Dear God,
When words fail to meet our need to express our desires for you we are grateful that you know us even better than we know ourselves. When we can’t even know what we should be asking from you we are thankful that you have known what we need even before we were born. We come to this place today to connect with you. Bless us with the knowledge that you are in this place, that you are with us. May our worship be pleasing to you.
We come today with an acute mindfulness of this date, ten years past the day our world changed before our eyes. Even today we try to make sense of what happened and our reactions to that day, both collectively and individually have yet to find an end. Help our children to understand the significance of what they can’t remember, to know that comfort and safety are gifts to show gratitude for and not to be taken for granted. As we pray and hope for comfort and safety for our children, we also recognize the value of struggle; as we struggle in this world may we do so together, walking step by step with you.
May you lead us to forgiveness God. We may never know how much debt we owe to you. The trials you’ve led us through in this life that we’ve failed to attribute to your hand or the trials to come in eternity that according to your promise you have overcome. As we pray for our children we offer the same prayer for ourselves. Your grace has brought us safe thus far, may we understand the significance of what we can’t remember, to know that your sacrifice in the body of Jesus has brought us from a living death into eternal life. With this measure of forgiveness let us know that nothing is unforgiveable to us, the children of God.
You are a God of beauty, of restoration, of making good out of ugly things. We reflect today on the ugliness of September 11 and pray that through your spirit we can turn this tragedy into a victory of love over hate, peace over war, sacrifice over selfishness, humanity over evil. You have given no less to us, from us no less is expected.
We want this God, to walk in the light of forgiveness and mercy, but we know that it can’t be done from our own strength and will. May we follow your will on this path.
Amen.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
More Memories
After the last post about memory and songs, it seems that every time I turn on the radio I hear something that takes me back. Not the songs that you hear everyday, but the ones that seem to happen randomly and take you back to those moments that reside in the back of your brain. The memories that you've filed away and might never recall again until something happens to trigger it.
Here in Charlottesville, the UVa students moved in just a week or so ago. After reading several facebook posts from residents complaining about the traffic the students brought to town I got in the car for a quick trip to the supermarket. What did I hear but "Here's Where the Story Ends" by the Sundays. That song was an anthem for my last summer at home before leaving for college myself.
I worked at KFC that summer. The worst job I ever had. My parents had lobbied for me to return to the factory, but I insisted on something different. (Parents 1- Me 0; they were right) There was an assistant manager at the store. She was 35-40 years old, mother of a few, former husband in jail, and on top of it, I didn't find her attractive. I was only seventeen. I'll spare the details, but she started behaving rather inappropriately toward me and I was scared.
On my last night at work, I showed up over an hour late. A friend of mine had already quit, and skipped out completely on his last scheduled shift. This manager's shift ended as mine began that day. I couldn't bring myself to just cut out, but I thought after a half hour or so she would think that I had decided to skip out like my friend. She didn't. She waited up to see me. I went back into the kitchen and wouldn't come out, and she wasn't allowed back since she wasn't working. At the end of my shift she was waiting in the parking lot.
I got into my car and cranked it while she stood in the door trying to talk. I didn't hear a word of what she said, but the tape playing in my car would leave a memory etched into my brain that remains to this day. "It's that little souvenir, of a terrible year." I finally pulled out of the parking lot leaving that job and everything about it behind.
Several weeks later I remember sitting in my new dorm. I'd brought the tape with me and played it in the room as my roommate arrived. We made small talk, but the interaction was awkward. I'd just bought a fan that I needed to assemble, so that occupied my hands and gave me something to do. When the track played on the tape, I remembered just how awful my last summer at home had been. I sat on the edge of my bed and looked across the room at this new face listening to the words "Here's Where the Story Ends." and I new that every chapter of our lives can be closed with those words, but the story really never ends. It becomes a part of our life and prepares us to create new stories that we will take with us forever.
Here in Charlottesville, the UVa students moved in just a week or so ago. After reading several facebook posts from residents complaining about the traffic the students brought to town I got in the car for a quick trip to the supermarket. What did I hear but "Here's Where the Story Ends" by the Sundays. That song was an anthem for my last summer at home before leaving for college myself.
