Monday Morning Sabbath

Any person who works in the church knows that Sunday is not a day of rest. For the sake of self-care, you must carve out your own bit of sabbath time, be it a week day, a morning, or just an hour out of one day. Monday morning was my sabbath time... and it was a wonderfully calm and peaceful morning.

I woke up a little after 6:30 to a sunlit room, with The Girl Named Duke sleeping soundly beside me.

                

Instead of going back to sleep I finally finished reading this book:

Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker's Proverbs of Ashes.

Once finished, I
took Duke outside to do her business,
gave her breakfast,
and admired the hydrangeas Lettie,
a parishioner from Asbury,
gave me after church yesterday.

While coffee brewed I put away dishes, washed some more dishes, folded laundry, 

and visited with this guy. 

I contemplated taking out the final round of stitched on the shawl I (finally!) finished, and decided to let it be. For now.

                             


I poured myself a cup of coffee in my favorite muf, gathered my journal and pens, and sat down to write. When I opened my journal I found an entry made by Jack:

I think it's going to be a perfect Monday. Who knew such a thing existed?

Peace and love,
Amanda

7th Sunday after Pentecost

**I gave this sermon on Sunday, July 7 at the Broadway/Port Colden UMCs where my husband serves as pastor, and then at Asbury UMC where I am the summer supply pastor**

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

When I was growing up, my father worked very hard so that my mother could be a stay at home mom. He still works incredibly hard, continuing to work two, sometimes three different jobs in order to provide for his family. Ever since I can remember he has had a lawn cutting business, and in the spring, summer, and early fall he would come home from whatever other job he had at the time, put the mowers and the trimmers and the blowers onto his trailer, and then go work until it was too dark to see. Weekends were also taken up with mowing and trimming, and he always came home hot, sweaty, and bone-tired. Perhaps not surprisingly, the proverb that “the shoemaker’s children go barefoot,” applied to our lawn and gardens. He spent so much time and energy caring for other people’s yards that he had very little time to devote to our own.

While this was sometimes an annoyance to my mother, it gave ample opportunity for the multiple boys who had taken an interest in one of the four of us to make a good impression on my father and mother. There was one high school boy in particular, who clearly didn’t have enough chores to do at his own home, who spent a lot of time taking out the trash cans, stacking firewood, and weeding the flower beds. He became more of a son than a suitor, and would soon make himself perfectly at home. One evening it was getting close to suppertime and I had decided to make dinner. I am actually quite a good cook, but something went terribly wrong with this dish. I still don’t know what could have happened- it was a boxed meal, the kind that had the noodles, and the spices, and everything you needed. All you had to do was “just add chicken” -and some water and oil- and you were golden! I had made this dish before, and I was looking to impress the young man just a tad. We all sat down to dinner: me, my sisters, my mom, the boy from down the street, and another neighborhood kid who spent a lot of time under our roof. We all sat down to eat, and immediately something was wrong. The dish was horrible! My face flushed with embarrassment, and it was so bad nobody, not even me, tried to eat more than the first bite. Except Carrie, the young girl down the street, who was determinedly chewing and swallowing each unpalatable mouthful. “Well, it’s not a total waste,” my mom said, laughing. “At least Carrie likes it!” To which Carrie replied, with the honesty and bluntness of a child, “Oh no, it’s bad. My parents just told me to always eat what’s put in front of you when you’re a guest.”

We didn’t make Carrie eat anymore of the failed chicken dish. I think we ordered pizza.

It can be difficult, even stressful, to be the host. 

But sometimes it can be even harder to be the guest.

In the gospel lesson that we heard today, Jesus is once again sending disciples ahead of him to announce his arrival at various towns as he travels towards Jerusalem. Now, he had done this before, actually twice before, with varying results. First, Jesus called the twelve together, and he gave them the power and the authority to heal the sick and cast out demons. Then, he sent them out, two by two, into the neighboring towns to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal, just as he had been doing. “He said to them, ‘Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money—not even an extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them’” (Lk 9:3-5). The twelve did as they were told, and they were successful! They had been welcomed in the towns that they traveled to, and they were able to heal the sick and cast out demons, and people were eager to hear the teachings of Jesus. Later, after the twelve have returned, Jesus sends an unnumbered group of messengers ahead of him. However, this group was not successful- at all. The gospel tells us that they were not received in the Samaritan village that they came upon. Never one to be daunted by setbacks, Jesus tries again, falling back on old tactics but with greater numbers. This time, he doesn’t send out twelve disciples, but seventy! That’s thirty pairs of disciples who can be teaching and preaching and healing in his name! His instructions begin in the same way he instructed the twelve: carry no purse, no bag, no sandals. Whatever house you enter, say “Peace to this house!”- and then stay there.

