Living Word

There is a story in the Bible
of a man
whose friends remove a roof
to bring their friend to Jesus

they lower him on his mat
above the heads of the people
and drop him at the Healer's feet.

Today in church
I watched a girl--
no more than 6 years old--
leave
and return during a hymn
carrying a walker

took both hands
pulled up to her chin
legs clanging against the pews

but it got her grandma to
the communion rail

Some say the stories in Scripture
never happened

I say not true

How can they not have happened
when they are still happening?

Anniversary

May the oily stain upon my shoulder
from the morning bottle feed
or the one tiny oatmeal-covered hand
that grasped me in delight

Which stands out against the pitch black
of my crisp, clean clergy shirt
become a stubborn reminder
within my range of sight

Of the other mark upon my life
The stain that holds me fast
That says my life—each day!—begins in joy
A bearer of the light

saying grace at Maw Maw's

Grace is Sunday dinner—

a baker’s dozen or so dishes
Corningware, Pyrex, pie tin, wicker basket
spread out in the matriarch’s kitchen

Grace is “Come to think of it, I don’t know when it all got made.
It was just always there. Always ready.”

Grace is the tacit understanding

among everyone
that it won’t all fit the first go round

So get you another plate!
Go back for more!

But more than that

grace is being a welcome—
no, expected—guest
for 42 years
and realizing at the last
you never
(not once!)
brought a dish
to share.

If St. Patrick had come to Virginia

He would have taught the Trinity not with a shamrock but with the oak

they are plentiful in our forests and sometimes acorns grow in perfect threes

He would have said

God contains wonders do not try to apprehend

He would have said

you may find it marvelous now but wait

for God must fall to the earth and die to bring new life

and then he would have added

one day it will even yield a sturdy wood

like the kind for making crosses

And tossing it in his hand he would have said

God seems small at this point but when allowed to grow the branches prosper so far about

that even birds of the air may come and lodge therein

a leafy kingdom no one can control

save the wind

And knowing its mystery cannot even be beheld in late summer

when the acorn survives the fall from the sky

he would have saved that precious Triune package

and buried it like a treasure in a field

in the dead of winter.

A Prayer for Holy Week

(in response to the terrorist attacks in Brussels, March 22, 2016)

Lord, so many of us will gather later this week
with the primary purpose of remembering
an act of violence.

And to that remembrance we regret we must add
so many more examples--
yea, even from
this week.

So as we gather
As we remember
As we grieve
Forgive us, once again,
for we know not what we do.

And Lord: remove from us
any vanity or shallow misbegotten reflection
which would prevent us from understanding
that you do not perpetrate violence
ever

and help us learn
and help us teach
that the killing bombing maiming hating
that still happens here
is killing bombing maiming hating
somehow done to
You

Amen.

To my god-daughter on Maundy Thursday

My oldest god-child will be receiving Holy Communion on Maundy Thursday this year with her fellow fifth-graders. Like our own daughters, she has actually been receiving the bread and the wine since baptism, but her parents want to mark this milestone for her and underscore, once again, the importance of this sacrament for her life of faith. To do so, they have asked each of her god-parents to write something (a reflection, a story) which explains what the Lord's Supper means to us and to include a word she might learn to associate with the meal. Each word will be painted onto a chalice they plan to make with her.

All of our god-children are special to us, and I know Thursday evening will be special for her. God bless her and her family!

Dear S-------,

Thirteen years ago when I became a pastor and began serving a congregation, it quickly dawned on me that part of my job was going to involve handing out bread every week. I don’t know why this caught me so off-guard. Holy Communion has always been important to me, but I hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to break a loaf in front of a bunch of people so often. It’s kind of a odd part of our job, if you think about it! I guess I was concentrating so much on preaching and learning to feed people with sermons and Bible studies that I never realized that I would also literally be feeding people real bread! I thought I knew what it took to create a sermon, but I had no idea what it took to create bread. I figured that if I was going to be handing out bread all the time and talking about how important it was and how much it reminds us of Jesus, then I figured I had better learn what goes into making it.

That is when I learned to make my first loaf of bread leavened with yeast. It was thirteen years ago. I got a recipe from someone in that congregation, Vickie Wiegand, who also turned out to be the bride in the first wedding I ever officiated. I tried her oatmeal loaf and quickly learned that bread-making is not easy! It takes a lot of time and a lot more patience than I typically have! But I got better over time and with lots of practice. I ended up throwing out a lot of loaves that didn’t rise or didn’t taste right. What else did I learn? I learned that it makes the house smell amazing. I learned that dough is basically a living organism that needs to be tended.

I also learned something that is essential about baking bread: a good loaf MUST be shared with someone else. In fact, tearing off a piece of a fresh loaf that is still warm from the oven, savoring it, and then handing it to someone else so that they, too, can break off a piece is maybe the best part of baking bread. Bread, therefore, is essentially about community. There is no such thing as a personal-sized loaf. Some of my favorite memories of you, S------, have been the times we’ve made baguettes and cinnamon rolls together—and savored them—on our summer trips.

I think this process of bread-baking has helped deepen my understanding of Holy Communion. Yes, it has helped me appreciate all the time and precision and patience that goes into the loaves that I hand out at the communion rail (which are actually just purchased from the store—but someone made it somewhere! And someone still had to go to the store and buy it!). More than that, it has helped me understand that God is most nourishing when God is shared with others. It has helped me understand that if Jesus is the bread of life, then God must put a lot of time and skill and patience into His care for us. The cross, of course, reminds us of that.

Overall, Holy Communion for me is about ASSURANCE—assurance that God loves me, assurance that God cares for me enough to prepare something so delicious as the life of his Son, assurance that God really does want to draw each of us close, even though we’re so undeserving. This meal is assurance that God’s love is better when we draw more people in to it. And, as the pastor places a torn-off piece of bread in my hand each week under the shadow of that cross, it becomes assurance that, despite my many imperfections, the good gifts of Jesus’ forgiveness are really meant for me.

Eat up!

Much love,

Uncle Phillip

November 1

One big funeral sermon

for all those we name
and honor with a single bell tone
during our prayers,
notes that arrange themselves
in a unique
but awkward arpeggio
a particular order
never to be repeated

And for all the others who’ve left us
who won’t be named
but who
strove and inspire and
failed and lost
and won

And for the wee weeks-old
who begins the journey
still wet
still waking up
and receiving a kiss
from an older sibling
who stretches toward his forehead
to touch her lips just at the place
where the oil has made a cross

And for the daughter who explores a new Bible
half-interested in the routine
of bed-time prayers
because she’s busy
hunting verses underlined by
her cloud of witnesses

And for the ones who weep

And for the ones who wonder why

And for all resting ringing reading resounding
In the embrace of the One who’s risen

For all the saints