At Home

It is Saturday, the day after Christmas 2015, and it is raining, dreary and grey.

So it is that I am at home . . . in my Church Office, preparing for tomorrow's worship services - and I am grateful to be here. Truth be told, I am glad to be so at home in the worship and fellowship facilities of St. Paul UCC, Lebanon . . . I'm feeling the need to be at home in God today.

Earlier in the day I drove to the hospital and spoke with a person who is really struggling with illness and a chronic debilitating condition. Throughout this day my heart has been in constant prayer for friends who are deep in the journey of grief and healing. A few moments ago, I received word from another that a diagnosis had just been received in their life and it was not what they were hoping to hear. For such as these the Gift of Bethlehem comes.

I would invite you to continue the Christmas festivities and gather with me in the pleasure and need of talking with God concerning the world in which we live and our sisters and brothers who are longing for understandable, believable, Spirit-filled answers . . . Will you join me?

Will you join me in Christmas Grace by being gracious to others?

Will you join me in Christmas Joy by sharing joy with others?

Will you join me in Christmas Abundance by giving of yourself for others?

Will you join me in Christmas Healing by sitting with and caring for others?

Will you join me in Christmas Comfort by gathering the uncomfortable into you and your home?

Will you join me in Christmas Love by seeing in others that for which you pray God sees in you?

Will you join me in Christmas Rejoicing by welcoming the opportunity to tell the Story?

Will you join me in Christmas . . . in the Home of God's own heart by praying for others as Christ does for you?

Will you join me in God's Home . . . in the sacred space of family gathered, in community shared, in the quiet of prayer and the raucous wonder of hymns?

Will you join me in God's Home in this day . . . just for the sheer gift of being present with the One who, in Jesus, is Present for you?

The Gospel text for services tomorrow is the story of the 12 year old Jesus lingering in the Temple and saying to his parents, who had thought they had lost him, "Didn't you know that it was necessary for me to be in my Father's house?" 

As it is for Jesus, may it be so for us all. Come, be at Home in God wherever you are, for God has come to be at home, through Jesus, in you.

Blessings in this Christmas Season!

Thoughts on the Farmers Among Us

Driving through the country on my way to a hospital this afternoon, the mounting heat combined with the ongoing dry conditions in our region left me feeling really worried for the farmers. The corn is starting to whorl and the beans are looking a sickly lime green. Dust-devils spin their way through acres of field and pastures, giving the sky the tannish-hue of baby poop. The birds are perched in shaded protection, leaving only the occasional Turkey Vulture to scout the roads for a wayside buffet. Livestock are seeking out the remaining mud puddles of winding creeks and watering trough overflows. Even the barnyard dogs have left their watchful positions, seeking the cool earth underneath hibiscus plants and grape arbors.

It is a worrisome time for those who have invested so much to feed so many and, despite the very best of varieties and tillage practices, still find their gaze lingering on the sun drenched skies, piercing the blue for the prayer of a cloud bank. It is as if a faucet has been turned off. Those who have never farmed will never fully understand the intimate connectedness of a farmer's hand with that of God in tending to all of God's creation and, for those who deny either the connectedness or God . . . . well, they are denying even their own existence for wont of the 'logical' explanation.

The farmers I know are the true high priests of the faith, for they are constantly on bended knee before the One who calls them to labor mightily for the sake of the other. Theirs are the hands that feel the soil and know its worth, whether in need or in abundance. Theirs are the eyes that can scan the earth and see the vision of Eden proclaimed before them. Theirs are the ears which hear the most ancient of Voices call them to labor in the fields which were long before them and will survive long after them. Theirs are the taste buds which savor the wonder of a sprig of alfalfa in the same way they marvel at the first of tomatoes, the sweetness of new potatoes, and the humbling awe of grape jelly made from the sweat of their brow. Theirs is the sense of smell which can discern the ripeness of wheat, the warmth of the soil, the nearness of rain, and the majesty of country lilacs . . . all without having to take a step off the front porch of their home.

Farmers are the ones among us who should be the honored guests in every home, yet are most likely to be among the lowly who enter from the back door and settle at a seat in the kitchen, a glass of water or a cup of coffee their only request. Farmers rise with the emerging sun to meet the pressing need and are often found lingering on the smallest of chores long after the moon has claimed its spot in the sky. Farmers speak the liturgy of Body and Blood in the birthing of calves, their care for foaling, and their attention to lambing. Farmers baptize in water and Spirit all that is holy in the presence of God as they nurture the tenderest of shoots with the same passion and conviction as given to the tallest of trees and the broadest of fields. With sweat marked caps and grease spotted shirts and pants, farmers take on the yoke of Eternal Ordination unlike any the Church could ever know, for they are called and equipped for the highest of service in the feeding of God's children and the care of God's creation. No priestly stole is necessary, for the simple folded hands of a farmer in prayer are sign and seal to all who would observe that these are a special people in the sight of the One who sets them apart for service.

I have no doubt in these driest of days, God hears the voice of the farmers and will tend to their cries. There is a balm in Gilead and we, who so depend upon the faithfulness and labors of farmers, would do well to pray for them and with them in equal measure. The Service of Word and Sacrament begun in the Spring moves steadily towards the Benediction of Winter's lingering response. God bless us, everyone, in this life of worship, but especially the farmer, God's truly chosen and appointed servant.