I worked at KFC that summer. The worst job I ever had. My parents had lobbied for me to return to the factory, but I insisted on something different. (Parents 1- Me 0; they were right) There was an assistant manager at the store. She was 35-40 years old, mother of a few, former husband in jail, and on top of it, I didn't find her attractive. I was only seventeen. I'll spare the details, but she started behaving rather inappropriately toward me and I was scared.On my last night at work, I showed up over an hour late. A friend of mine had already quit, and skipped out completely on his last scheduled shift. This manager's shift ended as mine began that day. I couldn't bring myself to just cut out, but I thought after a half hour or so she would think that I had decided to skip out like my friend. She didn't. She waited up to see me. I went back into the kitchen and wouldn't come out, and she wasn't allowed back since she wasn't working. At the end of my shift she was waiting in the parking lot.
I got into my car and cranked it while she stood in the door trying to talk. I didn't hear a word of what she said, but the tape playing in my car would leave a memory etched into my brain that remains to this day. "It's that little souvenir, of a terrible year." I finally pulled out of the parking lot leaving that job and everything about it behind.
Several weeks later I remember sitting in my new dorm. I'd brought the tape with me and played it in the room as my roommate arrived. We made small talk, but the interaction was awkward. I'd just bought a fan that I needed to assemble, so that occupied my hands and gave me something to do. When the track played on the tape, I remembered just how awful my last summer at home had been. I sat on the edge of my bed and looked across the room at this new face listening to the words "Here's Where the Story Ends." and I new that every chapter of our lives can be closed with those words, but the story really never ends. It becomes a part of our life and prepares us to create new stories that we will take with us forever.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Memories and Melodies
Ever notice how strong of a connection certain songs make to episodes of your life? Last week I heard "Veronica" by Elvis Costello on the radio. I either haven't heard that song in a long time, or just haven't noticed, but this time it evoked a flood of memories.
The summer after my sixteenth birthday my parents expected me to get my first job. They always agreed that I wouldn't have to work during the school year if I could find full-time employment during the summer that paid a decent wage. Growing up in Bassett, Virginia, the easiest option was the factory.
At the time, Bassett was home to at least five furniture factories. My mother's three brothers, my father, brother-in-law, and nearly every other male I could think of in my family worked in the furniture business. Factories were wide and tall brick buildings with smokestacks and tiny windows hiding most of what went on inside. The only clues about what happened in a factory came promptly at noon and three-thirty every weekday, shortly after the horn that was heard across the entire town. Worn, tired, and dirty men and women would rush out of the buildings, their demeanor and appearance making it clear that whatever went on in a factory, I didn't want any part of it.
School started at 8:20, so getting ready to punch the clock at 7:00 on my first day of work was no small task. I worked in the same building as my father, but we didn't ride together. His routine involved getting to work early enough to read for a while in his car, gather briefly with friends in the break room, and punch the clock at 6:55 to make sure he wasn't late. (Punching in earlier meant you'd have to be paid for the time and the company didn't allow that. Punching in later than 7:00 meant your time would be docked and my father wouldn't allow that.)
I intended to roll into the parking lot, exit my car, proceed straight to the time clock and punch in when the horn sounded official Bassett time-- 7:00. Riding to work that morning, "Veronica" played on the radio. The lyrics have nothing to do with the memory, but I found it catchy enough to stick in my brain for the summer.
The tasks required on the assembly line were mind-numbingly monotonous. I couldn't help but sing "Veronica" over and over. My brain was empty and idle within minutes of my first day of work. Gluing the same wooden block into piece after piece of furniture. Screwing identical blocks into identical dressers for hours at a time. Standing in the same spot, rotating at the hip to retrieve drawers from a stack to shove them into the moving dressers until the entire line had run. I knew that I wasn't going to like the job and I didn't.
So why does this song that reminds me of working in a drab, dark factory in my youth? That experience of several summers taught me so many life lessons. I worked with people whose lives were stuck in a dead end. I learned the value of persistence and hard work to pull out of the holes you find yourself in. I also learned to love the people who were stuck. The people who no one ever saw behind the brick and mortar, working like bees every day to produce. I learned what it was like to work for the sole reason of earning a paycheck and knew that working for money alone could never lead to fulfillment in life.
Most of all, I learned to appreciate my father. I think he worked for Bassett nearly 50 years. I loved working in the same building as him and watching the respect he'd earned. On paydays, I heard so many people complain about how little they made in one breath while talking about how much they'd spent on alcohol in the next breath. I never knew how he managed to keep his mind and body fresh, but somehow he found a sense of pride in a job well done and created life-giving relationships with co-workers. He retired on the day that I finally finished college. He'd never even made it to high school.
