take 1xday and call in the morning

(Read Zechariah 7:8-10)

Don't you just love some of the commercials
shown on television these days? Especially
the ones by the pharmaceutical companies,
that want to pitch you something that is so
wonderful (and usually so expensive) you
should immediately call your doctor and
demand a prescription.

Of course, to fulfill certain requirements
about truthful advertising, they add the
disclaimer at the end. Much like the fabled
'small print' in a document, the disclaimer
is usually spoken so softly and quickly one
cannot understand it. Typically, it is something
along the lines of 'this medication may cause
minor reactions like heartburn, upset stomach,
aches and pains, yada, yada, yada.' They
even mention severe reactions; one this morning
said, 'in some rare cases, death has occurred.'
Huh?!? I want to feel better, not die.

Makes you wonder what might happen if
such disclaimers had to be provided on that
first Christmas. "Peace on earth, good will
to all people." Disclaimer: believing this
message may cause certain side effects like
loving your enemies, turning the other cheek,
going the extra mile. In a few isolated cases,
wars may come to an end."

"Do not be afraid; I bring you good news
of great joy." Warning: taking this joy more
often than prescribed may lead to outbursts
of song, a strong desire to spend time with
people (even some you don't like), and some
changes in your eyesight which allow you
to see sunrises, sunsets, and leaves changing
in the fall with new eyes.

Of course, God put on all those disclaimers,
all those warnings, all that fine print long before
the birth of Jesus. In the words of the prophets,
we are told over and over of the one who would
come, to completely overturn our world, to set
right all the wrong we have done, to bring new
life to those who are dying. Jesus came, not
to be some cute, ceramic figurine in a creche
we bring out from the basement or attic once
a year. Jesus came, simply because he was
the only medicine that can make us better.

So be careful. Walking the path to Bethlehem
may send you home a different way - through
the alleys of all those places of poverty and
brokenness you have learned to avoid.
Listening to Jesus may cause you to speak in
a more caring and loving way to others.
Following him into the streets of the kingdom,
may cause painful foot problems. Taking
up your cross and following him, may give
you callouses. In some extreme cases,
hearts have been transplanted as certain
individuals have radically altered their
lifestyle.

Prayer: None of us like to take medicine,
Physician of our souls, but all of us can feel
better, do better, be better if we just took
Jesus on a daily basis. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

when we can't find the right word . .

Read Psalm 147:12-20)

Do you w00t?

It's "the" word of the year for 2007, according to the folks at Merriam-Webster Inc., who determine such things on behalf of the rest of us.

It reflects the increasing cross-pollination of words and numerals in today's means of communicating - either because of typos on a keyboard, or the sorts of short cuts text messengers are looking for. According to some, it came from the folks who loved to play the game 'Dungeons and Dragons', who would often exclaim, "Wow! Loot!" w00t!!!

But it has come to be used in a variety of ways: a cry of triumph ('i w00ted them'); an exuberant expression ('w00t! he said yes!'); a cry of joy about an accomplishment ('i passed the test. w00t!!!'). it is being used by more and more folks, in more and more settings. So . . .

w00t, Lord God!
the grandkids are coming
home for Christmas!

w00t God!
for that faucet of grace
that can't be turned off!

w00t the Lord!
the Word won the
Bethlehem marathon!

w00t God,
all you wandering
down the road,
looking for the stable.

w00t, God,
u r teh Lord!

w00t! w00t! w00t!

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

This day

(Read Zechariah 3:1-10)

On this day, I'll be trying to get a few more things marked off "The List." I got one of Teddy's presents yesterday, discovered another one we hope to get him; I finally got our tree (of course, it is not up yet!); I have three different meetings; and I am trying to get three different bulletins into some sort of shape.

On this day, the Muslims in our community (and around the world) will be marking the end of the pilgrimage (the hajj) to Mecca, with prayers, reflection, and the celebration of their faith. For today is Eid al-Adha, the "feast of sacrifice," the major holy day of the Muslim faith. So today, Muslims will hold prayers, as well as community dinners.

Eid celebrates the story of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his only son, when commanded by God. Considered a prophet in the Muslim faith, Abraham is a main figure in Judaism and Christianity, as well. Indeed, these three major religions, which often are at odds with one another, are united in their belief of the central role Abraham plays in the faith development of all three.

While we Christians, and the Jews, tell the story in such a way that Abraham is willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac, the Muslim tradition believe the boy was his son, Ishmael. But however we tell the story, the emphasis is on the willingness to be obedient to God's call on one's life, even if asked to give up what might be most precious to us. Certainly one of the 'themes' of our Christmas story is God's willingness to give the divine Child, the One so precious to God.

One of the ways Muslims observe this day honoring Abraham's sacrifice is to donate food, to the poor. Some of the Muslim families here in Cincinnati will be helping to feed folks in one of the chronic poverty neighborhoods; others will send assistance to families in Bosnia, Iraq, and other communities throughout the world.

On this day, I am reminded by my Muslim siblings in our mutual faith in the one God, that part of my way of celebrating this season needs to be acts of sacrifice. Not just giving up some time to go caroling, but giving up time to work in a soup kitchen; not just giving up hard earned money for gifts, but giving so that others might be blessed; not just filling myself with all those good things I enjoy, but sharing from the abundance I have so the emptiness of others might be filled.

On this day, we may walk different paths as we seek to find God, but Zechariah tells us that one day, one day (!), we will invite each other to come and celebrate with us the gifts of peace, hope, joy and reconciliation.

Prayer: On this day, and the days to come, help us to celebrate the sacrifice you have made, Glory's Gift, so that we may indeed give more and more of ourselves away to your people and your creation. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Jesus' Cousin Charles

(Read Psalm 146)

If there is anyone who has lived out the opening verses of this psalm, it may be Charles Wesley. Born 300 years ago today (December 18, 1707), Wesley has passed on a legacy of countless hymns that have taught generations theological truths, mixed with powerful images from the Bible, as well as literary illusions from his time, and classical illusions, as well.

What would Advent be without Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus or Lo! He comes with clouds descending? Or, what would a Christmas Eve (or Day) service be without singing Hark! The Herald Angels Sing?

One of the great powers these songs have is they help us to focus on the Advent theme of Jesus' coming again. In our rush to get to the manger to throw a big party for the baby, we often forget that there was a promise born that day in that barn, a promise that was sealed at the cross, and will be fulfilled with the return of our Lord.

Sadly (IMHO), in the reworking of some of Wesley's lyrics, to be more inclusive as well as use more familiar words, we have lost the understanding (so true to the gospel) he had of all creation responding to the birth of Jesus, and the biblical truth that all creation will be healed, restored, given new life by the One born on Christmas Day.

Wesley's original opening two verses for Hark! the herald angels sing show this:
Hark, how all the welkin ring!
'Glory to the King of Kings,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.

Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
Universal nature say
'Christ the Lord is born today!

Such words echo the praise of the psalmist who hopes in the one who made 'heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them.'

Wesley's hymns help us to keep our feet on solid ground, gospel ground, as we continue to walk to Bethlehem. So keep praising the Lord by singing those marvelous gifts Wesley has graced to us!

Prayer: Even as we get ready to celebrate your birth once again, come to us, Joy of our longing hearts. Come, so we may see you robed in compassion; come, so we may see you handing out gifts of justice and freedom to the oppressed; come, so we may feel your warm welcome, even as you embrace those we have ignored. Come, Lord Jesus, Come! Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

So, what did you see today?

Read Psalm 145

One of the things I try to do every morning before I head off to work is to read the comics in the newspaper. Over the last year or so, I have become a big fan of a strip by Brian Bassett called "Red & Rover." Red is a little boy, aged 8 or 9, I would guess. Rover is his dog, his confidant, his therapist, his pillow while he watches TV. Though Rover looks in the strip like a yellow lab, I pretend that he is a Golden Retriever like Dusty.

Today, Red and Rover are standing out in the snow, looking up at the sky. Red says, "They say snow is actually God brushing dandruff out of his hair." In one of those 'balloon' things, Rover asks, "Who're they?" To which Red answers, "Theologian dermatologists." What a line. What enjoyment. What a way to start a day!

A cartoon strip that just puts us in the right mood. A child standing on the corner waiting for the bus, pretending she is the first woman starting pitcher in the major leagues, as she throws strike after strike at the tree with her snowballs. A father who goes out into the cold night to make sure that his child has a gift for the teacher, since the child just remembered today (!) that the party is tomorrow. The neighbor who goes from house to house with her snow blower, clearing sidewalks and driveways, and walks on singing a carol.

Every day blessings from the One the psalmist tells us we are to bless every day. As we walk those ordinary paths that are part of the journey to Bethlehem, let us keep an eye out for a boy and his dog, a caring neighbor, a child dreaming.

Prayer: If we are not careful, if we don't watch, Shaper of our days, we might miss all those everyday wonders you put in our paths. And then, we might think we have no reason to offer our blessings to you. Keep us watchful, keep us alert, keep us praying. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Changing the Job Description

Every once in a while, the lectionary folks throw us a wild pitch, having us read stories that we don't usually connect with the Christmas story, or season. The gospel reading for the 3rd Sunday of Advent in Year A is one such reading.

(Read Matthew 11:2-11)

This sounds like one of those all too human, all too familiar stories from the gospels of someone who questions Jesus' identity or authority. Only this time it is not a scribe, a Pharisee, a lawyer, or some other religion leader. Nope, it is one of Jesus' kin, his cousin, John the Baptist. He's sitting in prison, wondering what is going to happen to him next (and having a pretty good idea what will take place), and he's been hearing rumors and stories about what Jesus is doing. So he sends some of his disciples to ask, 'are you the real deal?' Or are we going to have to put our hopes on hold again?'

