Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“My little children, I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.” Galatians 4:19 (Common English Bible)

The wonderful author, Anne Lamott, wrote in Traveling Mercies:

“Carolyn Myss, the medical intuitive who writes and lectures about why people don’t heal, flew to Russia a few years ago to give some lectures. Everything that could go wrong did; flights were canceled or overbooked, connections missed, her reserved room at the hotel given to someone else. She kept trying to be a good sport, but finally, two mornings later, on the train to her conference on healing, she began to whine at the man sitting beside her about how infuriating her journey had been that far. It turned out that this man worked for the Dalai Lama. And he said—gently—that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born.”[1]

Paul told the Galatians, “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.” Immediate struggles hinted at joy or victory that was on the way. And isn’t that often the case in life? As the psalmist observed: “Weeping may stay all night, but by morning, joy!” (Ps 30:5) Hardship frequently precedes happiness and is often part of the recipe that produces it.

Think of valuable life lessons you have learned that were born of disappointment or discomfort. Betrayal by a friend or a romantic partner you believed in taught you crucial lessons about how fully, how quickly, and how wisely you would surrender yourself to someone in the future. The pain gave birth to a healthier understanding of trust. An accident that could have been tragic, but fortunately was not, taught you lessons about concentrating when behind the wheel. The pain gave birth to a healthier understanding of carefulness. A poor grade in an academic course affected your GPA and perhaps put in danger your plans for attending a specific grad school. The pain gave birth to a healthier commitment to scholarship. A lie thoughtlessly told was found out. You were embarrassed (and possibly even chastised by close acquaintances). The pain gave birth to a new commitment to Integrity. Even in the grief that followed the loss of a loved one, the pain gave birth to a deeper appreciation of friends and family members who are still with you. According to Paul, deeper understandings of Christian faith, and its claims upon our lives, are likewise born of the pain of acknowledging the gap that exists between what we profess and what we practice. “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.”

So, what are you facing at this moment in your life? What trial or temptation? What hardship or heartache? What loneliness or loss? What fear of fatigue? What are you going through that is painful? A wise coping mechanism is to evaluate whatever the issue may be by asking the question, “What good could eventually come of this?” “What can I learn from this situation?” “Will I allow it to make me bitter or better?” “How can I use this experience to equip me for the living that is yet to come?” Pain is wasted on those who refuse to learn. But for those who trust in God’s sustaining and mentoring presence, every struggle may be a birth pain of something beautiful yet to come. “I’m going through labor pains again until Christ is formed in you.”

Joy,

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[1] Lamott, Anne. Traveling Mercies (New York, Anchor Books, 1999), p. 107

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“You will love your neighbor as yourself.” Mark 12:31 (Common English Bible)

At a lovely gift shop in Banner Elk, North Carolina, I saw a needlepoint plaque containing these words: “I said, ‘Lord, forgive me.’ He answered, ‘I will if you will’.”

When a teacher of the Mosaic Law asked Jesus what commandment was the most crucial, Jesus replied that loving God was first, and that loving one’s neighbor as one’s self was next in line. “You will love your neighbor as yourself.” Without changing a single word in that second commandment, but simply by rearranging them, it becomes clear that self-love is a biblical command. Not self-absorption. Not arrogance. Not conceit. Not “my way or the highway.” Nowhere in scripture are we told that our lives are to take precedence over others who are also created in God’s image and by God’s love. However, neither are we told that we are less important than anyone else. In fact, we are clearly commanded to appropriately love ourselves. Respect ourselves. Care for ourselves. And that involves, in fact, requires that we forgive ourselves.

“The tension between the harsh super-ego and the ego that is subjected to it is what we call the sense of guilt; it expresses itself as a need for punishment.”[1] In those words, Freud articulated the destructive power of unresolved guilt—“a need for punishment.” I have long believed that guilt can serve only one of two purposes. It is either (a) a classroom or (b) a prison cell. It either teaches us how to live with meaning, dignity, and compassion, or it imprisons us to such an extent that the discovery of meaning, joy, and peace is impossible.

