One of my best friends phoned me yesterday to tell me that she had read my Christmas letter – not one time, but three. She said that each time she read it, she received a different message from it, which I thought was totally cool. I jokingly responded that while the third time usually is the charm, perhaps she needed to read it one more time, and let me know what she thinks then. We both laughed, but my thoughts continued after our phone call ended.
As I struggled to write my Christmas message this year, a comment that Sister Carol Perry (the Bible Scholar for Marble Collegiate Church) made in a Bible study that I watch online kept creeping up and tapping me on the shoulder. She mentioned the fact that the Hebrew people of Bible times were reminded over and over “to remember.” Remembering was very important to their faith and culture – they remembered the stories of their faith, they remembered the prophets, they remembered the commandments, and they remembered God’s promise to His people. I began to consider “remembering” from a personal perspective, leading me to write my own message in this year’s Christmas letter.
Now that Christmas Cookie Baking Day is over, and it joins my collection of cherished memories of the season, I think about Christmases past, and realize that everything worth remembering is now in my collection of memories. And this is what my Collection of Days is all about – remembering. But memories are not always happy, as my friend reminded me when we were talking about my Christmas message, and many people do not have the warm Christmas memories that I wrote about. But what about the sad times, in addition to the happy? Do we remember them all? Yes, all memories are part of the collection of life, as they merge and mingle together, allowing us to remember and to grow.
As I go back to the reference of the Old Testament Hebrew community, I see that much of their remembering was in the form of lessons learned. In an Old Testament college class I took many years ago, one of the main lessons I retained from the class was that God blessed his people, they strayed from God, God punished them, they repented, and God blessed them with a grace gift, thus beginning the cycle all over again. This became the essence of their remembering, as they told and retold the stories of their faith and their God. If it weren’t for remembering, how could they ever learn?
So, I return in my thoughts to this Christmas. As each day comes and goes, all activities and thoughts move from the present into the realm of memory. Today is a brief moment in my life, but the memories of Christmases past grow with each day that passes. It becomes less important what my frame of mind is as I approach Christmas, or what mood the season may cast upon me, but more importantly how the memory and remembering changes me as I move into my future. Whether I am happy or sad, alone or surrounded by people, busy or contemplative, a gift-giver or a gift-receiver, the important thing for me is to remember, not only my personal Christmases, but also what Christmas really means. It becomes vitally important for me to remember God’s greatest grace gift of all time.
It’s something to ponder, don’t you think?
(Please read my Christmas letter, posted on this blog on December 7).
Showing posts with label Marble Collegiate Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marble Collegiate Church. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Marble Collegiate Church- My Virtual Church
I consider myself a member of Marble Collegiate Church in New York City, even though I live a long way from New York, near Social Circle, Georgia. While I am happy not to live in the city, I wish I could somehow magically transport this wonderful church down South each week.
But, wait! I can do that!
Marble Collegiate Church streams their Sunday services and programs on the Internet each week, right into my home in the Georgia piney woods. I know about this, because my son, Brian, works at Marble, and I always plan my visits to New York to see him to include a Sunday at Marble. I love the people of Marble! Even though I only get to see them once or twice a year, I am always greeted as an old friend by those I’ve met on previous visits. Of course, Brian has opened doors of friendship for me, as I follow him around on Sunday as he makes sure everything is in order for the Sunday children’s educational program. And I try to never miss Sister Carol Perry’s Bible study.
I bought a new laptop computer recently, and was delighted to discover the miracle of HDMI, where I can plug my computer into our big screen television set, and take part in the Marble Sunday services, nearly life-sized! I almost feel like I am there as I listen to Sister Carol educate and challenge me in my faith, and then as my spirit is washed by the vision of the Marble sanctuary and the rich music that fills my personal space in my rural home. As the camera scans the congregation, I occasionally recognize someone I know, and wish that I could be sitting in a pew to say good morning to my friends. It’s not as good as being there in person, but it’s the next best thing. I am not able to attend every Sunday, but I make sure I am “at church” as often as possible. Phil now joins me in Sunday worship, since it is so much easier for both of us to sit comfortably in our living room and watch the services on the television screen, instead of sitting cramped up at my desk.
