Pastor Ann's Blog

So I’ve written two articles about the puppy, Dakota (now 7-1/2 months and 75 pounds), because he’s the novelty in our household. However, we do have another a dog who deserves a few words, so Katie is the topic of today’s blog.

Katie is a 14-year-old chocolate Labrador retriever. She is my dog and always has been so. Kate is my first dog, as I had always considered myself a cat person. We got Kate because the children begged me and enlisted Michael’s aid and, even though I knew I’d be the primary caretaker and I was not sure I wanted to be the primary caretaker, in a moment of weakness I gave in. But I have never regretted getting Katie, even with all the extra work she brought as an 11 week-old puppy. She is the best dog ever, which I tell her all the time. As the runt of her litter (11 pups!), she is more obedient, docile and submissive than most dogs, which made training her fairly easy, as she is always eager to please. She is patient, loving, undemanding, and intensely loyal.

In her honor, I preached a sermon about her last year. An excerpt from it is below. I think it remains a pretty accurate description of my old girl. Plus, this past weekend’s Gospel reading was about the cost of discipleship. Katie is a true disciple. She is indeed a model for us all.

My dog’s name is Katie. She is 13 years old, which is getting up there for a Lab. She has white hair on her face and paws and belly. She has a middle-aged bulge. I can relate. Her hearing isn’t very good—sometimes we have to talk pretty loudly before she appears to hear us. Or maybe she figures she’s old enough to ignore us whenever she wants. She sleeps a lot. She has arthritis in her joints, especially in her hips, which is very common for large breed dogs. Because of the arthritis, she doesn’t play much any more except when there’s snow. Katie loves the snow and if we let her, she’d play in the snow until she couldn’t walk from the pain. Yet in spite of all her issues, Katie is a very faithful disciple–of me.

You see, I am the center Katie’s world. I am her master, her pack leader. Katie follows me everywhere. She follows me from room to room, or from one side of the room to the other side. If I sit down, she sits (or lies down). If I get up or even wiggle too much so that it looks like I’m getting up, Katie gets up in anticipation of my movement. Even if I tell her to stay put, she follows me.

 She does this without a word or bark or growl of complaint. She does not look at me with reproach in her eyes nor does she behave in any way that suggests that she resents having to follow me. She simply follows me. Because I’m her leader.

 And she does this in spite of that arthritis that pains her every step. She hauls herself up, sometimes in obvious pain because the medication is wearing off, and she follows me wherever I go.

When I’m gone, especially when I’m gone overnight my husband says, she becomes depressed. My husband says she will lay at the top of the stairs by our front door and watch the door for hours and only will leave when he coaxes her to go outside or eat. When the day is over and it is obvious I’m not coming home, Michael says she will reluctantly come into the bedroom with him and plop on the floor by my side of the bed—her usual spot—and give up for the night. And then the next day, she repeats the whole thing over again.

Whenever I come home—whether it is after being gone for a few days or a few minutes—it makes no difference to Katie. She is overjoyed to see me. She snorts at me and licks me and thrusts her nose at me and prances around in happiness. Her master is back. Her world is in order. She can go back to doing what she does so well…following her leader. Because you see, being with me is Katie’s favorite thing in the whole world.

This is what it means for us to be followers of Jesus. And before you get all insulted about being compared to a dog, let me remind you that Jesus compared us to sheep. I was in a rural parish for 10 years with farmers who had sheep and believe me, being called a dog is high praise when compared to being called a sheep.

 Being like my dog Kate is what it means to follow Jesus. Following Jesus means making Jesus the center of our world. It means making Jesus our leader, our master.

Following Jesus means that wherever Jesus goes, we must go also. Jesus went to the poor, to the outcast, to the untouchables, in order to bring them healing and hope and sustenance. Jesus went to the rich, to the comfortable and challenged their way of life, which was accomplished at the expense of their neighbor. Following Jesus means that we go wherever he goes, whether it be across town or across the country or across the world to be where he is, to do what he did.

Following Jesus means that even when it hurts to haul ourselves out of our comfortable positions, we must do it. And even when it hurts, we do so without reproach or resentment because we know that we must follow Jesus at any cost. We cannot let Jesus get too far from us or our world will not be right. This is what it means to be a disciple, a follower of Jesus.

The good news is that we are indeed called to be Jesus’ followers. Jesus has called each of us, each of the baptized to be his followers. Jesus has called us to follow where he goes, to do as he does, to serve as he served, even when it is difficult, even when it hurts.

