The best part of waking up!

"Praise the LORD with the harp; play to him upon the psaltery and lyre. Sing for him a new song; sound a fanfare with all your skill upon the trumpet.” Psalm 33:2-3

I am a morning person. Not a “get up at five to milk the cows” morning person, but a get out of bed, stumble into the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee carefully (mostly by touch, as I feel the heat of the liquid climbing and warming the ceramic mug as I hold it carefully in my left hand whilst pouring the hot, black nectar of the gods with my right) morning person.

I cherish the dawn. It’s dark and quiet. I never hurry or force myself to arise. I’ve had the sleep my body requires by six a.m. and now there are other things my body needs: relief and caffeinated hydration. I move about the house quietly on padded feet, not because I am old and slow, but because I enjoy the feel of the cool hardwood on my tootsies. It contrasts nicely with the warmth of the robe that wraps my shoulders and torso.

I make my way from bed to kitchen to office, quietly, peaceably. I turn on lights that are kept dim for the mornings. No morning bugle call for me. No reveille. The closest thing I have for noise are the four light peeps the coffee maker makes when the coffee is ready. I don’t need the signal. My nose knows the coffee’s ready, but what do coffee makers know about my schnoz? So I ignore the peeps, which are really quieter than the snapping splats the coffee maker makes when the last few drops spurt into its filtered cone.

“Souls that are harried and hurried need to be slowed down …” says Richard H. Schmidt in “Praises Prayers & Curses – Conversations with the PSALMS.” 

I agree. The world operates 24/7 and spins too fast. The early bird may get the worm, but I do not rise in order to stuff my face, but to spend some time in the arms of the One who holds me near and dear. I hear her heartbeat as I listen to the morning songbirds. 

I look outside my office window, noting four deer passing by, pausing to snack upon my flowers (curse them!), and yet secretly I know they need to eat too. Bless the LORD they think my yard a place of fine dining, where they nibble here and there, but leave most of it alone (for the most part). 

I contrast that with my own penchant to gulp my food like there’s no tomorrow. I make my confession to God and pray the LORD will slow down my mouth enough to at least taste and enjoy what it is I eat as I graze away throughout the day.

I take another sip; the neighborhood cats are on the prowl. There’s the orange one who loves to pop over while we work in the yard; she appreciates when we scratch around her ears and neck. She never says much, but accepts our adoration as she strolls about, surveying her domain. She does her business beneath the great maple tree out front, but that’s OK. The tree is bursting forth in leaf, and the leaves appear just a tad greener, happier, and healthier for her contributions.

The neighbor dogs across the street are out; they have half an acre of backyard in which to roam and play, but they spend their time standing at the front corner of their chain-link world and note the passing of every, single, passing, walker, jogger, stroller, man-jack, woman, and child. Their “songs” are anything but melodious, but even so, I know it is their nature to warn off potential trespassers, just as prophets warn against stupid, crooked, greedy despots. 

Yes, no one likes the sound of barking, yipping, yelping dogs, and yet we must learn to heed their warnings, too. Many are the false alarms, but what a gift when the alarm is sounded and hearth and home are saved. God bless the world’s Lassies!

And so we reach the end of the dawn. The sun has risen; caffeine courses through my veins. God and I have had our chat and compared notes. Now we shall each tend to our worlds as we sally forth once again here in this, our valley – at peace and awake.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Holy Ones Among Us – Lenten Devotions for 2025

Each week during Lent, I presented a brief meditation on one of the lessons for that week. My focus this year was Holy Ones Among Us.

Ash Wednesday Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

“Beware of practicing your righteousness before others in order to be seen by them, for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 6:1)

It may be selfish of me, but the first saint who springs to mind this Lent is my mother – my step-mother, actually. My mother abandoned the family while my brother and I were not yet teens. Dad was given custody and remarried. From the beginning, I never thought of his new wife as anything other than a mother. From the start, we (and her daughter from a previous relationship) were her kids and she was our Mom. 

She got us involved in church-life, but never forced her religion or beliefs on us. She answered questions of the faith with honesty and good humor and never presumed hers was the only way. She never paraded her piety around to be seen by others. She’d say grace at meals, but it was always a brief prayer to God and never a sermon for the family. She prayed privately and lived generously. If people popped in at meal-time, she made room at the table. 