Yesterday, we were delighted to learn that Brian was going to be online in the afternoon with Liz Testa, talking about their journeys of “leaving the business” of acting and singing into the ministry of the church. As I watched my son on the big screen and listened to his words, my eyes filled with tears as he told about his pathway to Marble and how the church supports him in his calling, that of writing and reaching out to people through the written word. Participating virtually only made me feel that much closer to Brian and to the people of Marble. This church has become Brian’s family and support system, and I feel comforted knowing that he is embraced by people who love him almost as much as I do.
I wish I could say that I have a church here in Georgia that fills my spiritual needs the way Marble Collegiate Church does. Unfortunately, I have not found one within traveling distance of my home in the eight years I’ve been in Social Circle. I sometimes feel like part of my call is to be an ambassador for Marble. I send the website address to friends who are homebound or otherwise unable to attend church. I now know a handful of people who also attend Marble via the internet, and who are now experiencing the warmth and fellowship of this amazing church as I am.
If you ever need a virtual church home, you need to check out Marble Collegiate Church. I promise you will be blessed. Join me any Sunday at www.marblechurch.org.
But, wait! I can do that!
Marble Collegiate Church streams their Sunday services and programs on the Internet each week, right into my home in the Georgia piney woods. I know about this, because my son, Brian, works at Marble, and I always plan my visits to New York to see him to include a Sunday at Marble. I love the people of Marble! Even though I only get to see them once or twice a year, I am always greeted as an old friend by those I’ve met on previous visits. Of course, Brian has opened doors of friendship for me, as I follow him around on Sunday as he makes sure everything is in order for the Sunday children’s educational program. And I try to never miss Sister Carol Perry’s Bible study.
I bought a new laptop computer recently, and was delighted to discover the miracle of HDMI, where I can plug my computer into our big screen television set, and take part in the Marble Sunday services, nearly life-sized! I almost feel like I am there as I listen to Sister Carol educate and challenge me in my faith, and then as my spirit is washed by the vision of the Marble sanctuary and the rich music that fills my personal space in my rural home. As the camera scans the congregation, I occasionally recognize someone I know, and wish that I could be sitting in a pew to say good morning to my friends. It’s not as good as being there in person, but it’s the next best thing. I am not able to attend every Sunday, but I make sure I am “at church” as often as possible. Phil now joins me in Sunday worship, since it is so much easier for both of us to sit comfortably in our living room and watch the services on the television screen, instead of sitting cramped up at my desk.
Yesterday, we were delighted to learn that Brian was going to be online in the afternoon with Liz Testa, talking about their journeys of “leaving the business” of acting and singing into the ministry of the church. As I watched my son on the big screen and listened to his words, my eyes filled with tears as he told about his pathway to Marble and how the church supports him in his calling, that of writing and reaching out to people through the written word. Participating virtually only made me feel that much closer to Brian and to the people of Marble. This church has become Brian’s family and support system, and I feel comforted knowing that he is embraced by people who love him almost as much as I do.
I wish I could say that I have a church here in Georgia that fills my spiritual needs the way Marble Collegiate Church does. Unfortunately, I have not found one within traveling distance of my home in the eight years I’ve been in Social Circle. I sometimes feel like part of my call is to be an ambassador for Marble. I send the website address to friends who are homebound or otherwise unable to attend church. I now know a handful of people who also attend Marble via the internet, and who are now experiencing the warmth and fellowship of this amazing church as I am.
If you ever need a virtual church home, you need to check out Marble Collegiate Church. I promise you will be blessed. Join me any Sunday at www.marblechurch.org.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Shopping Bag
This narrative piece was read last night at "The Puzzle: A Festival of New Work" at Marble Collegiate Church in New York City. I was thrilled that it was selected as part of the festival!
