I grew up in a traditional, upper middle class, suburban family.  My dad was the typical 50’s dad who went to work each day from 8 to 5.  He would come home, watch the evening news, and then “preside” over our family dinner.  In the meantime, my mom did everything else.  Basically, if anything concerned my siblings or me, my mom was the one with the authority to make decisions and execute on those decisions.  My mom provided guidance and practical support. She gave us enough freedom to roam the hills behind our house and to make forts and to suspend a tire swing that we eventually wore out.  My mom also, however, placed some parameters on our many freedoms.  We had to tell her where in the woods we were going. We couldn’t use power tools without my dad being present.  We had to be home for supper.  Thus, my childhood was as a boat bobbing on the waters of freedom, but with the shoreline of maternal support within accessible reach at all times.  It was a happy time in my life.

Throughout Scripture, we are given many images of God as mother.  Here are a few of my favorites:

“Yet it was I [God] who taught Ephraim to walk, I who took them up in my arms; but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love. I was to them like those who lift infants to their cheeks. I bent down to them and fed them.” (Hosea 11:3-4)

“Like the eagle that stirs up its nest, and hovers over its young, God spreads wings to catch you, and carries you on pinions.” (Deuteronomy 32:11-12)

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I [God] will not forget you.” (Isaiah 49:15)

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I [God] desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Matthew 23:37)

This Sunday is Mother’s Day, an occasion for all of us to celebrate the lives of our earthly mothers and the many unheralded ministries that women, both those with children and those without, faithfully engage each and every day.  The gift of freedom within the protection of loving parameters is a profound blessing that many mothers are able to provide their children.  It also just so happens to be the blessed lives that God gives to each of us.

May we celebrate all mothers and all those who live and minister as mothers.  And may we give thanks for the everliving God who cares for us as a loving Mother.

~Father Art

“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.’” (Luke 10:38-42)

When I was a college student, I was very diligent.  My parents were paying for my tuition, and I felt that I owed them my best efforts in my studies.  One beautiful spring day, a friend found me holed up in a library carrol, hunched over my books.  I had been in that posture for several hours, and my friend succeeded in coaxing me away from my studies by telling me that it was a windy day and she had an extra kite.

We packed a picnic lunch and set off on the short walk to a field where we could fly our kites safely away from trees. After a couple wonderful hours of sun, conversation, laughter, and piloting marginally cooperative kites, I started to feel guilty. I needed to get back to my books, back to my work, back to the reason why I was in college in the first place.  I told my friend that there just wasn’t enough time to get it all done, and I had to cut our time short.  My friend listened patiently, and then said to me words that I have never forgotten.  She said, “Art, there’s always time to fly a kite.”

Perhaps this is akin to what Jesus meant when he said to Martha, “you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part.”

There is so much in our lives that worry and distract us. Some of it truly is important and worthy of our attention. Much, however, ultimately is not very important, and in giving ourselves over to worry and distraction, we sacrifice the present moment of joy and grace and life that God is giving us.  Each day, each hour, each minute, is a gift from God. Each moment is an opportunity for us to experience the abundant life that Jesus promises. Worry and distraction have the power to steal those moments from us.  

As the days become longer and springtime finds its way to Minnesota, may we take time to relish in the warmth of God’s love. May we take a walk, feel the breeze, dip a paddle, laugh with friends, smell a wildflower, marvel at a bumblebee, enjoy a meal with family, sing and dance, swim and splash. 

Lord knows there is so very much to worry about in our lives and in the world, and those distractions aren’t going away any time soon. In the midst of all that, however, may we hear the voice of Jesus calling us to the better part.  May we hear our Lord beckoning us to spaces of abundance. May we hear God reminding us that there’s always time to fly a kite.

~Father Art

This past Monday, millions of people across North America took a break from their busy or not-so-busy lives to watch the solar eclipse. I, along with so many others, stepped away from my desk, away from my work, and went outside to crane my neck and peer into the sky as the moon passed in front of the sun. Here in White Bear Lake, the event was far from dramatic. The skies were overcast, and all I perceived was a darkening of the day. In other places, of course, the event was much more dramatic, and spectacular photographs of the eclipse were immediately shared across the internet.

How refreshing to have this event unify so many of us! In these tumultuous times in which we live, how splendid to share a few minutes of solidarity. People from across all political, religious and racial persuasions came together this past Monday night to be amazed and find wonder in God’s handiwork!

The natural world has the capacity to amaze… to draw us together, to help us connect with the deeper, truer parts of ourselves, to remind us humans that we are part of a beautiful complex web of life that is so much larger than our own little lives, to help us humans become, well, more humane. Time spent in the natural world has the capacity to do all of that for us.

