I’m going to offer you the beginning of a Lenten reflection for this week and the link to the full essay if you’d like to read more. I was reading in John 11 this week about Jesus’ response to the death of Lazarus and this really stirred me:
“I’ll be honest: the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead is a hard one for me. At many levels, I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why Jesus dawdles when he first receives word of Lazarus’s illness. I don’t understand why he allows his friends to suffer for the sake of “God’s glory.” I don’t understand why he tells his disciples that Lazarus is “asleep” rather than dead. I don’t understand why he sidesteps Martha’s tortured accusation: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” I don’t understand why Jesus raises just one man, leaving countless others in their graves. And I don’t understand why Lazarus virtually disappears from the Gospel narrative once his grave clothes fall off. Why is he never heard from again?
In many ways, the story is shrouded in mystery. But today, this week, now, I cling to the two words in the narrative I do understand: “Jesus wept.” Thank God — Jesus wept. For me, this is the heart of the story as we (have lived) through the Covid-19 crisis: that grief takes hold of God and breaks him down. That Jesus — the most accurate revelation of the divine we will ever have — stands at the grave of his friend and cries.
Let me be clear: in focusing on Jesus’s tears, I’m not ignoring or minimizing the raising of the dead, the conquering of the grave, the unbinding of the bound. I am a Christian because I believe in resurrection. I believe it as metaphor and as symbol. I believe that God can and will bring back to life all that is dead, buried, forgotten, and festering within us: old wounds, hardened hearts, stubborn addictions, fierce fears. I believe that God is always and everywhere in the business of making us more fully and abundantly alive — alive to love, alive to hope, alive to each other, alive to Creation.”
Debie Thomas' Lectionary Essay: "When Jesus Wept."
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Isn't what we do with the offering plate obvious? Well, maybe not.
We pass it from person to person to "take up a collection," right? No, we do not. In church we do not pass an offering plate to "take up a collection." People "take up a collection" at the office to defray expenses for someone's unexpected emergency. We often see people at the side of the street, at intersections and off-ramps, "taking up a collection" to help bury one's son or other close family member. Perhaps you have seen this, or some other "collection" appeal like it.
In church, we do not "take up a collection." Rather, we receive people's offerings as an act of worship. As beings created in the image of a giving God, it is deep in our nature to give also. God has given generously to each of us. Giving is a part of worship; put something in the plate.
Regardless of whether you place a financial gift in the plate, as the plate is passed, please intentionally touch the plate as a symbol of the offering of your life to God's Kingdom. Friends, I want to remind you that this is not a dues collection mechanism set to beautiful music. The passing of the plate is an act of worship and as you place your hand on it, intentionally make an offering of your life as an act of worship of our God who loves us and is faithful to care for all our needs.
The offering has now gone from a "let's hurry up and get this over with" moment to a time of unhurried response to God. It is our "yes" to God, what we have to offer in that moment. I want to invite you to "come to the plate" in a similar way that we "come to the table"—deeply aware of grace. This is the plate of 5 loaves and 2 fish. Come and see what God can do with what we give!
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Lenten reading for those in the wilderness
Always come back to the solid place
You must believe in the yes that comes back when you ask, "Do you love me?" You must choose this yes even when you do not experience it.
You feel overwhelmed by distractions, fantasies, the disturbing desire to throw yourself into the world of pleasure. But you already know you will not find them the answer to your deepest question. Nor does the answer lie in rehashing old events, or in guilt or shame. All of that makes you dissipate yourself and leave the rock on which your house is built.
You have to trust the place that is solid, the place where you can say yes to God's love even when you do not feel it. Right now you feel nothing but emptiness and the lack of strength to choose. But keep saying, "God loves me, and God's love is enough." You have to choose the solid place over and over again and return to it after every failure.
Henri Nouwen The Inner Voice of Love
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.
John 15:4-5
We have only one task: to abide. To tarry, to stay, to cling, to remain, to depend, to rely, to persevere, to commit. To hang in there for the long haul. To make ourselves at home.
