Creation is Preaching

 

Coming alive means that we are showing up.  We are awake to our own bodies and desires, to other people, to beauty, to grief, to joy, and to the ordinary altar of encountering God now. We are not numb and amused and only able to talk about shows or TikToks and settling for (ChatGPT’s) answers to our deepest questions.  Sarah Bessey

 

One of the many reasons we step outside the air-conditioned homes is to let all our senses come awake and alive.  Outside the walls of our homes, there are sights, sounds, smells, feels, textures, and tastes that our controlled environments mute or entirely block out.  Creation enlivens us because it awakens us.  We don’t need to climb Mount Everest to feel awake and alive.  We do need to be intentional.  When you stroll to your mailbox today, what is in the air you inhale?? What do you hear, see, sense?  A simple trip outside to collect what usually goes right in the recycle bin can be a spiritual practice.  A simple walk around the block can be a pilgrimage to another world if we notice the new color on our neighbors' plants or how the cloud above our heads looks like a sailboat.  We notice not only what is outside of us, but also what is inside.  How our body responds to the warmth of the sun, how a cool/cold cup of water after being outdoors is essential, how we feel more at home in ourselves when we soak in the symphony of the world around us ~ a symphony in which we are at once an audience member and active participant at the same time.  We both listen to and sing with creation, God’s music of the spheres.  We absorb and respond.  How might we encounter the altar of God’s world, the church/cathedral of creation, as one way to worship the Creator?  May you and I discover new ways to connect with birds, grass, soil, trees, and life that is evolving around and within today.  Amen.

Creation is Preaching

 

Creation is one giant symphony of mutual sympathy ~ John Duns Scotus

 

Creation is continually singing and serenading us, but when do we slow down to pay attention?  Creation is continually ministering to us, but when do we receive the offering openly?  And, before this starts to sound like I am waxing poetically, let’s admit that nature is messy, scary, uncontrollable ~ even as we pave over paradise or see creation only as a backdrop/scenery for our social media post.  Creation, like humans, is a mixture of beauty and brokenness.  To be in relationship with creation is to be connected to our Creator.  Genesis 3 tells us our initial home was in a garden where our ancestors were called/given the job to tend and till, be stewards of the soil as the way to steward their souls.  And because at the heart of any relationship is mutuality and free will, God gives us the power to decide how or if we will connect with creation.  Our ancestors chose to eat the fruit from the very tree God instructed to avoid.  This is less about “original sin” and more about our very human nature.  When left to our own agendas, we often select the option which promises us power, fame, or fortune rather than relationships.  Genesis didn’t have to literally happen to be true, because we keep plucking from the earth to feed our own agendas rather than live in relationship with the goodness of God.  We keep gathering more manna than we need, even though it spoils our very souls not to share with those who have not.  I love how our ancestors in Genesis 3, after they eat the fruit, put on fig leaves, which is like wearing sandpaper!  Ouch!  Yet, this is what we keep doing to ourselves.  We keep clothing ourselves with that which we think will protect or provide, even as it scratches our very souls.  And when God comes strolling in the garden, our ancestors hid. Hid from God, which I still do.  I hide from God through busyness and work and running around.  I am like a squirrel that drank 10 cups of coffee (there is an image for you).  And God asks, not with judgment or wagging an angry finger, but with genuine curiosity, “Where are you?”  Where are you today?  You can answer that literally/physically: where are you?  You can answer emotionally: where are you?  You can respond spiritually: where are you?  Where are you hiding, and where have you put on the metaphorical fig leaf that you think will shelter and shield you from the slings and arrows of this harsh/hard world?  Where are you?  Go outside under the shade of a tree, and ponder where you are…and how God, our Creator, meets you right there in that moment.  Amen.

 

Creation is Preaching

 

Here is the vast, savage, hovering mother of ours, Nature, lying all around, with such beauty, and such affection for her children, as the leopard, and yet we are so early weaned from her breast to society, to that culture which is exclusively an interaction of (hu)man to (hu)man.  Henry David Thoreau, 1862.

