Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite

Fall 2011 at Florence

2011-11-06T18:16:00.001-08:00

The theme for fall worship is

WOVEN TOGETHER through WORK AND WORSHIP.

Here are some glimpses of our life together.

Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids and Groomsmen -- Matthew 25

October Family Night

All Saints Remembrance -- October 30th

Tamales 2011

2011-09-25T12:40:00.000-07:00

At Florence we have a tradition of making TAMALES for the Mennonite Central Committee Relief Sale each September.

Thanks to Maria Montoya, we have learned how to make authentic Mexican tamales. Once again, we were glad to SELL OUT! Yea, Tamale Team!

In a new twist this year, the ANABAPTISM 101 SUNDAY SCHOOL CLASS wrote PANTOUM POEMS REFLECTING ON SERVICE.

Can you guess who wrote each one?

TAMALES #1

“These are grass fed organic chicken tamales.”

The steaming pot full of them just sitting on the stove top.

The aroma soon filled the air.

“Do you eat the husk?”

The steaming pot full of them just sitting on the stove top.

“Can I get them to go?”

“Do you eat the husk?”

The smiles on people’s faces when they took the first bite.

“Can I get them to go?”

The aroma soon filled the air.

The smiles on people’s faces when they took the first bite.

“These are grass fed organic chicken tamales.”

TAMALES #2

MCC! Pig out for Jesus! We save the world!

How many tamales do we have?

Mi amiga, take me to Mexico.

Que rico! Que delicioso!

How many tamales do we have?

Chris and AJ save the day! Rose, Kathia, Vanessa and John Mark to the rescue!

Que rico! Que delicioso!

I needed a hug; I was fried.

Chris and AJ save the day! Rose, Kathia, Vanessa and John Mark to the rescue!

Mi amiga, take me to Mexico.

I needed a hug; I was fried.

MCC! Pig out for Jesus! We save the world!

TAMALES #3

We all had fun.

I like how everyone helped.

I liked how we did a line.

I liked the pizza.

I liked how we did the line.

I liked how no one got left out.

I liked the pizza.

I liked how no one got left out.

I liked how everyone helped.

I liked how we did a line.

I liked the pizza.

We all had fun.

TAMALES #4

Serving people hot tamales as they smile once they eat them.

Enjoying the time of making tamales with each other.

Being part of it.

Seeing people coming from many places.

Enjoying the time of making tamales with each other.

Hanging with youth.

Seeing people coming from many places.

Meeting new people.

Hanging with youth.

Being part of it.

Meeting new people.

Serving people hot tamales as they smile once they eat them.

AND -- Ian and Andrew got up early and did the RUN FOR RELIEF!

Fall Begins: Amigo Camp Out and Camp In

2011-09-13T19:10:00.000-07:00

On a drizzly weekend we created new "rituals" for the traditional Florence Camp Out. While it has been a tenting event at Amigo Park in the past, this year we also used the West Shore Lodge on the other side of the lake at Amigo Centre, Sturgis, MI.

Thirty three folks came for some or all of the weekend. And yes, Willard and Kathy Fenton-Miller and Gary Nofsinger did tent! Amigo Highlights

Marsh Hike
Great Meals -- including pancakes on Sunday made by Gary Nichols!
Games indoors and out
Donald "The Monster" of the playground!
Sing Along with Henry Braun on harmonica
Worship around the campfire -- kids building "houses" with the hardwood scraps for the fire

Here's a glimpse...

photo: Kathy Fenton-Miller

PIZZA GARDEN!

2011-06-05T14:46:00.000-07:00

Food Stories in the Bible is the theme for Summer Sunday School for children at Florence. TASTE AND SEE -- GOD IS GOOD!

The 'BODY' Inter-generational Sunday School class has been working for weeks to prepare a bed for the children to have a vegetable garden. Weeds and even a tree were removed and mulch hauled in. Then Kathy Fenton-Miller gathered a plan, plants and tools for us to begin.

We have a "pizza garden" -- tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, basil, oregano, parsley, rosemary and chives! There are four "slices" of the garden and a team to tend each one.

NOTHING SLICE:
Talyn and his grandparents, Jane and Charlie.

PEPPERONI SLICE:
Micah and his dad, Luke, and teacher, Nora.

CHEESE SLICE:
Sean and his grandfather, Gary, and Skylar and her pastor, Nina

YUM YUM SLICE:
Haley and her great aunt, Dallie,
and Sean, too, since Dallie is his grandmother!

Today -- SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 2011 -- we planted!

STORIES OF GROWING UP AT FLORENCE CHURCH 1950-1970

2011-05-25T17:50:00.000-07:00

Jane Bowers shared her memories of childhood at Florence Church in the 1950's and 1960's, and her passion for the children who are part of our church today.

As you know our Church is celebrating its 80^th birthday this month. The Florence Church of the Brethren began in 1931, that was 5 years after my mother, Mary was born. I have asked her about her first memories of the church. She said that her first memory was walking to church barefoot with her neighbor girl, Doris Bullock. She also remembers watching children in the nursery during Sunday school just like she does now.

I also have memories of this church when I was a child. But first I want to tell you of my first memory of when I knew that God existed. It was late at night when my mom was putting us to bed. Nora and I shared a bedroom. Mom always insisted that we say a prayer before we went to bed.

That prayer was always the same. I want you to try to imagine me as about 4 or 5 years old (about Talyn’s age). Please indulge me as I repeat that childhood prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake

(...Scared look as I glance around...)

I pray the Lord my soul to take

Watch over Mommy and Daddy and Norie

And Georgie and Baby Frank

And keep them safe through the night

Amen

Then I would ask Mom to leave the night light on and then she would say:

Good Night

Sleep Tight

Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

(again a look of fear around the room)

No wonder I needed a night light, talking about dying in my sleep and bed bugs that bite. This is quite traumatic for a child of only 4 or 5.

But all kidding aside, it was very important to my mother that we knew about God at a young age. The fact that I was praying at that age meant I knew there was a God, for that was who I was praying to. I knew I had to be good to go to heaven someday to be with Jesus. I also knew all about Jesus.

But Mom didn’t read the Bible to us, and I never saw my Dad read the Bible at all. So where did all of the Bible stories I knew come from?

That is where this church comes in to this picture. Of course, I can’t remember the first time I entered this very room. But I know my mother brought me to church when I was a baby. My memory of the church begins about the time I was 5 years old. I am going to ask you to use your imagination again. I want you to see with your eyes what I as a child saw when I entered this building.

We are going back in time to 1954. The Florence Church of the Brethren was just this building that is now the sanctuary. The entrance door was here in the front of the sanctuary as( Glen said last week). The door was where the stone cross is on the front of the church. The front of the church was where the rear of the church is now. And there were two rows of pews with an isle down the middle. That was always the same. When you entered the church you fist entered a hall way. On each side of the hallway there was a stairway that went upstairs. On each side of the stairway there was a class room downstairs. Upstairs there were two class rooms, one on each side and a landing in the middle that some times was used as a class room. Those four rooms were used for the children and youth. The adults always had their Sunday school class in the back pews in the sanctuary.

Oh yes, don’t forget our luxurious bathroom. The Men’s and Lady’s accommodations were at the rear of the Church (out side and two holers).

Then men and boys usually wore suits to worship on Sunday morning. If it was a hot day they might have worn a white shirt and tie and dress pants. The women and girls always wore dresses. It wasn’t acceptable for us to wear slacks to church. Some of the older women wore a covering on their heads. My Mother or Grandma Featherstone always brought us to Church, but my Dad or Grandfather never went to church. I never question why other men went to church with their families. I just knew that men in our family did not go to church.

There was another difference in Florence at that time. According to some records I was looking at recently, the attendance for Sunday school in the year 1954 for students under the age of 21was higher than those for adults. The total for those students under 21 was 41 and the adult were 15. It has reversed for us today. We are a Congregation of older adults. We have only a few young members with young children.

The memory I have of this building isn’t the most important memories that I have of this Church. The most important memories are of the people that were always here every Sunday to teach us children. My early memories of this church are Sunday school and the teachers (always women) who were always here for us with a story from the Bible, all the stories that kept us coming back each week to hear more. There was stories about Adam and Eve, and Noah, and Moses, and Daniel in the Lion’s Den, and David and Goliath. And of course, they taught us about Jesus, the most important lesson in our lives. Some times we wonder if the young ones remember these stories. They do, at least I did.

One of the most unusual things I remember is the attendances charts. They always had a Bible picture and stickers that related to that picture. The one I remember was of a shepherd tending his sheep. The stickers were sheep. These stickers were not like the peel off stickers we have today. You had to lick them. Like all kids we thought they tasted good. And we always wanted to be there every week because we wanted to get the most stickers on our charts.

These Sunday school teachers at this church nurtured the seeds that our Mother planted at home. They were always here. We could always trust them no matter what. Our mother always made sure we got to church and these teachers helped us at an early age to be interested in the Bible and they taught us about Jesus. The children we have here at Florence now will remember Sunday School and some of the stories, but most important of all they will remember Jesus. In Isaiah 54: 13 it says all your children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the prosperity of your children.

As a child I never really felt comfortable during worship service. Yes, it was important that we learned to set still during the message. Yes, we liked to listen to the songs. But the rest of the service was very hard for us to set through. Some times my mother would only bring us for Sunday school because it was hard for her to keep 4 children quiet during the worship service. There was no child care during worship service at that time.

In Luke 18: 16 Jesus said, “Let the children come unto me, and do not stop them. For it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. ” This scripture reminds me of the time when my Mother and Grandmother were having a discussion at my Grandmothers house after church one Sunday. One of us children had been noisy in church or misbehaved in some way. We had been reprimanded by one of the members of the congregation and someone talked to our Mother about it. Mom was asking the advice of her mother. And Grandma said, “Remember Jesus said, “Let the Children come unto me.’’ After that time I began to feel comfortable in worship because Jesus would have wanted us there.

Another memory here at Florence was summer Bible School. We usually had the same teachers we had for Sunday school but there were usually other children from the area that would attend. As children we always looked forward to vacation Bible school because we were country kids. There wasn’t always a lot to do. This provided entertainment as well as learning. In later years we had Bible School at Ruby Reed’s pond.

When I was 8 years old my Grandmother, My Mother, my sister Nora, and my Aunt Aileen were going to be baptized. I wanted to be baptized, too. I didn’t want to be left behind. We had learned in Sunday School that it was important to be baptized if we wanted to go to Heaven. I told our pastor that I was old enough to decide for myself if I wanted to be baptized. And I guess I answered all of his questions to his satisfaction because the day the others were baptized I was baptized also. The baptism was performed by Pastor Glenn Rummel of the Florence Church of the Brethren on June 10, 1956 at Fish Lake.

Rev. Rummel was the first Pastor I remember. . I felt sad when Mr. Rummel left our Church (That what we called him, Mr. Rummel). We would never have called him by his first name like the children do with Nina. It would have been disrespectful. How things have changed.

Our next pastor was Rev. Frank Mulligan. It was during this time that our first addition was added on. The addition was finished in 1964. We then had inside plumbing and flush toilets. We also had nicer, larger class rooms and a foyer. At this time Dallie was 4 years old.

After Rev. Mulligan , our next pastor was Rev. Galen Barkdol and his wife Birdie. They were the most adorable older couple. At this time I was in High School and wasn’t attending on a regular basis. Dallie remembers that when she was in elementary Rev. Barkdol had children stories during worship and also junior church in the basement that was usually led by Diane Oxender.

The church bus sometimes picked Dallie up and other children whose parents did not attend church or who could not make it that Sunday. The Church bus actually was a large van that held about 8-10 children. Dave Reed, Ruby’s son, drove the church bus at that time. Dallie said she also remembers going skating and weekend gatherings with other Church of the Brethren youth in Indiana. She also remembers the youth camp-outs at Lindsly’s.

Before the Barkdols left Florence, Charlie and I were married and had begun our Family. Our next pastor was Dana Hartong. When I was an adult I wasn’t sure if I understood fully the commitment I had made as a child so I was baptized again September 1, 1974 by Rev Dana Hartong at Ruby Reeds Pond. Charlie was baptized on that day also. But that is another story for another time.

Other memories from Florence is the annual pancake supper held in the church basement and the annual Florence Township Mother and Daughter Banquet that was sometimes hosted by Florence Church of the Brethren and also held in the church basement. We also had an annual church campout weekend at Ruby’s pond.

I am so happy that we have children’s time during worship. And songs that are special for them. This is something they will remember and they will feel that worship is a place for them also. Who knows, one of them could be leading worship or singing or giving the message someday. With the encouragement they get now, they can be a welcomed addition to our congregation when they become adults.

The future of the little children is in our hands. They learn love, respect, and social skills from their parents. They learn to read and write and math from their teachers at school. It is our responsibility here at Florence to teach them about Jesus and the Bible. Some of these children will never hear Bible stories at home... I remember when I first started bringing Skylar to Church; she said who is this Jesus guy they are always talking about. Now you have heard her talk about Jesus during children’s time and she is learning more every Sunday.

Yes, things have changed a lot since the time I was that small child at the back of the church. Did I ever think at that time I would be up here on a Sunday morning during worship giving a message? No way. That was only for other people that were different than me. I know that what I learned in those early years of Sunday School set the foundation of my faith. The years that I spent here, as a youth and a young adult with children of my own, were years of learning and growth.

And these recent years when I returned to almost a new congregation have been very important also, especially The Journey Program and encouragement from Nina and support from all of you. But I will never stop learning and growing in Christ.

Bill Kostlevy, Charlie and Jane Bowers (back)

at the wedding of Tammy Bowers to Calvin.

THE STORY OF FLORENCE CHURCH

2011-05-17T10:35:00.001-07:00

In the Easter Season we are still listening to the Jesus Story -- as the threads of the Risen Christ have been woven into the history of Florence Church. This May marks the 80th anniversary of Florence Church of the Brethren.

On Sunday 15 May, Glenn Oxender told stories of his grandparents, George and Bessie Sherck. George was the first pastor of Florence Church at its inception in 1931. I share his stories and photos below.

History of Florence Church 1931-1950
Written by Glenn Oxender for Florence Church Service
May 15, 2011

[Glenn opened by singing...]

“Johnny Get Your Gun, Your Sword and Pistol
and We’ll all take a Ride to Bristol;
Johnny forgot his gun, sword and pistol
so he couldn’t go along to Bristol.

“Sing says the donkey to his little lass,
and if you don’t sing any better I won’t give you any grass,
‘Hee Haw, Hee Haw, Hee Haw, Hee Haw!’”

Now what do these little songs have to do with the beginning of Florence Church. These were little songs taught to me when I was pretty young as I set on my Grandfathers lap, the retired minister from Florence Church.

Now that was in the 1950’s so let’s back the story up to see how the church began on May 8, 1931 in a little old brick building built in 1876 in Florence Township. Every good story begins with a leading gentleman and two lovely ladies as does the beginning of Florence Church.

Now the story begins with a handsome man named George born in 1879 in Florence Township, who met a lovely lady named Bessie Schrock from the Bristol area of Indiana. George you see had moved northwest of Middlebury and attended Pleasant Valley Church of the Brethren. Unfortunately, George was four years older than Bessie so he could hardly wait to court the beautiful Bessie. However the day came and George dated Bessie and they were married in 1901.

George and Bessie Sherck got very involved in the Middlebury community in both farming and even owning the hardware. Both had a deep heritage in the Church of the Brethren so when they moved into Middlebury without a church, they were involved in starting the Middlebury Church of the Brethren in 1911.

George and Bessie were blessed with five daughters, who after becoming farm hands, went to Manchester College and became teachers.

In 1916 the family moved to a farm west of Middlebury where the present day Essenhaus is and continued farming. Nobody knows for sure but God, but I believe here is where the seeds of the beginning of Florence came from because George in 1917 got so sick with the flu and pneumonia that he nearly died. His weaken condition required him to rent the farm out and seek a job in Shipshewana as the telephone company for three years. Here he attended the Lupold Church of the Brethren and became the ordained minister for this Shipshewana Church.

This church is where the second leading lady Lillian Reed, also known as Grandma Reed met George. No, she didn’t run away with the preacher, but she persuaded George to travel to Michigan and have evening revival meetings in the Oak Grove School House on Neaman Road. This courtship with Florence Township by revival meetings continued and Grandma Reed began Sunday school in the community. Eventually the persuasive Grandma Reed enticed George and Bessie to sell their farm and move to a farm on Engle Rd in Florence Township. After two years of Sunday schools and revivals the Florence Church of the Brethren was officially organized on May 8, 1931 by the Northern Indiana District.

Now George and Grandma Reed didn’t do it alone, because Bessie was always by the side of George in his ministry. Jim Tomlonson, a grandchild, describes the team like this, “My memories of Grandpa and Grandma’s religious and spiritual life made a strong impression on me. Of the two, she seemed to possess the stronger sense and understanding of God and the Christian walk. Why? Because she was a nurturer and Grandpa was the proclaimer. She worked with Grandpa as he prepared for Sunday Worship by helping to select scriptures and writing down his notes. I can image that they even ‘talked’ the sermon through before Sunday services. Another granddaughter describes her image of grandma setting down each Sunday morning with George and writing out the sermon in longhand at his desk in the kitchen.

How did Grandpa George preach? The oldest grandson describes him as having a strong presence in the pulpit. My brother puts it a little more strongly that he pounded the pulpit, spoke in a loud voice and sometimes gave sermons of the “Hell, Fire and Brimstone” nature. He would always begin by giving the announcements and then turning to Bessie and saying “Now Bessie did I miss anything?” Bessie would reply, “No George I think you have covered it!

The early church started and continued in the German Reformed building in the early 30’s. The building was one big open room with a potbelly stove in the back, a 16 inch high stage in the front with a piano and an ornate pulpit adorned with acorns. However when they wanted to add an interior two story set of 5 classrooms in back, they needed permission for the owners. There were no owners, so they got a 30 year lease for $3 from three former members of the Reformed church

The early charter members of Florence included our three main characters George, Bessie and Lillian plus Arthur and Nannie Reed, her son, and her husband Frank, the couples Russell and Kathryn Searer and Harry and Myrtle Oxender were appointed as original deacons, Russell and Alice Lantz, Mrs. John Boles, Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Hoyt and other family members.

The early Florence Church program had Sunday School at 10:00 am with a small opening by the SS Superintendent followed by 45 minutes of classes with the Worship Service at 11:00. Full communions were help in the sanctuary on four plain wooden tables. Pews were turned to the tables and linen clothes covered the tables until the meal. Feet washing, beef and sop meal with communion bread and cup followed and as a child seemed to last forever. They would have evening revivals for a week with guest pastors about twice a year.

A Harvest Festival in the Fall was celebrated with church in morning, dinner, and church in the afternoon. In fact I can remember when one of the stray balls from the game came through the stained glass window in the back. Business meetings were usually on Sunday evenings and in the later 40’s a summer Bible School was held each year. The Ladies had a Ladies Aid group that I believe met monthly and I’m sure Grandma Sherck and Alice Lantz were very active in the making of comforters and clothes. The men’s group plus some neighbors each year had a pop corn project that the profits went to the building fund for the next major improvement in 1956.

Both my brother and sister were baptized in a temporary tank in the front of the church by trine immersion as teenagers. Both say that you knew you were dunked when Grandpa George did the baptism. Also baptisms were held in Klinger Lake.

George Sherck was a strong man and was always involved in the “free ministry”. During his ministry he made his lively hood at farming 100 acres and building many barns in the area. My father and my older brother helped him many times. Wayne describes Grandpa’s skills as a carpenter as follows. “I marvel, more so today (2002), at how a man with an eighth grade education could take a carpenter’s square and lay out four walls of a barn on the ground. The wooden corner races, mortised wood tongues and grooves were all cut with the use of his wood tools, which were always very sharp. Many times I watched him put on his specs, sit on a log and sharpen tools with his file.

When the four sides were pinned with wooden pegs into one complete wall, the barn was ready to be raised. The raising was a big event for two reasons, because it took a big crew of neighbors to hoist the first end up in the air to a vertical position. Second the ridge up 30 or 40 feet high had to be attached with a 2x8 running the length of the building. Grandpa’s favorite activity was attaching the ridge. He would slide his fanny along the ridge pole and nail the top of the rafters in place. He would holler “bring on another rafter” to his crew until he had worked the entire length of barn some 50 feet distance.

Later he crafted round roofed barns that took some great skill to make the rounded rafters. The nearest one is the Ely barn just ¾ mile north of the church.

Grandpa was a carpenter and the grandchildren loved playing with his tools in the upper story of his granary and drilling holes in the floor. Many stories could be told of this fun loving man and some I would have to tell you outside of church. However one stands out with most grandchildren. Grandpa Sherck as a carpenter had some walnut trees sawed and he was drying them in the top of the corn crib. He sent my father Harry up to shake up the boards to get the rats out. However as the rats started running out, Grandpa used his full choke shot gun to try and destroy the rats. However, the result was a corn crib with many air conditioning holes in the roof.

Unfortunately this fun loving leading man grew older and in the late 40’s started the early stages of “hardening of the arteries” or Alzheimer’s as we call it today. Bessie had to go to the Florence Church Board and have them encourage George to retire in 1947.

