Crossed Wires, Loose Ends and Short Fuses!



How little I knew about the timeliness of this topic when the thought occurred to me! I have noticed that so many of our “systems” that we depend on seem to be running on the rims of their wheels, or even falling off their tracks–the post office, the businesses that have closed, the happenings that are not happening, and the short tempers and frustration that is right at the service of nearly everyone!

This week I lived into this confusion, as in one hospital stay for my husband, we experienced orders that failed to be given, wrong instruments prepared for surgery, hence a 2 hour delay, and flowers undelivered! Meanwhile, the world continues to unravel–politically, rhetorically, hopelessly! I feel so often that there are so few things I can do about any of it, so how do I live in the mega-chaos, the mini-derailments and the in-betweens of not knowing?

Two things have emerged for me in my musings. First, I need to accept that the warp speed with which I am familiar, for myself and for the world, is no-operative these days: Everything is Slower Now! Nothing goes as quickly as it once did, save for the spread of the pandemic and natural disasters! I must continue to learn to re-calibrate my expectations for the speed at which I can do things, and the speed at which the systems I inhabit are able to respond and function. Slowly, slowly, slowly! Lente, lente, lente! Slow me down, O Holy One! Let the words of Ecclesiastes sink into my bones as well as my mind and heart: For everything there is a season…And what a season this is! A time to heal? a time to weep? a time to search? a time to throw away? Teach me how to discern what time it is at such a snail’s pace.

It Is Six Weeks Later:

See, things move much more slowly! And things do come undone, fall apart, and take more time than I expected! And maybe what my learning here is that I need to change my expectations of what a day, and hour need to look like! This is the day that the Holy has made. I WILL rejoice and be glad in it! Not glad for it necessarily, but in it. Tonight we celebrated Thanksgiving according to Plan D: no spatchcock barbecued turkey at the correct social distance in my daughter’s back yard; no drive through the In’N’Out; no home-cooked small meal for the two of us, but a lovely takeout dinner from a local restaurant less than a mile away. And beloved ones who are very ill or recuperating, and other dear ones facing surgery this week, and the Cods-19 virus still spiking, and businesses that I have loved or counted on going out of business. And so we were Grateful for what was; Brother David Steindl-Rast says that we need to “Bless what is for being!” And that is where my expectations need to be focused: on being grateful for the place and condition in which I find myself–no denying that there are crossed wires and loose ends, but finding how Grace appears, or even, as my grandson so aptly says, the silver linings, in what is!

Dear Lord, Help me to live right now in this moment of time You have given me. (from Marian Wright Edelman)

A Wider Deeper Gratitude!


All your works shall give thanks to you, O God!

Since nearly the beginning of the pandemic, I have been faithfully keeping a new gratitude journal, keeping it close at hand all day, recording the things for which I am thankful. The epigraph on the front reads: “Grateful for the sun & the earth & the memories of what it is to love everything Life has brought me.” (Brian Andreas). It has been an anchor in these many days of not knowing–what is coming next, what to expect, what is lost, how to proceed. However, in reviewing it this week into the sixth month of sheltering in place, I find that my focus has been very narrow, for the most part checking out my own bubble in the world, not noticing where grace, peace and mercy are flowing in the wider world.

I am challenged this week to lift my eyes and open my ears to the Good News and Actions around me in the world, among faithful people, in what I know and have experienced in the way the Holy works in the world.

  • I am thankful for truth tellers, and for the truth that is incontrovertible, if not uncontroversial.
  • I am grateful for those who are honorable. who do the right thing with respect and mercy for others and themselves.
  • I give thanks when justice is served by people with agency and vision.
  • I am thankful for those who are pure in heart, and, therefore, whose response and actions are purely loving and gracious, even if some would call them naive.
  • I rejoice and give thanks for the things that are pleasing–beauty, grace. laughter, music, color, art, good food and drink, sweet aromas, soft textures and open skies.
  • I am thankful for the ones who are commendable, who go above and beyond what anyone expects, who show up, standup, put up, shut up when the situation calls for it, despite the prevailing mood and chatter.
  • I savor with gratitude those who continue to pursue and savor excellence in their appointed rounds, whether it is in the fine arts, folk art, outsider art, pop art or the arts of silence, making a home, crafting a piece of furniture, or raising a child who loves and lives fully in this world.

