For many years after I joined SUMC, our family fit the category of attending most services except Christmas and Easter. We spent these special times with both George’s and my families in West Hartford, Connecticut, and we celebrated Easter at the Presbyterian church where I was confirmed (during a service on Maundy Thursday).

One of the treasured parts of Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter has always been the music of these special seasons, and, until COVID forced us to stop singing choral music, I sang in the choir at SUMC from 1972 until 2020. I have always been moved by the Maundy Thursday services and during the years when we were away for Easter, I stayed after the service for choir practice so I could sing the Easter music, particularly the Hallelujah chorus. In Connecticut, the choir sang this and I listened. What a joy it has been at SUMC to sing this chorus with the members of the congregation who came to join the choir in song.

Twice, I was far away from New England for part of Holy Week and Easter. In 1996, our daughter Katherine spent her spring semester in Edinburgh, Scotland, and I flew over to spend a week with her there. Each of us was filled with emotion when we saw each other for the first time since Katherine’s departure on January 1. On Easter, we went to Saint Giles Cathedral (The High Kirk of Scotland) for one of the services, during which communion was served in a way that we had never experienced: guided by the ushers, groups of us walked toward the altar and stood on the floor tiles that made the shape of a large cross. A loaf of bread was passed from hand to hand and each of us tore off a piece before passing the loaf on. Each of us sipped from the cup of wine that was presented to us before being offered to the next person. We returned to our seats as a group while the next worshippers came forward. I do not have particular memories of the music, but certainly remember the communion service.

In the afternoon, we joined many families and climbed Arthur’s Seat, a steep hill that looms behind Edinburgh Castle. It was fun watching people of all ages as they celebrated the holiday together, particularly the children who rolled eggs down the hill. For dinner, I roasted a chicken in the flat that Katherine shared with her British and Scottish roommates, all of whom were away with their families. We picked up a rented car on Easter Monday and drove around Scotland the following week.

In 2010, George and I flew to Madrid, Spain, to be with our family during semana santa – vacation begins on the Friday before Palm Sunday and ends on the Tuesday after Easter. We had a wonderful time together, although rainy and cold weather forced the cancellation of the processions that are part of Holy Week. The larger-than-life-size figures of Jesus and Mary could not be carried through the streets in the rain and we were disappointed to miss these very special ways to remember the events of Holy Week.

On Easter Sunday, we attended one of the Catholic masses that are held each hour. I am not terribly familiar with the mass and do not really speak Spanish, but at one point in the service, I was able to recognize that the Apostles’ Creed was being recited by picking up a few of the words and recognizing the rhythm of the Creed. After the service, we went to the Plaza Mayor in the center of Madrid and ate calamari while watching the many people celebrating this special day.

For the second year in a row, we will experience Holy Week and Easter in very different ways; and many of the trappings, such as family and friend gatherings, choral music sung with so many whom we hold close, and worship in a full sanctuary, will again be stripped away. Ideally, this will enable each of us to focus on the essence of our Christian faith and to make each day of this week one filled with contemplation. May it be so.

-Ann Hamilton

One of the provocative questions in our Lenten study book is “Have you experienced something that was great that resulted in something not so great?” Let me share my bewilderment:

In the 1960s, our family did what we could to foster justice and interracial friendships. My husband attended the March on Washington, and went south to aid voter registration. We had a close relationship with the AME congregation and their pastor. I became deeply involved with a people-to-people project known as the Box Project – even had a stint as volunteer record keeper for the hundreds of families who “adopted” southern families by sending boxes of food, clothing, and household items. Eventually the record keeping got transferred to a “real” office with (poorly) paid workers. Donations enabled us to secure a young Mississippi man in his twenties named Otis Brown, who became our Box Project agent. He visited our adopted families in the area of Sunflower, Mississippi, and even distributed items which were generously trucked in – thus saving us postage money.

We Johnsons sent boxes to Martha Ollie and her six children, and enjoyed an exchange of letters. In the summer of 1969, we six were able to travel south to visit Otis and his young family in the impoverished area of Sunflower. We met some of his neighbors (boards across open sewer ditches were “sidewalks”), and he guided us out into the countryside to visit Martha and her family. We have photos of the ten children who were similar in age if not color. It was a great visit.

Unknown (or unrealized) by either Otis or us Box Project senders was the unrest and anger of the neighbors who were NOT recipients. They couldn’t understand why trucks would unload items destined for the rural folks but nothing was given to them. They were furious with Otis for only bringing items to Box Project families. Their anger erupted the second evening of our stay in the humble Brown home, and a “mini-riot” occurred in the little office Otis had established. Typewriter and phones were smashed – and we all fled. We Johnsons were able to find an air-conditioned motel. The Browns drove some miles away to stay with family.

It was a frightening experience for all. When I got back to Connecticut, I reported the event to Box Project workers. We all were perplexed and confused as to how our “do-gooding” could have endangered our dear young agent and his family. The Box Project folks in Connecticut invited Otis Brown to move to that state. He eventually obtained a college degree, and still lives in Plainville. I was able to chat with him on the phone a year ago. The Box Project is still in existence – with headquarters in the south and various social projects. We continued to send boxes to Martha until she moved to Chicago, where we visited her some ten years later – and then lost touch.

I’m sure that much good came out of the early days of the Box Project, but it’s still frightening to think of how not-so-good things could have ruined the lives of Otis Brown and his family.

-Janet Johnson

I have a confession to make. I did something bad when I was seven years old. It was the beginning of Lent and my mother suggested I give something up for Lent.

“What should I give up?” I asked. “How about candy?” she said. “Okay,” I said.

A few days later I went with her to the Flower Show, and there was a vendor selling fudge! “I want some,” I said. “You gave it up,” my mother said. Well, I proceeded to “act out”. I stomped my foot. I cried. But it did me no good. So I pouted the rest of the day.

Now, I am sorry for what I did to my mother, but I did not understand the meaning of Lent, and that I should avoid the temptations of the Devil, like Jesus did for forty days in the wilderness. The Devil sure had me where he wanted me.

I’m trying to be stronger now that I am an adult, and will try to explain the meaning of Lent to any child who might ask me. And I hope to be strong like Jesus!

-Lynn Cunningham

Sometimes heroes come wearing capes and brandishing superpowers. We picture someone strong, ready to take on evildoers. A gathering of such superheroes would be surprised to find my hero in their midst. My superhero’s sidekick was a golden retriever named Brandy, and her secret weapon was an autoharp. I decided it was time to write her a letter expressing my thanks to her for her impact on my life.

Dear Mrs. Roemer,

I can still remember you coming into my Sunday School classroom, Brandy’s seeing-eye dog harness in one hand and your autoharp under your other arm. Those were my favorite Sundays! Even though we could not see your eyes behind your dark glasses, I and the rest of the kindergartners in the class could feel the love you had for us. You would come and sit among us, Brandy lying at your feet with her head on her paws, waiting for you to give us permission to stroke her soft fur. And then you would stroke your autoharp. Sometimes I still catch myself singing, “Love Him, Love Him, All you little children, God is Love, God is Love…” My brother’s favorite was “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam.” I’ll bet he still sings it occasionally! Like I said, we knew you loved us, but we also knew you loved Jesus. It showed through your words, your singing, and through your faithfulness and determination to share that love for Him with us, children you could not see. I couldn’t say how many years you and Brandy came to our class every Sunday. Nor can I remember the names of any of my teachers from those early days. Now, when children are baptized in our church, and we recite the baptismal vows to nurture them in the Christian faith, I often think of you and your example. In a way, it seems like you are still sharing your love for God, I hope, through me and so many others who sang those simple songs of faith with you when we were children ourselves.

I looked up your name on the Internet this morning. I learned that you went to be with Jesus, whom you loved so much, 17 years ago at the age of 97. I learned a lot of other things, too. Like the fact that you were an artist and a poet, an historian and an activist for native Americans. You wrote a couple of children’s books, including one you co-authored with Brandy! All of those accomplishments would make you a superhero in some people’s books, no doubt. But for me, it was your coming down the stairs, led by Brandy and carrying your autoharp to sing with children you saw with your heart, if not with your eyes, to share the love of and for God with them.

Thank you, Mildred Roemer, for being the hero who taught me that “God is Love.”

-Wendy (Davison) Guillemette

He took me to get my learner’s permit, down the four lane road into Oswego, about 15 miles from home. My first time behind the wheel. He fell asleep in the backseat on the way home up the four lane highway. I drove at 10 mph the entire way home. I was terrified; he was asleep.

We were walking through the park at dusk on a snowy eve. A big plow came roaring down the sideway. He threw me into the huge pile of snow at the edge of the sidewalk; the plow never slowed. I was blown by and covered with the snow from the plow. A hand smacked me in the face then pulled me out of the mound. We continued walking home. I had a black eye and broken rib.

There were four of them that had encircled me pushing me from one to the other to the other back and forth while threatening my ten year old being. I did not scream but for some reason he came anyway. There was a fight, then we walked home. He had a black eye.

I was supposed to learn to swim. I did not want to put my face in the water, I did not want to blow bubbles, I did not want to get wet with that cold water, I did not want to go under the water. I complained. He took me for a walk to see the tadpoles on the high wall. He pushed me in the pond. We swam in the pond.

We went bowling, I beat him, again – he did not talk to me for weeks.

We went skeet shooting, I beat him, again – he did not talk to me for weeks.

We went ice skating, he won all the races – he did not talk to me for weeks.

I was very very sick, I was young and afraid. Dr. Cincotta came every day to my bedside. Father Hughes came to the house to bless me. One night he sat the entire black night with me, keeping me packed in ice. He missed his senior prom.

Thank you God for my hero, my brother.

-submitted anonymously

“Content us, when we can only do small things, knowing that we are justified by amazing grace.”
-from a prayer by Daniel Benedict

During one of my first years of teaching, I started a small evening group of students interested in knitting. We gathered once a month, put on some quiet music, and practiced knitting and purling. Some students were working on their own projects, some were just learning to knit, and some were making squares for an afghan that we decided to create for a local nursing home.

One of the students who was learning to knit created a long, soft purple scarf and gave it to me – her very first knitted creation. While her knitting was simple (no purling here!), the gift was heartfelt and very gratefully received. I still have, and still wear, this scarf, frequently using it as both scarf and face-covering during COVID-era walks through the woods.

Small things, like this scarf, are precious. We often feel as though only grand gestures or Herculean efforts can make a difference, and this may seem to let us off the hook for the smaller things. But when we think of the power of a small gift, a brief word, a quick note, to change our attitude and our day, we know that we are not off the hook. As Daniel Benedict reminds us in the prayer cited above, on many days we can only do small things, but we must still do them. And the doing of these small things can be a vehicle for amazing grace.

Maybe doing more of these small things can be part of our Lenten discipline this year. To whom can we send thank you notes, greeting cards, friendly e-mails or Facebook messages or chats? Who would appreciate a five-minute phone call? Who needs to hear that we appreciate them during this season?

As for me, I’m going to send a message to my former student right now, thanking her again for the scarf and letting her know that it is still being used. Small things… And amazing grace!

-Heather Josselyn-Cranson

(by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971), American theologian; 1932)

God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

-submitted by Cathy Burke

While passing through these many years of life, you inevitably run into some amazing people, either personally or vicariously. They are memorable, perhaps even being candidates for nomination into sainthood.

First, I will always remember agriculturist Norman Borlaug. His achievements in plant science and biology led to his being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize several decades ago. Because of his persistent and dedicated work with corn and wheat biology, millions of people now go to bed at night well-fed, globally. In the 1940s, he took on a challenge from the Ford Foundation, which offered to support research into plant biology, specifically aimed at improving the nutritional value and the productivity of wheat and corn plants. Now that achievement was also been duplicated globally in vital crops such as rice.

How did he do it? By recognizing he could double the speed of cross-breeding research by growing 2 crops per year in Mexico – one crop at low altitude, the other at higher elevations in Mexico’s mountain — and running cross-breeding experiments at both altitudes. Thus arose an ability to run breeding experiments twice as fast, soon touching off what came to be called “The Green Revolution.” His experimentation had allowed accelerated cross-breeding experiments, fostering greatly expanded experimental breeding and rebreeding efforts globally, leading to better (and more) foods to be grown annually.

I first met Norman Borlaug while I was working on news coverage in Mexico, specifically writing about the basis of the Green Revolution. And later, when he was visiting New England to accept an award at Tufts University, I was able to contact him and spend a whole day driving him around this area to see historic points of interest, such as the Old North Bridge in Concord.

And what did we discuss? His interest in restoring the ancient and huge production of native American chestnuts; not too long ago there were about 4 billion such trees gracing the hills and valleys of New England and elsewhere. That whole agricultural industry was quickly wiped out more than a century ago by a plant disease called Chestnut Blight, which arose in New York from chestnut logs imported from Belgium. Breeding experiments may yet bring them back – but don’t hold your breath.

Second, I have always honored – from afar – the stunning achievements of a short, energetic black man: Anglican Bishop Desmond Tutu. He was a central and persistent figure who played vital roles toward ending the blight of South Africa’s awful system of racial segregation (and exploitation) known as apartheid. Through apartheid, the original Dutch settlers (and others) kept a stranglehold on the aspirations and freedoms of the native black populations. Along with Nelson Mandela (who was jailed for many years), Tutu and others persisted, finally winning the battle of civil rights. That has changed South Africa dramatically.

The original Dutch colonists managed to control nearly everything for many decades, even rigidly controlling where people of color could visit, limiting education, travel and employment. Ironically, however, once Japanese merchants and travelers began arriving — doin’ business – the white authorities caved, but first by designating the Japanese as “honorary whites”.

And now, what’s most amazing, apartheid finally collapsed – without a bloody revolution. Thank goodness.

-Bob Cooke

The title of our Lenten study book, What Makes a Hero, plus Pastor Joel’s sermons on prophets and on serving, have turned my thoughts to some of the heroes I have known.

First on the list would be my paternal grandmother –- an immigrant from Sweden who raised five children in New York City at the turn of the 20th century. The family had little material resources, but what they had was shared with even less fortunate folks. Grandma was constantly bringing food and clothing to others and taking into her home those who needed shelter and loving care.

The next generation, my parents, carried on the tradition of hospitality and giving of whatever they could to others. I didn’t think of them as heroes at the time, but Dad’s factory swing shift during World War II took a heavy toll on his health. Mom’s careful management of ration books and finances fed and clothed us in what now seems a miracle. They reached out to draw in a number of foster children, one of whom they adopted. Many others enjoyed hospitality in our home through the years. We were also nourished spiritually at our little country church, and my parents acted on the teachings of the church. Dad served in the Connecticut Legislature in the early 50s — a really heroic task because the pay was so low that he had to work in a factory each morning before donning suit and tie to drive to Hartford for the afternoon sessions.

There have been other heroes in my life. One church lady, whom we called “Aunt Violet”, was always quietly there –- hands in dish water, smiling, serving, caring — never calling attention to herself. Through the years, and to this day, the quiet, selfless ones have been heroes to me. One of the most beloved was Dick Harding who truly epitomized service and care — quietly and firmly doing what he could for civil rights, gay rights, truly concerned for others. His words of greeting any of us were “There he/she is!!” That was so characteristic of Dick -– always removing the attention from himself to show that he cared for the other person.