But best of all, as the called followers of Jesus, we get to BE with Jesus. We get to BE in his presence. We get to know joy and happiness when we are with him. We get to be with Jesus. And that’s the best thing in the whole world. Amen.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my former parishioners died. Vanita had been ill for some time, so her death was not unexpected, but it still was most unwelcome news. Vanita was the chair of my call committee in my first call and became founder and chairperson of the parish’s first Mutual Ministry Committee—a sort of support and feedback committee for the pastor. She was one of my strongest supporters in the ten years I served as her pastor. And she was my friend. Vanita was faithful, strong, wise, humble, gifted, compassionate and devoted to her Lord, her family and her church. I knew I could trust her to speak the truth, but always with love and always for the good of God’s people. Yet I know that she never fully recovered from the death of her beloved husband only two years ago. I suspect Vanita’s grief exacerbated her own medical issues and ultimately, hastened her death. I know she is being deeply missed by her family and among those who worshipped alongside her for many more years than me. And I miss her bunches.

A few months before I left my former call to come to Zoar, another member of that parish died and it was another death that deeply disturbed me. Jim was also on my call committee and along with Vanita, were the first to meet me on my initial visit. Jim and Vanita gave me the “grand tour” of east Noble County, Indiana and so I spent extra time with them that first visit. From the first time I met him, Jim reminded me of my own father. I cannot tell you why. He didn’t really look much like my dad nor did he talk like him. Yet their personalities were similar. Quiet, dependable, kind-hearted, generous (yet also thrifty!), hard-working, gentlemanly, and possessing a dry but sharp sense of humor. As cancer ate away at Jim’s body, he never lost sight of that which was most important: the love of his family and his God. Yet, like dear Vanita, Jim never recovered from the death of his beloved wife, who died after years of ill health only a few months before Jim was diagnosed with cancer. Again, I know there are others who knew and miss Jim more than I do, but I miss him bunches.

Once again, now in my new setting, there is a similar situation. While I do not know this parishioner very well or have the relationship with her that I had with Jim or Vanita, I am struck by the similarity of their situations. Here is a woman who is a youngish older person, barely retired, who cared for her sick and ailing husband for many months before his death. And now only a couple of years later, she herself has been diagnosed with aggressive cancer and is moving towards the end of her life. It’s not fair, she and I agreed this afternoon when I took her communion. It’s not fair that there is still so much to do and she will not be here to do it. Grandchildren to watch grow up, trips to make, time to spend with family and friends, new experiences to be had. As I read to her that famous passage from Ecclesiastes (For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven. Ecc.3:1), we agreed that life is a series of contrasts, and that we do not get to choose some of the things that happen to us, neither the good nor the bad. And while I reassured her that God is with her always, this dear woman replied, “I know that in my heart. But I still would like to know why.”

Me too. So often I’d like to know why. Why did my parents die so young (57 & 67 years of age)? Why does my 100-year-old grandmother yet linger, having no ability to communicate or participate in this life? Why did Vanita and Jim die when there was so much that they might have yet contributed to the world? Why is this new parishioner facing a death neither deserved nor desired?

Even as I ask these questions, I must confess that I never ask “why” when wonderful things happen to me. I never ask why God has called me to serve as a pastor. I never ask why I was blessed with two great children. I never ask why I have the good fortune to be born in a family where our parents loved us unconditionally. I never ask why my husband and I have continued to find joy and contentment and love in spite of the struggles we have encountered. I never ask why about the good things. Few of us do.

Perhaps until we are willing to ask why when all those marvelous things happen to us, we should be less inclined to ask why about the bad things that enter our lives. It does not answer the dying woman’s question. But it is the only answer I have today.

That, and the knowledge of God’s promise that even in death, God is with us. We do not live to ourselves and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord; if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. (Rom. 14:7-8)

Perhaps for now, this must be enough.

I heard a goodly number of positive comments on the sermon I preached yesterday at Pastor Jessica King’s ordination here at Zoar. I do not believe anyone had arranged for the service to be video’d or audio’d, so for this week’s blog, the sermon in its manuscript form, is below. Mind you, the actual sermon that was delivered probably differed from what I wrote, but the gist of it remains the same. Blessings and best wishes to Jes.

 Jes, Jes, Jes, Jes, Jes, Jes.

What are you thinking? How in the world did we get to this day? Tim, what did we do wrong? Did she learn nothing from us in 12 months?

