Month: September 2018

Please tell your daughters God is not a man.

Please tell them that God believes they are precious and beloved and important.

Please tell your daughters they are created in God’s very image and are perfect and beautiful as they are in this moment, and that they have inherent dignity.

It is our daughters that I am worried about as the chaos explodes in the Senate. Our daughters, many of whom have been sexually assaulted themselves, many of whom statistically will be in their lifetime, are hearing that a woman’s violation and pain do not matter, are not politically expedient. And this will damage them.

So I don’t want them to lose God. I don’t want them to mix God up with politics or power or old white men. I don’t want them to think even for a moment that God thinks it is OK for them to be hurt, demeaned or publicly humiliated. I don’t want them to think that God in any way has made them less.

It is a tragedy that they have to witness their government doing that. Hopefully that will make our daughters determined to vote, to change things, to be the powerful people that they are. I hope they are furious enough to demand better.

But to do that, they will need the unconditional and eternal love that God offers them. They will need a community who will stand with them, lift them up, pray for them and cheer them on.  They will need a community that will not always agree with them, and so teach them how to reconcile. They will need a community that understands that investment of passion and compassion is never a failure.

Our image of God is critical. It forms and informs us. So please teach your daughters that God is love, which isn’t as easy to conjure up a picture for as a human being, but is a force that cannot be stopped or thwarted. Teach them to fill themselves up with that love, which God offers us every second. Teach them to use that love as fuel to work for justice and the dignity of every human being.

After this week it should be clear that we need our daughters to change the world. So let’s give them what they need to do it. And stand with them as well.

 

There is something about the walls of a church. They seem to be steeped in prayer. Holding the hopes and dreams and sorrows of hundreds of people over the years. The prayer radiates, captures you, invites you to add your own. The walls are solid, safe, and able to handle whatever your prayer concerns might be.

I felt the solidness and comfort of church last Sunday as I accompanied a bus load of people on a church art tour. We visited 7 churches in 3 hours, with a camaraderie that comes from the wonder and excitement of exploration. At each site we heard about the history of the church building and looked at the art, architecture, stunning stained glass, and statuary.

People were entranced. Each church was lovely and holy and inviting. The stained glass was especially radiant. But for me, it was always the walls. Sometimes painted, sometimes stone. Sometimes covered in icons, sometimes deeply polished wood. I wanted to touch them, to lean on them, to be held up in the best way. And they were ready for whatever I needed.

God is in those walls. God is our grounding and our support. God is ready to meet our every need. And while God resides in all places, always waiting for us, there is something about a place created to honor God that is holy and comfortable.

The walls of St. John’s are always available.

Most mornings at varying times I find myself driving down Logan and Andrews Avenue. From my house there are 3 lights I have to pass through on my way to church. The first light I almost always get through, the third as well.  The second is a three way light so I almost never make that one. If I make all 3 lights and go just slightly over the speed limit, I can make it to church in about 5 minutes. I consider it a good day when I make 2 out of 3.

However…I find it very irritating when other people do not take those lights seriously. As in they go right through the red, especially light number 3. There I am, sitting there like a good citizen and waiting for green, and cars drive around me to go through the light!  Especially if it is early in the morning. It irks me. Secretly I want to drive through those lights too.  But it is simply unsafe. So I wait and build up road rage at those who do not.

I am not a rule follower.  You may be laughing right now if you know me. I am selective about rules. They have to make sense, be justice based and convenient for me to pay much attention. But some rules are about safety. And while I am in as much hurry as the next person, I still observe the stop lights.

On good days I try to imagine that the transgressor is rushing to the side of a dying parent, or something.

The other day I was sitting at one of those lights contemplating my options when I realized that I had to love the person going through the light, and the person I was trying to protect by not going through that light equally.  They were both my neighbor, someone I had to love as much as I loved myself. Someone I had to treat like I would want to be treated. Not that the rule breakers should not be held accountable.  But that I couldn’t hate them.  Or want to be like them.

I think I will be working on this for a long time.

i did not hear my Summer pass

the faintest rustle

in the grass

one moment

i had turned away

to search for what

i cannot say

an errant paperclip perhaps

a thought

misplaced

on crumpled scraps

so now

i follow

hard and fast

i cannot let my Summer pass

i shall know her by the Frost

for who can bear

a Summer lost

 

 

 

karen