New Site for Blog

 To continue receiving my blog posts in your email, go to revdlf.wixsite.com/travelswithwesley and sign up to subscribe.  My latest post, just published a few minutes ago, is there.

Thank you!

CHANGES RELATED TO THIS BLOG

I am not the world's most technically savvy individual, and I just discovered that those of you who follow my blog by receiving posts in your email will no longer be able to do so as of July 2021.  There is supposedly a way for me to copy the list of subscribers and move those email addresses to another list so that you can keep traveling with Wesley.  However, I cannot figure out how to make that happen!  

I'll keep trying and asking questions, so  

     WATCH THIS SPACE!

A Shattered, Disordered World

In John Wesley's sermon entitled "On Temptation,"  he refutes the idea that a person can be tempted beyond the point of resistance, or that anyone can claim to have experienced temptations that are stronger than those suffered by others. He does so by pointing to scripture and asserts that we ought not ever be surprised by the temptations we face because we are after all sinners living in a shattered and disordered world.  Life is hard and following Christ is not always easy.

First, “Let him that most assuredly standeth, take heed lest he fall” into murmuring; lest he say in his heart, “Surely no one’s case is like mine; no one was ever tried like me.” Yea, ten thousand. “There was no temptation taken you,” but such as is “common to man;” such as you might reasonably expect, if you considered what you are; a sinner born to die; a sinful inhabitant of a mortal body, liable to numberless inward and outward sufferings; — and where you are; in a shattered, disordered world. surrounded by evil men, and evil spirits. Consider this, and you will not repine at the common lot, the general condition of humanity.

That phrase, "shattered, disordered world" really jumped out at me today when I ran across it in my devotional reading.  What an apt description of the reality of our lives! We've been enduring a worldwide pandemic of disease and death that has brought even the most resilient among us to feel a great deal of stress, uncertainty, and loss on an unimaginable scale.  And while everyone has been affected by the coronavirus in one way or another, it is the vulnerable among us who are suffering most.  

The longing to return to normal is a pipe-dream for we must face the fact that the old normal wasn't actually working for a lot of people. Inequalities based on race and gender and the lack of a real safety net for people barely getting by have been revealed in stark contrast to the idea that things are getting better all the time.  We are having to face the reality that we live in a shattered, disordered world, and we can either ignore or deny it, or perhaps give into despair and rage, or we can see this revelation of our brokenness as a gift. Just as the child in the story bluntly proclaimed that the emperor's new clothes were imaginary, fake news, we must bravely look at ourselves and the economic and political systems in which we operate and recognize them for what they are, structures that benefit the few at the expense of the many.

The well-worn narrative that says that the poor are lazy and somehow deserve whatever woes befall them is a very old one. In Wesley's day, just as in ours, there were many who found it easy to justify their own wealth as something they deserved and as something they had achieved singlehandedly while ignoring the clear biblical injunction to share generously with others and to care for the poor, the foreigner, and those on the margins.   He wrote:

Has poverty nothing worse in it than this, that it makes men liable to be laughed at? It is a sign this idle poet talked by rote of the things which he knew not. Is not want of food something worse than this? God pronounced it as a curse upon man, that he should earn it "by the sweat of his brow." But how many are there in this Christian country, that toil, and labour, and sweat, and have it not at last, but struggle with weariness and hunger together? Is it not worse for one, after an hard day's labour, to come back to a poor, cold, dirty, uncomfortable lodging, and to find there not even the food which is needful to repair his wasted strength? You that live at ease in the earth, that want nothing but eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to understand how well God has dealt with you, -- is it not worse to seek bread day by day, and find none? perhaps to find the comfort also of five or six children, crying for what he has not to give! Were it not that he is restrained by an unseen hand, would he not soon "curse God and die?" O want of bread! Want of bread! Who can tell what this means unless he hath felt it himself? I am astonished it occasions no more than heaviness even in them that believe! ~ John Wesley ( Sermon 47, Heaviness through Manifold Temptations)

John Wesley calls us back to the heart of our faith, which is love, love of God expressed through love of neighbor in concrete ways that sustain and give life rather than caring for ourselves and seeking only to feather our own nests.  When he rhetorically asks how many people work hard every single day only to come home to misery and poverty and hunger, we should pay attention and ask the same question of today's world, and we should respond by answering it by acting as Christ did in sharing, loving, giving.  

As we begin to see glimmers of light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that started in 2020, let us also begin to see new ways of ministry and mission that are not limited by our previous ways of engaging.  The Holy Spirit is at work, even though we don't yet clearly understand what the new life of the Church will be like.  May we have grace to discern and follow the divine promptings that invite us into something new in this shattered, disordered, but beloved world.  And may our hearts be moved from complacency and willing blindness to action and clarity of vision for the good of all God's children.

She's Someone

 

A few days ago, I thought, "Oh, I really need to find time to write another blog post," but planning worship and writing sermons, promoting my book and attending online retreats that started at 4:30 AM my time pretty much put paid to that notion.  I was looking forward to spending today doing absolutely nothing, having something good to eat, reading a novel, napping, and in general, having an actual day off.

But then I heard about Sarah Everard.  If you are in the UK, you already know her name and at least part of her story.  If you are in the US, maybe you haven't heard about her.  But I guarantee you know someone like her, even if the woman/women you know didn't wind up a murder statistic.  Sarah Everard was walking home, a perfectly normal activity, and she disappeared, seemingly into thin air.  She was attacked and murdered, allegedly by a Metropolitan Police officer, someone charged with the duty of protecting and serving, someone she no doubt believed she could trust.  Her body was found some 50 miles from where she was last seen, and women all across Britain are sharing their stories of being intimidated, sexually harassed, and treated with disrespect by men  

Every woman I know, whether she does it consciously or not, lives with a low murmur of danger thrumming in her veins.  When she goes out alone, whether walking or driving or taking public transportation; when she's at home alone and the doorbell rings; when she leaves a store and crosses a parking lot and unlocks her car; when she plans the route she will take to and from a particular destination -- she's thinking things like, "I've got plenty of gas in the car, and my phone is charged.  I'll be back before it's dark. I have my keyring with a loud whistle on it. I told so-and-so where I was going and who I'd be with."  And so on and so on and so on.  

