Peace

by Kyle Wiseley

One of the blessings of this summer for me has been the development of our community garden. The raised beds are well-constructed and pleasing to the eye. Rich, dark soil has been added. Although we got a late start, things are growing rapidly and everything looks particularly hardy and healthy. Since the garden is literally right outside my door I have taken on the responsibility of watering it daily. I usually wait until the sun has slipped behind the tall trees over by Towle Avenue and the air is starting to cool. Usually there is a breeze. I find something spiritually nourishing in the task. Not only am I performing a service for some of the other participants so they don’t have to come daily to water their plots, but I also get to develop an individual relationship with the plants themselves. Because they are growing so rapidly, they each take on distinctly unique characteristics. It is almost as if each has its own personality and is consciously striving to live out its purpose. I find in the environment an atmosphere of deep peace and a sense of the presence of our common Creator.

This feeling extends to the Labyrinth Garden as well, where I frequently go and sit for a few minutes after my watering chores are finished. There also is the feeling of purposeful growth, and although there are noises of traffic and neighboring households in the background, the sense of the peaceful presence of a loving Creator is the primary feeling as I sit and meditate or just simply soak up the beauty of the place.

A number of our members are expending much time and effort in maintain the Labyrinth Garden and because I live within sight of it I notice it being used by others from the neighborhood.

I am gratified that our congregation has been instrumental in providing such a place to share with the wider community. In the frenetic chaos that makes up so much of our contemporary culture, it is wonderful to find such a spiritual oasis. I invite you to come and share in its blessings.

Got Gifts?

by Julia Graves

Ever sit outside and just listen to the sounds around you? Ever sit outside and just smell the air? Ever sit outside and just feel the breeze? Ever sit outside in the grass under a tree and marvel at nature? Ever sit outside and watch insects crawling on the ground? Ever sit outside and watch birds in flight? Ever stand outside and look up and feel the rain on your face or catch a snow flake on your tongue?

When my life becomes too complicated, I take a “God Break”. I consider it a coffee break for the soul. I go outside and sit quietly and observe my surrounding by listening, smelling, feeling, watching. God has given us a beautiful garden to live in filled with fascinating and intricate gifts to enjoy.

Often we fill our lives so full that we don’t allow time to sit quietly and enjoy these simple pleasures. I find when I allow myself the indulgence of these quite moments, I am able to reflect on the wonderful gifts God has given me: family, friends, strangers, life. It is truly a miraculous place where we live.

Thank you God!

About Twelve

by Ian Doescher

During a preaching class in seminary, I was introduced to Fred Craddock, a preaching professor, long-time pastor and author who is a wizard of storytelling in his sermons. His book, Craddock Stories, arrived for me in the mail a few days ago, and I’ve just finished reading through it. Here is one of his stories:

I remember one night, sitting in a little rural church on a Sunday night. It was a summer meeting, so it was hot, and the window was open beside my pew. The minister was preaching on his favorite text, “Be not the first by whom the new is tried, because a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and it’s better to be safe than sorry, because fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

I was listening to him drone away when a man came by the church building and stopped by the window and said, “Psst, psst.”

I said, “What is it? I’m listening to the sermon.”

He said, “Come with me.”

I said, “Where are you going?”

He said, “I know where there is a pearl of great price that’s more valuable than all the other pearls in the world.”

I said, “There’s no such thing.”

He said, “In fact, where I’m going, there is treasure buried in a field.”

I said, “You’re kidding!”

He said, “Where I’m going, bums are invited to sit down at the king’s table.”

I said, “That’s ridiculous.”

He said, “In fact, they give great big parties for prodigals who come home.”

I said, “That’s stupid.” Well, I listened to the rest of the sermon and after it was over, I told the preacher about how I was disturbed and that I hoped it didn’t upset him during the sermon.

He said, “Who was that?”

I said, “I don’t know. Telling me all this fancy stuff.”

He said, “Well, was he getting anybody?”

And I said, “Well, none of our crowd went, but I noticed he had about twelve with him.”

Thank God for the prophets in our midst who push us, as the church, to be better, to do better, who help us to ask: what if church really were like that?

