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Kickin’…Cryin’…Denyin’ …or Grace? The Undeniable Experience of Aging

by Kay Klinkenborg MA, Church of the Palms; Spiritual Directors International; Retired RN, LMFT, Clinical Member AAMFT

I have a pact with my husband and a long-time friend, sister by another mother, that if I am not bathing, not hearing, not paying attention to myself, they are to ‘kick me in the butt’ and wake me up to make an appointment with my physician for a thorough assessment. I am trying to get out ahead of the fact that I might not always be attuned, sharp or paying attention…so I want some trusted observers with me on this journey of aging and transitions.

There are volumes of Internet articles, YouTube presentations about growing older with grace. As well as books galore about the topic. Is there anything new to say?

Why is it the natural process of aging for humans is often fought so fiercely with denial? One reason: we are an ageist society. We don’t honor aging. We don’t honor elders. We don’t claim the wisdom that years can bring to be shared. We are blind and isolate the aging persons in our life. Maybe most of all, we deny our own aging. Authors, Better and Hunt in Aging with Grace: Flourishing in an Anti-aging Culture state: “Today’s culture, however, marginalizes old age, often portraying it as burdensome and hopeless.” ¹

Susan Whitbourne, PhD, professor of Psychology at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst says: “For some reason, our society is very obsessed with pointing out negative aspects of aging,” ²

I wince each time I hear an elder say: “I can’t do what I used to do and I don’t have anything to offer.” That is not true.

Betty Friedan had a good quote: “Aging is not lost youth, but a new stage of opportunity and strength.”

“But if you get to be older, you have survived a lot of the threats to your physical and psychological integrity that have affected other people who are no longer around,” Whitbourne reminds us.² She also notes: through good luck or good genes or both, the old have dodged fatal accidents, premature disease, and other things that kill the young. “You are stronger, and you get to live longer,” “Most people think that’s a benefit.”²

One more time in life, we have choices. Choices about our attitude and approach to aging.

As I read articles, scanned the books I have collected on the topic of aging: three major themes arise: adaptation, wisdom sharing, and aspiring to age with grace.

The question is: How are you approaching aging?

Adaptation

This is a choice. Reality…aging is life. We know it is going to happen, and it can’t be altered. We can be bitter, angry about how life has turned out for us. As if we could do anything to chance the past. That is fruitless thinking. If we are angry, I find there is a need to forgive ourselves of somethings and/or possibly to forgive others.

Adaptation is going with the flow. Discovering what we can learn right now.

Adaptation is continuing to participate in our evolution as part of God’s creation.

Adaptation is owning “it’s not over till it’s over”.

Adaptation is asking yourself: “what do I need right now?”

Wisdom Sharing

Life experiences have taught us a great deal. We have our own parables to share that can inspire others. Yes, our life experiences are parables. Parables are not limited to sacred texts or the biblical stories. I am not talking about having to write books, leave journal pages for the next generation. I am talking about telling our stories and what we have learned. It is also about sharing what questions remain and owning there are some questions for which we will never has answers.

We will not share our wisdom if we do not stay engaged. You get to pick how you wish to stay engaged with other people; listening to their stories and sharing yours. We know that disengagement with others when aging leads to depression and extreme loneliness. Older adults make up 12% of the US population, but account for 18% of all suicide deaths. This is an alarming statistic, as the elderly are the fastest growing segment of the population, making the issue of later-life suicide a major public health priority.³

Aspiring to Age with Grace

This is a conscious decision. We cannot successfully, fruitfully age with grace by being unconscious about our choices. Just because we’ve reached a certain age doesn’t mean we don’t have to stay awake and be kind to ourselves and others.

Experts write books and treatise on ‘what is grace’? When I think of grace, I return to the basic concept I would teach a child about grace: “God is kind to you because God loves you. You deserve this.” Isaiah 46:4: reminds us lest we forget: “I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until you hair is white with age. I made you and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.”

How do you give yourself grace? I have accumulated this list over the years.

Ways to Give Yourself the Gift of Grace

Don’t be perfect, be real. No one is perfect (repeat after me: no one is perfect). …
Mess up, but don’t let yourself feel bad. … mistakes are ‘mis takes’ a chance to try again
Give yourself permission to not do everything….
Never feel selfish for taking “you” time. …
Do one thing a day you’re proud of.
You come learning how to do this transition in life…just like you came learning how to do prior transitions/changes. This time…you have a tool box of skills!
Trust your intuition; it will seldom, if ever fail you.