Can you hear just the hint of disappointment in what John is asking? Maybe he and Jesus used to play that childhood game of 'Romans and peasants' with the peasants always winning. Maybe when they were teenagers, they talked about the kind of world they would bring about when they became adults. Who knows. But doesn't it make you wonder what John was looking for in Jesus? A man on fire, a man of fire? Did he hope Jesus would lead a army to break him out of prison, who would knock Herod off the throne, and who, after becoming king, would name his
favorite cousin as prime minister?

Whatever the reason, Jesus is just not doing what John expected of him. Yes, Jesus is going about the countryside doing things, but they seem to be the wrong things. He's not putting an army together, he's bringing tax collectors and prostitutes to the family table. He's not a mighty warrior like David, he's sitting around telling stories. He's not plotting to overthrow the oppressors from Rome, Jesus is giving sermons about turning the other cheek, and going the extra mile. In fact, his response to John's question is simple, 'go and tell cuz that I am the one who was to come; but the job description has been changed just a bit. The blind see their way home, the lame dance down the street, new life is given to those the world has thrown out with the garbage, and mercy comes before judgment.'

And we can just see John sitting in that cell when the answer comes back to him, thinking, 'where in the world did Jesus get all those crazy ideas?' Then, in the silence and darkness of those moments, he begins to hear words from Isaiah, and Amos, and Hosea. Words about God's vengeance turning out to be salvation; words about one who is coming to bring exiles home; words about the time when all creation will be healed; songs about the poor being filled with all sorts of good things; visions about Death Valley becoming Napa Valley; about a young woman in a wheelchair who plays Eliza Doolittle in 'My Fair Lady.'

And in the hearing of those words, and the recalling of those visions, those hopes, those dreams of God, John comes to realize, just as we must if we are going to walk to Bethlehem this year, that the way may just require going in an unexpected direction.

Prayer: Long before the poet put the words down on paper, Surpriser of our souls, you knew that we would come to a fork in the road. Help us to be able to choose the unexpected way, the way that leads us into your kingdom. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Poustinia

(Now that you have your finger in the Bible marking
where Haggai is, read chapter 2, verses 1-9)

Several people wanted to know about this pousitinia
thing mentioned in yesterday's devotional. Well, first
I have to admit to a misspelling - it should have been
'poustinia.' Sorry about that!

A poustinia is a prayer room/hut, a place where one
can go to be truly isolated, truly alone, truly silent
in the presence of God. Think of what we would
call a hermitage - one of those beehives the monks
used in the British Isles, the place Thomas Merton
lived in at the Abbey of Gethsemane, a remote hut
on a Pacific atoll, or on the side of a mountain.

Poustinia is a common, ordinary word. In fact, in
its original Russian, it means 'desert'. The Sahara
Desert thus becomes Saharskaya Poustinia' - a
geographical location. But in the sense it was being
used in the devotional, it refers to a spiritual place,
a place set apart for silence, solitude, reading, and
prayer, so that one may draw closer to God.

I had read of poustinias for years, and when I went
on by sabbath renewal time some years ago, I actually
got to spend time in one. When I visited the residential
setting (Hetton Hall) of the Northumbria Community
in England, I discovered a marvelous poustinia on the
grounds, complete with a thatched roof! You go in,
shut the door, light a candle if light is needed, and
just sit, meditate, pray, rest in silence, and gradually,
softly, lovingly you become enveloped in the sacred
shawl of God. And like the abbey on Iona, the
hermitage of Thomas Merton, the Church of the
Reconciliation at Taize, Sainte Chappelle in Paris,
I had been enjoying a marvelous pilgrimage to
poustinias throughout the world.

So, when I got home I was determined that
I would recreate this place, this experience. I was
going to convert the storage shed in my backyard
to a poustinia. I was going to talk the church into
converting one of its meeting rooms into a prayer room
Of course, the shed still contains the snow shovels,
the old bikes, the left-overs of yard work, etc. that
it did when I came back home. We still continue
to sit in chairs around tables in that room at the
church. I continue to long for a return to all those
places where I felt so close to God.

That's when I need to hear from someone like
Haggai. Someone who gently taps me on the
shoulder and whispers, 'stop fretting. God's
Spirit is living deep within you. Through Jesus,
God planted the seed of the Spirit to create
that longing to be with God, to rest in silence,
to be still and know. Stop looking, stop
fretting, just stop and rest.'

And then I know the poustinia I really need
is there in my heart, where God has been
waiting, is waiting even now, and will be
waiting when I am finished typing these words,
simply waiting for me to stop and enter into
my poustinia.

As we walk the road to Bethlehem in this
Advent season, let's keep our eyes open for
those places of rest, those poustinias, God
has placed along the way, and in our hearts.

Prayer: Now, I will stop fretting. Now, I
will shut down the computer, turn off the
vacuum, set down the paper, and wander
into my heart where you are waiting to be
at rest with me, Hermitage of my soul. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Along the way

(Read Haggai 1:1-15)

Admit it. You had to look at the table of
contents in the front of your Bible to find
where Haggai was located, didn't you?
(So did I!). Since we normally don't read
anything from him in church (a passage
from Haggai appears only once in the
entire 3-year cycle of the lectionary), it
is easy to overlook him.

And it seems like he doesn't have much
relevance for us, doesn't it? After all,
historically he only 'preached' for about
a three-and-a-half month period of time,
and only seemed to be concerned about
getting God's people up off their duffs
and started on rebuilding the temple in
Jerusalem after the return from exile.
So, his words have nothing to do with us.

But since Haggai has the word 'prophet'
in front of his name, we are called to take
him seriously. And because prophets are
really conduits for God's words, God's
concerns, God's hopes, God's dreams
for God's people, we really do need to
pay attention. And because, in the
wisdom of the church, Haggai is a part
of Scripture, we should read and listen
to what he has to say.

In a nutshell, Haggai is all about the
practical tasks we are given as God's
people. Yes, we are called to pray,
but we are also called to provide and
maintain those places where people
can go to pray. Be they monasteries,
sanctuaries, pousitinias, prayer rooms,
little roadside chapels, benches out
in a field - we can see that folks have
places where they can withdraw from
the world, where they can enter into
silence, where they can reconnect with
God.

Yes, we are called to provide a home for
God. Not so much for God, but for us -
to have that special place, set apart simply
for the purpose of letting us connect with
the extraordinary God who continues to
surprise us, in the midst of our rather
ordinary days and lives. From tabernacles
in the wilderness to the tabernacle in
Salt Lake City, from cathedrals that
echo with the chants of the saints to
storefront churches that shake with
gospel songs, from the catacombs to
the church on the corner where we were
baptized and confirmed, we have these
special places that ground us in the faith
and in the presence of God, even when
the earth seems to be shifting under our
feet from day to day.

As we continue on our journey to Bethlehem,
let's be sure to take a break and pray at all
those places Haggai and Hannah, Phoebe
and Paul provide for us along the way, and
make sure they are places where others can
find rest and reconnection with God on
their journey.

Prayer: We think all we need is a good pair
of boots and a stout walking stick to make
it all the way to the manger, Rebuilder of
our hearts, but you offer us a place to stop,
to reflect, to become grounded once again
with your holy presence. Help us to be
willing to take a break, so we can be
refreshed by your love. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Hurry up and wait

(Read Psalm 62)

Every day (well actually, several times a day!) Teddy calls. And, every day, he wants to know the same thing: has Sarah had her baby yet? Sarah is a young woman in the church, just a couple of years older than Teddy, who grew up with him - accepting him, loving him, seeing him as one of God's children just as she is. So, she is very special to him. And the fact that she married a fellow who spent some time as one of Teddy's caregivers in one of those times when he could live at home, makes it doubly special for Teddy (and for us).

And every day (actually, several times a day!) I have to tell him that, no, I haven't heard anything yet and reassure him that as soon as I hear, he will share in the good news. But it is hard on him, all this waiting to hear about his friends and their baby.

If anything, this is the season when we get repeated lessons on waiting. Waiting in line to make a purchase, to get a tree, to mail a package. Waiting for the email from the relatives letting us know when they plan to arrive. Waiting for the delivery truck to arrive (hopefully, NOT at a time when the kids are at home). Waiting to sing those beloved carols; waiting to gather in the quiet of the night on Christmas Eve to once more hear the Story.

And none of us, none of us, none of us are any good at waiting, are we? We're too busy, we're too frantic, we're too worried, we're too important to have to wait, to be put on hold, to have someone tell us, 'sorry, not today; maybe that toy/game/video/whatever will be on the shelves tomorrow.

It's not just a virtue we need to develop, it's not just a skill we learn, waiting is a spiritual discipline, which none of us are very disciplined at practicing!

Now, I can't begin to imagine what it was like for Mary to have to take that long, dusty, probably painful journey to Bethlehem. I can't begin to know what it is like for Sarah, and Chuck, to continue to wait - day after day - for little Evan to make his appearance.

But because I know Sarah, and Chuck, I have no doubt that as they walk the road to parenthood during this season, like Mary and the psalmist, they say,
'For God alone my soul waits
in silence,
for our hope is from God.'

Prayer: We hurry up and wait, often for things that have no lasting value. But you are worth waiting for, Deliverance of our hearts, so help us to be calm, to be silent, to be hopeful in this waiting time. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Good Company

(Read Amos 8:1-14; Matthew 23:1-12)

Ever notice how the prophets are never included in Christmas pageants? Oh, there might be a quote or two from Isaiah, but no one plays Amos, or Hosea, or any of the other folks who seem to take glee from holding our feet to the fire built from God's incendiary words.

