Now We Wait

My most recent sermon was entitled, "Now We Wait." I considered the story of King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles chapter 20 and Jesus in the boat with his disciples in Mark 4. 

In the first story, the king and the people were facing a dangerous and large enemy, so they cried out to God in prayer, asking for help, for safety, for mercy, and verse 12 of that chapter ends with these two powerful and timely statements - "For we are powerless against this great multitude that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you." 

In the storm story told in Mark 4, the disciples assault their slumbering Savior and ask him this question: "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" 

I intentionally ended the Scripture readings in the middle of those stories. 
In the awkward and painful pause between the prayer and the answer.
Between the question and the response.

Cuz isn't that where we spend a lot of our time?
Facing great multitudes that we have no power to overcome.
Unsure of where to turn or what to do.
Wondering if Jesus is still asleep in our nearly-swamped boats. 
Asking - sometimes aloud, but mostly silently, urgently, painfully, between clenched jaws - 
"Don't you care that we are perishing???" 

Looking around, we wonder - Does anyone care? Anyone at all?

If you have the time or the inclination, the sermon is here. The Scripture is read by my friend, Diane, around minute 33:24, and my sermon begins at minute 37:29. 

Eight years ago today, on November 2, 2012, I underwent a biopsy of my left breast and one lymph node after a routine mammogram on Halloween was followed by a sonogram which prompted the technician to make an appointment for a biopsy two days later.  

Eight years ago right now, in the evening hours, I was in the awkward, dreadful, painful pause between the biopsy and the kanswer diagnosis. 

Right now, in the evening hours of November 2, 2020, we are all (perhaps even people who do not live in the United States) in the awkward, dreadful, painful pause between voting (for those of us who voted early or used mail in ballots) and the outcome of the election. 

Now we wait.

*******      Please pardon my public service announcement here    *******

IF YOU ARE AN AMERICAN CITIZEN AND CAN VOTE, PLEASE DO SO! 
VOTE.
VOTE.
VOTE. 
Pack a snack. Take some music. A foldable chair. A mask. A good book to read.
Take advantage of the right that thousands of people fought for and died for.
VOTE!

Check in with family and friends, and make sure they have a safe voting plan.

If you can, provide rides to the polls.
Protect those who are voting. 
Stand nearby.

If you cannot be present, pray. burn candles. light incense.
do your part to add positive energy and hope to this moment in our nation and our world.

*******   Public service announcement concluded   *******

I was awake for quite a while in the middle of the night last night. That's not normal for me. As I lay there in the darkness, I felt a wave of sorrow and sadness - and said several prayers - for people who deal with insomnia on a regular basis. 

I pulled out my phone and recorded a voice memo at 3:18 am.
Here's what I said to myself - and also to you who have found your way here...

"Lying here in bed awake in the middle of the night, I can understand why people are anxious and worried. There's a lot going on in the world. There's a lot going on in our country, in our own communities, in our homes, in our hearts. And so we who are the followers of Christ, we who are people of faith, we who look beyond just what is immediate, we need to do what we can do - we need to pray. We need to be present where we can be present. We need to be active where we can be active. We need to be beacons of hope for those who are running out of it. We need to do what we can do at this time. We need to stand and sit and speak and cry and pray. And we need to look beyond November 3rd and beyond the end of these wildfires and we need to look beyond the end of hurricane season. And we need to figure out what we are going to do and who we are going to be going forward. No matter who wins the election. No matter what comes of this pandemic. We've got to look further down the road. We have to. And it starts with being together in ways we can be together right now. It starts with encouraging each other to hold onto hope for each other until we can hold onto it for ourselves. As I preached on Sunday, now we wait. now we wait."

Friends, the waiting is hard. Tenuous. Unsettling. Anxiety-producing. 
One truth I hold onto is that I do not wait alone. Neither do you.

You may be in your house alone, in your apartment alone, in your condo alone.
But in many of the most important ways, we wait together.
We join our prayers, our hopes, our longings for peace online, through texts, on Instagram, through Zoom
- we wait together. We hope together. 

And while we wait, we rest. breathe. eat nourishing food.
drink tea. or kombucha. or whatever will steel your jangly nerves.

We connect to one another.
We connect to our joy and laughter.
We connect with our own truest, most courageous, hopeful selves.

We refuse to allow fear and anxiety to rule us.
We resist all efforts to make us believe that things are hopeless.
We turn off the news - even public radio.
We allow our anxious hearts and restless minds to relax for a while.