I am learning to stop in my daily commentary to notice and to say: “Listen to that graceful reply!” “Look at that open acceptance!” “How full of mercy that response was!” “Look at that generous giving of time and energy!” Thank you, thank you thank you!

With the ash-filled, polluted air all up and down this coast, with the Covid-19 virus still very much alive and well, with the vitriol that spills over the airways and through cyberspace, I find some days, that I have to dig deep and wide for objects of gratitude. However, this week, as I have lifted my eyes, broadened my gaze, deepened my trust, I have discovered again so much goodness of God, so much love of Life, so much breeze and energy of the Spirit, “How can I keep from singing?”

What to Wear!


Clothe yourselves with love…

I have always cared about what to wear. As child I looked wistfully at a store window, knowing that my clothes came from what we then called “the missionary barrel.” As an adult in public ministry when I received an invitation to preach or speak, my first interior response was always, “what will I wear?” And now in retirement I have found that my sartorial needs are fewer and fewer.

Then comes the Covid-19 virus! Symbolic to this season is a dress hanging in my closet. For years it was important to me to have an “Easter dress” to wear on Easter Sunday, and then in the vocational years I wore a clerical robe all the time, so no new togs were necessary for festival days; I was out of the habit (so to speak!). But This Year, I thought, I would celebrate by choosing an Easter dress early, and on that time of great rejoicing, would add to the festivities by wearing something new, a sign of new life, energy and spring., of Resurrection. And on that day, we were sheltering in place! And the dress still hangs on its store hanger, waiting!

On a “normal” day in this pandemic, I don’t go to my closet to try to choose what will be best suited for the day’s occasion. At the most demanding, I try to see if my top is presentable for the Zoom and FaceTime calls ahead. I don’t spend an inordinate time in front of the mirror, making sure that the things I am wearing match, accessories are not too flashy, or the whole look clashes with the occasion. If it is to be a day of phone calls only, I am content to allow my T-shirts and comfortable pants suffice–no need for make-up, shoes, maybe even bras!

However, my attention has been caught by some words from Colossians:

…clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness,and patience…Above all, clothe yourselves with love… Colossians 3:12,14

No matter what my body is wearing, this list a wardrobe to which I need to attend. In my conversations with people, I find that I am not the only one who finds herself with frayed edges in which I am judgemental toward others—near and far; unkind in words and action; impatient with over-exposure to beloved ones, as well as with the chaotic news of the world; and I find myself egocentrically wondering “what about ME?” It takes stamina and intention to keep reminding myself that the outfit of the day is Love, and the challenge of the day is to see what Love looks like today with all its sameness and surprise. This is a demanding practice, even in long relationship and commitments, and it is also a challenge to practice for myself–to extend the same kind of compassion and kindness and patience to my own muddling through these baffling times. “Put on Love!” That’s a pretty clear choice to make each day, and it doesn’t require washing ot ironing!



It is required that a steward be found faithful…

I haven’t given much though to the fruit of the Spirit called “faithfulness” before now. Renita Weems is her book, Listening for God, prompted me to take a look. She says that fidelity or faithfulness is keeping up our commitments, doing the “things I have to do until belief returns”…”to be here not there…”showing that we are serious about touching and being touched…by grace.” I have begun to ponder how to keep faithful during times of global pandemic. To whom? and to what? and how?

It is a Sunday morning…sheltering in place…again! This is a day and time when I would usually be in the car on my way to the sanctuary, to join with the gathered ones to sing, confess, pray, savor sacred text in word, sermon and song, and to greet those I know and don’t know who have come together in Spirit to worship. Instead today I am doing cursory ablutions, curling up on one end of the couch across from my husband, the dog in between, with lighted candles, clicking on the link to our congregation’s pre-recorded worship. I have done this faithfully for all the weeks we have been sheltering in place. I read this week that 48% of churched adults in the country are not tuning into a place of worship, familiar or different at all. But I am very clear that this practice of routine is one of the things that is sustaining my getting through this time of unknowing and anxiety. I surely miss all the elements of corporate worship, but being faithful to this ritual is grounding me, keeping a place marker in my life in its Spirit journey.

