Through Stained Glass: Paying Attention to What You Need

I’ll be honest. 

I need a sign of hope. 

I need a lot of signs of hope. 

I need the sunshine, the green grass, and muddy paws. 

I need something to pay attention to other than the coronavirus and the conversations that come with it. The fact that I have options speaks to my privilege. The pandemic is disrupting everyone’s life, some more so than others. This post isn’t to perpetuate what the talking heads on TV are saying or to raise fear. Instead, it is a call to pay attention to what we need—as a community and as individuals.

I needed something colorful. I needed beauty. I needed something that reminded me that even in the chaos of this season, we are moving towards something beautiful. That’s when I saw them—on both sides of ole Honest Abe on the campus of Lincoln College.

The official name for those little yellow daffodils is Jonquil. A quick Google search will tell you they are native to Spain and Portugal but have been naturalized in places like France, Italy, and Illinois. It is this time of year when these little ones bear heads of up to five scented yellow or white flowers. Every year, these flowers beckon my attention to the new season unfolding before me. They are the opening act to creation’s spring musical, which is always about resurrection.

Though they are little, the power they have on my wellbeing is mighty. Just a few moments of taking pictures and looking closely at these little ones lifted my spirits. I needed it, too. It saddens me that a lot of these first act flowers won’t get their time in the sun—a chance for the community to experience them in all their beauty. Yet, and I know they are just plants, they do what they need to do—grow, bloom, and then let go of their magnificent petals.

Perhaps this season is about growing, blooming, and letting go. Maybe in this time of social-distancing is a for you to ask yourself what do you need? Do you need more growth? Do you need to be more yourself? Do you need to set down whatever expectations you’re carrying around?

What does your spirit need?

Do you need more positivity?

Do you need more motivation?

Do you need permission to be and sit in whatever it is you’re feeling?

Do you need more silence?

Do you need more food?

Do you need to get rid of some energy, anxiety?

Do you need more rest?

In my moment of need, when the information was overwhelming, I needed a flower. I needed to look at something that wasn't distracted or anxious--but was doing precisely what it is to do: be. 

Whatever you need, do it. Begin by focusing on what you need now, at this moment. All we have is right now. Name whatever it is you’re feeling. Sit with what your experiencing. Let go of whatever might be bringing you down. If you need help, ask for it.

One last thing. If you are worried, scared, anxious, doubtful, or ‘hanging in there,’ that is okay. We are all experiencing this differently. Some of us are experiencing a change in routine; other of us, things seem about the same. However, you’re experiencing this shelter-in-place order, it is okay.

We all won’t experience this the same way. No matter how you're feeling, you're not alone. We never are totally alone. Not only do we have one another, but we have God who is faithful in God's promise to be with us always. 

And that word of promise is all I need for today.

Through Stained Glass: Choosing to Pay Attention

Grammatical Caveat: Because sermons are meant to be preached and are therefore prepared with the emphasis on verbal presentation (i.e., are written for the ear), the written accounts occasionally deviate from proper and generally accepted principles of grammar and punctuation. Most often, these deviations are not mistakes per se but are indicative of an attempt to aid the listener in the delivery of the sermon.

“Choosing to Pay Attention”

John 4.1-41

March 22, 2020

Paying attention is essential to our everyday life. The quality of our life is influenced by what we give our attention to. Consider reflecting on your life up to this point. You might see how the fashioning of your life comes from what you’ve paid attention to and what you haven’t. Looking a little deeper, you might see the myriad options, thoughts, and feelings you didn’t focus on and the relative ones you did, which became your ‘reality.’ If you are like me, at this point, I am bamboozled by the fact that if I paid attention to other things, my reality and my life would be very different. What we pay attention to matters.

It is what keeps us from distracted driving; it is necessary for deepening our relationship with those we love, and it also affects how we encounter our lives. One of the most significant challenges we face is being present at the moment, finding the flow of creativity, and maximizing our presence. What we give our attention to impacts our experiences. One psychologist put it, "My experience is what I agree to attend to." What we pay attention to matters because in giving our attention, we will discover the tiny threads of healing and transformation that are developing moment to moment. When we are distracted, we miss what is happening, really happening, in front of us. But when we are present with one another, with ourselves, and with God, focusing our energy on the positive, our worldviews and understanding of life will expand, and the negativity of life will shrink.

