A Mother's Grace

Dance of Spring

As appearing in: Living Abundantly In Lent, St. Luke's Episcopal Church, Atlanta, Georgia.

Spring is tentative - a delicate dance as nature moves out of winter toward new growth. My family and I belong to a local farm that provides us with a weekly share of fruits and vegetables. This has served to strengthen our connection to our community, underscoring a respect for the hard work behind the food we are blessed with. At the same time, we are wed to nature in a way previously unknown to us.

Our eating is now more acutely shaped by the seasons. A freeze one week means not enough harvested for our delivery share. We have the luxury of replacing those foods with store bought items. But I could not help but think about how the foods that had come to sustain us had not survived. Yet, I also knew the fruits and vegetables would grow again.

We live into God's creation each day; into its periods of death, and its periods of awakening. On the cusp of spring, we have Easter, reminding us that God walks through the frozen, seemingly dead times, so he can lead us, always, to rebirth.

The Spirit of Christmas

Each Advent, members of my theology class at church bemoan the vast commercialization of Christmas. Complaints like, "They start putting out Christmas stuff before Halloween is even over!" are accompanied by the observation that the birth of Jesus is lost among Santa, wish lists, and the frenzy to buy, decorate, cook, and buy some more.

Cleansing the Temple

This reflection will appear in the Lent 2008 devotional at St. Luke's Episcopal Church, Atlanta.
This passage from Luke tugs at my heart. Jesus is frustrated by the inability of those around him to understand his message or who he is. And he is angry that our gifts to God have become an industry, a way for people to meet their sacrificial obligations, yet remain removed from the spiritual benefit of personal, heartfelt contributions to God.

Where God Dwells

I love ritual (I guess the Holy Spirit knew that when we were pushed toward the Episcopal church). In a recent conversation with some Christian friends familiar with Jewish worship, they speak of being drawn to Judaism's rich traditions and rituals. Of feeling connected to God when lighting Sabbath candles, and their awe over the sacred beauty of the Passover meal. I feel strange during their exchange -like somehow I should relate to what they are saying more than I do. It occurs to me that, if these friends did not believe in Jesus, they could happily practice Judaism.

Real Presence

I have been having a spiritual fantasy lately. One in which I enter a dim, quiet church. I kneel to light candles and offer prayers. I sit in a pew in silence. I pray. There is quiet ritual among the clergy, broken by the biblical recitations - first the Hebrew scriptures, then the New Testament, and then bowing to the cross for the Gospel readings. The fantasy is in response to a recent spiritual longing I feel in reaction to our traditional church service. I am no longer completely fulfilled by church and want to reach toward God in new and different ways. God is pushing me beyond what I have become most comfortable with. Right now, I can feel God most while reading the Bible, listening to Christian music, and during Communion. My style of prayer has changed from an incessant list of concerns to leaving more space to quietly listen for God. This does not mean I will leave church, I know I need its rituals and rhythm. But I also recognize my desire to expand.