Come Back, Just Come

 

April is National Poetry Month. In April 2016, I was cleaning some books and found a poem that made me cry. It’s called “Come Back Safely,” and it’s by Sylva Gaboudikan.  She writes: 

 

even to say good-bye

even if it’s the last time

even reluctantly

 

even to hurt me again

even with the harsh acid

of sarcasm that stings

 

even with a new kind of pain

even fresh from the embrace

of another. Come back, just come.

 

I went on to reflect:

 

When we look at scripture, we see that Jesus was the first person who truly saw Mary Magdalene. Jesus saw through Mary’s brokenness and believed in her as the woman that she actually was: a beautiful child of God. No matter what she had done—or would do. No matter how lonely she was—or would become. Jesus saw her and believed in her. He loved her and transformed her. Then he was gone. He was dead. And she was devastated—left with a hole in her heart where love and friendship used to be.

 

I am very thankful that I’ve not lost many friends to death. But I have lost many friends. When natural time and distance play their part in the losing, I understand the loss. I understand the seasons of life and that people come and go as one progresses along life’s journey. Because of my tremendous capacity to love and remember, I miss these friendships and think of them often. Sometimes I feel as if I have credits rolling through my brain, listening all of the characters from various points of life.

 

It’s when someone cuts me off that I find myself devastated like Mary Magdalene. It happens suddenly—possibly after clues of its coming—but suddenly nonetheless. Drastically. A cut. A nail. A figurative death. And then they are gone. Someone who has been a friend—who has seen me and whom I have seen—who has loved me and whom I have loved—who has laughed with me and whose tears I have dried—is gone. And it hurts. And it leaves a hole in my heart. And I grieve from the depths of my being.

 

For Mary Magdalene, there was resolve to this deep grief in this life. Jesus returned. He came back and restored her broken heart, offering such deep hope and transformative power that Mary Magdalene’s life and story would rise above society’s discrimination and be remembered for thousands of years to come.

 

For me, though, there likely will not be resolve in this life. For whatever reason, friends likely will not return. Restoration likely will not occur. And yet I live with quiet hope and open my arms and heart with unconditional love and forgiveness. “Come back,” my soul prays, “just come.”

 

Amen. 

Womanist Theology

 

Religion 101. 

That’s where we became friends. 

We didn’t abandon our individual friend groups 

To become best friends 

Yet she is one of the best friends I’ve got

In regards to my faith journey and 

The deeper things of life. 

 

For years, 

When we lived closer,

We had dinner once a month.

We may not have talked much in between those dinners

But every time we were together,

It was like no time had passed.

We could just pick up the conversation with where we were in life

And go forward from there.

 

Now that we live farther apart,

We send the occasional text and keep up via Facebook. 

Our in person visits are few and far between

Yet we still have the ability to pick up the conversation with where we are in life

And go forward from there.

No pretense. 

No surface conversation.

Just deep, honest conversation about

Family, life, and faith. 

 

We had the privilege of meeting for coffee last week. 

She was in town for a couple of days 

So we actually got to see each other and squeeze each other’s necks. 

 

I won’t go into all that we talked about because that is private, 

But I will share this. 

She said, 

“I’ve had a break up with scripture…

But what’s getting me back into that relationship is 

Womanist theology.”

 

Womanist theology critically examines religious texts and traditions through the lens of race, gender, and class, and reinterprets them to reflect the unique realities of Black women's lives. 

 

So much of the way we have traditionally read and interpreted scripture

Has been through the lens of 

White men in power. 

Unfortunately, this reading has come to be 

Hurtful and traumatizing for so many people—

Including women, children, people of color, and members of the LGBTQ community. 

 

If it weren’t so, then we wouldn’t have to pray these words 

That were prayed in many Lutheran churches yesterday:

 

Protect those who face hostility or oppression for their faith. 

Humble those who would use faith to dominate others and reinforce their own power. 

 

If the gospel is for everyone,

Then we must make it accessible to everyone, 

Not through changing it 

But through seeing it through different lenses. 

 

Now, before you get mad and say that 

Scripture is scripture and

Should be read and taken literally, 

Let me gently remind you that 

Scripture is the living, breathing word of God 

And should be read under the guidance of the Holy Spirit for 

Today’s time, culture, and context. 

Whether we admit it or not,

We all interpret scripture and pick and choose what resonates with us. 

 

We justify what we want justified

And we double down on what we see as absolute. 

