by: John O’Donohue in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, 2008
May you be blessed in the holy names of those
Who, without you knowing it,
Help to carry and lighten your path.
May you know serenity
When you are called
To enter the house of suffering.
May a window of light always surprise you.
May you be granted to wisdom
To avoid false resistance;
When suffering knocks on the door of your life;
May you glimpse its eventual gifts.
May you be able to receive the fruits of suffering.
May memory bless and protect you
With the hard-earned light of past travail;
To remind you that you have survived before
And though the darkness now is deep,
You will soon see approaching light.
May the grace of time heal your wounds.
May you know that though the storm might rage,
Not a hair on your head will be harmed.
Something to Ponder: Who might help you carry the load when it gets too heavy? How might you reach out for this help?
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Finding Hope Because of God - The Gift of Christ
by: Martha Matthews
In past year and a half, I have lost the ability to do many things that I took for granted and never in my wildest dreams expected to lose. I can no longer walk, garden, swim, take care of my house and dog, cook and fix food for myself, bathe and dress myself, do the laundry, visit friends’ homes, drive a car, make art, draw, sew, weave, paint, or sleep in my own bed. I have Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, or ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. There is no cure or treatment. I will gradually become paralyzed and lose the ability to speak, swallow and breathe. It has been a time of great struggle on many levels and will continue to be until I die.
But the most amazing thing has happened. God is with me!
Jesus struggled as we all do but more so because he carried the burden of all our sins. He faced His human aspects--temptations, possible failure of his mission, physical frailty --as he faced what God had sent him to do. But he was the Son of God sent in human form with a divine mission. He died on the cross for all our sins so that we may be forgiven and have everlasting life with God.
Every Sunday we ask for forgiveness and every Sunday, without fail, we are assured that we are forgiven. Forgiveness and salvation- this is the Good News that Christ’s life and death on the cross has given to us all. It is the bedrock of our faith. It is an incredibly huge gift given to us by grace alone. Often we fear we are not worthy and turn our backs on this gift but it is there for us with no conditions or strings attached. When I was told I had ALS I fully accepted this gift. I am amazed every day to have God with me, surrounding me, holding me up, helping me cope with the ever increasing bad news of my body’s demise.
Letting go and giving up control is really hard but I have had no choice. Yet God is there for me even in the moments when I emotionally fall apart. He surrounds me with his love and his hands reach out and hold me up.
It totally blows me away!
Often his hands are old friends, new friends and strangers who come to help me. His grace is in the sunshine streaming through my windows, the view of the trees and my untended garden filled with Lenten roses and, when I can get there, sitting in the sanctuary at Covenant surrounded by my church friends. But most of all it is the assurance that death will be a release into his everlasting love and grace, into the arms of God.
I have no fear of death “even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” Actually I fear more what I must go through in this life than I fear dying. I pray every day that He will remain with me and give me peace and grace as I go on this hard journey.
I have heard the promise and the promise is Easter. It is there for all of us.
But the most amazing thing has happened. God is with me!
Jesus struggled as we all do but more so because he carried the burden of all our sins. He faced His human aspects--temptations, possible failure of his mission, physical frailty --as he faced what God had sent him to do. But he was the Son of God sent in human form with a divine mission. He died on the cross for all our sins so that we may be forgiven and have everlasting life with God.
Every Sunday we ask for forgiveness and every Sunday, without fail, we are assured that we are forgiven. Forgiveness and salvation- this is the Good News that Christ’s life and death on the cross has given to us all. It is the bedrock of our faith. It is an incredibly huge gift given to us by grace alone. Often we fear we are not worthy and turn our backs on this gift but it is there for us with no conditions or strings attached. When I was told I had ALS I fully accepted this gift. I am amazed every day to have God with me, surrounding me, holding me up, helping me cope with the ever increasing bad news of my body’s demise.
Letting go and giving up control is really hard but I have had no choice. Yet God is there for me even in the moments when I emotionally fall apart. He surrounds me with his love and his hands reach out and hold me up.