I share a brief story of a long-time friend and spiritual mentor, Sr. Ann Regina Baker, OP. She died last year at the age of 101½ years. She is a role model for me in adapting, wisdom sharing and aspiring to age with grace.

Upon entering religious life, her ministry was in teaching music. Then she got a doctorate in spiritual direction. I don’t know the exact age when she moved to the Dominican Mother House to live in an apartment. Most of the sisters in her Dominican community never consider leaving formal ministry until after 80 years of age or older (unless something medical happens.) She continued with spiritual directees, she taught classes weekly and she lead private and group retreats.

Ann Regina called her physical aging changes, physical diminishments. She accepted in stride and with grace as she gradually lost her sight due to macular degeneration. She approached her physically loss to walk with the same attitude. She remained a teacher for Monday morning ‘Spiritual Growth’ class for her Dominican Sisters living in the Motherhouse until the age of 99. She was totally blind by then and was memorizing what was read to her or she heard on DVDs or tapes. The day came for her to physically move from her apartment at the Mother House to the Skilled Nursing Unit.

A mutual friend went to visit her to see how she was doing not having a class each week and no spiritual directees? “I am preaching from my pillow” was her response.

What a wisdom teacher! She modeled adaptation, wisdom sharing and aspiring to age with grace. May I have courageous and attunement that I am ‘always preaching’ whether I think others are listening or not. It is my choice about how to age gracefully.

“We can’t control our destiny, but we can control who we become.” Anne Frank

¹Aging with Grace: Flourishing in an Anti-aging Culture (2021). Sharon W. Betters & Susan Hunt.

²Katherine Kam: https://www.webmd.com/healthy-aging/features/the-art-of-aging-gracefully

³ https://www.aamft.org/American Association of Marriage and Family Therapists

https://www.mhanational.org/preventing-suicide-older-adults

Called to Love, Not to Fear 

guest post by Clara Sims, intern MID at First Congregational UCC Albuquerque

In June, churches nationwide celebrated Pride month – affirming that all people in the LGBTQ+ community are our siblings in Christ, beloved, precious, and irreplaceable members of our faith communities. However, our love and celebration this year have been set against an alarming national backdrop of increasing discrimination, hate, and violence toward our LGBTQ+ communities and, especially, toward our trans and non-binary siblings.

This national trend hit home when several faith communities learned of a local church planning to host transphobic speakers after showing the film “What is a Woman?” This film seeks to investigate the gender-fluid movement, though it does so from a decided lens of dismissal, negative bias, and fear. When such a film debuts upon this national stage of violence and fear toward LGBTQ+ communities, from the banning of medical care for transgender youth in Texas to the targeting of Pride events by militant right-wing groups, it leads me and many faith-community leaders in the greater Albuquerque area to ask different questions.

Not “what is a woman?” but “what are we afraid of?” Are we really afraid of allowing people to claim and celebrate the wholeness of their humanity? Are we really afraid of people who feel worthy enough to celebrate who they are – as God made them?

Our faith calls us to question the validity of such fear. It calls us to ask what is at stake when we choose fear over love? 

As decades of data demonstrate, people’s lives are at stake. Trans lives, non-binary lives, queer lives. Children’s lives, unborn lives – the very same the recent Supreme Court ruling to overturn Roe v. Wade claims to protect. According to the Trevor Project, an organization that provides crisis support for LGBTQ+ youth, nearly half of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered suicide in the past year. Suicide is an epidemic among LGBTQ+ youth. When leaders, from politicians to clergy, use fear-filled rhetoric to stigmatize children and teenagers who are simply seeking to live their lives with integrity, the impact of emotional, mental, and spiritual suffering is deadly.

The Gospel offers much on the validity of fear that stigmatizes entire communities – it has no place in the kingdom of God, no place in the good news we are to proclaim to one another. We are called to love, not to fear. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear.” (John 4:18). 

The LGBTQ+ community are among the neighbors Jesus commanded his followers, over and over and in no uncertain terms, to love and treat with worth and dignity that the fallibility of our human judgments cannot set aside.

 As right-wing political-religious rhetoric doubles down on framing the beautiful diversity of gender and sexual identities and expressions among the LGBTQ+ community as counter to God’s will for creation, may we remember that our greatest commandment is to love one another, without criteria for who counts and who doesn’t. This will take courage and faith in the goodness of God’s community of creation; this will take risking ourselves to the blessing of a world in which everyone is needed, not as some want them to be, but as they truly are. 

