Gathering Daily (Sermon preached 20 September 2020)

These days, time has taken on a very strange quality. On the one hand, as we long for this season of pandemic to come to an end, it seems to crawl. And on the other hand, suddenly summer has disappeared completely in the rearview mirror and September is more than half gone.

 

How can we have been living in this weird world for seven whole months? This world that looks the same, and yet it is not. Where the people in our lives are still there, but our means of interacting with them are so different. Where we have gotten used to wearing masks and giving one another wide berths on sidewalks and in parking lots. Where so much that we have always taken for granted is now out beyond our reach. Non-anxious air travel. Working together in an office. Hugging friends when we meet them in a restaurant. Attending big family weddings, birthday parties, graduations. Singing in the choir. (read more)

 

Saying Hello

Ever so occasionally I will share the work of others on this blog. This is from Irish poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama as read in an interview with Krista Tippett:

 

“Neither I nor the poets I love found the keys to the kingdom of prayer and we cannot force God to stumble over us where we sit. But I know that it’s a good idea to sit anyway. So every morning I sit, I kneel, waiting, making friends with the habit of listening, hoping that I’m being listened to. There, I greet God in my own disorder.

 

I say hello to my chaos, my unmade decisions, my unmade bed, my desire and my trouble. I say hello to distraction and privilege, I greet the day and I greet my beloved and bewildering Jesus.

 

I recognize and greet my burdens, my luck, my controlled and uncontrollable story. I greet my untold stories, my unfolding story, my unloved body, my own love, my own body.

 

I greet the things I think will happen and I say hello to everything I do not know about the day.

I greet my own small world and I hope that I can meet the bigger world that day.

 

I greet my story and hope that I can forget my story during the day, and hope that I can hear some stories, and greet some surprising stories during the long day ahead.

 

I greet God, and I greet the God who is more God than the God I greet. Hello to you all, I say, as the sun rises above the chimneys of North Belfast. Hello."

Toward Thin Places (Sermon preached 30 August 2020)

Just two weeks ago today, I think it was probably around 5:30 in the afternoon, I pulled up to the entrance to the Bright Angel Lodge, which sits just west of the famous El Tovar Hotel on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. I checked in, then followed the map I was given to the small parking area below a group of cabins. Got out of the car, identified the proper door, pushed my keycard into the slot, and stepped inside.

 

The room was rustic, and charming, and really hot, even with the overhead fan on high. I crossed to the second door on the far side and pushed it open, hoping that would draw in some cooler air. And right there was the Canyon. Just a few steps more, down a path, and I was standing on the trail that runs some 13 miles along the rim; from the South Kaibab Trailhead near Yaki Point west to Hermit's Rest. The view (and that word is just so inadequate) was breathtaking.

This wasn’t my first visit to the Canyon. My parents brought my brothers and me when we were young; there is a photo of the four of us (aged 9, 7, 6 and 4) sitting on the ground at one of the overlooks. I still remember how anxious Mom was about all of us being so close to the edge of that great abyss while Dad took the picture. (read more)

 

From the Rim Trail