Lectionary Musings (Year A, Proper 9)

I’ve been remiss in posting lectionary reflections for a few weeks, and I’m not going to apologize.  Life got full, and while I love the discipline of writing these weekly posts, the discipline is here for me and not me for it.  There is some neat stuff in this week’s readings,  and I think it’s a little sad that my parish had its annual renewal of wedding vow’s last Sunday rather than this.  This Sunday we’ll get such wonderful words on marriage and love and unity, much more fitting than the almost-sacrifice of Isaac.  Ah well.

The gospel this week ends with one of my most bestest favoritest passages ever:

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

It’s so beautiful, so lovely.  I remember the language in which I first heard these words of Jesus, who said, I will refresh you.  And the image that always came to my mind when I heard those words was that of a spring.  I could feel myself traveling through the desert, carrying packs of supplies and clothes, dusty and dirty and hot and tired and sweaty and sore.  I could see the cool spring up ahead, with green things around it, and even the very promise of that fresh water and soft grass began to refresh me, even before I reached it.  Finally I would reach the oasis, the spring, the water in the midst of the dry land, and I would lay down my heavy burdens and rest.  I would find refreshment in the water, in the shade of the palm trees, in the softness of the grass beneath me.

As beautiful as this feels, though, it is only the first part of what Jesus says here.  Yes, Jesus gives us this spring in the desert and invites us to lay down our burdens for rest and refreshment.  But guess what – we’re still in the middle of the desert, and we can’t live at this little spring forever.  The rest of our journey still lies before us.  The nice thing is, Jesus gives us an opportunity here, while we are resting and being refreshed.  We have lain down our burdens, and now we have a choice: we can pick the same burden back up, or we can take on the yoke Jesus offers us.  This is not to say that by taking on the yoke of Jesus, all those other burdens will simply fade into nothingness.  What it means is that when we focus on what Jesus calls us to do, somehow those other burdens become easier.

So what does Jesus call us to do?  Love God.  Love each other, as we love ourselves.  Love our enemies.  Forgive those who harm us.  Give food to the hungry, water to the thirsty, clothes to the naked, and shelter to those who have none.  Visit those in prison, and tend those who are sick.  You know, little easy things like that – of course Jesus says that this burden is easy and light to bear!  But the thing is, Jesus promises us something about this yoke; he says it will give rest to your soul.  If we do these simple-but-hard things, our souls will find rest.

There are some exceptions, but in general, most people find me fairly easy to get along with.  One exception is a man I’ll never forget.  I worked on a project with him about ten years ago.  The consensus among the folks on our team was that he was impossible (though we frequently used much more colorful words to describe him), and he had me in his sights in particular.  Nothing I did or said was ever correct, in his eyes, and he would blow up at me when I had no idea what could have provoked his anger.  It got to the point where I’d turn into the parking lot, see his truck, and feel physically ill.  So in the prayers I said each day during my morning commute, I started to ask, God, please help me to like this man, because I just can’t do it on my own.  After a couple days, I realized that this wasn’t quite the right prayer.  Jesus never said we had to like anybody – what he said we had to do was to love them.  Liking someone is a feeling, and we don’t have a whole lot of control over it.  But loving someone – that’s a choice, a commitment, a way of life.  So I changed my prayer: God, please help me to love this man, because I’m really having a hard time loving him on my own.  And God answered my prayer, Yes, my precious child, a thousand times yes! I think this may be one of God’s most bestest favoritest prayers, because the answer was so quick and so thorough.  I never did come to like the man, but I did come to understand him more, to listen to him more, to care what happened to and with and around him.  I stopped feeling ill when I saw his truck in the parking lot.  And though he may have been my enemy, I found myself able to love and forgive him.  What’s more, I learned a whole lot about loving and forgiving myself.

That prayer – that simple prayer asking God to help me love another person – that was the spring in the desert.  That was the heavy burden that I’d been carrying, that had been wearying me.  At the invitation of Jesus, I lay that burden down by the spring, and I drank from the living water.  In that moment, I chose to take up Jesus’s yoke, the burden of loving my enemy.  And I was amazed at how easy that yoke was, how light that burden was, compared to the anger and frustration and helplessness I’d felt before.  I had exchanged tears of frustrated rage for a heart filled with love and joy.  I did find rest for my soul.