We're told before we even go to school how we're supposed to curtail our lives so that we won't be a tempting target.  How to not take up too much space.  How to ignore the lewd remarks and eyes that sweep over us like a pornographic X-ray machine.  How to make ourselves as small and un-noticeable as possible.  And if we do find ourselves on the receiving end of catcalls, wolf whistles, grab 'em by the p****y remarks, or worse still, molested, raped, and assaulted, we're told we must have done something, said something, worn something to call it down on ourselves.  Jogging? Drinking? Making eye contact?  BREATHING???? 

If you are a man, and you think you're one of the good guys, consider this.  The really scary ones don't wear signs.  It's not like they're contained in an offender zone that we can avoid.  And so if a woman doesn't get in an elevator with you, doesn't make small talk at the bar, or if she doesn't, heaven forbid, smile at you, don't make it about you.  Don't tell her you're just being friendly or whatever and make her feel like she's hurting your feelings because she doesn't choose to interact with you.  Be a good guy.  Respect her.  Respect her space.  Leave her alone.  If you're with guys making cracks about women, calling names, and telling dirty jokes, say something.  Don't use your size, strength, and privilege to do more damage.  Be that stand-up guy, and speak up, speak out, speak for, and above all, listen to the women who tell you their stories.  Believe them when they tell you of feeling unsafe, and be part of the solution rather than part of the blame the victim brigade.  That's what being a good guy looks like. 

And if you're wondering if this somehow connects to the usual subject matter of my blog, well, yes, it does. I'm thinking of another Sarah. Sarah Ryan was one of the "Mothers in Israel" I wrote about, and she was victimized by many of the men who were closest to her.  Married to three different men who deserted without divorcing her, she was treated her as a sex object and even contracted a venereal disease from one of them.  

Even after she discovered that the depth of God's mercy included her and she became a Methodist class leader, the housekeeper at the New Room, and even an exhorter, her reputation was in tatters.  Her frank retelling of the brutality of her former life earned her scorn even from some other women, including Molly Wesley, the wife of John Wesley, but he saw in her something no one else had bothered to see, perhaps because he had seen the ways his intelligent and talented sister Hetty had been treated by some of the men in her life.  Sarah wasn't just someone's wife, or daughter, or sister.  She was someone.

John Wesley helped her believe in her gifts for ministry, for encouragement, and for mentoring others in faith. She became so well-respected for her testimony of what God had done in her life and her work with poor children that Charles Wesley lauded her in her funeral sermon as a "mother in Israel." That, too, is what being a good guy looks like.

Sarah Ryan was such a powerful speaker and spiritual leader that she became what Mary Bosanquet called "the friend of my soul," and was a mother in the faith not just to Mary but to other women, as well. When she died, aged only 44, her gravestone hailed her as a "mother in Israel" along with two other Methodist women preachers given that accolade, Ann Tripp and Sarah Crosby, who also share that final resting place.  

If it hadn't been for "good guys" like the Wesley brothers, who knows what might have happened to her?  Who knows how many lives would have perhaps remained untouched by the gospel, had she not been encouraged by them to speak of the love of God and how it changed her life?

If you care about women, go and do likewise.  Our very lives may depend on it.

Book News and Video Link!

 I recently had a book signing event at City Center Gallery and Books in downtown Fayetteville for my first ever book about early English Methodist women preachers and leaders, Mothers in Israel: Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women. These are a few recent pictures and a link to my interview with Brian Allain of Writing For Your Life.

Click on the link below to view the video!

https://youtu.be/A84UkU18tcA

Impudent Women of Methodism: Past and Present

Yesterday, a box containing five copies of my book Mothers in Israel:  Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women arrived at my house, and though I was dying to rip it open, I waited until Scott came home so he could record a short video of me opening the box and removing them.  This was the first time I had seen the actual book and held it in my hands, and I was beyond excited.  

Just a day or so ago, the bishop of the North Carolina Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, my bishop, Hope Morgan Ward, read and reviewed the book, commending it by saying that it is "thoroughly engaging, beautifully written, and provocative for conversation and spiritual growth."  She then goes on to highlight my desire that we learn from these women and not just about them.  

And just today I saw that Cokesbury, the bookstore and supplier of all things United Methodist, has the book in stock and on sale, another exciting step in this journey.  Friends have been posting pictures on social media of them holding their copies of the book in their hands, and I have several opportunities lined up over the next two months to talk about these incredible women of the past and their relevance for the present and future. Truly, my cup runneth over.

I'm a bit nervous about these appearances, as self-promotion does not come naturally or easily to me, but I am passionate about this subject.  I believe we owe it to Susanna Annesley Wesley, Mary Bosanquet Fletcher, Sarah Ryan, Sarah Crosby, Mary Tooth, and so many more to tell their stories.  It is vitally important for us to celebrate these "impudent women" whose love for Jesus and whose zeal for the gospel led them to engage in "unladylike" public acts of leadership because of the strength of their call.  

Every woman of today in every branch of the Wesleyan Methodist family who stands in a pulpit and preaches, teaches Sunday School, heads up a committee, writes curriculum, directs a choir, or leads a financial campaign is standing on the shoulders of these giants, these remarkable mothers in the faith, whether or not she realizes it.    Their voices matter because their witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ matters, and it is my fervent prayer that this will spark a desire to know more about them and their holy boldness in ministry that visibly bore the good fruit of changed lives and growth in holiness.

Part of the book's dedication is to the memory of Marie P. Fowler, my own mother.  She was my first mother in the faith, a devout and loving woman who read the Bible every day and prayed without ceasing, who prayerfully nurtured me and my sister in the things of God.  She has already entered the Church Triumphant and stands shoulder to shoulder with these other "mothers in Israel," but I can feel her with me every time I step into a pulpit, open the scriptures, or bow my head to pray. Though she is the last person to ever be considered impudent, in her own quiet, gentle way, she kindled the fire in my bones that burns brightly in the pages of this book and in my ministry, and the gift of her life and her love is a treasure I will hold forever dear.  