 

September is Creation Justice Month, when we honor that the etymology of the word human is from humus ~ or earthling/earth being.  Genesis 2 tells of how God forms, fashions a mud being and breathes the breath of life into the soil ~ this is our first ancestor.  Creation itself was God’s first act/testimony/witness of goodness and creativity.  Creation is central in scripture.  Think of God’s guidance in Psalm 23 ~ God leading us beside the still/refreshing/renew waters to the deepest valleys to the lush green fields where a picnic has been set up.  Or Psalm 8 that says, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established, what are humans (mud/dust beings) that you are mindful of them (us), mortals that you care for them (us)?”  Creation is central to Elijah on Mount Horeb (1 Kings 19), where God comes in the stillness/whisper of a breeze after the fire and windstorms.  Creation was woven into Jesus’ ministry when he pointed to lilies of the field.  Jesus preached in the open-air cathedral of creation.  Jesus was transfigured on a mountain.  I don’t think it is a coincidence that Jesus appeared to Mary in a garden on Easter morning, echoing the Garden of Eden.

 

And yet, as Thoreau says, we have become disconnected (weaned) from our relationship with the earth.  We hover/huddle in our homes with electric lights buzzing.  We are glued to our devices, trying to get one more level in whatever game we are playing.  To go outside is an act of resistance and reconnection to the source of life and to the One who creates all that was/is/will be.  Today, I invite you to go outside.  You don’t have to do this for hours; you don’t have to go for a hike on a mountain (which is hard to do in Florida).  You don’t have to stay outside all day.  A few minutes of standing alongside creation as the sun rises or sets today.  Two minutes of closing your eyes and listening to the birds’ squawking and singing.  One minute to reach out and touch a tree or leaf, which reminds us of our own slow ripening of our soul.  Photosynthesis happens in our bodies, like plants, when we absorb vitamin D.  Even if you go to the window and gaze out, this is a holy/prayerful moment.  Disconnecting from our devices and from other humans for a while reminds us that humans are not at the center of the world; there is a whole creation that is spinning, scurrying, and surviving without you.  Mysteriously, when we gaze/absorb creation, we realize deep in our bones/souls/with every breath that we are connected.  What we do impacts the wildlife around us.  Connect with creation today and, in doing so, connect back to who and whose you are.  Amen.

Prayer for Today

 O God, our help in ages past and our hope for this day and countless days to come.  We sing with the ancestors that we’ve come this far by faith.  We know that the road can be rough, rugged, and dangerous.  We’ve twisted ankles and souls; we've encountered hurting people in the ditches of life like the Good Samaritan, and we are constantly questioning, “What are you up to, God, and what would You have me do?”  Thank you that the call to ministry is not just for those with framed pieces of paper; we are all called, blessed, and sent into the world through baptism.  We are all partners, co-laborers, and singers in the choir of Your composition.  Yet, God, honestly, we like the spotlight and want to be picked for the solo.  We want to be needed and necessary.  We hold in our hearts today all who were impacted on this day, especially those in the Twin Towers, Pentagon, fields of PA, and on planes.  Those in New York City, DC, and across our country, for the sting of pain is real today.  Too often, remembering can be conflated with not forgetting, rather than an active way to see how the past shapes the present.  How violence begets violence, even among us who claim Your love as central.  How we stand divided by politics in addition to economics, gender, race, identity, sexual orientation, where we live, and how we show up.  God, we are not the “we” You call/craft/create us to be.  Help us, God not just claim our faith, but live the light of Your presence each day.  Surround, support, sustain, and send us into our neighbors and communities to be Your people here and now.  Amen. 

25 Years in the Making

 

Yesterday, I shared a hymn we sang at my ordination 25-years ago.  Today, I want to share another hymn, more recent, that has captured my imagination.  The Summons was written by John Bell as part of the Iona Community in Scotland.  Please join me in praying these words today:

 

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,

Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

 

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?

Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?

Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?

Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

 

Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?

Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?

Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,

And admit to what I mean in you and you in me?

 

Will you love the “you” you hide if I but call your name?

Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?

Will you use the faith you’ve found to reshape the world around

Through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?

 

Lord, your summons echoes true when I but call your name!

Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.

In your company I’ll go where your love and footsteps show.

Thus I’ll move and live and grow in you and you in me.

 

I love the invitational nature of this hymn.  It starts with a series of questions about letting Christ guide our lives, lead us to places beyond our comfort/complacency, and to interact with people who challenge us.  This reminds us that faith is not about coercion or convincing someone else to join our club.  Faith continually expands, evolves, and embraces.  Is there one of the invitational questions above that set your soul soaring?  Which of the questions did your soul say, “Um, that’s a hard pass and an emphatic, “No” on that one.  Thanks, but no thanks, Jesus.”  Which question landed with a thud in your heart, soul, and life?  I know for me it is the question, “Will you love the “you” you hide if I but call your name?  Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?”  Something about those two lines stops me short.  Will I let Christ’s love do something in me, through me, with me, and despite me?  Or is my Iowa stubbornness too thick, my to-do list too consuming?  Do I tell God to take a break, because I’ve got it from here?   Hold this hymn, for I am holding and praying these words with you today.  With God’s love. Amen.