THE SHOPPING BAG
Every person living on this earth is required to walk through the experience called life individually and, basically, alone. We encounter others along our way, and we often walk alongside them for awhile on our life’s journey - sometimes for a short distance, while other times for many miles. When it comes right down to the actual trip, however, we each have our personal road to travel. The road I travel through my life is mine alone, and nobody but me will experience it in its entirety.
I enter my life carrying a shopping bag of sorts, which stays with me throughout my journey. In my mind’s eye, I see it as the type that department stores dole out at Christmastime to holiday shoppers. Square-shaped with lots of room for packages, it is made of sturdy heavyweight paper, with a stiff, plastic-coated rope handle at the top on each side for easy grasp. I use my shopping bag to collect and store the many articles I pick up and carry along with me as I walk down my life’s road.
As a child, I tend to drag my bag along beside me. I am so small, and it is very large. It isn’t heavy yet, and it has plenty of room inside. Among the few things I carry in my childhood bag are the sticks and stones that break my bones, and the words that are not supposed to harm me. I also carry a bushel and a peck of “I love you”, and a hug around the neck. My bag may not be full, but I discover that it is very difficult to remove items from it, and that it is easy just to carry the bag with these things inside. Who knows? I may need them later on!
As I grow, the shopping bag ceases to drag the ground, and I carry it along beside me, still collecting items to put into it. I switch hands from time to time as the weight of it tires out one side of my body, and then the other. I also swing it over my shoulder from time to time to carry it like a back pack. Every now and then I look into the depths of the bag to discover that it is filling up with all kinds of interesting and important items that I have collected during my childhood and adolescence.
My walk continues, and I realize how handy my shopping bag has become. I pick up things as I travel, studying, scrutinizing, and turning them over and over in my hand, before making the commitment to place them inside my bag. I decide that some things aren’t worth keeping and toss them back onto the shoulder of the road, discarding them as worthless or not necessary at this time in my life. Those items that I decide to keep find their place inside my bag.
With this decision-making process comes the problem of determining what to keep and carry and what to leave behind. Sometimes I make good decisions, while many times I make poor judgments about the value of the things I find. I stop to collect rocks and stones, and more sticks, sometimes a banana peel or an apple core. I know these things are potentially hazardous for my journey, but for some reason I am compelled to keep them, even though they are of no real use to me, and only add weight to my bag and take up space.
As I continue walking down my road, my shopping bag gets heavier and heavier with all sorts of stuff. I don’t know why, but I pick up a handful of dirt and sprinkle it on top of my assortment of articles. Maybe the dirt camouflages what lies beneath, or maybe I have simply become a collector of useless items. Even though my load is getting heavier and harder to handle, I find that I enjoy looking down into the bag and feel a sense of pride in all the junk I am able to lug along with me. I am strong and able, and my weighty bag is the sign to myself and everyone I encounter that I can handle my life and carry my load all by myself. I am proud of my shopping bag and of all the things I keep stored within. It has become a part of who I am, and I believe that I need each and every item with me all of the time.
I am surprised when I come to a fork in the road and another person joins me going the same direction. We walk in silence for a short distance, scrutinizing each other and stealing furtive glances into the other’s bag. We carry our own load protectively until we are too tired to go further, and we stop to rest along the side of the road. A superficial conversation begins, and then we take a giant step by reaching into our bags and pulling out an item to show the other. What a risk this is! Is it worth it? If it isn’t, we look at each other’s possession, comment on it politely, and then return the treasure back into the bag where it belongs. After a brief rest, we rise refreshed and continue down the road to the next fork, where we part company and continue on our respective journeys in solitude.
