Silence!

I have just returned from a 24-hour retreat at St. Francis Springs Prayer Center.  I had decided to attend this retreat back in June when I received an invitation from my spiritual director.  If that terms seems mysterious to you, it's just someone who helps me identify God's activity in my life - someone who serves as a pastor to me.  She had invited 14 of us, I think.  And, what a beautiful mix of souls!  Of course, we were reminded about confidentiality - no spilling the beans about conversations in the sessions...and then to make it even a safer environment, no talking to each other about conversations in the sessions if we happened to bump into each other in "real life."  That was all very comfortable for me.

We prayed silently together quite a bit.  I'm not sure why we don't do this in church more often, as it can be very powerful to be silent with other people before God.  There's just something about that practice that right-sizes us and binds us together...or at least, that's what happened in the last 24 hours!  We reflected on scripture.  We wrote a little.  We talked.  We ate wonderful meals.  We laughed.

The interesting thing was this sign that hung on the doors heading into the guest room hallway.  "Please observe silence in the residential hall."  NO TALKING??!  And, not only was there no talking from us, there was no talking from the television because there were no televisions.  And, no talking from the phone because you had to go outside and climb a hill to have phone service.  Instead of TVs, we had large writing desks in our rooms with a nice bright light and a little coaster for our coffee or water.  We had comfortable chairs that sat in front of large windows displaying the beautiful grounds.  We had nice comfortable beds, and when I turned my lights out earlier than usual, it was already a silent and holy night.

I've been thinking about how healthy silence is and how hard it is to practice.  Even when we are not speaking, we are typing, texting, facebooking...and it's not that I think technology is evil.  I don't.  I use it.  I'm using it right now!  But, when it becomes filler - background noise - and we cannot be comfortable without it, we have a problem.  When it becomes our preferred mode of communication, we have a problem.  When we believe that the glow of the computer screen is an open invitation to free speech from us, we have a problem.  What I mean is that words get us in trouble.  In Psalm 141, the Psalmist  prayed Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips. The Psalmist understood that rarely does the unspoken word get people into trouble.  The Psalmist understood the quote that "My most prized possessions are the words I haven't spoken."
The past 24 hours was a good reminder to me of how restful life can be with fewer words and more prayers.  It was a good reminder to me of how little I actually need to speak.  And, it was a good reminder that silence is a friend.  I hope that in the coming days I can claim some spaces in my own life where I ask myself to "Please Observe Silence." It's not a bad thing.

In the End

A few nights ago, I watched a moving documentary on PBS about JFK's assassination and the reporters who covered the story  (and the difficulty in trying to get their stories straight without smartphones).  I watched Walter Cronkite announce to the nation that their President was dead.  I watched the footage of parts of the funeral and Mrs. Kennedy with her children - carrying all of that grief and being swamped with the trauma of being in the car when her husband was shot.

That got me thinking about Jackie O's funeral.  I remembered watching her burial years ago, although I did not realize how long ago that was until I googled it and found it on youtube.  The navy choir sang "Eternal Father, Strong to Save."

Continuing in my googled stream of consciousness, I watched part of Reagan's funeral - the second part - where he was laid to rest at sunset.  Watched Mrs. Reagan not want to leave the casket.  Watched their children try to comfort her.

All very different personalities.  Very different people.  Very big family names.  I grew up respecting one of those names and the other not so much.  Apparently, a lot of people grew up that way, and their feelings showed up in the youtube section for comments.  Some made glowing comments.  Some made markedly ugly comments.

But, after watching a little of the coverage of these three different funerals, I was struck by the fact that the same God was called upon for comfort and strength.  The same promises of eternal life were spoken.  The same efforts to remember the good in the person were made.  The same empty looks of grief were on the family's faces.

The world often feels so divided with our leaders at each throats - and sometimes us, too.  But, that is pure arrogance on our part.  God's light shines on us all.  God's promises are on us all.  God loves us all...the same...the important ones and the nobodies.  In the end, that's what matters.  We are God's beloved.  In the end, that is it...and that is enough.

Where I'm From

We just returned from our eighth annual women's retreat.  Our first exercise was based on a poem called "Where I'm From."  This first poem is my example to our rockin' church ladies.

The second poem is their version to share with the congregation.