Life AND Choice Are United

by Rev. Dr. Barb Doerrer-Peacock

I wasn’t sure whether this writing wanted to be a poem or an essay. So, I just wrote. This is the result: my thoughts/feelings about the current threat to women’s reproductive rights.

They would like us to think it’s about
Sanctity vs. sacrilege
Life vs. death
Federal vs state
Truth vs. lies
Constitution vs. changeable laws
Protection of one vs. another
A woman’s issue, and not a man’s
A womb and not a penis
A fetus and not a whole human life
A private decision and not
a whole human culture.

They would like us to think it’s about
when life begins and when it ends,
and whether it is a God
or a human decision.
whether it is male or female
conservative or liberal
Biblical or profane
pro-choice or pro-life.

They would like us to think…
but not really.
They would like us to react.

The tyranny of the binary
creates knee-jerk reactions,
reactions create polarizing gulfs,
gulfs create intractable division:
Us or Them
Other or Self
Win or Lose.

The authority of the binary
creates warring clans and tribes
Us vs. Them
Loyalty vs Disloyalty
Good vs Evil
Right vs. Wrong
Security vs. Fear.

The power of the binary is
dominance of definition
over ambiguity
privilege of power
over powerlessness,
control of cultural commonality
over difference and diversity.

They would like us to think that
this is what it’s all about.
It is not.
It is only yet another mask of
Either/Or
the binary.

A continuing incarnation of something
rather small and insidious,
like a worm that burrows unnoticed
into an orifice and lays its eggs
waiting, growing in the dark
to ultimately take over its host
with fear and madness.

But Life AND Choice are united.
The two entwining, eternal lovers of
God’s Good Creation.
Holiest Gifts
out of which everything is born.

Without Choice – there is no Life.
All is dead.
Without Life – Choice ceases to exist,
All is inanimate.

I refuse the binary trap.
Instead, I CHOOSE LIFE
Together, both, whole.

I choose to believe
life has no beginning
or end – all is in the presence of God
who was, and is,
and forever will be.

I choose to believe
sanctity can be manifest
In all soul-wrestling,
anguished decisions:
to end a pregnancy, AND
to continue a pregnancy
despite all odds, AND
a myriad of other
LIFE CHOOSE-INGS.
All are in the presence of God.

Sanctity evaporates
and the presence of God dims
when
our capacity to
CHOOSE LIFE
Is stolen.

So today,
I CHOOSE LIFE.
And I denounce
those who would be its
thieves.

The Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice put together this stunning video of Barb’s poem.

Mothering the World Right Now!

by Kay Klinkenborg

Climate change, war in Ukraine, starvation in Yemen and Afghanistan to name a few places that is happening. And a world pandemic continues. The world is not the same. We will not be returning to ‘normal’…whatever that was. Pastor Paul Whitlock on April 3 gave a powerful sermon on FOMO…FLOP…FOMO. I was quite taken with his creativity. Fun On Moving Onward (FOMO) was his challenge. Now what was I to do with that? Instantly my feminine energy kicked into gear.

Mothering. Creation has been ‘mothering’ since the beginning. God speaks of ‘we’ in Genesis; not alone as Creator. Then other Hebrew Scriptures speak of Sophia, Wisdom; which has been interpreted by highly respected theologians as the feminine side of God.

The Talmud also introduces the term Shekhinah to connote God’s presence in the world. Though the term is grammatically feminine, in the Talmud it is not explicitly gendered, though in some passages it refers to moments when God shares in human experiences of loneliness, loss, and exile.¹

In the case of Jewish thought, grammar at times meets theology in as much as impersonal Hebrew nouns are gendered, so that words like hokhmah (wisdom) and shekhinah (presence) over time lent themselves by virtue of their feminine.¹

In fact, the personal name of God, Yahweh, which is revealed to Moses in Exodus 3, is a remarkable combination of both female and male grammatical endings. The first part of God’s name in Hebrew, “Yah,” is feminine, and the last part, “weh,” is masculine.²

I am pleased that I can attest to many men I know that use ‘mothering characteristics’ in their relationships and interactions. I am not suggesting that this is a woman’s task at all. In fact, I think history and biblical interpretations show us that feminine traits are revered. And our world right now needs that kind of love!.