It totally blows me away!
Often his hands are old friends, new friends and strangers who come to help me. His grace is in the sunshine streaming through my windows, the view of the trees and my untended garden filled with Lenten roses and, when I can get there, sitting in the sanctuary at Covenant surrounded by my church friends. But most of all it is the assurance that death will be a release into his everlasting love and grace, into the arms of God.
I have no fear of death “even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” Actually I fear more what I must go through in this life than I fear dying. I pray every day that He will remain with me and give me peace and grace as I go on this hard journey.
I have heard the promise and the promise is Easter. It is there for all of us.
Friday, March 27, 2015
Teresa's Song
by: Myra Clark; Executive Director of Center for Community Transitions
“One year to the day before I came here my mother died. I was not allowed to go to her funeral, it was in Virginia. Now my grandfather has also died. Two of the most important people in my life, I couldn’t be with my family when my mother died, I know I can’t be there now too.” Teresa said to me.
What kept Teresa from mourning with her family? What kept her away from being able to process her loss, and have closure at the funeral? These two major losses occurred during Teresa’s incarceration. When she was released in September of last year, she was not able to leave the state. Her mother was buried in Virginia. It took a great deal of resolve on her part not to go, but once she was given permission the first thing she did was to lay flowers on her mother’s grave.
I have heard similar words many times over the 28 years I have worked with the Center for Community Transitions’ Center for Women. I always thought this would be the hardest part of being incarcerated, not being with a loved one when they are terminally ill, being able to grieve for them surrounded by loved ones.
Incarceration is difficult, and one of the hardest things about it is missing those key moments in the life of the families left behind: the graduations, weddings, illnesses and burials that bind families together. It is at times like these that prayer circles form and the women come together to support each other and lift their families in prayer.
Prison and jail are places where people reach out to God, when life seems at its lowest point. Jan Thompson, former director of inmate programs in the Mecklenburg County jail, used to say “people find God in jail; unfortunately they leave him there when they get out.” I know that happens a lot. But I have witnessed many times when that did not happen. Many of the women at the Center where I work have found a faith home and family. The women are permitted to go out with volunteers weekly and 75% of the passes I approve are to attend a house of worship. Once they are released they continue to get their spiritual needs met with the faith family they found while in prison.
Teresa has a strong faith. She loves music and has written over 600 songs. At the last two Spring Fling events for the Center, she and her sister residents performed two of her songs. Her music is uplifting and grounded in her faith and her experiences in life. One of her songs, “I Just Want To Thank You” is one of my favorites about God’s love and Teresa’s love for her grandmother.
Lent is a time of reflection and discernment. What can be done for people who find themselves incarcerated and cut-off from their families? Are they lost and forgotten? Or will we welcome them back to our community as our brothers and sisters in Christ. Jesus said that “…when you visited those in prison, you did it unto me.” And lest we forget, Jesus was a prisoner before he died for our sins, and rose on the third day giving us who believe, life everlasting.
What kept Teresa from mourning with her family? What kept her away from being able to process her loss, and have closure at the funeral? These two major losses occurred during Teresa’s incarceration. When she was released in September of last year, she was not able to leave the state. Her mother was buried in Virginia. It took a great deal of resolve on her part not to go, but once she was given permission the first thing she did was to lay flowers on her mother’s grave.
I have heard similar words many times over the 28 years I have worked with the Center for Community Transitions’ Center for Women. I always thought this would be the hardest part of being incarcerated, not being with a loved one when they are terminally ill, being able to grieve for them surrounded by loved ones.
Incarceration is difficult, and one of the hardest things about it is missing those key moments in the life of the families left behind: the graduations, weddings, illnesses and burials that bind families together. It is at times like these that prayer circles form and the women come together to support each other and lift their families in prayer.
