Degrees of Separation

by Julia Graves

I get forwarded mails from some people. It is not that I don’t enjoy an interesting or funny email from time to time. I have also been known to forward one I find worthy of sharing. I do try to add a short caption to the addressee saying “thought you would enjoy this” or something along that line. So I am saying hello too rather than just adding their name to a list and forwarding. It feels more personal to me.

The thing is, this is only way I hear from these people. They never say hello or ask how I am doing. Just press the forward button after adding my email address to the email. They must need to forward it to ten people or more people to make their quota.

I have started looking at the email addresses of other people on the forwarded email. Many of them I know through groups I have belonged to. Again most of them I no longer hear from since I no longer am involved with that group. It makes me feel good to know they are well enough to be receiving email.

The other day I received an exceptional email. One I felt was worthy of forwarding. I added my “this is really cool, thought you would enjoy it” and sent it to several people I thought would appreciate its message.

The next day I received a forwarded email from my mother. The original email was from my Aunt who lives up on the Sound in Washington State. Apparently, my Mother had forwarded her the email. She had read the addresses from my email and wanted to know how I knew a certain individual. It seams my Aunt and Uncle have know this person and their parents for years.

The person on the email is a couple I met over two years ago here at St Luke’s. I started thinking about degrees of separation. If I know these people, and my Aunt and Uncle know these people, is it one degree of separation?

Then I started thinking of what I think of this couple. They made an impression on my Aunt and Uncle. To me, they are without a doubt the nicest people I have ever met. They live a truly Christian life. Walk the walk, not just talk the talk. In a return email to my Aunt I even said they should be Sainted.

This made me begin to wonder how people perceive me and my actions. Through technology word travels fast. Word of mouth travels fast. What do my actions tell others? Am I spreading the word of Christ through my actions? Or am I just talking and not walking?

It is the season of Lent and a time of reflection. May we use this time of Lent to reflect on our lives, make adjustment, and used this time on earth to emulate God.

For God So Loved the World...

by Ian Doescher

Today’s readings included (among other things) the famous John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” As I reflected on this passage, trying to hear it with fresh ears, I realized that the opening part of the sentence, “For God so loved the world,” is almost perfect in itself. We can stop there, assured of God’s incredible love for the world. I’m reminded of a friend of mine who once had the following pre-bedtime conversation with her six year old son:

Son: I love you, Mama.

Mother: I love you too.

Son: But I only love you most of the time.

Mother: Well, I love you *all* of the time.

Son: Really, you love me all of the time?

Mother: Yes, I do.

Son: That’s AMAZING.

God’s love is like that, amazing. “For God so loved the world.” But the other thing I realized is that almost any good news you can possibly think of can come after that statement. “For God so loved the world that my husband’s cancer has gone into remission.” “For God so loved the world that my six-month-old daughter just got her first tooth.” “For God so loved the world that two warring nations have come together in peace.”

Yesterday, I found out that a dear friend’s brother, whose name is Owen, has just been released from the hospital. Owen has been battling necrotizing fasciitis, better known as flesh-eating bacteria, but was able to overcome the disease and is now leaving the hospital, on his way home where the hard work of recovery and physical therapy will begin. But his life is no longer in danger.

Two and a half years ago, we watched as Reverend Jennifer’s mother Sarah died--at age 51--after having contracted necrotizing fasciitis. It is a form of God’s unexpected yet grace-filled healing to see this my friend’s brother Owen have a different outcome.

“For God so loved the world that we remember Sarah with joy.”

“For God so loved the world that Owen is leaving the hospital.”

“For God so loved the world...”

Waiting

by Kyle Wiseley

Writing is usually quite easy for me. I love words, experimenting on how they can be strung together as building blocks to develop an idea or state a position. There are wonderful modifiers that can beautify a sentence and make it sing. Inspiration can come from so many places that I usually find something that I can write about enthusiastically.

