The Neighbor and The Renter

by Julia Graves

There was a knock at my front door. I was not expecting anyone, so I was curious as to whom it was. As I opened the door there stood two young women. They appeared familiar but I was not sure from where. They knew me by name. They began to tell me how they had just moved their mother, my neighbor, to their home. The cancer she had been diagnosed with this past May had moved into her lungs. She has become very weak and needs assistance getting back and forth to her daily radiation and chemo appointments.

It was five years ago that I met her. Spring vacation, and a beautiful spring day it was. I had just moved into the neighborhood. “The Renter,” they called me, because I was one of the few in a mainly homeowner-occupied neighborhood. She lived across the street and was always in her yard doing something. Mowing, watering, weeding, and while she was doing these things, she would smile and wave at everyone that passed by. There is a saying in our neighborhood, “if you want to know anything about the neighborhood, just go ask her.” It is not because she is a gossip or a snoop. It is because she is unconditionally friendly, she loves everyone. She greets the stranger who passes her yard with a smile and open arms.

This past Sunday as I knelt praying at St. Luke’s, I looked up at the statue of Jesus. Arms open to the world, ready and willing to receive everyone, just as my neighbor does for everyone who passes her yard. I shared this thought with my friend when I went to visit her after church. We embraced each other while sitting on her daughter's sofa. I shared with her my experience at St. Luke's. “That is how I want to be,” she said. “I love everyone.”

May we all learn be to be so welcoming and to love so unconditionally.

The Presence

by Kyle Wiseley

Since pondering the powerful reading from the 40th chapter of Isaiah which was included among last Sunday’s lectionary, I have been focusing on our collectively perceived greatness of God, particularly as articulated by the prophet Isaiah in the fortieth chapter of his book. In it he describes many aspects of the Divine: as warrior God who overcomes his enemies with great power; as a gentle, pastoral God who feeds his sheep like a shepherd and carries the weak in his arms; and as an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-conquering God who completely rules the earth without fear of contradiction.

We frail humans speak so often and so assuredly about God as if we could know God in all God’s myriad aspects. Frequently we speak arrogantly as if we have the answers all figured out and further questioning would be futile. We structure theological principles and church dogma and canon law on the self assurance that we know the REAL answers, that we have found the ultimate Truth, and operate on the principle that from henceforth the institutional church must move forward along only the path that we have discerned with no opportunity for the Spirit to reveal new realities and concepts. From observation and study of past history I find a much more open and humble perception of God and God’s will for humanity and several years ago, after a pilgrimage to holy places in Europe, I expressed it thus:

THE PRESENCE

A lifetime of temples:

Small, wood-framed country churches

And vast stone cathedrals

And far too many artless boxes

Evoking narrowness, judgment and fear;

And one day in Switzerland

Exploring more churches

Than I could ever have thought possible

In such a short excursion,

(All Catholic, for my host and guide

Was a Catholic priest).

But at the last all structure melts

And dogma sinks to silence,

The all-pervading ether

Being the only temple adequate

To embrace the whole of You.

Sacred Storytelling

by Reverend Jennifer Creswell

“What’s your amazing story?” I wish this question were an original of mine, but I suspect it’s not. Still, it’s a good question to ask in community. It’s a question that opens doors into people’s experience,and invites them to share pieces of their life. And that’s a gift. I’ve been at St. Luke’s a year now (and been a priest for three and a half). When people ask me what I like most about my work, I tell them it’s hearing people’s stories, and, even more, being invited into the stories. Stories about birth, stories about death, stories about illness and healing, stories about love, stories about conflict, stories about community.

In a family-size church like St. Luke’s, it only takes a few Sundays of worship services to recognize the people who make up this community. A few more Sundays, and you’ll know most of their names. But stories, stories take longer to learn. We don’t all wear our stories on our sleeves. For some of us, sharing our story is an act of generosity. It’s something we offer, in faith, to people we love.

As people of a Book, people who understand God, in one form, as Word, stories are an important part of our faith tradition. We read the stories in the Bible and we look for the places where the stories intersect with our stories. We look for places where we can read ourselves into the sacred text, and places where the text interprets our own lives.

In weekly lectionary groups, and in occasional interactive sermons (like the one we had last week), we are encouraged, as a community, to share stories with each other. Nothing invites us into someone else’s life and reality like hearing a piece of their story. How can we judge another person’s life when we hear it as part of their sacred story? How can we not love the person who lays herself bare in telling us her experiences? Sharing stories builds community. Sharing stories also heals.

Be on the lookout for more ways to share your story, and listen to other stories, at St. Luke’s: in vestry spiritual time, in lectionary groups (Mondays 9:15, Wednesdays 5:30), in interactive sermons, in Lenten dinner groups.

Here’s to the story: the story we are telling, and living, together.