Words of Fire Blog

Oh, It's Easter?

4/7/2021

On Easter Sunday, I greeted one of my neighbors with a hearty "Happy Easter!" I had just finished virtual service; the sermon was fresh in my mind and the weather was heaven sent. Who could ask for more?

His response: "Oh, it's Easter? I'd forgotten."

I'm well aware that not everyone celebrates the same HOLYdays. I get it. But his response was not necessarily about religious inclusion--his response reflects the way most of the world thinks about the Resurrection: oh, it's Easter? It's easy to forget that the living Christ is among us--global pandemics, racial unrest, economic instability. It's Easter? I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten about resurrection hope. I'd forgotten about new life. I'd forgotten about eternal victory.

We live as if the Resurrection had never happened. We live as if Jesus is still on the cross or we are standing, crying, with Mary outside of the tomb.

It's Easter? The world has forgotten, and we've allowed that to happen.

Your challenge: live Easter today, and every day. Don't forget Easter. Ever. The world needs a resurrection.

A Song to Sing On Palm Sunday and Beyond

3/30/2021

Lift up your heads, O ye gates.
and be ye lifted up,
Ye everlasting doors.
And the King of Glory shall come in
The King of Glory shall come in!

This past Palm Sunday, like last year, my church worshipped in a virtual, instead of a physical, space. However, as in many years past, a version of Psalm 24 was sung. This year, a lone male soloist, whose technical precision could not be denied, posed the psalmist's question:

Who is the King of glory?
Who is the King of glory?

In years past, the late Sister Geraldine Fortune had that honor. No matter who sings on Palm Sunday, I still hear Sister Geraldine's sweet soprano.

She walked on two canes, her gait hobbled by an infirmity I never heard named. You could see the pain in her eyes as she struggled to move. Yet the joy in her voice was unmistakable and unwavering. She sang from a place where her joy and her pain met. Every Palm Sunday, the joy won.

As I listened to "her" song this past Sunday, an unaccountable wave of sadness washed over me. What more did I remember about her? What more is there on this earth to remind us of her life or her legacy?

The sadness passed as I realized that Sister Fortune lives through "her" song. People may not remember her favorite color or words of wisdom she imparted, but we will always remember her song. We will always remember her joy.

What better legacy is there?

He is the King!
He is the King of Glory!
The Lord strong and mighty.
The Lord mighty in battle.
He is the King!
The King of Glory!

Wednesday's Word: A World Of Lepers

5/6/2020

“Anyone with such a defiling disease must wear torn clothes, let their hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of their face and cry out, ‘Unclean! Unclean!’"
Leviticus 13:45

Our new normal is not at all normal. We stand 6 feet apart and look suspiciously at anyone with a cough or a sniffle as we back slowly away.

Like the lepers, we are unclean to ourselves, to each other.

We are unable to seek solace and comfort in physical touch. We cannot embrace. We cannot shake hands. We cannot even share a smile. How, then, can a world of lepers thrive or survive?

Simple, but not easy: we look to Someone who can heal our brokenness.
It has happened before, you know.

Cry out. Beg. Fall on your knees. Know that we can be healed, we can be made whole.

Don't give up until our world is cleansed and we can, once again, embrace.

A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” Jesus... reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed.
Mark 1:40-41

Extravagant, Arrogant Spring

4/18/2020

See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come...
Song of Solomon 2:11-12

My garden's arrogant azaleas

Spring is almost too good to be true. She struts past winter like a model on a Parisian runway: Confident. Assured. Dressed to impress. Her colors are bold and vibrant; her winds are strong.

Yet this spring is like none other. The world is sheltering in place; we are standing six feet apart; our health care workers and first responders are sacrificing themselves to render aid; our neighbors are struggling to pay bills; our students are in danger of losing valuable instruction. Yet, spring still struts by: confident, assuring us that winter has been defeated.

In this season, then, we find hope. Indeed, it is bursting before us: Hope in each new bloom that the winter has been overcome. Hope in each colorful blossom that better days are ahead. Look around you. The world is alive with the beauty of hope. We serve a God who cares so much for us that the season of resurrection in the earth is also a season of resurrection for our faith. The world is alive. Our Savior is alive. Live we too.

Until We Have Faces

4/8/2020

The church has been pushed into the virtual world. COVID-19 has forced the "body" of Christ to rethink and relearn the ancient practices of our faith. During this season, we are at once scattered and gathered community. We embody Christ--as long as we maintain social distance. We are unused to these new modes of worship and fractured community: Dialing into church. Muting our phones. Logging onto websites. The technology can rob us of our faces, our voices and our embodied gathering.
It does not have to be so. Within this faceless void, I am blessed. My industrious mother took to her sewing machine to make face masks. So the mask that hides my face has itself become a symbol of care and concern. My mother's love covers me as I venture into a bacteria laden environment. Until we have faces, until we meet face to face in gathered community, know that we are covered with God's love. This is not the time for the church to hide. This is the time for us to show our love to our neighbors. This is not the time to hoard. Share what you can. This is not the time to despair. Pray.

