The Warp to the Weft

So, here we are.  A week after a day that was filled to the brim with emotion--with grief and loss, love and joy, fellowship and shared laughter, rituals and tears, music and food and flowers.  This is a community that knows the importance of saying “goodbye”, of closing the circle as it were.  And, I felt so deeply privileged to witness so concretely the support this community gave to each other and all those who grieved.  You are the church, you are Christ’s body in the world, you, each and every one of you.  

Sometimes it can be hard to remember why we do this, crazy thing we call “going to church” but, last week, I remembered.  Last Sunday served as a testimony to why community grounded in faith matters.  It matters, you matter, we matter.  Even when it is hard to see, even when the muckiness of life (of budgets and worries and fears and transitions) gets in the way--it is still there, this body of Christ, drawing us together and surprising us again and again.   

I look forward to learning more about how this community has been drawn together, to hearing the stories and seeing the connections.  God has brought you here and I wonder why?  What role will you play in this body we call the church, in this body we call Christ?  

This brings me to today's sermon, as I read the readings appointed for today I reflected on the idea of seeing--the notion that God sees us for who we truly are in the depth of “I am”.  And then, I thought about our context here at St. Clement's and the deep love and commitment to community I was privileged to witness last week.  I thought of the ministry that lies ahead for all of us as this community discerns and continues to attempt the work of God in the world. 

And, as the readings and the context intermingled, the image that I have not been able to move beyond, the image I want to literally weave throughout this sermon is that of the art of tapestry making.

I am not a fabric artist, I once knit a scarf under duress, but I have been fascinated by the unicorn tapestries that hang in the Cloisters in New York for years.  I have often mused that when we look about us we see the messy threads--yet from God’s perspective the messiness becomes an image of great beauty.  So, I did a little research on how tapestries are made.  

From the Metropolitan Museum of Art website 

“A tapestry is made by repeatedly weaving the horizontal (weft) threads over and under the vertical (warp) threads, then squishing (or tamping) those horizontal threads down so they are very close together, thus completely hiding the vertical threads from view.

Although you cannot see them in a finished tapestry, the vertical warp threads are vital components of each piece—they are the backbone of every tapestry, and provide the support for the weft threads.”

It is what is unseen, the warp, that holds everything together.  Without that foundation there is no image, no picture, no beauty.  

What are the things that hold us together, that supports the threads of our lives and the lives of those around us?   Yes, the finished tapestry is beautiful--but only because of that which is unseen behind the threads.  

And, with that thought I wonder, where will we look for the gifts that will bring us closer to the kingdom of God?  Who are those people who hold our tapestry together?  Can this community, living in witness to the Gospel, be the warp to the weft?  

This community that, at its best, draws people together and truly sees them and loves them for who they are, exactly as God has made them--can we hold the circle, can we pull together the threads in a framework of love?  Can we see beyond ourselves and see more truly and hear more deeply the presence of God in this place?

The presence of God which is the warp to the weft.  

It can be so hard to do this, so hard to see beyond ourselves.  Recently, a video excerpt of the Italian version of The Voice was making the rounds.  In the video, a 25 year old nun in full habit appears on stage where she performs an inspired R&B rendition of an Alicia Keys song.  One by one, the judges turn their chairs.  One by one you see awe and delighted surprise on their faces when they realize that the voice that has just won their approval belongs to a nun.  

Wonderment.  I can only imagine that when Samuel found himself anointing Jesse’s youngest (and therefore lowest in social status) son, David, that he wondered at God’s choice.  What did God see in David that others had missed?  In early Israelite culture, the oldest son held the highest status amongst the children with each subsequent child holding less status.  Thus, David as the 7th or 8th son of Jesse (he’s 7th in Chronicles and 8th in Samuel) was almost extraneous.  No wonder Samuel mistakenly think that David’s oldest brother Eliab was the one to whom he’d been sent.

Yet, here he stood anointing young David.  

If this were a reality show we could watch Samuel’s face fill with awe as he realizes that the least of these was being called as God’s anointed one.  

The warp to the weft.  

All too often we are hampered by prejudices, assumptions and hierarchies--unable to see the potential, the gifts being offered, because so often these gifts emerge out of places and people we may find unlikely.  When we are able to look beyond the most obvious places of power and authority, what anointed voices will we hear?  

The warp to the weft.