Who are the "mothers in Israel" who have left an indelible mark on your soul and your spirit?  What are the names of the women who were not content to keep silent when the Spirit was prompting them to speak, to act, to take up space, and to change things?  Add their names to the roll of the impudent women of my book; for whenever the gospel is proclaimed, these stories will be told in memory of them.

Mama, Diana, and me, Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina, 1975

Wholly Given Up

Mary Bosanquet Fletcher was one of early Methodism’s most well-regarded preachers and teachers. Though somewhat diffident about her own abilities, she became a mentor to women and men through her preaching, her letters, her Christian conversation, and her relentless faithfulness to the call of Christ. She kept a spiritual journal in which she reflected on her struggles with faith, her failing health, her deep and abiding relationship with Sarah Ryan, her love and respect for her husband John Fletcher, and her overwhelming sense of God’s goodness and her gratitude for it. She wrote:

I would be given up, both soul and body, to serve the members of Christ. My firm resolution was to be wholly given up to the church, in any way that He pleased. I desired not to be idle, but employed as those described by St. Paul to Timothy, “If she have brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints’ feet, and diligently followed after every good work.” I can hardly express with what power these words would come to my mind. It seemed to me, the Lord had planned out all my way; and I only wished so to walk.

In doing research for my book Mothers in Israel: Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women, I encountered women of various backgrounds, educational levels, economic status, and ability. All of them possessed a fierce sense of the guiding presence of the Holy Spirit in their lives and a purpose which God called them to fulfill. I hope you will enjoy getting to know these amazing “mothers in Israel “ and that you will be inspired and encouraged by their example so that you, too, may be wholly given to God.

My Book is Now Available!

Mothers In Israel:  Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women

is now available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, 

Upper Room Books, cokesbury.com, 

and locally at City Center Gallery and Books, downtown Fayetteville NC!

Book Launch and Book Signing 

at City Center Gallery and Books

February 11 and 13, 2021

 

 

Trust in the Strong for Strength

 

First blog post of 2021, and I hardly know what to say.  I knew that merely turning the calendar to a new page wouldn't magically eliminate my husband's lymphoma, destroy coronavirus and end the pandemic, or create harmony amongst the fractious political factions here in the US.  What I didn't know was that I would be witness to a pivotal moment in history in which armed protesters-turned-rioters would vandalize the US Capitol while waving Confederate battle flags and "Don't Tread on Me" banners and ironically carrying proclamations of Jesus as Lord.  That they would trespass into private congressional offices, throw their contemptuous jack-booted feet onto desks, while wallering on "Old Glory" and calling themselves patriots. That the occupant of the White House would pretend to call for peace, peace, while there is no peace, telling them to go home  while simultaneously stoking the fires of fury in his insistence that the election results were fraudulent.  All this, on one of the holiest days in the Church year, Epiphany.

I must say that Epiphany never shone more light than when the abuse of human power was revealed in its darkness, both in the time of Herod and today.  Saying Jesus is Lord while wreaking this kind of havoc and terror in the halls of government is a lie, and I don't care what your political affiliations are -- if you are a Christian, your allegiance is to the Lamb that was slain, not to an elephant, a donkey, or a tyrant who incites mob rule and spits on the Constitution.  This goes way beyond differences on policy or party politics; after all, neither party has a monopoly on getting everything right or getting everything wrong.  But this is a clear example of trusting in one's own power, of relying on the sword (or the gun), of drunkenly swallowing the rhetoric that burns and destroys and kills.  It was shocking and frightening and nauseating.

In my distress and horror, I turned to scripture, to prayer, to poetry, and to the writings of someone who had seen political insurrection and danger many times over.  Listening to Handel's Messiah while reading Isaiah stirred the flickering flame of hope in my heart and prompted me to search out some of my photographs to express my thoughts. Malcolm Guite's poem written in response to Psalm 70 was written during lockdown last year, and Pray As You Go (an app and website) had pre-recorded their devotional moment, but their posts over the last two days were spot on, perfectly capturing my feelings and yearning for God's Light to penetrate the darkness.  And John Wesley, who witnessed the Jacobite uprising, war with the French, the American and French Revolutions, and countless other diseases and types of human suffering, left a record of his faith in the steadfast love and strength of God no matter what might happen.

Riffing on Job 9: 19 -- If I speak of strength, lo, he is strong: and if of judgment who shall set me a time to plead? -- Wesley again and again, in sermons*, letters*, and in his journal*, offers encouragement to himself and others by speaking of crying to the Strong for strength, of trusting the Strong for strength, of looking to the Strong for strength, of fleeing to the Strong for strength.  Whether referring to having to endure bodily illness, crises of faith, physical danger or violence, or contentious conversations, Wesley did not dare lean upon the broken reed of his own abilities, nor did he wish to see the people called Methodists do so.  It was all too clear to him just where that would lead.

I write this today, not to engage in argument or disputation but simply in order to point to the Light and to the Lamb, the Strong to whom we may always approach for strength:  strength to endure, to persist, and to challenge the forces of oppression and hatred.  We are certainly going to need it for the living of these days.

Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee. (Isaiah 60: 1-2, KJV)

*see Wesley's letter to William Minethorp of November 30, 1776, his letter to Eliza Bennis of December 16, 1772, his journal entry for May 26, 1752, and various sermons ("Self Denial," "Of Evil Angels," "Spiritual Idolatry," etc.

Adventure Yourselves With Him

 

On this, the last day of what has been the longest year in our lives, our thoughts turn towards the future in hopes that 2021 will see an end to the ravages of coronavirus, the beginning of less political squabbling and ill will, and the dawn of more just treatment of those on the margins.  2020 has brought heartbreak and illness and sorrow and loss to nearly everyone, but we are still people of hope and trust in the God who is with us through it all.

The above picture is of the convergence of Saturn and Jupiter as seen from my front yard a few days ago, a sight that calls to mind the Star of Bethlehem which led the Magi to the Christ Child. As we recall their journey at Epiphany and prepare for the new year, it is also a time for many Methodists to celebrate a covenant service just as the Wesleys and other early Methodists did. Whether we are able to participate in one or not, it is helpful to reflect upon Wesley’s words of instruction for the covenant service, making them a mandate for our travels into the next year.