I worked in a factory for three summers and hated every minute of it. My father endured what I could not for one reason alone: a loving commitment to family. I would have never understood the depth of this commitment if I hadn't experienced it myself. So while I hated every minute, I wouldn't give back a single second. It's why I smile when I hear "Veronica" today.
I've been absent from A Pot of Stew for over a month now. Mostly because I've spent so much time travelling this summer, but I've also been doing some other writing. I've been working on a few articles, of course I've written a few posts at The Teaching Underground. I've also been working on a novel. No idea where that will go, but I'll let you know if it gets off the ground.
The summer after my sixteenth birthday my parents expected me to get my first job. They always agreed that I wouldn't have to work during the school year if I could find full-time employment during the summer that paid a decent wage. Growing up in Bassett, Virginia, the easiest option was the factory.
At the time, Bassett was home to at least five furniture factories. My mother's three brothers, my father, brother-in-law, and nearly every other male I could think of in my family worked in the furniture business. Factories were wide and tall brick buildings with smokestacks and tiny windows hiding most of what went on inside. The only clues about what happened in a factory came promptly at noon and three-thirty every weekday, shortly after the horn that was heard across the entire town. Worn, tired, and dirty men and women would rush out of the buildings, their demeanor and appearance making it clear that whatever went on in a factory, I didn't want any part of it.
School started at 8:20, so getting ready to punch the clock at 7:00 on my first day of work was no small task. I worked in the same building as my father, but we didn't ride together. His routine involved getting to work early enough to read for a while in his car, gather briefly with friends in the break room, and punch the clock at 6:55 to make sure he wasn't late. (Punching in earlier meant you'd have to be paid for the time and the company didn't allow that. Punching in later than 7:00 meant your time would be docked and my father wouldn't allow that.)
The tasks required on the assembly line were mind-numbingly monotonous. I couldn't help but sing "Veronica" over and over. My brain was empty and idle within minutes of my first day of work. Gluing the same wooden block into piece after piece of furniture. Screwing identical blocks into identical dressers for hours at a time. Standing in the same spot, rotating at the hip to retrieve drawers from a stack to shove them into the moving dressers until the entire line had run. I knew that I wasn't going to like the job and I didn't.
So why does this song that reminds me of working in a drab, dark factory in my youth? That experience of several summers taught me so many life lessons. I worked with people whose lives were stuck in a dead end. I learned the value of persistence and hard work to pull out of the holes you find yourself in. I also learned to love the people who were stuck. The people who no one ever saw behind the brick and mortar, working like bees every day to produce. I learned what it was like to work for the sole reason of earning a paycheck and knew that working for money alone could never lead to fulfillment in life.
Most of all, I learned to appreciate my father. I think he worked for Bassett nearly 50 years. I loved working in the same building as him and watching the respect he'd earned. On paydays, I heard so many people complain about how little they made in one breath while talking about how much they'd spent on alcohol in the next breath. I never knew how he managed to keep his mind and body fresh, but somehow he found a sense of pride in a job well done and created life-giving relationships with co-workers. He retired on the day that I finally finished college. He'd never even made it to high school.
I worked in a factory for three summers and hated every minute of it. My father endured what I could not for one reason alone: a loving commitment to family. I would have never understood the depth of this commitment if I hadn't experienced it myself. So while I hated every minute, I wouldn't give back a single second. It's why I smile when I hear "Veronica" today.
I've been absent from A Pot of Stew for over a month now. Mostly because I've spent so much time travelling this summer, but I've also been doing some other writing. I've been working on a few articles, of course I've written a few posts at The Teaching Underground. I've also been working on a novel. No idea where that will go, but I'll let you know if it gets off the ground.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Turn off the Dark
I'd never been to Broadway before last week. I'd never been to New York before last week. Two years ago, October 2009, U2 played a concert in my hometown of Charlottesville. I wanted to take my son to a concert, so I bought tickets for the Philadelphia concert the next summer. Little did I know that Bono would injure himself and the show would be postponed for another year. I held on to the tickets and we made plans to go last week. My wife wanted to make it a family trip, so we decided to spend a day in New York before heading to Philadelphia.Ever since she travelled to New York a few years ago to see the Lion King on Broadway, she's been wanting to see another show. Our youngest son is so into Spider Man we figured that would be about the only option that he would manage to sit through. Considering that Bono and the Edge composed the music I figured that it would be only fitting to see the show the day before the U2 concert. I found discounted tickets on-line two days before the show about 3/4 of the way back in the Orchestra section (right side, row U).
