Questions for Connections

One of the clergy groups I belong to has a weekly practice of asking questions - the Friday Five, it's called. 

Someone starts a thread, inviting reflections on a theme - they can be fun and spontaneous (hobbies, animals); practical (recipes or theological resources), they can be share-able (liturgical tips or community development ideas)

In all of them, as clergy respond, we are sharing more than just the basics: because we are being intentional about going deeper into the topic at hand. A Friday Five on food, for example, can lead beyond recipes and go-to snacks, into memories and meanings. The group is a safe space for connecting with a wider audience about the gifts we've been given and the interests in our hearts.

Often, a basic question can be quite revealing - when we're willing to answer honestly with ourselves, and if we feel comfortable sharing with the questioner. There's a trust involved, and respected, and appreciated: there's no judgement when peoples' responses are different - they're self-sharing, not assessments. In fact, these questions and engagements often help to build community, and establish or strengthen friendships. 

So I wonder what would happen if we were all willing to go deeper - to ask the questions, to truly listen to the answers! To be grateful for the sharing, and to be intentional with the time spent. The engagement over questions and answers can be prepared inquiries or casual coffee-chat; the important thing is that they are a care-full connection with a brother or sister in Christ.

So, a quick five for you to ponder...

Who would you want to have a Q&A session with?
What would you ask them?
What would you want them to ask you?
What's the best question you've ever been asked (and what made it the best)?
What questions do you have about the Bible/faith/church?

Tasting the Memory

            My Grandma made the *best* lemon meringue pie. She always made it from the package in the blue box, and added extra lemon juice. A LOT of extra lemon juice. I loved it! The crust wasn't my thing, and the meringue didn't excite me - but oh that lemon.

            And even though she told me her secret of the extra lemon, and my practice to avoid pre-made boxed kits, every once in a while I make that lemon dessert. I can never quite make it taste the same way, however - because the flavour I'm going for is my memory. It's a trip to a different time and place, with happy remembrances and heart-warming emotions.

            I still make that lemon pie, though (crustless now!), from the box, and try to re-create what my grandma did so effortlessly. And while I know it will never taste the same, it's close enough to bring a smile to my face (when not puckering from the lemon!)

            Our parish celebrated the Eucharist last Sunday, for the first time since lockdown in March. It was the same bread, but no wine... we were sitting apart... I was covered in PPE... when we did eat the bread it tasted like the requisite hand sanitizer. But... it was the bread! It was communion! Wasn't it?

            Well, yes. Definitely. The real presence of Christ was there. But... for us, we were transported back to a different time and place, where that bread had a different feel to it. A time when we could share hugs and handshakes... where we didn't all have facemasks... where our trip to the altar was side by side, not 2m apart.

            It was the same - but different. And as we journey forward, I expect it will continue to feel that way - no matter what we do to try to recreate the past, we're living in the context of the present.

            I also suspect that the Apostles felt the same way, after the crucifixion and Resurrection. Even when they gathered to break bread, remembering (as Jesus had instructed in that Upper Room), it was different. They had changed, the world had changed, but they were still committed to the emotion and connection to keeping the memory alive. So even though it's different - it's the same.

            Whether lemon pie, or Eucharist, or whatever else in your world reminds you of comfort and love and grace - there will be times when they just don't taste the same. I think we are invited to honour the memory, however: letting the memory of perfect love be a blessing to us now, and a call for us to continue in the sharing of memories. They'll be different; but when in love they'll be the same.

 

Have to / Get to

"to do list" by Marco Verch CC BY 2.0. Source: Flickr .

In a recent conversation, a friend and I were going over our plans for the day. We each had a 'to-do' list of tasks ahead of us... and we decided to be intentional about one minor change.

Rather than view the items on the list as a "have to" - as in, I have to do laundry, I have to prep for tomorrow, etc. - we decided to see them as "get to"s - as in, I get to make dinner. I get to walk the dogs.

It's a subtle nuance - the task itself still needs doing.  But the shift happens internally... away from an onerous task to an opportunity for gratitude and engagement.
I get to make dinner, and I have abundant healthy food choices in my fully operational kitchen. Some ingredients came from a local store I can afford, others from the market where I can chat with the farmers. Thanks be to God!

I get to walk the dogs - taking them to a beautiful and safe roadway, where we can all get some exercise and fresh air, say hello to other dog walkers, and simply enjoy the day. And any time with dogs is good time! Thanks be to God!

You get the idea - with anything we do, we can choose how we will engage it. Sure, there are things we don't enjoy doing (dusting, for example, does not excite me). But the attitude we carry to those tasks will influence how we see those tasks - and thus how we see our day.

So whatever tasks are on our lists - housework to homework to faithwork to whatever - I hope we are at least neutral in the 'getting' to do them, so that our days never feel burdened.  

Now... and Not Yet

            I went blueberry picking this week; many came home (and there was, I admit, much sampling in the fields!) These cultivated bushes are beautiful with huge, sweet, orbs of delight. As I walked along, I noted that some bushes are clearly already picked of the first crop, others are bursting with blue bliss, and most - even in the individual berry bunches - are somewhere in between.

            Ripe berries are a "now and not yet" experience. Normally, we enter into the "now and not yet" conversation in Advent (ironically with blue!) but I reflected that we seem to be at a time where we feel...  somewhere in-between. With the concerns of COVID resurgence, with planning of schooling, even with our public worship being in-building and not-in-building...

            It's different, to say the least. It's also the same; because when we reflect, we are always - always! - at some stage of now-and-not-yet. Life is seldom quantifiable, aside from variables like weight, height, etc. But for the things that give our lives purpose, it wavers.

            Such things are life-giving - praying, reading the scriptures, loving, serving others, seeking God... and we do them, they fit into the now. But because we can always do more... more often, more fully, more deeply, more...*whatever*ly - we are also not yet.

            The good news, in this now and not yet stage, is that we're never done. The prayer never ceases, the reading re-engages, the love never ends, the service continues, the seeking always inspires. And they continue to change for us, as we grow and develop.

            So, much like blueberries in season, we are now and not yet... in some ways, ready to nourish; in other ways, not quite there yet.

            How beautiful it is, then, to be a work in progress - a spiritual fruit that is demonstrably developing, ripening, readying: how lovely to be both now, and not yet, in our journeys.