Welcome Home Linda
~ Amy and Trish
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Going Home, Coming Home – Finding a Home
The theme for this summer’s sabbatical is “Going Home, Coming Home.” A lovely sentiment. But what if you are still trying to find your home in the first place? What if you are not able to “go” home? What if a location is perhaps still too new to be “home”?
An insight presented itself to me the other day. Just stood right up, waved its arms, and demanded my attention. We live in an age of rootless transience. Folks constantly “relocating.” Just when you are getting to know someone – whshht, they are whisked away. The current “housing crisis” in our land is a powerful symbol of a deeper disruption, a homelessness of the spirit, that has gripped society lately. How do you help folks create a home in an unfamiliar territory?
Those who live under the Arizona sun are familiar with our heritage, of people of European heritage who made their way into this desert of hostile beauty (displacing the Native American residents, we might add). Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all honor as founder another transient, yanked out of his homeland and shoved down the road to a strange new land: Abraham. Immigrants must carve a home out of a wilderness filled with unfamiliar landmarks – even if they are urban. Marilyn, RJ, and I know how that feels, even as recently as this week, as we’ve been casting about for new quarters. The owner of the house we rent gave us notice that we must be gone by the end of July. So we've been scrambling to find a new domicile. Call it the housing crisis up close and personal for us. So now we know with some immediacy: displaced persons always experience stress – even if the transition is for the best of reasons.
What makes a “home” out of a “place”? Some brief images come to mind: a place where we belong, where we’ve found our “place” in the group. A place where we can take root and figure out our present identity as belonging here. A place where we are connected to other people and the territory that surrounds us. A place where we feel welcomed, cherished, that is hospitable to us, body, soul, and spirit, welcoming our quests and our questions. A place where we share a heritage and a vision. A place where we can find a job that is uniquely our own, a vocation, whether it be teaching, making coffee, plucking weeds, or praying. A place where we can relax and know that we are known, loved, cherished. A place filled with keepsakes, with objects, but not just any old thing. A place filled with things that are tied to memories, to hopes, things full of meaning. Dad’s chair. Our pew at church. The youth room. A place echoing with conversations, be they pure silliness or freighted with things that matter. A place ringing with laughter, hushed with tears. A place swathed in forgiveness, as we decide to bury past offenses and build a future together, as we offer each other Christ’s peace every Sunday as a kind of “earnest money” deposit toward that future. A place in which we find ourselves banding with others – once strangers, now friends – marching together toward something important. A place fragrant with the scent of food, glorious food, in which we crowd around tables together, or a Table spread by a host named Jesus Christ. What makes a “home” out of a “place”? All of these things and more.
Let me suggest that anyone who is coming from another place, another web of relationships, is not truly “home” until they have found a future. “Home” gives us a place to stand and look toward a shared tomorrow. Which is what I’ve discovered right here at Chalice Christian Church. I’ve found a bunch for whom “home” is in the questions that in turn reveal a quest for God. Together.
An insight presented itself to me the other day. Just stood right up, waved its arms, and demanded my attention. We live in an age of rootless transience. Folks constantly “relocating.” Just when you are getting to know someone – whshht, they are whisked away. The current “housing crisis” in our land is a powerful symbol of a deeper disruption, a homelessness of the spirit, that has gripped society lately. How do you help folks create a home in an unfamiliar territory?
Those who live under the Arizona sun are familiar with our heritage, of people of European heritage who made their way into this desert of hostile beauty (displacing the Native American residents, we might add). Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all honor as founder another transient, yanked out of his homeland and shoved down the road to a strange new land: Abraham. Immigrants must carve a home out of a wilderness filled with unfamiliar landmarks – even if they are urban. Marilyn, RJ, and I know how that feels, even as recently as this week, as we’ve been casting about for new quarters. The owner of the house we rent gave us notice that we must be gone by the end of July. So we've been scrambling to find a new domicile. Call it the housing crisis up close and personal for us. So now we know with some immediacy: displaced persons always experience stress – even if the transition is for the best of reasons.
What makes a “home” out of a “place”? Some brief images come to mind: a place where we belong, where we’ve found our “place” in the group. A place where we can take root and figure out our present identity as belonging here. A place where we are connected to other people and the territory that surrounds us. A place where we feel welcomed, cherished, that is hospitable to us, body, soul, and spirit, welcoming our quests and our questions. A place where we share a heritage and a vision. A place where we can find a job that is uniquely our own, a vocation, whether it be teaching, making coffee, plucking weeds, or praying. A place where we can relax and know that we are known, loved, cherished. A place filled with keepsakes, with objects, but not just any old thing. A place filled with things that are tied to memories, to hopes, things full of meaning. Dad’s chair. Our pew at church. The youth room. A place echoing with conversations, be they pure silliness or freighted with things that matter. A place ringing with laughter, hushed with tears. A place swathed in forgiveness, as we decide to bury past offenses and build a future together, as we offer each other Christ’s peace every Sunday as a kind of “earnest money” deposit toward that future. A place in which we find ourselves banding with others – once strangers, now friends – marching together toward something important. A place fragrant with the scent of food, glorious food, in which we crowd around tables together, or a Table spread by a host named Jesus Christ. What makes a “home” out of a “place”? All of these things and more.
Let me suggest that anyone who is coming from another place, another web of relationships, is not truly “home” until they have found a future. “Home” gives us a place to stand and look toward a shared tomorrow. Which is what I’ve discovered right here at Chalice Christian Church. I’ve found a bunch for whom “home” is in the questions that in turn reveal a quest for God. Together.
Monday, June 23, 2008
At home here or there...
When I think about "home" there are many different aspects that come to mind for me. Right now, I have the privilege to be visiting my hometown of Indianapolis. In one way, this is "home" for me, but everytime I visit, I realize how much has changed, especially when I see kids I used to work with in my home church youth group. Of course, some of them are not kids anymore and I almost don't recognize them! I can't help but admit that it makes me feel old (btw, I just turned 35!). I know that by most people's standards, I am not old at all, but for me, my age is in relation to where I am in life right now. I just got married and don't have any children yet. I always thought I'd be a mom before now. Some of the kids I worked with in my church youth group are already parents! I guess that makes me feel a little behind. Hopefully, Robert and I will get there soon. :)
Despite the fact that I am visiting my hometown right now, what really comes to mind in terms of "home" is figuring out where Robert and I are going to live. We currently live in my condo, but he also owns a condo that we are trying to sell and since the housing market is in such a slump, we aren't sure where we'll end up. We might have to rent one of them out. So, we kind of feel displaced right now simply because we aren't sure where we can settle down.
Another aspect of "home" for me right now is my family's search for a vacation home. In a couple of weeks, my father, siblings, and I are traveling down to the Smoky Mountain area in Tennessee and North Carolina to look for a vacation property. Growing up, my family usually visited that area at least once a year, so it sort of became a "second home" for us. So, in a sense, I'll be going "home" again in a couple of weeks.