We live and breathe and prepare ourselves
for the work of healing and wholeness,
protection and provision,
care and connection that is ahead of us -
no matter who is declared the winner of the presidential election in the coming days. 

The man who resides in the white house is not the one who will do that work.
We are the ones who will do this life affirming, nation building work in the days ahead.

So get your rest.
Get prayed up. 
Walk. Run. Sweat. Stretch.
Do yoga. Meditate. Sit.  
Get ready for the real work that is to come.

But now - now we wait. 

Would you do me a favor?

Vote.

Please vote.

And don't just vote for yourself.

If you are white, have someplace to live, food in the fridge and pantry, a car, some money in the bank, a college education, and a job - then you are likely to be okay no matter who wins the election.  

But if you are Black, indigenous, or another person of color,
if you are gay, lesbian, queer, trans, bisexual, or non binary, 
if you are an immigrant,
if you are unemployed,
if you are female,
if you have any pre-existing medical condition,
if you have any chronic medical challenges,
if you are enrolled in the Affordable Care Act,
if you are poor,
if you do not have a college degree,
if you have significant medical, educational, or any other kind of debt,
if you love, know, or are related to anyone in any of these aforementioned groups,
then the person who occupies the White House as of next January matters.

Actually, no matter who you are, no matter how you identify, no matter what advantages or privileges you may or may not enjoy, the person who will live in the White House after January 2021 matters. 

So I ask you again - vote. Please.  

When you cast your vote, think about the millions of people in this country who will be affected by the outcome of the election. Vote for them. 

Actually, don't vote for "them."
Because the truth is that there is no "them."
There is only us. 

Only us, people. 
Only all of us.

Vote for "us."
The more than three hundred and twenty million people in this country - we will all be affected by the outcome of this election. 
Every single one of us.

Please vote for all of us because no one escapes the ramifications and repercussions of injustice, racism, xenophobia, fear mongering, inequity, hate, and state-sanctioned violence. No one. 

Vote. Vote for us. 

Smash and Grab

The world is on fire, it seems.

The Covid 19 pandemic rages because of the selfishness and self-centeredness of leaders and followers who clearly care more about themselves and their reputations than about the people they know and love. 

Because, seriously, how much does it cost you to wear a mask? 

And how much has it cost us to not wear masks? 

Yes, jobs have been lost. The economy has been deeply damaged.

But also, thousands of people, more than one hundred thousand people have died in this country.

The number of new cases is rising daily because people had to go to restaurants and the mall and mingle elbow to elbow. It was their right to be free. 

Now they are free to get sick with the virus they have denied the seriousness of and share that sickness with others.

And it didn't have to be this way.

It didn't have to be this way.

And it doesn't have to be this way going forward.

What will we do? How will we go from here?

The pandemic of racism, of police brutality, of injustice, and of ignoring the truth of all of these things - that pandemic has been brought to our attention in ways that are opening the eyes and ears and hearts of a whole lot of folk who never had to care before. People who have benefited from blindness to and disinterest in the lives of those who have always been essential workers, but still cannot earn a living wage, get access to safe drinking water, affordable housing, a good education, or health care. 

I am tired of listening to the same old excuses about protecting the fragile egos of those who don't want to hear and face the truth of our nation's horrific history (and it's not just our history; it is our current and ongoing way of life) while the lives of those with fragile health, fragile economic situations, and fragile prospects for a better future don't get the same protection. 

I am tired of being expected to console white people when they tell me how sad they are to realize how hard life has been for Black people all these years. 

I am tired of working so hard to bite my tongue, hold back my rage, and protect those fragile egos. 

I am ready to smash some stuff. We have to get ready to smash some stuff.  

We've got to smash the old ways of doing this community thing, this nation thing, this life thing.

We've got to smash the old systems that have kept far too few people in power and far too many people in pain.

We've got to grab the mic and speak the truth to those who have not listened for far too long.

We've got to grab the hands of those willing to do the real work of justice, peace, and healing - and press forward.

We've got work to do, my friends. 

You've got work to do.

I have work to do.

So much work.

Start by educating yourself.

Go to Google. Do some research.

Go to Amazon. Or better yet - find a black owned bookstore or a local bookstore. Buy books. Read them.

Sign up for workshops. Take them. Take notes. Study.

Listen. Learn. Grow. 

