tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17319356719666613702024-03-28T07:11:52.243-07:00Fr. Keith Ponders the PropersFr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.comBlogger484125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-73681893779534570722024-03-28T07:11:00.000-07:002024-03-28T07:11:19.171-07:00Collect for Maundy Thursday<p> </p><p><i>Almighty Father, whose dear Son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Why did Jesus “institute” the “Sacrament of his Body and Blood”? I have a friend who always hated the word institution. It brought to his mind images of sterile hospitals and asylums, schools and prisons. He didn’t want institutions. He wanted the flesh and blood reality of relationships.</p><p>While I may not have his distaste for the word, I appreciate and value his thoughts on the matter. Body and Blood. That’s real life, isn’t it? Can anyone here not relate to what those are? If you have stubbed your toe, do you not recognize the reality of the body? If you prick your thumb on a rose or nettle, do you not bleed?</p><p>Jesus took the night of what would become his final supper (his Last Supper) and broke bread with those with whom he had walked, talked, argued, debated, challenged, and worked for the past number of months or years. Tearing a small loaf of (probably) unleavened bread he said, “Here. This is my body ripped, torn, broken for you. Whenever you eat it, know that my life is linked with yours, and your life is linked with me, and together we will be my Body; new life.”</p><p>Jesus took the night of what become his final supper (his Last Supper) and looking into the cup he held in his hands, he saw the wine, dark, red (at least we assume it was red) and remembered the blood placed over the homes of Jewish slaves in Egypt (to protect them from the angel of death that would Pass Over) and said, “This is MY blood. It is a new covenant. It is poured out for you and for many, protecting you from the wrath of God. Whenever you drink it, know that my life is linked with yours, and your life is linked with mine, and together we will be my Lifeline to the world.”</p><p>Meals are life-giving and life-affirming events. They are, obviously, a necessary part of living. I enjoy the routine of three-squares a day. When we say grace, we are continuing this act of remembering, aren’t we? It may not be the liturgical sacrament of Holy Communion we share in church, but it is still an acknowledgement that “all things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.” The keyword here is Thanksgiving. Gratitude is at the heart of Holy week, and at the heart of Jesus’ command to “do this in remembrance of me.”</p><p>Amen</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-59037612830762396452024-03-27T11:26:00.000-07:002024-03-27T11:26:24.975-07:00Collect for Wednesday in Holy Week<p><br /></p><p><i>Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and his face to be spit upon: Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyfSuyu6_easjopRNg5wq2KkixzSUm0xP9bbtfRGWjPDhzFuqzc1D5jfADz3YjcYu1gaImUnBr9HJOrH6tN3xwmhKId32zAyU2v0CRJv_9s9DaSlgHUPXNF8VO7wqMCWg6ZPOgn9AHq8-RKmOReSU9StaZSS_yqkIbeBaFdYkY-u7f57tl3UD0DHMvC5X/s640/crsz%20IMG_1554%20whale%20alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyfSuyu6_easjopRNg5wq2KkixzSUm0xP9bbtfRGWjPDhzFuqzc1D5jfADz3YjcYu1gaImUnBr9HJOrH6tN3xwmhKId32zAyU2v0CRJv_9s9DaSlgHUPXNF8VO7wqMCWg6ZPOgn9AHq8-RKmOReSU9StaZSS_yqkIbeBaFdYkY-u7f57tl3UD0DHMvC5X/w217-h145/crsz%20IMG_1554%20whale%20alaska.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p>No, I am not going to “joyfully” accept the sufferings of this present time. I will endure suffering. I will accept suffering. I will acknowledge suffering. I will appreciate that not all suffering is bad. Hard work may be painful, but if it gets us to where we’re going, or produces what we are striving to produce, then fine; I’ll joyfully accept such suffering. But I find no nobility in suffering as such.</p><p>The thought of Jesus passively giving his body to be whipped and face to be spat upon is surreal. Yes, his body was whipped. Yes, his face was spit upon. Yes, his beard was likely ripped out by the handful, and other tortures and indignities endured. He no doubt knew resistance would be futile. The one who taught us to go the extra mile and to pray for those who abuse us no doubt walked the walk. I’ll confess, I would not have been so passive, but that’s why God called Jesus to this peculiar ministry, and not me.</p><p>I already fail at life, let alone in imitating Jesus in any significant way. Yet, knowing how far short I fall, helps me understand just how tall Jesus stood. </p><p>The point is, I don’t need to fear facing the trials Jesus faced. There is somewhere near zero percent chance of me being arrested for my preaching. There will be the occasional troll I may have to face when posting on social (or anti-social) media, but those will mostly just be words. The pain is only felt by the poor spelling and worse grammar skills of those trolls. I may find a bit of proverbial egg on my face, but no spittle.</p><p>Jesus faced far worse than I ever will, and set his face toward Jerusalem when the time came, rather than traipsing around the relatively safe environs of the Galilean hills. That’s the point. He could have played it safe. He could have avoided going to Jerusalem, but then he would have had no impact on the world at large. He’d have just been another nice man saying nice things. Instead, he chose to make an impact for God’s sake, even though it was the life-threatening way.</p><p>“<i>(C)onfident of the glory that shall be revealed …</i>” </p><p>It isn’t our glory that will be revealed, but the glory of God. Doing the right thing may have its downside, but God is always the upside of those decisions. What a person or group of people may do is nothing compared to joining with Christ in his suffering, that we may rise with him in his resurrection. His glory will be revealed in the "sign of Jonah" in the days to come. Amen</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-35825591351602445982024-03-26T07:08:00.000-07:002024-03-27T06:38:25.091-07:00Blowing out the Candle<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHDGP550lIQSplj7IM3K_1h_M0A5QIlHg1XVVpMoFauvaNw7xT8t1JZBIKgsdcKH4fMAOmZsWqPrFmbca5Q-18fGI0_u-BHs-PnUM_Ry-12jXkNp6j8xVp9RFTy3ZQxkOWLPh09WVvJ-pwRv1oxFc-HH6uXpjr8j65vPEDeR4klvyfvtQ7mJ_NUBcbf6Q/s492/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142149394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="492" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHDGP550lIQSplj7IM3K_1h_M0A5QIlHg1XVVpMoFauvaNw7xT8t1JZBIKgsdcKH4fMAOmZsWqPrFmbca5Q-18fGI0_u-BHs-PnUM_Ry-12jXkNp6j8xVp9RFTy3ZQxkOWLPh09WVvJ-pwRv1oxFc-HH6uXpjr8j65vPEDeR4klvyfvtQ7mJ_NUBcbf6Q/s320/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142149394.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>“Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news.” Anne Frank</i></p><p>I am surrounded by crosses. There’s a pyrographic cross I burned a few years ago that hangs above my retirement clock (it tells me what day of the week it is). I have several Cursillo crosses beside me, as well as some I crafted using twigs I secured from the grounds of my church in Ennis a few years back; they broke when the wind blew – they remind me of our fallen nature. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgD-Av-zLn6bxMn63YZVtu9B-Zv6TSDSvy6NB_a0I1G6UGjRBY3Bxe_dkCelL65C5G-d6OL9i1zRy9YQLS4oiDMIwpFubjZVjZIu0inZtvaNNHOzd__6zo8B-UHHIbIjD9CrdNk3HcH_CX1rynpjcGjoGNc8BmrKnwcOzj1QqTaygICOteKwFsp2cdpGN/s416/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142238542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgD-Av-zLn6bxMn63YZVtu9B-Zv6TSDSvy6NB_a0I1G6UGjRBY3Bxe_dkCelL65C5G-d6OL9i1zRy9YQLS4oiDMIwpFubjZVjZIu0inZtvaNNHOzd__6zo8B-UHHIbIjD9CrdNk3HcH_CX1rynpjcGjoGNc8BmrKnwcOzj1QqTaygICOteKwFsp2cdpGN/s320/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142238542.jpg" width="130" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>A Cursillo Cross</i></p><p>“Take up your cross,” says Jesus. Beside the office door at home is yet another rather large cross I inherited from my parents’ estate when they passed away a few years ago. It hung in their living room for decades, making that room truly sacred space for family gatherings during holidays and various celebrations of life.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKJ73ycZ1_x0OsiO5g3_ClDxIAEGKlCqrMaNn1KyTVEsZ2JGgajyytHxojVIdWbKg7RYz4xzU1PtAMrVGaqnzjLkhdjfxxtk77ueMWenABPrIjTI9hkQ_Mf-hV2_gaW4UKsPQxxxemBWbeUZPzWJbNm7H3zcc2eG8CBayAasPVnhyphenhyphenxami3CnQEDoVu89k/s410/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142131871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="385" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKJ73ycZ1_x0OsiO5g3_ClDxIAEGKlCqrMaNn1KyTVEsZ2JGgajyytHxojVIdWbKg7RYz4xzU1PtAMrVGaqnzjLkhdjfxxtk77ueMWenABPrIjTI9hkQ_Mf-hV2_gaW4UKsPQxxxemBWbeUZPzWJbNm7H3zcc2eG8CBayAasPVnhyphenhyphenxami3CnQEDoVu89k/w189-h202/crsz%20PXL_20240322_142131871.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>The Family Cross</i></p><p>Crosses are an iconic image for many who identify as Christian. How people identify is up to them; it’s not up to me. I think some folks worry too much about how others identify, whether it is in matters of religion, politics, economic status, gender, or any of a zillion other things one can think of.</p><p>I’ll confess I don’t worry about whether or not someone is or is not a Christian. I just want to know: are they kind? Decent? Honest? Compassionate? Dependable? Those are things that matter. Not the color of their skin, their place of origin, or the language they speak at home or amongst themselves (let alone whether they carry a cross, a star of David, a crescent moon, or any other identifying mark or symbol).</p><p>If one believes themselves to be a member of a particular faith community or not, by whatever means they make that determination, that’s OK by me. It’s not my job or prerogative to identify or define the other person or group. I believe God’s light can be found in every person of every stripe. It’s not my job to go around blowing out someone else’s candle!</p><p>Getting back to crosses, though, they are so commonplace we seldom give them much thought, but many of us can share stories behind the crosses we own. For many, a cross is simply something found on jewelry, such as ear rings or necklaces; for Christians, though, it is a sign – perhaps the supreme sign – of our faith.</p><p>As you read this, Christians around the world are in the midst of what they call Holy Week. They are commemorating the events that took place in Jerusalem during the last week of Jesus’ life on earth. The climactic event of the week is Jesus’ arrest, trial, torture and, finally, execution on Good Friday. It was a bloody, shocking, horrible day. The cross reminds us of just how absolutely horrible we humans are (or can be). </p><p>If Jesus had been gunned down, perhaps the symbol of our faith would be little gold AK-47s or AR-15s or silver Saturday night specials. Wouldn’t that be shocking? Wouldn’t that be horrible? Perhaps, if we understand that every man, woman, and child who is killed by violence is as much a victim today as Jesus was in his day, we might carry these symbols as reminders that we kill Jesus, and continue to kill him in so many different ways with our own thoughts, words, and deeds.</p><p>There has never been a shortage of martyrs in our world. Martyrdom hasn’t ceased. We continue to kill those who are different, those we don’t understand. Some we kill with indifference.</p><p>The world sees violence as inevitable, and the use of violence as justifiable. We, as Christians, know better, or at least we ought to know better. It’s not enough to just hang our crosses, wear them, or carry them. The cross is scandalous, and foolish. We wear them and display them as a reminder that there IS another way. We don’t carry on as victims; like Jesus, we carry on with a purpose: to bring life to all who hurt, and light to those who dwell in darkness.</p><p>The cross reminds us, not of how horrible the other person can be, but of how horrible each of us can be. We cannot control the other, but we can strive to see the light that burns within the heart of the other, and give thanks for that light. Better than snuffing it out in this, our valley.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-46893342558788718352024-03-24T06:19:00.000-07:002024-03-24T06:19:39.431-07:00Palm Sunday - Sunday of the Passion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1p33vB_oNhb0iqyercoCgU3pxGpxcckVn8k5t24dftqAJ8BUk7SIsl_YDAM5ZZUBgZYNPMm59GLHRhuYW38qJvQeItlHcZ5XVhZYwBFqW7RR30ZZYwujUamVygnxip703ZtwFvao8b8MxoCSh5cCKaDE9zOpP42Tdvo1WcaL_ImQVssb-7FpX-jMaPxs/s422/cr%20PXL_20240322_142258429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="304" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1p33vB_oNhb0iqyercoCgU3pxGpxcckVn8k5t24dftqAJ8BUk7SIsl_YDAM5ZZUBgZYNPMm59GLHRhuYW38qJvQeItlHcZ5XVhZYwBFqW7RR30ZZYwujUamVygnxip703ZtwFvao8b8MxoCSh5cCKaDE9zOpP42Tdvo1WcaL_ImQVssb-7FpX-jMaPxs/w143-h198/cr%20PXL_20240322_142258429.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><p><i>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.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Life has many heart-stopping moments. I suspect it is true for most people, and perhaps doubly so for parents. We teach our children to look both ways before crossing the street, and when we send them out to play, we trust our instructions and advice will be put to good use, but one never knows. We send them out, but we don’t just hope for the best. We devote our time teaching them the ropes needed for survival, so there’s an expectation that all will be well.</p><p>We no longer have to fear lions and tigers and bears (Oh my), but there is still plenty to worry about. There’s gun violence, bullies, global warming, and all that stuff. We want to protect our children and grandchildren, but the task just seems so overwhelming. </p><p>It is in thinking along those lines we find our Collect for Palm Sunday so jarring. We find God intentionally sending their Son into harm’s way, to “take upon himself our nature …” </p><p>It’s hard to wrap our minds around Holy Week. </p><p>You know, I understand acts and consequences. I understand that when one commits a crime, there is a consequence to that act. One may or may not be caught, but the act is an act of violence that falls upon both the victim(s) and the perpetrator. We cannot do violence to another without it affecting us, too. Even if one is a sociopath or psychopath, damage is done. One may end up in jail, or shot and killed, or something in between. Whatever it is, we are responsible for our own actions and the consequences of those deeds.</p><p>In a world of metaphors and similes, however, something is lost in translation in Holy Week. It is one thing for each of us to endure the consequences of our own thoughts, words, and deeds … but Jesus? The idea of God the Son becoming human (coming down from heaven, as we express it) and “to (intentionally) suffer death upon the cross …” seems to be a bridge too far.</p><p>It is easy to gloss over the horrors of Holy Week – we know how the story ends. Many people will skip the Holy Week services (having endured Palm Sunday and the reading of the Passion Narrative) and go directly to Easter, with its lilies, bunnies, and bonnets. We know how the story ends, so why should we drag ourselves out during the week for the Office of Shadows on Wednesday (Tenebrae), and Maundy Thursday with that strange foot-washing ritual and the stripping of the altar, and Good Friday with its emphasis on the arrest, trial, torture, sentencing, and (finally) the execution of our Lord? I mean, didn’t we already do that on Palm Sunday? Who wants reruns? Raise your hands.</p><p>Jesus dying for us just doesn’t make sense, does it? Has anyone reading this committed a capital offense? So while, yes, I can see the need for Jesus to die for some others, I (and perhaps many of us) struggle to see and/or accept his need to die for them. We are good, for the most part. We do not inflict harm on self or others, for the most part. The things we do in life really don’t add up to requiring the death penalty (beyond our dying of old age or disease). So why did Jesus “have” to die?</p><p>I don’t believe Jesus “had” to die to make up for all the bad stuff we and the rest of humanity have said, thought, or done in all of history. The Cross is not a check God wrote out to God’s self to cover the cost of all we’ve done. Forget the “how it works” of the cross. The fact of the cross is THAT it works. God restores us to God and to one another. </p><p>The question our Collect calls us to consider is how much we add to the weight of the cross by the things we say and do. It is the cumulative weight of the sins of the whole world that hang upon the cross. Jesus did not die for us, as we often put it. Jesus lived for us. We are called to imitate Christ in our lives. Yes, it may cost us our lives, but for the most part, we gain life by imitating Christ – walking where and how he walked, with eyes pointed toward justice, mercy, grace, and healing.</p><p>That works for me, and I thank God for the example Jesus gave us. By his stripes we are healed. By his death, we are made whole.