Dust

 

I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  Matthew 11:29

 

On this day, ashes are placed on your forehead.  Words are spoken over you, “From dust you are, to dust you shall return.”  As a death-denying culture, we don’t want to think about our death and demise.  We don’t want to consider the fact of our frail, fragile, finite lives will one day cease.  We will live forever with cold plunges and Keto diets and whatever else the market sells us to promise us our best life now. 

 

The church doesn’t do that.  “From dust you are, to dust you shall return.”  You, me, and we were crafted from the soil and stardust of creation.  We are earthlings, dust-beings, connecting the soil to our souls to the soil beneath our feet.  Up from the ground God raises a people again and again ~ connecting us in creative ways (see yesterday’s meditation about the yoke).  And one day, we return to the good earth that has nourished us so that we might nourish others.  We return to that which has supported us, so that we might support those who trudge this earth after. 

 

When Jesus says he is humble, the word is humility or humus or earth.  When theologian Steve Cuss invites us to be “human-size,” it reminds me that I don’t have to have it all figured out.  I won’t ever have it all figured out.  I don’t need an opinion on everything that is neatly arranged and artistically presented.  I, like the earth, am in process/evolving/exploring.  The earth has billions of organisms living in a teaspoon of soil.   The earth is constantly shifting and stirring, changing right before our eyes.

 

The word, gentle reminds me that I can either hurt and harm or help and heal.  Jesus’ yoke doesn’t demand and decree, like Caesar, but invites us to be infused with another realm.  God’s realm, that we pray for every Sunday and sing about in the Lord’s Prayer during Lent, calls us to reorient our hearts and lives to the One who is gentle and humble.  If this is the center and core of Jesus’ teaching, if this is the yoke we are called to take up with Christ helping and holding us, how might that shape you in the coming days?  May that question bless you as we move deeper into these forty days letting Christ be at the heart of all we seek to be, do, and live in these days.  Amen.

What Are You Yoked To??

 

²⁸ “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30

 

Yesterday, we prayerfully pondered, what are we carrying that we need to set down?  Often, I carry the thought that I need to be all things to all people (even though my defense attorney correctly points out that this is impossible!  I still think, but maybe I should still try, just in case).  I can carry people's words that feel like a thousand paper cuts to my soul.  I carry responsibility and accountability around because I think someone must do this!  I carry around the idea that it is all up to me, even though God’s presence in my life reminds me that I am not in charge or control of the world.  I hope you will consider what you are carrying as we reach the midpoint of the second month of 2026.  This is never a one-and-done activity, but a daily practice of paying attention to the backpacks we all lug around with us and that people add stuff into, often without asking permission first.

 

Jesus says that he will give us a “yoke”.  This is one of those wonderful images in scripture.  A yoke was a tactile, tangible tool ~ a wooden beam that sometimes connected oxen or other animals to work together when pulling a load.  Pause.  Notice that a yoke is NOT a tool for you to go solo through life.  Theologically, Jesus is saying, there is no such thing as an individual Christian.  A yoke connects you to God, people who long to lend a hand, and the fact that we are not alone.  A yoke can also be something that binds, confines, and burdens us.  Oxen didn’t get to vote whether or not they wanted to wear a yoke.  In this meaning, a yoke wasn’t only something that helped, but also hindered.  Sometimes people plop their problems into our lap and expect us to fix it, after all, aren’t Christians supposed to be known by their love?  Paul in Galatians 5 talked about a yoke of slavery.  We can become enslaved to political ideology, religious beliefs, our own biases, addictions to substances, shopping, or technology. 

 

One final meaning of a yoke was a religious teaching.  In this case, a rabbi or pastor would give you an understanding, and to follow/live this understanding meant you took upon yourself the rabbi’s yoke.  Still to this day, some pastors' teachings are heavy.  You must color inside their lines, affirm that set of dogma they espouse, do whatever the elders say or risk being exiled from the island of that church.  Jesus describes his yoke as a release from what is weighing us down.  Church isn’t the place for more messages about not being enough, but about being beloved.  Church isn’t the place for more “thou shall nots”, but could be a space of releasing our resistance and reluctance.   And because the church is made up of people (remember we started the year with 1 Corinthians 13, the church that was fighting about everything!), we will always need to be honest about the fact that we make mistakes and mess up.  We don’t have to carry our brokenness and boneheadedness alone.  Jesus invites us to bring that to him.