But nothing, really, is absolute 

Except for the love of God 

And the humanity of humankind. 

But even that humanity is in question 

Because some believe in the total depravity and sin of man 

While others believe in the belovedness and goodness of God’s creation. 

 

I say if womanist theology is helping my friend reengage scripture and

Dialogue with God again, 

Then hooray! 

I must admit that I have been listening to a womanist podcast in my car 

Ever since our conversation, 

And it is very enlightening and engaging. 

 

God is God, friends. 

God is so much bigger than we can comprehend 

And so much more love than we give credit. 

 

I am thankful for friends who help bring this truth to light. 

From Religion 101 to afternoon coffee and beyond. 

 

Amen. 

The Struggle to Stay Present

 

I went to see a show in Durham last Thursday night. 

Before the show, I went to dinner with a friend.

We went to a restaurant that serves African cuisine

And the food was delicious!

But I had to employee all of my staying present tools

To sit there and be present

Instead of just worrying about time. 

 

The show started at 7:30.

Our reservation for dinner was at six.

We got there and were seated at 5:50. 

At 6:20, we still hadn’t placed our food order,

Nor had we gotten the sodas we had requested.

And it wasn’t because the restaurant was crowded.

There were only three other tables seated.

 

Usually, an hour and a half is plenty of time to eat. 

And in the end, it turned out to be enough time for us. 

But while we were waiting for what seemed like an eternity,

An hour and a half didn’t seem like enough.

 

I knew what was happening inside of me.

I knew that I was anxious about time. 

Though my self-imposed obligation to always be early has lessened over the years

And I’ve learned that time is a bit more fluid than I always made it,

There are some things to which I still want to be early.

And shows are one of them.

 

I was sitting with good company. 

We were safe and warm. 

There was no real reason for me to feel stressed. 

And yet there I sat,

Body tense, 

Leg bouncing, 

Constantly checking the time on my phone, 

Inwardly judging myself because I knew I wasn’t at peace because I was 

Worrying about the future of what could be instead of 

Staying grounded in the present of what actually was. 

 

It’s hard to stay present in reality. 

It’s hard not to project what if’s onto the future or

Reel on the what was’s of the past. 

It’s hard not to think that people are out to get you

Or that the universe is conspiring against you

Or that your time is more valuable than anyone else’s.

 

But our challenge is to do what’s hard

And attempt to stay present in the moment.

 

So may we each accept the challenge of fully living and resting in moments of goodness and peace.  

 

Small blessings surround us,

Like good food and company. 

 

May we embrace those moments in the present 

And trust ourselves to deal with the future when it happens. 

 

Amen. 

Sarah

 

I don’t remember her name. 

I think it was Sarah, but I can’t be sure. 

But she made an impact on my life over 20 years ago,

And I will forever be grateful. 

 

I met her at an Episcopal retreat weekend. 

I had signed up for the retreat because I was a big fan of the worship leader.

When I got to the retreat center, though,

I learned that the worship leader wasn’t going to be there. 

The person we will call Sarah was in charge of the weekend.

She gave me the choice to stay or to have my money refunded. 

I chose to stay. 

Why not?

After all, I was already there. 

 

If I were pressed to tell you what the focus of that retreat was, 

Then I wouldn’t be able to do it. 

All I remember is that we shared communion on Saturday night, 

Passed the common cup, 

And drank real wine. 

It was the first time I’d ever had real wine with communion. 

It was disgusting! 

All the Episcopalians laughed with me at my face when I tasted it. 

They also all laughed when I was surprised that they were having beer and wine during their fellowship time. 

Alcohol on a retreat was unheard of for me, 

The lone Baptist. 

 

I don’t know if she felt sorry for me or what, 

But Sarah went out of her way to befriend me that weekend

And to make sure I was as comfortable as possible in unfamiliar territory. 

After the weekend ended,

Sarah and I kept in touch via email, 

Which I suppose is how she told me about Glory Ridge. 

 

Glory Ridge is a retreat center outside Marshall, NC, 

That hosts youth groups during the summer 

And sends them into surrounding areas to do construction work. 

There is a small camp staff each summer 

And they happened to need one more person in 2004.

Did I have any construction experience? 

No. 

Was I at all prepared to sleep on the dirty floor of a little shed with no running water, barely any electricity, and mice?

No. 

But did it matter?

No. 

Sarah believed in me and my gifts,

So I went to serve on staff at Glory Ridge anyway. 

And I had a wonderful summer.