Prison and jail are places where people reach out to God, when life seems at its lowest point. Jan Thompson, former director of inmate programs in the Mecklenburg County jail, used to say “people find God in jail; unfortunately they leave him there when they get out.” I know that happens a lot. But I have witnessed many times when that did not happen. Many of the women at the Center where I work have found a faith home and family. The women are permitted to go out with volunteers weekly and 75% of the passes I approve are to attend a house of worship. Once they are released they continue to get their spiritual needs met with the faith family they found while in prison.
Teresa has a strong faith. She loves music and has written over 600 songs. At the last two Spring Fling events for the Center, she and her sister residents performed two of her songs. Her music is uplifting and grounded in her faith and her experiences in life. One of her songs, “I Just Want To Thank You” is one of my favorites about God’s love and Teresa’s love for her grandmother.
Lent is a time of reflection and discernment. What can be done for people who find themselves incarcerated and cut-off from their families? Are they lost and forgotten? Or will we welcome them back to our community as our brothers and sisters in Christ. Jesus said that “…when you visited those in prison, you did it unto me.” And lest we forget, Jesus was a prisoner before he died for our sins, and rose on the third day giving us who believe, life everlasting.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Jesus in our Midst
by: Petra Wahnefried
I remember the first time I saw Jesus – I was seven. You had to be eight to attend overnight camp, but my mom had lied about my age to get me in. As one of two working parents, she had to figure out ways to juggle kids during the summer and bending the truth was part of her plan. As I packed by bag, excited for the week, my mom gave me a tutorial about how to lie about my age. I still laugh about the fact that I lied in order to get into church camp, but isn’t Jesus always showing up at those moments when we are most human?
On the third day of camp we went on “The Great Adventure,” which was a renowned camp activity. In short, the camp van drove our group just over a mile off of camp property and dropped us off with canteens, one compass and the hope that you would get back before dark. It was then our goal to head due north through a dense forest with no trails in order to get back to camp. It was a lesson in orienteering and teamwork.
Each camper took turns in front, holding the compass and forging the way through thorns, tangled vines and twisted trees. We were about halfway back to camp when the Brandon, the camper who was leading the pack, stepped on an underground beehive. A swarm of bees shot out of the ground, angered and ready to kill the perpetrator. We were all terrified, and took off running in all directions hoping to get to safety. But as I ran, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a scene I will never forget.
Sarah, my camp counselor, pushed Brandon quickly off of the nest and instructed him to run. But instead of running herself, she stepped into the place where he had been standing. The bees stung Sarah rather than chasing after Brandon or any one of us. Since the bees found their victim close by, we were given time to escape. Only 2 campers got stung, one time a piece. Sarah stayed there until we had all gotten far enough away, and then stumbled to the nearest clearing. We later found out that she had been stung 38 times.
Falling to the ground, Sarah’s eyes rolled back in her head and we immediately started putting together an emergency plan. Luckily, we found a house nearby that had a phone which we could use. Within an hour, Sarah was in the hospital and our group was back at camp. She would return to our group after a night in the hospital, and we would forever remember her as the person who saved us from bee stings.
I am sure this is still a story that Sarah tells around kitchen tables and at cocktail parties, but I don’t think she knows how important this moment was in my faith. This is when I first saw Jesus present on earth – when selflessness was personified, and sacrifice embodied. When I think of Jesus headed to the cross, I cannot get the image out of my head of my camp counselor who stood on a bee hive just so we could escape. I hope one day that somebody can say a similar thing when they glance over their shoulder and get glimpses of the way I live my life.
On the third day of camp we went on “The Great Adventure,” which was a renowned camp activity. In short, the camp van drove our group just over a mile off of camp property and dropped us off with canteens, one compass and the hope that you would get back before dark. It was then our goal to head due north through a dense forest with no trails in order to get back to camp. It was a lesson in orienteering and teamwork.
Each camper took turns in front, holding the compass and forging the way through thorns, tangled vines and twisted trees. We were about halfway back to camp when the Brandon, the camper who was leading the pack, stepped on an underground beehive. A swarm of bees shot out of the ground, angered and ready to kill the perpetrator. We were all terrified, and took off running in all directions hoping to get to safety. But as I ran, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a scene I will never forget.