But then he continues: Don’t go hopping from house to house. That’s rude. Eat and drink what your host puts in front of you. Don’t overstay your welcome; heal the sick, teach them about the kingdom of God. Be a good guest, because you are representing me. Jesus reminds them that, for all intents and purposes, they are the hands and feet and mouthpieces of Christ, and they must act accordingly, accepting the hospitality that is offered to them, entering into each town and home with peace in their hearts and joy on their lips as they proclaim the incredible, inclusive hospitality of the kingdom of God.

Jesus sends the seventy out, just as he had the twelve, to do these things, even though he knew the potential danger they faced. The seventy went out, just as the twelve, knowing the risks that they were taking. They were taking no money- they had no way of purchasing provisions, or to offer up to thieves on the road if they were waylaid. They were taking no extra clothes, nothing to protect them from the elements other than the clothes on their backs. They were taking no bread or water for their journey, which put them at the mercy of those they encountered, giving the towns the power to give life, by taking them in- or take it away. In a world that was wracked with religious and political tension, it could be dangerous to be associated with Jesus. And yet they went anyway. They went out into the world, despite the dangers, despite the personal risk, trusting that God and the people they had been sent to minister to would provide for them. They went without anything tangible to offer, only the words of their mouth, the presence of their spirit, and their faith in Christ and the kingdom of God. And they were rewarded, as they encountered gracious hosts whose doors were open to strangers, and whose hearts were open to their teachings. And the disciples taught them many things.

Just as their hosts welcomed the disciples into their home, so too will they welcomed into the kingdom of God.

Just as we welcome the least, the last, and the lost into our hearts, our homes, and our lives, so too will we be welcomed into the kingdom of God.

We too live in a world that is often dangerous, and frightening. It can be difficult to follow where Jesus calls us when it is so easy to worry about the food on our tables, the clothes on our backs, the taxes that we pay, the lives that are needlessly lost due to senseless violence. And yet, Jesus calls us, just as he called the twelve and the seventy, to go out and be present in the world. Jesus calls us to be both host and guest, to welcome those who are sick and hurting, or hungry and naked, Jesus calls us to be the hands and feet of Christ in a broken world. But Jesus also calls us to be guests, offering peace to those we encounter, accepting whatever gifts they give us, reciprocating with acts of kindness, and mercy, and love.

Whatever road we happen to be on, whether we are standing in the doorway with open arms, or standing on the threshold with outstretched hand, let us always offer one another the peace of Christ, who calls us to follow him on this earth, with the promise that all of us will be guests in his heavenly kingdom.

Asbury UMC

 On Sunday, July 7, 2013 I began serving the congregation of Asbury UMC as their summer supply pastor. I am incredibly honored and excited for this new adventure, and look forward to the new things that God will do through and with this small congregation!


Here's the church from the outside- I love the purple doors! Want to take a look inside? 




Come on in!

This picture makes the sanctuary look deceptively large, but here it is!

(Sorry the picture is dark- I couldn't find the light switch...)

Here's another dark photo of the pews. I love the way they curve. There is a slight slope- I suppose you would call that stadium seating?

And now... the best part. Other than the people, that is. ; )

ISN'T IT GORGEOUS!?!?!?

I am in love with this window. 

 

 These are pretty incredible too.



The Asbury congregation began as a Methodist class in 1787 that met in the home of Colonel William McCullough, and became established in 1796. Francis Asbury laid the cornerstone for the original building on August 9, 1796, and the church and town came to be the first named after the famous bishop. Asbury visited and preached here multiple times before his death. After his last visit on May 9, 1811 he wrote:







"We came to Asbury. I preached and added a special exhortation. Were it not for the brewing and drinking of miserable whiskey, Asbury town would be a pleasant place."



So far I haven't seen any signs of a distillery. I think if Asbury were to return today, he would be quite pleased.