“You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last…” (John 15:16a)

Today we celebrate in the church year the feast of St. Matthias The Apostle.  Matthias was elected as the replacement for Judas.  Acts 1:15-26 gives the account of the choosing of Matthias who was one of the very first followers of Jesus.  Matthias was a believer from the very start of Jesus’ ministry.  He was with Jesus at his baptism by John in the Jordan all of the way through until Jesus ascended into heaven.

Very little is known about Matthias; in fact he doesn’t appear in any of the gospels…or any place else in the rest of the New Testament.  We have only fragmented stories about his travels, and we’re not certain of how or where he died or even where he is buried.  We cannot account fully for this replacement Apostle.  But, what we do know is that he was a witness to the life and teachings of Jesus…as Peter describes it in Acts: “all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us.” (Acts 1:21)  And we know that those who were assembled believed Matthias to be worthy enough to join the original eleven who were chosen by Jesus.  He was elected to serve as a witness, an ambassador, a teacher, a healer, and  a preacher of the Good News of God in Christ.

In the gospel passage for today, Jesus is instructing his disciples to “bear fruit, fruit that will last.” (John 15:16a)  As the followers of Christ in this day and age we are also to strive to bring forth this imperishable fruit from within us.  But what does that really mean?  How do we bear fruit that will last?  I’m not talking about varnishing gummy bears.  No, my hunch is that for each of those who follow Christ their bearing, “fruit that will last,” will vary somewhat from person to person.  Some will produce, perhaps, very public “fruit,” while others may produce fruit that no one sees, but it permanent and lasting all the same.  However,  in ways both great and small, bearing, “fruit that will last,” will have as central two key ingredients: faith and love.  These two main ingredients of our religion are the foundations of our faith in Christ.

Further, whatever fruit we bear that will last will, by it’s very nature, leave us the bearers changed somehow for the experience, as often a brush with the divine seems to do.

As we enter into this season of Lent which demands of us, “self-examination and repentance and; prayer, fasting, and self-denial,” and, “reading and meditating on God’s Holy Word,” (BCP 265) I pray that we will find those moments in our lives where we have acted or been acted upon in love and with faith.  I hope and pray that we can, with eyes focused afresh, pay close attention to the moments when we are the bearers of that fruit of faith and of love.

Yours in Christ,

“They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.” – Genesis 3:8 The account in Genesis tells us that, although the Lord God had provided everything that the first family needed, and had given them only one restriction, “of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die”, they gave in to the urgings of a crafty serpent, and ate the fruit of the forbidden tree. Later, in their shame, they covered themselves and hid from the Lord God.

How shameful and prophetic it is that rainforests around the world, the biblical model of harmony and mutual interdependence, are disappearing. First, humans ate the fruit of the tree that they were forbidden to eat and next, we destroy the trees. Rainforests once covered 14% of the earth’s land surface; now they cover a mere 6% and experts estimate that the last remaining rainforests could be consumed in less than 40 years. The land is being cleared so we can have mahogany hardwoods and fresh produce all year round. Experts agree that by leaving the rainforests intact and harvesting its many nuts, fruits, oil-producing plants, and medicinal plants, the rainforest has more economic value than if they were cut down to make grazing land for cattle or for timber. More than 20 percent of the world’s oxygen is produced in the Amazon Rainforest. Let us be more mindful of taking or asking for things we think we need that may destroy our environment and our relationship with God. For more information on rainforests visit http://www.rain-tree.com/facts.htm

“For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us, Accept our repentance, Lord. ” Ash Wednesday Litany of Penitence, BCP p. 268

Peace, Carol

At home, the observance was not Ash Wednesday, but Dirt Wednesday, for which the rite is apparently to remove several cups of dirt from one of the potted plants and strew it on the rug, the furniture, the sofa, and the book your owner was trying to read. Even as I stared in horror and ran for the vacuum cleaner, even as I tried to scold the dogs, one thought kept running through my mind: “This must have been a whole lot of fun at the time.”

Some time from now, I hope many, many years from now, my dogs will be only memories. And when I think back on them, it is things like this I will treasure: the funny, unpredictable things, the times they made a complete mess, the times they made me laugh even in my frustration, the times of unexpected joy. Seen in the light of today, a filthy sofa and destroyed plant are damage uncalled for. But after a day of remembering our mortality, these dogs will get off easy, for I see not the broken rules, but the love I will not have forever.