Sarah, my camp counselor, pushed Brandon quickly off of the nest and instructed him to run. But instead of running herself, she stepped into the place where he had been standing. The bees stung Sarah rather than chasing after Brandon or any one of us. Since the bees found their victim close by, we were given time to escape. Only 2 campers got stung, one time a piece. Sarah stayed there until we had all gotten far enough away, and then stumbled to the nearest clearing. We later found out that she had been stung 38 times.
Falling to the ground, Sarah’s eyes rolled back in her head and we immediately started putting together an emergency plan. Luckily, we found a house nearby that had a phone which we could use. Within an hour, Sarah was in the hospital and our group was back at camp. She would return to our group after a night in the hospital, and we would forever remember her as the person who saved us from bee stings.
I am sure this is still a story that Sarah tells around kitchen tables and at cocktail parties, but I don’t think she knows how important this moment was in my faith. This is when I first saw Jesus present on earth – when selflessness was personified, and sacrifice embodied. When I think of Jesus headed to the cross, I cannot get the image out of my head of my camp counselor who stood on a bee hive just so we could escape. I hope one day that somebody can say a similar thing when they glance over their shoulder and get glimpses of the way I live my life.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
In Struggle, Hope
by: Earle D Roberts
This struggle went on for four years, and had parallel streams.
In June 1983, the 'northern' and 'southern' Presbyterian Churches voted to reunite and become the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), with celebratory sessions in Atlanta and simultaneous Communion Services across the nation connected by a television network.
Then came the struggle. What about the synods and presbyteries? Those existing were very different in size and boundaries, with a lot of geographical overlap; with great disparity in membership numbers (approx.1 to 16 in NC, one group African-American, the other 99% white). All facets focused attention on North Carolina--how would they become a united Presbyterian Church at the local level? In the mysteries of providence I had leadership roles in both streams of the struggle.
We were neighbors that did not know one another. When we came together in various groupings, we learned our differences--not just in size but in the way we conducted programs and administration. At first, learning about each other was about all that was accomplished, important, but only a beginning. Any discussion of new boundaries and organization was nowhere in sight.
Consultations of synods, of presbyteries, of synods and presbyteries; meetings of planning committees, of steering committees, of existing councils. Every participant coming from a particular constituency with traditions and programs and long-standing relationships, and specific history (sometimes with scars). We did not always hear one another. At times there was some unwillingness to consider any alternative, any difference from the comfortable familiar. There was security in past patterns, and insistence on maintaining that security in any new structure. And there were personalities, and personal preferences strongly held.
Often it was difficult to see progress. Each big meeting would reach some agreement, but mostly concerning the wording of a document. Looking for something more than tidying up what had been, looking for a reaching-forward proposal, hoping for discussion of possibilities--anyone with such thoughts was lonesome and disappointed for months and months. But surely these responsible church leaders recognized the importance of the task they had to pursue; surely the inflexible sides would open up to others and to coming together. It surely would happen.
I was not disturbed by the time it took for progress to be realized. Fortunately my congregation was very patient with the amount of time I had to devote to these activities. It was the slowness of progress in discussions and negotiations toward accomplishing our tasks that was the source of disappointment, but not despair. The scripture that was always in my head and heart was Isaiah 26.3: "Those of steadfast mind you keep in peace--in peace because they trust in you." Trust in the Lord. The promised peace is not 'no cares, no worries'; it is the calm confidence of the steadfast love of God in our lives and in the church of Jesus Christ. Trusting in the Lord to lead the people of faith. And that is hope.
P.S. We eventually came to harmonious agreements, and new synods and presbyteries were approved in June 1987.
This struggle went on for four years, and had parallel streams.
In June 1983, the 'northern' and 'southern' Presbyterian Churches voted to reunite and become the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), with celebratory sessions in Atlanta and simultaneous Communion Services across the nation connected by a television network.
