tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19994920808783398702024-03-05T19:15:48.976-08:00The Ubiquity of GracePastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-25592339157493062522021-10-04T15:14:00.002-07:002021-10-04T15:14:22.984-07:00This Is Not the End of You<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>For all who have survived and all who will survive<br /></i><i>October 2021</i><i><br /></i><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This may be the end of what you thought would last<br />This may be the end of what you thought was "the real thing"<br />This may be the end of what you said "I do" to<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is not the end of you.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The words she used were hurtful<br />The things he did were harmful<br />The time and energy they took can't be replaced<br />The scars will remain, even after the wounds heal<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is not the end of you.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You believed the lie that it was your fault<br />You thought maybe it was true that you can't do anything right<br />You can't shake the feeling that you just didn't try hard enough<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is not the end of you.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You listen to me now:<br />You are worth <i>so. much. more.</i><br />You are of <u>untold value.</u><br />You--yes, YOU!<br /><b>YOU are loved.<br />YOU are lovable.<br />YOU are beloved.<br /></b><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>This is not the end of you.<br /><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>There is hope. There is hope. There is hope.<br /></b><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Let this be the beginning of something new.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is not the end of you.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. If you or someone you know is experiencing harm in an intimate or familial relationship, contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or www.ndvh.org. You can reach the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-4673 or rainn.org. Learn more about building healthy relationships and spreading awareness of domestic and intimate partner violence by visiting the One Love Foundation at joinonelove.org or the Domestic Violence Awareness Project at dawareness.org.</i></span></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-72307087575638269452020-07-26T07:43:00.000-07:002020-07-26T09:59:32.221-07:00Dear JimYou started telling me years ago that you wanted me to do your funeral. I figured you'd long outlive my tenure at your church, however, and that you would get to know pastors who followed me, too, and one of them would (and should) do your funeral. And truth be told, I fervently hoped I wouldn't have to do your funeral. You were the lay member to annual conference, a Sunday school teacher, a member of the choir, and one of the most faithful members of that church. You were proud of being one of the longest-standing members there. The church needed you (and you needed the church). It's kind of funny: even when you do so many funerals as a pastor, there are some people you think might never die.<br>
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So I'm writing you this letter too late, as these things happen. And I'm not doing your funeral...but this fact brings me no joy, and perhaps, I should have been willing to say yes, if circumstances had permitted. Life is full of these decisions we see differently on the back side, isn't it?<br>
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There's so much I would say about you, if I were doing your funeral, and so much I probably should have said to you...but that time has passed. I have so many memories of being your pastor for four years. I mean, I have lots of memories of four years at your church, but also, memories just of you.<br>
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You called me your "guru." You came to talk to me about everything and anything. It didn't take long to realize you were lonely. I remember you always wore your wedding ring, and very early on, you pointed out that you were not single by choice. You'd talk about your "first wife," Shirley, and it was obvious that you would have given anything for her to be with you still. I always imagined there are some things in your house that were left untouched, just the way Shirley had left them, as a sort of shrine, a way to call up her presence in your loneliest moments. Of course, I don't know that to be true...but from what I know, it seems possible. You loved her so much. And you missed her so painfully. I knew that. It wasn't hard to tell it, and I tried to be present for you in those lonely moments. Sometimes it was too much for me, though. I failed you, so many times.<br>
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You see, the thing about being a pastor is that part of your job is to lay bare some of yourself, so that others can feel comfortable doing that, too, and then it's hard to help people understand that the closeness they feel isn't really as personal as they think it is, after all. This doesn't mean pastors are actors or are being disingenuous; it just means we are always balancing how to care for others and share ourselves enough to help foster their spiritual growth in genuine ways, with how to protect ourselves in important ways, too.</div>
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But you and I had a different relationship from what I had with many other church members. When you asked questions of me, you wanted a real answer. You respected my opinion on lots of things, though I remember one time I noted I had read something in the Washington Post and you said, "We may have to work on your choice of reading material." You were ready to jump into whatever I suggested as a small group study or a new direction for the church. Few church members have respected my authority and training and knowledge the way you did. We didn't agree on everything, and you liked to parse concepts into so many pieces that it drove me nuts sometimes, but you valued what I had to say.<br>
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You brought me newspaper clipping after newspaper clipping, and magazine articles and church bulletins. You wanted to share all the ideas you got from everything you read and every place you went. I kept it all, while I was there. There was a box under my desk that held all the stuff from Jim. And I dutifully packed most of it and moved it with me 3 years ago. It meant something to you, and I felt it important to honor that, though you probably never knew that. Just recently, as I tried to clean the closet in my office, I came across a bunch of that stuff. Some of it I did finally pitch, but a lot of it is still there.<br>
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This week, as I prepared to record a sermon for the church I presently attend but do not work at, I had even said to myself, Jim will be happy he can actually see me preach this week. (When I was getting ready to leave your church, I remember you asked where you would be able to watch or listen to my sermons each week, but that isn't usually possible, in the ministry where I serve now.) I was excited that you could watch, this one time, and I made a mental note to be sure to send you the link. But then I got a phone call Wednesday evening, letting me know you had gone. And I can't stop thinking that I wish you were around to see this service, not because it's anything great, but because I know you would have wanted to.</div>
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There's so much more to say. There were days you were the last person I wanted to see and times I tried to avoid you. Your attention was sometimes disconcerting and probably inappropriate. You were protective of me, which was unwarranted and unnecessary. But I know all of this came from a good place and was borne out of a deep regard and love. And I wanted to appreciate it and honor it. I wanted to be the pastor you needed. I wanted to have the healthy boundaries I needed for me and my family, too. It is so damn hard to be a pastor and care for people and care for yourself in the midst of dealing with all the mess of your own life and a whole bunch of other people's, too.</div>
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I failed you, Jim, because I am a broken human, after all. But I was trying to do my best. And I haven't been your pastor for almost 3 years, but I hope you knew that didn't mean I stopped caring about you and hoping you were still growing in your relationship with God.</div>
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Maybe you did understand. If nothing else, I know the last time we talked, I did tell you I loved you. I meant that. And that's all I know to say now. I love you, Jim. May you rest in peace and rise in glory.</div>
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-Betz CE</div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-61491622149391651812020-05-13T16:52:00.001-07:002020-05-13T16:54:53.885-07:00"Nothing" Means A Lot<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div><br></div>Currently, my "office" space is comprised of the end of our couch, a plant stand with a basket of desk supplies on top of it (wedged in between the arm of the couch and the wall), and the area surrounding the plant stand and an end table that sits near the end of the couch. Needless to say, it's a lot less space than the office where I usually do campus ministry and the office I've recently acquired on campus, for the one course I've been teaching.<br>
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As I sat on the end of the couch recently--the space where I spend my morning devotion time, where I sit and scroll through social media, where I read and write and watch TV, where I hold Zoom and Facebook Live ministry events--in a particular moment, I took note of the kitsch spread out on top of the end table, and noticed something kind of peculiar. Whenever I am not sharing the space with the cat, so he can look out the window (knocking down as many things as possible as he sits there), 2 little plaques are displayed, and recently, I've been leaving a note card from my sister there, too. All three of these happen to have something in common: the quotations on them include the word "nothing." There's this from Jane Austen: "There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort." And this from Maya Angelou: "Nothing can dim the light that shines from within." And recently, this scripture verse: "for with God, nothing shall be impossible" (Luke 1:37).<br>
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Now, first, the inclusion of "nothing" in all of those statements reminded me of all the times I've read students' essays this semester that talk about "everyone" and "no one" and all the other over-generalizations that young writers are prone to use. (Did you know that <i>all</i> "older" people are opposed to tattoos and unusual hair coloring? Also, <i>everyone</i> of a certain age is under pressure to post <i>everything</i> they do on social media; were you aware of this?!) It struck me as ironic that I've populated my own "inspirational spot" with a trove of (over?)generalized quotations. Are they true? Are they overstatements? Do they have any accuracy? (The writing instructor in me need to consider the ethos of these claims!)<br>
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Well, maybe these comments weren't intended to hold up against this kind of scrutiny, and that's OK. In this moment, I think what they all have in common is that, ironically enough, that little word "nothing" actually opens up a crack in the dull hopelessness that creeps in about 11:00 each morning (if not before). If it's true that there is "nothing like staying at home for real comfort," maybe it's OK that I can't be at either of my offices and see any of my students in person. If it's true that "nothing can dim the light that shines from within," then maybe what I'm doing here isn't a complete waste of space and time and energy. Maybe, even though I'm not physically saving lives on the front line of this pandemic, there's some kind of light that I'm shining to make the world a better place, anyway. You see, it's easy to feel like whatever I <i>am </i>doing--and some days, it feels like I'm "doing" precious little, other than keeping my children from killing each other--is just not that important. But a little "nothing" reminds me that whatever I manage to do just could be brightening up a darkness in someone else's life that I don't even realize.<br>
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Of course, that last quotation I mentioned, the Bible verse, means something deeper than Jane Austen's statement and a little bit more specific than Maya Angelou's. "For with God, nothing shall be impossible." This "nothing" should be rooting me right now. When I think of the suffering others are experiencing, when I see the unemployment numbers each week, when I read about the dead and the injustices being perpetrated in this country, even amidst the pandemic (#BREONNATAYLOR #SAYHERNAME), things seem pretty dang dark. I don't know or understand all of what God is up to, but it doesn't exactly seem like enough, to me. I pray for the same things day in and day out, and they don't seem like enough. Nothing seems to change. In some moments, nothing seems possible.<br>