The Florence Church had several guest speakers for a time and in 1948 the Rev. Glenn Rummel began the first part time paid pastorate at Florence. He built the small cement house just ½ mile southwest of the church and began his work. Glenn and his wife Martha with their two sons led Florence into the decade of the 50’s and left in 1956 to do mission work in Kentucky. Rev. Rummel was a very detailed pastor and kept a historical record of the events of the church with a file of his Sunday bulletins of each service. He and his wife were very dedicated to the community and the church. He exchanged detailed Christmas greetings with our family until he passed away at 99 years of age. Dianne and I still receive a Christmas letter from Merle their son each year asking about Florence Church.

We are now past the first two decades of the 50’s, but I would be remiss without sharing a little more about Bessie’s strong faith. George and Bessie moved to Goshen and celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary. However Bessie wasn’t done sharing her faith as described in this excerpt from a lady in West Goshen Church of the Brethren.

“Retirement wasn’t in Bessie’s vocabulary. In the year 1948 she inspired and encouraged the ladies to become more involved in several new areas in the work of the church. This resulted in organizing the “Women’s Work” with Bessie as the president. Since our church has always stuck to the ‘traditional’, it was difficult to make changes. But with her leadership and determination, new groups were formed including, Homebuilders, Bible Study, Peace and Temperance, Missions and relief sewing.

Bessie was very helpful in sharing God’s love by her spirit-filled devotions, her Sunday School teaching, and her ever day living. She made hundreds of little girls’ dresses making each one different and pretty with extra trimmings. Although, she suffered with arthritis for many years, she never left it get her down. She continued to play her organ, learn chapters of the Bible.

Dianne and I visited her in the nursing home after 1969 and asked her what she thought of placing a man on the moon. She wasn’t too excited because she said, “If God had wanted a man on the moon, then He would have put him there.”

Bessie was a very strong straight laced lady and when my father was courting her daughter Myrtle, he brought some rook cards for a game. She promptly put them in the stove and burned them. However that didn’t put out the fire because my father Harry was married to Myrtle by George Sherck at the Engle Road Farm in 1930.

Bessie’s favorite scripture was the 23nd Psalm and I will share with you today Florence’s first lady’s favorite devotion from her own handwriting and a description of the “Ideal Church”. I also will leave a collection of her handwritten devotions if you would like to browse them.

The 23th Psalm by Bessie Sherck

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want” I shall not want for anything but my shepherd. He is strong and wise and wonderful. And he loves me although he knows my faults, and even the sin and selfishness that beset me. He loves me for what I am, and when I am tired and weary.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures” In the lush green grass I rest and he stands guard over my thoughts so no disturbing ones enter in. I let go of my burdens and cares. I am still and know that he is God. When I am rested and refreshed and ready to start on earth’s journey again,

“He leadeth me besides the still waters.” I set there in the quiet evening and see the sun sink behind the mountains. In the golden hour my heart finds peace, my strivings cease and I surrender to his will. And then

“He restoreth my soul” Yes he takes my hand and holds it fast while we walk past the many forks in the road. How easily I could have chosen the wrong one, had He not been with me, but

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his names sake” It is a narrow path…but of how beautify!! The birds sing in the early morning while the grass is wet with dew; the sun shines and the air is fresh and pure; If I let go off the shepherd’s hand and wonder off and get lost in the deep forest of wilderness,

“Yes, though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil” He will seek me until he finds me. And when I grow weary and faint and falter because fear chokes me. And my vision fails me as the shadows grow deeper and darker then I remember

“For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” They protect me from all ills,

“Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies” Whose names are fear, worry, selfishness and insecurity. When they see me drink of gladness joy and eat of perfect peace they leave me and then

“Thou anointest my head with oil” The gentleness of his hands almost makes my heart burst asunder with happiness yes or yes

“My cup runneth over” It is too full now, I have room for no more. There is no limit to the abundance of gifts

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” As we walk along together one day at dusk---I shall come to the end of the road---I shall stop and far off in the distance I shall see a mansion---It is magnificent in its glory---It is a house not made with hands and only the seeing eye of the soul can see it.

I shall bow down and worship as my heart leaps with gladness All the song birds sing and little children laugh and sing and echo back into the chorus of the saints gone on before. All my yesterdays and all the many tomorrows I have forgotten

“I shall dwell in the house of the Lord”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grandma Sherck later in life wrote this devotional description named the “Ideal Church”

1. Enthusiastic church and Joyous
2. Bible believing
3. Unity and Love
4. Praying church
5. Ministers to needs of people
6. Reverent
7. Missionary Spirit
8. Generous church
9. Temperate church

This church can only become the ideal if it begins in me.
Amen

IN LOVING MEMORY OF GEORGE AND BESSIE SHERCK

Palm Sunday Tri-Monologues by Naomi, David and John Mark Wenger

2011-04-19T06:47:00.000-07:00

Woman:

You probably know who I am, the perpetual bridesmaid; in everyone’s wedding but never married, yet! I’m the life of the party. Everyone likes to be with me. Everyone.

Even Jesus, that prophet from Galilee the rulers hated so much. He liked me. No, he loved me. But not like anyone else ever did. He did not want anything from me. He wanted me to be, well, good. Free from sin, you know.

But I never did anything really bad. They only said so to make me look foolish. But I am no one’s fool. I knew all about them, I listened to their secrets. I let them believe I was safe. But I played them all against one another. Then one day, I must have made one of them mad, because what happened could have been fatal.

It was the Feast of Booths. Everyone was living outdoors for a whole week; on the rooftops or in the inner courts of the biggest homes. Beautiful tents were everywhere. Food and wine was plentiful. There was music and dancing. Groups of us went from house to house helping ourselves to the rich food, playing silly games with the children, laughing at the antics of the drunken men, playing pranks and falling in with any scheme that promised to be fun.

The priests went about their dreary duties of sacrificing the 70 bulls, one for each of the nations of the world. Then came, the last day of the feast, the eighth day, the day when only one bull for all of Israel, God’s chosen, would be sacrificed and then the waters of the earth would be blessed for another year of good harvest. This was the best day and also the most fun, if you knew where to find it!

I was at Jesse’s house with a group of friends. He was drunk. He pulled me out of the crowd and into his tent. He sang me a silly song he had made up. Suddenly, two of Jesse’s “friends” rushed into the tent, grabbed me by the hair, dragged me out into Jesse’s courtyard, and started shouting horrible words at me. They called me a whore. They said I would die for destroying Jesse’s reputation. They pushed me around and got the whole crowd worked up against me. But what had I done that they had not? We were all being silly during the feast. The next day Jesse wouldn’t even remember what happened.

But, the next day these same men came and got me from my home and marched me to see a prophet they had some problem with. They were using me to get him to make some awful mistake that would allow them to kill him. They bartered my life for his. They lied about me to him, saying I had committed adultery and they lied about the law saying I would have to be stoned. [Even I know that stoning is reserved for those who commit adultery while engaged to be married. I had not had that good fortune. If I had done the deed, I should have been strangled instead. But I shudder to think of that.]

What did this prophet Jesus, say? Well, he could see right through them. And at first he did not want to be part of their schemes. Then, when they kept pestering him, he looked at them, not at me, and said, “Whoever among you is without sin, let him throw the first stone.” Well, that gave them something to think about. Who among them, indeed, had not kissed someone else’s wife or thought about it during that last week of feasting and carousing? I knew each one of them. I knew their secrets. Jesus looked back at the ground, wouldn’t look at them. But I looked at them. I started with Jesse. Yes, he was right up in the front of the whole accusing crowd. I stared at him, he turned away ashamed. Then, one by one, each of the other men looked away from my eyes and melted into the crowd.

When they had all left, Jesus stood up and asked me if no one had stayed to accuse me. I said a saucy, “No!”

With a heavy sigh he looked at me, right into me. He said, “Neither do I condemn you.” And then he shook me up with another penetrating look, “Go, and stop sinning.”

Me? I’m the life of the party. I don’t really “sin.” I just have fun. But, you know, he got me thinking…I just couldn’t shake that look.

Judas:

I guess I was looking for revenge when I went to them. I was so mad at Jesus. I don’t know what got into him. It was as if he was giving up on us. And the days leading up to Passover had been full of anxiety, always on the move, restless nights, barely any food to eat between the twelve of us. It seemed like any money that we received was spent as quickly as it came in. I longed for the security of even half a bag of coins at least for a day or two. Just once couldn’t I go to sleep without someone whispering to me, “Judas, do we have any money to buy food tomorrow?”

Pilate:

A few days ago, they came to visit me. They gave me, their Roman Governor, Pilate, notice that they were going to arrest some guy named Jesus because he was a blasphemer. I never had much patience with those Pharisees and scribes. Radicals and intellectuals. I was much more concerned with Rome—Rome, now was so much more important that any local struggles. The Pharisees kept pestering me about this Jesus and his blasphemy but I didn’t pay much attention to it, they were always after someone or other because of heresy. It was no secret to them that I hated my job or that it was a punishment. I had been caught blackmailing a centurion back in Rome, and they sent me to do my time out in this ratty, out of the way, desert village, ruling over a bunch of uncivilized crazy dogmatists. I had arrived full of hatred for everyone, even for Rome (though I hardly can bear to say that any more).

Of course I hated the people I had been given to govern. As hard as herding a bunch of cats. I tried to do a good job the first couple of years, but gave up after that. I mean, they had their own leaders, they all hated me too, and they didn’t want Rome sticking its long nose in their business. I guess I can’t blame them, but we, that is, Rome, needed to civilize and govern them. It was what we were for! Where would they be, had they not our hand to gently guide them along? I’ll tell you where. Back under crazy kings, like Herod, and more likely still stuck under Seleucid rule! They should have been grateful to us for presiding over them!

Anyway, I got used to it for a while. That’s what everyone else said, all the other governors who were out there. Everyone dulls down, I forgot that I hated Rome, and learned to love her again, because you have to work hard not to be dragged down to the Jews’ level.

Woman:

Oh how I love feasts! My favorite, of course, is the feast of Booths. So much food! So much fun! My second favorite though, is Passover. This one promises to be interesting. That Jesus who saved my life has come to Jerusalem again, this time he made a big splash. He rode into the city on a donkey. Kind of funny really, because riding on a donkey doesn’t really make you much taller than the rest of the walking pilgrims. But at least the walkers move out of the way. But they didn’t move. They just got really excited to see him. They waved branches and shouted at him like he was the next king of Israel or something. (That’s sure to stir things up over at the governor’s palace. I’ve been over there. A friend of mine’s a Roman prefect or something and he took me to see the public hearing rooms. It’s a beautiful house with marble tiles on the floor and painted ceilings and walls. There is a pool right inside the courtyard where the household fish are kept. Easy eating.)

But, you know what? Jesus is going to Simon’s house for dinner tonight, you know which one, the rich leper--unclean as Naaman but richer than almost anybody in Jerusalem. Jesus accepted his dinner invitation and then everyone else did, too. Mostly to see what Jesus will do or say, I guess. Maybe, they think he’ll cure Simon. Anyway, Simon’s finally getting the attention he craves. I’m going too. I’ve not told anyone. I kind of want to thank him for saving my life. I’ve got this perfume, see, Jesse gave it to me but I don’t want it after what he did at the Feast of Booths, and I’m going to give it to Jesus. Maybe he can sell it or something, use it for his campaign.

Judas:

And then there was the night we were at Simon’s house and that women poured her ointment all over Jesus. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And He commended her for her waste; said she would be remembered the world over for what she did for him. I knew the value of that ointment and it sure would have helped this sorry lot of vagabonds if she would have given it to us. I would have sold it so that we could live in comfort and security for a change.

Although, it may not have made much difference anyway. Things were changing; it was like something was just waiting to happen that would change everything. There was a lot of tension between us; gone were the days of excitement and wonder that we knew in the early days with Jesus. It was replaced with bickering about any little thing; who’s going to carry the packs today. “Not me, I did it yesterday, it’s your turn today” “No way, I don’t have to carry it until tomorrow, it’s his turn today."

And Jesus kept referring to his death. He said that that woman was preparing his body for burial because he was going to die. You know the thing that gets me so mad is that he could do something to get out the mess he’s in with the chief priests and elders; perform one of his miracles or something. But maybe he’s getting tired of this life; us disciples, all the crowds, the doubt, the questions, the criticism. Still, that’s no reason to walk out on us. He was the one that brought us together in the first place. He can’t just leave us. What are we going to do without him?

Woman:

I crashed Simon’s party with perfume in hand. But as I got near Jesus, he looked at me again. He looked at me and split me wide open. He knew me, deeply as the fun-loving, carefree, moocher who is needy, selfish, and longing for someone to know me, to love me. It was the same look he gave me seven months ago when he set me free and gave me back my life; that clear gaze that pierced my guarded heart and unleashed a flood of tears.

I was going to make a cute presentation of the perfume to him knowing that Jesse would be there to see and get jealous. But, then, with Him looking at me, I couldn’t. I forgot the words I had prepared. I just started pouring the whole bottle of the precious oil over his beautiful head. It ran down his beard and onto his robe. It glistened in his hair and permeated the whole house with a musky, heady fragrance.

Judas:

He could do something if he wanted to. He doesn’t even care; says it has to be this way.

I know what it feels like to be abandoned and rejected and that’s not going to happen to me again. Not if I can help it. I’ll get rid of him myself before he walks out on me.

The chief priests sure made it easy. I was just asking a question, “What are you willing to give me if I hand Jesus over to you?” I was more curious than serious. But before I knew it they were handing me money and making a plan to capture him. I left shaking my head wondering what had just happened. The money jangling in my pocket made it real; I had just agreed to betray Jesus.

Pilate:

So, back to this Jesus fellow; I didn’t think much of him at first, just another crazy Jew. I went to bed with nothing on my mind that night. The next morning, however, was different. They brought him before me at some ungodly hour. I would have been in bed long after I had to deal with this man. But, I’m glad, ultimately, that I got up. He said some of he strangest, and indeed most interesting, things that I had ever heard. He wouldn’t stick up for himself, after he told us that we said he was the king of the Jews (a ridiculous assertion, by the way, I never said that, they did), He wouldn’t say a thing. And he was mocked, and slapped; he didn’t do anything.

Then for the crowd, I did my duty. I gave them who they wanted, but made sure they knew that I had no part in, nor endorsed, their choice. I was warned by my wife not to have anything to do with Jesus, so I was wary, and washed my hands of the affair. This Jesus man struck me as so vital. Why did they want to do away with him? But, as they say, vox populi, vox dei, (the people’s voice is the voice of god). They wanted me to release Barabbas, so I gave them Barabbas.

Woman:

Why did I dump the whole bottle of ointment on his head? I don’t know, really. Jesus said I did it to prepare him for his burial. But I’ve been too close to death with him already. I don’t want to die. I don’t want him to die! What am I saying? How could I do that? Who am I to anoint him for burial? O God, what have I done?

Judas:

It was as if I really didn’t have a choice in the matter. Something greater than me was taking over. Jesus kept saying himself that this is all happening so that scripture could be fulfilled. “One of you is going to betray me,” he said. “The Chosen one will go as the scriptures foretold, but woe to the one who will betray me, surely it would be better for that one never to be have been born at all.” “Jesus, it’s not me is it”, they all said. “Surely it is not I, Rabbi,” I said.

Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Why does it have to be this way? I love you Jesus. I don’t want you to die. Please don’t leave me. You can do something. You can stop this madness. Please. Oh, God, what have I done?

Pilate:

Then the Pharisees took Jesus away using my authority to put him to death. That’s the way of it in the provinces, death after death, cross after cross. Doesn’t seem to do much good. But, I wish they hadn’t taken him. He seemed so immune to all of their squabbling! He even made me forget my problems and this asinine assignment to govern the Jews. At least he gave me something interesting to think about. What is truth? O God, what have I done?

All Three:
O God, what have I done?

LENT FIVE: Lazarus -- A sign that shrieks

2011-04-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

Monologue written by Donald Lanctot with excerpts from Nina Lanctot's poem, "Lazarus."

Lazarus, Come Out!

In the late mornings,
I sit on the ground and eat figs with the old men of the village.
The shade from Matthew’s shop protects us from the glaring sun.

Reports have it that Jesus, after leaving here, headed to Ephraim in the wilderness.

Martha has returned to her kitchen.
Even in the yard, we can hear the pots and pans banging in her hands.
But now she staggers around the house
disoriented
as if she has seen trees walking and is no longer satisfied with simply
doing laundry,
cooking,
and lighting the Sabbath candles.

Mary couldn’t stay in Bethany.
She followed Jesus.
No hesitation in her.
I have become her walking miracle.
Further evidence that those who believe in Jesus will see the glory of God.
First, the man born blind and now me called from the tomb.

Beyond Mary’s hearing, however, other voices surface.

One of my friends,
an old man with a crooked back and a black cough,
says that I am anything but blessed.
He tells me that I have become one of those pitiable men
spoken of
by the Samaritan priests.
A pariah,
marked by God,
set apart,
cursed to never find a grave to crawl into,
condemned to wander the face of the earth for all eternity.
Of course, much of what this old man says is fantastic.
He claims to hear ghosts
and talks of travelers going mad while walking among the desert places
where there is nothing but howling wind and solitary birds.

Eli, the coarse butcher, also thinks this is all a bad business.
He bellows that they dragged me to the light
as boys drag a rabbit when they have dug its hole away.

Another of my friends says that I have been turned into a sign
by some religious charlatan,
A wonder worker who cares more about his reputation
than for God or mankind.
After all, he says, why did this Jesus,
upon being told of my illness,
delay his coming for two days?
Why the delay?
A delay that cost Mary, Martha, and so many of my friends so much grief.
A delay that cost me my life.

As he sits, pulling on his stringy beard,
he asks the question I too silently ask,
“Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man
have kept his friend Lazarus from dying?”

I sit and listen, tracing pictures in the dirt.
Still unable to really eat, I pick at the end of a fig
and remember.

A fog of voices filled my house those last days.
Martha had left the kitchen.
Mary paced.
And I
Breath by breath
faded
away.

Our friend,
Our teacher,
Was stalled
Outside of town.

That was the last I knew.

It is not death,
please,
it is the dying
I do not want to do again.

Finally,
a numbness
is grace.

Then, four days after the tomb was sealed,
A fog of voices returned.
And from their midst one lone voice called,
“Lazarus, come out!”

I sat up slowly
And around my left side all my muscles ached.
My death was torn from me like caked gauze.
Rising was as hard as having died.

It hurt to breathe.

Each and every hair on my forearm stung
from tip to root
as they, by his command,
peeled the sodden cloths away.

I couldn’t stomach my own stench.

When I was finally able to use my eyes again
and match a face with the voice,
tears were still in his eyes.

And in a sea of grief that contained the grief of all of us,
All of our deaths, and all our dyings,
I thought I heard him apologize
for the miracle,
for the two day delay,
and for the unsolicited word
that called me out of the silent tomb.

I thought I heard him say,
“As for the others,
those who do not yet know me, nor love me,
the needed act, the one
They clearly wanted, was some sign that shrieked.”

LENT FOUR: Born without the gift of seeing

2011-04-10T12:18:00.000-07:00

Monologue written by Luke Nofsinger.

I was born without the gift of seeing.
And no one is to be blamed.
Not myself or my parents
have caused that that has stolen from me
the sight of the world.
I am simply,
blind
and for no reason that I know.

But for the first time I can see.
For the night is coming
and no one can work but
now I can see.
The night is long off and
my light shines out onto the world,
illuminating.

I am no new man.
I am the same yet I am
unknown to some
and recognized by others.

This miracle man who has given me
What I have never had.
Where is he?
Where has he gone?
Although sight regained,
I did not see what has healed me.
For where is he? I do not know.
The light that shines
does not shine on itself.

A step out of the cave.
A cool breeze blows, crisp and clean.
The sun is shining
down onto my shoulders
and i have set myself
free.

LENT THREE: Rabbi & Teacher in Samaria

2011-04-10T12:07:00.000-07:00

Dialogue written by Suzanne Lind and performed by Kendra Yoder and Suzanne Lind.

T -- Rabbi, the children are asking many questions about the man Jesus who was here in the village last week for a couple days. They are especially interested in that initial conversation he had with Miriam at the well, of course.

R -- Yes, of course. What have you been telling them?

T -- Well, not very much. I wanted to talk with you first. I did say that it is very unusual for Jewish and Samaritan people to have anything to do with each other. Most people think that is just wrong.

R -- Hmm. Yes. What do the children say when you tell them that?

T -- They say, “Yes! We hate those snotty Jews and we throw stones at them when they come into our land.”

R -- Strong words. Did they throw stones at Jesus and his disciples when they came into Samaria and stopped at our well?

T -- No, they were all at home or in school -- it was the hottest time of the day. But some of their parents refused to sell the disciples food. (They should have known enough to bring their own food on a trip through here!) The children did ask me, however, why Miriam talked to Jesus and why so many villagers went out to talk to him after Miriam came back so excited about what he was saying.

R -- And what did you tell them about that?

T -- I confess, Rabbi, that was very awkward and I did not know what to say. I said there must have been something very unusual, but not scarey, about that Jesus, which made Samaritan people want to talk to him. And I said I would talk with you.

R -- Have you been telling the children the history of why Samaritan and Jewish people hate each other?

T -- Um, well, I often tell them the story of how we Samaritans have a unique history which separated from the story of the other Jewish groups hundreds of years ago when the Assyrians took so many Israelites into captivity. I explain that some Samaritan Jews managed to stay here and even when the Assyrians sent Babylonians and Medians into Samaria to colonize and rule and mingle with our people, the Samaritan Jews held firmly to Jewish beliefs and traditions.

R -- Ah, yes . . . so you have been telling the children quite a bit . . .

