Archive for March, 2010

by Carlos Rios

“Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I go over there and pray. He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. Then he said to them, ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.’ And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.’” Matthew 26:36-39

In life we all find ourselves going through trials that test our faith and our resolve. Trials stretch us, grow us, take us outside of what is comfortable, challenge us to make decisions, and provide a path to change. Jesus himself was tested both while he was in the wilderness (which is what our Lenten journey symbolizes) and finally by sacrificing himself for us. Jesus, knowing exactly what kind of trial is about to come his way, makes a final, heartfelt plea to God in the form of prayer: “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” (39)

This prayer that Jesus makes in the Garden of Gethsemane has been analyzed and debated for years. Was it Jesus expressing reluctance? Was he seeking an alternative? Was he resigned to his fate? I wish I had the answers, but I feel that perhaps we may never know definitively what was going on there. Part of me can’t help but find a beautiful sort of frustration in all of that.

Jesus, being both fully human and fully divine, knew what his purpose was on this earth. The part of him that was divine knew the sacrifice he was going to become, but I think that the human in him was probably overwhelmed. I mean, how often are we overwhelmed with even smaller circumstances or sacrifices we are called to make? Jesus’ cup was a bitter one to swallow. I like to think that maybe Christ was wrestling with just how tough this trial was going to be. Yet ultimately Jesus expresses his yielding to God’s will over his own: “…not what I want but what you want.”

Our Lenten journey is one that ultimately takes us to the joy and newness of life that is Easter Sunday. Of course, we wouldn’t be able to get to Easter Sunday without experiencing the pain that is the cross on Good Friday. No more poignant metaphor for life is possible.

When we pray during times of trial we acknowledge how we feel and become spiritually aware of our situation. Prayer allows us to allow God’s will to take precedence over our own agendas. We ask that God would help us and we have faith that God will provide us the strength to make it through. We know that newness of life is around the corner.

Amen.

by Rob Rawls

The wilderness of Lent is starting to get to me.

In this blog, I have talked about my Lenten practice of intentional eating–a practice that I have succeeded at in some ways and failed miserably at in many other ways. I have talked about my efforts to eat natural foods, eat an ethical diet, and focus in on the blessings that God gives us through food.

Not eating meat or drinking Cokes has not been my wilderness, though. In fact, in some ways, it has been my lifeline.

Over the past few weeks, I have struggled with what I actually believed and what that belief means for the ways I live out my life. Easy and vague statement. What I mean is that I have examined what I believe about many of the doctrines that we hold on to as Christians. Virgin birth. Healings and miracles. The road to the cross and the empty tomb. I have allowed myself to open these doctrines up for critical and historical analysis.

I have doubted in ways that I haven’t doubted since the rebelliousness of adolescence or the initial pain of coming out of the closet.

As children, we take the stories of the Bible very seriously. The Red Sea was parted. Jonah got swallowed by a whale. Daniel survived the lion’s den. As we get older, our beliefs and views of the stories change. We accept some of the stories as literal and others as metaphorical and we live in the tension. In fact, that tension becomes a very easy place to live.

Since returning to faith a few years ago, I have lived in that tension. The thing is, though, I have allowed my faith to become limited in so many ways in order to stay in that tension. I have kept blinders on and ear plugs in so that I could live in a safe Christianity.

In the wilderness of Lent, God has reminded me that Christianity isn’t safe. God has reminded me that I am not called to worship a collection of stories or a set of creeds. I am called to worship a living and loving and powerful God who was incarnate in the life, death, and new life of Jesus.

After they escaped Egypt, the Israelites complained to Moses about the miserable conditions of the wilderness.

“Why didn’t God let us die in comfort in Egypt where we had lamb stew and all the bread we could eat?” (Exodus 16:3 MSG)

So God gave them manna. Bread from heaven. Sustenance enough for everyone.

They still complained. “Why can’t we have meat? We ate fish in Egypt–and got it free!–to say nothing of the cucumbers and melons, the leeks and onions and garlic. But nothing tastes good out here; all we get is manna, manna, manna.” (Numbers 11: 4-6 MSG)

We think of manna as this amazing thing–a delicacy to be savored. Manna wasn’t meat. It wasn’t fresh and crisp like cucumbers or melons. It wasn’t bursting in rich flavors like garlic or onions. Manna was sustenance that got you through the wilderness.