That’s what makes a hero –- selfless concern for others. A hero is someone who is always with us –- either in memory or in spirit or even in the flesh — caring about us, guiding us, serving us. What a gift from God!!!

-Janet Johnson

After a hard day’s work in the yard, digging, planting, weeding, and raking, nothing feels as good as a warm shower with the water beating down, refreshing and invigorating. In much the same way, the lectionary readings for the first Sunday of Lent, the story of Noah and the baptism of Jesus, point to God’s use of water to restore and renew the human relationship with God.

In The Flood story in Genesis [Genesis 9:8-17; also referenced in 1 Peter 3:18-22], after the people have broken the Law, God makes a new covenant with Israel and symbolizes their new identity through the rainbow. In the Gospel of Mark, as Jesus comes out of the baptismal waters [Mark 1:9-15], the Spirit descends, and a voice announces his identity as the Son of God.

During Lent, this time of renewal, as we see the days lengthen, let us re-enliven our identity in Christ by washing away some of the old habits of thinking, feeling, and behaving that keep us from a deeper relationship with God [Psalm 25].

The author of Mark’s Gospel writes that after Jesus is baptized, he spends forty days in the desert discerning the nature of his ministry and battling temptations, just as we do. In his blog, “Stories from a Priestly Life,” a retired Episcopalian minister reflects, “All temptation is to forget who one is,” i.e. to forget one’s purpose, connectedness with all of creation, and true self.

In other words, we cave into the old desires for pleasure, power, and rescue from pain in order to protect our vulnerabilities, which are often our needs for love and security. By numbing our feelings, trying to make the world as we would have it, and waiting for someone to deliver us from the inevitabilities of life, we think we’ll never experience pain or loss and grief. Perhaps, we won’t suffer as much pain or loss, but in the process, we won’t experience the full depth of God’s love for us, either.

To follow the way of Jesus includes examining the ways in which we have been hurt and have hurt others, to understand all the perspectives and contexts that bear on those situations, and then to bring compassion to ourselves and to others. In doing so, we can wash away the pain of the past in order open our hearts to God’s love, to the love of others, to our connection with all of creation, and to the joy of the gift of life itself. Then we can feel, think, and act in accordance with our true selves, our identity in Christ.

-Karen Lubic

By September, realization hit hard; a COVID winter was coming. I started looking for additional resources to get me though and happened upon a NPR review of the book The Socrates Express: In Search of Life Lessons from Dead Philosophers, by Eric Weiner. It was time to revisit my college Philosophy 101 course to explore/understand big ticket items such as reality, knowledge, existence, love, morality, and faith. Fortunately, the author is more humorous and articulate than my philosophy Prof. Dr. Snooze.

Each of the fourteen chapters is devoted to a particular philosopher, including Rousseau, Confucius, Socrates, Weil, and Thoreau. Their perspectives help to examine ideas that can lead to more examined, attentive, generous lives. For example, philosopher Simone Weil believes that “only when we give someone our attention, fully and with no expectation of reward, are we engaged in the rarest and purest generosity”. Ultimately, another name for attention at its most intense and generous is love.

Attentiveness is not my strong suit, which I easily excuse by my need to get so much done all the time. My mindless, inattentive multitasking always escalates during mealtime when the news is on! We know how Jesus felt about multitasking when he reprimanded Martha, as follows:

³⁸As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. ³⁹She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. ⁴⁰But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
⁴¹“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴²but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38-41)

So what’s a busy person to do? Be attentive, make dinner, keep up with the news, recycle, do the wash, listen to your aged parent, children or spouse, and/or _____ (fill in the space)? Sorting through my personal dilemma, I turned to Ecclesiastes, chapter 3. Reminded that there is a time for everything under heaven, I realized: There is a time for attentiveness and a time to serve dinner.

Prayer: Help me to be more attentive to the people in my life and the strangers I will meet along the way.

-Moira Lataille

At first life was very difficult – not physically. My every need was met. Meals were delivered. Mail and medications were delivered. Laundry was done by housekeepers. (No housekeepers were permitted to enter our apartments, so the laundry was placed outside my door.)

Those amenities were helpful to my existence, but it was not living. No face-to-face human contact was allowed. Phone calls, in-house TV, and e-mails were the only possible interactions. My family encouraged me to purchase high-speed Internet to facilitate Zoom so that I could at least see faces of family and friends. (That installation required the presence of a real live human technician, and some plumbing problems brought a masked staff member – also a real live person – but most interactions were “virtual”. Zoom meetings were not ideal, but they were indeed a blessing!

Then, in early summer, we were allowed visitors (maximum of two) outdoors under a tent. I was so happy to have Pastor Joel come to talk, and pray, and serve communion that tears of joy dampened my mask (always masks and social distance). Visits from my daughter certainly were better than waving at her from my window on Mother’s Day. Those outdoor visits were less than ideal, but they were a great blessing!

By fall, we were allowed to keep medical appointments. My lab reports revealed an amazing loss of unneeded weight with consequent improved numbers in many areas. No question of a blessing there! We were also allowed to have fellow residents (maximum of three) visit our apartments. We can also meet properly vetted outside visitors in a special room with special air circulation. Those interactions – even if always masked – are wonderful blessings!

Now, in early 2021, we residents and staff at Newbury Court have been given “herd immunity”, and larger gatherings are being permitted in special areas. We still cannot have outside visitors in our apartments, and Zoom plays a large role in our programs, but I have much for which to be thankful. Continued friendships, spiritual nourishment (Sunday services, study groups, AND that marvelously inspiring Christmas pageant), and family interactions all are marvelous blessings – whether they are virtual or “in the flesh”.

Thanks be to God.

-Janet Johnson

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

These words are powerful because life can throw us many difficult and scary situations that grip us with fear and insecurity. In times like this, we ask, “How can this be happening to me? Why? What am I going to do? How will I be able to handle this?” If we trust God’s presence with us, He gives us the courage to be strong.

When I think of courageous people, heroes come to mind. I consider heroes to be people with amazing amounts of courage or noble qualities; often times, they do or achieve outstanding things for other people. I believe that we all have an inner hero that is capable of performing tremendous good for others.

My 21-year old nephew, Ryan, is a hero. Many of you have been praying for Ryan since 2019 when he learned he had acute myeloid leukemia, a blood cancer rare for such a young man. After intense chemotherapy and enduring life-threatening infections, Ryan underwent a stem cell transplant in 2020. His cancer went into remission, but unfortunately Ryan recently relapsed.

His most recent battle has been quite complicated. Without going into too many details, Ryan almost lost his life, again, this time to a full-body sepsis infection that required multiple surgeries on his leg.

Ryan’s courage continues to amaze me; his unending courage is one of the reasons why I consider Ryan a hero, but there are others. Ryan has always been a faithful person. He’s been raised by faithful Christian parents. Ryan has built a relationship with Jesus by consistently attending church with his family, going to youth group, learning about His word, and praying daily. Most teenagers have trouble sharing their faith with their friends. It’s often something they like to keep quiet. Ryan, however, has always been upfront with his feelings, in his own quiet way. He lists his favorite Bible verses on his Instagram profile: Philippians 4:13, Jeremiah 29:11, and Isaiah 30:21.

Ryan isn’t a hero simply because he’s a faithful person but because his faith has touched others and introduced them to Jesus. They way Ryan has lived his life and how he’s approached the unbelievable obstacles put on his path are encouraging to the thousands of people who follow his story across the globe. They are learning to believe in the power of prayer, to understand what prayer can do and how it feels, and to notice who is at the source of prayer —- God.

As I was pondering who the heroes have been in my life, I was struck by the word “hero.” When you add an “n” to “hero,” you get the word “heron.” This makes perfect sense in my world because the great blue heron has been a symbol of faith and resilience to me. My dad was a sailor who fell in love with the Chesapeake Bay; the magnificent great blue heron soaring over the water gave him a sense of peace and grace. Most often, though, we see herons standing tall along the shorelines, completely still; they are masters of patience and stillness. After my dad died (at a young age of 57), every time I saw a heron I just knew that my dad was telling me that he was at peace with Jesus in heaven.

Over the two years since Ryan’s leukemia diagnosis, I’ve had ongoing dreams of a great blue heron swooping in on Ryan and blanketing his wings around Ryan to give him comfort. I think that this heron symbolizes God’s grace and that the wings are like Jesus’ arms embracing Ryan in love. So, for so many reasons, Ryan is my hero, but Jesus is my ultimate hero(n)!

Next time you see a great blue heron, think of the heroes in your life and ponder the ways you can bring goodness and grace to others.

Prayer: Dear Lord, We thank you for being with us in all that we do, for giving us the strength, courage, and steadfastness to live our lives in your image and to be heroes of Your word. Amen.

-Kristen Straub

Certain times of the year have different “looks”; at least they do inside my head.

Advent and Christmas? Red and green, sleigh bells and Advent wreaths, Santa Claus and pageants full of dancing angels. Shiny!

Thanksgiving? Earth tones, chilly mid-morning football, Norman Rockwell paintings of roast turkeys and extended families. (It’s not exactly that for everyone, but it’s what I grew up with.)

Lent? … … well, a whole lot of music in minor keys; suppers of soup and bread; lots of furrowed eyebrows all the way to Good Friday. And before the Good Friday service, when our choir has gathered to briefly prepare, there has been considerably less frivolity than usual.

A cynic might suggest that the mass-media and commercial-advertising establishments have stuff to sell during the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons, so they’ve needed to come up with lots of ways to remind people to get excited and get out there and stimulate the local economy.

They haven’t really figured out how to market Lent, apart from Easter-candy displays in supermarkets, and giant anthropomorphized bunny rabbits that don’t truly have much to do with the Gospel according to Matthew or Mark.

Quick! Make a list of Christmas or Thanksgiving traditions. Stop when you get to a hundred.

Now make a list of Lenten traditions.

Umm. I, uh, don’t think I’m going to make it to a hundred …

Happily, the Lenten Devotional booklet has been one of those traditions for generations of Sudbury UMC folks. A collection of Lenten thoughts — paper for decades, and electronic for the last couple of years — which are written by members and friends of this congregation. A brief piece of writing for every day of Lent, meant to inspire our meditations as we traverse the distance between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday.

For the past couple of years, as I’ve taken on the role of “LentBlog” editor, our writings have been guided by Pastor Joel’s Lenten programming: the themes and topics that are the focus of adult-education study and Sunday-service elements throughout the forty-days-plus-six of Lent.

When you consider this year’s Lenten topic and theme, you will practically hear the skid-mark sound effect:

Heroes? Superheroes?

Sounds a little bouncy and triumphant, considering it’s (brief reminder) LENT and all.

It’s a little bit of going-out-on-a-limb. We’re utilizing a book by Matt Rawle, lead pastor at Asbury United Methodist Church in Bossier City, Louisiana and a fellow who has made a bit of a name for himself writing books that discuss faith through the lens of popular culture (not least of which have been Dickens’ Ebenezer Scrooge character and the Victor Hugo and Broadway-musical renderings of the Les Miserables story).

Rawle’s book is a six-part compare-and-contrast exercise: let’s look at American pop-culture superhero characters like Batman, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Iron Man, Captain America, and Superman, and examine how they carry out their hero duties … compared with how Jesus carried out his — his ministries and his sacrifice.

How in the world is Pastor Joel going to deal with this? What is this, a Methodist Cinematic Universe??

That’s what the next six Monday nights are for (the Zoom link for his adult-ed sessions is included in The Chronicle, our weekly newsletter). … Also, going this route was Pastor Joel’s idea. :)

AND … I invite you to visit this online space, every morning from here through Holy Week, and see how members of our congregation deal with their faith, in writing, through this and other lenses. We won’t necessarily have to talk about superheroes; we may not even talk about “regular” heroes; but we just might.

(If you read a couple of posts and get inspired to join our writing corps, you are more than welcome — the editor’s eMail address is <rhammerton@earthlink.net>. Again, members and friends of our congregation are the driving force of this project.)

So. Shall we begin?

“Up, up, and away …”

-Rob Hammerton

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1864)

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Interesting coincidence, here:

I just received a message. From myself.

Evidently, a year from now, I have (or at least someone has) discovered a glitch in the time/space continuum through which messages can be sent backwards in time.

Now, because I am a Star Trek fan, I understand very well the dangers of time travel. Go back in time, change a detail, suddenly your grandparents never met and there you are, or maybe there you aren’t. Guardian of Forever stuff. If you’re lucky, you bring a pair of whales back in time with you to re-populate the oceans and all is set right … but that’s pretty rare.

So it is with great trepidation that I relay the message I received from myself.

“You know what I miss about last Christmas?” it says, after getting the boilerplate “This message is intended only for entertainment purposes and should in no way be taken as an accurate view of the future” disclaimer out of the way.

“I miss not taking things for granted.

“During the pandemic last year, I chose to do all my Christmas shopping online, and it was all finished ten days before Thanksgiving — and it was all wrapped a whole week before Christmas. This year? Well, let’s just say: ’tis the afternoon before Christmas, and all through the mall parking lot, this line of cars ain’t moving, oh no it is not. Just like old times. Although I do still wear a mask in public spaces most of the time.

“Last year, I set up three ‘virtual open house’ events on Zoom between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Saw a whole lot of friends that I hadn’t seen in ages! Most of them, I’d clicked ‘like’ on one of their Facebook posts, but that was it; but we spent two or three hours re-connecting and catching up and just telling stupid jokes and giggling, just like old times. This year, I haven’t seen any of them. The holiday season moves so fast and is so full of stuff that it kinda rockets past and you don’t get much of a chance to spend a lot of quality time with people, and suddenly it’s Christmas Eve.

“This year, it’s been good to be able to do the Christmas Pageant in-person, mostly because my sister always puts on a clinic in ‘how to orchestrate a mob of children of all ages into a Pageant cast, in an effort that often resembles staging the Normandy invasion’ … but during last year’s Pageant-making, we got to see all the kids in costumes straight from the first Zoom rehearsal — and the final movie even had a blooper reel.

“This year, it’s true, we’ve been able to make music with live choir and instrumentalists again — Kevin and I are back to stressing out about getting all the Cantata and Christmas Eve notes and rhythms in place, and all the instrument parts written and distributed. Last year’s Zoom calls were fun, though — we got to hang out virtually with SUMC-music-alumni friends in DC and New Hampshire and Dorchester!, and lots of other places. I miss that.

“Yes, to say the least, last year’s holiday season was a mess. Our own inconveniences (and there were plenty — I had to consciously think about how to do so many things!) weren’t nearly on the level of all the people who fell ill, all the people we lost. So many people’s Christmas dinners were more somber.

“But here it is, Christmas Eve 2021, and, well, what have I learned?

“I’ve learned that it’s easier than I thought to fall back into taking things for granted.

“Must work on that. With any luck — with better luck — it won’t take another global pandemic, or some similar calamity, to help me work on that.”

Interesting future-gram.

So. Here are wishes for a Merry Christmas (where merriment is possible, since in plenty of places, it isn’t, currently) … an actively Merry Christmas.

-Rob Hammerton

[Editor’s Note: This was a ham-handed cautionary tale. No hams were harmed in the making of this story. And I don’t presume to know what my eighth-grade English teacher would have thought of it. But I think I’m through with taking stuff for granted, whenever all this is over. May the message that I really do send back in time to myself, next Christmas, be a little bit different.]