The story was not the strongest. The music added emotion and weight The deeper Spiderman themes of Choice and Responsibility were present, but certainly not developed. However, it was a cohesive story, coming to a satisfying ending.
, like the show, finds a great balance of strong emotional pieces balanced with several more light-hearted songs.That was the highlight of my first visit to New York. Until I can convince my four-year old son that he can't cling to a wall, the memory of Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark will remain. As far as memories go, this is one that I'm not in a hurry to lose. The concert on Thursday was pretty good too. More on that one later.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Relationships- The Glue of Humanity
So what do you do in the summer?
As a teacher I hate that question because I always assume that it is seeded with contempt that I've got three months of vacation. First of all, June 15 to August 15 is not three months. Second, I don't just lay around the house all summer catching up on the soaps or lounge by the pool all day.
This week, the first full week of summer vacation I traveled with twenty-two teenagers to Southeast Roanoke. While there, we ran a day camp for children in a rather neglected community. I got to watch a sixteen year old spend her mornings working with a three-year old autistic child. I saw a fourteen year old deal with a child who came to camp every day with a different name. A rising eigth grader bonded with a third-grader who still showed the effects of an unlucky birth to a crack-addicted mother. We painted the porch of a WWII veteran because his elderly neighbor cared enough to seek out help and struggles against the odds to make a neighborhood neglected by the city look presentable again. We entered the house of a woman who had a hard time getting rid of things, and help her pack things away and clean up her house. Calming her anxiety was a bigger struggle that sorting through the accumulated stuff.
I learned last week that relationships are the glue that holds humanity together and when relationships are neglected or put on the backburner for other things-- humanity breaks apart. I went to the home of one elderly lady. When she started down the front porch steps to meet me I was afraid that she would fall. Her feet were too sore for shoes. Looking down I could see that her greatest need might be as simple as someone to trim her nails. A lawn mower sat in the lawn, but grass was growing over its deck. Her mental health matched her physical health. She didn't understand that we were offering our services for free. She insisted that her grandson would take care of it. He is a landscaper. He just cant work on her lawn as long as he has paying jobs that take the time. Her neighbor knew her two sons. Apparently they were alcoholics that caused her more harm than good. In this poor old woman, I saw a soul without another soul to care for her. Society has neglected her. No one desires to have a relationship with this lady.
The veteran that I mentioned before, he's no better off. He was so eager to share stories and talk, probably more so than getting his porch painted. It seemed that his only companion was the nurse who came to his house every day to take care of him.
We spent our week in a pocket of poverty. It wasn't as bad as it could get, but compared to my lifestyle it was bad. These pockets are easy to overlook. They're out of the way. We keep them clustered away from the paths that we cross daily. As long as we have food on our table and clothes on our back, we can lay our heads in our comfortable beds and sleep well at night without a thought for the children who aren't sure what if anything they will eat for breakfast in the morning. When we grab a to go cup of coffee and drive to our next destination it's easy to forget the poor old lady who can't get around because she can't get shoes over her untrimmed toenails.
We drive by, we walk by, we fly over, but we seldom stop. Stop to just see and hear America, the world. Outside of our immediate five senses we allow ourselves to become ignorant of the reality of life. We build an excellent buffer with our nicely trimmed lawns, personal automobiles, membership only swimming pools, and comfortable if not pretentious churches. A buffer that we mistake for reality to mask and hide the ugly realities that we'd rather not think about.
It's not that we should all be considering "selling everything and giving it to the poor", at least I'm not so sure that Jesus meant that command for everyone. It's easy to think that our job is to go in and fix the problems. Jesus didn't do it that way. Jesus entered our humanity and lived it with us, and continues to live it with us. He didn't die to end human suffering, he died to enter suffering with us so that we may overcome in time. He performed many miracles, but he didn't end poverty, hunger, or oppression. He endured poverty, hunger, and oppression. By doing so he intertwined the fate of humanity with the fate of the divine. He created relationship with the world.