It's not surprising. Who wants to spend any time with someone who is going to remind us - in this season of gifting and receiving, of parties and feasting - that there are those who, exploited by the world, keep down the costs of our gifts, our food, our travels? Who wants to invite a party-pooper like Amos to our Christmas dinner, if he is going to show up wearing sackcloth and a gloomy face?

We'd rather be with Jesus during this holy season. Jesus, sweet little baby boy; Jesus, meek and mild; Jesus, soft, cuddly, and who can be put down for a nap when the party really begins to crank up. After all, he is just this baby who depends on us for food, for warmth, for comfort. He may be the reason for the season, but we are the reasonable adults in charge of the season,
aren't we?

Unfortunately, when Jesus grows up, it becomes pretty clear that he has been spending time with folks like Amos, more time than is probably good for anyone. That's where he gets such outrageous ideas that people want to put on religion like a pair of pants, trying on different sizes until they find what fits their lifestyle. That's why he can see the kind of hypocrisy evidenced by those who talk a good game of faith, but are usually still sitting on the bench when the whistle blows. That's how he came to realize that in God's great scheme, things are usually turned upside down, until we get it right.

If we are going to go down the road to Bethlehem, we do indeed need to spend some time with Jesus. But, if we are going to reach the end of our journey, we need to keep Amos and all the other prophets at our side, so we know exactly how we are to live when we get there.

Prayer: With words we really don't want to hear, with jabs of justice we really do need, you send the prophets to us, Teacher of our souls. As much as we would like to leave them behind, help us to take their hands as they journey with us to Bethlehem. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Easy Street?

(Read Matthew 22:34-40)

No tricks, no hidden meanings, no theological puzzles which take centuries to unravel. Just two short verses, two commandments, two easy steps to follow through life. If only it were that easy!

It would be easy to love God, if God would answer every prayer, would turn a blind eye to some of the things we do, would be that jolly old fellow with a belly-deep laugh and a twinkle in his eye. But God has a funny way of thinking that we should be involved in solving prayers, that everything we do (good and bad) is part of our life-long struggle with faith, that God might just not slide easily into some picture frame we have designed out of our needs.

It would be easy to love our neighbors if they would just be a little bit more loveable. Think what it would be like to have Mother Theresa living next door, instead of the curmudgeon who grumbles every time kids play in their backyards. Or what if Brad Pitt moved onto our
street with his commitment and zeal to shaping a greener world, but we get saddled with the fellow who runs his sprinklers 12 hours a day in the hottest and driest part of the summer.

And it would be a whole lot easier to love ourselves if we were just someone else, wouldn't it!?!

Two short verses, two simple commandments, two easy steps on the path of love which we can walk to get to Bethlehem.

If only it were that easy!

When Eugene Peterson paraphrased this passage in The Message, he calls these commandments "pegs." I like that.

Because if we can love God, when we need that grace to forgive ourselves for the foolish words we speak, for the mean ways we can treat people, for the ease with which we slip off the path to the kingdom, we will find it hanging on that peg. And if we can learn to love ourselves as much as God loves us, then when we reach for that kindness, that joy, that peace which we know our neighbors need, we will find them hanging there as well. And if we can, day in and day out, chance after chance, love others as deeply as we love ourselves, than we will know we truly love God, as we walk the path of love..

Prayer: It probably isn't easy at times to love us, Advent's Heart, but you continue to persist in feeling that way and then living out that love in us. Help us to make the less than easy choice to be as loving as you are, towards our neighbors, ourselves, and especially you. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Dig a Little Deeper, God!

(Read Psalm 40)

I can still remember the time when I went in for my annual physical. The doctor was doing the usual poking and prodding, and then he got out the little flashlight to look into my ears. He looked in one, and then the other. He stepped back with a quizzical look on his face, and went through the procedure a second time.

That's when he turned to the medical student who was assisting him, and said, "Take a look." The student took the light, and she looked at both my ears three times! "What is it?" she asked the doctor, with a worried look on her face. "Something we need to flush out," he said with a grim look. So they filled a syringe with warm water, and proceeded to flush out my ears. "No wonder you have some hearing problems," the doc said, "take a look at what we flushed out."

And sure enough, there they were. All those angry, mean-spirited words that people use on talk radio about those they don't like. All those loud commercials that were deafening me with their screaming about what I absolutely had to have, even if I didn't need it. All those profanities flooding the dialogue in movies, adding nothing to the story, but filling my ears, my heart, my soul with garbage. All those muttered-under-my-breath epithets about all those people I just cannot stand.

The psalmist says (40:6) that God doesn't want our sacrifices, but gives us open ears. Or, as the Hebrew more graphically puts it, God gives "ears you have dug for me."

God digs out all that garbage which has stuffed our ears and builds a path to Bethlehem on which we can walk, with our ears wide open, so we can hear the voices of the poor and the needy, so we hear the knock on the door from the young couple looking for a home in our hearts, so we can listen to the anthems the angels sing, so we can pay attention to the cries of the One just born, that we might have new life.

Prayer: You may have to dig a little deeper this year, Mining God, since the noise of the world seems to be so much greater. But by your persistent efforts, we may just be able to hear a little more clearly, and listen to the whisper of your heart in our ears. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Go Ahead and Point (it's okay, honest!)

(Read Matthew 3:1-12)

Every year, I look for him to show up in the manger scene set up in our narthex. And once more, I am disappointed. No ceramic figure dressed in camel's hair holding a handful of honey-covered locusts. Once again, I've scoured all the card shops, but not a single one has a card with John the Baptist on the front, with a message on the inside reading: "Merry Christmas, you brood of vipers!"

Yet, this year as in every year of the lectionary cycle, John the Baptist shows up in the gospel reading. Every year! Why? Why him, of all the people we could read about? Why him, of all the people to show up in church every year?

Maybe he comes on the scene each and every year as a model for what our role should be as followers of Jesus. Simply put, we are to speak to people about the One who has come, and is coming once again to set up house in our hearts. We are simply to trust that the promises made long ago to a prophet, to a pregnant teenager, to a bunch of shepherds will be fulfilled once again this year. We are simply to be filled with the hope that says our words, our actions, our prayers, our simple and ordinary lives are all a part of the story told at Christmas.

Like John, we stand in the midst of folks who can be hypocritical, who can be fairly shallow in their faith, who seem to have trouble putting their faith where their mouths are (in other words, folks just like you and me!). And what are we to do. Simply point.

Point to the one who is coming down the road, whose image we can barely see in the gathering dusk, whose head just appears over the top of the horizon. To point and say, "There! There is your hope; there is your joy; there is your peace; there is your life!"

To point - and then to step off the path so we don't get in the way of the reunion of the lost, the last, the little, the least with the One who knows them by name.

Prayer: If we would walk the way to Bethlehem, Brooding God, we need to stop pointing fingers at those who we believe are not bearing fruit as we think they should, and start pointing to the One who is coming to hear all those crying from the wildernesses of their lives, and to lead them home to life with you. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Running on empty

(Read Amos 5:18-27)

'The first Nowell
the angel did say
was to certain rich folk
in comfort as they lay . . .'

Well, that's not quite how the carol goes, is it? But it seems as if this is how most of society interprets it these days. That the reason for the season is to spend, to consume, to fill our homes and our lives with more and more.

Think I am being too much of a curmudgeon? Think I am being too negative? Think I have become a scrooge? Maybe so. But I look at the ads on TV here, in a time when a economic crisis is brewing in our midst, folks are being told 'maybe this is the time to buy a BMW' . . . a big hunk of jewelry, that chalet you've always dreamed about! It's tempting, isn't it? I admit that, if I had the money, there is that list of things that I would go out and buy, and a classic car is one of those items.

But then I read the Advent scriptures, then I read the Christmas story, and what happens? Amos comes knocking on my door wanting to collect a cup of justice for the people sleeping under the bridges; Gabriel and the angels come whispering to poor folks working the night shift to go look at what God has done for them; Mary comes caroling about the One who comes to fill the hungry with good things and to send me away empty.

The Christmas story is pretty explicit that God came down through (and for) the poor. And that's the part on the story we seem to always overlook. In our costly decorations, in our beautifully staged pageants, in our marketing of the message, we always seem to leave out the poor.

So, maybe it's time we remember them, and the justice we are called to share with them. Maybe, when we go and spend money on a present for a neighbor, we can send the same amount to a local shelter. Maybe, when we buy our Christmas feast, we can provide a feast for another family through a food pantry. Maybe, when we decide to go caroling, we will make sure we sing to the poor in our neighborhoods, not just the privileged. Maybe, just maybe, we can empty ourselves this year.

Because if I become empty then I, too, become poor. I, too, can hear the promises whispered by Gabriel. I, too, can open my heart to the way God wants to be incarnated in my soul. I, too, can be filled with those good things called grace, hope, peace, joy, reconciliation, justice. And then, I can go out and empty myself of these gifts, so I once more become empty enough to welcome God, once again.

The path of justice we are asked to take to Bethlehem is all downhill. How do we keep from putting roadblocks in the way so that justice can roll down to those who need it the most?

Prayer: Not a not a slow drip, not a trickle, not a gently flowing stream, but let your justice
rough-tumble through our lives, River of Righteousness, so it can sweep us along to all those places where we can serve and grow with all of your people. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Choosing

(Read Psalm 16)

Today is my day off, and so I face choices. Will I laze around in bed, warm and snug under the blankets, or will I get up, eat breakfast, put the laundry in, walk Dusty? Okay, when it comes to the dog, maybe I don't have a choice . . .

Will I go to a movie this afternoon, read a book, work on a book, take a nap, turn on the TV, turn on the vacuum, do a bit of shopping, surf the 'net, play a video game, call a friend, curse an enemy??? I could even choose NOT to do an Advent devotional today!

