The Garden of Eden

I started noticing a few things hanging from one of the trees on the lawn of the church a few weeks ago. I did not think much about it, however, concluding instead that someone was simply hanging a few things out to dry. But yesterday, I got a full glimpse of the tree when I was outside updating some of our information signs.

What on earth is that? I thought to myself.

I stepped closer and noticed that there were two Barbie dolls in the tree, along with a rubber snake.

I turned around and asked one of our neighbors who was picking up his blankets a few feet away if he knew anything about the tree.

Do you know who did this? I asked.

Yes, Dennis replied.

Did you do this, Dennis? I asked.

Yes, Dennis replied.

Well what is it, Dennis?

It's the Garden of Eden, said Dennis.

Of course, it's the Garden of Eden.

Dennis had created an incredibly creative visual of the story found in Genesis 2 and 3. The story begins with God placing man in the garden of Eden to till it and to keep it. "And the Lord God commanded the man, 'You may freely eat of every tree in the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die."

God then makes woman, and the two come together, becoming one flesh.

In the beginning of the third chapter of Genesis, a snake appears. The snake is "more crafty that any other wild animal that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, 'Did God say, 'You shall not eat from any tree in the garden'?"

The woman replies, "We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, 'You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.'"

And guess what happens? The woman takes the fruit from the tree and eats it. She then gives some of the fruit to her husband. Their eyes are then opened, and they know they are naked.

The story of the garden of Eden is the story of the first human transgression and the punishment that comes with it. It is the story of man's first sin. Everything was perfect before the man and woman ate from the tree in Eden.

I spent the day wondering why Dennis created his version of the garden of Eden on the church's lawn. Did this creation serve as his reminder that there was a time when everything was right -- when those who had too much shared with those who had too little, when people were not greedy, when all men and women dwelled together in unity?

And why is it that Dennis chooses to sleep in the same place each night -- not next to the church where it might be safer or on the porch where there is a covering, but in the open, under a tree -- a few feet away from a wooden cross? Why does he go away each day only to return to this same spot each night?

While Dennis told me tonight that he wasn't thinking theologically when he created the garden, I think Dennis knows a few things that we don't always remember. There was a time when everything was right -- when there would be absolutely no reason for anyone to be without food or shelter. This time is represented by the garden he created.

There is also a time coming when everything will be made right. Jesus came so that we might have life and life abundant. Through his life, he taught us how to live -- how to share and care for one another. Through the cross, he triumphed over sin and death -- assuring us that he will always have the final word.

Dennis' garden was taken down today. Someone removed the things from the tree, along with his collection of blankets hidden in the bushes. When I asked Dennis if he needed to go to a shelter tonight, he assured me that he would be just fine. He was disappointed that his things were gone, but he was still smiling.

I look forward to seeing Dennis tomorrow. And, I'll be keeping my eye on the tree. It won't be long, I am sure, until more things will appear in the tree. And if I keep my eyes open, I may learn a thing or two.

What Justice Looks Like

We started a new study on last Sunday night on N.T. Wright’s new book, Simply Christian.
Our discussion of the book began with the place from which Wright begins his book -- on the topic of justice. N.T. Wright believes that we all have in our minds an ideal for the perfect world – a world in which everything is fair and all things work out for the best. This ideal is a world where we not only are aware of what is right and what we should do, but how we actually live our lives in a way which is right. Yet, just as we gain a glimpse of what is right, we wake up from our dream and step into reality.

N.T. Wright pens on page four, and I quote, “It’s as though we can hear, not perhaps a voice itself, but the echo of a voice: a voice speaking with calm, healing authority, speaking about justice, about things being put to rights, about peace and hope and prosperity for all. The voice continues to echo in our imagination, our subconscious. We want to go back and listen to it again, but having woken up we can’t get back into the dream. Other people sometimes tell us it was just a fantasy, and we’re half-inclined to believe them, even though that condemns us to cynicism.”

As part of the discussion last week, we were asked to share what this dream looks like for us. What is our dream of justice?

One of the things I mentioned in response to the question is how my dream of justice is one in which there are no more gray blankets filling the nooks and crannies, window wells and alleys of this city. I have noticed these blankets more often in recent weeks than I have ever noticed them before. I have found the blankets on the steps of our church and in the corners of our porches. The blankets have caught my eye as I have walked through several public parks. One can see them stuffed behind trees and hidden behind bushes. They are worn as capes by homeless men and women. The blankets seem to be everywhere, and each blanket I see represents a person whose body is colder than mine is on this night. Each blanket I see represents a person whose body is colder than mine on most winter nights. Each blanket I see reminds me how not everything has been made right – at least not yet.

But in my dream, there are no blankets. In my dream, everyone has a place to call “home” – where their belongings are kept safe, where the seats around the kitchen table are occupied by family members having dinner together each evening, and where a warm, cozy bed is readily available for all people – a bed covered not with a gray blanket but with a down-filled, colorful comforter on top.

We have a long way to go before this dream is a reality. In fact, there are times when I don't even have a clue as to where to start making the dream a reality. But one thing is for certain -- the blankets no longer fade into the scenary of the city as they once used to do. Instead, the blankets remind me of our neighbors -- the men and women who sleep near the church -- the people who will be covered with gray blankets on this chilly night.

God, may your presence be known to Caroline and Clifton, Michael and Dennis, and to everyone else who does not have a place to call home.

What is your dream of justice?

NOTE: This discussion inspired today's sermon. You may read the full text later in the week on the Mount Vernon Place UMC website. You may also come and join us as we continue the discussion on Simply Christian.

Lessons Learned in Yoga Class

I went to yoga this week. While it was surprising to my sister and some friends, it was my first time attending a yoga class.

The class started at 5:30, and I reported to the gym a few minutes early. I walked into the studio, disappointed to discover that the room was nearly full, leaving the only remaining space at the front of the room, just beneath the only light illuminated in the entire room -- you get the picture!

I unrolled my mat, removed my shoes (forgetting to remove my socks!), and placed my body on the ground with all the other classmates. We started breathing together, an exercise that I loved as I was reminded to pay attention to my breathing patterns. Breathe in through your nose. Exhale through your mouth. My stomach muscles were in tune. My body was in tune. My nose and my mouth were in tune. The class then continued.

We pushed our bodies up using our arms and our legs. We lifted our legs in the air for a few minutes and then our arms. We did a variety of poses, all of which were new to me. I was doing fine for a while. I was doing fine until the instructor started to do things that I knew my body could never do. She lifted her entire weight on her head and her elbows in an upside down position. I was amazed! Thankfully, she did not stay there for long before returning to something that I could do.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Pay attention to the air flowing in and out of your body," she kept saying. When I was paying attention to my breathing, I had an easier time doing the different exercises. When I forgot about my breathing, I was miserable, checking the time and counting the remaining minutes until class ended.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Pay attention to your breathing." These simple words made everything so much easier. These words told me what I needed to get through the class.