Remember the famous song: “What the World Needs Now is Love, Sweet Love.” One word most will resonant with to describe that is a verb: mothering.

Since the beginning of time…’mothering’…to nurture…to care for…to watch after’ has and does occur. It had to have occurred or evolution would not have sustained, extended or be continuing. As the human species evolves our archeological discoveries tell us that ‘mothering’ occurred. It is nature’s form of care taking, survival of the species.

One major thing I have learned more about these past three years… ‘getting out of God’s way’. My instinctual need to control, be in charge is being challenged. I am learning more about the spiritual discipline of surrender. Let God evolve. There is no surprise that we have a pandemic. There have always been pandemics, disasters, wars, a disappearance of life as we understand it. That there is a new virus is not news. Our ownership that this can happen to us is what is new. This is nature. This is the evolving of life in this known Universe.

I have found myself ‘shoulding’: I should do this; I should say that; I should not be having this fear and anxiety. A sampling of my should list. What about ‘mothering myself’? What about starting there in order to have the energy and compassion to extend to others? If I can have compassion for my own journey/feelings during this extraordinary time in history, will not that enable me to understand/hear and have compassion beyond myself. Then I am ready to extend ‘mothering’.

Only in self-compassion and owning my own emotions in this particular journey will I then have the energy and compassionate response to others to be mothering the world. Mirabai Starr writes in her book Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics, “…we need a mothering of the world together right now.” We need that feminine energy that is male and female brought forth to face these challenges.

I want to explicitly point out the fact that women who have not born children… mother; men… mother, It is part of our innate design if we own that part of ourselves. A friend taught me a profound lesson about mothering;

One particularly Mother’s Day, I was quite depressed; estranged from our son and blaming myself for his adult choices. A friend sent me a text that day that knew of the circumstances. “Kay, you have been mothering people your entire adult life. As a nurse, friend, manager, counselor, consultant and the list goes on. So today claim all the mothering you have and do. Let that bring comfort.”

So I am challenging myself as I write to this audience, let my ‘mothering show forth’; let my love be visible and make me an instrument that releases a song of ‘Love, Love, Love…’

Going on without denying any aspect of the human drama is what strength is all about. We are carved by life into instruments that will release our song, if we can hold each up to the carving.

Mark Nepo

^1”Feminine Images of God”: Yehudah Mirsky, Jewish Women’s Archive.

²CBE (cbeinternational.org) (Christians for Biblical Equality). “The Feminine Imagery of God in the Hebrew Bible.” Joan P. Schaupp | October 30, 2000.

The Art of Blessing

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

One Sunday at church a parishioner brought me a ball cap with her favorite NASCAR racer’s name embroidered on it. She wanted me to bless it because she was worried about the driver. She was only teasing and I simply heard her story and held the hat for a second. I didn’t so much try to ease her concerns with a prayer as I did listen to her, but her request did remind me of the real reason I love being a pastor.

If I were to explain why I most enjoy being an ordained minister, it wouldn’t be the preaching or the administrative responsibilities; it wouldn’t be the pastoral visits to the hospitals or nursing homes or the teaching of scriptures. I enjoy being a pastor because I love being called upon to bless things.

In the more than 25 years since my ordination into professional ministry, I have been called upon to bless lots of things and all kinds of events. I have blessed marriages and unions, meetings of the many and the few, animals of all shapes and sizes, life arriving and life passing, houses, doorways, and even a porch swing for a hospice patient afraid of some evil spirit that hovered near. I have blessed barren fields in winter and bountiful summer harvests, rain and sun, honorable choices to leave and to stay, foreheads on Ash Wednesdays, mended hearts, surgeries and the healing of every kind of disease and discontent. I have touched fevered brows and small cherub cheeks, skinned knees and burdened backs. I have blessed cookies and milk, pots of green chile stew, and long tables filled with casseroles, Jell-O salads, barbeque, fried chicken, and a variety of frosted cakes. And in all that time, it has always been my deepest pleasure to lead a person or a gathering into the consideration of being blessed.