A poem which I discovered some time ago, which has become one of my favorites, is one that was written by Howard Thurman.

Thurman (1899-1981) was an American author, philosopher, theologian, educator, and civil rights leader. He was a mentor to civil rights leaders including Martin Luther King Jr. He was also dean of Marsh Chapel (Boston University) from 1953 to 1965.

The poem is called “The Work of Christmas”, and it’s about what our Christmas-related tasks and responsibilities are, after the Christmas festivities are over.

Since the poem is still under copyright, I’ll offer two online links to it.

One is so you can read it in its entirety. It’s a quick read.

The other link is so you can hear how one musician used it to write a beautiful piece of choir music (it’s performed in this video by a choral group from Brigham Young University-Idaho).

-(submitted anonymously)

I have always been deeply moved by the stark imagery of the Advent hymn “In the Bleak Mid-Winter”. The first verse paints such a forlorn time, place and mood of desolation and despair.

In the bleak mid-winter
  Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
  Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
  Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
  Long ago.

Written in 1872, Christina Rossetti’s poem is timeless –- and I believe particularly relevant today as the misery and sorrow created by this pandemic continues to unceasingly pile up on us like “snow on snow, snow on snow.” Believe it or not, this dreary hymn has long been one of my favorite carols. It elicits such a pensive response and truly awakens the spirit of advent in me. It creates such a feeling of need and a craving for something to break through “earth standing hard as iron … or water like stone.” But one of the incredibly wonderful things about advent is not the waiting –- but the knowledge that our waiting will end in the amazingly powerful triumph of Christmas.

Now that we have these incredible COVID vaccines being manufactured and distributed, I now look at the pandemic through the lens of Advent. The waiting is brutal –- especially here in New England, with no place to go in the bleak midwinter. But my waiting is buttressed by hope and faith that there will be a brilliant light at the end of the tunnel.

And this brings me to another of my absolute favorite Christmas hymns …

Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light,
And usher in the morning;
O shepherds, shrink not with afright,
But hear the angel’s warning.
This Child, now weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be,
The power of Satan breaking,
Our peace eternal making.

If you have not heard The Roches’ version of this lovely hymn, check them out (to me, it’s like the angels singing).

While I truly do love the season of Advent, a time of waiting and anticipation, if there were no Christmas, no beauteous heavenly light to break through the darkness of the bleak midwinter, the season and that dismal hymn would merely be grim reminders of life without Jesus.

Thank God that our waiting is not in vain!

-Brad Stayton

At Christmas
by Edgar Albert Guest (1881-1959)

A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year;
He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season is here;
Then he’s thinking more of others than he’s thought the months before,
And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for.
He is less a selfish creature than at any other time;
When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime.

When it’s Christmas, man is bigger and is better in his part;
He is keener for the service that is prompted by the heart.
All the petty thoughts and narrow seem to vanish for awhile
And the true reward he’s seeking is the glory of a smile.
Then for others he is toiling, and somehow it seems to me
That at Christmas he is almost what God wanted him to be.

If I had to paint a picture of a man, I think I’d wait
Till he’d fought his selfish battles and had put aside his hate.
I’d not catch him at his labors when his thoughts are all of self,
On the long days and the dreary when he’s striving for himself.
I’d not take him when he’s sneering, when he’s scornful or depressed,
But I’d look for him at Christmas when he’s shining at his best.

Man is ever in a struggle and he’s oft misunderstood;
There are days the worst that’s in him is the master of the good,
But at Christmas, kindness rules him and he puts himself aside,
And his petty hates are vanquished and his heart is opened wide.
Oh, I don’t know how to say it, but somehow it seems to me
That at Christmas man is almost what God sent him here to be.

-(submitted anonymously)

If I could invent a new tradition for Advent and Christmas, I would emphasize GRATITUDE.

It would begin at Thanksgiving and possibly include an Advent calendar which, instead of candy or things behind the windows, would have a one word of something (or someone) for whom to be thankful. The calendar would, of course, end with the Greatest Gift –- the Christ child. There also could be an addition: an Epiphany calendar with words that express the gifts made possible by the coming of Christ into the world (humility, compassion, healing, forgiveness, etc.). The daily words could be made into a booklet and reviewed throughout the coming year or perhaps saved to reuse during the next Advent.

Instead of a large number of wrapped gifts, I would encourage family and friends to exchange notes of appreciation for one another. Such affirmations become priceless treasures long after things have worn out or been broken. If written notes are too difficult, e-mails or phone calls (or Zoom sessions) could be welcome reminders of how much loved ones are cherished. Of course, the custom of giving donations in honor of someone would be part of my tradition, even if it is not a new idea. The important thing would be to tell the loved one that you are giving the donation because he or she IS the loved one.

The “new” Giving Tradition would involve all sorts of gatherings of people (post-vaccine, of course), but as simple as possible with potluck or cookies and cocoa. Gifts of food items could be brought and displayed before being given to food pantries. If the weather is bad, the “Giving Party” could be rescheduled.

Traditional and non-traditional music would be provided at the party and also at church services. Activities would center on what one could share with others. This is not really a new tradition. It’s what SUMC has been doing for years!

The important factor in my “new” tradition would be an emphasis on what one could bring or GIVE to others, thereby following the example of the Eastern Sages who came joyfully with gifts for the Christ child. The giving possibilities are endless and JOYFUL!

-Janet C. Johnson

In the blog writing space that I occupy when I’m not over here, editing the Lent (and now Advent) Devotions, a few years ago I made note of a particularly … well … notable Advent season.

For context: it was December 2013, and our musicians’ latest version of our annual Advent Cantata project was a presentation of eight anthems that I composed. During the previous summer, I had thought, “ya know, we’ve done a lot of Baroque music, and lots of other interesting stuff, from Renaissance to twentieth-century. But I wonder if we could do a Cantata full of more pop- and rock- and jazz- and gospel-inflected things?”

A modest little goal.

As I have said many times in many places, a musical arranger or composer can write all the notes s/he likes, and nowadays our computers will show us what it’ll basically sound like (basic notes and rhythms, at least) … but until a pack of actual humans get their collective mitts on it, you won’t hear music.

Happily, the notes and rhythms cooperated. Even more happily (if not unpredictably), our Sanctuary Choir and affiliated instrumentalists came through in the clutch, in spades.

Thus answering the writing-prompt question, “Has there ever been a time when someone else became a Christmas present for you?”

And so, after it was all over, I took to the blog and wrote a big ol’ thank-you note:

“…this morning was the final, clinching proof that humans will never ever be replaced in the game of making music – expressive music which features spontaneous decisions and which evokes actual emotions from audience and performers alike.

“For one thing, computers can’t smile and joke and look more and more relaxed the longer the early-morning warmup and run-through progresses. Humans can. This choir did. The styles covered by the musical material (jazz, pop, rock, gospel) were perhaps more conducive to the smiles and good humor and swaying and occasional belly laughs than would the music of, say, J.S. Bach. The Mass in B Minor may suggest more strongly to a group that gravity and dignity are absolutely called for. Let’s be honest: there’s a difference between a Baroque-era work that is in triple meter, and a 1940s-style slow swing tune, in spite of the fact that they both seem to have triplets in them.

“For another thing, computers don’t need conductors, so they’ll never experience ensemble members and conductors feeding off of each other’s energy and enthusiasm and, yes, moments of irreverence to produce a musical performance that is more than just the right notes.

“And when computers produce music that humans would consider challenging, audiences will quite rightly expect that all the notes will be correct, so long as the power doesn’t go out in the middle of the performance. There will be no suspense about this. When humans go after music that stretches them a bit, or in fact when humans present any music at all, it’s always some version of a tightrope act. The hundred, thousand, million decisions made by every individual person involved … are in fact rocket science, and then some! And computers could do what humans do … if there were enough programming time available. But humans make decisions “in the moment” that make each performance different (slightly or vastly) from any that had come before or will happen thereafter.

“Computers make lousy jazz musicians.

“I’ve written arrangements before, and heard them played and sung by many different ensembles at many different levels and in many different environments. I’ve written a few relatively small pieces: a couple for the high school band which I led for almost a decade, and a couple for the church choir that I’m thinking fondly of this evening. In all cases, it was exciting to hear that the ideas did work, that the pieces were coherent, and that the people seemed to like playing or singing them.

“For many reasons, this morning’s presentation was all of that, but more besides. In part, yes, it was the culmination of a lot of hard work by a lot of people, and also the addition of a few instrumentalists to our musical ensemble whose presence and performance added just that little spark of something that helped us ‘take it to the next level’ – and what a cliché that phrase has become, and yet it’s fairly accurate. But there was something else that coalesced.

“The first of the eight pieces stood alone, as our worship service’s Prelude. Lots of ethereal ‘ooh’-ing from the choir, providing backing for a pair of soprano soloists, and the effect during the heat of battle was positively hypnotic. We got a good start.

“Following a hymn, a scripture reading and the ‘children’s message’, the second through fifth selections comprised the block of service time during which the sermon would normally have happened. (Our senior pastor annually gives up his sermon time for some or all of our Advent Cantata presentation. For a lot of pastors this would be a really hard thing to do!) Following another hymn, the reading of congregational concerns and celebrations, movements six and seven made up the ‘offertory’ music slot; and after a closing hymn, the final movement served as Postlude.

“As has been chronicled in this space before, the third movement was a lazy swing thing that I wrote while unabashedly thinking of Raymond Chandler private eye novels, and this morning the choir seemed to not worry so much about the notes that made up the close-harmony, minor-sixth and flat-ninth Manhattan Transfer chords, but instead relaxed their hips and shoulders and Swung Out. If they’d had fedoras, they’d have tipped them rakishly to one side.

“And as good a time as I had, listening to the second and fourth movements even as I conducted them … and as much as the sixth, seventh and eighth items created great effects – and the Big Finish was indeed a big finish! …

“Oh, that fifth anthem.

“We got finished with that piece, which can be described stylistically as slow gospel, but that doesn’t really cover it … and I leaned over to my accompanist colleague and whispered, ‘we could stop now. In fact, I’m not sure how we follow that.’

“During Thursday night’s rehearsal, from somewhere outside my own head, I had found this stage direction for movement five: ‘bring the sound up from the soles of your shoes.’ There’s singing the notes, and then there’s singing the notes with depth. And I had the feeling that descriptions involving vocal anatomy or deep philosophical constructs would be way too scientific or way too ephemeral to be effective in a music rehearsal. So, as is often my wont, I tossed out a weird little phrase and hoped it would be just odd enough to work.

“Yeah, that one kinda worked on Thursday night.

“Add firmly controlled adrenaline, add a live congregation, add the momentum of the four prior anthems, stir and serve … and that one more than kinda worked this morning.

“Let’s just say that I want the recording of movement number five like very few tangible things I have wanted for quite some time. I want to find out whether I really heard and felt what I thought I heard and felt.

“You are perhaps familiar with the phrase that gets used by and about pro sports teams: ‘leave it all out there on the field’? As in, this is the moment of truth, and who wants to look back for the rest of their lives and wonder what better results would have come if we hadn’t held anything back?

“We left it all out there on the field.

“Particularly with that fifth anthem, yes … but also all morning long.

“Quite simply, it was a privilege and a joy to be associated with that choir this morning – regardless of whose music they were singing. All you had to do, to know that they’d held nothing back – aside from maybe listening to them do their thing – was to watch them.

“Oh, yes, that’s another thing that computers will never be able to do: finish a calculation, or an operation, or a function …

“… and smile that smile. The very small one that still manages to reach the eyes. The one that says: ‘had it all the way, and it was a kick.’

2013 was a very Merry Christmas.

Fun to look back and remember the two dozen or so Sudbury Methodists (and friends-of-) who were my little Christmas present, seven years ago.

There will be such Merry Christmases again, featuring packs of musically-inclined parishioners knocking things dead. There will.

May it be so.

-Rob Hammerton

Many of you know I spent more than a dozen years here at SUMC serving as a volunteer Sunny Hill Committee Chair/Director. (Sunny Hill is a preschool business of SUMC.) Those years were some of the most exciting and fun years of my life! It was never dull as I taught myself how to run a business and manage a large staff of teachers. The best part, in my mind, was being at the school a lot and observing the children, watching as they learned how to get along with each other and have fun doing whatever messy project their teachers had dreamed up for the day. No matter how tired I got, what kept me going was knowing that indirectly I could make a difference in the life of a child by helping to create an atmosphere that prepared them to do well when they started their public school life.

After I finished at Sunny Hill, life was a little “quiet” until my granddaughter, Cecelia, was born and I was blessed with being needed to help out afternoons while Kristin was away teaching and Kevin was giving music lessons. And then Ciaran came along and until he was in first grade, he too was a source of fun and excitement every afternoon.

So you might say it’s not surprising that one of my favorite Advent/Christmas hymns speaks about children. It’s not a joyous, loud Christmas carol, but it speaks to my heart, and perhaps you will find it gives meaning to your Advent, too. It is “Star-Child”, found in The Faith We Sing, words by Shirley Erena Murray (1931-2020), based on Matthew 2: 1-12, with music by Carlton R. Young.

Star-Child, earth-Child, go-between of God,
Love Child, Christ Child, heaven’s lightning rod,
This year, this year, let the day arrive
When Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive!

Street child, beat child, no place left to go,
Hurt child, used child, no one wants to know,
This year, this year, let the day arrive
When Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive!

Grown child, old child, memory full of years,
Sad child, lost child, story told in tears,
This year, this year, let the day arrive
When Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive!

Spared child, spoiled child, having, wanting more,
Wise child, faith child, knowing joy in store,
This year, this year, let the day arrive
When Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive!

Hope-for-peace Child, God’s stupendous sign,
Down-to-earth Child, Star of stars that shine,
This year, this year, let the day arrive
When Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive!

-Nancy Hammerton

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“Star-Child” lyrics by Shirley Erena Murray (1931-2020)
Copyright © 1994 by Hope Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Reprinted under License No. RP121420-1

One of the most memorable activities each year for the youth group is the annual lock-in/Christmas party. Like many other things in our lives over the last year, this had to be cancelled due to the pandemic. Despite being able to make the most of things by replacing the lock-in with Cardboard Box City earlier this year, the lack of the event this December is a reminder of how dark a year this has been for many (if not most).

Of course, one might also say that Cardboard Box City was not merely a replacement, but an improvement. Not only did we spend the evening in devotion and fellowship, playing games, and eating s’mores, we also added an outreach project to our calendar – one that raised over $1,300 for Metrowest Family Promise!

In the darkness, a light shines.

On Sunday afternoon, the youth group will be giving a free Bible and Chrismon (and, y’know, some candy) to any family that drives through the parking lot. This event came together because COVID prevented us from holding our annual in-worship presentation of new Bibles to our third grade students. SUMC’s Christian Education Commission, Church Growth Commission, music leaders and youth group have come together to extend an invitation to our neighbors despite (and abiding by) social gathering restrictions.

In the darkness, a light shines.

Isn’t that what Christmas is about to begin with? In our darkness, Christ is our light; a light that shines through the darkness and cannot be overcome. Throughout the rest of Advent and Christmas, remember this, and be thankful. We are in an extended season of darkness, but in the darkness, the light of Christ shines, and we are called to be that light because we are the body of Christ.