 

What has the church taught you that felt heavy?

When has the church offered you the chance to set down that which was breaking your back to keep lugging around?

Is there some understanding, belief, doctrine, dogma that is hurting you that God might be calling you to set aside this Lent ~ knowing that you can always pick it up again later if needed.

 

May these questions cause you to consider ways you can enter Lent this year open to Jesus’ care and love for you.  Amen.

Release

 

²⁸ “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30

 

This week, we begin the season of Lent with Ash Wednesday.  Lent is a time set aside for prayer, fasting (not only from food, but anything that can disconnect/distance us from the Divine ~ anything that demands our allegiance and promises to make us whole, but leaves us feeling empty).  During Lent, we focus on God’s holy presence.  Lent is tethered and tied to Advent.  God’s work of saving love for the whole world began at Christmas, not just on Easter Sunday.  God’s work of saving love already happened with the incarnation of Jesus.  Remember, another name for Jesus is Emmanuel, meaning God with us.  When we pray the word “Emmanuel,” we name the ongoing work of faith to find a manger-shaped space in our souls every day.  The above passage invites us to slow down and savor the sacred as we begin the season of Lent.

 

Where are you weary ~ could be physically, emotionally, spiritually, or relationally.

What burdens do you keep lugging around in your invisible backpack? 

Where have you convinced yourself that the pain is your cross to bear, but maybe God is asking you to set down and release the white-knuckle grip you have on that pain?

Where do you long for rest or renewal?

 

Lent doesn’t have to be serious and somber.  Lent is a call to be honest and heartfelt about connecting to the Holy.  First, we are invited to be honest with ourselves about how we can be frustrated, frenzied, and flummoxed by life right now.  How we live with the tension of doing normal things like eating, laughing, singing, shopping, going to the doctor, and talking to friends ~ when the world isn’t normal.  This tension longs to be named and grieved.  We ask for Emmanuel to meet us in the messiness and uncontrollability of life. 

 

Today, let Jesus’ invitation to bring all you carry.  As you do, join me as we softly sing to our souls the words of What a Friend We Have in Jesus, the third verse:

 

Are we weak and heavy laden,
cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge--
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Do your friends despise, forsake you?
Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In his arms he'll take and shield you;
you will find a solace there.

Prayer

 

All In

 

I love it when the Bible becomes a comedy show.  Usually, it is one line that we might miss because we tend to read the Bible with a frownie face rather than searching for the folly of faithfulness.  I love the Headwaiter’s or Steward’s response in John 2.  You might remember from Monday that the punchline of the story is when the waiter exclaims, “This wine is delectable. Why would you save the most exquisite fruit of the vine? A host would generally serve the good wine first and, when his inebriated guests don’t notice or care, he would serve the inferior wine. You have held back the best for last.”

 

The subtle, almost subversive sacred invitation here is, God doesn’t play by our rules.  The waiter lays out the normal expectation: serve the good stuff first, and then, when everyone is a bit toasted, you can bring out the Mogan David and 2-buck-chuck.  Even in Jesus’ day, hospitality had boundaries and limits.  But here, Jesus is thinking, “Fine, if I am going to change water into wine, let’s go all in.”  That is a metaphor for God’s love.  God goes all in with you and me.  God doesn’t cut corners or hold back.  God continually offers the unconditional and unceasing grace that fills us with the deliciousness of the divine.  As we approach Valentine’s Day, where have you tasted the goodness and holiness of God’s love in your life?  Perhaps not in some spectacular way.  God’s love can come in beautifully ordinary ways.  May you and I continually be open, willing to be surprised by the sacred that shows up in ways we cannot predict, but can present us with a love we need now more than ever.  Amen.