We do not have faces, but we are covered.

Resurrecting Sunday

4/4/2020

In some churches, the term "Resurrection Sunday" has begun to replace "Easter." Easter brings to mind bunnies and bonnets, while "Resurrection" reminds us of the reason for this particular season. Jesus is alive!

But as we commemorate the cornerstone of this faith, it seems to me that Sunday itself needs its own resurrection.

Sunday as become a day for laundry, extra chores, perusing the paper and doing the lawn. For too many, ..it is no longer a day for family, friends or faith.

What about your Sunday? What do you want to get out of the tomb? Resurrection Sunday would be a good day to start.

Black Thursday?

11/24/2016

This past Thursday, by my calendar, was Thanksgiving. I was blessed to open my home to my family for the annual harvest celebration. I set a formal table each year, thanking God for those who sacrificed so that we can dine in style. But more than the elegant display, nothing replaces the joy of those moments: the shared laughter, the occasional tear and, of course, the dancing.

I had allowed my college freshman niece the responsibility of organizing the playlist for our meal. (I am brave, at times) When we had had our fill of feasting, my niece cranked up the volume to the stereo and began to dance through the living room. My other niece and I joined the impromptu party, laughing, rejoicing--giving thanks for all we were worth.

After my house emptied of family, I watched the evening news and sadly contemplated those people who had spent their day of thanks--not in hunger or pain or want--but in a retail sales line, waiting for the doors to open. One happy woman told that she had come to the store at 10 a.m. to be the first for the 6 p.m. sale. Thanksgiving, it seems, is now "Black Thursday."

Many in the long lines lamented the shift in the culture and were sorry to have missed their time with family and friends.

Black Thursday? Not for me: My home, my joy, my heart gave thanks this past Thursday--and I danced.

When Your Wednesday Comes on Tuesday

5/21/2014

"Let the name of the Lord be praised, both now and forevermore." Psalm 113:2

"Carpe Diem"

This is my niece's last week of high school. Over the past several years, I have taken her to school each Wednesday. It helped her parents, and we had time in the morning to connect, to talk about her classes, or just to laugh and be silly.

Because of her parents' schedules, I had to take her to school this Tuesday--thinking that the following day--our Wednesday, would be our last. But my niece finished her exams on Tuesday, and had no reason to return to school the following day. So our last day became Tuesday, even though I did not know it at the time.

I hadn't really planned anything special--but I was looking forward to our one last Wednesday together: to connect, to talk, or to laugh.

I must learn to take my days as they come; to welcome and to enjoy each moment, each hour, and each miracle: even when the Wednesdays come on Tuesdays.

Surviving Mother's Day

5/12/2014

My Granny held on to me then. I hold on to her memory now.

Some days are harder than others. For some of my friends and loved ones, this past Mother's Day was part of the difficult journey we call mourning.

For two of my friends, this was the first Mother's Day they spent without their mothers. For others, it represented a painful reminder of loss.

I am surprised, stunned even, by the facile and insensitive platitudes that are popular with many: "She's not suffering anymore." "She's in a better place." "You have to keep living."

We seem prone to ignore the reality of pain, of loss, of suffering. We want to minimize grief, and thus, to forget our own humanity.

But I'm taking a stand. I don't believe the hype.

I've decided to eat when I'm hungry; to drink when I'm thirsty; to rest when I'm tired, and to cry when I'm sad.

I'm human. I'm frail, and some days are just harder than others.

Friday's Fire: Every Praise

5/9/2014

"Every praise is to our God. Every word of worship, in one accord.
Every Praise, every praise, is to our God."

The story sent chills up my spine and tears down my cheeks. A nine year old
boy was abducted from his front yard—taken by someone who meant him harm.
...ordered by his captor “not to say anything.”
...instead of speaking, the child begins to sing a song he heard in church.
    . . . the boy sings.
      . . .the boy continues to sing.
         . . . he sings for three hours.
            . . . he sings until his captor lets him go, unharmed.
    When he was interviewed on the Arsenio Hall Show, Willie Myrick—now 10 years old—said that he never doubted that God would deliver him.   His song was an expression of his young, but strong, faith.
     What songs do we sing when we are held captive by doubt, by fear, by disappointment? Do we allow those forces that abduct our joy, our happiness, and our contentment to have their evil way?  Like Willie, we may have to sing our way out of bondage.
    If so, let us sing, and let us continue to sing for as long as it takes.
Let us give God every praise.

Sing Hallelujah to our God. Glory hallelujah is to our God. Every praise, every praise, is to our God!

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