We are the Church.

Keep the Faith.

-Zack Moser

I made repeated visits to a hospital a while back. I was a patient in a neurology unit. To combat worry, frustration, loneliness, and restlessness, I walked the halls of my floor. Most of the time I was the only patient to do so, at least alone. Often my sister and brother patients were victims of severe head trauma, brain cancer, nerve damage, or had just had had brain or spinal cord surgery of some sort. They usually were bedridden.

One day a young man appeared in the hospital halls. I don’t think he was over thirty. One side of his head was completely shaved. He had a semicircular scar visible from across the hall and held together with monstrous surgical staples. Even with a four-point walker he could barely walk ten feet in front of the nurse’s station within ten minutes. He was determined, though. An attendant had been hired to be with him twenty-four hours a day because he wanted to be up, out of his room, doing something to get better, and was not going to be denied. He was aphasic. His eyes were open a bit wider than yours or mine and always riveted to the floor a few feet in front of him.

Six weeks later he had grown a beard and had progressed to walking fast around the halls of the hospital floor. I learned to stay way on the right if I was in the hall and saw him coming toward me. He didn’t have the greatest spatial sense yet. Often his attendant steered him around corners. Otherwise he couldn’t have made the turn before encountering a wall. He and I broke one of the cardinal unwritten rules of hospital patients: don’t make eye contact with another patient when you meet them in the hall. Every once in a while this young man would catch my eye and give me a high five as he cruised on by me. (A brain injury patient has to have good balance to high-five someone while walking.)

There are many stories like this. They are testament to the plasticity of the brain. A lot can improve quickly. But that last small percentage of recovery takes a very long time to come about, possibly a lifetime, maybe never. And it requires a lot of work by many people to make it happen. That work is done everyday, in and out of hospitals, including holidays.

Friends and relatives often were in patients’ rooms. It was not unusual for the patient to be comatose, the friend or relative reading a book or watching TV, alone. As December progressed, I thought more often that these bystanders would be spending Christmas — and many more holidays — in the hospital.

Driving home, these patients’ families returning from the hospital pass cars with a Christmas tree on the roof and houses with elaborate and lavish holiday lights outside. Their own homes are dark, or maybe just a TV lights up the family room as an older child watches and waits for her parents to get back from visiting a hospitalized sibling or elderly relative.

We would do well to remember what Christmas is like for patients’ families. They want their spirits to be in the stars as they stare up into the clear, dark, silent, winter night. Instead, they are earthbound. Any ethereal or warm thoughts are overcome by the nagging realization that their feet and hands are cold from standing in the snow looking at what stars they can see away from the glare of the streetlight in front of their house.

On Christmas Day, if you find out you need batteries for a present you gave or received or if your guests drank all the milk in the house, you will go to a convenience store and interact with other people who have to work on this day. In pre-COVID times some restaurants, zoos, Broadway shows, and museums were also open. And they required workers to cook and serve you food, sell you tickets, sing and dance for you, open up, clean up, and shut down.

We would do well to remember what Christmas is like for them so that Christmas is as it is for us.

-David Downing

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[Editor’s Note: Mr. Downing is a friend of the Hammerton and Murphy families; he was a writing instructor at the Charles River Creative Arts Program and thus a colleague of Kevin, Kristin and Rob.]

I am currently in the middle of my twelfth year of organizing and rehearsing the Christmas Pageant at Sudbury United Methodist Church. I fell into directing the pageant when my kids were seven and three.

When I began, I drew on my experience teaching elementary school students by over-preparing and giving us several rehearsals so we were not rushed. I recalled my time at the Charles River Creative Arts Program, which helped me know that it would be wise to write a script that was both traditional and hopefully a bit lighthearted, for the number of kids who signed up for Pageant and their wishes for lines and solos. I left space for children who decided to join a week or two into the rehearsing.

I also drew heavily from my experience in the UMass Marching Band, with its charismatic director, George N. Parks. Mr. Parks’ “Starred Thoughts” — which helped his band members to keep their eye on all that is good in people, while at the same time helping them to prepare to make large things happen with large numbers of people — are legendary, and are found with a simple Google search of the phrase and his name. I “moved in the direction I was thinking,” I “faked it till I could make it,” I “surrounded myself with good people” to help me make things work, and I remembered that “space is weakness” and made sure that the children of the church were close together when I spoke with them and gave directions.

I also drew heavily on my faith and hoped that God would be present with us through the rehearsals. I had been in a few Pageants as a kid, and remembered that things should be fun and also get the Big Point across; that perfection was sometimes found in mistakes; and that it would be A-OK to write cue cards and index cards with lines for children who needed that help.

What I found was that this Pageant rehearsing made ME remember the Big Point of Christmas, and was something that I looked forward to doing. I enjoyed connecting with the children of the church; that was not a surprise to me, but what was a surprise was that each year, I met some of the newer and younger families of the church during the Pageant, while also collaborating with long-time members of the church, which further cemented my friendships and connections to church members. It was a pleasant social experience for me, and — I would like to think — for everyone.

As my children have grown up, the Pageant has defined our family’s Saturday mornings, starting five weeks before Christmas Eve. My son, Ciaran, started in his role as the self-proclaimed “Dog #4” in the menagerie of preschool animals (we are still not sure why he decided to call himself Dog #4, but the name has stuck, nonetheless), and he moved through many roles. My daughter, Cecelia, has played almost every role in the Pageant over the years; and now, for several years, I have happily handed over to her all responsibility for the Angel Dance. I have been equally delighted to watch as the youngest members of the church mooed and baahhed, then twirled as a dancing Angel or said “Yikes!” together as Shepherds, moved into a small speaking role, and became the Angel Gabriel, Joseph, or Mary, if they were adventurous.

There have been so many lovely moments during the rehearsals. I have watched older kids assist and teach younger kids. I watched with amusement as a whole family of brothers whom I had cast as the Wise Men tipped over all at once while kneeling before the manger in our dress rehearsal — causing them to laugh the loudest! I have enjoyed watching many children sing a solo for the first time and get satisfaction from their safe risk for God. I have loved our yearly “inside jokes” over the years — reminding kids not to have any heavenly “peas”, but instead to have heavenly “peace”; the “traditional telling” of some of the musical stories behind the hymns; and the teachable moments when kids wonder about the word “reign” and the confounding phrase “lo! above the earth.” I have thanked our God for the many families who have volunteered lots of their time to help build and then dismantle the stable quickly, who have sorted and passed out costumes, who have coordinated and served the traditional bagel-grapes-clementines meal for our final “cast party” after the dress rehearsal on the fifth week.

After about three years of directing the Pageant, I began a file that tracked the different music we used each year: the carols sung by the whole group as well as the piece of music to which the angels danced, and the solo pieces that were played and sung. I realized that it was important to me to have a few of the most familiar carols that really needed to be included every year for the story to be told well through music (and to appease the requests of children who asked for one or two carols by name), and then to cycle through the huge number of carols and Christmas music — so that if a child joined the Pageant as a three-year-old and stayed on through high school as someone who choreographed the angel dance or as a line helper, that child-turned-teen would have heard the greatest variety of sacred Christmas music possible, and could sing the lyrics to much of it. I have tried also to include a diversity of music from all over the globe: African Christmas music; music from the Caribbean, music usually heard in Los Posadas, for example; and also Christmas music from African-American traditions. Once, I included the multi-multi-multi-verse classic, “Children, Go Where I Send Thee” — it took more than eight minutes to sing, but was such a “fan favorite” that kids were still requesting that we sing it during regular our Sunday morning music well into July of that year.

Because there are many children who are in the Pageant year after year — and because I change the script, but keep the basic “plan” the same — I became aware, after a few years, that I didn’t have to give directions about when Mary and Joseph left the sanctuary by the organ-side door and went around to the O’Reilly Room to pick up the wooden rolling donkey, and then enter the Sanctuary to begin their “trip to Bethlehem”. Nor would I have to help three Shepherds to know when to exit the same door and change into their Wise Man Christmas tree skirts-turned costumes and grab their “gifts”. Also, the older kids in the cast knew when to run from the altar steps through the O’Reilly side door and back to the Chancel through the organ-side door and down to the steps to symbolize the trip to Bethlehem to “find the baby”. It would just happen all around me. I realized that this was sort of a metaphor for being a church-goer. The familiar rhythm of week-after-week church attendance helps one to know the Big Plan and the Big Point.

So it was with a little trepidation that I sat down earlier this fall and planned out a virtual Pageant Movie. I wondered: would things feel anything like that familiar Pageant Saturday? Would it be an experiment I would be happy to have conducted?

I wasn’t sure whether families would want another Zoomy time, but lo! — we have slightly more kids participating this year than were in our in-person Pageant last year, including a new face or two, and a plethora of adorable, toothy smiles signing onto the Zoom link. A few weeks ago, Cecelia and I ran in and out of the Pageant costume closet at church with our labeled bags, selecting costumes we guessed would fit children we knew had grown since we had last seen them in 3D. Cecelia traversed many towns to leave the merry bags of costumes and a few of our traditional props. What a strange reversal it was to costume the kids before the first week instead of before the last week, but as soon as the dancing Angels first showed up in their rectangles sporting sparkly halos, wings, and tunics, I was sold!

We have made lots of progress filming our little Pageant Movie. It has been a treat to see the dancing angels; to hear kids from preschool to high school practicing their lines — some of which sounded curiously like Linus Van Pelt’s famous Charlie Brown Christmas soliloquy; and to hear Kevin leading a rousing rehearsal of public domain carols. A Shepherd’s crook blooper or two, “Mary” looking lovingly at the draped plastic doll, some inspired ideas from the kids, a sweet boy saying he couldn’t be as mean as Herod because he couldn’t ever hurt a baby, and a little snowfall as a backdrop … have made me appreciate the season even more. Kevin and Rob will stir and serve this week’s recordings into what will be our final Pageant Movie. Another change will be Rob’s huge role in using Fancy Tools to cut together the recordings from Zoom into our movie.

We would love YOU — the church’s congregation — to join the church’s children in proclaiming the Savior’s birth, with a little help from Zoom. We are just about done with filming and cutting together the Pageant into a movie that is both traditional and a bit lighthearted, and one that offers new and interesting possibilities that are not possible in a live in-person Pageant (did you say that the Angel Gabriel can … fly?) … while acknowledging that things do feel different.

What has not changed is the kids’ enthusiasm for telling the story, and for being part of the group — and we have probably laughed and smiled even more than usual. What has also not changed is the experience of God’s presence with us as we have worked together virtually.

Please join us for one of two Pageant watch parties — one at 11 AM on Dec. 24 (Christmas Eve morning) and one at 11 AM on Dec. 26.

Please look for a link in the Chronicle to tell us what your email and “Zoom name” will be (so our “host” can know who we are letting into the Zoom meeting), and to get the Zoom link for the watch party.

We look forward to sharing the story with you on Christmas Eve and during Christmastide. Yes, the pandemic has served up a lot of heartache about things that cannot be the way we are used to, but we are keeping on keeping on, with God’s grace — telling the story …

-Kristin Murphy

Sharing Christmas with someone who didn’t have anyone else with whom to share it was part of our family tradition – especially during the 1960s, when we were part of Yale’s International Hosting program, and during the ’70s, when we hosted Rotary students each year. We lived in Seymour, CT during the entire decade of civil rights and anti-war ’60s. Sometimes our Christmas guests included our own seminary student interns who were studying at Yale and could not return home for the holidays. More often we hosted students from other countries. A family from England, a Ph.D candidate from Sweden, a Korean couple – these were among the Yale students who came often to our home – including at Christmas.

Several times, we hooked up with a program that provided an east coast experience to students from midwestern colleges during their Christmas break. The students were bused east to enjoy sightseeing and a family Christmas. One year, Ali, a Muslim from Cameroon, captivated us with his charming accent, his willingness to play board games with our young children, and his admission that he wasn’t supposed to eat bacon, but “it sure tasted good.” Another year, we hosted a devout Catholic African who wanted to attend Mass on Christmas Day. My preacher husband (having conducted our services on Christmas Eve) escorted our guest to the local Roman Catholic church. Because they were late, the only available seats were in the front – so the Methodist minister and his dark skinned friend were highly visible to the lily-white congregation (the whole town was lily-white). There were no repercussions (at least not that day).

Another astounding interaction with African guests occurred during the mid ’70s, when Nigerian twins landed at JFK airport at 5 PM on Christmas Eve because they had missed their flight the previous day. They had come to study in the Midwest and had been befriended by our son-in-law, John, during his short-term missionary work in Nigeria. Neither young man had ever been out of his village. It was impossible for us to get to JFK Airport on Christmas Eve, so phone arrangements were made (with the help of a kind traveler at the airport) to transport the twins to our Staten Island home by taxi. Culture shock had to be mitigated by John as he pointed out that it was not necessary to wear an overcoat and knit cap to bed in our heated parsonage. Other reminders had to be made, but we all survived. The twins remained in the US, sent for brides, and their families have visited our family through the years – without overcoats!

Yes, indeed, a shared Christmas brings much joy!

-Janet Johnson

In central Jersey in a little country town, I grew up in the Martinsville Methodist Church. It was the only church in town, literally. We had good and caring Sunday School teachers, whose example by the way they lived their lives and their commitment to teaching was at least as influential as the lessons they taught. Sunday School lessons were the Old Testament stories with a break for Christmas and Easter celebrations. There was no mention of Advent; in fact, I didn’t learn about Advent until we came to SUMC. But looking back, while what happened during the week before Christmas may not have been an Advent observance, we kids knew it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

Martinsville was not a wealthy town by a long shot. My family lived paycheck to paycheck, and it was only when I was an adult that I learned we were better off than most people in town. So the Sunday School Christmas celebration was something every child in town looked forward to, big time! I wondered later as an adult if that was the biggest Christmas celebration many of my friends had.

All the families came and brought their kids. The church was crowded and buzzing. There was a huge Christmas tree, candles sparkled, and it was warm. The party began with each of us kids saying a “piece”, usually a poem or short writing, memorized, with the older kids giving the longer poems. (I always had to teach my younger brother his poem, and one time I began to say his piece and had to start over with mine.) After everyone had spoken, the Sunday School Superintendent read the Christmas story, and then the really exciting time began: each child received a navel orange (citrus was not as available and affordable then, so it was precious) and a Whole Box of Hershey Kisses, a Whole Box! The event was a big deal to me because my Mom and Dad came, too. (Usually my father dropped me off for Sunday School and then bought the Sunday paper and chatted with whoever came into the paper store, while Mom made Sunday dinner.)

It was definitely not the Advent that I learned about here at SUMC many years later. One could say it wasn’t Advent at all. But to me it’s one of my favorite Advent/Christmas memories, because as we sang Christmas carols, we knew the baby Jesus would be born in another few days! That was when I knew for sure it was going to be Christmas.

My adult children ask me the same question each year. After thinking about it, I decided to give them my real answer.

I want you to keep coming around.
I want you to ask me questions. Ask me advice. Tell me your problems.
Ask my opinion. Ask for my help.
I want you to come over and rant about life. Tell me about your job, worries, and classes.
I want you to continue sharing your life with me.
Come over and laugh with me or at me. Hearing you laugh is music to me.
I want you to spend your money making a better life for you.
I have the things I need. I want to see you healthy and happy.
When you ask what I want for Christmas, I say “nothing” because you’ve already been giving me my gift all year and that is YOU.