That is true relationship. Enduring the hardship and walking alongside those in need. Being willing to suffer with another and not just thinking that because I wear better clothes, have my own car, and extra cash on top of it that I can just use my resources to rescue others from their difficulties. Whether it is poverty of the mind, body, economy, or soul, none of us possess the ability to rescue another but through our willingness to live life together in genuine relationships with others. Relationships that intertwine our fate with the fate of others.
Relationship is the glue that holds humanity together. I would bet that where we find humanity in ruins, not just places where people are poor but places that seem empty of hope, we also find that the root of that ruin lays in broken and unhealthy relationships.
That's what I've done and learned so far this summer. I've got a few adventures still ahead. I like seeing the counter numbers and site traffic climb when I post frequently, but lately I've gotten comfortable knowing that when I only get around to posting only every few weeks or once a month I'm only going to get a few readers. But I've got a lot to do if I really believe what I just wrote about relationships. I'll try to post a few more times this summer if you're interested. I've got a few family trips, a week at a youth camp, and a big U2 concert to attend this summer.
So what do you do in the summer?
As a teacher I hate that question because I always assume that it is seeded with contempt that I've got three months of vacation. First of all, June 15 to August 15 is not three months. Second, I don't just lay around the house all summer catching up on the soaps or lounge by the pool all day.
This week, the first full week of summer vacation I traveled with twenty-two teenagers to Southeast Roanoke. While there, we ran a day camp for children in a rather neglected community. I got to watch a sixteen year old spend her mornings working with a three-year old autistic child. I saw a fourteen year old deal with a child who came to camp every day with a different name. A rising eigth grader bonded with a third-grader who still showed the effects of an unlucky birth to a crack-addicted mother. We painted the porch of a WWII veteran because his elderly neighbor cared enough to seek out help and struggles against the odds to make a neighborhood neglected by the city look presentable again. We entered the house of a woman who had a hard time getting rid of things, and help her pack things away and clean up her house. Calming her anxiety was a bigger struggle that sorting through the accumulated stuff.
I learned last week that relationships are the glue that holds humanity together and when relationships are neglected or put on the backburner for other things-- humanity breaks apart. I went to the home of one elderly lady. When she started down the front porch steps to meet me I was afraid that she would fall. Her feet were too sore for shoes. Looking down I could see that her greatest need might be as simple as someone to trim her nails. A lawn mower sat in the lawn, but grass was growing over its deck. Her mental health matched her physical health. She didn't understand that we were offering our services for free. She insisted that her grandson would take care of it. He is a landscaper. He just cant work on her lawn as long as he has paying jobs that take the time. Her neighbor knew her two sons. Apparently they were alcoholics that caused her more harm than good. In this poor old woman, I saw a soul without another soul to care for her. Society has neglected her. No one desires to have a relationship with this lady.
The veteran that I mentioned before, he's no better off. He was so eager to share stories and talk, probably more so than getting his porch painted. It seemed that his only companion was the nurse who came to his house every day to take care of him.
We spent our week in a pocket of poverty. It wasn't as bad as it could get, but compared to my lifestyle it was bad. These pockets are easy to overlook. They're out of the way. We keep them clustered away from the paths that we cross daily. As long as we have food on our table and clothes on our back, we can lay our heads in our comfortable beds and sleep well at night without a thought for the children who aren't sure what if anything they will eat for breakfast in the morning. When we grab a to go cup of coffee and drive to our next destination it's easy to forget the poor old lady who can't get around because she can't get shoes over her untrimmed toenails.
We drive by, we walk by, we fly over, but we seldom stop. Stop to just see and hear America, the world. Outside of our immediate five senses we allow ourselves to become ignorant of the reality of life. We build an excellent buffer with our nicely trimmed lawns, personal automobiles, membership only swimming pools, and comfortable if not pretentious churches. A buffer that we mistake for reality to mask and hide the ugly realities that we'd rather not think about.
It's not that we should all be considering "selling everything and giving it to the poor", at least I'm not so sure that Jesus meant that command for everyone. It's easy to think that our job is to go in and fix the problems. Jesus didn't do it that way. Jesus entered our humanity and lived it with us, and continues to live it with us. He didn't die to end human suffering, he died to enter suffering with us so that we may overcome in time. He performed many miracles, but he didn't end poverty, hunger, or oppression. He endured poverty, hunger, and oppression. By doing so he intertwined the fate of humanity with the fate of the divine. He created relationship with the world.