Debie Thomas writes "But "abide" is a tricky word.Passive on the one hand, and active on the other. To abide is to stay rooted in place. But it is also to grow and change. It is a vulnerable-making verb: if we abide, we'll get pruned. It's a risky verb: if we abide, we'll bear fruit that others will see and taste. It's a humbling verb: if we abide, we'll have to accept nourishment that is not of our own making. It's a communal verb: if we abide, we will have to co-exist with our fellow branches. We will have to I've a life that is messy, crowded, tangled. A life that's deeply rooted and wildly fertile."
Lent is a time to abide, to surrender our ferocious independence and consent to live in the Vine.
Abide, friends.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Blessing for Ash Wednesday
God, today my finitude is rubbed on my forehead.
The reality of my limits, my fragile body,
spoken over me like a curse:
from dust I was made
to dust I will return.
Some days I need to be reminded
that I am not the perfectibility project
I set out to be.
I am full of bounce and brimming with hope.
All woes, solvable. All problems, a distant whisper.
When I don't feel like dust,
Bless me, oh God,
in the ways I trick myself into believing
that my life is something I've made,
that all my accomplishments and successes
and mastered mornings
add up to something independent of you.
But on days like today, when my head hangs low,
sunk with the grief of my neediness,
Bless me, oh God.
When my joints don't work as they should,
when I grow sick or turn gray too soon,
when my body betrays me...
or perhaps is doing exactly
what it is supposed to do.
Tell me again how you made me:
from dust to dust.
Blessed are we, a mess of contradictions,
in our delusions and deep hopes,
in our fragility and finitude.
From The Lives we Actually Have by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie
Welcome to Lent—
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
What do we think we are doing as pastors when we stand before a congregation at the end of a worship service and pronounce a benediction?
What do we think is being done to us when someone stands at the front at the end of a worship service and pronounces a benediction?
Is it a pious habit? A signal for people to leave? A formal spiritual cheerio? A liturgical redundancy? Or an essential act of pastoral care?
Here's what I think is happening pastorally, and to those who receive one.
A benediction is a saying of good, quite literally. Good words said to make good things happen. Bene dictum.
A benediction is a blessing, an invocation to the God of grace to go with us wherever we go, to grace us with His presence.
A benediction is meant to make us feel good (blessed), and do good (be a blessing).
A benediction is indeed an ending of worship, but it is also a beginning, a new commissioning to service —every time, each week.
A benediction is therefore a call to love one another, love our neighbor, and love God, just as we promised we would in the worship service we are leaving.
A benediction is a reiteration of Jesus' promise to be with us, wherever and whenever, and therefore a reminder that we never walk alone.
A benediction is like the best ways of ending a letter or email, 'kind regards', 'with warm good wishes."
All of these help explain what is being done by us and for us when a benediction is said. Who wouldn't be helped to face whatever the week brings by words like these said over our heads?
Go forth into the world in peace;
be of good courage;
hold fast that which is good;
render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak;
help the afflicted;
honor everyone;
love and serve the Lord,
rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit;
and the blessing of God Almighty,
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
be amongst us and remain with us always.
Amen.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
“The universe will not applaud you
for astonishing accomplishments.
Angels won't go around talking about you
for your notable achievements.
God doesn't care if you succeed.
What gives the Beloved joy
is that—even in your limited circumstances,
with only the gifts the Spirit gives you,
without notice, reward or acclaim—
you act justly, love mercifully,
and walk humbly with God.
That really is all God asks.
That is enough to give God deep joy,
deep joy.”
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
The traditional name for Morning Prayer is Lauds, a chorus of praise. Every day is a new start, venturing forth into a world lit up by the grace of its Creator. But I’ve been trying something different these past few months. Listening to the news. To the groans and howls of a world in pain.
About a dozen years ago a director on a retreat suggested praying with the news. “Oh, no, I never pay attention to the news while I’m on retreat.” “Well,” she replied, “Maybe you’d read the news differently on retreat?” I still steadfastly avoided browsing the NY Times sitting on a table in the hallway. But she was right.
Perhaps Morning Prayer is a concrete time to reflect on the phrase “thoughts and prayers”, often said after a tragic and incomprehensible event is in the news (Too often). What kinds of thoughts and prayers do we bring to God about the news?