Prayer: May we all focus our hearts on the reason for the Advent season. Reflect on the birth of Christ and the tremendous difference He makes in your life. Pray for wisdom to keep this holiday season blessed rather than stressed.

-Nancy Sweeney (shared from an e-mail she received from a friend)

One of the writing prompts for this Advent Blog project is: “What’s the moment when you feel as if ‘the Christmas season has really begun now’…?”

Well … here’s one of mine, at least.

The first curious looks come my way as I reach into the back seat of my car and pull out my acoustic bass guitar. No case. Just the bass. I cross the parking lot, a human non sequitur: what possesses someone to walk through a busy parking lot full of pedestrians and (thankfully slow-moving) cars, carrying a musical instrument, on a thirty-degree Saturday afternoon? Alone?

The next curious looks come my way as I carry that bass into the supermarket, directing a cheery nod to the Salvation Army bell ringer and a wide smile to the shoppers who are also trying to make their way inside. My nod and smile are generally not returned, because we are all stoic New Englanders, and also the guy with the bass is obviously a loon.

The next approximately seven hundred curious looks come my way as I stand with ten or fifteen friends and friends-of-those-friends as we stand in the middle of the Sudbury Farms produce section and serenade everyone who walks through the main entrance just a few yards away.

“Let’s sing page 10 next!”

“Great! What’s that?”

“‘Joy to the World!'”

“Great! What’s the key?”

“How ’bout D?”

“How ’bout C? I haven’t warmed up.”

“Okay!”

And Russ (the fantastic guitarist) and I (the self-taught bass player) and our band of merry singers launch into carol after carol after slightly-more-secular holiday favorite, drawing smiles from a just-high-enough percentage of people that we could claim to have done our job — providing harried holiday shoppers with a bit of entertainment even if we are keeping them from getting to the bags of carrots, and letting everyone know that music is alive and well at Sudbury United Methodist Church and if they wanted to visit us sometime they would be more than welcome …

… when what we’re doing, equally, is enjoying each other’s company and doing what (I am led to understand) was regularly done a hundred or a hundred twenty-five years ago, on street corners and in shops all over this great land of ours: Music-making. Live. Unamplified.

And, in this case, in this moment, we’re also singing songs that we don’t sing at any other time of year. We don’t sing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” at late-summer barbecues. We don’t play “Jingle Bell Rock” at junior proms. And the one time that a summer drum-and-bugle corps played a field show full of Advent and Christmas music, it seemed weird.

Whether we wear silly Santa hats (we do), or whether we wear suspect Christmas sweaters (we sometimes do), or whether we add in snarky responses to every. single. line. of. “Rudolph” (sadly, that’s a normal thing now) … that’s the moment, I think, for me at least, when I know: it’s begun. It’s now okay to pop the Vince Guaraldi CD in the car and play it loud.

It’s on.

It’s Christmas.

Let’s do this.

And … well, it wouldn’t be 2020 without a buzz-kill COVID postscript; but in this case, I’ll not wallow.

Those Christmastime supermarket “flash mob” caroling runs will happen again.

They just will.

This year, I’ll remember them actively. And then in future years I will move heaven and earth to make sure I don’t miss them.

Merry Christmas. Now, and down the road.

Just let’s sing “Silent Night” in G major, not B-flat, if that’s okay with you.

A favorite Advent hymn that inspires joy and hope is “O Come, O Come, Immanuel”. The repetition of the word REJOICE coupled with the assurance that Immanuel SHALL come … truly lifts up the hope we need in these difficult days.

My first two children were born in February. During Advent and Christmas of 1955 and 1957, there was a great sense of anticipation and hope for things to go well for the new life that was coming to our home. The third child, a son, was born on December 27th, so that year I had a great appreciation for Mary’s ordeal. Of course, there is no comparison between a barn and a hospital, but those three Christmases certainly enhanced our sense of anticipation and wonder as our family was enriched by each birth – just as our lives are enhanced and challenged by the birth of the Christ and His message of love and compassion.

I don’t have a favorite Christmas-themed book, but I have always cherished the retelling of “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens, as well as the Christmas scenes in “Little Women”. The sharing that follows Scrooge’s awakening and the direction of Marmee is a strong reminder of the true spirit of Christmas. Such sharing is heartwarming and an invitation to do likewise. This year there will be checks instead of wrapped gifts for my family (all the grandchildren are adults). Each check has been matched by a “twin” that went as a charitable donation. Hopefully, these are ways to honor the Christ Child and to show love to my own children and their children.

For many children, Advent is a time when people ask them what they want for Christmas. The season seems to be heavily weighed toward getting. Most adults (and sometimes also little people) find joy in giving! Thanks be to God for resources to share!

For me, Advent marks the beginning of a special time in both the church and calendar year: I have always waited until Advent before playing any Christmas music or starting to do any decorating, both indoors and out. Why this waiting? Partly because it builds a sense of anticipation but also, I have never wanted to short-change Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays when the entire purpose is to celebrate thankfulness. I intentionally close one chapter of the year before opening another.

My mother inherited the designation of “An Original Christmas Kid” from her mother, and I remember a year when I was a teenager and Mom had to be in bed for almost a month because she was diagnosed with walking pneumonia. Rather than bemoaning the fact that she could not be doing all of the normal things to get ready for Christmas, she told us that “Christmas is coming, whether we are ready or not”. What a wonderful message for me.

My Mom died during Advent in 2011, and George was injured in 2016 as Advent began and spent the entire Advent season and most of the Christmas season in the hospital, then rehab and then at home, unable to put any weight on his left leg. And I am now hobbling along in a walking boot while my fractured fibula and toe heal, so many things that I had planned to do will not be done. But the pandemic overrides everything, in that we will not be with our far-flung family this year as we were last year, and we will not be welcoming friends to our house. So many of the things that have been part of Advent and Christmas are not happening anyway.

It would be easy for me to focus my attention on what is missing, but instead, I am thinking about what will make this Advent special as Christmas approaches, whether we are ready or not. Some of the decorating and baking will not be done, but I will certainly put up the wooden manger scene carved by lepers in Thailand, the cornhusk nativity scene that our daughter Katherine bought in Czechoslovakia when she toured with the Mount Holyoke glee club, and the wooden figures that Mom and Dad picked out in Switzerland when we visited there as a family in 1960. The cardboard village, part of which dates back to Mom’s childhood, is a must. The candles in the window will light the outside when it is dark and the tree will have ornaments that carry many memories of Christmases past.

“O Come O Come Emmanuel”

-Ann Hamilton

I have this mode I’ve been in for a lot of months now. It’s the “where do I step next?” mode.

When I was a little one, Mom made my brother and I Christmas stockings. When Greg joined our little family, she made one for him, then she added one when my brother got married and one for each grandchild and great grandchild after that. They line her stairway now, and that’s the sight that comes to mind when I think of Christmas decorations. This year, there is such a different kind of feeling than usual, though, since we are pretty sure we won’t be seeing those stockings at Christmas time.

I am used to having had weeks of Christmas choir rehearsal at this point in the year. I am accustomed to hearing myself humming without thinking, whatever bit stuck in my head from our last singing time. We had a really quiet Thanksgiving this year, and have plans for a quiet Christmas celebration, too, so that alone is very different, and while Zoom has made things a lot easier than not having Zoom, I really miss choir! Advent just isn’t quite what I am used to!

There is a lot of really good reason to be at home this year, and at the same time, there is a whole world of things going on outside of home.

We’ve got a LOT of processing going on, don’t we? So, when Rob asked for writers, I thought “that sounds like a good idea” and then a bell chimed to remind me of the next task, and… I tried to look at the writing prompts and before that I tried to look at the invitation to write… but then, it was time to make sure school prompts were attended to and early morning grocery shopping was done and more cooking and listening to loved ones and laundry and… sound familiar? So, in the jumble of where the next step should be, I tried to do as Rob suggested to everyone, but until today, didn’t get there. I’m thankful he reminded me!

“For Unto Us a Child is Born” is the little bit coming into my head today. I’ve anticipated my babies being born, and with that came the hope of joy, along with a whole lot of fear and anxiety. Christmas always brings those times to my head; my babies being December babies may be the reason for that. Maybe not, though… there is something about anticipation of gift giving that makes me thankful I have hymns in my head! The most important gift has already been given to us, hasn’t it? Such a whirl is life!

The anxiety has been a lot easier to see this year, hasn’t it? Here we are, most of us trying to do the right thing. Agreeing on what the right thing is, is another story.

We do have, no matter how we disagree, this Celebration to focus on. For unto us a Child is born… one step at a time, we will get where we need to be, because we have the Word, which is a Light for our feet.

Merry Christmas!

-Cindi Bockweg

Now that the corona virus has us locked away like hidden hermits, let’s remember that quality time is one of our most precious assets.

Along with that asset, of course, is the age-old problem of responsibility. How do we find ways to use the time we have been granted in creative and loving ways, in responsible ways? I’ve been focusing on the fact (realization?) that time is a valuable asset that we’ve been granted — and can only use once. So right now, as the holidays approach, so let’s make it count. Here are a few ideas:

Write something — a something with feeling — and share it (virtually) with an old, long-lost friend. Renew those cherished acquaintances. Explore the ideas, experiences, friendships and chores that helped fashion who we are — and who you aren’t. Try to locate best friends who’ve sort of disappeared? Take advantage of the time and distance we can bridge by networking, via internet, telephone, letter-writing. I will, of course, be sharing some of the old photos I’ve hoarded, including images derived via memorable experiences, such as our times together at SUMC’s old Family Retreats.

In fact, our first “church experience” here in New England arose just 2 days after my wife, Sue, and 3 kids arrived in Sudbury, and we went right up north to attend such a retreat. After that weekend away, we got to our new home here and entered a lasting friendship with the Weiss family — as next door neighbors. They were already part of a perfect introduction to the town and all astounding members of our church. It was an experience no one could buy.

One more thing: SUMC was, at the time, enthusiastic about improving relationships with people of color. I was already involved in such programs fostering race relations, in part because of our pastor, Harry Adams, in California. He had flown with a bunch of other Methodist pastors to join the civil rights marchers across that famous old steel bridge in Alabama. I asked Rev. Adams why he’d done that. His answer has guided my life ever since ; “I had to put my money where my mouth is.”

Amen!

-Bob Cooke

One year as I was gearing up to buy Christmas presents, I asked my children, who were 6 and 8 years old, “what was the best Christmas present you got last year?”

Neither one of them could recall a single present they had received.

Not – a – single – present!

Before going out and spending a bunch of money on unmemorable surprises or presents off their list, I thought about Christmases past to reflect on what was most memorable to me.

When I was in my mid-twenties, my brothers each had plans that did not include my parents and me, so the three of us talked about what to do for Christmas. We decided to spend Christmas in the Caribbean. We bought tickets to Ambergris Caye in Belize and threw out the gift list.

Instead of gifts, we gave each other “coupons” for happy hours, or a dinner out, or an adventure. There was no Christmas Tree or gift wrapping or traditions. There was sun, gratitude, reflection, laughter, and good conversation. I have a fond memory of walking down the dirt road, looking at the Bougainvillea flowers while listening to the Jimmy Buffet song “Christmas in the Caribbean”.

As a huge fan of travel and all that it offers, I decided that for Christmas that year when my boys were 6 and 8, I would give the kids a gift of a trip to Akumal, in Mexico. Since there was the Christmas pageant at SUMC, and excitement about a visit from Santa Claus, we stayed home for the holiday and I booked the trip for February vacation.

For Christmas that year, they got some of the presents off their list from Santa, yet at the end of unwrapping, I gave them a wrapped box with the information about Mexico. When they opened the box, they couldn’t believe it and got very excited to go on our vacation.

This gift of a trip gave so much besides a memorable gift. It gave fun family time together, an opportunity to practice the Spanish they were leaning in school, exposure to another culture, a geography lesson, and appreciation for what we have. They learned about Mexican cuisine, negotiating when buying items at a local market, Mayan pyramids, cenotes, deep sea fishing, snorkeling, and having quiet together family time. We have a wonderful photo book and tons of stories that we reminisce about.

As we approach a year where the world is upside down — traditions may not stand, community gatherings will be cancelled, gift giving may be curtailed and travel is limited, I’m remembering that the most memorable Christmases come from experiences. I am planning to create a special at home experience that incorporates family fun, learning, discovery, and reflection.

-Wendy Pease

Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43:19)

And He who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, ‘Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Revelation 21:5)

One of my favorite Christmas decorations is one that Joel and I received before we were even married, from a couple who owned a gift shop on Rockport’s Bearskin Neck. They were members of the church in West Gloucester as college students. We were to graduate soon, and get married, and this ornament was a combination Christmas/graduation/wedding gift, I think.

It is a fragile thing. Seven pieces of clear, bubbly glass that look like icicles, connected with nylon filament, it is a crèche which I like to hang from the chandelier over the dining room table. Over the past 42 years, it has been broken many times, but I can’t let it go. Joel shakes his head every time I get out the superglue and insist that “This will be easy to fix!” Sometimes it is the fishing line that needs to be reattached, sometimes the glass is broken. So far I have managed to put it all back together each time, though some of the scars show more than others.

Maybe my need to fix this crèche over and over again is something I got from my dad. When I was little, I believed he could fix anything. As a mom, I loved it when Jody and Jordan would bring me broken toys, believing I could magically make them new again. What can I say — I love fixing things!

But there are many things I know I can’t fix. The coronavirus, systemic racism, global warming… We live in a broken world. There are so many things that are beyond our abilities to make whole. We might be able to make small changes, patch some of the cracks, with scars showing. But healing this hurting world is way beyond us.

Thanks be to God, we do not have to fix the world! God has promised, not just to patch the world up like a glass Christmas ornament with superglue so that the scars will still show, but to make all things NEW. During this Advent season, we remember and rejoice in this promise, which God has already begun, by sending his Son to be born. The repair process is in progress. Do you perceive it?

Healing God, Thank you for your promise to make all things new. Help us to be patient as you take the broken pieces of our lives and through your love, make us whole. Amen.

-Wendy Guillemette

Many years ago I served as a Sunday School Superintendent for SUMC. A former member and friend made a suggestion that she thought our Church might like to do, a tree for Christmas. So Diana Zanzot and I made a trip to Rhode Island to see a beautiful Chrismon Tree.

Chrismons (Christ Monograms) are traditionally gold and white in color (white for purity and gold for majesty). Each design represents Christ in some way. For example:

A heart is a symbol of love; to remind us that God is Love.
A manger represents Jesus as a baby.
A shell is a symbol of baptism.
A cross can come in many styles, with each having a specific meaning.
A star, too, can come in several different styles, with a specific meaning for each.

And there are at least thirty or forty other symbols that can be used.

Our first Chrismon Tree was made by the children of our church. Since then we have had a few revisions to the first tree. With a few supplies, families can create their own tree. It is fun to research, study and create many designs.

-Donna Mills

All of the [writing] prompts for “Memory Week” appeal to me. My most memorable Christmas gift was an engagement ring that was placed on my left hand in the wee hours of Christmas Eve, 1953. A wedding followed in September of 1954.

