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Devotion Fourteen
3.15.22 Tuesday

This Lenten season, we are reflecting on the wildness of mercy. When we really look around us and examine our lives, it’s really hard to come up with something like an equation that will explain and predict mercy. So often mercy comes in unexpected ways and in unimaginable amounts. When you think of some of the pain and injustices in our world and in the past, it really is incredible that we have come through as we have. This should give us hope for the future.

But even so, we are always tempted to look after our own. To take a smaller, more manageable view of life. To pare things back so that we can feel productive or successful. But Divine mercy does not work that way.

Rabbi Martin Buber (1878-1965) shares this story from the Jewish tradition:

“The Yehudi was asked: ‘In the Talmud it says that the stork is called hasida in Hebrew, that is, the devout or the loving one, because he gives so much love to his mate and his young. Then why is he classed in the Scriptures with the unclean birds?’ He answered: ‘Because he gives love only to his own.’”

That is how it is with the wildness of mercy. No limits. No convenient borders or boundaries. We never know where we are going to be needed. Where we will be called to serve. Where we will be led to have an influence or make an impact. It could be anywhere. Anything. But we know that if we only look to our close circle, we are cutting ourselves off from the vast expanse of the wildness of mercy that we are not only called to give but that we also receive. Yes, have compassion upon yourself and those close to you, but don’t stop there. Don’t try to tame the wildness of mercy.

Prayer: May we be grateful for family and friends and those who encircle us with love and care. And may the compassion we learn at home teach us that the whole world is our home and the entire web of life is our family. Amen.

Devotion 13
Monday 3.14.22

I read an article today about the increasingly limited information available to the people of Russia from outside of the country. The Russian government wants to control the narrative about Ukraine. Russians are not allowed to use the words ‘war’ or ‘invasion’ in reference to Ukraine. It is a ‘special military operation’. Because of the false information provided by the government, many of the people of Russia do not believe that a war is going on. And they certainly don’t believe that Russia is in any way the aggressor.

That’s the thing about people. We lie. About all kinds of things. War. Slavery. Our health. Our grades. All the time. About so many things. We simply, well, lie. We say thank you for something we didn’t like. We pay someone a compliment to make them feel good or to get ourselves off the hook when we really don’t mean it. We make excuses that we are busy when we could actually do something we just don’t want to. We are just really good at lying. About big things. About little things. About inconsequential things. About existential things.

And, in my opinion, it must be admitted that religion has certainly done its share of lying to people. And that lying causes untold harm.

Why do we lie? For a million reasons. Because we want to be liked. Because we are greedy. Because we’re lazy. Because we want to get ahead. Because it’s easy. Because the truth is too hard to bear. Because it’s to our advantage in some way. Because we want to protect someone’s feelings. Because we think it will avoid causing harm in some way. And that is just a start to why we lie.

I was thinking recently about our dogs and about nature. Animals. Plants. The natural world. There’s no lying. Animals can’t lie. They can practice deception for the sake of getting food. But it is not lying. It’s a necessary behavior for survival. Maybe that’s how some people think about lying.

But is lying really to our advantage, ultimately? I don’t think so. I think it compromises our character. Diminishes our spirits. Sucks us down – one lie. Then another. Then another. And then, well, what is real? What is truly reality? It’s not a war or an invasion. . . And lying masks the problems we are facing that need to be addressed with honesty, humility, and creativity for our survival.

In the New Testament we are told, “The truth will set you free.” The truth may be difficult. Stressful, even. Hard to deliver. Awful to accept. It may be hurtful. Many people today don’t want to know the truth about things like systemic racism and global warming. But, ultimately, the truth serves our well-being far more than lying ever will. Even though we may only ever see a partial truth.

Look at nature. No lying. Instead there is adaptation, adjustment, creating new balance. There is also the truth of incredible disruption and extinction. We need to be seeing the truth that nature is showing us to help us survive. The truth, hard as it may be, will set us free. That is part of the wildness of mercy. The truth may be painful but it leads to healing.

Prayer: Think about a lie you have told. Or that has been told to you. And the harm that it has caused. May we seek to see the truth. May we seek to tell the truth. May we make amends for the lies that have caused harm. May we seek to be made free by the truth. And the truth is that there is a wildness to Divine mercy and that mercy is our blessing. Amen.

Devotion 12
3.13.22

It was just about two years ago that the covid lockdown began. After church on the second Sunday of March 2020, we had a meeting to discuss the situation. About 20 people attended. We sat in a circle. We decided that we wanted to create a ritual to do each day to remember covid. So people were encouraged to pick a time that would work for them each day, light a candle, and offer the prayer that was created based on the church’s mission statement. If you couldn’t light a candle, you could turn on the flashlight on your phone. We were looking for light and hope in what was becoming an increasingly dark picture.

At the end of the gathering, we decided that we would monitor the situation and respond accordingly. We had no idea that we would not be back together again worshipping in the sanctuary for many months. It never occurred to us that we would not be coming back to church, as usual, the next Sunday. Or the next. Or the next. Not even an Easter service. Really? I mean, we never cancel church. Well, in the past 30 years, we have had to cancel church twice due to hurricanes. But basically, church goes on. Period.

And even though we could not safely meet, even though we could not gather in person, even though there was no service in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings, even though the piano wasn’t played for over a year, even though there was no one working in the office on a regular basis, even though, even though, even though – the church did go on. Church went on.

There were weekly Corona Sabbath posts with scripture, prayers, reflections, and music to feed our spirits. There were videos for special occasions like Earth Day and Mother’s Day with pictures contributed by the congregation. The sanctuary was open for prayer each Sunday morning and there was support and solace for the few who needed that space. There were weekly labyrinth walks outside, physically distanced. There were emails and posts on the website and phone calls helping the congregation maintain its ministry and stay connected. There were advisors meetings held outside under the trees. There were the herculean efforts of the Care Team, expanded from a ministry to the homebound and infirm to a ministry to the whole congregation now homebound. There were cards, flowers, drive-by visits, signs held up and seen through windows. There were outdoor visits by the gates of Westminster Suncoast to see not only church members but others who simply were eager for interpersonal contact with the ‘outside’ world. There was help provided to people in the congregation and beyond who were in need. Oh, and did I say there were Zoom meetings? And even Zoom services, Zoom communion, and other Zoom gatherings? Quite a stretch for a church that intentionally identifies as high touch/low tech.

Through these two years of an absolutely crazy ride, that felt at times like Disney’s Space Mountain, a roller coaster in the dark, the church went on. While scientists scrambled for vaccines and cures. The ministry of the church continued. While politicians wrangled over protecting the health and safety of people as well as the economy. The church was here to provide the spiritual support and inspiration that was needed to navigate our way through this unfolding saga.

Over six million people are dead because of this virus. Sisters. Brothers. Lovers. Mothers. Fathers. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Neighbors. Friends. Coworkers. Celebrities. Entertainers. Politicians. Teachers. Doctors. Nurses. Cleaning people. Store clerks. So many people. Gone. Our hearts are broken open. So much love. So much grief.

While so many people and so many activities and organizations and traditions are gone, finished, the church is still here to see us through. To help us heal. To renew our appreciation for the sacredness of each and every life. Despite all that has gone on, the body of Christ is still standing. Embodying Divine Love. Shining light and hope for the world. This virus could not take down the church. That is the wildness of mercy.

Prayer: Take a few moments to think about how covid has affected your life. Think about the things you had to give up. The things you missed. The people who are gone. Think about how things are different now because of covid. Then give thanks that through it all, the wildness of Divine mercy has still found us and sustained us, even through the ministry of our beloved church. Amen.