That Night
There is nothing quite like that night. The sanctuary goes dark and one candle is lit, until the room radiates a holy light. When the gathered community sings Silent Night on that candlelit night, even the biggest skeptic can believe.
There is nothing quite like that night. The sanctuary goes dark and one candle is lit, until the room radiates a holy light. When the gathered community sings Silent Night on that candlelit night, even the biggest skeptic can believe.
Twice in the past month or so, Carla has preached on two different parables in the Gospel of Matthew that utilize wedding symbolism. Apparently it’s a good metaphor for conveying spiritual truths in other matters. I have no intention of ever writing a Gospel of my own, but I do have a marriage parable to share.
After we stuffed ourselves with corn bread dressing, oyster dressing, turkey and sweet potatoes with browned marshmallows on top served on aunt Millie’s Franciscan Apple china, we lingered at the elegant dinning room table for hours telling stories and laughing. After the sun set, Dad said we were leaving but then Millie made turkey/cream cheese/cranberry sandwiches and we began the two-hour goodbye until finally we pulled out of the driveway, aunt Millie standing there waving until we were out of sigh
When did I become “old”? That’s not a punchline, it’s a serious question. Last weekend our congregation helped host Culver-Stockton College students on their “Know Thy Selfie” retreat. As a church we arranged for a service opportunity at Grace United Community Ministries, one of our Northeast neighborhood partners.
As you eat the last “fun size” snickers, take down the spider webs from the shrubs and store the goblin costumes away, your mind might drift towards the Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings on the horizon. And these celebrations can arouse anxiety and dread.
Do you remember that show “myth busters”? They would take a common belief that we hold and dispel it with the actual truth. Well last Monday, as Dave and I hosted a dessert gathering for the most recent new members of our church, I had a few myths busted.
The Pulitzer Prize-winning author Annie Dillard has an essay on worship that should have won an award somewhere along the way. In my mind it’s so important that I have my students read it in the Intro to Worship course every spring. The essay is titled “An Expedition to the Pole...”
My friend started coming to church and sitting on the back row. It was a rough patch in his life. He liked the music, the silence, the encouraging words from the preacher. But he never spoke to anyone, slipping out before the final hymn.
The utility crews were peering into this hole the other day as I was walking through our parking lot. I asked if I could look, too, and they graciously agreed. I casually mentioned that it reminded me of the holes we dug for the foundation of a community center on our most recent mission in Nicaragua.
Install. The goal of the day was installation. Men were coming to install a new dishwasher in the morning, a new washing machine in the afternoon. Maybe the garage door installer would also show up to give us a bid. When the green and white truck pulled out of the driveway before noon, we were smiling and enjoying hearing the quiet hum of the new dishwasher. Then I turned on the kitchen faucet and no water came out. Something in the installation had gone terribly wrong.
I am intrigued by the phrase “spiritual millionaire.” The phrase jumped off the page at me as I was re-reading the autobiography of one of the great spiritual leaders of the 20th century, Thomas Merton, called The Seven Story Mountain.
Sometimes in the midst of a semester teaching students about preaching, I chase a rabbit or two. Ok, maybe three. One of those hares is the educational ministry of our churches.