Think of a person who cheated on an exam in college and, thirty years later, still castigates himself for having done so. Think of the woman who spoke a harsh word to an acquaintance who is now deceased. She cannot retrieve the moment. There is no way to make amends. And so she lives with an unresolved gnawing self-recrimination that never goes away. Think of the spouse who was once unfaithful and, though forgiven by husband or wife, never feels worthy of that forgiveness or love. Those people limp their way through life, burdened by a memory of failure. That is guilt as a prison cell. Contrast that to the biblical model of self-love. That model interprets past actions as lessons to be learned for future successes. The dishonest student learns that no one can effectively cheat their way through life. There are no shortcuts as professionals, spouses, or parents. The person who spoke harshly realizes the power of words and, thus, develops into one who uses words to lift up rather than tear down. The unfaithful spouse recognizes the cherished status of marriage and commits him or herself to making the most of a second chance. That is guilt as a classroom.

Once the lessons guilt has to teach have been learned, our faith says we are challenged to let it go and move on. Lay it at the foot of the Cross and move forward. That’s what grace is about. It is about accepting the gift of a joyful future that God offers free of charge. Doing so requires appropriate self-love (i.e., forgiving yourself). The Christian doctrine of Atonement teaches that Jesus took our guilt to the Cross on our behalf. To insist on retaining that guilt diminishes the sacrifice of love he made for us. “I said, ‘Lord, forgive me.’ He answered, ‘I will if you will’.”

Joy,

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[1] Freud, Sigmond. Civilization and Its Discontents (1930), trans. James Strachey (New York: W. W. Norton, 1961), p. 84

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem . . . how often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.’” Luke 13:34b (Common English Bible)

My first bicycle was a red Schwinn. No gears. No hand brakes. But it was a thing of beauty to a little boy on his seventh birthday. Our family lived in a house with a long driveway going downhill to the street below. Across the street was an undeveloped piece of property, separated from the road by a deep ditch.

I had learned to ride a bike (or, so I thought) by pedaling around on one that belonged to my cousin. His parents restricted us to their driveway, which was paved and flat. In that safe confinement, you couldn’t build up much speed, nor did you have trouble applying the brakes. When my parents gave me the new Schwinn, it could just as well have been a Lamborghini to me. It was the most beautiful vehicle I had ever seen. As I hopped on, my dad told me to stay on the flat area of the driveway next to the house. But, where’s the adventure in that? I was a competent cyclist, a master of the two-wheeled beauty. So, ignoring wise advice, I turned and headed down the hill toward the street below. That’s when I realized that braking on a flat surface at a slow speed was an entirely different thing than braking on a steep decline at an accelerated speed. It was many years ago, but I still remember the mix of adrenaline and fear as I rocketed toward the street below, wondering why the brakes didn’t seem to be having much effect. Thank God there happened to be no traffic!

Off the driveway I went, into and across the street, and then airborne for just a moment until my new bike and I came to an inglorious halt in the ditch on the other side of the road. My parents had come running behind me. Dad lifted the bicycle from the ditch while mom lifted me. Neither the bike nor the rider suffered any serious injury. I was more embarrassed than harmed. I do remember that the scolding I expected did not occur. Instead, my mother lifted me into her arms and held me as I cried. I was safe. Forgiven. Loved. She gathered me into her love “just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.”

Jesus used that maternal language to describe the emotions he felt for Jerusalem and all that it symbolized. He was a rabbi. He knew that the Holy City was a living and visible reminder of the life and history of Israel. Somehow, within it lived the whole story of “God’s chosen people”[1], its journeys and trials, its previous exiles into foreign lands and its current occupation by a foreign captor, the legacies of its kings and prophets, its poetry of faith contained in the Psalms, its sincere but often failed efforts to honor the Law of Moses, its hopes and dreams and sorrows and tears. Jesus loved that history, he loved those people, as a mother does who gathers her child into her arms and sympathizes and comforts.

All of life’s surfaces are not smooth, flat, and easy to navigate. There are downhill slopes that we feel incapable of traversing. Frightening experiences or alarming crises occur, increasing in speed and intensity, and we have no brakes to slow them down. Sometimes, like the victim in The Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), we find ourselves feeling bruised, bleeding, and beaten in one of life’s ditches. It is then, Jesus promised, that he comes to us, that he is with us, that he gives us strength not our own to survive the moment, and that, like a loving parent, he holds us close until the pain has passed. Kyrie Eleieson, we pray. “Lord have mercy.” And he gathers us into his healing arms.