25 Years in the Making

 

One of the moments from my ordination service that hums in my soul, hovers in my heart, and guides my ministry each day is the hymn, “Won’t You Let Me Be Your Servant”.  Slowly pray these words with me:

 

Won’t you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you?  Pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant, too.

 

We are pilgrims on a journey; we are travelers on the road; we are here to help each other go the mile and bear the load.

 

I will hold the Christ-light for you in the shadow of your fear; I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you long to hear.

 

I will weep when you are weeping; when you laugh, I’ll laugh with you.  I will share your joy and sorrow till we’ve seen this journey through.

 

When we sing to God in heaven, we shall find such harmony, born of all we’ve known together of Christ’s love and agony.

 

25-years later, these words still sing and swirl, awakening my sacred imagination.  The first verse reminds me of the relational/reciprocal nature of ministry.  We seek to serve each other ~ not out of obligation or oppression, but because we follow One who washed the feet of his disciples.  The second verse reminds us that the journey of faith is not undertaken as isolated individuals but as a community. The third and fourth verses seek to explore and explain what it means to be community ~ meeting each person where s/he/they are, not as we want them to be.  A few years ago, our church claimed and celebrated that “Faithfulness” is a core value.  Faithfulness, like discipleship, is growing in the image of Christ for the sake of the other.  I grow in God’s love not for myself, although being grounded and guided by God is a blessing.  Rather, God’s love longs to escape through me in ways I cannot control or even comprehend.  The fifth verse invites us back to a Christ-infused and inspired life ~ Christ who knew the fullness of humanness ~ from birth, life, death, and new life.  The more we engage Christ's wisdom, the more we are called to participate in the Way of Jesus.  Often the hymn repeats verse 1 at the end, circling back to the truth of our call to service with others for the sake of the world God loves.  Hold this hymn with me, for I hold and pray these words with you today.  With God’s love.  Amen.

25 Years in the Making

 

We live our lives in the meantime, the in-between time, the luminous liminal time of things ending and beginning.  On the day after my ordination, on the day before September 11^th, on September 10^th, I remember we had dinner with friends from the church.  We laughed; we shared stories about the past and excitement for the future.  Gina and I were moving out to New Hampshire to serve my first congregation.  I was excited and scared.  Excited to share all this knowledge I had, but scared because there was so much I didn’t know how to do on my own.  Sure, I had led worship, but not every week!  Sure, I had helped with funerals and weddings at my internship, but never by myself!  Sure, I had visited people and prayed with them, but now I had this title, “Reverend” (and don’t forget about that piece of paper in a frame I could hang on my wall to show the world I was legit).  It felt like I was 16 and given the keys to my parents’ car.   

 

After 25 years, there are quite a few dents, scratches, and accidents my car of ministry has been through.  My ministry car has a bumper with so much duct tape that it is hanging on for dear life; the mileage in my car of ministry increases every day, the tires are worn and have been replaced, and the engine doesn’t vroom or zoom the way it once did.  Yet, the scenery is never the same.  Each day holds new adventures that are not on my agenda.  Ministry is lived neither here nor there.  In the meantime, the in-between time, the liminal time of grieving what was and trying to anticipate what will be, is at once both the greatest joy and deepest demand of ministry. 

 

Where in your life are you living in the meantime, the in-between time ~ something new that has begun and something from the past that you still carry?  Where do you feel like something is not what it once was but not quite what it could be?  That question covers a lot of my life, not just the last 25-years.  I am not the same person who was ordained in Iowa 25-years ago.  I am not the same person who shoveled snow in Wisconsin.  I am not the same person who preached his first sermon out in New Hampshire.  As you ponder the past this week approaching Friday, 9-11, consider the moves you’ve made, the leaps of faith you’ve taken, and the slow, steady, turtle-like progress you’ve embarked upon over the last 25 years.  What has shifted, what is shifting, what do you pray to God never shifts or changes?  Hold these questions and the mystery that is your one wild and precious life.