Of course, this takes time. To pay attention in a way that leads to what Barbara Brown Taylor calls reverence means we must give up the false belief that we are not gods, and that we are a part of something much more significant than ourselves. The healing that can come from paying attention requires a willingness to go slower, take detours, and endure pushback that comes from others who might see this pace as wrong or not normal. Paying attention is what will lead us deeper into the heart of the Trinity.

Consider today's Gospel lesson. A lot happens in this story, but the main event is Jesus restoring sight to a blind man. Before we continue with the story, it is essential to pay attention to a few details, like what Jesus says in verse 2 in response to the disciples wanting to blame someone for the blindness. "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," Jesus tells, "he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him." Where the disciples want to focus on blame, Jesus rejects the idea that God brings about sickness to punish them for wrongdoings. Jesus offers a different approach, one that affirms the agency of this person who was cast to the side by society. Jesus wants the disciples to see the man as God sees him—a beloved child of God.

It isn't just the disciples who need their sight checked. It is the entire community. After Jesus tells the man to wash in the pool of Siloam, nobody in the city recognizes the man. "Isn't this the man who used to sit and beg?" If it wasn't bad enough to be harassed by his neighbors, the man had to endure from religious authorities as well. The man who was blind but now can see had to undergo an excruciating examination by these folks, which included his parents, who out of fear leaves him out to dry. Rather than embracing what happened, the community and their leaders gave their attention to blaming someone for this man's blindness. When there was a chance to celebrate the restoration of this man's sight and the subsequent restoration of the community, the religious leaders showed contempt. It is as if they would rather pay attention to how the 'normal' was disrupted and ignore the illumination of God happening right in front of them, which is what the blind man does.

In the religious leader's last examination of the man, and in an attempt to finally have reason to arrest Jesus, the man declares, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." They keep pushing the man to give the details, an attempt to deflect what happened, but the man persists, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? The man gets theological, too, and calls out there need for control. He calls out how they want to blame someone rather than embracing the gift that is happening in their midst. Radically the man challenges the desire to remain in the dark rather than dwelling in the light of God.

The task of the church is to restore the community at all costs. An essential component to the restoration of community and justice is listening to people without the boxes we wish to place them in. The Gospel lesson today invites and calls us to see beyond the surface of our experiences and to pay attention to their entirety. Assuming things gets us nowhere. But listening to the concerns and perspectives of others, standing up for the rights and well-being of others—even when we don't benefit from them directly or if they challenge what we think is normal or status quo. We are to address the injustices in our communities head-on. 

Jesus does this at the end of the story, too. In verse 39, Jesus says, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may be blind." The judgment Jesus speaks of is seeing things as they are—and the man he encountered experiences the restoration of his true self. As one pastor put it so beautifully, “The blind man sees Jesus as wholly and purely as Jesus sees him; the gaze and the recognition in this story are mutual. Because the healed man has no preconceptions, because the spiritual ground he stands on is soft and supple, he can see God as God is.” The blind man, you and me, we are image-bearers of the Divine. 

Friends, we are alive in some unusual times. With each new day, we face the challenge of paying attention or turning away. We will have the choice to pay attention to the ways we are interconnected or to turn away from this reality, seeking to figure out who is to blame. We will have a choice to pay attention to the new normal, which includes being church and neighbors differently; or choose to hide behind dogmatic political views or our legalistic approaches to justice, fairness, generosity, and sympathy. We will have the choice to pay attention in a way that invites us to have eyes to see God in our neighbors, regardless of whether they are sick or healthy, insured or uninsured, citizen or foreigner, protected or vulnerable. Paying attention to the goodness of God in our lives amid the chaos will be what saves us as God’s people.