Jessica, did you not understand that being a pastor can be an incredibly difficult and frustrating vocation? That you really are “presenting your body as a living sacrifice?”

Did you not learn that when you’re a pastor, parishioners expect you to develop ESPP (extra sensory pastor perception) and know what they want and need and provide it even without their asking and that even without ever telling you, you are supposed to know when they are mad at you or having family problems or are in the hospital? (Mind you, this never happens at Zoar, of course.)

Did you not learn that when you’re a pastor, parishioners expect you to be on call 24/7 and to visit all the shut-ins at least twice a week and be in the office whenever they stop by without an appointment, while at the same time they secretly think that you only work one day a week and they wonder what you do with the rest of the time? (This never happens at Zoar, of course.)

Did you not learn that when you’re a pastor, parishioners will quibble over whose job it is to clean the kitchen or what doors should be left open or always locked or who is supposed to shovel the sidewalk and then expect you to solve the problem and obviously you will see things their way and if the other person gets mad you, well, that’s part of your job? (This never happens at Zoar, of course.)

Did you not learn that when you’re a pastor, you’re supposed to have all the answers to all the knotty problems of life, like why bad things happen to good people and why God doesn’t answer our prayers, and how can Jesus be present in our bread and wine and still present in the bread and wine at the Catholic church across town and why don’t they think Jesus is in our bread and wine and oh, Pastor, when is all this Left Behind stuff supposed to start happening? (This never happens at Zoar, of course.)

Jes, did you not learn from us that being a pastor is HARD and the pay’s OK, but not exactly top-of-the-line and  never will be and people have countless expectations of you which even Jesus himself would be unable to fulfill to everyone’s satisfaction? (This never happens at Zoar, of course.)

And of course, I’m sure that none of this is true at wonderful Resurrection Lutheran Church of Madison, Indiana either. Still, it is unlikely you will be at Resurrection for the next 40 years and it’s very possible that your next church will be exactly as I’ve described.

So I ask you again, Jes, what are you thinking?

 Jes knows of course, that I’m kidding. I love being a pastor, as does Tim. It’s a great “gig” as Eric would say. We neither one of us could imagine being anything else and we are glad to welcome Jes into this ministry with us.

Still…there’s some truth to what I have said, Jes. Being a pastor is NOT all hearts and roses and “good sermon pastor” and “we love you pastor.” There will be people who will have unrealistic expectations of you, who will try to triangulate you into an ugly situation, who wonder what it is that you really do with your time. And there will be people who will argue about silly things and who will get mad when you don’t visit them in the hospital and who will ask you unanswerable questions.

Yet being a pastor is a privilege and an honor and a gift. Because you will have that title “pastor” in front of your name, Jes, people will trust you. They will tell you their secrets and share their pain and their fear. They will let you in on their  joys and life’s celebrations. They will look to you to lead them on the path of faith, to guide them through the trials of life, and they will ask you to come alongside for their journey. They will love you and they will hope that you will love them in return. And they will look to you to proclaim the grace and mercy and love and hope of God. For you will be their Pastor.

I can think of no better way to spend a life, Jes, than to be the one who gets to do all those things. Every week you will get to get into that pulpit and tell your people that God is for them. For this is the essence of what it means to be pastor…to tell people that God is for them.

Cherish that privilege Jes, for it is not one that is being granted you lightly.

Now that we’ve gotten through the sentimental stuff, I’d like to thank you, Jes, for the wonderful un-Lutheran work-righteousness gospel that you chose to today’s service. Not exactly a “normal” choice for an ordination, is it? Do good things and you will go to heaven. Fail to do good things—not if you do bad things—but just Fail to do GOOD things and you will go into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and all his angels. Great stuff.

I asked Jes what she was thinking when she chose this text for today. After it is NOT in the list of suggested readings for ordinations. I know. I checked. Jes’ response was that she chose it because of the social justice themes. So let’s focus on that.

In your time among us Jes, we learned of your concern for and commitment to those who are poor and hungry and homeless and suffering.  Through your trip to Honduras, your Mission in Our Back Yard project, your work at our sister congregation Redeemer, and numerous other activities in which you participated, you demonstrated that caring for those in need is a high priority for you and will be so in your ministry. I applaud you Jes, and pray you never lose that commitment.

You see, it is my firm belief that we are most truly the body of Christ when we serve those in need.

Jesus shared the Gospel with all, regardless of status, but he had a special concern for lepers and prostitutes and tax collectors and people who were sick and widows and  folks who were hungry and all those whom the rest of the world felt were disposable and unimportant and without value.