She was active in church, serving on Vestries, a lay reader on Sundays, engaged in a wide variety of outreach efforts (such as Kairos, Ministry to women in jail or prison) and more. She was an avid reader and a mentor in the faith. If I ever wondered how to be a Christian, she was the template I followed, and I am thankful to God for her. She was taken away far too soon; I still miss her, but carry her in my life and ministry.

Prayer: Dear God, you help us to learn and practice the faith by sending us saints who not only talk the talk, but walk the walk. Help me to be more like them in this life, now and forever. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

First Sunday in Lent Luke 4:1-13

“When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:13)

I have never suffered a lack of temptations in my life. I have always known right from wrong, honorable from shameful, good from evil. I’ve generally done the right things. I’d love to think that’s from out of the goodness of my heart, but often it was the fear of consequences that kept me on the straight and narrow more than any inherent holiness on my part.

My grandmother was another saint you’ll not find posted in an ecclesiastical Kalendar [sic]. When her daughter abandoned our family, she would catch the cross-town bus and meet us at our house while Dad was still working. She was an active church-woman, but never talked about God or religion. Hers was a private faith; not secret, but private. She would answer questions but never pontificate. When we spent weekends with her and Pamp (our Grandfather), she would take us to her little church on Sunday mornings. 

I received Holy Communion for the first time there, despite being unbaptised and assuming it was a snack-break or reward for sitting quietly during what had been a very boring sermon. My brother chastised me for taking communion, but Mammam said, “Leave him alone. That’s between him and God.” I snickered in quite an unholy manner inside, but God got the last laugh.

What I learned from her, among other things, was that faith was simply practiced because that’s what it was about. It wasn’t theory; it was practice. It wasn’t avoiding evil; it was choosing good. I think she helped me understand Jesus’ wilderness experience better by the way she ministered to my brother and me during the wilderness of life between mothers. She is also why I can think of God not just in Fatherly terms, but Motherly, as well.

Some people ask, “What would Jesus do?” As often as not, for me it’s “What would Mammam do?” 

Prayer: Gracious God, the devils flee when we choose not to listen to them or seek the easier, softer way they promise. We thank you for the saints who helped us learn the harder, but better way of Jesus. May their example help us continue our walk through this holy Lent. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

Second Sunday in Lent Luke 13:31-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem … How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.” (Luke 13:34ff)

Rodney King comes to mind. Saint Rodney. He is best known for having been the victim of a bloody, painful beating at the hands, feet, and batons of a group of cops. The event, caught on camera, was sickening and led to rioting across the country. Despite the savagery of the attack, King asked the question: “Can’t we all just learn to get along?”

I was a cop for a few years before heading off to seminary and eventual ordination. Community Relations was a big component of our training in the mid-70s. Good grief; that was 50+ years ago now! It wasn’t Public Relations (the art of spinning a story). It was Community Relations – coming to grips in law enforcement: “We work with and for the public.” The old days and the old ways were no longer appropriate. Our vocation called us to work with the community and build relations with them. I don’t know about the other officers, but I took that training to heart and strove to be just and kind, to listen and understand, and to respect the dignity of every person – victims and criminals. That last part was instilled in me through our baptismal covenant.

It is tempting to ignore everything Jesus and the prophets tell us about the love of God and how we ought to treat one another, for I can always rationalize my desire to fight fire with fire, lash out at those who behave dishonorably or wickedly, or otherwise deserve my wrath and indignation with their tom-foolery. King reminds us of what Jesus says: “How often I wished to gather my children together …. But you were not willing.” We need to do better. I need to do better. I see Jesus’ tears, and I weep with him.

Prayer: Lord God, you know a better way; you’ve taught a better way, but in stubbornness we continue to frustrate that better way, to remain scattered in fear and ignorance. Continue calling. Please God, keep calling, and let us find our rest and safety beneath your outstretched and loving wings. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

Third Sunday in Lent Luke 13:1-9

“A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.” (Luke 13:6)

My saint of the week this week is my father. Dad wasn’t always around, but when Mom abandoned our family, he made sure we were taken care of, fed, sent to school, and cared for after school and before he got home. Being single was never his strong suit, but he met a good woman who soon became his wife and our mother. He never spoke ill of his first wife (our Mom) and maintained good relations with her parents despite the divorce. Stuff happens.