Paying attention is what leads to the blind man’s sight being restored. It took time, too. And along the way, he encountered challenges, and still, he persisted. We are on a journey, not unlike his—facing life together in new, unforeseen ways. What we can learn from the blind man is the importance of listening for God’s voice, responding to it in faith, and sharing what we know to be true about God—that though we were once blind, in trouble, feeling too far down and out—we now see, can sing a new song, and that God rescued us from the impossible.

In the coming days and weeks friends, take time to pay attention. Take time to listen for God’s voice amidst the chaos by shutting down the distractions and being fully present to the moment. The more we pay attention, the clearer we will see God’s presence in our midst. To see takes time, like having a friend takes time. So be patient with yourself and with others. Allow each other time to let our eyes adjust to the new things we see. And while the practice of paying attention offers no quick fix for such weariness, with guaranteed results printed on the side, it is one way into a different way of life, full of treasure for those who are willing to pay attention to exactly where they are.

Friends, as we choose to pay attention, may these words from poet Mary Oliver guide us on our way:

Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

May it be so. Amen.

Through Stained Glass: Choosing to Encounter Others

Grammatical Caveat: Because sermons are meant to be preached and are therefore prepared with the emphasis on verbal presentation (i.e., are written for the ear), the written accounts occasionally deviate from proper and generally accepted principles of grammar and punctuation. Most often, these deviations are not mistakes per se, but are indicative of an attempt to aid the listener in the delivery of the sermon.

Choosing to Encounter God in Others

John 4.5-42

March 15, 2020

Not knowing what will happen can do that, though, right? The fear of the unknown can be debilitating. It can prevent us from trying new things or experiencing life in different ways. The fear of the unknown is reasonable, it is a part of our humanity. It is also a part of the story of God. There is the unknown of Adam and Eve leaving the garden. How about Abram and Sarai embarking on a journey based solely on God's promise of a blessing? Then there's Joseph's family during the droughts; Pharaoh's daughter who saved a Hebrew baby from the reeds; the Israelite people in their Exodus; the times when God's people were in exile; Jesus in the wilderness; Mary and Martha when Lazarus died; and of course, the disciples waiting after Christ's crucifixion. These are but a few moments in the narrative of salvation, where God's people go face to face with the unknown. 

Throughout it all, God remains faithful to God's promises. In every season of life, God is with us. All of us. The entire human family. Always. Forever. Because God knows the human experience. God knows the importance of community. To care for one another is at the heart of what it means to be God's people. At the heart of the Torah is the mandate to care for the stranger. The commandment Jesus gives to the disciples is that they love one another. Caring for each other is what we as God's people are to do. To care for one another requires us to encounter each other, which can be scary.

Take, for instance, the Gospel lesson for today. We encounter Jesus and a Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. It is a story about an encounter between two people from two different places in life. It is an encounter that not only the woman wasn't expecting, but neither are the readers. At the well, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman and breaks gender, ethnic boundaries. Did you know that Jesus didn't need to go through Sychar to get to where he was going? It is true. Many Jews would have taken a longer, more out of the way route across the Jordan to avoid Samaria with whose residents they have deep-seated hatred from the divided monarchy. As many theologians note, Jesus didn't need to go through Samaria geographically. Still, he did theologically because God so loved the world, and Samaritans are a part of that world that God loves.[1] The encounter between Jesus and the woman at the well, who unfortunately remains nameless, we are gifted with why it is essential to risk getting to know others.

The encounter begins at the level of human needs. Jesus is thirsty, admitting his weariness asks the woman for a drink of water from the well. "Give me drink," is what Jesus says in verse 7. The woman responds with her question of "How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan, for a drink?" What is unknown to us are the tones from Jesus, and the woman conveyed in the Greek. Both authoritative because of the longstanding division between their kin-people. His response takes this unordinary conversation and moves it into deeper theological water. "If you knew the gift of God and who is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." Jesus is speaking metaphorically here, indicating that the water he provides continually springs up from the limitless generosity of God. My favorite part of this story is her response, right? So honest, perhaps naïve, but very much so challenging. "Sir, you do not even have a bucket, and the cistern is deep; where then can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this cistern and drank from it himself with his children and his flocks?" The woman flat out asks Jesus who he thinks he is!

