Ghats

Varanasi                                                            The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Early in the morning we crossed the ghat,

where fires were still smoldering,

and gazed, with our Western minds, into the Ganges.

A woman was standing in the river up to her waist;

she was lifting handfuls of water and spilling it

over her body, slowly and many times,

as if until there came some moment

of inner satisfaction between her own life and the river’s.

Then she dipped a vessel she had brought with her

and carried it filled with water back across the ghat,

no doubt to refresh some shrine near where she lives,

for this is the holy city of Shiva, maker

of the world, and this is his river.

I can’t say much more, except that it all happened

in silence and peaceful simplicity, and something that felt

like that bliss of a certainty and a life lived

in accordance with that certainty.

I must remember this, I thought, as we fly back

to America.

Pray God I remember this.

Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

What's a ghat, I wondered. “Ghats in Varanasi are riverfront steps leading to the banks of the River Ganges. The city has 88 ghats. Most of the ghats are bathing and puja ceremony ghats, while two ghats are used exclusively as cremation sites.” (Wikipedia) And who is Shiva, pray tell? According to a New York Times article, “The River Ganges fell from the foot of Vishnu the Preserver and formed a seething Milky Way that lodged in the foot of Shiva, Destroyer and Restorer of the universe. Varanasi, the great and holy city that lies within a silver loop of the mighty river, was brought into being by the intensity of Shiva's perpetual meditation. Varanasi is the city Shiva promised never to desert.” (Barbara Grizzuti Harrison, May 16, 1993)

Early morning is a sacred time for me. There is a peaceful simplicity to the day not yet unfolded. The silence of the dawn is broken only by the birds calling to one another, or cars racing along Memorial Drive. The fire from last night’s vigil still smolders in my heart as I gaze with my Western mind out the window. It’s not the river Ganges I see but the river Charles.

There are no women standing in the Charles River purifying themselves with handfuls of water. Rather there are people climbing up the steps to a bridge that will lead them over troubled waters into the city. The river is polluted, perhaps no more or less than the Ganges; and yet no one brings water back from there to a shrine nearby. In fact, their vessels are empty.

She was looking for “inner satisfaction between her own life and the river’s.” These days I get it. My perpetual meditation is broken routinely, and so “I can't get no satisfaction” until I go to the river, or the mountain, or the desert.

From my window, I see the golden capital building of our city. Like Jerusalem it is a city built on a hill. Like Varanasi, there are many shrines, churches where palm branches are twisted into little crosses. There are no donkeys, only memories of cattle. The Stockyard is now a restaurant that offers Passover meals for take out today. 

Satisfaction comes from “something that felt like the bliss of a certainty and a life lived in accordance with that certainty.”  How do we live blissfully in times of uncertainty? How can we be certain of anything, least being the ineffable ways of our God, the Maker of the world? Mary Oliver meditated on that woman in the river. I must remember this, I think to myself on Palm Sunday, as I begin to take my own steps down into Holy Week. In the flowing rivers of baptism, feet are washed, new fires burn, and all creation is restored.  Pray God I remember this.

What is Necessary?

 Was it Necessary to Do It? The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

“I tell you that ant is very alive!

Look at how he fusses at being stepped on.”

Mary Oliver, Was it Necessary to Do It?

I’m part of a book club whose members have selected novels that offer us perspectives very different from our own. Most recently we read a novel by a young Vietnamese author. In his book, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, author Ocean Vuong shares his life as an immigrant in the United States. It is a book filled with beautiful poetic imagery and jaw-dropping violence. On the first page, he recalls his mother commenting on the head of a moose on the wall of a restaurant. “Why would anyone do that?” she asked her son. Why would anyone want to showcase a dead animal? 

The Vietnam war affected Ocean Vuong’s family deeply, as well as millions of others. Notably, Thích Nhất Hạnh was a Vietnamese Buddhist monk and peace activist, who was exiled from Vietnam for his antiwar activism. He once wrote, “When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That’s the message he is sending.”

Ocean Vuong suffered violence in many forms, for many reasons, by many people, like many Asian Americans today. Why would anyone want to shoot to kill? Why would anyone want to showcase their hate, bigotry, misogyny, or pathology? Because…...they suffer and we suffer and our suffering is spilling over everywhere. And look at how we all “fuss” when we’re stepped on!