Since returning to the office this week, I have found myself running around in an effort to do everything expected of me. I have been a salesperson this week, promoting some of the church's remaining items on Craigslist. I have been an advertising executive this week, painting over some of the church's banners and hanging them on our new fence for all to see. I have been a pastor this week, praying at the bedside of a parishioner recovering from surgery. I have been a developer this week, pushing for the new schedule on which our building redevelopment will occur. And, I have been a 30 something young adult, trying to have fun with friends at various points in the week.

There have been times when I remembered to pay attention to the source of my being -- to the One who enables me to breathe. There have been other times this week when I tried to accomplish too much on my own, doing a little of everything but doing nothing particularly well.

There is no way I could ever get through a yoga class without paying attention to my breathing. Likewise, there is no way I can possibly get through any day well without paying attention to the One who makes each day possible --without beginning each day and sometimes each hour with prayer, allowing this One to flow through me, controlling my words, my thoughts and my actions.

I'll try yoga again next week. For now, I am going to go spend some time in prayer. There are just too many difficult things to do and accomplish in the coming days, and I need to pay attention to my spiritual journey.

Yearning to be Extreme

Nathan Howe, one of the interns at Mount Vernon Place, preached yesterday's sermon in honor of the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Rightly so, Nathan spent a lot of time quoting Dr. King's sermons. King's words, like the words of Jesus, are often enough.

It was a blessing and a challenge to sit and listen to Dr. King's words again -- words that we have all heard before but words that we cannot hear enough. I was particularly struck by Dr. King's words from his "Letter from Birmingham Jail." In this letter, King shares his reaction to being called "extreme." He writes:

You speak of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergyman would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist.

King then continues:

But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus and extremist for love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like am ever-flowing stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the Christian gospel: "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist: "Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God." And John Bunyan: "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." And Abraham Lincoln: "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." And Thomas Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal . . . ." So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvery's hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all three were crucified for the same crime -- the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth, and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation, and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.

And towards the end of the letter he writes:

There was a time when the church was very powerful -- in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators." But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called to obey Gad rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests.
Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent -- and often even vocal -- sanction of things as they are. But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

While these words were written 34 years ago, King's description of the church is too often accurate for today. There are many in our churches who are afraid to speak up, naming the injustices all around us. Many of us casually ask the homeless to leave our property without asking ourselves whether we will be judged for our actions -- for asking them to leave instead of offering them something to eat and something to drink. Many of us continue to hold harsh feelings towards those who have hurt us or stepped on our toes instead of remembering how Jesus calls us to love our enemy and pray for those who persecute us. And, many of us allow things to continue in a way that is so different from the community Jesus called us to create.

I live in a city in which the discrepancies between those who have and those who have not grows wider each day. If I walk from my house in Columbia Heights to downtown, I can begin my journey encountering people who are asking for money in order to buy something to eat and street light cameras that have been installed by the police department to capture the crimes taking place around the neighborhood. I can then continue to walk to Adams Morgan where the diversity of the city is most beautiful and the smells coming from restaurant doors represent countless different countries around the world -- a diversity that is rarely realized in many cities and schools in this nation. My journey continues to take me through Dupont Circle where I see many people who are gay and lesbian, people who I know have been pushed outside the doors of the church more than they have been welcome on the inside. I then continue to walk down Connecticut Avenue where I see coats in the store window that cost over $1000 and diamond rings with a stone the size of a dime and a cost the size of my second mortgage.

Meanwhile, I know that I have yet to organize a prayer vigil in response to violent crimes in this city -- in response to innocent lives that have ended too soon.

I have yet to do anything substantial other than preach a couple of times on what it means to be a church that is intentionally open to all people regardless of their race, economic status or sexual orientation.

I have not done anything when it comes to leading the congregation in a serious struggle with what it means to increase the minimum wage, provide access to quality health care for all people, or have more affordable housing, to name a few of the issues that we could address.

Oh God, as we thank you for the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. we pray that you would help us all to become more prophetic. May we not be thermometers that are simply taking note of what is happening around us but may we be thermostats that are prepared to engage the society and stand up for something different. God, help us to be like your Son -- the greatest gift and example you have given to us. Amen.

A Home Away from Home

Progress is being made on the development at Mount Vernon Place! Our temporary office trailer arrived on Wednesday, and the asbestos abatement will commence on this Monday! We have been waiting for these two things since September, when we vacated the two buildings and prepared ourselves for demolition. We have waited patiently and expectantly. We have waited with delight and wonder. We have waited, and when I finally saw the trailer on Wednesday afternoon, I laughed. I laughed out loud for it is hard for me to completely imagine being in this space for over a year.

The interior of the trailer is absolutely beautiful, complete with hard wood floors and granite countertops. It is much more spacious on the inside than it appears on the outside. Still, this trailer is about to become our home as our entire operation is moved from three massive buildings (over 50,000 square feet) into a space that is 52 feet long and 10 feet wide -- it's even smaller than my 537 square feet apartment!!


We'll start discussing this week the things that we anticipated bringing with us that need to now be left behind. We'll continue discerning this week how best to utilize this space for mission and ministry. We'll continue to think creatively about where and when we can worship God and serve our community. And, we'll continue to ask God to lead us and guide us, shining light on this unknown path.

I have said often how our church is living in exile as we are away from the sanctuary and space we love, living in a wilderness-like place that is unfamiliar to us, journeying towards the promised land of a renovated building and new construction.

While the last few months have not been easy, we have been reminded often since the beginning of September how God is not limited to a beautiful sanctuary or a massive building. We have seen and experienced the presence of the Lord in real and powerful ways in the last four months as we have followed God into uncertain and unfamiliar territory. We have grown -- both as individuals and as a congregation.

I would venture to guess that there is going to be some complaining in the coming weeks as we vacate the historic building completely and move into new space -- just like the Israelites. I would be willing to bet money that there will be people who will question the direction we are going -- just like the Israelites -- asking, "Why did they make us move out of the sanctuary into this place? Couldn't they do the renovation work around our schedule?" And, I am absolutely positive that we will experience God's leading and faithfulness once again -- that God will show up in unexpectant places with unexpectant gifts like bread from heaven and water from rocks -- just like the Israelites.

Please keep us in your prayers and come join us on the journey!