</p><p>Amen</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-63338495026064614122024-03-15T09:06:00.000-07:002024-03-15T09:08:54.280-07:00The Fifth Sunday in Lent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtPaknGxQqJ2-o1yMTgm5IiVd4tbzyVJR8UpKeWLvNVO2BjXEBbfdbUhAWLtrqevovXY3dSNwCIh93pSZUrn5CUz2ZZF54NlbyOPDmoFYMj_FOtB6ycoWsIZrX1QinWW2YLkruesliAWVgspOACe2VePaBoz1L2wB3kOKAoPa_JaHp6z5nMf_RpNyPMEm/s960/tree%2034211550_2250291951647936_3032546042563264512_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtPaknGxQqJ2-o1yMTgm5IiVd4tbzyVJR8UpKeWLvNVO2BjXEBbfdbUhAWLtrqevovXY3dSNwCIh93pSZUrn5CUz2ZZF54NlbyOPDmoFYMj_FOtB6ycoWsIZrX1QinWW2YLkruesliAWVgspOACe2VePaBoz1L2wB3kOKAoPa_JaHp6z5nMf_RpNyPMEm/s320/tree%2034211550_2250291951647936_3032546042563264512_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP, p. 219]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>This collect brings to mind my childhood. In particular, I’m reminded of a time my brother and I were taken to my aunt’s house with our older cousins Georgia and Margaret providing baby-sitting services so my parents, aunt, and uncle could enjoy a nice evening out. I don’t recall much from that evening except that my brother and I had a ton of fun and the next morning were told our cousins would NEVER (never, spelled out letter by letter) babysit us again. I think the word they used to describe us was “little hellions.” I know that’s two words, but for them, it meant “never.”</p><p>I have never, in all my life, ever thought of my brother and myself as hellions, rascals, or rapscallions, but maybe we were. The problem, if one were to have asked me, isn’t that we were rambunctious, but that our cousins had probably hoped we would have been quieter, more sedate, and (key-word alert), obedient. Yes, we ran through the house, up and down the stairs, and were noisy as all git-out. Yes, we made little Kevin McAllister (Home Alone) look serene and sedate in comparison, but we’d really done nothing dangerous, illegal, or immoral. We just burned the energy God had given us to burn. Is that a crime?</p><p><i>“Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners …”</i></p><p>I have no doubt our cousins thought my brother and I had “unruly wills.” Looking back, I suspect they may have even been somewhat correct in their assessment. We were boys. We were kids (probably 9-11 years old at the time). We were in a house that was new to us. Instead of the 600 square foot hovel we grew up in, we had this wonderful, glorious, two story (plus basement, in all its creepiness) Victorian mansion to explore, so we did. We did what came naturally to us. Now that we’re older by a half-dozen decades, I guarantee we would approach that (or any) home more calmly. After all, that’s what mature folks do.</p><p>I wonder if God looks at the human race and sees a world full of hellions, rascals, and rapscallions. I wonder if God sits upon the throne, letting out a great sigh of fatigue and frustration at the end of each day, watching over us with our “unruly wills and affections.” Quite a rambunctious lot, we are.</p><p>If so, it is good for us to acknowledge that sometimes we’re not quite as angelic as we may think we are, while also being careful to acknowledge that we’re certainly not as bad as we may sometimes think we are, either. Rambunctious? OK. Thoughtless? Sure. Careless? From time to time. Wicked? Well, maybe once in a while we may stumble into the cowpies of wickedness. Who am I to judge (as the Pope once famously asked)?</p><p>So, yes, we approach God acknowledging the fact the light of our faith burns a little dim from time to time. We no doubt aggravate our God, and our neighbors, and possibly even ourselves. Our wills and affections do sometimes run counter to the love God expects from us, and yet, such shortcomings do NOT diminish God’s love for us, and hopes that we can and will do better. God throws a light on our path precisely so that we CAN do better, we CAN see better.</p><p>What draws us from the love of God? What tears our hearts from going where we know God wants us to go? It could be that there are a lot of shiny, flashy things that distract us. I don’t think it is evil, per se, as much as simple distractions as we make our way through life each day.</p><p>I’m not much of a fisherman, but I know that back in the day I would go fishing down along the Snake River (when I was in college), I seldom if ever used live bait. I didn’t care for the looks, taste, smell, or feel of live bait, to be honest. I preferred to fish with lures. Shiny, flashy bits of gold and silver that would catch a fish’s attention. I caught one fish that had several other lures in its mouth that had broken off from their lines from past fisherfolks. “You didn’t learn your lesson, did you, fishie?” I removed the lures and tossed it back into the river: a moment of grace.</p><p><i>“Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise …” </i></p><p>The world tosses shiny flashy goodies our way all the time. I have cable television and seemingly thousands of entertainment choices, yet I stare as slack-jawed at that multitude of options as the average muscovite stands staring at empty shelves at their local Russo-Marts. Our world is “All hat and no cowboy” as folks in cattle country might tell it. </p><p>What we crave is substance, not promise – or at least not the empty promises of all the world’s flashiest finery. So we pray: grant your people GRACE (this is a gift from God, not something we can manufacture) to LOVE what you command (and what does God command? To love God whole-heartedly, love neighbor sacrificially, and to love self tenderly). </p><p>If you prefer a little Old Testament grumpy God theology, what God desires is that we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our Creator. Why?</p><p><i>“(so) that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found …”</i></p><p>In some ways, I think our lives are so empty, not because we don’t have anything, but because we have so many choices, so many options, so many opportunities that our hearts and minds get lost in that jumble. We can never set anchor, as we’re always being beckoned to chase something else, to go somewhere else, with promises that we’ll find what we’re looking for. We want a way out of the fun house room of mirrors, and all the world does is toss in more mirrors.</p><p>So we pray for God to help stop the madness. We’re not praying for better vision. If anything, I think we’re asking God to throw a hood over our heads, but unlike the mobster who intends to give us concrete galoshes (or cement overshoes), God will allow the darkness and quiet to help reset our senses and sensibilities. I think of Lent as a holy hood we don so that we can regain the peace of God that passes all understanding.</p><p>I know a therapist who uses a light treatment with her patients. Sometimes their life-story is stuck on an event or situation that plays over and over. The light therapy helps bump the record player, so to speak, so the needle jumps over whatever it is stuck on and allows the patient to get back to living and experiencing other, more helpful memories. </p><p>That’s what we’re doing here. We’re asking God to bump the record player of our lives so that when the hood is removed, we’ll once again be able to see straight and fix our eyes where true joy is to be found, in lives of service, acts of kindness, and walking humbly with God.</p><p>Amen.</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-51676820502259009012024-03-13T06:19:00.000-07:002024-03-13T06:19:00.092-07:00Behind the Curve With Cursive<p><br /></p><p><i>“I want to emphasize in the bold scrawls of my personal handwriting the immense importance of what I have written to you.” Galatians 6:11 (Peterson’s “The Message”)</i></p><p>There was a meme that came across one of my social media feeds inviting the viewer to “Share if you think schools should teach children to write in cursive.” The meme, as you might suspect, was written in cursive. I suspect most of us learned how to make block letters at an early age (it was first grade for me), and once we became proficient with that, we began to learn how to write those same letters in cursive (third grade for me).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHandsqAckpBWd3orjM6NfsyZffF_YqwaJfJGIEOi7T4b8l-ozWIKM3myUjPXLupbYBFxYXK47fBvFTxV0P0q03pgkZP_rO-iC0COCEFbXnlzzLjGwFMYjd3OWenCfLao8JEvozaPyeTew_qidZHIJmNpd5eyKeGuS0aqcFSDBMC8RA8VjM8KDEW3FA5tc/s720/24%20wis%20FB_IMG_1709587931406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="536" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHandsqAckpBWd3orjM6NfsyZffF_YqwaJfJGIEOi7T4b8l-ozWIKM3myUjPXLupbYBFxYXK47fBvFTxV0P0q03pgkZP_rO-iC0COCEFbXnlzzLjGwFMYjd3OWenCfLao8JEvozaPyeTew_qidZHIJmNpd5eyKeGuS0aqcFSDBMC8RA8VjM8KDEW3FA5tc/w154-h207/24%20wis%20FB_IMG_1709587931406.jpg" width="154" /></a></div><br /><p>I honestly don’t know if schools still teach kids how to write in cursive. Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. They don’t teach mechanical drawing anymore, either, do they? Technology has moved on and, to be honest, I suspect there are plenty of subjects schools are required and expected to teach that micromanaging our educational industry from the luxury of the peanut gallery known as social media is probably not the best place from which to promote change.</p><p>Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate being able to read and write both the printed word and the swirly words of cursive. My mother-in-law had beautiful handwriting. Her cursive was a work of art. Mine, on the other hand, is an explosion of scratches that are, today, indecipherable, even by me, the author. I feel quite biblical that way.</p><p>I used to hand-write my sermons. When computers (AKA, Word Processors) first came out, I tried writing my sermons with them, but I found that the part of the brain that controls typing only knew how to type term papers. Word processed sermons sounded like college papers, not the living, breathing proclamation of the Good News. My fingers could write the way I spoke, but they could only type in the manner I thought. It was weird.</p><p>I came to a point, though, where I was struggling to read my own writing, my own notes. My handwriting had never been all that great, but it was deteriorating. Not from lack of practice or loss of fine motor skills. It’s simply that I am a slob. I have horrible penmanship, and it couldn’t keep up with the pace at which I thought (or think). Now THAT is a scary realization when one perceives how slowly the balloon that carries captions above my head fills!</p><p>So I began to learn to use the computer differently. Yes, I still did the typing, but I slowed the process down and learned to review my work as I went along, transforming the mundane into something with more heart and soul. It took work, takes practice, and still takes a lot more work, but over time, I was able to breathe some life into those manuscripts. The problem wasn’t the technology, but the brain attached to the fingers utilizing the technology.</p><p>I honestly don’t know what is taught in schools these days. My kids are grown and gone and my mother, who taught fourth grade up until she passed away, always enjoyed being on the cutting edge of new projects, new subjects, and new processes for teaching. She liked finding what worked, tossing what didn’t, and maintained good relations with the front office so was never second-guessed for what she was doing.</p><p>While writing in cursive may or may not be important, I’m more concerned with history that has been white-washed than in erasing cursive as a subject. I’m more concerned with the banning of reading materials than with the banning of an antiquated writing system. I’m more concerned with kids missing hot meals than with missing curly writing. I’m more concerned with the loss of voting rights than cursive writes [sic]. I’m more concerned with diminished access to healthcare and healthcare decisions than in how a doctor’s order or prescription for patient care gets written up or processed.</p><p>So, yeah, I can see the value of learning to read and write in cursive, but on the list of things to teach, I believe teaching kids to engage in critical thinking is far more important now than knowing how to scroll ink from pen to paper here in this, our valley.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-1934055424949634262024-03-09T09:36:00.000-08:002024-03-09T09:41:28.547-08:00The Fourth Sunday in Lent<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 219]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Who doesn’t get hungry? I am always hungry. As I approach the end of breakfast, it isn’t unusual for me to ask my life-partner, “What’s for dinner?” I do that after every meal. I wonder what I’m eating next. Half the time, I’ll do my wondering while nibbling on a small handful of cashews to hold me between meals, or chocolate covered raisins. Hey, sometimes I need something sweet; other times, I want something savory. I like to keep my options open.</p><p>Jesus says, of course, “One does not live by bread alone.” We heard that at the beginning of Lent.</p><p>Who doesn’t get hungry? My problems are first-world problems. Where ninety percent of the world is food-insecure, I ramble around the house wondering what to snack on next. Seldom are celery or carrots on the list of things to consider. Most of the time, I’m not really hungry when I nibble or eat, but am bored, instead. How sad!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBvvxvHpcFULI4K1Kdqb3Y_uQZ1OBq2Ixzg_N9Te1XcoS-FVjre03JlJflbVpOCwCsUvH_Q3qKQEq-LufrBd8FLVQfpzADbIXFRn-zX8Cb0U0AjbVwoZdmhA-1zM8LNgnYp-bB1v-Pp2kr1BW5m1VUfSAE8tDelmIGSIsYUNtyhZTvhRqF91_l3BzSPhS/s1569/cake%20PXL_20240307_215316587%20bread.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1569" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBvvxvHpcFULI4K1Kdqb3Y_uQZ1OBq2Ixzg_N9Te1XcoS-FVjre03JlJflbVpOCwCsUvH_Q3qKQEq-LufrBd8FLVQfpzADbIXFRn-zX8Cb0U0AjbVwoZdmhA-1zM8LNgnYp-bB1v-Pp2kr1BW5m1VUfSAE8tDelmIGSIsYUNtyhZTvhRqF91_l3BzSPhS/s320/cake%20PXL_20240307_215316587%20bread.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Yes, a decadent Devil's Food cake with chocolate frosting - during Lent? Only on Sundays </i>:-)</span></p><p>Did Jesus nibble between meals? If he was human like us (as the Bible affirms), I’m sure he did; he was a guy. I’m sorry, but I believe snacking and nibbling are guy things. One of my favorite stories in the Gospels is the story of Jesus getting razzed by local do-gooders for allowing his disciples to snack on grains while walking past or through a field. It wasn’t their snacking that irritated the holy molies. It was that they did so on the Sabbath.</p><p>Rules may seem silly to most of us. Oh, we don’t mind the big ones, like the rules against murder, stealing, and lying. A day of rest is important, too, although most of us aren’t sticklers about it. I grew up when Blue Laws were still on the books in the 50s and 60s, but one by one they dropped away like day old smelt. I admit it doesn’t bother me to run into the store on a Saturday or Sunday when I need something. Life that’s off and running 24/7 is the norm, and that’s sad. Being retired, I find one day merges into the next so easily I’m barely aware the weekend is arriving and, before you know it, it has swooshed off and become just another day.</p><p>Who doesn’t get hungry? Our collect acknowledges the reality that we DO get hungry. We hunger for things more substantial than bread or meat. We hunger for company and companionship. We hunger for friends and friendships. We hunger and thirst for righteousness and justice. As we begin our prayer, we find ourselves acknowledging that Jesus has come, not just to feed us, but to BE true bread for us who hunger, and to BE our life-giver – and not for us only (lest we be selfish) but for the whole world. </p><p>“<i>... life to the world.</i>” That’s what it says. That’s what we pray. That is our intention, if we’re paying attention.</p><p>We pray this because we know we get hungry, and nothing we do lasts forever; nothing we do truly satisfies; nothing we do keeps us energized and empowered like Jesus does. And really, isn’t that what we want for the world, too? An opportunity to know this Bread that truly satisfies?</p><p>Every now and then I look at old sermons, meditations, and columns I have written over the years, and although I enjoy perusing them, they are a time-capsule of sorts. They fit a variety of needs at the time (and I strove to keep them entertaining and find they are still readable, for the most part), but if I were to recycle them, they would be a bit more stale, a bit less enlightening, a bit less entertaining. That’s OK. I don’t mind. That is the way of all flesh.</p><p>But when I read the scriptures, and especially the Gospels, I never tire of reading them, marking them, learning what they are saying today (for they never seem to age), and inwardly digesting them (as another collect in another place phrases it). Jesus continues to feed me (and us) in both word and sacrament.</p><p>That moves us to our petition, asking God to “<i>Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him.</i>” </p><p>What does that look like? Well, just as bread enters the body and is broken down with nutrients going where they need to go, so Jesus enters into us continually. We receive Jesus sacramentally, of course, when we gather for Holy Communion, Holy Eucharist, the Mass, or the Lord’s Supper. We also receive Jesus as we read scripture. We receive Jesus when we gather with fellow travelers and discover how our hearts burn within us as we speak, listen, care, and share with one another. We receive Jesus when we see him with our eyes, hear him with our ears, smell his fragrance in the world around us. We receive Jesus when he touches us through the loving care of another person, or within a community of the beloved, which includes people far beyond our own circles of faith.