I Invite You

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.        
        —“Making the House Ready for the Lord” by Mary Oliver

As we head into this Advent season, I invite you to unclench anything that is tight and tense in you. I invite you to release any sense of scarcity that has taken ahold of you, trying to convince you that nothing you do—and nothing you are—will ever be enough. I invite you to breathe in a slow, deep breath of possibility.  I invite you to recognize the abundance of sky and water and earth and time; I invite you to recognize the abundance within your very being. I invite you to focus on the beauty in and around you. I invite you to open yourself up to the grace of God’s blessings knocking on the door of your heart. I invite you to welcome the unexpected joy that is finding its way to you. Invite you to believe that Christ is, indeed, coming to be born—and coming to transform your life—any minute now. . . .

See you in (zoom) church,

Christy

What kind of world do we want to live in and create?

 In these times when anger / Is turned into anxiety
And someone has stolen / The horizons and mountains,
Our small emperors on parade / Never expect our indifference
To disturb their nakedness.
They keep their heads down / And their eyes gleam with reflection
From aluminum economic ground,
The media wraps everything / In a cellophane of sound,
And the ghost surface of the virtual / Overlays the breathing earth.
The industry of distraction / Makes us forget
That we live in a universe.
We have become converts / To the religion of stress
And its deity of progress;
That we may have courage / To turn aside from it all
And come to kneel down before the poor, / To discover what we must do,
How to turn anxiety / Back into anger,
How to find our way home.
        —“For Citizenship” by John O’Donohue

What has happened to empathy in our country?  Not just empathy, care, and concern for our own families and closest circle of friends—but empathy for the ever-widening, rippling circle of people throughout our world—especially the poor and the vulnerable, the oppressed and the unprivileged.  Politically, what has happened to welcoming the tired, poor, and huddled masses?  What has taken us so far away from this sentiment and commitment?  Sociologist and public theologian Parker Palmer asks, “Why do so many Americans want to re-elect an administration that’s done so much—via ideology, incompetence, and indifference—to make more private breadlines necessary for those who suffer?  And why do so many Christians support leaders who mock the Gospel they claim to embrace—then offer rationales that would be anathema to [most of us and all those in need]: ‘Hey, just look at my 401(k)’ or ‘There’s only ONE issue I care about, and the leaders I’m voting for have it nailed’?  Attitudes like that also have love, truth, and justice nailed.  Again.”
 

These questions occupy my heart as we head into November.  And I don’t need more political analysis or defensive rationales.  I want and need deep, heartfelt, moral answers.  What do we really want to be about as a church, community, country?  What kind of world do we want to live in and create?  Who do we want our country to serve better?  For whom do we want our world to be “great”?
 

And no matter what the outcome of these elections, I choose to place my faith in God, creator of the constantly churning waves and rising and falling sun.  God’s story consistently moves us toward more hope and more justice for all people.  This story grounds me and calls me to offer love to those who feel hopeless. This story invites me to live out my ethics and deepest beliefs.  This story charges me to practice empathy, compassion, and grace every single day.  This story comforts me when hurt and devastation try to take hold.  And this is the story that lives in my heart.
 

“Do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand” (Isaiah 41:10).

See you in (zoom) church,  
Christy