I don’t bless because I think I am more qualified than anyone else to pray over potluck suppers, community gatherings, or crying babies. I do not consider myself more special or more knowledgeable than anyone else. In fact, much of the time, when I am called upon for a blessing I glance around the room and find many others who could do and have done a better job than I. But blessing stuff comes with the territory when you are a minister. Just as we look to the nurse or doctor to step in when someone faints or we look to a teenager for help with the computer, just as we ask the mechanic for tips on engine maintenance for our automobiles, we expect the minister to bless us.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines blessing as “an expression of good wishes. A special favor granted by God,” and “anything contributing to happiness.” I think of a blessing as simply calling attention to that which is wonderful, to a person or event or animal or memory or dream that makes us smile. To be blessed is to acknowledge that even if everything around us is empty, we are able to see that actually our cups are running over. It is to stop everyone from brushing aside life. It is to keep us from missing the splendid. It is to say, “hey, wait a minute, this is fabulous life happening here! This is a moment you will want to remember! This, for all its ordinariness, this is sacred. This is blessed.”

I didn’t ask for favor on my parishioner’s favorite racecar driver when I took the hat from her, but I did smile and thank God that she has something in her life that brings her delight, something that connects her to the world, something that engages and pleases her. The fact that she has found a little pleasure is in itself a great blessing. And I am the fortunate one who gets asked to call attention to it.

Common Tables

by Southwest Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Bill Lyons; the following is his keynote at the Common Tables interfaith prayer and networking luncheon at the Arizona State Capitol on Tuesday, March 29, 2022

Inviting everyone to the table is something between a buzz phrase and an overused platitude these days. We say it with the best of intentions trying to counter a hyper-polarized culture and the long-practiced injustice of exclusion. But what do we really mean when we invite people to the table?

“JOIN US” – WE WANT THEM TO FIT IN

There are the “join us” invitations. Sometimes we invite people to table because the time has come to acknowledge and interrupt the prejudices and biases that have silenced the voices of our neighbors. We feel embarrassed by the racism, sexism, ageism, classism, or heterosexism any one of a host of other ‘isms,’ and we want to stop the privilege, supremacy, and outright hate that have othered people to the margins. Our invitation to join us is intended to be an expression of our commitments to equal opportunity and fair treatment.

When people accept our “join us” invitation, we are quick to celebrate demographic diversity and the promotion of fair and equal treatment. But the celebration often comes too soon – before anyone new at the table has a chance to say anything. It really wasn’t their voices we valued or wanted among us, it was their numbers, their bodies if I may be so bold, something we could count, not someone to whom we wanted to listen or who might possibly change us. We wanted them to join us, to join US. The expectation was that if people can just share a common table everyone will realize “they are just like each other.” What we hold in common is idealized. The ways in which we are different get subverted to preserve harmony and avoid conflict. The tacit assumption in an invitation to “join us” is that “’we are all the same’ or ‘we aspire to being all the same.’” Because, after all aren’t we all the same in our deepest humanity? And the answer to that is most assuredly no.

BRING A DISH TO SHARE – WE WANT WHAT THEY BRING WITH THEM.

Then there are times we invite people to table with what I call a “bring-a-dish-to-share” invitations. A leader notices that the world around them is becoming a more diverse place while the organization they lead isn’t. Think of the business that wants or needs new markets, the church that needs new members, or the party that needs new voters in order to expand, or to remain viable, or to survive. Fear takes root – the fear of losing. The objective of bringing more voices, new voices, diverse voices to the table is really to gain access to or legitimacy with a more diverse clientele or constituency. The very qualities, characteristics, competencies and contributions that lead to that access or legitimacy are pigeon-holed rather than integrated. Integrating new voices would mean changing the way we do things, or even changing ourselves. Instead, people are exploited rather than being affirmed to bring their whole selves – culture, language, art, beliefs, orientation, and identity – to t e table. When that realization sets in people begin to feel devalued. Bring-a-dish-to-share invitations are born out of the desire to win. Practitioners of access-and-legitimacy diversity fail to realize that they’ve lost the long game.

“COME AS YOU ARE” – ONLY WITH YOU CAN WE BE OUR BEST SELVES TOGETHER.

When we are at our best – faith leaders, business leaders, political leaders, any leaders – we invite people to table with “come as you are” invitations. We are intentional, asking people to bring their whole selves to the conversation. We listen for understanding, not for the best way to make our next point. Together we are mindful that “I cannot remain the same because you have joined me at table.” Differences are not simply valued; they are integrated into everything that happens around the table. And at our very best selves, we tear down the old tables and build new ones together – tables of different substance and different quality.

My faith teaches me that in my humanity I begin to hear the infinite God whom I serve and worship by connecting with and listening to the voices outside myself, as many of them as possible. No voice from the margins can be excluded from the table without risking an unheard word from God, for God has habit of siding with the oppressed.