He wasn’t much of one for cultivating gardens or tending to the yard, but he did have a knack for growing tomatoes, and every year he would plant tomato seeds in about the most inhospitable soil  you could imagine (if you could even call it “soil”). “The secret,” he said, “is to add just the right amount of fertilizer. Too little and it won’t help; too much it will burn the roots.” Fish fertilizer was his specialty. He knew the right amount, as his tomato plants always bore prodigious numbers of delicious tomatoes.

I can’t help but think of Dad when I see the story Jesus tells of the poor fig tree that wouldn’t produce any fruit. Out of frustration, the landowner decides to have his servant rip it out and plant something else, but the gardener sees something in the tree that convinces him it just needs a little help. 

It isn’t producing because it’s under stress, he thinks. “Perhaps the problem isn’t the tree, but the soil. Let me deal with it,” he begs, “and if I can’t fix it, then we’ll do what we must.” That’s all the landlord needs to hear. After all, he invested in the purchase of the tree. He invested time for it to mature. Ripping it out will cost him more time and money. Putting the fate of the tree in the hands of a master gardener is prudent, and may prove to be an even wiser investment.

The gardener also takes his responsibility seriously. Maybe he hasn’t given this tree the attention it deserves. Aren’t we all like that, especially with those we love. We take them for granted and assume if they need anything they’ll ask. Before we count people out, perhaps we need to ask if we have done our part to help folks grow into the “full stature of Christ.” (BCP, p. 302) People mean more than tomatoes or plants. Jesus suggests we should give a fig and do our part!

Prayer: God, sometimes we struggle to be the people you want us to be. Maybe we don’t feel ready, or prepared, or up to the tasks that have been set before us, yet if we are to bear fruit, we’ll have to let you dig around our roots and feed us. We pray for just enough fertilizer to help us grow, and not so much we burn, or so little we fail. Help us be like those saints who have shown us the way. Amen

Keith Axberg+

Fourth Sunday in Lent Luke 15:1-3, 11b – 32

“Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to (Jesus).” (Luke 15:1)

Not all of my friends and relatives were saintly saints. Everyone I have mentioned so far was a flawed human being. Each (including yours truly) has been a ne'er-do-well of one sort or another, notching wins and sins in turn. I doubt if there is a vice or sin that hasn’t been completed, or at least contemplated, by anyone and everyone in each of our circles. What I’ve learned, though, is that each has an opportunity to acknowledge his or her sins, faults, words, and actions before God and another human being, and may continue to live as faithfully and lovingly as they can, despite those shortcomings of life or defects of character.

Sinners came to Jesus because he did not judge them. He loved them and assured them of God’s love for them. He assured them that God’s grace covered them all. God loved them so much that God came looking for them because it was God who lost them! God is never satisfied until the flock is made whole, or the purse filled, or the family reunited. 

I came to Jesus, not in order to be saved, but because I have been restored by the love of God who sought me out, looked high and low for me, threw open sash and door and lit candles, and sat in the gate of the village with eyes peeled for my return. God did not care and does not care what sort of fakery or flattery I came home with, or false modesty. God says, “You are mine,” and that’s enough. All I can do is respond with love, and love God, neighbor, and self in return. Each of my tarnished saints taught me that.

Prayer: Gracious God, we may not be much to look at, much to be proud of, much to brag about, but we are yours. If that’s enough for you, help us respond in like manner toward your church, our communities, families, strangers, and loved ones. Help us to be likewise gentle toward ourselves, for we are not our own, but yours, and we need to act like it. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

Fifth Sunday in Lent John 12:1-8

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’s feet, and wiped them with her hair.” (John 12:3)

Jesus was going to die soon, and Mary was broken-hearted. What could she do to ease him on his way? She brought the most expensive thing she had – a pound of expensive perfume. Now, I am not much into perfumes, colognes, or other smelly things like that, but I do know a little bit goes a long way. A spritz here, a dab there is all one needs. In days before underarm deodorants or regular baths and showers, I imagine one may have needed a bit more for sprucing up, but a pound? My goodness but that’s a lot!