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But "for with God, nothing shall be <i>im</i>possible." I should be expectant with hope that there is possibility for healing, wholeness, and justice--even when that's not what it looks like, right now. I should be reminded that the things that have seemed unlikely, unreasonable, and even out of the realm of possibility have been happening, from the beginning even until now. After all, this statement, as quoted from the gospel of Luke, was made to a young girl who was about to become pregnant out of wedlock with the baby who would be the Savior of the world. I guess if she could put her faith in it, so can I. Sometimes "nothing" means a lot!Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-18149600845591969212020-05-04T07:58:00.001-07:002020-05-04T07:58:27.952-07:00It's Monday Morning. I Already Messed Up.I started writing more blog posts a couple weeks ago, to give myself something to do, other than scroll through social media and get dragged in to conversations that are better left alone. I was trying to do something that would be positive, rather than stay stuck in the negativity that this time so easily breeds.<div><br></div><div>Today, before 8 a.m. on a Monday, I had already failed. Rather than thinking about and writing something positive on this blog, I mindlessly scrolled through Facebook, found a post I disagreed with, commented on it, then congratulated myself on my superior intelligence and critical thinking. Not surprisingly, I highly doubt that person will be reading what I post on my blog now. Why would they? Was what I said necessary? Was it charitable? Was it how I should be spending my time and data usage?</div><div><br></div><div>The short answer to those questions is definitely "no." And I could easily allow that to turn a pandemic Monday into a manic Monday and hate all the things I do that annoy me (imagine what else annoys everyone else, too!). But I'm not going to. I said what I said. It wasn't the nicest thing, though it could have been much worse. I'm not going to engage further. And I'm going to move forward. Just because I messed up at 8 a.m. on Monday doesn't mean 8:01 a.m. couldn't be better. I am determined to make the rest of the day better. It can only go up from here, right?</div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-87589626256919818912020-04-29T11:24:00.001-07:002020-04-29T11:24:57.258-07:00Care Comes in PackagesDo you remember that book about 5 love languages? I read part of it, or did a workbook related to it in a small group, or something like that, but anyway, it said one of my love languages is giving gifts. I don't know how much else about that book is accurate, but this much is true: I like to give people things. This proclivity is not without its hazards, especially when you have limited resources...<div><br></div><div>Anyway, today I am celebrating that part of my job--my calling, actually--involves giving people stuff. Usually at this time of year, I'm about to go buy a bunch of snacks and goodies for students, and prepare to make pancakes on a Tuesday night, and figure out how we'll celebrate our graduating students. This year, the pancakes only happen with my family. There won't be a spa night with pictures of pretty awful-looking facial masks. I won't buy a cake twice the size of what we need, in an effort to make sure we have <i>plenty</i> for all the partying we will do for our last week together. This year, I will entrust the "EIU alumni" mugs to the Postal Service, for safe delivery to our graduating students, instead of handing them out myself. It's a bit of a bummer.</div><div><br></div><div>But still, what I <i>can</i> do right now is send my students stuff to remind them that they are loved, to give them a break from the stress of the end of the semester, and to make their day a little brighter. I am thankful that I can send them stuff because of the support and care of all sorts of people who give money to churches that support EIU Wesley Foundation and who give money directly to EIU Wesley Foundation. Care comes in packages right now. And that is fine with me.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-8482896813063239942020-04-28T09:53:00.001-07:002020-04-28T09:53:01.103-07:00On Being HopefulYesterday was a horrible day. Let me qualify that: I did not fight to save anyone's life, watch anyone die, suffer any horrible pain, or say goodbye to a loved one, so I understand that my "horrible day" pales in comparison with that of so many other people's day.<div><br></div><div>Still, both children ended Sunday pretty badly, and Monday morning started with attitude from the 8-year-old and the 4-year-old's super power--being impervious to his parents' requests/directives--in full swing. At some point in the afternoon, I abandoned the children entirely into the care of their father and spent over an hour organizing my beads and jewelery-making supplies...not because I planned to use them, per se, but because doing that seemed no less futile than anything else that actually rightfully demanded my time or attention.</div><div><br></div><div>Needless to say, today showed up needing a new infusion of hope and positivity, perhaps like no day quite had needed it before. During breakfast, it occurred to me that our dog exhibits the most enduring hope of anyone in our household, even in the least likely circumstances. Now, it's true that most of the time she is intensely hoping that the 4-year-old will drop his food, or that one of us adults will toss her a forbidden bite of human food goodness. Her hope is far less complex or deep than what I am working on regularly. But still, I suppose it doesn't hurt to see how she hopes, then aspire to something like that: hope that arrives with each new day, each new meal, each potential pat on the head (well, maybe not that last one). Where are you finding hope today?</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-8469406208848759892020-04-27T06:48:00.001-07:002020-04-27T06:48:33.289-07:00On ProductivityLet me just say a few words about productivity. I've been hearing a lot about it recently. There's a million tips out there for how to be productive if you're working from home right now. There seems to be a line of thinking that if you <i>are</i> working from home right now, you have a whole lot of free time and should also be learning a new skill or otherwise improving yourself. Then there are those of us who have about twice as much to do, now that we're working from home. And I know plenty of people who can't work from home, and many who are working even harder at their away-from-home jobs right now.<div><br></div><div>So, yeah, here's what I think about all this conversation about productivity: you do what you have to or are able to do, and I will do what I'm able to, and maybe we can quit trying to tell each other how we're supposed to be doing this thing that none of us have ever dealt with before.</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, and I made myself some earrings yesterday because being creative feels like a better thing than trying to be productive all the time.</div><div><br></div><div>I wonder what it would be like if we could talk about how to "be" more and how to "do" less. What do you think?</div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-81638418089501753132020-04-22T07:38:00.001-07:002020-04-22T07:38:17.995-07:00Learning to Be LovedLast night, I was part of a wonderful conversation about vocational discernment, led by Grant Swanson of Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary. Now, honestly, I'm at a point where I can really get into talking about vocational discernment because I am at a good place right now. Working in campus ministry has been a goal for a long time and, while I am certainly by no means perfect at what I do, I feel like I am in a place where God has been calling me to be for a long time. It is amazing to feel this way! For years, though, I knew the frustration and pain of feeling like I kind of knew where God wanted me to be, but I didn't have any idea how I would ever get there. Suffice it to say, I know the joy and trial that vocational discernment can be!<div><br></div><div>We worked on 4 different questions during this conversation, and the first one was to determine a 6-word personal mission statement. If you know much about me, you know that I have a B.A. and an M.A. in English, and that I rarely ever say things in as few words as possible! Telling the "short version" of a story is a pretty foreign concept to me! How can I say anything in only 6 words???? Well, I did, though. I did what I was told to do (because I am also a rule follower), and this is what I came up with: "Learning to be loved by God." It seems kind of incomplete--because 6 words is not a lot of words!--but it is also a truth that I've been working on for some time. It probably sounds weird: how does someone learn to be loved by someone else?? It seems kind of like a basic recognition that I am missing: why can't this person who espouses God's love for all people just know that she is also loved by God? Well, I'd rather not get into all of the answers to that question right now. If you read very far down this blog, you'll probably find some answers. What I want to say is that I think this has always been one of my greatest challenges, and right now, when everything has been turned upside-down, it's even more essential. I cannot do everything I would normally do. There are days I feel like I am failing at both paid jobs I have and all the other "jobs" I try to do on a daily basis right now. And when I get that way, everything feels like it's going to fall apart and maybe I am just a waste of space. So, from here on out, now that I have identified this mission statement, I'm going to pursue it with all I am. I may never be perfect at anything, but maybe I can stop trying for that and start living more like I'm loved. After all, learning how deeply one is loved loved may just be a key to learning to love others more deeply.</div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-35086413916274316212020-04-21T05:46:00.001-07:002020-04-21T11:28:42.684-07:00Looking for HopeOne of the most difficult parts of this pandemic for me is the prohibition against being with other people. While I am so thankful that I have a home and a family and jobs that allow me to work from home, I miss being able to gather with other people for worship and socialization. (Even though I'm an introvert, I do enjoy being with other people sometimes!!) I highly value community, and I am missing that a lot. Online meetings are good, and the best we can do right now, but I miss being in the physical presence of others.<div><br></div><div>But there's something going on that makes me feel better and reminds me that community still happens, even if it doesn't look like what I'm used to. I have no idea where this started, but I am loving the hearts that people are putting up in their windows. It makes me feel like we might all be connected, even from our own separate spaces. Even though I don't know the people who live in these houses, I am thankful that they would tape up paper hearts in their windows, that they would reach out to the rest of the world in this little way. It gives me hope. It makes me feel like we are together, even though we're apart right now.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><div><br></div><div>How are you finding hope right now?</div></div></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-60960265232283092632020-04-20T08:47:00.002-07:002020-04-20T08:47:50.551-07:00Not Alone<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">Though I hadn't seen a soul on the
whole of my morning walk, I suddenly realized I was not alone. As I neared the
stretch of road that borders a creek, I saw the flick of white tails and sudden
motion moving away from me. My arrival had startled some deer lurking along the
creek, hidden from my view by their coloring and the naked, early spring trees.
I tried to take a picture of them with my cell phone, but they moved off too
quickly, into the denser growth.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Though I thought they had moved on for
good, I saw them again just a little while later. They had moved down the creek
a ways, then up into someone's backyard. There were three of them, and they
weren’t too far off. I realized that even when I thought they'd gone, the deer
had still been pretty close the whole time. When I noticed they had appeared
again, I thought to myself, maybe that's what God is like—Father, Son, Holy
Spirit—right here, nearby. Maybe I don’t have to focus on all the seeking for
God that I’ve been doing—like looking for unicorns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I know we're taught to seek God. I've
done a lot of learning and a lot of teaching others how to seek God: how to enter
the presence of the Holy with intention, how to read the scriptures and listen
for the Spirit's calling, how to attend to Jesus' presence in worship,
fellowship, and everyday life. It seems like a reasonable thing for a pastor to
do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">In fact, for a number of years,
churches have developed worship services focused on people they call “seekers.”
