Tag: faith

Holy Saturday

Eve(I wrote and posted this years ago. I wrote it for a Christmas Eve service, but it takes place on this day. I thought I would bring it out again.)

It was early Saturday morning when I went looking for Mary. Yesterday, Friday, had been the worst day of both of our lives. The past few days had been more than horrible. She had seen her first-born son die, and I had watched as my best friend, and the man I thought was God incarnate, give his life away uselessly on a cross. We had seen it all, some up close, other parts from a distance, but we had been there, side by side, watching it, thinking it would all change in a minute, knowing that something different, something wonderful, would happen.

But it didn’t. He died.

On Thursday night he had been taken away by the soldiers and brought before this mock trial in front of Pilot and Herod, since they were both in town. Now he’ll show them, I thought. After all, he had done that with the authorities before. We watched as he was beaten, and I held Mary as the tears ran down her face, seeing her son wear a crown of thorns, and people who he had fed and healed yell ‘crucify him.’ Crowds can turn so quickly. We had seen it before. We knew he would turn the crowds back to him. We followed behind as he was taken out to the hill to be crucified. Mary kept whispering, not to me but to herself, “I know he’ll come to save him. The Lord won’t let him down. God will come any minute now.” I felt it, too, but my hope died with each step he took. When they nailed his hands and feet to the cross, I heard Mary scream as if it were her hands that the spikes were piercing. She called out to God to come and save her son, and for a moment we thought he would. The skies got dark, the wind blew, and the earth shook. “Now God will come to us and save him,” Mary screamed through her tears.

But he didn’t.

You could tell the moment he died. His spirit had left his body. It just hung there empty, a shell of what used to be great, high on the cross for all to see. The wind stopped blowing, the clouds grew lighter, the earth stopped moving. Everything was back to normal. And we just stood there, looking at the body hanging on the cross. When a soldier rammed his spear into the side to make sure he was dead, when that spear entered his heart, Mary was leaning against me and I felt her heart break, too.

A few minutes earlier, before he had died, he had looked at his mother and said, “Mom, John will take care of you.” Then he looked over at me and said, “John, watch after Mom.”

So, while friends took the body off the cross, I held her close to me. Then, when the body was lying on the ground, she walked over to it, held it close to her, as only a mother can, and brushed the hair out of his eyes. Our friends wrapped his body and took him away to be buried before we had time to prepare him with the oils used for burial. It was getting dark, the Sabbath was about to begin. I took Mary back to Bethany to stay at home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. She didn’t go to the temple or the synagogue that night. She just sat there, numb. I left the house to stay with others.

This morning I found her in the courtyard, sitting on a bench, leaning against the wall of the house. I looked at her and she looked old beyond her years. For the first time, I could not see the young girl in her anymore. She must not have been more than 48, but she looked like she was 90, older than Sarah, Abraham’s wife. She was gaunt and wrinkled and hunched over and frail. You could tell she had not slept at all.

“How are you?” I asked.

“It seems like it was only yesterday,” she said, answering a question that I did not ask.

“Mary….it was yesterday,” I said. “He died yesterday.”

“No….not that…..it seems like it was only yesterday when the angel appeared to me.”

“What angel?”

“The one that told me I would have this boy if I wanted. That I could bear him into the world, but the choice was mine.” This was a story I had not heard, so I asked her to tell me about it. Maybe it would help her deal with her grief. I had said I would care for her.

“I was just a young girl, barely past the age of becoming a woman,” she said, “when I met Joseph. He was a few years older than me, and was learning his father’s trade as a carpenter. We used to steal glances at each other in the synagogue in Nazareth. We were almost immediately attracted to each other. We would ‘accidentally’ bump into each other in the market, and our hands would touch and I could feel a spark fly between us. This went on for months, and I thought I would die if I didn’t get to be with this handsome young man. I don’t know why, but something was happening between us. Finally….and I don’t know how he did it…..his father talked with my father and a marriage was arranged between us. We were engaged! We were promised to each other!” Mary’s face brightened as she recalled that time, her back straightened up, and it looked like some of the wrinkles left her face.