HAZARDOUS

I went skiing last week in Colorado. Before you get too impressed, let me tell you that I chose to ski one day out of four. My sister, Dana, had the bright idea that after two times down the bunny slope that I was ready for a slope that I later learned was "almost blue" -- something a ski instructor told me when I was struggling to stand again on one of the steepest parts of the slope when it was too late to do anything but try to get down with both skis on my feet!

The one thing that amazed me last week was how many people I saw being taken down the mountain on a stretcher with skis. There were three different people hurt in a matter of moments -- three different people who were unable to ski down the mountain on their own. When I saw these people, I returned home to check the agreement I signed when getting my skis. It reads:

"I understand and am aware that skiing/snowboarding is a HAZARDOUS activity. I understand that the sport of skiing/snowboarding and the use of this equipment involves a risk of personal injury to any and all parts of my body. I hereby agree to freely and expressly assume and accept any and all risks of injury or death to the user of this equipment while skiing/snowboarding."

I signed my name, paid The Sports Authority store $29.98 for the use of the equipment, and returned to Keystone where I paid $70 for a lift ticket. I spent $100 a day, along with hundreds of other people, on something that was HAZARDOUS. I spent $100 a day, along with hundreds of other people, on something that made my ankles hurt. I spent $100 a day, along with hundreds of other people, on something that could have killed me.

I keep wondering what the agreement would look like if we signed something on the day we decided to follow Christ. The more I understand the Gospel, the more I realize how Jesus also calls us to do something that is a little hazardous. He sends us out like sheep in the midst of wolves. He tells us to take nothing for our journeys. He commands us to shake the dust from our feet if we find ourselves in a place where we are not welcome. He tells us to lift high the cross -- something on which he was crucified. He asks that we love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. He calls us to live a life that stands in stark contrast to the ways of this world.

He risked everything for us -- including his life.

I took the risk of skiing. It was filled with a few thrills and a lot of fear. Still, I'll try it again when I return to Colorado next year.

Now, if I can just take more risks when it comes to following Christ.

What I Would Have Written

Do you need any holiday stamps?

She asked me this question two weeks ago, and I said, "No thank you." However, when the woman at the Post Office asked me this question again last Saturday, I replied, "Yes, I'll take 120 of the Virgin Mary stamps."

What was I thinking? I was thinking that I would have time this week to get all of the cards addressed and the letters in the mail. I was thinking that there would be a few hours before today when I could get the cards off to everyone expecting one. After all, I always write a holiday letter. I always send Christmas cards.

But not this year. There is just not enough time with preparations for my Doctor of Ministry courses, cookie baking and church responsiblities. I have put the cards back in a drawer and will save them for next year.

However, had you received a Christmas card with a letter inside, this is what I would have written:

Greetings from Washington! While I would love to say that it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas, I write to you when the temperatures are over 60 degrees outside and my Christmas tree is still boxed away in the coat closet at home. Where on earth has 2006 gone?

If anyone ever tells you that changing a declining church into a growing church is easy, please tell the person they are crazy – absolutely, positively crazy. My appointment at Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church continues to amaze me and challenge me on so many levels. The people who make this place their church home have undergone some significant challenges this year, none of which have been easy. We spent all summer packing, cleaning, storing and selling things in preparation for the church’s upcoming renovation and demolition. The church had two yard sales, bringing in close to $5,000 for missions. One of the most meaningful contributions, however, was sending a load of things (several pews, a piano, baptismal font and altar) to a church in Mississippi that had sustained damage as a result of Hurricane Katrina. When the church sent us a picture of the sanctuary with their ‘new’ things in it, we were delighted to see how everything seemed to fit like a glove. God is so good! In August, the church ended its shared ministry with the Chinese Community Church, a twelve-year-old relationship that has guaranteed at least 70 more people in the pews for our Sunday morning worship. We then moved out of the sanctuary on the last Sunday in August in anticipation of the arrival of an office trailer and the commencement of a massive asbestos abatement project in September with demolition of two buildings to follow in December. But, we’re still waiting. Our development has been significantly impacted by the sale of our developer to an investment firm that is now in the process of selling the Washington portfolio to another developer. In the meantime, I am learning more about real estate development, contracts, and construction than I ever dreamed was possible. My negotiating skills are improving each day. I also try hard to remember to ask God for forgiveness every time I say out loud how I really feel about New York City developers.

The wonderful part of all of these transitions is that the church is starting to grow again. We have taken in seven new members this year. While this number is about half of what we took in each month when I was at First UMC in Hendersonville, this number represents a 700% increase over last year. Even more exciting is the rich diversity of our worshipping congregation. And, our 80 and 90 year olds are rallying in ways that continue to cause me to smile and laugh often. One of my members – a 94 year old woman who I affectionately call “spit-fire” – even told a newspaper reporter recently how her main mission in life is to see me through the construction project before my hair turns gray!

Life in Washington is transforming me, too. I remember well some of the prayers I spoke when I was discerning a call to leave Duke and return to the local church. “Take me out of my place of comfort. Make me more prophetic. Give me a heart for hurting people.” Certainly God has removed me from my place of comfort as there are times when I realize I do not have any idea how to really make this church grow again. I am trying hard to become more prophetic each day as I speak truth to power – not a hard thing to do when the White House is less than a mile away. However, it is having a heart for hurting people that has caused the most pain in my life. I cannot escape the gap between those who have and those who have not whether I am walking down the street on which I live or standing outside the doors of the church. There are poor people everywhere. I watch them dig through the trash cans that fill the city streets. I wake them up each morning when I arrive at the church, asking them to leave the space right outside the doors during the day. I see their blankets, and I smell their odors. I wonder who to give money to and who to ignore. And, I read the Gospel in ways I have never read it before – especially the words spoken by Jesus about whosoever does it to the least of these does it onto me. These words haunt me at times and make me realize how far the church has fallen short of being the community Christ has called it to be. If I have one dream for Mount Vernon Place, it is that people will come here and see something different. I pray that people will see this church being the hands, eyes, ears, mouth and feet of Jesus – the church Christ has called it to be – and not a place that entertains or performs or has people walking in and out without allowing the Gospel to transform all of us in hopes that our community will be transformed, too.

There are magnificent people in my life who make me laugh, sing, think and want to be a better person. Amongst this year’s blessings was the opportunity to officiate at my best friend, Jenni’s wedding in October. In addition, I have met the kindest, most sensitive, joy-filled individual with whom I share most of my free-time. Craig adds beautiful balance to my life, and our relationship is certainly a gift from God. My family is all doing great, too. Dad visited in November, and I so enjoyed him. Mom still loves being mayor. Dana is engaged to be married sometime next year.