It became a thing to try to be <i>the</i> place that offered exactly what
people were looking for, whatever that may be. Pastors and other leaders focused
on offering answers for these seekers. It seemed like faith became based on our
own efforts to understand God, and the church a place that made it as easy as
possible to get to that understanding. Worship services and other events were
scrutinized under the lens of “does it make sense to the seekers,” always
referring to a certain group of people, usually those who had little exposure
to the church as children or youth, and who weren’t very familiar with
“traditional church.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Of course, this is not the genesis of
the whole idea of seeking. Scripture does tell us to seek God; how else will we
learn what it means to be faithful and how it looks to live righteously? Jesus
even says, “Seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness, and all these
things will be given to you as well.” There is certainly room for seeking in
the Christian life—and not just for those who don’t know “what it’s all about”
already, or who haven’t been involved in church that long. We’re all called to
be seek God faithfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Sometimes, however, I think we try to make
a spiritual life entirely out of the seeking, when it's just as true that we
need to understand in the depths of our souls that we have been found, already.
While what we do does matter, the whole thing isn’t up to us. Even when we feel
all alone, like we’re not finding what we’re searching for, God is there—maybe camouflaged
by the brown-gray trees we're in the midst of, maybe standing in plain sight,
just not where our distracted eyes are looking at the moment: a deer, not a
unicorn—with us, in the common things. We're not alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Yes, seeking God may be important, but
the joy and hope of the Christian faith is that God is seeking us all the time.
As "A New Creed" says, "In life, in death, in life beyond death,
God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God."*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">*"A New Creed." United
Church of Canada, 1968 (rev. 1980, 1995))</span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-3318769408541727462020-04-20T05:22:00.001-07:002020-04-20T05:22:30.330-07:00Finding Joy (day 1)Today, I am finding joy in tulips. I first noticed them blooming a lot on Easter Sunday, as I took my morning walk. I was reveling in the sight of plastic Easter eggs on people's lawns, patiently waiting for little ones to awaken and go looting for Easter treasure, when something else caught my eye. At first, I thought it was more Easter eggs, then I realized it was a large stand of vibrant, colorful tulips in a yard. I am thrilled that more than a week later, they are still standing strong, joined by more friends, brightening the cool spring days.<div><br></div><div>Where are you finding joy today?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-88414806616047604492019-10-29T13:54:00.000-07:002019-10-29T13:54:18.736-07:00Seminary May Have Saved My Life<div dir="ltr">
I arrived at Duke Divinity School to begin my M. Div. degree in August 2006. To say that moving 300+ miles to start a degree program may have saved my life sounds a little dramatic, I realize. It may be true, though.</div>
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I was in a pre-orientation program at Duke, and I remember that as we introduced ourselves on the first day, we were supposed to share one fact that no one in the room would know about us. My fact was that I was supposed to have been married about 3 weeks earlier. As I shared that, I realized I wasn't exactly devastated that I hadn't gotten married...but it did feel like an odd place to be, to say the least.</div>
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To be honest, I had tried to end that relationship months earlier and had come to the conclusion that it would have to wait until I moved away from the guy who wouldn't leave me alone. Ultimately, I was right. The relationship was on its last leg when I moved and 2 months apart ended it definitively--from my perspective, at least. Thankfully, I had made friends at Duke who talked me through the immediate emotional fallout of what I had been through, convincing me that I was not, in fact, damaged and undesirable beyond repair. Thankfully, when I started having a lot of anger about what had happened to me, Duke had a good counseling center for students and I got the help I needed. Thankfully, it just so happens that I had met this other guy who actually showed me how I should be treated (I married him instead, a while later). And perhaps best of all, I was, in fact, 300+ miles away from the man whose words and actions had chipped away at my boundaries and created deep fissures in my emotional stability and my self-esteem, for over a year...and I was safe. He had never been physically violent, but you never know what abusive words might eventually lead to.</div>
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What's the point of all this? Well, it's all to say that I didn't stay in the abusive relationship I found myself in because I already had a plan to be going somewhere else, far away from where that relationship started, and by the time I met him, not even <i>he</i> could deter the path I was on. I was lucky. I got out because I had a place to go and I could get there, and I had the means to survive without him. Going to seminary was the ticket I needed to get out of an abusive relationship.</div>
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Now, I don't wake up every morning and think about the fact that I survived intimate partner abuse; after 13 years, there are plenty of more important things that take up the space in my brain. I read some articles recently that made me think more of that "why doesn't she leave?" question people looking in from the outside of abusive relationships often ask, and I cannot stress enough (along with the writers of those articles) how misled that question is. She (or he or they) doesn't leave for a million different reasons, many of which those on the outside of the abusive relationship would not understand or consider valid. It doesn't have to do with intelligence or education. It's not because she's a glutton for punishment. It's not because she doesn't mind the abuse. Abuse steals everything--self-esteem, self-sufficiency, self-confidence, healthy boundaries, a sense of identity separate from the abuser, relationships with people other than the abuser, and in many cases, the physical means for leaving. The reasons "why" abound...but they also don't really matter!</div>
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So, don't wonder about why people "let" themselves be abused. Don't imagine you know better. Don't think you're smarter or worth more. Just don't. Sure, she has her flaws, but being abused is not just "her fault." There's much more to it. This Domestic Violence Awareness Month, if you want to help, donate to a shelter--be sure to ask what they need, instead of assuming you know. Listen to someone's story and <i>don't</i> give advice, as though you know better. Take a stand and refuse to let your church or religion or other beliefs be the reason that someone is held captive in an abusive relationship (hint: lots of Christians use supposed biblical precedent to tell women, especially, not to leave abusive partners). Quit asking the wrong question. Practice compassion and unconditional love. That's really hard to do, but I think it's always worth the effort. I mean, it's what Jesus did...</div>
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Seminary may have saved my life. Many women and children and men won't be able to say that. And it's not their fault. You could help save their lives.</div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-61201351892029126062019-06-12T20:48:00.001-07:002019-06-12T20:48:14.460-07:00Celebrating an anniversary!<p dir="ltr">Today is an anniversary for me! It's not the one I usually think about this time of year, though (that one is 2 days from now, and, as has been the case more often than not, Brock and I will again be apart on our wedding anniversary...welcome to life in ministry!).</p>
<p dir="ltr">Nope, I am thinking in these late hours of June 12th about another anniversary in my life. Eight years ago today I was ordained an Elder in full connection in The United Methodist Church. It was Pentecost Sunday. It was awesome.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I never meant to become a pastor, though. I only did it after a few years of resistance to the call and because I could no longer do anything else.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I serve in a church that is a human institution, broken in many ways. I have hope for the future of that church, and I have hurt for so much that is going on within it. Some folks think I am wrong for some things I believe. Terms like unorthodox, heretical, disobedient, and even rebelling against God get put out there when people who disagree with me talk about people like me--someone who believes in the full inclusion of members of the LGBTQIA+ community in the life and leadership of the church. In 10 years under appointment, I have been called these things and so many worse things, all by people IN the church. I don't wonder why so many people my age and younger stay away from the church. There are times I have only gone to church because I had promised to keep showing up...because I was the pastor.</p>
<p dir="ltr">God has never stopped showing up, though. The Holy Spirit hasn't quit breathing into the broken fragments of all our lives. The disturbing and disruptive winds of Pentecost still blow. I have trouble believing that the Holy Spirit works things out by 53% to 47% votes. I have trouble believing that the Holy Spirit condemns young people, like several of my students, whose faith bears fruit far beyond their years, just because of whom they are attracted to. I'm not comfortable with a lot of things about my church right now...but I imagine that may just be where the Holy Spirit needs me (and all of us?) to be, for the winds to blow some more.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So, I guess I'll wait and see what happens next. And I will trust in God's grace to lead me, like I did 8 years ago on Pentecost...like I did 2 years before that, when I was commissioned and started serving my first 2 little country churches...like I did 6 years before that when I said to my campus minister, "Um...what do I need to do if I think maybe God<i> is</i> calling me into ordained ministry?"...like I did when I was 13 years old and my pastor asked me to decide if I was ready to be confirmed...</p>
<p dir="ltr">The Holy Spirit sure does get in there and mess things up, sometimes. Tonight, I am thankful for that, as scary and uncertain and wonderful and awesome as it is. So here's to 8 or 10 or 30 more years, trying to follow where you're blowing, Holy Spirit. I sure am tired, and I have no idea where this thing is going, but if you're in it, I want to be in it, too. Come, Holy Spirit. Amen.</p>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-66537800779971980412018-05-17T11:53:00.000-07:002019-05-29T19:52:56.787-07:00Everybody Wants to Feel Special Sometimes<p dir="ltr">We moved a while back, which meant we left behind a number of people we had gotten to know and appreciate, and one of those was our pediatrician. Dr. Landon had seen us through a lot with both of our munchkins. He was very kind and very thorough, and he always acted happy to see us. He told jokes, which was not necessarily my favorite part of visits with him, but it was unique, at least. A visit with Dr. Landon left me feeling like he knew my kids and me and cared about us. Upon mentioning this to a friend who was also a doctor, she noted that he probably said these same things to all of his patients, that he likely treated everyone the same. This revelation left me in a quandary. It feels good to feel special. Thinking that Dr. Landon had a special interest in our family, or some kind of special connection with us, felt good.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I've been reflecting on that desire we have to feel special to people recently. I remember a long plane ride next to some guy from England, whom I thought might ignore me the whole time. When he finally did talk to me, we learned a little bit about each other. We exchanged email addresses. I wrote him a few times after that. For whatever reason, I couldn't abide the thought that he didn't have any interest in knowing who I was. Maybe it was my own issues that caused me to want that human connection, but I think there's a place in all of us that wants people to think we're unique, special, someone they need in their life--someone they should inherently be interested in.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I've thought also about a time when I did something hurtful to a friend of mine. Eventually, in remorse, I apologized. I confessed feeling like a terrible friend and not a very good person. His response was something along the lines of, "We're all terrible people. That's why we need God's grace." Those were not exactly the words I was expecting, though, considering that he was in seminary at the time and eventually became a Lutheran pastor, they seem pretty on point for him.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So many things we do make us feel not very special. It's a lot easier to feel like a real screw-up than to feel special. Maybe that's why we like it when we do feel special, and why, all to often, we make it to mean more than it does. After all, don't we practically pay people to make us feel special? Don't we like it when a server at a restaurant makes us feel like we're the best customer they've had all day? Don't we expect people in "helping" professions--doctors, teachers, pastors, social workers, etc.--to act kindly and make us feel good or better about ourselves, in some way? Yes, we have so many ways that we can feel unique, so many connections we make with others that feel special, whether they really are, or not.</p>
