Trinkets

On Bonnie Raitt’s album “Souls Alike,” she sings a song called Trinkets.  It’s a strange little number about being a kid and loving a record by Louis Armstrong, a picture by Van Gogh, and her wiener dog.   

I think Bonnie Raitt would get along great with Cynthia Bourgeault, at least the way I read things. Bourgeault clearly names love—full-bodied, heart-stopping love—as the centre of Christianity, Christian contemplative practice, and Christian social activism.  She argues that as Christians our goal isn’t detachment from an illusionary world, but passionate love for this particular reality in which we live.  (And yes, this is not the only reality!) Love alone has the capacity to draw us out of our little self and make an empty space in the centre that can be filled with the Infinite Love.

The bridge in Trinkets goes like this:

And if I get older,

if I ever die,

if I get to a gate at the end of the sky,

and a beautiful creature says, Now Bonnie, what do you want? 

Might say, A record and picture and a wiener dog, swear to God.

My list would probably be different.  But that doesn’t matter.  I find that paying attention what moves me, what makes my heart crack open, is a great practice, because when I really know what I love—not just what I happen to crave at a particular point in time—I know who I am.  And when I know who I am, well, then I get to live out of the big self that is rooted in and powered by Divine Mystery.   Way more fun than living in the small self who scrabbles crazily for respectability, more stuff, approval.

A record and a picture and a wiener dog, swear to God.

Therese DesCamp

“What’s Up”

“I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers” (Eph. 1:15-16). Sometimes Paul is frustrated with the church. Sometimes he is exasperated with the church. Sometimes he is just plain mad at the church. But not always. When Paul prays for the little church in Ephesus he is filled with gratitude for a congregation that trusts its life to Jesus and, as a result, has an abundance of love for one another. I know what it is to be filled with gratitude for a congregation that trusts its life to Jesus and, so, is marked by love and affection for one another. Three weeks ago, when the doctors confirmed their suspicions and told me that I have multiple myeloma, I was shocked and sad and grateful. The gratitude was, and is, threefold. I found myself realizing how thankful I am for a strong and beautiful family, for a wonderful country in which I am blessed with incredible medical care and for you, for all of you. I thought “I am so grateful that I am the minister at University Hill Congregation. I know how much faith and love there is in our life together. Everything is going to be all right.” Since then you have showered me with affection, concern, prayers and support. I am the recipient of an outpouring of love. This is the odd discovery of being told that you have incurable cancer. Wonderful news accompanies the terrible news. It turns out that the church is not a problem, not an anachronism, not out of touch. It turns out that the church is precious. It turns out that, for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the kingdom of God is as close as hearing that life will end sooner rather than later. Faced with the news of our mortality we realize that being together today is a gift to be cherished and received with gratitude. “And for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.”
 
Before continuing to pray with Paul let me catch you up on my current medical diagnosis, prognosis and treatment plan. I have been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a chronic incurable cancer of the plasma cells. It was discovered inadvertently when a I had a prostate biopsy in March that showed no prostate cancer but did reveal sticky proteins called amyloids which can be caused by multiple myeloma. Since the diagnosis was confirmed I have had numerous tests and medical appointments in order to determine the stage of the disease and the best course of treatment. This week I received the good news that I have stage one - early stage - multiple myeloma. This means that no apparent damage has yet been done to my bones or organs. It means that, given my age and good health, the prognosis for the future is of a manageable chronic condition for a number of years. I will have to be cautious about infections and illnesses due to a weakened immune system. I cannot carry heavy objects due to weakened bones. But I can live a relatively normal life and continue to be your minister. Along the way I will receive medical treatments to help to manage the disease. The first of those treatments is expected to be a stem cell transplant in which my own stem cells are harvested before chemotherapy is used to eradicate the myeloma from my body. Then my stem cells are given back to me in order to help my body rebuild its immune system. This procedure will most likely take place in August and will result in a three month period of recovery before returning to work. I should have more certainty about the scheduling of the treatment in three weeks time. During the month of June our Session, Stewards and Ministry and Personnel Committee will be putting a plan in place so that ministry will be provided when I am away receiving medical treatments. All things considered, the news today is good news.

To read the rest follow Ed's Blog at http://www.holyscribbler.blogspot.com/.
Rev Ed Searcy

To the Edges

Often in ministry, often in life, we experience working at the edges.

Perhaps it is with people at the edges,

or the edge of our ability and skill,

or at the edge of exhaustion.

There is territory, and an edge, that is different, that fills us, that suddenly feels like 'center', like home.

This prayer expresses it for me, and I have often used it to sink into silence, into the affection of God. The edge that renews me for all the other edges!