So many choices. And you will notice, since it is somewhat intentional, that there is nothing about God, or prayer, or any thing remotely spiritual (well, reading a book is always a spiritual discipline for me - as well as taking a nap!).

That's because, like so many people I know, when I am making lists of things to do, when I am deciding what will fill my time, when I make choices for the day - all too often, God doesn't make the cut.

Why? Why is it that I can choose to spend time with a friend, or not, but can't seem to do that with God? How can I choose to talk with the neighbor down the street, or keep walking Dusty, but not open my mouth to God? It often seems an almost automatic response as to whether or not to love a person, but I cannot seem to send a valentine to the One who gave me life and breath?

Now, in some ways I am a 'professional' Christian - I read the Bible, I pray, I can think deep theological thoughts, for that is my job. But as a pilgrim, as one who is struggling to walk the streets of the kingdom, I know that all too often I choose NOT to make God my chosen portion.

I am not sure if it is so much a matter of making the 'right' choice, but finding that path where I know that God is before me, and I want to run to catch up.

Prayer: In the midst of all the petty and pretentious choices I will make today, path-paving God, help me to make a portion of them with you. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. shuman

Thesaurus for the Trinity?

(Read Psalm 18:1-20)

Take a moment and think of all those nicknames, those affectionate terms, those 'love' names you have for family members or friends. Sweetpea, Nana, GeePaw, Peanut, BeeJay, Punkin are some of the ones I have heard used for people over the years.

Now, think of all those nicknames, those affectionate terms, those 'love' names you use for God. C'mon, you say you love God, so what are the names, the images, the metaphors you have when you talk to or about God?

Could you pray to God as the Shawl of Holiness? Are you able to speak of Jesus as the Champion of the outcast? Would it be appropriate to call the 3rd person of the Trinity a 'sap-surging Spirit'?

Recognizing that our language - especially about God - is limited and limiting, why is it that so often God is only referred to as Father, Son, Holy Spirit; or Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer? Why. when we pray, is it a repetitive use of 'O God'? Where is the rich thesaurus for all the diverse, wonderful, beautiful, creative ways of speaking about the One who did not limit humanity to one mold, or trees to one model, or birds to one color?

The psalmists try to get us started building this rich and varied language. Embedded within the psalms are creative, evocative, emotional, tender words to describe God's presence, God's power, God's grace, God's hope. I still remember, as a young boy who felt alone and lost in a confusing world, the first time I heard about God being the rock where I could find refuge. What power, what liberation, what comfort was given to me in those words! And over the years, I have developed other creative, more contemporary, and (hopefully) more personal-to-me language for God.

As we take the path of words to Bethlehem, may we arrive with new ways of telling of our love for and to God.

Prayer: Cradle of our dreams, hear us as we tell you how much we love you, even if we fumble with the words. Gift us with fresh language, so we might tell others of how precious you are to us, using images that will draw them closer to you in this time in which you draw ever closer to us. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

muttermuttermutter

(Read Psalm 147:1-11)

I don't know about you, but there are some days when I spend all my time muttering under my breath. Someone has forwarded an urban legend to me that I have seen a gazillion times. That curriculum outfit that just doesn't seem to understand the word 'no' calls again. A neighbor has taken MY parking space on the street. muttermuttermutter

Of course, I am pretty good at grumbling. A committee has to re-visit an issue that was already decided on months ago, even though everyone in the room knows nothing will change with another discussion. Politicians fill the airwaves with enough hot air to reduce my energy bill, if I could only plug my furnace into the TV. And my team did not make it into the big game! grumblegrumblegrumble

And, sad to say, there are those moments when I am downright churlish. "The light has changed, green means go, hello!?!" I have been in the grocery line for 10 minutes, and the lane next to me opens, and the clerk takes those folks who have gotten into line after me! And, of course, the telemarketers who dial a dozen numbers at once, and you are standing there saying, 'hello? hellO? HELLO???' while the caller decides if you are the lucky winner to listen to their spiel. churlchurlchurl

But when I go to bed and reflect back on the day, I always realize that I haven't done much praising, even when I had the chance. A 'v' of honking geese flew over me in the morning, and I was too busy muttering about how cold it was as I stooped down to get the paper, instead of lifting my face to watch them. A neighbor waved 'hello' as she pulled out to work, and I was grumbling about the ice on the windshield. Two squirrels were chasing each other around and around the oak tree outside my office window, and I was ranting at the computer for taking its sweet time to power up.

If I am lucky, maybe when I sweep the snow off the sidewalk before I go to work this morning, I will uncover the path of praise.

Praise God!
Praise God for Dusty racing around
in the snow and making dog angels!
Praise God for the sweet, soft silence
of snow that deadens the noises
of the world!
Praise God for this time of Advent,
so we can find our way
back home to Bethlehem!
Praise the LORD!

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Skatin' Down Memory Lane

(Read 2nd Peter 1:12-21)

Six or seven years ago, when Teddy was living in a residential facility in Kentucky, they took him roller skating. And he took to it like a duck does to water! For someone whom occupational therapists have always said has a balance problem, he can strap on those skates and glide around the floor, even doing all that crossover stuff and keeping in beat with whatever music was being played.

Of course, his passion for skating meant that he wanted Mom and Dad to share in it as well. I thought I would get off the hook, since most rinks don't have skates in my size. Unfortunately, the rink we went to did! Which meant that I had to strap those things on, and get out on the floor. Now, as much as I liked roller skating when I was I kid, it had to have been some 45 years since I had tried it. Yet, as I tentatively took those first steps, as I clung tenuously to the wall, it began to come back. I began to remember how to skate!

Peter tells us that one of the jobs he has been called to do is to help us remember - to refresh our memories of whose we are and what we are called to do in this life. To remember those moments when God whispered in our ears, 'I love you, Beloved.' To remember those times when we have stood on mountaintops, and felt a closeness to God that warms us in those wintry days in the valleys. To remember those people who have pointed the way when we get lost, who pick us up and dust us off when we trip over the untied laces of our sin, who keep patting us on the back and telling us, 'keep going; you can make it.'

As we continue on our journey to Bethlehem, may one of the paths we walk be that of remembering.

Prayer: How can we remember the way to your heart, O God, when our minds are crowded with the jingles, the cash registers ringing, the siren calls of the stores? Tie the string of your Spirit around our fingers, we pray, so our memories might be refreshed as to where we are going and how we long to reach our destination. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

The Path of Endurance

(Read 2 Peter 1:1-11)

Every parent of a teenager knows about endurance - passing those long moments in the night, waiting to hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, so you can finally go to sleep in peace and assurance that they are home.

Every kid knows about endurance during this time of year, as they struggle to be so good that it hurts, as they slowly 'x' out each day on the calendar leading up to the morning when they no longer have to keep their hands off the presents under the tree.

Every patient knows how to define endurance, as you wait out those days, which seem to last an eternity, from the time a test is taken until you hear back from the lab with the results.

Peter says that endurance is one of the foundational stones which supports our faith. And he certainly knew about that truth, didn't he? Impulsive to a fault, he had to learn that Jesus did indeed know what he was talking about. Graced with that all-too familiar faculty to open his mouth only to change feet, he had to find a way to keep his mouth shut at times, so his ears could be open. Eager to leap before he looked (and it didn't seem to matter what he was jumping into), he had to develop the ability to look down at his feet to make sure they were on the right path.

Endurance is one of those paths God would teach us to walk during this time of Advent. Hopefully, we can find the tenacity to learn.

Prayer: God-who-walks-with-us, you were willing to endure our foolish and willful disobedience, until the right time came to put on our flesh and to teach us your ways. Help us to have that faith that is grounded in endurance, especially in this season when we want to rush to Bethlehem. Amen.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

The Dangerous Journey

Read Isaiah 2:1-5

Once again, we begin our dangerous journey to Bethlehem.

Dangerous - for we are asked to leave all those comfortable shadows of life and welcome with open arms the Light that comes to us. Dangerous - because we will be challenged to quit ndulging in those life-long habits of quarreling, jealousy, putting down those around us,
so we can live in such a way that others will have no doubt about the love, the respect, the gratitude we have for them.

Dangerous - as we are asked (no, begged!) by God to take all those weapons of mass destruction (our sharp tongues, our turned backs, our angry looks) and turn them into whispers of grace, of welcoming hugs, of smiles that light up all creation.

Besides this, we are asked called to let go of all our mapquest and GPS gizmos, and find alternative paths to Bethlehem.

We know how to get to the mall with our eyes closed. Now, we are asked to go down those unfamiliar streets, to risk getting lost (and not worrying about it) as we look for the coming One. We bump our ways over the potholes of popularity, but God wants us to turn down the side alleys of faithful discipleship, looking for those who are sitting on the curb, their pockets full of poverty and their hearts emptied of hope, so we will stop and open our hearts and give them a ride to the kingdom.

That prophet of Advent, Isaiah, tells us that in this season of commercials, sales, and consumer debt, God longs to teach us different ways, to instruct us with a Word that can transform our very lives, to show us the paths of wisdom (and courage) which will lead us straight to Bethlehem.

For some, it will mean walking a path called patience, when we are so much more comfortable giving into the fatigue and stress which allows us to be extra crabby. Others are asked to walk down that path called faith, as neighbors and friends gently laugh at us for believing that old,
old story and for daring to let it guide our lives. Still others will find ourselves walking the cracked sidewalks which lead to the corner of Hunger and Hopelessness, where we might be able to change the street names to Grace and Joy.

Once again, we begin our dangerous journey to Bethlehem. Are you ready?

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Enchanted

If you are a romantic at heart; if you loved watching the old Disney movies about Snow White, Cinderella, about Sleeping Beauty, Bambi, Thumper, and all those cute birds/mice/rabbits that help make dreams come true - then you definitely want to go see the movie Enchanted. It is a marvelous mix of animation and live film, of comedy and romance, of 'inside' jokes and throwaway lines that, if you are familiar with those Disney greats, you will find yourself nodding. laughing, saying, "yeah! I know where that came from!"