Where I'm From

I'm from piano keys and stacks of music yellowed with age
from folded Kleenex
and orange Tang
I am from bricks and small towns
treasured
and smelling like pot roast
I am from dogwoods
and blackberry bushes
with fruit for granny's cobblers
I am from naps on Sunday afternoons
and operatic arias rising up from the steam of a shower
from Dan and Jane, Elizabeth and Clarence, Mattie and Hobson
I'm from orchestras and theatre
study and good grades
I'm from "Roll Tide" and "Surely to the Lord"
and "Every man for himself"
I'm from "Just as I am" and "I Surrender All"
from "Amazing Grace" and "Jesus Loves Me"
I'm from North Carolina and Alabama
from peppermints and mashed potatoes
I'm from church choirs that never watched closely enough
and piano students who never practiced hard enough
I'm from music
its notes chasing each other into the melody that is my life.


Where We're From

We are from Rocking Chairs.

From colored pencils, pink alarm clocks, and Alka Seltzer tablets.

We are from Cake Night.

Shaking It Off while we Shut Up and Dance. 

It looked like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain or maybe Blurred Lines, but it made us Happy

We are from Black Mountain

               Where Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.

We are from the hymns that make us Smile Like We Were Saved and Wake Us Up to the possibilities.

We are from Johnny and Ben, Bobo and Amy the Unicorn.

We are from Fanny Tucking and praying in color.

From     No Pressure But…….

               and Clear Hearts and Clear Minds

We are from Let There Be Peace On Earth and second chances.

We are Wilson’s Mills Christian Church

               The Bread and the Cup. 

Where all are Welcome

               and We Forgive Those Who Trespass Against Us

We are Sarah & Paula, Tanya & LeAnne, Lea & Melanie, Janet & Pat

We are Susie & Carrie, Kristine & Lynn, Linda & Sheree & Regena

We are Claudia & Jane & Lynda, Ginny & Heather, Trudy & Rose

From the Prayer Walk that opened our eyes to wonder, our ears to listen, relieved us of our worries and reminded us to intentionally meet God each day.

We are from the small but mighty trying to bring Joy to Every Heart.

Do-Overs

In worship today, we - and when I say "we," I really mean "I" - talked about dividing lines that separate people.  We used the Ephesians 2:11-22 text as our starting point.  To set the tone of the service, our bell choir rang "Let There Be Peace on Earth."  "Let it begin with me" and all that jazz.  This arrangement is one of our signature pieces.  We ring it a lot.  We ring it well.  We ring it with spirit and enthusiasm.  Truthfully, we could ring it with our eyes closed.

Only today, we did not ring it well.  We did not start out well.  We lost our place.  We rang bad notes. Our signature "Peace" song was following to pieces!

Now,  I have heard legends of our director stopping the choir during worship when things go badly awry.  I've heard that the choir has been asked to start over.  But, I've never experienced this phenomenon until today.

She stopped us, and basically, the bell choir took a mulligan with "Let There Be Peace on Earth."

I thought a do-over would be embarrassing, but I have to say...I was relieved that we were graciously given a second chance. We were not ringing up to par.  We were not ringing our best.  And, we were not setting the tone we had hoped!  We needed that mulligan!

Afterwards, a couple of ringers apologized for needing the second start.  But, you know, if you can't get a second chance in your own congregation, where can you get a second chance?

If you can't get a penalty-free mulligan when you mess up in your own congregation, where can you get a mulligan?  Not the British Open, that's for sure.

If you can't get a do-over when you are not at your best in your own congregation, where can you get a do-over?

Our church family is one place where do-overs are welcome and second chances are freely given.   We all mess up.  We all have things that we wish we could try again.  We all have days when we are not having our "A" game.

Here's the good news!  We worship a God of second chances.  So, of course, we want to be a people of second chances.  Thank you WMCC Bell Choir for having the courage to ask for a second chance and to OWN it!  Thank you WMCC Congregation for giving that second chance.

Proud to serve a congregation that recognizes when it messes up and is not ashamed to take a do-over!

Good for Nothing

Good for nothing.  Those are the words that came to mind on a warm, hazy afternoon last week.  I was on vacation in St. John, USVI with a group of friends.  We do a lot of snorkeling in St. John, and when I say a lot, I mean a LOT!  On Sunday, we spent the morning snorkeling around Maho Bay, but it was too crowded for our tastes.  Lots of families with small, squirmy children.  Lots of teenagers coming in on dinghies from the bigger boats in the center of the bay.  Lots of adults drinking a special punch.

So, after lunch, we walked into Leinster Bay - about a mile long walk - with all of our snorkel gear and our noodles.   We purchased those noodles when we arrived for $4.95 each at the drugstore.  Anyway, the walk in was hot so we decided to cool off by noodling around in the bay before putting on our gear and snorkeling over to Waterlemon.

But, that plan was not meant to be.