God has used my practice (and at times, my lack of practice) of intentional eating to be my manna these past few weeks. No matter how much I have doubted, I have stayed conscious of this commitment. Even when I haven’t had the faith to pray, I have had the faith to avoid eating meat.

I didn’t know this when I started on Ash Wednesday, but intentional eating has not been about absolution or repentance or even a great connection to God. It has been about God giving me what I needed to make it through…

by Andrew Schumacher

So here I am four weeks into my Lenten journey of fasting, and I might be a little bit lost on the road. Let me explain. I’ve been carrying out my weekly Wednesday plan (fasting, extra prayer, extra Bible, extra time devoted to God), but it ocurred to me this week that after the newness of the first couple weeks has worn off, I increasingly find myself wondering what I’m supposed to be focusing on, or not focusing on, as a part of my fasting discipline. The only thing I for sure know is what Jesus has to say about it in the Bible. I paraphrase here:

When you fast, don’t go around looking all sullen with “I’m miserable and fasting” written across your forehead. Instead, wash your face, comb your hair, and go about looking to other folks like it’s any other normal day. And if you fast in this way, God will reward you.

Ok, check. I think I’ve done a decent job with this part. I think I understand Jesus’ words: fasting is between me and God (and anyone who reads this blog), and outward appearances of suffering etc do not belong as part of this discipline.

But beyond that, I’m a little bit in the dark. I guess I could have done some research before setting out on this journey (and I did do a very little bit), but I guess I was more focused on just seeing where the Spirit took me, versus having some sort of agenda.

When fasting, am I supposed to think about food? Not supposed to think about food? Am I to ponder the fact that my not eating for 24 hours is nothing compared to folks who are chronically hungry? Questions like these have been popping up throughout Lent. Maybe you’re thinking, “Andrew, you should have figured some of this out before deciding to fast.” But I’m not so sure there are pre-packaged answers to these questions. In reading others’ blog posts and in listening to sermons on Sundays, I keep hearing the word wilderness. Well, maybe this is my wilderness. A little lost. A little confused. Wondering where this journey is really leading to.

I think I need to get more comfortable “living into” the whole wilderness idea. You see, I like things to be nice and neat. Sure, I like to think I make room for the Spirit to move, but the room I’m allowing is probably the size of a shoe box when God wants it to be an expansive concert hall.

But one thing I do know is that God is present in all of this. My wilderness is not so much feeling alone in the middle of nowhere. Here’s how I imagine it: I’m out there in the barren field, but God is sitting not far from me on a tree stump or something. I have all these questions running through my head and don’t always know what I’m doing with this fasting thing. And God smiles a little, kind of amused. God doesn’t say much. But God is definitely there. And come to think of it, that’s enough for me.

by Kellee Eavenson

I’ve been contemplating the last two weeks: what are the barriers to giving? There are the easy, knee-jerk reactions – I don’t have time, I don’t have the money, I don’t have the…whatever, really. The focus on “lack” is really what I’m trying to challenge myself to break down. Few people have all the time, money, and resources at their disposal; all of us have the choice for where we spend our talents and gifts.

I’m thinking more about where I DO spend time and money to evaluate if I am really spreading the joy I have in my own life. I don’t have any great answers yet, but I think if I concentrate on what I have and what I can share, I’ll be making strides in the right direction.

One of the most important things I can give is a strong foundation of love and support to my daughter. I think about how we talk and how we work through things very consciously so we are working through development stages and problems together. I don’t have the greatest family background myself, but in this season, I’m thinking more and more about what I can give back to my parents and brother to repair that foundation.

When members of our church went to help flood victims, I think about the sharing of that experience. What sticks with me the most is that it is really easy to pull back because there are so MANY problems; so MANY people in need. But if all of us started with what was right in front of us, we’d all be moving in the right direction. I’m thinking a lot about when I choose to give and when I choose to look away. I’m trying to open my eyes to my family, my neighbors, and local volunteer opportunties to break down barriers to giving.

by Paul Romejko

I never would have dreamed that I would move four times in four months (with three of those moves occurring within one month). I put 95 percent of my belongings into storage during my first move. That made the subsequent moving around logistically simpler but no less stressful and daunting.