</p><p>I think Lent invites us to be more intentional about this part of our journey. As a friend recently said, the first half of Lent focuses on turning away from those habits or practices that remove us from the love of God, neighbor, and self, while the second half of Lent shifts eyes forward to seeing the ultimate sacrifice of love made on our behalf, and inviting us to join Jesus as he makes his way to Jerusalem, the Cross, and beyond to the day of Resurrection.</p><p>A life broken for us; blood shed for us; healing and life given to us. He is Bread for this purpose. May we be, too.</p><p>Amen</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-66618977803893107562024-03-01T11:34:00.000-08:002024-03-02T07:14:21.446-08:00The Third Sunday in Lent<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 218]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Some years ago I served a congregation in a remote part of the land. It was my habit to schedule and celebrate the Mass on Christmas mornings. The services were always sparsely attended, especially in such a remote and rural environment, but someone always showed up. Some would ask if it was worth it, from the turnout, or lack thereof. I’d answer “Yes.” I wasn’t responsible for the turnout. I was responsible for providing the service.</p><p>Years earlier I was between parishes and Christmas fell on a Sunday. The priest in charge announced he was giving the church that Sunday morning off (since there would be a Christmas eve service the night before). I spoke to him after service and said I would be happy to celebrate mass on Christmas morning for those who might come because it WAS a Sunday morning, or because they couldn’t attend the Christmas Eve service. He gave it a nano-second of thought and said, “No, I made my decision. The church will be closed as my present to them.” I said, “My service would be my gift to the parish. I’d love to do it.” He turned his back and said, No.” I was greatly disappointed; my countenance fell in a manner of biblical proportions.</p><p>Getting back to my rural parish, I arrived one Christmas morning and was joined by a couple who were active in and members of a church that does not share communion with Episcopalians. They have a closed altar, and members are not allowed to receive communion outside their own parish, even within their own denomination. Still, it was Christmas morning, and they wanted to worship, and I was offering what their own church wasn’t. We celebrated the birth of Jesus together, and when it was time for communion, I invited them to come forward, for that is our custom. They declined, so I received communion by myself. When I was finished, I offered the same blessing that I have offered for decades (The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge of love God and of His Son, Jesus Christ, and the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be upon you, and remain with you always). I thanked them earnestly for joining me for the service and shared a little-known factoid with them.</p><p>“I appreciate your being here. In our tradition, a priest cannot receive communion alone. We need a community to gather, just as Jesus said, ‘Where two or three are gathered, I am there.’ Your being here was a gift that allowed me to more fully enjoy Christmas. You are, and have been, a real blessing!”</p><p> <i>“Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves …” </i></p><p>It would be silly to say we have NO power .. if we meant it literally. We do have some power, each of us. I can read, write, and do sums (with the help of a calculator these days). Most of my decisions are morally upright and are done without either carrot or stick, so I’d be hard pressed to say I have no power to help myself or others. That isn’t the point here, of course.</p><p>The point here is that we are who we are, and while we may have some volitional power to do many things, we require the help of God to get us over the hump at times. It is God who provides insight into what must be done. My temptation – my GREAT temptation – is to take shortcuts and do things the easy, convenient way. I have never been one to make waves, and prefer the life of a chameleon – out of sight and out of mind.</p><p>The point of our prayer is to engage in self-reflection, as persons, and as a community. We sometimes forget that the Collects are our prayers as a community. It’s not enough to pray for ourselves alone, but for the whole Body. We, as a people, often do not have the power or strength to help ourselves, for many reasons. I know what I think, but I can’t know what you think (unless we talk). </p><p>“A convoy moves only as fast as the slowest ship,” said my father when I was growing up. “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,” he added from his repertoire of folk wisdom. </p><p>The Church is often paralyzed into inaction because we’re not sure what God is asking of us. I was in a diocese where we were always in discernment, and our bishop absolutely loved the discernment process, but we never implemented any changes; we never made any forward progress. It was always planning, planning, and more planning, but never any doing. It felt like too much do-do!</p><p><i>“Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves …” </i></p><p>I suspect God, if God is God at all, is well aware of our tendency to hesitate, to pause, reflect, and worry about getting everyone onboard before doing anything different, anything new, or anything brave for God’s sake. So on this third Sunday in Lent, we confess our powerlessness, because we really are powerless. “We are weak, but God is strong,” we sing.</p><p>It’s not enough to confess our weakness, though. God: what are you going to do about it? So our prayer continues:</p><p><i>“Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls …”</i></p><p>“Keep.” I like that word. It reminds me of the inner fortress in The Lord of the Rings. The castle keep was the inner bulwark to which the people fled when they became overwhelmed in their outer defenses. </p><p>God, we pray, give us a safe haven when we are being overwhelmed. So often we rely on our own power, our own strength, our own wiles to survive. Certainly they are part of what we bring to the table. But it is easier to make wise decisions if we can do so from a safe place. The safest place to be is alongside God – looking to God for comfort, strength, and courage. So we pray, first of all, for God to gather us in. When scared, is there anyplace more comforting than being snuggled up in the lap of Mom or Dad? “God,” we pray, “let us snuggle with thee.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LCSi-JQuB7EVadlnV-g0wmZwfnTvgV8_qQxTkHQJAyk-vMVMKhhzIz00II7EokmZrEDVAfjsYcK16vkvSkT6wbaHpb_dur7dM6TBKZec2XkFj4nyp4n2CUZiRhXeNtmc0fccIpBvirAQ_VB0dK7u4U5wExEral-UUrE4UDfSdxxt52hZ6hJ2BFJG29dF/s800/collect%20lent3%20Saint%20Caryl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LCSi-JQuB7EVadlnV-g0wmZwfnTvgV8_qQxTkHQJAyk-vMVMKhhzIz00II7EokmZrEDVAfjsYcK16vkvSkT6wbaHpb_dur7dM6TBKZec2XkFj4nyp4n2CUZiRhXeNtmc0fccIpBvirAQ_VB0dK7u4U5wExEral-UUrE4UDfSdxxt52hZ6hJ2BFJG29dF/s320/collect%20lent3%20Saint%20Caryl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><i>My mother, reading to her grandkids</i></p><p><i>“that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul …”</i></p><p>Stuff happens. The earth quakes, the winds blow, the storms come and go, diseases plague us. I confess I don’t ask God to protect me from death or pain. I am disturbed by a theology where a survivor thanks God for protecting them, when a thousand around them were killed by the crashing airplane or sudden tsunami. I just want God to keep on holding on to us when catastrophes befall us, so that we need have no fear that we’ve lost God’s loving care.</p><p>The same is true for the Church – the Body of Christ. It has faced adversity from time immemorial, from schisms, heresies, martyrdom, gross abuses from within, really bad attitudes towards those not like us, financial stresses (always), etc. God, we need your help from these things, especially!</p><p>As for evil thoughts, God also knows how we feel about people and situations that offend us. “Turn the other cheek?” I think not. Go the extra mile? Heck no. Bless those who curse us? I prefer the heaping, burning coals on their head approach! “So God, when it comes to the sickness of my ‘tude, I’m a gonna need your help!”</p><p>Our temptation is to hang onto those thoughts and ask God’s forgiveness. But our prayer isn’t to put our evil thoughts into Pandora’s Tupperware. No, we ask God to heal us to where those thoughts become further and fewer between. For that, I AM helpless; we ARE helpless. And so we ask God at this mid-point in Lent to help us. Help us REALIZE we really need God’s help to be more Christ-like in our walk with thee.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-9589777450867575092024-02-28T06:41:00.000-08:002024-02-28T06:41:55.083-08:00Charge of the Light Brigade<p><br /></p><p><i>“There is always Light, if only we are brave enough to see it. There is always Light, if only we are brave enough to be it.” Amanda Gorman, Poet, “The Hill We Climb”</i></p><p>For quite some time now, we have had problems at home with flickering lights. It’s the kind of flickering you get when there’s a loose connection. When we moved in seven years ago, there was only one outlet that would hold a plug, so I set about replacing every outlet with good quality receptacles. I’ve replaced a ton of outlets and light switches over the years, so it is a task with which I am experienced and “at home” (so to speak). </p><p>The problem we were facing with our flickering light fixtures, however, was different. The lamps were plugged in securely; connections on our built-in lighting fixtures were likewise well-secured. The issue presented itself in several rooms, so it wasn’t a lone flakey lightbulb having conniptions. So we brought in a professional electrical contractor to diagnose the problem and help us plot a solution.</p><p>The problem turned out to be a faulty breaker panel. It was failing, and the inconsistent supply of electricity to the house was causing the flickering and, if left alone, could result in something worse than flickering lights, so we bit the bullet and contracted for an upgrade to our electrical service. We didn’t just upgrade the panel; we added fresh lighting for the two guest bedrooms, as well as a light and outlet to the house’s crawl space. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWUEAOMDB_6Z_rPlAOL2duQQhGM2c70EdsPp-FASCoiv8jgCRvy1V-lZYhlCII2BRhbDTUzLAJNTEubiHoITv7X5aQxCarljCikEvvgSMn1gGvt20zm9yrO3MoP2bYij46SETmwMoLdYC3dbyhiBgCNmqdwX0GdsOh3hZDVTl6cj0T5JyedAqmhOIuGI7/s883/PXL_20240227_225906694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="496" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWUEAOMDB_6Z_rPlAOL2duQQhGM2c70EdsPp-FASCoiv8jgCRvy1V-lZYhlCII2BRhbDTUzLAJNTEubiHoITv7X5aQxCarljCikEvvgSMn1gGvt20zm9yrO3MoP2bYij46SETmwMoLdYC3dbyhiBgCNmqdwX0GdsOh3hZDVTl6cj0T5JyedAqmhOIuGI7/w117-h208/PXL_20240227_225906694.jpg" width="117" /></a></div><br /><p>While the light and outlet in the crawl certainly aren’t needed, it will be helpful having light in the event someone ever has to visit the creep space in order to turn off the home’s water supply or replace the hot water tank. Illuminating the darkness: how biblical!</p><p>We are in the season of Lent (for those that follow church seasons – not all do, and that’s OK; there’s more than one way to “be” Church). There was a time when the focus of Lent was to wear sack-cloth and ashes and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness. There’s still a little bit of introspection that goes on these days, but I think there has been a major shift from a sin-focus to a healthier form of spirituality – one that keys in on identifying ways we can be better human beings.</p><p>Shifting one’s focus is important. I am not a craftsman, so when I do projects around the house, I’ll confess I see all the blemishes and mistakes I’ve made. When folks try to admire my handiwork, more often than not I’ll point out what I did poorly, even though most people admire that, first off, I tackled a project, and secondly, that they wouldn’t have noticed the errors of my ways if I hadn’t pointed them out. It’s one thing to be humble; it’s quite another to abuse the self.</p><p>Anyway, since we have been created in the image of God, and since we believe the glory of God is God’s mercy, it seems counterproductive to look for fault in the work of our hands, minds, or spirits. Lent is a season, not for withdrawing from God’s presence because of our weaknesses or misdoings, but to draw closer to God, to bask in the light of God’s glory, and to see what, if anything, we might do better on God’s behalf.</p><p>Our breaker panel was not evil for going bad. It didn’t decide, one day, to become ineffective or dangerous. In fact, it was a blessing that we saw the signs it was failing. It gave us an opportunity to make changes before it failed catastrophically. It gave us an opportunity to upgrade and improve the lighting in spaces that needed improving, and over time it may well save us energy costs and reduce our carbon footprint.</p><p>Many people wait until they are in too much pain not to change. Life is more joyous when one identifies what’s working or not working for them, and making the change ahead of the catastrophe. We won’t always succeed, of course. The famous Light Brigade went into the wrong valley. Oops. But if we choose our valley wisely, and with eyes wide open, perhaps we can stop the flickering in our lives, and add warmth to our light here in this, our valley.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-1743458972747958942024-02-24T07:44:00.000-08:002024-02-24T07:44:30.306-08:00The Second Sunday in Lent<p> </p><p><i>O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways, and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 218]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Life can be quite amusing at times. For years, I have identified one of God’s greatest attributes with this line: The glory of God is his mercy. That’s been my default marker for proclaiming the gospel for as long as I can remember. So many people have come to me over the years asking if they will be saved, or if they will have a chance of going to heaven, and I have assured and reassured each one, every time: The glory of God is God’s mercy. Of course you’re saved; of course you’re going to heaven; of course God will welcome you with open arms and a loving embrace.</p><p>I always thought I was quoting scripture, even though I could never find that passage in the Psalms, Proverbs, Isaiah, or any of the other prophets. I’ve tried to find the passage using concordances and Bible reference materials. I’ve even tried online Bible references and a variety of search engines. I could never find it and just chalked it up to my lousy research skills. Some things just lie beyond my grasp.</p><p>Then, as I began working my way through this series of meditations based upon the Sunday Collects, I found the source of what I’d been saying all along. It’s right here in the Collect for the Second Sunday in Lent (and not a direct quote from the Bible): “O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy …”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCfhGs98oK1gdEf8wSwS3YH8N4silNpbaJMlw9FwgZMQBesZbpLAUkbiS3JVUW3_1OUkWRQII3ofQCJauWtIy_Fb1D0kcRuMv8pN_BgNyHCjGzfK-2Zzf7_hgsQFb5wXA38EXY5q6tcjdF0X_biKkg8p3SXHRGowAyG1Wst80FEDoQ7rzGcn7FCjackCR/s552/cr%20PXL_20240224_154049288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="552" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCfhGs98oK1gdEf8wSwS3YH8N4silNpbaJMlw9FwgZMQBesZbpLAUkbiS3JVUW3_1OUkWRQII3ofQCJauWtIy_Fb1D0kcRuMv8pN_BgNyHCjGzfK-2Zzf7_hgsQFb5wXA38EXY5q6tcjdF0X_biKkg8p3SXHRGowAyG1Wst80FEDoQ7rzGcn7FCjackCR/s320/cr%20PXL_20240224_154049288.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>People often ask what Episcopalians believe, and while we aren’t a “confessional” church, as such, one can find our theology as we define and express it throughout the Book of Common Prayer (the BCP). Our beliefs are contained within our prayers. They are rich, deep, and sometimes contradictory. But so is life. God, who told the first couple, “The day you eat of it (the “forbidden” fruit), you shall die,” changed their divine mind. </p><p>Our relationship with God is complex. It’s also quite simple. A number of well-known and respected theologians have admitted that their faith can be best summed up in the words of that children’s hymn, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to God belong, we are weak, but God is strong. Yes! Jesus loves me!!!”</p><p>I worry the church has historically done such a good job of identifying every sin imaginable, that many have simply given up trying to come to any understanding of what it means to be a Christian. Are you lazy? Sloth!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do your eyes go looking where they shouldn’t? Lust!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do you get mad? Wroth (Anger)!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do you sometimes feel superior to others (politically, socially, economically – come on, now; let’s be truthful)? Pride!