T -- Perhaps, yes, but I didn’t want to go much further until I had checked some things with you. I listened to some of the conversations that Jesus was having in the village -- I hope that was not wrong of me, Rabbi?

R -- Mmmm . . . usually listening and learning is not a sin . . . .

T -- Oh good. Well, what I usually teach to the children is that, in fact, we Samaritans are the true Israel, made up of descendants of some of the tribes that were taken into Assyrian captivity, and of those who remained in this region. For hundreds of years of that time the temple has been on Mount Gerizim and it is the original sanctuary for worshiping Yahweh, not the one at Jerusalem like those Judean, Jerusalem Jews insist. And we protected and followed the original Pentateuch. Then when the exiled Jews from the south came back and took over everything, they were using a different version of the Holy Word, some falsified text which Ezra worked on during the Babylonian exile. Now there they are, living to the north and south of us, going back and forth to their holy places, telling us that we accepted too many false ideas and practices during the time of exile -- as if they remained pure and holy in their far-off refuges, and all their new ideas were direct from God, but our faithful attempts to maintain the Jewish faith here in Israel which may, admittedly have made some adaptations to our oppressive situation here, resulted in blasphemous and false teachings. (Stops to catch breath - is now getting a bit agitated and preachy)

R -- I’m pleased that you learned your history lessons well, Teacher. Do the children ever ask why these differences have led to the total separation of the Samaritans and the Jews?

T – No, Rabbi, I don’t think they have asked such questions. It seems pretty clear to me, and I’m sure to everyone else, that ever since the exiles returned, disdained our interpretations of the holy texts, treated us like inferior people, called us mongrels, and even burned our temple a hundred years ago,
there was not much possibility of getting along together. We have had to work hard to preserve our identity and our traditions. (now getting really worked up)

R -- Mmmm, yes. The children probably absorb those feelings from the time they are small. Hmm . . .

T -- Well, I certainly did! (Pause) And that is one of the things that Jesus was sort of talking about. (Pause)

R -- That’s a very unclear phrase you just uttered. Can you clarify what you mean, Teacher?

T -- (jumps to attention) Oh yes, Rabbi, certainly, Rabbi. It seems that when Jesus talked to Miriam he disregarded all the rules about Samaritans and Jews. He was just sitting in the sun, needed a drink, and asked her to pull some water out of the well for him. Rather shocking, really, for him to even be here, and to talk to a lone woman at the well. And when Miriam, always a bit cheeky if you’ll excuse my saying so, asked why he would do such a thing, he began to talk about “living water” which would prevent anyone from ever being thirsty again. She at first apparently thought he was insulting Jacob’s well and saying that he, a Jew, could provide better water than this Samaritan “cistern.” He did play around with words a bit, from what I understand. I think I will study his use of a few words to see if I can figure out what he was after.

R -- Interesting. Did he use other words in unusual ways?

T -- He apparently used the verb “jump up,” when he talked about the water he could give: he said that water would become a spring (not a cistern, as he referred to the well) “jumping up” to eternal life.

R -- And Miriam engaged in this rather lengthy conversation with him without fear or shame?

T -- She says she thought at first that he was just teasing her and was intrigued that a Jewish man would talk like that. So she just teased back, saying sure, she’d love to have some of that water so she wouldn’t have to come to this well any more. But then he suddenly told her to go get her husband, and she soon realized he knew all about her series of so-called husbands. So she knew he was a prophet with special powers. She was a bit angry that a Jewish prophet would talk to her about her personal life, and she made some sharp comments about Jews and their superior attitude about Jerusalem being the only site of worship -- goodness, I didn’t know she could be that outspoken.

R -- Yes, quite amazing. His speaking style must have been quite unusual for her to feel free to say all those things to him. What do you think you would have said to him?

T -- Oh, well, um. (thinks) I can’t imagine that I ever would have gotten so far into a personal conversation with a Jewish man, even if he did seem to be a prophet. Those discussions are best held in a formal debate setting at the synagogue, aren’t they, Rabbi?

R -- (thinks) So why did you go listen to him when he sat talking with the villagers those two days?

T -- I guess because so many of my students, and their parents, were eager to hear him and I thought I might need to make some corrective remarks.

R -- Did you?

T -- No, Rabbi.

R -- Why not?

T -- I don’t know for sure. He said some downright blasphemous things. He had told Miriam right to her face that he is the Messiah, the one we have all been waiting for. That was what convinced her to rush off to tell others about him. She wanted others to hear this strange, unbelievable man. And when they all came out to meet him, and met his disciples, they found he was easy to talk to and had such hopeful things to say that they wanted him to stay and talk more.

R -- Teacher, do you think we Samaritans and the Jews are waiting for the same Messiah?

T -- (shocked) Rabbi, what do you mean?

R -- Hundreds of years ago we were one nation of Yahweh’s people. We all knew the Messiah was coming some day to fulfill the scriptures and to save us from suffering. Then the Assyrians destroyed our nation, and we were fragmented into lost and wandering tribes. Since that time we have all been trying to honor Yahweh’s covenant as we read it in our holy books, yes?

T -- Yes, perhaps, but didn’t some go too far away and change too much to be respected anymore?

R -- Can you explain to me which group or tribe or remnant managed to hold onto the truest truth?
Now that the exiles have come back to the land Yahweh gave us again, have the Samaritans or the Jews shown that they are the truest ones, the only chosen?

T -- Perhaps not . . . But it still seems presumptuous for a Jew from Galilee, going to Jerusalem, to stop here and say he is the Messiah

R -- Did he speak like the Messiah?

T -- How would the Messiah speak?

R -- How do you think the Messiah would speak?

T -- I thought the Messiah would have outer fire, but Jesus has inner fire -- gentle, firm inner fire. He acted like we were no different than he is, except that we are “thirsty” for good news and he has “living water” for that kind of thirst. He said soon all people will worship the Lord in “spirit” and it can happen anywhere, not just in Jerusalem. He told lots of stories and parables. He held children on his lap. But he made it clear that the Good News and the New Way are not easy -- they are just more righteous and just. I didn’t feel like refuting him.

R -- Mmmm . . . yes. I have been following reports of this man for some months now. He has never before said outright that he is the Messiah. And then he goes and tells our Miriam. Perhaps he feels freer to talk about these things in Samaria than in Jerusalem, where he has strong enemies.

T -- Rabbi! What are you saying?!

R -- What did Jesus say to you, Teacher?

T -- (Pause. Uncomfortable shuffling) He said I have a thirsty look in my eye, and he encouraged me to keep studying the holy books, with an emphasis on the prophecies about the Messiah.

R -- Ah. (pause) And what will you tell the children, Teacher?

LENT TWO: "Hard of Hearing to Hearing Heart"

2011-03-27T13:53:00.000-07:00

This dialogue between Nicodemus and his wife, Naomi, is based on John 3:1-17. This conversation that takes place after Nicodemus goes to see Jesus at night is written by Nina Lanctot.

SCENE: Two rocking chairs, a small table, a lamp lit.

NAOMI is waiting, doing hand work. NICODEMUS comes in slowly and slowly sits in his chair as NAOMI says her opening words.

NAOMI is hard of hearing and tends to speak in a loud voice. She is anxious to hear about what happened in the meeting between Nicodemus and Jesus, and she is also worried. It was a risk for Nicodemus to go to Jesus.

NICODEMUS comes home with his head spinning from his conversation. He is still trying to work out what he heard as Naomi asks her own questions.

NAOMI:
Nicodemus, Nicodemus. Finally, you’re home! I’ve waited up for you for hours. I kept the lamp lit. I had no idea you would be out this late – talking to -- that Jesus fellow.

I HOPE you found him alone! Or did you have to wait for all the riff raff to leave? Why, I heard from Martha that he eats and drinks long into the night. So many unclean in his company…

NICODEMUS:
Now settle yourself, Naomi. And let me get settled.

(lower voice) Remember, “thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”

NAOMI:
What? I can’t hear you…

NICODEMUS:
(loudly) Settle yourself! (a bit softer) Please, dear…. Give me a moment.

(louder) AND DON’T PASS ON MARTHA’S GOSSIP!

NOAMI ROCKS A BIT HURT AND MORE ANXIOUS.

Pause

NICODEMUS:
It was the strangest conversation.

NAOMI:
What, dear?

NICODEMUS:
(Remembers to raise his voice and look at his wife)
It was the strangest conversation. Not what I expected at all. I’m not sure I can really remember, even, how we got going on birth.

NAOMI:
Mirth? He was telling jokes?

NICODEMUS:
No, dear – BIRTH. Remember, like when our son and daughter were BORN.

NAOMI:
Well, why on earth would a single, wandering teacher talk about birth? He doesn’t know a thing about it…

NICODEMUS:
Listen closely, dear…You have to bear with me. I am still trying to put the pieces together, and…LISTEN!

(PAUSE)

Did you hear that?

NAOMI:
What?

NICODEMUS:
The wind! It started up just now, over the roof.

NAOMI:
(laughing) Why you old coot! You know I haven’t been able to hear the wind for years. Are you mocking me!?

NICODEMUS:
No, no, dear. Of course not.

(pause)

Jesus was the gentlest of men, and it was when the wind blew that I think I started to catch on to what he was saying!

(even louder)

So let’s just sit here a spell and let me listen to the wind.

NAOMI shakes her head and goes back to her hand work.

NICODEMUS rocks and ponders.

NICODEMUS:
(softly) I think I get it.

NAOMI:
What?

NICODEMUS:
(louder) I think I get it, Naomi. Listen, and see if you hear what I hear.

I think Jesus could sense as soon as I greeted him how nervous I was. He knew he had insulted many of our friends, shaming Simon for not properly greeting him and washing his feet and all of that.

NAOMI:
Why, Martha told me about that visit with that horrible woman crying all over his feet….

NICODEMUS:
Naomi! (with a look)

NAOMI RETURNS TO HER HAND WORK

NICODEMUS:
You know sometimes when the children were small and begging for a treat without ceasing – how we would just say out of the blue: “Look at that big old horse over there, eating all the dates of your favorite tree!” And the begging for snacks would vanish as they went chasing for the horse…

NAOMI:
Why, yesssssssssss….

….And this would have to do with Jesus, how…???

NICODEMUS:
Well I felt just like a child. (laughing at himself)

I greeted him as a teacher, expecting to talk about the law,

(clears throat…hmmm…hmmm…)

"Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher
who has come from God;
for no one can do these signs that you do
apart from the presence of God."

And you know what he asks me? If I would like to be born again!

NAOMI:
What? Doesn’t he know that men just don’t talk of these things! It’s untouchable. Well, it’s almost like gossip!

(glares at Nicodemus)

NICODEMUS:
Exactly! He threw me way off. Threw in a wild horse, so to speak. I forgot all about the questions I had been preparing. This is what he said:

"Very truly, I tell you,
no one can see the kingdom of God
without being born from above."

Born? From above? I could have left then, but I knew of his reputation, I wondered if there was more to the comment. Like a wisdom puzzle.

NAOMI:
YOU didn‘t talk to him about birth, did you!

NICODEMUS:
Well, I just tried to follow his lesson, like a student, and I asked the obvious:

"How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?"

NAOMI:
(shocked) You said that!

NICODEMUS:
(stopping rocking and holding his hands up, speaking softly, like an AHA!)

That’s when the wind started to blow.

NAOMI:
What?

NICODEMUS:
(louder)
That’s the part I was trying to remember. That’s when the wind started to blow. While I was thinking, I looked up into the trees. At that very moment the wind rushed and russled through the leaves. And he said:

“Do not be astonished that I said to you,
'You must be born from above.'
The wind blows where it chooses,
and you hear the sound of it,
but you do not know where it comes from
or where it goes.
So it is with everyone
who is born of the Spirit."

NAOMI:
Born of the WHAT?

NICODEMUS:
Spirit…breath…ruah…pneuma…

(musing, softer)

“And God breathed into Adam the breath of life…
and he became a living being.”

NAOMI:
…giving green beans?

NICODEMUS:
(laughs tenderly, and looks into his wife’s eyes)

“Became a living being!”

This is the best way I can tell you what the Teacher said – and more – how the lesson feels:

You remember, Naomi, when our son was born? Remember how hard you worked, the tears you cried, how you called out, and how all that pain slipped away when we looked, together into his eyes?

NAOMI:
(slowly) Yeeessss…

NICODEMUS:
I have never had anyone look into MY eyes that way until today, Naomi. Like I was brand new, perfect, fresh from God.

(pause)

And remember how even the first whimper of our son was like music to our ears.

(even humorously louder)

Back then when you could hear!

NAOMI – (smiling, nodding)

NICODEMUS:
That was what I HEARD in this Jesus, in his voice. It was like new music.

Even while he was giving me puzzles, he was letting me start all over again, newborn, without my head full of laws and prayers and debates and the right things to do and say, and, well, all that it means to be right with God and the world.

It was like he was saying, “Come out, Nicodemus! You can be born and bare naked with God, all over again. Your life can be light with joy again. And then you will HEAR the good news for which your heart longs.”

NAOMI:
But, I don’t understand…

NICODEMUS:
Well…to tell you the truth….neither do I, but….I want to keep listening.

NAOMI:
But Nicodemus, isn’t it dangerous? What if he leads us astray? And what the others will say?

NICODEMUS:
Naomi! No gossip reaches the heart of God. So that is where my heart and my hearing will rest. In the heart of God. For now….

AND… (inspired – takes her ears in his hands, gently)

Whenever I hear the wind blow, I am going to listen.

NAOMI:
What?

NICODEMUS:
Listen to my heart, and to this Jesus.
And to this old-new body!

(louder – to Naomi – who pulls his hands away)

It’s been a long night. Let’s get some sleep.

BLOWS OUT THE LAMP.
THEY WALK AWAY, HOLDING HANDS.

LENT 2011: BECOMING FULLY HUMAN: WOVEN TOGETHER IN JESUS

2011-03-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

BECOMING FULLY HUMAN: CALLED AND RE-WOVEN BY JESUS is the theme for Lent. We will recall being created in the image of God. We are

“intricately woven together in the depths of the earth
-- in the depths of God's being.”
(Psalm 139: 15)

The stresses and strains of sin – forgetting who we are and whose we are – can numb us to life and love. So during Lent, we will listen to monologues of the people who came to Jesus to find life, abundant life!

Even as we and Jesus walk toward death, knowing our mortality, we long all the more to live each day well and faithfully.

The stories from the gospel of John will be presented in monologue and dialogue form, letting us into the stories with fresh eyes and ears and hearts.

Planners for this series are Sara Braun, Judy Broadworth, Kathy Fenton-Miller, Donald Lanctot and Suzanne Lind.

Banner art is by Judy Broadworth

LENT ONE: 180 Gallons of Wine: A Mother's Temptations

2011-03-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

A monologue written by Nina Lanctot from the point of view of Mary, the mother of Jesus. This is a reflection on the story of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness found in Matthew 4:1-11.

A forty day fast! I still can’t believe it. That son of mine has always had a voracious appetite, from his first cry in the cold stable.

But I don’t think anyone called him a glutton and a drunkard until he made the 180 gallons of superior wine for that wedding party in Cana. Of course he blamed it on me, said I forced his hand, said I went behind his back and set him up, telling the servants he was going to DO SOMETHING! Showing him off. (Is that SO bad to do!) Getting him going. (Well, how many years can you listen to a son’s dreaming?) I think it was then, after the wedding wine, that I knew for certain he had left home -- for good.

My son. We used to call him “mouth.” From the first time he latched on it was like he couldn’t take in enough. When I nursed him by breasts went out to here. Oh, I forgot I was in a mixed audience. Women, you know what I mean. It is one thing to have your child “attached to you” but another to have him suck the life out of you! And with the traveling we did when he was small, I don’t know how he ever got enough.

Oh, but that same “Mouth,” when he learned to smile, could stop a stranger at ten paces with his charm. His whole face would light up. Folks would look shocked, stop in their tracks, and then beam right back. And I would laugh until I cried.

And then, earlier than most, thank God, he learned to talk. When words were coming out of his mouth, then the milk was not going in. Then he was no longer glued to me but stuck on the whole world! Like he was ingesting it, every waking moment. Naming everything for the first time.

How can I describe him? From the beginning it was like he imbibed the world -- his eyes, his ears, his hands, his every appetite, all extensions of a deep hunger for life! He couldn’t get enough and wondered, intensely, at the smallest things.

“Ma, Ma, an ant! Look, the ant is carrying a crumb on his back, all by himself! He looks like he needs help…Oh, Ma, he is not moving any more. Did I help him too hard?”

And then he would cry as though he had lost his best friend. And I would find myself crying, too.

So why would I worry about a child like this?...

It has to do with dreams. And, maybe, being “too awake,” if there is such a thing. There are the human dreams of life, and the there are the TOO AWAKE DREAMS, it seems…

For as long as I can remember, I have been knitting this wedding shawl for him. Waiting for him to make his own home, his own joy, his own mark on the world. Waiting for him to grow up.

But that, at least so far, has NOT been his dream. No, with his heart, mind, soul and strength sucking in the world, he has not had the life I thought, I hoped, I was led to believe, would be his – and mine. His dreams went wild.

This hunger, you see, I could never satisfy. No one could.

What was a mother to do? As soon as he could speak, I told him the good words of God, as we are commanded:

Hear, O Israel:
The LORD is our God, the LORD alone.

But he would not be satisfied even with the word of God. Even as a small child he would sneak away from his chores in the shop, and go to the Rabonni, teacher, whenever he could. And at age five, age five, mind you, he comes home and says,

“Ma, you did not teach me the command of God. Rabonni says it is this:

Hear, O Israel:
The LORD is our God, the LORD alone.

You shall love the LORD your God
with all your heart, and with all your soul,
and with all your might.
Keep these words that I am commanding you today
in your heart.
Recite them to your children
and talk about them when you are at home
and when you are away,
when you lie down
and when you rise.
Bind them as a sign on your hand,
fix them as an emblem on your forehead,
and write them on the doorposts of your house
and on your gates.

“And, Ma,” he says,

...take care that you do not forget the LORD,
who brought you out of the land of Egypt,
out of the house of slavery.

The LORD your God you shall fear;
him you shall serve…

When he was twelve, he really ran off. It was his first real pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Passover with the family, sharing the bread and the cup with us all like a little man. And it became clear that the rabbi of Nazareth was not enough for his voracious growing mind. I mean, is it normal? How many budding little men run away – to the Temple -- to talk to religious scholars! Why, that was the last place we looked, his father and I! “Don’t you know, I must be about my Father’s business,” he said to us.

That is what we thought we had been teaching him all along. His father’s business! The business of good and fair and hard work, serving the LORD.

After that, given his love of words and prayers and the God of all things great and small, we encouraged him -- to study more with the rabbi at home, to think of himself as a teacher.

But the older he got, the crosser he became with all things religious. We could not answer his questions, nor could the rabbi.

“If God loves all, then why do we hate the tax collectors and the women at the corner with the dark veils? Why do we not speak to them or eat with them? Why am I not allowed to play with their children? Why does God make their children suffer? What have they done wrong?”

He became sullen about that time of coming of age. And his hunger seemed to turn inward.

And he insisted we call him by his right name, Yeshua (God saves) – no more “Mouth” for this young man, become silent one.

In those days when he would run away for longer and longer times. A few nights on the mountain. A week by the sea of Galilee. His own father, until his dying day, could not count on him any more in the shop. And when it became his own shop, oh, he was a dutiful son, he went through the motions, but he was wasting away.

He would forget to eat. He would not give Sara’s daughter a second look when she brought him date and nut sweets. He seemed to have no interest in women. He ignored his brothers. And on the Sabbath, he sat in the back of the synagogue, rocking himself, with his eyes on the earth at his feet.

So it was not a total shock when he took off to the Jordan to find his cousin, John. News of John’s wild sermons seem to perk “Mouth,” I mean Yeshua, up. So I did not discourage him. But I did fear.

I remembered too much of Elizabeth and Zechariah’s zeal at that one’s birth. They thought their John was destined to be a prophet, and we shared dreams together of the new Israel in those days. But now John had gone wild, left home, and lived to rail at the river against the highest leadership of temple and palace and the lowliest soldier and tax collectors. I feared that Yeshua would join him in this dangerous demonstration against the powers.

One week, two….three…it seemed an eternity, as nearly two moons he was gone.

And then he appears. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or shove him when he stood in the doorway of this little home once more, thin, but loud again, asking to stay. Well, I thought, at thirty, and in this last disappearance, he must have surely found his way or maybe even a woman. But, no. He gave no indication of either. He just wanted to be here, for now. So, with the other children long gone, I was duty bound to welcome “Mouth” back home.

His appetite had returned, that is sure. But his words, not so much. At least not to my questions. He said something about finding his father…that Father he had been searching for all along. This was my opening…

How? Where? Where were you? Who did you see? How is John? What did you do all this while? What are you going to do next?

And then he would turn and look at me with his deep, hungry eyes that would set me to silence. His face was not closed. Or angry.
It was like he had all the words and none would come out. Like he had something to say that words would not contain. He just looked, and looked away.

Over the weeks, this is all I could get out of him:

Baptized.
Beloved.
In the desert.
Fasting.
Forty days.

“FORTY DAYS! WITH THOSE WILD BEASTS!”
I interrupted…

Mother!

And then I would have to wait several more days in silence before I could ask again.

“It was a test,” he said.

DID YOU PASS?

Mother!