“The marriage ceremony was planned for 6 months later, so family would be able to save and take the time to get there. And each day just drug on forever. I thought they would never end! I could hardly wait for the day to come when I would be his wife. What could be more wonderful than marrying the person you love, spending the rest of your days with them!”

I know, I thought. I had never married, but I had felt that way before, wanting to spend every day with a certain person. But that didn’t work out. He was dead, now.

“Then it happened,” Mary said. “One evening, about 4 months before the wedding, I was behind our house in Nazareth. It was a bright, clear, star-filled night, when suddenly there was a brilliant light that flashed, almost blinding me. I thought at first it was some sort of lightning, but when my eyes could focus again, there was a giant of a man standing before me. I couldn’t tell if he was 7 feet tall, or if he just seemed that way because everything else seemed small in his presence, including me. There seemed to be some light that shone from within him, some sort of reflection of the light that had just flashed before me. He was dressed in a robe that reached the ground, but didn’t seem to be dirty anywhere. He had dark brown eyes that didn’t so much look at you as look INTO you. He stood there for a moment, and I began to back away, not looking back up at his face. “

“Then he spoke. His voice was deep. He had no question in his voice, no wavering. He said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Mary. I am Gabriel and I come from the throne of God. God has seen you and chosen you. You will have a child, a boy, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.’”

“ ‘How can this be?’ I asked. ‘I’ve never….been…with a man.’ He told me that the Holy Spirit would do something wonderful, something miraculous in me, and that way I would know it was God’s son. Then he just stood there, like he was waiting for me to say something, those dark eyes looking into my soul. It was as if he had to have my permission for this to happen.”

“What did you think?” I asked.

“Everything went through me,” she said. “What would my family think? Would they believe me? What about Joseph? Would he still marry me? How can this happen? In a just a second, I thought of all the things that might happen because of this. Then I thought, say yes! Because who knows what tomorrow may hold! So I looked at the man…the angel….and said….yes. As a matter of fact, that’s what I taught my son for all those years growing up- always say yes, because who knows what tomorrow may hold.”

I had heard Jesus say something like it several times, and now I knew where it came from, He had put it this way, “Why do you worry about tomorrow, what you shall eat and drink and wear…. God loves you so don’t worry about tomorrow….who knows what tomorrow may hold. So that’s where he got it from, his mother.

“So what happened next?” I asked, trying for a moment to get her mind away from yesterday and the terrible things we saw. “Was Joseph excited?”

“No,” Mary said, laughing at the memory. “It wasn’t funny then, but it seems so now. He was furious, just knowing that I had…been…with another man. All this stuff of flashing light and angels seemed like a lie to cover up my sin to him. Even my parents agreed and were ashamed of me. But he loved me, and though he was hurt, didn’t want to shame me in public. He was going to break the engagement privately and send me away. But then that same man, the angel, showed up at his house and helped him to…uh…see the light. And though he didn’t understand it he decided to go ahead and marry me, but not until after the child was born.”

“What about your parents?” I asked.

“When I got to where I began to show,” she said, looking down at her stomach, “they sent me away to see my cousin Elizabeth. She was old, but somehow she was pregnant, too. And my parents knew that if I was around folks would talk. So I went off to stay with her for a while.”

“While I was there Caesar Augustus decided to have a census and a taxation of the whole empire. And to make it harder for everyone, he said everyone had to go back to their ancestral homes to be registered. So Joseph came and got me and took me to Bethlehem, because that’s where his family was from. His great, great, great, great, great granddaddy was King David, you know.” I had heard this from Jesus, that he was the ‘son of David.’ As a matter of fact, that’s what the people had yelled just six days earlier as we rode into Jerusalem, “Hail the One who Comes in the Name of David!”