Well, not this time. It’s been a bummer of a week. In addition to not feeling very well and dealing with my ongoing medical problems, there has been some strain on an old friendship that will take some heart work to release and repair – work that I feel that presently I have neither the physical nor spiritual strength to perform. So, what to do? The only thing I can think of is to wait – wait with my mind and my spirit open for one of those moments when whatever spiritual guardians we have that surround us finally inspires some word or action that will start the healing process.

Waiting is difficult. One wants to be up and about, getting on with life, working plans, achieving goals and just “getting on with it” in general. But there seem to be times when we just need to sit quietly and wait until the fog lifts, the path clears, and the way forward is once again obvious.

As the forty days of Lent is a time of waiting and preparation for the re-enactment of the Salvation story, so may our personal seasons of waiting and purification prepare us to eventually press on in our individual ministries with confidence and clarity.

Blessed be.

The Lent Candles

by Ian Doescher

In worship recently, you may have noticed nine white pillar candles on the front of the altar All nine are lit at the start of the services, and if you’ve been watching carefully, each week one more is extinguished. On Ash Wednesday one was extinguished after the service, on the first Sunday of Advent two were extinguished, today three were extinguished, and so on.

There are nine Lenten services celebrated at St. Luke’s throughout Lent: six Sundays, Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. The nine candles were something Reverend Jennifer borrowed from a ministerial colleague for this Lent -- a further way of adding significance to the season of Lent, as slowly the Light of the World is extinguished until, on Good Friday, it is snubbed out entirely as we remember Jesus’ crucifixion.

Lent is a time full of significant liturgical acts. We put away our “Hallelujahs,” we adorn the sanctuary in dramatic and bold purple, we put rocks representing the darkest parts of us into a bowl at the start of the service and pour water over them at the absolution, and now we light nine candles and slowly extinguish them throughout Lent. Some of these traditions are ancient, some are brand new this year. Hopefully, all of them guide us into a deeper and more profound experience of the crucified and risen Christ during this season of penitence and reflection.

Lenten Canticle

by Judy Bevilacqua

A few Sundays ago, in those hushed and expectant moments right before the service begins, I found myself weighed down, fighting a numbing sadness that has accompanied a recent transition in my life. As I sat there, rather vacantly, I became aware that a gentle wave of consolation was sweeping over me -- an intimate sense of commiseration. It took a minute, but I finally realized that the source of my solace was coming from music. Bill, our organist was playing an organ prelude.

I felt a bit like the mentally disturbed Saul being ministered to by David’s harp. How was it that these sounds could find their way deep into my sad cells? It wasn’t exactly peace that I felt, rather some deep intimate companionship. Some sense of being known and understood.

Listening, I realized the hymn was full of notes both minor and major, of tension and resolve, dissonance and resolution, joy and pain, light and shadow... just like real life. Like MY life right now, I thought. And yet, these musical intervals were understood, yes, even designed by God... invisible sound waves, vibrating with His spirit right to my spirit! With no effort on my part, I was able to receive God’s commiseration at that moment. I could hear St. Paul’s words: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin.” Hebrews 4:15. This is a verse I will carry into the Lenten season.

Later, I asked Bill to tell me about the piece he had played. It turned out to hold a significant place in his life too. It was written by Fr. Christopher Uehlein, a monk at Blue Cloud Abbey in Marvin, South Dakota. Bill had the honor of meeting with him at the abbey 6 years ago, and, in a private concert, heard this piece for the first time. The piece is called Cantabile, which is an adjective describing the music as smooth, flowing, melodious,….SINGING!

Of course! It all made sense. God, the Father, was simply singing over His daughter at church! Comforting, quieting her with His love. O, what wondrous love is this!

In the numbness of your need, the weariness of your weakness, may you hear Him singing over you -- through the barren-beauty of your Lenten Journey.

The LORD your God is with you,

He is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you,

He will quiet you with his love,

He will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17