In preparation for the wedding, I wrote a retelling of the creation story we read in Genesis 2.  I’m sharing a copy of that with you here …

In the beginning of time, the story goes,

God spoke,

“Let us make human beings in our image,
make them reflecting our nature
So they can be responsible for the fish in the sea,
the birds in the air, the cattle,
And, yes, Earth itself,
and every animal that moves on the face of Earth.
And so God created human beings;
he created them godlike,
Reflecting God’s nature.
He created them male and female.
And God blessed them.[i]

These are verses from the creation story preserved in the first chapter of Genesis.  In the second chapter another story is told that is believed by Biblical scholars to be considerably older than the first.  In this story, God is more personal and intimate.  Man and woman are created not from the cosmic boom of the voice of creation, but by the hands of God himself.

The first person, we’re told, is “hand made,” uniquely inspired, shaped, and formed from the earth.  adamah.[ii] God names the personality after “adamah”, a lump of earth.  The first human being is named “Dust” or “Red” or “Clay.”  Yes, God created the first human being with a name … with personality, ego, conscience, self-awareness, and the same longing for companionship that God, himself, had suffered.  And, although this being is given life and soul by the very breath of God, Clay is alone.

“It is not good for the human to be alone.”  And, so, God seeks to design a suitable companion for Clay. God creates every species of animal on earth and presents them one by one to the human.   One by one Clay accepts them and labels them, but none of them fill the longing in the heart for a friend, a sympathizer and a partner in life.

So God puts Clay to sleep … and takes a piece of flesh, not another lump of earth, but the very flesh and blood of “Clay” … and from that first piece of humanity, God fashions another being … separate, distinct, unique, yet born of the same essence … the same spirit and flesh.  And God introduces this one to Clay.

“This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.”

And so it is, that we grow independent of the parents who raised us, and embrace our life[iii] partner … wife, husband, companion, friend, lover … two people, one flesh.

Following up with her urologist, though, revealed a more complicated problem. There was a reason she kept getting infections of her bladder … And it was going to require surgery. A few more tests and a visit with the surgeon revealed a little more … The infection was not only in the bladder but lodged in her abdominal cavity. She was hospitalized immediately.

As I told my co-workers … I know what a good daughter does if mom lives around the corner or a town over, but what does a good daughter do who is 1680 miles, and a 4 hour flight away? I prayed that God would help me know when I needed to go …

Friends … I should know better … How many times have I told myself and others, “be careful what you pray for!” The next morning my mom called from the hospital … Dad had had a heart attack. Evidently, after he dropped off mom at the hospital and got her settled into her room, he went home to relax. As he made himself some supper, he felt the familiar angina pains. Thinking, though, that it was just due to the anxiety of mom being in the hospital he decided to drive himself to Urgent Care to see if a doctor could give him something to relieve his nerves. Urgent Care recognized the symptoms and rushed him to the hospital where he met his cardiologist and had three stents put in his arteries to open up the blockage. That’s when mom called me … to tell me he was okay … and not to worry.

I think there’s a point in our lives, though, when it’s our JOB to worry. We tend to think of “worrying” as dysfunctional … but there is an appropriateness of concern that is normal, natural, and a consequence of love. It’s not a “bother” to worry about my parents … It’s right.

Well, it was clear now … No more subtleties … I dropped everything and planned a flight as soon as I could to Austin. My brother and I decided to fly together. That was almost two weeks ago. It’s been a full two weeks. Dad had another episode after his angioplasty causing his doctor to install a pacemaker in him that afternoon. He was released from the hospital the next day. Mom has had her surgery, but is still in terrible pain. It will be a long recovery.

Now I’m flying back to Long Island to pick up my car at Michael and Terrie’s. I left mom feeling as good as can be expected, but it will be a long haul. She’ll probably move to a extended care nursing facility by the weekend … When she’s able, they’ll move her to rehab for physical therapy …

So what can a daughter do to help from 1,680 miles away? Pray, of course … Arrange for housekeeping, sure … Knit a gratitude/prayer shawl to keep me busy and feeling like I’m doing something …

I think I’ll start a prayer group on Facebook for her … That will be something … We can share prayers, memories, hopes, etc. And I’ll call every day ..

Dwayne and I have another trip to Texas scheduled for Holy Week … I’m officiating at the wedding of Maegan and Jonathan on March 31 …. A couple days with friends in Houston and Baytown, then a drive to Denton to see Kate and Ben, and finally Good Friday and Easter with Mom and Dad. Hopefully, by then, we’ll be celebrating our ow resurrection of sorts as well.

The grace of God made known in Christ Jesus is central to my being.  Grace is what makes Christianity unique and sets us apart from all other religions, and I am convinced that this is precisely what makes Christianity so difficult for the world to embrace.  The grace of God contradicts human reason, which puts the self first, and challenges us to live generously and selflessly, even dangerously and vulnerably.