Then came the struggle. What about the synods and presbyteries? Those existing were very different in size and boundaries, with a lot of geographical overlap; with great disparity in membership numbers (approx.1 to 16 in NC, one group African-American, the other 99% white). All facets focused attention on North Carolina--how would they become a united Presbyterian Church at the local level? In the mysteries of providence I had leadership roles in both streams of the struggle.
We were neighbors that did not know one another. When we came together in various groupings, we learned our differences--not just in size but in the way we conducted programs and administration. At first, learning about each other was about all that was accomplished, important, but only a beginning. Any discussion of new boundaries and organization was nowhere in sight.
Consultations of synods, of presbyteries, of synods and presbyteries; meetings of planning committees, of steering committees, of existing councils. Every participant coming from a particular constituency with traditions and programs and long-standing relationships, and specific history (sometimes with scars). We did not always hear one another. At times there was some unwillingness to consider any alternative, any difference from the comfortable familiar. There was security in past patterns, and insistence on maintaining that security in any new structure. And there were personalities, and personal preferences strongly held.
Often it was difficult to see progress. Each big meeting would reach some agreement, but mostly concerning the wording of a document. Looking for something more than tidying up what had been, looking for a reaching-forward proposal, hoping for discussion of possibilities--anyone with such thoughts was lonesome and disappointed for months and months. But surely these responsible church leaders recognized the importance of the task they had to pursue; surely the inflexible sides would open up to others and to coming together. It surely would happen.
I was not disturbed by the time it took for progress to be realized. Fortunately my congregation was very patient with the amount of time I had to devote to these activities. It was the slowness of progress in discussions and negotiations toward accomplishing our tasks that was the source of disappointment, but not despair. The scripture that was always in my head and heart was Isaiah 26.3: "Those of steadfast mind you keep in peace--in peace because they trust in you." Trust in the Lord. The promised peace is not 'no cares, no worries'; it is the calm confidence of the steadfast love of God in our lives and in the church of Jesus Christ. Trusting in the Lord to lead the people of faith. And that is hope.
P.S. We eventually came to harmonious agreements, and new synods and presbyteries were approved in June 1987.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Quiet Chaos
by: Taylor Brookhouse
A Journal Entry from a People in Mission Intern
I’m tired. I’m hungry because it’s been 2 hours since I had breakfast. Man, these kids really need to be quiet. They’re being so disrespectful! These thoughts all run through my head as I work another day as a summer teacher/counselor for underprivileged kids – a job I chose as a People in Mission intern.
“Step back a minute, Taylor,” I remind myself. Look at the complaints, the miniscule things that are preventing you from really seeing these children.
One of my goals or prayers for this summer, at the beginning of this program, was to live in the moment and really allow myself to dig deeper into these kids’ lives to make a difference. And I’m complaining about being hungry.
The day was going along as normal, nothing special, just walking back and forth from the cafeteria to the classroom, doing class activities and calling kids out for talking and being out of their seat.
The afternoon came soon and the kids had some free time, so we put on Space Jam for them to watch and have some time to rest. And it wasn’t until all the kids had fallen asleep in their sleeping bags with their pillows and blankets on the cold, hard floor that all my problems seemed unimportant. All these kids were sleeping so soundly in a room that, to me, felt freezing cold. It smelled like pencil led apple sauce and capri-sun. The movie was loud and there’s no way I would have been able to sleep with all the noise. The light from the partially broken blinds was streaming in from the window and not to mention I was in a strange place. But none of this mattered to these kids. All these kids were fast asleep amongst the noise, the light, the temperature, the small and the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe the unfamiliar thing was better than what they’re used to. Maybe the familiar smell of urine or the sound of passing cars or parents fighting is the alternative. Within this classroom, all these children are allowed a break from the reality of their situations. They laugh, they learn, and most of all, they sleep.
They sleep in their hour of quiet chaos that constantly surrounds them wherether they go.
I realize now that my time with them here is not to be a teacher. It is not to discipline. It is not to make them stand in a straight line. It is to provide quiet. These kids look to the quiet of my life that they can get a taste of before they get back on the bus to go back to the chaos.
I am the quiet chaos.
