Daily Musings

It's simple: just give up something

On a spring-like mid-winter eve not long ago, I stood transfixed by the power of nature. Winds howled and surf foamed with a "time-ridiculing roar," as Mary Oliver once described "the gray sea." A northeaster was making landfall near the inlet at the north end of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. Lightning flashed across the roiling gray sky, its thunder lost within the continuous sound of an enraged surf. I had hiked there for solace but soon met the tempest foursquarely, as the sea carried a message.

In the nearly horizontal wind mixed with foam and sand, I felt God's power...and my own tenuousness. I recall that feeling, as I move through Lent.

When I was a child, I reduced things to very simple rules. My girlfriend up the street was a Roman Catholic and always knew a lot about things like Lent. "Simple," she said. "You just give up something." We were about 12.

I remembered that with a smile, for here I stood facing 180 degrees of fearsome awesomeness. It struck me that simplicity was perhaps relative to one's age and life experience. At first there was nothing simple about that northeaster. But then there was ... when I considered the words used during the imposition of ashes at the beginning of Lent: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

There is a time to remember, and reflect, but never forget. And there is a time to be renewed by the promise of what comes next...

- Doug Blue

Re-published from St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA - Lent at St. Stephen's

Let us all give thanks

Two of the people who made significant impressions on me many years ago passed from the scene during recent months.

Richard I (Dick) Levin was a long time professor at the UNC Kenan-Flagler Business School in Chapel Hill, as well as an entrepreneur, management consultant, investor and author.

I first met Dick Levin as the instructor for Integrative Management, an all-case course for first year MBA students. Each class required a one-page brief (no more, no less) analyzing the case assigned for the class. Once in class, be prepared for a challenging discussion – never vicious, sometimes witty, but always stimulating. One of Dick’s favorite sayings: “Don’t look back; you can’t go back.”

During my second year in the MBA program, I served as Dr. Levin’s teaching assistant grading the briefs of that year’s first year students, a task not taken lightly since my marks were appealable to Professor Levin. Above all, Dr. Levin was fair with those appeals, usually agreeing with my marks, occasionally raising them and even once reducing my “D” to an “F”. (He said I had been too generous!)

My proudest moment came when Dr. Levin used a case study I had written as part of the following year’s class. I thought I had arrived!

The Reverend Roland M. Jones was our rector and priest at St. Francis, Greensboro when we arrived there in the late ‘70s as a young professional couple who had recently moved to Greensboro. A large multi-service, family oriented parish with several priests, Roland was the kindly father figure overseeing it all.

Over time, I was drawn into the annual Stewardship Campaign or Every Member Canvas, as it was then known, culminating as the Campaign Vice-chair our last year at St. Francis. The Campaign was a serious affair with teams and team captains and dozens of volunteers organized to call on the hundreds of families in the parish.

I vividly remember sitting with Roland and the campaign chair as we planned our approach to various members of the parish in a thoughtful and inclusive manner. Roland was a good shepherd and he clearly knew his flock.

As we approach this year’s Thanksgiving Day, let us all give thanks for those who have touched our lives in meaningful and positive ways.

- Wayne Wilson

Blessed are you when people hate you

"Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets." (Luke 6:22, from the Gospel for All Saints' Day)

Who wants to sign up for THIS job? Hated and defamed and reviled? This passage always made me uncomfortable. I want to be loved and respected. Is Jesus teaching us that the only way to "salvation" is to be an outcast? Maybe--but perhaps the real point is not simply to accept the status quo, to prevent ourselves from falling in lockstep with the culture around us.

Put another way, I've learned that I can live a life that other people don't understand. Even though it's unnerving at times, when I sense that I am living with a heart that lines up with what God values rather than what people value, then I do want to "leap for joy."

- KENDALLE STOCK

Re-published from "the Spirit," St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

Show me the Way

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost |  July 27, 2014 | A weekly meditation

Last spring, I was on my way to meet my sister for a brief but welcome trip to the beach, a beach I've never been to before. The trip took longer than I hoped--it always does--but I was almost there and delighted that it would still be light enough to walk out to the shore before supper.

On the last main road of my route, almost without warning, a roadblock appeared. The way was blocked by construction vehicles and signs saying the road was closed, but there were no detour signs, no alternatives or instructions given.

Following my nose, and confident that I knew how to get where I was going, I made a left turn. Soon enough, though, it became clear that the road was a loop, and I ended up precisely where I had started, on the wrong side of the roadblock.