Adventure yourselves with him; cast yourselves upon his Righteousness, as that which shall bring you to God: as a poor captive exile, that is cast upon a strange land, a land of robbers and murderers, where he is ready to perish, and having no hope, either of abiding there, or escaping home with life: and meeting at length with a pilot, who offers to transport him safely home, he embarks with him and ventures himself, and all that he hath in his vessel: do you likewise; you are exiles from the presence of God, and  fallen into a land of robbers and murderers: your sins are robbers, your pleasures are robbers, your companions in sin are robbers and thieves; if you stay where you are, you perish, and escape home of yourselves you cannot: Christ offers, if you will venture forth with him, and then he will bring you home, and he will bring you to God... ~ John Wesley (Directions for Renewing our Covenant with God)

Not knowing what lies ahead but hoping for a much better year, let us nevertheless go forth with holy boldness to adventure ourselves with Christ, remembering always that he is Immanuel, God with us.

There Are No Perfect Marriages, But There Are Perfect Moments

 

Marrying relatively late in life, Mary Bosanquet and John Fletcher were only together for a few years before his death, but their mutual love and respect and their shared ministry in and around Madeley fueled one of early Methodism's most successful partnerships.  She nursed him devotedly and after his death often dreamed of him advising and supporting her in the same gentle way he had done in life. When he died, she mournfully wrote that the sun of all her earthly joys had set, but she faithfully kept preaching and teaching, inspiring countless women and men in their Christian journeys into the nineteenth century.

Our 31st wedding anniversary is later this month, and I'll be officiating at the backyard wedding of our next-door neighbor in less than a week. It's going to be small and Covid-19 safe with me and the couple and about 8 mask-wearing guests, so not much like ours with its 150 or so guests and several attendants.  Weddings can be stressful events, but fortunately this one promises to be pretty laid back.  

I'm working on the service and plan to make some remarks though not to deliver an actual homily. Naturally my mind is focused on scripture and the Church's understanding of matrimony, but I'm also influenced by the years of wedlock I've shared with my husband. The picture above is of our hands just minutes after we became a married couple, when we were so young, so much in love, so clueless of what might lie ahead.  

And there has been plenty of stuff in the past three decades! We've moved several times, been through seminary and seminary and yet more seminary, adopted and reared two children, survived his one job and my several churches, traveled and sheltered at home, laughed, cried, argued, read and watched television, cooked and cleaned and painted and built a life together.  He's still my favorite person in the world, and there's nobody who makes me laugh or smile more. 

When I was in Divinity School, I apparently told an unmarried friend who really wanted to be married that there are no perfect marriages but that there are perfect moments. Thank you, God, for the sun of my earthly joys, with whom I've shared many a perfect moment. 💟

God hears even when we hardly hear ourselves

As Scott and I continue to wait for more information about his diagnosis, seeking clarity for our next steps, we’ve been binge-watching The Crown and various travel shows set in Scotland, even though we’ve seen all the episodes multiple times, and I am somewhat mindlessly re-reading Agatha Christie mysteries. Sometimes it’s a relief to escape into some other world instead of dwelling on our current situation, so I don’t feel too bad about this coping mechanism.

 My other main activity has been an additional devotional practice that I would have done for Advent anyway, and it has proven to be invaluable during these anxious days. I’m reading Frequencies of God by Carys Walsh, an Advent journey through poems of R.S. Thomas. His raw honesty about the silence of God and the difficulty of perceiving God’s presence resonates with my experience, and his insight into the reality that God is always with us reminds me that we are held by the very One whose presence we seek. That’s very good news indeed!

On my Facebook page, former Bishop Charlene Kammerer reminded me that not only are we held by God but that we are held by all of you who are praying for us and lifting us up before God when we can’t quite do it ourselves, and that, too is very good news. Sometimes it feels too overwhelming to form words or shape sentences, and resting in the care of those who love us is all we can do.  

I am also encouraged by remembering John Wesley’s gentle, reassuring lines to Mary Bosanquet when she was struggling with her spiritual journey and was apparently finding it hard to pray.  He wrote:

It is certainly right to pray whether we can or no.  God hears even when we hardly hear ourselves.  ~ John Wesley (letter to Mary Bosanquet, March 26, 1770)

What a practical and deeply scriptural word of encouragement! I’m reminded of chapter 8 of the letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans in which he confidently attested to the intercession of the Spirit on our behalf in sighs too deep for words, and for a moment my sorrowful soul is able to rest.  It doesn’t matter if I fumble with trying to tell God how I feel or what I want because the One who created, gifted, called, and sustains me hears the cries of my heart even when I scarcely know what I am saying. While that doesn’t make our uncertainty and grief go away, it does remind me that we are constantly in the loving presence of Immanuel, God-with-us, and that truly is the best of all. 

You are Held

The last few weeks have been something of a blur as our plans for Scott to visit me in England had to be canceled in order for him to undergo various medical tests, and the anxiety of awaiting results from those tests was nightmarish.  Upon receiving the unwelcome diagnosis of cancer, we immediately made plans for me to return home to be with him as he undergoes further tests, has meetings with the oncologist and medical team, and waits to learn more about where we go from here.  We know more than we did, which is helpful, and the news that this particular cancer is slow-growing was better than we had feared, but we still have the next couple of weeks of testing and consulting with the medical team ahead of us as we begin to come to terms with this new and unwelcome visitor in our lives.  We thought 2020 had brought quite enough grief into our lives, thank you very much, but hey, presto! there's this to contend with now.

As I write this, it is the Thanksgiving holiday in the US, and if this were a tear-jerking Hallmark movie, this would be the cue for me to be writing about the overflow of thanks we are giving because of the better-than-feared news.  I'd be waxing lyrical about God's grace in the midst of our fear and our sense of the presence of the Spirit even as the storm rages.  Well, this isn't a movie, and I certainly don't feel sentimental about the fact that it's Thanksgiving and almost Advent, but I do indeed feel a deep sense of gratitude.  I am grateful that the doctor who was checking something completely different decided that Scott needed a biopsy.  I am grateful that it was scheduled quickly and that we got the results relatively soon.  I am grateful that it is not the kind of swift killer that takes one's life almost before the diagnosis is made.  I am grateful that the people at American Airlines went out of their way to be kind and compassionate in their efficiency of getting me home quickly so I could be with him.  I am grateful for the outpouring of prayers and the dozens of cards, social media messages, emails, texts, and calls that we have received.  I am grateful that I have been able to look my beloved in the eye and tell him that we are not alone, that God in fact IS with us.  I am grateful beyond words, beyond measure, beyond belief. 