If Mary was a woman of the night, as some have surmised, this lavish gift would not have been just an expensive or extravagant present; it would have represented her whole life – perhaps her livelihood. It scandalized the disciples, of course, for surely they worried the gift of a disreputable soul would undermine all the things Jesus had done in his life and ministry.

Lavishing this perfume on his feet was even worse, for those feet had stepped in every vile thing feet can step in as Jesus wandered about the countryside, including being in and around sheep and their kind. To touch the feet was disgusting, and to slather on this perfume was probably amongst the grossest of insults to a people whose faith was built on holiness and cleanliness.

But Jesus saw the love she poured out, and accepted it as graciously as he accepted every gift he had ever been given, or token of love and care he had ever received in his all-too brief life in and amongst this vicious, judgmental, and perverse world of ours. If she could embrace the worst part of Jesus (figuratively speaking), surely the rest of us can accept the best he has to offer – his life and love.

Her gift did not taint Jesus; his life sanctified her. She did not pour perfume on Jesus to be sanctified by him; she did it because she realized he had already sanctified her, and if she was a sinner, she was free and no longer needed the bucket of perfume she brought to him. She was free to love the world the way he had loved the world, with a life unshackled by fear, shame, or prejudice.

Prayer: God, I am mostly tempted to show my love for you in little things here and there, but Saint Mary the Perfumer has taught us the beauty of pouring our whole lives out for you, just as she did, and just as you have. May we be so bold and brave to step out of our shackles of fear and shame, and boldly go where you have called us to go, in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

Monday in Holy Week John 12:1-11

“... it was on account of (Lazarus) that many of the (people) were deserting and were believing in Jesus.” (John 12:11)

Why do I believe in Jesus? Why do we believe in Jesus? A Sunday school teacher from eons ago, a saint whose name I no longer know or recall, once said, “We are God’s children. All of us. God has no grandchildren, only children.”

God has no grandchildren. Yes, I went to church, driven by my folks, week in and week out. I went to Sunday school, sometimes kicking and screaming. I found the holy felt-figures stuck to felt-boards totally boring as those teachers, year after year, told us the “old old stories” from O so long ago. One does not arrive at the pearly gates riding on the coat-tails of friends or relatives, clergy or Sunday school teachers.

No, I came to believe because I saw other people receive Jesus into their hearts and lives as their own Savior. I didn’t ask if the “sinner’s prayer” was theologically sound or orthodox. I simply saw lives changed and changing, and so I believed and have devoted my life to proclaiming the love of God in word and deed. 

Lazarus received new life, so I believe God is calling us to desert our old, dead, stinking lives and follow Jesus ever more closely. As Peter once said, “Lord, to whom should we turn? You have the words to eternal life.” What more can we do, eh?

Prayer: Gracious God, you have called us to be your children, growing up under the shadow of your wing. Your love knows no bounds, for which we are truly thankful. Help us live into that reality so that others may see, and also believe. Although we may “stinketh,” command the stone be rolled back that we may burst forth from our own tombs and live in the power of your Spirit. Amen.

Keith Axberg+

Palm Sunday 2025 God with us

 Palm Sunday 2025

Sermon delivered to Christ Church (Anacortes)

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Retired

Give ear O heavens and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord and ascribe greatness to our God.

Collect: Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

When I was a young lad, there used to be a few minutes each morning when we were in our homerooms where our homeroom teacher or one of the students would read the announcements. These generally included things we needed to know, like what they were serving for lunch, where the school team was playing (and when), whether the busses would be on time or not, and then a line or two about current events.

I am at the age now where I have decided that history is divided into two periods. There’s the stuff that happened before I was born. That’s “history,” and stuff that’s happened while I’ve been around. That’s “current events.”

World War Two? History. Civil War? History? Middle Ages? History. Vietnam? Current Events. Civil Rights? Current Events. Watergate? Current Events.

For my grandkids, those things are history, but for me, they are part of the fabric of my life and memory. I didn’t march with Martin Luther King in Selma Alabama, but I did march with him on the television (in living black and white). I didn’t go to school with Ruby Bridges (surrounded by the National Guard and federal agents), but I did walk up those schoolhouse steps (on the TV). I didn’t go to the moon (although I’ve always been a bit of a space case), but I did walk on it with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin there on Apollo 11 (June 1969).