Then put your learning into action. 

(No, I'm not providing links because we each have to do our own work!)

Speak up when Uncle Joe says something racist at the Fourth of July family gathering you SHOULDN'T be having.

Speak up when someone says something stupid and racist in your Zoom work meetings.

Speak up when people in your faith community say racist things. 

Speak up when your partner, your spouse, your child, your neighbor, your parent shows their racist underbelly.

Speak up when that foolishness appears in your social media feeds. 

And be willing to own and apologize when your racist underbelly gets revealed.

Don't be silent.

At the very least, ask questions for clarification.

"Do I hear you saying...?" 

"Perhaps I misunderstood, but it sounded like you said..."

"Help me understand what that meant. I didn't think it was funny. Maybe I missed the point..."

Do your work.

Do your work.

Do more work.

Keep working. 

Keep on working.

Sit in the discomfort of it. 

Feel it. 

Keep working. 

Keep going. 

I was going to write: "It's time to get started."

But that would be wrong. It's not time to get started.

This work for justice began a long time ago. 

Centuries ago. 

It's time to keep working.

Time to keep smashing and keep grabbing.

Two weeks ago, I preached a sermon called "Smash and Grab." 

In the middle of that sermon, I articulated a few of the things I think we need to smash and grab.

This is that list.

"We’ve got to smash the whitewashed version of our history and grab the whole, messy, ugly, true story.

Smash ignorance. Grab a broad and deep education.

Smash lies. Grab truth.

Smash fear. Grab courage.

Smash hate. Grab love.

Smash apathy. Grab intentional involvement.

Smash complicity. Grab resistance.

Smash comfort. Grab discomfort - and sit in it. 

Smash the addiction to easy and quick answers. Grab onto the truth that this is long term work.

Smash privilege and grab equity.

Smash greed. Grab generosity.

Smash poverty. Grab justice.

Smash worry. Grab faith.

Smash despair. Grab hope.

Smash isolation. Grab community.

We must also smash false martyrdom. Grab real self-care.

Smash frenetic action. Grab stillness."

If you want to hear the sermon, check out the video below.

The reading of the Scripture, done by a friend from Cameroon, begins at minute 34 and a half. 

My sermon begins right at minute 38. 

Thankful Thursday: Graduation Edition

So this is it, my friends. The five year seminary journey will come to its conclusion in less than 48 hours. On Saturday, April 18th, at 10 am, I will graduate from Union Presbyterian Seminary in Charlotte. Online. On Zoom. It feels anti-climactic in some ways. Almost fake. Because we won't be together in person. But it's real. This is real. It's really happening. I am about to graduate!!!

So here is where I confess to NOT being very social media savvy.

Nonetheless, I will place a link here that I hope will allow

you to see a video I created

(with the help of my husband and our daughter)

to reflect on my seminary journey.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B--Mv4BhOYL/

I wish I could just upload the video straight from my computer, but it's too large to do that.
See? I wish I knew more about how to do this kind of thing.

If you have nothing to do and don't mind sitting through a long Zoom gathering, please join the festivities on Saturday morning by clicking here - https://zoom.us/j/675941040. 


What am I thankful for this Thursday evening?

* five years of study, completed
* papers and sermons written, books read, and classes attended
* the trip I took with seminary professors and students to El Salvador and Guatemala back in April of 2018
* the courage to stand my ground against a racist bully who tried to silence my voice, my convictions, and my questions during my very first semester at Union
* having that happen only once in these five years
* the friends and mentors, companions and guides that have accompanied me on this journey
* the laughter shared and the tears shed
* a capella hymn singing in chapel
* the pianists and organists who joined us in chapel over this past year
* the opportunity to translate for a Cuban pastor in one of our Union chapel services
* the amazing patience of the librarians, with all my requests and questions
* the good food we ate together every Saturday at lunch time
* the professors, staff members, the janitor, the entire Union Charlotte crew
* my classmates, their questions, their challenges, our debates, and our conversations
* all of the folks from First Presbyterian Church here in Charlotte - for their emotional, financial, and spiritual support. Without you and your encouragement for the past ten years, I truly wouldn't be here. I would never have considered attending seminary if you all hadn't told me over and over again: "Gail, you should go to seminary. You belong in the pulpit."
* the joy that comes from knowing that the prayer I prayed as a child in Sunday school classes at the Sixth Avenue Baptist Church, the prayer that I could go to church five days a week instead of school - that prayer is coming true, for real for real. I will be installed and ordained as Associate Minister at Caldwell Presbyterian Church on August 30, 2020 - provided that we have all been released from house arrest by then. Prayers sometimes do get answered with a resounding YES.
* I am grateful for the support of my family throughout these five years. It has been a difficult road with many challenges along the way. But we survived everything that has tried to take us down and take us out. We are still standing strong. Scarred. Wounded. Heartbroken in some ways and stronger than ever in other ways. I pray that I will make you proud and that you will never regret having taken this seminary journey with me.
* To God be the glory and the praise.