And finally he said it:

“I have to go. About my Father’s business.
Something, I am trying to find the words to say it – THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN – is bursting alive right here, Mother! It’s always been here. Do I have to SAY it? Can’t you SEE it? It is burning me up. It is calling me out. It is what I have to do.”

He took a stone and put it down in front of me. “If I don’t have the words, these stones will cry out!”

“And I will never come home again.”

He walked out the door.
This final blow up came after his first and only and last teaching in the Nazareth synagogue, at the right hand of our old rabbi. Why did he have to put the whole crazy dream out there at once? Why did he have to swallow God’s word, whole, and then broadcast it like seed, flying every direction!

THE YEAR OF THE LORD’S FAVOR – and setting the prisoners’ free, opening the sight of the blind, giving good news to the poor, living the Jubilee and justice NOW, in Galilee, and under Rome!

He was right. That was the last straw. His mouth would never be tolerated around here again. The mouth of “Joseph’s son” could not break open a people set and settled, at home in this little rural town. I could see it, and fear it. I would never feed him again.

It was a few moons after that, in Cana, that we met at the wedding. I am such a fool. My son, Yeshua, is given a mouth for justice, and I, pestering him for appearances sake, ask for wine! 180 gallons! Water into wine. And THAT is what everyone wanted to ask me about there after. How could I give words to the Kingdom of Heaven that I had not heard yet, from Yeshua, my own wild prophet son?

When he left me, for a change it was I who was empty. Hungry. Ravenous. Restless. And nothing would satisfy.

I fell silent and remembered those years when he skulked about. Those years he fell asleep to life. And forget how to eat. Those years before the test in the desert and pn the lesson about living on God’s bread and God’s kingdom and God’s power, alone.

I am in Nazareth. Alone. There is the well, the work of the loom and yet the wedding shawl in my hands. And I wait for his word.

LORD GOD, King of the Universe, Maker and Giver of Life –
you who created the starry planets,
you who ride on the wings of the morning,
have mercy on me, a mother.

You have given me the gift of life,
and from the womb you fed me on my mother’s breast.

And you have given me the gift of life.
From this very womb I birthed my babies,
my first and the others,
and fed them from my breast.

Now my breasts are empty,
and my heart lies still, waiting. Silent.

I have no more words to worry for my son.
I have no more words to wonder at his “Mouth.”
I only have a deep, deep hunger for life, Your life, O God.
And for my Yeshua.

Yet I pray for a wedding, O LORD,
Your wedding of heaven and earth.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
To help us live as we are taught:

Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God,
the LORD alone.
You shall love the LORD your God
with all your heart, and with all your soul,
and with all your might.

I am keeping these words that You are commanding today.
I am pondering them in my heart.

Awaken my heart to Love, O God!
Awaken my heart to Life!
Feed my soul on yourself alone. AMEN

"Pursue the work of God" by Cisca Ibanda

2011-02-23T17:33:00.000-08:00

Cisca Ibanda serves on the Executive Committee of Mennonite World Conference. She was able to spend several days visiting with Florence while on a tour across the United States. Suzanne traveled with Cisca to an MCC gathering in Ghana where they became good friends. Nina met Cisca in Paraguay while at the MWC Assembly.

"As it says in Jeremiah, God called you while you were in the womb....God says, in John, "You did not choose me, I chose you."...God starts a work and makes a foundation and is the owner of the work. What kind of work? To share the love of God, to be a new person....Our body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. We need God's energy and power to do His work.

"In John 15 it says we will do MORE than the work of Jesus. But we must humble ourselves. We cannot be the arm and say "I will not feed you." In Africa we say, "One finger cannot wash your face. You need your five fingers to wash your face." When we do the work of God, people will ask how we do it. Even in great loss, we will have great joy. It is very good work and very hard work at the same time. There are 1.7 million Mennonite peacemakers as part of Mennonite World Conference. Right now we have many crises in the world -- economic, climate, food -- but we can change all this. We are the body of Christ!"

Saturday afternoon tea at the home of Suzanne Lind. (left to right: Nancy Myers (Michiana Friends of Congo -- Community Mennonite, Chicago), Cisca Ibanda, Nina Lanctot, Christine Nofsinger holding Amari Lind, Kathy Fenton-Miller, Vicky Smucker (Michiana Friends of Congo -- Kern Road Mennonite), Suzanne Lind.

"Put on Christ: A Seamless Garment"

2011-02-12T19:37:00.001-08:00

Reflections on Matthew 5:13-37 on Sunday 13 February 2011

In Egypt's liberation, where did the prayer end and the politics begin?

In Jesus' New Way, where does the law end and New Life begin?

Is it not one seamless garment, even as the robe Jesus wore to his death?

In 1983, Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago coined the term "A Seamless Garment of Life." This Catholic ethic connected with a single thread advocacy for the sanctity of life "from womb to tomb." It means, that we side with the God of Life, preserving life and dignity of all people.

Jesus was leading those on the mountain on an arduous journey. He had invited them to look into the valley of the shadow of death and face poverty of spirit, brokenheartedness, loss of power and the deep hunger for change. Then he led them steeply up through mercy, clarity, solidarity and the willingness to suffer in service of what is right.

The mountain top shout was SALT! LIGHT!

This city on a hill would be seen far and wide.

But the law of the city, of the new community, would be rooted deep within and not only seen in behavior. On the other side of the mountain were all the complexities of real life, and the knots of conflict and temptation that can create a sticky web of entrapment.

How was the new community to break through the brittleness of the law to the New Law of Love?

Choose Emotional Life!
In extremes we can become a danger to ourselves or to others.
Life can be taken by murder or by suicide.
Anger carries this danger.
We stand as one body for the life of each and everybody.
To choose life is to neither fight nor flee, but to find the middle ground where neither victim nor offender loses face, loses life.

Choose Sexual Life!
If beauty or the buff body is there for the taking, why would we hold back?
Jesus says, stealing a glance, a titilation, is still stealing.
The life of sexual intimacy belongs to the owner of each one's body
and to those bodies are lovingly joined in covenant.
If you have not joined the covenant of love,
end false gratification before it begins.

Choose Covenantal Life!
Vows for life will be tested. To honor our partner holds them in the highest regard. The bond created by God to procreate Life cannot be passed along without tearing the soul from its heart. Longsuffering and joying bonds of love create life. Divorce is only a means of grace when this bond becomes a strangle hold toward death.

Choose Committed Life!
Our word is our pledge. Only, in reality, by the grace of God will any promise be kept.

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a town and spend a year there, doing business and making money." Yet you do not even know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wishes, we will live and do this or that." James 4:13-15

So say it simply. Yes. No. Or, "If the Lord wills." All other props -- "knock on wood," "cross my heart and hope to die," "on my mother's grave" -- are a sham of a power play. Only ONE who has the power to affirm or alter our plans.

Now is the moment for you to wake from sleep.
For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers;
the night is far gone, the day is near.
Let us then lay aside the works of darkness
and put on the armor of light;
let us live honorably as in the day,
not in reveling and drunkenness,
not in debauchery and licentiousness,
not in quarreling and jealousy.
Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ,
and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.
Romans 13:11-14

Cardinal Bernardin in the 1980's made great inroads in uniting the strong poles of Catholic activists -- those moved to end war and those charged to stop abortion. In our time, the stretch of the embrace of the church widens to include the threat we all create daily to the life of the poor and the planet. How shall we hear his words now?

I am convinced there is an "open moment" before us on the agenda of life issues. It is a significant opportunity for the Church to demonstrate the strength of a sustained moral vision. I submit that a clear witness to a consistent ethic of life will allow us to grasp the opportunity of this "open moment" and serve both the sacredness of every human life and the God of Life who is the origin and support of our common humanity.

from A Consistent Ethic of Life: Continuing the Dialogue
The William Wade Lecture Series; St. Louis University

Joseph Cardinal Bernardin
March 11, 1984

"Woven Together: Salt and Light"

2011-02-12T18:20:00.000-08:00

Reflections on Matthew 5:1-14 from Sunday 6 February 2011

Jesus turns the Ten Commandments upside down.
Rather than starting at the top, with God,
he issues blessings beginning at the bottom --
for the poor, the mourning, the powerless and the put down.

All our humble human hungers are blessed
with the promise of provision for paupers
with hands outstretched.

Jesus rubs salt into the wounds of our mortality,
making them raw and clean,
so that we can hurt, and heal.

And so that we can become light.

The second set of blessings are the ones we bring
as we own our earthy saltiness,
our blood, sweat and tears.

Then we can give mercy,
for we have tasted it.
Then we can see with the clear eyes of the heart,
for in this way, we have been seen.
Then we can extend the hand of peace,
for we have been lifted up and embraced by God.
Then we courageously and joyfully
risk body, soul, mind and spirit
for love,
for we have feasted our whole beings
at Christ's table
and at God's.

Thus we have been woven together,
salt and light,
into the fabric of universe,
into which all things are interwoven.

J. Philip Newell writes in Christ of the Celts(ix,x)

The growing consciousness is that life is interwoven, that reality is a web of interrelated influences, and that what we do to a part we do to the whole. So who is Christ for us now?...He is leading us not into a separation from the world and the rest of humanity, but into a renewed relationship with the Ground of Life, the One from whom all things come.

It is a delicate fabric that glistens,
like crystals of snow in sunlight,
like crystals of salt seen up close.
Miracles, all.

Florence theme 2011: "Woven Together..."

2011-02-12T18:09:00.000-08:00

Our annual board retreat took place at The Hermitage on Saturday, January 29. The creative and prayerful leadership of David and Naomi Wenger made the day a joy as well as a deep deliberation on the year gone by and the year ahead.

"The Little Way" and "Woven Together" were both evocative themes for us after an intense year of much sorrow and loss, coming and going, and sabbatical.

I think of Christ as the warp and woof of our weaving:

In him all things hold together.
Colossians 1:17

LOOKING BACK, LOOKING AHEAD

SNOWFLAKES NAMING OUR GRATITUDE TO GOD

TESTING VISION IN TRIADS

This board retreat was the last benefit from the Lilly Clergy Renewal Grant we received. A full report on the grant and its use is available by contacting Nina Lanctot at florence.brethren.mennonite@gmail.com

TRANSFIGURATION CHAPEL AT THE HERMITAGE AND THE WEAVING OF HOPE WE CREATED

Bryan H. Shelly remembered in Costa Rica

2011-01-10T19:29:00.000-08:00

The Nofsinger family has just returned from a trip to Costa Rica. There they spent several days with Martha and Henry Miller. They took some of Bryan's ashes, and, as he wished, scattered them in the ocean. They shared these thoughts and photos with Kim and Mark, Ian and Todd. In turn, they are sharing them with us.

Thank you to all for continuing to embrace us all as we celebrate and grieve Bryan's life and death.

Hi Mark, Kim, Ian and Todd,

Early this morning before the sun came up I awoke to the sound of squawking parrots and the stillness of early morning. The quiet was especially welcome after on and off heavy rainstorms during the night. I remembered that exactly one year ago we gathered with you for the memorial service of Bryan at the Marcellus High School. And now we find ourselves in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica with the Nofsingers, including Gary's brother Dave and wife Dara and Henry and Martha.

After breakfast we gathered in our courtyard with Bryan's ashes and began the walk down the steep hill, past the soccer field, past the elementary school, down the busy street, taking turns carrying Bryan. I thought of all the ways in which we didn't carry Bryan when he most needed us so it was especially comforting to think that we could carry his ashes on this last leg of his journey from Marcellus to the land of Martha's birth, down the winding mountain, through the rain forest by van, plane, bus and taxi and finally by foot down to the edge of the sea.

We gathered in a circle and poured Bryan's ashes over our hands and sang a few lines of the song that we sang at Bryan's memorial service, "Here in This Place".

Here in this place new light is streaming,
now is the darkness vanished away.
See in this space our fears and our dreamings
brought here to you in the light of this day.

Gather us in the lost and forsaken.
Gather us in the blind and the lame.
Call to us now and we shall awaken,
we shall arise at the sound of your name.

...and then the second verse which begins...

We are the young, our lives are a mystery,
we are the old who yearn for your face....
we have been sung through all of history,
called to be light to the whole human race.....

After taking some quiet moments to toss ashes into the sea, Henry and Gary dug a hole by the edge of the water to bury the remainder and we remembered how much fun Bryan had playing in the sand in Pensacola and wanted to be completely covered by sand except for his head.

As we finished, we were overcome with emotion and took some time to settle ourselves and remember how much Bryan's life and spirit is still very much alive within us. We are forever changed by our fifteen years of knowing and loving him and are honored by your request to bring his remains here to Costa Rica. It gives us comfort to know that part of Bryan will remain here with Martha's ancestors and by the sea which he so enjoyed.

Thank you for allowing us to participate in this ritual as we continue to walk the journey with you towards healing and understanding.

With all our love,

Chris, Gary, Luke, Andrew, Ben, Rose, Henry and Martha

Completing 2010 in Love and Memory: Honoring Bryan

2011-01-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

On Monday evening, December 27, lots of us gathered at the home of Kim Henrtizy and Mark Shelly, Ian and Todd, to remember Bryan Shelly. This was the one year anniversary of his death.

Kim and Mark prepared a warm home, lots of food, photos and posters and other memories of Bryan. The T-shirt quilts that had been worked on all last year were done. And the Christmas tree was lit.

Lots of young folks gathered in the basement, the older ones mostly upstairs. And each of us took a turn to write a memory of Bryan or attach a photo to milk jug candle holders outdoors.

Thanks, Kim, Mark, Ian and Todd for opening your lives, your love and your grief to all of us. We all miss Bryan. We have all learned a lot about depression, and how to hold each other up in all circumstances. May the new year be blessed with new life for all.

December 24: Blessed Christmas to All!

2010-12-22T08:41:00.001-08:00

"To us a child is born,
to us a son is given."

We are knit once more into God's DNA
as we embody the old, old story
of Jesus becoming flesh and bone.

May you know the peace and power of "God with you"
on this day and tomorrow and in the year to come.

peace,
Nina for Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite

December 23: O Emmanuel

2010-12-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

O Emmanuel:

“O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver,
desire of the nations, Savior of all people,
come and set us free,
Lord our God.”

Isaiah had prophesied,
“The Lord himself will give you this sign:
the Virgin shall be with child, and bear a son,
and shall name him Emmanuel.” (7:14).

“Emmanuel” means “God is with us.”

The face of The Christ is always Emmanuel, God with Us.

And we are all Mary before God,
welcoming our full humanity
by agreeing to hold The Living Christ in our own cells.

Emmanuel, you are whispering
your invitation in my ear:
"Come dance!"
It is the eve of Christmas eve.
This is the day of innocence
and the gateway of New Birth.
You will need to knit this joy in your bones,
because humanity is the necessary and fleshy fabric
stretched between birth and death.
With Jesus you are swaddled.
Tomorrow, who knows, with him you may embrace
the winding cloth.

Today is always the Dance Between
of Life.

"Holy, holy, holy,"
it is all holy.

Let the Holy-Days begin again!

December 22: O Desire of Nations

2010-12-22T08:21:00.000-08:00

O Rex Gentium:

“O King of all the nations,
the only joy of every human heart;
O Keystone of the mighty arch of humanity,
come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust.”

Isaiah had prophesied,
“For a child is born to us, a son is given us;
upon his shoulder dominion rests.
They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero,
Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.” (9:5),

and
“He shall judge between the nations,
and impose terms on many peoples.
They shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
one nation shall not raise the sword against another,
nor shall they train for war again.” (2:4)

In the face of The Christ we see the Desire of Nations.

"Where are the African women?"

I was in Asuncion, Paraguay for a women's gathering as part of Mennonite World Conference. The women from Latin America were our hostesses.

"Dé todos un abrazo."
"Give a hug to everyone," they said.

And like long lost friends, we were given crushingly warm embraces, one after another, all around the crowded room. Holy Spirit energy flared, faces lit from deep within.

"Where are the African women," I asked again.

I was eagerly waiting to meet the sister I had only known through a few phone calls and emails over a four year period. We had been paired to support one another as Sister-Link women theologians.

The African women had been invited her to Paraguay, to this women's gathering, to tell their story of organizing and supporting one another as gifted theological leaders. They were that morning, not too surprisingly, late.

"There they are. Sibusisiwe is right over there."

We found each other. We embraced. And floods of tears burst from both of us, beyond words. Only face to face recognition and repeated embraces could speak between us though we had a common English language.

What a well-spring of desire for this friendship, this meeting, I had! What a desire for this one heart-link around the globe. How that must be, in some deeply unrecognized way, be the desire of billions!

The hall echoed with songs and shouts of praise to the King of All, the Desire of Nations!

December 21: O Daystar

2010-12-21T07:11:00.001-08:00

O Oriens:
“O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice:
come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.”

Isaiah had prophesied, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shown.” (9:1).

Dawn, face of The Christ.
In you we have faith always.
Though the sun may be obscured by darkness,
the gray shroud of northern Indiana in this season,
yet the light shifts, daily, from night into day.
Though the hours of the day wax and wane,
the seasons remain constant in their rotation.
And sometimes, for the early riser, there is glory!

On this day of Solstice: full moon, longest night, you hold promise.

"By the tender mercy of our God
the dawn from on high with rise upon us
to give light to those who sit in darkness
and the shadow of death
and to guide our feet into the way of peace."
Luke 1:78-79

December 20: O Key of David

2010-12-20T12:38:00.000-08:00

O Clavis David:

“O Key of David, O royal Power of Israel controlling at your will the gate of Heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom.”

Isaiah had prophesied, "I will place the Key of the House of David on His shoulder; when he opens, no one will shut, when he shuts, no one will open.” (22:22),

and “His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over His kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever.” (9:6).

Key Wielder, you are a face of The Christ.

I see you breaking into prison today. I hear your keys rattling. They are not the rattle of death, though they have sounded so in the past. They are the rattle of a familiar, of the one who comes "home" to unlock the door, and I am not afraid. The door is opened by the friend who has been given the spare key to the house. No need to knock.

So what if such a one, a powerful one, a liberator, walked into prison today. Walked into the cells of my friends. Walked into "solitude" to bring a message of unimaginable freedom. Beyond the bars, that is where we all want to be.

But which are stronger, bars of steel or invisible bars that lock us into isolation while barraged by all manner of voices and bodies assailing our eyes and ears and souls without the permission of the intimate who has earned our key?

Jailer! Chaplain! Come in! In this lock down in my heart, sit awhile. Lock me in your embrace of confrontation and comfort. Show me the freedom of your safety.

December 19: O Root of Jesse

2010-12-20T12:27:00.000-08:00

O Radix Jesse: “O Flower of Jesse’s stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you. Come, let nothing keep you from coming to our aid.”

Isaiah had prophesied, “But a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom.” (11:1),

and "On that day, the root of Jesse, set up as a signal for the nations, the Gentiles shall seek out, for his dwelling shall be glorious.” (11:10).

Remember also that Jesse was the father of King David, and Micah had prophesied that the Messiah would be of the house and lineage of David and be born in David’s city, Bethlehem (Micah 5:1).

Root. You are a face of The Christ. Roots of the family tree of God. Roots of creation. The tentacles that root us into the DNA of God.

Lucy, you speak to me today from the voice of that unknown couple long ago who fostered me into the family of humanity. Maybe in eastern Africa, you held my fore-bear infant, aping love.

How did you know to tend and protect, to nurse and nit pick? Because, it seems, God's DNA is set on pro-creation. This is not only the expansion of life, that that ROOT FORCE that keeps arising anew.

After the long cold winter, deep roots will send up juice into plants and trees. They will release their waster, oxygen. We will breath back: carbon dioxide. Male and Female, root and fruit. God's tendrils hold us fast.

We are rooted and grounded in love...

December 18: O Mighty Lord

2010-12-18T11:13:00.000-08:00

O Adonai:

“O sacred Lord of ancient Israel, who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush, who gave him the holy law on Sinai mountain: come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free.”

Isaiah had prophesied, “But He shall judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land’s afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.” (11:4-5);

and “Indeed the Lord will be there with us, majestic; yes the Lord our judge, the Lord our lawgiver, the Lord our king, he it is who will save us.” (33:22).

Mighty Lord, Master Ruler,
is one of the faces of The Christ.

Beyond any guru prophet for whom I have longed in the past,
beyond charisma and confrontation,
this ONE GOVERNOR IN GOD is embedded in the heart
of each politician's best visions
and each lawmakers gut sense of justice, and
like Judge Judy or Dr. Phil
can also call such ones to task in a moment
making all evasion of truth blatant foolishness.

When I call you to rule in me,
you appear as Mother Teresa,
who sternly, solidly ruled an army of nuns and volunteers
to not even try to save Calcutta
but only, O ALMIGHTY LORD, tend its destitute dying.

What task do you have for me, Mother?
What foolishness do you discern
in my distracted heart?
Put me to work at the task YOU see at hand.

December 17: O WISDOM

2010-12-17T18:01:00.000-08:00

DECEMBER 17 – O WISDOM

O Sapientia: “O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care. Come and show your people the way to salvation.”

Isaiah had prophesied, “The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him: a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord, and his delight shall be the fear of the Lord.” (11:2-3),

and “Wonderful is His counsel and great is His wisdom.” (28:29).

Wisdom.
You are a face of The Christ.
When I asked you to speak to me today
you appeared as a fourteen year old Mexican immigrant
named Manuel.
You did not say much.
You stood in your early manhood, silent,
watching, absorbing
a world that says you are not entitled.
And you look at me and see all the perks
that I live with mindlessly.

