This Advent I would like to share my ink and watercolor drawings for Advent. They’re based on the scripture readings and Collects for the four Sundays of Advent and other ideas related to the theme of Advent.
I am grieving, as we all are, for the victims of the shootings at Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Hill, Pennsylvania last Saturday. Once again we hear of a radicalized person targeting people of faith in a sacred space.
Once again shock waves of grief and fear are going through the nation as we process the horror of the scene. I am especially fearful for my two nephews who have been raised in the Jewish faith. I wonder, will they suffer harm from members of hate groups?
Today’s lesson from Morning Prayer includes Luke 11:34, “Your eye is the lamp of your body. If your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light; but if it is not healthy, your body is full of darkness.”
The shooter appears to be a person who was radicalized by his immersion in hate groups on the internet. The internet harbors some very dark places where evil spreads like a virus. Loners like this shooter enter an echo chamber of lies, conspiracy theories, and hatred.
We must find a way to prevent a tiny minority of hate-filled people to magnify their message through social media. And our nation’s leaders must model responsible language and behavior.
We are all praying for the victims of the shooting and for their families and friends. May God gather them under the shadow of his wings.
Today is the seventh anniversary of that horrible day, September 11. Every year this day comes up like a bad dream that we just can’t shake off. We’re still not sure how to deal with it as a country.
Many people remind us that we must “never forget.” As if we could forget the terrible shock of learning that airplanes had been turned into flying bombs, and towers into raging infernos. On that day we were shocked into awareness that we had been attacked as a country by enemy combatants.
Other people say, “Why should we continue to stew in our anger and bitterness? It’s time to memorialize the day like other past tragedies and move on. There are more pressing concerns today.”
It seems to me that the grief from September 11 is still too raw for us to let it go. September 11 changed us and things haven’t been the same since. Perhaps the best we can do is remember the dead as Poet Billy Collins did in his poem, “The Names.”
The Names by Billy Collins
Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A fine rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name —
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner —
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O’Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening — weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds —
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in green rows in a field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart
I rarely get a chance to visit another
church on Sunday, so when I’m on vacation I try to worship at a local Episcopal Church. This week Katy and I are visiting our son and daughter in law in Washington, DC, so today my son Chad and I visited St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Bethesda, MD.
How did I choose this church to visit? Like everyone else, I checked out the local Episcopal churches on Google. I tried to get the feel of each church by looking at the photos on the website, by trying to get a sense of the values of the church implied in what what presented and what was not presented, and by reading about the leadership.
I chose St. Luke’s because I thought it might be a Church my son would return to. On its website, it looks airy and modern with an upbeat, contemporary feel.
We weren’t disappointed. The liturgy was fresh and inclusive. There was an emphasis on openness and welcome, regardless of your belief or lack of belief. The priest was a youngish woman who was clearly tuned into her congregation. Her sermon was interactive, with the parishioners chiming in to answer her questions. They weren’t shy about it, and obviously trusted her.
The sermon asked the question, “How can we be more open to change?” This question was asked because Jesus was open-minded enough to change his mind when the Syro-Phoenician woman challenged him to heal her daughter. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the children’s table.” As part of the sermon, a young girl read the lesson, which I thought was quite charming.
The choir was quite accomplished, and did a nice job of singing the Psalm. They were arranged in a circle in front of the chancel, with a grand piano, trombone, tuba and trumpet as accompanists. The congregational singing was adequate, but less impressive.
The peace was quite long, with many people exchanging greetings. We were expressly welcomed and invited to come again. These people obviously enjoy being together. There was a nice mix of young and old, and there was some racial diversity present. About twenty children went up to the altar at the end of the service for the blessing of their school backpacks.
At Communion, a group of people was ushered up to surround the chancel and we received the rice wafer and wine as a group before we went back to the pews. I liked that.
Much of the liturgy used inclusive and expansive language. I missed the lofty language of the Prayer Book, but appreciated their effort to include everyone. We briefly attended the coffee hour, but decided to stop by Starbucks on the way home, so we departed through the rain. All in all, a good Sunday morning.
This summer I’ve given a children’s sermon every Sunday at the 9:00 Eucharist. My goal is to let the children and their families know they’re an important part of our church family. I’ve had a lot of fun with my children’s sermons because I try to draw on my creative side and just have fun with the kids.
Here are a few things I’ve learned about creating children’s sermons:
1. Have something tangible to show the kids. Children need to have something physical to focus on.
2. Distill the Bible story down to its essence before you decide what to say. This is as much work as creating a message for the adult sermon. Take the time and effort to do it well.
3. Be creative! With children you have permission to try something a little outside your usual comfort zone. I’ve painted a watercolor painting in front of the kids, invited them to write poem with me, taught a simple song, created a picture book, and created a short drama to act out. Kids (and adults) love trying something new.
4. Invite participation from the kids. They learn when they get involved with the story. Crafting good questions is essential and takes a lot of thought beforehand. And be ready for responses you hadn’t anticipated.
5. Don’t be surprised if you lose control. It probably won’t go exactly as you planned, and that’s okay. If you enjoy giving the children’s sermon, the kids will enjoy it, too.
Resource: I would be lost without the amazing resources provided by Caroline Brown on her blog, Worshiping with Children.
This summer I haven’t gone hiking, but instead I’ve used my days off to build the altar furnishings for the new church. They were designed by our architect Steve Rice, and they feature visually interesting angles and shapes, highlighting the grain changes in the tight grain of the Douglas Fir plywood. So far I’ve completed the construction of the lectern, credence table, main altar, and baptismal font, and I’m nearly done with the chapel altar. Still to go is applying the clear finish and adding a steel show to the base of each one. I’ll also make two hymnboards and the aumbry.
Click on the photos to see a larger image.
I used to be a laborer. Now I’m a “service provider.”
For the first twenty years of my working life, I worked with my hands. I started out on the butcher floor of a meat packing plant, built trails and fought fires for the Forest Service, wielded a chainsaw as a tree thinner, and repaired fishing boats in a shipyard. I know about sweat, fatigue and aching muscles, as well as the satisfaction of seeing a job well done.
Now I guess you’d say I’m a “religious services provider.” I love what I do, but it’s more like mental and emotional labor than physical labor.
It used to be that we held manual labor in high esteem. The farmer, the logger, and the fisherman were kings of their own worlds. Cooks, seamstresses, and factory workers held their heads high. But now everyone wants to work in the virtual economy: programmers, designers, producers, and consultants.
Labor Day was originally a day to remember that we all depend on the fruits of one another’s labor, especially physical labor. But with the demise of unions, factories and the Protestant work ethic, no one really cares about Labor Day. I can understand why those who have been put out of work by factories going overseas might be resentful. No one values their sacrifice any more.
The reality is that we no longer live in an industrial economy, and we’re not sure what labor means anymore. Our labor is now a class system: high-paid tech workers and entrepeneurs, information professionals (doctors, lawyers, consultants), team workers (the Amazon masses), skilled labor (someone has to be a plumber), and at the bottom, the spurned unskilled labor. Maybe we should rename Labor Day. Here’s a few suggestions:
“Service Providers Day”
“Virtual Labor Day”
What do you think? Any ideas?