Joy,

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[1] References to the theme of the selection of Israel and of the New Testament Church for a special and intimate relationship with God can be found in Deuteronomy 7:6; 1 Peter 2:9

The following meditation was written by Grace Cameron Hood, Director of Children and Family Ministry at First Presbyterian Church of Delray Beach

“Now we see a reflection in a mirror; then we will see face-to-face. Now I know partially, but then I will know completely in the same way that I have been completely known. Now faith, hope, and love remain—these three things—and the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:9

There are so many titles to describe our life. In the midst of all the angst, thrills, and monotony of our lives, God steps in to help us understand our true “Working Title”:

Cross Carrier

Saved

Man/Woman of Prayer

Follower

Servant

Includer

Courageous

Learner

Intercessor

Believer

Lover

Giver

The list goes on. Each title describes who we are and maybe even alludes to what we should be doing. It is through our devotional life of immersing ourselves in the Scriptures and communing with God through prayer that we come to understand who we truly are and what we are called to do. Barbara Brown Taylor, in her book Always a Guest, describes the journey of what our “Working Title” could be in her address to Millbrook Baptist Church entitled “How to Lose Your Life Every Day.” Maybe we should be called “Losers” as we turn our lives around, lose ourselves, and live by some very easy and simple guidelines. Be genuine, serve others, be humble, put others first, honor and encourage others, hate what is evil, work hard, be joyful, patient in troubles, pray always . . . [1]Stop! Too much! Does this list reflect the life we are living? Is this the content of our lives? Which actions take us from “Working Title” to “Final Title?” It is clear that immersing ourselves in a relationship with God centered in prayer, worship, the Bible, and service are some of the actions that develop the plot of our lives.

The wonderful thing about our relationship with God is that we are living with a “Working Title”. 1 Cor. 13:12 reminds us that our journey is a dim representation of our whole, an incomplete version of who we are. These words of hope spur us on to love more fully, give more deeply, pray more fervently, serve more joyfully. What we do now is indeed a “Working Title.” Our “Final Title” will be Good and Faithful Servant.

Joy,

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[1] Taylor, Barbara Brown, “Always a Guest”, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Kentucky, 2020, Pages 61-69

The following meditation was written by Grace Cameron Hood, Director of Children and Family Ministry at First Presbyterian Church of Delray Beach.

“One of the disciples said, ‘Lord, teach us to pray . . .’ Jesus told them, ‘When you pray say: “Our Father . . .”’” Luke 11:1b-2a

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”[1]

This is one of the first prayers most children have learned. The origin is thought to be the New England Primer around 1737. I know that there must be so many reasons endemic to that time that called attention to the small child that they might die during the night. To our ears, it is horrible. To the point that the prayer has been greatly edited by teachers, parents, and educators.  Now we pray, “Angels watch me through the night and wake me with the morning light.” We are all so relieved by this nicer ending.

Another first 18^th century prayer children learn is:

“God is great, God is good, and we thank him for our food. By his hands we are fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread. Amen.[2]“

These two prayers that were and are prevalent in many Christian households here in the USA, are teaching tools for children. They give a place for children as they are growing Christians to begin a habit of prayer at mealtime and at bedtime. They both draw attention to God as the giver of life and the sustainer of our souls. They focus on the times of the day when the body is nourished either by food or sleep. These two well-known prayers are starting points for a life centered on prayer. 

A third prayer recited in every Christian Church around the world is “The Lord’s Prayer.” This prayer started with a disciple asking Jesus how to pray. Interestingly enough, all of these disciples were surrounded by people praying. In the Jewish tradition, prayer was everywhere. The disciples must have seen something different in the way that Jesus prayed. Jesus responded in very simple language. Just as a child learns “God is great . . .”  the early Christians learned “Our Father . . .”  Jesus focused on a short, powerful prayer done with simple words and easy ideas.

Down through the ages, The Great Prayer has been edited, translated into every language imaginable, and prayed from every corner of the globe. Each faith tradition has different wording. Do we ask God to forgive our debts, sins, or trespasses? The ending has also been wrapped up nicely with “For Thine is the Kingdom . . ,” Different words, but the same meaning. One only has to start, “Our Father . . .”, and the world quiets and listens.

