Ordinary Time

I felt in need of a great pilgrimage
so I sat still for three
days
and God came
to me.    
—Kabir (c. 1440-1518), “A Great Pilgrimage”

This time last year, I was preparing to go on sabbatical. France, Cornwall, Wales, with a side trip to Hogwarts before heading home. It was certainly a grand adventure and a spiritually rewarding pilgrimage. And part of me deeply longs for that kind of travel and exploration and discovery. Among other things, I want to experience and teach Clive about the delightful diversity of the world and the great goodness of God’s creation. . . .  
    
But another part of me truly values the holy pilgrimages that take place close to home. Sometimes, our greatest pilgrimages take place looking up and down our own street and locating the ways God meets us right here in our daily lives. Where does God meet you? How does God meet you?  
    
The weeks and months following Pentecost are referred to as “Ordinary Time” in the liturgical calendar, but I think that label is really a misnomer because, really, if we are paying any attention at all, very little in our world is ordinary. What we might casually call “ordinary time” or “ordinary things” are actually spectacular miracles that we have unfortunately begun to take for granted. So, how do we change our perspective? What would it take for us to see newness and opportunity all around us? Perhaps looking at something “ordinary” with new eyes and fresh amazement might be the great pilgrimage our soul really needs. What do you think?

See you in church,
Christy 

Resurrection like a seed.

 Jesus returned not to prove a point,
not to give us something to profess centuries later,
but to give us his spirit,
to breathe his eternal, loving Life into us
so that we would be his new risen body,
raised not as one individual but as a community.
He returned from his grave to send us out of our graves,
send us into the world to love, to forgive, to bless,
to do justice, to labor with God for the mending of the world,
empowered not merely by optimism
but by the infinite Spirit that cannot be killed,
that endures tragedy and overpowers evil
and burrows through death to new life.
Breathe deeply of this mystery.
As God breathes into Eden’s dirt and it becomes a living being,
Jesus breathes into us and we are transformed;
we rise from the dust of our own graves,
and become living beings, risen, reborn, truly alive.
        —Steve Garnaas-Holmes, “Becoming the Body”
 

This month, we continue in the liturgical season of Easter. The resurrection we celebrate at Easter is so great a wonder and so great a mystery that merely one day won’t do. It calls us into a bigger, longer, more life-changing celebration. Resurrection is not the same as simple resuscitation. Resurrection allows the complexity and mystery of new life to rise and transform us—as well as the world around us. It invites us into the abundance of God’s love and creativity. Certainly, we celebrate the resurrection of the living Christ. And we see that resurrection actively reflected in the wonder of seeds. A seed is the fruit of a past harvest, and when it is planted today, it will bear fruit in the future. A seed holds the miracle and promise of new life.
    

And although Easter does not come as the solution to all of creation’s problems, it does offer a profound assurance that new life and new possibilities surround us—and that, in the end, love and justice, shalom, and joy, will have the final word! Easter calls us toward greater care for creation, greater hospitality, greater welcome, and greater commitment to belonging. It invites us to move from “I” to “We.” To set a more expansive table. To live our lives in ways that allow others to thrive. To draw others into our circle of care. To think and dream, hope and envision, beyond our own narrow desires. Easter directs our attention toward the common good. And if we allow the resurrection of Easter to work in and through us, our lives will be transformed, and we will have the capacity to transform the world around us. Like a seed. This is the hope and promise of Easter.

See you in church,
Christy