Are You Marked?

In this post Ash Wednesday haze, I remember the story recorded by Edward Hays in the book The Ethiopian Tattoo Shop. A pilgrim finds his way into the Jerusalem shop after seeing many holy people with rich tattoos covering their bodies. In the late afternoon the pilgrim enters the shop, curious and desirous, but not completely certain he will go in for an actual tattoo. The pilgrim is worried about the pain. The shop keeper assures him that the tattoos he gives are painless. Painless? How can that be?

The shop keeper offers to show him just how that is, and after a few minutes the pilgrim relents and sits down, ready to receive this ancient art form. As the Shop Keeper begins, he starts to tell the pilgrim a story. . .a story to calm him down. . .a story to relax him.

The next thing the pilgrim knows, the sun is beginning to stream in through the window, and the birds are chirping. The Pilgrim, hearing the artist finish his last story, professes that he now knows that indeed he wants a tattoo from this Shop Keeper. The Artist tells him that it is impossible -- first, because there are no more stories, and second, that there is no more room -- the pilgrim is covered in tattoos already!

"With an electric shock of alarm I quickly looked at my hands and arms, but they were clean of any sign or mark. I opened my shirt and looked at my chest, but it was also without any tattoo or inscription."

"Be assured that you are tattooed, my friend," said the Ethiopian. "Your entire body is covered with the invisible images of the stories which you have just heard, of the parables I have told you. They are indelibly tattooed on your inner self. They will be a part of you as long as you exist. . ."

Yesterday we donned ashes, remembered our mortality, and began an exceedingly important journey to Jerusalem. We were marked by the ashes. . .we were "tattooed,” so to speak. Today we remember that we bear the story of faith deep within, even after the ashes are washed away. We are marked.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. . .or so the proverb suggests. And so, this Lenten season begins - amid the threat of snow (yikes, it is March in Southern Illinois, there should not be talk about snow), in a season of grayness (even though this is nearly as late as Lent can start) – and we start walking with our Lord to Jerusalem. One hopes that for those who follow in the way of Christ, this walk with our Lord is but an extension of what we already do. But this season we specifically talk of journeying with Christ to Jerusalem. And that distinction makes all the difference. We know where the journey leads – we know the sacrifice freely given. And yet, we hesitate to take the first step. We hesitate because we know that once we take one step, we will have to take another. Once we start the journey, there is no turning back. Once we take the step toward loving our enemies, we’ll need to pray for those who give us a hard time, as well. Once we love God, we’ll need to love the whole world – the whole of creation. Once we put our hand to God’s plow, we cannot look back, nor will we really want to. . . .really. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Welcome to the Lenten Journey.

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down - Ash Wednesday Meditation, 2011

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Ain’t it the truth. I can no longer remember the childhood rhyme to which the phrase belongs, and yet the truth of the statement lives on. We all fall down. You are dust and to dust you shall return. Every year we repeat these words, like a childhood rhyme, sometimes to remind ourselves, but mostly because we know it is true. You are dust, Carolyn, Robbi, Mary – three we remember well in our church – three who lived this life in faith, and who now rest from their labors. You are dust. . . we will say it again this year. . . to the one who is waging war against cancer, to the one who has just lost a loved one, to the one who is simply lost in the chaos of life in these strange days. You are dust. I can no longer say the words without the voice breaking, without a tear pooling. . .you say the words long enough, and they do become real for you. And yet. And yet, I remember the words which follow in the Service of Witness to the Resurrection, words which make the voice break and a tear pool, and which are real for those of us who have repeated them year after year after year: All of us go down to the dust, yet even at the grave we make our song – Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia! Give rest of Christ to all your servants who seek to follow this Lenten Season. Amen.

Service to the Larger Church

I have oft said in this adventure, that I never aspired to serve the church on the General Assembly level. Let me repeat – I never aspired to be a commissioner to the General Assembly. But here I am. And tonight, a friend said to me – Thank you for your service to the Larger Church. This wasn’t a “wise-cracker” comment, or sucking up to me, but rather a genuine expression of appreciation about the work, the service, which I, and so many others are engaged in.

Saturday night we elected the new Moderator, and then on Sunday we began our committee work. Sunday afternoon, all day (and until 10 p.m.) Monday and Tuesday until about 4:00 we continued in committee work. I served the church on the Polity Committee, and have cracked that I know more about AI (Authoritative Interpretation) in 36 hours of Polity Committee than I have known in 22 years of ordained ministry. But I must admit, that while we were discussing with one another, I often wondered if we were making any real difference.

And this afternoon, we returned to the body of the whole – the Assembly reconvened. There we were. . .sitting in the VERY COLD hall, praying with people we know and people we don’t know, laughing some (“make sure your voting device is turned on”), and being the Body of Christ – not always agreeing with one another, but staying engaged with one another.