Life and death are subjects near and dear to us; Mary Oliver wonders about the ant. It’s still very alive. Was it really necessary to kill “it”?  Who is the “killer” anyway? Putin? You? Me? Us? Ask the moose. Ask the ant. Ask Jesus.

Yes, on earth we are all briefly gorgeous. I wonder, what message will we send?

A Thousand Mornings

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

“All night my heart makes its way

however it can over the rough ground

of uncertainties, but only until night

meets and then is overwhelmed by

morning, the light deepening, the

wind easing and just waiting, as I

too wait (and when have I ever been

disappointed?) for redbird to sing.”

― Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

Mary Oliver writes: “the night meets and then is overwhelmed by morning.” I don’t mind the night. In fact. I look forward to that time when I can climb into bed, warmed by the covers, and soothed by the silence. The daily glare of harsh realities can overwhelm me at times, and the night hours bid me welcome relief. And yet, I love the early mornings more, especially when I see the sun crest over the horizon, turning the landscape of earth and sea into a beautiful feast before my eyes. Now that is overwhelming!

The journey from night to morning is not always easy. There is that “rough ground of uncertainties” that wakes me up. I hear things go bump in the night. I imagine bad things happening. I worry; and so I wait for the light to deepen, assuring me that the blessings of a new day are fresh every morning. I feel the winds of fear ease, and the gentle breezes of faith return. My heart cracks open just a little more in a thousand mornings, allowing the Spirit space for its work, for the red bird to sing.

Have I ever been disappointed? You betcha. A thousand mornings and more. And yet I’ve discovered that birds will sing even before the morning has dawned.

I Have Decided

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

I wrestled with making a decision about my Lenten discipline this year. I didn’t want to do the same old, same old. You know, give up certain things, make some material sacrifices: no more coffee, chocolate, wine, chips or FaceBook? Nope. So how about taking up some new habits? Some personal improvements? I’ll be less judgmental, critical, and negative in my thinking. I’ll assume an attitude of gratitude all day long; and I’ll be kinder and gentler with everyone, slower in the ways in which I live and move and have my being? Nope.

So what should I do? I decided to begin with a formal confession to my spiritual director, a priest in the Episcopal Church and a member of a monastic community. As a grateful member of Al-anon, and a believer in the universal applicability of 12 step spirituality, I took a fearless moral inventory (Step 4), and then admitted to God and to this other person the exact nature of my wrongs (Step 5). Garbage out. Check. Reconciliation of a penitent. Check. I created more space for good, maybe even God. Check.

Then I relentlessly asked myself two questions: What do I need to do or change during this COVID time, which has been a year-long season of Lent, with plenty of time for self-reflection? And what is my primary purpose for the next 40 days of this Lent? I discovered a “certain revelation.” I need to draw closer to God every day.

“Are you following me?” Mary Oliver asked. Yes! “I have decided to find myself a home in the mountains, somewhere high up where one learns to live peacefully in the cold and the silence.” Nope. It’s not a vacation. Nope, it’s not travel, other than me climbing that spiritual mountain every day. There I draw closer to God who has been patiently waiting for me to arrive. Check.

I HAVE DECIDED, by Mary Oliver

I have decided to find myself a home

in the mountains, somewhere high up

where one learns to live peacefully in

the cold and the silence. It’s said that

in such a place certain revelations may

be discovered. That what the spirit

reaches for may be eventually felt, if not

exactly understood. Slowly, no doubt. I’m

not talking about about a vacation.

Of course at the same time I mean to

stay exactly where I am.

Are you following me?

Moths, Mountains, and Rivers

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Like Mary Oliver, I’ve spent time pondering these strange questions:

Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so briefly?

“Although it is one of the larger moths in North America, the adults have a lifespan of only about one week. Known for its beautiful lime-colored green wings and white bodies, the luna moth has appeared in the Dragon Prince as the archangel lunaris, or the giant moon moth.” Is the luna moth sad because it lives so briefly? Does it even know how short-lived it is? If it took God seven days to create all of creation, was the luna moth part of God’s plan? If the luna moth is able to complete its mission in only one week, why be sad? What do we seek, longevity or quality of life?

Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?

I know too much about longing, longing for things just out of my reach, only visible to my mind’s eye. But why long to be ground down? I also know about impatience. It seems as if the older I get the more impatient I become. And yet, Mary Oliver suggests that the end product of our impatient longing is something livelier. Funny how grinding down can buoy one up. 

Who can imagine in what heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?