<p dir="ltr">What is it about us that makes us want to be told we are good people? We want to feel special...but the truth is, we're kind of a lot like everyone else. I think that's the conundrum of faith, in some ways. Knowing God has the effect of making us feel both special and minuscule at the same time. If God made all the things, then what would make me think I am a special thing among all of those? The universe sure is big. I sure am small, compared to it. But then, that's why scripture is more than just one story about God, more than the creation of all things. Scripture tells us that God is far away...but also near. We are each part of a creation whose breadth and depth we can't ever understand. AND we are beloved by the God who created all of that. We are each so special...just like everyone else.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Huh? Yeah, that's the thing about God, right? How can God love all the things so much? How can God make each and every one of us feel so special? Maybe that's one of those questions to save up for heaven. Until then, maybe it's better to think a lot about how much God loves us each, how special we all are to God, and then try really hard to remember that all of that applies to everyone else, too. That sounds like enough work to keep me busy for a while...</p>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-12673121215398879112018-05-05T20:24:00.000-07:002018-05-05T20:24:36.537-07:00What Does the Fox Say?It's been a couple weeks since we've seen them. They were so cute and adorable, 5 little foxes running and playing in our backyard, with their beautiful mom keeping a watchful eye. It was inevitable that they would leave, of course. That's the way things go--they are wild animals, after all. Their presence in our backyard, taking up residence under our shed for two weeks, taught me a couple of lessons, though, so I share those with you now.<br />
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It was late on a Tuesday that we first heard the sound--I thought it was some dog gone hoarse, barking when we let our dog out at night. It was a very eerie sound. After we heard it for 3 or 4 nights, Brock finally saw the fox one morning as he was tracking down the dog on her trek through the backyard. Not long after that, cute little fox babies started showing up, popping out of the hole their mom had dug under our shed.<br />
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Two or three times a day they would come out and play, depending on what else was going on in the area of our backyard, their mother keeping a watchful eye, running off if any threat arrived, as the kits scampered back under the shed. She'd run far enough to be out of danger, but close enough to see when the coast was clear and then return.<br />
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I understood her concern. I wished there was a way to let her know that I wasn't really a threat to her, that I thought she was wonderful and beautiful, and that I would do anything I could to help her. I also wanted to let her know that I understood being concerned about the kids playing in that yard: I only have 2, and I get worried they're going to get hurt or fall down the hill and land in the creek/drainage ditch...stuff like that, you know. I can't imagine how it was to try to keep track of 5!<br />
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In my musings about the momma fox, it began to dawn on me that the fox was teaching me some things about God...or God was teaching me through the fox, is probably more like it. That fox was beautiful; I was thrilled just to see her roaming around the backyard, watching her kits, barking (or whatever it is) at my dog. She was this delightful, amazing gift. I felt silly about it, but I wished there was some way I could make her understand how wonderful I thought she was and how much I would love to make sure she was protected and provided for, if there were any way that I could. This all seemed slightly unreasonable, though--I mean, she was a wild fox, and she showed up in my yard, dug out a spot under our shed for her babies, and made our home her home, for a while.<br />
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I began to wonder, is this how God feels when looking at me? Does God find delight in seeing me be me, doing the things God made me to be able to do? Does God think I'm beautiful and lovely? Does God desire the best for me, long to see me safe and flourishing? Does God wish I would understand all of that? Maybe so. Maybe this is the beginning of understanding it better than I already thought I did.<br />
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As for the foxes, I'll be looking for a flash of orange in the woods all summer...maybe I'll catch of a glimpse of them in the wild, doing what God made them to do...<br />
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Oh, and if you're wondering what the fox says, watch a women's tennis match--that loud scream/grunt so many tennis players make these days is the closest we've come to finding a similar sound...Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-49503972022004840212018-01-04T08:42:00.000-08:002018-01-04T08:42:22.020-08:00But It's Not Fair!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the "better late than never" category, here is my sermon from my Longest Night of the Year Service on December 21. If you've read much of this blog, you know that I post this sermon every year. Now that I'm in campus ministry, I did not have a Christmas Eve service because I had no students to have a service for! This was certainly a change for me, and I am grateful that the pastor of the church I now attend allowed me to lead a Longest Night Service in his church.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Without further ado, here are some thoughts for these long winter nights...</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“But It’s Not Fair!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Luke 1:5-25, 67-79<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Longest Night Sermon 2017<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />As a parent of a 6-year-old, I am learning a lot about what is not fair in life. Maybe you are familiar with this…maybe not. Here are some examples: It’s time for bed…but that’s not fair! It’s time to put your video game away…but that’s not fair! No, you can’t eat dinner in front of the TV tonight…but that’s not fair! (The list goes on, as you can well imagine.)<br /><br />Sometimes, I think that of all the people in the Christmas story, Zechariah had the most reason to judge the unfairness of his situation. I can’t blame him for being scared out of his mind when an angel showed up, and for asking what the angel thought were too many questions--for wanting a little more information. Who wouldn’t?!<br /><br />In those 9 months that Zechariah couldn’t speak, I wonder how many times he thought to himself, “But it’s not fair!” Did he see Elizabeth struggle with her pregnancy and want to comfort and reassure her, but couldn’t because he couldn’t speak? Did he see his neighbors with questioning looks and want to say something to them…but he couldn’t speak? Did he hear the news about Elizabeth’s relative Mary and want to say something about it…but he couldn’t speak? It hardly seems fair for an old man who had been faithful all his life to go through what Zechariah went through…just because he wanted to know more. As an inquisitive person, myself, I am totally sympathetic to Zechariah’s interest in asking for more information from the angel.<br /><br />As a person who thrives on order, I am sympathetic to some other ways that Zechariah may have felt things just weren’t fair. Here, he and Elizabeth had been faithful people all their lives long. He was even a priest, and yet they still had no children! Of course, they had no knowledge of biology and fertility issues…they just knew that the one blessing they most desired had not materialized, and it didn’t look in any way hopeful, before the angel showed up that day. Now, how is that fair?<br /><br />I know a number of people asking that same question this time of year—a number of clergywomen whose deepest desire is to have babies of their own, yet they find themselves preaching about Elizabeth and Mary, year after year, with no miracle child to rejoice over, themselves. It is painful…and it seems totally unfair.<br /><br />We gather here tonight with a lot of “but it’s not fairs” crying out from our souls. Though this is “the most wonderful time of the year,” it doesn’t seem fair that Christmas is coming and that person we have loved for so long isn’t here to share it this year. Though every TV commercial is about giving or getting the perfect gift, the bank account balks at spending money to give those gifts, and it doesn’t seem fair. Though we want to sing “Joy to the World” with joy, our minds and our hearts are heavy with the burdens of the every day, with the weight of caring for our bodies and souls and the bodies and souls of others. We see friends struggling or grieving, and their hurt doesn’t seem fair. We know of church members who face insurmountable odds, grief too painful even to mention, and we want to know from God why things are so unfair. Though we talk about the Light of the World, we feel like people walking in darkness. It’s just not fair. Maybe we’re all there with Zechariah, and that’s why we came here tonight. We want to know how God is really going to make things right, after all that has gone wrong. We see where there is darkness that longs for light. We wish we could avoid it ourselves, and protect others from it, too. But we know we can’t. We want to know why this world is still so broken, after all this time. And we want God to fix it—and to fix us—now!<br /><br />Zechariah had 9 months to wait, to see what would happen, to meet this promised child, to be able to share his thoughts aloud again. Maybe in 9 months, I will understand more how it’s going to make me stronger, or my friends, or family members, or church members, that all these unfair things have happened. Maybe in 9 more months, my friends who want so badly to have children of their own will have different news or a different understanding of how God is calling them to be parents, even if not of their own children, or a peace that they desire so much right now because of this emptiness they feel without a baby to hold. Maybe in 9 more months, my friends who grieve this Christmas will have found more strength from the journey of grief, from getting themselves out of bed each day, even though knowing it would be another day without that loved one who has died.<br /><br />After 9 months, Zechariah could talk again. I bet he had a lot to say! Because it just wasn’t fair, what happened to him! But that’s not what he talked about, as the scripture tells it. He didn’t rant and rave about what he’d been through, what God had put him through, how life seemed unfair. No. He prophesied. Instead of all the “it’s not fair” thoughts, Holy Spirit words tumbled out of his mouth, proclaiming praise to God, recounting a history full of God’s goodness and mercy, and seeing into a future no one would have guessed but everyone would dream of.<br /><br />Zechariah’s story reminds us of something the Bible shows us time and time again: that even from those who despair and who face what may seem unjust, for those who are righteous, there is somewhere deep inside of them the knowledge that God is good and that there will be reason to praise God again, after the silence, after the darkness, after the waiting, after the pain. We see this in the psalms—that the psalmist is willing to cry out to God and say things about what he thinks aren’t fair—things we have been told you should never say to God! And most of the time, the psalmist says the hard things, shouts out his feelings and his discontent with his situation and even with God…but then almost always ends up by recounting how good God is. Zechariah’s story ends up this same way.<br /><br />It’s dark tonight. We feel a bit broken. We may feel like people who have no ability to say what needs to be said, not because an angel came and visited us but because life isn’t fair and darkness gets in there, disorients us, pours fear and anxiety into the holes in our souls where Christ’s light should be shining through. Zechariah sat mute, perhaps in a personal darkness that seemed entirely unfair. Let his words remind us that the darkness does not win, that what we are waiting for gives us the hope to face new days and even dark nights: “Because of our God’s deep compassion, the dawn from heaven will break upon us, to give light to those who are sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide us on the path of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79 CEB)<br /><br />The light will come again. Life may not seem fair yet, but we wait with hope for the day that the light dawns, that justice and peace reign, that all things are redeemed, and that God’s deep compassion pours over all creation again. We wait with hope. Even when it’s not fair. Because God is good. Because God is with us. Because Christ will come again. Thanks be to God. Amen.</span>Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-73430576345184412802017-11-05T13:35:00.002-08:002020-02-21T08:06:42.222-08:00Meeting Jesus<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wrote this a little while ago, and it's finally making it here...</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I was leaving the
food pantry yesterday with both kids, Jesus caught me, needing a ride to the
doctor. She was a woman, probably in her 50s, with thick, curly hair, tan lines
on her feet from other sandals, and a penchant for sharing more information than
people wanted to hear. She wouldn't get into my car until I had cleared the
entire floorboard in front of the front passenger seat. Her cell phone fell
apart--the battery cover coming off and the battery falling out--as she got in the
car. She claimed she was waiting for the public transit, but that driver was
taking lunch, and the doctor had called and told her she needed to come in and
see him. She said she didn't know why, but she hoped it was nothing bad. She
rattled on about where she lived--in that yellow trailer on the corner in the
mobile home park just down the street, but she really didn't like it
there--that she had to go to Kingsport in the morning and wouldn't have time to
eat breakfast before that long drive...she asked what I thought of "that
clip," referring to the solar eclipse that had happened the day before.