But.  I'm still scared.  We're still anxious.  Incurable cancer, no matter how slow-growing, alters everything.  We are still trying to assimilate the knowledge that this unwelcome visitor has shown up, still trying to figure out how to balance that awareness with a desire to live as normally as possible, still trying to neither ignore nor deny the reality but also not giving into the fear and obsession of thinking of nothing else. And it's hard, friends, it's really stinking hard.  

It's hard.

But.  I am grateful that all the years of praying, of reading scripture, of singing hymns, and of trying to follow Jesus have given me a vocabulary and a foundation for gratitude and for hope even as the waiting continues.  And yes, we're almost into Advent, that season of waiting with intensity, that time of yearning and desiring the active in-breaking of God into human life more than anything else.  With the prophet Isaiah and the children of Israel, I have been crying out for the heavens to be rent open, the skies to be ripped apart, the veil between heaven and earth to be torn to shreds and for God to be right here, right now.  With Charles Wesley, I am prayerfully singing as I beg for the long-expected Jesus to come, to release us from all fears and sins, to be strength and consolation, to bring rest and joy to our longing hearts.  And with John Wesley, I find myself affirming dozens of times a day the glad tidings that lie at the heart of Christmas, the Incarnation, which means we can confidently trust that the best of all really is that God is with us.  

Affirming those things does not banish the dark clouds, nor does it bring immediate calm and peace to our anxious spirits.  Affirming those things does not act like some kind of magical incantation that hypnotizes one into denying the reality of the hurt and the fear and the uncertainty.  But affirming those things does reassure us that we're not in this alone, that the same God who entered human history as an infant some 2000 years ago is the same God in whose loving arms we are held, and that the words I wrote weeks before any of this happened are true --

You are held fast by the One whose steadfast love endures forever. You are held by the God who is always with us. You are held by the One who has been in the deepest pit and emerged victorious. You are held.

Yeah, right, Jesus

This coming Sunday is All Saints,  a holiday that is sometimes ignored, overlooked, or misunderstood among Methodists (and others).  In his journal on November 1, 1767, John Wesley called it "a festival I truly love." Elsewhere he called it "a day that I peculiarly love" and a "comfortable day."  There is a fairly predictable lectionary reading for Sunday from Revelation, but perhaps not so obvious is the inclusion of Matthew's version of the Beatitudes, verses we've all heard, read, said, and sung until we don't perhaps grasp their radical message anymore, but it makes sense that we read them for All Saints because they serve as a sort of "job description" for everyone striving to be a saint.

I just participated in an online lectio divina in which these verses were read three times, once from the NRSV, once from the NIV, and once from The Message, and the leader prompted us with various questions.  In lectio divina, the first thing you do is listen for a word or phrase that jumps out at you and ponder it in various ways with successive readings/ hearings of the passage.  

I kept circling around the idea of "blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," partly because Charles Wesley's hymn "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild" got stuck in my head and partly because that word "meek" is understood so pejoratively in our time.  It's become identified with the idea of being taken advantage of while gamely smiling all the time or of being humiliated or abused but taking it on the chin because of some great future reward being dangled in front of you.  The leader of our meditative reflection suggested we think of a sermon title or a heading we would give the Beatitudes, and when she said it need not be a "religious" or "pious-sounding" title, my immediate thought was, "Yeah, right, Jesus!" 

I wonder if the anonymous saints (or the famous ones, for that matter) that we will remember this coming Sunday felt blessed when they were faced with day after day of being ignored, being underpaid, being persecuted, being discriminated against, being humiliated, being denied justice, etc., or did they think, "Yeah, right, Jesus?!"  What about that descriptor, "meek?"  How might they have understood it? How has the word's meaning changed throughout the ages?

I looked at John Wesley's commentary on the passage, and I discovered that he rendered that verse as "Happy are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth."  He called the meek the ones "that hold all their passions and affections evenly balanced," and defined inheriting the earth as having "all things really necessary for life and godliness."  He went on to say that they would enjoy whatever portion they received from God here and now and that they would "hereafter possess the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness."

Reading that changed my view of the idea of meekness.  The prospect of having all my passions and affections evenly balanced is pretty appealing, particularly since I struggle with both depression and anxiety.  I quite like the thought of being on an even keel despite whatever circumstances I find myself in.  That would be reward enough, especially with the promise of having everything that is really needed for life and godliness right here but of course, there is also the hope of a future in which to enjoy a new and righteous earth as my home.  

So maybe I won't be calling the Beatitudes "Yeah, right, Jesus" after all.  Perhaps I will instead see these verses as a description of the way in which God redeems and reclaims all things, even challenges like anxiety and depression. They offer hope to all of us ordinary saints, toiling away in our hidden little lives, not because we seek recognition or honor but simply because we really do want to be like the gentle Jesus, meek and mild, who looked upon a little child and saw in that little one a symbol of the kingdom of heaven itself.

Insiders/Outsiders: Reflections on a Few Days in Oxford

 

The British Methodist Church suggests that ministers take three days off each quarter in addition to the usual weekly day off, and I just took advantage of my first "quarter days" by spending a few days in Oxford.  The idea is that we take a real break from the pressures and stresses of ministry in order to relax, renew, and restore so that we can return  to our circuits rested and ready to be more effective leaders and pastors.  I didn't realize how much I needed this until I hopped aboard a bus to leave town, but the feeling of relief I experienced after just a few hours in Oxford was palpable.