Ha! Sadness, longing impatience, and now heaviness weigh me down. They cloud my imagination. Distort my memories. Burden me at times. Then with clarity, I remember my blessedness, my goodness, and my unity with our Creator. I remember that I am only one small part of something livelier, like a bubbling brook, bouncing over smooth rocks, being ground down by the loving caress of flowing water. Then, in this moment of original clarity, I can see straight down to the bedrock and far ahead with renewed hope.

Moths become caterpillars and butterflies. Mountains become molehills and beaches. And the rivers that run through our lives eventually converge, returning to the garden from which they came. Never forgetting the Spirit that sustains us, my spirit grows with curiosity, my life becomes richer, and I bow humbly to the One who created all things bright and beautiful.

The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers by Mary Oliver

Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?

Who can imagine in what heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile time with them.

And I suggest them to you also, that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is,

that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is,

that we—so clever, and

ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained—

are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.

The Messengers

 The Messenger, a Poem by Mary Oliver

“Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?”

I just celebrated a birthday, and while I’m grateful that I have not yet turned a corner into yet another decade, I do wish that the aging process weren’t so difficult at times. Yes, my boots are old. My skin tears more easily!

The pandemic and birthdays remind me that it is important to keep my mind on what matters: breath, life, family, friends. God. You know all the traditional things, large and small, that we count as our blessings: both the sheep and the pasture. We thank God for the flies that eat the fleas in our prison camps. Vaccines that hurt our arms and save our lives. We, like Mary Oliver, rejoice in all of creation.

She mentions “work.” What is that? Loving the world just as it is? Standing still when you’re overwhelmed with gratitude; for seeing a miracle unfold before your eyes? Astonishment when everything turns out for the good?

Gratitude doesn’t always come easy. Mary Oliver reminds me that we have all the ingredients for our “work.” We just need to stand still for a little while, keeping our hearts and minds open. Then our mouths can “shout for joy, telling them all, over and over,” that we are messengers of hope, every single one of us, every single part of creation.

~ “Messenger” by Mary Oliver, from Thirst

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me

keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever.

Wild Geese

 The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Mary Oliver, in her poem Wild Geese, tells us that we “do not have to walk on our knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.” Well, that’s good news; for I have much to repent. There, in the desert, I can see the fullness of my human nature in the glare of the bright sun. Reflecting on the epiphanies that I have had over this past pandemic year, I coulda, shoulda, woulda done some things differently. And yet, Oliver claims that we “do not have to be good.”

“Tell me about your despair and I will tell you about mine,” writes Mary Oliver. “That’s easy,” I say. My despair involves human suffering and the searing pain of losses. I have despaired when diseases subvert my faith and ratchet up my fear. Surely, indeed too frequently, I have been forced to my knees in desperation, crawling around the desert for a morsel of food, a drop of water, and looking for someone or something to help.

            In the silence, I am reminded of the mysterious, unfathomable reality that I call the God of my “not-understanding.” While human relationships are complicated, my relationship with God is not. Quite simply, God invites me into the Way of Love, which of course is not always simple. Let “the soft animal of my body love what my body loves” Oliver writes. Easier said than done! And so, I begin to accept the changing contours of my body, and the wrinkles that testify to many years of life in a more loving light. I begin to love what my body loves in all manner of things.

I find serenity in prayer, contemplation, and the natural world. I have heard the wild geese call me, sometimes in a harsh wake up call, reminding me that I can do better. Other times, it is a call that is exciting, inviting me to move on, move forward, and look up. With Mary Oliver, I find that “the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep rivers.” I walk and talk to God.

“Meanwhile” she writes. Meanwhile, while we wander and wonder in these desert times, the world goes on. The wild geese still fly! High in the clean blue air, (not polluted by smoke) they are heading home. Sometimes they are united, flying in formation, beating their wings for a common purpose. Occasionally one drops to the ground, a fallen hero in its own battle against this disease or that one. And yet, always, they are together as companions on the Way, rotating their leadership, honking encouragement, and on a journey whose destination lies beyond their sight.

Home is a place of comfort for me, where I have a safe shelter, where I am not afraid of violence, or eviction, or the necessities of life. Home is also where my heart is, not where I lay my head. When I am at home with God, I remember that I am not useless, unloved, and unappreciated; and there is a place for me in the “family of things.” At home, I know that I am good. 

Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”

Worry

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                                    

Arthur Somers Roche (1883–1935): ‘Worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.’

It is during times like these that tension, anxiety, and worry run high in our lives. Worry. I learned long ago to consider its roots. I worry about violence, losing people I love, of being discounted and dismissed. I have worried about my vocation and family, about systems and institutions, like politics, religion, healthcare, and social services. I worry about climate change and viruses like COVID. When I get worried, I live fearfully, not faithfully.

My boat is so small, and God’s ocean is so large. Who knows what lies beneath the depths? Who knows what lies beyond the stars and the moon? Without a rudder, tossed about by winds and waves, who knows where we will land? It worries me about this fragile earth, our island home; and yet Clement of Alexandria (150-215 A.D.) once claimed that “the universe has already become an ocean of blessings!”

In my little boat of fear and worry, I know that it is good to have anchors and rudders. It is good to have motors for power and life preservers for safety. It is good to have communities of love and prayer, reminding me that “we’re in this together” and that I am not lost at sea, alone on an isolated island, or bobbing in shark-infested waters. It is good to have people like Clement of Alexandria helping me to see that I have a boatload of blessings all around me.

Jesus reminded his followers to live one day at a time, ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6:25-34)

Sanctuaries

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

I love basketball, having played the game for most of my teenage and young adult life. I know that it is not just a game. It is a sanctuary, where we can lose ourselves for a short little while. Lost in the joy of the game, whether we are playing or watching, we can enter a liminal space, where the gods, the spirits, and other human beings are playing, forgetting for a moment all the burdens that weigh us down. 

Teams have their own cultures. I bleed green. That is the hashtag for those of us who love the Celtics basketball team. Their mascot is an Irishman, and because I have lived and worked in Ireland, I love the country and the people. I love their hospitality and their laughter. On pilgrimage there, I loved the natural beauty of the Emerald Isle, the thin places where heaven and earth kiss. Like many countries, they also have a complicated history.

We can learn a lot about ourselves and human nature when we walk in another’s shoes, when we listen to someone else’s perspective, when we step out of our comfort zones. When we “blow into” another culture even for a short while, we often see our blindness. We can see our common goodness. Yes, some of us bleed green; and yet, we all bleed red.

I have many sanctuaries to which I retreat, where I can find peace, hope, and joy. Especially during these turbulent times, I look for inspiration and aspiration in the books that I read, the trails that I walk, and the meetings that I attend. I pay attention to what I can change and ask for the courage to speak and act appropriately. I wade deeper when I am in my sanctuary because it is safe. That is where I can play and pray freely. That is where I bleed rainbow.

 

Toys

 The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling    

One of my new and favorite meditation books is called The Language of Letting Go. Two post Christmas reflections encourage “growth” and “moving on.” How apt for my new-year’s resolutions! How apt for our pandemic hopes! It makes me wonder, “How do I let go of this past year, which was filled with personal, familial, and vocational challenges, and move on to yet another year of growth opportunities?”

I like the idea of old toys and new toys. With three grandchildren ranging in age from 3 to 1 1/2 years old, I’ve been learning all over again about toys. Some of the “old” toys are still the best. They have stood the test of time and still deliver! Some are broken and need repair or even the trash. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that some toys don’t hold my attention any longer. So it is with me and my prayer life. So it is with me and some of my relationships, like with those squirrels at the birdfeeder. So it is with me in discovering new ways to let go, move on, and grow.

Melody Beattie writes, “Just as when we were children and grew out of favorite toys and clothes, we sometimes grow out of things as adults - people, jobs, homes. When we were children, we may have tried to fit into an outgrown article of clothing. Now, as adults, we may go through a time of trying to force-fit attitudes that we have outgrown. What worked last year, what was so important and special to us in times past, doesn’t work anymore because we’ve changed. We’ve grown. We can put away last year’s toys and make room for the new.”

Moving on involves letting go, which involves a process of grief. It can be confusing. There is a rainbow of feelings, changing daily like the news. The reasons for “letting go” and “moving on” are varied; and so the toy metaphor begs me to ask some questions, “What old toys do I need to leave behind in order to move forward? What new toys can I unwrap in this new year?”