Clearly, not all days are set apart and blessed by a total solar eclipse. All of our days, however, each and every one of them, has plenty of signs of wonder to help us to remember who we are and to reconnect us with the deep, deep pool of life and love that Jesus calls the Kingdom of God.  

For the most part, those of us in the parish family of St. John’s are pretty good folk. We pray and we grow and we serve. Most of us try to live our lives in a way that is pleasing to God. And let me tell you, living a life following the Way of Jesus is both challenging and sometimes exhausting. 

And so, as we engage each of the days that God gives us, my hope would be that we might pause regularly from whatever we may be doing, pause to step back into the natural world of which we truly are a part. My hope would be that, for maybe just a few minutes of each day, we might become as little children and adopt a disposition of wonder and amazement. My hope would be that as we reconnect with what connects us all, we might be recharged to then go forth back into our lives and into the world to do something good to the glory of God.

~Father Art

Last night, I attended the Transformed by the Word Bible study that was taught by Sylvia Lovett.  Sylvia led us through the readings for this coming Sunday, and among the readings was one from the Gospel of John.  The context for the passage is that Jesus has just triumphantly entered into Jerusalem. The crowds are exuberantly waving branches from palm trees and receiving him with shouts of “Hosanna”. The Jewish leaders are rightfully concerned about the popularity of this radical rabbi.  And then comes this…

“Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, ‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’” (John 12:20f.)

In our Bible study, there was some discussion about who these “Greeks” were. They could have been Gentiles who were living in or visiting Jerusalem at the time. Some scholars apparently think that these Greeks were actually Jewish people living outside of Judea. This makes a lot of sense to me as these people, also, would have been required to make a pilgrimage to the temple in Jerusalem at least once in their lives.  Whoever the Greeks were, however, one thing is almost certain: they were outsiders. Outsiders who “wish to see Jesus.”

In Jerusalem that day, there were people who triumphantly hailed Jesus.  And there were those who secretly wanted to kill Jesus.  There were those who were following Jesus.  And there were those who probably didn’t even notice Jesus.  But these Greeks… there was something different about them.  They were outsiders, and they wanted to see Jesus. They wanted to experience him. The implication is that this wasn’t just curiosity; they wanted something more, and they had a hunch that Jesus held the key.

The Holy Spirit convicted me last night, and I found myself asking, “am I among those who wish to see Jesus?” I mean, really and truly, am I one of those who are passionate about seeing, experiencing, encountering Jesus?  Do I seek him out even if it comes at some cost or puts me in danger? And is our community of faith one where those from the outside can see Jesus? If a visitor came to me saying, “I wish to see Jesus,” what would I say?  What would I do?

Sometimes it’s helpful to see through the eyes of those who are on the outside. And when I do, I find that, with them, my heart is yearning for Jesus. With these outsiders, I too, wish to see Jesus.

~Father Art

At church this past Sunday, we heard the story of Noah and the ark.  Well, actually, we heard just the end of the story, the part about the rainbow and about how God promised to never again wipe out all of life with a flood, and about how God established a covenant with Noah and his descendents.  

There was a little phrase in the story that I don’t think that I had ever noticed before.  When telling of the covenant that God made with Noah, the story says that God’s covenant was established also between God “and every living creature.” Not just Noah, not just Noah’s family.  The covenant of life and love is with every living creature.

Now, that might not seem like a big deal to you, but it actually is.  Because what it means is that I am no more or less special than any other living thing on the face of the earth. What it means is that God loves all of life. And, while I’m not an expert on all world religions and philosophies, I think that most of them pretty much espouse essentially that same message… that all of life is sacred.

And so, when I find myself becoming complacent about the number of species that are going out of existence on account of climate change…  Or when I discover that I am losing compassion for those fellow human beings living in Ukraine or Palestine or Nicaragua… Or when I become overwhelmed by the seemingly insurmountable political partisan mess of this country… When I feel like it’s just too much….  When I am tempted to just pull the covers over my head and block out the world…  When I feel like giving in or giving up…. 

Well, it’s then that I try to remember just how lucky I am and I try to remember how all human and non-human life is sacred.  And with that in mind, I double down on my commitment to do what I can to make a difference in this world so that all living things can experience the same sense of abundance that I do. That all living things experience the covenant of life and love.

Isn’t that really why Jesus came into the world? That is, to let it be known that God still holds all life to be sacred and to give his life for the life of the world?  And isn’t that where we Christians find purpose for our own lives?  Might not we, taking the example of Jesus, acknowledge that God’s loving covenant is with every living creature, and then double down on our commitment to do what we can to bring love and life into the world? 

All of life is sacred. The promise of abundant life is for every living creature. May we know this truth deep down in our souls.  May we never become complacent.  May this day and every day, we give our lives for the sake of every living creature.