I guess I have some more reflecting to do when it comes to what "home" really means to me.
P.S. If anyone is interested, you can visit our wedding blog at http://robertandclara.blogspot.com.
Despite the fact that I am visiting my hometown right now, what really comes to mind in terms of "home" is figuring out where Robert and I are going to live. We currently live in my condo, but he also owns a condo that we are trying to sell and since the housing market is in such a slump, we aren't sure where we'll end up. We might have to rent one of them out. So, we kind of feel displaced right now simply because we aren't sure where we can settle down.
Another aspect of "home" for me right now is my family's search for a vacation home. In a couple of weeks, my father, siblings, and I are traveling down to the Smoky Mountain area in Tennessee and North Carolina to look for a vacation property. Growing up, my family usually visited that area at least once a year, so it sort of became a "second home" for us. So, in a sense, I'll be going "home" again in a couple of weeks.
I guess I have some more reflecting to do when it comes to what "home" really means to me.
P.S. If anyone is interested, you can visit our wedding blog at http://robertandclara.blogspot.com.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Finding Home
I written a post in my mind several times for this blog. First, I was thinking about home-as where my spiritual routes were. As a child I went to St. John Vianney in Colonia, NJ. It was a big parish. I remember the family friends that attended. Once in a while we all drove to Consellata-a small church in the country that was a Italian missionary church. My dad and Siobhan's (my best friend) mom would sing along with a guitar. We went to the folk Mass on Sundays. We had Mass in my home for holidays or special occasions, when my uncle Pete (a Paulist priest) was in town.
I was not going to make it back east this summer. Even if I did, I don't know who I would visit.
I searched for Consellatta and St. Johns on the internet. I found them, but they were not home. I also realize they were not "home." I thought about going to Mass (just wasn't home) or reading Hans Kung (books that were a part of my home library- if you think Crossan is dense:).
Then Jim's parents moved here. Suddenly ten days later Jim's dad died. I found myself sitting in Chalice, listening to my dad and Jim in the service.
When I arrived, several church members were already there. My mom came along with a friend of our family. Slowly more church friends arrived. Then, friends from Jim's work and school slipped in. Cards and flowers arrived.
What a powerful moment for me. This is home-I am have been on the road - searching for home. Here I am.
I was not going to make it back east this summer. Even if I did, I don't know who I would visit.
I searched for Consellatta and St. Johns on the internet. I found them, but they were not home. I also realize they were not "home." I thought about going to Mass (just wasn't home) or reading Hans Kung (books that were a part of my home library- if you think Crossan is dense:).
Then Jim's parents moved here. Suddenly ten days later Jim's dad died. I found myself sitting in Chalice, listening to my dad and Jim in the service.
When I arrived, several church members were already there. My mom came along with a friend of our family. Slowly more church friends arrived. Then, friends from Jim's work and school slipped in. Cards and flowers arrived.
What a powerful moment for me. This is home-I am have been on the road - searching for home. Here I am.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Road Trip
Applebutter, Buffalo, Carrot, Dolphin, Everybody, Flamingo, Giraffe, Horoscope, Igloo, Jackalope, Kangaroo, Lithosphere, Minnie Mouse, Nitroglycerin, Octopus, Polytheism, Quinine, Robust, Snake, Titicaca, Uvula, Vaccination, Wave Frequency, Xylem, Yangtze River, Zanzibar. There are myriad ways to pass the time while driving cross-country, and they are way more fun when shared with young people. Maggie suggested we do the alphabet game, each of us in turn thinking of a word that starts with the next letter of the alphabet after repeating all of the previous words. I would like to be able to say that the most impressive words in our list (above) were mine, but I'm held to our familial requirement of honesty. I learned a lot about social studies and science curriculum on this road trip, and was pretty impressed. By the way, "polytheism" came from Maggie, and August commented that "monotheism is what we believe." They learned about religion in social studies.
I had forgotten how much I enjoy driving.
After brief stops to see my daughters I spent two weeks with my parents. What a gift it was not to be in a hurry. (I refuse to be anxious about schedule until August 16.) Daddy and I spent some quality time with the digital recorder, getting family history and story logged. I'll have more reflections on this segment of the trip later.
This road trip took me to each of my daughters' homes where I enjoyed unhurried time with their families. Stacey had a project in mind for us (removing holly bushes & replacing them with flower beds), but the torrential rains in Tulsa precluded outdoor work, and we did absolutely nothing quantifiable while I was there. It was delightful. Five-month-old Aiden is adorable, and playtime was a treasure.
At Heather's home we had an equally liesurely plan, but in a burst of energy pulled up carpet in Maggie's room, exposing a hardwood floor, and removed the paneling from her plastered walls. What a sense of accomplishment!!! And Maggie was so excited she couldn't contain herself. The painting will come later, but in the meantime, she organized her room, enjoyed making her bed, and cleaned out her closet.
While in Missouri I connected with old friends Joyce, Kay, Ramie (and Amy, Eric, Braden & Cole Shumaker) and worshipped at Blue Valley CC in Overland Park where I got to hear my former pastor, Rick Butler, preach. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
When it was time to load up the car and return to AZ, I threw my three older grandchildren in the car just for fun. We are filling our days with short trips and training for a hike in the Grand Canyon. But the greatest thrill in all of this for me is having the kids here for a sleepover -- for a week! I'm a happy "gram."
I had forgotten how much I enjoy driving.
After brief stops to see my daughters I spent two weeks with my parents. What a gift it was not to be in a hurry. (I refuse to be anxious about schedule until August 16.) Daddy and I spent some quality time with the digital recorder, getting family history and story logged. I'll have more reflections on this segment of the trip later.
This road trip took me to each of my daughters' homes where I enjoyed unhurried time with their families. Stacey had a project in mind for us (removing holly bushes & replacing them with flower beds), but the torrential rains in Tulsa precluded outdoor work, and we did absolutely nothing quantifiable while I was there. It was delightful. Five-month-old Aiden is adorable, and playtime was a treasure.
At Heather's home we had an equally liesurely plan, but in a burst of energy pulled up carpet in Maggie's room, exposing a hardwood floor, and removed the paneling from her plastered walls. What a sense of accomplishment!!! And Maggie was so excited she couldn't contain herself. The painting will come later, but in the meantime, she organized her room, enjoyed making her bed, and cleaned out her closet.
While in Missouri I connected with old friends Joyce, Kay, Ramie (and Amy, Eric, Braden & Cole Shumaker) and worshipped at Blue Valley CC in Overland Park where I got to hear my former pastor, Rick Butler, preach. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
When it was time to load up the car and return to AZ, I threw my three older grandchildren in the car just for fun. We are filling our days with short trips and training for a hike in the Grand Canyon. But the greatest thrill in all of this for me is having the kids here for a sleepover -- for a week! I'm a happy "gram."