This week I wrestled to the news of three mass shootings in California in a 36-hour period. I wanted to look away, to pull up psalms of joy. But, instead, I sat with the reality of a fallen world, to which I have contributed. And wept for those who died in my state these past few days. Lamentations instead of Lauds remind me to be persistent in praying for an end to the violence and equally persistent in doing the work for justice this demands. It reminds me, too, to examine my conscience to see where I am complicit in the culture that fosters such disregard for human life. To start the day determined to work for the Gospel—for peace, mercy and justice for all. None of us wants our thoughts and prayers to be inert and anemic. We pray rooted in the knowledge that God will topple all foes, through us, with us, among us.
My prayers of lament gave way to praise that the Kingdom fully realized will beat all swords into plowshares and establish unbreakable shalom among the Beloved Community. Amen.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
As we move into the spiritual “second half of life” we may find a growing longing to slow down a bit, to be less hurried. This is not true for everyone—and our hurried world pushes against this mature desire—but slowness seems to be a quality of God’s kingdom.
As a spiritual director accompanying people who are longing to find purpose and grow into their truest selves, I’ve found that many—naturally—want to get to their imagined end quickly. Some may be less willing to allow things to unfold in due time. The evil spirit, it seems to me, works with undue urgency. God, on the other hand, works slowly. We need to find a balance between hesitation and haste. There is indeed an urgency to the work of God, but salvation history shows that this work unfolds in due time. As Paul wrote to the Galatians, God sent Jesus, “when the fullness of time had come”.
Jesus’ ministry was inefficient. It didn’t begin until 30 years after he was born. 30 years! And the average life expectancy back then was probably around age 40. He ministered for just three years and his travels were confined to the small land of Israel. It wasn’t until after his resurrection and Paul’s travels when evangelization was more widespread. And, of course, when Constantine made Christianity the official religion, that changed things. Jesus obviously never set out to create a new religion but to witness to a way of life that was kingdom-focused and centered on the love of God and neighbor. He wasn’t about efficient or effective “religious conversion”. He didn’t heal everyone. He was about real conversion of heart, which takes time and relationship-building.
Remember, the stuff Jesus preached about the kingdom of God didn’t seem to make sense: The kingdom is like a small seed that takes time to grow. It’s like the slow process of the yeast making the dough rise. God is inefficient like a shepherd who leaves his 99 sheep in search of one or like a woman who turns her house upside down just to find a missing coin.
We’re not called to be unhurried only on retreats or on a sabbath day; we’re called to live this in all parts of our lives. God’s kingdom-like living is not just in such “thin spaces” but can be experienced at home, at work, and in our everyday lives. If we truly want it, we can make it happen. It comes through more of a spiritual mindset than making drastic external changes. Drive slower, walk slower, speak slower, look others in the eye, listen more deeply, stop multi-tasking, say no to things, create boundaries, live more simply… You can do all these things even if you work multiple jobs or have multiple kids or work in corporate finance!
How are you being invited to be a little less hurried and a little less efficient?
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation
Why do we take the photos we do?
So much of what we see is accidental; it's a matter of when and where we are, whether we look closely enough, and how much attention we pay.
After heavy rain, walking to the car, I notice one leaf, sprinkled with rainfall, framed against worn asphalt, one of thousands within eyesight scattered along the street, discarded by trees now preparing for winter.
This particular leaf is worn and torn, even the water drops have black specks which nature has not photoshopped out, and neither will I. This photo was an accident of timing, the result of momentary paying attention, pushed further I might say a moment of epiphany, seeing both what is there, and what it signifies.
Such accidents of timing, moments of attention and gifts of epiphany I choose to believe are the attention-getting whistles of the Holy Spirit, waking us up to the world around us.
And, therefore, this photo is a sacrament of a particular moment, a reminder of how the gift of wonder and wondering ambushes us and jerks us out of our shoulder shrugging complacency about the miracle of the ordinary and the invasion of the everyday by the extraordinary.
Grace and peace,
Anita Sorenson
Pastor for Spiritual Formation