This brings me to the Gospel appointed for today which partners with the text from Samuel--John’s version of the story of the man born blind who receives sight.  

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

Prior to the genome, prior to germ theory, prior to talk of miasma and contagion in the middle ages was the prevalent belief in Western thought that physical malady reflected wrongdoing on the part of the afflicted.  So, in discussing the “man born blind” the conversation’s first turn was to the cause--and in the disciples’ understanding the cause was sin.  

Now, this understanding of illness is problematic for a variety of reasons.  But, at the heart of the problem is the notion that someone deserves their affliction.  Because, people feel that the blind man is blind through fault he becomes a pariah.  People are much less likely to assist those in need if it’s “their own fault”.  

So, his identity was severely limited by the perception of blame and it is clear that no one “knows” this man beyond his blindness and his begging.  The only people who recognize him in the story are those who had seen him as a beggar and his parents.  

Yet, he is seen, he is seen by Jesus and in that seeing he finds healing.  I can only imagine the awe and wonderment the blind man experienced as he took in the first sights.  I can only imagine the challenge this newfound ability to see posed to all those who had discounted him--those who still refused to hear him,  “I have told you before, but you would not listen”.  

So today we hear and see two people who the world would overlook--a youngest son and a blind man.  Yet, it is their presence and their voices that further the inbreaking of Christ into the world.  

What we have not seen becomes essential.  

The warp to the weft.  

Ash Wednesday, St. Clement's Episcopal Church, 2014

When I began my work as a pediatric chaplain I was astonished to learn that there was only one religious service offered each year--Ash Wednesday.  The Roman Catholic priest who served the hospital explained that other services had been attempted but Ash Wednesday was the only service that people actually showed up for.  

I was somewhat incredulous.  No Christmas?  No Easter?  Just Ash Wednesday?  

And, believe it or not, it was quite literally the best attended Ash Wednesday liturgy I have ever experienced.  Hundreds of people came--patients, families, staff.  Those who could not attend the noon day service knew that we would come to each floor of the hospital carrying our ashes and inscribe a dusty cross upon anyone who requested one.     

I was literally stopped in the hallway again and again.  Do you have ashes?  Do you have ashes?  Can we still get ashes?  

Yes.  Yes.  And, yes.  

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return” as I carefully swept my thumb down and then across the solemnly presented forehead.

That was it.  A liturgy consisting of a mere 11 words and a single liturgical action.  

It could have felt out of context.  It could have felt like a mechanical action devoid of meaning.  But, it didn’t. 

The context  was a place which averaged two deaths a week.  The action was each pulse of an artery, every IV placed, the sweep of mops, and every carefully inscribed note in medical charts heavier than the lives they chronicled.  The liturgy of breath and hope, of death and resurrection.  

Is it any wonder then that nurses would crowd around as I carried my small pouch of ashes?  

Each to each and one by one.  In a hospital containing thousands, the only ministry that day, barring emergencies, was the administration of the ashes.

I have long imagined that part of the inspiration to receive ashes in this setting was the desire to be reminded that death does not win, that there is something more and greater.  That when providers are faced with the reality that not all lives can be saved they might be reminded that we all face the same limits of our mortality.  There are times when breath cannot be breathed back into the body and I imagined that the ashes served as a reminder of God’s care when those we have loved or served move beyond our care.  

From dust to birth, from birth to life, from life to dust.  

We could stop here, we could sit with that truth of dustness of ashness of the reality that  we come of the earth and return to the earth and that those we do not leave will leave us.  

But, that’s not the end of the story.  

Because those ashes trace the same line as the chrism of our baptism.  The oil traced in cruciform and the ashy remnants of our celebration cannot be separated.  Life and death juxtaposed in the creases and wrinkles and pores of our foreheads.

Ashes and oil, oil and ashes.  The themes of baptism and Ash Wednesday intermingle--restoration, reconciliation, community.  We are the household of God, and, in wearing these ashes, we are called to remember the mandate that concludes the baptismal liturgy

“We receive you into the household of God. Confess the faith
of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with
us in his eternal priesthood.”

There is work to be done.  

And thus, in this moment, I imagine something new.  Those nurses, those doctors, the staff, the patients and the families.  They carried their ashes amongst the tiny inhabitants of the neonatal intensive care unit, they pulled down surgical caps, adjusted wires and tubing, soothed and comforted, listened and worked.  Those who bore ashes stood watching and waiting and weeping.  The quick anointing with earth in the rush of the hallway became a reminder of their calling.  Those ashes were ashes of new life, ashes of promise and of hope.  