As we were driving home from watching it, I remarked to Bonnie that it is the sort of movie that used to come out at this time of year, that perceived 'family time' between Thanksgiving and Christmas. You could count on a colorful, animated, full-length movie, or a film with great songs about Christmas, or something that made you want to go out and do something for others, simply for the sake of doing.

But now, it seems that the movies that come out at this time of year are filled only with the color of red - as in blood, gore, violence, and over-the-top depravity. They focus on people killing, simply for the sake of killing. They devote story lines to depravity that is elevated (almost) to a lifestyle the viewer should emulate. They are filled with songs that degrade women, that exult about cruelty, that speak of unspeakable acts as if they are, or should be, everyday events in our lives.

(And often, we are told by the promoters and the reviewers, these sorts of images, these sorts of actions, are 'okay' because someone is giving an Academy Award performance, or someone has written a 'gritty' script, or a Grammy-worthy song.)

I've been thinking about the contrast in movies at this time of year because I have gotten a couple of emails concerning a film that is about to come out called The Golden Compass - a fantasy with magicians, witches, alternative worlds, etc., etc. And the emails are all about how
the movie should be boycotted (if not banned outright) because it is un-Christian, based on a trilogy by an avowed atheist. So? It is a fantasy - about a fantasy world, about polar bears that can talk, about people who can fly in the air.

Yet, there hasn't been a whisper from these folks who are so concerned over values, Christian living, families about movies like American Gangster or Hitman or any of the others of this genre.

Why is that? How can we become so concerned, so outraged, so up-in-arms over films that are simply fantasies, but not over movies that are simply disgusting?

I don't know; I don't have any answers. But as one who has seen both American Gangster and Enchanted, I know which one I will go see again, which one I will recommend to folks, which one I will buy when it is released as a DVD.

And it's not the one that stars two actors who have received Academy Awards.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Patricia

Beginning in early October, we were blessed
with the gift of Patricia - a young woman from
Zambia - who came as a part of the Mission
to the USA program coordinated through the
Synod of the Covenant. It has been some years
(almost 30) since the church had participated
in the program, and so we were not sure what
to expect. Some of us had high expectations,
that she would make all our problems disappear
somehow. Some had middling expectations,
that she wouldn't be too much of a 'burden.'
Some had low expectations, just that it
wouldn't demand too much time and energy
to have her with us.

I read something once that spoke of God's
hopes exceeding our expectations - and that's
what happened to us. God hoped Patricia
would come and change lives, and she did.
God hoped that some of us, if not all, would
open our hearts, our homes, our faith to her
gentle teaching, and some of us did. God
hoped that Patricia would have the confidence
and the contentment that her children and
husband and church in Zambia would be in
good hands while she was gone, and she did.
God hoped that we would become just like
children, and be nurtured and taught and
blessed and loved by this Christ-like person
in our midst, and when we did, we walked a
little further along the streets of the kingdom
towards home.

We were so impressed with this gentle,
soft-spoken, gracious young woman who
had the courage to leave her husband, her
3-year-old son,her 6-month old twins (!)
behind. What incredible courage, trust,
confidence, faith. All in this humble and
graceful daughter of God.

And then, she stood up and spoke, and the
strength of her faith, the power of her trust
in God, her unwavering conviction that,
indeed, all things (everything!) is possible
with God, her passion for sharing the Good
News of Jesus Christ, not just with us, but
especially with the poor, the broken, the
abandoned of her country and of God's
world came flowing out, and we were all
blown away!

And then she said, 'Thank you', sat down
and smiled.

I'll bet that's how people experienced that
missionary from Galilee who was so
gracious, so gentle, so soft-spoken.
But when he opened his mouth, all
the power and passion of God's heart
came flowing forth and everyone was
just blown away!

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

No Time Like the Present

Armageddon!
Apocalypse!
A fiery end!

These are some of the descriptors the TV folks are using to describe the terrible, terrible devastation being caused in Southern California by the wildfires, aided and abetted by the extremely dry and strong Santa Ana winds.

And indeed, it almost seems to be like the language used in the Bible about the end days.

One family loses everything, the next family interviewed managed to save all that was valuable. The wind blows embers on to one house causing a fire that completely destroys that house, while neighboring houses are spared, and are still standing. People are literally fleeing for their lives, turning to sports arenas for housing, to strangers for assistance, to outsiders for help. And the scenes at night show fires burning out of control, while firefighters battle fatigue as well as flames.

Armageddon!
Apocalypse!
A fiery end!

But rather than some folks being left behind, people are risking their lives to make sure everyone is evacuated. Rather than armies waging war against one another, people that might not speak on the street are reaching out to one another with food, with shelter, with water, with hope. Instead of some folks mysteriously disappearing in an instant, people are appearing from all over the country to offer their gifts, their talents, their lives to others.

Maybe we are being reminded that when the end times come, they will provide the opportunity, not to pat ourselves on the back because we are Christian, but to break our backs in serving those whose lives, whose hearts, whose spirits have been broken by life.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Without a Prayer

It's one of those things we know we should do, but which many of us have trouble practicing. It's one of those things that some folks seem to have a gift for, while others of us run to hide when asked to do it. It's probably the thing pastors are asked to do most often, and asked about most often by parishioners, strangers, children.

Prayer.

Other than commentaries on the Bible, I probably have more books on prayer than anything else. I probably have gone to more seminars on prayer than any other topic. I probably have talked about prayer with people more than any other subject. I probably spend more time working on prayers than sermons. And I still feel like a kindergartner when it comes to prayer!

I struggle with finding the time for prayer; with the place for prayer; with the words for prayer; with the proper attitude for prayer. There are times when I feel like I need to impress God with my verbal prowess, and so use the prayers of some of the great wordsmiths of the church, only to wonder, 'were they saying what I was trying to say?"

I've tried all sorts of 'postures' for prayer, from my nose pressed into the carpet, to my knees aching from wooden floors, to arms that grow weary stretched out to the heavens. There are those days when I just don't seem to have the energy, or wisdom, or belief to sustain my prayers, and I have to rely on those simple little ones I learned as a child, including, 'now I lay me down to sleep."

But I've decided I am going to keep trying, and hoping I will make it to the first grade. I will struggle with words, and trust that the Word that became flesh will whisper them into God's ear. I will try to find the time, even when I don't want to or even think I have any, and remain confident that the One who created every moment will take the time to hear my soul. I will use my body, my heart, my hands, my feet, my lips, my eyes, my spirit to bring my hopes and dreams, my fears and joys, to the One who created me out of dust and breathed the Spirit of God into me.

I will, as Jesus says, pray without giving up . . .

. . .because if I give up, I don't have a prayer.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Networking

You've seen the commercials on TV,
I'm sure. The ones that show a cell phone
user backed by a 'network' of folks that
number in the hundreds, seemingly. The
most recent one shows the network
standing on top of a moving train,
ducking and swaying as they support
the person sitting down below. Very,
very effective advertising.

Don't you wish, though, that it was the
church that had come up with that idea?
I mean, the screen shows a fellow who
is going into the boss's office, knowing
that he is likely to be downsized (let
go); or a young teenager is meeting
some of the kids at her new school,
after moving away from the neighborhood
where she had lived since birth; or a
woman standing in the doctor's office
as he shows her the results of her scan,
which do not show good news.

And, in every one of those scenes, the
boss or the school kids or the doctor
glances past the person and says,
"who are they?" as the camera pans to
show Sunday school teachers, deacons,
pastors, family members, strangers -
and the person just smiles and says,
"Oh, that's just my network. They're
with me wherever I go and whatever
I go through."

Don't you wish that it was the church
that was showing such ads on TV?

Sadly, we still seem to be at the stage of
"Can you hear me now?"

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Cuppa

The story is told of the man whose son complained about the terrible circumstances he was facing. The boy said he didn't know how to cope with the adversity of his life.

The father took his son into the kitchen and had him put water in three pots. He had the boy put a carrot in one, an egg in another, and coffee beans in the third. Then they put the pots on the stove, turned on the heat until the water boiled for several minutes in each pot. They then turned off the burners and, using a pair of kitchen tongs, removed the carrot and the egg from their pots, and poured the contents of the third through a strainer into a cup. The dad asked the boy what happened to each. In the first pot, the carrot had become soft; in the second, the egg had become hard, and in the third, the water had changed to coffee.

"The lesson," said the father, "is this: adversity can make you soft by weakening your resolve and sapping your strength; or adversity can make you hard, by making you bitter or mean; or you can change the water of adversity into the coffee of opportunity."

I've been trying to make coffee the last 6-8 weeks. In fact, a lot of coffee! We have had continual, repeated, aggravating, pain-in-the-kazoo, frustrating problems with our internet and email server. The technicians have been out, multiple times, and each left with assurances
that 'you won't have any more problems." And within 24 hours, we would have to call back.

I've lost emails that I thought had reached people, and not received emails folks thought I had gotten (and wondered why I had not responded). We can't maintain our website efficiently. And I finally gave up on trying to do Occasional Sightings. Indeed, my 'strength' (at least cyber-wise) has been sapped, and I border on bitterness towards the service provider, when not wanting to throw the whole system out the window!

But now, I've decided to make coffee. I am trying to do so while using a breath prayer in such moments. I use the word 'frustration' in mine right now, but you can put your own emotion in:

Breathing in, I know frustration is in me.
Breathing out, I know the feeling is unpleasant.
(after a while), Breathing in, I feel calm.
Breathing out, I can let go of the frustration.
(after a while longer) Breathing in, I am at peace.
Breathing out, I offer peace to others.