Little has changed since the days our Lord walked the earth. There are still myriads of people in the world and in our nation and in our communities who are without sufficient nutritious food, who do not have access to clean water and sanitation, who sleep outdoors or under flimsy tin roofs. There are still those who are cold and lost and suffering and are this way for no other reason than they had the bad taste to be born to a poor family or in a poor nation or with the wrong color skin.

There are still those who are hungry, thirsty, strangers, naked, sick and in prison and no one cares for them. There are millions of such souls, waiting for someone to see them and to care enough. This is not the world our Lord intended at creation.

 We are most truly the body of Jesus Christ when we care for those in need.

And the irony and blessing in this truth is that when we as the Body of Christ on earth, serve those in need, we are serving Christ himself.  We are not taking care of one who is ill—we taking care of Christ. We are not feeding a hungry resident of Perrysburg Heights—we are feeding Jesus. We are not providing water filters for dark-skinned children in Honduras—we are giving clean water to our Lord.

Is this not the mission to which all the baptized are called? To serve our Lord Jesus Christ? And Jesus boldly proclaims that he is one with the people no one else thinks is of value. He is them and they are him. To serve others in the name of Christ is to serve Christ. For we are mostly truly the Body of Christ when we serve those in need and when we serve those in need, we are serving Christ himself.

Jes, you know this truth. You know it, you believe it, you are already living it. Now God is calling you to live it among the people of Resurrection Lutheran Church and in the community of Madison, Indiana. And not only to live it among them, but to lead them in living this truth as well.

It can be a difficult leadership task. Some will say, “We should take care of our own first.” Others will say, “God helps those who help themselves.” Still others will say, “I earned this, this is mine. I don’t owe anyone anything.”  But Jes, you know the truth of this too. All of us here know the truth. And the truth is that this abundance we call our own and over which we claim authority belongs to God—every last bit of it. And God intended for it to be shared by all.

 So as the people of God, as disciples of Jesus, as those who are the Body of Christ, God calls us to reach out to those in need, to share what God has provided, and to know that when we do so, we doing to Christ himself. Because…we are most truly the Body of Christ when we care for those in need and when we serve those in need, we are serving Christ himself.

So soon-to-be-Pastor Jes—this is a yet higher calling than that of ordained ministry, for it is the command of God Almighty for all who believe—that we are to love our neighbors and even to love our enemies—as we love ourselves, as we love Christ himself.

Jes, I love this text. And my sister, welcome to front lines. Amen.

Families are the reason God gives us friends is a saying I heard many years ago and have often quoted, although I cannot tell you who first said it. Still it’s often true. Families can be a source of great blessings and a source of great stress and even pain.

Last week was Dysfunctional Family Week at Zoar—or so I cleverly dubbed it. It seemed that Pastor Tim and I dealt with family crisis after family crisis from people in our congregation. All were painful situations. In every case, the circumstances leading up to the crisis were complex and difficult to unravel. Also in every case, we knew the people involved on both sides of the conflict and knew them to all be decent, faithful people, who were also flawed and capable of sinful behavior. In every case, we hurt with and for everyone involved. And in every case, there were no easy answers to be found.

We do not get to choose our families. We do not get to decide that we want to be born to a single parent or to alcoholic parents or to parents who later get divorced or to parents who are loving and selfless. Yet the choices of our parents impact who we become more profoundly than any other influence in our lives. There are exceptions to this of course—parents who did a “good” job but whose child became an addict or a criminal. Still, I wonder if these are true exceptions.

I have learned over my years as social worker and pastor that no one knows the full extent of what happens in our homes except those of us who live there. Sometimes even within the same household, not everyone knows what happens within the household. Every family keeps secrets from the world. Sometimes those secrets are horrible and ugly and sometimes they are simply embarrassing or petty. Thus I have learned never to pass judgment on anyone’s family system or how they interact within that system—because I do not know the full truth of what has happened in the home over the years. Add to this the truth that we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and that even good faithful Christians find themselves doing not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do, and the result is that even in Christian households, family relationships can be very complicated.

There are times when these family relationships can be so complicated and so destructive that one must all but sever those ties in order to live a healthier and more productive life. But most of us find ways to deal with our families, maintaining relationships, and building on a lifetime of shared experiences. And most of us probably would still say that we love our families, in spite of their shortcomings and ours.