I’m tired. I’m hungry because it’s been 2 hours since I had breakfast. Man, these kids really need to be quiet. They’re being so disrespectful! These thoughts all run through my head as I work another day as a summer teacher/counselor for underprivileged kids – a job I chose as a People in Mission intern.
“Step back a minute, Taylor,” I remind myself. Look at the complaints, the miniscule things that are preventing you from really seeing these children.
One of my goals or prayers for this summer, at the beginning of this program, was to live in the moment and really allow myself to dig deeper into these kids’ lives to make a difference. And I’m complaining about being hungry.
The day was going along as normal, nothing special, just walking back and forth from the cafeteria to the classroom, doing class activities and calling kids out for talking and being out of their seat.
The afternoon came soon and the kids had some free time, so we put on Space Jam for them to watch and have some time to rest. And it wasn’t until all the kids had fallen asleep in their sleeping bags with their pillows and blankets on the cold, hard floor that all my problems seemed unimportant. All these kids were sleeping so soundly in a room that, to me, felt freezing cold. It smelled like pencil led apple sauce and capri-sun. The movie was loud and there’s no way I would have been able to sleep with all the noise. The light from the partially broken blinds was streaming in from the window and not to mention I was in a strange place. But none of this mattered to these kids. All these kids were fast asleep amongst the noise, the light, the temperature, the small and the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe the unfamiliar thing was better than what they’re used to. Maybe the familiar smell of urine or the sound of passing cars or parents fighting is the alternative. Within this classroom, all these children are allowed a break from the reality of their situations. They laugh, they learn, and most of all, they sleep.
They sleep in their hour of quiet chaos that constantly surrounds them wherether they go.
I realize now that my time with them here is not to be a teacher. It is not to discipline. It is not to make them stand in a straight line. It is to provide quiet. These kids look to the quiet of my life that they can get a taste of before they get back on the bus to go back to the chaos.
I am the quiet chaos.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Practicing Resurrection
by: Betsy Lyles
Mark 5:21-43
Resurrection is the word that comes to mind as I read this text. Resurrection also encapsulates the insurmountable distance between struggle and hope. Should we summon Jesus even when a child has already been pronounced dead? Should we expect healing from the mere touch of his robes? What if hope died when the struggle was lost?
So in this season of reflection, and discipline, and practice, as we expect the resurrection it is good to remember that resurrection is more than an Easter expectation. Resurrection is a practice that reminds us that our faith allows struggle and hope to live together. When we expect resurrection even outside of the Easter season, we begin to practice it and remind ourselves that struggle doesn’t exclude hope and that our faith doesn’t promise a tidy resolve or demand that everything work out perfectly the first time. When we expect resurrection we do things so crazy as reaching out for Jesus’s robe in the crowd expecting healing and summoning Jesus to visit the daughter who has already been declared dead. In one of my favorite poems, Wendell Berry offers some resurrection practices. How do you practice resurrection?
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
“Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” from The Country of Marriage, copyright © 1973 by Wendell Berry.
Resurrection is the word that comes to mind as I read this text. Resurrection also encapsulates the insurmountable distance between struggle and hope. Should we summon Jesus even when a child has already been pronounced dead? Should we expect healing from the mere touch of his robes? What if hope died when the struggle was lost?
So in this season of reflection, and discipline, and practice, as we expect the resurrection it is good to remember that resurrection is more than an Easter expectation. Resurrection is a practice that reminds us that our faith allows struggle and hope to live together. When we expect resurrection even outside of the Easter season, we begin to practice it and remind ourselves that struggle doesn’t exclude hope and that our faith doesn’t promise a tidy resolve or demand that everything work out perfectly the first time. When we expect resurrection we do things so crazy as reaching out for Jesus’s robe in the crowd expecting healing and summoning Jesus to visit the daughter who has already been declared dead. In one of my favorite poems, Wendell Berry offers some resurrection practices. How do you practice resurrection?
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
“Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” from The Country of Marriage, copyright © 1973 by Wendell Berry.
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