Donna W. Michael, RIP

Celebration of the Life of Donna W. Michael      February 5, 1951 - November 21, 2020
Omps Funeral Home, Winchester, Virginia          1 Corinthians 13:1-13, John 14:1-6
The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling, virtual officiant

I am honored by Steve’s request for me to join you today and I only regret that my husband Paul and I cannot be with you in Virginia. I have heard so many stories about Donna and Steve over the years from my husband, who was a business partner of Steve’s and close friends of them both for decades. They are what Paul calls “foxhole” people. You never have to look over your shoulder to see if they are still there. When the chips are down, they are still at the table, and betting that in the end, Love wins.

These are hard times. Steve used the word “rough.” The winds of grief are blowing across our country, crossing our state lines, and leaving so many of us fearful, sick, and tired. Unexpected diagnoses and deaths, like Donna’s, have sent us reeling in disbelief. It is like pouring salt on a wound and into our broken hearts. Tears are real and appropriate, even as we gather to celebrate Donna’s wonderful life. She was one of a kind. And a very kind and loving one at that.

Listening to Steve talk about Donna reminded me of St. Paul’s letter to the church community gathered in Corinth. It is more often used at weddings, and yet this scripture passage is also relevant for this occasion. After all, these are sacred and special moments in our lives, like birthdays in February, and anniversaries in June. They are all about love, unselfish giving, and wanting to please another person. Donna was like that, a big-hearted and beautiful woman, who respected the dignity of every human being.

Donna was a person of faith, hope, and love; and today we celebrate her life and her love, most especially for Steve. She had faith in God. She had hope for better things to come. She had love. “No worries,” she said to Steve. “If the chips are down, we still have each other. When life is at its hardest, I will still be by your side.” She was happiest when she was with Steve; and as Victor Hugo once said, “to love another person is to see the face of God.”

At times like these, I trust in God’s promises, as revealed to us in the person of Jesus. I trust that this same God who created Donna and Steve, who created you and me, also loves us even beyond the grave. Jesus knew what it is like to grieve the loss of a loved one; Jesus also faced his own death unexpectedly and suddenly. When He knew that his end was near, and that his death was imminent, He gave his friends and disciples a new commandment: that they love one another as He had loved them. “Don’t worry,” He said. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in me; believe also in God.”

God’s love is unconditional, undeserved, and eternal. On the other side of this dark day of loss is Resurrection life, when our Life will be transformed into something more glorious than we can ever imagine. “This is my way, my truth, and my life,” said Jesus. This is God’s Way of Love.

The gate to eternal life may seem rusty and creaky and in great need of repair right now. Such is the process of grief, and the journey we take without our loved ones. But on the road ahead, there is a mountain. And as the prophet Isaiah once said, “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines. And he will destroy the shroud that is cast over all peoples; he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and it will be said on that day, ‘Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. Let us be glad and rejoice in our salvation.”

I believe that Donna is at peace on this holy mountain and has found a new room in God’s house. With her body restored to health, I imagine her planting vegetables in the garden, playing with Spanky and Buckwheat on the deck, feeding the birds in the air, and preparing gourmet meals in God’s kitchen, while trash talking with her friends. There she waits for Steve to join her one day.

Until then, “Look all around you,” she will say to us from that distant place, “and you will see signs of God’s love everywhere. You will hear me whisper in the silence, and you will know that I am there with you. Don’t stop sharing God’s love,” she will remind us. “Until we meet again, keep the faith. Hold onto hope. And love fiercely.” Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Encouragement

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                                    

1 Thessalonians 5:11 “Therefore encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.”

I posed the question, ‘What exactly do you need?” to the vestry members of St. Peter’s Church in Cambridge yesterday. While God knows our needs before we ask, it’s good to verbalize them to ourselves and to others. 

It was November of 2012 and I had just written a letter to the good people of St. James Episcopal Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut. I had served as their rector for ten amazing years and felt that God was calling me (and them) to something new. I knew not what. I knew not where. I just knew it was time.

That very same month, Brother Curtis from the Society of St. John the Evangelist, in Cambridge, Massachusetts (SSJE) had been invited to Connecticut to offer some reflections at our clergy day. I had never met him before and to this day I still remember his words on encouragement. Who knew that 8 years later I would be living right down the street from SSJE and Brother Curtis? Who knew that those were the very words I needed to hear then and now?

Encouragement is a matter of the heart, coming from the French word “coeur.” We look for courage within us, perhaps saying to ourselves in a moment of challenge, “With God’s help, I can do this!” Or, as a community, we look for encouragement, saying to each other, “Together, we can!” Without encouragement our hearts become hardened. With encouragement, our hearts are softened, healed, and strengthened for God’s mission of love and reconciliation.