We ended up very uncharacteristically spending the entire afternoon floating around Leinster Bay in our sunglasses.  Good for nothing, we were!  Only one other family was on the beach.  They were too busy trying to take a picture of a baby nurse shark to pay us much attention.  Occasionally, a kayaker or a paddle boarder would pass by, but it was very quiet.  Just the sound of the water lapping up against the beach.  We talked some, but for the most part, we just floated.  Looking around.  When the sun broke through the clouds, the water would turn different shades of turquoise and blue and green.  There were times I was hardly able to believe that I was in a place so beautiful.  Hardly able to believe that I was capable of feeling so...peaceful.  Hardly able to believe that such a level of contentment was still available to me.

What if life is full of moments like this, and in my busy business, I rush right by them?

Making time to be good for nothing may be the secret to being good for something.

My Southern Heritage

I guess I have been blissfully ignorant for most of my adult life, because it never occurred to me that the Confederate flag was being flown in any official capacity until the shootings in Charleston . Then, I began to follow the story in South Carolina.  I witnessed lawmaker's changing their minds.  I witnessed elected officials admitting they were wrong.  That is newsworthy in and of itself.  Quite frankly, I had come to believe that our politicians voted along party lines without regard to anything or anyone else...unless that "anyone else" happened to be a big donor.

But, I digress.

Back to the flag.  I've read an awful lot about how removing the flag vilifies southern heritage and is disrespectful to the descendants of those who fought for the south during the Civil War.  I'm struck by how differently I feel about my own southern heritage.

I am a southerner.
I am a native North Carolinian.
My father is from the mountains of North Carolina.
My mother is from Alabama.
I refer to others as "y'all."
I eat grits.
I know all the words to the Alabama Crimson Tide's fight song.
I am southern.

When I think about my southern heritage - at least the part that I want to show off loud and proud - I think about the cool slate front porch where I spent many Saturday evenings with my great aunts, Lola Bell and Maxie.

I think of sweet tea
corn bread
biscuits and gravy
better  yet, biscuits and maple syrup

I think of yes m'am and no sir
please and thank you
no white shoes before Memorial Day (and those of you who wear them after Easter are truly the ones who vilify Southern culture!)

I think of "y'all come back" and "can you stay for dinner?"

I think of church on Sunday
prayer meetings on Wednesday
ice-cream suppers in the late afternoons

I think of strong women and gentle men

I think of casseroles after births
casseroles after deaths
casseroles after illness

I think of food a lot!

I guess when I think of the southern heritage that I want to display, it has more to do with graciousness and welcome.  It has to do with hospitality and making others feel welcome.  It has to do with minding your manners, and never being intentionally or proudly offensive to others.  Never.  It has to do with hosting others and not proclaiming our independence from others.  It has to do with setting a table that always has room for one more.  Mainly, it has to do with kindness....

So, I don't understand the veneration of the Confederate Flag.  It represents a part of my history that was very unkind.  While I do not want to forget that - and I don't want to forget what human beings are capable of doing to each other - that's not the part of my heritage that I want to celebrate or display.  The integrity with which I live my life is the most profound honor I can give to my ancestors.

Waking Up White

I have been in a writing workshop all week.  Each morning, we find a prompt posted on the board.  We begin the class with 15 minutes of silence while we write in response to the prompt.  This morning, the prompt was "Waking Up White."  Here is what I wrote.

I wake up white every morning.  I go to sleep white every night.  I have white parents.  I have a white sister.  I am married to a white man.  I am white.  But, last week, when Emmanuel AME Church was shot to bits, I remembered that while white is my reality, white is not my highest identity.  That insight accompanied me into a worship service last night held in our sanctuary with our sister church, a predominantly African-American church that is quite literally on the other side of the tracks.

This service had been my bright white idea, and I was not sure what to expect.  Would the spirit be friendly?  Would the atmosphere feel forced?  Would the pews be empty?  I did not know.

I took shelter in my office to prepare.  I robed up - I love my robe - and whispered a prayer for whatever was to come next.  As I walked through the narthex, I saw right away that we were running out of bulletins.  The place was packed.

Packed with people who wake up white.  Packed with people who wake up black.  Packed with people who wake up as NC State fans, and packed with people who follow Virginia Tech.  Packed with people with ipads and packed with people toting pens and paper.  Packed with people carrying children and packed with people who were alone.  Packed with people who lead in the community and packed with people who struggle to leave home.  Packed with people who protect and packed with people who report.

And those packed people stood, at times taking each other's hands, praying and singing, "It is well.  It is well with my soul."  Over and over again.  "It is well with my soul."  Their voices repeated the phrase louder and stronger until our old church windows shook with grief and hope.

I wake up white every day.  But, last night, I woke up to so much more.