You are thought of often, especially during this time of year. Please come and visit. I always love sharing Washington with others.

Love,
Donna

Oh, and let me know if you need any holiday stamps. I have 120 of them.

Merry Christmas!

Rejoice in the Lord....always

The Epistle lesson appointed for this Sunday is Philippians 4:4-7: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I was surrounded yesterday with people who are rejoicing. They are not rejoicing because all of their Christmas shopping is done or because they anticipate the arrival of family next week for the celebration of Christmas. In fact, none of them are Christmas shopping this year. And none of them will have anyone come in from out of town to bring them Christmas cheer. Still, they were rejoicing as if they had just read this passage from Paul.

I went to the nursing home yesterday to visit a member of the church who has recently suffered a stroke. Ruth is an amazing person who has lived in Washington since the early 1940s. She is someone I have grown to love and appreciate as she is at the church any time the doors of the church are unlocked. You could always count on Ruth to be there whether it was Wednesday morning Bible study, Sunday worship, or Wednesday evening activities. She's quite remarkable and quite wonderful. She is in a different place right now as a stroke has removed her ability to enjoy her Massachusetts Ave. apartment for now. She can no longer walk all over downtown as she loves to do. She's not wearing her favorite outfits right now -- two pantsuits in very bright colors. Instead, she has different clothing, and she sits in a chair, allowing the wheels to take her to therapy instead of her feet taking her to the church.

If we were Ruth, many of us would find ourselves complaining right now. But not Ruth. Ruth was filled with laughter and joy when I saw her yesterday. She boldly sang "Silent Night" and "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" with me. She smiled. She said everything was fine. She said she was thankful. Ruth was rejoicing. Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

Accompanying me on my visit to Ruth yesterday was another one of our members. I take Eddie with me to nursing homes because I always get to see him rejoicing when we walk into a room. Eddie has an uncanny way of bringing comfort and joy to others. He has a way of making jokes that can always bring smiles. He has a way of reaching out and taking people's hands that enables the person holding his hand to grasp tightly. Eddie is a remarkable care-giver. And while he has never been to seminary, I always learn a lesson in pastoral care from him. Eddie always rejoices with the people we are visiting, encouraging them to rejoice, too, despite their circumstances.

I saw a bit more of Eddie's joy an hour before we left to visit people, however. I was sitting at a window table at a restaurant on 7th Street when Eddie went by on his bicycle, smiling as he peddled. Eddie's bike is not new. In fact, he bought it at a corner market for $30. He came in rejoicing on the day he bought it -- showing everyone his new found treasure. When I asked Eddie where he was going on his bike yesterday, he informed me that he was going to the downtown holiday market --a place where he could admire artwork and compliment the artists. Seeing other people show their art was enough to make Eddie rejoice. While he wanted to buy different things, he did not. He simply went to see the art and then was able to rejoice. Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

Prior to leaving the church to visit in the afternoon I met a man named Michael. Michael likes stuff. He has lots of stuff. He has some six different grocery carts. He has a couple of bikes. He has dozens of blankets and lots of clothes. He picks up things all over town and brings them to the corner of the church's parking lot. The corner was becoming quite a mess, as you can imagine. It seemed to be growing each day as I would drive into the parking lot. I was never able to meet the person who kept his stuff there, however, until yesterday when Michael was cleaning up his mess. Our building engineer had noticed him in the morning and asked him to clean up the corner, and he spent all of Thursday cleaning. The progress he made was amazing!

When I was leaving the church last night, I noticed Michael cleaning another spot at the church -- a pile of belongings that I did not know belonged to him because they were in a different place. This particular pile has caught my attention often. No one would see it from the street or the sidewalk as it is down in a window well next to the church. Michael has collected enough milk crates to make steps that lead down into it. He has made a place to sleep there at times while simply putting a lot of stuff there at other times. He then carefully covers it all up with plastic each morning, doing whatever he can to make sure nothing gets wet. The pile has made me ask often how on earth anyone could live this way, and why some people in our neighborhood have so much while others have so little.

Michael taught me a lot yesterday. When I complimented him on his cleaning job, he smiled big, sharing how he was thankful to have a place for his belongings. "The stuff is not safe at the shelter -- it will all disappear," he said. He was rejoicing. He was rejoicing because he had a 'place' to put his things.

Michael's 'place' is not a place many people would put their things. It is dirty. It is wet. It is near trash. It is open to all. Still, Michael is thankful to have it.

I then mentioned to Michael that the buildings would soon be demolished. I told him how fences would go up around the church sometime soon, closing the property off for construction. It was then that Michael's rejoicing ended, and his face became filled with uncertainty. "But where am I going to put my stuff?" Michael was immediately disheartened.

I now cannot seem to get Michael's face out of my mind. I learned yesterday that the building project is impacting him just as much as it is some of the members of the church.

It was only recently that I noticed everything in the window well. I now cannot help but to notice it. I have to stop and look in it each morning and each afternoon. I have prayed often for the person who spends time in that well, and now I know his name.

Michael, we can still rejoice. You do not know where your stuff is going to be kept come January. But we can rejoice. For the scriptures appointed for this week tell us one more thing. They tell us that a day is coming when the outcasts will be gathered together and everyone will have enough. And it is then that you will have the seat of honor. It is then that you will be welcome anywhere at anytime. It is then that your stuff will not really matter because you will have everything you have ever needed.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

A Saturday Afternoon Worship Experience

Need I say more than what the title already says?

I love Duke Basketball!

A Vision at the Corner of 7th and H

There are many things I love about the city. I love the diversity of people. I love the movement of the trains and buses. I love the hustle and bustle. I love the city streets. And I love the entertainment found on many sidewalks.

The corner of 7th and H in Chinatown attracts a myriad of performers. There is a man who plays the "drums" -- any cylinder form he can find -- to the delight of my ears throughout the summer months, allowing me to hear his beat several blocks away. There is a preacher who shouts words of hell, fire and damnation that I usually ignore. There are several guitarists who strum to their heart's delight. And, there is a man who plays an electric keyboard as he sings along.

The man with the keyboard has a mediocre voice. He has no backup band or flashy clothing. He does not attract a large group of people outside of CVS. He does, however, have vision.

The other day I was waiting to cross the street on my way to the gym when he announced with a speaker, "Thank you for coming. The next show will start in five minutes. Please hang tight for five minutes."

I cannot imagine anyone waiting five minutes for the start of the "show." I did not happen to see anyone sticking around instead of crossing the street. I did see, however, several people smiling at his words.