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Shall I go on? We still have Envy, Gluttony, and Greed to top off the list of cardinal sins. Don’t let me get started on the venial sins – oy vey!</p><p>I heard a lot about sin, growing up, and while I can rattle off the cardinal sins from memory (I use a mnemonic tool: SLAPEGG (Sloth, Lust, Anger, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Greed), but I have no idea what the cardinal virtues are. I presume there are some, but I haven’t got a list. I presume love and humility are in there somewhere, and maybe patience, but I haven’t got time to go looking for them right now.</p><p>So we know how bad people are. We can point out their faults with gusto. What I don’t know is why we focus more on sin and less on grace. The glory of God is God’s mercy. That line has struck me and stayed with me since forever. It’s one of those things I need to hear over and over to believe it. I believe it is true; to the core of my soul I believe it. It’s the curmudgeon who dances the Tarantella between my ears, who points out all those things that prick my conscience that I need to learn to put into Time Out.</p><p>“You’re not good enough,” he says. OK. I can live with that. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.</p><p>The season of Lent is a struggle for many people because they (or we) are being told we are sinners, as if we don’t already know that. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return” is Lent’s battle cry. OK, sure. I can live with that. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy!</p><p>That is why our prayer continues: “Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways …” God knows what we’re like. It’s not like God flings open a door and goes, “Whoops! Sorry, I didn’t know you were in there.” </p><p>God knows, for the most part, that we are doing the best we can. Love God? OK, I do and will do the best I can. Sometimes I’ll have some doubts; other times I’ll have lots of doubts. But for the most part, I love God as best I can. I worship. I pray. I say grace at meals. I bring my offerings to church. I sing the hymns (including those I don’t really like). I devote as much time to loving God as best I can. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.</p><p>Love one’s neighbor? OK, I do the best I can. I don’t go out of my way to irritate or antagonize people around me, but I suppose I could do more to love them. It’s hard, though. Lord, you KNOW some of my neighbors. Yet, not my will but (sigh) your will be done. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.</p><p>Love myself? OK, that’s a bit tougher. Sometimes my ego gets in the way. Sometimes it's my history. Other times it’s my future (or lack) that draws my attention from full-on loving myself. I mean, I know me. How can I love me, knowing all that? I know what goes on in my mind. Still, if you, Great God of all that is, seen and unseen, can have mercy on me, and love me, and want me to sit at table with you in the great banquet that follows my romping through the valley of the shadow of death, who am I to question your command? So I try. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.</p><p>That’s why we continue our prayer: “bring them (us) again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word …” We don’t ask God to let us wallow in our guilt. We conduct a fearless and moral inventory of our lives (which inventories both the good and the bad, the sick and the sad) and we turn our will and our lives (with everything in them) over to the care of God, and trust that God knows what to do with those self-same lives. God will root through our attics, crawl spaces, dungeons and play rooms, toss out all the trash, and hold fast (embrace, hug) what’s left: You. Me. God’s very own treasure!</p><p>I guess that’s why I love Lent. These prayers remind us that the glory of God is God’s mercy. We don’t stand before God quivering in our boots, fearing the fiery torments of hell. No, we stand before God, fresh from our baths, dressed as knights in white satin, children of God’s kingdom and reign, jewels in God’s very own crown.</p><p>Merciful heavens: the glory of God IS God’s mercy!</p><p>Amen</p><p><br /></p>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-72055214563515429742024-02-18T15:48:00.000-08:002024-02-18T15:48:07.229-08:00First Sunday in Lent<p> </p><p><i>Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP 218]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Jesus was “led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan.” Isn’t that strange? Don’t we pray, asking God to “lead us not into temptation”? So here we find Jesus being “led” by God’s Spirit “to be tempted.”</p><p>I suppose in many ways the Spirit was leading Jesus into the wilderness in his day just as that same Spirit led Israel from bondage in Egypt, through the Sea, and into the wilderness, not so much to “be” tempted, but where they were tempted. Tempted to do what, though? I suppose individuals were tempted to misbehave the way people are in every community, in every generation, in every way. I have no doubt there were the barroom brawls, accusations of theft, lusting after whatever lustables they could see. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YESr6XfyNC-p0XotixIKWkRBTrKMEEt4Ik-Kkp0Sa9QqT0GQ-QQkeh1x5epWJbBS1Vus6MFMJ3oVGvkHoxZwXABoEAbqZHiM_xZ52R26_cZdwgy6E2mr1v6n0d_QunIYvIz8aYihBVl25Rg4y6HQqxpSNnWWVoWZtBZ4QUQ7nWYwKMtuRoVcf-9Y5Y7G/s800/crsz%202%20PXL_20231015_180426543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YESr6XfyNC-p0XotixIKWkRBTrKMEEt4Ik-Kkp0Sa9QqT0GQ-QQkeh1x5epWJbBS1Vus6MFMJ3oVGvkHoxZwXABoEAbqZHiM_xZ52R26_cZdwgy6E2mr1v6n0d_QunIYvIz8aYihBVl25Rg4y6HQqxpSNnWWVoWZtBZ4QUQ7nWYwKMtuRoVcf-9Y5Y7G/s320/crsz%202%20PXL_20231015_180426543.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>They saw the glory of God demonstrated in a bunch of disasters that befell the Egyptians (plagues of frog, flies, locusts, bloody waters, and the deaths of first-borns); they saw the sea opened up so they could cross over on dry land from one side to another; they saw the mighty Egyptian army (with all their horses and chariots) destroyed when the sea returned to normal (slamming the door on the pursuers); they saw the pillar of fire by night and pillar of smoke by day leading them on and on. But when asked to believe, when asked to trust, when asked to move forward, when asked to enter the land of promise, the people dug in their heels and said, “Heck no, we won’t go!”</p><p>That had to be discouraging for God. They cried for food, God gave them Manna, and they complained. They begged for meat, God sent quail, and they complained. They got thirsty, God gave them water from a rock, and they complained. We can’t really blame them, of course. If there is one thing people are good at, it’s complaining. Endless complaining.</p><p>Moses goes into the mountain, talks with God, brings back God’s great gift: Torah (the Law), and how do the people respond? “Eh, we missed you; figured you’d died, so Aaron made a wonderful golden calf for us to worship. He gave us Gold; you brought us a memo. Thanks, but no thanks!”</p><p>We could go on and on, but it is obvious that even if the people weren’t “tempted” as such, the wilderness was a place of pain and suffering. We can’t blame them. These weren’t leaders; these were slaves. These weren’t the elite; these were the bottom of the barrel. These weren’t the high and mighty, but low and stinky. For centuries, they and their ancestors took their orders and knew their place in the world. The wilderness was all new for them. The only temptation they faced was to go back – to go back to the lives they knew so well. At least in Egypt they knew they had food. Sure, it was scraps and leftovers, but still, it was food.</p><p>Jesus was baptized in the river. As he got back onto his feet, he saw the Spirit descend, like a dove, and heard a voice cry out, “You are my beloved son; in you I am well pleased.”</p><p>With his baptism, Jesus was freed from slavery. What? Jesus wasn’t a slave. He was the son of a carpenter or a village handyman. Yet, might he not have been a slave anyway? There are many kinds of slavery. One can be a slave to their past. I know people who can’t get past hurts that took place decades ago. They embrace those painful memories like golden calves. They find their life’s meaning in those memories, so they hang onto them, and worship them, for those things give them their value.</p><p>One can be a slave to what others think. They worry they will be thought less of if they tell people what they think. They find their value defined by what others think, as if a person who has a moment’s insight into your life could possibly know you better than yourself. But they haven’t the courage to leave those opinions behind. They are trapped in a desert, surrounded by the fiery serpents that corrupt them.</p><p>We don’t know to what Jesus may have been a slave. Perhaps he was tempted to ignore God’s call and continue fixing tables, chairs, and cribs. Perhaps he was tempted to stay home and take care of his family once his father had died – cultural expectations; honor your father and mother; all that guff. </p><p>Whatever the temptation, Jesus broke free. He went through the waters of baptism on his way to a new life. A pillar of fire drew him down to the Jordan, to John, and from there, into the wilderness. He was led, by some accounts. He was driven into the wilderness, by other accounts. Interesting. Sometimes I go where I’m led. Other times I need to be driven. Don’t believe me? Ask my wife!</p><p>Jesus was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan. Satan. The Adversary. Not the red suit, pitchfork, and horn-sprouting-head devil of our collective imaginations. No, Satan is simply the Prosecuting Attorney of the State of Bliss whose job is to bring cases to court for trial. I often think the temptation stories in Matthew, Luke, and (initially) Mark aren’t temptations for Jesus to do magic with rocks, rule the world, or spend time with a new and improved deity. I think the temptation is to accept a plea deal. Despite being innocent, “Just plead guilty and life will go better for you and everyone.”</p><p>That’s a temptation we all face. To take a short-cut. To cut corners, to cheat just a little. Those temptations didn’t stop after Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness. Do our temptations end after our forty days of Lent? Ha! I wish!</p><p>“Lord, come quickly,” we pray. You know our weaknesses. You know our soft spots, our sore spots, our excuses, and our ability to rationalize all our misdoings and lay the blame on others. “If only they … if only this … if only that …”</p><p>“Let each one find YOU mighty to save …” That’s the point, of course. It is God who calls. It is God who rescues. It is God who restores people and relationships. It is God who heals our souls, salves our wounds, and saves us (leading us out of our own personal and/or corporate Egypts). </p><p>This First Sunday IN Lent is our base camp. As the Spirit led Jesus, so the Spirit leads us now. The temptation may be to see this as another Sunday, another week, another Season of Lent. We pray the Spirit will break the shackles of such thinking and drive us (if we won’t be led) into a wilderness that will impel us to depend ever more closely on the God who calls, the God who provides, the God who ministers to each as they have need.</p><p>Amen.</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-34975249458938314092024-02-14T06:43:00.000-08:002024-02-14T06:43:47.399-08:00Ashes for Saint Valentine!<p><br /></p><p><i>“Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke …” Isaiah 58</i></p><p>Valentine’s Day marks a day of love for many of us. It is an artificial holiday built upon the sales of sweets and greeting cards, but really, what holiday isn’t? There’s nothing wrong with love, cards, sweets, or flowers, so I won’t knock it.</p><p>It is somewhat ironic that Valentine’s Day this year coincides with Ash Wednesday which, for many Christians, marks the start of a forty day period of penitence and fasting. “Giving up chocolate” is often the go-to-token for lenten fasting or abstinence.</p><p>Not all Christians observe Lent, of course. In fact, one doesn’t even have to be a Christian to participate in Lent. Days and seasons are not copyrighted. Holidays and holy days are not licensed or trademarked. Days and seasons are simply part of life. </p><p>To paraphrase Jesus, the sun rises and sets for both flat-earthers and astrophysicists. The rains fall on climate-change believers and deniers alike. It doesn’t matter who’s more likely to be right, or who’s more likely to be wrong. What matters is looking and listening to the world around us and asking, is there something I need to do?</p><p>Many years ago our tub began to drain quite slowly. I called in a plumber who snaked the drain and pulled out globs of hair. I looked in the mirror and knew I had not contributed to that problem – not in the least did I have any responsibility for that clog. Did I refuse to pay the plumber? No, of course not. It was a family issue, a family problem, and so I paid the plumber and thanked him for his time and expertise. </p><p>Now, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was truly “holier than thou” in the situation, but the problem wasn’t just the hair. It was also the soap, shampoo, and conditioners that went down the drain and that mixed with the hairs. As a person who’s involved in matters of cleanliness and personal hygiene, I’d contributed to the clog, even if I hadn’t added much building material to the project. I had a part to play, so the plumber I did pay!</p><p>The world is in a heck of a mess. I’m worn out praying for an end to the fighting in Ukraine, Gaza, Somalia, the sea lanes off Yemen, etc. I’m worn out praying for an end to gun violence in America, child hunger, and the masses of second class citizens growing in this country. I’m worn out praying for congress to learn their job is not to get re-elected but solve the many problems they’ve been elected to solve. Getting re-elected is NOT the problem in need of a solution. </p><p>I’m worn out, but I don’t stop praying. Praying isn’t about asking God to magically fix things, but asking how God might use us to fix the injustices and evils about which we pray.</p><p>I don’t really care which holy book one reads, studies, or honors as the basis of their faith. The one I embrace says (Isaiah 58), “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” Other religions and philosophies say much the same thing: Take care of one another.</p><p>Valentine’s day promotes love. Sure, we think primarily of romantic love on that day of chocolates and flowers. But since it coincides with Ash Wednesday, might we consider laying aside our grievances and seeking better ways to love one another? </p><p>If you’re worn out by violence, death, animosity, vengeance, and all the acidic rhetoric floating about the airwaves and such, maybe one can choose to abstain from those things (more than from chocolates). Each of us can examine our lives and find where we fall short (and clean out attitudes that clog our relationships). </p><p>Perhaps Saint Valentine’s Day is as good a day as any to focus our lives on loving Creation, our Neighbors, and Ourselves. If your love lasts more than forty days, so much the better! May you enjoy both a sweet Valentine’s Day and a more loving Lent here in this, our valley.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-157764727068386892024-02-10T13:31:00.000-08:002024-02-10T13:31:52.031-08:00The Last Sunday after the Epiphany<p> </p><p><i>O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain: Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 217]</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-XgJsfvcxtKOCp2oEGuoai8i6udN5MLEgkd1ou9Bf1Slx9EYMEgT5yumizbKfLQ_w8CGv38isI52sQc3_nAGhRM4R-tHl8JjxPr6b-2f0RIGGsUUVgsphnTMaAw_MJJU8bqxiJo90tRkLCAoTAKwuQ9_uIdSMndDNnb_54awCfIBOeYWmFNUUr4g5EKZ/s1024/1019161833a%20medium%20fan%20mountain%20ennis%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-XgJsfvcxtKOCp2oEGuoai8i6udN5MLEgkd1ou9Bf1Slx9EYMEgT5yumizbKfLQ_w8CGv38isI52sQc3_nAGhRM4R-tHl8JjxPr6b-2f0RIGGsUUVgsphnTMaAw_MJJU8bqxiJo90tRkLCAoTAKwuQ9_uIdSMndDNnb_54awCfIBOeYWmFNUUr4g5EKZ/s320/1019161833a%20medium%20fan%20mountain%20ennis%20(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Fan Mountain, outside Ennis Montana, © Keith Axberg</i></p><p>When I was a young lad, our family would often take a few weeks off in the summer to get away from our little house in Ballard (Seattle’s northside Scandinavian neighborhood). Sometimes we would spend our time at the maternal grandparents’ cabin within walking distance of Lake Cavanaugh (nestled in the foothills of the North Cascades just north and east of Everett). Other times we would spend those weeks with our paternal aunt, uncle, and cousin who actually owned a cabin right on the same lake. </p><p>One hot summer day our cousin Joe asked my brother and me if we wanted to go up and see the fire lookout on Fraley Mountain. We’d never been there, but it sure sounded like fun, so off we went. We were kids in our early to mid teens (probably about 13-15); we were in good shape for hiking, and the trail we’d be walking was actually an old access road that was in pretty good shape. We wouldn’t be blazing trails; we’d just be walking up the mountain.