In the hospital, there were hundreds carrying those ashes--and now I see more clearly that in the cross they carried, they shared in the eternal priesthood, shared in joy and sorrow, shared the burden, shared the pain and shared the hope.  In those ashes there was the reminder that we may have nothing but we possess everything.  

We possess everything, we have all that we need, and we do not stand alone.  

Do you believe it?  Do you believe that the ashes can make us whole?  

Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast.  

There is work to be done and we shall do it together.  

Eucharistic Prayer: Kairos and Creation, Composed On January 26th, 2014

Our service begins on page 355 of The Book of Common Prayer and continues through page 360.  The Passing of the Peace will be followed by the following Eucharistic prayer:

The Holy Communion

The Lord be with you.
People        And also with you.
Celebrant    Lift up your hearts.
People        We lift them to the Lord.
Celebrant    Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
People        It is right to give God thanks and praise.

It is right now and it was right then in that time before time, before existence existed.   In that time, there was a formless void, it was nothing yet everything all together.  Out of that everything, nothing place, a voice stirred drawing everything into existence.  Sun, moon, earth, sky--the great and small places and the great and small creatures.  A creation perfect in vision, beautiful in execution.  Yet empty, without the action of those made in the image of the voice, the word made flesh rolled from the dirt and created and stretched into being. 

And it was then that our story began, the story of who we are.

Containing betrayal, containing blood, containing vengeance.  Love and promises, exile and an entrance into a land of promise.  Offerings made and blessings taken, our story of matriarchs and patriarchs, of daughters and sons.  Broken people, breaking people.  And into that desecration and that creation, God spoke and the Spirit flew and in arms stretched upon the cross, all was forgiven and love was perfected.

In Jesus the Christ.   

Celebrant and People

The Jesus who perfected love, the Christ whose anointing by water would stand against the taste of bitter wine.  

Born of Mary, born of the spirit, Son of Man and Son of God, an offering and our salvation.  

And in the echoes of salvation, we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and
Archangels and with all the company of heaven, who for ever
sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your Name:

Celebrant and People
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory.
    Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
    Hosanna in the highest.

We give thanks to you O God, for in the midst of blood, and vengeance you were word and the very voice and ground of all being.  From formless void to the twelve children to the twelve tribes numbering as the stars.  In your light a tree grew and the graft took.    

And, the root of Jesse flourished.  Jesus in the center breaking open the circle and drawing together the whole.

And to his disciples he spoke, and to his disciples he gave

Bread held aloft, “take eat”, he said

This bread made from gleanings, this simple sustenance, “this, is my body, broken for you”, a taking from my offering, that which is broken will be made whole.  “Do this for the remembrance of me”

Then raising the cup.  Thanks given and more,  "Drink this, all of you:
This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you
and for all for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink
it, do this for the remembrance of me."

All of you.  All. The I becomes We.  Seeking dignity and justice.  The unknown hour of new creation.  Our offering, as his, his sacrifice as ours. 

Therefore, according to his command, O God,

Celebrant and People
We remember his death,
We proclaim his resurrection,
We await his coming in glory;

From your creation, we present to you O God, these gifts of bread and wine.  

send your Holy Spirit upon
these gifts that they may be the Sacrament of the Body of
Christ and his Blood of the new Covenant. 

Celebrant and People

In that sending, may we be made whole and in that sanctification may we know your will.

And in such knowing may creation be made new, and in such learnings may we gather together as one. United by sacrifice, made holy by your Spirit.   

As we await the hour, unknown and yet known we are held within the unity of the Holy Spirit.  In this moment and in this time, we proclaim honor and glory to you O God, lover of our souls.  

And we proclaim.  

Celebrant and People

The body stands, the body arisen.  Jesus be known.  

By him, and with him, and in him, in the unity of the Holy
Spirit all honor and glory is yours, Almighty God, now and
for ever. AMEN. 

As our Saviour Christ has taught us, we now pray,

Our Father...

The service continues on page 364 of The Book of Common Prayer

Tragic Bemusement

He is so young,
And death is such an abstract,
Yet terrifying concept
And he wonders why we "no come back" like Jesus

He suggests moving
To "make room"for more people
As a means of escaping death
And achieving immortality

Concerns over a beloved Uncle's
Exercise habits
As he explores the reality
Of three dead grandparents

He is a boy who wept last week
Out of fear
That God, the immortal,
May have been bitten by a meat eating dinosaur.

