Let Us Begin Again

Let us begin again, again,
not from the beginning,
but with beginnings
and chapters and episodes
and passages in mind,
at heart.

Let us begin again
with losses in mind--
heartbreaks, failures, griefs--
bearing being-healed scars
that shape us even as we
step ever forward. 

Let us begin again
with satisfying graces at heart--
joys, experiences, love--
bearing gratitude and laughter
that season our outlook
in the face of uncertainties.

Let us live today
present to this moment
and at once mindful of all
that has come before--
whatever has brought us
to this hour, this passage,
this crux in our journey.

Let us begin again
in hope.

A Prayer for the Season of Easter

by Wilfred L. Winget

O Mighty, Holy Breath of God
On this glorious Day of Resurrection

Blow open all the shutters of our minds
bursting the barriers of
prejudice and pride
insensitivity and sloth
ignorance and fear
stretching wide our vision of
what you are doing
where you are working
in our fascinating
exasperating world.

Blow wide the doors of our hearts
impelling us outward to
the lonely and loveless
the angry and hopeless
the empty and faithless
as ready instruments
of your Grace.

Blow up our lungs to keep us shouting
Yes to Faith in the face of fear
Yes to Hope in defiance of despair
Yes to Love in spite of apathy
Yes to Life in the teeth of death

Through Christ, the Living One,
Our Lord.
Amen


This poem/prayer was given me by Morris Weigelt, Ph.D., who taught New Testament at Nazarene Theological Seminary. Wil Winget was his brother-in-law. Wil taught at Spring Arbor University and died a painful death after a long bout with cancer. This poem was written amid that portion of his life's journey.

I have posted this poem most Easters for over 23 years.

May this prayer be answered in and through each of us.

Good Friday

Love held him there.

Not obligation. 

Not calculation.

Not fulfillment.

Not satisfaction.

Not substitution.

Not contract.

Not blood sacrifice.

Not justice.

Not evil.

Not promises.

Not quid pro quo.

Not impotence.

Not toughness.

Not foolishness.

Not defiance.

Not will.

Not exhaustion.

Not resignation.

Just love.

Love held him there.

Washing Another's Feet

"AS I HAVE DONE FOR YOU"

Off and on over the years, I participated in the Maundy Thursday liturgy at St. John the Baptist Episcopal Church in Breckenridge, Colorado (we were there to ski and snowboard during Spring Break--nothing pointedly spiritual about it.)

Typically, the little church was half full and it was likely a quarter of us were out-of-towners. No matter.

Not used to the turnings, responses and readings of formal liturgy from The Common Book of Prayer, I would fumble my way through the service.

The part to which I felt particularly connected was the foot washing. The liturgy invites us to do for another what Jesus did for his disciples that night of their last meal together. After the pastoral team's example, we would be invited to wash each other's feet at the front of the sanctuary.

During the foot washing, the congregation sings:

Brother, sister, let me serve you,
Let me be as Christ to you;
Pray that I might have the grace to
Let you be my servant, too.

We are pilgrims on the journey,
We're companions on the road.
We are here to help each other
Walk the mile and share the load.

I will hold the Christ-light for you
In the nighttime of your fear.
I will hold my hand out to you,
Speak the peace you long to hear.

HOMELESS NEIGHBORS' FEET

The radical humiliation of washing another's feet first struck me in 1989, when a nurse asked me to help with the foot soaks and foot massages she weekly offered the homeless men who visited Horizon House--a day service center for homeless neighbors in Indianapolis. I initially volunteered to assist, but when the hour came, I found myself strangely resistant and made excuses not to be available to wash their feet.

The next week, Nurse Anne wouldn't let me off the hook. I found myself kneeling before the dirty, gnarly, swollen, smelly feet of a homeless man. Still resistant, but yielded, I gave myself to the task, pushing inner protests aside. One after another, I washed and massaged feet until there were no more feet to wash. I felt relieved and released and somehow strangely at peace. From that point on, I have always viewed people without homes as neighbors, recognizing and accepting my connection, complicity, and challenge in their condition.