Today we are being offered “come as you are” invitations. The goal is building relationships in which prophetic calls can be issued and just actions taken. This is a time to be our best selves, to listen one another into understanding, to integrate the differences among us, to set aside our need for a personal win and join the effort for a team victory – the human team, by committing ourselves to building new tables of substance and quality. This is time to break bread together, and without trying to break one another, to find ways of including rather than excluding and therefor silencing as many voices as possible in our democracy, beginning in voting booths, extending to our borders, through the forging an economy that promotes personal dignity, by creating opportunities for rehabilitation, offering forgiveness, and removing stigma. Come as you are. Bring your culture, language, beliefs, and experiences. Be courageous and vulnerable. Together let us end our time together today better for it.

I think I’m a little strange…

by Rev. Deb Worley

“Let us now confess our sin…”

This is from [the 3/13/2022] worship service, as the introduction to our time of confession. I think this time each week is so important, so critical, so potentially powerful! I love it. For myself. And for our community. And yes, I know–I’m a little strange that way… But bear with me. I think there’s a chance you just might come to love it, too…

“I know we’re just a little ways into our worship this morning, but I’m going to do a quick review. So far I and we have said the following words:
‘Grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus Christ!’
‘God is good, all the time!’
‘…with God on my side I’m fearless, afraid of no one and nothing.’
Whether it’s because we are in Lent, or because of what’s going on in the world, or because of other things that are stirring in my soul, I find myself asking myself (and not for the first time!), do those words –Grace…peace…God-is-good…fearless–really mean anything?

And then I answer myself, Of course they do.

But then I wonder, what? What do they really mean? How do they really affect my day-to-day life? Because they have to. They have to.

At the core of my identity is that I am a person of faith, a beloved child of God. Those words have to make a difference in the living of my life. Or they are just words….

And they are not just words—grace…peace…God-is-good…fearless—they are powerful truths about the Reality of God, the Kingdom of God, the Possibilities of God!

And as I, and we, live into the reality of these truths, as we live more and more out of these truths, I have to believe that the Kingdom of God will grow. Bit by tiny bit, moment by singular moment, interaction by individual interaction. But it will grow…

One part of that process of living into the reality of those truths–just one part—but it’s a significant part—is owning our sin. Yep, that’s another word that’s not just a word but a powerful truth—sin.

And unlike “grace” and “peace” and “Good-is-good!” it’s one we don’t like to think or talk about much.

But our not-thinking-or-talking-about-it-much—or at least the depth of the reality of it—is, I am convinced, part of what keeps us from living more deeply into God’s grace and peace and goodness!

Our reluctance to admit those things with which we struggle, those things around which we feel shame, those things for which we have either stepped deliberately off or fallen accidentally off the path of love and healing—all of those things that keep us distant from one another, from our true selves, from God—our reluctance to acknowledge, to admit, to confess those things is part of what keeps things like “grace” and “peace” and the goodness of God as simply nice words rather than deeply profound truths.

Our reluctance to consider the truth and power of our sin, both individually and corporately, is part of what keeps us from accessing and living into the truth and power of God’s grace and peace and goodness.

So(!)…now’s our chance. A chance. A chance to get real about our sin. In these moments, we have a chance to ‘fess up, to God and to ourselves—and in a few moments, to and with one another—our mistakes, our failings, our screw-ups. Our struggles, our secrets, our shame. Or even just one of those, if that’s where you need to begin.

As we do that, God can begin remove the weight of all of that from us, look us in the eyes, and whisper to us, “I know. And I still love you. Now get up and try again.”

And in that, we will begin to experience the reality of God’s goodness and peace more deeply. And those words will become truths. And God’s Kingdom will grow, first within us and then in the world around us, bit by tiny bit, moment by singular moment, interaction by individual interaction.

There is real power available in the act of confessing our sin.

I invite you now, as beloved children of God, to join me for a few moments of silent confession.

Let us pray…

And of course, a time of confession is not complete without what I like to call an Assurance of Belovedness. So know, dear one, that even in the face of full admission of your sin (or as “full” as you can muster at the moment), you are deeply and utterly loved. Always. Forever. No matter what. Know that in the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven! Get up and get living!

—————————–
So–what do you think? Do you love it?? If not yet, keep trying. Keep returning to it. You just might surprise yourself one day…and love it.