“You ever been to Bethlehem?” Mary asked me. “I’ve been through it,” I said, “not much there. A Podunk of a town.” 

“You’re right,” she said. And when you fill it with people who are descendants, there’s no place to stay. When we got there I was about ’12 months pregnant’ and about to pop. Joseph couldn’t find a room at the only inn in town. The only shelter was a cave used as a barn for the animals. There I had Jesus, and Joseph put fresh hay in the feeding trough, and that’s where my son slept for the first time. It wouldn’t be the last time he would not have a place to lay his head.”

“Yeah, he told us who followed him to be prepared to have no place to stay,” I said.

“Shepherds showed up and told us what seemed like incredible stories of the angels appearing to them, but we both knew what that was all about. Jerusalem’s only 6 miles from Bethlehem, so when the time came a week later, we were able to go to the Temple and present him there, something we could not have done if we were back in Nazareth.  As we were coming out of the temple, an old priest named Simeon came over, looked at my baby, and said ‘this child will be a light for the Gentiles and glory for Israel. Then he looked at me, and a strange look came on his face, and he said ‘and a sword will pierce your heart, too.’ …. How did he know?” Mary said, looking down at her feet, tears coming again.

“Tell me more. I’ve not heard these stories,” I said.

“We went back to Bethlehem, and stayed there for a while. Then came the time of the massacre…” She did not have to tell me more. I had heard stories about Mad King Herod and his ordering of the execution of male children. “…so we escaped to Egypt. After a few years we heard that Herod had died, so we went back to Nazareth. Jesus was your typical boy growing up, obeying us most of the time, but occasionally going his own way. He got lost in Jerusalem one year when we went there for the Passover,” she said, a smile coming over her face. 

“Yeah, I heard about that,” I said.

“But I gave him a talking to that he never forgot,” Mary said, “and was no trouble at all after that. As a matter of fact, he was an incredible son. Joseph died young…” Mary said, a shadow coming over her face. Jesus had never spoken to me about his earthly father, only about what he called his ‘heavenly father,’ a term he used with great familiarity. I wanted to know, but didn’t push Mary about how Joseph had died. She was already in enough pain. “….and even though Jesus knew he didn’t want to be a carpenter, that didn’t seem to be what he was born for, he took over the family business until one of his younger brothers could do it and provide for us. We were all very poor, but we worked together. Then the day came when he took me outside the home, and said ‘Mom, it’s time for me to do what I was called to do.’ I remembered what the angel had told me, and I gave him my blessings. You know the rest of the story.”

Yeah, I knew it. As a matter of fact I had lived most of it. The healings, the feedings, the miracles, the teachings, the crowds. It was so exciting. We never thought it would end this way.

I looked over at the old woman sitting on the bench. Finally I asked the question that had been building up in my heart and mind. “Mary, if you had the chance to do it again, would you say yes? You know, knowing the joys, but also the heartache and the pain, knowing what would happen, knowing about….yesterday…..would you have born Jesus into this world?” I wasn’t really asking for her. I was asking for me. You see, Jesus had told me something strange one day, something I didn’t quite understand, not sure that I really do now. He told me that I…that all of us who followed him…had to ‘bear’ him into the world, to carry him within us, sort of like having a life within that is part of you but is still not yours alone. Almost like having a baby inside, but a grown up one. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it seems like he was saying that somehow he could live in us and in this world through us. But I saw what happened yesterday. I’m not sure I could handle it. So I had to know. “Mary, would you say yes again?”

She looked up at me and nodded. “Yes,” she said, “because who knows what tomorrow may hold.”

We just sat there for a few minutes, not saying a word. Finally I said, “Get some rest today. I’ll get the ointments so that tomorrow morning we can go and properly prepare his body.” “Okay,” she said, and leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. 

I walked away, leaving her in the courtyard. I thought, “Would I say yes? Then I thought, “Who knows what tomorrow may hold?”