I am reminded of when the children were young. For a while our custom was to go to McDonalds after church for lunch. Rachael and Nathanael would go play in the playground while I saved a table and Doug ordered the food. One Sunday, as the children were ushered back from the play area and hands were washed, we finally sat down. Everyone fixed their area . . . opened the Happy Meal boxes, checked out the toys, spread out the burger wrappers, and divvied out the ketchup cups. Then, in a loud preacher’s voice, Nathanael said, “Let us pray.” This got the attention of the whole restaurant. He began, “God is great . . .” The entire restaurant finished the prayer . . . we all knew it. We had all grown up with it. It came back in an instant.

Our Christian walk with God begins somewhere. It might begin with a simple prayer at the bedside or at a table that our well-meaning grandparents and parents helped us learn. Jesus has given us words to talk to God that allow for growth. The disciples took these words and used them to power their lives and witness. They took this prayer around the known world and taught people how to talk to God. Now, we are led to also kneel and receive power to share the love of God to a hungry and sleepy world.

Joy,

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[1] Anonymous

[2] Anonymous

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, Pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Take the things you heard me say in front of many other witnesses and pass them on to faithful people who are capable of teaching others.” 2 Timothy 2:2 (Common English Bible)

“‘I bring Naya into the Magic Kingdom.’ The Eyes of the Heart begins with a reference to Frederick Buechner’s maternal grandmother, Naya. But this time, he isn’t remembering Naya. Instead, Naya (who died in 1961) is there with him.”[1] Such is often one of memory’s gifts to us as part of the greater gift of grace. If people were special to us, they remain special with us. Some lessons we learn stay with us always. So, also, do the ones who imparted those lessons.

My father taught me a love of public speaking, Duke athletics, and the New York Yankees. He is deceased, but every time I stand behind a pulpit, watch the Blue Devils play, or turn on a Yankees-Red Sox game, he is there with me. My mother was a magnificent southern-style cook. My unending love of culinary arts is one of many ways she lives on in my life, despite the fact that she died forty years ago. I developed a love of poetry from a high school English teacher named Lena Flenniken, who has long been deceased. And yet, never do I experience the lyrical loveliness of William Butler Yeats, Emily Dickinson, or Robert Frost without feeling her presence in their words. Owen Weatherly taught me theology. Mickey Efird taught me biblical interpretation. John Carlton taught me homiletics. All now reside in that “eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.”(2 Cor 5:1 NIV) And yet, each of them in very real ways lives on with me, in me, and through me. Death is not strong enough to erase the presence or influence of those who helped shape us into who we are. “Where is your victory, Death? Where is your sting, Death? . . . Thanks be to God, who gives us this victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor 15:55, 57) and his resurrection. Death is no match for the impact sacred lives have on our lives.

When he wrote to Timothy, whom he considered his son in the faith, Paul confessed that he had made a sincere and concerted effort to teach Timothy the deep truths about Christ and Christian living. He sought to be a lasting influence in Timothy’s life. And, he hoped his young spiritual protege would then pass those lessons along and influence others, who would do the same for others still. “Take the things you heard me say in front of many other witnesses and pass them on to faithful people who are capable of teaching (passing them on to) others.” (2 Tim 2:2)

As part of this meditation, I suggest that you make a list of five names from your past. Beside each name, briefly note the impact that person had on your life, the key lesson you learned from them.

[1] Name ____________ Lesson ____________________

[2] Name ____________ Lesson ____________________

[3] Name ____________ Lesson ____________________

[4] Name ____________ Lesson ____________________

[5] Name ____________ Lesson ____________________

What would your life be like were it not for the contributions of the persons whose names and lessons you listed? What would your faith be like were it not for the contributions of those individuals, and perhaps a list of additional names, as well?

Buechner brought Naya into the Magic Kingdom with him. Her influence, her impact, her life had been too large ever to be erased or deleted from his essential self. Something of her went with him as he carved and crafted his own experience of living. Who goes with you? And, who will take you with them?

Joy,

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[1] Munroe, Jeffrey. Reading Buechner (Downers Grove, Illinois, InterVarsity Press, 2019), p. 58

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Michael B. Brown, pastor at Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina and a professor at Wake Forest University.