Such concern.
And my heart breaks
That his will one day be broken
And I pray that it is when we are all

Very, very, very, very
Old.

(Yesterday I officiated at a funeral in which the 60-something "baby boy" of the deceased could not speak for weeping…and it was then I bit my lip to hold back tears)

A Sermon for All Saints (and a bit of a homage to Lesbia Scott...the unfortunately named author of my next door neighbor's favorite hymn)

All Saints Year C, November 3, 2013

I am well aware of the stately elegance and grace--the amazing harmony and hymnody which we are privileged to enjoy as we worship God in this place today.  

When I spoke last week with the organist/choirmaster of a church I served in Ohio, I told him about the music that the choir was working on for today.  His response,

“Durufle, they must be good”.  

The choir’s diligence and dedication aptly demonstrates to me the amazing effort that goes into creating worship meant to glorify God.  The music, in its beauty, serves as a reminder of the gifts that God has given and the interwoven voices an effective symbol of how the many parts of the body become one for a greater purpose.  The body of Christ.  And, one of the greatest joys I experience celebrating with all of you is the opportunity to blend my voice with those surrounding me and in that blending finding a whole that feels wrought through with beauty.  

The blending of voices in music is sort of like the stained glass windows--a single piece of colored glass holds little meaning, yet when combined with so many others something much greater than the single shard is revealed.  

Music allows us to experience the divine in powerful ways.  Rich with theology, deeply woven with scripture--music gives a shape and structure to our worship that continuously amazes me.  And, it seems only fitting that we continue in that vein by offering up more music.  Now, no one has ever accused me of glorifying God with my musical aptitude, so, please humor me for a moment.  And, if you have pity on me, join in...(it’s in the hymnal, 293)

I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died
For the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
And one was a shepherdess on the green;
They were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.

As I was reflecting on this feast day of All Saints, I found myself expounding in a dozen different directions.  The powerful witness of those who have gone before, the instructions for how to live a Christian life we find in the beatitudes today, 

“Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you...Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Then there is the letter to the Ephesians in which we are reminded that we have inherited hope and as inheritors of that hope we are called to give praise to God through our love for all the saints.  

Or, if I were to be bold...an exposition on how the author of Daniel uses the imagery of the four kingdoms to introduce a greater kingdom still--the kingdom of God which surpasses all powers or principalities.  A kingdom in which all earthly divisions cease and we all serve the same God and the broken, factionalized world becomes one.  

Esoteric stuff, and words like orthopraxic and orthodoxic were typed and deleted and typed and deleted.

Deleted, because it became clearer to me that what we celebrate today is quite simple.

Yet, like many simple things we have cloaked it with words and visions, with complex meanings and intricate steps.  

And, in the midst of my sermon prep, while chatting with my next door neighbor

She asked...”are you going to sing my favorite hymn?”

They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
And his love made them strong;
And they followed the right for Jesus' sake
The whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
And there's not any reason, no, not the least,
Why I shouldn't be one too.

Of all the hymns, this one a favorite?  Simple and childish.  Lending itself well to silly faces and hand motions.  This hymn?  The one that upon hearing just once gets instantly stuck on repeat in our brains?  

This is a hymn that inspires giggles, yet it speaks (sings) truth in a way that I think belies its simplicity.

As Christians we are called to love a God who loves us.  

It is this love that strengthens us.

And it is the witness of Jesus that inspires us to act justly, and rightly in the world.

And, it is not reserved for just a select few to live and act justly, with love and mercy and compassion...but to all who believe.  

They lived not only in ages past,
There are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
Who love to do Jesus' will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea;
For the saints of God are just folk like me,
And I mean to be one too.

What a powerful image, a world filled to the brim with saints.  With people emboldened by God’s love and being the hands and feet of Jesus in the world.  

Saints have been, and are and will be.  People continue to do God’s work in the world.  We are not alone in our mission or our ministry.  

Today we not only declare our own participation in this joyful community of saints, but we also celebrate those who have given witness, those who have inspired us, those who have loved us, those who have lived the word of God in the world and those who have given their entire selves and carried the cross at great cost.

So, it is only fitting that today is also the day upon which we will be dedicating the new Pew Bibles, many of which have been given in memory of some of our own communities saints, as well as our new processional cross.  

