a prophetic voice-

Another year passed... another year gone... another year older- perhaps a bit wiser, but perhaps not. And the spectre named Grief lurks in the shadows, never far from sight or mind. but on days like today, oozing out into the open, a slimy ribbon staining the corridors of the hours with an indelible, insoluble mark of pain and loss. He would have been fifty-two today, my golden boy, my firstborn child. Instead, I sit here with a misshapen heart, a piece eternally missing- though I have learned a heart can mend, can still beat on, sharing love and hope, blessing and peace, even when a part is gone, forever gone. For family and friends abound; children and grandchildren fill my life and so my heart with joy and love and laughter, and through it all, through passing years, a smile persists through veils of tears, a smile of gratitude and wonder, of hope and gentle joy, even as my mother's heart weeps quietly for my precious boy.

Do I still have questions about God? Even now? At seventy-four? Of course I do... about the why and who and how... the why-nots and the no-ways... The wondering and the wandering never end... even as my earthly end looms large, well within my sight- And then I see the verdant green of trees    towering high above me hear the familiar call of the scarlet cardinal,     the small brown wren, and the chatter of     the ever-present squirrels watch the children riding bikes down my     quiet street see my neighbor lovingly tending her lovely     garden hear a beloved voice on the phone learn of earthquakes and wildfires and     raging floods and the many helping     hands offering aid And I know- in spite of still-unanswered     questions- that I have seen...am seeing-     each day- the face of God.  No further explanations necessary.

Preached at Emmanuel Lutheran Church, High Point, on August 14.      "Do you think I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division..." These are the words I just read to you... proclaiming them to be the GOSPEL of our Lord... the Good News. And you- all of you- responded, "Praise to you, O Christ!" Seems a little ironic, doesn't it, to be calling such deeply disturbing words, "The GOOD NEWS of our Lord"?      Or perhaps you weren't really listening... so hear the words again... spoken by the same Jesus we call "the Prince of Peace"...     I HAVE COME TO CAST FIRE UPON THE EARTH...DO YOU    THINK THAT I HAVE COME TO GIVE PEACE ON EARTH?    NO, I TELL YOU, BUT RATHER DIVISION...EVEN WITHIN    HOUSEHOLDS...FAMILIES... The hard truth, the seeming harshness of these words, takes the breath away...sets our teeth on edge...makes us cross our arms and lean back, prepared to reject whatever comes next, doe

   I have tried to refrain from making political posts throughout this election season, not wanting to add to the already-contentious and vitriolic miasma swirling through our nation. I had admittedly re-posted published columns which reflect my views, but I have mostly kept my thoughts and comments t o myself.     But the latest accusations spewing forth from the mouth of Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, have gone beyond the pale, and I can remain silent no longer. Trump has accused President Obama and Democratic presidential candidate Clinton of  co-founding ISIS. Shall I repeat? Donald Trump, at a rally in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, has accused President Barack Obama and former Senator, former Secretary of State Hilary Clinton of being the co-founders of ISIS. And though the story has been reported here and there, I have seen or heard no one in the media taking Mr. Trump to task for these incendiary and slanderous statements. Apparently, it was not enou

Back in May of 1996, I attended a conference in Greensboro to discuss racial relations, the ways in which people, black and white, relate- or don't relate- to one another, and how this could be improved. I do not recall the name of the church which hosted this all-day meeting, but I do recall very well some of the feelings I had, both during and afterward, as I listened to the voices of some very angry black sisters and brothers talking about the special problems faced by those in the black community which we white people never face. At one point, late in the afternoon, I went to the micro- phone to share my frustration with the assembly, saying- haltingly and with deep emotion- "I don't know what it is like to be black, but I hope you will believe that I am trying to understand, trying to be part of a solution, trying to be part of building a better community for all of us"...or something like that. The exact words elude me all these years later, but

Preached at Nazareth Lutheran Church July 31     As I thought and prayed this week about what I would say to you this Sunday morning, my last Sunday morning with you, my mind was filled with so many things, so many images, so many remembrances that I will carry with me as I take my leave from you. I think I will remember most the funerals: four in these last three years- Cody Nelson, Paul Newsome, Sara Anderson, and Sabrina Suarez. Each one as totally unique as were the four saints for whom they were held. Each one touching my heart in a deep and special way. Each one leaving a lasting impact on my heart and life and spirit. Why funerals? you might ask. Because they draw me near to the One who comforts, the One in whom I must place my trust if I am to find the words to say to comfort and bring some sense of peace to family and friends. Because they remind me of my own finiteness and mortality and lack of control in the affairs of this life. These fou