Brother Curtis suggested that there are two groups of people who need the grace of encouragement: (1) the least, the lost, and the last; and (2) leaders. God knows there are plenty of us who feel least, last, and lost. God knows that the leaders of our churches, our communities, our nation and our world need the grace of encouragement now more than ever. Indeed, St. Paul knew it when he wrote his letter to the Thessalonians in the 1st century.

Encouragement dissipates fear. “What do we need?” To lean forward in faith into the unknown mystery of the future. We need the grace of encouragement.

Revelation

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling, All Saints Sunday

Revelation 7:9-17: After this I, John, looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

The Rev. Cathay Venkatesh recently offered some words of wisdom to our contemplative prayer group. “Abnormal and extraordinary acts of hate and violence are often what is communicated in the news,” she said. Or as many people are fond of saying, “If it bleeds, it leads.” Terrorism and violence have been with us for a very long time. No news there. And yet, it still horrifies us. It is still abhorrent. 

So, in the news, we recently heard of the presumed terrorist attack on three people in the basilica in France. We heard of the shooting and violence in Philadelphia, where another black man was killed by police and rampant looting and deaths ensued. We heard of an abandoned newborn in an Australia airport and the subsequent invasive body checks of women taken off the plane. There is political and religious vitriol. These are people that come from “every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages.” And while it may seem like the “new normal”, it’s not.

Lamenting is frequent these days. We grieve the loss of our loved ones from the pandemic. We cry for our beloved country and our world. We are poorer in spirit if not in our bank accounts. We remember our lives before COVID-19; and we want to go back to those ways in which we “lived and moved and had our beings.” “Blessed are those who mourn;” said Jesus, “for they will be comforted.”

We are people who have “gone through a great ordeal.” The vast majority of us routinely offer acts of love, mercy, and kindness. And so we persevere, buoyed by our faith, hope, and love. Created as God’s beloved, we have been knit together in one fellowship, a common communion of humanity, that spans all time and space. All Saints’ Sunday reminds us of this eternal truth.

And John reveals that vision of hope. On that day, when we approach “our God who is seated on the throne” we “will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike us, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be our shepherd, and he will guide us to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from our eyes."

Bring it on, I pray. Ineffable joys. Maranatha.

Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord: Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.

Guerrillas of Grace

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                            

Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace: “Precious Lord, grant me a sense of humor that adds perspective to compassion, gratitude that adds persistence to courage, quietness of spirit that adds irrepressibility to hope, openness of mind that adds surprise to joy; that with gladness of heart I may link arm and aim with the One who saw signs of your kingdom in salt and yeast, pearls and seeds, travelers and tax collectors, sowers and harlots, foreigners and fishermen, and open my eyes with these signs and my ears with the summons to follow to something more of justice and joy.”

Lately, I have needed an attitude adjustment, almost on a daily basis. Despite the bright blue sky overhead, occasionally I have felt like Linus in that cartoon series called Peanuts. A rain cloud will appear over me no matter where I walk. And I have walked plenty of places: flat surfaces, hills, valleys, and beaches. Rural places, suburbs, and cities around our world. And what do I see? Not the beauty of God’s creation but the ugliness of humanity. It is all in my head, and not in my eyes. I need an attitude adjustment.

I like Ted Loder’s title “Guerrillas of Grace” for many reasons. Guerrilla warfare is occupying my brain. I need grace! That undeserved and unmerited love of God for everyone and everything, even me. The pandemic and politics have limited my viewpoints, narrowed my perspective, and pulled me into a shell of isolation. I need to look beyond the barricades. I need to link “arms with the One who saw signs of God’s kingdom” everywhere, and then ask God for an attitude adjustment. “Grant me a sense of humor that adds perspective to compassion, gratitude that adds persistence to courage, quietness of spirit that adds irrepressibility to hope. Open my eyes and mind; help me follow You and find justice and joy.”

Despite his age, Moses still had plenty of vigor, and so he climbed Mount Nebo to be alone with God. There, from that vantage point, he could see farther than the plains of Moab. He saw valleys, the Mediterranean Sea, the Jordan River, and palm trees offering shade in the desert. He saw cities, both great and small, that dotted the landscape. There, he had a vision of God’s promises. He saw a land of opportunity. He imagined a future with many good things.