I pray that you will also be able to find that same rest for your soul.  Despite this story, we do not find that rest once and for all time – at least, not until we reach God’s kingdom – but we do pick it up here and there along the way.  There are springs in the desert, where we can lay down our burdens and find rest and refreshment.  There are places where Jesus invites us to lay down the things that weigh on us and to pick up things that will lift us up.  My prayer for you as you read these words is that you will find those springs.

In the words of our Collect for this week…

O God, you have taught us to keep all your commandments
by loving you and our neighbor:
Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit,
that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart,
and united to one another with pure affection;
through Jesus Christ our Lord,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.
Amen.

Weeds, Glorious Weeds!

Last month I mentioned my Amazing Black Thumb of Death (particularly in the comments of that post), and how if I want something to grow, it dies, but if I consider it a weed, it thrives. I’d mentioned my yard being full of oniongrass, dandelions, wild strawberries, clover, and wild violets, and Rev. Maria begged me to keep focusing on those violets as weeds, as she has little success in growing them.

Well, I’ll admit that when I talk about them with most people, I reframe them as wildflowers. The only difference between a wildflower and a weed, after all, is whether you want it to grow where it is. If I decide I like my weeds just fine where they are, then they become wildflowers. 🙂 And here they are…

Violets along the edge of the deck:

Violets (and other weeds) along the fence line:
And the glorious chaos in the uncultivated garden bed beneath the kitchen window:

So there you have it: weeds, lots of weeds! But, you know, those bright yellow buttercups and dandelions, and the pretty purple violets make me smile. It is spring! And there is life, and beauty, and joy! And God is good! Alleluia!

Spring is here!

Yesterday was absolutely beautiful. The sun was bright, the sky was clear blue, and everywhere around are signs of life. The ornamental pear trees are in full bloom, and we have many streets lined with them in southeastern Virginia, like the picture. I remember riding the bus to junior high school, back in 19mrmphty-mumble, and how inspiring it would be when the pear trees would bloom along the boulevard my school was on.

There are buds on our cherry tree (I first typed “cheery tree,” which is pretty accurate, too). In a couple more weeks, the dogwoods will bloom. I’ve always loved dogwoods, especially the ones that blossom in pale pink. The dogwood is both the state flower and the state tree for Virginia, and in early April, you can see why. In looking for a picture this morning, I found this legend about the dogwood, which is highly appropriate for the approaching weeks.

A few years ago, I was driving up to northern Virginia for a business meeting, and I stopped at a rest stop along the interstate. It was a warm but very blustery day, and as I walked back to my car, it looked like it was snowing, despite the sunny blue sky. The wind was whipping the blossoms from the cherry trees, and the petals blew around in the air. It was absolutely beautiful.

Most of all, I look forward to the azaleas blooming. Since they’re a fairly attractive evergreen, and they grow like weeds here, April brings a riot of color from blooming azaleas – brick red, pale pink, orangey-pink, white. And, because I am a twisted soul, they make me laugh because of a hilarious interchange in the Steve Martin classic The Man With Two Brains. The doctor (Steve Martin) has brought his femme fatale wife (Kathleen Turner) home for the first time, and the gardener and housekeeper are waiting on the front step to greet them. She looks at them and says, “What are those assholes doing on the porch?” And he chuckles and says, “It’s pronounced azaleas.” So every spring, I drive past the gorgeous blooming azaleas, and think of this scene, and laugh. See? Twisted soul.

On Saturday, a little drama unfolded at my finch feeder. There was a pair of tufted titmice at the feeder, happily eating seed without having to compete with the grackles at the larger feeder. After about five minutes, a black-capped chickadee came over and started bitching at them. Seriously! He landed on the bar at the top of the feeder, and started complaining at them rather loudly. He flew at the titmice, so they flew away. The chickadee started to eat, but the titmice came back. There were a few more interchanges like this before the titmice gave up and went away, and the female chickadee came to eat with her mate. I thought it was funny.