What is your wisdom for me?

"Look at me," you say.
"See the river and the desert I have crossed
to reach out my hands to you,
to wash your car and your dishes,
to pick your strawberries and lettuce,
to work as hard as I can to gain your dream."

"Look at me," you say,
"with eyes made wise, with eyes that smile
and see us both living beyond bread alone.
Show me, in how you live,
that there is Another Way."

O Antiphons anticipate Christmas

2010-12-17T17:52:00.000-08:00

For worship at Florence we have been using the ancient tradition of the O Antiphons. The hymn "O come, O come, Emmanuel" sings out these longings, and is often used week by week in congregations as one, then two, then three, then four Advent candles are lit. However, the tradition has a deeper structure, which you will find reflected below.

For each day from December 17 through December 23 you will find here a reflection on each of these prayers.

What are the "O Antiphons"?

The “O Antiphons” refer to the seven antiphons that are recited (or chanted) preceding the Magnificat during Vespers of the Liturgy of the Hours. They cover the special period of Advent preparation known as the Octave before Christmas, Dec. 17-23, with Dec. 24 being Christmas Eve and Vespers for that evening being for the Christmas Vigil.

The exact origin of the “O Antiphons” is not known. Boethius (c. 480-524) made a slight reference to them, thereby suggesting their presence at that time. At the Benedictine abbey of Fleury (now Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire), these antiphons were recited by the abbot and other abbey leaders in descending rank, and then a gift was given to each member of the community. By the eighth century, they are in use in the liturgical celebrations in Rome. The usage of the “O Antiphons” was so prevalent in monasteries that the phrases, “Keep your O” and “The Great O Antiphons” were common parlance. One may thereby conclude that in some fashion the “O Antiphons” have been part of our liturgical tradition since the very early Church.

The importance of “O Antiphons” is twofold: Each one highlights a title for the Messiah: O Sapientia (O Wisdom), O Adonai (O Lord), O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse), O Clavis David (O Key of David), O Oriens (O Rising Sun), O Rex Gentium (O King of the Nations), and O Emmanuel. Also, each one refers to the prophecy of Isaiah of the coming of the Messiah. …

According to Professor Robert Greenberg of the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, the Benedictine monks arranged these antiphons with a definite purpose. If one starts with the last title and takes the first letter of each one - Emmanuel, Rex, Oriens, Clavis, Radix, Adonai, Sapientia - the Latin words ero cras are formed, meaning, “Tomorrow, I will come.” Therefore, the Lord Jesus, whose coming we have prepared for in Advent and whom we have addressed in these seven Messianic titles, now speaks to us, “Tomorrow, I will come.” So the “O Antiphons” not only bring intensity to our Advent preparation, but bring it to a joyful conclusion.

This information was provided by the following website: http://www.catholiceducation.org/articles/religion/re0374.html

December Family Night

2010-12-12T12:23:00.000-08:00

Cold night, warm meal! A great crowd of almost 40 came to the third Family Night. The meal: spagetti, garlic bread, green salad, apple cider, pumpkin pie and whipped cream. Thanks to all helpful hands!

If you have suggestions about Family Nights in the year 2011, get in touch with planners Nora Harris and Jane Bowers.

NOVEMBER FAMILY NIGHT

2010-12-07T07:24:00.001-08:00

Thursday, November 14, lots of people were coming down with the flu. But that did not prevent twenty of us from having a great time, playing Legos, tickling babies, talking in the kitchen, and taking cool photos!

This Thursday, December 9, is the next Family Night! Come on down!

First Family Night

2010-10-27T10:56:00.001-07:00

As part of their Journey training program, Nora Harris and Jane Bowers planned three Family Nights for this fall. We provide a simple meal, a creative activity, games and quiet spaces for homework and reading.

We were thrilled to welcome 39 people to the first family night. The pictures speak for themselves!

The next two Family Nights are November 11 and December 9, from 6-8 pm at the church. All are welcome! There is no charge.

606 TAMALES! Mennonite Central Committee Relief Sale

2010-09-26T20:57:00.000-07:00

Ah! The last weekend in September is the Mennonite Central Committee Relief Sale, to raise money for development work around the world.

Last Sunday after church we made 606 tamales, and sang "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow."

On Friday and Saturday of this weekend we quickly sold out! Lots of hard work, and lots of fun.

Thanks to ALL who helped!

Journey Learning Weekend at Amigo

2010-09-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

Nora, Jane and I spent another full weekend at Amigo Centre this September for the Journey Program. This is our third and final years of leadership training together. As a mentor I walk alongside Nora and Jane as they are active in ministry and as we read and reflect together on their experiences.

As part of their learning Jane and Nora will be leading a Family Night at Florence during the first Thursday evenings of October, November and December. There families will have a chance to enjoy one another around a simple meal, time for homework and time to play games together.

We are grateful to Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary, Central District Conference and Indiana Michigan Conference for offering this training and making us part of the Journey community.

Instructor on the spiritual discipline of prayer: Eleanor Kreider --

Conference Ministers: Lois Kauffman (CDC) and Dan Miller (IN-MI)--

Amigo classroom --

Vibrant Rural Camp-In at Amigo

2010-09-26T20:10:00.000-07:00

Due to the generousity of our "Well Endowed Aunt Lilly" (Lilly Clergy Renewal Grant), over fifty of the Florence flock spent Friday through Sunday of Labor Day weekend at Amigo Centre. This Mennonite camp offered us comfortable rooms with private baths, generous meals, the beauty of woods and lake, and many places to sit, talk, walk, canoe and play.

Our typical fall weekend away is tent camping across the lake at Amigo Park. So this more simple retreat felt like a true breather.

Saturday night entertainment was Karaoke, led by Dallie and Gary Nichols.

Sunday morning worship included the lakeside baptism of Nora followed by communion.

I enjoyed my "Lucy Booth." Under my beach umbrella I invited folks to come and tell me their passions for life. And I gave THEM five cents! For four hours on Saturday afternoon there was one person after another. I heard passions for family, fabric, teaching, local food, mending old wounds, and opening opportunities for Native Americans. One person asked me, "And Nina, what is your passion?" That was a gift.

My passion for conversations such as these hopefully gives me the chance to listen deeply for God's invitations in and through the Florence Friends. Despite protest -- ENOUGH PASSION, ALREADY -- I consider the Passion Booth and the weekend a fabulous success.

There are already new projects bubbling up out of these passions. Then we meet Frederick Buechner's vision for our part in God's mission:

THE PLACE GOD CALLS YOU
IS WHERE YOUR DEEP GLADNESS
(or passion)
AND THE WORLD'S HUNGER
MEET.

Blessings of Home

2010-08-17T15:58:00.001-07:00

Sunday, August 8, we WARMLY blessed the new home of Maria Montoya and her family. It was a hot day, but the back deck and grassy yard made the perfect place for talking, eating, and singing blessings.

For Barb Welty there was another layer of blessing. This home had belonged to her mother, Betty Jean. Now the carefully tended perenniel beds were also the home for Maria's thriving tomato, pepper, cilantro and basil plants.

To see the joy of Kathia and Vanessa with their new room and new kittens, to taste Carlos'chicken and Maria's homemade salsa, to enjoy the fun and fellowship and singing of a Florence House Blessing, made me realize how these moments mark our long journey together with joy. There has been a death. And a new birth.

Maria settles into this new home in Three Rivers at the same time as launching two daughters. Jheny, recent Goshen College graduate, will soon move to Indianapolis to find work. Brenda, recent high school graduate, heads off to Hesston College in Kansas.

Kate and James Lind of Sustainable Greens joined the Florence Family for the feast. They are the "work family" for Maria and the girls and have been like loving grandparents at many times. Now we can all rejoice together as new memories are made, common work celebrated, and young women become anchored in this place of beauty, space, and growth.

Simply Beautiful!

2010-08-08T17:35:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, August 1, the creative beauty of Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite filled the sanctuary and beyond. I was away, but seeing the photos was awe-inspiring to me. God, our creator, indeed has blessed us with creativity and beauty beyond our awareness of each other -- even in this little congregation!

Thanks to Kathy and Willard Fenton-Miller and Judy Broadworth and Suzanne Lind for weaving a wonderful worship around these gifts.

Enjoy!

Quilt by Christine Nofsinger

Shell piece by David Wenger

Stone carving by David Wenger

Paper art by Emma Fenton-Miller

Wooden toys by Henry Braun

Handwork by Jan Warstler

Flowers by Jo Beachy

Potter by Josh Ewert

Paintings by Judy Broadworth

Photos by Kathy Fenton-Miller

Pottery by Riana Beachy Hasenick

Quilt by Roxie Ewert

Photos by Sara Braun

Water color by Sylvie Gudin

Woodwork by Willard Fenton-Miller

As we went down to the river to pray....and play...

2010-07-11T15:56:00.001-07:00

Morning has broken like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word.

Today was a beauty. We met at 10 am at the Hoshel Canoe Park by the river, about five miles from church. This is oru traditional baptism site.

Today Judy Broadworth, Brenda Nieto and Ben Nofsinger make their public statement of intent to follow Jesus. We sang, shared the news of our lives, and shared the Good News of Jesus who began a Way of Life that was worth persecuting in its earliest days and which shapes our lives centuries later.

As we remember the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us in following Jesus, we are both humbled and encouraged. Judy, Brenda and Ben and those gathered promised once more to keep these promises central to our life together.

BAPTISMAL VOWS

Will you make Jesus the center of your faith – loving God, as seen in Christ, and alive in the Spirit?

Will you make community the center of your life – loving your neighbor and your self in the church and in the world?

Will you make reconciliation the center of your work– loving both friends and enemies with grace, and seeking shalom for all people, living creatures, and for the planet?

Will you turn away from sin, temptation, violence and evil -- all that prevents you from living in love –and follow The Way of Jesus with us?

Will you turn toward giving and receiving time, talent and treasures, counsel and forgiveness -- through worship, learning, fellowship and service -- as we continue our journey in Jesus together?

I baptize you in the name
of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit,
One God who Mothers us all.
Arise to new life in Christ!

VIBRANT RURAL WORLD CUP PARTY!
Following the baptism we share communion from the hands of Judy, Brenda and Ben. Then we headed for Bair Lane in Marcellus for one more of our Vibrant Rural Celebrations – funded by the Lilly Clergy Renewal Grant. After tacos, fruit and decadent brownies, the final World Cup Match on the big screen was our entertainment.

CANOEING THE FAWN RIVER

The day before, on Saturday, July 10, Charlie and Jane Bowers had organized a Vibrant Canoe Trip on the Fawn River. Twenty seven of us enjoyed the silent and stunning beauty of this wetland and marsh river ride.

Floating, Faith, Food, Fellowship, Fun, Futbol!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Florence Amigos

2010-07-05T15:08:00.000-07:00

About a quarter of Florence Church is living, at least part time, at Amigo Centre (Mennonite camp) this summer. Rose Lind, Emily and Margaret Wenger have been on staff. Jason Lichti is the program director. And Jason and Lori, Joshua, Jesse and John Lichti live in their house on camp grounds. John Mark Wenger and Riana Beachy Hasenick have been campers.

I made a "pastoral call" to camp last Wednesday, including eating "pirate" lunch with Rose, Emily and Jesse and a short visit with Margaret. You can read more at vibrantruralrr.blogspot.com

I have been asked to speak at KNOW JESUS, a junior high event that culminates the summer for Amigo Centre and Camp Friedenswald. Their staff members work together to provide worship and activity leadershp for that event. It takes place the weekend of August 7-9 at Goshen College.

Willard Fenton-Miller was appointed to the Camp Friedenswald board at Central District Conference in June.

And our VIBRANT RURAL CAMP-IN RETREAT will take place at Amigo Centre on Labor Day weekend. Florence has a long history of camping out at Amigo Park in early September, but this year, with the financing of the Lilly Clergy Renewal Grant, we are taking a different kind of retreat, expenses paid, and food provided.

Hmmmm....what do we make of these camp connections?

Congo Cloth Connections at Central District Conference

2010-06-27T20:48:00.002-07:00

Christine Nofsinger and Suzanne and Rose Lind presented a workshop at Central District Conference meeting in Bluffton, OH on Friday, June 26. The room was a flood of color! You can see their great partnership and joy in sharing the cloth and the women and stories from Congo that it reflects. Lots of yards of cloth were sold and lots of ideas generated about how stitches can be prayers, connecting us here to the vibrant and beautiful people of Congo.

The Simple Way (summer worship)

2010-06-15T12:03:00.000-07:00

To Live Simply in the Way of Jesus we have agreed in not simple. But the simple life is "the life that really is life." (1 Timothy 6:19) And so we will explore that Life together.

We began this series on May 30, 2010 with a look at the collaboration of God and Wisdom as seen in Proverbs 8. Henry Bruan played God and Nina Lanctot played Sophia/Wisdom. And we played!

And we will continue to play since this summer is the congregation's chance to have a "VIBRANT RURAL SABBATICAL" with activities funded by the Lilly Endownment Clergy Renewal Grant we were awarded. We will culminate the summer with a Camp-In at Amigo Centre, on Labor Day Weekend.

The Simple Life is both a call and a playful invitation. We will embody scripture texts, sing and reflect together each Sunday. All are welcome.

Recommended Reading: "Simple Ways Toward the Sacred" by Gunilla Norris

"Purity of heart is to will one thing." Soren Kierkegaard

Graduates and Graduates-To-Be

2010-06-15T11:50:00.001-07:00

We were blessed this year to have three high school graduates and three college graduates:

Emma Fenton-Miller (Goshen College, with one semester to go)
Brenda Nieto (Three Rivers High School)
Jheny Nieto (Goshen College)
Ben Nofsinger (Marcellus High School)
Elisabeth Wenger (Houghton College)
Emily Wenger (Three Rivers High School)

We also welcomed Rose Lind back after her year of service in Service Adventure, Johnstown, PA.

At our potluck we also had a table for graduates to be. We are committed to helping each one imagine a future where their gifts flourish and they serve the church and the world.

The Florence Board recently approved a new service emphasis that will provide resources and support to all ages as we imagine creative service adventures, near and far.

We will celebrate service this fall.

A Tree for Bryan

2010-06-15T11:41:00.001-07:00

A favorite quote of Bryan Shelly inspired the planting of an oak tree at the time he would have graduated from Marcellus High School. We planted this tree during our morning worship on June 6, 2010. Here is the quote by Peter Marshall:

"When we long for life without difficulties,
remind us that oaks grow strong in contrary winds
and diamonds are made under pressure"

The people of Romence Gardens, Portage, aided Kim Henritzy, Bryan's mother, and friends Martha Miller and Jo Beachy as they tearfully selected this oak tree.

May 2010 Intergenerational Sunday School

2010-05-23T19:30:00.000-07:00

The choices for Sunday school for youth and adults were sew (as in sewing a quilt for the MCC Relief Sale), hoe (as in help in weeding and landscaping around the church) and photo (share photos and shoot photos that capture Life!).

Here are some glimpses:

Ben Nofsinger, photo group.

Jan and Jerry Warstler and Willard Fenton Miller, hoe group.

Two photos of Sean Nichols taken by his grandmother, Dallie Nichols (photo group)

Henry Miller, hoe group.

1 Peter 4:10-11
Each one should use whatever gift he or she has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, OR WORKS IN THE SOIL OR WITH THE EYE, OR WITH THE NEEDLE, they should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

New Beginnings: Sabbatical, Season #2

2010-05-16T18:21:00.000-07:00

I am glad to be home and back among my Florence friends/flock after rest and renewal in Costa Rica. The blog vibrantruralrr.blogspot.com records my sabbatical reflections and will continue through this church year. So here we will return to reflections on the life of Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite.

Why sabbatical #2? As we enter summer, the congregation will take up its renewal plans promoting rural vibrancy. Since many worked very hard while I was away, activities for fun, rest and relaxation will be planned for the summer months.

A HUGE THANK YOU TO THE SABBATICAL LEADERSHIP TEAM -- JANE BOWER, NORA HARRIS, KATHY FENTON-MILLER AND TIM LIND, AND CONGREGATIONAL CHAIR, CHRISTINE NOFSINGER FOR ALL YOUR WORK WHILE I WAS AWAY.

ALSO SPECIAL THANKS TO THE LENT WORSHIP TEAM AND FRIDBERT AUGUST. I heard that worship was especially rich in your creative and soulful care.

SIMPLY SUMMER SABBATICAL...With the leadership of Christine Nofsinger and Kathy Fenton-Miller, those plans will be unfolding. Suzanne Lind will be in Michigan for the summer months, and has begun to plan for our Labor Day congregational retreat at Amigo Centre. More details will come here soon!

Meanwhils, Spring brings a flurry of artistic, musical, soccer, school, garden, farm and graduate activities. And new life.

It is a joy to welcome the newest baby, John Floyd Lichti, seen here with his brother Jesse.

It is a joy to suppport our college graduates as they take new steps. Here you see Goshen Graduates, Jheny Nieto and Emma Fenton-Miller (with Solomon Fenton-Miller). Elizabeth Wenger also graduated this spring from Houghton College.

We anticipate the high school graduation of Ben Nofsinger (Marcellus), and Brenda Nieto and Emily Wenger (Three Rivers).

This also reminds us once more of our sorrow over the loss of Bryan Shelly. We will be remembering him at church by planting an oak tree. And an empty chair will mark his place in Marcellus graduation.

Two new market farms have begun their first season with the work of Florence Families. Bair Lane Farm is being tended by Randy, Josh and Roxie Ewert.

One Straw Farm is the work of Luke Nofsinger, Daniela Zehr and family.

Both farms joined farmers Dale Hasenick (and Jo Beachy, not pictured here) with booths at the Goshen Farmers' Market opening this weekend. For Dale and Jo and White Yarrow Farm this was their tenth anniversary of selling at the Goshen market in addition to their CSA in Michigan.

So, all and all, we begin growing together again -- through change, new ventures, old sadness, new life. We commit ourselves to love of God, others, self, enemy and earth.

If you have never visited us, feel free to join us. Leave a comment on the blog and I will be sure to reply.

Nina Lanctot, pastor of Florence Church, is on Sabbatical until April 25, 2010

2010-02-28T11:46:00.000-08:00

I have been the "blogger" for Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite. Since I am on sabbatical in Costa Rica, returning to my pastoral role on Sunday, April 25, there may not be much new posted here.

You can follow my sabbatical at vibrantruralrr.blogspot.com

peace to all, Nina

Nina Lanctot has One Job

2010-01-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

For the last two and a half years this has been my office at Associated Mennonite Biblcial Seminary. I was the half time Assistant Director of Engaging Pastors as well as the half time pastor of Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite.

Well, yes, I am an engaging pastor! But there was more to it than that. The seminary had been awarded a multi-million dollar grant to foster interdependence between seminary professors and pastors. There were ten programs as part of this great experiment. And it was my job to find professors and pastors who wanted to participate and to help keep the programs running.

This was a great opportunity for me. Since I did not grow up Mennonite, it gave me a much broader window into the Mennonite Church in the United States and Canada. I especially enjoyed the opportunities I had to relate to pastors in person. Here is a sampler:

I hosted about a dozen pastors who were on sabbatical at AMBS at various times throughout these years.

I hosted six Spanish speaking pastors in a weekend visit to AMBS. Maria Montoya made tamales for this visit, and people at AMBS are still raving about them.

Two groups of new pastors came for long weekends, one in 2008 and one in 2009. I partnered with AMBS and denominational leaders in offering these pastors resources to strengthen their mininstries in the coming years.

This fall I was an organizer and participant in the Interfaith Spiritual Care Pastor Faculty Study group. Four chaplains and five pastors meet with Daniel Schipani to share about our experiences of relating to people of various faith traditions.

The culmination of the grant was a Summative Conference at AMBS in early December where about 120 professors, pastors, conference ministers, theological educators and denominational leaders reflected on what we had been learning. That kind of process will be on-going in seminary curriculum revision and in making theological education useful for the changing face of our communities and congregations.

So it is both with sadness and relief that my position comes to a planned ending along with the ending of the Engaging Pastors grant. I packed up my office last Friday following a full week of Pastors' Week on campus. And now...

Now I have two weeks to do the final preparations before I leave on sabbatical on February 14. How fortunate I have been in these tough economic times to have two jobs! It will be easier and more enjoyable to manage one.

Thanks for your grace in working with my complex schedule in the last two and a half years! We will see what the fall brings...

Pieta for Bryan Shelly

2010-01-27T04:25:00.000-08:00

A poem/prayer arising in
Nina’s grief at worship at the seminary
with the weeping woman of Luke 7:37

January 27, 2010

The one month anniversary
of Bryan Shelly’s death.

Jesus, you became the
mother in the Pieta
holding the broken bodies
of my loved ones who now
rest in you at peace
while for me, tears
still blur bodies and presence
on this earth
yet painfully.

Bryan,
you hold him so gently that all
his own buried gentleness melts into
your limbs of love and his heart answers
yours in sorrow
resolving peace
that can bless and heal the torn bits
of heart left behind
and healing at home. At home
he is with you, O God.

Draw us, too, into that gentle embrace that
eases pain, that
tenders regret with forgiveness, that
humbles heartache as a little child
held near the beating
breast of a mother, father, whose bond, stronger
than death, sealed in pride,
beams, weeps, remembers and
loves always.

Florence Board for 2010

2010-01-24T18:03:00.001-08:00

FLORENCE 2010 BOARD has two committees: Worship and Christian Ed or W/CE and Ministerial and Trustees or M/T.

