a prophetic voice-

The end of the year 2015 approaches, and for the month of December, I have been using a lovely little booklet of writing prompts, courtesy of Jacinta and Cyndi of "Snapdragon Journal", an on-line literary magazine ( www.snapdragonjournal.com ). Faced each day with a meaningful quotation and an equally-meaningful question, I have been writing...sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, always from the heart, and today, I'm sharing some of these scribblings with you, dear reader. Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, Féliz Navidad, Joyeux Noel.   The Year's Last Red Light I stand in the last red light of the year, watching as the almost-setting sun paints the sky in glowing hues aware that I have journeyed far and long and wondering just how long           sunset will last.        wondering when the light will go            and darkness come         wondering if I will welcome it,             embrace it, if I will find within             its velvet folds,

I was going through some of my poems this morning, ones written several years ago, and I came upon this one, so very apropos to the current political and world situation, and to my feelings about what I see and hear. And so, I'm sharing it with you, in the hope that somewhere, somehow, some heart will resonate with mine. Christmas Pilgrimage O God, though I have long lived with more questions about you than answers, of one thing I am certain- from you flows all Creative Energy, from you flows Life, from you flows Love. How, then, God of Creativity, Life & Love, have we, your children, so perverted your gifts that we can look at another human being, created- like us- in the Divine Image, and see only differences, permitting them to separate and divide us? Beneath this thin covering we call skin, beneath the surface appearance of uniqueness, we are the same! We are one! A beating heart enlivens each of us... blood of red flows through arteries and veins...

       It washed over me like a tsunami, the wave of overwhelming grief. Totally unexpected. Taking me totally unaware. And there I stood, my tears co- mingling with the water of my morning shower, as I was bathed in the mellow strains of Annie Murray's "I'll Be Home for Christmas" wafting up from the CD player in the living room.     I hadn't felt this way in many years... and yet the grief was so raw, so present, belying the fact that the loss had happened 37 years ago. It was Christmas Eve 1978 and our family was gathered at the home of my parents for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration, before going to the Candlelight Service together. This had long been a highlight of the holiday for all of us- my parents, my sisters, and their families, and we were all eagerly awaiting the arrival of my youngest sister, to complete the family circle.     The kids wanted to eat so the gifts under the tree could be distributed and opened and Mother was

In the seventh year of the Presidency of Barak Obama, when Pat McCrory was governor was governor of North Carolina, and Larry Williams was mayor of Rural Hall, during the term of ELCA Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, the word of God came to Nazareth Lutheran Church in Rural Hall, NC.    This is the way Luke introduces John the Baptist to us…setting the imperial and political and religious scene. But- lest we miss it in the midst of all the pomp and circumstance- there is this significant fact: the word of God came to a nobody, a lone, strange, eccentric mystic and prophet in the wilderness, in a wild, harsh no-man’s land far from family and government and temple. There in that wild and threatening place, John heard a voice not his own…God coming, as God does, to one of God’s people, to one clearly outside the establishment of the day, to one who would not be expected to be the bearer of God's word...God speaking and John listening... clearly, fully li

Oh, my, I just realized how long it has been since I've posted anything on this blog of mine. It's not because things haven't been happening or because I haven't had any thoughts on all the personal and national and world events, but perhaps just because I have had so many... too many, it seems, to be able to put them in some coherent form to share with others. And I find this happening more and more these days. Events foment around me, entering into my headspace, into my heartspace, and so overwhelm me with emotions and thoughts, with pictures and images, that I find it very difficult to put it all into words. *The American political scene, with all of the nastiness and back- biting, with statements being made by candidates which seem too bizarre to be real or taken seriously- but which are , by so many people. To say I am confused would be a humongous understatement. *The worldwide refugee crisis, with YouTube videos of the endless stream of humanity

This morning, during my quiet time, my time of reading and reflecting, of thinking and writing, I found myself suddenly thinking about how a congregation- my congregation or yours- views the sermon...and about how I, as the one preaching, view what it is I am doing- and why. Perhaps I am unique in the fact that this is not something to which I have given a great deal of thought and consideration. I don't mean that I don't give thought to what I'm preaching or to how it will be received. But I'm not sure if I have ever put into words what a sermon really is for me- and what I hope it is for the congregation. But this morning, words came flooding unbidden, and so I share them with you, from the bottom of my heart: For me, the sermon is not to point the finger. I t is rather an invitation to the members of the congregation to enter into dialogue, to walk along with, to uplift and encourage the pastor even as s/he lifts up and encourages them. It is a f

Windows open wide...a grand and glorious gift. The air blowing through the house, sweeping in its path all that is stale and dull and hidden...bringing with it a sense of energy, of newness, which has felt dormant during the long, closed-in days of this summer's heat. And filled with that energy today,I changed my bed linens, did laundry, cooked homemade applesauce, all the while rejoicing in the lovely, cool temperatures with which the day gifted me, gifted us all in this part of Carolina. And now, tonight, I will crawl between fresh, clean sheets- one of my favorite sensations, a sense memory which harkens back to  childhood evenings after Mother had changed the sheets- which in her house happened every week but in mine happens only about every month. For me, there is something so comforting, so nurturing, about crawling into bed to the welcome of cool, clean sheets, which- in those days- smelled of the outdoors and carried the awareness of my mother's loving

Today, I had the honor of preaching the eulogy at the memorial Service of a member of my parish who had, over the years, become a dear friend. So many people asked me afterward for a copy of that sermon that I am posting it here- for them and for those of you who could not attend the service and for those of you who never knew Sara but may come to know her through my words.         +         +        +         +         +        +         + Even though we are gathered here this afternoon to grieve a death, I must tell you that I continue to think of Sara in the present tense. For even in her dying months and weeks, she was one of the most vibrantly- alive people I have ever met and had the remarkable privilege of knowing. Sara Jane Anderson was born 76 years ago here in Rural Hall and lived her her life within this small mostly-rural community…yet she was not bound by local mores and customs and beliefs. Her life, while small to some, was marked by unbounded lo