God, let us rise to the edges of time and

open our lives to your eternity;

let us run to the edges of space and

gaze into your immensity;

let us climb through the barriers of sound and

pass into your silence;

and then in stillness and silence

let us adore You,

You who are Life, Light, Love

without beginning and without end,

the Source, the Sustainer, the Restorer,

the Purifier of all that is;

the Lover who has bound earth to heaven

by the beams of a cross;

The Healer who has renewed a dying race

by the blood of a chalice;

the God who has taken humankind into your

glory by the wounds of sacrifice;

God ... God ... God ... Blessed be God!

Let us adore you.

Sister Ruth SLG

Called to be Church in the 21st century

There was an event that happened on one of my visits that embodied how we might find our way ahead.  The people from Fraser Presbytery have heard this story, and those from Kootenay Presbytery are likely to remember this event as I was visiting a Presbytery there about a year ago.  In the closing worship service, I was asked to offer the sermon, which I did.  In the middle of the sermon, I heard something fluttering above my head.  I also noticed several people in the congregation had shifted their attention from me to the ceiling. 

So I, too, looked up to the ceiling to see a wild thing flapping about.  It was small, and at first I thought it was a Kootenay- sized moth.  But upon closer examination, I saw that it was a tiny hummingbird.  On this fine May morning in Nakusp, we had the doors of the church open, and a hummingbird had flown into the sanctuary to grace us with its presence.  I thought this was really cool and perhaps a lovely symbol of the Holy Spirit descending upon this faithful crowd.

But it became quickly apparent that this hummingbird was in distress.  It was not thinking about blessing or prayer.  It just wanted to get out.  You could feel the attention of the whole room focus on the hummingbird, who was now bashing itself against the florescent light thinking that was a window for escape. 

We didn’t know what to do.  Someone tried to reach up with a broom and guide the hummingbird out, but that only freaked him out even more. 

Someone else suggested we turn out the lights so it wouldn’t be fooled by the light.  We did that.  Someone else suggested we all quiet down so we don’t startle it even more.  We did that too.  Some else suggested we pray and imagine the bird to safely fly out the door.  We did that. 

As you can see, by now my sermon was trashed.  We had another sermon on our hands and talking wouldn’t do; we needed to act.  One person had the clever but wishful idea that perhaps if we took the red flowers that were at the front of the church and lifted it to the hummingbird, the bird would be attracted to red and follow the flowers outside. So they tried it.

It didn’t work.  It also probably didn’t help that the flowers were plastic.

Then someone had the smart idea of mixing sugar with water, and baptizing the flowers with sugar water.  Very clever.  So we tried it.  It didn’t work. 

Easily ten minutes had passed by this time.  The person with the plastic red geraniums sprinkled with sugar water was standing by the door, trying to visually entice the hummingbird while the rest of us concentrated on imagining the hummingbird safely making his exit.

Suddenly Jeff Seaton had an idea.  It too was a far-fetched idea but why not try it?  Jeff remembered that just the other day he had downloaded a “bird call app” on his iphone.  So he checked to see if he had a hummingbird call.  He did.  But he didn’t know if it was the right kind of hummingbird or if it was perhaps a competitor who would mostly scare the bejeebers out of our already dazed and petrified bird. 

So Jeff walked back to the plastic red geranium sprinkled with sugar water and let his app do its thing.  Still quiet, we all heard, “tzch, tzch, tzch!”  It got the bird’s attention.  Again, “tzch, tzch, tzch!”  And incredibly, amazingly, it worked.  It was a wonder to behold.  The hummingbird flew to the flower, perched, and allowed itself to be carried out the door like an emperor on a throne.

We all broke into wild applause.

That was the sermon for the day.  And the message is this: a familiar way of being church was suddenly and unexpectedly interrupted.  We were presented with a challenge to which no one knew the answer.  We collaborated, cooperated, people brainstormed, we tried several ideas, several of them didn’t work on their own, but we kept building on the ideas until, to our amazement, all the pieces came together and the bird was rescued, leading to a spontaneous celebration.  Beautiful!

That’s how we’re called to be Church in the 21^st century.  There it is, in the story of the hummingbird: when we work creatively and passionately together with one heart and mind, we may by the grace of God stumble upon a way forward.

We might all be encouraged by the words of Wendell Barry:

It may be when we no longer know what to do,

We have come to our real work,

And when we no longer know where to go,

We have come upon our real journey.

(excerpt taken from President Dan Chambers address at BC Conference May 26-29^th, 2011)

Consent

We are summoned into the presence of God by the fact of our birth,

but we become present to God only by our consent.     Growth in faith is growth in the right perception of all reality. 

As our faculties and capacities to relate gradually develop and unfold,

the capacity to enter a relationship with God increases,

and each new depth of presence requires a new consent.

Each new awakening to God changes our relationship to ourselves

and to everyone and everything else.

Thomas Keating, Intimacy with God