Christ Church's Altar

My sense of current events spans about 60 years, and I was thinking about that with the Gospel, because when Luke was piecing together the book that bears his name, a lot of his research involved talking to Gospel principals, like Simon Peter, Andrew (the fisherman), John the Beloved and, quite likely, Mary, the mother of Jesus. He was writing about 50 or 60 years after the events of Jesus’ life and ministry – the sort of timespan you or I would be familiar with or identify with.

There are far too many details in the Passion Narrative for me to talk about. It would take from now until next Sunday, and by Friday you’d probably have ME hanging up there on a cross. The point is, though, that these are the sorts of details we glean when talking with witnesses to the events of holy week.

Riding into Jerusalem on the back of a borrowed donkey. 

People singing Hosannna (which means, GOD, SAVE US!) and waving palms. Supper in a room Jesus commandeers for the occasion.

Cryptic talk of betrayal. 30 pieces of silver. A sword. A garden.

Disciples falling asleep while Jesus prays.

Soldiers, torches, threats of mob violence, a villain’s kiss.

An Arrest. A trial before the Sanhedrin, a visit to Herod, a trial before Pilate, a mob crying for blood, a little girl scaring a profane manly man, a rooster cockle-doodle-doodling.

These are the memories of a people traumatized by the events of that holy week. Sure, it was a few years ago – maybe even 5 decades or more (for some of them), but it sure feels like yesterday as they share those memories with Luke.

And what does it mean? What does it all mean for the likes of you and me?

We live in a world ruled by fear and hate, where might makes right, and any threat to the status quo is squashed beneath the hobnailed boot of Rome (or ICE) at the insistence of the powers that be.

Saint Paul tells us (Phil. 2:5ff): Here’s the point: 

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,

he humbled himself

and became obedient to the point of death--

even death on a cross.

What does that mean for us today?

Let me take you back to another current event (for many of us in this room). John F. Kennedy was President of the United States and traveled to Germany in June 1963 .

“Speaking to an audience of 120,000 on the steps of Rathaus Schöneberg, Kennedy said,

‘Two thousand years ago, the proudest boast was civis romanus sum ["I am a Roman citizen"]. Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is "Ich bin ein Berliner!"... All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words "Ich bin ein Berliner!"’” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ich_bin_ein_Berliner#)

Berlin was a city divided by a great wall, not to keep people out, but to keep the people of East Berlin IN. East Berlin had been transformed into a prison. The people yearned to be free, yearned to be reunited with their brethren on the other side of the wall. The Cuban missile crisis was still really fresh and raw, and what Kennedy said, he didn’t say “as an individual,” but as an American, on behalf of all Americans. “We are one of you, we are one with you, we are citizens standing beside you.”

Jesus was tearing down the walls that separate heaven from earth, and that threatened both the political and the religious authorities. Jesus was proclaiming a new reign, where Pax Romana (enforced by force of arms) was being replaced by Pax YHWH (supported by arms of love).

Time and time again Jesus says, Look around you. The kingdom is here. At hand. In hand. God is here, not at the top of a heap you need to scramble up. No, God is here with you. Is your world crumbling? God is here digging through the rubble with you, through you. Are you hurting? God is here, holding your hand. 

We have a God who does not ask for our papers or credentials. We have a God who doesn’t give one wit about our heritage or bloodline, or what continent our ancestors hailed from. We have a God who doesn’t ask who we love, or how we present ourselves to the world, or whether or not we can give birth or even if we want to. We have a God who couldn't care less about our heavenly or earthly rap sheets, or our sins of omission or commission, or the decisions we made that may have been good or less than stellar. We have a God who considers a child to be as valuable as an adult, an unmarried single mother as worthy of God’s presence as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, a tattooed lady as important as an orange despot.

We have a God – we proclaim a God – who says, “I’m one of you. I’m one with you. We are citizens of heaven together.” 

And that’s what this week is about. Holy Week. God with us – not against us. Amen

An Update on the Third Act

 

"It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do a little. Do what you can.” Sydney Smith

I am pleased to report that I am still on the green side of the grass. One of the few perks of retirement is coming to realize we are human beings and not human doings. All my working life I made to-do lists, tickler files, and a variety of post-it notes to remind me of all the various things I needed to do. I was basically a go-go dancer, but with a collar.