She talked about how long she had been going to church and how often she
prayed. When I dropped her off, she offered me money for gas, but I declined,
noting that we are supposed to help each other out. She hugged me and thanked
me and told me she loved me. She said she was hesitant to pick up hitchhikers,
too, but that she's a nice one, she's always nice to people and she loves
everybody. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was Jesus. I almost missed him. I'm sure
glad I didn't, though.</span></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-46263777041050630222016-12-24T18:15:00.003-08:002016-12-24T18:15:30.248-08:00Let's Go Now!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Let’s
Go Now!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">2016 Christmas Eve Sermon<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Luke 2:8-20<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">At
the church-related elementary school I attended, the kindergarteners always
acted out the Christmas story while the older classes narrated, reciting from
the King James Version of Luke 2. At the appropriate time, the angels stepped
onto a riser about the same height as the kneeling rail, so I suppose they were
to appear as, in some sense, suspended in the air. The spotlight shone on them
as the good news was pronounced to some poor shepherds down on the floor. The
heavenly host consisted of 3 5-year-olds in converted white bed sheets with
nylon wings and gold and silver garland halos. The year I was in kindergarten,
my twin sister and I took our places on the riser, and the video evidence will
forever show that my sister did not assume the appropriate cherubic posture
quickly enough to suit me, which resulted in a swift elbowing from me and an
emphatic show of standing the proper way. I am certainly thankful YouTube did
not exist then!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I
wonder, what was it like when that first angel appeared to those unsuspecting
shepherds? Was there any sort of warning? Did the hair on the back of their
necks stand up, like when lightning is about to strike nearby? Did a vortex
appear in the clouds, like in a science fiction movie? I imagine that when the
heavenly host appeared to the shepherds, there was more coordination than
5-year-olds elbowing each other, jostling for the appropriate position. Though
we think of angels as sweet and beautiful, with really nice singing voices,
there must be something more to them than that: something very frightening.
Perhaps you have seen the movie <i>Dogma</i>,
a late-90s spoof on Catholicism, where an angel appears in bedrooms in the
middle of the night, with a great deal of commotion, loud noise, a deep booming
voice, and some fire and smoke. (You haven’t seen it? Well, don’t go rent it
this holiday season…unless you already know who Jay and Silent Bob are and you
like their movies…) While much of that movie is very irreverent, perhaps they
are on to something with how angels appear: there must be something terrifying
about a member of the heavenly host showing up on earth! There’s probably good
reason the shepherds quaked, as the song says. Here was heaven, coming to earth
suddenly, unstoppably, forcefully, even, as a whole host of them show up and
start singing—singing not of their work but of what God has done, off yonder in
a manger somewhere, a baby born to save the whole world. It was good news, but
it sure was a surprise!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We
don’t know much about the shepherds. Maybe they were outlaws. Maybe they
actually owned their own sheep and were just working-class guys. Undoubtedly,
they were smelly and dirty, and very unusual guests in a home in Bethlehem in
the middle of the night (or did they arrive after daybreak—how long did it take
to walk there?). No matter how much they might not have fit in there, though,
they went—because when the heavens are torn open and God’s glory is revealed,
you go—“Let’s go now,” they said. “Let’s go now and see it!” And they headed
out, maybe still a bit scared, also very excited…and not skeptical. They didn’t
say, “Let’s go see if this is really true. We’ve never seen angels before, so
we don’t know if they’re really trustworthy…” Nope. They got themselves up off
the ground and headed out: “Let’s go now to Bethlehem and see about what God
has revealed to us!” And off they went!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Few
people that I know of have ever seen anything like a messenger from heaven
breaking through the atmosphere and setting up a racket to get their attention
and sing about what God is up to. We’re just not that attuned to heaven coming
near to earth—it seems a bit out of place, most of the time. We’re asked to
believe a lot of things at this time of year. It seems that just the time some
kind of feel-good story makes the news, someone’s questioning or debunking it.
How much can we really believe? In our ordinary lives, angels don’t just
interrupt our work or our sleep; bushes don’t burn without being consumed;
donkeys don’t talk; the sun doesn’t stop in the sky. Though we may look for God
in many places, so often we are attuned to how very “normal” our lives are.
What is supernatural seems unlikely, maybe even unwelcome. What is not “normal”
must have a scientific explanation. Everything can be explained. Everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">But
Christmas is a special time of year. Maybe we expect a random miracle, this
time of year—or a brief glimpse of heavenly light, a faint sound of angel’s
wings fluttering by. For all our explaining and planning and doing what we
normally do, we stop at Christmas and expect something big to happen—maybe just
because we know the story and we believe it, despite the skeptics. Hearing the
Christmas story year after year makes space in our lives for the wonderful, the
strange, the mysterious, the unexpected—the surprise of the supernatural—even
despite ourselves, sometimes. One wonders if the angel tried to appear to
shepherds in another field, but they were asleep or too busy to pay
attention…not so for us, in this moment. In this moment, no matter how much we
may have ignored it the rest of the year, we hear the angels; we know that
heaven has touched earth. We may have been busy the whole rest of this season.
Maybe Advent has come and gone and we hardly paid attention. But we’re here
tonight. We have gathered expecting something. Finally, we have stopped and
come to the place where we know heaven and earth meet because God is here. Though
we may not expect God to show up anywhere else, we know for sure that God will
be here, in church, especially on Christmas Eve. And we hear the good news now,
too. With the shepherds, we see the angels show up—it’s scary and amazing and
exciting, all at once! The news is that the world has been changed, that heaven
has come down to earth, not just as angels breaking through the skies, but as a
baby, placed in a manger, in some tucked away corner of Bethlehem, to some
quiet, unknown parents (and they’re not even married yet!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">“Let’s
go now,” the shepherds said. “Let’s go now and see about what God has revealed
to us.” And after they went (with haste!) and saw, they told everyone there
what they had seen and heard, and they left, praising and glorifying God. Once
they saw the Savior of the world, they weren’t done being excited! They kept on
praising God for this good news, even as they went back to the place they had
come from—back to their normal lives, with smelly, dirty sheep…maybe checking
the heavens every now and then, just in case…just in case…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Let’s
go now. You and I. Let’s gather before the manger and see the creator of the
universe, come as a helpless baby. Let’s gather and see the one who is able to
redeem us, to make us spotless before God. Let’s gather at his table, hear the
words of life and grace and love and peace we need to hear—not from angels but
from the very Savior himself. And then, let’s go. Let’s go out into the world,
glorifying and praising God, along with the shepherds…along with the blind who
see and the deaf who hear and the lame who leap…along with the oppressed who
are freed and the hungry who are fed…let’s go now, and share the grace and love
of God. Love has come. Christ is born. Glory to God in the highest heaven, and
on earth peace among those whom he favors! Merry Christmas!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-87977707149816427922016-12-24T18:14:00.002-08:002016-12-24T18:14:37.658-08:00Darkness Will Fade<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Darkness
Will Fade</span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">2016 Longest Night of the Year Sermon<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">December 21, 2016</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Isaiah 9:2-7<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">The
people walking in darkness have seen a great light.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">On those living in a pitch-dark
land, light has dawned.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">3 </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">You have made the nation great;</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">you have increased its joy.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
<span class="text">They rejoiced before you as with joy at the harvest,</span><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">as those who divide plunder
rejoice.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">4 </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">As on the day of Midian, you’ve
shattered the yoke that burdened them,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">the staff on their shoulders,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">and the rod of their oppressor.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">5 </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">Because every boot of the thundering
warriors,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">and every garment rolled in blood</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">will be burned, fuel for the fire.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">6 </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">A child is born to us, a son is
given to us,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">and authority will be on his
shoulders.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">He will be named</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="text"><b><sup><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">7 </span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">There will be vast authority and
endless peace</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">for David’s throne and for his
kingdom,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">establishing and sustaining it</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">with justice and righteousness</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">now and forever.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">The zeal of the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Lord</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;">of heavenly forces will do this.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">To
say that darkness has seeped in a bit this year would be an understatement. It
seems the darkness has been busy extinguishing bits and pieces of light in my
life for quite a while, and I hardly even noticed it until recently—kind of
like when the light fixture in your den keeps having bulbs burn out and it’s
not until you’re down to 2 and you can hardly see across the room that you
realize just how dark it’s gotten in there. Sometimes, the invasion of darkness
is quiet and slow and almost unrecognizable…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">All
of this makes me wonder if Isaiah’s “people who walked in darkness” even knew
they were walking in darkness. It makes me think of my childish impressions of
what people call “the dark ages”: Were there really no lights then? Did
everyone just stumble around blindly, grasping for things? Did the sun not
shine for a whole epoch of time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">That’s
silly, but still I wonder: how do we know when we’re people who are walking in
darkness? Maybe it’s not until we see the light that we realize how dark it’s
gotten. Our bathroom light fixture has two bulbs in it; one had been out for
quite some time—I had forgotten it was even there—and when the other one blew, we
replaced both, and we were amazed at how bright it was! We could see ourselves
in the mirror again!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Isaiah says,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">“The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span><span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">On those living in a pitch-dark land, light has dawned.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">This
time of year we don’t have to imagine what walking in darkness is like. As the
literal darkness comes upon us, there are many who suffer mental and emotional
distress just from the lack of daylight we experience. When we set our clocks
back the first of last month, we may have been surprised by the darkness that
seemed to come out of nowhere, but we’ve gotten used to it by now, most days.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">But
no, Isaiah’s people weren’t stuck without sunlight for years and years. They
seemed without guidance, without one to lead them home, without the presence of
the God they had had to leave behind in Jerusalem. They walked as though they
couldn’t see where they were going because God seemed so far from them. They
lived through war and political maneuvering that left them without much hope
for the kind of life they felt promised by the scriptures they had always read,
the God they had (almost) always worshiped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">If
you haven’t stumbled around in the dark recently with the threat of stepping on
Legos, I’d say you’re not missing much. Though many of us seem to have a knack
for finding darkness on our own, its undeniable creep gets to us all, at times.