I tried to navigate with my smart phone. No dice. The only people I saw looked too young to be of much help. I called my sister at the beach house, but the area was new to her, too. I went back to the roadblock, thinking to retrace my steps out to a main road. I had wasted 45 minutes, and was getting low on gas and ideas.

Then I saw a light blue Volkswagen Beetle approach the roadblock-its driver seemingly as surprised by it as I was-and make a U-turn and head back out the way she had come. I waved the driver down. After commiserating about the lack of a detour, signage or directions, I told her where I was was trying to go, and asked her if she knew how I could get there.

After reciting for me what she planned to do (and perhaps noting the panic on my face), she said in a thick Tennessee accent, "You can follow me, Baby."

Maps, smart phones and traffic signs are all useful at times. But often, I need to follow someone who can show me the Way.

- SARAH BARTENSTEIN

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

The Lord Is My Shepherd

Fourth Sunday of Easter | May 11, 2014

A few times in my life, when I have faced great despair, I have turned to two pieces of Scripture--Jesus' Sermon on the Mount and the Psalms--sitting on my front porch and reading them during difficult times. The impact of the words of Psalm 23 in particular never diminishes for me.

When I have read this psalm, I have sometimes thought of, and felt linked with, the generations of others who have quietly uttered the same words in a personal quest for help from God during the most trying of times.
 
The LORD is my shepherd;
    I shall not be in want.
 
He makes me lie down in green pastures
    and leads me beside still waters.
 
He revives my soul
    and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake.
 
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I shall fear no evil;
    for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
 
You spread a table before me in the presence of
those who trouble me;
    you have anointed my head with oil, and my cup is running over.
 
Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
    and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

- MARK KRUDYS

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

Easter Day: The Resurrection of Our Lord | April 20, 2014

"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb....  As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb..."

Most of us know from experience that there's only so much you can learn about yourself and your life when you are happy and things are going well for you.  But experience a brush with death, lose someone you love, find yourself suddenly unemployed, discover that a friend has betrayed you... events like these have a way of opening your eyes and giving you important insights that you never would have known otherwise.

You realize you are a lot stronger than you thought; life is more precious than you ever imagined; kindness and loyal friendship are treasures beyond price.

Another way of saying this is that success and good times have a way of blinding us to important realities. When the sun comes out, the stars disappear. They're still out there, of course, these God-given lights. You just can't see them during the day.

In a similar way, when your health is good, your career is thriving, and your family is content and happy, a host of miraculous realities often are no longer visible to you.

What strikes me most about Easter is that the only people who see the resurrected Jesus are people who are in deep, personal darkness. It's as if we're being reminded that there's only so much a person can see in the bright light of day.

There are some things you can see or experience only when you are in a dark and lonely place, like Mary Magdalene weeping and bending down to look into a very dark tomb.   

I don't wish this kind of darkness on anyone. There are situations in life we all wish we could avoid. But Easter is God's promise that, when the eyes of our faith adjust to the darkest events of our lives, we will discover why the most frequently uttered command in the Bible is, "Do not be afraid."

- GARY D. JONES

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday | April 13, 2014

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday | April 13, 2014 - A weekly meditation

Today we commemorate Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and the beginning of Holy Week-two things held in tension.

We envision throngs of people lining the streets, waving palms, throwing their cloaks in the streets and shouting "hosannas."  Palms were ancient symbols of victory -- a sign, perhaps, that many thought Jesus was the long-awaited military messiah who would finally save them from Roman tyranny.  

Jesus' selection of a lowly donkey portrayed a leader coming in peace and humility, and some in the crowd had no doubt gathered to see this Jesus, who had become known for his teaching and healing. Hosanna, translated from Hebrew, means "save now."

How do I reconcile this joyous celebration with what I know is to come -- anger, betrayal, brutality, humiliation and death? Where are those crowds of well-wishers on Good Friday? The beautiful palms I hold this Sunday soon will be fashioned into a cross. The Kingdom of God, lived out by Jesus, is radically different from what we might expect. 

Yet, it is because of what I know -- that Jesus "humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross" that I am able to sing, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord."

- CAROL W. DICKINSON

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

Rain

The Seventh Sunday After the Epiphany | February 23, 2014

We have all been preoccupied with frozen precipitation in recent weeks, so you may have forgotten how much rain we got last year. One day last fall, it was raining--a slow, steady rain--as it had done frequently that season.