Monday, June 9, 2008
Going Home
On Sunday, I realized next week is Father's Day. I started to put together what I have on my plate for this upcoming weekend, and Pat and I realized this was a going home with a capital H.
This Saturday I will go to Meadlawn Christian Church to have Dad's memorial service in Indianapolis. It is the place of my baptism. It is the church where my grandmother entered on her own, some time in the 1930's establishing a relationship with Meadlawn Christian and the Barton Family. It is the place where my father was baptized, married, ordained, and on this Saturday will be remembered.
It seems surreal. Too enormous; like a plot point from an overly sappy movie.
It completely dwarfs my "job" (catalogue voter fraud, object to destructive testing, and draft competitive bidding requirements). And that seems to be where my focus is going right now. Not so much responding to the grief and sorrow of Dad's absence, but focusing on my hero image of him and this larger than life event that is taking shape. Forgive me, while I tarry a little longer here. Maybe until Saturday evening.
This Saturday I will go to Meadlawn Christian Church to have Dad's memorial service in Indianapolis. It is the place of my baptism. It is the church where my grandmother entered on her own, some time in the 1930's establishing a relationship with Meadlawn Christian and the Barton Family. It is the place where my father was baptized, married, ordained, and on this Saturday will be remembered.
It seems surreal. Too enormous; like a plot point from an overly sappy movie.
It completely dwarfs my "job" (catalogue voter fraud, object to destructive testing, and draft competitive bidding requirements). And that seems to be where my focus is going right now. Not so much responding to the grief and sorrow of Dad's absence, but focusing on my hero image of him and this larger than life event that is taking shape. Forgive me, while I tarry a little longer here. Maybe until Saturday evening.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Everyday stuff
Home is where we do the everyday stuff that seems too ordinary to talk about. That's what has filled most of my days for the past two weeks. There were daily trips to the strawberry patch. The variety that my folks planted produces small berries, but when they're ripe, their color is such a dark red it is almost purple. The sweet-tart taste is unbelievable. And there's nothing better than berries capped as soon as they're picked, sugared and served over my mother's shortcake.
Friday I travelled from the farm in Carroll County, MO to my daughter Stacey's home in Tulsa for a major dose of lovin' on my grandson Aiden. More later.
Friday I travelled from the farm in Carroll County, MO to my daughter Stacey's home in Tulsa for a major dose of lovin' on my grandson Aiden. More later.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Summers of the past
This is my first official summer as a "stay at home mom" and I am having a really hard time with the stay at home part of that title. Just before school got out I began to panic....what in the world are the kids going to do this summer?....how can I keep them busy?....how many activities can I fit into each day? I have enrolled them in a morning summer school program so that I can attend to my position at the church, but after 12 o'clock noon I have nothing for them to do.
What a blessing!
I was sitting on the side of the pool watching them swim yesterday thinking, "isn't there something else I should be doing?". I realized that this is exactly what I should be doing, enjoying my kids being kids and having some time in the summer to just do nothing. My childhood summer days were filled with hours of swimming, dressing barbies and braiding their hair, building forts and endless bike rides. Why do we feel that we have to constantly stimulate our children with planned activities? They, and we, need time for imagination and boredome and relaxation.
This will be my summer of renewal!
What a blessing!
I was sitting on the side of the pool watching them swim yesterday thinking, "isn't there something else I should be doing?". I realized that this is exactly what I should be doing, enjoying my kids being kids and having some time in the summer to just do nothing. My childhood summer days were filled with hours of swimming, dressing barbies and braiding their hair, building forts and endless bike rides. Why do we feel that we have to constantly stimulate our children with planned activities? They, and we, need time for imagination and boredome and relaxation.
This will be my summer of renewal!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
stories
That's mostly what I came to Missouri for -- my father's stories. He just turned 96. This man can remember an amazing amount of information about his life and the community he has lived in all this time. He talks non-stop in a rambling way, moving between generations and subjects.
Yesterday we spent about two hours together, digital recorder running so that I can capture his voice. My job was to ask prompting questions, and then listen. His was to talk. At about noon I suggested that we take a break until after dinner (lunch is dinner on the farm). He said, "Well... no, you want to talk some more?" which really meant, 'you want to listen some more?' With that he lay back down on his day bed and waited for me to ask the next question.
His stories come to life in the telling, and so does he. Another resurrection.
Yesterday we spent about two hours together, digital recorder running so that I can capture his voice. My job was to ask prompting questions, and then listen. His was to talk. At about noon I suggested that we take a break until after dinner (lunch is dinner on the farm). He said, "Well... no, you want to talk some more?" which really meant, 'you want to listen some more?' With that he lay back down on his day bed and waited for me to ask the next question.
His stories come to life in the telling, and so does he. Another resurrection.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Homecoming
There's a tradition in the little country church where I grew up. Every Memorial Day weekend former members and pastors are invited to bring their families back to McCroskie Creek Baptist Church for a reunion. The day includes the usual Sunday school and morning worship followed by a huge carry-in dinner and an afternoon service that begins with a memorial to the members of the church who are now deceased, with special recognition for those who have served in the United States military. This year Shirley (about 10 years my junior) led the memorial. She broadened the time of remembering to include living heroes in the church as well, naming their service in the church as having changed the lives of all of us who grew up in the congregation. She said this was a place full of people who always accepted us and welcomed us back no matter how badly we messed up.
Cora Lou said something similar before singing her solo during the worship service. She is more than a decade my senior. She said that this little church not only shaped and grounded her -- it is because of this church that her children, the next generation, who grew up far away, became the people they are. McCroskie Creek created a foundation for people generations removed.
Dixie said that the love and support that this congregation gives to her mother, Marg, who struggles with the effects of cancer and Alzheimers is what sustains her. Even on the days that Marg seems not to recognize her daughter as she thanks her for coming by, she remembers and talks about the church.
My great-neice Lily was baptized yesterday. Tommy (in his mid-70s) remembers when he baby-sat me! Susie tells me she is now retired, substitute teaching sometimes and tending her consignment booth at an antique store. Pat and Holly, whose band included guitar, mandolin, banjo, bass and great vocal harmony, were amazed to see my grown daughters and their children (they led music for church camp when my kids were young).
I spent the day in a dizzying time warp, a baby when I became part of that church, a grandmother when I returned. A welcoming community... that's what a church at its best can be... a spiritual home.
Cora Lou said something similar before singing her solo during the worship service. She is more than a decade my senior. She said that this little church not only shaped and grounded her -- it is because of this church that her children, the next generation, who grew up far away, became the people they are. McCroskie Creek created a foundation for people generations removed.