Or maybe I’m just a little strange that way… 🙂
Deb

If It Dies, It Produces Many Seeds

by Rev. Victoria Ubben

Scripture: Jesus said, “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)

Two things become unmistakably clear from John’s Gospel lesson. One is that transformation is difficult. And transformation is glorious. So, the question is “What needs to be transformed (or die) in you during this season of Lent so that something new can be born?”

Just about three years ago, I represented our United Church of Christ on an agricultural mission trip to visit three indigenous communities in Guatemala. Six years prior to this, Growing Hope Globally had worked with several mission partners to teach women to farm in their communities (as many of the men had migrated, leaving women and children behind in these three villages). With an absence of men, plus obvious effects of climate change in the region, people were malnourished and starving. The purpose of our trip was to follow-up on the progress (and success) of these new farming techniques.

A brief (and simplified) history: The Guatemalan Civil War ran from 1960 to 1996. It was fought between the government of Guatemala and the rural poor (many of whom are ethnic Maya indigenous people and ladino peasants). After the Guatemalan conflict, when the natives came out of the jungle where they had been hiding, they began to look for their lost friends and loved ones. Of course, most of them were nowhere to be found.

One man we met, Cristobel, told us (through a translator) that when he was only seven years old, almost his entire village had been massacred on one dark night. Cristobel, and his five-year old sister, Catarina, hid silently under the lice-infested straw in order to survive until the coast was clear. Since that time, he has made it his mission to search on the mountainside for unmarked mass graves. He found them and unearthed the decomposing bodies. Years later, he set up a memorial for the 87 people in his small village who had been killed in just one night.

Someone like Cristobel said, “They tried to kill us and bury us; they did not know that we were seeds.” Now Cristobel’s community has risen from the earth. They are no longer malnourished and now they have what we call “food sovereignty”…which means that these people are not dependent on anyone else for their food. They can focus on local resources and local markets. The campesinos (peasant farmers) have risen… children have risen out from under the lice-infested straw…the spirits (I suppose) of 87 bodies also have risen from a mass grave.

If we die…like a seed…we produce more of what this world needs.

So, what if we loved our neighbors as ourselves? Then we would not be as segregated in our communities as we are.
What if we lived out God’s word and did not spend time trying to defend it? Then more people would be drawn to Christ.
What if we were simply faithful Christians being the light that sits upon the hill? Then others would see our good works and glorify God.
What if we really believed that all people are created with unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Then we will not see some as aliens and threats, but as brothers and sisters in Christ.

What if …

They tried to kill us and bury us; but they did not know that we were seeds? Then, like Jesus, we will rise up out of the grave and sprout into new life!

Closing Prayer:

Dear God, shine your light of conviction and truth upon our hearts. We offer our feelings to you that are heavy and burdensome, and those feelings that are yet hopeful of your good work among us. We surrender all to you, trusting that you are producing good fruit within each of us. Amen.

To learn more about the mission of Growing Hope Globally, check out: growinghopeglobally.org
Some of these ideas in this blog post are drawn loosely from An American Lent – Repentance Project, 2019.

photo credits: Alex Morse and Max Finberg

Oh The Humanity

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I met Auntie Rose when I was four or five. She had to be 184 years old, give or take 100 years. Old was ancient to me, like the pyramids, dinosaurs, and God. Auntie Rose lived next door to my mom and my mom’s three kids of which I was firmly in the center. My older brother and my baby brother were my orbit. My dad was a satellite across town while my mom was the moon, sleeping during the day and shining somewhere far from me at night. It wasn’t a world with cohesion, just one with intense gravity.

We lived in apartments with too many kids and too few awake adults so anyone who took an interest in me became family. That was how a stranger named Rose became Auntie Rose and her husband (by association, not at all earned) became Uncle John. And I loved her. She was sweet to me and had a soft lap. She made me eggs some mornings when my mom wasn’t all that aware of my grumbling tummy. She asked me about things like hopscotch and fights with my brothers and my wishes to be the President and a country music singer, dual careers that felt realistic and achievable.