“I swear on a stack of Bibles…”

Having watched the inauguration and seeing Mrs. Trump hold two Bibles for her husband (one given to him by his mother, the other belonging to Abraham Lincoln), but Mr. Trump not putting his hand on either of them while he was being sworn in as President, I’ve been thinking about Bibles and how we use them in public settings.

There is no requirement to use Bibles for anything in public life. George Washington used one, but Thomas Jefferson did not. Neither did Teddy Roosevelt or Calvin Coolidge. John Quincy Adams used a book of law. Truman, Eisenhower, Nixon, George H. W. Bush, and Obama each swore the oath on two Bibles. Biden’s Bible had been in his family since 1893.

Members of Congress do not use a Bible for their official swearing in, which they do en masse. However, many of them have a second, unofficial swearing in while holding a Bible, mostly as a photo op. Same goes for members of the Supreme Court. If you are called to give testimony in a court you are not required to place your hand on a Bible, though some do give you that option.

We all remember June 1, 2020, when Trump gave a speech from the Rose Garden encouraging governors to use National Guards to rule the streets and quiet protest, or else he would send in military power to do it, then walked to St. John Episcopal Church and held up a Bible for people to take photos. He did not make a speech there. He just stood and held the Bible.

And, we also remember how during the last campaign, he sold a special edition of the Bible as a fundraising tool. By the way, he had those Bibles printed in China at about $3 each and sold them for $59.99. Reported production and shipping costs for the Bibles was $342,000. He hoped to make $7 million but ended up with just around $300,000 for a loss of about $42,000. (You can buy one on eBay autographed by Mr. Trump for $4,700. Or you can get a Bible for free at just about any church you visit.)

It has always seemed odd to me that people would think placing your hand on a Bible would make you more likely to keep your oath or tell the truth. As far as I know, there has never been anyone struck down (“smote” in the King James vernacular) for lying or breaking an oath after swearing on a Bible. And almost all of us can list in great detail the number of people who actually preach from it, declare it to be God’s Word, and swear by it who have not done the simplest things it proclaims.

I have never had the opportunity to ask any of the leaders of our country who have used Bibles in their publicity shots which part of it they believe. The part about stoning adulterers (Leviticus 20:10-12)? Or the part about all debts being forgiven every seven years (Deuteronomy 15:1-2)? How about the part about welcoming foreigners to your land (Matthew 25:31-40)? Or selling all you have and giving the money to the poor (Matthew 19:21-24)?

I have an idea. Let’s do the one thing Jesus said about it. “Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.” (Jesus, Matthew 5:37)

I swear on a stack of Bibles that this would be best.

January 20, 2025

Well, it’s time for me to tick off a few people, disappoint a few, and most likely lose a few “friendships.” I put that in quotes very intentionally. After listening to today’s inauguration speech, I am more convinced than ever that Trump is president of the United States, but he is not my leader.

I do not say this because of his speech, which, by the way, was the most frightening I have ever heard. I say it because I am a follower of Jesus, one who accepts him as Lord of my life. And for the last 44 years I have become increasingly convinced that you cannot be a person who calls Jesus Lord and serve anyone or anything else.

Let me take you back to my early teen years, when I first decided to follow Jesus.

A side note: you will notice that I rarely, if ever, refer to myself as Christian. That term, which was originally used as a mocking term to describe followers of “The Way” who were being persecuted, has been co-opted by the right-wing political groups in America. “Christian” and “Follower of Jesus” seem to have two different meanings these days. I go with the second.

In my early teens I was pretty much lost in this world and a young ministerial student told me about Jesus. I fell in love with Jesus and decided I would follow him. I remember Jesus saying that you could not serve two gods, that there could only be one. So I took him literally at that and for years I would not say the Pledge of Allegiance. After all, after all, if I pledge allegiance to one thing, it takes precedence over all else. My allegiance was to Jesus.