Words and lines intersecting into something beyond any page or forged metal part.  Words and lines that when joined to our lives transform us and all we encounter.  Words and lines--defining, liberating, declaring and empowering the joyous community of saints of which we are but a part.  

It is written that,

Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.

Let us pray.

O heavenly God, whose blessed Son taught the disciples in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself: Accept these Bibles which we dedicate here today, and grant that we may so diligently search your hold Word that we may find in it the wisdom that leads to salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen

It is written that, 

We will glory in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life and our resurrection.  

Let us pray.

O gracious God, who in your mercy ordained that your Son should suffer death on a cross of shame: We thank you that it has become for us the sign of his triumph and the banner of our salvation; and we pray that this cross may draw our hearts to him, who leads us to the glory of your kingdom; where you live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.

  

Coming Out Day

It's funny, really--I think I may have reached a point where I take being out for granted.  I came out at 15/16ish (you know, extroverts!) and have spent the last 20 years of my life in varying stages of peace and anxiety around various aspects of my identity.  But, the last few years have been ones of peace and it is from within that peace that I managed to completely forget about National Coming Out Day (October 11th).

But, it's an important opportunity to remember that there are far too many folks in this world who will never have the opportunity to be at peace within their selves, their families and their communities.  That many, many, many folks are still cast out, shamed, ridiculed, excluded, denigrated and killed, on account of their gender or sexual identity.

So, today, the day after...

I pray for the hurting, the broken, the shamed and scorned.  The folks for whom the act of coming out becomes an act of martyrdom.  I pray for those who give witness to a life lived openly and honestly.  I pray for folks who fully embrace the truth of who our creator has made them to be and in that truth found joy and peace.  I pray for children who learn by example what it means to be kind and compassionate--to love and embrace both those like and unlike them.  I pray for the children who have learned to hate themselves when the adults in their lives give witness to hate and ignorance.  I pray for the victims of murder and suicide--when hatred and despair becomes so all consuming that destruction seems the only viable option.  I pray for those who live in fear and secrecy.  I pray for those who proclaim boldly and dance in the streets the joy of their being.  I pray for those for whom every grace is to be embraced as exactly who they are.  I pray for those who will die without seeing mercy.  I pray for those who will die before justice is obtained.  I pray for those who are born, that their birth will herald a new day of love.  I pray for the LGBTAQ people of this world, that our numbers will swell as all people become allies working for equality and the human right to experience and live in love.  I pray for the bullied, that they will find protectors and safe spaces.  I pray for the bullies, that they may find learning and in that learning love and in that love empathy and compassion.  I pray for people who have been destroyed by the very faith communities that have promised to uphold and love them.  I pray for faith communities that have violated their covenants.  I pray for the parents who turn their backs on their own children and the children who have been broken by those who have formed them. I pray.  I pray.  I pray.

And I pray for my children, who will experience coming out in each new school year, each new community and in each new encounter.  That what I take for granted will be granted them.  That we will be able to equip them with all they need to know that not only is love the law...

That love is the truth.  That love is the center.  That love is.

Saying "Yes": A Sermon for Francis the Fool

Sometimes I feel like church is a place full of "no" and "stop".

No, you can't put the kneeler down

Stop talking please

You need to sit still

No, you can't go to coffee hour until church is over

Stop playing under the tree, it's time for church

Stop squirming

Sit still

Stand up

Sit down

Shhh, I will tell you later 

And today, 

Shhh, no bark!!  

Now, I totally get why the “nos” are there (whenever I sit with my family I’m pretty much like a non-stop no machine!)  and respect for sacred space, silence and the needs of the gathered community are to be observed (when possible!)  

But, I can't help but wonder how St. Francis would have felt about this litany of no and stop and shhh.

And, for this I am thankful for days like today, where the answer can be yes, yes to noise, and confusion, yes to joyful exclamation!  Yes, you can bring your fish to church!  Yes, your lovey can leave the house today!  Stand up and look!  Sing as loud as you can!  

The saint who sang the sun up in the morning and the moon in at night.  The saint who chatted with the birds.  The saint who welcomed Clare.  The saint who stood naked before the bishop and proclaimed himself a fool for God.  A saint who asked his brothers to sing him into heaven as he stepped out of this life and into the arms of God.  

The saint who calls us to find delight and joy and love in the entirety of creation.  No matter how big or how small.  