LEADING PARADIGM

During my 2,000-mile bicycle ride through India in 2007, we were honored in Bangalore/Bengaluru  washing. The Free Methodist Bishops of India knelt down and washed each cyclist's feet in front of all their pastors, parishioners, and non-christian friends and community members who gathered to welcome us to that city. We, in turn, washed their feet. Knowing the strong sense of caste and social role that pervade the various Indian cultures, I can only begin to imagine the radical--even offensive--action of a leader washing anyone's feet. But this is likely close to the context of Jesus' action on what we now call Maundy Thursday. He is the servant leader and this is the primary image for Christian leadership. The towel and basin stands alongside the cross. Those who dismiss or stray from this central paradigm mislead.

IT'S NOT ABOUT THE FEET

I have not fully identified the points of my resistance to wash either the feet of homeless neighbors in a homeless center or the feet of a friend in a Holy Week foot-washing liturgy. I'm not nearly as interested in analyzing my resistance as in simply recognizing it and overcoming it. It's really not about foot washing, anyway. It's about doing the necessary, menial, and helpful things for one another without reference to "who's who," social role, or fear. I want to continue to move in that direction in my life, breaking resistances and hesitancies and excuses with helpful actions for whomever they are needed.

Gifts of Winter

 Parker J. Palmer says winters will drive you crazy until you learn to get out into them. 

I've been going back over Parker J. Palmer's little book, Let Your Life Speak. It's about vocation and calling. I don't know how many copies I've given away. I gave the copy I was currently reading to a wait staff at a cafe recently after she inquired about it—its title and content seemed to speak to her. It's that kind of book.  

As I took a long bicycle ride north of Indianapolis over the weekend, I remembered something of this fuller quote. I'm grateful to Parker for sharing his own story and offering insights like what follows.  They help me in small and large ways.  Maybe they'll speak to you, too.

WINTER GIFTS.  “Winter in the Upper Midwest is a demanding season—and not everyone appreciates the discipline.  It is a season when death’s victory can seem supreme: few creatures stir, plants do not visibly grow, and nature feels like our enemy.  And yet the rigors of winter, like the diminishments of autumn, are accompanied by amazing gifts.”

DEEP REST.  “One gift is beauty.  I am not sure that any sight or sound on earth is as exquisite as the hushed descent of a sky full of snow.  Another gift is the reminder that times of dormancy and deep rest are essential to all living things.”

UTTER CLARITY.  “But for me, winter has an even greater gift to give.  It is the gift of utter clarity.  In winter, one can walk into the woods that had been opaque with summer growth only a few months earlier and see the trees clearly, singly and together, and see the ground they are rooted in.  Winter clears the landscape, however brutally, giving us a chance to see ourselves and each other more clearly, to see the very ground of our being.”

GET OUT MORE.  “Our outward winters take many forms—failure, betrayal, depression, death.  But every one of them…yields to the same advice: ‘The winters will drive you crazy until you learn to get out into them.’  Until we enter boldly into the fears we most want to avoid, those fears will dominate our lives.”

TRUSTWORTHY.  “But when we walk directly into them—protected from frostbite by the warm garb of friendship and inner discipline or spiritual guidance—we can learn what they have to teach us.  Then we discover once again that the cycle of the seasons is trustworthy and life-giving, even in the most dismaying season of all.”

From Let Your Life Speak by Parker Palmer, Jossey-Bass, 2000.

New Year Resolutions: The Beatitudes?

 They may not qualify as resolutions, but the Beatitudes invite us to radical living in a New Year

Thinking about New Year resolutions, I somehow leap to the Beatitudes, that list of eight striking "blessings" or "attitudes" (or whatever they are) that Matthew 5:1-12 attributes to Jesus in what is called the Sermon the Mount.