Back row, left to right: Donald Lanctot (convener of W/C), Nora Harris (Journey Ministry Assistant), Charlie Bowers (chair M/T), Jane Bowers (Journey and secretary), Kathy Fenton-Miller (treasurer), Tim Lind (W/C)

Front row left to right: Luke Nofsinger (M/T), Lori Lichti (W/CE), Dallie Nichols (M/T), Verna Troyer (W/CE), Kim Henritzy (M/T), Christine Nofsinger (chair)

Each new year the Florence Board re-configures itself. At our first board meeting of 2010 all members were present. The board meets every other month to attend to the spiritual life and practical logistics of the congregation. The two committees meet in the months in between.

As you can see we are both serious and full of fun as we work together! I am grateful for the gifts and time given by each one.

Considering the Sabbath

2010-01-17T16:00:00.000-08:00

For the next five Sundays we will consider the theme of sabbath at Florence. This will provide a safe container for us to rest in God in our on-going grief. The theme of sabbath also anticipates the sabbatical that Florence Church and I will be experiencing beginning on February 14. After a celebration at Florence I will be leaving for eight weeks in Costa Rica and a total of ten weeks away from my pastoral role. The congregation will be preparing for Rural Revival Days in the summer and a congregational retreat in the fall. And for finding ways to keep sabbath in their own way.

So, you are invited to enter into sabbath with us. Consider taking two hours per week of sabbath rest beginning in January. In February, consider taking four hours. In March, eight hours. If you add it up, by December and the end of 2010 you will have the opportunity to experience a full day of sabbath per week. How might God transform your life in these times?

Here are words from Tilden Edwards...

“The Christian sabbath is a practice of receptive time that balances and permeates our active time…The need for such a receptive quality of time has cropped out in recent years in…greater concern for rest, meditation and celebration. These concerns point to the abiding yet obscure human hunger for intimacy with the deep transpersonal Horizon of our lives. It is a hunger that cannot be fully satisfied apart from spacious times of restful presence. I use the world presence to mean both our presence before and to God. It is a presence that compliments the intimacy that arises through our active ministries. This dim awareness of our need and the attempts to satisfy it have often been either fragmentary, overly privatized, or strictly utilitarian, and unconnected with the sense of a gifted and historically grounded corporate rhythm of life for the whole church and, in its rudiments, for all human life.”

Tilden Edwards, Sabbath Time (Seabury Press, NY: 1982) ix.

Bryan Shelly Memorial Service including Meditation by Nina Lanctot

2010-01-17T15:49:00.000-08:00

There has been more silence on this blog. I as a pastor have been recovering from illness along with the sorrow that our congregation holds in the aftermath of the suicide of Bryan Shelly. Below you will find the meditation from the service. Mark Shelly and Kim Henritzy, Bryan's parents, worked closely with me to create this message. They very much want some good to come out of the bad news of Bryan's death. His life was so much more, full of excellence, gentleness and success. May these words bless you or someone you know. Nina

Memorial Service for Bryan Shelly

February 28, 1992 -- December 27, 2009

Service by Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite
at Marcellus High School Gymnasium
Marcellus, Michigan

Sunday 3 January 2010 at 1 pm

MUSIC FOR GATHERING
John Mark, Emily, Elizabeth and Margaret Wenger

FRIENDS AND FAMILY HONOR BRYAN
Ben Nofsinger Jon Swartz
Tyler Lanning Caleb Reuter
Ian Shelly Todd Shelly

LIGHTING OF CANDLES BY THE FAMILY

WORDS OF WELCOME & OPENING PRAYER
Nina Lanctot,
Pastor of Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite

SONG
“Here in this place” (insert)

BRYAN SHELLY’S LIFE
Mark Shelly

SPECIAL MUSIC
Ben Nofsinger

REFLECTIONS
Kim Henritzy
Kathy and Willard Fenton-Miller Family Friends
Peter Steinkraus Marcellus HS Senior
Dave DeCou Marcellus HS Teacher and Coach
Hannah Reuter Marcellus HS Senior
Tim Perry Pastor and Marcellus Coach

PRAYER
Bangern Jinna Pastor, Los Angeles, CA

SONG
“Precious Lord, take my hand” sung by Florence Church

SCRIPTURE & WORDS OF HOPE
John 1: 5 and John 14:18-19
“You are not alone” by Nina Lanctot

SPECIAL MUSIC
Ian Shelly and Luke Nofsinger

GLIMPSES OF BRYAN SHELLY’S LIFE
SLIDE SHOW & VIDEO
Created by the family & Ben Nofsinger

“KICK AT THE DARKNESS ‘TIL IT BLEEDS DAYLIGHT”
At the close of the slide show everyone is invited to light electric candles or open their cell phones. As the light builds and we sing this prayer together, we commit to fight the darkness together and to remember the light that Bryan contributed to our lives.

SONG
“Lord, listen to your children” (insert)

INVITATION TO GREET THE FAMILY AND EAT TOGETHER

CLOSING WORDS & PRAYER
Nina Lanctot

MEDITATION: SCRIPTURE & WORDS OF HOPE

John 1: 5 and John 14:18-19
“You are not alone” by Nina Lanctot

John 1:5
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 14:18-19
"I will not leave you desolate or orphaned;
I will not leave you alone.
I am coming to you.
In a little while the world will no longer see me,
but you will see me;
because I live, you also will live.

THE BAD NEWS

A week ago we were stunned and shocked and deeply saddened by bad news. Bryan, our son, our friend, relative, student, was so overcome with depression that he chose to end his life.

I asked myself, as I think we all did, “Why didn’t I see this coming? Why didn’t I reach out more to Bryan? Surely there was something I could have done…” We each face our lists of regret.

And we face our anger. This just isn’t right! Bryan was so young, so talented, so well loved. He had his whole life before him.

Why did he end up able to love everyone but himself and overwhelmed with sorrow? We want to know WHY. Why did this happen?

We will never have answers to all these questions. But we can have hope in three things.

 We can learn to make a difference for those overwhelmed with sorrow.
 We can receive forgiveness and peace for the regrets we feel.
 And we can know that Bryan is not alone, and neither are we.

MAKING A DIFFERNCE

There is one thing that is absolutely clear to Kim and Mark and to all of us. We want good to come of Bryan’s life. We want our reflections on Bryan’s death not to overshadow the gift of his life.

While we will never fully know Bryan’s path in the last weeks and months, we do know that he was in a dark, dark, space in his mind and his soul. So we need to talk about depression and mental illness.

Depression is an illness that affects many, many people. It is a chemical disease that alters a person’s ability to feel, think and make decisions. It makes life seem narrower and narrower, so that the ability to see options or perceive hope starts shutting down. There is often no apparent trigger to depression. The stresses of life are a factor, but some people are just prone to be depressed, just as some are prone to be diabetic or asthmatic. Like other illnesses, once the disease has begun, it tends to get worse unless a person receives medication and counseling and support from family and friends.

Depression isn’t the same as feeling sad. It is persistent hopelessness, guilt and thoughts of death that last two weeks or more. To live and love wisely, we can be aware…

We can know our family history. We track diabetes and heart disease and alcoholism. We can also look at our family trees for tendencies toward depression.

And we need to know that there is good news. Depression and other mental illnesses are treatable.

I know. I have been clinically depressed off and on beginning in high school. I have known the feeling that death seems like relief. But when I am not depressed, it is clear to me that is a lie. Today I can tell you that I am not depressed and have not been for years because I got help. And I have been able to get help for others.

Depression makes it very hard to talk. But there are many ways to get help. A simple note: “I need help,” is a beginning. A call to a helpline. An appointment with a counselor. We have a strong community around us. We can choose life and find hope if we support one another.

What if someone doesn’t want help? What if they tell you they are thinking of death and say not to tell?

Even then there can be a way. While we keep the trust of our friends when they confide in us, sometimes we must tell the secrets of others. When a person is in danger of hurting themselves or others we can and MUST tell someone, even if we were told not to tell. We can ask the person to share themselves. But if that person is not willing to do so, I will. We must. We can learn that getting help is more important than keeping dangerous secrets.

The scripture in John 1:5 says that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it – or overshadow it.” While depression takes us to deep darkness and a sense of worthlessness, I think it is so evident today that the gift of life in Bryan and the gift of life in this community is real and powerful and precious. If mental illness tells us there is now way out, it does not have to be the final answer.

RECEIVING FORGIVENESS

I believe God looks on the whole of our lives and looks on our hearts. While we feel many regrets with the painful vision of 20 20 hindsight, God would not wish us to paralyzed by shame and self punishment. Our purpose in life is to love, and we know that being stuck on our failures does not allow us to love fully.
“There is nothing that can separate us from the love of God,” it says in Romans. And Jesus life and death give us powerful evidence of that reality.

We know that Jesus closest friends and family did not understand his struggles and the death he faced. They did not stick with him, were not able to prevent him from suffering an unjust and sorrowful death. Jesus felt alone, crying, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

But we also know that Jesus first act upon rising from the dead was to return to the upper room where he had his last meal with his friends. In John 20, what does he say? “Peace be with you.” He not only fully forgives them, but he breathes new life into them. He breathes resurrection breath through them and gives them the power of the Spirit to be his hands and feet and eyes and heart in the world. Through their deep suffering together he knows they are transformed into people not paralyzed by death, by failings, by shame, by anything. They know that “nothing can separate them from the love of God.” Beyond the worst that sin and death can deal, the good news is that life and love are stronger. Life prevails. And Jesus is breathing that same Spirit of new life and love and forgiveness and courage into us.

And into Bryan.

WE ARE NOT ALONE

Our hearts go out to Bryan. It seems he felt all alone. But we know that is not true. Look at us all here! We are here because we are all attached to Bryan, care for him, and love him. And even as we sense God’s love here with us, we know God’s love was with Bryan, even when we could not feel it. Bryan was not alone even though he felt that way.

And I believe he is not alone now. I sense that someone who knew the path of great sorrow is holding him and healing him. I sense that someone who said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” is sharing a deep understanding with Bryan. I sense that Jesus is healing Bryan’s body, mind and heart at the same time that God is reaching out to heal us all. I believe that Bryan is being cared for forever and that his sorrow is being relieved.

Jesus promised his friends:

John 14:18-19

"I will not leave you desolate or orphaned;
I am coming to you.
In a little while the world will no longer see me,
but you will see me;
because I live, you also will live.”

I believe this promise is for Bryan and all of us.

I believe God in God’s mercy looks on the whole of Bryan’s life – his humor, great hair, friendships, drive, family life, questions, risk taking and all – and receives the whole of him into God’s love. And God’s peace. And we are received, right now, in life, in that same way, too.

THERE IS HOPE IN PEACE: PRAYER FOR PEACE

We pause again to open ourselves to God’s peace. We offer these prayers as a beginning of making peace and a commitment to finding peace in time.

In our hearts let us hold our regrets and say to Bryan, “Bryan, we are sorry. We wish we would have done differently. God, forgive us and give us peace.”

In our hearts let us hold the ways we have felt hurt by Bryan. "Bryan, we forgive you and we ask God to give peace – to you and to us.”

In our hearts let us hold whatever keeps us from being at peace with ourselves, with those around us, and with God.

O God, forgive us. Help us to become free from shame and guilt, from selfishness and sorrow. Grant us your peace. For in your peace there is hope. AMEN

CLOSING WORDS & PRAYER

Look around. We are a strong community.
The gift of Bryan Shelly’s life has been a blessing
and has made us stronger. That strength will continue.
As we end this time of worship I love the words that Mark choose from Bruce Cochburn:

“KICK AT THE DARKNESS ‘TIL IT BLEEDS DAYLIGHT”
we commit to fight the darkness together
and to remember the light
that Bryan contributed to us all.

We will remember Bryan
and smile and cry in the months and years ahead.
For now, we say good-bye.
And we commit Bryan and ourselves to God’s peace.

Bryan,
May God bless you and keep you.
May God’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
May God give you peace.

Loved Ones,
May God bless you and keep you.
May God’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you and comfort you.
May God give you peace.

As we go let us once more pass the peace of Christ to our right and to our left – and to Bryan.
Go in peace. We are not alone. God is with us all.

In Memory of Bryan Shelly

2010-01-09T16:14:00.001-08:00

We received word at dawn on Sunday, December 27 that Bryan Shelly, middle son of Kim Henritzy and Mark Shelly, took his life. The last two weeks have been achingly sad for all of us. I include here a small reflection of the way we have tried to honor Bryan's life and support one another in grief. We have been deeply grateful for the love poured out from the Marcellus community in this time of need.

Here is a reflection written by Jerry Anderson for last Sunday.

As We Again Gather Together

As we again gather together
Within this time of seeming helplessness
Within this moment of boundless grief
Where the familiar woven fabric
Of our shared lives
Has been torn into countless scattered pieces
By the unknowable weight of sorrow
Descending in an instant
Upon all of those
Bound by love and compassion
All of those who now again gather together
Huddled around the few struggling fitful embers
Remnants of the once bright fire
That warmed us and gave us light
Amidst the surrounding darkness…

As we gather again together
Seeking desperately within the deepening shadows
For anything which may appear to bring
Only a short glimpse of peace or reassurance
Measured against the seemingly unyielding pain…

As we gather together again
There may be no ready answers as we cling together
Except to begin with small staggering steps
To gather the ragged ends
Of that torn and scattered fabric
And begin to weave again with trembling fingers
Amidst the tears and grinding heartache…

As again we gather together
We shall see that the embers will be tended
The bright dancing flames
Of the fire can be restored
Within that shifting light
We will begin to share once more
Bound in love and compassion
To open our hearts and souls
And embrace the pain and seemingly overwhelming grief
To present the only gift we can truly offer
To share this sorrow with open hearts
To partake as we may
Of any such small part of the shared silence
Profound in its depth as words lose their meaning…

Grant us the strength to proclaim our weakness
As we confront another of the many mysteries
Which shake the deepest footings and foundations
Of our limited understanding and trembling faith
Give us the wisdom to trust in the gifts we have received
Each knowing that love and true compassion for others
Requires a true strength of purpose
And a disciplined persistent will
That must be renewed constantly or it will falter
Each accepting that open hearts must be willing
To embrace the familiar and unfamiliar pain and sorrows
As well as the joyful mysteries of love shared
As we again gather together…

Written by Jerry Anderson

Global Call to Prayer, Meditation and Intention

2009-12-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

I found a prayer today that I believe all of us at Florence can pray together. While we do not agree on the science of climate change, our love and care for creation is a core value for all. If we believe that the intention of our hearts does impact not only our actions but the spirit of our community and planet, then this prayer is a doorway. We unite with praying people around the globe. Join me in praying through the weekend if you are so lead.

"May the leaders of nations hear and obey our call,

creating an agreement to safeguard the climate future of Earth.

May they be guided by wisdom over short-sightedness,

choosing to preserve life over national advantage. "

"May we each and all seek and be empowered

to change our lives and old wasteful habits,

and realize that we are One Humanity, with a common fate,

living on a shared and sacred planet."

For more information go to contact@globalcalltoprayer.org

Twins! Desmond and Amari in Kinshasa, Congo and soon coming to Goshen, Indiana

2009-12-01T06:55:00.000-08:00

What could be a better blessing in this season that the great expectation of TWINS! Two little babies were brought into Kinshasa a soon after Holloween. Their mother had died in childbirth. The lawyer who was arranging an adoption for David Lind and Kendra Yoder "happened" to be at the orphanage when they arrived. Grampa, Tim Lind, happened to be able to visit them and feed them every day.

We rejoice with the Lind family at these new souls added to their tribe. David and Kendra will travel to Congo in about a week to be with the little ones. Tim will come home to the US about a week after that. Paper work is well under way for the homecoming of Desmond and Amari in Goshen, IN. Let us pray all health and strength and joy and peace to all!

ADVENT: The beginning of a Sabbatical Year by Nina Lanctot

2009-12-01T06:48:00.000-08:00

I have begun a new blog: Vibrant Rural R & R. What for? One weekly photo and one weekly reflection for the next 52 weeks. This is a way of tracking the VIBRANCY -- spirit, breath, wind, life -- of God flowing into and around and through me and us. I hope you will find connection in these glimpses of grace at

vibrantruralrr.blogspot.com

peace,

Nina

Parable of Kinshasa, D R Congo: A Foolish Woman, Breadcrumbs, Big Bills and Two Thieves

2009-11-08T11:36:00.000-08:00

Suzanne Lind passed on this parabolic story from Kinshasa, Congo.

I went to town about 8:30, hoping to get to shops to look for those baby shirts before things got busy. No luck, stores were either not open or had only fancy frilly extremely expensive dumb stuff. Then I remembered I still have two little gowns that Maria sent back with me -- things she never used for Kaylah. I’ve given most away, but still have these two pretty 0-3 month gowns.

A crowd of adolescent boys had surrounded me when I parked near City Market and the bakery. So just before coming home I bought some rolls to give to them as I got into the car. I put my other bags in the car and took out the two bags of rolls, about 10 altogether. By this time there were about 20 guys, mostly big guys, pushing and shoving and sticking their hands in my face; they all began to fight over the rolls right away, pushing me up against the car in the fracas.

As I tried to get the back door shut and the front door open, I felt a hand go into my bag -- I’m now carrying a plastic macramé bag that doesn’t close at the top. I knew I had a plastic bag with about $300 in there that I had not pushed far enough to the bottom. I quickly looked around in the bag and then started to shout, who took my money?

By this time several guards from the buildings were around, a policeman, and about 100 other people pushing and shoving to see the drama. I yelled and yelled, and the guards started to grab the boys and search them. I even patted down a couple myself. I kept shouting, I give you bread and you take my money?! (I am so embarrassed).

Now the crowd was even bigger, there was tremendous shoving and pushing and shouting. I was sure it was gone, but to my amazement the policeman stuck his hand right down the front of one guys’ (I had given one of the bags of bread to him, I think) pants and pulled out my bag of money. He wadded it up and kept it tight in his hand.

Then the guards and the policeman started to beat up the boy, kicking and pushing him to the ground. I yelled no, don’t hurt him and jumped into the fray to protect him. I’m not sure, but I think I just put my arms around him and hit out at the hands that were holding him. I kept shouting, don’t hurt him, all I want is the money, over and over.

Finally I grabbed the policeman’s hand and shouted in his face, give me my money and let the boy go. Then everyone screamed, no, he is a thief! And I screamed, but he gave the money back so he can go! They started to shove him into a car and I grabbed him and pulled him out again and began to pry open the policeman’s hand. No, he said, I got this money back, so it’s mine now. I started screaming, you are the thief, not him!! Give me my money.

It was horrible. Hundreds of people shoving and laughing and shouting. I put my face right up to the policeman’s and yelled, I will pay you, just give me my money back. I finally had to pull on his fingers till he finally let go and I gave him $10. The boy who took it stood right there, looking at me pitifully, and asking me for some of the money from my bag. They could see I had big bills in there. (I am so stupid.)

Actually it’s all kind of blur, though my getting physically involved and shouting in a very loud voice is very clear. Maybe it was all a scam. There is no way to know what really happened. It all happened so fast. I finally got into the car and was shaking so hard I didn’t lock the doors properly and someone began to open them. Fortunately a nice man shut them and I got them locked and one boy with bread crumbs all over his mouth “ushered” me out of the parking space.

I came home, changed my clothes, washed my arms and hands for about five minutes. After a while I sorted out my purse and I don’t think I lost any money, which I still can’t believe. It was clear from the way everyone acted that no one perceived this as a time when someone “saved” a street kid from being beat up by the police.

I think the thing they will remember is that I had to pay the police to get my money back and that I am a stupid woman who carries a lot of money around and is careless and naïve and they should all watch for another chance to have a similar drama thanks to me. Really, it was the drama that mattered most. Principles of right and wrong had nothing to do with it.

I hope the boy didn’t get beat up for not running away and then sharing out the loot, which was probably the plan; the policeman will be mad that he didn’t get more by getting his payment from the kid. I have bruises on my arms and am full of reflections about the absurdities and complexities of life.

"She Dreams of Flying Cows"

2009-11-08T11:30:00.001-08:00

The Kingdom of God is like...Cows Licks

2009-11-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

A poem shared by Kathy Fenton Miller:

She Dreamed of Cows
by Norah Pollard

I knew a woman who washed her hair and bathed

her body and put on the nightgown she'd worn

as a bride and lay down with a .38 in her right hand.

Before she did the thing, she went over her life.

She started at the beginning and recalled everything—

all the shame, sorrow, regret and loss.

This took her a long time into the night

and a long time crying out in rage and grief and disbelief—

until sleep captured her and bore her down.

She dreamed of a green pasture and a green oak tree.

She dreamed of cows.

She dreamed she stood under the tree

and the brown and white cows came slowly

up from the pond and stood near her.

Some butted her gently and they licked her bare arms

with their great coarse drooling tongues.

Their eyes, wet as shining water, regarded her.

They came closer and began to press

their warm flanks against her,

and as they pressedan almost unendurable joy

came over her and lifted her

like a warm wind and she could fly.

She flew over the tree and she flew over the field

and she flew with the cows.

When the woman woke, she rose and went to the mirror.

She looked a long time at her living self.

Then she went down to the kitchen which the sun had made all

yellow, and she made tea. She drank it at the table, slowly,

all the while touching her arms where the cows had licked.

"She Dreamed of Cows" by Norah Pollard, from Death & Rapture in the Animal Kingdom. © Antrim House, 2009.

A quote shared by Nina Lanctot -- found after Kathy had sent her the poem above.