Then there came a time when people began to convince me that you could have more than one god. That it would be like flags on a flagpole- which one was on top. (Oddly enough, most of those people would say that the national flag should always be on top, with the Christian flag underneath.) I tried that for a while, thinking that I could love Jesus and country, just as long as I loved Jesus just a little bit more.

But a few decades ago, I began to see disturbing things happening in the name of Christianity. It built up to  today when those things showed themselves in the awful prayers that were said at the inauguration. There was hardly anything said in them about what Jesus said was important. And the inaugural speech actually spoke against the very things Jesus said was crucial. “…I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me…” (Jesus, Matthew 25). It became clear again to me that you cannot partly follow Jesus. He said that in many ways.

I do think that today we saw what will be the end of democracy in America. The good news is that followers of Jesus have lived (and suffered) through times like this many times over the centuries. But the faith continues on. Many great nations, and a few empires, have come and gone in the last two millennia. And as much as I hate to see it, it appears that ours is on the way out. But the people of God, the followers of Jesus, will continue on.

So, while the speech was frightening and the prayers appalling, it has made me more committed to my leader than ever before.

The Hunt For Advent

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks looking for Advent. Not the season, the four Sundays, and the weeks before Christmas (This year actually from December 1 to 24) celebrated in the orthodox churches or the older but less celebrated Celtic Advent, the 40 days before Christmas (which I am celebrating this year). What I have been looking for was an Advent Calendar.

The first I remember seeing was when I was a young teen, in 1965. It was a large, flat, cardboard picture of the Bethlehem Christmas scene with 28 little “windows” that you would open, one each day up until Christmas Day. There would be a Scripture reference in the window, and I would have to look it up to read it. They would be prophecies from the Hebrew Scriptures and verses from the Christian Scriptures leading up to the birth of Jesus. It was a way of telling the story slowly, so I remembered it better as time passed. Each day my mother would ask me (and sometimes my younger sister Paula) to tell the story so far, and we would, as best as we could remember. Then we would open the next window and learn the next part. By the time we got to Christmas, we knew the story and could tell it to anyone who wanted to hear us. As a bonus, it helped us to learn to read some harder words since many of the Biblical words were not usual ones for us.

The next one I remember had an additional treat. Each window opened to a section of a larger picture on the backing piece of cardboard. So we learned the verses and began to see the picture, one piece at a time.

It wasn’t too many years later that I began to see Advent calendars where the window was more of a door, opening to a little box that had something in it in addition to the Scripture. Most often it was a piece of candy. Occasionally it would have a tiny toy. It wasn’t long before kids were looking for the candy and toys and skipping the Scripture.

This year I decided to give the children in my churches Advent Calendars. I wanted the kind that would tell the story of the birth of Jesus. Maybe help them learn the story.

I could not find any! I did find all kinds of “Advent” calendars. I found some that had candy and verses from A Visit from St. Nicholas (The Night Before Christmas). I found them with Sponge Bob and Patrick. There were some with various kinds of chocolate and instead of a verse, there was description of the chocolate (and where you could order more). There were at least four different Taylor Swift ones, with a trinket from her various world tours in each window. My favorite spice store in Minnesota had one with sample packs of various spices and recipes for each day. (I was tempted to get that one for me!) Another had chocolates filled with various kinds of liqueurs. Then there was one that skipped the chocolate and had 25 mini bottles of various liquors, with a goblet style glass safely ensconced in the middle. And there was the literary one where you unwrapped a book each day (another one I was tempted to buy for me).

But not one with the Christmas story.

I went online to Hobby Lobby, that bastion of conservative Christian capitalism, knowing that they would have one. Nope. At least, not online. Disney and others, sure. Jesus? Nope. But I took a chance and went to their store. Sure enough, they had some. Only one style, same picture on the outside, small chocolates in the windows. But the Scriptures are there. And the price was good. So, I bought enough for my kids and headed out.

