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Wednesday's Word: Duty is Not Always a Delight

9/25/2013

 
"Do not despise a gift, no matter how small it is."
African proverb
I've  posted for my annual jury duty (I  get called every year).  Hundreds of my annoyed fellow  citizens are here with me waiting to dispense justice in a less intense  version of Twelve Angry Men.

I'm amazed by the number of people who come and just, well, sit. They don't bring a newspaper (if anyone reads them anymore) a puzzle book or a novel to keep  them  occupied.  A few years ago, the courthouse in my jurisdiction started showing movies.  As one of the nerds who likes to work, read email and catch up 
on the latest Sudoku or  crosswords, I (and a few other citizens) asked for a place  free from distraction.  We have "quiet" jury assembly room (I  call it the nerd room) where everyone comes with a book or a computer and works  or reads. We even get free Wi-Fi.  

Still, my annual trek to the jury duty is still just that: "duty."   I'm obligated  to be here.  I could be  subject to imprisonment if I didn't come. (which, when there are manacled prisoners being  taken by this assembly room on a fairly regular basis, seems a lot like a real threat.)

No--this  is clearly a "duty."  I wouldn't be here if I hadn't received a summons. But I choose to use my  day of duty to clear my mind, my  email cache, to read--really read--some  scripture  and to write  a few blog posts.  (Now...If only I could  view dusting in the same way--then my  house would be  spotless!)

How often, then, do we view "duties" as necessary annoyances, instead of opportunities for growth?  How often do we accept such gifts, no matter how small?

Wednesday's Word:  The Nurse's Kiss

9/18/2013

 
"Greet one another with the holy kiss."  1 Corinthians 16:20
The nurse kissed my mother's forehead as she left for the day at the end of her
shift.  It was a tender, intimate gesture; a caring gesture.

Mom  had been admitted to the ER that morning; the parade of doctors and nurses
seemed endless--specialists; technicians to draw blood; administrators to ensure
that she had proper insurance.  The parade had led her to a catheterization, which had resulted in a stay on the heart floor for a few hours, and to the nurse's kiss.

It had only been a few hours since our arrival, but she had shown her heart and had shared her incredible capacity to care for the ill, frightened charges--one of
them was my mother.  (and I was the other one!) Yet she took the time to kiss my mom.
 
How rarely, or how frequently, do we make such an impression on others?  How often are we able to show our hearts, even if it's only for a brief time? How often do we share a holy kiss?
 
Paul  told the believers in Corinth to greet each other with a "holy kiss."  Kissing in the early church was a sign of love, affection and acceptance.
 
It seems to me that a holy kiss also sets us apart in the world:  a sign of our ability to show our hearts, a sign that we welcome  others into our most intimate of spaces:  our hearts. 
 
May we ever share a holy kiss.

Wednesday's Word:  9-11

9/10/2013

 
"Over  my head, I hear trouble in the air
 Over  my head, I hear trouble in the air.
Over my head, I hear trouble in the air,
There must be a God somewhere"


Modern  Mystic Howard Thurman called Negro Spirituals the ultimate expression of faith. Enslaved people who were daily beaten by the angry fist of oppression and racism nevertheless viewed their plight as proof of God's existence.  My enslaved ancestors--Mary, Harriett, William--often used their plaintive songs in a more subversive manner:  to signal freedom and to communicate messages about escape.  Hope was carried on the wings of these songs. 

Fifty years after the historic March on Washington, one hundred and fifty years after the Emancipation Proclamation, we see enormous progress.  We also see and hear trouble: wars in the Middle East; Congressional gridlock, random acts of violence and cruelty in every community in this country.  

We recall the horrendous loss of life of September 11, 2001, a day that forever altered our view of the world, of our security and our innocence.  "There  must be a God somewhere"  sing my enslaved ancestors.  Mary, Harriett and William believed. 

I, too, must choose to believe that this is so.

Wednesday's Word: The End of the World?

9/4/2013

 
 "For the Lord himself will descend from
heaven with a shout, with the archangel's voice and with the trumpet of
God...then we who are still alive will be caught up together
to meet the  Lord in the air." 
1 Thessalonians 4: 16-17
I talked to a Moslem this week about the end of the world.  Together, we lamented about the increasing hostility towards Syria, the conflicts and tensions caused by terrorism, rising crime and hatred between the races.

What does one do when the world is about to end?  Jesus tells us to watch  and pray. Paul tells us to encourage each other.  (1 Thessalonians 4:18) We are not, clearly, supposed to sit idly  by and wait for him while twiddling our thumbs or wringing our hands.

We are still called to be salt and light in a desolate world that needs to see,
hear and experience hope.
 
The end of the world?  Perhaps.  But not the end of my faith; not the end of my  assignment, not the end of this journey--not until the last trumpet sounds and He calls me home.

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