Dixie said that the love and support that this congregation gives to her mother, Marg, who struggles with the effects of cancer and Alzheimers is what sustains her. Even on the days that Marg seems not to recognize her daughter as she thanks her for coming by, she remembers and talks about the church.
My great-neice Lily was baptized yesterday. Tommy (in his mid-70s) remembers when he baby-sat me! Susie tells me she is now retired, substitute teaching sometimes and tending her consignment booth at an antique store. Pat and Holly, whose band included guitar, mandolin, banjo, bass and great vocal harmony, were amazed to see my grown daughters and their children (they led music for church camp when my kids were young).
I spent the day in a dizzying time warp, a baby when I became part of that church, a grandmother when I returned. A welcoming community... that's what a church at its best can be... a spiritual home.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Day one of the journey...
My bags are packed, food and drinks prepared so I won't have to stop except when the car gets hungry. It's going to be fun logging the mpg this little hybrid gets on her way to and from Missouri. I'll get a few hours of sleep this evening, and then in the wee hours of the morning I'll be heading out across the country.
I hope to find some time for just-for-fun reading in the next few weeks. To that end, I'm taking along a couple of books by Diana Gabaldon, a Phoenix author -- great adventure, mythical, a little racey. I am NOT taking along any lectionary resources... just a Bible. I also tucked in a copy of Homer's "The Odyssey." Not exactly light reading, but I thought it might be an appropriate book for a trip such as this -- an exploration without a tight schedule, a meandering kind of journey.
A few years ago when Jim Sterling was serving on the committee that helped plan my ordination service, he gifted me with the following reflection called "The Journey." In Greek mythology, the island of Ithaca is a symbol of ultimate destination, toward which Odysseus makes his way through complicated and perilous adventure.
"When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction
.............
ports seen for the first time...
.............
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.
Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But do not in the least hurry the journey.
Better that it should last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you the splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out...
Be sure to write to us here at the blog when you set out for your Ithaca, and let us all know where the journey takes you.
See you in August.
I hope to find some time for just-for-fun reading in the next few weeks. To that end, I'm taking along a couple of books by Diana Gabaldon, a Phoenix author -- great adventure, mythical, a little racey. I am NOT taking along any lectionary resources... just a Bible. I also tucked in a copy of Homer's "The Odyssey." Not exactly light reading, but I thought it might be an appropriate book for a trip such as this -- an exploration without a tight schedule, a meandering kind of journey.
A few years ago when Jim Sterling was serving on the committee that helped plan my ordination service, he gifted me with the following reflection called "The Journey." In Greek mythology, the island of Ithaca is a symbol of ultimate destination, toward which Odysseus makes his way through complicated and perilous adventure.
"When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction
.............
ports seen for the first time...
.............
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.
Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But do not in the least hurry the journey.
Better that it should last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you the splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out...
Be sure to write to us here at the blog when you set out for your Ithaca, and let us all know where the journey takes you.
See you in August.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Hiking Mt. Whitney
As Linda mentioned..I will be backpacking to the top of Mt. Whitney, located in Lone Pine, CA on June 6-8, 2008; It is the highest peak in the lower 48 states...topping out at 14,497. I will be tackling this adventure with a friend of mine-Melissa. She and I will be going on a guided tour with Sierra Mountaineering International-I believe including the guides there will be 8 of us. I have day hiked around AZ and NM--but never anything quite like this...we'll be carrying 20-40lbs on our back, we will be using crampons and ice axe (for the snowy conditions)..we will be wearing harnesses, ropes, etc as we make our final ascent to the top via the Mountaineers Route. Their are many ways to get to the top--this just happens to be one of the more "difficult" routes...We've been training for the last couple of months now--and feel very much prepared for what lies ahead..Day one we hike to UpperBoy scout lake (11,000)-and put up camp...Day 2 we "chute" the summit and then back down to camp for the night...Day 3-we pack up camp and head back to Whitney portal (8,000) in time for a nice lunch or dinner I suspect...it will be amazing--and my prayer is a safe and exciting trip-to the top...and then of course safe travels back "home"...Your thoughts and prayers would be much appreciated!!!!
Wherever you go, there you are!
God, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. --Psalm 90:1-2
This is the day our sabbatical officially begins. I say "our" because we have all been commissioned to lay down some of our busy-ness this summer and learn to rest... be renewed.
For me, this first day is a transitional day -- still a few tasks to finish before I can leave. So it's a busy day; not yet a restful day. Someone asked me yesterday if I'm excited yet. I've been excited for a while. Right now I'm just a little anxious, and expect that will dissipate when I've tied up these loose ends, packed the car and headed out.
It's too full a day to think creatively. So for today I'll post an excerpt from one of my favorite worship resources, a three-volume series called Imaging the Word from United Church Press in Cleveland, OH. This is from Volume 3, p. 54. There is a quote from Douglas Meeks ("Love and the Hope for a Just Society," in Burnham, McCoy, and Meeks, Love: The Foundation in the Theology of Jurgen Moltmann and Elizabeth Moltmann-Wendel, San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988, 44, 45.)
"We have all had at least fleetingly, an experience of home. Home is where no one ever forgets your name. Home is where no matter what you have done, you will be confronted, forgiven,and accepted. Home is where there is always a place for you at the table.... The heart of justice is participation in God's economy or God's household."
Some of us have more of a longing for home than a memory of home. Some of us have heard of it, read what others had to say about it, but haven't yet found the place where there is such grace that regardless of what we've done, we will be "forgiven and accepted." Maybe the "confronted" part was all you ever got. So if you're still looking for home today, I'm thinking of you especially. I'm praying that you'll find a place that feels like home.
This is the day our sabbatical officially begins. I say "our" because we have all been commissioned to lay down some of our busy-ness this summer and learn to rest... be renewed.
For me, this first day is a transitional day -- still a few tasks to finish before I can leave. So it's a busy day; not yet a restful day. Someone asked me yesterday if I'm excited yet. I've been excited for a while. Right now I'm just a little anxious, and expect that will dissipate when I've tied up these loose ends, packed the car and headed out.
It's too full a day to think creatively. So for today I'll post an excerpt from one of my favorite worship resources, a three-volume series called Imaging the Word from United Church Press in Cleveland, OH. This is from Volume 3, p. 54. There is a quote from Douglas Meeks ("Love and the Hope for a Just Society," in Burnham, McCoy, and Meeks, Love: The Foundation in the Theology of Jurgen Moltmann and Elizabeth Moltmann-Wendel, San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988, 44, 45.)
"We have all had at least fleetingly, an experience of home. Home is where no one ever forgets your name. Home is where no matter what you have done, you will be confronted, forgiven,and accepted. Home is where there is always a place for you at the table.... The heart of justice is participation in God's economy or God's household."