In the same way, we can view our church families. Like our biological families, we do not get to choose who joins our church. (Well, I suppose we COULD pick and choose, but that would be extremely un-Christlike.) We do not get decide who sits where in church or what political party they espouse or what music they like. Most of us learn to get along. Some choose to leave because they do not like what the “family” is doing. Sometimes there are secrets that we do not want “outsiders” to know. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we show astonishing compassion. Sometimes we manage to love the other in spite of their shortcomings and ours.

God has also called us into family—the baptized children of God. We do not get to choose who else is part of family and we do not get to tell them how to think or act. Instead, God encourages us to love, to forgive, to accept, to show compassion, to help, to pray for, to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. It is the highest of all callings and the most difficult: simply love the other as he or she is and to trust that God is working in and through that person just as God is working in and through us. God calls us to work for the good of the entire human family.

Who in your biological family do you need to work on loving and accepting? In your church family? In the family of God?

And how is God working in you for the betterment of the entire human family?

Several years ago, I sat in court providing spiritual support to a woman who had confessed to killing her abusive boyfriend as he slept. As is usual at sentencing hearings, there were many letters and testimonies about both the character of the woman and the deceased boyfriend. The dead man’s family was there in force, defending his reputation, telling the judge what a wonderful son and uncle had been, and lamenting that the world had been unfairly deprived of this remarkable human being.

However, the judge knew that this same wonderful son and uncle had been arrested and been incarcerated numerous times for fighting, assaults, and other assorted violent crimes. Once he had run over a friend with his car because the friend refused to get out of the way. All this was part of the court record.

The accused woman’s family also had sent the judge letters confirming that she had told them that he had beaten, threatened and even raped her. She had been too afraid to leave him, they told the judge, because the man had threatened to harm the woman’s son and her family if she ever left. The woman believed him and stayed with him for more than four years—until the night when she could no longer take his threats and abuse. That night, while he lay asleep, she struck him in the head with a hammer until he stopped breathing. A few hours later, she turned herself into the sheriff and confessed what she had done.

The man’s family was incensed at the things that were being said about their beloved son and brother. His mother protested to the judge that such things were not true. The judge just looked at her and said, “Ma’am, I know that you loved your son and I believe you when you say that he was a good son and uncle. But I also believe that he was violent and dangerous, as his record shows. People are not just one thing. We are many things at the same time. I’m sure your son was a good son and I’m sure that he was also violent and abusive to others. People are not just one thing.”

People are not just one thing

The judge’s wisdom encapsulates my own experience of human nature. In my time as a social worker and later as a jail chaplain, I have provided support and care for addicts, prostitutes, drug dealers, mentally ill people, child molesters, thieves, and murderers. In virtually every case, I found something precious in each person. Because they were more than one thing. They were not just their crime or their present circumstance. They were people’s sons and daughters, who had known homes filled with love or violence or both. They were sometimes victims of poverty, who were desperate to live differently and had no idea how to make that transition. They were people who knew pain and joy, who had dreams and hopes, who loved and were loved. They were not just one thing.

Sometimes we reduce people to just one thing—usually a negative thing. One incident or one exchange and we forever label someone as a ‘jerk’ or ‘liar’ or ‘selfish.’ No doubt those labels could be applied all of us at some point in our lives, but none of us would want to have that one thing attached to us forever. Because we are more than one thing. People are more than ‘the homeless’ or ‘the mentally ill’ or ‘jerks.’ People are complicated, a mixture of good and bad, ugly and admirable. We are all shaped by our life experiences, many of which we cannot choose. And we are equally shaped by the choices that we make. But to reduce another human being to a single thing is to demean both their complexity and God’s creativity.

Eye of God

There is, however, one thing that we all share in common. We are all made in God’s image. The imagio dei is stamped into every face, emblazoned on every soul. Regardless of whether we live in Perrysburg or on the street or in jail, the face of God is on and in every face.

You are made in God’s image. I am made in God’s image. Your worst enemy is made in God’s image. The jerk who cut you off in traffic is made in God’s image. This is our primary identity. This is the truth of who we are, regardless of all else.

What other images of people do you need to release so that you can see them as being made in God’s image? When was the last time you looked in the mirror and saw the face of Christ in yourself? Look now. Then BE the face of Christ to all you meet.