The Turtle Way

 

The image of Jesus changing water into wine isn’t only a fun party trick.  I think one of the reasons this story tells of Jesus’ first act of public ministry in the gospel of John is that following Jesus changes us.  Here we are, almost a month and a half into 2026.  I don’t know if you have New Year's Resolutions?   According to Forbes, while 80 percent of people are confident in their ability to meet their goals for the New Year, many people drop their resolutions by January 17.   The average length of time for keeping a resolution is 3.74 months.  We know that change is difficult and involves grief.  Sometimes we want to move quickly, sprinkle some kind of Miracle-Gro on our lives so that we see transformation in the blink of an eye.  But as the great story of the tortoise and hare teaches us, slow and steady wins the race.  Your own life taught you this.  You started by being unable to hold up your own head as an invitation.  Then, you mastered turning over on your tummy, eventually you began to awkwardly crawl, then can stood with wobbly legs as a toddler who had numerous tumbles and falls.  I don’t know why humans believe that when we become adults, that process doesn’t apply to our health, our thoughts, and our faith.  Change is difficult, demanding, and the defense attorney in your head might tell you, “Why bother?”  Often, we want to change not just ourselves but others.  I’ve shared before my favorite quote from Edwin Friedman, “The colossal misunderstanding of our time is the assumption that insight will work with people who are unmotivated to change. Communication does not depend on syntax, or eloquence, or rhetoric, or articulation, but on the emotional context in which the message is being heard. People can only hear you when they are moving toward you, and they are not likely to when your words are pursuing them. Even the choicest words lose their power when they are used to overpower.” 

 

How does the above quote land in your life right now?  Friedman, while correct, frustrates me.  I want to change others.  I want my words to so “enlighten” them that they are forever grateful for my tutelage.  The truth is, Friedman might not only be talking about those people, but we people, and specifically you and me.  Sometimes I am unmotivated to change.  I like my opinions, routine, and way of being.  Why should I change? 

 

The spiritual question is, what is Christ trying to change in me right now?  As Christ fills the jar of my life today with living water, how is Christ also praying over my life for subtle, subversive transformation?  Am I listening, or am I like a vessel that has a lid so tight on top that even God couldn’t pry it off?  I pray today you will take a moment to look back over the first few weeks of this young year.  What is shifting, realizing it might be subtle or awkward or even more failure than success?  Where might God be calling you to toddle your way toward right now?  May these moments of meditation stir our lives to keep responding to the One who still changes the water of life now into the wine of God’s blessings. Amen.

The Life of the Party

 

Remember the last party you went to, what images come to mind?  Maybe it was a Super Bowl party on Sunday, New Year’s Eve, a recent birthday celebration, or fellowship after church.  When we gather in Syster Hall on Sundays, we are living the value of caring and belonging.  Ponder, what helps make a party a party?  Is it music, food, dancing, or meeting someone new?  Do you love big parties or more intimate dinner gatherings with just a few others so you can all participate in the conversation?  One of the key values of God, according to John, is gathering people where each can show up as their God-created self.  The truth of worship isn’t just for us to celebrate God as if God needs the praise to feed God’s ego.  Rather, when we worship, we get caught up in celebration as a key component and characteristic of God.  What would it mean to worship a God who loves parties, not just somber, serious prayers?  What would it mean to welcome others as a way of prayer?  Welcoming is one of our core values as a church.  We embody this in the practice of an open communion table ~ there is a place for everyone at Christ’s table.  We don’t decide who is on God’s guest list.  We don’t check baptismal cards, attendance records, or contribution statements.  All means all.  We practice a prayerful welcome at fellowship, seeking to sit with people we don’t know as well.  We practice a prayerful welcome in taking food to those who are food insecure at the Community Meal and Resurrection House.  We practice God’s love in hospitality, taking food to friends who live in fear and cannot go out because of ICE.  You can practice prayerful hospitality in conversations.  Your listening ear, curious questions, and open posture toward another is a loving action.  To be sure, it might be easier to turn water into wine than listen to people who are full of hate.  I would rather welcome people I like who think like me.  This is what social media bubbles do to us.  They promise us that we are safe, secure, and soothed, but watch the moment you color outside the line.  When you post something that doesn’t reflect the perspective or political position of another, there is someone who lashes out with keyboard courage to “tell” you what is right.  Just as Jesus lived in an honor and shame society, so do we.  We blame and shame each other viciously online and in the 24-hour-news-tainment that is our world.  Today, practice gracious, generative hospitality with one person.   Pro tip: doesn’t have to be your mortal enemy, doesn’t have to be someone who makes your blood boil and the tiny vein on your neck throb.  Pick someone whom you do care about, but perhaps can step on your toes.  Finally, please note, the goal is not to “change” the other person.  The goal is not for you to do this to earn God’s love (which is unconditional anyway).  The goal is to see what happens in your body, mind, soul, and life when you welcome another person with an embrace of God’s love that has you.  I pray this stirs your soul in new ways this day.