Stepping lightly

In this rare warm spell, it has been nice to see grass again, even the brown and withered lawns just waking up from their sleep under the snow.

In Psalm 103, we read:
As for mortals, their days are like grass;
they flourish like a flower of the field:
for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
and its place knows it no more.

No one knows how long we will have on this earth, but we can be certain that it will end, and probably before we have done all the things that we desire. We must trust that we are not the only ones who can accomplish our dreams, and that others will take up their part in the unfolding work of God's salvation. We can only do our own small part, and the rest will be theirs to discover.

We will not be here, so we must protect the gifts of creation for the next generation. As Anglican theologian Kwok Pui-Lan encourages us: Tread as lightly on this earth as you would step on your mother's back.

I wasn't thinking

After an especially spectacular performance of three-year-old behavior, my son sat down in my lap to have a little talk. In a solemn voice he declared, "I wasn't thinking."

Of course he wasn't. Preschoolers have almost no impulse control. I am struck, though, by how often we adults have to make the same admission. It's so easy to slip into auto-pilot, or to forge ahead with our plans without considering the consequences.

In our service for the Reconciliation of a Penitent, we pray for forgiveness not just for the things we have done and the things we have left undone, but also for the mistakes we don't even remember. We acknowledge that we have gone through life without really thinking.

Prayer can create a space between our impulses and our actions. When we stop to take a breath and notice the presence of God, we receive greater power to choose consciously what we will do next. Then we act not out of habit or greed or fear, but out of hope for God's kingdom.

Whatever you have to do

A wise friend of mine once told me, "Do whatever you have to do to stay centered." He meant that we should take the time we need to care for our spirits, even if it means most of our to-do lists get left undone. We give more to the world when we do a few things peacefully and with love than when we hurry to get everything done and end up anxious and easily irritated.

I only sometimes manage to take my friend's advice. But when I do, I notice the difference right away. The world teaches us that success is getting things done, and that it's OK to be whoever we have to be to get the job done. Faith teaches us to find meaning not in what we do but in who we are: beloved children made in the image of God. God does not call us to complete a set of tasks, no matter how worthy those accomplishments might be. God calls us simply to be who we were created to be, sharing our unique spirits with the world.

Clean indeed

In Psalm 51, we pray: "Purge me from my sin, and I shall be pure; wash me, and I will be clean indeeed."

My mind resists the idea of being washed of my sins. I don't like the implication that we go through life tarnished or dirty. But perhaps this is a time to listen to body, my which often understands spiritual matters long before my busy brain catches up.

Even when I'm not particularly grimy, water almost always feels good. A splash on the face to wake up, toes dabbling in the ocean, a plunge into the pool, a laughing dash through the sprinklers, a warm shower or soak to unwind...there are so many ways for us to feel fresh and new.

Maybe I could stop debating whether or not I really need cleansing and just enjoy the gift of God's purifying grace.

All who hunger

Have you ever felt lost? All of us have moments when the path is unclear and we have no idea where to make the next turn.

The story of the Exodus always puts things in perspective for me. I may feel confused for a few days or weeks, but I certainly haven't spent forty years searching for my home. Also, the Israelites are such real human beings. They grumble, they make mistakes, they run after false solutions, they whine about all the good food they left back in Egypt. If we ever need a guidebook for our own wanderings, it's all in here.

When the people had gone as far as they could on their own, God did not abandon them to starve on the burning sands. God sent them manna, giving them each day exactly as much as they needed. They could not ration or hoard their food, but had to depend utterly on God to feed them.

Can we trust that, whatever we need on our journey, God will provide it? In the words of Sylvia Dunstan's hymn, "All who hunger, gather gladly, holy manna is our bread. Come from wilderness and wandering, here in truth we shall be fed."

I promise...

Our neighbors at Holy Trinity United Methodist Church have written a covenant of relationship for their community. They make four promises: to treat one another as children of God, to remember that they are all imperfect human beings, to give feedback with kindness, and to turn any painful experiences into opportunities to build a healthier community.

Jesus speaks of the kingdom of God as a wedding feast. In this sacred marriage, we make our vows to God - and to one another, to all our partners in the beloved community.

Reading the Holy Trinity statement today, I started wondering how I would live if I truly kept these promises to every child of God.

A strange gift

In her poem "The Uses of Sorrow", Mary Oliver writes:

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

When we are hurt, we need plenty of time to truly feel our anger and our grief.

Then, after we have emptied ourselves out of all that pain, sometimes we find space for something new to come in. We are able to see not just what we have endured, but what we have learned.

God does not send us suffering to teach us a lesson. God does give us the ability to take all our experiences, the good and the bad alike, and use them to create a meaningful life. By the grace of God, we are able to find the blessing beyond the curse.