The most difficult Christmas occurred 45 years later when my husband suffered a major heart attack and died just before Thanksgiving. I spent Christmas 1999 with my youngest son and his wife and three children in Albany, New York — many miles from my home in the Pocono Mountains. They had been very supportive during the time of memorial services and arrangements. Hosting me was another lovely gesture, but it was a strange and lonely time amidst the bustle and joyful Christmas activities with my daughter-in-law’s extended large family. The in-laws are all wonderful people, but it just wasn’t the same kind of Christmas I had experienced for most of my 65 years — Swedish smorgasbord, church service, and gift opening –- all on December 24th. Grief doesn’t go away during holidays.

A favorite Christmas decoration was made by my oldest son when he was a Cub Scout in the mid ’60s. It’s a cloth covered basket with plastic “greens” that has held cards for more than 50 years. It’s on display again this year.

For years I have collected creches and have invited friends to view the display at Christmas. Many of the creches left me during a hearty divestment process before I moved to my present apartment in 2018, but special treasures remain. One is a carved olive-wood holy family purchased in Israel in the early ’90s. Another is a Nigerian manger scene bought in that country by my spouse. The most cherished creche consists of large hand-knit figures of the holy family, a shepherd and his sheep, the three Wise Men, and an angel. It was made by my California daughter almost 20 years ago, and occupies a place of honor every Christmas. On alternate years I decorate with angels. Very few will be allowed to visit my apartment this year but I will continue to decorate with angels or creches (and always with the handmade creche) to help me remember that Jesus is indeed the reason for the season!

-Janet Johnson

In the Broadway musical Hadestown, one character offers up a toast: “to the world we dream about, and the one we live in now.” That toast sums up the meaning of Advent to me: it is a time to look forward to the world that God wants to bring into being, a world of justice and peace and love.

But Advent is also a time to look around us and see the world we live in as it truly is. The difference between the two can motivate our prayers and our actions, especially during Advent.

My favorite decoration for this time of the year is an Advent calendar we have with twenty-five wooden doors. Each door opens to an empty cubby hole, and each year we fill these empty spaces in a different way. Usually, there is chocolate involved (sometimes, old Halloween candy that we need to get rid of!). We also usually put in scripture verses or short advent prayers.

But the most important function of this calendar is what happens after the prayer has been read and the candy has been eaten. Then, we take turns putting in money – the pocket change at the end of the day, a dollar bill from the wallet, or whatever we have on hand. At the end of the season, after the hectic joy of Christmas Day, I collect all of the money that we have saved and send it to a charity. For us that charity is most often the ASPCA or the National Geographic Big Cats Initiative, as we are friends of felines. (This has led us to refer to the contents of the Advent calendar as the “kitty money!”)

Our Advent calendar is a small gesture toward reconciling the two worlds of Advent. We believe in a God who loves all creatures, yet we live in a world where human greed has pushed many animals to the brink of extinction. With our “kitty money,” we’re trying to move the world we live in now just slightly closer to the world that God inspires us to dream about.

-Heather Josselyn Cranson

Scripture Reading: Isaiah 9:6 (a message from the prophet Isaiah)

Thinking about the Advent season and Christmas, we all probably have special traditions that we look forward to each year. I like to decorate our home with signs of the season: the Christmas tree, a wreath on the door, candles in the windows, a creche, and an advent calendar. I enjoy worship on Christmas Eve, sending Christmas cards to family and friends, baking special cookies, enjoying my grandchildren’s excitement about the season, etc.

But I have a memory that helped me put these traditions into perspective and to see Christmas in a new light. Forty years ago, I was given the opportunity and challenge of writing several elementary Sunday School curriculum units for the United Methodist Church. The first unit was to be one for Advent and Christmas based on the theme “Hope: A Savior Is Coming.” As I worked out the unit in my mind and on paper, Christmas became for me not only about the birth of Jesus but also the celebration of the coming of our Savior.

In the Bible, we find many accounts of how, long before Jesus was born, people looked forward to and told about the coming of a Savior. Those who came to the manger praised God for the hope fulfilled in Jesus. We have all become familiar with the details of the Jesus’ birth, but perhaps the true significance of his birth never registers. For in Jesus’ birth humankind was shown “God’s presence with us.”

Now don’t get me wrong. I love the spirit of Christmas: the love, joy, and peace that the gospels and Christmas hymns symbolize. But as we bustle about buying and wrapping gifts, sending out cards, baking, decorating our homes with the customary signs of the season, let us not forget the real reason for doing what we do. May we experience the hope of knowing that God sent Jesus for each of us. That is why we look forward to Christmas and why we respond to God with praise and thanksgiving for the gift of Jesus.

-Nancy Sweeney (SUMC member for 43 years before moving to Plymouth, MA in 2016)

When the idea to create an Advent Devotions blog arose, I of course thought and said, “Easy!”

Not that writing devotions is ever just a toss-off, do-it-while-I’m-waiting-for-a-traffic-light-to-turn activity. No indeed.

But we’re not creating it from scratch.

For openers, for what seems like forever (certainly as far back as I remember — and I was a little kid here at SUMC!), members and friends of Sudbury UMC have been writing devotions for our Lenten Devotional Booklet. And until a couple of years ago, that was a roughly hundred-page paper booklet that people could fetch from a few locations around our church building, take with them, and read. One devotion every day, from Ash Wednesday to Easter, preparing for the resurrection of Jesus and all that it means to us.

For the last couple of springs, we’ve offered that set of Lenten devotions — in paper format still, yes, but also in this online blog space. (If you scroll downward, you can read two years’ worth of Lenten writings — archived for all time!) Now, the Lenten Devotions can travel with you, and in a form that takes up far less physical space. We might not be able to carry a hundred pages of 8 1/2 x 11 paper with us at all times, but we can and do have our phones with us all the time. Magic! And convenience.

So, an online Advent Devotions blog? There’s precedent. And, refreshingly, it’s not something that we’ve had to invent out of whole cloth because of this blasted COVID-19 pandemic.

We were prepared. We were ready.

For making an online Advent Devotions “Booklet”, anyway.

Something to help us make ourselves ready for the coming of the Christ Child.

The writings that follow, here — posted every morning from now until Christmas Day — are based on writing ideas that largely line up with the four sections of a book that will be the centerpiece of SUMC’s adult Christian-Education series: “Light of the World”, an examination of the Christmas story from a Jewish perspective, written by Biblical scholar Amy-Jill Levine.

And they are, as usual, all written by members and friends of Sudbury UMC. One of those pleasant and rare examples of something that “we’ve always done this way” and which nonetheless makes sense.

[As is only possible with the online format, we have some of the writings ready to go, but there is still quite a bit of “space” remaining … so if you’d like to have a go at writing something for inclusion here, BY ALL MEANS contact us (rhammerton@earthlink.net) and we can set you up.]

Ready?

Off we go…

-Rob Hammerton

PART TWO

22 Chorus
Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world. (John 1:29)

23 Air (Alto)
He was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:3) He gave His back to the smiters, and His cheeks to them that plucked off His hair: He hid not His face from shame and spitting. (Isaiah 50:6)

24 Chorus
Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him. (Isaiah 53:4-5)

25 Chorus
And with His stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

26 Chorus
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:6)

27 Accompagnato (Tenor)
All they that see Him laugh Him to scorn; they shoot out their lips, and shake their heads, saying: (Psalm 22:7)

28 Chorus
“He trusted in God that He would deliver Him; let Him deliver Him, if He delight in Him.” (Psalm 22:8)

29 Accompagnato (Tenor)
Thy rebuke hath broken His heart: He is full of heaviness. He looked for some to have pity on Him, but there was no man, neither found He any to comfort him. (Psalm 69:20)

30 Arioso (Tenor)
Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow. (Lamentations 1:12)

31 Accompagnato (Soprano or Tenor)
He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgressions of Thy people was He stricken. (Isaiah 53:8)

32 Air (Soprano or Tenor)
But Thou didst not leave His soul in hell; nor didst Thou suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption. (Psalm 16:10)

33 Chorus
Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord strong and mighty, The Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory. (Psalm 24:7-10)

34 Recitative (Tenor)
Unto which of the angels said He at any time: “Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee?” (Hebrews 1:5)

35 Chorus
Let all the angels of God worship Him. (Hebrews 1:6)

36 Air (Alto or Soprano)
Thou art gone up on high; Thou hast led captivity captive, and received gifts for men; yea, even from Thine enemies, that the Lord God might dwell among them. (Psalm 68:18)

37 Chorus
The Lord gave the word; great was the company of the preachers. (Psalm 68:11)

38 Air (Soprano or Alto) (or Duet and Chorus (Soprano, Alto and Chorus)
How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things. (Isaiah 52:7; Romans 10:15)

39 Chorus (or air for tenor)
Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the world. (Romans 10:18; Psalm 19:4)

40 Air (Bass) (or Air and Recitative)
Why do the nations so furiously rage together, and why do the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth rise up, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against His anointed. (Psalm 2:1-2)

41 Chorus
Let us break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us. (Psalm 2:3)

42. Recitative (Tenor)
He that dwelleth in Heav’n shall laugh them to scorn; The Lord shall have them in derision. (Psalm 2:4)

43 Air (Tenor)
Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel. (Psalm 2:9)

44 Chorus
Hallelujah: for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. (Revelation 19:6) The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ; and He shall reign for ever and ever. (Revelation 11:15) King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. (Revelation 19:16)


PART THREE

45 Air (Soprano)
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. (Job 19:25-26) For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that sleep. (1 Corinthians 15:20)

46 Chorus
Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. (1 Corinthians 15: 21-22)

47 Accompagnato (Bass)
Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. (1 Corinthians 15: 51-52)

48 Air (Bass)
The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption and this mortal must put on immortality. (1 Corinthians 15:52-53)

49 Recitative (Alto)
Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” (1 Corinthians 15:54)

50 Duet (Alto & Tenor)
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. (1 Corinthians 15:55-56)

51 Chorus
But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:57)

52 Air (Soprano & Alto)
If God be for us, who can be against us? (Romans 8:31) Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth, who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is at the right hand of God, who makes intercession for us. (Romans 8:33-34)

53 Chorus
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen. (Revelation 5:12-14)

Question: How is celebrating Lent different from celebrating Advent – in the church and in your life?

 

“Oh, Easter must be a more demanding season than Christmas for you church musicians…” I have heard this comment several times in my thirty-odd year career as a sacred musician. You might be surprised to learn that, in my opinion, the opposite is true. Yes, preparations are extensive for Holy Week and Easter Sunday. Palm Sunday, Tenebrae Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and three Easter services is a long week in any sacred musician’s book. If you are well trained and experienced, however, one can successfully handle this slate of services. There are the forty days of Lent and the rehearsals therein to prepare the group elements of Holy Week. Moreover, the beginning of Lent falls at a time of year in New England when winter is tailing off and the number of community distractions is less.

Not so for Christmas! As the holiday season unfolds in November and December, we take on extra layers of distraction that complicate the execution of rehearsals and preparation… deteriorating weather, ramped up social activity (parties, customary celebrations, family commitments, holiday shopping, travel) and an extra dose of heightened expectations (“Oh, Christmas has to be perfect! Everything has to be just so!”). These layers make for a more stressful environment at Christmas for SUMC musicians than Easter does, no doubt. How does one negotiate this difference as a church musician? One learns over time how to meet expectations and to spread out the work.

It is the difference in theology between the two holidays that preoccupies me more. At Christmas, we ponder God’s decision to send Jesus among us to provide our single best chance to build the Kingdom here on earth. Christians are comfortable with the narrative of a baby, angels, Wise Men and gifts. This story plays easily into the natural human instinct to prefer the positive, the charming, the loving, the warm, the generous.

Look at how different the Easter narrative is! Through Holy Week we follow Jesus’ progress through betrayal, confrontation, physical violence, torture and death. Situations that we urgently strive to spare ourselves and our loved ones comprise the core of the whole week. At the end, we are presented the unexpected and topsy-turvy ending of a resurrected Christ, the One who transcends ugly human misery to make the most powerful statement of all time about redemption from all facets of human evil.

Accepting the resurrection, in a way, is the greatest challenge of all; it defies science, human experience, common sense. Is it any wonder that the “Christmas energy” feels so utterly different than “Easter energy”? Are you surprised that, in my twenty years of music at SUMC, we have always struggled to draw the community to Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of Holy Week? No warm fuzzies through Holy Week … just a frank look at the same evils we see omnipresent in our world.

I do not for an instant pretend that I have the faith and conviction not to struggle constantly with the challenge of Easter. It is very hard. I also know that God does not expect me, or any of us, to just accept the narrative without asking many questions and airing our doubts. I do, however, believe that God’s purpose for God’s universe is to a loving end; and we should always embrace that love, especially in the ways that Jesus’ laid out for us in the Gospel narratives. Easter challenges me far more than Christmas, every single year. For that challenge, I am grateful. It always feels like real life, and it is always my hope that Jesus might agree. So join us through Lent and Easter with the same commitment as Advent and Christmas, won’t you? Easter is the real point of our Christian journey, without any doubt.

-Kevin Murphy

Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. (John 13:14–17 (NIV))

 

Last summer, I left the security of my job for a new position with one of the MassHealth Accountable Care organizations, Community Care Cooperative. In my new role, I have the privilege of creating new programs around the state to support our members with resources to address food insecurity, housing instability, and homelessness.

As we’re talking about throughout Lent, this “relocation” of closing up shop on my nonprofit consulting business and leaving my position as the Executive Director of the local free clinic felt like a big leap. But I knew that this new job was an opportunity to make a bigger impact, not only on the individuals who will benefit from these programs, but also on the health policy work taking place in our state.

I approached this new opportunity by doing a lot of research on the crisis of homelessness and housing instability in Massachusetts and around the country, wanting to understand how I might have an impact. I’ve been reading a book called Stories from the Shadows, by Dr. James O’Connell from Boston Healthcare for the Homeless. In the book, this dedicated and compassionate doctor tells how he works to build trust and a relationship with his patients before speaking to them as their doctor. In fact, a visit to the clinic inside the homeless shelter begins with footwashing for each patient. This simple act serves for the comfort and hygiene of patients, but also puts the doctors, nurses, and other health care providers in a physical position where they look are looking up to a patient, seeking to understand what is truly needed.

On Maundy Thursday, we recreate the example of Jesus through footwashing and the symbolism of serving others. On this Lenten journey, I’m grateful for this reminder of this need for personal connection. And I’m thankful for my own opportunity for service to God’s children who so desperately need more people and policies that will work for them.

 

A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition
I am no longer my own, but yours.
Put me to what you will, place me with whom you will.
Put me to doing, put me to suffering.
Let me be put to work for you or set aside for you,
Praised for you or criticized for you.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and fully surrender all things to your glory and service.
And now, O wonderful and holy God,
Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer,
you are mine, and I am yours.
So be it.
And the covenant which I have made on earth,
Let it also be made in heaven. Amen.

 

-Kim Prendergast

When I served in the Peace Corps in Russia, I attended a small Pentecostal house church. We worshiped in the home of Baba Flossia, whose living room was our sanctuary. On Sundays when we celebrated communion, the whole church would start this ceremony by washing one another’s feet, women on the women’s side and men on the men’s side. In the winter, it took quite some doing to get off all of the layers of tights and socks that we wore, but the ritual of kneeling before someone else and reverently bathing her feet was humbling and more meaningful than I can say.