My pace is slower, of course. It has taken me a few years, but I’m discovering I don’t have to be constantly doing something (beyond pulse and respiration) to be alive. When I reach the end of the day, I don’t look back to see how much I’ve done or not done. Generally I scratch my head and simply wonder, where did the day go? 

The fact is I do what I need to. I engage in “activities of daily living,” taking care of routine ablutions, consuming calories sufficient for the day (or more, according to my bathroom scale), drinking coffee, catching up with friends online, and keeping up on the housework enough to where I don’t need to bring in a bulldozer to handle the dusting.

Yesterday the little lady and I zipped down to the orange big box store and picked up some garden mix and plants. We live in a “zone” where it is still too early to do much in the garden, but warm enough where we can show the world we’re still alive and kicking. 

I went to my book club after the garden-run; we ignored the book for the most part, shifting our conversation to different matters of importance. We enjoy the books we read and the lively discussions of history, spirituality, and philosophy that flow from our studies, but we don’t mind shifting gears to check in on one another to see how we’re doing. We’re all retired, and over the years our organ recitals have become more extensive, and that’s OK. 

Yes, we are readers, but we’re also friends. Doing our assigned readings is good, but being together is even better. 

We’ve given each other permission to grow old (not that we have many options), but it’s nice having permission to let things slide, to do what we can and leave the rest for another time. Sometimes we need the permission of others because we don’t often want to give ourselves the OK to slow down, stop, or leave things alone.

I am generally my own harshest taskmaster. I have often preached (praught? Why isn’t the past tense of preach praught, like the past tense of teach is taught? Another mystery to explore). Anyway, I digress (something else we increasingly do as we age). I have shared often the story from Exodus, where slaves in Egypt suffered under the lash of the whip and the tyranny of Pharaoh. 

God sent Moses to demand release for God’s people. “Tell Pharaoh to let My people go!” commanded the Almighty.

What God said to Pharaoh, God says to us, too. I am often my own worst Pharaoh! Do this! Do that! Make bricks, and while you’re at it, gather your own straw (and don’t be late serving me supper, either)! I need my friends to be Moses, to give me permission to put down those bales of hay, to climb out of that muddy pit, to walk away from the fiery brick-maker’s furnace.

I never was one to boss people about, and yet ironically I quite regularly boss myself about hither, thither, and yon. I am blessed to live amongst people and friends who know how to tell me to just stop all that nonsense, to not be a Pharaoh!

I’m in that period of life often called “the third act.” Work and school lie in my wake. I suspect that means an Iceberg lies dead ahead. Hmm. I wonder if I should even use the word “dead.” Well, whatever lies ahead, I’ll not fret, for the One who tells me not to be a Pharaoh has also promised to walk beside me as I pass through the valley of the shadow. That’s quite comforting here in this, our valley (and that ain’t no act).

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Warming up to new life

 

"O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you … for your loving-kindness is better than life itself ...” Excerpted from Psalm 63

I’ve had a pretty lethargic winter. It has been a struggle to get excited about much of anything. I have a bunch of half-started projects, works in progress and the like that I just can’t seem to focus on doing or finishing. I did manage to finish the puzzle I wrote about a few months ago, glued it up, and mounted it. It turned out surprisingly nice considering I had no idea what I was doing.

Completed Owl Puzzle

I do enjoy finishing projects. Nothing feels as good as being done and looking back with satisfaction on projects or tasks one might have dreaded or put off, and then when it’s done, wondering what the struggle was all about. Why didn’t I just jump on it and do it?

It is quite possible I enjoy all the belly-aching that attends procrastination. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the “are we there yet” fully purged from my soul, but I’m getting there. Now the delays tend to be more a consequence of old age. Suddenly I find my knees wobbling more than is comfortable when I have to get up.

Kneeling used to come quite naturally to this “man of prayer,” but lately I find genuflecting more of a challenge. Not the kneeling, of course, but getting up. If there isn’t a boulder, tree, railing, or piece of furniture nearby, I routinely find myself asking if whatever I’m trying to do is worth it. The answer is becoming increasingly, no. Weeds have a right to life, and God can hear my prayers better if I deliver them standing. I’m not sure God can hear me over my wheezing, otherwise.