I mull over whether or not the Beatitudes qualify as resolutions. I don't think they do, per se, but the New Year certainly offers an opportunity to consider embracing their challenges as an invitation to radical living.

Here are the Beatitudes:

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

A few reflections as I think about the Beatitudes in light of New Year resolutions:

1. They go to the heart of what Jesus said and lived.

2. A Beatitude seems likely to be considered a "blessing" only when we have lived through the tough circumstances to which it is a gracious response.  When we respond in Beatitude responses, we will know we have embraced them.

3. The Beatitudes are radical. They connect to the deepest human passions and life circumstances. They point to gut-wrenching realities of life: poverty and emptiness, loss and grieving, powerlessness and social contempt, spiritual hunger and yearning for right to prevail (justice), seeing needy persons being treated unjustly and neglected, bitter division and violence, religious persecution, insults, gossip, and false accusations.  It seems to me that only grace can conceive of and make possible the radical outlook and actions described in the Beatitudes.

4. It is typical to learn the Beatitudes—to have memorized them and be able to quote them. This is often as far as it goes in Christian catechism or Sunday School. But, like the Ten Commandments or the Lord’s Prayer, familiarity does not mean we understand them or joyfully cultivate them as a heart and life orientation. Compliant and eager to be an ideal Christian as I was as a child, I remember questioning the practical expression of most of the Beatitudes. It was easier to just recite them and keep them as stained glass phrases. As I have continued to revisit them, my understanding and appreciation has increased, but they are no less challenging five decades later. 

5. The Beatitudes run counter to American machismo and status quo. They unsettle presumptions of consumer Christianity. On the surface, the Beatitudes seem to be a set-up for certain failure in a society that apparently rewards rugged individualism, conformity to sameness, upward mobility, the appearance of mental or physical toughness, and a thoroughly materialistic and self-indulging orientation to value and action. Dig deeper in the Beatitudes and it gets increasingly difficult to straddle kingdoms. What emerges is that Jesus actually declares people blessed whom Western civilization has over two millennia come to despise or disparage. Jesus’ life in word and action is, in one way or another, verification that his is an upside down kingdom, an invitation to downward mobility, and an lifting up of all who sorrow, who are relegated to the margins.

6. Finally, the Beatitudes call for what Brennan Manning called “ruthless trust.” Because the blessedness or results described in the Beatitudes seem so far-fetched or distant, they call for ruthless trust in the invitation, worldview, Kingdom order, and certain future Jesus describes. As Manning puts it: “Faith in the person of Jesus and hope in his promise means that his voice, echoing and alive in the Gospels, has supreme and sovereign authority over our lives.” Does it get any more radical than that?

It seems appropriate to consider the Beatitudes on the first day of the New Year. While we wish each other a Happy New Year, we might do better to offer each other a prayer for Beatitude grace. May we exercise the ruthless trust to see them come to fruition in our hearts, lives, and world.

John Franklin Hay

Last to Arrive?

 Shall we take our place among the unlikely visitors at a stable in Bethlehem?

At the end of the Christmas season and on Epiphany (January 6 marks the visit of the Magi and Light to all people), I think about the continuing, unusual draw of unlikely people to an unlikely place in the heart—Bethlehem—and I offer the following poem:

First, census-compelled throngs

swell the local populace,

burgeoning homes and hostels

with not-so-welcome guests.

Then, a man and pregnant young woman

arrive, seeking vainly for a room.

Bedding down in a stable,

their boy is born among livestock.

Later in the night, gnarled shepherds

traipse in, finding their way

to the mangered newborn,

just as an angel had told them.

How much later we do not know, Magi

come with gracious gifts,

following a star that draws them

from beyond any traceable map.

And later still, from the four corners

of earth and time, we make our trek.

Are we the last to arrive

at the gathering in Bethlehem?

Years from now, until the end of ages,

more will be drawn and find the One

whose birth angels once proclaimed

and so shall forevermore.