“ . . . where sin increased, grace multiplied even more.” Romans 5:20 (Common English Bible)

“God’s love does not presuppose goodness in us, but rather causes it.”[1] I find these words from Thomas Aquinas to be both comforting and challenging.

Initially, I am comforted that I do not have to earn God’s love. I’m not required to attain it by deeds, merit, or even proper mortality. God doesn’t love me “because of,” but rather “in spite of.”

Think of the child who is told to change clothes after coming home from church. But, he is so anxious to work on the fort he is building in the backyard that he conveniently forgets to do as told. Later, when he enters the house covered in mud and dirt (perhaps with a rip in those new Sunday pants you purchased), do you quit loving him? If the question were, “Do you become frustrated?” the answer would doubtless be “Yes” (and understandably so). “Do you get angry?” Probably another “Yes.” “Do you scold? Even punish (“No TV tonight!”)? “Yes” and “Yes.” But, do you quit loving your child? When he is scolded and the smile on his face turns upside down and tears begin to make small rows down his muddy face, isn’t your immediate impulse to gather the child into your arms and comfort him?

Our younger daughter consistently left things at elementary school, having no idea where those items were when asked about them. Often, they were unusual things to be left behind. We would regularly go to the Lost-and-Found closet at her school and find one missing show. Who loses one shoe, and how does that even happen? Or, we would find her sweater or coat that had been left behind on a day with a low temperature in the 30s. Were we frustrated? Sometimes, yes (though often it was more humorous than irritating). Did we seek to correct her, possibly even lecturing from time to time? I’m sure we did. But, did her mistakes cause us to stop loving that little human gift who God had placed in our lives? Of course not.

God loves us because we are God’s children. We don’t earn it. We are marred by failings and flaws. But, as Martin Luther observed, “God does not love us because we are lovable, but because he is love; not because we are worthy, but because he is merciful.”[2] As one who makes mistakes on a daily basis, I find comfort in that. “Where sin increased, grace multiplied even more.”

And, don’t forget that second lesson from Aquinas: God’s love causes goodness in us. Grace may be free, but it is never cheap. It assumes that lessons learned by sinning and being forgiven will alter the ways we do business morally. We will move in new directions (which, in fact, is what the word conversion means). One of those new directions becomes the discipline of forgiving. What was provided to us, we feel called and compelled to pass along to others. We are forgiven, and therefore, we forgive. Jesus taught his disciples to pray, “Forgive us . . . just as we also forgive those who have wronged us.” (Matt 6:12) That is the challenging part, that you and I are expected to “treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you.” (Luke 6:31)

When I served as Pastor at Marble Collegiate Church in New York City, our resident on-staff Bible scholar was a Roman Catholic nun named Sister Carol Perry. Sister Carol was a walking source of wisdom, witticisms, and modern-day proverbs. One that I heard her articulate frequently was: “Begin and end every day with the words, ‘God loves me and calls me to pass it along’”. That’s a lovely definition of grace, isn’t it? I am loved often in spite of myself and am, therefore, called to pass along to others that which God has shared with me.

Joy,

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[1] Aquinas, Thomas. The Summa Theologica. Translated by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. New York: Benziger Bros., 1947, 1, q.20, a.2.

[2] Luther, Martin. “The Heidelberg Disputation.” In Luther’s Works, Vol. 31: Career of the Reformer I, edited by Harold J. Grimm and Helmut T. Lehmann, 35–70. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957, Thesis 16, 56.

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown, pastor at Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

The Lord called to Samuel. “I’m here,” he said. Samuel hurried to Eli and said, “I’m here. You called me?” “I didn’t call you,” Eli replied. “Go lie down.” So he did. Again the Lord called Samuel, so Samuel got up, went to Eli, and said, “I’m here. You called me?” “I didn’t call, my son,” Eli replied. “Go and lie down.” (Now Samuel didn’t yet know the Lord, and the Lord’s word hadn’t yet been revealed to him.) A third time the Lord called Samuel. He got up, went to Eli, and said, “I’m here. You called me?” Then Eli realized that it was the Lord who was calling the boy. So Eli said to Samuel, “Go and lie down. If he calls you, say, ‘Speak Lord. Your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down where he’d been. Then the Lord came and stood there, calling just as before, “Samuel, Samuel!” Samuel said, “Speak. Your servant is listening.” 1 Samuel 3:4-10 (Common English Bible)

Using cell phones in restaurants shouldn’t be allowed. Not only is it dismissive of others at your table, but it is rude to those sitting anywhere within earshot. Nonetheless, what we overhear is sometimes intriguing or even entertaining.