Isaiah doesn’t promise that the darkness all goes away, but he does proclaim
the arrival of a light that, at the very least, holds the darkness at bay. This
light makes it possible to see where one is going, to have a sense of direction
and purpose, to find hope even when much of life seems uncertain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Isaiah
speaks of one who is to come, who will be called Wonderful Counselor—that is, whose
decisions will be wise; Mighty God—that is, a son of God; Eternal Father—that
is, one who will care for the people of Israel; and Prince of Peace—that is,
one who will no longer wage violence and war but a way of life that sustains
the value of the people, rather than oppressing them. For Isaiah’s first
listeners, this would have been a king—a real, true king, one of David’s line.
This child who was born would be an earthly ruler anointed by God to shepherd
the people Israel. So many years later, we hear these words differently…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">In
the midst of darkness, we await a Wonderful Counselor, whose wisdom will turn
our hearts to the right and set us on paths that lead to life. We await a
Mighty God, whose power will not be like the grasping, insecure power of rulers
who seek to dominate and control others, but whose might will deliver us from
the brokenness we continue to wage upon ourselves and each other. We await an
Everlasting Father, who will care for us in ways an earthly father could never
even imagine—one whose protection, nurture, support, and even discipline will
be life-giving and life-changing. We await a Prince of Peace, whose peace will
engender freedom and wholeness for all people. In the midst of darkness, we
know with Isaiah the hope that darkness will fade, that one will again come
into our lives who will brighten up all the darkest corners of us and turn the
deepest midnight into light. Indeed, that one <i>has</i> come…and <i>will</i> come
again!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">If
you find yourself in darkness this season…if the darkness has crept in, just a
little bit, or overwhelmingly, take heart—have hope—a child is born to us, and
he is everything we’ve been waiting for in the dark. And his light makes the
darkness fade—sometimes slowly, as his love gently takes us back over from
darkness; sometimes dramatically, as we see what has been hidden in plain view
and turn back to his ways.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span class="text"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">“The
light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.” Thanks be
to God. Amen.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-47732954377175703132016-11-28T15:57:00.000-08:002016-11-28T16:21:34.893-08:00Confessions of a PastorWifeMomI haven't written a blog post for a long time. I confess I've been a bit preoccupied with a few things...<br />
<br />
There was a moment of joy, the thrill of being out all by myself, sometime at the end of May or the beginning of June. I forget exactly when it was. The newborn was all set to be without me, for at least an hour. I left the house by myself, for the first time since said child had arrived on the scene on April 13th (the day the stomach virus that had made its way through the 4-year-old and the husband finally got to me). It was the last time I got my hair cut. That was just about 6 months ago.<br />
<br />
6 months. In that time, I have contemplated scores of blog posts. I've even started writing several of them, typed with one hand on my cell phone, while the baby nursed (I found 3 nearly finished ones in the Memo app when I saved this one there...I mean, I'm writing this one on my phone while I wait for the pharmacy to get both the prescriptions the pediatrician's office sent in earlier, after both boys were diagnosed with walking pneumonia this morning.) I keep thinking there will be a time when I will get everything done. Won't the day come when I feel like I have accomplished all I wanted to, as a pastor, as a mother, as a wife...a responsible adult...but I confess it feels like I am always waiting for the time to show up when this will all happen. And I confess that waiting and trying to do it all leaves me frustrated, more often than not.<br />
<br />
You know how many things I've started in my life and never finished? More books than I can probably count (books I started reading, not books I started writing, just to be clear!). Multitudinous art and crafty projects. Plans for what to do with old high school t-shirts. Scrapbooks from any time period--I've never finished a one. Add to that the number of times I haven't cleaned the house and you might wonder what I ever do with any of my time...<br />
<br />
My family could answer that: I work. A lot.<br />
<br />
But you know what I want to do with my time? I want to write (well, and read, too). I would love to find the time some of my colleagues find, to publish, either on the internet or in actual book form, nearly every thought it seems they have. In fact, I have a Bible study on the book of Joel that I think may just be worth publishing, now that I've reworked it and taught it several times. I even joined a professional organization almost expressly because it has an agreement with a publisher, and I thought that would be a way to get this Bible study at least considered for publishing. I still haven't figured out how to do that through this organization, but at least I've gained some colleagues and found some useful Facebook groups, anyway.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder if everyone has these dreams they fully expect never to realize. I assume they do...but then I know some people do get published, and some do find themselves in the ministry setting they've always longed for. Some people do feel like all of their gifts and talents are being used to the best of their ability. So, I don't know what I should do differently. I know I need a haircut. I know I don't regret that the time and energy I have left after I spend too much of it on the church/denomination and other organizations I serve goes to being a wife and a mother--and sometimes that's not nearly enough time or energy for either of those. I want to write...but I want to love my children and my husband more. I guess that's not too bad of a thing to confess, after all. And maybe it's just the season I'm in right now. And that's ok.<br />
<br />
But I sure could use a haircut.Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-36831702163114398762016-07-08T13:28:00.000-07:002016-07-08T13:28:40.564-07:00Words Fail...It's Friday afternoon. The baby is still asleep in the car seat, where he has been since we returned from a trip to the eye doctor a while ago. Older brother and dad are gone on an outing for the day. There's nothing good on TV at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon. As I look around the room for what to do next--some work on my day off? What else is there to do? I guess I could fold some laundry--I see the blog post I had started to hand write last night. Last night. When what was on my mind was two police shootings of black men in two days. Last night. When the news of 200+ killed in Iraq by ISOL was still rolling around in the back of my mind, trying to make some sense, though it happened days ago. Last night. Before I got up and saw today's news.<br />
<br />
Today. What do I write now? I have had blog posts in my head for months now, but never the time to type them up and publish them. And none of them is terribly important, now. Not now. Not with today's news. 11 police officers shot, 5 of them dead, in Dallas. A (black) man found hanged in a public park in Atlanta. 4 people shot, 1 dead, in Bristol, TN--much closer to home. All of that added to the week's other news is a lot of loss. A lot of brokenness. A lot of hurt. Not a lot of sense...<br />
<br />
What do I write now? Our heat pump has been repaired. We might actually have functioning air-conditioning for the rest of the summer. The trip to the eye doctor's office was a bust because the contact manufacturer sent contacts with the wrong prescription. The baby is still asleep. He's been asleep for most of the afternoon, except to nurse for a few minutes. What does all this news mean to him, anyway?<br />
<br />
But what about the news? What is there to say? And what will I stand in the pulpit and say on Sunday? I wish I could say that I won't think about it because today is my day off. But what will I say? For now, I will listen. Words fail. I will have to preach on Sunday. It will have to be God's words. I cannot ignore the news any longer, though there's something "safe" in just preaching what I had already planned on. I have to say something, though. Something about this news, about this darkness that has been closing in all week...I will have to <i>do</i> something, too. For now, words fail.<br />
<br />
Lord, have mercy on us all. Amen.Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-54166929705498544652016-01-01T12:22:00.001-08:002016-01-01T12:22:23.641-08:00Christmas Eve Message 2015<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Some thoughts from Christmas Eve...</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">What if Mary Had
Scrapbooked…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Christmas Eve Message 2015</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Do
you ever wonder if Mary scrapbooked? Sometimes I think we’d all like to see
Mary’s baby book for Jesus, and a scrapbook of her engagement, maybe, too. Some
selfies of the trip to Bethlehem would answer quite a few questions for us. We’d
really like to see a snapshot of the angels—either Gabriel or the whole host of
them. I heard a preacher once say that all angels are male, and how that was
important for people to understand. I’m not sure why it was so important, but I
<i>can</i> say that people have spent a lot
of time trying to draw or paint or sculpt what the angels looked like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And
wouldn’t it be nice to know more about the shepherds that showed up? Did they
smell as bad as we think they would have? How long did they stay? What did they
do with their sheep? What did they do after they left?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Maybe
we’d also like to know what the manger actually looked like. I read an article
a couple years ago that talked about how there is no way Jesus was born out
back in a stable or a cave with no other family around because that is not how
the culture would have worked. There may not have been room in the guestroom
(which is one translation of the Greek word that’s usually translated as “the inn”),
but there would have been space for Mary and Joseph in a common room, where
animals also spent the night inside. If Joseph were traveling back to his
ancestral home, any distant family member would have been obligated to welcome
him, if he could state his lineage. So, where did they stay? Were there really
animals in the room with them? And what family members attended to Mary? How
did the whole birth go?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
writer of Luke does tell us several interesting details about the birth of
Jesus: who was the ruler at the time, why Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem,
and who came and visited after Jesus was born—but he seems to tell us just
enough to leave us wanting more information. Maybe it’s the scientific nature
of our society, or maybe it’s just human nature: we want all the facts and we
want to know who is right about them and who is wrong. Just what <i>did</i> Jesus look like? And how old <i>was</i> Mary? We want the facts. Just the
facts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Yet,
Luke, or more importantly, God, just doesn’t quite work that way. Luke
apparently tells us just as much as we really <i>need</i> to know, though we might think we need to know more. And the
writer of John, well he doesn’t satisfy our curiosity about Jesus’ birth at
all! “The Word was with God and the Word was God,” and all this other
nonsense—what does it all mean?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">It’s
quite an incredible story. And God had been telling the people for years that
something was going to happen—we hear that from Isaiah and all the prophets.