Centuries later, Jesus walked this very land. He saw “signs of God’s kingdom in salt and yeast, pearls and seeds, travelers and tax collectors, sowers and harlots, foreigners and fishermen.” He brought justice and joy with Him everywhere He went, promising good things, not just on the sunny days of summer, but also in the dark times of winter. Even though ploughshares were beaten into swords and pruning hooks into spears, Jesus brought peace to the middle east.

“You will see God’s grace,” Jesus said. Just open your eyes to “see God’s hand at work in the world about you.” And so, today, I link arms with God, and look for the guerillas of grace all around me. I pray for an attitude adjustment once again.

Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace: “Eternal Friend, grant me an ease to breathe deeply of this moment, this light, this miracle of now. Beneath the din and fury of great movements and harsh news and urgent crises, make me attentive still to good news, to small occasions, and the grace of what is possible for me to be, to do, to give, to receive, that I may miss neither my neighbor’s gift nor my enemy’s need.

Deuteronomy 34:1-12: Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land. Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died; his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated.

Speechless

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                

Matthew 22:1-14:    Once more Jesus spoke to the people in parables, saying: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen.”

Speechless

We’re hearing a lot of speeches these days by people in power, by people with strong opinions, and by people who have become harsh in their criticism of others. Sometimes, I wish they would just shut up. There is an acronym “SMH” which means “shaking my head.” Sometimes we’re rendered speechless. We see things we can’t believe. We hear things we wish we hadn’t. Tempted, we may respond in kind. Enraged, weeping and gnashing our own teeth in disgust, we want to throw people into the outer darkness, or under the bus. Sometimes, I can only SMH.

It’s always a question in my mind as to whether or not I should speak up or remain silent. Is it anger or fear or gratitude or amazement that opens or shuts my mouth?  Like the king I can become enraged, most especially at “isms”, injustices, prejudice, and inequalities. “Do I need to hit the mute button before I react?” I ask myself. Am I afraid of retribution? Is this the time to speak up even though my knees are shaking and my voice is quivering?

In this parable told by Jesus, I wonder who “he” is. Was it the king who was speechless, after he had invited his friends and honored guests to the wedding banquet, and they didn’t come? Perhaps the king was angry that his generosity had been met with disrespect, that people were “too busy” to come to the party, and that his slaves had been killed? They made light of this significant event; and now this man from the streets wasn’t wearing the right clothes. Was the king speechless in his disbelief?

Or was “he” the man without the wedding robe? The one who had been invited by the king’s servants to join the party? I imagine that he was delighted to be there, enjoying a feast of royal delights and well-aged wine! Why then might “he”, the man without a wedding robe, be rendered speechless at the appearance of his host? I would think that he would gush with praise, bow down with respect, and offer words of gratitude, unless of course his mouth was full of fatted calf. Or he was afraid. Then he might be speechless.

People in royal garb can intimidate us. Some call it “power-dressing” others call it “fitting clothes” for their leadership positions. Powerful people can render us cautious as well as speechless. Suddenly in their presence, we may find ourselves bowing and scraping, fawning and obsequious, kissing rings and kissing up. We offer effusive words of praise, that are as empty in nutritional value as cotton candy, or we just stay silent.

When asked a simple question, like “how did you get in here dressed like that?” the man at the wedding banquet couldn’t answer. Perhaps he never expected to see the king at all, and when he suddenly found himself in his presence, he choked. Maybe he was rendered speechless out of fear. Or maybe it was the mystery and awe of this royal power that had him shaking in his boots, dropping to his knees, and silencing his quivering heart.

Apparently, this guest stood out in the crowd because he was dressed differently than the others. The king “called him out” but why did he call him "friend"? “Just go out on the streets and invite everyone to the party,” the king had told his servants. What exactly did he expect? Who did he think was coming to dinner? The good, the bad, and the ugly, Jesus told us. In light of that, doesn’t the king's response to this man’s wardrobe seem a little harsh?

Here’s what I think. I believe that God does become enraged by our bad behavior; and yet, in the end, God preserves our life. Stretching out his arms of love on that hardwood of the cross, Jesus invited everyone to the party. Then, when we find ourselves in that royal  banquet hall, on that holy mountain where there is a rich feast of select foods and choice wines, our disgrace will be removed, and our tears will be dried by God. “Don’t worry about what you’re wearing,” Jesus will say to us, as we will kneel in wonder, love, and praise. With hearts filled with love, we will be speechless in the presence of God.