Recently at a lovely cafe not far from my house, I had the misfortune of being seated only a few feet away from a woman who was obviously livid. For at least five minutes, she used her cell phone to unload on the object of her wrath. Loud, agitated, and animated, never once did she appear to come up for air. I feared that if she didn’t pause long enough to inhale, she might faint and land squarely on my plate of pasta. If conversations are dialogues, then hers was not a conversation. It was, instead, a monologue, a lecture.

Prayer is essentially dialogical, at best more a practice of listening than speaking. Too often we pray like that woman in the cafe, raging at God when we feel life is treating us unfairly. Or, just as often we act as if God is little more than a shopping mall Santa. We present our list of desires, say a quick “Amen,” and decide to get back in touch when our next wish list is ready. Either way, prayer is a monologue rather than a conversation.

When Samuel was a boy under the tutelage of the priest, Eli, he learned one of faith’s powerful lessons: that the most important prayers ever offered may be prayers without words. Four times during the night, Samuel was awakened by hearing someone call his name. Twice he went to Eli, asking why he had been summoned. Each time Eli replied that he had not called and sent Samuel back to bed. On the third occasion, Eli understood. “Go and lie down,” he told Samuel. “If he calls again, say, `Speak, Lord, your servant is listening’.” Samuel did what Eli suggested, becoming still and silent. He simply listened. In so doing, unimagined doors opened for Samuel – doors to become a great Prophet and to name Israel’s first two kings, Saul and David. Arguably the most important prayer Samuel ever prayed was one without words, a simple act of listening for God.

How can we know what God wants for us or from us if we only speak but never listen? A spiritual discipline of indescribable importance is the practice of silence. Sitting quietly in God’s presence. Opening oneself to the movement of the Spirit. Waiting for insights we are often too busy to hear. “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown, pastor of Blowing Rock Methodist Church in North Carolina.

“Aaron will burn sweet-smelling incense on the incense altar every morning when he takes care of the lamps. And again when Aaron lights the lamps at twilight, he will burn incense. It should be a regular incense offering in the Lord’s presence in every generation.” Exodus 30:7, 8 (Common English Bible0

During worship in an Episcopal church I sometimes attend, the opening processional is led by a thurifer swinging a container of sweet smelling incense. At designated moments throughout the service (e.g., before the reading of scripture or the quoting of liturgical prayers) one of the participating clergy will swing the thurifer near the altar, allowing smoke from the incense to fill the chancel and rise to the ceiling. That provides the congregation with a visible symbol of prayers wafting their way toward heaven.

In the Book of Exodus is a text about Aaron, the priest, burning incense at the holy altar morning and night. Consistently. Unfailingly. Paul said it this way: “Pray continually.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)

Morning and night? Continually? Perhaps both Aaron and Paul were suggesting that prayer is not so much a momentary experience as it is an ongoing way of living. Our lives, like incense, continually waft their ways toward heaven. Our daily experiences are part of the fabric of praying.

At its heart, prayer is communication with God, which is rooted in relationship. God and we are making life’s journey together. When hiking with a friend, you don’t pause occasionally and say, “Now is a scheduled time for us to chat.” Instead, you carry on a very natural conversation as you make the journey. At home, at work, at school, in our laughter and tears, in our hard striving or leisure, in all places and at all times, our lives are connected to our Creator-Friend. We are hiking together. The invitation, “Lord be with me,” or the commitment, “Where you lead me, I will follow,” are confessions that we desire ongoing divine presence. We don’t have to make contact with God once in a while (before meals, at bedtime, in church, or in moments of crisis or need). Instead, that contact is unceasing. Morning and night. Continual.