There was another ancient woman on the premises that everyone called Granny. Now Granny really was the oldest person alive, of that I am certain. I don’t have the Guinness Book of Records to prove it, but my memory filed her away as the oldest person ever and I still hold every centenarian up against her. Granny played solitaire, smoked cigarettes, watched daytime television, prayed the rosary, and made cookies. Auntie Rose visited with her several times a week for many years and I would trail over after her. Granny had one of those little plaques with wooden blocks that spelled out JESUS if your eyes adjusted to it in just the right way. I thought that was brilliant. I would let my eyes go in and out of focus while tracing the lines, amazed that blank space could become something else if you saw it the right way. Auntie Rose’s words and Granny’s cigarette smoke would waft around me as they talked about nothing that actually interested me, but held me just the same. I thought Auntie Rose and Granny were actually related. My mom let me know years later that they were not. I guess I was making chosen family for as long as I had the ability.

Auntie Rose wasn’t my neighbor for long, but while she was, she likely heard a lot through the thin wall that separated her home from mine. My mom’s boyfriend, my future step-father, wasn’t a kind man and expressed that loudly in all sorts of ways. She didn’t like him which made me like her more. She also didn’t like her own husband much. I could tell that right away. I could give or take him. He was silent and sullen. She did something that no ancient person ever did in the 1980s: she divorced him. And then she moved away.

Auntie Rose kept coming back to visit Granny, though, so I didn’t lose her. It was one of those visits when something shifted that never shifted back. It was a moment I remember so vividly and so clearly you would think something traumatic happened. It wasn’t traumatic, though. I had been in the living room, talking to Granny. Granny asked me to go give Auntie Rose a vase as she was in the back room doing some kind of rearranging of a closet for Granny. I walked down the hall to the bedroom and there was no Auntie Rose. Then I heard her call from the darkened bathroom that had the door wide open. “Need something?” I walked toward her and then froze when I heard the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the water of a toilet.

She was talking to me. While peeing. And can you even? I could not. I froze and felt my stomach hurt. I said, “Uh, no. Nothing.” I set the vase on the bed and hightailed it out of the apartment, confused and disoriented by the whole experience.

There is such a fragility in early childhood, a constant reckoning with the stimulus all around. A sense of awe or mortification seem equally in reach at any given moment. I had been awed so much by Auntie Rose’s unfailing kindness and love that mortification had an easy entry. She had seemed above need, above doing anything so base as having to use the bathroom. I never forgave her for being so very human when I had cast her as Love.

That memory was created when I was eight-years old and I must think of it at least once a month with a very specific trigger: embarrassment on behalf of another’s humanity. I feel the burn of embarrassment the most intensely when it’s my own humanity revealed at the most inopportune time.

There’s a great scene from a mediocre show that also occurs to me frequently alongside this memory. The show was Nurse Jackie and the scene depicts a conversation between one of my favorite fictional TV characters Gloria Akalitus and a second character named Dr. O’Hara. Gloria Akalitus is the head of an overtaxed ER. She is every medical administrator I have ever met with a wonderful, lovable, terrifying personality. Dr. O’Hara comes upon Gloria eating and says, “I don’t think I have ever seen you eat before.” Gloria’s response is, “I like to hide my humanity. Or at least keep it to a minimum.”

Why is admitting we are human the hardest thing we do all day? Feels like it has something to do with the red rover game between capability and vulnerability that plays throughout the entirety of our living.

So what didn’t match up for the eight-year old me that day? Was it that she was in the bathroom with the light off? Was it that the door was open? Was it that it was unexpected? Or was it just too human?

It was being confronted with base need where strength and comfort had been the only resident prior. It made everything feel a bit more fragile in a world that already wasn’t sturdy. I am thankful for that moment now. I know it’s a weird thing to be thankful for – someone using the bathroom with the door open. I am, though, because it serves me. It pops up when I want to run like my young self did. It presents itself when another’s humanity feels far too real or when my own feels far too ugly. I pause now instead of run. I remind myself that we are all just humans working out our needs the best we can. I remind myself of my own capability and of yours. And, most of the time, I stay.

I imagine if I hadn’t run that day then Auntie Rose would have likely finished her business, washed her hands, and come out of the bathroom to take the vase from me. She likely would have had a kind word for me as she often peppered mundane moments with affirmation. I would have likely returned to Granny while she played her millionth game of solitaire and smoked her millionth-and-one cigarette. My stomach would have settled and cookies would have been consumed. Life would have simply continued.

I don’t know what it is about being human that sometimes makes the stomach hurt and causes us to flee, but I do know that most of us have moments that feel too naked and real. May we not change them or run from them. May we wait them out and see what happens. May we accept our need as fully human. May we close the door when we go potty.

“Red rover, red rover, send acceptance right over.”