This is quite a sneezy time of year for me. Whenever the tulips and daffodils start to bloom, my lungs want to rest while my nose prefers to run. 

The deer here don’t run; they saunter. They like to eat the tulips out front as they’re bursting forth. I presume they do it for my health (deer being very polite and thoughtful) but my other half prefers to see blooms and blossoms, which seems appropriate as she does live with a blooming idiot.

We tried repelling the deer with sonic devices, but the dogs use them for their potty, cats rub their chins on them, and the deer stand around enjoying what I presume must be tunes from their top-40 sonic playlist. 

This year we changed tactics and have gone with a repellent in a spray bottle that is supposed to be eco-friendly toward the environment, but unfriendly to the hoofed ruminant ungulates of the family Cervidae. The best part of the spray is that it comes with a nozzle that adjusts so one doesn’t have to kneel to apply it. That put the whee! into my wheezer.

With longer days and warmer weather, I’ve found energy returning to body, soul, and spirit. One doesn’t realize just how house-bound and barren one becomes with the loss of sunlight and vitamin-D that accompanies winter. I do enjoy keeping still in winter’s darkness, but find it lasts longer than is healthy. I’ve thought about installing some grow lights around the house for winter time but worry what they may do to my skin or bank account.

Meanwhile, spring has sprung; the clocks have moved forward, and the days are noticeably longer and warmer. The snow geese have passed us by on their way north, while our local feathered friends are busy making nests and babies. The lawn got its first mowing of the season, which I find disturbingly exciting. I haven’t yet broken out into song: “I fought the lawn, and the lawn won,” but it’s early days, as they say.

Sometimes God feels distant, cold, and dark; I find myself yearning for God, like the psalmist. But then Spring comes – for the world and for my soul – and God returns, bringing warmth, new life, and hope. I thank God for the death of lethargy that accompanies the birth of Spring, and hope that you’ll find new life springing forth in your lives as well here in this, our valley. Please don’t eat the tulips, though. Thanks!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Learning to slow down in the fast track

 "God, you hate nothing you have made …” (Book of Common Prayer, a prayer for Ash Wednesday)

I have walked around the neighborhood a few times over the years and have yet to see any signs that we are living in medieval Europe. Most of the houses are standard frame ranches or split-levels; most are clad with wood siding and/or trimmed in brick; most are connected with wires for utility services (above ground), while pipes for water, waste, and gas are buried out of sight and mind.

It really is quite marvelous how everything works together. Stuff comes in and stuff goes out. Much of it is invisible. 

It boggles the mind, so I really try not to think about it too much. I’m ditzy enough at the best of times!

I mentioned medieval Europe at the top of this column because in the midst of modern (or is it postmodern?) America, many of us find ourselves entering into what seems to be a relic of ages past: Lent. Lent is a season of forty days where people in traditions that recognize Lent are called to engage in a variety of disciplines – to toughen up their faith, if you will.

Christians of all stripes are invited to engage more seriously in “self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial …” (Book of Common Prayer, 1979). While these are specifically aimed at Episcopalians in my own faith tradition, I would suggest they are also worthy of consideration by folks in all walks of life. 

We sometimes make fun of folks who choose to give up meat or chocolate for Lent, or make a point of giving extra canned goods to the local food pantries during the season; cleaning out their closets to make donations to local thrift shops and the like. There’s nothing wrong with Spring Cleaning and dieting; nothing to make fun of! 

Seriously. God didn’t put us here to decide what others need to do for a better life. That’s why the focus is on self-examination. You know yourself better than anyone else does. You may or may not even want to change. Who’s to know? There are people who, like Fonzy, can look in the mirror and decide, hey hey hey, what’s to change? Perfect!

But for the rest of us mere mortals, a brief glance in the mirror tells a different story. We avoid the mirror, not to avoid a physical reflection, but because we are convinced we don’t measure up in any way, shape, or form; every effort to change has often been dashed by inattention or the reality of living in a world that thwarts us at every turn.

So what do we do? What can we do?

First, fret not. The angels in the Bible always seem to land with a thwump and cry out, “Fear not!” The point is, God isn’t out to get you, me or anyone else. 