</p><p>None of us carried watches, and we were at the age where time meant little. I don’t recall what time we left, and I have no idea how long we trekked, but we walked, and walked, and walked some more. Up the mountain we walked. There wasn’t much of a breeze. We’d carried no water or food. No knives, matches, or flashlights. We had our cut-offs, tee shirts, and tennis shoes of the Bonanza 88 quality and variety. To top it all off, we had also neglected to mention to anyone what we had planned for the day. We simply left with a desire to go see the fire lookout on Fraley Mountain.</p><p>Well, lest you get all nervous-like and start biting your nails, I’ll tell you here that we didn’t make it to the mountain top. We got to a point where it was obvious we were either on the wrong access road, or the site was a lot further away than we had realized when we left the little cabin down by the lake. While I would like to credit this realization to superior intelligence or common sense, the fact is that it was more likely stomachs that had been without food, water, or even chewing gum that led us to realize we may have bitten off more than we could chew. We were out of our depth and woefully unprepared. We exercised the better part of valor and turned around.</p><p>I’m sorry we didn’t get to the mountain top, for I would have liked to have checked out the view from way up there atop Fraley Mountain. Alas, it was not to be. We couldn’t even defend our actions; our folks were not happy to have had us disappear like that without a word, note, or anything. We had failed in our quest, and didn’t have the luxury of being carried home upon our shields. Instead, we were grounded. We weren’t heroes, we were goats. We set out as adventurers, but came back as losers.</p><p><i>“O God, who before the passion of your only-begotten Son revealed his glory upon the holy mountain …” </i></p><p>Jesus never stopped, of course. Jesus and his companions made it to the mountain top. The story of the Transfiguration reminds me of another mountain top at another time in another place with another godly soul. Moses visited high places on several different occasions. He climbed a mountain and found the bush that burned without being consumed. He climbed a mountain to converse with God and bring Torah to God’s people in the valley below. Moses was taken up to a mountain where he could see the land of promise. He was allowed to see it, but the angel of the Lord was clear. “I’ll let you see it, but you will not enter it.”</p><p>It seems the people of God never quite get to where they’re going in life. Like Moses and the children of Israel, we wander around the desert, setting up camp, doing the best we can, but never quite finishing the trip. Spies went into the promised land, and the majority report was simple: “We can’t do it. They’re too big; we’re too small. They’re too many; we’re too few. They’re too powerful; we’re too weak. We’ll be beaten. We’ll be eaten. Let’s return to being slaves, because at least we got to eat the feast and not be the feast.”</p><p>There was a minority report, though. “We can do it. With YHWH on our side, it can be ours, and from what we’ve seen, it will be worth it.”</p><p>Which way did they choose? Did they move forward in faith, or did they stay put, living in fear? You know the answer. Forty years of standing still, going nowhere, perfecting their capacity to cry, moan, and bewail their manifold sins and predicaments. </p><p>Our focus today, though, isn’t what they did in their desert journey. It’s about the journey Jesus took. A different mountain. A different ending. On that mountain, Jesus prayed. Jesus was preparing to make his journey into a different desert, a different wilderness and, as we’ll find out in a few short weeks, a different hill where he will be lifted up, and we won’t see his glory, nor will we hear the voice of God. We’ll be met with deep darkness, sadness, and silence.</p><p>We discover, if we’re paying attention, that the two hills are really two views of the same hill. In reality, the transfiguration story is a preview of Jesus’ resurrection, but we need to see it through eyes of faith, because we must see his resurrection through his crucifixion.</p><p>When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, there was new technology that we didn’t have when she was pregnant with our son: ultrasounds. The device allowed us to see our child in-utero as she was developing. It was like an X-ray but safer, and allowed us to see our child in real time and in motion. We couldn’t see our daughter directly, but we could get a glimpse of coming attractions, one might say.</p><p>The Transfiguration is like that. The glory of God shone for just a few moments there upon the mountain – sort of an Ultra-view, if you will. The thing we often miss, though, is the idea that this is also the view God has of us. We know Jesus is special. We’ve seen it in his life and ministry. Feeding thousands? Wow! Walking on water? Wow, wow, wow! Cleansing lepers, making the lame to walk, the blind to see, the deaf to hear? Wow, wow, wow, a thousand times wow!</p><p>It is not enough to see the glory of God in Christ on the holy mountain, though. We are praying, asking God to change us. Jesus didn’t shine 24/7. The light lived within him; it was visible in how he lived. That light dwells in us, too. That’s the scary part of our faith is the light dwells in us. We may not be able to walk on water, but we can reach out to those who are drowning. We may not be able to feed thousands, but certainly we can feed a few. We may not be able to open the eyes of the blind or unstop the ears of the deaf, but we can surely be their eyes and ears when called upon.</p><p>This collect warns us away from complacency, or from delegating everything to Jesus because for us to care or to carry that burden (our cross) is too hard or difficult. We ask God to use us. We discover, to our amazement, that the light may well shine. We are called to see the world from the mountain top, even if we’re not sure we’d ever get there. We’re to see it through Jesus’ eyes. We just need to keep moving, and believe. What a view!</p><div><i>The Rev. Keith Axberg, 2024</i></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-47704973398428719142024-01-30T13:34:00.000-08:002024-01-31T09:10:42.338-08:00A board by any other name would be silly<p><br /></p><p><i>“The works of (God’s) hands are faithfulness and justice; all his commandments are sure.” Psalm 111</i></p><p>What’s the deal with wood? I know that two-by-fours haven’t been two inches by four inches in decades, and maybe even in a century. That’s OK. I’m aware that when I buy two-by-fours for a project, they’ll be roughly 1 ½ by 3 ½ inches (thickness and width). I understand you can get more dimensional lumber from a tree that way and that the structural integrity of a house, barn, or shed isn’t diminished significantly by using anorexic lumber. I know those are rough measurements and good enough for supports that will be hidden by drywall or out of sight in attics or crawl spaces. I get that. But …</p><p>The other day I went to my local home center to buy a board from which I intended to build a rack for storing wireless microphones at church. I wasn’t buying “rough” lumber. I was buying a finer piece of wood intended for wood-working craftsmen, er, crafty-persons, er, artists. I figured people would like it because the label said it was poplar. No use buying something that would be unpoplar, right?</p><p>Naturally, the four inch wide board wasn’t, and the brackets were. The problem wasn’t with the lumber, though. You see, the problem is that I worked from my brain and common sense instead of a ruler and practical application. I got the plank home, sanded it down, softened the edges with my router, creating a piece of fine furniture, and finished it all off with a beautiful, hand-rubbed oil stain finish. THEN I brought out the brackets and discovered the dimensional discrepancy. Oops. Did I become despondent with my delusions of adequacy?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpK_UCWkd130OtCGPyoc6hwXNGxHYza7cBMB5GuElJaoSpGP93Iy9c_zQV7JBWKVCgPjrrkoA3borhUe_f1XVf0cKh9EzYbjw8Nrl3aBdhXSItrO3_2pA-6IHIrV7r1DFelA7ESfTH8Va5cNlYZSZ1UUGb7PI54mOt0ytEtrB_4AmXFRTEIxJyq29ZMKEt/s1569/PXL_20240124_010042958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1569" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpK_UCWkd130OtCGPyoc6hwXNGxHYza7cBMB5GuElJaoSpGP93Iy9c_zQV7JBWKVCgPjrrkoA3borhUe_f1XVf0cKh9EzYbjw8Nrl3aBdhXSItrO3_2pA-6IHIrV7r1DFelA7ESfTH8Va5cNlYZSZ1UUGb7PI54mOt0ytEtrB_4AmXFRTEIxJyq29ZMKEt/w235-h132/PXL_20240124_010042958.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Good grief; No! I looked at what I’d done, threw my hands up, and said to myself, “Well, that’s one for the books!” </p><p>One cannot undo what has been done. One cannot unring the bell or put the toothpaste back into the tube. I knew better than to start a project without taking proper measurements. If I worked with wood daily, I might be able to do things off the cuff and with a dollop of by-gosh and by-golly (as my Grand-Dad was wont to say), but I don’t. I am a tinkerer, but in this case I tink I blundered. It happens.</p><p>So, I went and bought a more properly sized bit of wood, did my duty to it, and when I was done, took it to the church, placed it where the priest asked me to, and that was that. I didn’t fix blame; I fixed the problem.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9q-IOAZlQlfBlHmvvM5KwfuOMP4f2goTo3LSVdEyjBcia8rOkpA4h72Cvh8CbzgjnOebpZYvuMXx0zJPzbvEW_GqKs7Wx_tbNah0hEKknnt_a2R7rItU8kujKUTpUr-aOFPrvTgujGd24QeSMRIysktPuFnWwLu5P7UfUdshaQk5gmaDi4jLopxBRxVrm/s1569/PXL_20240125_200013744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1569" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9q-IOAZlQlfBlHmvvM5KwfuOMP4f2goTo3LSVdEyjBcia8rOkpA4h72Cvh8CbzgjnOebpZYvuMXx0zJPzbvEW_GqKs7Wx_tbNah0hEKknnt_a2R7rItU8kujKUTpUr-aOFPrvTgujGd24QeSMRIysktPuFnWwLu5P7UfUdshaQk5gmaDi4jLopxBRxVrm/w245-h138/PXL_20240125_200013744.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><p></p><p>When one makes a mistake, there is no use fussing about it, feeling guilty, or dumb. A star has no brains, but it still shines, right? I’m no star, but I can still do my part to make life a little better, a little easier, a little less fractured.</p><p>Come to think of it, I think I make a better moon than a star. Stars create their own light, but the moon reflects what light it is given. We don’t make our own light. We simply reflect the light that is given us. </p><p>Faithfulness and justice are something like that. When we strive to live by the commands to love one another, to treat one another right, to forgive those who harm us, and make restitution whenever doing so won’t do yet more harm, then we’re really just reflecting the light of grace that’s been poured upon us by Another, whether that “other” is God or the Universe. It doesn’t matter; what matters is we reflect what’s been shined upon us. </p><p>There’s nothing to brag about there. We’re just doing the next thing on our list of things to do, and, with any luck, we will be producing something of value upon which others may reflect, smile, and give thanks. I believe it was the Dalai Lama who said, “Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”</p><p>That truly lies at the heart of faith and justice here in this, our valley. I may be thick as a brick at times, but at least now I am board certified.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-38851945491868898992024-01-27T07:26:00.000-08:002024-01-27T07:26:12.007-08:00Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany<p><br /></p><p><i>Almighty and everlasting God, you govern all things both in heaven and on earth: Mercifully hear the supplications of your people, and in our time grant us your peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP p. 215]</i></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuc55Jaq_m5vWDUjx6ECrJYHXvQbSnNNpjRnhnX7Q28o7RcDC_fUd-oQZcP1X1NJIAX8aZvg0v6gpmv3DTZ_GxJPepM_TkjS87sBgJu_AaIGRMQ1-miDLQ-0f2rqwWosjooS__UnVd-UrchqcB10ljsAe5QsPUd2QiraJvJRrtxgIUYyClSzFUyAyVykbw/s1032/Axbergs%20%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1016" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuc55Jaq_m5vWDUjx6ECrJYHXvQbSnNNpjRnhnX7Q28o7RcDC_fUd-oQZcP1X1NJIAX8aZvg0v6gpmv3DTZ_GxJPepM_TkjS87sBgJu_AaIGRMQ1-miDLQ-0f2rqwWosjooS__UnVd-UrchqcB10ljsAe5QsPUd2QiraJvJRrtxgIUYyClSzFUyAyVykbw/w175-h178/Axbergs%20%231.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><i>The author in 1974 (Spokane) To Serve and to Protect</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Does anyone like being told what to do? Probably not, but most of us buck up and do what needs to be done, regardless. It doesn’t matter who the teller is. As children, the primary teller was a parent. I am sure I was not a perfect child, although I don’t recall ever disobeying. I am sure I got reminded not to be sassy. We had a leather riding crop that sat upon the mantle while I was growing up. I knew it was for horses (although I don’t remember my parents ever riding any horses), but I also remember clearly being very afraid of that riding crop. I don’t recall ever having it used on me, or having my folks ever threaten to use it on me (or my brother), and yet I had an instinctive fear of what it COULD mean if I ever got out of line.</p><p>Doing what we’re told to do is nothing new. One can’t go driving anywhere without paying attention to signs and signals. I was preparing to cross a busy street near our house and began to hit escape velocity with our car when an automobile (I was timing my actions against) abruptly changed lanes, slowed down, and made a left turn. It threw off my timing, but fortunately I reacted swiftly enough to avoid a collision. The accident would have been my fault, if we’d collided, but the other driver was also partially to blame as they had failed to signal. I know. I looked for the turn signal. That’s what I do when I drive. I pay attention to what’s going on. I also take into account n’er-do-wells and rapscallions who don’t follow the rules or obey the laws. </p><p>One of the things that happens as we age is developing the capacity to be self-led and self-taught. We follow the rules, not by reciting them in our heads, but by knowing them “by heart.” That comes from years and years of practice. We do the right thing because the habit has been formed in us to do the right thing. It is so much a habit, we don’t need to think about it.</p><p>“Almighty God, you govern all things …” What does it mean for God to “govern” all things, to govern “all” things?</p><p>As one who likes to dig deep into words and into language, I found myself checking up on the word “govern” and learned that it traces itself back through Middle English, to Old French (<i>gouverner</i>), to Latin (g<i>ubernare</i>), to Greek (<i>kybernan</i>), meaning “to steer.” (Dictionary.com)</p><p>When thinking of God, it is probably natural to think of “governor” in the sense of leading or directing by fiat. Another Latin word for that is <i>Imperium</i>, as in imperial. This is the right to be obeyed. A police officer directing traffic must be obeyed, not because he or she carries a firearm, but because they’ve been empowered by the state to enforce the laws and keep the peace. One could think of God as the ultimate peace-keeper.</p><p>Another Latin word that describes the exercise of power is <i>Auctoritas</i> (from whence we derive our word Authority. This is the power of experience or study. The power of a professor is their expertise, their study. The power of a plumber is their experience working with water, pipes, tubes, gaskets, and such whatnot. </p><p>What sort of Governor is God? Does God operate through <i>Imperium</i> or <i>Auctoritas</i>? Probably both, if we get right down to it. God gives us the Ten Commandments, not the Ten Suggestions. God is also the Creator of all that is or ever will be. God put us together, as individuals, but also put us together as a community. God has watched over the human race for hundreds of thousands of years and has a fair notion of what works and what doesn’t. When God says, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” God is speaking as much from experience (<i>Auctoritas</i>) as fiat, eh?</p><p>In our collect, we acknowledge both the power and the authority of God in our lives, and pray God will listen to us, that God will hear our supplications – the fruit of which is peace. A supplication isn’t just a request. It is a form of begging. It means to get down on one’s knees and BEG God for help. It is a word for an ugly crying kind of prayer.</p><p>How many of us ugly cry for peace? For justice? For the homeless? For the sick? For Palestinians, Ukrainians, Ecuadorians? </p><p>If we take this prayer at its face value, we have to admit that this is no safe, quaint prayer we offer to God. It’s not wishful thinking. It can’t end with a polite Amen at the end, and a quick little crossing of self when we’re done. No, if we look to God our Governor, we need to acknowledge that we are God’s Red Cross workers, God’s Thin Blue Line, God’s Soup Kitchen Orderlies.</p><p>“People are hungry,” we say. “Feed them,” God replies.</p><p>“People are homeless,” we cry. “House them,” God insists. </p><p>“People are trampling the needy,” we tattle. “Smash-mouth the mothers,” declares the God of faithfulness and justice!</p><p>Now, this may seem a bit harsh. God is love, and to think God would have us engage in a certain kind of “tough love” may cut against the grain. It does for me. I think the Church (as an institution) has historically set way too much stock in flogging people with their sinfulness and guilt. I would say that has driven far more people out of the Church than drawn them into it. It has promoted all forms of hypocrisy over the years.