Some of us have more of a longing for home than a memory of home. Some of us have heard of it, read what others had to say about it, but haven't yet found the place where there is such grace that regardless of what we've done, we will be "forgiven and accepted." Maybe the "confronted" part was all you ever got. So if you're still looking for home today, I'm thinking of you especially. I'm praying that you'll find a place that feels like home.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
So glad you dropped in!
Hi, Andi & Amy! What fun to read your posts! Keep it up. Can't wait to read about everyone's adventures this summer!
Andi, the Rocky Point sun shows on your face! What a great adventure on the beach. Congratulations!
Amy, the description you sent me of your upcoming backpacking trip is amazing. You really must post a report when you're back -- in fact, tell the story now! You must be very excited to have your sister moving here -- to be close to those babies! Love to you & Trish -- I miss you -- see you in the fall!
L
Andi, the Rocky Point sun shows on your face! What a great adventure on the beach. Congratulations!
Amy, the description you sent me of your upcoming backpacking trip is amazing. You really must post a report when you're back -- in fact, tell the story now! You must be very excited to have your sister moving here -- to be close to those babies! Love to you & Trish -- I miss you -- see you in the fall!
L
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
New to this...
I've just been invited to this blog--and have never been blogging before..so here goes. Andi-your trip to rocky point sounds wonderful--a girl after my own heart--the beach, a triathalon, and bonding with the girls--how awesome is that..! Being born and raised in KC myself, I can relate to alot of the stories of Linda...I think the dinner "table" is a very special place--it always was for our family as well..As far as "going home....coming home"...as you all know-Trish and I haven't been to church in well over a year now. We think of Chalice often...we drive by your home daily...we feel a connection to the congregation..we love you all...and I know that we consider Chalice our "home"..(that we don't visit very often...:) However, my sister and her family are moving here at the end of the month..I know that they will be looking for a church family...and I am certainly going to recommend Chalice...and of course--being the good aunt(s) we are, we too would join them...so--I guess in a sense, we'll be coming home as well....
I'm refreshed!
So I didn't exactly go home, but I did get refreshed! Tara and I and 3 other girls (because of course we aren't old enough to be called women!) traveled to Rocky Point Mexico for a girls getaway. The getaway included a triathlon, a wonderful condo in front of the pool and lots of quality bonding time on the beach. We returned to our families with renewed energy and slightly sunburned cheeks. It was such a wonderful trip we are hoping to make it an annual event!
Andi
Andi
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Going Home… to a Place of Hospitality
Luke 10:38-42
Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’ But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’
There is a table with three leaves that sits in the kitchen at my parent’s home. Most of the time the three leaves live in the hall closet, but when company comes, we bring them out and the table expands to welcome relatives and friends. At Thanksgiving it was always hard to guess who would be sitting around that table. Everyone in the community who didn’t have somewhere else to be was invited. Former pastors still drop by unannounced and Mother just adds another plate to the table so they can share the meal. There is magic about this table. At this table four hot vegetables, a big bowl of potatoes, two plates of meat, four salads, a bowl of pickled beets, a cake and two pies can disappear in no time.
This is the same table where informal family meetings happen daily to discuss the farming that needs to be done, the cattle to be moved to another pasture, the cost of seed corn and fertilizer, and whether to contract this summer to sell the beans at a better price. This is the table where I answered to questions about my grade card and reported on whether my chores were done. It is the place where my father wrote in his journal, leaving an account of life on the farm.
At home I learned how important a table can be. The table in my parents’ kitchen where we are nourished is also the table that orders our life… reminds me of communion at church. It is a blessed place. This is a table that is always open. This is a table that says “welcome home.”
Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’ But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’
There is a table with three leaves that sits in the kitchen at my parent’s home. Most of the time the three leaves live in the hall closet, but when company comes, we bring them out and the table expands to welcome relatives and friends. At Thanksgiving it was always hard to guess who would be sitting around that table. Everyone in the community who didn’t have somewhere else to be was invited. Former pastors still drop by unannounced and Mother just adds another plate to the table so they can share the meal. There is magic about this table. At this table four hot vegetables, a big bowl of potatoes, two plates of meat, four salads, a bowl of pickled beets, a cake and two pies can disappear in no time.
This is the same table where informal family meetings happen daily to discuss the farming that needs to be done, the cattle to be moved to another pasture, the cost of seed corn and fertilizer, and whether to contract this summer to sell the beans at a better price. This is the table where I answered to questions about my grade card and reported on whether my chores were done. It is the place where my father wrote in his journal, leaving an account of life on the farm.
At home I learned how important a table can be. The table in my parents’ kitchen where we are nourished is also the table that orders our life… reminds me of communion at church. It is a blessed place. This is a table that is always open. This is a table that says “welcome home.”
Friday, May 9, 2008
Going Home… Where Fireflies Light the Summer Nights
Summer nights. All the farm machinery idle, tractors and trucks in the shed. Silence filtering in with nothing to anchor it but a soft breeze. Interrupted now and then by locusts… the sound of crickets. Now the neighbor’s dog barking, distant, probably at a raccoon stealing sweet corn.
The time before we had an indoor bathroom… a galvanized metal tub sitting in the yard. Laughter. My brother Norman’s laughter, when he scooped up a double handful of bathwater from the tub and aimed it at me… at me! fresh and clean and newly dried, in my underpants and shirt. Laughter, Norman’s laughter as he ran around the yard with all his strength to get away from me. Scrawny kid! I loved him with a love so big it made me run faster.
Cool evening air, brushing past my arms and face, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up straight. Evening air sweet with the smell of growing things and rich black earth, velvety grass. Velvety grass between my toes. Night wrapping us in its soft black veil, interrupted only by stars and the fireflies. There’s nothing like an evening of chasing “lightning bugs.” Magical insects with their yellow-green lights flying away before we could catch them, flirting with us… and then we would catch them… and pinch off their backsides while the light still glowed, and the sticky stuff from inside them made the glowing part cling to my finger like a diamond ring.
I’m going home.
The time before we had an indoor bathroom… a galvanized metal tub sitting in the yard. Laughter. My brother Norman’s laughter, when he scooped up a double handful of bathwater from the tub and aimed it at me… at me! fresh and clean and newly dried, in my underpants and shirt. Laughter, Norman’s laughter as he ran around the yard with all his strength to get away from me. Scrawny kid! I loved him with a love so big it made me run faster.
Cool evening air, brushing past my arms and face, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up straight. Evening air sweet with the smell of growing things and rich black earth, velvety grass. Velvety grass between my toes. Night wrapping us in its soft black veil, interrupted only by stars and the fireflies. There’s nothing like an evening of chasing “lightning bugs.” Magical insects with their yellow-green lights flying away before we could catch them, flirting with us… and then we would catch them… and pinch off their backsides while the light still glowed, and the sticky stuff from inside them made the glowing part cling to my finger like a diamond ring.