The man has vision. He visualizes a day when people will gather around to here him sing. When people will stick around for the start of the next show. When his group of fans will grow. When he will sing not on a street corner but on a stage. And, the man inspires me, reminding me of how important it is have a vision.

I, too, have a vision. I envision a church that is constantly looking at itself to see who is missing. I envision a church where people are more excited about leaving the doors of the church, taking the light out into the city, instead of keeping the light of Christ locked inside. I envision a church of old and young, rich and poor, black and white, brown and tan, educated and uneducated, city dwellers and suburban retirees, full and empty. I envision a church that is convinced that the Gospel of Jesus Christ still has the power to transform lives and a church that sees this transformation on a regular basis. I envision a church where people gather often -- for coffee and conversation, for worship and Bible study, for ministry on the streets and in the city, for music and dancing, for games and play, for exercise and activity, for the pure privilege of encountering Jesus Christ in a myriad of people and places.

While it is not a performance, we do have singing, and music, and laughter, and conversation. We'll pass a plate though you do not have to put anything in it. You'll hopefully leave with a smile on your face. The next service starts on Sunday at 11:00. You'll find us on the corner of 9th and Mass.

The Terms of the Contract

There is something incredible about Advent. Advent is the liturgical season that accompanies my favorite time of the year -- a time when we sing some of my favorite hymns, decorate the sanctuary in wonderful ways, and reach out to the community. Advent is also a time when the scriptures convict me -- reminding me that Christ is coming again. This arrival is what we are waiting for, and we are to wait with joyful expectation.

We are learning a lot about what it means to wait at Mount Vernon Place. It's true that we don't spend all of our time talking about what it means to wait for the return of the Christ child. We do, however, talk a lot about waiting for two of our buildings to be demolished while another one is built. We talk about waiting for our sanctuary to be renovated. We talk about waiting for a trailer to arrive, a signal that the asbestos abatement has commenced. And, we are learning a lot as we wait -- not about patience, exactly, but about real estate development, legal contracts, and companies that believe in going above and beyond the call to duty.

Last year, the congregation reluctantly but hopefully voted to sell a portion of its property. We entered into a contract with a local company -- the kind of company where your number one contact at the company is part of the original family -- the kind of company that sends you fruit baskets for Christmas and tulips on Easter -- the kind of company that works hard to understand its constituency and do whatever it can to ensure that the constituency achieves great success with its development -- the kind of company that knows what the legal document says but is willing to go above and beyond the terms of the contract in order to assist the client.

We have a variety of contracts in our life. We have work contracts. We have construction contracts. We have contracts on our copying machines, elevators and furnaces. There are contracts everywhere. A contract lays out what one party can expect from the other party. And it is true that it is often rare to find one party willing to exceed the terms of the contract.

During this season of waiting, we are waiting for one who constantly exceeded the terms of the contract. This one came so that we might have life -- no ordinary life -- but life abundant. This one came to bring forth justice and righteousness -- not just for a few people but for all people. This one came for the forgiveness of our sins -- not only the sins of our past but the sins of our future, too. This one constantly exceeded the terms of the contract in every way possible. Thanks be to God!

Locked Out

"Pastor, it's mighty hard for a handicapped person to get into the church right now."

These are the words with which I was greeted on Sunday morning. They came from my parishioner, Gilbert, a 96 year-old-retired attorney who has been a member of Mount Vernon Place for decades. Gilbert is one of many members whose Sunday routine has been interrupted because of the renovation project at the church. He used to be able to walk in the front doors off of Massachusetts Avenue, take the elevator to his Sunday school room on the third floor, take the elevator back to the second floor where the sanctuary entrance is located, and then step onto a motorized lift with his walker in order to be lowered down into the sanctuary.

Since we had to vacate the building with the elevator on September 1, however, Gilbert and many others have had to adjust to a different routine. They have had to walk in one door for Sunday school and then back outside in order to walk into another door for worship in the undercroft theatre, as this way is the only way one can get from Sunday school to worship without using any steps. Gilbert and many others are making sacrifices each time they come to the church. They cannot step in from the cold or the rain and be done with it. Instead, they have to step in for one thing, step back outside, and then step back in for another thing. If I were them, I might stay home and watch a television evangelist for my dose of good news! But they, thank God, keep coming.

If this new routine were not enough, we have found that there are doors locked at times that are not supposed to be locked. We are using doors that we have never used before, and many of them lock without us wanting them locked. They lock without us having a key to get them opened. They lock, leaving Gilbert and many others stuck outside.

Pastor, it's mighty hard for someone with a handicap to get into church today.


I keep thinking about Gilbert's comment and the one door he can use being locked. How many other individuals feel locked out of the church? How many handicapped people have stayed away from Mount Vernon Place because it is too difficult to get inside? How many handicapped people have refused to sing in the choir because the choir loft requires that one be able to climb stairs? How many handicapped people have said "no" to reading scripture or serving communion because the chancel area has stairs?

Not only this, but how many people believe the doors of the church are "locked" to them because of the sins of the past or of the present? Because they do not have anything to wear that comes even close to what they see Sunday church folk wearing? Because they have been told that they are going to burn in hell because of their sexual orientation? Because they do not know anything about the Bible? Because someone once told them they were not good enough to be loved by God?

It's true that the doors to many churches around the world have appeared locked to countless children of God. The church has not done a good job of reminding itself that we are all sinners in need of God's grace and redemption. The church has often forgotten what Jesus said about how we are to not judge others. The church has failed to practice what it preaches.

It's true that we are having a hard time getting all of the doors unlocked on Sunday mornings. There is always one door that seems to stick. But I hope and pray that no one will feel locked outside of the church for long. I pray that somewhere, there will always be an opening for anyone and everyone to come to inside.

Now, let me try to find that key.

Thankful

It's Thanksgiving morning, and my eyes are already red. They are not red because I am tired. They are not red because something is burning in the oven. They are red because I have been reminded in so many powerful ways on this morning of how blessed I am. They are red because I realize how thankful I am for all of the many blessings in life.

My dad visited me this week. Dad lives in Missouri where he is the President of Linn State Technical College. He is an amazing individual with a sense of humor that can make me laugh until my tummy hurts. He has a work ethic that makes me want to work even harder than I already work. He is a bit hard headed, which makes me think that I, too, can do anything I want to do. And, he loves his family -- which makes me realize how loved I really am. I am enormously proud of my dad. I am grateful for all he has taught me in my 34 years. I am thankful for the lessons in life that he has given me -- lessons that have demonstrated to me how I should work hard to reach my goals while never forgetting the people who have helped me along the way -- lessons on why I should love God and his church -- lessons about how to never give up. Thank you, dad.