When I travel, I always enjoy glimpses into ways of living that are different from my own, and I sometimes let my imagination run wild as I consider what it would be like to inhabit a particular house, follow a different profession, or even live during another era altogether.  Rambling around the canals and streets while staring up at the "dreaming spires," it was easy to give free rein to all sorts of thoughts and impressions.  Spending four days there in no way makes me an expert, but I was struck by a feeling of being a definite outsider in what appears to be a very charmed and charming world of academic privilege, one limited to those with membership in an exclusive club. Many popular sites were either off-limits to tourists or had extremely limited access because of coronavirus, so there were literally closed doors everywhere I looked.  I felt like a stranger in a strange land.  I am a graduate of some fine institutions of higher learning, though not in the same league as Oxford or Cambridge, and I can also remember moments of looking around those campuses and wondering what I was doing there, and when I might be unmasked as an interloper who clearly didn't belong there.

If I were to list all the famous leaders and brilliant minds who boast the colleges of Oxford on their resumes, that alone would take up this blog post, but it won't surprise you that my interest was mainly on two particular graduates of Christ Church.  Even though the college is  currently closed to tourists, people desiring to worship are welcome to the cathedral, and I attended Evensong one night.  For a cathedral, it is a curiously intimate space, and it wasn't hard to imagine the large numbers of people who have worshiped there down the centuries sitting shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us.  As I listened to the glorious music, bowed my head in prayer, and discreetly looked at the beautiful interior, I began to feel that sense of being an outsider ebbing away.  Here in this sacred space, my nationality and status didn't matter.  Here in this place, I was as much an insider as anyone else who has ever stepped through those heavy wooden doors because we were all the same in our need of spiritual solace and comfort.  

That would have been gift enough for a lifetime, but to my surprise and delight, when they discovered that I'm a Methodist minister, I was led to the stone in the floor that honors John and Charles Wesley, graduates of Christ Church and leaders in the Methodist revival.  Because I was carrying my knitted John Wesley, I took a picture of him on the spot, and then I was invited to stand in the lofty pulpit in whose shadow that stone memorial lies, and one of the officials took the picture of me and Mr. Wesley that appears above.  You can easily imagine how excited I was about this wholly unexpected turn of events!  I am sure they don't just allow any and everybody to do that, so that made me feel pretty special, like a real insider.  

But to dwell on that is to miss the real point which is that ALL are welcome in the house of God, no matter what their earthly qualifications or privileges are.  ALL people are God's beloved, and ALL are invited to pull up a chair at the Lord's table.  In the light of the ways that the most vulnerable (the elderly, children, and the poor) are suffering from the economic impact of the coronavirus pandemic, it makes me reflect on the responsibility we all bear in making sure that they do not remain outsiders but that they have access to economic support, health care, and most essentially, to their daily bread.  The current upheaval has revealed gaps and cracks in the systems many of us have taken for granted or ignored, and we must open our eyes, our mouths, and our hands in order to see, speak, and serve those most in need.   

Arising from his deeply-held Christian faith, John Wesley spoke firmly, even harshly about those who ignore the plight of the poor and who plead ignorance of their needs because of their deliberate avoidance of them, and he poured his energy, time, and resources into relieving their poverty and desperate circumstances.  He did so because Jesus spent his earthly life seeking out and drawing in the outsiders, turning the order of things upside down, lifting the downtrodden and broken and honoring them as children of God, as inheritors of the kingdom, as those whose deepest hunger and thirst will be satisfied by God.  We are called to do the very same, and shame on us when we do not.

An unexpected takeaway from my "quarter days" spent amongst the dreaming spires, and one I shall not quickly forget ...

18th Century and 21st Century Laptops

As we all continue to adapt, pivot, change, whatever you want to call it, because of coronavirus, it's amazing how creative some people, churches, and other organizations have been in coping and carrying on.  I must confess to an unholy envy of some of the imaginative solutions some of my colleagues and friends have come up with.  I'm not nearly as good at lateral thinking or seeing things from a different angle as some people, which is frustrating, but at least we're sharing our ideas and talking about how things have worked (or not, as the case may be). 

If alive today, John Wesley would likely have been on the cutting edge of figuring out how to carry on the task of sharing the gospel with the maximum number of people safely.  After all, he was almost infamous for the ways he pushed the boundaries, bent and even broke some of the accepted rules, and boldly tried and/or adapted new methods in the 18th century evangelistic revival.  He made use of the best tech of his day in order to preach, teach, provide medical care, offer spiritual counsel, and live out his call as a minister of the gospel, calling people to experience the gift of salvation.

Wesley broadly defined salvation as far more than going to heaven or eternal happiness.  Rather, he understood it as a present blessing, insisting that the words "You are saved" could properly also be translated as "You have been saved."  He beautifully writes, "So that the salvation which is here spoken of might be extended to the entire work of God, from the first dawning of grace in the soul till it is consummated in glory."  

The people behind the scenes at the Museum of Methodism and John Wesley's House in London have been doing their own version of pivoting, utilizing the power of YouTube in order to share the wealth of artefacts with the wider world during this time of restriction due to the pandemic.  They recently showcased a fascinating little lantern belonging to Wesley and the lovely travel writing table pictured above, featuring all sorts of 18th century state-of-the-art compartments for his quill pen, ink, and paper.  It's made of oak but stained to look like mahogany, and it would have been a rare and possibly expensive piece even when new, which probably indicates that it was a gift from someone to Mr. Wesley.  

In many ways unlike today's laptops which have the ability to do everything except make you a cup of tea, this humble but ingenious bit of wooden technology was nevertheless a powerful tool in the hands of a committed Christian who lived his life to do the most good to the most people every day of his long and fruitful ministry. With that kind of example before me, even though I'm not the most creative person around, I hope that, with my modern laptop and along with the members of the churches in my charge, I can find some effective and innovative ways to connect people and invite them to experience the joys of salvation, reminding them that, even in the pandemic, the best of all is that God is with us. 

Circuit Riding and the Incarnation, 2020 style

When I first became a Methodist minister (in the United Methodist Church), I had a two-point charge, so I was technically a circuit rider.  For three years, I rode down highway 701 in Johnston County at least twice a week between Corinth and Antioch (such Pauline names for churches) to preach, teach, baptize, celebrate communion, marry, and bury.  All the appointments I had after that were in station churches, and I suppose I thought my circuit riding days were over, especially since my most recent stint in parish ministry was at a Presbyterian church.  But the Spirit was nudging me in another direction, very subtly at first and then with something more like a shove than a nudge, and I find myself part of a circuit again, with primary pastoral charge of three churches in that circuit. 