OK, people keep asking about how the puppy is doing, so it seems time to do an update. Dakota is doing very well. He’s growing like a weed, is already taller and longer than our Labrador, and weighs 60 pounds. He knows ‘sit,’ ‘down,’ ‘shake,’ and (sometimes) ‘stop’ and ‘no.’ When required, he sits and waits patiently for his food, even when it is in the bowl and on the floor. He allows us to remove his food without showing aggression. When it is time to take him outside, he will sit at the door and wait to be released before going outside, even if the door is standing wide open. He is a good eater, loves to harass the cats, and enjoys having the little space between his eyes gently rubbed. Dakota is smart and energetic and fun-loving BUT…he takes a huge amount of patience.

You see, Dakota is a willful dog. That’s what I have decided is the most apt description of him. He is willful. He is very smart and he does all those things that I said, but there are times when no matter what we say, he does exactly as he pleases. When he is in that willful mood and you look him in the eyes, you can see that he knows exactly what you want him to do and he is not going to do it. Then the next time you give the same command—sometimes only moments later—he might obey. But at this moment, he will do exactly as he pleases.

And he is fast. When he’s feeling willful and defiant, and you reach out to grab his collar to make him obey, he takes off like a shot. And when Dakota decides he does not want to be caught, he cannot be caught. We have learned the hard way that when we take him the few steps from the garage door to the tie-out cable, we must hold one to his collar or we may have a nice run around the yard trying to recapture him—a nearly impossible task.

The chink in Dakota’s willful armor is that like any adolescent, he is always hungry. A bit of kibble or a doggie treat and he can be convinced to cease his willfulness and return to you. Then we can grab him. At that point, it is tempting to administer correction for his misbehaving, but we don’t. Instead, we pat his head and say ‘good dog,’ showing that we are pleased that he has calmed down and returned to us. It seems contra-indicated—to reward him for his willful behavior. But dogs live in the moment and if we bribe him to return to us and then punish him when he does, he will associate returning to us with getting punished. He won’t understand that it was the willful disobedience that happened before the return that is being punished.

Dakota’s willfulness towards us makes me thing of our willfulness towards God. God knows what is best for us, how to keep us safe and secure, how to make sure we are cared for and loved. And there are times when we know that and behave appropriately and obediently. And there are times when we are absolutely willfully disobedient, wanting nothing more than to do exactly what we want, ignoring God’s higher wisdom in the matter.

Unwillful Baby Dakota

I wonder if God ever gets as frustrated with us as we get with Dakota? Is grace God’s ‘doggie treat,’ to lure us back into God’s presence where we can be safe and loved? Are we as willing as Dakota to respond to God’s coaxing? It seems contra-indicated—that God lures us with God’s own unmitigated grace even when we have been terribly, deliberately disobedient. And yet that is the nature of grace, isn’t it? That it is unmerited and unexpected and undeserved.

Still, I am sure God would prefer us to learn to be obedient without all the willfulness. So in what area of your life are you behaving a bit willfully towards God? Where is it that you are running around doing as you like and ignoring the call of God? And how is God reaching out to you offering you the treat of grace?

Classical labyrinth

I like labyrinths. Labyrinths are essentially a maze, but with only one way in and one way. One cannot get lost. Labyrinths are an ancient way of praying that shows up in both pagan and church traditions. To quote from a labyrinth internet site: A labyrinth is an ancient symbol that relates to wholeness. It combines the imagery of the circle and the spiral into a meandering but purposeful path. It represents a journey to our own center and back again out into the world. Labyrinths have long been used as meditation and prayer tools. A labyrinth is an archetype with which we can have a direct experience. Walking the labyrinth can be considered an initiation in which one awakens the knowledge encoded within their DNA.

Chartres Labyrinth

Walking labyrinths are most common, and are often laid in tile or stone in older European churches. Perhaps the most famous of these is in the Cathedral at Chartres near Paris. Other walking labyrinths can be made from simply mowing grass in the pattern of the path or laying bricks in the grass. Finger labyrinths are also increasing popularity so that one can have the labyrinth experience at any time. There are now also on-line labyrinths where you can sit back and let the curser “walk” the path for you, or you can manually “walk” the labyrinth with your mouse.

As often as I have walked the labyrinth in various places and in various forms, I am always struck by these truths:

1. The path is never straight but always takes unexpected turns.
2. Several times as I am walking, I get close to the center and it seems like I am nearly done…and then the labyrinth takes me away from the center, sometimes to the very outside ring of the circle and I realize that I still have a ways to go.
3. If I am persistent and stay on the path, no matter the speed I use, I will eventually reach the center.
4. In the center, I can rest.
5. But once I am in the center, I am only halfway finished. Now the task is to go back out—into the world.