And on this night...

An hour ago, a friend sent me this via text: "And on this night, Mary and the others were quietly talking about visiting the tomb tomorrow. About taking the sweet spices to see their Lord, who had been crucified just yesterday."

I responded: "What a long night that must have been. Do you think they slept at all?!?"

My friend: "Wept, slept a little, wept."

Me: "I suspect tonight might feel that way for me. And for a whole lot of people."

**************

And on this night, tonight, there are a lot of people quietly talking about visiting their dearly departed. They want to take sweet spices and new clothes to cover the bodies of those who are now gone. They want to see their loved ones one last time, but they can't go because of this dreadful pandemic.

On that night long ago, on the night of Solemn Saturday, those women couldn't go to the tomb because it was the Sabbath. They honored their faith tradition and waited until early in the morning on the first day of the week before they ventured out, sweet burial spices in hand.


And on this night, across the ocean, my friend, Leticia, will join with her neighbors and with Spaniards all across the Iberian peninsula in song. They will stand at their windows and on their balconies, shine the lights of their flashlights, and sing, welcoming the day of Resurrection.

We need some Resurrection, don't we?


On that night long ago, on the night of Solemn Saturday, I bet those women, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and also the other women with them (Luke 24, verse 10) huddled together telling stories. Laughing and crying as they remembered and recounted the teaching, the miracles, and most of all, the friendship of that rabble rousing Rabbi they had loved and served and followed for three years. And they waited for the rising of the sun so they could go and anoint his body in the way that befitted The Gentle One whom they adored.


And on this night, I wish I could huddle with women I know and love. To talk. Laugh. Cry. Tell stories. Remember and recount the good times and the hard times we've shared. The meals we've eaten together. The chemo sessions we sat through together. The head shaking, hand wringing talks about marriage and parenting. The long walks. The secrets we shared in hotel rooms. The journals we've exchanged. The doubts we have had. The wrestling we have done with God, with people who have claimed to love us, and most of all with ourselves.

I desperately need time with the sisters of my soul.
My seminary classmates.
My pastoral colleagues.
My prayer partners.
My storytelling companions.
My anam cara.
My trench.


This is going to be a long night.
Evening shadows are growing.
Despondent tears are flowing.
Hope is fading.
Anxiety is invading.

I will do what my friend wrote -
I will weep, sleep a little, weep some more.
And on this night, I will keep vigil.

When I see the first sliver of light above my window in the morning,
even before I get out of bed,
I will speak aloud the truth that is the bedrock of my faith:
He is Risen. He is Risen indeed.

But not yet.
Not yet.

Let It Be

Well, friends. I'm back. It looks like I'm going to be back at home for a while.

This wash your hands, don't touch your face, keep your distance,
stay at home pandemic has pushed me back into the nest.
I would imagine that's true for most of us. Or it should be.

STAY HOME!

Even as I write that, however, I am mindful of the many, many people for whom home is not a place of safety, security, and rest. I think about the children for whom school was a place to be away from danger and to eat two meals that aren't available at home. I think about the people who have been told to go home and stay home - and therefore have no income. This "stay home" thing is complex, scary, confusing, and unsettling for all of us.

I wish I knew what to do or say or how to pray to make it all feel better and be better.
I wish I knew a way to escape all this, to evade it, to avoid it.
But as far as I can tell, the whole world is dealing with this thing.
And I haven't come across any secret prayer phrases or practices.
I haven't discovered a mantra powerful enough to stop this pandemic.
If you come across any secret rituals or herbs to burn, please let me know!