Even better, on Sunday, I finally caught a glimpse of the cardinals I’d been hearing. The female was on the rail of our deck, right next to the larger bird feeder, and a few minutes later, I saw the male, in his red glory, on the some-kind-of-pine-looking tree in the back corner of the yard. (You see – I’ve trotted out the names of all the plants and birds that I know, and now the vastness of my ignorance has been revealed. Would you rather talk about statistical analysis? Sigh, I didn’t think so.) On the topic of Virginia state things, the cardinal is our state bird, and they are so cool to watch. The males are fantastic, but I love the understated beauty of the females. It looks like they’re nesting in our pine-looking trees again, which is just fine with me!

Just so you know… blogging may be light this week, as I’ll be traveling to northern Virginia for business meetings. Or, I may be bored and unable to sleep in a strange room, so I may post bizarre things at 2am. Guess we’ll have to see!

Wheeeeee!!!!!

I just got back to my desk from lunch. A little while ago, my husband called from his cell phone, saying, “I’m about five minutes from your office. Want to have lunch?” I said sure, and hung up. (Well, you know, we said good-bye first. I wasn’t raised in a barn.*)

So I locked my workstation and went out to the front sidewalk. It is a gorgeous day – sunny, about 60F, with light breezes – and I enjoyed just being out there. I sang the venite softly while I waited, because it just seemed appropriate. (Okay, so I’m a strange duck. And this surprises you?)

I was expecting him to arrive in something like this:

Instead, the hubster arrived on this:

He hopped off, opened the storage compartment, and pulled out this:
… which has a mirror-finish visor on it. (It just needs a big white daisy on the back!)

We actually bought the scoot for me, because motorcycle parking is ample at the university, and I could take the carpool lane on the highway, but it’s too tall for me, and I have a hard time getting moving from a stop on it. I’ve only ridden on it in a parking lot, not on the road, so I was a little nervous. Anxious. Frightened. Nail-bitingly terrified. So I swallowed, and I took a breath, and I hopped on. Okay, it wasn’t so much a hop, as an undignified stretch, but I’ve never been able to mount a horse gracefully, either, especially with my short little legs.

We went around the corner to a sub shop (hoagie, grinder, hero, whatever), had a quick bite, and rode back. The bike was admired at the sub shop, and when we returned, I grabbed a couple of co-workers to show them the bike, and especially my PINK helmet. When I made the daisy comment, the ladies smiled and nodded, and the men said, “Okay, I’ve got to get back to work.”

Men!

*Okay, the “I wasn’t raised in a barn” thing. One of my favorite bad religious jokes is this one: Jesus dashes out the front door to play, leaving it swinging open behind him. Mary shouts to him, “Jesus, close that door! You’d think you were born in a barn!” Ba-dum-bum.

Spring, maybe?

It’s a good thing I hadn’t yet seen this comic strip last night when I posted about the arrival of spring. I may not have hit that Publish button.

FORSYTHIA!!!!!

For me, the one thing that tells me more than anything else that spring is here is the blooming of the forsythia. It has those bright, sunny yellow blooms, and it grows wildly, riotously. It bursts out in all directions, and cannot be held in. When I hear the expression, “Spring has sprung,” the picture that firmly appears in my mind’s eye is a joyous forsythia bush, exploding in yellow blossoms. It rebels against the grays and browns of winter. It shouts out in joy. “Winter is ending; life is beginning anew. You are alive, and I am alive, and God is good.”

I saw my first forsythia blooms of 2007 on Saturday. I do this little thing that annoys the bejeebers out of the rest of my family for the brief couple of weeks when the forsythia are in bloom. I sing out “For-syth-i-a!” in a way that sounds very much like the Ricola guy. Whenever I do it, they get annoyed, and after two or three days, they’ll try to distract me when we’re about to drive past a forsythia bush, so I won’t sing it. And then yesterday, with Becca in the car, I spotted one of those riotous, joyous yellow shrubs, and I sang out, “For-syth-i-a!” And Becca laughed. She told me that even though it usually annoys her, she had missed it. She’d been waiting for me to spot that particular bush, so that I could sing out with joy at the coming of the spring.

FORSYTHIA! Winter is ending. Life is beginning anew. Birds are nesting, and eggs are incubating, and little baby bunnies are getting ready to be born. You are alive, and I am alive. And God is good. Peace and joy be with you today.