Can I pour you a cup of coffee?

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Homeless World Cup

The first time I every played soccer (known, of
course, the world over as football) was when
I was about 34, working on the administrative
staff of a small college. For the intramural sports,
the faculty and staff fielded teams to play the students.
and one of the sports was soccer. I had played
American football, softball, basketball, etc., for
years, but never soccer. And I absolutely fell in
love with the game! For me, it was the sport I
had been looking for all my life. And I have
enjoyed playing it, and now watching it, ever
since. In many ways, it changed my life.

And now, because of a little half-page flyer
I found in "Coracle," the magazine/journal of
the Iona Community, I find that people are using
football/soccer to change the lives of those who
often lead the most desperate and hopeless of lives.
Starting this Sunday, July 29, teams from 48 nations
will participate in the 2007 Homeless World Cup
to be held in Copenhagen, Denmark. That's right.
the Homeless World Cup. Team made up of
folks who live on the streets of our world.

The vision of Harald Schmied, editor of the Austrian
street paper, Megaphon, and Mel Young, co-founder
of The Big Issue Scotland, the first Homeless World
Cup in 2003 featured teams from 18 nations. Since
then, each year has seen more players on more teams
from more countries gather to play for the tournament.
Both UEFA and Nike have been sponsors since the
very beginning, and teams like Manchester United and
Real Madrid work with the players representing England
and Spain.

And the players? Those folks who live under our bridges,
eat from garbage cans, sleep in the darkened doorsteps
and alleys of our cities? Those people who, so we are told,
have no motivation, no ambition, no desire to change
their circumstances, their lives? Six months after the
2006 Homeless World Cup, held in Cape Town, South
Africa, 92 percent of the players say they have a new
motivation for life. 73% say their lives have changed
for the better. 39% have chosen to pursue education.
(www.homelessworldcup.org)

We spend a lot of time, money, and energy with all our
committees, commissions, and task forces trying to 'solve
the problem' of homelessness. Maybe all one needs, to
make a start, is to get a round ball that folks can kick
into a net to get back on their feet.

As Jesus said, "Seek, and you will find . . ."

Vive el football!

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Thanks, Mr Wizard

On October 4, 1957, when the Soviet Union sent Sputnik, the first artificial satellite, into space, folks here in the States went bonkers. Suddenly, we were "behind." Suddenly, we discovered a science "gap." Suddenly, the German rocket scientists from World War II, which we had 'recruited' (Werner Von Braun and others) were not as smart, as skilled, as wonderful as their counterparts who had been 'recruited' by the Soviets (that, or they had not smuggled out the right information!)

As I kid, I wondered what all the fuss was about. Why was everyone so worried? After all, we had Mr. Wizard on our side!

Starting in 1951, Mr. Wizard began broadcasting his show, a show that immediately became one of the most popular for kids. Sitting on the floor, in front of 7 and 9-inch television screens (shown in black-and-white, of course), Mr. Wizard looked - and was - larger than life.

Why? Because he had the incredible gift of being able to explain, in terms a child could understand and using 'equipment' we could find in our house, the science behind the things that surrounded us. For instance, one time he showed how to take a glass in your hand, fill it to the brim with water, and then cover the opening completely with a playing card. You then took your other hand, placed it on top of the playing card. "What is holding the card to the glass? Your hand." Then, still holding your hand tight on top of the card, you flipped the glass and card, so the hand holding the card was on the bottom. Now, you removed your bottom hand and, wonder of wonders(!), the card still held to the glass. "What is holding the card to the glass now? Air pressure." Simple, fun, easy.

No wonder that by 1955, there were more than 5000 Mr. Wizard clubs in America. No wonder so many chemistry sets were sold to kids. No wonder we grew up believing that we could indeed build rockets that would launch into space. No wonder we believed, without a doubt, that we could put a human being on the moon. No wonder we believed that all those 'fictional' marvels we read about in sci-fi books just might come true. Thanks to Mr. Wizard, we could dream, we could believe, we could dare, we could.

Don Herbert, Mr. Wizard, died yesterday at the wonderful age of 89.

And all of us scientists, and wannabes; all of us who stunk up the basement with our chemicals, and drove the cat into hiding with our experiments; all of us who burned off our eyebrows making "rocket fuel" and messed up the carpet when we didn't have the playing card on the glass of water just right; all of us who looked to the stars and dreamed, and still do . . .

all of us give thanks to God for Mr. Wizard.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Where's Ed When We Need Him?

(Here, in my part of the States, a group has opened a museum promoting creationism, that God literally created everything in six days, and that the earth is only some 6,000 years old.)

I've been thinking about Ed the last few days. Ed was a high school classmate, who attended the same church as I did. We came to be friends during Sunday School, youth group, trips to Montreat Conference Center in the summers, and in classes we took together.

We were in high school in a time (early 60's) and a place (south Alabama), where the debate over creation vs. evolution was still alive. After all, there were folks around who had lived through the Scopes trial in Tennessee, and who believed the fight for the 'good name' of God the Creator still needed to be waged. And so, especially in the year when we took biology in high school, the debate over God vs. Darwin would pop up in youth group or Sunday School.

In particular Ed, who was fascinated by science, was troubled by the seemingly conflicting beliefs. He could see with his own eyes, in class, the wonder of creation, but also the evolutionary changes which had taken place in the world. In many ways, it was a real crisis of faith for him, as to which view was right. For it was made very clear to us, in a number of ways, that a choice had to be made.

Then one Sunday evening, Ed came to youth group all excited. He sat down at the table where I was, and told of his discovery. In looking at various materials in the library, he had found that vestigial remains of legs had been found in snakes - that at some point in its evolutionary development, snakes had walked. Science had confirmed that account in Genesis (3:14) where God told the serpent that it would move on its belly from that point on.

I'll never forget the look of pure joy on Ed's face. It was no longer an either/or situation. He could believe that God had created everything, and continue to learn from the science that taught him the intricate marvels of that creation. He could believe that God spoke a Word and the mountains were created, and he could believe the geological studies that showed how the mountains were formed. He could trust in the words of the Bible, and he could trust the work of Mendel, of Darwin, of Newton. He could be a theologian as well as a scientist. He could be a person of mystery as well as a person of reason.

I've been thinking of Ed the last few days, and all the women and men like him I have been privileged to know over the years. Those who give thanks for the God who created everything, and who give thanks for the God who continues to teach us, through science, the wonders and intricacies of that good and evolving gift.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Let Us Now Praise Teachers

In the fifth grade, if we were done with
our class work, we were allowed to raise
our hand, to get permission from the teacher
to go to the library to get a book. Because
I loved to read, I would race through the
work. Tired of my constant handwaving,
Mr. Grasso finally told me one morning,
"When you are done with your work, you
may quietly leave the room to go to the
library. You don't have to raise your hand
any more."

In the 10th grade, my American History
teacher, Mrs. Mozingo, asked me to stay
after class one day. She simply said to me,
"I see that you are bored in this class. Here
are some books I think you should read.
We can talk about them after school."

In my senior year at high school, Mr. Everett,
my homeroom teacher, wrote in the yearbook,
"To Thom, who can become whoever he wants,
if he only would believe in himself."

In college, Fred White, Ken Keeton, Ashby
Johnson, Sheila Johnston, Billy Wireman,
and so many more, played roles in my life
that, back then, I did not see. They were
my mentors, my nudgers, my supporters,
my critics. They were my professors and
my friends.

In seminary, Wellford Hobbie, Betty
Achetemeier, Doug Ottati, Bernice Pace,
Robert Carlson, and others lived out
the faith taught in the classrooms. In the
hallways, on the quad, in a hospital room,
around a lunch table, they did their best
to help us understand that ministry was
more than just an academic endeavor.

It's Teacher Appreciation Week in these
parts, and I give thanks to God for all
these people, and so many more.

What a great cloud of witnesses has
enveloped me through my life!

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today . . .

It was twenty years ago today, April 29, 2007, that Teddy came to live with us. We went from no experience with a baby to parents of an active 18-month-old, blonde, curly-haired whirlwind. (To see pictures of Teddy and me at that age is rather disconcerting! We could be twins). I still remember the first time I took him out in the stroller on my day off. We went to the mall, had lunch, went shopping - at which time I glanced at a gift on a counter for Bonnie (it could not have been more than 30 seconds, I swear!), and when I looked down at the stroller, he was gone! Off to find something, somewhere, going on an adventure.

It was the first clue that life would never be the same.

And as most of you know by now, life with Teddy has never been the "same" in so many ways. One of our complaints to God over the years has been that we have never really known what 'normal' families do. While I recognize that every child, every family, every situation is different - we have lived a rather unusual life with Teddy, to say the least.

Multiple visits and stays in the psychiatric wings of Children's Hospital beginning at age 7; at least nine of the last 14 years if not more, having Teddy live in a residential facility, usually entailing a 2-hour drive each way to visit him once a week; his always needing to be sedated for even minor medical procedures; struggles with school systems, mental care systems, medical systems, even having to sue our denominational major medical provider.

And, if all these 'normal' aspects of our rather abnormal life were not enough, Teddy then got to battle Stage 4 germ cell cancer beginning in September 2003, enduring six rounds of chemotherapy (each lasting 5 days) and two major surgeries. Then, we had the experience last year of his being accused of murdering his roommate at a residential facility, a charge which the media continues to bring up every time the facility is mentioned in the paper, even though the charges were dismissed when Teddy was found to be incompetent of standing trial.