This congregation also had the tradition of allowing anyone to share a message or a thought with the rest of the people during worship. I recall one Sunday when a former prisoner stood to share a message. He hadn’t been an active Christian when he was first incarcerated, but his cellmate believed in Jesus. One night, the man’s cellmate had been talking about the change that Jesus had made in his life, and he declared “I’m going to wash your feet!” The men telling this story shared how he laughed at such a foolish idea. But as the cellmate kept insisting, he came to realize that this wasn’t a joke or even a passing fancy. His cellmate was preparing to wash his feet. This act of selflessness, or utter humility, broke his heart. Who was he, a criminal, to have someone kneel before him and wash his feet, bathing them tenderly and treating him with dignity? It was having his feet washed by a fellow prisoner in a Russian jail cell that brought the man to faith in Jesus and to walking the Christian path. He told us this story with tears in his eyes and a catch in his voice, and it helps us all to realize what a powerful ritual foot-washing is.

It’s easy to get squeamish about feet in our culture. Many of us feel uncomfortable allowing someone to touch our feet, allowing someone to be that intimate with us. But the radical intimacy and humility of washing another’s feet is the perfect symbol for the life of service to which Jesus calls us. Respectability was never the criteria that Jesus set for his disciples, or for participation in God’s Kingdom. On Maundy Thursday, Christian tradition challenges us to let go of our desire for respectability and to instead embrace Jesus’ way of selfless service, of kneeling before others and washing their feet. I’m grateful for this annual opportunity to follow Jesus in this radical humility.

-Heather Josselyn Cranson

Reading: Ezekiel 37:1-10 – You Shall Know That I, the Lord, Have Spoken

Prayer of Confession: “Gracious God, we confess that we believe shaming lies. … We live in – and we reflect – a society that believes in an aggressive offense in international affairs, in athletic sports, in political posturing, and in gender roles. We tell ourselves that compromise and emotion are signs of weakness and vulnerability is the greatest shame of all. Yet our Savior Jesus Christ was stripped bare and exposed, shamed and taunted as a failure. Forgive us, O God. Heal our insecurity by renewing us in your grace; through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.”

Question: Recall a time when, like Simon, you felt pressed into service for another. Did you accept the task willingly?

In the late summer of 2005, there was a terrible storm – a storm that even made its way up to us in the northeast: Hurricane Katrina. Of course, the storm here was but a drop of what hit the Gulf Coast. The news coming in from New Orleans, Louisiana showed images of destruction and impossible situations for the people of that region that were mind boggling; I’m sure those old enough to remember can conjure up seeing a person standing on their roof waving their hands furiously to be rescued by a helicopter as the water crept to the ridge line of their homes.

The news told us that it would take years of work by civil engineers, federal and state entities, business owners, citizens, along with charitable institutions to recover. Other natural tragedies had happened before during my lifetime prior to Katrina, but for a reason God only knows, this one struck a chord with me, hit me hard. I remember telling a friend – “I feel like I have to do something.”

At church that Labor Day weekend, we prayed for the victims of this disaster, for the lost, the injured, the helpless patients, doctors, and nurses in hospitals that were cut off from power, supplies – everything. Again, I felt that I – lil ol’ me – had to do something. I cried and prayed.

August became September – then the Fall. In this time of 24 hour news cycles, other stories bubbled to the top of the screens; but not for me. NOLA was still on my mind in a very persistent way. Was I being “called”?

In November, during the service at my church, Harvard-Epworth UMC in Cambridge, an announcement was made that there was going to work with UMCOR to create a mission trip to New Orleans for week in January. I teared up thinking about the possibility of helping but my mind jumped to logistics, finances, real life stuff – like could I get off from work, and what about the care of my daughters, then only 5 1/2 and 3?

I attended the initial meetings, even though I had so many issues to consider. During the meeting learned that a very generous benefactor was going to pay for the flights and other transportation while we were there; we were going to sleep on air mattresses in our host church, Rayne UMC; and meals would be taken at the church and provided by our benefactor funding and our host church. My heart leapt! One major concern – finances – was erased. The “call” was getting louder! I worked with my boss to take a week off during a particularly busy time; my daughter’s father agreed to have the girls for the week. YES! I could answer the Call.

I could go on and on about my experience gutting a house nearly destroyed by the flooding when the levies broke, the family we helped, the fellowship, the sleeping on an air mattress on a hard floor, or the nightly hymn sing – but won’t do that here.

I will say this though: open your mind and heart to hearing a “call”, especially during the Lenten season. Take this time to quiet the din from the outside and listen. You could hear something that you’re least expecting, a risk you might be willing to take; and with God’s help, you’ll answer even if it means you’ll have to sleep on a floor.

-Jen O’Sullivan

Question: Just before He died on the cross, Jesus called out in despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Describe a time when you felt abandoned and hopeless. What role did God play in resolving those feelings?

Many of you in the congregation have stayed in touch with my nephew’s battle with leukemia these past seven months. Thank you for all the prayers and kind words you’ve shared. The community of prayer warriors that lifts up prayers for Ryan to the Lord every day is one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced.

Ryan is a 6’10’’ star basketball player at East Stroudsburg University (ESU), a Division II state school in Pennsylvania. He was in the best shape of his life this past summer, but he went to his asthma doctor because he felt extremely tired. There, he learned that his blood counts were low; so low that the doctor asked him to go immediately to the local emergency room. He was ultimately sent to the University of Pennsylvania Hospital with a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia. What a shock – our strong, young, amazing athlete has cancer.

Ryan has fought this cancer with all his might. He’s truly relentless. He’s endured four rounds of chemotherapy so far, and he awaits two more rounds before he gets a bone marrow transplant in mid- to late-March.* There have been some dark days and nights, especially in September after three weeks of inpatient chemotherapy. Ryan’s body was totally immunocompromised and, as a result, he contracted several life-threatening conditions at once, including sepsis shock and rhabdomyolysis.

At one point, the doctors gave him only a ten percent chance to live. I was there with Ryan during his twentieth day in the ICU. Covered from head to toe in hospital gowns, gloves, and a mask, I felt hopelessness and abandonment. I remember my sister, her husband, and I hugging in a three-person circle over Ryan’s bed and crying to the Lord for His healing power. We were waiting for test results that would indicate whether Ryan had to undergo surgery in the middle of this crisis. Surgery, in his frail state, would have been incredibly dangerous.

I have never prayed so hard in my life as I did at that moment. Together, we cried prayers, asked for the Lord’s grace, and begged that surgery wouldn’t be necessary. When the nurses returned with the test results, we found out that Ryan did not need the surgery. Ryan’s dad fell to the ground in relief. Our worry and despair literally sucked every bit of energy from our bodies. We were thinking that God had forsaken us and Ryan.

Ryan’s faith, his mom and dad’s unwavering faith in God, and the community God has formed around Ryan have helped to resolve these feelings of despair. The circle of love and prayers that surrounds Ryan is incredibly wide. It stretches around this entire country. Coaches from his old basketball teams and those at ESU have shared Ryan’s story across wide networks … it has reached every division and conference of NCAA Basketball and has even touched some NBA stars. Prayer vigils were held on Ryan’s campus and in many churches and basketball courts. Social media has captured Ryan’s story of faith and hope in ways that have touched the hearts of many, including those of non-believers.

The encouragement, the positive words of kindness and love, and the support for Ryan have helped him stay strong, but they have also created a sense of comfort for all of those around Ryan. He’s on a long, boring, painful journey, but he trusts that the Lord will help carry him through it. Ryan’s calmness, his determination, and his relentless pursuit of returning to the court give us hope that he will beat this. The Lord never abandons us; He will never forsake us. We must trust that He will always protect us with his arms of grace, arms spread as wide as the blue heron’s wings. I told Ryan a couple months ago about a dream that I was having over and over again. In this dream, a great blue heron spreads his wings around Ryan and hugs him incredibly tight. I believe that the heron symbolizes God, and that God is covering Ryan with His grace and love.

My prayer for you: May you feel the never-ending grace of Jesus Christ especially during times of great despair and worry. Let Him take your burdens away. Hand over feelings of anxiety, despair and hopelessness to the Great Comforter and the Great Counselor, for He will bring you peace.

-Kristen Straub

*[Editor’s Note: this devotion was written prior to the beginning of Lent. It is published exactly as it was written.]

The four Gospel writers – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – have a difference of opinion when it comes to the timing of Jesus’ defiant visit to Jerusalem’s temple. Matthew and Luke tell us that Jesus cleansed the temple on Palm Sunday, soon after he rode a donkey in mock triumph into Judah’s ancient capitol. Mark’s date for the liberation of the temple’s sacrificial animals is the Monday in Holy Week – the day after Palm Sunday. But John’s Gospel fast-forwards Jesus’ temple takeover to the beginning of his ministry, as if to announce that the temple was a target of the Lord’s search and destroy mission from Day One. Why is that?

The conclusion of today’s reading from John’s Gospel (John 2:13-21) reveals what Jesus was thinking.

The Jews asked him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body.

Say what? His body? Jesus had a thing about the temple because his body was about to become God’s replacement for everything that happened in that sacred location. The sacrificial slaughter of animals, for example, was replaced by Jesus’ sacrificial offering of his body, once and for all, for the forgiveness of sins. In other words, Jesus doesn’t drive the temple’s sheep, cattle, and doves into Jerusalem’s streets in a fit of rage. His liberates them. He sets them free because their services will no longer be needed. And the prayers offered in the “house of prayer” that Jesus highlights in the Synoptic versions of this story will soon be offered to God “in Jesus’ name,” as we now say – to the Father, through the Son, by the ministry of the Holy Spirit.

If the temple served as a kind of bridge between God and humankind, Jesus was already anticipating – at the beginning of his ministry, if you read John’s Gospel, or by the final week of his priestly service on earth, if you go with Matthew, Mark, and Luke – Jesus was already aware that his body was soon to become God’s replacement for that rickety old bridge…for all people.

During the night of March 6, 1987, a ferry carrying 500 people sank in the Belgian port of Zeebrugge, one and a half minutes after leaving the harbor. Some crew members carelessly left a number of critical watertight doors open. Others failed to check them. The resulting floods capsized the ferry and claimed almost 193 lives. Things would have been much worse, however, if a passenger, Andrew Parker, played it safe and refused to act. By stretching his body across a gap that was swirling with seawater, Parker made himself a bridge over which dozens of people fled to safety, including his own wife and daughter. Fortunately, he too survived.

For some reason, Palm Sunday gets most of our attention this week, while God’s temple replacement act goes unnoticed. Will Holy Communion this Thursday – “This is my body given for you” – not to mention our worship on Good Friday be richer because of today’s temple visit?

Prayer: Lord Jesus, how can I thank you for the bridge you built with your own body? Amen.

-Pastor Joel Guillemette

Reading: Ezekiel 37:1-10 – You Shall Know That I, the Lord, Have Spoken

Prayer of Confession: “Gracious God, we confess that we live as though we have no hope. … We doubt that any government can be fully just. We worry that humanity will always designate a scapegoat. We fear that ‘world peace’ is just a phrase for political speeches. We hear you asking, ‘Can these dry bones live?’ But, like Ezekiel, we evade your invitation to respond with trust. Forgive us, O God. Heal our cynicism and hopelessness by bathing us in your grace; through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.”

Question: What are some different ways that you have experienced the celebration of Palm Sunday?

Our Sanctuary Choir already knows, just from the title above, where I’m going with this.

Over the course of the last couple of decades, I’ve experienced Palm Sunday in a lot of varied ways that differ from the experience and understanding of my childhood here at SUMC.

As a little kid, I remember waving palms around; as an adolescent, I sang lots of Palm Sunday hymns and anthems that were very fanfare-y. The ride into Jerusalem was a triumph!, … was it not?

At the “turn of the century”, which no one calls it: as a church staff, for a time we addressed the planning of the Palm Sunday service from the viewpoint of “since very few people attend Maundy Thursday or Good Friday services, comparatively, let’s pack the Holy Week experience into the Palm Sunday service”. Some thought it a good idea; others saw it as a concession or even a surrender to the dwindling midweek service numbers. But for a while, the music and liturgy of Palm Sunday transitioned from bright shiny triumphant to dark and dire in the space of an hour-or-so-long service. In a way, it was effective; in a way, it was sad that we felt it necessary.

One of the anthems that our choir has sung on a relatively regular basis for recent Palm Sundays is one that was a favorite of our choir director of the 1970s and ’80s, John Harper. And it’s assuredly not bright shiny triumphant … so it slid into the Offertory slot, late in our services, easily.

It’s a piece by the mid-twentieth-century composer Paul Fetler called “Hosanna (to the Living Lord)”. It has so little presence on the Internet that I can’t even provide a link for you to follow and listen to it again! So I have to describe this anthem for you: musically, it’s as if a sacred composer wanted to write the “Pink Panther” theme, but it came out deadly serious. The piano plays two roles: the low sounds from the pianist’s left hand plays the part of an upright bass plodding along … while the right hand throws the short, jagged interjections of a big-band brass section in between the choral content.

And the choir sings “Hosanna to the living Lord” over and over – at first to a low, slinky, dangerous melody; then building into a high, caterwauling, almost shrieking rhythmic pattern; then back down into the initial style: dangerous and now with a hint of premonition about what is inevitably to come in the Holy Week story.

I enjoy it in a way that I don’t always enjoy contemporary twentieth-century music. I also enjoy it because it causes our congregation to offer two distinct kinds of feedback at coffee hour afterward: either “oo, that was different and cool!” or “oo, that was different and I don’t get it at all!”

My favorite rendition of this piece was several years ago. Until recently, this “Hosanna” (which the choir now just refers to as “the Fetler”) was something that the choir had to really work on. It’s hard! Somehow, in the last few years we’ve gotten a handle on it, such that it’s kind of an old friend, albeit the idiosyncratic one that causes you to just smile and nod, smile and nod.

It’s also a challenge to conduct – to help the singers keep track of the passage of musical time and to provide cues for them to leap back in after having not sung for a few seconds. And on that Sunday several years ago, I had a brain fritz. I missed a choir cue, and instantly knew that there was going to be no saving this one. So I did what I’ve done perhaps three times in nearly twenty years of SUMC church musician work: I stopped the thing and we started over.

Afterward, I got a note from one of our choir members. Rather than castigating me for not being a better conductor, this singer suggested that when we’d first started working on “the Fetler”, s/he didn’t care for it, and still didn’t care for it as late as the last Thursday rehearsal before that Palm Sunday. But “you know something… it kinda grew on me,” s/he wrote. S/he was beginning to tolerate it by the time we started and then had to stop it, in service. And by the time we finished the “re-start”, s/he was actually enjoying it. If we hadn’t had that brain fritz moment, s/he would probably still dislike it. “So, you got an extra convert!”

May our experience of Holy Week be open to new perspectives. Assuredly, this particular upcoming Holy Week will offer plenty of those. Perhaps our current predicament – centered as it is on the Lenten run-up to Easter – may not only inspire and encourage people who potentially could be “extra converts”, but may encourage us to consider those new perspectives as new ways to approach and come to grips with our world, and the Good News.