I am also enormously thankful for the people to whom I am privileged to be pastor. I realize each day how much I love the people who call Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church their church home. These individuals awe and amaze me. They make me laugh. They make me think. They make me want to serve as faithfully as I possibly can.

One of our members had a stroke this week. When the call came informing me that she was in the hospital, I quickly put my coat on and rushed out the door. When I arrived at the hospital, I was reminded how thankful I am for having been able to hear the story of this woman's life -- her arrival in Washington during WWII, her love of the church, and her journeys as a resident of the neighborhood. I was also reminded that the call of a pastor is a precious privilege as I was not only invited to come to the hospital, but I was beckoned there. And once I arrived, I realized again how the ground on which I walk is sacred, indeed.

On this Thanksgiving morning, I also remember and give thanks for the precious friends in my life. One of the greatest joys of being back in Washington is the gift of being near so many of my closest friends. This year I was able to visit my friend, Kimberly, at the hospital on the day her second child, Abby, was born. I was also able to officiate at my best friend, Jenni's wedding -- a woman whose friendship continues to sustain me in so many lifegiving ways. Last week, I shared a simple meal of soup with Kim, a colleague I met in 1994. These women are such gifts to me. I celebrate their friendships and the ways in which I experience the love of Christ through their lives.

And this is just the beginning of my thanksgiving. God is so good.

Thank you, Lord, for my home and the gift of warmth that exudes from it. Thank you, Lord, for my call to ministry and the joy of being at Mount Vernon Place. Thank you for life in the city. Thank you for my family. Thank you for my friends. May my life demonstrate to you time and again how thankful I really am.

Living in Exile

I get to talk about my church a lot. It seems as though countless people are interested in hearing the story of Mount Vernon Place -- its history, its current state, and its plans for the future. While people will listen patiently to stories of the church's past, there are dozens of people who are spending time talking about the church's future.

I had two such conversations last week. The people at the table were a little different between Thursday's meeting and Friday's meeting. Still, everyone seemed interested in the future of Mount Vernon Place. And, everyone had an idea for what can happen at 900 Massachusetts Avenue when the property is redeveloped.

I sat patiently and listened to the words of denomination officials, seminary professors, and community leaders before being asked to share a few words about what is happening at Mount Vernon Place right now.

A smile soon filled my entire face as I started to talk. A new analogy quickly came to mind when I thought about how we are a congregation living in exile. We have left much of what is most comfortable to us.

We moved out of two buildings and sold or gave away many of the belongings.

We vacated our sanctuary at the end of August, moving worship to the undercroft theatre beneath the sanctuary.

We let go of many programs, unable to support them with the space needed.

We combined two, very independent and different Sunday school classes into one class.

And, none of these changes have been easy. Just like the Israelites, we have complained about what we have been asked to do. Still, we keep thinking about the 'promised land' that is coming -- a renovated sanctuary building and space in a new office tower. And, we keep experiencing the presence of God in bold, new ways. Something amazing is happening!

We are learning about what is really important.

We no longer climb the stairs to entire a monumental-like building. Instead, we enter a space that is a little dark and dingy in the basement. We no longer keep silent when it comes to the sharing of the joys and concerns. Instead, we speak up, sharing with others what God is doing in our lives and where we need to feel the presence of the Lord. We no longer remain in our seats when it comes time to share the passing of the peace. Instead, we walk around the room, shaking as many hands as possible. We no longer sit with 40 people in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. Instead, we had 58 people in the theatre today!

There is something powerful about letting go of all that we have in order to see what we might become through the grace of God.

We are now awaiting the arrival of an office trailer where we will move our offices, our Bible studies, and our opportunities for worship. I am curious to see what kind of transformative time we will have in the trailer. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy the manna God provides each morning -- bread from heaven in the least expected places.

It's Cold Outside

I met several of the church's neighbors yesterday morning. I did not meet them at a holiday open house or a neighborhood association meeting. I met them instead when I walked around the church with a friend who was visiting for the first time.

I was giving my friend a tour, and we made our way around the massive building. It was not the architecture or the church's future plans that caught our attention, however. My attention was caught by how many people the church had apparently hosted on the night before. There were boxes, blankets, and plastic tarps everywhere. Temporary homes could be found in the bushes, while grocery carts held the entirety of one individual's possessions.


I then climbed the steps to go inside the church and met three individuals at the top of the stairs. One woman introduced herself as "one of the people who slept here last night."

But as we walked around, I realized that a dozen or so people slept on the lawn of the church on Friday night. There was stuff everywhere.

The woman was still at the church this morning when I arrived. I went out to say "good morning" and asked her how she was. She quickly said, "I am cold."

I was cold, too -- not because I had to sleep outside last night but because I had just made my way from my car to the office, spending a total of three minutes outside.

The woman was wet, along with her belongings.

I was wet, too -- not because I had to sleep outside last night but because my umbrella was not large enough to completely shelter me from the wind and rain.
One of the hardest parts of living in the city is seeing the gross gap that separates the rich from the poor. The church is sandwiched between the two. We face a building on one side where attorneys bill for $500 an hour and couples drop over $100 for dinner. We see thousands of people flock to the city each year, making their way across the street to a myriad of conventions. And we see people sleeping all around us -- not at the hotel next door or the one behind the church -- but on the lawn and the porch.

And, I hate it.

I hate it because I realize that I, too, am part of the problem.

I hate it because I realize that I have more than I could possibly use.

I hate it because I do little to alleviate the pain or ask the difficult questions about why there are so many hungry men, women and children in the world's wealthiest nation.

But my life in this city will not allow me to say "I hate it," and do nothing about it, forgetting how many homeless children of God there are living all around me. I have to see and smell the poor when I leave my home and when I walk to the church. I have to see their boxes, their tarps, and their carts while I smell their urine in the nearby alley. The poor are here -- all around me.

Jesus makes it very clear that those who follow him have a responsibility to the poor. In fact, Jesus says "Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me." He then casts people into the outer darkness saying, "I was hungry and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me....for just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me" (Matthew 25:41-45).

We warmly welcomed the stranger who came to church today, taking a break from the convention she was attending. We loved having her with us. We bent over backwards to make her feel at home.

I also invited our neighbor who slept outside to worship, but I did not offer her something to drink or something to eat. And, I wondered what would happen if she really came to worship.

Why, Lord, does following you have to be so hard?

Grant me courage. Give me compassion. Loosen the hold I have on my pride and my possessions. And Lord, please be with all who sleep outside on this cold, rainy, windy night. Do not allow me to forget them when I put my head on my pillow and cover my body with as many blankets as I would like.