So be still. Open the door to your mind and send the restless spirits out to play; let the peace of your Higher Power come in to sit with you. Don’t even think about talking to God; just let your heartbeats do the speaking, meeting, and becoming one.

Secondly, you may identify something you would like to change. Hand it over to your higher power. Maybe giving up Girl Scout Cookies is what you’re called to do. That’s how the cookie crumbles. But maybe you’ll discover a need to make peace with some person or some event in your life. “Repent” means to change – ideally toward health and healing.

Lent gives us all a chance to pack up the stuff we don’t want or need and hand it off to God. It is a deliberate act of spring cleaning for body, soul, spirit (and home).

It may be food and stuff for the poor. It can also be memories or attitudes that do nothing but weigh us down. Lent gives us a chance to clean the attic of our minds and the basements of our souls – to free us from the clutter of careless lives and all the stuff that gives us grief.

Enjoy your spring cleaning, folks. I feel much better, lighter, and chipper when it’s done. I’m sure you do, too. Blessings to you here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

THIS OUR VALLEY: Tickets are yet another bull by-product

"The comfort of the rich depends on an abundant supply of the poor.” Voltaire

Good grief. I like to think I am sort of tech savvy. I’ve put computers together. I’ve had cell phones since the late 1990s. I switched from writing checks to using debit cards at stores decades ago. I organize travel plans and book rooms at hotels, seats on planes and trains, and tons of stuff one can do online or over the ether. But now?

I find the steps required to do anything are beginning to match the number of functioning gray cells I’ve got left. 

There was a bull riding event scheduled in nearby Everett that my wife and I were interested in attending. I went online to order tickets far enough out that the tickets could be sent by snail mail with plenty of time to spare. Sadly, that’s not how things are done anymore. We had to purchase e-tickets, which meant we had to pay for the event tickets online, as well as a surcharge for each ticket. Well, what’s six bits among friends?

Wait, it costs more than six bits to buy tickets? How much? The cost of several dozen eggs PER TICKET? Well, if the tickets are embossed with gold leaf, I guess that’s OK. I’m not happy about it, but it is what it is. But wait; there’s more!

They don’t ship the tickets. There is no ticket pick-up or ticket-waiting at the box office. The tickets will be available electronically on your cell phone. Oh, OK. But wait; there’s MORE!

Your tickets are not sent in a way that allows you to print them. You have to “accept” your tickets on your cell phone, which sends you to a site in which to create an account (new user name, new password, new app) in which to access your tickets. But wait; there’s MORE!!!

Once you get to your tickets (congratulations for making it this far), you now have to add them to your cell phone’s “wallet” (Good grief, now I have to set that bleeding thing up) where they will be available for the local docent to scan you into the event when you arrive (assuming you have access to both cellular service and your e-wallet and the theoretically attached e-tickets for easy peasy scanning).

I think I just qualified for an electronic decathlon event at the next Olympic games. Good grief. Again, I say, GOOD GRIEF!

Fortunately, it all worked out just fine. We made it to the event, gained entrance, found our seats, and cheered on the plucky riders and their bucking bovine companions. Yee Haw!

When it was over, I had to ask myself if it had been worth it (because I’m not only cheeky, but cheap, too). I must admit the idea of putting out a week’s wages for a minimum wage worker to watch twenty eight-second events over the course of two hours seems a bit much. 

We live in a world that has become highly transactional, and whether  I approve or not is completely immaterial. I don’t really know how to compute the value of an evening’s entertainment, or a meal, or a drive across town or across the country. I took a course in economics back when the earth was still cooling, and recall talk of supply and demand and its effect on prices, but I think a gremlin has snuck in over the fence and added some bull shine to the processes.

Everyone wants a piece of the action, and there is no correlation between the service offered and the price exacted for that transaction. No human being earned bread for their table or shelter for their family from my electronic transaction. Yes, maybe there was an operator standing by somewhere, but I can guarantee they didn’t get much of the six figures collected by the ticket merchants (for their fees). 

The Bible says a laborer is worthy of his hire, but that seems to have been turned on its head, where it is the purchaser who has to do all the labor, and pay for the convenience. I don’t like riding the bucking back of a golden calf; it takes far longer than eight seconds here in this, our valley. That’s a lot of bull, if you ask me.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)