere else. One of the best things about the gathering is the individuals who I get to see on the first Tuesday of each month.

When we met for the first time this fall, our group discerned how best we would covenant with one another for this journey. One of the things that became important for us was to create space where there was no room for B.S. - but where we needed to be ourselves - to name everything that was happening in our lives - to bring it all to the table. We talked about how if we are trying to create authentic community in our own congregations, then we, too, needed to be authentic with each other. This desire to be authentic pushes and probes us in different ways - typically with difficult questions.

At the end of our time together on the first Tuesday of this month, our guide (who is our District Superintendent) asked a question, "Now, what is it that you are not saying?"

We had been talking about where we found ourselves in the middle of Lent, what was happening in our lives, and how we were growing. The guide continued, "What is it that no one knows yet?" The question pierced me, and I found myself opening my mouth.

I am spiritually dry. I have not had a regular prayer time or devotional time in months. I am thrilled by what is happening at the church, but I am exhausted. I yearn for time with God.

I then continued, "You know, it is so easy to say that we are pastors. We tell others that we are pastors, and people automatically assume that we are close to God. We stand up and pray in the midst of the congregation each Sunday, and people assume that we pray all of the time. But, I am having a hard time balancing it all with the development and the time it takes, along with everything else I need to do."

I was exhausted. It had been months since I had experienced a real Sabbath. It had been weeks since a church member did not call me on my Sabbath - on a Friday to ask questions that could have waited until Sunday (Why is it that people cannot understand that pastors, more than anyone else, desperately need a day away from the church and the people of the church?). It had been months since I had taken a 24-hour break from checking my email. I could not remember the last time I spent a Friday resting, worshipping and seeking renewal.

And so, I went to the Abbey - the week before Easter. I went to the Abbey to find myself again - to discover a life of prayer. I went, telling my congregation to not call me but to call the person on call. I went, and God pulled me back one more time. The Good Shepherd lifted me up, put me around his shoulders, and carried me back into his fold.

68.2 Miles

Early Monday morning I was with a group of clergy who had met to continue planning the opening worship service for the Baltimore Washington Annual Conference. I explained to them how I could meet with them that day but how I could not attend the meeting on the following afternoon because I would be on retreat.

"You are going on retreat the week before Easter?" one of my colleagues asked.

"Yes, I am going away this week. Everything is going to be crazy after Easter," I explained. "Once Easter is over, everything needs to be calculated to prepare us for our move back into the historic church."

My rationalization made sense to me. There is so much to do after Easter. There is so much to discern, to pray about, to think about and to prepare for as we think about moving the congregation from rented space to our permanent home after a very expensive and extravagant renovation. Still, there was more to the story. The real truth would come out in the days ahead.

The idea came up at a recent meeting of the Staff Parish Relations Committee. With new members participating in their first meeting as a committee member, I was explaining to the group that their chief purpose was not to respond to problems that come up with the pastor or staff. Rather, their chief purpose as a committee is to support the pastor, the staff and their families. With this explanation, one of the new members on the committee asked a question, "What are we doing to take care of our pastor?"

What are we doing to take care of our pastor?

It was a refreshing question to hear. I had not heard anyone ask it before.

The committee members continued to talk, with the older members adding information about vacation and continuing education. This newcomer added something else, "But our pastor is getting married. Our pastor is working hard. What are we doing to make sure she is taken care of - that she is taking care of herself?" She then continued, "I think we should require that she find time for a spiritual retreat between now and her wedding. We need to make sure that she goes away and takes care of herself."

At this point, I started to pinch myself. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. After some discussion about how I already had time off for vacation and continuing education, followed by an explanation of what a spiritual retreat is, the committee agreed that I needed to go away.

On Tuesday morning, I drove 68.2 miles to Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville, Virginia. It took me just over one hour to arrive at a place described by one of the other retreatants as "just an inch or two below heaven."

And, I cannot wait to tell you more about what I discovered this week.

What a difference 68.2 miles can make.

Finding a Familiar Tune

We resurrected another ministry at Mount Vernon Place last week when women from our church gathered for lunch. The men in our congregation have an abundant, life-giving gathering every other Saturday morning when they gather for fellowship and a discussion on discipleship at a nearby Starbucks. The women gathered when we were in our old building. However, with the loss of parking, this ministry was also at a loss.

Thanks to the passion and energy of several new members at Mount Vernon Place, our women met again last Saturday. We gathered not in downtown Washington, but at the favorite restaurant of one of our members, the most amazing 95-year-old that I have ever met. There was plenty of parking. There was a lot of laughter. And, there was a great mix of longtime members and newcomers to the church. It was a blessing.

Finding a blend between what is old and what is new is not always easy to find. I am told that some of our longtime members sometimes feel left out. I have been criticized often for not asking the longtime members what they want or don't want at the church. Still, I recognize that the most life-giving moments we have as a congregation are the times when everyone is present - the twenty-somethings and the ninety-somethings, the people who can tell you what has happened in the last year at Mount Vernon Place and the people who can tell you what has happened in the last sixty years at Mount Vernon Place. One of the best things about our congregation is its beautiful mix - its diversity - of people.

I have been reading a lot about church transitions lately and how best to provide leadership in times like this. I was struck by something that Barbara Lundblad writes about in her book, Transforming the Stone. She writes:

At a recent Lutheran churchwide assembly, a bishop came to the microphone at the closing session. He hadn't come to make an amendment or call for a vote, but to ask for a point of personal privilege: "Could we all rise and join in singing 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God?' His request didn't come after a particularly division session, but out of a deep personal longing. During that assembly, we had sung in Spanish and clapped the rhythms of South African freedom songs, and we had heard new images for God lifted up in prayers. The bishop hadn't heard his heritage lifted up in prayers. The bishop hadn't heard his heritage lifted up or celebrated in ten days of meetings. He wanted us to sing a song he knew before going home.

No doubt some will say, 'That's too bad! We've spent fifteen hundred years singing his songs!' Many at that assembly delighted in the Pentecost diversity of language and music while others, like the bishop, felt the church was moving on without them.

Lundblad continues to ask how we can make sure that we remember everyone in our preaching - those who are new and those who feel estranged in the church of their birth, the prodigal son and the older brother standing in anger, everyone.

We are trying hard to strike this balance at Mount Vernon Place. We are seeking to honor the past while embracing the future. Who knew this balance would be so hard to find! And still, it is happening, slowly but surely. And may I add one more thing - the beer bottle in the middle of the table and the martini glass at the end of the table do not belong to any of the "younger" women!