Through Stained Glass: A Lenten Word a Day Reflection-Walk

Remember the long way that the HOLY ONE your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness... Deuteronomy 8.2

My dogs teach me a lot about life.

They teach me about patience and the importance of rest. They teach me about listening and the importance of play. My dogs remind me to stop and smell the flowers while loving me with their entire being at all times.

Today my Golden pals taught me something about Lent.

The photo above is of two leashes but one dog. It tells the story of Chloe and Tecumseh—the former wise in her age moves a little slower, intentionally, and the latter full of spunk, eager to greet anything and anyone walking by us. Chloe saunters; Tecumseh sprints. Chloe smells those flowers, Tecumseh chases leaves. Chloe rests on her throne in the bedroom; Tecumseh wrings the bell to go outside 1000 times a day because he thinks the squirrels are mocking him!

Lent is here. We are six days into our 40+ day journey into the wilderness. As we enter deeper into the season of returning to Love, walking in the wilderness of liberation, remember to go at your own pace. Our spirituality and faith formation is not a competition. It is about naming what separates us from Love and then returning to our Original Name. If you gave something up, good on you! My prayer is one of strength for you in this journey. If you took something on, way to go! My prayer is one of courage for you.

Whether you took something on, or gave something up, or opting out of Lent altogether—my prayer for you is one of gentleness and mercy. It's like what mystic and poet Mary Oliver says:

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Finally, a word about opting out of Lent altogether.

We've been in this pandemic now for a year. As the covid related deaths near 500,000, it is a bleak reminder that over the last year—since last Lent—we've had to give up a lot. All of us have sacrificed so much of ourselves that the idea of taking on or giving up something seems more life-draining than life-giving. 

And that is okay.

Go at your own pace. Walk the wilderness path in your own time—resting on a bench when you need to, sitting beneath a tree to gain perspective, or letting the wild beasts and angels wait on you. Lent is a season first and foremost about reconnecting with the Divine and Her presence within you.

Right now, Tecumseh is outside looking up at those squirrels barking at him from the powerline. And Chloe, she is snoozing at my feet as I type this blog. Both doing what they need to do—while reminding me that life lived from a place of 'both/and' is far more entertaining and joyful than one lived from the false binaries of 'either/or.' 

Remember, you are God's Beloved...

Through Stained Glass: God Talk and Sippie Wallace

“We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be.”
― Anne Lamott

Outside, the wind whips wildly—rattling the beautiful stained glass windows.

On my record player in my study, Sippie Wallace is singing the blues. As Sippie sings, I hear the words of Black Liberation theologian James Cone in my head saying, "The Blues are made by working people....When they have a lot of problems to solve about their work when their wages are low, and they don't have no way to exist hardly, and they don't know which way to turn and what to do." (James H. Cone, The Spirituals and the Blues (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 104).

As I prepare for my seventh Zoom meeting of the week, I take this moment to catch my breath. I have one window cracked, and the cold, February air seeps into the study. My fingers are freezing as I type, and my nose is getting that way too. After each sentence, I sniffle, hoping the heat kicks on soon.

Four o'clock. The bells toll four times over a now quiet Ottawa street. Just two hours ago, students were gleefully fleeing the school. Two students—one bundled head to toe with stocking cap and mask, exposing only their eyes; the other with a mask and their oversized winter coat unzipped—discuss the possibility of a snow day. "You're right," one says in defeat, "it probably won't happen." I walk up the stairs, and as I do, one of the students yell out, "Hey! We like your mask." Smiling with my eyes, I respond with an emphatic "Thank you!" I unlock the door, they start giggling and singing, and off we go to our next thing.

The wind is causing the smoke from my incense to dance. The candle flame flickers—I'm reminded that even in this space, by myself, the Spirit is with me. What is the Spirit up to, I wonder? As I read about the Trinity, as I prepare for an Administrative Team meeting, as I rest—what is the Spirit creating? My coffee is cold. My water is at room temperature. Three hundred and forty-two words into this post, I can feel my fingers again.

Today is my Friday, even though tomorrow is a full day. At 9:00 am, I have my first class of the semester. I'll discuss my 600-word essay on the theological background regarding the Trinity in the fourth century. As I reacquaint myself with words like hypostasis and ousia, I'm reminded once more that our words—especially those we use to talk about God—matter. We discuss this at Kirk Night, too. From Scripture to the theology emerging from it, how we talk about God does not occur in a vacuum. Our particularity in history shapes our story. From Moses to Methodius, Athanasius to Adam—we bring our lives with us in the conversations and discussions about faith.

As I wrote that last line, Sippie went silent. I stood up and flipped the record over. She sings again, serenading me about her experience. She is telling me about the Divine spirit that gives her breath to sing. Her story—like your story—and my story—is God-talk.

Through Stained Glass: My Epiphany Star Word

God looks at us and says, "You are my dear, dear child: I'm delighted with you." ~N.T. Wright

Know what’s wild?

It has been almost one month since Epiphany!

And, want to know something even wilder?

We are 15 days away from the start of Lent.

Where has 2021 gone? Just kidding. But for real, time is flying by!

As we approach a new season in our liturgical life together, I want to share how my Epiphany Word practice is going.

Wait. Epiphany word? What are you even talking about, Adam?

On Sunday, January 10, the front of the bulletin had a star. At the end of the service, I invited you all to consider a word that will guide you towards the light and love of Christ in 2021. I then asked you to write down that word on the star and place it somewhere you can see it to remind you of the journey we are on this year. Do you remember? If not, go back and watch our Epiphany Sunday service! You can get to it by clicking here.

Similar to last year, my word came quickly to me. For whatever reason, the word that kept being revealed to me was the word realize.

Like many of you, I have dreams, goals, and hopes. However, I struggle with making these aspirations come to life. It is a growing edge of mine—to see plans through until the very end, which is why the word realize guides me this year.

The basic definition of realize I’m working with this year is this one: to make something real. 2021 is the year I realize my dreams:

• A new church directory and a renewal of our ministry teams.
• A doctorate proposal that gets me to the research and writing part of the program.
• The dream of implementing my rule of life, which will come to fruition during my sabbatical.

These hopes are the big ones in my life. I have smaller ones, too. Like making fishing a part of my self-care, walking the dogs 4 to 5 days a week, and teaching them new tricks; reading 52 books in 2021 [thank goodness for school!]; returning to the habit of making meals regularly. Ultimately, in all aspects of my life, I want to realize the love of God—to embody this love in all that I do.

For me, it is not enough to talk about my dreams, hopes, and aspirations. I must realize them!

Since January 6, we’ve been in the season known as “the time after the Epiphany.” All the Bible stories have been about revealing God’s love to the world—especially in the person and ministry of Jesus. Epiphany reminds us that we are a people of Light and of the Light. The star leads us towards becoming this Light in the world. When we allow the Divine's light and love to transform us, the Epiphany seasons move us—bring us to a different place.

So, friends, what is your word guiding you this year? What do you need more of this year to become the Light God gifted you to be?

Whatever your word is, know that you have a community of faith rooting you on, walking with you as you realize the Light that you are at your core!

Together we will be curators of epiphanic moments for Lincoln and beyond.

Once you have your word, let me know! I would love for you to share them with me. 

[It usually takes a couple days past the Epiphany for me to find mine. Thank goodness I have colleagues who make “star word Sunday” a practice in their communities and their own lives to help me along the way. If you need some inspiration, check out this blog by Rev. Marci Glass, the pastor of Southminster Presbyterian Church in Boise, Idaho. She has done this practice with her congregation for many years and has numerous posts to find what our star words could be. You can get to her website here.]