But what if we share our treasures with each other only to find out that we carry similar items in our bags, and we can exchange personal thoughts about our journeys? We may even dump our bags in the excitement of finding someone who is interested enough to examine and admire our belongings! We ooh and ahh over the rocks and sticks and wadded up paper and crumpled up containers we each are carrying, and we help our new companion re-pack our shopping bags, placing everything very carefully back into place. We might even convince the other of the worthlessness of an item or two, and leave it behind on the road. We then decide to walk together for awhile, where we can share our load by carrying the other’s bag for a short distance, giving each other a respite from the heavy weight.
As the two of us amble down the road together, we notice wildflowers growing along the way. We pause to pick a few, proclaim their beauty to one another, and place them gently in the top of our bags. My friend finds a bird’s feather, and a rainbow, a chip of a robin’s egg, and the song of a waterfall, and shares these delicate and lovely items of nature with me. As they are placed into my bag, an amazing thing happens. The shopping bag feels lighter and easier to carry. I check the bottom for a tear or a rip, but find none. I still carry all my prized possessions, but they appear to have lost their heaviness. The beauty of the newfound treasures has transformed my bag into a lighter, more manageable piece of baggage.
My journey continues, and even though my friend may have to leave my road to take another path, I keep the gifts with me. I hold them from time to time, remembering. Their beauty lasts, never fading away, and they rest lightly always in the top of my shopping bag. They have made my load lighter, and I tire less quickly.
As I reach the end of my journey, I pause to examine once more the contents of my shopping bag to reassure myself that I haven’t lost anything along the way. I have carried these things for such a long time, and they have become a part of who I am. I open the bag wide and stand amazed at what I see. All the contents are gone! No rocks, no sticks, no banana peels or apple cores, no wadded up paper or crumpled containers. Even the dirt that was sprinkled over everything is gone! My bag is empty, or appears to be so. I look more closely. I bend down for a closer examination. Wait! There is something still in my bag. Resting lightly in the bottom of it, I see a wildflower, a rainbow, a bird’s feather, and a small blue chip of a robin’s egg.
And when I place my ear close to the bag’s opening, I hear the song of a waterfall.
THE SHOPPING BAG
Every person living on this earth is required to walk through the experience called life individually and, basically, alone. We encounter others along our way, and we often walk alongside them for awhile on our life’s journey - sometimes for a short distance, while other times for many miles. When it comes right down to the actual trip, however, we each have our personal road to travel. The road I travel through my life is mine alone, and nobody but me will experience it in its entirety.
I enter my life carrying a shopping bag of sorts, which stays with me throughout my journey. In my mind’s eye, I see it as the type that department stores dole out at Christmastime to holiday shoppers. Square-shaped with lots of room for packages, it is made of sturdy heavyweight paper, with a stiff, plastic-coated rope handle at the top on each side for easy grasp. I use my shopping bag to collect and store the many articles I pick up and carry along with me as I walk down my life’s road.
As a child, I tend to drag my bag along beside me. I am so small, and it is very large. It isn’t heavy yet, and it has plenty of room inside. Among the few things I carry in my childhood bag are the sticks and stones that break my bones, and the words that are not supposed to harm me. I also carry a bushel and a peck of “I love you”, and a hug around the neck. My bag may not be full, but I discover that it is very difficult to remove items from it, and that it is easy just to carry the bag with these things inside. Who knows? I may need them later on!
As I grow, the shopping bag ceases to drag the ground, and I carry it along beside me, still collecting items to put into it. I switch hands from time to time as the weight of it tires out one side of my body, and then the other. I also swing it over my shoulder from time to time to carry it like a back pack. Every now and then I look into the depths of the bag to discover that it is filling up with all kinds of interesting and important items that I have collected during my childhood and adolescence.
My walk continues, and I realize how handy my shopping bag has become. I pick up things as I travel, studying, scrutinizing, and turning them over and over in my hand, before making the commitment to place them inside my bag. I decide that some things aren’t worth keeping and toss them back onto the shoulder of the road, discarding them as worthless or not necessary at this time in my life. Those items that I decide to keep find their place inside my bag.