My clay finger labyrinth

I have learned other truths about myself doing the labyrinth—about imperfections and unexpected barriers. Sometimes I do finger labyrinths with my eyes closed and learn (or maybe just re-learn) things about trusting that the path goes where it needs to. Sometimes I have walked barefoot labyrinths that are set in grass and learn things about unexpected pain (when I step on a stone or stick) and the need to be careful where I put my feet.

Always, always, the labyrinth “works.” I always get to the center, I never get lost, I always learn something about life or myself, and I never leave without feeling a sense of peacefulness. The labyrinth is “a-maze-ing.”

So, friends, how are you on the path? Are you nearing the center or have you taken an unexpected turn? Are there unexpected barriers you have encountered? When you reach a center (for life is a series of walks in the labyrinth), do you take time to rest before going back into the world? What “a-maze-ing” things have you learned along the way?

For those who have not “walked” a labyrinth, there is a walking labyrinth in Perrysburg at the home Norma Stark at 345 W. South. Boundary. It is open to the public. Park in the driveway and come at any time. There is also a walking labyrinth on the grounds of Our Lady of the Pines in Fremont which is also open to the public. It is set in grass and provides a different experience from Norma’s paved patio version. Zoar recently installed a finger labyrinth on the Sandusky Street side of the building in honor of Pastor Tim, who also loves the labyrinth. You are welcome to use it at any time. I also have a laptop finger labyrinth in my office that you would be welcome to use. Finally there are many on-line labyrinths. One of my favorites is: www.labyrinthonline.com. Try it: I think you might be a-mazed.

Zoar's/Pr. Tim's slate finger labyrinth

It has been a month since I lasted posted here. Between vacation, illness, a holiday weekend, and simple forgetfulness, I let my blog slide a bit. I hope to be back on track now. Thanks for checking back.

When I signed on to write this article, I found 54 pending comments waiting for me. For you non-bloggers, the software package I’m using allows me to review all comments made on my blog and then to choose to either approve them for publication (meaning everyone can see them) or get rid of those comments that I do not want to be viewed. One can also choose to mark a comment as spam so that if additional postings are done by the same person, they are immediately trashed. It’s much like most email programs.

So, 54 comments. Out of the 54 comments, one—that’s 1—comment was a real comment from someone I know. The other 53 comments were spam. Advertisements, generic comments about the blog (often with requests to put a link on my blog to this company’s webpage), pornographic invitations, etc., all masking themselves as comments on a blog article. “Good luck on your blog and keep up the good work.” “Thanks for sharing, I found this article, while googling for some downloads and ran across this website, interesting comments and great points made.” “I find that your published content is rather perceptive as it comes with lots of great information. Anyhow, was thinking whether you would like to interchange web links with my web space…”

Some comments look legitimate until you notice the sender’s email or webpage has the word “ephedrine” or “pandacoupons” in the address. Most of the comments are easily disposed of by marking them as spam. But so far, there are 9 comments that will not permit me to delete, unapprove, or mark them as spam. So they sit in my “pending comments” list mocking me. Well, the mocking part may just be just my imagination. Maybe.

The one legitimate comment of the 54 came as a result of the article I wrote on Small Plates. Irv’s comment seems germane to the spam issue as well. “Maybe if we didn’t have so much stuff to worry about we could spend more time on God’s things that need our attention” is Irv’s proffered wisdom.

Sometimes there is a lot of stuff in the way of our relationship with God—a sort of “life spam.” We have to sort through all the stuff and decide what is real and valuable and what is unnecessary and can be pitched. Yet even the process of sorting through all the spam can be a time-consuming endeavor, preventing us from focusing on the truly important things, including our relationship with God. Plus, what criteria do we use to decide what is worth pursuing and what should be pitched or ignored? For example, some may think of Facebook as a waste of time, while others use it as a primary means of communication with friends and family.

There are no hard and fast rules in this sorting of life-spam, but here is what small wisdom I have to offer: if it brings joy and life to your being, it is worth doing. If it is life-draining and burdensome, reconsider if that task is really necessary and how much of your life you are willing to spend on it.

Some years ago, I found this sign in the office of another person. It referred to what one should do with paperwork, but it also seems to be a way to sort through that life-spam that so clutters our days. Ditch, delegate, delay, do—in that order.

What life-spam in your life needs to be ditched or delegated or delayed? And how much of that life-spam really is worth doing?

