E-Letter 187
Lenten reflection… I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels–a plentiful harvest of new lives. John 12:24, NLT For months I have inattentively tended a grocery-store orchid perched on the shelf of my bathroom window. I do not pretend to know what will help this fragile flower bloom other than the basics: light, water, soil. Debby Kelly told me to place an ice cube near the flower’s tangled roots although for the life of me I cannot imagine why a tropical plant would enjoy a weekly ice...
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Ash Wednesday Reflection… I woke up this morning anticipating Today grinding to a halt, frozen, smothered in place by pillows of devilish Arctic air settling in the low places surrounding the lake. Knowing that the morning temperatures would hover in the single digits, I filled my birdfeeders late last night after returning home from the evening’s Ash Wednesday service, my forehead smudged and my fingernails caked with coal-black flakes of ash, burned remnants of last year’s Palm Sunday celebration. The cold is so much easier to endure when coupled with darkness, I thought, and besides,...
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Epiphany, 2015 I close 2014 with a trip to the Newton Medical Center to arrange a hands-on, real life, in your throat experience of new creation at the hospital’s birthcare center for our young confirmands. A routine administrative detail, I think, that will make my schedule so much smoother once the calendar turns at the stroke of midnight. Nail down the particulars of my calendar so that I won’t have to scurry about working out last-minute details! And in my hustling and bustling and planning and arranging and re-arranging, this conversation with the head nurse of the birthcare center:...
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Christmas Eve, 2014 Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Psalm 85:10 To Love This Tenderly I am no mighty girl, no miracle worker, no dog whisperer. I am no angel halo, no butterfly wing, no blaze of glory. I am no politician, no power broker, no ambassador of good will. I am no Rock of Gibraltar, no port in any storm. I am no diva, no prima donna, no leading lady. I am no talisman, no rabbit’s foot, no royal flush. I am no snake charmer, no soothsayer, no fortune teller. But here is a rough hewn wooden trough in an oxen stall. Here is a...
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Inching my way slowly down the merge lane in rush hour traffic on the Downtown Connector, I spied a familiar rundown building where, years ago, I heard with the ears of my heart the prayer the dying grown-up Baby of Bethlehem whispered to his mother who stood at the foot of his cross. This reflection first appeared in a book of devotional readings published by the West Virginia Institute for Spirituality, and I share it with you because yesterday, in the swirl of noise, fumes, and traffic congestion, I experienced the gift of Advent – a moment of pure transcendence – as I...
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I spy him standing perplexed in front of the chipped, sweat-stained, concrete statue of Jesus the Good Shepherd cradling a sleeping (or injured?) lamb in his arms. “Who is this, Grandma?” he asks as he tenderly strokes the lamb’s nappy head, caressing the frozen-for-all-time curls reverently like the beads of a rosary. “Jesus,” I answer as I do a mental shuffle anticipating his next question. ”Who is he supposed to be,” he wonders out loud, “a farmer or a doctor who takes care of animals?” I clear my throat. “Yes,” I tell him, and he looks at me quizzically. “Well, which one is he?” he...
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