With this decision-making process comes the problem of determining what to keep and carry and what to leave behind. Sometimes I make good decisions, while many times I make poor judgments about the value of the things I find. I stop to collect rocks and stones, and more sticks, sometimes a banana peel or an apple core. I know these things are potentially hazardous for my journey, but for some reason I am compelled to keep them, even though they are of no real use to me, and only add weight to my bag and take up space.
As I continue walking down my road, my shopping bag gets heavier and heavier with all sorts of stuff. I don’t know why, but I pick up a handful of dirt and sprinkle it on top of my assortment of articles. Maybe the dirt camouflages what lies beneath, or maybe I have simply become a collector of useless items. Even though my load is getting heavier and harder to handle, I find that I enjoy looking down into the bag and feel a sense of pride in all the junk I am able to lug along with me. I am strong and able, and my weighty bag is the sign to myself and everyone I encounter that I can handle my life and carry my load all by myself. I am proud of my shopping bag and of all the things I keep stored within. It has become a part of who I am, and I believe that I need each and every item with me all of the time.
I am surprised when I come to a fork in the road and another person joins me going the same direction. We walk in silence for a short distance, scrutinizing each other and stealing furtive glances into the other’s bag. We carry our own load protectively until we are too tired to go further, and we stop to rest along the side of the road. A superficial conversation begins, and then we take a giant step by reaching into our bags and pulling out an item to show the other. What a risk this is! Is it worth it? If it isn’t, we look at each other’s possession, comment on it politely, and then return the treasure back into the bag where it belongs. After a brief rest, we rise refreshed and continue down the road to the next fork, where we part company and continue on our respective journeys in solitude.
But what if we share our treasures with each other only to find out that we carry similar items in our bags, and we can exchange personal thoughts about our journeys? We may even dump our bags in the excitement of finding someone who is interested enough to examine and admire our belongings! We ooh and ahh over the rocks and sticks and wadded up paper and crumpled up containers we each are carrying, and we help our new companion re-pack our shopping bags, placing everything very carefully back into place. We might even convince the other of the worthlessness of an item or two, and leave it behind on the road. We then decide to walk together for awhile, where we can share our load by carrying the other’s bag for a short distance, giving each other a respite from the heavy weight.
As the two of us amble down the road together, we notice wildflowers growing along the way. We pause to pick a few, proclaim their beauty to one another, and place them gently in the top of our bags. My friend finds a bird’s feather, and a rainbow, a chip of a robin’s egg, and the song of a waterfall, and shares these delicate and lovely items of nature with me. As they are placed into my bag, an amazing thing happens. The shopping bag feels lighter and easier to carry. I check the bottom for a tear or a rip, but find none. I still carry all my prized possessions, but they appear to have lost their heaviness. The beauty of the newfound treasures has transformed my bag into a lighter, more manageable piece of baggage.
My journey continues, and even though my friend may have to leave my road to take another path, I keep the gifts with me. I hold them from time to time, remembering. Their beauty lasts, never fading away, and they rest lightly always in the top of my shopping bag. They have made my load lighter, and I tire less quickly.
As I reach the end of my journey, I pause to examine once more the contents of my shopping bag to reassure myself that I haven’t lost anything along the way. I have carried these things for such a long time, and they have become a part of who I am. I open the bag wide and stand amazed at what I see. All the contents are gone! No rocks, no sticks, no banana peels or apple cores, no wadded up paper or crumpled containers. Even the dirt that was sprinkled over everything is gone! My bag is empty, or appears to be so. I look more closely. I bend down for a closer examination. Wait! There is something still in my bag. Resting lightly in the bottom of it, I see a wildflower, a rainbow, a bird’s feather, and a small blue chip of a robin’s egg.
And when I place my ear close to the bag’s opening, I hear the song of a waterfall.
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