I have staked out other practices of fidelity which help me know what time it is and the passing of the hours and days. I try, sometimes against all temptation to do otherwise, to care for my body–the walking, the eating healthily, the taking of meds, the breathing and stretching. I have had to learn, rather late in life to be a good steward of the body I was given, by acting on the routine practices that demonstrate my care for it. I am faithful to my best beloved ones, trying to discover and use the medium that serves each one best–Facebook, Instagram, phone or text. I miss being able to hug and pat my grands, all of them, either from actual or social distancing, but in this liminal period, I am faithful to touching them from afar. I am strongly committed to my practice of reaching out to those who are struggling with health, grief, sadness loneliness or despair, with the same attention to mode and frequency that I choose for my family. I don’t need to know how my communiques are received, because just doing this faithful act reminds and grounds me of who I am and that to which I am called.

It is the faithful routine of all kinds that is keeping me from collapsing into despair these days, especially in my journey of Spirit. I keep a new journal of gratitude right next to me all day long, to capture the unexpected graces that occur when I least expect them. My husband and I go on neighborhood “scavenger hunts” looking for beauty on our morning walks. My own reading–many from voices unfamiliar to me-:African-American, Native American, poets from all around the world–reassures me and points me to the Light. I take mindfulness moments each evening. And there is in me an ongoing stream of prayer prompted by the Spirit, inhabiting my body and mind, recalling sacred text that I can savor, that keeps my faith in the Holy One alive and in motion.

Faithfulness is a gift of the Spirit, but I am learning that it is given to me new every morning, even on the days when I have to slog through early gloom of weather or mood, and that my fidelity is made possible by the Faithfulness of One who is unfailingly faithful and keeps the energy going in me! I am grateful!

Suspended in Time



Among the hard things that have fallen out of this pandemical sheltering in place is the loss of ability to plan. So many squares in my day-runner are now neither full nor empty, just scratched with cancellations, and there are no future appointments down the weeks to replace them. A trip to see grands? an elective surgery? a dentist appointment? even lunch with the Tall Group? I feel stuck. Since I am used to planning for events, appointments and possibilities, I feel stuck many days!

I get some perspective when I reflect on how many people over the course of history and even in the present day are proscribed in their planning. Who could plan if they are incarcerated or under house arrest or in hiding? Who could plan when they set out, not knowing where they were going or who was taking them? Who can plan is their city is being bombed and occupied by hostile forces days after day? I have enjoyed a life that has afforded me so much latitude, so many choices. And I still have many of them! It’s just that the circumference of my choices has narrowed, and some days I chafe under the restrictions.

Therefore! today I am choosing to explore the edges of my time and space limitations:

  • how can I honor and use my body in the hours in which I have energy? walk the labyrinth, stretch my legs, play the piano, bathe my muscles? all of these I can do without harming myself or endangering others, and can let Spirit energy flow through me.
  • to what can I give my intelligence, to keep my mind flexible? so many resources are available through books, podcasts, blogs and newspapers, on-line or paper right now: daily news summary, a book on Native American philosophy and practice of living with the Earth, journeys with folks on pilgrimage–personal, memorial, spiritual, African-American spirituality.
  • to whom can I reach out in the many modes of communication at hand? friends who are isolated by health or circumstance, those in suffering or in mourning, those with whom I have allowed too much time to pass in our togetherness. Even with sheltering in place, I now have Face Time, Facebook, Instagram, e-mail, snail mail, text messages, phone; how amazing to be granted access to so many far and wide! And how freeing it is to choose one to express love, appreciation and grace.
  • in what ways can I deepen my experience of the Holy One and the worlds that have been created? how can my journey of Spirit broaden without being able to “plan my work, and work my plan”? I have precious time for silence, and therefore, for prayer of many kinds–gratitude, reflection, hope, compassion, lament and need. I can join praying congregations on-line, adapting to singing along with the soloists, saying words of liturgy with the congregation in Spirit without hearing other voices, listening to a Word that come though a screen. And I can use my communication platforms to work for justice and kindness through my giving, my encouragement and my prayers.