~Father Art

Darn, I did it again! Twice in this same winter season, I did it.  I lost one of my mittens.  That is to say, I’ve lost two mittens this winter; each time, the left hand one! I’m not quite sure how this is happening as one would think that I would notice it missing in a relatively short period of time and recover it quickly.  Alas, lost mittens, like lost socks, are one of the great mysteries of human existence!  

Goodness, though, how I miss my mitten!  You see, I do have several sets of warm gloves in my bin, but quite honestly, gloves just don’t cut it, even in a mild Minnesota winter.  I realize that I don’t have to explain the difference between mittens and gloves to those who live in the north, but for those in warmer climes who may not know the “felt” difference between the two, there really is a significant difference. 

Gloves, obviously, separate each finger from the others and insulate each digit against the cold. Mittens, on the other hand (catch the pun?), allow all the fingers to buddy up next to each other, insulating the whole hand, with the exception of the lonely, bold, black sheep thumb. Indeed, invariably when it is very cold, I allow my thumb to slip out of its protective sleeve and cozy up next to its digital siblings. Long story short: if you don’t want cold fingers (and thumbs), wear mittens, not gloves. And now I have two right hand mittens, residing forlornly in my mitten basket, destined forever to lives of desperate yearning for their respective partners! Oh, the world for a mitten!

Now, I really must get to the point! Most of us human beings are like fingers (or thumbs). We do best when we have some protection against the sometimes cold, hard world in which we live. So, like fingers in a glove, we insulate our lives with homes and jobs and bank accounts and countless other things that protect us from the harshest realities of the world. We claim these sources of protection as good, even as blessings in our lives.  And, indeed, they are. Truth be told, yes, gloves do provide a certain level of protection. 

But what if these same sources of protection separate us from others? What if, in our best efforts to stave off the harshness of the world, we become separated from those who don’t have any protection? And what effect does insulating our lives from those of others cause our own lives to be less “warm,” less joyful, less meaningful? And if we are, indeed, living our lives like fingers in a glove, is there a better way?

The mitten! Three cheers for the mitten! Instead of insulating our lives from all others, we may instead come alongside others for both protection and fellowship. Most of our lives, like fingers in a mitten, are best lived alongside others who may provide support, accountability and love. Not only may we receive the warmth of others, but we are given the opportunity to share our warmth with others. For the vast majority of us, life together is vastly more joyful than life apart.

The Church is like a big mitten, and we are all fingers in the mitten, doing our best to stay warm and share our warmth with others.  The mitten may be old and worn.  It most certainly has holes and snags that require us to patch and darn. It may look ridiculous to others who don’t understand. But never doubt the power of the mitten. For many of us, we can’t live without it.

~Father Art

There is a well known story in the Bible found in the ninth chapter of the Gospel of John. The disciples are walking with Jesus and encounter a man who was born blind. Jesus places spit-moistened mud on the man’s eyes, and instructs the man to go and wash his eyes in the pool of Siloam.  The man does as he’s told and returns to his town with restored sight. Later, when he is questioned by the religious authorities about the miraculous healing, the man replies only with what he knows to be true, “I was blind, but now can see.” The man doesn’t engage in a long, drawn-out theological conversation with the Pharisees.  Rather, he simply witnesses to what he knows. His life had been utterly changed by Jesus, and so he speaks his truth.  He was blind, but now can see.

All these years later, we are called to do the same as the man born blind.  We are called to witness to our truth.  God invites us to consider the ways that our lives have been transformed by the love of Jesus and to let our lives speak of the truth of that transformation. There is no need to figure it all out.  There is no need to convince anybody. There is simply the exhortation that our Lord gives us to speak our truth. In my opinion, that is done most effectively by what we do and how we live rather than what we say or what we believe.

Over the course of the next several weeks, all are invited to consider the ways that God’s Spirit has been moving and changing us here at St. John’s. We call the process visioning, and we’re meeting on Wednesday nights in the Parlor.  We are looking at who we have been and who we are now, always with an eye toward discerning the movement of God’s Spirit.  We will take the best of what God has done in and through us and bring it forward into a fresh vision for our Christ-centered life moving forward.  Then, emboldened and inspired by this new vision, we will think of ways that we may witness to the truth of God’s transforming love in our common life.

It is an exciting thing to be healed, empowered, changed, transformed by the love of God. It is a privilege to be able to witness to that work by our words and our lives. It is my fervent prayer that over the course of the next several weeks, those who engage in the process of visioning might be able to say both in word and deed, “We were blind, but now can see!”