The encounter goes deeper yet. Jesus responds indirectly, inviting the woman to think contemplatively about the living water he can provide her. "Give me this water," she replies, and I like to think she does so with an eye roll or a chuckle—perhaps hoping to deflect any more conversation. It doesn't work, and Jesus gets personal. "Go call your husband," he says, and the waters suddenly become choppier. She admits she has no husband; Jesus says he knows. Without shaming her, he speaks of her history of unhappy marriages, to which she recognizes something more about Jesus. She realizes that Jesus is the Messiah, the one we call Christ. In verse 26, we have Jesus declaring his first "I am" statement—which is the same name of God revealed to Moses in Exodus 3. 

The close encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman leads to the delivery of the good news of the next step in God's salvation to the woman's kin-people. From the water's deep source within her, she draws life and gives testimony to Jesus Christ. In his humanity, Jesus encountered a woman who was very much so like you and me, and as a result, she meets God. The same is possible for us when we risk setting aside those barriers we place between us and our neighbor, us, and God. If church and my faith have taught me anything, it is that encountering another human being is as close to God as I may ever get—in the eye-to-eye thing, the person to person thing—which is where God's beloved has promised to show up.

Friends, we are called to see not ourselves in others, but the very person with whom we share life. In the encounter of Jesus and the woman at the well, the meaning of community unfolds.  As Barbara Brown Taylor says, life together is about seeing the person standing right in front of us. Encountering others is about recognizing the other has no substitute, who is irreplaceable, whose heart holds things for which there is no language, whose life is an unsolved mystery. Once we begin to turn the person into a character in my own story, the encounter is over.[2] In choosing to encounter others, we are choosing to meet the Triune God, who exists as a community.

Loving each other can be difficult. It is difficult who am I kidding. Yet, this is our calling. It is scary, and there is nothing more terrifying than risking vulnerability in relationships. In choosing to encounter others, I find these words from Thomas Merton helpful. The prolific writer and monk said, "The beginning of love is the will to let those we love to be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our image. If in loving them, we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them."

Jesus could have avoided Samaria, but he didn’t. And thanks be to God that he didn’t because if he did, we wouldn’t know the full depth of God’s love for the world.

Beloved friends, remember that when we meet one another and worship God together, with openness and vulnerability, as our true selves, our lives will be transformed just as surely as meeting Jesus transforms the life of that solitary but spirited woman by the well.

And this is a close encounter I’m not afraid of!

---

[1] Lewis, Karoline. “Commentary on John 4:5-42 by Karoline Lewis.” John 4:5-42 Commentary by Karoline Lewis - Working Preacher - Preaching This Week (RCL). Accessed March 10, 2020. https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=44.

[2] Barbara Brown Taylor, “An Altar in the World." (Harper One: New York, 2009)Page 102.

Through Stained Glass: Guest Post on Getting Lost

Today's midweek reflection is by First Presbyterian Church member, mother, writer, poet, photographer, adventurer, and whimsical warrior, Kelli Owens. Today's words are inspired by the lessons from the first Sunday of Lent. You can check out more of Kelli's writing at her blog, Chronicles of Grace, by clicking here.

Photo captured by Kelli Owens. 

 If you know me at all, you know I adore being in the woods. Especially in the between seasons like this one, where fresh spring promise fills my lungs with all that is alive while my eyes probe eagerly for the first peeps of green. Winter’s final hurrah clings to chunks of frozen creek while geese return in astounding numbers, attuned to inner clocks. It’s a liminal space. The tension of opposites.

It’s also the perfect time of year to get lost. Well-worn paths and marked trails no longer stand out in their usual stark contrast to summery overgrowth. My boots follow deer tracks and sidestep fallen trees rather than limit themselves by the obviously easy manicured walkway. Even in familiar places, I turn a corner and am suddenly surprised at the face that returns my gaze: the woods I thought I knew, now inside out.