What is more elusive is a daily plan. Almost daily my “plan” gets derailed by “tyranny of the urgent:” road closures, doings in the neighborhood, news from near and far. So without a plan, confined to quarters, I rest in these sacred and wise words from the Psalmist:

  • my times are in your hands
  • THIS is the day that God has made,
  • I will bless the Holy at all times, praise shall continually be in my in mouth

In this time which feels hidden and fallow to me, there is still Spirit at work–in me, in the world, even when we feel stuck! Gratefully sighing!

A Prayer for Energy



You will receive Power…

Come, Holy Spirit!

Today we as a community acknowledge Your Presence in, among and through us! Our life and breath is dependent on You! So much of our own thought and action relies on You! Yet, my prayer today is in particular for that power, that energy, that is promised in Your coming.

I feel out of power, out of energy. This calendar year has brought a sequence of personal physical recovery, a worldwide pandemic, the dissolution of familiar landmarks and institution, the continual barrage of misdeeds and violence, the overlay of great gray loss of trust in process, in fairness, in justice. So today I ask that once again I will be infused with an awareness of Your power in me for the days in which I am living:

  • I need energy to continue to shelter in place, to be vigilant about protecting others and myself from the virulent virus that has swept through the globe.
  • I need energy to keep imagining ways for me to contribute to the healing of the world from the limitations of my age and stage, from confinement, from my location of privilege, with my shortcomings and inadequacies.
  • I need energy to listen deeply and continually to the pain–individual and collective–of the suffering of people I love, those given to my care and the many sectors of the community who have no helper, no advocate, no voice.
  • I need energy to reach out to those who are lonely, isolated, without a community, to bring the gifts of hope, grace and love to them that reflects Your love and presence to them.
  • I need energy to trust that with You there will be a way that “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”

Come, Holy Spirit, breathe on me, breathe in me, give me Your power and energy for the living of these days!

Light through Clouds


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I have set my bow in the clouds…

I received an anonymous gift in the mail during this upset in our world: a prism to place in my window that catches the Light as it comes, and turns the sunrise into a shower of rainbow dots all over the room, bringing joy and healing to my spirit every day the sun breaks through! From my bed or from my prayer corner for awhile the light shines–beautiful, comforting, healing! In this closing days of Eastertide, I am aware that through the entire holy season beginning with Lent, I have been focused on the clouds–real and metaphorical–that have dominated airways–through the media and through personal stories of grief and loss. Even the Easter we celebrated, virtually, seems remote and covered over.

Yet as I received and have learned how to use my rainbow prism, it has become a symbol for me of another truth, which is that behind and through the Great Grayness–of pandemic, of flood, of corruption, of loss–the Light is shining; none of those griefs can douse it! I have been given Light by witnessing the open hearts for so many to care for the most fragile and endangered members of our community, including former students of mine who routinely put themselves on the line for the hungry, the frightened and the those in despair. I take great joy when I see how creatively and vigilantly another former student in ministry cares for the children and women in her church, from a distance. I am blessed when I am able to participate in music that comes in the worship services on-line each Sunday, with leaders both taking the lead and adding the harmony to what we are invited to sing. I am experiencing new dimensions of my beloved family–their resilience, their creativity, their breadth of curiosity and interest! I was surrounded by a rainbow of joy when out of the blue, I heard from my granddaughter, replete with video, asking me to help on a school project.

Primarily though I see points of Light in my sharing this faith journey with so many others, sheltered in place, chafing at the limitations, anxious about the road ahead, yet still faithful in the struggle to hear, to see, the feel the Light of the Holy on themselves and in the world God loves. Out of the shared struggle comes so many question, so many dead ends, yet so much hope!

The book of Lamentations in the Hebrew Bible is all about that grievous struggle–loss, corruption, limitation–yet right in the middle, I find these words: The steadfast love of the Holy One never ceases/God’s mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning!” Like rainbow prism dots all around my room when the sun breaks through the clouds! I am grateful!