So after 20 years, we look back and see years of unbearable heartache and loss. Bonnie and I have both endured what our counselor calls 'chronic grief' knowing that our son would never be the person we hoped he would be, or that he dreamed he would be. He would never go to college, or get married, or have a family, even though he is perhaps the most caring and loving individual I have ever met. We have more gray hair and wrinkles than we ever imagined we would have at our age, and we have not been able to do the things we had talked about or dreamed about for our life together as husband and wife. We have had what I would consider two real vacations in the last 20 years. And we have accumulated a mountain of indebtedness that approaches Mt. Everest.

But we have also had more joy in our life than we ever imagined, all because of this happy, struggling, ever-inquisitive, always-imaginative gift from God. We have met angels that we would have overlooked without Teddy being a part of our lives, especially those folks who will spend their working lives devoted to folks just like him. We have seen God's grace come in the most unexpected moments, and felt God's love embrace us in the most broken people imaginable. We have seen Christ's face every time we look at Teddy, have heard God's voice in every broken word he has struggled to speak; and feel the warm breath of the Spirit every time he kisses us good-bye when we have to leave him at the residential placement.

We have done things we would never have dared, gone places we would never have thought of, met people we would never have wanted to meet all because of Teddy's lived-out belief (which he could never put into words) that everyone is indeed his neighbor, that every moment is a gift from God, that every place is holy ground.

It is because of Teddy that I have a better appreciation of the act of great love and sheer foolhardiness on God's part in adopting each and every one of us as children of the kingdom. It's because of Teddy that I have a clearer view of what it cost Jesus to be willing to become one of those the world would ignore and eventually put away because he was different. It's because of Teddy that I have no doubt whatsoever that the Spirit continues to move and work and be so powerfully and peacefully in our lives.

It was twenty years ago today that Teddy came into our lives.

And despite the wrenching, painful, heart-breaking, rip-the-guts-right-out-of-you times, I would not have missed a moment of the last twenty years.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Holy Thursday shock

We're gathering this Holy Thursday, to
remember and to celebrate that sacred meal
which Jesus has given to us. But there is also
something else he gave us that night, according
to John's gospel - a job.

That's why we are doing a foot-washing ritual
as part of our Holy Thursday service. This
will be the first time this has been done in
quite a while, so I am sure there is anxiety
on everyone's part, including mine. Part
of it has to do with the fact we will be asked
to 'expose' a part of our bodies which is
normally not seen in public, except on the
beach or at the pool in the summer.

The other has to do, I think, with the fact
that we are doing something that has no
'reality' in our lives. Oh, we've washed a
baby's feet or our kids' feet when they are
in the bath; we wash the mud of the paws
of our dogs; and, if we are athletic, we
know to take good care of our feet.

In Jesus' day, and in the life of the early church,
people were accustomed to having their feet
washed, on a regular basis. Traveling over
dirt (and dusty) roads; slogging through the
mud in a downpour; using your feet as the
means of getting anywhere back then, meant
that when you arrived at your destination,
you needed to have your feet cleaned. Especially
when you went into another's home, and
particularly when you had come for a meal.
Just as parents' tell their kids, 'Go wash your
hands for supper,' back then it was to make
sure your feet were cleaned before you ate.

Of course, since the job was done by a servant,
folks rarely took note of it being done to them
and for them, by another human being. It was
just a ritual, performed by someone who was
always overlooked, just as the basin of water
and the towel probably were. Just another
part of the background to their lives.

We have those 'backgrounds' around us today.
We have those people who perform a service
for us, and we usually overlook them, don't we?
The housekeeper who comes in and takes care
of the hotel room we live in for a few days.
The custodian who goes through the church
each night, emptying the waste cans, mopping
the floors, cleaning our fingerprints off the
glass doors. The crossing guard who stands out
in every sort of weather, making sure our kids
get to school safely. The garbage collectors
who come by and pick up our trash before
we are even out of bed in the morning.

The disciples were shocked that Jesus would be
willing to do such a menial, degrading, disgusting
task as washing their feet. Just as we would be if
Jesus showed up to make our beds, clean our toilets,
empty our waste cans, dump our garbage.

Just as we would be if Jesus asked us to do
such menial, degrading, disgusting tasks
for someone else.

That's why we need to remember that Holy
Thursday is not just about sharing a sacred meal,
but about becoming a servant.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Bamboozled!

I was tricked . . . bamboozled . . . hoodwinked!

Recently, in a reputable journal with the name
'Christian' on it, I read an article about a new
sort of church - the 'submergent church' - where
no one knew where the folks met, you could
attend by-invitation only, and the pastor was
paid (full-time) to watch TV, go to movies,
read, be immersed in the culture. (After all,
what pastor wouldn't like that job description?)
And for the laity, the service lasted only
15 minutes. It was such a great story that I
told other ministers, and some layfolks, about it.

Maybe it was because it sounded so enticing.
Maybe it was because I am at the point of
total confusion with all the 'labels' about
new and different ways of being the church.
Maybe it was because I read it on a day when
ministry seemed pretty dry and discouraging.
Maybe it was because it was in a magazine
I have come to respect and look forward to
reading. Maybe it was simply because it was
in print and therefore must be true. But I
fell for it - hook, line and sinker - and 'they'
reeled me into their (later admitted to) hoax!

Of course, it probably had a lot to do because
I can give in so easily to the notion that there
are 'new and improved' ways of being the church,
when it still continues to be the struggle and
chore it has been since Day One. I can buy into
the idea that there are well-paved and well-lighted
roads to the kingdom, when there are still all those
potholes caused by my pride, and those shadowed
stretches due to my stubbornness. I can want
to keep Jesus in a nice, safe, locked box where
he can only get out and mess with my life when
I let him.

But when I do that, I am only hoodwinking myself,
because Jesus won't be tricked into becoming a
hoax for my life, or anyone else's.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

After the Ashes

Though it happens every year, I am still
surprised by how exhausted I feel - physically
and emotionally - the day after our Ash
Wednesday service.

Part of it may have to do with the fact that
the service itself is so different - more somber,
more silent, more reflective than the usual
Sunday morning service. It takes more effort
to create a 'mood' that seems so strange in
our culture, even in church! After all, to speak
the words, "You are dust and to dust you shall
return" is an extremely radical statement in a
world which worships youth, vitality, and
doing everything we can do to put off death.

I also find it a very moving, and draining,
experience to take the ashes and impose the
sign of the cross upon the people who come
forward for this ancient rite. Whether it is
a member of my own family, a little child who
probably never thinks of death, or the elderly
person whose funeral I may be doing in the
next few months, this very simple act changes
our relationship as pastor and as parishioner.
I see this in the tears which well up in their eyes,
and in the questions on their faces, and in the
piercing of my heart.

And because we have these emotions, these
questions, these hearts, we conclude the service
with the Lord's Supper. We do it, yes, because
our tradition 'allows' it to take place. But more,
we do it because we know that as we follow Jesus
during these days of Lent and beyond, we know that,
like him, we are walking towards our death and so
we need the nourishment of that Bread which will
strengthen us in the days to come. We do it because
we need that cup of Grace to fill us when the
temptations of the world empty our souls.

And we do it because the Table is that visible
reminder that when we do return to dust, we
will not be swept out the door, but will be welcomed
into God's embracing love.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

Souper Bowl

Are you ready for some football????!!!!
(American style, that is)

Tonight (finally!) the Super Bowl will take
place. That annual extravaganza dedicated
to the worship of everything that is 'over the
top.' Advertisers will pay approximately
$100,000 per second for TV spots; every
celebrity who is alive (and not in rehab) will
be in Miami for the parties; more pizza, more
wings, more nachos and cheese; more beer
will be consumed than on any other day of
the year (and, yes, there will be a football
game, according to the media).

Those who could not afford the plane tickets,
the rooms, the game costs, will gather around
as-wide-a-screen-HDifpossible-TV, for their
own parties, hoopla, contests, and half-time
antics.

Also tonight, in many parts of the USA,
including the two hometowns of the teams
in the Super Bowl, temperatures will plunge
well below 0 degrees F. Winds in many of
these areas will cause temps to feel in the
-30s and -40s. Emergency shelters for the
homeless will open, but if they are like the
ones in Cincinnati, they will not open until
10 p.m. (what do folks do until then since it
will get dark just about the time the Super
Bowl begins at 6 p.m. and the temps will plunge
rapidly?) and, like most communities, there will
not be enough spaces for the numbers of people
who need a warm place to get out of the freezing
weather.

And, today, in at least half a dozen cities in the
USA, with more considering such ordinances,
giving food (a sandwich, a cup of coffee, a
a piece of fruit, anything edible) to a homeless
person is now a criminal act. In at least
one community, churches and other religious
groups, cannot give out meals to the homeless
WITHOUT the approval of the elected officials!

That's why today, when the Super Overindulgence
Bowl will be played, and many of us will overeat
in warm homes, while others shiver with cold and
hunger, young people in this church, and churches
throughout the country, will be celebrating the
Souper Bowl of Caring. Our kids will be standing
at the bottom of the steps leading out of church,
asking folks to throw money into the soup pots
they will be holding, money which will go to the
local soup kitchen we support and work with that
continues to feed hundreds of people each and
every day.

When the final whistle is blown and the winner
is known tonight, there will still be homeless
men, women, and children. When the announcer
asks the MVP where he is going (which is always
Disney World), there will still be folks standing
in the frigid wind in Chicago and Indianapolis
and elsewhere, hoping against hope there will
be a warm bed left for them tonight. When the
garbage which could feed thousands is collected
after the parties and the games, there will still be
families who will go hungry tonight.

Are you ready for some football?

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

The Right Thing

Wesley Autry is the 50-year-old Navy veteran
who was at a New York subway station waiting, with his two
daughters, for a train. When a 19-year-old man started to have
a seizure, Autry used a pen to keep the fellow from biting his
tongue. Later, when he had recovered and began walking down
the platform, the young man lost his balance and fell onto the
tracks, as a train approached. When he could not pull him out,
Autry jumped in and lay on top of the young man, between the
two rails, hoping the train would pass over them safely.