I’m going home.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Going Home... to An Inhabited Town
Psalm 107
O give thanks to God who is good, and whose steadfast love endures forever. Let those redeemed from trouble say so, whom God gathered in from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south. Some wandered in desert wastes, finding no way to an inhabited town; hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them. Then they cried out in their trouble and God delivered them from their distress, leading them by a straight way, until they reached an inhabited town. Let them thank God for such steadfast love and wonderful works to humankind. For God satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.
I grew up in a farming community in Missouri, about 70 miles east of Kansas City. Tucked away there between the green rolling hills is a little town called Norborne. In those days the population was 1000. There I finished elementary school, junior high and high school. That’s where I learned to play clarinet and held first chair, sang in the choir, played and sang in small ensembles and solos for contests, produced copy and layout for yearbooks, cheered at football games, debated both pro and con on national topics, learned to conjugate Latin (amare, amo, amas, amat – I love!), played bass drum in marching band (what was that about?) had the lead role in a couple of plays, and almost beat Ronnie Lyon in a race for student body president. He never let me forget it!
The Psalmist talks about people wandering in wastelands, finding no way to an inhabited town. This summer, very soon, I’ll load up my little Prius and drive the long road home to an inhabited town. The town has changed. The drug store is closed where we used to walk after school for an order of fries and a drink from the soda fountain. Vanilla phosphate was my preference. Norborne may be smaller, and many of the people I knew are no longer there, but there are memories sleeping in the doorways and on the corner lot where the bandstand used to be, where we played on summer nights for the shoppers who had come to town. I plan to wake up some of those memories and shake the dust off them.
The Psalmist says, ‘hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them.’ Every year there was a fair in Norborne where the best produce from everyone’s garden was carted carefully to be put up beside the neighbor’s produce and judged. The best got blue ribbons. The best of the best got Best of Show. Hardly anyone in that little town went hungry. There was plenty to go around and hearts generous enough to share.
When I think of the tastes of home, I always think of peanut rolls. I’ve never eaten a peanut roll anywhere else that I’ve lived or traveled – as far as I know they are native to Norborne. My mother-in-law, Edith, made some of the best. Pep Club sold them at football games as a fundraiser. I’ll have to make you some sometime. Very soon I'm going back to a little hometown that's inhabited by good cooks and remarkable memories.
O give thanks to God who is good, and whose steadfast love endures forever. Let those redeemed from trouble say so, whom God gathered in from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south. Some wandered in desert wastes, finding no way to an inhabited town; hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them. Then they cried out in their trouble and God delivered them from their distress, leading them by a straight way, until they reached an inhabited town. Let them thank God for such steadfast love and wonderful works to humankind. For God satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.
I grew up in a farming community in Missouri, about 70 miles east of Kansas City. Tucked away there between the green rolling hills is a little town called Norborne. In those days the population was 1000. There I finished elementary school, junior high and high school. That’s where I learned to play clarinet and held first chair, sang in the choir, played and sang in small ensembles and solos for contests, produced copy and layout for yearbooks, cheered at football games, debated both pro and con on national topics, learned to conjugate Latin (amare, amo, amas, amat – I love!), played bass drum in marching band (what was that about?) had the lead role in a couple of plays, and almost beat Ronnie Lyon in a race for student body president. He never let me forget it!
The Psalmist talks about people wandering in wastelands, finding no way to an inhabited town. This summer, very soon, I’ll load up my little Prius and drive the long road home to an inhabited town. The town has changed. The drug store is closed where we used to walk after school for an order of fries and a drink from the soda fountain. Vanilla phosphate was my preference. Norborne may be smaller, and many of the people I knew are no longer there, but there are memories sleeping in the doorways and on the corner lot where the bandstand used to be, where we played on summer nights for the shoppers who had come to town. I plan to wake up some of those memories and shake the dust off them.
The Psalmist says, ‘hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them.’ Every year there was a fair in Norborne where the best produce from everyone’s garden was carted carefully to be put up beside the neighbor’s produce and judged. The best got blue ribbons. The best of the best got Best of Show. Hardly anyone in that little town went hungry. There was plenty to go around and hearts generous enough to share.
When I think of the tastes of home, I always think of peanut rolls. I’ve never eaten a peanut roll anywhere else that I’ve lived or traveled – as far as I know they are native to Norborne. My mother-in-law, Edith, made some of the best. Pep Club sold them at football games as a fundraiser. I’ll have to make you some sometime. Very soon I'm going back to a little hometown that's inhabited by good cooks and remarkable memories.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Going Home... to Where I Caught Faith
2 Timothy 1:3-7
I am grateful to God – whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did – when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.
Before coming to Arizona 12 years ago I was actively involved at North Oak Christian Church in Kansas City. It was a great congregation, about the size of Chalice, with a building a lot like this one. They just finished remodeling and I can’t wait to see it. North Oak will be one of the churches I visit on sabbatical. For the 14 years that my daughters and I were members there the pastor was Rick Butler, one of the best preachers I ever heard. As I was fretting one day about program planning for the church he shared one of his bits of wisdom: “Faith is better caught than taught.” That, by the way, is why your congregation needs you to be in church every Sunday & involved in small group ministries – because if you’re not around, how can our young people catch your faith? We first have to be exposed - sort of like the way you catch measles - you have to be exposed.
Were you exposed to faith as a child? I sure was. My parents were right in the middle of everything at our little country church, McCroskie Creek Baptist Church. Every Sunday morning we were there for Sunday school and worship, and on Sunday nights we went back for Training Union and evening worship. On Wednesday nights we were there for prayer meeting. Scattered through the weekdays were Deacons’ meetings for Daddy and Women’s Missionary Union meetings for Mother. When I was old enough there were Girl’s Auxiliary meetings for me. My brother and I were exposed to faith – sometimes we thought we were a little overexposed!
But it wasn’t just from our little church that we caught faith. Like Paul remembers in his greeting to Timothy above, I inherited the faith from my mother Rachel and my grandmother Lura and her mother Molly before her, and even the generations I never knew. (Not to omit my father, Stanley, who comes from another line of the faithful.) When I go home this summer it will be like crawling back into a cradle of faith where I was rocked as a child. I didn’t much care for the strictness of it, but to this day I cherish its constancy and its centrality to who we are as family.
I am grateful to God – whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did – when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.
Before coming to Arizona 12 years ago I was actively involved at North Oak Christian Church in Kansas City. It was a great congregation, about the size of Chalice, with a building a lot like this one. They just finished remodeling and I can’t wait to see it. North Oak will be one of the churches I visit on sabbatical. For the 14 years that my daughters and I were members there the pastor was Rick Butler, one of the best preachers I ever heard. As I was fretting one day about program planning for the church he shared one of his bits of wisdom: “Faith is better caught than taught.” That, by the way, is why your congregation needs you to be in church every Sunday & involved in small group ministries – because if you’re not around, how can our young people catch your faith? We first have to be exposed - sort of like the way you catch measles - you have to be exposed.