Cloudy..,With a Chance of Meatballs


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satisfies you with good…

One of the effects of all the orders to shelter in place these past weeks has been the turning our attention to FOOD, in many ways–how to get it, who has access, whose recipes are being shared, and what satisfies.

On the creative/coping side, I have been delighted to receive recipes that people are sharing, pictures of fabulous concoctions that friends are experimenting with, reminiscences of old family standbys with a whimsical twist for this shelter in place. I myself, having abandoned the culinary arts in our house to the more talented for years, even I have even baked muffins for the last two weeks–for nourishment and for delight! The endeavors of those baking bread, creating interesting drinks and one-step cakes and casseroles make me happy when I see them on Facebook! I only wish I could taste them!

At the same time, I am daily aware of the epidemic of food scarcity and accessibility in the world due to the Covid-19 epidemic. Food banks and soup kitchens are running out of supplies more quickly than they can be refilled. Grocery stores cannot keep their shelves stocked. The lines of cars driving through stations where food is being shared go on for miles. And I am brought up short: what for me is entertainment, fun and nourishment is a gift of my privilege, and it calls me to find ways to act in ways that make sure that all God’s humans can find adequate food. I scour what I read and see for opportunities, and there are plenty to which I can give, deliver and for whom I can pray.. This week these doors opened: Bread for the World, a church pantry, a disaster fund, and an acquaintance that was suffering with no food herself! And today the city councilman provided a list of local food sources open for business. All of them gave me a chance to share from my bounty what I have been given.

Throughout Lent and Eastertide I have been seeing clouds as a metaphor for these time through which we are living–not in clear, sunny skies, but with the pandemic afoot in the world, in a sky with shadows, unpredictable, looming, sometimes even threatening. And the clouds remain! Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs is a children’s book by Judi and Ron Barrett, the title of which seems to me, to describe part of the way I am living right now, we all are living, right now. All of the clouds of this upsetting time of our lives are evident: confinement, disappointment, loss, fractures of class and race in our culture, inept government, poverty, vitriol, meanness, uneasiness and anxiety, Yet I hear again the words of the Psalmist:

She sets her table before me in the presence of my inner enemies. She anoints my head with the oil of Her blessing. My cup of joy overflows! (Swallow’s Nest. Marchienne Rienstra)

Therefore, I continue down this path we are walking, “in the shadow of death” without fear, knowing that neven as the clouds continue, there a chance of a table…with meatballs, or cheese and crackers, or brownie torte…as we go. I pray for the Grace to live into that as I recycle that Grace to those I am given to care for!

Mighty Clouds of Joy



I hit a wall with this pandemic. I observed the end of Lent, the services of Holy Week and Easter Day on-line with my church community, but I was stuck in my own internal musings. I could give a tacit affirmation to the holy events we were acknowledging, grateful for familiar words and rubrics, music, but could not get in touch with my own heart–there was numbness, blankness, opaqueness. Rather than try to parse it, exegete it, power through it, I decided to let it be and to see what and how it would unfold if I continued my daily practices–those that could feed my own longings and those that could reach out to others, whose apparent immediate needs were so much greater than my own.

For the first two weeks of Eastertide, my soul felt static or gray, yet I felt compelled to start and keep a gratitude list in a brand new journal, open-ended, without lines, with a whimsical cover by Brian Andreas that says, “Grateful today for the Sun & the earth & the memories of what it is to love everything life has brought me.” Some days my lists are mundane, sometimes repetitive. Some days they are short lists, other days quite ample. The practice, which I have done often in the past, was not a magic door-opener to my heart, with all my feelings becoming hopeful and joyful. In listening a friend, I heard her say that she allowed that for her right now, Thursday is just a bad day, no matter what; I resonated with that kind of sentiment.

Yet I noticed toward the end of this last week, that my sights were being lifted, that there were some breaks in the clouds, that the words I was reading were beginning to penetrate, have some meaning. Not every word, but some. I am finding that I have days when I rise with hope and ambition, prayerful and energetic, and then others when I am stuck in amber the whole day. What I do know to do is to observe the practices that daily open a way for Grace to get in–and some days I recognize it when it comes.