Matthew 25:27-28:    Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you.

Isaiah 25:6-8:    On this mountain, the Lord of heavenly forces will prepare for all peoples a rich feast, a feast of choice wines, of select foods rich in flavor, of choice wines well refined. He will swallow up on this mountain the veil that is veiling all peoples, the shroud enshrouding all nations. He will swallow up death forever. The Lord God will wipe tears from every face; he will remove his people’s disgrace from off the whole earth, for the Lord has spoken.

Wild Grapes in the Vineyard

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling                   

Isaiah 5:1-7

Let me sing for my beloved

my love-song concerning his vineyard:

My beloved had a vineyard

on a very fertile hill.

He dug it and cleared it of stones,

and planted it with choice vines;

he built a watchtower in the midst of it,

and hewed out a wine vat in it;

he expected it to yield grapes,

but it yielded wild grapes.

 Psalm 80:7-14

 7 Restore us, O God of hosts; *

show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.

 8 You have brought a vine out of Egypt; *

you cast out the nations and planted it.

 9 You prepared the ground for it; *

it took root and filled the land.

 10 The mountains were covered by its shadow *

and the towering cedar trees by its boughs.

11 You stretched out its tendrils to the Sea *

and its branches to the River. 

12 Why have you broken down its wall, *

so that all who pass by pluck off its grapes?

 13 The wild boar of the forest has ravaged it, *

and the beasts of the field have grazed upon it.

 14 Turn now, O God of hosts, look down from heaven;

behold and tend this vine; *

preserve what your right hand has planted. 

The imagery in these passages is ripe, fruitful, and evocative. There is a vineyard on a fertile hill. Picture it. There is a worker digging up stones and planting vines. This beloved worker creates a watchtower which offers us perspective and a vision of things to come. After a while, the hard labor bears fruit; and the wine vat reminds us that some things need to be pressed in order to create new spirits. The beloved worker expected a good harvest; and yet the grapes were wild! “Why was that?” the prophet asked.

The psalmist reminds us that God was the Creator of this vineyard; and that God is also the beloved worker. God had invited God’s people to be co-creators and co-laborers in God’s vineyard. At first, the vines of God’s people stretched out their tendrils to the sea; they extended their branches from deep roots. Mountains and trees provided shade. Rivers and seas ran clear; and yet God’s precious grapes ran wild. They set God’s teeth on edge.

God expected peace in the land and yet saw bloodshed. God expected love and saw hate. God expected justice and mercy; and yet the scales in their courts routinely tipped out of balance. The country had become overgrown with briars and thorns. Hedges that had once protected the fruit were trampled down. Boundaries were frequently violated. People plucked the fruit of other people’s labors without permission; and wild beasts roamed the streets, ravaging the hard work of those who had planted seeds in the vineyard.

At this moment in history, back then and even today, the vineyard is not a pretty picture. There is a drought in New England, fires on the west coast, hurricanes in the south, and windstorms that sweep across the plains. The climate control switch has been turned off; and the vineyard has become a desolate wasteland. It is filled with fearful people struggling to breathe.

Indeed, the reality of injustice, violence, lawlessness, and inequality was evident in the disordered lives and chaos. People became sick. They were sick and tired of being sick and tired.“Why is this happening?” the prophet asked. “Who is to blame? And who will help us?” they shouted at God. “You made us. You planted us. You can stop this,” they demanded.

When life and our world seem to be spinning out of control, we can begin with prayer. Like the psalmist, we can ask God to “Restore us, O God of hosts; show us the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.” Save us, even if it is from ourselves and from our own doing. “Turn now, O God of hosts, look down from heaven; behold and tend this vine; preserve what your right hand has planted.”

Please help us, we pray to the distant landowner, to the Son who was crucified, and to the Spirit who empowers us to tend the vineyard. Please help us, we pray to the One who gives life, one breath at a time.

 Matthew 21:33-46

Jesus said, “Listen to another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a watchtower. Then he leased it to tenants and went to another country. When the harvest time had come, he sent his slaves to the tenants to collect his produce. But the tenants seized his slaves and beat one, killed another, and stoned another. Again he sent other slaves, more than the first; and they treated them in the same way. Finally he sent his son to them, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ But when the tenants saw the son, they said to themselves, ‘This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance.” So they seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. Now when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?” They said to him, “He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.”