The Gospel we read today in honor of St. Francis is traditionally used for this saint's day because it reminds us that we do not control where or how God's revelation will be made manifest.

That revelation is not limited to the learned, to the seminary trained, to the folk we may look up to as somehow more spiritually profound than us.  In fact, in the words and actions of Francis we are reminded that revelation is not limited to human beings.  

The birds proclaim the glory of God, the sun in its courses the moon by night...

And, in glorying in creation, in finding grace beyond any pages or ivy walls--we are open to learning more about God in places we may have never thought to look and in people whom we had once ignored and in animals who are all too easily neglected.  Francis' life was marked by his disavowal of his inherited power and privilege and the sheer joy he took in the love of God.  And for Francis, much of that love was made manifest in the beauty of creation.  

Francis' found the entirety of creation to be a bearer of God's love.  He saw the world around him as a true gift, to be revered for it's beauty and gave ready thanks for all that God has brought forth in creation.

What would it be like to see everything around us as gift, as symbol and sign of God made manifest to us?  

How would our lives be transformed, if we met each moment, each creature, each breeze, each ray of sun, each spark of star, with thanksgiving?

Would we see the newborn Christ in the squawking infant?  Would we see the first day of creation in the rising sun?  Would we wonder at the leviathan, the whales and the elephants?  Would the miraculousness of the bumblebee whose flight defies logic startle us into praise?

Is it any wonder that the prevailing themes of Francis’ life were those of joy and love?  A joy and love that was a natural extension of thanksgiving as we see in his famous sermon to the birds.  

“My sweet little sisters, oh, birds of the sky, you are bound unto heaven, to God, your Creator. In every beat of your wing and every note of your song praise Him. He has given you the greatest of gifts, the liberty of the air. You neither sow, nor reap, yet God provides for you the most delicious morsels, streams and lakes to quench your thirst, hill and dale for your home, tall trees to build your nests, and the most beautiful clothing, a change of feathers with every season. You and your kind were preserved in the Ark of Noah. Clearly, Creator loves you most dearly, His gifts flow forth in abundance; so please be careful of the sin of thanklessness, and always sing out your praises for the Lord, our God!”

If God has such care, such love for these sweet sisters, how much love for us--what a wonder that God loves us most dearly!

Us and them, us and the creatures of the earth, us and the sun and the moon.  

The unification of all creation is one of the postmarks of the vision we are offered of the kingdom of God--all creation.  And, in witness to what this vision can be...

Francis offers us the wolf of Gubbio.  

In the town of Gubbio the townspeople felt themselves under siege.  A wolf was killing and eating their sheep and other stock.  And, even worse, the wolf had become a threat to the people of the village--killing those who confronted him.  In desperation they called for Francis.  Francis went out into the forest and found the wolf.  

And...reasoned with him.  Spoke to him with love and compassion and in doing so the wolf repented.  And, then the wolf and Francis walked back into the village and the horrified townspeople saw their enemy, the wolf, in the flesh.  

Before they could strike the wolf down, Francis explained the wolf’s contrite heart and the wolf’s promise to cease killing.   He then enjoined the townspeople to remember their calling as Christians to forgive.  

Forgive, the wolf?!  But, the townspeople listened to Francis’ words and they saw the wolf’s hunger and desire for forgiveness.  They agreed to feed the wolf from their own larders and the wolf vowed to protect them.  

And years later, when the wolf died, the villagers mourned the death of a friend.  

In relationship, in knowing and listening to those they had previously feared, peace was obtained, fear was set aside, and love grew.  How many and much was transformed by listening and hearing God in each other.  How great a leap that enemies found mutuality and in that leap grew closer to the vision of wholeness we see in God’s creative action!

A whole community.  Where all are welcome.  The quiet, the loud, the still, the wiggly, the crying, the barking, the mewling!  Those with dirty knees from under the pine tree play, and those with the finest suits one can find.  We have the opportunity to be an echo of God’s vision for creation!  There are no enemies here, only folks imbued with love and grace.  Let it begin here and let it end when all of God’s creation is gathered together in a love without walls or boundaries.  

Let it begin and let us wonder, let us sing, let us proclaim, let this be a time of yes!  Yes you are part of this creation!  Yes, you are welcome to the table!  Yes, you may partake of the feast laid before you!    

Yes, you can have a truck in your Easter picture...