</p><p>Nevertheless, we don’t toss the baby out with the bathwater, do we? The love of God does not eliminate the faithfulness of God or the call for justice or acts of righteousness. Our job isn’t to point out the sins of others, but to stand firm on how we understand what justice is, and invite people to stand with us. Police officers in our society “respond” to crimes, but a living wage, food and water security, accessible healthcare and public education “prevent” crime. Working for a just society promotes peace in ways the long hairy arm of the law never can.</p><p>“God, you steer all things in heaven, on earth, and (indeed) you steer the universe itself. Help us to see injustice; steer us away from committing injustices; give us strength and courage to confront injustices; and give us grace to overcome injustices at every turn. Help us find peace at the last.”</p><p>Amen</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-65497545139227083372024-01-17T07:29:00.000-08:002024-01-17T07:29:29.984-08:00Intruder Alert<p> </p><p><i>“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” Psalm 139</i></p><p>One of the unsettling facts of modern life is that there is no privacy. None. Everything we do is tracked, noted, and sold all willy-nilly to anyone and everyone willing to pay for it. Our cell phones listen in on our conversations so that the tech giants will know what our interests are so they can populate our “feeds” with anything remotely related to what we may be enticed to buy – not because we need those items, but because we may be interested in updating or upgrading what we have.</p><p>Such intrusions are so ubiquitous that we seldom know it’s even happening. Our grocery outlets have special membership cards so that they can fine-tune their coupons to our habits, or so they say. I often look at the coupons they print alongside the receipts and find that, not only do I never buy what they’re offering me a discount on, but they’re never for things I DO buy. In other words, keep paying full price for what you want, and start buying what you don’t want. Just because I like applesauce doesn’t mean I am interested in Huggies Diapers!</p><p>These things used to amuse me. I often joke that anyone listening in on my conversations must be in serious need of a sleep aid, but it’s getting ridiculous. </p><p>My wife and I recently took a trip to get away from it all, enjoying a bit of Southwest Alaska. We’d been wanting to do that for ages. We had a nice time, and it was truly delightful being unplugged from the world. We did not avail ourselves of ship-board WI-FI. As you might have guessed, we are now inundated daily with two or three invitations to go cruising anywhere and everywhere, courtesy of every cruising outfit you can name.</p><p>My complaint isn’t really the lack of privacy as much as it is the faked interest in us. They’re not interested in us. They’re interested in our greenbacks. </p><p>The other day a young man came up the driveway. I greeted him at the door, noting a clipboard in his hand. He introduced himself and before I could make a mental note of his name, he continued directly into his spiel, which started off with a compliment on our house and a question of just how old our windows are.</p><p>We have thermal pane windows; they work just fine; their seals are still intact and aside from needing a good cleaning (which will wait until spring, as it is 12 degrees at the moment), they are doing all I could hope or ask for. The young man stroked his chin in a most thoughtful manner and informed me that they were likely nearing the end of their useful lifespan, that they could easily fail soon, and if I were to let him in, he could make me a heck of a deal on new windows. </p><p>I declined as politely as I could. I realized he was just doing a job. I can’t fault him for that. The point is, there is something wrong with a world that is so addicted to money. The appetite for cash is completely insatiable and unsustainable. Our appetites are driving us to our destruction.</p><p>I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the world’s cash cow. I don’t want the universe to see me as nothing more than a fool to be parted from his money. I strive to be a caring, compassionate person, but I find it harder to do when so many interactions are transactions. We are what we eat. What’s worse, we become what eats us!</p><p>I guess I buck against the crass commercialism of our world, not because I am against money or profits, but because I don’t want that stuff to interfere with my relationship with God or neighbor. I can’t stop technology from invading my space, but I can limit the time and attention I give it. </p><p>By doing that, I find myself fleeing toward God, and not away. Why? Because God knows my every thought, and instead of sending ads, God sends her Spirit, who comes with hugs and without coupons. As for my windows, I’ll change them when the pane makes it worth my while here in this, our valley.</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-15248028915357596832024-01-12T14:12:00.000-08:002024-01-12T14:12:48.407-08:00Second Sunday after the Epiphany<p><i>Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 215]</i></p><p>There’s a lot of light in the season of Epiphany. The season of Advent talks about the darkness, and Christmas talks about the light coming into the world. Epiphany shines forth with the light of a certain star. Today we take center stage, so to speak, and find the spotlight turned upon us in the day’s collect: “Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory …”</p><p>Who’s illumined? We are! Oh my. Were you ready for that?</p><p>When I was in school, I’ll confess I wasn’t the world’s greatest student. I found school boring. I found textbooks boring. I found homework boring. I wish I could say I was too brilliant to deal with all that stuff, but I wasn’t. I was probably dealing with an attention deficit (whatever that means – I had no deficit; my attention was simply elsewhere in the time/space continuum of life). </p><p>I struggled to pay attention. As the teachers spoke, I found myself doing many things at my desk, but paying attention wasn’t one of those “things” that I was doing?</p><p>The last thing in the world I ever wanted was for the teacher to call on me. First of all, the odds I would hear my name was somewhere near zero. The odds of hearing and understanding the question were even less than that. Fortunately, I had good teachers. They were smart, and it didn’t take them long to figure out that it was better to call on someone else if they wanted their lessons to move forward in the allotted time.</p><p>In our prayer for today, there is an unspoken assumption that God’s people are brilliant. Grant us, we pray – we who are so illumined. But wait; there’s more! We are not the source of that light; we are a reflection of that light! </p><p>Have you ever looked toward the moon when it is just a sliver in the sky? Have you ever looked closely and noticed how you can also make out the “dark” side of the moon? While the bright part of the moon is being illuminated by the sun (that much is clear), the so-called dark side is also being illuminated – enough so we can see it, even if not all that clearly. What is illuminating the dark side of the moon? The earth! The earth is reflecting sunlight to such a degree that it allows us to see the dark side, even though we will often say we haven’t seen the dark side of the moon (prior to moon shots); the fact is we DO see it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ilwqCssG_7RVYOCMaeReplUqq296L9Iv2ypyBlhGB6ilg4f9iNxw8D4u1-TD-lXKIJX2W-rmOfq5MwTgT92w2wh7RlHo0mLWEYKEAWAW2RiLyh0kUtKz_CA6AZwv0YpqOoMWY685wqMwoXPm7xFNQ1AkdC9g1LWD8jdsmQHP6jaXmJBiWRygnmpGjGtY/s800/PXL_20210923_042048464%20moon%20MV%20sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ilwqCssG_7RVYOCMaeReplUqq296L9Iv2ypyBlhGB6ilg4f9iNxw8D4u1-TD-lXKIJX2W-rmOfq5MwTgT92w2wh7RlHo0mLWEYKEAWAW2RiLyh0kUtKz_CA6AZwv0YpqOoMWY685wqMwoXPm7xFNQ1AkdC9g1LWD8jdsmQHP6jaXmJBiWRygnmpGjGtY/s320/PXL_20210923_042048464%20moon%20MV%20sized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Full Moon over Mount Vernon (2021)</i></p><p>The light of Christ shines on us, and in our prayer, we ask God to let enough of his light to bounce off of us so that those who continue to walk in darkness will have the light they need to continue safely in their own journeys. We are not the light, but we are reflections of the light. How marvelous! God illuminates us, not so the world can see us, but so that the world can see - period. </p><p>Over the years I have had watches with pale green splotches on their faces. Sometimes those dots are on the 12, 3, 6, and 9 spots on the dial. Other times they mark all twelve hours. What’s most important, though, is that the green paint also lines the long and short hands of the timepieces. They absorb light by day so that they may store up and give off light in the dark, allowing the wearer to tell what time it is. When those green spots are dim, I often shine a flashlight on the watch face to make the green ever more brilliant, even if only for a little while.</p><p>“Word and Sacrament” is the Church’s flashlight. As we gather together, we receive the good news as it is delivered in the scriptures and in the sermon, and we receive the good news as it is delivered in the bread and in the wine; we are renewed, just like the phosphorescent materials on the watch are renewed by the light of the torch. We receive what we need to be of service to those around us.</p><p>I confess I am never as alive to the Lord (or IN the Lord) as when I am surrounded by fellow worshipers in Church. Yes, I can worship God under the stars and in the woods and while out to sea, but I find myself worshiping God best in the company of saints who may well be surprised that they are thought of as reflectors of God. But they are. I see God more clearly in them and through them.</p><p>When I am alone, don’t tell anyone, but God is far more likely to be a reflection of me. When alone, I find God thinks like me and approves my every thought, word, and deed. In the company of saints in light, though, I see God more clearly, as well as my need for God. Our collect today reminds us, too, that we serve God best when we reflect the light God shines upon us.</p><p>There’s a lot of light in the season of Epiphany. If I look closely, I’ll probably see my need for Lent, too, which isn’t that far off!</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-29118019800621896682024-01-06T07:17:00.000-08:002024-01-06T07:17:41.987-08:00First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Father in heaven, who at the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan proclaimed him your beloved Son and anointed him with the Holy Spirit: Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Savior; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen. [BCP p. 214]</i></p><p>I have a friend, a retiree like me, who insists he remembers his baptism. He would have been younger than two years of age. I say “insists” because people have told him that a child as young as that couldn’t possibly remember something like that. I believe him, though. Memories are strange things. I still remember (vaguely, I’ll admit) our phone ringing in a small basement apartment where we lived when I was about that same age. I remember telling my mother, “phone” and her reply: “That’s not our ring.” I think she explained we were on a party line. I didn’t understand what that meant, but I knew the call wasn’t for us. The point is, I remember that, so I do not doubt my friend’s story whatsoever.</p><p>I also remember my own baptism, although I was older. I was sixteen years of age. I grew up in an unchurched family, so I hadn’t been baptized as a child or infant. I was in high school, and it was a decision I had made for myself. Our family had become church-goers by then, but I didn’t do it for them. It wasn’t familial pressure or peer pressure. It was the culmination of a journey I had begun a few years earlier.</p><p>I could have been baptized sooner. Our family started attending church when I was in Junior High (now-a-days called Middle School). I was going through confirmation classes, preparing for baptism in a smallish neighborhood Methodist church. We had done some field trips to other churches (Roman Catholic, Lutheran, and Greek Orthodox), so I became aware that the Christian faith was far broader than what I had experienced in our little Methodist church. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be “baptized a Methodist.” It’s not that I was settled on that, but I took the idea of baptism very seriously, and didn’t want to make a commitment unless I was sure.</p><p>The Pastor was livid when I told him I wasn’t ready to take the plunge, so while my classmates were baptized on that appointed Sunday, I had been relegated to the furthest corner from the action, in the church’s organ loft. I was shocked; I thought the Pastor would admire a young lad taking the sacrament that seriously, but I had misjudged him and was devastated by his lack of grace.</p><p>Our family made a switch sometime after that and began attending St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ballard. The church was lively, the preaching was powerful and uplifting, and the people were engaged in a wide variety of activities that bore witness to their love for God and neighbor. I wanted what they had, and when I learned that we weren’t baptized as Episcopalians, but as Christians, as members of the Body of Christ, I knew I had found a faith I could embrace. When baptism was offered, I took the plunge (although to be transparent and honest, water was poured over my head – most church fonts are little larger than salad bowls).</p><p>Jesus went the full Monty, of course. He presented himself to John the Baptizer who insisted that Jesus had it backwards: “I should be baptized by YOU!” They discussed the matter amicably and John consented to baptize his cousin. As Jesus arose from the waters (he had gone full immersion), a dove descended and a voice from heaven thundered, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased.” I have always preferred the line in Italian: “Atsa my boy!”</p><p>God was pleased. God is pleased. God will be pleased. God repeats the line in a slightly altered form on the Mount of Transfiguration (we'll get to that story on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany). There’s a lot more we could unpack in this pericope, but one of the key points I see in our collect is, first of all, an acknowledgement that God the Father proclaims to the world the relationship the two of them have. This “proclamation” isn’t a line drawn, on one side of which Jesus was just Joe Blow from Nazareth, and on the other Jesus the Christ. No, God is declaring something which has been true from time immemorial.</p><p>Through baptism, we are joined, by God, with Jesus in his own baptism. What God says to (and about) Jesus God says to and about us, as well. God has made a covenant with us, and we pray for God to help us keep our side of the bargain; we know we can’t do it alone. At least we know it if we have any semblance of personal, self-awareness. So we ask God to help us, which God is delighted to do.</p><p>That takes a real load off my mind, knowing I don’t need to earn God’s love or salvation. God created us and God embraces us. That’s the Good News we believe, embrace, and share with the world. Our faith is a party line, and that call is for us. Thanks be to God!</p><p><br /></p>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-69349278731450549712024-01-04T17:55:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:55:57.405-08:00Dee way forward for dee new year<p><i>“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” Vincent Van Gogh</i></p><p>Where did Christmas go?</p><p>With the end of De-cember, it is time to de-clutter, isn’t it?</p><p>I know that Christmas isn’t technically over until January 6 (traditionally the day the Magi (Wise Men) arrive to honor the baby in the manger), but time marches on. The holy bric-a-brac have been returned to their proper totes and toted out to the shed for yet another year. The outdoor decorations will come down as soon as weather permits over the next few days.</p><p>I’m generally pretty good at taking care of the outdoor lighting. I am a well-known procrastinator (well, I would be well-known if I ever got around to sending out the announcement), but I’m really an amateur compared to my father. </p><p>When I was growing up, we had one six-foot string of holiday lights that hung above the front door. It was not unusual for them to stay there far longer than necessary. One year my aunt and uncle came to visit on the Fourth of July; as my Dad opened the door, Uncle George reached through and handed him that string of lights he’d taken down while Aunt Elizabeth rang the doorbell. It was funny and embarrassing at the same time.</p><p>I like the decluttering part of Christmas. I doubt my wife will believe it, but I really do. I enjoy the holidays, especially when they’re over. </p><p>There is something nerve-wracking about all the to-do surrounding the holidays, like the expectations that things will be perfect while reality is often quite different. Mixed in with the lights, tinsel, and holiday cheer is grief, depression, and (this year) the continuing war in Ukraine, genocide in the Middle East, and (of course) the continuing drama of political life in these United States.