And the thrill of discovery is balanced (if not enhanced) by more than a pinch of anxiety. Will I find my way back without the comfort of known markers? Will I be faced with the prospect of an impossible passage and be forced to do the unthinkable: turn around and retrace my steps? Was that snapping twig just a squirrel or the formidable angry buck whose space I inhabit? What I run into by wandering the woods is more than my love of adventure; I also must confront the less comfortable feelings that accompany the experience of being lost. This is as good a place as any to be honest. Getting lost is, at its roots, a firsthand exercise in relating to the unknown.

If a spiritual practice is, as Barbara Brown Taylor suggests, “anything … you let bring you to your knees and show you what is real, including who you really are, who other people are, and how near God can be,” then perhaps getting lost is medicinal to the soul. Anyone who has lived for any length of time knows there are many real moments of the unknown in even the most average and pedestrian life. Everything from aging to parenting, from calamities to celebrations, we live in a world rife with the unforeseen. There are times when these moments excite and times when they frighten and times when the tension of opposites brings you alive in more ways than you know how to say. Perhaps getting lost with some intentionality is not a bad way to grow accustomed to it. Perhaps in doing so, what we think we know turns inside out and we realize how even uncertainties wear the very face of God. I wonder if this is what it means to be both lost and found.

Through Stained Glass: A Sermon for the 1st Sunday of Lent

"Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection....When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions....Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the 'Beloved.' Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence." Henri Nouwen

“Choosing to Get Lost”

Matthew 4.1-11

Sunday, March 1, 2020

If there ever were a season to get lost, Lent is the one. After all, this is the season when we intentionally examine our lives and seek out the ways we have wandered away from God. By no means does this mean Lent is a season of condemnation. Instead, it is a season when we can be honest with God, with each other, and with ourselves. It is a time when, with the terror of judgment removed, we can speak the truth. Lent, then, is a season of deliverance. A time when we can deepen our desire to accept the good news and the new life that God gives us in Christ. Arriving at this place of discovery and choice is going to take time and an intentional effort to get lost.

Take a moment and consider the times you have experienced lostness. How did you respond to whatever you lost? Growing up, some of us remember road trips that involved pulling off to the side of the road and our parents unfolding a map the size of a dashboard to figure out just how we got into this 'National Lampoon' mess of a road trip. Before there was Siri, there was the walk of shame parents made from the car to the gas station clerk to ask for directions. What about luggage? I think anyone who has traveled by plane has had that dreadful moment of waiting at the baggage claim only never to see your bright orange suitcase—which you got so you wouldn't lose it—and the airline informs you they aren't sure where your bag went. Before 5G networks were a thing, but also some places still on the Middletown Blacktop, we tell the folks we are on the phone with, hands-free of course, that we might lose them here in a minute. We know the feeling of panic when we lose a family heirloom; the sense of heartache when we see a 'lost dog or cat poster'; and because we are human, we are all too familiar with the feeling we get when we have lost someone to cancer, depression, or death.

            Being lost is a part of our story. And at the risk of driving the point into the ground, I wanted to make sure we realized that though we may have lost something in life, we are still here. What we lost may have caused a lot of pain, a lot of problems, and maybe even a lot of trouble, and we might still be feeling the effects of our lostness, we are a resilient people and what we have lost, whether we found it or not, has only made us stronger. Getting lost isn’t such a bad thing, especially when we know we have a way back to the light.

        While Jesus didn't get lost per se in the wilderness, I believe he took a route that wasn't the shortest distance between point A and point B. The time Jesus spent in the wilderness was vital to his ministry…and to his identity. The desert scene presents the Tempter testing Jesus's fidelity to his integrity and his faithfulness to God. While the tempter (the actual name for Satan) distorts and misuses the Scriptures, Jesus is shown to be the one who listens to God's teachings and fully embodies them in his own life. Jesus does not overreach his role as "the Beloved," misuse his power or allow his liberty to become his license. Jesus's power and freedom do not become self-serving but are in service to his calling. 