Perhaps that is how our sins look, seen in the eyes of God. Oh, not the major ones — not murder, not hatred, not unfeeling arrogance. But all the little flaws that make up our days: careless moments, words of love unspoken, kindness not shown. Perhaps when God looks at us, what God sees is that God loves us, and that we will not be here forever. Perhaps what God wants above all is to spend time together while we can.

Perhaps this is wellspring of mercy, God’s mercy and ours. On Ash Wednesday, we remember that we will not have forever. Not here. Not with these people.

We could try to live as if we believed it.

If we do that, we will have forever. Not here, but by the grace of God. And all of it will turn out to be gift. All of it.

Psalm 51 is part of the liturgy for Ash Wednesday (tomorrow, February 22), and members of the Alban Singers will sing Allegri’s piece during the 6:00 pm service that day.  A recording by the Tallis Scholars is linked below and I hope you can take a few minutes from your day to hear a work of such beauty  that surely God cannot be doubted.  While we have neither the acoustics of a cathedral, nor the sound of the Tallis Scholars here at St. Alban’s, I suggest that hearing a live performance in the context of the Ash Wednesday service, is a moving experience unto itself.

This is the kind of music around which legends are created.   Allegri (1582-1652), a singer in the Chapel of Pope Urban VIII, probably composed his most famous work in the 1630’s.  It is believed that it was sung exclusively in the Sistine Chapel, with threat of excommunication for anyone who transcribed the piece and performed it elsewhere.  A very young Mozart is said to have written the piece down after hearing it once in 1770 while visiting Rome, adding luster to his already obvious genius, and he has been credited with making the music available to the rest of the world.   I don’t believe, however, that Mozart was actually excommunicated.  In fact, I think hearing this piece is a sure way to be in communion with God.

“I don’t make the earth revolve around the sun, I didn’t make the many beautiful places on this planet, and I sure as hell didn’t make people choose to be kind when there’s nothing in it for them. So there is something out there far bigger than me, far better than me. I choose to call that something God.  And there have been so many times in my life when things were awful and painful, or when I was feeling very small and mean, and something or someone came along and demonstrated some kindness, some decency.  I see those as blessings, as Grace, as the love of God. I don’t know if this is any help to you, I just feel like an ant or perhaps a microscopic organism trying to describe an elephant.”

The words I came up with are neither great nor beautiful.  They don’t convey anything near the depth or breadth of my knowing, but they were honest, ernest, and what came to me. My friend smiled and thanked me. He said it helped.

I felt blessed.

Annemarie

I would argue that it is God who is in the details, not the devil.  God is in the details of our lives–in those small, simple moments of our lives that seem so inconsequential but that say a lot about our character and even our beliefs.

In April of my senior year of seminary there was one particularly rainy afternoon where I saw an example of God being in the details of a person’s life.  I noticed a staff member of the seminary walking along in the rain.  She was clearly in a hurry, her arms loaded with several file folders.  But, every so often as she walked along she would stop, bend over, pick something up and look like she was tossing an invisible something off to one side or the other.  As I got closer to her I realized what she was doing:  she was throwing earthworms, washed onto the sidewalk and stranded, back into the grass.  I stopped and watched.  She must have tossed over a dozen worms back to safety.  ”I just felt sorry for the little guys,” she said.  She was the patron saint of earthworms.

Another small action that demonstrates, perhaps more publicly, this little bit of God in the details of our lives happens in another unlikely place:  the highway.  How many times have you let someone into the backed up lane in which you are traveling only to have no acknowledgment from the other driver?  No simple wave to say, “thank you.”  It takes less than a second, but it is a little detail that recognizes a kindness another has paid.  God is in the details of our actions and of our lives, my friends.

That small act of kindness and charity is an example of God being in the details of one’s life.  Seeing God in the details of one’s life or in a situation can be transformative.  It is relatively easy to pay attention to God’s presence in the big moments of our lives.  As Christians we need to also pay attention to God’s presence in the small, little moments of our day.  When we are on the lookout for those small moments we become more attuned to the simple fact that God is everywhere in our lives.  And that recognition can be life changing.

As we enter into the season of Lent, where the tradition holds that we give up something that we love, I might suggest taking on a small detail as a Lenten discipline.  Perhaps it is simply seeking out those minute God-moments that we might have otherwise overlooked.  Maybe it is taking on a discipline of giving a small “God-is-in-the-details” moment for another every day.  From small details grow big habits.  And big habits have the potential to inspire and change lives.