One of the kindest and gentlest persons I ever knew was a member of the first congregation I pastored following seminary. He was a retired mill worker and a devoted participant in our church. For forty years he had supervised other workers in a textile mill, and all of them seemed to love him deeply and dearly. His neighbors felt the same way. Church members trusted and relied on him, electing him to a wide variety of leadership positions. In fact, our whole little community considered him to be light who brightened the shadows. Why was he so universally loved and respected? I think the secret lay in a statement I heard him make once. He said, “In every encounter I have with another, in every conversation, I know that God is listening. So,” he concluded, “no matter who I’m talking to, it still winds up being a kind of prayer.” His recipe for fulfilment and positive relationships was located in understanding all of life as a form of praying. His spirit, like Aaron’s incense, was forever wafting its way toward heaven. God was unfailingly close, making the journey with him. Recognizing that, he understood that God could not be excluded from anything else he did. In short, his life became an unending experience of prayer. At its best, that’s what prayer is for us all. We “pray continually.”

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Bruce Main, President and Founder of Urban Promise Ministries in New Jersey.

“Look! I’m doing a new thing….” Isaiah 43:19a (Common English Bible)

“You gotta keep the door open.”

Evidently my body language suggested I wasn’t completely understanding her comment.

“You know,” she clarified. “It’s the heart. You’ve got to keep it open to new opportunities. Shut the door and you wither up.”

My new friend Kathy is figuring out retirement. She still consults a little, but at this stage of life she’s looking to give back as a volunteer. 

So, she’s “keeping the door open” for opportunities to engage with her community.  That’s why she was in my office. Our campus gardens need TLC and Kathy can’t wait to get started.  “I love working outside and with my hands. Grew up on a farm. Never really leaves you.”  Music to my ears. 

But besides gardening, Kathy is thinking about aging. And since we’re all on that path, it might behoove us to spend a little time reflecting on how we can do it well. Like Kathy—who tries to keep her heart open to new challenges, expanding her circle of friends and intentionally hanging around younger people—we too choose how we meet our future. 

Kathy’s onto something. And it’s no coincidence I stumbled across a prayer by James Finley:

“God, help me to be the kind of old person young people want old people to be. Help me not just to talk like this but help me to walk around like this and answer the phone like this and talk to my grandchildren like this.”[1]

Finley’s prayer raises a great question: What kind of old person do we want to be? We’ve all met our share of duds. Cranky. Bitter. Anxious. Controlling. Stuck.  Miserable. But like you, we’ve met a few whose depth of wisdom, grace and generosity perfume the world with a beautiful fragrance. Never enough of these blossoming flowers.

So, what’s aging well got to do with prayer? Here’s a possible connection.

Ironically, despite advances in technology and accessibility to knowledge, humans have not evolved much in the past 2000 years.  Our primal impulses of fear, control and power are still very much alive—roadblocks to growing into old people young people want old people to be.   

In the Bible we meet numerous characters.  Some age well. Others do not do so well.  Aging well seems connected to the openness of one’s heart. Remember King Herod? Guess what? Door closed. No space in his heart for the presence of a child who brings light, hope and healing to those living in darkness. And we all have a little Herod in us—clinging to our small, temporal empires while forfeiting the new things God wants to do in our lives. Fortunately, the wise men Herod sent to reveal the location of the Christ child—so he can execute his sinister, murderous plan to rid Jesus—kept their hearts open, muster the courage to disobey his orders, protect the child and allow the Christmas story to take root.

“I think people who live their lives open to awe and wonder have a much greater chance of meeting the Holy than someone who goes to church but doesn’t live in an open way,” reflects Fr Richard Rohr. “I see people come to church day after day unprepared for anything new or different. Even if something new or different happens, they fit it into their old boxes.”[2] 

We should all want to “meet the Holy.” And through prayer, solitude and meditation we open the door to God’s ever moving spirit and to a life of awe and wonder. Let’s protect and nurture the new things God is birthing in the world and in you and me. Let’s age well.  Let’s become old people that young people want us to be.

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[1] Finley, James, “Becoming Light for Others”, https://cac.org/daily-meditations/becoming-light-for-others/.

[2] Rohr, Richard, “Willing to Be Amazed”, https://cac.org/daily-meditations/willing-to-be-amazed/#:~:text=I%20think%20people%20who%20live%20their%20lives,Holy%20than%20someone%20who%20just%20goes%20to

Joy,