Found Out

by Kathy Douglass

I ate some raw Tollhouse cookie dough a few weekends ago.

I'd been craving something doughy, something chocolaty, something not listed on my weight-loss food-plan, so as I was picking up my groceries, I tossed a packet of cookie dough in the basket. I ate a few squares of the good stuff while I baked the rest. A few days later, the ecoli-related recall was announced, and, after checking my belly for gurgling, said to myself: “Kathryn Douglass. Be sure your sins will find you out.” (Numbers 32:23)

That's was the voice of my Grandpa Owen in my head.

He was a Conservative Baptist minister for 70 years. He was one of the most loving and tender men I have ever known, generous with hugs and kisses, nicknames and compliments. And yet, he could thump the Bible with the best of them, and I was on the receiving end of some of that thumping for a good part of my childhood. I was warned not to smoke or dance or chew or go with boys who do, warned not to do any of those things that those that were doing them, were, well, doing. I was never sure who these people were or what, exactly, they were all doing, but I listened wide-eyed to grandpa’s warnings.

The first time I remember him quoting that verse from Numbers to me, my younger brother and I had been out riding our bikes. Well, we were riding one bike. I had the seat and the steering; he sat behind me with his fanny perched on the thin metal fender. We bounced along our pot-holed street, scraping along in the gravel and grass that passed for a sidewalk. Shirts, shorts, no shoes. C’mon, nobody wears shoes to ride a bike in the summertime. We’d been warned against this, but paid no attention. What could possibly happen? So, that particular afternoon, when I heard the thud, the crunch, the scream, I knew we were in trouble. I knew what could happen. Turns out bare toes and metal spokes were not meant to meet.

My brother limped his mangled feet home, I followed sheepishly with the bike, rehearsing my lines (“it was his idea.”) Grandpa and grandma happened to be visiting that summer afternoon and met us, along with mom, at the door. Apparently our cries alerted them to somebody doing something they shouldn’t have been. Grandpa helped mom wash my brother’s toes, and get him bandaged up. A little medicine, a little comfort, a little kiss to make it better. And a little thumping. He sat us down, and having been advised that we were told not to ride our bikes without shoes, said, in his firmest preacher voice: “children, be sure your sins will find you out.”

When my youngest niece was in the 2nd grade, she insisted on wearing her AWANA Club Sparky vest to school on picture day. All bright red with yellow piping. She simply could not be talked out of it. Her mom struck a deal, she could wear the vest to school, but when it was picture-taking time, she just had to slip off the vest so her pretty pink sweater would be captured for 2nd grade posterity. She promised, pinky-swore, that she would do it. When she raced in the door after school, the first question her mom asked was “did you remember to take off your vest?” “Yes, mama, I took it off for my picture.” Six weeks later, when the 8x10s arrived in the mail, there was Kaity, missing a couple of teeth, bangs askew, and bright red Sparky vest front and center. Nothing like being “found out” by Kodak.

My sins have “found me out”, to be sure. The lies, the deception, the rebellion. Kid-stuff. Grown-up stuff. Bits of brokenness acting out, showing up in ways that remind me that I am still becoming the girl God has in mind. Sometimes that “becoming” arrives in gentle waves of surrender and growth. Other times, its more like a tantrum, all clenched fists and stubborn pouts.

And yet, what I have experienced more often in my life, is that I have been “found out”, over and again, by grace.

Not chased down by sin, but pursued by God, described by David in this way in Psalm 103: “He forgives all your sins, he heals all your diseases, he redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion. The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in love… He does not treat us as our sins deserve, or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”

His relentless pursuit is not a pursuit of my behavior, but a pursuit of my heart. God is “finding me out”. Finding me to be a beloved child in need of his love, forgiveness and grace.

I know my grandpa meant well with his occasional thumping, and I appreciate what he tried to teach me. A child needs to be warned that toes and spokes don’t mix. Grown-ups need to be warned too, which seems obvious from all the tangles the grown-up world has gotten itself into.

What gladdens and relieves my heart is to discover and experience that sin is not out to “get me” after all. The greater truth is that I was “gotten” long ago. Gotten by grace.