Peace Mandalas

They gathered in the parking lot thirty minutes ahead of time
a little tired from day of sightseeing the Port of Houston
and the San Jacinto Monument and battleground.
It was nearly two weeks into their stay in Houston as tourists.
These college students had come to experience Texas for the holidays.
It's a wonderful program.
They live with a family and tour the city at no cost to them
other than finding a way to get here.

Last night they came to my church for dinner and a program.
They were polite and fairly quiet.
They loved dinner!
Skinny little Marina from China ate four plates full of food.

After dinner I spoke of the word peace and how it means different things to different people.
I thought it might be nice
on the edge of this new year
to think about peace,
what it means to us,
and to share our insights.

I directed them to a table laden with supplies for collage -
magazines, glue sticks, scissors, and pie shaped wedges of paper two feet long.
Find a picture of yourself I told them - a person, bird, animal, whatever.
That's going to be the centerpiece of your picture.
Then look through the magazine and grab what grabs you when you think of the word peace.

They set to work in earnest, happily ripping out pages,
trimming the edges,
then gluing them down on their brown paper wedge.

An hour later they were mostly finished,
and so we began the sharing,
assembling eight wedges together to make a big four foot wheel.
Each one talked of his or her wedges - the young college students most of whom were from Asia
and two Anglican priests from Tanzania.
Nearly everyone pasted down clear, blue skies,
happy children,
lots of food.
There were symbols for music,
money
different cultures smiling together, sometimes arm in arm
lots of loving community.

As we gathered around tables together and each one explained his or her very own picture,
we began to form a loving community ourselves,
laughing easily with Joshua at his own self portrait "half dumb-half stupid"
"Oops! I meant half dumb-half smart."
and affirming the work that each one had done.

We were, in that fellowship hall of a little Presbyterian church,
a microcosm of peace and goodwill.
The walls that divided us when we began were down by the end of the evening.
there was laughter, joy and tenderness and hugs when it was all over.
They didn't want to leave,
and lingered for a while, savoring the moment
of the night we all experienced world peace for ourselves.

O God, may it be so!
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Sugars and Flours

It happens every time.
I'm rushed - have things to do
and no money in my purse.
Someone puts out a tray of sandwiches
and it's just so easy to pick up a couple and be done with lunch.
I think I'm a big girl now,
over my refined carbohydrate addiction
and able to handle such things.
After all, aren't we supposed to enjoy life?
Everyone else is doing it.
It's easy.
It's free.
There's an ambience to the experience -
I get to eat with people and be social
instead of going by myself to a restaurant
and carefully ordering the few things I can eat.

An hour later I start to feel bloated.
A little brain fog sets in.
Then the mucus starts flowing.
I feel lethargic.
I'm tired, exhausted tired and try to sleep.
It happens quickly
but then around 3 AM
I'm awake
for good.
still exhausted
still producing a ton of mucus
still bloated
and wondering how long it will be
before I finally learn the lesson.
Sugars and flours make me sick.

It doesn't do any good to beat myself up about it.
I know.
I've done that.
repeatedly.
Best to forgive myself and move on
and wait four days for the junk to exit my body.

O God,
I need you today
for all kinds of reasons.
I really cannot save myself.
I need some help.
Get me through this day.

Sermons

I've been constipated a time or two in my life.
Not a fun experience.
You strain and strain to no avail
and the discomfort lingers for ages
until the log is finally birthed.

That's what it's like for me to write sermons every week.
Every blank week!
thirteen years plus funerals and memorial services
I've been at this.
I've preached hundreds of sermons now.
The pressure is relentless.
It never leaves me.
As soon as one is birthed,
the next one gets in line waiting for its turn.

The inner critic has a field day with me -
Not good enough!
Trite!
You'll put everyone to sleep with that!
You're not smart enough to do this
Quit.
You're killing your church!

Every blank week we battle.
It reaches a climax on Saturday when we duke it out.
Sometimes the battle continues through the night
and the next morning
until the thing is finally birthed.
O what a relief it is!

But then Sunday morning comes
and I awaken with anticipation
and stand to offer my tiny gift to the love of God
and sometimes I sense God smiling
and loving me all the way through it
and I feel blessed
to have had such a privilege.

It is a strange call to be a preacher,
a terrifying call in so many ways.
There are so many voices telling me how to do it
and my style doesn't always fit the mold.
I do it for the love of God
because I heard him call me to it.
I want so much to please Him
and to sense His love and power among us.
but I cannot control the outcome.
Only God can.
I do the best I can with the gifts I have
and wait
and hope
and pray
that Christ will stand among us once more
and feed His people with the bread of life.