In Christ’s name,

Hallelujah is the same word, though with more consonants which imply more bite to the sound (Handel’s Alleluia Chorus?). This word in various forms exists in all three of the Abrahamic traditions, which is a lovely thing to think about at a time when we so often put more effort into finding differences between faith traditions.  The word hallel in Hebrew means joyous praise, to boast in God, or to act madly or foolishly, though Hallelujah is usually simply translated as “Praise Yahweh”.  How unfortunate. Had I been asked, I would have translated it as “Boast Madly in God”.  Was that why I wasn’t consulted?

American composer Randall Thompson may well have known the Hebrew roots of the word Alleluia when he was asked to write a choral fanfare for the opening of the Berkshire Music Center in Massachusetts by the conductor Serge Koussevitzky.  But it was July of 1940 and possibly Thompson felt the country was not in the mood for a fanfare of joyous praise.  Instead he wrote a somewhat somber piece that exhibits a steady strength. The music soars, but not madly or foolishly.   This now very famous and often sung Alleluia might serve as a reminder that joy has many aspects, and that introspection isn’t just for Lent.  Perhaps this music might lead you to an appreciation of those quiet places within you where joy is found and where praise is sung.

Last night, at dinner, my host praised a person we both know, saying, “She is the most cheerful and willing person on earth.” A few minutes later, he added another to the list: “he’s also very cheerful.”

Cheer has been much in my mind these last weeks, as I have been spending time in the mornings with one of Wesley’s great hymns: “Dark and cheerless is the morn, unaccompanied by Thee. Joyless is the day’s return till thy mercy’s beams I see.” Over and over, Scripture commends cheer as a source of strength in adversity, courage in trial, mutual comfort and happiness.

And yet, we don’t talk much about cheer in our culture. When we praise a person, we are much more likely to focus on her accomplishments — a job well done, a degree earned, a marathon completed — or his style — an elegant suit, a graceful entrance, a gift for oratory. We are so focused on what we have achieved and how we present ourselves that our essential disposition rarely comes under conscious scrutiny.

Perhaps this omission happens because we tend to assume that our disposition is beyond our control, that we are born sanguine or morose, jocund or fretful, and there is little we can do about it. In addition, biological factors play a key role. We assume that teenagers will be thorny or that women of a certain age will endure mood swings. It seems somehow unfair to judge people on something they simply cannot alter.

And yet, for much of human history, the formation of a person’s character was a primary focus of eduction, and Scripture shares this view. We cannot control the circumstances of our lives, at least not beyond a certain point, but we can cultivate our selves in order to alter what we bring into those circumstances.  And this work is powerful: Proverbs points out, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones.” (17:22)

It takes attention: attention not only to what we have done in a day, but to who we have been. Have we encouraged others? Have we been gentle with those in adversity? With those who aggravate us? When we have felt fear, have we allowed it to master us, or have we paused to take a deep breath, to remember our God and the goodness of our lives, and found a way to react from courage and from hope?

St. Paul writes of this work in one of my favorite passages,  Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Phil 4:4-8)

Today, this day, think on these things. Amen.

As a child, I was struck by the mystery of the disappearance of the unleavened loaf of bread at Communion and then learning that the congregation was now a loaf of bread, the Body of Christ; we had been united by bread. Christians are like a loaf of bread. We are made of simple ingredients found all over the world, and we come in many different sizes, shapes and colors. We also like to be needed, allowed to rest, and then rise to serve others. One day we will rise again to newness of life.

Remember this brief anonymous poem when you make or serve bread.

“Be careful when you touch bread.                                                                         Let it not lie uncared for, unwanted.
So often bread is taken for granted.
There is so much beauty in bread;
Beauty of sun and soil, beauty of patient toil.
Winds and rain have caressed it, Christ often blessed it.
Be gentle when you serve bread.”

Peace, Carol

In the studio, 1988

A lot of my time is spent with other people.  As much as I can enjoy the company of my fellow man, there are times when the needs and demands of others make me wish for a retreat far from another soul.  There are times when the family of man is just on my last nerve.

I spent the weekend with some friends I have had for 25 years.  Now, that wouldn’t be so unusual except that I hadn’t seen one of them in the past 16. I take it as a great testament to our friendship that, from the time he let out a shout when I stepped onto the porch, until the moment he released me from his embrace and I walked out of the house, it was as if those 16 years had been but moments.  These friends know me so well, and are so willing to take me as I am, that time and distance seem to have no effect.

How blessed I am to have friends who have seen me at my best, my worst, at every point between, and who still welcome me with open arms and hearts.  How very honored I am by their honesty, their care, and their tactful memories.  They remind me to try and see myself as kindly as they see me.

Since I think so highly of them, I do try and see whatever it is they see in me.  And perhaps I can see some of that in the rest of the family.  I could, at least, try.

Annemarie