I have to admit that moving across the Atlantic during a pandemic isn't exactly the sanest action I've ever taken, and since I don't have a car and actually haven't ever driven in the UK, my circuit riding looks a bit different.  If I have to be somewhere in person, I take a bus or take an Uber to my destination.  That's the exception more than the rule, however.  More often than not, my interactions with my parishioners take place over Zoom or via email and occasionally, even by using that archaic form of technology known as a telephone.  Two of my three churches have decided not to return to in-person worship for a while; the other will be discussing that at length next week.  There are so many things to take into consideration, but above all, we are seeking to love our neighbor as we love ourselves and to follow the first of Wesley's General Rules, to do no harm.

Each of these churches is  quite different from the others.  It's like having three children who have their own personalities, their own preferences, their own way of doing things, and their own creative ideas about how best to worship God.  It's exciting, it's challenging, and it's especially interesting in these corona-times.  I am learning new things every single day about what it is to be a Christian in three very different communities in a country very different from my own.  It can be a bit overwhelming, and sometimes I visualize myself as a dog paddling madly with its nose just inches above the water.  Some things will settle down as I get to know people and understand how the churches operate, but the weirdness of the pandemic means that we are still in for quite a wild ride for some time to come.  

We can't predict when we will be able to safely gather for worship in ways that include singing our favorite hymns and drinking tea and coffee afterwards, and with Advent and Christmas on the horizon, we are going to have to be really creative in figuring out how to preserve beloved traditions along with finding new ways to celebrate the Incarnation.  It's enough to make my head spin, but I take comfort in remembering our legacy as the people called Methodists, which by definition means that we seek to bring the gospel to as many people as we can in as many ways as we can.  

As I reflect on the difficulties that lie ahead as we contemplate the holidays, a thought floated into my mind and firmly lodged there -- Christmas isn't canceled.  Yes, it will be different.  No, it won't include many of the things we've grown to treasure.  But no matter how many things we can't do, there is so much that we can do if we aren't afraid to be innovative in how we live out and share our faith.  The first Christmas didn't exactly go according to plan -- what pregnant woman envisions giving birth surrounded by farm animals? and the beloved carol "Silent Night" has its origins in the breakdown of an organ and the substitution of a guitar, or so the story goes, so maybe this is just par for the course.  Circuit riding during the pandemic and Christmas in the corona-times may strain our imaginations to the breaking point, but at the heart of the Christian faith is the conviction that our loving and gracious God is with us, and as Mr. Wesley reminds us with his deathbed words, that is the best of all, whether one is circuit riding using a horse or an unstable internet connection or celebrating a picture-perfect candlelit communion surrounded by family and friends.  And that is good news of great joy that is for all the people!

 (Each church building is represented in these three pictures)

More and more dead to sin; more and more alive to God

 

For several years, my daily devotions, morning and evening, have been guided by a wonderful resource compiled by a friend and colleague, the Rev. Dr. Steve Manskar.  His book, A Disciple's Journal, combines lectionary scripture readings with a relevant "word" from John Wesley, portions of a hymn from Charles Wesley, and a pattern for charting one's acts of compassion, justice, devotion, and worship -- works of mercy and works of piety.  For at least six years, this has been my primary, though not my only daily companion for prayer and reflection.

This week's "word" from John Wesley comes from his sermon entitled "The Scripture Way of Salvation," one of the most succinct expositions of his theology and thought, particularly with regard to his understanding of justifying and sanctifying grace and the assurance that we receive when the Spirit witnesses with our spirit that we are children of God.  It's one that seminary students tend to be somewhat familiar with for that very reason.  

I have read it many times, but I have found with Wesley's writings and with Charles Wesley's hymns that, just as with scripture, we find new insights and new treasures every single time we turn to them.  Like that old saying that one never steps in the same river twice, we never hear the same message in quite the same way when we immerse ourselves in the richness of Wesley's sermons.  If you are familiar with lectio divina, the meditative way of feasting on a few verses of scripture that invites you to let the Holy Spirit guide you to a particular word or phrase, you may not be surprised to find that reading the Wesleys can function much the same way.  

This week, as I read the following passage from "The Scripture Way of Salvation," I found myself returning again and again to one sentence, the one from which this post takes its title.

From the time of our being "born again" the gradual work of sanctification takes place. We are enabled "by the Spirit" to "mortify the deeds of the body," of our evil nature. And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God. We go on from grace to grace, while we are careful to "abstain from all appearance of evil," and are "zealous of good works," "as we have opportunity doing good to all men;" while we walk in all his ordinances blameless, therein worshiping him in spirit and in truth; while we take up our cross and deny ourselves every pleasure that does not lead us to God.

That sentence leapt out at me every single time I read this excerpt -- And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God.  I love the parallelism of it, the balancing of our increasing death to the forces of sin and evil with the increase of our "aliveness" to God and subsequent growth in grace.  It's a satisfying way of expressing a profound truth, for we cannot wallow in sin and increase in grace.  It's simply not possible.  We must crucify the passions of the flesh in order to receive new and abundant life in and through Christ.  As we leave behind our old ways of thinking and behaving and being, we are drawn ever closer to becoming the people we were intended to be, created in the divine image, only a little lower than the angels.  Being alive to God implies a real change within, a change that is reflected without.  If we are born anew, born again, born from above, it will inevitably show in the lives we lead through the words we speak, the ways in which we interact with other people, and the expressions of love and service that we joyfully offer in obedience to Jesus's command that we love one another.  We will consecrate the work of our hands in gratitude and love to the One who creates, redeems, sustains, and cares for us even before we know anything of it.