I'm just here at home. Journaling. Drinking kombucha. Reading. Attending way too many Zoom meetings with way too many people for way too many hours each day. Trying not to eat all of our pandemic rations in one sitting. Cancelling getaways I had planned and meals out that I was looking forward to. Doing some online shopping. Cursing and stomping my feet every now and then. Crying every now and then. Wondering and worrying about our future as a family, as a community, as a city, as a nation, and as a world. And I'm also watching a lot of Law and Order, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, and movies.

The other day, my oldest child and I began to watch the movie "Yesterday" together.
Good music. Some funny scenes.
Then about half way through, the movie stopped. Wouldn't go on.
HBO seized up and wouldn't go on.
I found an upcoming rebroadcast of the movie and set the DVR to record it.
I hope the recorded version is complete. I want to know what happens.

In case you haven't heard about that movie, it tells the story of a young man in England, a not-terribly- successful musician, whose life is turned upside after a harrowing accident. When he recovers from the accident, he discovers that he is the only person who knows the Beatles music. No one around him recognizes their lyrics when he quotes them or their songs when he plays them on his guitar or on the piano. What happens next? I'm not sure. The movie stopped.

I'm not a big music person. I like old Baptist hymns and contemporary versions of old Baptist hymns. I could name a few musicians I like, but that would only serve to prove that I'm not a big music person.

But having said that, I will also say this - I recognized the tune and the words to "Let it be" when he sang it in the movie. I won't try to recite them here, but I recognized them when I heard them.

At this time in our global, national, and collective history, at this time in my personal life story, I am trying to let it be.

I am trying to not drown myself in guilt over the fact that we have a home where we all feel safe and where there is enough food for us to eat.
I am trying to let it be.

I am learning to accept the deep humanity in myself, my husband, and our children, the vastly different ways in which we deal with frightful and difficult situations, and the shortness of patience that is occasionally on display during these days of social distancing - from everyone except the people we live with. There's no chance for me to get away from these people - and there's no chance for them to get away from me -  for the foreseeable future.
I am trying to let it be.

There is a long box in my Passion Planner (love my Passion Planner!) that has April 18th at the top, and that box that is filled with scribbles and exclamation points because that is the day I am supposed to graduate from seminary after five long years of study. Looking at that box now brings up a whole lot of sadness and a fair number of sighs.
I am trying to let it be.

My "let it be" list could go on for pages. I'm sure you have your own extensive list of places, times, situations, and circumstances in which you need to "let it be."

This is so much. It's too much. This is all too much.
And there is too little that I can do to change any of it.
And I am trying to let it be.
To breathe. To believe.
To trust that there is hope and a future.
That we will get through this.

But for now, for today, I am trying to let it be.

My amazing life coach, Kelley Palmer, recently invited me to make a list of things that nourish me.
What calms me, centers me, makes me relax, feel a sense of peace?
It doesn't have to be "green juice, kombucha, prayer, and cleaning my house."
It can be hot, sweet coffee and Australian licorice - even though I am trying to avoid too much sugar.
It can be bourbon and ginger ale or rum and coke - even though I am trying to drink more water.
It can be binge watching Law and Order - even though I have dozens of books to read.
It can be spending extra time in bed - even though I would normally hop out of bed to get ready for heading off to work.

I am in the process of adding to my list of what nourishes me - and I am doing those things. I feel better for having begun the list. Seeing all the things that make me feel calm and peaceful, happy and contented all on the same page, on the same list, just doing that has brought a smile to face. And doing the things, it feels fantastic.

So let me ask you to do the same - make a list of what nourishes you, calms you, settles you.
Make a list of the people you can call or text or video chat with.
Do some internet research on how to use the ingredients you already have to make new dishes.
Go to Pinterest and find recipes for how to make toilet paper (only kidding!)

Make a list of the things. And then do the things.

And let it be.


One thing that is on my list of nourishing activities is reading the Bible.
Here's a familiar verse that is keeping me upright and strong these days.
Psalm 23:4 - Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 
I will fear no evil for you 
(Holy God of Life, Healing, and Hope - this insertion is mine)
are with me.


Not alone. Not even in the valley.
Never alone.
Even now, as I am learning to let it be.
Perhaps especially now.

A sermon - Are you talking to me?

Last Sunday, I had the honor of preaching from John 4, the story of the woman at the well.

The first four minutes of the video are the reading of the scripture by three folks from the church. Then I get started.

It's mind-boggling that I get to study the Bible, this book I have loved for as long as I can remember, and share what I learn with others. I pray for many more chances to do so.

Thank you, Caldwell.
Thanks be to God.