It did . . . and Autry is getting the praise and recognition
he deserves, but apparently doesn't want. He simply did
what we all think (or at least hope) we would do given a
similar situation. "I'm no hero," he said. "You should just
do the right thing."

The right thing.

Like the single mother who works two jobs, and gets up
every morning at 5 a.m., bone-tired and chilled by fatigue,
to make sure her kids have a hot breakfast, clean and
pressed clothes, and a lunch to take to school.

Like the teacher's aide, who instinctively wraps her arms
around the autistic child in the classroom who is starting
to get agitated and needs that comforting strength to get
him through those moments.

Like the fellow in the church who makes sure that a friend
who is battling cancer gets a call every day to check up on
him, and the woman at the retirement center who motors
around in her wheelchair seeing how her neighbors are doing.

They will never get the recognition Autry has gotten but,
like him, don't want it. They know, like Autry said, that
good things happen when you do good - things like grace,
like joy, like hope, like life. Simply by doing

the right thing.

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman

A Hopeful 2007

For 2007, I've resolved not to have any
resolutions. They are too hard to make,
and even harder to keep.

Instead, I have hopes for 2007:

I hope that finally the world will discover
the truth that to love one's enemy is the
way we should live. Yes, it is more difficult
to love than to hate that person/group/nation,
but we see every day what the alternative offers.

I hope silence will be one of the tunes
that people download for their iPods. In
this noisy, clanging, head-banging world,
we all could use more blessed quiet.

I hope that we will start focusing more
on the caregivers in our society than on
the celebrities. Instead of gawking at
the latest hottie getting out of a limo,
let's look at the father who day in and
day out feeds, bathes, dresses, reads to,
and loves the child with a disability.
Instead of ranting about the superstar
who got pulled over for driving drunk,
let's praise the mother who works 16 hour
days so her children have health care,
and the tools they need to better their
lives.

I hope we First World folks will finally
wake up and smell the garbage we are
creating by our refusal to recycle, by
our obsession to have the newest of
something instead of making do with
the older model, by our belief that
because of where we live, we have
earned the right to use up whatever
we want. (And I hope when we
smell the garbage, we will notice
the people, especially children, who
dig through it for their daily bread).

And (selfishly) I hope for a year with
no crisis, no traumatic phone calls,
no new diagnoses for and about Teddy.
After 15 years of having our physical,
emotional, spiritual, and financial
reserves depleted beyond empty, we
could use a break.

I hope these are not too much to hope
for this year.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

the Little Clans

Here in the States, the news is filled with
the tragic story of three climbers who are
trapped on the side of Mount Hood. Weather
conditions severely limit rescue operations,
and it looks like the weather is not going to
improve any time soon.

One of the things that we (humans) do well
is to come together in such situations - to
search, to pray, to comfort the families.
In such times, we seem to 'get it right' as
far as what it means to be part of a greater
community.

Yet, there is a part of me that wonders.
What would the community's response be
if it had been three minority families coming
public, requesting search and rescue operations
for their sons/brothers/husbands/fathers who
were trapped on the side of Mount Poverty
and only had a very short window of opportunity
in which help could reach them?

What would the community's response be?
What would the church's? What would mine
be?

Here in Cincinnati, the City Council faces a
round of cuts in order to balance the budget.
The worthy goal of putting more police on
the streets in the face of a rising homicide
rate and other violent crimes, will be met
by cutting services to the homeless, to the
poor, to those who are the neediest. Several
health care clinics will be shut down, as
well as a pharmacy, and those who need
such services will have to travel further to
get them, though they are the least able to
afford such travel.

Yet, when a developer comes before the
Council with a plan to build condominiums
on the river, with prices ranging well over
a million dollars, approval is quickly granted,
with tax incentives of some $13 million. In
other words, the developer will not have to
pay such taxes, which means the income of
the city is further depleted, which means the
possibility of further cuts, which means
the poor, the needy, the lost suffer more.

One of the familiar readings of this Advent
and Christmas season is that from the 5th
chapter of Micah, where the prophet says
that the one who is to rule Israel, the Messiah,
will come from Bethlehem of Ephrathah.
And what does the prophet say of this mighty
family, this strong group, this rich and
powerful entity?

Micah says, "[you] are one of the little clans."

In other words, from the group that is marginalized,
will come the family that will find shelter in a
stable; from the people who have been excluded
will come the One who would include everyone:
the little, the lost, the prostitute, the tax collector,
the leper, the murder. From those who know what
it is like to hunger for food, for health care, for
simple decency, will come the One who hungers
and thirsts for God's righteousness to burst forth
in the world. From those who have experienced
oppression and injustice, will come the One who
will set every captive free, and who will call his
followers to work for justice, peace, and
reconciliation in every human condition. From
those who get to eat from the garbage dumps
of the world, will come the One who will become
the Bread of Life, so no one ever hungers again.

It is for the little clans, the little people, the
insiginificant and overlooked people, the
broken and the young and the old, the
outsider, the alien, the immigrant that
the One of peace, of hope, of life comes.

Do we see that One coming?

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

A Unique Stole

We have a group of ladies, young and old, in our church
who, for the last few years, have developed quite a
knitting/shawl ministry. They have done innumerable
shawls that have gone to hospitals, hospices, and homes;
they have knitted mittens and caps for kids at an intercity
church; and they recently knitted well over 100 caps for
newborns. It is a great group of folks (which has included,
on occasion, a 14-year-old young man from the neighborhood).

This morning, I came back to my office from the sanctuary
about 15 minutes before church was about to start. There
were 5-6 of the group waiting for me and I assumed they
were waiting to talk with me, because they were going
to do the childrens' sermon on their caps for the infants.

Wrong! They ushered me into my office, where they
handed me a wrapped gift. Inside was the most beautiful,
hand-knitted, deep purple stole!!! It was 'assembled'
from the efforts of over 25 of the ladies who each did
11 rows. And, I was informed that the 'formula' (?) they
used was 'knit 3, purl 3' (for God, Child, and Spirit).
It even came with beautiful beautiful gold stars on one side,
which will be 'revealed' on Christmas Eve.

I was speechless. It was an completely unexpected gift,
and so the moment, and the gift, was full of grace.

And, to top it off, the group is going in together to gift
me with a brand new preaching robe.

My cup runneth over today, after being empty for quite
some time.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

The Terrible Twins

This coming Sunday (November 26th) is observed,
in the church calendar as Christ the King Sunday.
One of the readings appointed for the day is
from the 1st chapter of the Revelation of John,
where the Lord God declares, "I am the Alpha
and Omega" (the beginning and the end). On
one of the listservs I belong to, someone
mentioned she was going to preach on what
this phrase means.

Gosh, someone who is brave enough to tackle
the Terrible Twins of Theology!

Of course, preaching about the Alpha and
Omega is a relevant word for a culture
(and all of us living in these days and times)
in which we believe everything is about us,
our needs/desires/obsessions/seductions,
since WE are the beginning and the end of all
things.

It's a relevant word for a culture which has
turned Christmas into the greatest buying
and selling campaign the world has ever
seen, rather than reflecting humbly or (yes!)
fearfully that the beginning of redemption
comes in the squalor of a stable, not in the
aisles of Nordstrom's; that the beginning
of redemption takes place in the pain
of childbirth, not in the numbed daze
of Christmas parties; that the beginning
of redemption takes place in a family
which is poor, which is rejected, which
is marginalized; that the beginning of
redemption takes place when Mary wraps
Jesus in swaddling cloths, because she
couldn't afford disposable diapers.

It's a relevant word for a culture which
continues to search for the fountain of
youth, and if we can't find it, then the
scientists and researchers had (by God) better
invent that pill, that treatment, that surgery
which will make us feel younger, look
younger, live longer, resist aging and death
for a few more years. After all, if the end
is not about us, then what purpose does
the end serve.

Thank goodness, John reminds us that if
the Lord God is the beginning and the end,
then God is also everything in between. And
if God is the Alpha and Omega (the first and
last letters of the Greek alphabet), then God
is every letter in between, and God is every
word that has been spoken, from the very
beginning first word calling forth light
to shine in the darkness, to the very end
word "Amen." And if the Lord God is the
One who is and who was and who is to come,
then we can stop worry about us, and our
past, and our future, and our end.

We can just keep our eyes open for the One
who is coming . . . the beginning and the end
of all we will ever need.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman

No gloating allowed

I want to gloat.

Another evangelical leader has been caught with his piety down. Another conservative spokesman who trumpets "family values" has damaged his own family, as well as his church family. Another "Christian leader" who talks the talk has shown he has clay feet when it comes to walking the walk.

I want to point fingers; I want to snicker behind my hands; I want to gloat.

But . . .

. . . he has publicly admitted his weakness and his sin, asking forgiveness. And Jesus tells me (doesn't ask me to think about it, but tells me to do it) that when a sister or brother asks forgiveness, we are to grant such forgiveness.

In another place, Jesus commands us to love. Again, it's not an option; it's a requirement for following him. And, as Paul reminds us (in Eugene Peterson's marvelous paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 13:6), love

'doesn't keep score of the sins of others,
doesn't revel when others grovel,
takes pleasure in the flowering of truth . . .'

And, of course, there is my sin, my dark side, my other self that I don't want anyone to see. An old Native American parable tells of theone who said, "I have two dogs fighting inside of me: one evil, the other good. Who will win? The one I feed the most." Until I can stop feeding the evil dog inside of me, I should not talk about someone else.

I want to gloat, but I can't.

(c) 2006 Thom M. Shuman