I’ve been thinking about this. Christmas used to be about the birth of Jesus. Jesus is just sort of a side story, now. Same with Easter. Even secular holidays have gone the way of consumerism. Memorial Day used to be a day of remembering people who died in the various and never-ending wars we have. Now, it’s a great time to go shopping. By new mattresses and sofas. Veteran’s Day- great time to buy a new car, and veterans get an additional discount. Independence Day? Celebrate your freedom to buy new grills and deck furniture. Now, Advent seems to be gone for the most part. I guess we still have Lent. But watch out! As long as you’re practicing self-discipline, it would be a great time to join a gym and work on that beach body!

Meanwhile, I’ll look out my real window each morning during this Celtic Advent season, and hope to see signs of Jesus in this world today.

Ask. Seek. Knock. A movement towards intimacy.

Almost every Sunday I ask if there are any “prayer concerns” from the congregation. (I can do that because my congregations are small. Larger churches do it but in other areas- small groups, Sunday school classes, etc. And, like most places, people mention others- friends, families, community members who have special needs. Healing, comfort, peace. Occasionally reconciliation. They also mention larger issues. The need for rain in our communities in South Carolina, too much rain in the Midwest and Florida. War in Ukraine and Israel and Gaza. Gun violence…well…everywhere.

Rarely do they ask for prayer for themselves, but it does happen from time to time. “I’m having surgery…. I need a job…. My child is travelling off to college….” I’m not a fan of “unspoken prayer requests.” You do not know how to pray, what to pray. It reminds me of someone who may be hurting or mad but will not tell you why. It also reminds me of seeing people years ago on the “Christian TV” shows where they would have a huge pile of written prayer requests on a desk or table, the preacher would lay his hand on them and say something like “Lord, you know all these requests. Meet the needs of these brothers and sisters.” Later they would say, we prayed for 1200 people today. To me, that is like putting my hands on a globe and saying, “Lord, fix this place,” and then proclaiming that I have prayed for over eight billion people. (And I did it without mentioning a single name.)

I have been in smaller groups where people did pray for themselves. Most often it was for “things”- healing, comfort, guidance, peace. All good gifts from the Giver of Good Gifts. But after a while, it seems we do not go any further. Our prayers become a “shopping list” at the Divine Supermarket. (By the way, years ago Larry Bryant wrote a song with that title. Others have recorded it, but his version is the best. It will make you laugh, and probably make you uncomfortable, too. Here’s a link.)

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” (Matthew 7:7-8) Most people see that as Jesus saying the same thing three times- that is, ask, seek, and knock are all the same. Andrew Murray, in his classic With Christ in the School of Prayer, says that they are three different things.

Asking is requesting something- a gift. Healing, food, comfort, peace. The emphasis is on the gift. Seeking is looking for a person. Most of the instances of the word seek in the Bible refers to seeking God (“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart.”- Jeremiah 29:13; “Seek the Lord while he may be found.”- Isaiah 55:6; etc.). Seeking moves towards the Divine Being rather than the gift. I believe even Jesus’ teaching to “seek first the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness” refers to being in relationship with God. And knocking, according to Murray, is a form of entering into a dwelling with another. You knock on the door, it is opened, and you go in. It is dwelling or living with the one you have sought.

It seems to me that these three point towards a movement towards intimacy. We move from the gift to the giver, to being in a relationship with the giver.

For many of us, our prayer life has stayed at the ask phase. Maybe it is time for us to move a little closer.

A Meditation  for June 24

Do you remember the advertising slogan “Only (fill in the number) shopping days until Christmas”? It pretty much went out of fashion in the early 1970s. It was then that stores started opening on Sunday afternoon. Now, except for Hobby Lobby and Chic-Fil-A and a few others, most stores are open every day, all day. And with online shopping with overnight delivery à la Amazon, there are almost no times when you can’t get what you want immediately.