I fall short of this life of holiness every day, and yet I cling to that promise inherent in the words of Christ in the Sermon on the Mount -- "be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect."  Jesus wouldn't have said for us to do it if it weren't possible, and so every day, I rededicate myself to the goal of becoming more and more dead to sin and therefore more and more alive to God.  I know I won't be able to do it on my own, but as I live a life filled with those works of mercy and piety, I believe that I will indeed go on from grace to grace, as the divine potter continues to shape and mold me into a holy vessel.  

My new life and ministry in England is teaching me new things every single day, and it's a little overwhelming sometimes.  I don't always know what I don't know, if you see what I mean.  I'm afraid that I will forget or that I will get it wrong or that I will somehow not be the minister I want to be, yet I am assured of that wonderful reality of dying to sin and living to God.  I hope that you can examine your life and say the same, and if not, what might you do to enable yourself to die more and more to sin in order to live more and more to God?  None of us does it alone, so surround yourself with good influences, with companions who will encourage and support you even as you support them in their Christian journey.  That is my hope and my prayer for myself, for you, and for all who are called by Christ's name.  May it be so!   

On Pleasing All Men (and Presumably Women)

Well, as the corona-times drag on, we are facing a second wave here in the UK, and new restrictions are coming back into play.  People are trying to stay positive, but the numbers of the jobless are increasing, the sight of disheartened workers is pervasive, the loneliness and fear of the elderly and vulnerable is palpable, and the pressure on healthcare workers as well as food banks and other safety nets is apparent. The toll the pandemic is taking on people's mental health is evident, even though most people understand that the preventive measures are still necessary in the face of so much illness and so many deaths. Those of us who are clergy are seeking ways of nurturing connection, especially for those without expertise in current technology like Zoom, and we are trying to be encouraging, to help people remain hopeful even when there seems to be no end in sight.  It's not easy. In fact, it's possibly the toughest season of ministry many of us have ever faced.  The pressure is immense.

Of course, disease and death and fear are nothing new. Scripture recounts stories of famine, of loss, of oppression, and of despair. But it also tells of a God whose love is wider and whose grace is deeper than we can even imagine.  It lifts up the broken-hearted, brings comfort to the despairing, and transforms the grimness of death itself into life abundant and free.

John Wesley lived in the turbulent 18th century, a time when scientific knowledge was increasing, intellectual curiosity was sparking, and religious revival was sweeping the length and breadth of Great Britain. At the same time, war and poverty and disease and social ills like alcoholism were ever present threats.  The early Methodists lived cheek and jowl with all that misery and desperation, and the preachers sought to bring strength and encouragement to people by helping them learn to trust in God's goodness and the unconditional love of Christ. 

Wesley knew that sometimes, there just were no words that could make things better, and he counseled his Methodists to take the following practical yet loving approach: 

Weep with them that weep. If you can do no more, at least mix your tears with theirs; and give them healing words, such as may calm their minds, and mitigate their sorrows. But if you can, if you are able to give them actual assistance, let it not be wanting. Be as eyes to the blind, as feet to the lame, a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. This will greatly tend to conciliate the affection, and to give a profitable pleasure, not only to those who are immediate objects of your compassion, but to others likewise that 'see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven'.  (On Pleasing All Men)

If we are struggling to minister to people in their need because we feel we have nothing to offer, we would do well to take those words to heart and put them into practice as we incarnate the love of Christ to our neighbours.  In ourselves we may have nothing to offer, but we don't come trusting in our own abilities but instead, we offer them Christ, who knows our sorrows and carries them as he walks alongside us.  Listening to their griefs, weeping with them as they mourn, and speaking to them with compassion -- these are acts of love that promote the dignity and worth of everyone, and they are gifts we can joyfully share.  In these uncertain days, how will you and I commit to do this? What can we do to bring light into someone's darkness? It might even be as simple as sharing a cup of tea...

Unspeakable

 

John Wesley's commentary on Exodus 34:6 is positively lyrical.  He wrote:  "The springs of mercy are always full, the streams of mercy always flowing; there is mercy enough in God, enough for all, enough for each, enough for ever."  The first time I read those words, I was deeply moved, and they still make me catch my breath.  I didn't grow up being afraid of God, but I didn't start to realize the depth of God's grace and the wideness of divine mercy until I began to really delve into Wesley's theology when I was at Duke Divinity School.  There is something immensely appealing about the belief that grace surrounds us every moment of our lives, even before we know anything about it and that it continues throughout, as the nudges of the Holy Spirit lead us beyond justification into sanctification and finally towards Christian perfection.

Not quite a month ago, I fulfilled a long-time dream and moved to England to serve in the British Methodist Church.  I spent the first two weeks (or fortnight, as they usually say here), in quarantine, and it was an interesting experience. I devoted myself to winnowing out the books that had been left by the former minister, learning to cook on a gas stove, figuring out the dishwasher and other appliances, and starting to get to know the people of the three churches that are my primary pastoral charges, of necessity mainly via telephone and Zoom.  I have been greeted with excitement, with curiosity, and with great hospitality, and the collegiality of the other ministers in the circuit along with the help and encouragement of the superintendents and circuit officers have made this first part of the transition an occasion of grace even as I miss my husband and the familiar things of home.  Someone asked me what I expected to find or experience coming here, and without even thinking, I responded, "Grace.  I expect to find grace as we learn to be church together in a time of pandemic and with all the changes that the corona-times have brought to every aspect of life."  

Today as I joined my clergy colleagues of the North Carolina Annual Conference for the Clergy Session via Zoom, I didn't expect the surge of emotion that engulfed me as I saw familiar faces and heard voices of people I have known and loved for years.  I mourned the loss of being able to be physically present with each other, and I felt the thousands of miles between us in a particularly sharp way.  Unable to talk with my usual support network, I was surprised by grace as new colleagues here in England surrounded me with kindness, understanding, and support. Person after person offered me encouragement, phone calls, and face-to-face tea dates.  I am filled with such gratitude for the beauty of the Wesleyan Connexion that binds all of us together, British Methodists and United Methodists, and all the other branches of the family, the heirs of the revival that emphasized the flowing streams of God's mercy and what Charles Wesley called the "unspeakable gift," the grace that is beyond the power of  human words to describe.  I don't know where this adventure will take me next, but I rejoice in the springs of mercy that are refreshing my soul each and every day.