A couple of months ago, I got a Droid phone. It was time for my colleague Tim and I to get new phones. Tim wanted a Droid. I had planned to get a new Palm, as I very much liked my Palm Centro. I had not planned to get a Droid, but the phones were “buy one, get one free” and the Droid was obviously a better phone than any of the Palm choices and the screen was much larger that I changed my mind and we both brought Droids.

Droid uses Google for the calendar and contact interface. As we were talking with the salesperson, I asked him if the Droid would synch with Outlook, where I keep my contacts and calendar. He said there was a program that would translate Outlook information into the Droid OS. I took his word for it and figured everything would be the same with the new phone as it was on the old.

Turns out that the third party platform that translates Outlook into the Droid system is flawed. I won’t bore you with details, but suffice it to say that the interface program leaves much to be desired. The most significant issue for me was that I lost all my calendar history. I had 7 years of calendar history stored up on my Palm/Outlook program and the new program did not record the history—just the events from the first synch forward. Argghhh!

Mind you, I LOVE my Droid—except for this whole calendar fiasco. Given a choice between exchanging a Droid for a Palm, I’d keep the Droid and the problems.

Here’s the clincher: I learned that our new church calendar on the Zoar website will be a Google calendar, meaning that I will end up learning the Google calendar interface after all. Plus, I also learned that you can transfer calendar information from the church calendar directly into one’s personal calendar—if your personal calendar is on Google.

So I think I’m going bit the bullet and start using the Google calendar. I suspect that in a few months, I will be pleased that I made the switch, but right now, I just feel tired thinking about transferring all my present calendar information from the old to the new. Google says there is an interface with Outlook and I read the directions and am going to give it a shot. Still, I am mentally preparing myself to start over if necessary. And I am preparing myself to be OK with losing seven years of calendar history. Maybe it’s time simply to make a clean break with the past and do something entirely new.

Why is that so hard for so many of us? Why is it so hard to make a clean break with a past that is no longer helpful or useful or practical—which may even be hurtful? Even in small things, such as my calendar dilemma, we can struggle to accept something new and better and instead cling to that which is old and outdated and perhaps harmful.

What old ways of thinking or doing things do you think God may be asking you to give up? Are you still doing and thinking this way because it is good or just because it’s comfortable? If you were to let go of some of this old stuff, what new possibilities has God laid before you?

Today the staff lunched at a restaurant called Poco Piatti. It is a Mediterranean-style restaurant that serves many of its dishes on “small plates,” which is what poco piatti means. Essentially it is a menu full of appetizers and you are encouraged to order several and share with others at the table. “Sharing the small plates at Poco Piatti brings friends and families together” claims their website.

Of course, being a curious bunch who like to try new things, we ordered far more food than we could eat so we could try many different dishes. It was all yummy, but even small plates are too large when you have more than one.

In a nation that values bigger as better; when we “super size” our fast food; when accumulation of stuff is encouraged and admired, I wonder: When is a small plate enough?

Mind you, I am as guilty as many others of accumulating stuff. I have a house larger than is needed for two people. I have more clothes than can hang in my closet at one time. We have more food than we can eat so that we end up throwing some away. We have THREE televisions for TWO people plus our computer can function as a television. I find myself asking: when is a small plate enough?

We are a nation of excess. It seems like we never have enough. Even those of us who self-righteously look at our lifestyles and commend ourselves for our self-restraint must admit that we have far more than we need to live. One of my seminary profs commented that we are the first nation in history to have so much stuff that an entirely industry—storage units—has been created to hold our excess possessions because all that stuff no longer fits into our houses.

How much is enough?

Philip Melanchthon, Martin Luther’s sidekick, is reported to have said that to be rich is to have enough to care for one’s family and a little left over. Mind you, this is not his definition of “enough,” but his definition of being rich. By this standard, we are all wretchedly weathly.

And what a burden it can become! Not only do we have an entire storage industry to help us amass more stuff, many people have gone to great lengths to protect their stuff. Locks, deadbolts, alarms, security systems, motion sensors, handguns by the bed—all to ensure that nobody takes or messes with our stuff.

How much is enough? When is a poco piatti sufficient? How would the world be different—how would WE be different—if we changed our definition of enough? Perhaps more would go to bed full rather than hungry. Perhaps there would be no need for deep water drilling and subsequent oil spills to feed our need for energy. Perhaps we would spend less time protecting our stuff and more time protecting the weak and vulnerable. Perhaps we would be closer to the people God has created us and called us to be.

When is a small plate enough?