A Flashback to '94

It is raining in Washington this morning. A steady stream of rain was accompanied by strong gusts of wind when I first went outside just after 6:00 this morning. It was raining twelve years ago, too.

I remember well catching an early morning flight from Cleveland to Washington. I had spent the last week in Cleveland, volunteering time to campaign for my boss, U.S. Representative Eric Fingerhut. It had been a hard fight. We had worked long and hard. We were hopeful he would win. But when the ballots were counted, Eric, along with dozens of other Democratic Representatives and Senators, were defeated, transferring the balance of power to the Republican party for the first time in years, leaving some 2000 Democratic staffers unemployed.

When my flight arrived in Baltimore, I took the train to Union Station and slowly made my way towards the Cannon House Office Building. Capitol Hill was a rather quiet place. The Cannon building was even quieter. The Republicans were still out celebrating with Newt Gingrich while the Democrats were trying to collect themselves. People stopped by when they saw me entering the office to say a few simple words, "I am sorry your boss lost."

The ensuing weeks were busy and challenging. There were letters to write, White House tour tickets to send, and boxes to pack for the Congressman. And, there was resume paper to purchase and phone calls to make.

My friend, Sharon, who had been through it before said, "You'll get through it, Donna. You file for unemployment benefits, and you move on." Unemployment benefits? I was a twenty-one year old recent college graduate. I was not about to file for unemployment....or so I thought. The day came, however, when I arrived in one of the huge committee rooms in the Rayburn building to complete the paperwork. I was with people whose last names begin with "C" and "D," and I could not believe that the huge room was full of people -- unemployed people -- people whose jobs were about to come to an end as soon as the new year began.

In 1994, my entire identity was based upon the business card I used to hand out often -- the card with a beautiful, gold-embossed seal at the top and the title, "Scheduler to U.S. Representative Eric Fingerhut" below my name. It was an impressive card and a great position for someone right out of college. It bought me the respect of my college classmates and gave my mother bragging rights. It was the answer I provided to the most popular questions asked in Washington, "What do you do?" or "Who do you work for?"

But the identity was gone on one cold, November night.

I started to pound the pavement immediately, distributing one resume after the next, trying to meet as many people as possible. I interviewed with different offices on the Hill, in the White House, at different agencies within the Clinton Administration, and with different firms around town. Nothing happened, however. People were great. They affirmed my gifts. I even got to interview in the West Wing on one day and with a cabinet secretary on another day. Still, I kept coming up as the second choice, forcing me to keep returning a different card to the unemployment office each week, indicating how many job contacts I was making.

With extra time on my hands and little money to spend at the bars on Saturday nights, I also did something I had not done in a while -- I got out of bed on Sunday mornings and went to church. I went back to church, trusting that I could find a community that would embrace me whether I was employed or not. And, the community I found at church was just what I needed. They welcomed me. They embraced me. They listened to me. They prayed for me. And through them, I discovered an identity much larger than anything I had ever known before. In the days of my unemployment I discovered that my truest identity was not as a scheduler for a Congressman from Ohio but as a child of God -- made in God's image, beautiful to behold, precious in his eyes. And my faith in this God provided a foundation that could never be taken away from me.

While the pain of the moment stung like hell, I can now say that my unemployment was a gift. It was a gift that placed me on a path for which I offer thanks and praise. And still, I can imagine the pain filling the halls of the Cannon, Longworth and Rayburn House Office Buildings on this day. I know the pain, the disappointment, and the anxiety that fills the hearts and minds of countless staffers whose bosses have lost their elections and whose futures are filled with so many unknowns.

One thing is known, however -- you are a beloved child of God, made in God's image, beautiful to behold. And, you're welcome in this community of faith whether you have a job or not. I would love to hear your story and be in prayer for you during this time.

Campaign Rhetoric

As with many people living in Washington, I am very curious to see what happens in tomorrow's elections. While I am tired of the campaign commercials airing on television, I do enjoy reading the different predictions and commentaries on who is ahead and who is behind.

One of the races receiving national attention is the race for U.S. Senate in Missouri. I was raised and educated in Missouri, and much of my family still lives there. I know the name Jim Talent but the name Claire McCaskill is a new name to me. One cannot escape any of the newspaper articles or television commentaries on what might happen tomorrow without seeing both of these names mentioned, however.

When I called home this week, I asked a couple of simple questions, "What do you think of Jim Talent and Claire McCaskill? Who are voting for?"

The response was rather to the point, "I like them both. I think they both have great qualities. However, I did not vote for either of them. When I completed my absentee ballot this week I voted for every race and item on the ballot with the exception of the U.S. Senate seat. As far as I am concerned, it is time for voters to stand up and say they will not put up with all of the negative campaign ads. You would not believe some of the commercials. It has gotten so ugly, and I figure it is time for a referendum. I could not support either of them after the things they have said in this race."

These comments have made me think a lot. They come from someone who has never missed the opportunity to vote before. They come from someone who is politically active. They come from someone who has refused to participate in the process of electing a U.S. Senator because of the ways in which the candidates have acted.

I wonder how many people have given up on the church because of the ways in which the church has acted (or failed to act). Someone recently commented on how some D.C. neighborhoods are filled with so many people on Sunday mornings -- people walking their dogs, drinking coffee, or meeting their friends for brunch -- that it makes you wonder if anyone is in church on Sunday mornings. But how many of these people have been turned off by the church? How many of these people have been alienated by the church? How many of these dog walkers have read the Gospel accounts only to conclude that those who go to church today do not appear to be following Jesus as they are not doing the things Jesus asked them to do? How many of these coffee drinkers believe the church is no longer relevant?

While I love the rich diversity of the city, the city also makes me think -- a lot. Life in Washington presents more opportunities to be like Jesus than my earlier years in Missouri and North Carolina presented to me. When I arrived to work at First UMC in Hendersonville I did not have to unlock the church's doors with a homeless person sleeping six feet away. When I lived in Columbia, Missouri, I did not have to pass the man each morning who asks me for change in order to get something to eat.

My friend in Missouri would have voted for a U.S. Senator had the candidates acted like Senators.

I wonder how many people would come to church if the church was acting like Jesus -- if the pastor stopped to say "good morning" or bring a cup of coffee to the person sleeping on the church's stoop this morning instead of quietly locking the door behind her. I wonder how many people would come if we lived this radical life that Jesus lived -- a life that healed the sick, fed the hungry, gave the thirsty something to drink, and befriended the lonely.

We have heard so much rhetoric in recent weeks about what candidates will do once they step into office. Candidates for political office always promise more than office holders can possibly deliver. They often say they will vote one way during the campaign only to change their mind once they get into office. Candidates also drag their opponents into the mud, making us wonder which person, if any, we are to believe.