This is a time for discovery for me. I have not set out on a quest to learn more about myself and my spirit, but I am noticing things about myself that I would not have recognized. I am tranquil and unflappable much of the time, but in these days when I hear singing of all kinds, I feel my eyes fill with tears of longing, of memory, or wistfulness, of need. I discovered a group of gospel singers a while ago called the Might Clouds of Joy. In researching I found that most of them are gone now, but their legacy remains in recording and video, and they sing and praise and lament in a way that gives expression to my own heart: “”I’ve Been in the Storm Too Long,” “Heavy Load” and “”Pray for Me.” And as I join my heart to their song, I feel some more of the blankness and numbness dissipate even as I weep. There is no denial in their song that trauma in our world exists and has sorrowful effects, but there is also joy and hope and trust in the Holy One as well.

The days of sheltering in place, and rules and regulations continue. There is no date of expiration, which is in itself wearying. But there are also Mighty Clouds of Joy, there are gifts of Grace every day, there are communities of faithful folk who are doing everything they can to protect and care for those who are at risk, and the Holy One who hold us does not slumber or sleep or let us go. I am resting and practicing in that place on Good Days, Bad Days…even Thursdays!

Clouds (Crowds) of Sorrow



“give your sorrow all of its due…Elly Hillesum

In taught a class at church in preparation for Lent, I suggested, after Walter Brueggemann, that one path of practice was to take up the ancient practice of lament, of grieving for that which was lost, broken or dead, as a prophetic statement on the way to hope. Little did I know how deeply that is being called for in me in this Lent. Bruggemann says that the practice of grief is counter to denial, and it “summons the city to be fully, deeply and knowingly engaged in its actual life experience.” (Reality, Grief, Hope, p, 57)

Even with that conviction I have not been prepared for the onslaught of sorrows that keep pouring forth in this season: the deaths of people from my past lives–a former student, a seminary companion, a member of my congregation. And there has been what seem like daily losses of the familiar avenues of routine–access to groceries, freedom to move about the city, gathering for worship, the natural friendly embraces on which I rely. Overlying those changes, which range from inconvenience to outright loss, is the loss of trust in what is being said in the media and from “expert” sources. What is true? on whom can I rely? for what?

The presence of the Covid-19 virus among us has exacerbated all those losses with its threat of contagion, contamination and death, I find myself in a group called “elderly,” at risk, and therefore, the loss of the cultural prize of “youth” and its privilege of place. And the threat of disease is real and unknown, hence a loss of a sense of protection and safety for myself, for those I love, for those for whom I pray.

As much as I am enculturated to glide over grief, to “just get over it,” I find myself this fourth week of Lent called to enter into this cloud, or as Rumi puts it, this “crowd of sorrows.” Rumi asks that I welcome them, even as they “violently sweep the house/empty of its furniture.” I am finding again that the Psalmist also lifts a voice, inviting lament to deep and concrete grieving. Both of these teachers demonstrate that this grieving is clearing the path to the Hope that is the final Word.

It is not lost to me that Lenten practice in some communities has often focused on penitence, on personal confession and recognition of brokenness, sorrow for sin, “things done and undone.” And in this crisis of our life and times, I am woefully aware of the ways in which I am more critical, more fearful, more selfish than what I am called to be by living in Grace. That makes me sad. I would have hoped that by my age and stage, I would be more compassionate, more trusting, more full of Grace.

So I grieve! And with the grieving, I stand in solidarity with our world, and its many particular people who suffer in so many profound ways, Rabbi Earl Grollman writes, “The only cure for grief is to grieve…there is no way to predict what you will feel.” I pray my grief–with the Psalms, with poetry, with music, with walking the labyrinth. And I am sure that grief is not the last Word.

I am free to grieve, because I grieve with Hope in mind. Actually that is the endgame of this entire cloudy Lent–there is Resurrection at the end! There are no final defeats! God keeps my tears in a bottle, as I cleanse the way for the Light to arise! I am giving my grief its due, but only its due!