I am blogging this morning (well, where I am) from Eagan, Minnesota, where I’m taking part in a “summit” of our development team this week. I’m not entirely sure when meetings became summits, but… whatever! The boss isn’t here just yet, so I have a little time to spend with updates here. Of course, maplestar is back in Virginia, but he’ll be having fun at a sacred music conference this week, so I think the time will go by pretty quickly for him.
I have seeds of, well, something planted – possibly poems, possibly waiting for just the right weekly lections, possibly just to rattle around in my brain with the other bits of trivia. One was last night, when the news came on. I was lying on the carpet in the family room, my nose about two inches away from the nose of little Esther-kitty, watching this precious little baby sleep and breathe and snuffle with her kitten-cold, and hearing the story of the man who walked into the church in Tennessee and opened fire on the morning’s worship. So in front of me was this amazing little fluffball of perfect, precious beautiful new life. And behind me was the story of death rained down on children singing in a church. The contrast was, well, still unspeakable for me; I just don’t have the words for it. I know that maplestar saw the expression on my face change, and he lowered the volume on the television until I looked up at him so he could ask if I was all right.
And you know, maybe I do have the words for it, right from yesterday’s lections:
The kingdom of God is like a perfect, precious, beautiful, amazing little puffball of new life, sleeping and breathing before you, while in other places in the world, death is raining down on children.
The other seed was planted during my 5:30am flight from Norfolk, Virginia, to Charlotte, North Carolina. As we took off from the airport, I saw the sky begin to lighten, and then the plane turned to the west, as if it were trying to outrun the sunrise. Of course, a commercial jetliner cannot outrun the sunrise, and we were enveloped in pink light, in red, in orange, in gold. And then, the glory of the sunrise faded, and we flew in blue and white skies. I’m not quite sure I have the words for it, but then again… maybe I do:
The kingdom of God is like a man who sets out in the dark of the early morning, sprinting as quickly as he can to outrun the sunrise. But a man cannot outrun the sunrise, and so God’s love embraces him with golden light.
Well, my summit is about to start, but I had one more thing to share with you. I got absolutely amazing comments from people on my lectionary reflection last week, and yesterday, one of my friends included some of the concepts from my reflection and actually included a footnote reference to me in the online publication of her sermon. Now, by linking to this, I’m giving you access to my secret identity as a mild-mannered software developer, so please use this knowledge wisely.
Peace and blessings to you today!