Were you exposed to faith as a child? I sure was. My parents were right in the middle of everything at our little country church, McCroskie Creek Baptist Church. Every Sunday morning we were there for Sunday school and worship, and on Sunday nights we went back for Training Union and evening worship. On Wednesday nights we were there for prayer meeting. Scattered through the weekdays were Deacons’ meetings for Daddy and Women’s Missionary Union meetings for Mother. When I was old enough there were Girl’s Auxiliary meetings for me. My brother and I were exposed to faith – sometimes we thought we were a little overexposed!
But it wasn’t just from our little church that we caught faith. Like Paul remembers in his greeting to Timothy above, I inherited the faith from my mother Rachel and my grandmother Lura and her mother Molly before her, and even the generations I never knew. (Not to omit my father, Stanley, who comes from another line of the faithful.) When I go home this summer it will be like crawling back into a cradle of faith where I was rocked as a child. I didn’t much care for the strictness of it, but to this day I cherish its constancy and its centrality to who we are as family.
Monday, April 28, 2008
"We just wanna go home."
The trip to New Orleans was great! It was exciting to help rebuild, and great to make new friends -- but the real treasure was getting to hear people's stories. One phrase could be heard in every one of them: "We just wanted to go home." June said that when the call came saying they'd better get out, she and her husband left for her sister's home in Texas. Her husband passed away while they were there. As soon as she could, she returned home. I asked her what it was like coming home. "Everything was grey!" she said. "The trees were grey, the grass was grey, the houses were grey -- everything was grey!"
Tony's house sits on Abundance Street. It had eight feet of water inside it at one time. As soon as the water resided, but before the barricades had been taken down, he came home to open up his windows so things could dry out. He has stripped the woodwork down to its natural cypress beauty and will put it back when the walls are repaired. He showed us photos of the neighborhood when it was under water. Many of the people in his neighborhood are elderly. Some of them didn't make it through the storm. Hearts that were weak grew weaker. Depression is commonplace.
One young woman talked to us from her front porch. She told us about her whole extended family leaving New Orleans together. They rented a block of hotel rooms for as long as they could afford it while they waited to be able to come home. Finally they brought her father back, and he was able to be home for a year before he died. "At least he died at home," she said.
I couldn't help thinking of Psalm 137: "By the rivers of Babylon (or Cincinnatti or Houston or Phoenix, or any of the other cities to which these Gulf Coast natives were exiled) -- there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion (New Orleans). On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, 'Sing us one of the songs of Zion!' ('Play us some New Orleans jazz!') How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?" We just want to go home.
Tony's house sits on Abundance Street. It had eight feet of water inside it at one time. As soon as the water resided, but before the barricades had been taken down, he came home to open up his windows so things could dry out. He has stripped the woodwork down to its natural cypress beauty and will put it back when the walls are repaired. He showed us photos of the neighborhood when it was under water. Many of the people in his neighborhood are elderly. Some of them didn't make it through the storm. Hearts that were weak grew weaker. Depression is commonplace.
One young woman talked to us from her front porch. She told us about her whole extended family leaving New Orleans together. They rented a block of hotel rooms for as long as they could afford it while they waited to be able to come home. Finally they brought her father back, and he was able to be home for a year before he died. "At least he died at home," she said.
I couldn't help thinking of Psalm 137: "By the rivers of Babylon (or Cincinnatti or Houston or Phoenix, or any of the other cities to which these Gulf Coast natives were exiled) -- there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion (New Orleans). On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, 'Sing us one of the songs of Zion!' ('Play us some New Orleans jazz!') How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?" We just want to go home.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Bogged down in the blog?
It's fun writing about the progress toward sabbatical, but it would be much more fun if you wrote back. In case you haven't done this before, here's how:
Click on the words "0 Comments" at the end of a post. You will get a new screen with a place to write your comments. Below "Choose an Identity" you will need to type your username and password (if you're new, click "Sign up here" to allow you to set them up; then type your email address for the username and make up a password; you also get to choose the name that will appear beside your posts). Make them easy to remember because you'll use them every time you add to the blog. This will be fun! Everyone is invited! All ages.
I'm also working on a way for all of us to post our photos on the blog so we'll have a big summer -e-scrapbook.
Today I will copy all the photos from my camera's memory cards so there's plenty of room for new pictures of New Orleans. I'm going to try to make a slide show of them to show during the sermon next Sunday, April 27 -- so be sure to be at church!
Click on the words "0 Comments" at the end of a post. You will get a new screen with a place to write your comments. Below "Choose an Identity" you will need to type your username and password (if you're new, click "Sign up here" to allow you to set them up; then type your email address for the username and make up a password; you also get to choose the name that will appear beside your posts). Make them easy to remember because you'll use them every time you add to the blog. This will be fun! Everyone is invited! All ages.
I'm also working on a way for all of us to post our photos on the blog so we'll have a big summer -e-scrapbook.
Today I will copy all the photos from my camera's memory cards so there's plenty of room for new pictures of New Orleans. I'm going to try to make a slide show of them to show during the sermon next Sunday, April 27 -- so be sure to be at church!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Building Homes
Today I'll get a tetanus shot in preparation for the work trip to New Orleans where we will be rebuilding homes destroyed by Katrina. I need to spend some time emptying memory cards for my camera. I'll be one of four photographers logging our trip. I'm starting to pack -- will need to take along my own bedding and towels. Mary Jacobs, our coordinator, has put me in charge of the morning meditations, called "Spirit Connections." All 20 of us will rotate through the kitchen duty, preparing, serving and cleaning up after meals. The work duties on site will be assigned when we arrive, and may include everything from roofing or hanging dry wall to running errands or fetching supplies.
I just learned that there now have been more than 750 Disciples groups who have gone to the Gulf Coast to help rebuild and repair homes and churches in the three years since the hurricane winds came through. Our denomination's commitment was three years of work and 750 work crews! Thanks be to God for the commitment of Disciples from across the country! And the work is not finished!
Keep us in prayer. Here is a letter from the Regional Office:
April 17, 2008
Dear Friends,
On Sunday, April 20, twenty persons from 7 congregations in Arizona will be traveling to New Orleans, Louisiana to spend the week, April 20-25, doing hurricane recovery work. This trip is sponsored by the Arizona Anti-Racism/Pro-Reconciling Team with Regional Reconciliation funds supporting the mission trip. The trip has a component that considers the systemic issue of racism as it has played a role before and in the aftermath of the hurricane devastation.