From On the Wings of a White Horse: A Cambodian Princess's Story of Surviving the Khmer Rouge Genocide by Oni Vitandham (Tate Publishing, Mustang, OK: 2005)

[This memory is from a child age seven who had been fleeing the Khmer Rouge for four years.]

I fell asleep on the warm hay, but was roused in the morning by a cow that was licking my cheek, face, and nose. It was lying next to me, and its warmth made me feel safe, not scared. Her body was hard, solid, and somehow very reassuring.

It is said that if a stange animal comes into a herd of cows, they will gore it with their horns and chase it away, but if another cow joins them, they will welcome it by licking it with their tongues. This cow was obviously prepared to accept me as part of its famly.

It is impossible to describe how much that mean to me at the time -- that someone, even a cow, would ofer me such affection, I stayed in the barn for several days while my feet healed, and I gathered my strength. I helped local villagers carry buckets of water in exchange for rice. In the barn with the cow, I was blessed with a few rare moments of warmth and companionship in the midst of fighting and killing.

confounding story of a steward , a master, and some debtors -- a sermon by donald lanctot

2009-11-01T14:28:00.000-08:00

Often times the parables of Jesus are viewed as simple, memorable stories, shaped with humble imagery, each with a single message. They are built upon comparisons—the kingdom of heaven is like a shepherd who had a hundred sheep or it is like a mustard seed. And these parables are commended for their ability to make ideas visual and clear. They are presented as painted pictures that even the simple can grasp.

In this way, the parables are seen as early representations of what we have come to know as Christian object lessons—the use of everyday items to illustrate Spiritual truths in a meaningful way. A Sunday school teacher brings in a photograph of a diamond being cut out of rough rock. He tells the students: like this piece of a rock, people may not seem like much, but inside is a diamond. It takes time and polishing to bring out the best in us.

I think this view of the parables—though morally edifying—is terribly limited. It takes a dynamic form of teaching and drains it of its very power to transform us. It is equivalent to what Disney studios have done to the tales of the Brothers Grimm. Stories that were once charged with mystery and dread—ominous bread crumbs and frightening witches with cavernous ovens—have been polished into predictable adventures, fairy tales that once had the power to disturb us into wonder and awe have been converted into reassuring tales of dreams realized and evil conveniently defeated with blood never needing to be shed.

I think Jesus parables have far more in common with Zen koans than with those object lessons told in Sunday school classes and around camp fires.

In the lore and history of Zen Buddhism, masters often instruct using strange sayings, a story, a dialogue, a question. Often these sayings contain aspects that are inaccessible to rational understanding, yet may be accessible to intuition.

These short sayings are meant to confound conventional habits of mind; they are meant to shock the mind into some new awareness. To give a short example, one koan entitled “Manjusri enters the Gate,” reads “One day as Manjusri was standing outside the gate, the Buddha called to him, “Why do you not enter?” Manjusri answered, “I do not see myself as outside. Why enter?”

The saying, which appears to end with a question, doesn’t have a simple answer or interpretation. Rather, it invites the reader into a paradox. Who is “inside”? Who is “outside”? What is even meant by “outside”? Are the categories of “inside” and “outside” even useful? Clearly, the intention of the saying isn’t so much to add information. If anything, its purpose is to take something away—to pull boards out from under the feet of the listener, to temporarily disorient them.

The Zen koan, then, is meant to shaken some foundation upon we stand. It is meant to first subtract something from our knowledge base—to take away those assumptions that stand in the way of true knowledge. It is meant to leave us dangling, suspended in space, with no obvious landing place. The “old” is no longer sufficient, but the “new” is not yet formed or established. Where are we to go? What are we to think?
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Unfortunately, it is difficult to approach Jesus’ parables in this mind. They have become too familiar to us. We have grown up with them. And thus, many of them—the parables of the prodigal son, the good Samaritan, the seed sowed upon the various soils—have, in a sense, become dead to us, at least as parables. They have become didactic stories reinforcing assumed attitudes and understandings.

That’s not all bad, I think. Most of us, do not, for example, suffer the parochial views of those Jews who failed to see the Samaritan as their neighbor. We have, for the most part, shed the holiness tradition that separates people—black and white, straight and gay, Christian and Muslim—so neatly into categories of the good and the bad. As a community of faith you and I have, to a certain extent, absorbed Jesus’ inclusive vision into our own religious sensibility. And, perhaps, at least for now, we don’t need the parable of the Good Samaritan.

But what happens when we come upon a parable that doesn’t confirm our enlightened attitudes? What happens when we read a parable that seems to commend that which we find offensive and self-serving?

What happens when we find ourselves in exactly the some position as the Jews of Jesus’ day, gathered around the voice of man who stuns us with words that don’t fit neatly into our world view?

The parable of the unjust steward—as the story has come to be known—is one of the more difficult passages in the New Testament. The seeming incongruity of a story that praises a scoundrel has been an embarrassment to the church for a long time. In the early centuries of the church, Justin the Apostate used the parable to assert the inferiority of the church and its founder. He found the ethics of the parable a disgrace to real religion.

It does seem odd that Jesus would tell a parable that ends wtth a master commending an unscrupulous steward, a commendation that occurs after this subordinate has wasted his boss’s moneys, admitted that he didn’t want to do physical work, refused to beg, and reduced the payment of the master’s debtors—all of these acts done in the self-serving hope that the debtors would return the favor by welcoming the steward into their homes.

What are we to make of this story? What is its message? Does it have one at all? And who exactly are we supposed to identify with in the story? The steward? The debtors? The master? Or are we lost in unable to locate ourselves in the story? If so, I wonder if this confusion is similar to that felt by many who heard Jesus’ words in first century Palestine. As Jesus put it: “You shall hear but not understand; you shall see but not but not perceive.”

Some commentators have found ways around the apparent problems of the parable. The seeming commendation of the steward is usually explained in one of two ways. Some commentators argue that Jesus commends the dishonest manager for his shrewdness, not the shrewd manager for his dishonesty. Thus, the parable focuses attention on the steward’s inventiveness and ingenuity; the unscrupulous behaviors are but backstory to the real message. The master commends a certain shrewd behavior that one can find in the book of Genesis, in, for example, Jacob’s “stealing” his father’s blessing from Esau..

An alternative reading attempts to place the story in a cultural context. According to some commentators a steward in Jesus’ day would customarily take commisssion on all his sales of his master’s goods. Read this way, the steward, in reducing the debt, was simply sacrificing his own immediate interests by foregoing his legitimate commission. It is for this that he is praised as “astute.” He acts nobly; there is no disgrace.

I must confess that neither of these readings is satifsfactory to me. They both seem strained. As if the commentators are uncomfortable with the facts that are set out plainly in front of them. As if the commentators possess a moral prigousness that will not let them take in the unseemly details of the parable. As I listen to these two interpretations of the parable, I see the commentators scrambling to find a way to do justice to the parable within a certain moral compass that refuses to admit the ethical ambiguity found in the behavior of the steward.

So I find myself lost in the parable, with no clear way out. Read in moral categories, the parable doesn’t seem to make much sense. I can’t get away from the feeling that the steward’s behavior is craven and disappointing. And I pick around the edges of the parable for a way around this disappointment. But I can’t.

And I start to wonder if this failure to understand is the gift of the parable to me. After so many readings of parables that have yielded a simple confirmation of my Christian beliefs, this parable confounds me. And its inscutibility seems to reflect a state of mind that lends itself to the possibility of real transformation, if only I could stay with the parable long enough to let it do its work. Isn’t this the opportunity to hear a parable as the people in Jesus’ day heard it? To hear a parable, not as moral object lesson, but as transforming fire? I am surprised by how unfamiliar this territory is. I am disappointed in realizing how much I have domesticated the scriptures for my own use.

Is it possible that the disorientation, my discomfort, is meant to be my reading of the parable. Where else can I go but to the source of my discomfort.

I wonder about my moral judgment of the steward, and my disappointment in the master. And the criteria I use to make those judgments.

Is it possible that this odd parable is meant to challenge my smug sense of understanding the ethics of the kingdom. Is it possible that there are matters more urgent than acting with noble selflessness. Are there moments when we are called to act with calculated self interest? Does the steward get it and I don’t. I don’t really know.

But I do know that I have too easily exhausted the teachings of Jesus to a catalogue of liberal virtues. And in doing so have inevitably limited my ability to appreciate the largeness, the wideness of God’s work in the world. I have always admired the martyred, been moved to come to the aid of the innocent victim, have been attracted to the marginalized. I clearly have a list of values that I privilege. And the behavior of the steward doesn’t fit anywhere on the list.

But, I wonder, have I absolutized pieces of the kingdom and thereby lost sight of the larger dimension of God’s reconciling work. Have I done what the Pharisee’s did with holiness: grabbing ahold of something that in itself is good, but holdng onto it too tightly, thus perverting the good. Have I worshiped a code of ethics and lost sight of the living God who writes his law upon our hearts in words that may surprise us, even at times stun us. Is ethics—the good and the bad—far more contingent on God and our relationship with him than it is a set of moral codes that exist outside of Him?

Perhaps so, but I find myself still trying to catch my balance. It is hard to trust myself to fall.

So I stand in the presence of this confounding story of a steward , a master, and some debtors, wondering if the parable has the power to save me from what I too often regard as the best of myself.

Still laughing...Thanks, Gary, Matthew and Phil and crew!

2009-11-01T12:57:00.001-08:00

"Wiping Away All Tears" A sermon by Emily Welty for the 2009 Peace Colloquy

2009-10-27T08:20:00.001-07:00

Good morning friends. We have been on a long journey together to this peace colloquy. For some of us, this journey began months ago with planning and countless meetings. For some of us this meeting began on Friday with the day of prayer or the keynote address. Others of us joined the journey yesterday for the workshops. But we have all been on this journey of peacemaking and justice, of the search for healing and wholeness together.

Theologian Karl Barth once said that the role of the preacher is to be the ear of the gathered body – the person whose job it is to listen to all the stories of the congregation and to try to bring a sense of meaning to them. I have tried to take this task of listener for this peace colloquy seriously. To listen to all of your stories – in keynote addresses, in presentations, in the Friday day of prayer, in conversations in the hallway - and to ask what they all mean – to try to weave together all these individual strands of courage and heartbreak and peacemaking

I have heard a fantastic array of stories this weekend: the horrors of genocide in Darfur, the indignity of human trafficking, the degradation of domestic violence, the devastation of HIV/AIDS. We have shared stories about places across the globe - India and Guatemala, Vietnam and Mali, Washington DC and Independence, Missouri. And now we have almost reached the end of our time together. The challenge is how to take this home with us. This morning we are still bright and energized by the passion and the courage of those gathered here in this place. The challenge is how to bring this back home with us – back to the personal level, back to our cities and our families and our jobs. We know that there is no way that we can incorporate every one of these issues back into our lives. So what shall we do? How can we be a transformed people? How can we honor these stories with our lives? How do we live lives that are worthy of the people we love and the things that we have lost?

This morning our liturgy and ritual of healing has created a visible and tangible experience of both our brokenness and the love and healing that is available to us within the context of communities of compassion and conviction. We know that pain is real but we believe, as we hear in the book of Revelation, that all these losses will pass away and that we will be inhabitants of a new heaven and new earth. God will wipe away every tear. God will come and dwell among us. We believe that a better world is not just possible, it is promised. But when will this world arrive? How do we create a new heaven and a new earth? What is my part – what is your part – in this transformation?

I think we begin when we connect our own personal grief with our own personal joy – when we identify where our suffering reflects the suffering of the world. The best and brightest peacemakers that I know did not begin their prophetic acts of nonviolence and justice-seeking out of a desire for their own career. They each began it in an effort to heal their own pain. So this morning I am going to try to bring these big ideas about pain and peace, about grief and resilience down to the most practical, small and humble level. Today I am not going to talk about the things I have seen or the people I have met in Middle East or in Northern Ireland or in Africa. This morning, I am going to tell you a story about two women, about grief and joy and about trying to find resilience.

In order to understand how deeply the grief cuts, you need to understand first what the joy looked like. But in order to see how precious and impermanent the joy was, you have to hear how the story ended. So let me begin with two simple facts:

Fact one: my grandmother’s name was Betty Jean. She was the bridesmaid at my wedding, my favourite person to call on the phone for a chat and she was one of my best friends.

Fact two: Six weeks ago today, she died of cancer, at home, while I was sitting on her bed holding her hand.

I could tell you about a hundred adventures we had, about ten thousand good laughs we shared. I could tell you about how she was unconditionally loving, incredibly faithful and also amazingly silly. But even that would not really begin to capture this friendship.

My husband Matthew and I were living in Kenya when we learned that she had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. We immediately began making plans to return to the US and in July we moved back to Michigan to accompany her on this, her final journey. Betty Jean was in the process of becoming my ancestor – of leaving this life here on earth and beginning her journey in the next life. Exactly two months after we arrived, she passed away.

But this is not a story about me and Betty Jean. This is a story about all of us, about this journey that we are all on together. Everybody is grieving. We are all wounded. We are all mourning a person we lost, a marriage that ended, a job that was lost. We are all addicted and ill and wounded. When we suffer, it is hard to imagine that anyone else hurts the way we do. But look around this room, all of us – all of us are suffering in big and small ways.

Eventually we have to do something with our loss. There is a time and a place for being wrapped in a blanket and having a good cry but at some point it is time to stand up and move forward. What did I do in the wake of Betty Jean’s death? I will first tell you what I wanted to do. I wanted to wrap up in a quilt and watch endless episodes of Law and Order on television. I wanted to not think, not feel, not even move from the couch. And I think there is a time and a place for that – for simply sitting with the numbness.

But you can’t stay under that quilt forever. What will you do with this hole in your heart? What will you do with this longing for a world that is different? Where will you put all this pain? You can’t undo it. You can’t go back.

There is only moving forward. And sometimes, in the dark nights of the soul, just getting out of bed in the morning represents progress. Sometimes it is all that we can do just to attend to the bare minimum of survival – eat, sleep, repeat.

There is no one to rescue us – there is no magic intervention that instantly changes the misery into something more tolerable. In our losses, great and small, we only have each other. We only have our own histories, our own faith, our own hope.

Until that happy day arrives with the new heaven and the new Earth, we are all we have. And we are all that God has to do God’s work here and now.

And this does not mean that we all go out and start organizations or write transcendent hymns for peace. So I am going to tell you what I have done, the places that I have tried to store this grief, this longing for Betty Jean. But I want to give you a disclaimer here: and that is that I am sure this would be a better sermon 10 years from now....ten years when I have integrated this loss and it is not just a gaping wound. But I trust that you will have the grace to hear this story this morning, mid stream, as it unfolds. And I hope that in this simple little story, I can suggest some of the ways in which we can link our grief with our joy as a way of healing ourselves and each other.

So. In light of Betty Jean’s death, I have undertaken two projects.

Project number one: I have started knitting a blanket. Now, in order to appreciate the magnitude of this task, I thought I would show you the only other thing that I have knitted before this blanket. And it is this – this tiny blue dishrag. So, as you can imagine, my decision to knit an enormous blanket is an...ambitious project.

Project number two: I have been inspired by the book and movie Julie and Julia – the story of one woman Julie, who is stuck in a mediocore job and decides to cook every recipe in Julia Childs’ cookbook Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I decided to create my own version of this project. I selected a cookbook called Extending the Table - recipes from around the world and I decided to cook every one of them.

I chose these projects not simply to fill the time but because they create a tangible, concrete link between my grandmother and I. For me, these projects are about finding joy and participating in transformation even in the midst of grief. As we look for ways to address our pain, we need to connect it to the things that give us joy. So what do these two projects of mine tell us about how we seek out our path, our particular way to integrate the suffering of the world and the promise of God’s healing?

I think the first thing we need to remember is that our grief is always intimately connected with our joy. We only mourn because we first felt joy. So when we decide what our tiny way to act for justice is, it has to be connected to the things we love, the things that give us joy.

Betty Jean was a seamstress, she worked her whole life in textile factories. Food was her language of love. So by choosing these two projects – knitting and cooking – I am trying to find a way to stand in her place.

The discipline of a physical task can be a very grounding experience. Knitting is actually a fairly undemanding thing – the simple task of tying a single knot over and over. I am literally tying my grief into little individual knots. So my project is both manageable and ambitious at the same time. One knot at a time. Row after row. Day after day. Marking time – away from that day when the pain was most acute and towards the hope that pain can manifest itself in joy, in hope, in the promise of things hoped for.

We begin to find our own transformative action by using the gifts that already surround us. I am surrounded by Betty Jean’s mixing bowls, her casserole dishes, her measuring cups. We find our transformative action in the world by linking our own setting with our own gifts. My gifts are not the green beans, fried chicken, corn bread and chocolate pies of my grandmother. I can’t compete with the matching tablecloths and placemats of Betty Jean. What I have is a passion for travel. What I have is a curiosity about the world. What I have is some purple Katanga cloth from Kenya and some green woven placemats from the Philippines. What I’ve got is this recipe book with 400 recipes from around the world. So my tiny little transformative act is standing in my grandma’s kitchen cooking arroz con queso from Mexico, Kanda from Chad, merchimek chorbasi from Turkey, salata from the Middle East and chasoh juhn from Korea. (and that is just last week’s menu!) Betty Jean cooked to the sound of Southern gospel music. I am cooking to the sounds of salsa, Afro-Cuban jazz, Palestinian hip-hop and African drumming.

I think that another indication that we have found the place where our grief meets our joy is that it calls us to a place that makes us slightly uncomfortable. The thing about this cooking project is that I can’t do it alone. In rural Michigan, we have many things. We have beautiful fall foliage, we have sparkling lakes, we have crisp autumn mornings. What we do not have – and I am just giving you an abbreviated list here –are many things necessary for international cooking. Things like fish oil, seaweed, African plantains and pig weed. And then there is the issue of venison. Now here are some things about me: I hate being cold. I cry easily and I am afraid of guns. So, needless to say, I am not a hunter. But now I have got this recipe and it calls for venison. No – it doesn’t just call for it, the recipe is CALLED Venison Stew. There is no way to get out of this. So I do what any modern, tech-savvy young person does – I log on to Facebook and I post three words – “looking for venison”. And almost immediately I get a response from someone that I went to high school with – she just happens to have a freezer full of venison that she wants to get rid of. And the circle of one person’s tiny project widens. A local farmer from my church just happens to have some pigweed on his farm. And the circle widens just a bit more. I can’t do this without other people and so slowly, I am being called out of my comfort zone, out from under my quilt on the couch and into the lives of other people in surprising and unexpected ways.

So what is the way forward? The way forward is beginning with your own woundedness, with knowing the places where you ache. The way forward is figuring out the link between your own lamentations and your shouts of joy. The way forward is starting right where you are, with the things that surround you, in the place where you live. The way forward is knowing your own gifts and using them in pursuit of joy. The way forward is reaching out to the community around you to join you in your projects.

We all have scars. Scars are what we have after the tears. When our body is injured, it has the amazing ability to begin to heal itself. But when the injury is severe enough, it never really goes away. We develop scars – visible ways in which the story of our suffering continues to be drawn on the canvas of our bodies. Our scars tell our stories, mark our experiences. But there is also a utility to these scars and that is what can motivate us to action and activism. The challenge is how to do this in authentic and positive ways – to act out of our love and longing for a different world and not out of simply pain, anger or a desire for revenge.

In recent years, the peace studies community has started talking about the concept of resilience. Resilience means that we acknowledge that pain and suffering can break our hearts, can change us forever. We can’t undo the hurts and the horrors of suffering - but we can acknowledge our brokenness and say yes to both our grief and to the hope that life can be different. We can never go back, we will never have the utter healing here on earth that we hope to find in heaven. But we can celebrate resilience – our ability to bend and not break, our human capacity to overcome. We can look with clear eyes at our scars.

God works in the world through us, through our hands, our lives, our commitments. We are the bridge between the world we live in and the world we want. We have all this pain and all this joy. And we have this huge challenge – to make God visible in the world. It’s up to us. There is no one but us. But we have each other. There is a lovely expression that is often sung in Zulu – the expression is Hamba nathi, kululu wetu. It means, come walk with us the journey is long.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is already here. We have heard it in the stories of our brothers and sisters this weekend. We know that it is a reality in our own lives. And we know that we can’t just wait for a day in which things will be different. We can’t just wait for this new heaven and new earth. We are the bridge between this world and the next. We are the ones we have been waiting for. We are wounded, yes, but we are also the healers. We have the crucifixion but we also have the resurrection. Come walk with me, the journey is long. Come, walk with each other, the journey is long and we need good companions. Come walk with us – the journey is long but we have each other, we have abiding hope, we have unspeakable joy and we have the love of God and the promise of a more peaceful future.

Alleluia, Amen.

A TRIBUTE TO COMMUNITY THEATER by Matthew Bolton, alias "Buttram" (from the St. Louis Examiner)

2009-10-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

Three Rivers, Michigan. I never had much respect for the acting profession. It always seemed to me like they were paid for having fun. However, on the eve of my stage debut in amateur community theatre, I have to admit a new admiration for the work they do.

I never really thought about how much work acting involved. But as I have spent two months desperately cramming lines, delving into a character and trying not to laugh on stage, I now understand why theatre majors in college always looked so tired.

Indeed, it is quite incredible that community theatre groups survive. There is the building to manage, donations to solicit, sets to build, lights and sound, make-up and costumes. That people put so much time and effort into something that gives them no monetary return is a testament to the energy and dedication so many people pour into local arts. One can almost hear the economists of the world scratching their heads.