I sold my condo just before I found out I had to take what turned into a nine-week medical leave of absence from work. I didn’t find a new condo in the limited amount of time I had before the new owner took possession of what was my home for the past nine years. Thankfully, I didn’t have any pets but I had more than a few houseplants. Some of the plants ended up in the care of my friend Neil and his wife. My friend Jim rescued the rest of them. By his own admission, Jim is not a houseplant person. He gave them the care that he could but the only place he had room for these tropical plants was a cool second story room in his building.

My most recent move was to a less temporary, but still temporary, studio apartment across the street from Holy Covenant (coincidence?). With the limited space of my one-room apartment, I hoped that Jim would hold on to my plants but he needed the space they occupied in his house for other things.

Unfortunately, a few of my less hardy plants died (in early November they had spent a few days in Jim’s van, parked in his unheated garage) but most survived. There were two pots with what looked like dead amaryllis plants in them. The leaves had died down to limp brown stalks. But, when I looked closely, I noticed a trace of green remained in the bulb portion of the plants. Despite my fear that they may be too far gone, I trimmed off the dead leaves from the bulbs, placed them by a bright window and began to water them regularly. For a time I questioned the effort I was putting into this. While part of me was saying it was hopeless and I was wasting my time, part of me was urging me to stay at it and keep the faith.

About a week passed before flat green tongues slowly began emerging from one bulb and then the other. With time the leaves grew long, deep green and graceful. Then about two weeks ago, a flower stem began to grow out of the center of one of the plants. Today the fast-growing flower burst open screaming red.

God was giving me a Christmas amaryllis and not an Easter lily. Presented with such beauty, I refrained from questioning God’s schedule for the appearance of seasonal flowers in my life.

Some life events seem to crucify our spirit: the grief of a broken relationship, the death of someone dear to us, the shock of a sudden illness, the loss of our independence to an accident or illness, the decimation of a life by the insanity of an addiction. We can choose to see the potential in these events and remember that God always is here to walk with us through them and nourish what little we feel is left of our spirit or, thinking we are alone, we can become exasperated and hopeless.

God teaches us through Jesus’ resurrection that I can have new life if I remain faithful, even–or especially–in my darkest hours when I fear that God has forsaken me. Faith is key, a faith that is unfailing in its belief in a reawakening of my soul, a revival of my being, a resurrection of the Spirit within me.

by Ronna Case

While doing yoga my feet sometimes end up in the wrong places. I used to go ahead, even though I was misaligned. Now I take time to make corrections.

Life, the spiritual life, is like that. I can end up in the wrong spot. I can hold my breath, instead of exhaling on the hard parts. I can race through something just to get it done. I can reinforce useless habits, or replay outdated mental scenarios. As happens sometimes with my cello music, I can keep playing the wrong note.

This Lent, with small group support and this blog, my spiritual discipline, yoga-with- breath- prayer, helps me slow down and smooth out. I make adjustments, inside and out, and improve my alignment, hopefully with God’s desire.

Dear Holy Covenant Community,

Sunday morning worship can be a hectic time. We’re a busy, loud, enthusiastic congregation that tumbles through the door every Sunday ready to grab a fair-trade coffee and a donated hot cup sleeve and dash over to sign up for an upcoming group activity, between greeting friends and making post-service plans.

Remember jumping into this melee for the first time? Remember the questions you had? Where do I go? How does this work? Who are these people? What is Holy Covenant about? How do I fit in?

The Newcomer’s Group, which is held every Wednesday at Holy Covenant at 7pm, is a great opportunity for newcomers to our community to connect with each other and ask basic questions about our church, our congregation, and our faith.

Each session covers a different aspect of our mission statement: Seek God, Love All People, Change the World. We’ll discuss what these mean to Holy Covenant and how we manifest this mission. After three visits, we hope our newcomers will be well-informed about what Holy Covenant is all about and the many opportunities to get involved in our community.

Whether you are coming to Holy Covenant for the first time, or have been coming for a while and want to learn more, the Newcomer’s Group welcomes you. Drop in any Wednesday at 7pm.

I look forward to meeting you!