One gift of rain is that it opens us to all our senses. We can see it in all its varieties: a gentle mist, a sprinkling, a steady falling or a torrential downpour.

We can feel it on our skin, taste it in our mouths, smell its coming even before it arrives and hear its many patterns on surfaces. The biblical text, Matthew 5:44-45 came to my mind.

"But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous."

Rain is not only a part of the created physical order. It is also a reminder of the unconditional love and compassion of God, Eternal Loving Presence. No one is excluded from this love. The rain of love falls on every situation on this planet. I doubt there is any place where it has never rained.

When love and compassion fall into our human hearts, we know it through our spiritual senses, and often through our physical senses as well. Our hearts seem to open, to soften and swell, to be more tender, They may burn with joy, passion, recognition, awe, wonder or longing.

Do you remember how the hearts of the disciples "burned" when they met the resurrected Jesus, the incarnation of love whom they did not immediately recognize, on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:32)? The rain of love on our hearts can enable us to rain love on those around us, whoever they may be.

RAIN can help us Remember All Is iNcluded.

- ELLEN KYMPTON

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

The Presentation of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Temple

February 2, 2014

When I was a teenager, I became aware that my mother was pretty impressed with me. When reflecting on something I'd said or done that made her proud, she would say to anyone within earshot, "I don't know where she gets it," deflecting any notion that she'd had a hand in some perceived talent or accomplishment. I never understood it.

I know her well enough to know this was not false modesty on her part-she really believed what she was saying: "I don't know where she gets it." Of course, the person I am is due in large part to my mother (the good and the less good!).

Now that I am a parent, I understand Mom's words. We do sometimes look at our children and think, "How did this happen? How could I have had a hand in producing and rearing such a miraculous person?" This is not what is known in 2014 parlance as "humblebragging." It's that, despite knowing their shortcomings, we often stand in awe of our children.  

I thought of my mother's declaration when I re-read today's Gospel recently. "And the child's mother and father were amazed at what was being said about him."  I read on and reflected on these words: "When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him."

After presenting Jesus in the Temple, Mary and Joseph went back to their home, where, despite being the wonderful parents they no doubt were, they also entrusted their son to a community, and they entrusted him to God. On our good days, those of us who have been blessed with children do this, too-and the results can be miraculous.

- SARAH BARTENSTEIN

Re-published from "spirit", St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Richmond, VA

Longing for the Return of the Holy One

Advent 3                                                          December 15, 2013   My mother stayed home with me as a child. Every day I would walk one block from school to our house. I knew to push the button on the pole beside the curb and to wait until the sign said Walk before crossing the street. And every day, without fail, my mother was there to greet me when I got home. Until that one day. She said that she got caught in traffic. I must have been in kindergarten or first grade. I came home and the door was locked. Panic rose inside, a feeling that I can still recall vividly. I clung to the picket fence in front of our house and cried hard. I thought that the world was coming to an end. Just as vivid remains the feeling that I experienced when my mother's car pulled in the driveway. The world was righted. I found my balance again and let go of the fence. Things came into focus. I could breathe. And then, later, I got mad. I don't think that we are fully aware of the depth of our longing for God. We long for the return of the Holy One with the same kind of intensity that a child longs for her mother. But most of us have buried this feeling along with all the other "childish" fears that we instruct ourselves to ignore.... whether or not we admit it to ourselves, we still get scared,  anxious, and uneasy at times. Who wouldn't be afraid? I can't tell you for sure that I will be alive tomorrow, and if I let myself really recognize that reality, I get scared. Fear not, says Isaiah the prophet. God will come and make things right. God will be here to be seen and touched and heard. You will be able to breathe again, for things will be put in their proper place, and the world will be brought back into focus. We may not realize how much we have longed for Christ's return until we see Christ face-to-face. We may not realize the extent of our fear and expectation until we are safe in the presence of the Holy One. I imagine that we will look back on this time of waiting and wonder how it was that we held on for so long.   We will be amazed at the violence, the fear, the suffering that we had to cope with in our world. We will marvel at the way in which we held on for dear life, trying to do the best that we could, waiting for things to be made right. Just as you and I often look back on difficult periods of our lives in wonder, so will we look back on this time of waiting and marvel at our own strength.

KATE MOOREHEAD

From Between Two Worlds: Daily Readings for Advent, available in the Bookshop @ St. Stephen's. The Rev. Kate Moorehead will speak at St. Stephen's during Lent 2014.