            The first Sunday of Lent always has us reading the temptation of Christ in the wilderness. It is placed at the beginning of our journey to encourage us to enter into those wild places of our lives and see what tempts us from abandoning the love and light of God. Perhaps you are thinking, "Why do we have to go out into the wilderness to do this work? Why can't we do this from the comfort of our sanctuary? I bet we could find an app to help us on this journey." Probably so, and we can do the work from the comfort of our safe places. However, there is wisdom in the wilderness that the convenience of our church can't provide. Consider the fact that it is the Spirit that drives Jesus into the wilderness. Jesus doesn’t meander out there on his own. He doesn’t schedule a National Geographic expedition, or a marathon in the desert to rack up Fitbit steps. According to Matthew’s Gospel, the Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness, specifically “to be tempted by the devil.” Jesus, like those in the flood story, Moses’ sojourn at Sinai, Elijah’s journey to Mount Horeb, and Jonah’s call to Nineveh, discovers in the wilderness how even in the most desolate of places, God can bring redemption.

       Let's be honest for a moment, shall we? Who wants to do that? Who wants to take the long route, risking punctuality and safety, for the sake of discovering our truth? Who wants to head out into the wilderness of life—where we must confront our false self, sit with our weaknesses, and where we are the most vulnerable? And yet, this is what we are to do in this season. Here is where we must return to God and allow the Spirit to guide us to our truths. If Jesus's forty days in the wilderness is a time of self-exploration, a time for Jesus to choose who he is and how he will live out his calling, then consider carefully what the Son of God chooses: deprivation over ease. Vulnerability over rescue. Obscurity over honor. Instead, when Jesus could choose certainty, the extraordinary, and the miraculous, Jesus chooses the precarious, the quiet, and the mundane. In the wilderness Jesus shows us how in getting lost, or abandoning the easiest route, we will find ourselves face to face with whatever it is that prevents us from loving God with our whole heart, mind, soul, and strength.

            Earlier I mentioned some benign forms of getting lost. I did this because it gives us a launching pad into contemplating how getting lost or losing something impacts us. It was a chance to see how, on some small scale, we know how to traverse the wilderness when we are lost. Sometimes our lostness in the wilderness is as trivial as a misplaced bag or a wrong turn. Other times we get lost in the deserts of a "hospital waiting room, a toxic relationship, a troubled child, a sudden death, or an unshakeable depression. Wherever we find ourselves lost, we don't (for the most part) volunteer for pain, loss, anger, or terror." But the wilderness still happens. The truth is, we are here today—proof that we made it out or are currently making our way through the wildness of life.

 Getting lost is a valuable experience. Of course, it is only valuable when you have support or the assurance of getting found. I feel I must make a caveat that I'm not suggesting you put yourself in harm’s way or great danger in your attempt to get lost to discover God. What I am challenging you to do this coming week is take a safe, calculated risk, and get lost. Resist the message put on us by modern culture that getting to point a to point b is the best option. Instead, take time to explore the wild places in your life. Get off the beaten path and wrestle with the temptations in your life. Don’t be afraid to follow Jesus into the wilderness and lose your bearings for a moment. Because the unnerving fact is this: we can be beloved and uncomfortable at the same time. We can be beloved and unsafe at the same time.  Barbara Brown Taylor offers this wisdom about this journey, "In the wilderness, the love that survives is tough, not soft.  Salvific, not sentimental."  Learning to trust it takes time. And remember, not only do you have the church as your safety net, but you have the same Spirit waiting on you that waited on Jesus in his discovery of his truth.

            So.  What does Jesus’s temptation story offer to us as we begin our Lenten journeys this year? It gives us a chance to take a different route to deepen our relationship with God, our neighbors, and ourselves. Maybe it is inviting us to intentionally enter the wilderness and confront our demons: pride, arrogance, resentment, or despair. Maybe our Lenten journey means we finally decide who we are and whose we are.

            Let us not be afraid to get lost. Let us have courage in wrestling with the temptations we face. And let us remember that as we embrace our humanity, the Spirit of God will be with us and is preparing us for when we get lost. May it be so.