Hello dear friends and fellow travelers with Wisdom for the Way. I would like to take a few
moments to share with you the beginnings of an exciting adventure on which the Julian Way is
about to embark.
In his book, Returning from Camino, Alexander Shaia explains that the advertised destination of any given pilgrimage is not the end but the turning around point, and it is only through the long process of returning to walk the ways of the mundane and usual that the work of pilgrimage is brought to fruition.
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. . . the darkness covered the face of the deep . . .
As we journey into the literal dark of the northern winter, we are asked to embrace that which has been declared worthless. Darkness. Rest. Waiting.
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Peace Together (peacetogetherevents.com) is a coalition of peoples of many faiths (and no faith) from many different places and backgrounds who come together in an effort to build unity and community in northeast Tarrant County (TX).
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…the earth was a formless void…
Advent is a journey of preparation, and either I am not that good at preparation or it is really hard. There are just so many contingencies to consider.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth…
In the beginning.
The beginning is a starting place. It is the sunrise over a day that has not yet seen the rust and wear of the afternoon. It is a new chance to live. It is a place to choose, once again, who you will be. Whom you will serve. Whom you will allow to be your teacher.
As you gather with whomever you find yourself with this Thanksgiving, how can you offer belonging as an act of hospitality?
We at the Neighboring Movement recently reached a huge milestone. Our first cohort successfully finished a program we developed called the Good Neighbor Experiment.
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What is your favorite part of a worship service?
Is it the Call to Worship? Is it Prayers of the People? The Sermon? Or maybe the Children’s Message?
For me, it is the Benediction.
One night, about a week ago, black bears all over Asheville plotted, conspired, and rampaged this city in the mountains. It was the first chilly evening of the fall and it signaled the beginning of a season which leads to many bear-human interactions. Car alarms were set off, trash bins turned over, refuse scattered everywhere, and graves dug up.
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Recently I participated in my first Baptism. Having a freshly printed Seminary Degree, and the designation of “Reverend” in the bulletin gave me, I thought, all the tools I would need to assist in this baptism.
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There is a space between us that isn’t there,
A space that springs from things we share.
We are the same, you and I,
In ways unseen with our eye.
We are the same, you and I,
In the ways that we care.
It was a beautiful morning in the early autumn. Several folks had gathered at the community garden to enjoy the fruits of the sweet potato crop. Up walks Joseph, listing a bit and slurring his speech. I had never met him before. He began talking to anyone who would listen, telling us which nearby bridge was his temporary shelter.
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The Bethesda UMC congregation in East Asheville, North Carolina, recently returned to their sanctuary after being located next door in the retreat house/parsonage for over two years. The newly remodeled space, now available for a variety of uses throughout the week through Haw Creek Commons, went through several unexpected delays, otherwise the small congregation would have sought temporary arrangements elsewhere.
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Growing up in America in a middle-class white household I always felt safe. I was so naïve and truly didn’t understand there were others that didn’t experience the same things I did daily: go to school and get educated; come home to a decent sized home where both of my parents were waiting; get help with my homework; eat dinner; go to sleep in my warm and clean bed—repeat the next day. Although my parents taught us about responsibility, hard-work, and respecting others, I was never truly put in a situation where I felt unsafe or needed to be brave.
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Once there was a group of people. These people lived long ago, and, therefore, far away, but they were not so different from you and me. They loved, hoped, ate, and bickered. They had been following a great leader, but he had left them. They had been instructed to wait, and, like so many who wait, they did so fretfully.
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This passage exemplifies for me the nature of God’s work in building and sustaining relationships with us. It tells the theological story of Christ’s personhood and God-hood, and the messy, beautiful mix that it is.
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We will be in the middle of a deep conversation, or a story, and suddenly she is silent. No more talking, no more footsteps. I look back only to find her crouched down looking at the smallest mushroom with the most vibrant purple hue. “I should have been a mycologist," she says, looking at me with the utmost sincerity.
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How I failed pilgrimage is a long and somewhat interesting story. When I first spoke those words I was walking along a gravel road up toward the lona Abbey in the Inner Hebrides of Scotland.
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On the improv stage, yes can transform two chairs and an empty stage into an imaginative scene of relationship and impossibility. With one audience suggestion, soon comes an encounter of a famous baby doing a book-signing, a law student in relationship with a cursed sorting hat, a couple arguing about giving birth to an avocado.
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