Matt Kuzma
Newcomer’s Group Leader

by Vicky Nabors

from the song “I Give Myself Away,” By William McDowell

Chorus:
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me

Bridge:
My life is not my own
To you I belong
I give myself, I give myself to you

This song has been my testament this week. I’ve traveled a million miles over the course of this Lenten season; walking in the wilderness with Jesus has been amazing. And what’s even more amazing is how my exploring the underpinnings of my colorful language has systematically resulted in a spiritual breakthrough. “Search me, Know me; Practicing intimacy with God.” I’ve never been so openly intimate with my personal life as I have in this blog. I have no regrets.

I also see how the focus of my blog has been more intense than some of the others. Well…good! I’m sure someone has been able to relate to my position of standing on the outside looking in. Someone has had all these pent-up emotions of injustice and fear weighing them down, and wished desperately that God have mercy on them. I’ve prayed that prayer for years while standing in the distance watching everyone else live. I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong, I’d done everything that society and my family expected of me (except be heterosexual – LOL). So I should have achieved my goals at this point in my life. Instead, I’ve slowly isolated myself because being alone doesn’t hurt; but it’s quite lonely – especially as an empty nester.

Thanks to the persistence of the Communications Committee and Pastor Kate, I agreed to take on this Lent journey openly. I’ve shared my most personal thoughts as related to my daily prayers, journaling, meditations, and reflections. And God has revealed my core foundation of fear; resulting from all of my unfortunate experiences that center on rejection. Unbelievable! I thought I was so confident and fearless, because everyone said I was. “#@%T!” I hate it when I think I know something about myself, and then discover that I really don’t. Fuel for colorful language.

Oh Lord, “I give myself away, so You can use me. My life is not my own, to you I belong …”

Father I pray you wrap me in your arms as I step forward out of isolation and into life.
Amen.

Listen to this song here.

by Carlos Rios

I’m walking home from another long day at work. It’s dreary out; the sky is a cool shade of gray that offers very little hope. The wind whips against my face and light rain begins to brush on my cheeks. The scene is, at best, desolate. I’m exhausted and anxious about my finances. After a quick check of my bank balance I cringe. What am I going to do? I feel helpless, powerless, and scared. I stop to take a moment and breathe deeply. I begin to pray: “(breathe in) The Lord is my Shepherd, (breathe out) I shall not want.” I repeat this mantra over and over as I walk to the local grocer and purchase an ingredient for tonight’s dinner. I feel it seep into my body. My situation has not changed, but my outlook has. On the way home I receive two e-mails, each one offering hope for a better day.

*****

I run frantically in the direction of the bus stop. I thought I had two minutes left, according to the bus tracker. Apparently two minutes really means about 30 seconds. After a mad dash I am fortunate enough to catch the bus: I exhale. After paying my fare I walk towards the same section of the bus that I always sit at, but find myself stopping just short. An old friend is sitting on the bus with a grin from ear to ear. I sit with him and we catch up, share stories both bad and good, and promise to call each other soon. I pray and thank God that this person was such a blessing in my morning and in my life. I ask that God would bless him. I continue my morning with an unanticipated amount of joy.

*****

A friend and I are seated at a bar, well-earned martinis in hand. He looks tired, stressed, and anxious. I ask him if he’s okay. He responds that work has been practically unbearable these last few days—he hasn’t slept in about two days. My face makes a visual groan (I’ve never been good at hiding the emotion in my face). I ask if everything else is okay with him. He tells me that due to no fault of his own, his visa may not be renewed in time. Without it he will be unable to continue working and worries about how he is going to pay his rent and bills without the ability to work. He worries about facing possible deportation. He is angry about a system that is slow and faulty. I hurt with him. I send up a flash prayer at that moment: “God, make what seems impossible become possible for my friend.” I hope and I continue to pray that his situation is resolved quickly. I pray against and lament over a system that is broken.

*****

I sit and stare at my computer screen with what feels like little to write about. The week has been tough. For the first time in a long time I feel like I am in the wilderness. And then I get it. I am indeed in the wilderness. This is a journey and sometimes the road gets rocky, the conditions aren’t always favorable, and often we are beyond the signal of a cell phone or a GPS. It’s scary, but I know I am not alone. I keep walking, I keep breathing, and I keep praying. I know that I will reach my destination if I keep along this path—I must learn to keep hope and faith alive. I know that if I keep my focus on God, I will make it out of the woods. Until then, I will look at portraits from my journey to ground me, inspire me, humble me, and keep me moving.

Amen.

Lent 4
March 14, 2010
Rebecca Anderson, preaching

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