My hope for the future of the church?
That we continue to be the body of Christ for one another.
That we continue to welcome those who have faith
and those who don’t have faith into our midst.
That we would seek out the best the Spirit has to offer us.
That we would use the brains God gave us to think creatively about what it means
to be the church in this time and place,
and not rest on the facade of some church we knew in the past.
Now is the time to engage our hearts and minds and spirits in bringing a cup of cold water and a word of peace. Now is the acceptable time. . . .

May our service to the Larger Church be just such a prophetic word.

Discernment

Do you remember the Saturday Night Live sketch. . .the one with Jane Curtin and Dan Aykroyd?
The one where they would do that “Point/Counterpoint” news piece?
The one where Aykroyd would proclaim, “Jane, you ignorant. . . .”?

Well, the Polity Committee of GA is nothing like that. Honest.

But it is forty-plus elders and ministers from all over the states – representing all of the different political, cultural, theological, sociological, age, and economic demographics you can imagine. And throw in TSADs (Theological Student Advisory Delegates) and YAADS (Young Adult Advisory Delegates), our moderator and vice-moderator – and the host of folks aiding in parliamentary procedure, advising and the like. . .and the room is quite full. Not to mention the couple hand-fulls of people who sat in on our committee today (they actually chose to be there for the day) and all of a sudden polity – or at least the committee begins to take on a life of its own!

We hit the first break already behind. . .and things did not improve. We Presbyterians believe – and act on – the notion that all together, the body is best at the discernment process. So we speak and listen. . .we amend and substitute. . .we vote up and we vote down – all relying on the presence and direction of God’s Holy Spirit. And we do that a lot. . . all day. . . and into the night. Do we always get it right? Hardly. (Ask me sometime about the item we moved to disapprove, failed to pass; moved to approve, failed to pass; amended, failed to pass; and ultimately moved to disapprove, and passed) But we keep at it. . .cutting dinner short, and going an hour late.

Tomorrow we start with a clean slate, exactly where we are suppose to be on the agenda. And we pray for the Spirit to guide us – this crazy group of people who find themselves thrown together to be at work in the governing of the church. God help us. . .as we seek the mind of Christ!

Firsts

First day of High School – September 1974 - I am a geek. I am wearing high-water long pants, white heeled sandals, and a cool cotton top (“cool” as in not hot, not “cool” – remember, I am a geek - and the high-waters are because long pants are not quite long enough). It is where I need to be. . .where I am suppose to be. . .but boy, I am out of place. . .I am a geek. . .and wonder if I will ever fit in.

Fast forward. . .first day of seminary, fall 1984. I have missed the orientation week. I am the Co-Dean of a Junior High Camp on Catalina Island for the Synod of Southern California and Hawaii. I arrive at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary the night before classes begin. My classmates have been told that I was leading a camp off the coast of California – they all translate that to “An Island = Hawaii.” They are impressed, and jealous. I am barely there, and we begin “baby-Theology” and all the rest. I am not ready. What in the world am I doing at Seminary. . .I can’t preach, don’t know Greek and Hebrew, and feel like a fish struggling up-stream. My friends in California remind me that this is why I am going to seminary – to learn to preach, to learn the languages, to swim in the waters of life.

Fast forward, again. July 3, 1988. . .I am ordained as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA) in Tropical Florida Presbytery. I am a minister, called by God to serve the church. I know this at the depth of my soul. . .but I still feel somewhat out of place. . .like a fish swimming up stream. . .but by the grace of God. . .Here I am, Lord.

July 3, 2010 – twenty-two years ago I was ordained. . .where has that time gone. I come today to the 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) and am commissioned as a delegate to this assembly. I am still a geek, after all these years. I have my shawl with Mickey Mouse on it, was given a Glinda the Good Witch Pez dispenser, and dark chocolate is on the table (thank you, Cindy & Jeff). I still wonder what God has in store for me, and feel like I am still swimming upstream. But God has called, I have answered, the Presbytery of Southeastern Illinois has listened to God’s voice and sent me here, and now I am commissioned to do the work of this Assembly. Humbly I pray, Here I am, Lord, send me.

. . .and a little child. . .

"Where are you from?" the school children visiting the Topkapi Palace ask us.

"The United States of America," we reply. "Illinois, in the middle of the country." The children smile broadly at us.

"My name is Memet," he tells us. A dozen or more of the school children -- boys and girls alike -- eagerly share their names with us. We smile and nod and shake hands. We share our names as well, and then ask, "Where are you from?"

Blank stares, until Memet pipes up, "No English." We smile broadly right back at them.

Is it really that simple? Does it all start with just our names and a smile? Why do we make making friends so very difficult?