Still, for as much as the prophets had nagged and preached for years and years,
the people still didn’t understand what God was doing. With as many details as
we can gather from Luke, there is still enough mystery about the whole thing
that we may very often just miss what is going on here. You see, as incredible
of a story as it is, and with as many questions as it leaves us with, what Luke
does tell us is meant to be enough. Verse 20 ends with this statement: “Everything
happened just as they [the shepherds] had been told.” Though we don’t have all
the details here, we have confirmation, and there are witnesses, that the story
is true…even if we don’t know how it all looked. And isn’t that what faith is
about—that we believe in what we haven’t seen? The writer of Hebrews even
defines faith that way, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">It
is mystery, this incarnation, why God would come as a plain old human baby. The
real human nature of Jesus is both the greatest gift and the biggest scandal of
all. For God to become one just like us means not only that God knows what
we’ve been through but also that we can learn to become more like God…if we are
willing to. And though we’d like to see some scrapbooks of Jesus’ birth and
life, sometimes his being just like us gets a little too close for comfort. You
mean that God would be here in our midst? Would come to show us a new way of
being? Would expect us to pay attention to such an incredible story? It seems
too good to be true…or too difficult to be true, sometimes. We might be a
little more comfortable with such a story and such a God if we could keep a
safe distance. We might like it if Jesus weren’t quite just like us. If here
weren’t really human, then we could give ourselves a break. But one of my
friends likes to point out that Jesus was not a superhero whose superpower was
dying for our sins. Jesus was a real human, just so that the rest of us humans
could be changed forever by his simple birth, his life, his death, <i>and</i> his resurrection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">It
is a strange story, indeed. If we are familiar with the “end” of it, then the
fact that the beginning is a little mysterious should not surprise us at all.
In a few months we will again tell ourselves more of this strange story. We
might again wish for some snapshots or actual film footage of what went on. And
we will again be left with a whole lot of questions…but God has given us
imagination, even without all the details. And better than that, God has given
us certainty in the promise of God’s Word and through the living flesh of God’s
Son that, indeed, it is true, and we are right to come in praise and
celebration, with joy and hope, even in the dark of night, looking for a little
baby boy. Jesus. The Christ. Emmanuel. God with us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Christ
is born! Merry Christmas!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-89123580220533815722016-01-01T10:55:00.000-08:002016-01-01T10:55:11.555-08:002015 Sermon for the Longest Night<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I'm a little late posting this, but this was my sermon for my Longest Night of the Year service, on December 21st.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">God’s Lifelong Love Letter<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">Longest Night Service 2015<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<sup><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">2</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"> But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of
the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule
in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days. <sup>3</sup>
Therefore he shall give them up until the time when she who is in labor has
brought forth; then the rest of his kindred shall return to the people of
Israel. <sup>4</sup> And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of
the LORD, in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God. And they shall live
secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; <sup>5</sup> and he
shall be the one of peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">~Micah 5:2-5 NRSV<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of
God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it
did not know him. <sup>2</sup> Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will
be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we
will be like him, for we will see him as he is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"> ~1 John
3:1-2 NRSV<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">I made what may ultimately be a mistake when I
downloaded what my cell phone calls “Kids Mode.” My son loves to use my phone
in Kids Mode. He has developed a certain sense of entitlement about it, that he
should be allowed to use Kids Mode when he wants it, at any given moment when I
am not actively using my phone…and sometimes when I <i>am</i> using it! Sometimes, I attempt to entice him to use his own Leap
Frog tablet, which has a number of similar features and, probably more
importantly, is something I never aspire to use for my own purposes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">This may all be fairly irrelevant, except for one thing
that is true about both my phone and my son’s tablet: they have video and audio
recording capability, which seems to be quite intriguing for him. No matter how
often he records himself, though, what he says or sings always has a similar
message: how much he loves his mom, and, to a lesser extent, his dad, and
anyone or any<i>thing</i> else that is on
his mind at the time. I must admit that I am not in any way upset to have
multiple video and audio clips of my 4-year-old professing his love for me. I only
hope that I will somehow be able to retain these clips for the next 20 years,
or so, to listen to in times when he won’t be caught dead admitting I am even
his mom, much less how much he loves me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">All this is to say that I have begun to wonder if
much of our life experiences and our faith experiences are not God’s seemingly
repetitive recordings of one completely life-altering truth: how much God loves
us. Now, I’ll be honest: the prophet Micah does not just talk about God’s love.
And scripture does not tell us only of God’s love. There is much more to God
than that. But even in the midst of some pretty scary stuff, Micah looks ahead
to a day when a promised leader will come and bring peace to the people…that
one we believe is Jesus…who came from a small backwoods town that no one would
have thought twice about. But when it came to where and when and how it would
all happen, there was God, saying as God had so many times before, “I love you
a lot…enough to come and walk right along with you, to make things right again…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">So much of our lives does not feel like a message
of love from God. Perhaps the problem is that we are not always interested in
how much God loves us. We find many other shiny things to chase after, and we
become weighed down with so many burdens that love for us from others,
especially from God, seems terribly unlikely. How can God love us, when we are
sometimes grumpy? When we are sometimes so pitiful and unhappy and petty? How
can God love us, when we keep making the same mistakes, over and over again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">More than this, though, we are often plagued by a
seeming certainty that God, indeed, does <i>not</i>
love us. The job didn’t work out the way we thought it would. The diagnosis was
not what we had hoped for. The mail came, and there were no seasonal greetings,
but bills we know we can’t quite pay. No, perhaps God does not love us. After
all, things seem so bleak all around us. People are killing other people.
People are living without basic needs being met. Cash flow seems to be drying
up for all but a privileged few. There is fear…uncertainty…anxiety…a certain
sense of darkness and gloom that seems to settle over everything. Does God love
us? Really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">And then, from the midst of the trials and
conflicts and persecution of the early church, the writer of 1 John, speaks:
“This is the message that we have heard from him and announce to you: ‘God is
light and there is no darkness in him at all.’” And later on he reminds us,
“See what love the Father has given us [lavished upon us, one translation
says], that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">That</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"> is what we are. And God loves us so much…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">A couple of years ago there was a popular love song
called “I Choose You,” by Sara Bareilles, which I really liked. Part of it goes
like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">There was a time when I would have
believed them<br />
If they told me that you could not come true<br />
Just love's illusion<br />
But then you found me<br />
And everything changed<br />
And I believe in something again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">My whole heart<br />
Will be yours forever<br />
This is a beautiful start<br />
To a lifelong love letter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">Have you seen any of God’s lifelong love letter for
you recently? It’s hard, this time of year. There’s a lot else going on. We are
pulled in many directions. We seem to live from emotion to emotion, from party
to party…or maybe just from day to day, holding on as tightly as we can.
Sometimes, the love of God does seem like an illusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">But some guy came from some backwater town, a long
time ago, after being born in a crowded house without a guestroom for his mom
and dad to stay in…and he was God. And he came to show us love in person.