But it used to not be that way. You had to wait and plan and work and hope. And then, one not so surprising morning, you would wake up and there would be a new world for you, just waiting to be unwrapped.

By the way, that slogan was first used by Harry Gordon Selfridge, a manager at Marshall Field’s in Chicago and the founder of Selfridge’s in London. The television series Mr. Selfridge is a great show about him.

So…what does that have to do with June 24? June 24 is the Feast Day of St. John the Baptist. It is considered to be his birth date. Most of the saints have their Feast Day on the day of their death (the day they entered Heaven), but John the Baptist and Mary the Mother of Jesus are the only two who are celebrated on their birth day.

June 24 happens to be 6 months before Christmas Eve. Though the actual day of John’s birth is unknown, it is celebrated on this day because it foretells the coming of one who would introduce a new world later. John came before Jesus to get people ready. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the prophet Isaiah says

“A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
 Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all flesh shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” (Isaiah 40:3-5)

In the Christian Scriptures, John is baptizing people in the Jordan and the Jewish leaders come to find out who he was. The apostle John (don’t confuse the two) records this in John 1-

This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” He confessed and did not deny it, but he confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”  He said,

“I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,
‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’ ” as the prophet Isaiah said. (John 1:19-23)

Not many places or people celebrate this Feast Day, but in those places where they do, they often build fires in the evening, sing, dance, eat, and share things with the needy. In some places, people go to worship, then come out, find a nearby body of water (river, lake, pool, ocean), and jump in, fully clothed. It is reminiscent of John’s baptism of people.

I have a suggestion- do things that show a new world is coming, and parts of it can be seen now. Do what John told people to do- share what you have with those in need. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise.” It’s a little too hot to build fires where I am now, and I don’t want to jump in anything fully clothed. But you know, I can share what I do have. So can you.

And, by the way, don’t just give away what you don’t want or what is worn out. After all, if your brother or sister needed a shirt, would you give them one with a hole in it?

Then, take some time to dance, sing, eat, pray, and look forward to a day in the near future when a new world will be waiting for you to unwrap it.

The Bartenders Prayer

First, a little joke- A termite walks into a bar and asks “Is the bar tender here?”

Edward Hays, in his book Prayer Notes to a Friend, writes his friend and tells him about the “Bartenders Prayer.”

It is not a prayer for bartenders, like this one. Nor is it a prayer from bartenders, like this one. No, it is more that looking at what bartenders do as a model for prayer.

I’ve been thinking about that. What do they do?

They welcome everybody who walks in. I don’t visit a lot of bars. None, actually. But my friends who do say they are always welcomed. And it’s not just for the business. Most say you could walk in, ask for a free glass of water, have a seat, eat the peanuts, and you would be treated as well as the person ordering bottles of champagne.

They ask you what you need. There is not a supposition that they already know what you want. They ask, and then provide it.

They uncork things. Beer bottles, bottles of wine, spirits, whatever is needed. A good bartender also helps to uncork their customer. They listen, maybe ask a question or two, and give you time to think. There is no pressure to respond.

And occasionally they have to say no. Usually done in a gentle but firm way, they tell someone that what they want will be dangerous for them and others. So they refuse to give them another drink.

What if we prayed with people that way? Welcoming them in, whoever they were, no questions, no examinations, no qualifiers.

And what if we listened to them, asked them what they needed? Over the last years of my work as a pastor I have stopped assuming I knew what to pray for a person when they came to me for prayer. On certain Sundays I invite people to come to the kneeling rail for prayer for healing. When they come I no longer assume I know why they are there. Though I may have an idea, it’s usually wrong. So I ask them, “How may I pray for you?” And that’s what I do.

And maybe if we spent more time listening, perhaps asking a rare question or two, people would open up more. There is grace in the gift of being silent.

And sometimes, rarely, we may have to say no, But do it in a gentle way. A way that helps the other become more responsible.

Maybe I ought to think of the kneeling rail at church more like the bar in the small establishment down the road.