Yet this is how God is with us:  outrageously generous.  That’s how I describe the one who gives us the gift of life itself; who gives us the earth and all its beauties; who gives us friends, family, and neighbors with whom to share the essence of life; who gives us minds which are inquisitive and imaginative; who gives us hearts which are compassionate, being in the image of God.

In Jesus Christ we see the face of God.  A face that is unquestionably approachable and compassionate, yet a face that is scandalous to the human eyes of political gain, personal power, and self-survival.   It’s the scandal in Christ that drove us to attempt to silence him in death and persecution; yet it’s the love of Christ that rose victorious over all the pain and sin and evil in the world.  Christ was willing and able to bear the pain of betrayal, mockery, and death, all for our sake, so that we would see clearly the face of grace – a grace beyond all human understanding, a grace that gives us the confidence to put aside human reason and live vulnerably in the love and community of Christ.

The sacraments of the Lord’s Supper and Baptism are visible signs of God’s grace – signs which are not visible apart from the community of believers.  The power of communion is precisely that – remembering, believing, affirming, and celebrating together the reality of Christ.  In the same way, Baptism gains its power and purpose in the nurture and support of the community of faith.

The gifts of life and grace are not meant to be private affairs.  In fact, grace cannot exist but in relationship and community.  From the beginning of time, God, who is the essence of relationship and community (three in one), created us to be living in relationship with God and with each other.  The power of the Holy Spirit is always made manifest in our togetherness.

The depth of that holy togetherness transcends the here and now; we unite with the communion of saints both past and those yet to be.   We come to know the Word of God (the nature, will and action of God) revealed to us in the Holy Scripture “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”

In community we are responsible to and for each other.  We are the arms and legs of Christ offering compassion and care when needed, encouraging each other and challenging each other to be all that God intends.  The Church is the community of Christ in its fullest form. The work of the church is to proclaim the Holy Reality of the Kingdom of God, working, hoping and praying that the Kingdom may come on earth as it is in heaven.

My earliest memories of Jesus come with the paint-by-number picture painted by my dad and hanging in my bedroom as a child, the baby Jesus in the manger in our nativity set that I cradled every advent telling him the great stories of how he’d save the world.  I was Christian from birth, baptized into the Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod) when I was two and a half weeks old.  I attended church regularly either snuggled next to my grandmother who passed me butter rum lifesavers or singing the hymns boldly next to my Dad who was a loud, passionate tenor.  I attended Emmanuel Lutheran school where I learned Bible stories, memorized psalms, creeds and the Lord’s Prayer, and where I became a fan of Martin Luther.  Being both of German and Lutheran heritages, I was highly influenced by both the passionate and critical nature of Luther.  I was born, my mother says, asking “how come?”  That questioning, though, didn’t sit well with my traditional church, or fundamentalist pastor.   Like Luther, I believe, my love of the church was only surpassed by my love for Jesus, and I persisted in asking questions, both of theology and ecclesiology.

Because of my deep love and solid knowledge of Christ in my life, I sensed a call to ministry at a very young age.  As a child, though, I was told, “God doesn’t call girls.” After marrying a Methodist at age 18, we looked for a new church together and stumbled upon the First Presbyterian Church of Jamestown, NY, where the pastor clearly announced to the congregation, “this is a place to ask your questions.” I was home.  After learning that Presbyterians were willing to ordain women to ministry, I sought to be a candidate under care of the presbytery while a junior at SUNY Fredonia, majoring in psychology.  In 1983, I began my studies at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary.   While I was there, my faith was challenged and strengthened by not only the academics of biblical and theological study, but by the life experiences of personally battling infertility, my uncle dying of alcoholism, and my brother coming out.  Where was God, Where was Christ in all that?

In my first call, as Associate Pastor in Allen Park, MI, I learned the mechanics of ministry in a large (1800 member) church and, at the same time, how a congregational system can be deeply wounded and disoriented by the mental illness of a senior pastor.  My second call, to St. Paul PC in Livonia, MI, was where I was first introduced to  “missional church.”  The senior pastor there served as mentor as we explored ways of being church (as opposed to doing church) in a changing culture.

My call as solo pastor of Westminster PC took us to Baytown, Texas.  Living as a Presbyterian in the “Bible Belt” was always a challenge to my faith, bringing me face to face with some of the fundamentalist theologies I left behind as a child.  I accepted a call to be Associate General Presbyter for Congregational Development and grew in my knowledge of church planting and congregational transformation.  My ministry took me beyond the PCUSA to participate and find a “church home” in a Southern Baptist Emergent Church Plant in Baytown.  Reconciling with the gifts of my Missouri Synod upbringing, I learned how to be evangelical and reformed and liberal.