The scholar Robert Putnam, author of Bowling Alone, has lamented that in the era of television, computers, automobiles and suburban sprawl, American society has atomized into individual and family units. There are not many vibrant broad-based groups that cut across race, class, professions and backgrounds, to the detriment of community solidarity.

But by taking part in this production, I have discovered the important role local theatre can play in building community by bringing all sorts of unlikely people together. Our cast includes a construction worker, a translator, a retired teacher, an artist, a choir leader and a political scientist. How many other venues in society put all these different kinds of people in one room for two hours a night, four nights a week?

By transposing myself into another person, this experience has also been educational and developmental for me. While the play is not a particularly profound one, it has nonetheless been an enlightening experience to put myself in another, admittedly fictional, person’s shoes. I feel it has given me a new appreciation for empathy as I think about what makes my character tick.

And it is not just the cast that benefits. A visit to a professional theatre can set you back $50 a head – way beyond the means of most people, particularly in today’s economic climate. For its modest entrance fee, community theatre opens its doors to the gamut of local people.

Almost every culture, almost every sector of society holds special regard for storytellers. Local theatre gives audience members the opportunity to escape into a parallel universe for two hours. To suspend the worries and anxieties of their daily lives and immerse themselves into the sparkle and magic of the constructed world of the playwright and players.

Matthew Bolton will be playing ‘Buttram’, an English butler in a comedy murder mystery A Little Murder Never Hurt Anybody by ??? at the Three Rivers Community Players Theatre in southwest Michigan this weekend and next weekend.

Josh Ewert helps create sand dams in Tanzania

2009-10-04T16:55:00.000-07:00

This week Josh Ewert has a big meeting. His Mennonite Central Committee country and regional reps will meet with Josh and a visitor who is touring to see the progress of sand dams. This is the project that Josh has been working on with local church partners, helping to create sandy areas to retain water to last longer into the dry season for local villages. There have been many challenges, but Josh has told me how he loves the sand dam construction work best of all that he does. Here are some recent photos. Enjoy, and pray for Josh this week.

Forever a Farm: Henry and Martha Miller Easement Preserves Land, Rural Heritage

2009-10-04T16:46:00.000-07:00

Someone gave Kathy Fenton-Miller the Landscapes magazine as part of her wetlands class. Otherwise we would not have known it had a feature article about Henry and Martha Miller. They have decided to protect their farmland for the future by placing portions of it in “conservancy.” This kind of devotion to good farming and the land is not something Henry would share about himself. But it is “good news,” so read on!

EXCERPT from Landscapes; magazine of Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy, vol 18, No. 1 (Go to http://www.swmlc.org/ for the full article including the story of Henry and Martha’s romance in Costa Rica J)

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Spend five minutes with Henry and you see it’s not just crops yields and profits that excite him. What keeps this denim clad 61-year old dynamo energized is the cerebral challenge of agriculature: the daily chess game, of sorts, to find the right balance of moisture, fertilility, and pest controls that allow edible green things to grow and flourish.

A case in point is the 187-acre parcel that he’s standing on. It’s one of three adjacent properties —totaling 347 acres — that Henry recently protected with a SWMLC conservation easement.

“When I bought this field in 1991, it had been continuously planted to corn,” said Henry, as his gaze scanned the horizon. “I’ve been rotating crops on a yearly basis ever since — with green beans, navy beans, soy beans, corn, and now wheat. “The rotation helps break up the life cycle of weeds and insects, which means we can use less chemicals. We also plant cover crops in between harvests, so the ground’s never bare. All this organic residue cycles into the ground, where it decomposes to help next year’s crop. So, although it’s a farm, it acts a lot like the natural soil in the woods across the street.”

As good farmers have always known, take care of the soil and the soil will take care of you. As proof, this particular field is among the county’s top producers of Pioneer brand seed corn. And that’s saying a lot, since St. Joseph County annually produces 25 percent of the entire world’s seed corn crop.

Despite its value as first-rate cropland, southern Michigan properties like this one are under constant threat of development. That’s because the sandy loam soils are equally well-suited for a more permanent crop: suburban houses and “mini-farm” estates. It’s this vulnerability that interested SWMLC in the Miller property, says Geoff Cripe, land protection specialist.

Henry Miller’s farm represents two extremes for us,” Geoff said. “It’s the biggest piece of ag property we’ve ever protected and the most intensely farmed. But it also includes the biggest stretch of undeveloped river frontage — more than a mile of wooded corridor along the Portage River. It’s a clear, clean river and a first-rate smallmouth bass fishery.”

And for Henry, it’s simply unacceptable that this land becomes anything but a place that grows food for the world.

“This is our legacy,” he says with conviction. “We want this to be open space 200 years from now. It really disturbs me to see people buy 20-40 acres of prime ag land in places like Park Township and then build a house in the middle of it.

“We can’t keep doing that. It takes good land out of production, fragments fields, and makes the practicality of farming very difficult. A few years down the road, who’s going to farm it?”

…The Villa-Mil Farms sign in their front yard reflects the commitment [to honor Martha’s Costa Rican culture]. Villa is short for Villalobos (literally village wolf ) which is Martha’s maiden name.

As befits a farm family, the Millers have sunk deep roots into their community. Both are active in the Florence Church of the Brethren, a rural congregation of Mennonite heritage. Martha has worked for the court system, hospitals, and local businesses as an interpreter. For 10 years, she taught nutrition and breast cancer awareness for Michigan State University Extension.

And Henry? He’s known and respected countywide as a successful, detail-oriented innovator who adapts new techniques before other farmers even know they exist.

“Henry’s on an intellectual quest to do modern farming — big farming — as sustainably as it can be done.” says Tim Peterson, program director for the St. Joseph County Conservation District. “We look to him to see where everyone else will be five years from now.

“And his analytical skills are incredible. He’ll delve into the inner workings of the soil and ask little questions about things like pollination or irrigation rates that most farmers don’t take time to think about.”

On a tour of Henry’s Pinhook Road parcel east of Parkville, that extra care is evident. The field borders the Portage River, and many farmers would run their plows almost to the river’s edge. Not so here. He’s planted a 50-foot wide buffer strip of hardy perennial grass that gradually gives way to raspberries, woodland sunflowers, and oak trees as it nears the river. It’s a farming practice, Henry says, that prevents fertilizer overspray and soil runoff from entering the water. It also leaves more elbow room for wildlife.

“Over there, did you see them?” says Martha, from the cab of Henry’s jostling pick-up truck, “the flock of turkeys?”

“Nope, I missed ‘em,” says Henry. “But I saw something interesting by the river last week: it was a mink chasing a rabbit —and neither one was worried about me.”

Under the Miller conservation easement, all this will remain. What’s grown here may change: the tilled land could revert to prairie, or if oil prices place a premium on locally grown food, it could become an orchard or vegetable farm. But what it won’t become is a subdivision, despite the lucrative deals that Henry could make with would-be developers.

“We talked this over and the kids support us,” Martha said. “Besides, we just can’t let this become anything but a farm. Who would want to have that on their conscience?”

—Tom Springer
Tom Springer is a former board member.
He is currently senior editor with the W.K.
Kellogg Foundation and a freelance writer.

Making 600 Tamales for MCC Relief Sale

2009-10-02T11:03:00.000-07:00

Vanessa and Kathia Nieto and Ben Nofsinger.

Maria Montoya and Barb Welty.

Willard Fenton-Miller, Joe and Linda Christophel.

Suzanne Lind, Christine Nofsinger, Kim Henritzy.

Emily Welty and Matthew Bolton.

Selling Tamales

2009-10-02T11:00:00.000-07:00

Journey Learning Weekend

2009-10-02T10:48:00.001-07:00

Nora Harris and Jane Bowers attended their third Journey Learning Weekend at Amigo Centre last week. The theme was "lament." Now, along with Nina, they are beginning their third unit of study. The theme is worship and preaching. The Journey program provides ministry training for people in Central District and Indiana Michigan Conference of MCUSA.

Advocacy #2: An article by Matthew Bolton reflecting on the life and death of Betty Jean Seal

2009-09-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

From the Independence Examiner (Independence, MO)

The Dying Need Our Support, Not Partisan Backbiting

Three Rivers, Michigan. It is unfortunate that Sarah Palin’s irresponsible dismissal of end-of-life counseling as ‘death panels’ has created more sound than light on how to deal with terminal illness. She has taken advantage of people’s fear of death while preventing substantive discussion on how to make the dying process more comfortable, less painful and less full of fear.

My wife Emily’s grandmother, Betty Jean Seal, died last week, in her own bed, surrounded by family who prayed and sang for her in her final hours. It was as she wished.

Having received helpful advice and support from a variety of sources, Betty Jean was able to decide the surroundings in which she would die. She wanted to be close to family, friends and community, rather than isolated on a hospital ward. She wanted to be in the house that she had lovingly dusted, swept and vacuumed for decades.

Once it became clear than there were no curative options to Betty Jean’s terminal lung cancer, she decided to take advantage of the local hospice care. Hospice differs from traditional healthcare in that its main aim is not to keep people alive, but rather to help them be more comfortable as they die.

This makes some people feel nervous, because we are so used to believing that there is a potential medical cure for everything. But the fact is that medical science, while certainly successful at lengthening life, cannot prevent us from dying. Eventually we will. At a certain point, many curative options for diseases like cancer become more traumatic and painful than allowing it to run its course in the comfort of one’s own home.

This may mean that one will live a few weeks less, but the quality of that life may be better than if one is stuck in a hospital bed, woken through the night to take medications, covered in pricks from an IV needle and with a tube down one’s throat.

The local hospice took seriously the importance of working with the whole family, not just the patient. The nurse gave us advice on how best to care for Betty Jean. A social worker came to check on the family and see how we were doing. They brought all the medicines, nutritional supplements and equipment Betty Jean needed right to our door.

Hospice may not be for everyone. Is it certainly not appropriate when there is a distinct chance of recovery and the patient wants to survive. Other people may feel they want to keep trying till the end.

However, as a society we must support those among us who are close to death and provide them with all the information they need to make a decision on what is best for them. Provoking fear in the political arena does nothing to help those who need our care as they face their final journey.

Advocacy: A Meditation by Suzanne Lind

2009-09-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

Meditation
Every time I leave the Lakeland Correctional Facility in Coldwater MI after visiting our son Mark I feel a sense of angry frustration. Not with Mark -- the visits with him are increasingly pleasant and positive and forward-looking as we spend more time together -- but with the prison system in general, and in MI in particular. Mark wants to communicate, wants to learn, wants to take correspondence courses (currently applying for an art history class) wants to prepare for his release in a few years -- but he has no access to a computer. This is proof to me that the prison system does not want inmates to succeed in life outside prison walls. If this were the goal, computer skills would be at the top of the list of requirements for all exiting prisoners. I know in my heart that it is wrong that MI has chosen to build more prisons rather than provide true education for change and success among its huge prison population. I know that this issue is a deep one of racism and the American “throw-away” culture.

So I dream of being the little old lady who fought the system and got computers and computer classes into every state prison in MI. [Hold up my placard saying “I care about prisoners!] I get on the internet, I search and surf. I haven’t found much so far. There don’t seem to be organized groups that I can join for concerted effort. I haven’t yet found evidence of legislators who have suggested providing computer access for prisoners. Some of you probably know more than I do about computer access in prisons. I admit this is a dream and I feel quite hazy and lazy about pursuing it. What am I going to do? [Hold up my sign saying “I ___?___] Do I have the time, energy, commitment and patience needed to be an advocate for computer access for prisoners in MI? Will I make the longed-for waves, or join the ebb and flow of the guilt tides, or let it fade and see if it pops up again in some “directed” way, or forget it?

I do this over and over. An issue, someone suffering, my race/country/community/self complicit in some awful injustice. I rise up! I want to be involved in bringing change! Rarely do I immediately fall into something easy, like clicking on “sign here” boxes for petitions and email letters to people in power (though I do a lot of that and feel very good about it). I calculate time and money required to make a real commitment. Usually I step back reluctantly, squash the bit of guilt, and say a silent “sorry” to the universe. Do I listen for God’s calling, as we’ve been learning to do this month? Is this what I’m doing when I make the initial stabs at involvement? Is that my Way of finding my Way?

Take a couple minutes to think of the things that you advocate for, that you care about in a special way. Immigration reform? Health care for all? Conservation? Save the whales? Children, what are things that you really care about, things that you’d like to work for? Stop pollution? No more bullies on playgrounds? World peace? Can you think of something you care about and write it on one of the placards on your pew? Adults, you do this, too. Okay, everyone hold up your placards and turn them around so we can read all the advocacy ideas in this group!

Our OT scripture this week is the story of Elijah proving that God is stronger than Baal. Last week at the camp-out we learned about how difficult it was for Elijah to find out how to be a strong advocate for God when the people had turned away from God and were worshiping Baal. Elijah knew he was chosen by God to be an advocate, but it took forever and put him in a lot of danger and hard places. He suffered right along with everyone else when there was no rain for three years. Now it’s time for him to let Ahab know that the rains will come again, even though it doesn’t say that the people had returned to following God. He frightens dear faithful courageous Obadiah when he asks Obadiah to serve as messenger. And then he sets up a dramatic sound and light show to convince the people, and bad King Ahab, to change their ways. It certainly is effective with the people but also results in the gory death of 450 prophets of Baal. The chapter ends with Elijah inviting Ahab to celebrate the coming rains at a banquet and then, after an anxious time of waiting to see if the rain really would come, Elijah warns Ahab to get home before the deluge hits, and even runs powerfully in front of the king’s chariot all the way back to the castle. Is he now in collusion with the evil power of the government? We could spend a lot of time picking this apart! But one message is clear: When God “calls” us in to advocacy, it probably won’t be a short project and results will always be hard to predict.

I am intrigued by a very different but also illustrative story from the NT: the parable of the persistent widow in Matthew 18:1-8. The subtitle of this parable is: the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Jesus says he is telling this story to show the disciples that they should always pray and not give up. He uses an uncaring judge and a pestering widow to introduce the concepts of justice, persistence and non-violence to the advocacy issue. He points out that God cares very much about those who suffer injustice and that he is able to use even unjust people to work for change. Even though we are tempted to holler, “But we don’t see those who cry out to God day and night getting justice, and certainly not quickly!” Jesus is making the point that persistent prayer (widow’s plea: grant me justice) and action (knocking on doors) can make a breakthrough for justice, and that Jesus is hoping to find people of faith working for justice whenever he is among people.

These two stories give us the guidelines for advocacy, which, as the children showed us two Sundays ago, is what we ADD to the VOCA (calling) of vocation and avocation.

We all know these things, and when I think about this congregation I am aware of a myriad of advocacy efforts going on everywhere. We are blessed to be in a setting where resources for advocacy on important issues are very, often overwhelmingly, available. So I am not saying we need to do more, or trying to convince you to join me in the advocacy activities to which I have been drawn. But I do want to encourage you to 1. Believe that actively working for justice is part of Christian life. 2. Listen when your heart is drawn to something that needs justice work. 3. Don’t overdo it, but don’t give up, either.

Now pick up another sheet to put on top of the one you just wrote. This time you will fill in the line to say what you do as an advocate: I ________________. Write letters? Make phone calls? Give money? Talk to someone who might help me know what to do? Re-cycle? Great! Turn these around so we can celebrate the things we do to work for justice. During the rest of the service you can be thinking of other things and changing your placards. We’ll share more at the end of this meditation time.

When David and Maria were about three and four, I began to have nightmares of horrible things, mostly torture. I was at that time becoming more aware of the use of torture by many governments around the world. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and somehow sensed that I had to do something. [Hold up I care about torture placard] I joined Amnesty International, began to write letters on behalf of political prisoners, worked as a writer for the group called American Christians for the Abolition of Torture, and later was able to do some research in a South African homeland, documenting the case of a political prisoner there. [Hold up I write letters placard] The nightmares stopped as soon as I’d signed my first letter, I think. And the connection with AI has been a constant thread in my life ever since. Somehow, even when I have been out of touch for a while, a request appears that I feel a strong longing to respond to. I honed the general interest down to a focus on Africa and on the death penalty for a long time, but the revelation of what young people the same age as my children were doing in prisons in Iraq to prisoners brought a “surge” of anger and horror that has not yet found its focus. At least I did renew my membership a couple weeks ago. [Hold up I give money placard]

Many issues previously hidden began to be revealed in the 80’s and when Ellie was a baby I learned that child abuse was not something horrible that happened in a few really messed up families, but was a way of life for a significant portion of the American population and takes many forms all over the world. [Hold up I care about child abuse placard] In South Africa and Congo I have learned more than I can sometimes bear about abuse of women for health and political reasons, and as part of the evil of greed, corruption, and “enforced” poverty of the contemporary world. [I care about women’s bodies and rights]

The tie that binds all this together has slowly emerged as I have tried to respond without being overwhelmed. The thread throughout all the issues to which I feel drawn is the horror of economic madness, the total loss of soul which greed can introduce into even the most principled of lives. [I do research.] People owning people and people trying to own the earth have resulted in crippling post-traumatic stress syndrome behaviors and self-perceptions among the majority of the world’s people, making most of them unable to create the societies their hearts long for. [I pester people with emails] Those of us who might be tempted to be crippled by guilt and anger at God and ourselves because of this thread, which is so deeply sewn into our own psyches, need to focus on the lessons of the two Bible stories we have heard today:

The simple lessons I take from these stories, which give me a sliver of solid ground from which to listen for the call are:

Advocacy means working for justice.
You will be called to be an advocate. Listen. Listen to God and Gut.
Choose your issue, and your actions, based on what you are good at and what you like to do.
Do your research or hook up with those who have already done it.
Be persistent; rarely will it be over but it’s exciting along the way, especially if you are not alone, and there will be miracles and revelations.
Turn guilt into intercessory prayer [I pray] but have symbols [I light candles] or actions [I talk too much] so it’s not all in your head and heart.

Like I said, you know all this already; each of you has listened for your advocacy call and done something about it. But I wanted to affirm and encourage and celebrate. So hold up your placards!

More Camp Out Faces

2009-09-15T19:49:00.001-07:00

Amigo Park Church Camp Out: September 11-13

2009-09-15T19:19:00.001-07:00

Here are photos by Kathy Fenton Miller and Nina Lanctot of our annual church campout. See you there next year!

River Country Monologue Photos

2009-08-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

Jheny Nieto and Carli Thompson read "Here and There" in Spanish and English.

Julie Keefer and Emily Welty.

Peggy Deames, Debra Abel and Jane Bowers.

Back Row: Karen Hay, Emma Fenton-Miller, Julie Keefer.
Front Row: Daniela Zehr, Jheny Nieto, Carli Thompson.

Debra Abel, Kathy Rabbers, Karla Kauffman, Daniela Zehr.

Emily Welty, Jane Bowers, Katie Houston.

Monologues -- Tell me your story; I will listen.

2009-08-29T17:59:00.000-07:00

River Country Monologues was one of those dreams that caught the wind of the Spirit and took off! When I first talked with Jheny Nieto and Daniela Zehr about the idea of collecting stories from our local community, I thought, "If there are sixteen people sitting around on Sunday evening, August 23rd, listening to a few good stories, I will be satisfied."

You can imagine the joy and excitement of fourteen readers, ages 6 through 60-something, when the room of about 100 chairs at Trinity Episcopal filled last Sunday evening. Goshen College students, friends of the Domestic and Sexual Assault Shelter, Florencians, family, friends, World Fare loyalists, and Trinity's own pastor Lilvis and friends made a diverse crowd. Though some of the pieces were challenging, either due to the demands of poetry or of emotional and ethical stretching, the audience followed as each story was shared.

Readers tried to find "the voice" of each writer. The found "rage" (even more powerful in Spanish), playful sexuality, agonizing inter-generational squeeze, and the damage done by relationships gone awry.

Skylar Perkins (age 6) lightened the night by reciting the nursery rhyme, "Ladybug, ladybug" before her grandmother, Jane Bowers recited the poem, "Ladybug Motherhood."

Many kudos go to Daniela and Jheny for spending hours on fliers, in meetings, and especially in translating most of the pieces into Spanish. This made a truly bi-lingual evening possible.

One of my greatest thrills was to see who signed up with "further interest" in gathering and hearing women's AND MEN'S stories. Ten women and seven men left contact information. I will be sharing this with those who are intersted. I am hoping that maybe we can have another performance of River Country Monologues -- either in February, when many communitites host this kind of event -- or next summer. Stay tuned.

Here is the program:

RIVER COUNTRY MONOLOGUES

ACT ONE

If your vagina could talk…

All

Smoking Lesbian Fruit

Julie Keefer

Beautiful Daughter

Debra Abel

One woman’s experiences of walking over the years:
Women Walking 1

Emma Fenton-Miller
Women Walking 2

Emily Welty
Women Walking 3

Karla Kauffman

Here and There

Jheny Nieto -Spanish

Carli Thompson -English

Ladybug, Ladybug

Skylar Perkins

Ladybug Motherhood

Jane Bowers

Virginity

All

Longing for Moontime

Kathy Rabbers

ACT TWO

Womanly Frustrations
All

Caring for a Parent

Peggy Deames

War on the Women of Iraq

Karen Haye

Rage

Daniela Zehr -Spanish
Carli Thompson -English

He’s Asleep

Kathy Rabber

Two stories of experiences of the same woman:
Believe

Katie Houston

Julie Keefer