 

That summer,

I learned that a shower is a privilege rather than a necessity. 

I was introduced to the concept of being present and living fully in the moment. 

I became a fan of wind chimes.

And I began an ecumenical journey that would eventually lead me outside the narrow confines of religion

And into the open arms of faith.

 

And it’s all because of a person whose name I don’t even remember,

But whose presence of kindness, generosity, and openness changed my life.

 

May we be a people whose names may not be remembered

But whose legacies are passed down from person to person,

Generation to generation.

 

May we be a people who open doors of faith.

 

Amen.

Mimi

Salmon patties. 

That’s what I remember most about Mimi. 

Salmon patties and hummingbirds and talking really loud so she might hear. 

MiMi was Angela My Best Friend From

College’s grandmother. 

She died last Sunday at the age of 98. 

We celebrated her life on Saturday, 

And I walked away from the celebration with one burning question:

What can people learn about me from excavating my Bible? 

 

Mimi was a woman of faith.

Her theology was progressive and she supported women as pastors in Baptist life before it was a thing. 

She studied theology and read biblical commentaries simply because she wanted to.

She started an intergenerational Bible study at her church that outgrew all Sunday School rooms and had to meet in the sanctuary. 

Mimi was a student of the Bible and she evidently left clues in her Bible as to what made her tick. 

 

She underlined.

She wrote quotes. 

She stored poems. 

She shared wisdom. 

 

Her Bible was the Word that guided her life. 

 

Is my Bible the same? 

 

I will be honest and admit that I haven’t taken my Bible to church in years. 

My church prints the scripture readings each week so I don’t need it for worship, 

And when I study scripture on my own,

I read electronically on an online Bible platform. 

 

But after Mimi’s funeral, 

I began to wonder:

Am I missing something by not opening my Bible more often?

Am I forfeiting an opportunity to share with future generations what makes me tick?

 

My Bible has plenty of underlined passages from old. 

Might I need to update and underline passages of new—

New ways the Holy Spirit is helping me see and understand and live and be in this world?

Might I need to add new pictures and new little slips of paper with new quotes and new poems as bookmarks and reminders of people and places and events through whom God has spoken?

 

I think so.

 

Because if the Bible is the living word of God,

Then my Bible should show that much, 

Rather than serving as a time capsule from the past. 

 

Because if the Bible is the living word of God,

Then my Bible needs to be opened and read

Rather than just sitting on a shelf

Or riding around in the car. 

 

Because doing so would make Mimi proud. 

 

Because doing so is a privilege that I don’t want to take for granted

Any longer. 

 

May we each, like Mimi, 

Let God’s word guide us 

To be people of faith who

Do justice, 

Love Mercy,

and walk humbly with our God. 

 

Amen. 

JellyCats

 

Some of you may remember my failed Christmas gifts:

Sentimental fancy jewelry for a 3^rd and 7^th grader?

Well, I made up for it yesterday when I somewhat randomly

Sent them JellyCats.

 

What are JellyCats, you ask?

They are stuffed animals.

I have no idea what makes them different than other stuffed animals,

But the girls love them

And hold them in high esteem

And so I went to The Amazon and sent two JellyCat foxes their way.

 

Their mom wrote yesterday to tell me that

She had two very excited girls with new JellyCats!

 

I smiled.

 

Then I asked:

Did they get the gift tags that went with them?

 

They didn’t.

 

To me, it was the most important part of the gift:

The literal reminder of what the gifts were meant to show—

“You are both loved so very much.”

 

To me, that’s what a gift is:

A tangible reminder of an intangible love.

 

We show love by showing up.

We show love by saying it.

We show love by listening.

We show love by taking out the trash.

We show love in the little things,

Day in and day out,

But sometimes we need to show love in an extra way,

And so we offer simple gifts,

Ones meant to shine light in times of darkness,

Ones meant to lift spirits in times of confusion,

Ones meant to bring a smile when it seems that tears are all that will come,

Ones meant to ground a person in reality when it seems that the world is slipping away.

 

I know one day the girls will come to appreciate their Christmas jewelry.

But for right now, in the bleak midwinter of January,

The girls needed to know through JellyCats

That they are so very loved.

 

Friends:

The hurts of this world are palpable.

May we offer soothing balms of love this week

Through jewelry or JellyCats or

Showing up or sending a text or

Making a phone call or sending flowers or

Doing someone’s lunch duty or

Listening when we ask, “How are you?”

Or…

 

Amen.