Lord, may our rhetoric -- may the words that come from your church -- not be rhetoric -- but words that are accompanied by our actions -- by a living faith.

A Prophetic Voice in an Unexpected Place

I heard one of the more prophetic voices I have heard in a long time on Sunday night. The prophetic message came not from a preacher or even a television evangelist (smile). The prophetic voice came from a musician at the Birchmere in Alexandria, VA.

Apparently I had heard Catie Curtis' music before, as Craig took me to the concert as a big surprise after hearing my response to her CD playing in the car. However, I did not know much about her music until she started singing. And, I found myself saying, "Amen" more than once during the concert.

It is clear that Catie has been pushed aside by many people in her life. She is quick to tell you about how hard it is to be the mother of two children when the other parent is not a father. She is also quick to tell you about how many times her lifestyle has been judged. Catie has a remarkable take on the pain in this world -- pain caused by politicians who wear the label "Christian" and from countless people in the church. And, Catie spoke to me. She spoke directly to my heart.

She spoke so loudly that I wanted to shout out loud when I got an invitation to stand in line this Saturday morning for tickets to the lighting of the White House Christmas tree. I have stood in line before. There have been times in my life when I would wait in line for hours to be in the presence of a President. I used to give hours of my time volunteering on the White House Advance team. But something struck a chord with me when the friend's email arrived yesterday.

Too many times last week I opened my Washington Post to a picture of another young widow being presented with an American flag at Arlington cemetery -- an incredible token, for sure, but one that cannot possibly take the place of a life lost too soon.

We are now preparing for an All Saints Day Vigil at our church. On Wednesday evening we will read the name of every single member of the coalition forces who has died in Iraq -- over 3000 names. Meanwhile, I keep reading arguments about just how many Iraqis have died. No one seems to want to admit the truth.

There may be a warm, fuzzy feeling emulated on the lawn of the White House when the Christmas tree is lit in a few weeks but there is certainly not much peace on this earth.

God, please let there be peace on earth.


Following are the lyrics to one of Catie's songs that spoke to me:

People Look Around
Written by Catie Curtis and Mark Erelli

Mississippi River divides this land in two,
Like the way we tend to think of things;
Black and white, red and blue.
If they can keep us fighting about marriage and God,
There will be no one left to notice if the leaders do their jobs.
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in the ocean, falling...
When the water is rising and there is no higher ground,
You can wave your hands up on the roof,
But you might be left to drown.
In the streets of New Orleans;
a makeshift funeral pall,
Here lies Vera, God help us all.
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in the ocean, falling...
Jesus said, "Feed the hungry,"
Jesus said "Help the poor,"
"Take care of each other love one another,"
People look around.We let them down.
Mississippi River flooded New Orleans,
And we stared in disbelief at our TV screens,
If they can keep us fighting another endless war,
How many tears before the truth cannot be ignored?
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in Lake Pontchartrain.
Falling in the ocean, falling...

The Little Boy from Birmingham

Yesterday was an amazing day as I spent the afternoon visiting some of our members who are now in nursing homes. One of our newest members, Eddie, went with me.

Eddie is someone in whose words and actions I often hear and see the living God. Yesterday was no different.

Our first stop was a visit with a woman who has recently had to trade an independent life in her own home for a dependent life in a nursing facility. The change has not been easy. She misses the food she used to eat, the home she helped to build, and her neighbors. She wants badly to go home, and she is depressed.

Eddie was amazing with her, however. He was the "wounded healer" who was able to minister to her in a powerful way. He listened carefully to her words of sadness and complaint. He wished her joy when she spoke of darkness. He reminded her of how precious life is when she said she simply wanted to die.

When we got in the car, Eddie said, "Pastor Donna, we have to go back there soon. We need to spend an entire afternoon with her. We need to get her out of her bed and into a place where she can simply feel the sun on her face. We need to make time to go and listen to her -- listen for several hours." He continued to explain how he knows exactly how she is feeling because he has been placed in a hospital when he did not want to be there. He knows what it is like to have "people caring for you who don't really care about anything but getting paid." He knows what it is like to need only a little sunlight on your face. And, most importantly, he knows how hard it is to find someone who will spend time doing nothing else but listening.

Eddie taught me more about pastoral care yesterday than any course or textbook has ever taught me. He taught me much about how it is not the big things that matter -- but the ordinary things -- the things that are so extraordinary in today's world.

Eddie then made me laugh for hours. On our final stop we sang to a church member living in nursing home -- a church member who does not remember a lot but who can sing every word to "Jesus Loves Me." And when we got into the car we kept singing different songs.

Eddie is not from the United States, and English is not his first language. Chinese is the language he most readily speaks and writes. Yesterday, he requested a song saying, "Pastor Donna, do you know the words to 'The Little Boy from Birmingham?'" I responded by asking if he meant Birmingham, Alabama. He responded with an emphatic, "no." And, I soon realized that the song he was requesting was not about a boy in Birmingham but rather about a "child in Bethlehem!"

I cannot believe I actually get paid to do my job. What an extraordinary privilege I have been given.

Temperature Changes

I recently wrote an article for the Duke Divinity School alumni magazine. The article is about one of my favorite times of the week -- our Wednesday Bible study group. It is a group filled with many of the church's longest serving members, many of whom are in their 80s and 90s.

This group demonstrated its incredible commitment and tenacity to me once again this week when they arrived to study the Bible in a church with no heat.


The gas was turned off a couple of months ago in preparation for our upcoming renovation project. We were supposed to be out of the church completely by the first of October -- before the cold temperatures arrived. However, a few things have been delayed, included the arrival of our office trailer.


Still, the people come, and they keep coming! On Wednesday, we kept our coats on while we read. We drank warm coffee. We ate breakfast breads. We experienced the incredible warmth of community. And, we were reminded again of how much we take for granted.

We have choices when it comes to being able to step inside from the cold -- choices that many of our neighbors do not have -- children of God who live all around us -- sleeping and gathering on the church's lawn and nearby parks throughout the cold winter months. We can get in our cars and turn the heat on. We can go home to our houses or apartments and turn the furnace on. We can get into a bed and cover our bodies with many blankets. Others, however, are relegated to a few boxes and whatever else they can find to cover their bodies through the night.

The gas man returned on Thursday to turn the gas back on at the church. The heat is flowing from the radiators throughout the sanctuary building. And, all are welcome to step inside and enjoy the warmth when Sunday arrives. I can almost guarantee you that warmth will flow not only from the radiators, but also from these amazing people who continue to allow me to bask in the light and the warmth of God whenever I am in their presence.