That is true relationship. Enduring the hardship and walking alongside those in need. Being willing to suffer with another and not just thinking that because I wear better clothes, have my own car, and extra cash on top of it that I can just use my resources to rescue others from their difficulties. Whether it is poverty of the mind, body, economy, or soul, none of us possess the ability to rescue another but through our willingness to live life together in genuine relationships with others. Relationships that intertwine our fate with the fate of others.
Relationship is the glue that holds humanity together. I would bet that where we find humanity in ruins, not just places where people are poor but places that seem empty of hope, we also find that the root of that ruin lays in broken and unhealthy relationships.
That's what I've done and learned so far this summer. I've got a few adventures still ahead. I like seeing the counter numbers and site traffic climb when I post frequently, but lately I've gotten comfortable knowing that when I only get around to posting only every few weeks or once a month I'm only going to get a few readers. But I've got a lot to do if I really believe what I just wrote about relationships. I'll try to post a few more times this summer if you're interested. I've got a few family trips, a week at a youth camp, and a big U2 concert to attend this summer.
So what do you do in the summer?
Sunday, June 05, 2011
A Sunday Prayer to Reclaim the Reality of God
Acts 1
Dear God,
Weekends like this remind us that sometimes when things come to an end it isn’t the end at all, but a new beginning. We thank you for being the God of fresh starts and new beginnings. We thank you for being the God who will even work goodness through death. When we forget that you have that kind of power, remind us God and help us to keep the faith.
Lord we just read today a story about your son, who walked among us, died because of us, and through your power ascended into heaven from where he came. Don’t let us sit here today and just pretend we believe this, because if we really believe something like that really happened how can we be comfortable with just being comfortable. Help us to ponder the reality of what we have heard and let our hardened hearts break under the weight of the mystery that God almighty cares about us and desires relationship with his creation.
We don’t get lost when we follow the leader; may you be the leader of our lives. Help us to pursue you with an unfailing faith in your goodness, with a hope that we can become what you intend for us to become, with a love that overflows bringing blessing to all of your creation. Forgive us for our boredom when we stop considering the power of your story and think it is familiar. Forgive us for our apathy when we confuse a comfort that keeps us in our seat with blessing. Forgive us for our selfishness when we strive to make ourselves first not remembering we’re headed for last place in that direction.
Most of us are here today for something. Whatever the reason we came, I pray that we all would seek first your kingdom and your righteousness, that we would be willing to follow you into death so that we may learn what it means to live. May we draw strength and encouragement from this community of faith as we journey in the path of God together. For this we pray together the prayer that Jesus taught his followers to pray. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us of our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
6Then they gathered around him and asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”
7 He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
9 After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.
10 They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. 11 “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”
12 Then the apostles returned to Jerusalem from the hill called the Mount of Olives, a Sabbath day’s walk[a] from the city. 13 When they arrived, they went upstairs to the room where they were staying. Those present were Peter, John, James and Andrew; Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew; James son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. 14 They all joined together constantly in prayer, along with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brothers.
Dear God,
Weekends like this remind us that sometimes when things come to an end it isn’t the end at all, but a new beginning. We thank you for being the God of fresh starts and new beginnings. We thank you for being the God who will even work goodness through death. When we forget that you have that kind of power, remind us God and help us to keep the faith.
Lord we just read today a story about your son, who walked among us, died because of us, and through your power ascended into heaven from where he came. Don’t let us sit here today and just pretend we believe this, because if we really believe something like that really happened how can we be comfortable with just being comfortable. Help us to ponder the reality of what we have heard and let our hardened hearts break under the weight of the mystery that God almighty cares about us and desires relationship with his creation.
We don’t get lost when we follow the leader; may you be the leader of our lives. Help us to pursue you with an unfailing faith in your goodness, with a hope that we can become what you intend for us to become, with a love that overflows bringing blessing to all of your creation. Forgive us for our boredom when we stop considering the power of your story and think it is familiar. Forgive us for our apathy when we confuse a comfort that keeps us in our seat with blessing. Forgive us for our selfishness when we strive to make ourselves first not remembering we’re headed for last place in that direction.
Most of us are here today for something. Whatever the reason we came, I pray that we all would seek first your kingdom and your righteousness, that we would be willing to follow you into death so that we may learn what it means to live. May we draw strength and encouragement from this community of faith as we journey in the path of God together. For this we pray together the prayer that Jesus taught his followers to pray. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us of our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
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