~Father Art

As I was walking my dog in the dark hours of the early morning, I passed by the front of St. John in the Wilderness Church.  A couple of weeks ago, I changed the sign that is in the church yard.  In true Advent spirit I posted letters that formed the following message: “Come thou long expected Jesus.”  Of course, this is the first line of a familiar hymn.  The entire first stanza goes like this:

Come, Thou long expected Jesus

Born to set Thy people free;

From our fears and sins release us,

Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel’s strength and consolation,

Hope of all the earth Thou art;

Dear desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart.

There’s a lot of theology brimming forth in hymns, and some of it is even good theology!  This is an example of some excellent theology that goes to the heart of Jesus’ mission and to the core of our identity. 

The hymn is actually a prayer.  It is calling on Jesus to come and act in our lives.  The prayer fervently implores Jesus to take away the fears and sins that so often imprison us and keep us from becoming the people God dreams us to be.  And so, if the purpose of Jesus’ birth was, indeed, “to set people free,” then the purpose of our lives is, simply, to be free!  What liberation there is in that statement!  Our purpose is not to be good or holy or righteous, at least not in the traditional way of using those words.  Our purpose is not to be successful.  Our purpose is not to save the world.  The purpose of our lives is to be free.  That’s it, in a nutshell.  Saint Paul, perhaps, says it best: “for freedom Christ has set us free.”

Now the beauty of it is, of course, that people who have found true freedom live holy, good, beautiful, lifegiving lives.  But it’s almost as if all of this is just an after effect.  Focus on Jesus.  Focus on the freedom Jesus brings and offers.  All the rest will fall into place.  What are your fears?  Leave them on Jesus’ altar.  Where have you fallen short?  Leave them at the cross.  What is still holding you back, holding you in bondage?  Let Jesus break those chains. 

Come, Thou long expected Jesus!

Born to set Thy people free!

~Father Art

Halloween has been over for several weeks now, but to be honest with you, it feels as if it is a whole season this year rather than just a day.  It’s the one occasion of the year when we are actually given permission, indeed encouraged, to scare each other.  But it seems that this year, Halloween just keeps going on and on and on.  

You see, it is a really scary world out there. People may not be running around wearing masks and yelling “boo,” but one doesn’t need to go far to be frightened out of one’s wits.  Two large scale wars are raging and threaten to escalate into full-scale global conflict. Democracy as we know it in this nation is under serious and genuine threat. The climate is not only changing, but changing radically and quickly and in ways that will alter all life on earth.  Inflation is still on the rise causing many people on the margins to have real struggles in making ends meet.  Drug use and abuse continues to afflict young people who don’t always have the wisdom or skills to make wise choices. The list goes on and on and on. Halloween may be over, but the world in which we live continues to be terrifying.

And in the midst of these enduring frightening days, we Christians have the audacity to proclaim a God of love and a message of hope.  We followers of Christ continue to strive to live the Way of love even though our efforts seem so small, so ineffective, and even though the outcome is so unsure.  From whence comes such audacity?

Recently I heard a story from our bishop, Craig Loya, about a trip that he and his family took to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Florida. Having taken the time and expense to make the pilgrimage to Orlando, he and his wife discovered that their children weren’t big fans of roller coasters.  And really, the whole point of the Wizarding World is the roller coasters!  In each roller coaster line, Bishop Craig sensed the anxiety rising in his children. As they were standing in line after line waiting for roller coaster after roller coaster, Bishop Craig and his family adopted a mantra: “Sometimes you have to do it scared.”

That would be a pretty good mantra for us Christians as well. Sometimes, we will have to do it scared. You see, I don’t anticipate that the world will become any less scary than it currently is.  These present crises may be resolved, but others will take their place.  It has been the nature of human history forever, and there is nothing to indicate that pattern will change. Faced with this frightening prospect, many people will become paralyzed. Many folks, even good-hearted, well meaning folks, will circle the wagons, will hold their families tight, will look at the stranger with suspicion or contempt, will hesitate to reach out, will put a freeze on their giving to good causes.

What about us who choose the Way of Jesus?  Christians trust in God’s providence, God’s grace, God’s eternal protection and salvation.  But that doesn’t mean that we won’t be scared or that following the Way of Christ will be easy.  Even if we have generous portions of faith and hope and love, we will be scared at times.  What does a truly courageous life of love look like?  Well, it looks like days of doing the deeds of Jesus, even when we’re scared.

May we choose to love even when we’re scared.  May we choose to give even when we’re scared. May we choose to welcome the stranger even when we’re scared.  May we choose to stand up for the poor and the marginalized and dispossessed even when we’re scared.  May we choose the Way of love, the Way of Christ, each day, every day, even when we’re scared.  It may feel like a real-life, not-so-fun, never-ending Halloween out there, but we can do this thing. It’s just that some days, we’re doing it scared.

~Father Art