</p><p>I wish world troubles could be put away as easily as all our holiday decorations, but if it hasn’t happened in two thousand years of angels singing “Peace on Earth, and Good Will towards all whom God favors,” it is unlikely to happen in our own lifetimes. </p><p>But we can give it a shot, can’t we? As the old song goes, “Let there be peace on earth … and let it begin with me.”</p><p>With the start of a fresh year, we begin with a fresh slate. One of the major steps in the world of recovery is to let go of the past. We don’t forget it, obviously, and remembering it allows us to make course adjustments as we move forward, but just as we de-clutter in De-cember, so should we consider de-taching from things that hold us back. I’ve found that a lack of peace is often the result of hanging onto things that no longer serve us well, like resentments or other things we cannot change. Let go and let God, as they say.</p><p>While we’re at it, we may as well consider de-leting anything that de-values our health and well-being. There are a lot of old habits that simply don’t help us in life. Some habits are good, like eating right, brushing after meals, and cleaning up as we go. But a lot of habits are simply barriers to a better life, like living in the past or fretting over the future, or doing the same things over and over again, not because they’re good, but because change would require putting thought and effort into what changes we’d actually want to make.</p><p>The new year is upon us. I’ve no idea where Christmas went, but don’t worry; it’ll be back. It always returns (which is why people so often add “Many happy returns” to their cards, eh?). </p><p>It’s a good time to de-clutter, de-tach, and de-lete. Perhaps that will help us find de-light here in this, our valley. Happy New Year to all de-wonderful folks of de-valley!</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-26638413029153310902023-12-31T07:02:00.000-08:002023-12-31T07:02:51.278-08:00First Sunday after Christmas Day<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This Sunday takes precedence over the three Holy Days which follow Christmas Day. As necessary, the observance of one, two, or all three of them, is postponed one day.</i></span></p><p><i>Almighty God, you have poured upon us the new light of your incarnate Word: Grant that this light, enkindled in our hearts, may shine forth in our lives; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.</i> [BCP p. 213]</p><p>Christmas is over. At least the family gathering, gift opening, festive banquet part of Christmas; the “magical” “holly jolly” “jingle bell” secular, commercialized time of year. Now we can get to work examining the holiday for what it is. It is not a day; it is a season.</p><p>Light is an important image in our seasonal collects. This past month I put up our holiday decorations as usual. Sadly, a number of our lighted displays weren’t working properly. I have a gizmo that helps identify and correct lighting issues, and it worked for a couple of the strings, but not for all of them. We have a small set of four trees that line our walkway, but one tree wouldn’t light. I didn’t mind as three trees-a-working seemed more biblically sound anyway.</p><p>Through the course of the Advent season, a section of lights on our Christmas tree blinked out and it, too, could not be resurrected, so I simply added a string of healthy, functional lights to keep things normal. The day after Christmas another section gave up the ghost, so this is apparently the end of the road for this particular tree. The fuses are fine, so I have no idea what went wrong. The tree has served us well for a decade or so, anyway, so that’s OK. </p><p>Things break. Things die. Things go dark. Our light is limited. Our collect for the day recognizes that reality. I am generally pretty easy-going. I try not to fret over too many things. I am no Martha in that regard. But I do blow a fuse on occasion. Things do get my goat. There are times my countenance falls, and there are those who will confirm that it’s not good to be around me when that happens. I’m not given to violence – at least not with my fists, feet, or elbows. I turn my pain and anger inward, and a lump of coal is a better companion than I when that happens.</p><p>My light is limited, but the Light of all lights has no limits. Just as the sun finished its southward journey at the winter solstice, and the hours of daylight have gotten as short as they will get. From here on out, daylight will begin to increase. Likewise, the Light of the Son has come forth, giving us hope. That light will also grow day by day. We need only pay attention. It happens without effort on our part. Did you know that? The sun rises and sets on its own. Our job is to do our part day by day.</p><p>The Collect also makes reference to this Light as “the” new light of (God’s) incarnate Word. What was the old light? Torah? Human conscience? Religious rites and practices? Ancient memories of Eden, when God and humans spent time together in that heavenly oasis?</p><p>Perhaps God has not just come down to us in human form. Perhaps God has pulled away the angels with their flaming swords – the ones guarding the Garden Gates – and the gates have once again been opened, and the way to Eden has been revealed. Doesn’t Jesus, later, identify himself as the “Way, the Truth, and the Life” in the Gospel of John (from which we read this day)?</p><p>Our collect brings to mind that today is not just a new day, but a new era. “Enkindled” refers to fire. Most lighting these days (including Christmas lighting) is artificial. It is powered by electricity. But in ancient days, if you didn’t have sunlight, you needed to have fire – candles or lamps, or torchlight by which to see. I love watching living flames dance atop candles. I love watching smoke rise and curl, giving shape to the invisible air currents in a room. The flames are alive; they seek (and need) both fuel and air to survive; don’t we all?</p><p>The point here is that we are asking God to make our light real, to make our light warm and inviting. Yes, moths are drawn to the flames, but so are those living in darkness. I think Christians ought to be known for the illuminating warmth of living fire, and less for dark threats of fire and eternal damnation – don’t you? I believe that is what we are praying for this First Sunday after Christmas.</p><p>Come Jesus, light our fire! Amen.</p><p><br /></p>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-45280654559934142242023-12-26T06:02:00.000-08:002023-12-26T06:04:30.589-08:00THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SAID YES<p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>The Little Girl Who Said Yes?</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>A Christmas Sermon (St. Paul’s, Mount Vernon, WA)</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>12/25/2023</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>The Rev. Keith Axberg, Ret.</i></p><p>(<i>Based on John 1:1-14</i>)</p><p>Feliz Navidad. Joyeux Noel. Buon Natale. God Jul! Merry Christmas.</p><p>It’s Christmas morning, but did you notice John’s Gospel is missing all the cinematic effects of the Christmas story? What is the Good News this morning? </p><p>If you were here last night, you heard the emperor make a demand for a census, requiring folks to do some traveling for the holidays; you heard how Mary & Joseph had to travel to the City of David; you saw them look for a place to have a baby, and how that baby was born in a little out-of-the-way place so they could have some privacy; you heard the angels sing; you saw the shepherds come in from the hills to see the little baby wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger; perhaps someone pointed out a special star traveling overhead, stopping over the little town of Bethlehem; they aren’t here yet, and they’re not due for another twelve days, but even now you’re probably anticipating the arrival of some Magi on the road from afar.</p><p>That’s the Christmas story, right?</p><p>************</p><p>Jesus was born last night, of course. We celebrated his birth. You heard the story. You and I have heard the story told and retold every year for as long as we’ve been around. Even if you are new to the Christian Faith, you know the story. You may wonder where it fits in amongst the trees and tinsel, the bells and whistles, the Ho Ho Hos and the Yippee Ki-yays. </p><p>But somewhere in that mix, you’ve heard the story of the Emperor who called for a census; the couple who had to make the trip from their little hole-in-the-wall home in Galilee to O Little Town of Bethlehem to be counted – which is ironic, because the only time poor people count is when you want to raise taxes – </p><p>You heard the story, and the house here was abuzz with kids and parents; we were finally able to break away from all those Advent hymns written in minor keys (O come, o come, Ema- -nu-el, and ransom captive I- - -sra-el), sort of ponderous and solemn – and we were finally able to sing all those wonderful Christmas hymns, which are even more magical because we actually know the tunes and the words!</p><p>For four weeks, the church has been relatively drab and gray; “spruced” up with a little bit of greenery; a wreath here and there; cold days, long, dark nights; a real contrast with the crowded stores with their bright lights, bell-ringers, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer – I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas music in one store, drowned out by Jingle Bell Rock in the next store, and greeting cards with tinny voices wishing you (goofy voice) Happy Holidays (yup, yup).</p><p>Today, the Church is alive with the sound of Music; the walls have been decked with wreaths and ribbons; the tree is green, representing growth and new life; it’s the shape of a cone, pointing heavenward, from whence cometh our help (Psalm 121), say the scriptures.</p><p>Christmas morning is a little different, though, isn’t it?</p><p>Many of us have watched some of the thousands of Christmas movies trying to help us understand what the day and season are all about. Ebeneezer Scrooge finding the Christmas Spirit with the help of the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. </p><p>There’s George Bailey discovering the impact his Wonderful Life has made on the community all around him – with a little help from Clarence – an angel who has yet to earn his wings.</p><p>There’s also a solid dose of nostalgia for we Boomers with Ralphie in The Christmas Story; or the defense of the Castle Doctrine in Home Alone; or the girl who is looking for love, and discovers it in the grumpy inn-keeper (who she discovers “truly is the ONE FOR HER” in every Hallmark movie ever.</p><p>They miss the point: Christmas isn’t about finding love (Love Actually), or getting a Christmas Bonus like in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.</p><p>These movies are all egocentric. They’re all about fixing us, or changing us, or making us better. But John skips over the stories of Christmas we have in Luke and in Matthew, and tells us that Christmas IS about change, but not about us.</p><p>It’s not about US; it’s about God. Christmas is about God changing – not us.</p><p>************</p><p>“In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God …” </p><p>From time immemorial, God has dwelt in the highest heavens. God has come down periodically to check in us. But those have been flashes. The theological word for that is THEOPHANY. A momentary glance at God, or a momentary glimpse of God.</p><p>When God met Moses on the Mountain, Moses couldn’t see God. Moses could only hear what God had to say. “In the beginning was the word …” John, writing the Gospel, knows that.</p><p>Moses heard the voice of God. Moses saw the hand of God at work, carving out the rules and regulations – the Torah – by which God’s people were to live. But there was something missing. Moses cried out: “I want to see YOU, God!”</p><p>So God hid Moses in a deep, dark crevasse, and for just a moment, God tippy-toed past quickly, so Moses caught just the barest glimpse of God’s back side. </p><p>But that was enough. Moses came down off the mountain, and his whole face was illuminated so bright, it scared the dickens out of the children of Israel.</p><p>“The light shone in darkness, and the darkness did not understand it.”</p><p>Just a flash. That’s all it took. That was enough. </p><p>I had a friend who passed away a few years ago. Larry Sparr and his family were driving across the North Cascades Highway, heading home from some time in Winthrop. They pulled over at a small parking lot where you can hike a little ways to a beautiful overlook. It was getting late, but not too bad. So Larry, his wife Dawn, and their two girls hiked up the trail for a couple hundred yards to the overlook and thoroughly enjoyed this magnificent valley through which Highway 20 cuts. </p><p>They were there for just a few minutes when the sun set sooner than they had expected. It’s not that the sun really set early, but it dipped below the mountains, and suddenly, they were thrust into darkness, just as if a light had been switched off. They’d gone from day to dusk, to night in just a matter of seconds, it seemed.</p><p>Larry knew how to get to the car. There was only one path, but he couldn’t see the path. Between the darkness and the trees lining the path, it was just pitch black. They hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, and this was in the days before cell-phones and their built-in flashlights. But Larry did have his 35-mm (film) camera. He loved his photography. So he turned the camera toward the path – FLASH – he could see where it was. So he and the family held hands, and about every 15-20 feet he would flash down the path, memorize direction, curves, and tree roots or hazards, and they worked their way back to the car.</p><p>The flash of the camera illuminated the path; the darkness could not overcome the brightness of that light.</p><p>“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light,” says the prophet.</p><p>But flashes are not enough. For fifteen hundred years, God flashed here and there, and the children of Israel took steps. Baby steps. Big steps. Small steps. Stumbling steps. Sometimes they fell flat on their faces. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they were faithful; oftentimes they weren’t. </p><p>And God says (and I’m paraphrasing the prophets here), “This is insane. I keep doing the same thing over and over and hoping for different results. At some point someone’s going to say ‘That’s the definition of insanity.’” </p><p>So God did something new. Instead of sporadic flashes of insight every now and then, how about providing a light that will never be extinguished? A lamp that will never run out of oil? A candle that will never burn down, or be hidden under a bushel basket? How about if, instead of beaming up and out, I stick around and live, not in heaven above, or behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies, but here? With these people? In these people? With as many people as desire the light I have for them?</p><p>“For as many as received him, he made them the children of God – children of the Light.”</p><p>And that’s what God did. God found a little girl willing to say yes. God became microscopic. That’s why Mary said, “My soul doth MAGNIFY the Lord.” She had to magnify him; he was microscopic. </p><p>So God became one WITH her, and became one IN her.</p><p>In much the same way, God becomes one with us – because we dare to say yes. God becomes one IN us, because we dare to say yes – because God finally figured out the only way to change the human race is to start from the inside, and change us one at a time. </p><p>The reason for the season isn’t a plotline from some Hallmark movie. The reason for the season is to allow God to plant in us exactly what Mary was allowing God to plant in her, and we’re here to remember that.</p><p>We’re not to just be like Jesus; we’re to be Jesus. That was God’s bright idea in this dark and chilly world. </p><p>Merry Christmas – or as my ancestors said, God Jul! AMEN.</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-28523855635002773622023-12-24T17:41:00.000-08:002023-12-24T17:41:46.076-08:00Collect for Christmas Eve<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>O God, you make us glad by the yearly festival of the birth of your only Son Jesus Christ: Grant that we, who joyfully receive him as our Redeemer, may with sure confidence behold him when he comes to be our Judge; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.[BCP 212]</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Does Christmas catch anyone off-guard? Does it really sneak up on anyone? Today, our Collects shift focus from the promise of a savior, to the deliverance on God’s promise! So much of our focus, as a community, is on the joyfulness of the season, but I wonder just how real that is. Many folks will be spending time in hospital; many will be facing eviction or homelessness; many will be facing the first Christmas without one of thirty thousand people who died through gun violence this year – about half by suicide. Many will be experiencing the holidays following marital break-ups or empty nests.