Arizona Regional Staff: Denny Williams, Regional Minister
Community Christian Church, Marana: Robin Stout
Desert Dove Christian Church, Tucson: Allen Cunningham, Letty Giessuebel, Laura Greenfield, Marcha and Dave Talton
Saguaro Christian Church, Tucson: Dave Crobbe, Jenna Lindsay, Kasey Lindsay, Mike Lindsay, Bryan Lott, Scott Steehler
Chalice Christian Church: Linda Miller
First Christian Church, Mesa: Ellen Hoff, Mary Jacobs
First Christian Church, Scottsdale: Robert Fugarino, Sandy Dale , Sarah Dale
Foothills Christian Church, Phoenix: Dan Snelling
We seek your prayer support. This Sunday in worship please ask persons in the congregation to pray each day for us as we work and hear about the work of rebuilding homes and lives in the Gulf area.
Easter Blessings to you and the congregation,
Mary Jacobs, Chair Anti-Racism/Pro-Reconciling Team
I just learned that there now have been more than 750 Disciples groups who have gone to the Gulf Coast to help rebuild and repair homes and churches in the three years since the hurricane winds came through. Our denomination's commitment was three years of work and 750 work crews! Thanks be to God for the commitment of Disciples from across the country! And the work is not finished!
Keep us in prayer. Here is a letter from the Regional Office:
April 17, 2008
Dear Friends,
On Sunday, April 20, twenty persons from 7 congregations in Arizona will be traveling to New Orleans, Louisiana to spend the week, April 20-25, doing hurricane recovery work. This trip is sponsored by the Arizona Anti-Racism/Pro-Reconciling Team with Regional Reconciliation funds supporting the mission trip. The trip has a component that considers the systemic issue of racism as it has played a role before and in the aftermath of the hurricane devastation.
Arizona Regional Staff: Denny Williams, Regional Minister
Community Christian Church, Marana: Robin Stout
Desert Dove Christian Church, Tucson: Allen Cunningham, Letty Giessuebel, Laura Greenfield, Marcha and Dave Talton
Saguaro Christian Church, Tucson: Dave Crobbe, Jenna Lindsay, Kasey Lindsay, Mike Lindsay, Bryan Lott, Scott Steehler
Chalice Christian Church: Linda Miller
First Christian Church, Mesa: Ellen Hoff, Mary Jacobs
First Christian Church, Scottsdale: Robert Fugarino, Sandy Dale , Sarah Dale
Foothills Christian Church, Phoenix: Dan Snelling
We seek your prayer support. This Sunday in worship please ask persons in the congregation to pray each day for us as we work and hear about the work of rebuilding homes and lives in the Gulf area.
Easter Blessings to you and the congregation,
Mary Jacobs, Chair Anti-Racism/Pro-Reconciling Team
Thursday, April 17, 2008
When home is gone...
I'm making preparations to leave on Sunday with a group of 20 Disciples from the Arizona Region. We are going to New Orleans to rebuild some of the homes that were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. Our headquarters will be Westside Christian Church in New Orleans. Our Mission Station Director will be Br. Vance Moore.
I can't imagine what it is like for the people along the Gulf Coast whose homes were destroyed so long ago to still be displaced, without the means to rebuild, living in temporary housing. It must feel something like wandering in the wilderness.
Katrina is like so many other tragedies: we talk about them, read and hear news about them, and think about them almost obsessively for a while, and then our attention moves on to some other "late breaking news" or another more personal crisis. We forget that those most affected by the tragedy continue living with the trauma long after our interest, if not our compassion, have waned. There are still homeless people in New Orleans, and the devastation to their lives has pulled at my heart so long, I just had to go.
I'll be in touch. See you in church on the 27th!
I can't imagine what it is like for the people along the Gulf Coast whose homes were destroyed so long ago to still be displaced, without the means to rebuild, living in temporary housing. It must feel something like wandering in the wilderness.
Katrina is like so many other tragedies: we talk about them, read and hear news about them, and think about them almost obsessively for a while, and then our attention moves on to some other "late breaking news" or another more personal crisis. We forget that those most affected by the tragedy continue living with the trauma long after our interest, if not our compassion, have waned. There are still homeless people in New Orleans, and the devastation to their lives has pulled at my heart so long, I just had to go.
I'll be in touch. See you in church on the 27th!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sabbatical Summer 2008
Wow! One month from today my sabbatical begins! For three months I'll be taking off, leaving behind my duties as pastor of Chalice Christian Church in Gilbert, AZ. I hope to travel to the places where my "grandmothers" in the faith helped form the early church. I'll also spend time back in Missouri where I grew up, visiting the churches I attended, reconnecting with old friends who were in my Sunday school classes, checking out the church camp grounds at Grand Oaks, in every place remembering the people and events that shaped me spiritually. I can't wait to "go home" geographically and metaphorically.
No doubt I'll miss my friends back here at Chalice while I'm gone, so I decided to create a blog where members and friends of Chalice could communicate while we're traveling. I want all of you to contribute as often as you can.
By the way, life will continue as usual at the church during this sabbatical summer. The Sunday schedule will be 9:30 Faith Development for all ages and worship at 10:45. Bob Howard (Rev. Dr. Robert R) will be the interim sabbatical minister while I'm gone. Check out the Chalice web site to learn more about him and about sabbatical. http://www.chalicechristian.com/
The theme of our sabbatical summer at Chalice is "Going Home... Coming Home." On May 4 I'll commission the congregation to make their own pilgrimages home, planning trips back to the places they were formed into the people they have become. Children will be going with their parents to their "home" places, and spouses traveling long distances to find out how it was that their life partners became the people they grew to love.
So let's start planning those journeys "home." Start thinking now about where you will go and whom you will see. Renew some old acquaintances. Take some pictures to share. Explore some legendary memories. Better yet -- create some new legends!
Anybody know where you're going this summer? or what to expect? Tell us about it!
Blessings!
Pastor Linda
No doubt I'll miss my friends back here at Chalice while I'm gone, so I decided to create a blog where members and friends of Chalice could communicate while we're traveling. I want all of you to contribute as often as you can.
By the way, life will continue as usual at the church during this sabbatical summer. The Sunday schedule will be 9:30 Faith Development for all ages and worship at 10:45. Bob Howard (Rev. Dr. Robert R) will be the interim sabbatical minister while I'm gone. Check out the Chalice web site to learn more about him and about sabbatical. http://www.chalicechristian.com/
The theme of our sabbatical summer at Chalice is "Going Home... Coming Home." On May 4 I'll commission the congregation to make their own pilgrimages home, planning trips back to the places they were formed into the people they have become. Children will be going with their parents to their "home" places, and spouses traveling long distances to find out how it was that their life partners became the people they grew to love.
So let's start planning those journeys "home." Start thinking now about where you will go and whom you will see. Renew some old acquaintances. Take some pictures to share. Explore some legendary memories. Better yet -- create some new legends!
Anybody know where you're going this summer? or what to expect? Tell us about it!
Blessings!
Pastor Linda
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