Because the only thing that’s better than a letter is a face-to-face visit…and
God came and did that because a love letter was just not quite enough…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">It’s dark outside. I have to admit, the darkness
feels like it’s been winning a bit, lately. Some days have been kind of rough,
too busy, emotions a little too raw, sleep a little too scarce, the news a
little too painful. Two funerals in Advent is plenty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">But that writer of 1 John tells me this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<sup><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">9</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;"> God's love was revealed among us in this way: God
sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. <sup>10</sup>
In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to
be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. <sup>11</sup> Beloved, since God loved
us so much, we also ought to love one another. <sup>12</sup> No one has ever
seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in
us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">~1 John 4:9-12 NRSV<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE;">“We love because he first loved us.” God <i>does</i> love us. The Bible—that love
letter—tells us so. Thanks be to God. Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-77945565241932405232015-11-06T14:38:00.002-08:002015-11-06T14:38:59.429-08:00ExpectingRecently, an acquaintance mentioned that another mutual acquaintance had asked him if I am "expecting," to which he replied that he did not know because, well, we're acquaintances and don't run into each other that often. I assured him that I am, and we had the normal "Congratulations...how does your son feel about it...etc., etc., etc..." kind of conversation. Nothing about it struck me as very interesting, until just now, as I was thinking about what I might write for this blog, having not posted in 6 months, and as I was thinking that I will soon need to buckle down and write my portion of my church's Advent devotional booklet. In the midst of that thought process, the word "expecting" came to mind, and it just struck me as, well, kind of odd. I realize it's one of those colloquialisms that we all understand, but I thought I'd consider it literally for a moment...<br />
<br />
So, to be silly, here are a few things I'm expecting:<br />
1. I'm expecting that between now and April 20th (or thereabouts), someone I don't know well will think it appropriate to touch my stomach...and I will be tempted to punch that someone...<br />
2. I'm expecting that in the next 5 months, I will have at least one more conversation with someone regarding considering a VBAC instead of a second C-section.<br />
3. I'm expecting that the Duke Men's Basketball team will fare well again this year.<br />
4. I'm expecting that I will preach several sermons without my shoes on this winter, for comfort's sake.<br />
5. I'm expecting that I will recover enough from a recent back injury that I can once again take my dogs out for a walk...until the aforementioned C-section sets me back for 6 weeks again...<br />
6. I'm expecting that I will get involved in some Facebook discussions I will regret.<br />
<br />
But in all seriousness, here are a few things I wasn't expecting, in the process of getting pregnant:<br />
1. I never expected it would take more than a year.<br />
2. I never expected the depth of disappointment of negative pregnancy tests, again and again (and let's not talk about chemical pregnancies...).<br />
3. I never expected to experience hot flashes at the age of 36, due to fertility-related drugs.<br />
4. I never expected to be able to empathize even just a little bit with those I already knew who have struggled so much to have children of their own. (Which is not to say I fully understand their struggles!)<br />
5. I never expected to feel so frustrated at what were most likely innocent comments, like, "Oh, when will Benjamin have a sibling?!"<br />
<br />
Life is seldom anything that we expect, in case you hadn't recently noticed. I guess that's why that word is so interesting to me today. I expect certain things from certain people or events because that's how my life experience has gone or that's what I want to happen. Isn't is so difficult to realize quite what all we're expecting, sometimes?<br />
<br />
When I was young, I believed that everyone went to church--literally, everyone. My family went to church--didn't all families go to church? It's a silly example, but it makes me think about things like perspective and frame of reference. It calls to mind the limitations that we have in our own individual experiences--we can only ever be one person and experience life from one person's point of view. That's always been disappointing to me. I'd like to know what it's like to grow up in a big city, in a neighborhood, in a house that has multiple stories--with a bedroom with a window seat (well, that's what I wanted when I was much younger). I'd like to be able to fully understand what life feels like for people who look different from me, for people who don't have the same advantages I have had, and maybe even for people who have more advantages. How often do I realize that what I expect from others is inherently related to my own life experience?<br />
<br />
Sometimes I do realize that, and I might feel shame or frustration. I can't not be who I am...but how can I be so narrow-minded sometimes, so demanding, so unaware? At those moments, I probably expect more of myself than I am truly able to manage. But I guess that's where some other expectations that I have come in:<br />
*I expect that God is showing me the grace to understand others more, day by day.<br />
*I expect that God is at work, redeeming the crap in the world that I see and can't understand...and even the yucky stuff that I don't see and/or tacitly participate in...<br />
*I expect that by continuing to be part of the church, broken though it may be, I will be a vessel for God to change the world.<br />
*I expect that through the Holy Spirit's work in my life I will grow to have more compassion and grace toward all other people, that they might know God's love through me.<br />
*I expect that I am moving toward Christian perfection and <i>may</i> be made perfect in this life (by God's grace, of course!). (Hey, I said it on stage before I got ordained, so I might as well mention it here!)<br />
<br />
I could go on, but maybe you get the point. There are lots of things in this world that I know I am expecting and lots of things that I don't even realize I am expecting...but more importantly, there are those things I expect by faith--that I hope for, more than anything. Yep. I <i>hope</i> for those things. I don't just expect them. And that is much more important than what Duke's basketball team does this season. And that makes me think of Advent, too. We wait. We expect. Most of all, we <i>hope</i>.<br />
<br />
Yep, I'm expecting. But I'm hoping for so much more.Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1999492080878339870.post-44332030569510341122015-05-17T19:37:00.000-07:002015-05-17T19:37:51.520-07:00My Grandma<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I've been thinking about my grandmother recently. Maybe it started
because last week one day, I decided I wanted to wear a ring that had been hers
(which took some time to find…), but maybe I'd been thinking about her before
that, too. So here's kind of a belated Mother's Day tribute to my grandma...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">My grandmother died in October 2003, during my second year of
studying for an M.A. in English at the University of Tennessee-Knoxville. Her
decline was long and gradual. At first, we thought she was just goofy
sometimes, assuming the UFOs she claimed to see were planes landing at CVG, not
too far from the retirement home where my grandparents lived. That was in the
midst of watching the man she had loved since she was 8 years old lose a long,
painful battle with cancer. Her grip on reality gradually loosened after that. The
family laughed about it, most days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Many folks share important life lessons they learned from their
grandparents. The lessons I remember my grandma teaching my sisters and me seem
perhaps less deep and inspired than lots of people's, but no less important. My
grandma taught us how to play cards and cross stitch. And how to do everything
properly. Everything. One summer, while we stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for
an extended period of time, Grandma read Emily Post's <i>Miss Manners</i> to us every night before we went to sleep. We slept impressively
well that summer...We joke about how Grandma always wanted things "as nice
as they possibly can be," but I don't believe for a minute that we've ever
stopped trying to make that happen!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I don't know what Grandma Betz would think if she learned I'm a
pastor now. We never talked about such things, that I recall. I knew her
political leanings--most people who knew her knew that! I knew about her
prejudices and could tell you how much she was a product of her era. Despite
being a whiz at math, she never held aspirations of a career that would put her
brainpower to the kind of use we'd expect of a woman today. That was not what
women did. She asked me one time if my sorority encouraged its members to
diet--that was a fun conversation...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I wish I could say I knew much about her faith. I don't know
exactly what she believed, except that she hated the hymn "Amazing Grace":
apparently, she did not appreciate calling herself "a wretch." I do
know what she<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>did,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>though--how she practiced her
faith. She went to church. She and Grandpa were always active in church, no
matter where they lived. They sang in the choir. They participated in many
ways. I remember attending some VBS during a summer when we stayed with them
for a while. I can still picture the table my twin sister and I sat at, can
vaguely see the face of the woman--a close friend of Grandma's--who taught us
to memorize the 23rd psalm. I know Grandma and Grandpa prayed The Lord's Prayer
every night before going to sleep. Did they recite the 23rd psalm, too? I can't
remember. Maybe sometimes going to church was just the proper thing to do for
them, but I know I don't think of my grandparents without also knowing how
important church was to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I don’t recall many other life lessons my grandmother taught me on
purpose. What I did learn from her, as I watched her grow older, as I saw her
struggle with losing her health and her loved ones, as I heard about my uncle
carefully watching over her and helping her narrowly miss being scammed by mail
solicitations and telemarketers, as I saw her memory slip away from her, is how
to be a pastor to people who are dying. I was never her pastor. I didn't even
admit I was called to ministry until shortly before her death. What I learned
from her, from how my family cared for her, from how she left us over a period
of years, was what it is to watch life and death happening at the same time.
There was grace in the way she handled herself, even when things were the most
difficult. There was love from family and friends, even when she was most
difficult. And there was laughter, even when "memories" were hard to
find.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I'm rounding out 6 years of pastoral ministry now. I feel like
I've watched my grandmother die again at least a dozen times, in the faces of
older church members, some of whom I've gotten to know a little bit, and some
of whom I arrived a little too late on the scene to really develop a
relationship with. Here is the time of sitting with, of asking questions, of
hearing stories, of appreciating reminiscences of lifetimes and struggles and
victories I can hardly imagine. Here is the going along with whatever crazy stories
come up this day, no matter how little reality is part of them. Here is the
repeating a dozen times in 30 minutes who I am, vital information about me, why
I'm here. And here is the waiting, the gradual slipping away, the transition so
long in coming (most of which I actually missed with my grandma, as she was in
Cincinnati and I was in Knoxville--phone calls from my mom sufficed for that
part of the journey).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">When I was in divinity school, during my summer internship, a man
told me he didn't want me to go sit with his mother while she was dying because
I was too young to have to deal with that sort of thing. He was so heartbroken
that he couldn't bear to go there, himself. When I got to the nursing home, she
had already passed. It wouldn't have been too hard for me...it was the part of
my grandma's passing I hadn't been there for--the actual end of it. This woman
was a lovely woman--I knew that after only 8 weeks of being an intern there; I
wish I had been there, but I know it must have been a beautiful moment when she
reached the end of this earthly journey. I never really thought I'd deal with
that sort of thing so much when I started the process to be ordained, but I
have. A lot. Counting the words I shared about that woman who died during my
summer internship, I've officiated at or participated as clergy in 37 funeral
services. I know my grandma never planned to teach me anything about dealing
with people who were dying, but I am so thankful that she did. I wasn’t there
for much of the “heavy lifting” with her, but I experienced it through my older
sister, my mom, and my dad, in the stories they shared. I learned how to deal
with the dying while my grandma lived, and I am so thankful. She was a little bit
kooky, sometimes. She wore way too much perfume (she had lost her sense of
smell), and she talked to every inanimate object, it seemed. And she was proper—so
very proper. And she loved us all, in her own proper way. And we loved her,
too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Thanks, Grandma. I miss you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pastor Betzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05048245841447589497noreply@blogger.com0