</p><p><i>“O God, you MAKE us glad …” </i>Make us? Well, yes, but let me explain. First of all, the word “glad” doesn’t just mean happy. It comes from a P.I.E. word meaning “to shine.” Our cultural tendency is to, first of all, follow our ego. I don’t intend to minimize loss, death, or tragic circumstances in which one may find themselves. But the Christian faith focuses outwardly. The Commands are to love God thoroughly, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. So while one’s personal circumstances may be hurting, our prayer brings to mind something else. <i>“God, you make us SHINE by the yearly festival of the birth …”</i> In other words, yes, times may be tough, and yes, you may be experiencing terrible, horrible, debilitating loss(es), but the sight of God’s salvation dropping into our midst is cause for joy and great happiness. Our happiness isn’t based upon our circumstances, but upon God’s very actions, which we remember this day or night.</p><p>We know dark days. This season is known for the long dark nights, and days which are short and cold. People in our families and in our communities suffer from the seasonal blues, grave depression, and far too much sugar, alcohol, or other mind-numbing substances. It has been throughout this season of growing darkness that we in the Church have begun to fight that darkness, symbolically at the very least. Candle by candle, we’ve grown the light. One candle, two candles, three, and four. It’s not much in a world of darkness, but it’s something.</p><p>Have you slipped into a cold dark church at night? We have our electric lights now, of course. But as a parish priest, often first on site for our various liturgies, I stand in awe of the power of darkness. Standing in a dark church, listening to the floorboards creak and groan as they adjust to changes in temperature or humidity, I do not flip the lights on. I enjoy the darkness, the quiet, the lack of turmoil. Here there are no cash registers beeping and buzzing. No Santas ringing bells while standing by their collection drums. No so-called Christmas music blaring incessantly on tinny overhead speakers. No, just the sounds of the church breathing. Off in the distance, behind the altar, a faint light – red – flickers. It is the Sanctuary Lamp, and signals the Real Presence of Christ in the Reserved Sacrament behind the Altar (either in a Tabernacle or an Aumbry). </p><p>The Sanctuary Lamp does not provide enough illumination to really do much of anything except … it points the way. I know the geographical layout of the church. I don’t need a map. I don’t need a flashlight. I know I need only walk forward to the center aisle (avoiding a baptismal font I know stands there at the first crossing). I turn ninety degrees and walk the center aisle twenty paces, then up onto the chancel steps, then three more steps to the Sanctuary rail – and up one step toward the Altar. Now I am in the Holy of Holies, and the Sanctuary Lamp is much closer, much brighter.</p><p>Yes, I could have flipped on the lights, but I enjoy the darkness. It isn’t cold. It isn’t scary. It isn’t foreboding. I have no desire or intention of doing anything “bad” in the darkness. I am allowing God to embrace me in the darkness, and after that hug, I find I am ready to turn on the lights. When the church is ablaze with modern day lighting, I find my breath taken away by the sight of poinsettias and flowers and candles and the miracle that I made my way through the church without running into any of them (because I was so caught up in the reverie of the magic of Christmas Eve, I’d forgotten the Altar Guild had set things up for the wonderful Christmas Eve service that will soon be starting – oops). </p><p>As a youngster, my view of God was much different than it is now. As a child, when I heard tell of God as “judge,” I thought of the Sistine Chapel God – the scowling God, the angry God, the ready to toss your hide into the fires God. Today, knowing Jesus is my Redeemer, my view of God as judge has changed. He’s still old; I can’t get that image out of my head. But scowling? Not on your life. Jesus is our Redeemer. That means when we get to heaven and get to the gate, Jesus is standing there and shouts out to Saint Peter, “Hey, that’s Keith; I’ve got a coupon for him!” Jesus redeems my coupon, and that’s how I get in. It isn’t based on good works or deeds, or having the right theology or right answers. Those don’t hurt, obviously, but you and I get in because Jesus is holding the coupons, and God is so glad to see us. God is the Judge who scores us a ten, no matter what.</p><p>Christmas, it turns out, isn’t about how happy we are to see a baby lying in a manger; it’s about how happy God is to see us! That makes us glad. Tonight, we light the Christ Candle!</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-43489023209630330152023-12-24T06:10:00.000-08:002023-12-24T06:10:52.756-08:00The Fourth Sunday of Advent<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Purify our conscience, Almighty God, </i><i>by your daily visitation, </i><i>that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; </i><i>who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. </i><i>[BCP p. 212]</i></p><p>I am in my seventies, as I write this. Much of my life is lived on autopilot. I would love to think (or say) that my life is dedicated to the honor and glory of God 24/7, but I’d be lying. I am a creature of habit. I get up at the same time every morning (give or take a minute or so); I take care of my morning ablutions, grab my coffee, and fire up the computer to see what horrors have been inflicted on the planet while I was asleep. If the coffee hasn’t quite kicked in adequately, I hold off on the news of the world and simply check my family and friend reports and posts on social media. I pay my bills and put the receipts in a great pile next to a filing folder I never get around to using. My desk is cluttered with books I am at various stages of reading, or going to read, or hope to someday read. I’d put them away, but my bookshelves are sagging beneath the already too many other books I’ve either read or haven’t gotten to yet.</p><p>I’m not a scatter-brain. I’m not a hoarder. I’m just not disciplined in the ways of orderliness. I can find exactly what I want with minimal fuss. The only time I can’t find things is when I’ve either put them away, or my wife has put them away. She doesn’t do that much anymore. She’s learned better than to do that. She is a neat-freak, and so she has ordered the house in a way that helps her stay calm, cool, and collected. But she leaves my office alone, for which I am most thankful.</p><p>However, when I know I’m going to have company, I fly into action and destroy my orderly chaos, for it is far more important to make the place presentable for my guests than it is to be able to find anything for the moment. This Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent reminds me of the chaotic life I lead, and impells me to put aside my usual slovenly demeanor, so that I can receive my guest “daily.” </p><p>To “purify” is more than to clear up our conscience, as if we’ve been doing bad things. It is more like that house-cleaning one does, clearing away cobwebs, wiping up spills, washing, drying, and putting away dishes, and setting things right so one’s guest may feel at home. No one enters a house asking what junk we have or what we’ve done with it. They come in to be with us. They enter to spend time talking about things that matter to them and, if they are polite (at the least) talking about things that matter to us.</p><p>This fourth Sunday of Advent we find ourselves shifting focus from the Almighty God, Law-giver, and Sin-buster. We begin to turn our eyes upon Jesus, the One who came into the world to “save sinners.” We haven’t gotten to Bethlehem, yet, but we know it is just around the corner, and we’re called to remember how there was no room in the inn (or guest-quarters) in which for Jesus to be born. How about you? How about me? Have we made room? Are we making room?</p><p>This Collect also brings to mind one of Jesus’ promises: that he goes to his Father to prepare a place for us, a mansion – for US! Will we do likewise? We light the fourth candle and look around. Are you ready? Are we?</p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-42578782156159737932023-12-19T09:51:00.000-08:002023-12-19T09:51:45.950-08:00A tree-mendous dilemma<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76b78WopCHt4UFdaaroX10mX2pZfBFkYncf3OQ9xStcXvh7qJqnuA8XCj1in_iqFvk2v_1Js0jXvijjPEfzaGkiM1ym73_im1Cm_MZQu0OpTxsNV7SxPBCBFiVhFclmFBy7ZagpD5IVmEhIx_7CyMlnDZEE8a8kEY7jCZcn5EA7NCaNXoXFq8vFAOIctk/s640/crsz%20PXL_20231205_001547137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76b78WopCHt4UFdaaroX10mX2pZfBFkYncf3OQ9xStcXvh7qJqnuA8XCj1in_iqFvk2v_1Js0jXvijjPEfzaGkiM1ym73_im1Cm_MZQu0OpTxsNV7SxPBCBFiVhFclmFBy7ZagpD5IVmEhIx_7CyMlnDZEE8a8kEY7jCZcn5EA7NCaNXoXFq8vFAOIctk/s320/crsz%20PXL_20231205_001547137.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks ...” First Thessalonians</i></p><p>First of all, let me confess: My wife and I have not had a real, live Christmas tree in over thirty years. Our last “live tree” (which is a weird way to describe something that was hacked to death on some tree farm) was a “fresh” tree we bought on a lot near the house for Christmas 1990. We set it up in the living room, and as the tree thawed out, it began to drop needles. By morning, most needles had fallen off the tree, and it made the anorexic Charlie Brown Christmas tree (before decorating) look magnificent by comparison.</p><p>I’ll confess, too, that the “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” character I usually display in life can disappear in a flash when I am upset. That morning I saw the floor, now blackened by an infestation of fallen needles, and the likewise now naked tree standing in our living room, and I lost my cool (as had the sad little defrosted tree before me).</p><p>I should note that we were of a tradition that “the tree goes up the weekend before Christmas,” (which was a Tuesday in 1990). We were at the tail end of Advent (Christmas begins after sundown on December 24), and I was at my wit’s end. Many people enjoy the smell of spruce in the house, the tacky feel of tree-sap on their hands, and the joy of stringing lights on their yuletide evergreens. I am NOT one of those people.</p><p>Since the tree looked like a catastrophic fire hazard more than the festive holiday centerpiece it was intended to be, I ripped it up, tossed it to the curb, and we made a quick trip to the nearby mall where we bought the last artificial Christmas tree in the county. It was a display model, but I didn’t care. They didn’t even have a box for it, so the clerks dismantled the tree, tossing the pieces into black garbage sacks that we hauled out to the car.</p><p>We set it up, threw on the lights and ornaments, and have had artificial trees ever since; I’ve never looked back. No regrets. I do feel like it’s cheating, somehow, but be that as it may, I’ll live. I’ve got the tiniest tinge of guilt, of course, about putting something fake up for the holiday, but I trussed up that sense of sinfulness with some tinsel and stuck it into a far-away crawl-space in the undercroft of my soul. It’s both out of sight and out of mind.</p><p>Over the years we have had a variety of artificial trees. Each model has been an improvement over the last. The last few trees we’ve had go together in a matter of minutes, and are sized to fit the spaces we’ve had for them as we’ve moved. There are just two of us now and the kids and grandkids live far away, so we’ve tried to cut back a bit on our decorating. I’ve never been one to go all Clark Griswold, anyway. We no longer wait until the weekend before Christmas to put up the tree. Like the rest of the world, the outdoor lights go up on the least rainy day just before Thanksgiving, (we simply wait to plug them in for when the holiday season arrives) and the tree goes up the weekend after Turkeyday.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ3xrU8DxAr3yO9CNm8DS4vTwYOiW3_EuGVqx7IZAIvW4zveyNXRTqbrlhT6CICzIQVOzy6ZH_WJhTh9YuGambxZnAtD11t5H6TArTXtEW3y_y-0jaVyaFGDYn2Fy4fOKDUzwbtzXLbzkG9tFTdDYCZBGLxrhJgVkHnouKqGRB39UBWUoGVttnDrcIgDx/s1569/PXL_20231123_010529769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1569" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ3xrU8DxAr3yO9CNm8DS4vTwYOiW3_EuGVqx7IZAIvW4zveyNXRTqbrlhT6CICzIQVOzy6ZH_WJhTh9YuGambxZnAtD11t5H6TArTXtEW3y_y-0jaVyaFGDYn2Fy4fOKDUzwbtzXLbzkG9tFTdDYCZBGLxrhJgVkHnouKqGRB39UBWUoGVttnDrcIgDx/s320/PXL_20231123_010529769.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>The other morning I was sitting by our current tree and enjoying it when suddenly a section of lights went all supernova, shining about twice as bright as normal. As I pondered what that meant (was I about to be visited by an angel?), the lights went dark. Here we were, a week before Christmas, and a section of fake stars on our fake tree had gone out. What was I to do?</p><p>Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I say, rejoice! Life’s too short to grieve or grump. Even fake trees die. Will we undecorate and replace it, or will we enjoy that which is imperfect, awaiting that which is perfect to arrive? </p><p>Here in this, our valley, and in all circumstances, I will simply give thanks, do what I must, and wish you all a very (genuine, heart-felt) Merry Christmas!</p><p><i>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)</i></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1731935671966661370.post-75259853910382119432023-12-16T07:36:00.000-08:002023-12-16T08:10:47.949-08:00The Third Sunday of Advent<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 212]</i></p><p>Sins. Last week and this we are reminded of our sins. What a distasteful little word. Many preachers have abandoned it, preferring to speak of shortcomings, weaknesses, foibles, errors, or other such nonsense. I can’t blame them. I often do the same. I prefer God as Therapist – One who seeks to fix my stinkin’ thinkin’. No one wants to come to church and be told they are a miserable little lot of good-for-nothing worms.</p><p>We do love to sanitize life, though, don’t we. Rather than admit that my first goal is now and ever has been to meet my own filthy lusts and have all things “my way” (with a nod to Frank Sinatra), I’d rather talk about my shortcomings. It makes it sound like I’m at least trying. I like talking about errors or mistakes, for we all make them, don’t we? There’s nothing wrong with that; we’re only human. For most of this stuff, it’s a matter of No harm; no foul.</p><p>Euphemisms have their place, certainly. The Church has done such a fine job of making people feel guilty for being human that any talk of sin falls on deaf ears, because we simply don’t want to hear it. Puritanism arose partly out of the idea that anything and everything we do has sin at its root, so we try to root out everything we think or do lest it rip us away from God’s very presence. The greatest fear of the puritan heart is that somewhere, somehow, someone may be having a good time – those wicked sinners! </p><p>So it’s important that we find other words to help convey the truth that, yes, we sometimes say, think, or do bad things. The standard word for that is sin, but sometimes those things are better described as slips, faults, or character defects. The point is, we have them, and this Collect invites us to acknowledge that, and to realize we are often blind to the harm such does to ourselves and to others, and perhaps to God as well.</p><p>We think God is omnipotent (all powerful), and yet it seems to me that God seeing us enslaved by sin is terrified, for God has seen what sin has done to people in all times and places: sloth, lust, anger, pride, envy, gluttony, and greed. I prefer to call those vices sin (with a lower case S), and the state of being that draws us toward those sins as Sin (upper case, Sin personified). Sin blinds us to the harm those vices do, and I think it scares the perdition out of God. We are hindered, not just by being entangled in sin, but because in our blindness we don’t know where we’re going, or what we’re doing. </p><p>So we pray on this third Sunday of Advent for God to jump up the way a parent jumps up when they see their toddler wander toward the street. Parents don’t jump up to chastise their child; they jump up to save their child! We’re begging God to help us as we stumble about like drunken sailors on a short pier, or children who’ve lost their ball, unbeknownst to them, in the middle of a mine field in an active war zone. We light the third candle; God, jump up (stir up your power) and help us, we pray! We praise you for your grace!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMos80l5vsH3XRaY3IN-A8JtPH5gVbdeOxaxFeP32Vzoy7QzRX-7KcZTY1lrkti_EX2gN7HCjdmCaStd1A5pkZEehf262FXsz6eF5OUBmqFB4scjKQiKOkZjDA1xGvgsT4D_Kod1n4Xt0T6ZyEihC1-F64Q-x7eJaFWhkY7X1omSNwqcKs98VQIvIIhjyT/s640/334989276_3394605920788622_3248031683905101251_n%20cropped%20sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="640" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMos80l5vsH3XRaY3IN-A8JtPH5gVbdeOxaxFeP32Vzoy7QzRX-7KcZTY1lrkti_EX2gN7HCjdmCaStd1A5pkZEehf262FXsz6eF5OUBmqFB4scjKQiKOkZjDA1xGvgsT4D_Kod1n4Xt0T6ZyEihC1-F64Q-x7eJaFWhkY7X1omSNwqcKs98VQIvIIhjyT/s320/334989276_3394605920788622_3248031683905101251_n%20cropped%20sized.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>God always stirs up something good</i></div><p><br /></p><div><br /></div>Fr. Axberg Ponders the Propershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225350022495362304noreply@blogger.com0