 

Baby Jesus in the manger that was in the "tunnel stable" when I was a child

My earliest memories include the pictures of Jesus my dad  painted-by-number and hung in my bedroom and the baby Jesus from the nativity set my parents set up every Christmas on top of our black and white Magnavox TV.  The advent “wreath” and stable for the holy family was made by my father by taking an old wood tunnel from his Lionel electric trains.  He had inserted a back wall with two nightlight bulbs to light the manger, covered the whole thing with aluminum foil, hammered five large nails into the top of the tunnel to hold three purple, one pink and one white pillar candle, around which my mother draped plastic garland for the “wreath.”  Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus and a few of the smaller animals from the nativity set would fit inside the tunnel cave; the shepherds and wisemen would be set outside the cave on top of the TV that was usually covered with “angel hair.”  It was unquestionably the most beautiful sight of Advent to this preschooler.

During most advent evenings we’d gather around the nativity scene, switch on the lamps inside the stable, light the appropriate number of candles, sing a carol or two, and remember.  The candles would stay lit until well after I’d be put to bed.  In the morning, I’d tiptoe out of my bedroom to the living room.  The smell of the snuffed candles was still lingering in the air.  I would peer into the stable to see if Baby Jesus was still there, and I’d lift him from the manger and cradle him in my hand.  I’d walk him around the living room like a mother comforts a colicky infant, and I’d tell him about his life … how he’d grow up to save the world.

As I left home and had a daughter of my own, my parents gifted me with that old baby Jesus in the manger.  I still bring him out every year, and cradle the infant in my hands and remember.  The rituals and traditions our parents first share with us shape our faith for years to come, if not our whole life.  What kinds of advent traditions did you grow up with?  What do you do with your children and grandchildren?  What traditions do you share in your congregation?  How do you tell your children the stories of Jesus?

Christmas 20011

December 11, 2011

We are sitting in our new “great room” in front of our Christmas tree on this Sunday afternoon, reminiscing on the great blessings of this year and reflecting on the many changes.  A year ago we had no clue that we’d be spending this Christmas in our new house in New Jersey.  In September Wendy began a new call as “Regional Presbyter” to the two presbyteries in central New Jersey, Monmouth and New Brunswick.  In this position she works with all 86 Presbyterian congregations across the middle of the state from the Delaware River to the Jersey shore.  An installation is scheduled for January 26 at Princeton Theological Seminary, and Wendy is excited that Mike Cole and Stan Ott will be traveling up for the occasion.

The move has been remarkably smooth.  We found a house we love in Hamilton township.  On 1.4 acres, next to a corn field and with a horse farm behind, we feel like we’re in the country.  And yet, we’re only a few miles from shopping in Hamilton and the small towns of Allentown, Yardville and Bordentown.  Our closing on the house was on September 28, and the moving truck showed up two days later on September 30.  We welcomed our first overnight guests (Michael and Terrie, who helped greatly with the moving in process, and then my parents) two weeks later and were completely “moved in” in time to host Thanksgiving dinner in November.  Blessed to have Wendy’s distant cousin, Ben, and his friend, Carolin, visiting from Germany, it was a perfect “American Thanksgiving”.

Yesterday we accepted an offer on our home in Texas which (if it all continues to go smoothly) will complete the move.  We are, of course, missing our friends in Baytown and Houston (and good Tex Mex).  After 13 years in Baytown, we gave up great friendships at the Baytown Little Theater and Faith Presbyterian Church.

It’s been especially hard to leave the BLT as they are moving ahead in the building of the new theater.  Wendy was elected vice-president of the board in April, and then worked at finding people who would be able to take responsibility for the many “off-stage” tasks we both have been doing for years.

Dwayne is trying to connect to some local theater groups using the Kelsey Theater at Mercer County Community College, but it takes time to get reestablished in community theater.  He spent the past few months visiting churches near our home, and decided he’ll be joining the Allentown Presbyterian Church in Allentown, NJ.

Moving across the country has been so consuming of our attention these past few months, it’s hard to remember the blessings of the first half of the year.  In February, Taylor Dobbs, moved in with us.  We were happy to open our spare bedroom to her as she recovered from a broken leg.  (Yes, she literally “broke a leg” a week after her show, The Last Five Years, opened at the BLT last winter.)  We loved having the twenty-something BLT folk over to the house to swim and eat and converse with us.  And, we loved having Taylor’s help in keeping the house clean and ready to sell as we put it on the market.

Kate and Ben, July 2011

Only a few days after we found our house in New Jersey, we traveled to Denton to help Kate and Ben move into a new apartment.  Ben and Kate have been dating for over a year now.  We are so happy to welcome him to the family.  He fits in well being as he is both a performer (magician) and geek.  The two of them adopted a Black Lab this fall named Rogue.  Rogue joins Kate’s Cairn Terrier, Pippin, in making a full and energetic home.  Kate is still working for the University of North Texas and taking Master’s courses in Linguistics.

Two of our nephews (both named Michael, incidentally) were married this year.   Kate and Ben were able to join us on Long Island in July for Mike and Amanda’s wedding; and we were lucky to be able to drive to Warren for Michael and Jenna’s wedding in October.

Like always, we want to be sure you know that you are always welcome to come for a visit.  We are now a little more than an hour from NYC by train and less than an hour from Philadelphia.

We wish you and your family a very merry Christmas and a blessed 2012!

Dwayne and Wendy

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