Even the weird choir music.

Happy (?) Palm Sunday.

-Rob Hammerton

I have recently become more involved in my faith. I’m not exactly sure if something “switched” or if it was a more gradual shift. I do know, however, that it occurred near the beginning of this year’s Lenten season. At the start of the 40-day journey, I decided that this year was going to be different.

In previous Lents, I would half-heartedly give something up (like chocolate, or soda or Snapchat). After about a week or so, I couldn’t handle trying to live my everyday life without these things. So, I would give up on giving up and re-download Snapchat or stuff my face with Oreo cookies. And that would pretty much be the extent of my Lenten journey.

This year, something changed. I was stronger in my faith than I had ever been before, and I was willing to give something up for the Lord. I decided to give up sweets and, for the most part, have carried out this fasting. However, my fasting success is not what has made this Lent season an entirely new and magical experience. My energetic youth leader, Zack, said something during a certain Bible Study one morning that stuck with me. He said: Lent isn’t just about giving something up for God, it’s about replacing this given up time with something spiritual.

Zack’s example to us (actually, just me – we really need more high schoolers coming to Church) at the Bible study was the snooze button. For the past few years, Zack has given up the snooze button on his alarm clock. Zack would use his newfound time in the morning to pray. Like many other things that our awesome youth leader Zack says, I decided to try it out.

While I “officially” gave up sweets for Lent, I decided to take something on. Every night, I finish up whatever I’m doing (most likely YouTube or Netflix) 15 minutes earlier than I normally would. With this treasured time before bed, I would read the Upper Room (an app with daily devotions – which I highly recommend), read the daily SUMC Lenten blog, and end the night with a prayer to my Lord.

This simple fix to my day provides a peaceful and gracious time that has become an important part of my faith, let alone my Lent! I call on you, for the rest of this Lent (or perhaps even after this Lenten season!), to take something on. It doesn’t have to be much, maybe just a verse of the Bible or a small prayer to God. Whatever it may be, just try it out for a little bit – it may become an integral part of your faith journey or bring you closer to the Lord, our God.

Prayer: Dear Lord, Help us to find something to take on for the remainder of this Lent. May it bring us closer to you, so that you may guide us to be the hands and feet for You down below. We ask this in Your Heavenly name. Amen.

-Max Stayton

God says, in Ezekiel, “I’ll breathe my life into you and you’ll live.”

It’s not hard to be discouraged at this time. Our days are filled with dire reports of sickness and death. Our futures are even more uncertain than they were at the beginning of this Lenten season. When I first wrote my thoughts on the “dry bones”, I mentioned political turmoil (that remains true); global warming (that continues); and disparity between rich and poor (that might narrow slightly when trillions of dollars are shared).

All these factors make us feel like dried out, scattered bones. Our times are definitely “out of joint”. Life is at “sixes and sevens”. We are disconnected physically with family and friends – like bones scattered around a desert of fear and uncertainty. The metaphor can also apply to our individual thoughts which are often strewn in a jumble of confusion and doubt. Having it “all together” is a desirable situation.

During the 1980s, I was certified by the state of New York as a family care-giver for mentally ill clients. One day I answered a call from a social worker who thought she was quizzing a client. After I answered her questions, she remarked “You seem to have it all together”. When I identified myself, she said “Oh, I should have realized that you were not one of our patients.” I didn’t know whether to be flattered or upset.

The point was that God had allowed me to “be together” (rather important for the task at hand), and I believe that God is guiding many folks today to “be together” in their willingness to reach out and help others – either electronically, or from a six-foot distance, or with precious hands-on work done in health care, food distribution, equipment production and all manner of services.

God is, indeed, breathing new life into us as individuals and as a society. We at Newbury Court have been extremely fortunate to have a dedicated staff who are attending to our needs while we strive to obey the “lockdown rules”. The important thing is that we remember that we are interconnected – that the dry bones can, indeed, be connected as the spiritual teaches. We can become “together” as individuals and as a society with the help of our God who breathes new life into us, and helps us truly live!

-Janet C. Johnson

[Editor’s Note: the following is a communication from Tiger Lee, a regional general manager of the Overseas Adventure Travel company, which is associated with Grand Circle Travel.]

 

“On January 23, 2020, I was supposed to be looking forward to celebrating the Spring Festival – the biggest holiday in China – with my family and friends. Instead, I was under lockdown in my Wuhan home with my wife, Mengxing, and 6-year-old son Haoqian. And that is where I remain today.

“Even though the lockdown continues, today I can tell you that the signs indicate we will not be here much longer. Our confirmed cases of coronavirus number in the single digits. The temporary hospitals are empty and the doctors and nurses are finally able to take breaks. The government sent 30,000 medical personnel to Wuhan to help treat the 50,000 cases in the city. So far, 35,000 of those patients have been discharged.

“Today, I have hope that by the end of the month, the cases will be down to zero, and the lockdown will come to an end. But on that day in January, Wuhan did not feel like a very hopeful place.

“My family and I had actually chosen to quarantine ourselves two days before the government officially announced the lockdown. We were about to leave Wuhan to visit my parents in Yichang City, but we couldn’t be sure we didn’t have the virus. We decided it was better to stay where we were. It was the right decision, as the millions of people who evacuated Wuhan to avoid the lockdown were responsible for spreading it.

“In the beginning, the government didn’t want to cause a panic. As we know now, it was a huge mistake. But my wife had a friend who worked in the hospital. She told my wife that something was happening. There weren’t enough beds for the people getting sick, and even the doctors and nurses were coming down with it. She told us to be very careful, and to take action.

“I’ve been in the travel business since 2002, and worked as a tour guide during the outbreak of SARS. For half a year, China had no visitors, and many people died. I didn’t know whether this virus was a rumor, but we decided it was better to be prepared. We bought masks before anyone else was wearing them. Wuhan is a city of roughly 14 million people, and very crowded. We wore masks in busy places and on public buses. We warned our families to avoid large gatherings and parties. It took a while to persuade them, but they listened.

“We did everything within our control: we wore masks when nobody else did, and avoided going to crowded places – like panic-buying at the supermarket with too many people. So my family didn’t suffer the tragedy that many others suffered. Today, my whole family is safe.

“Over the weeks since the lockdown began, we’ve developed a routine. I like to cook, and had no choice but to cook at home. Preparing our three meals became my responsibility. We had rice and flour to make bread and dumplings. People could still go out on the street in the very beginning to go to the supermarket, but we made the decision not to and made do with what we had in the pantry and refrigerator. It lasted two weeks. At that point, we weren’t allowed to leave our residential area, but I put on a mask twice a week to get food. Now, the government is delivering food to us, so the situation is much better. At first, we only had vegetables. Now, we’re excited to see fruit, too.

“Haoqian gets up every day and goes right into his own routine. I don’t even need to tell him what to do at this point. He studies online and does homework – the government runs classes online, free of charge. We’ve had to find some interesting ways to keep him active: I convert our dining room table into a ping-pong table, and move the furniture from the living room to play badminton and soccer. Sometimes he sits on the balcony and looks through the window, where he can see the playground with a seesaw and swing. I know that’s the place to go if I let him out, but we can’t.

“Soon, I hope we can go out and play there again – we are headed in the right direction. I’m thankful that the government took action, and I appreciate all they’ve done – but we could have done better, sooner. I hope other countries will pay attention from what we’ve learned. The first thing I do when I wake up is read the news and look at the numbers.

“As more and more Americans are heeding the warnings to stay in their homes as much as possible, my message to you all is that you can get through this – by focusing on the things you can control. If you do need to go out, avoid crowded places. Use sanitizer and wash your hands.

“Never get bored with your life under lockdown; find something new to do, or create something with what you have. People always say, ‘I wish I had more time to do something.’ I’m using the extra time during my lockdown days to learn a new language online.

“Obviously the situation in Wuhan was as extreme as it gets – and we are almost on the other side. Until we get there, I am thankful for the safety of my family, and the support of my friends and associates at O.A.T.

“Above all, the smiling faces from my family keep me in good spirits during these days. That is what’s truly important.”

Prayer: O Breath of Love: Where there is panic, let there be calm.
 Where there is leadership, let there be wisdom. Where there is healthcare, let there be fortitude. Where there is research, let there be breakthrough. Holy Spirit, breathe into our trembling and troubled souls the assurance of your presence so we may remain a people of faith, hope and love.
 Amen.

-submitted by Nancy Hammerton
[Prayer adapted from a prayer by Rene Wilbur, New England Conference Lay Leader]

Jesus – in his short time on earth – had a very interesting resume. He was a child scholar and church custodian (he did a pretty good job of cleaning out the money-changers from the temple, although I do wonder if he actually cleaned up the tables he turned over?). He healed the sick, raised the dead, and shouldered the sins of the world to make us all whole.

But much of what is written about Jesus in the gospels is about his time as a teacher … or some might say, a coach. It is clear to me that Jesus genuinely loved the time he spent coaching not just his disciples, but the ordinary folk whom he met along his journey. And he took a bunch of misfit peasants, fishermen, tax collectors, zealots and a thief – and turned them into an amazing team that helped him change the world.

One of the many wonderful things about being a dad has been my privilege to coach both of my kids’ sports teams. And although I gave up baseball to focus on running in high school, baseball has always been a passion – and I truly understand why it is called the “nation’s pastime.” Coaching is pretty easy when the kids are young: you focus on the basic skills, make practices fun, and stay resolutely fair with playing time.

But early on, you spend most of your time herding cats, and trying to keep kids focused and not kicking dirt in the infield or picking daisies and turning cartwheels in the outfield. As the skill level ramps up, it gets more fun, more competitive and you start to rely more on other dads (kind of the apostles of little league) helping out – and over the years it morphs into this remarkable community of folks with a common purpose and identity.

I am, by nature, an intensely competitive lummox – who likes to win as much as the next guy. While we made practices and games fun, we always worked hard to hold kids accountable, stressed teamwork and sportsmanship and let our players know that not everyone gets a trophy in life for just showing up. I judged the success of my season by how many of my players came out for baseball the next year. While I certainly made mistakes over my coaching career, and there are a few instances I wished I could have a rewind on, I would not trade a single season. And while I enjoyed the challenge of helping a solid player excel, I treasured the opportunity to help the weaker players improve while having fun, developing a love of the game and being part of – and more importantly, proud of their place on – the team.

Of all the soccer, basketball, baseball and softball teams I have coached over the years, to this day my proudest moment was watching one of my weaker players, David, make a catch of a routine fly ball in right field for the third out when our opponent was rallying – in a playoff game, to boot! The thrill of David’s accomplishment was palpable: the joy on his face, indescribable. Perhaps equally as heartwarming was the way all of his teammates mobbed him as he came off the field, sharing in his great moment. Later that game, he had what I think was his only hit of the season. Amazing what a little confidence can do! I am convinced that he couldn’t have been happier if he’d been drafted by the Red Sox.

I think this kid may have played one more season of baseball before moving on to other things. After that season was over, I received a letter from his mother thanking me for “the amazing change she saw in her son … his spirit, his desire, and his excitement.” Where, in previous years, “he was defeated before even stepping onto the field, this year he was happy to go to practices and came home happy too. You held him accountable and you were his biggest cheerleader … you woke him up.” I still smile when I think of that moment of triumph in that young man’s face and will forever cherish the letter from his mom.

Unlike the remarkable team of Jesus and the Apostles, none of the teams I coached changed the world. Heck, we never won a town championship and most teams I coached didn’t ever venture too far into the playoffs. Of the hundreds of kids I coached over the years, less than a handful are still playing high school ball (and those are undoubtedly just remarkable athletes who would clearly excel despite the season(s) they played for me). Unlike Jesus, I can’t turn water into wine (or better yet, beer!), or even turn a clumsy kid into an all-star shortstop who bats .350. But every season, on every team, there is always a David – just waiting to wake up.

-Brad Stayton

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-23)

 

“Lockdown”

 

Yes there is fear.

Yes there is isolation.

Yes there is panic buying.

Yes there is sickness.

Yes there is even death.

But,

They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise

You can hear the birds again.

They say that after just a few weeks of quiet

The sky is no longer thick with fumes

But blue and grey and clear.

They say that in the streets of Assisi

People are singing to each other

  across the empty squares,

  keeping their windows open

  so that those who are alone

  may hear the sounds of family around them.

They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland

Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.

Today a young woman I know

  is busy spreading fliers with her number

  through the neighbourhood

So that the elders may have someone to call on.

Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples

  are preparing to welcome

  and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary

All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting

All over the world people are looking at their neighbours in a new way

All over the world people are waking up to a new reality

To how big we really are.

To how little control we really have.

To what really matters.

To Love.

So we pray and we remember that

Yes there is fear.

But there does not have to be hate.

Yes there is isolation.

But there does not have to be loneliness.

Yes there is panic buying.

But there does not have to be meanness.

Yes there is sickness.

But there does not have to be disease of the soul

Yes there is even death.

But there can always be a rebirth of love.

Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.

Today, breathe.

Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic

The birds are singing again

The sky is clearing,

Spring is coming,

And we are always encompassed by Love.

Open the windows of your soul

And though you may not be able

  to touch across the empty square,

Sing

 

-Brother Richard Hendrick, a Capuchin Franciscan; shared online on Friday, March 13.

 

-submitted Anonymously

In the Gospel of John, after his resurrection, Jesus tells Peter “… when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” That feels like the whole world’s experience this Lenten season.

Usually during Lent, we can each choose the Lenten fast that seems most appropriate. We choose what we will leave behind in order to spend more time with God. This year, we have all been taken to a fast that we did not wish to choose. We are fasting from church services together on Sunday mornings, from fellowship at Wednesday soup suppers, from hugs and handshakes, from shopping for pleasure and dinners with friends. We often choose to fast from things that are not important or event detrimental in large amounts, to curb our own addictions to social media, or chocolate, for example. But this year we are fasting of necessity from things that are good and beneficial, but that the coronavirus has made impossible.

Jesus told Peter that he would not have a choice in where he would be taken later in his life. Indeed, Christian tradition tells us that Peter was killed for his faith. But Peter could choose how he would meet his fate. Like Peter, we can’t choose to avoid our fast from social proximity. But we can choose what to do with the time and space that isolation provides. We can choose how we will meet the challenges of these days.

Alongside of the frustration, and sorrow, and depression, let us choose trust in God. Alongside the grief at missing concerts and sporting events and school functions, let us choose to encourage one another. Alongside the worry about what the future will bring, let us choose hope in God’s reign.

-Heather Josselyn Cranson

Jesus changes everything.

This was one of the major themes of the speaker, Curtis Zackery, at the youth’s winter retreat at Camp Berea in early March. His talk on Friday night was about Mark 2:1-12, where Jesus healed a paralytic after his friends lowered him through the roof. The paralytic’s friends knew that if they could just get their buddy to him, Jesus would change everything. It worked. Jesus proclaimed the man’s sins forgiven and healed his paralysis. Jesus changed everything.

One of the gospel passages in Lent tells of Jesus’ encounter with a Samaritan woman (John chapter 4). The woman was a local pariah, yet after her encounter with Jesus, she felt accepted and embraced by God. More than that, she went from being the shamed outcast to being the person who brought news to her village that the Messiah had arrived! Jesus changed everything.

Wouldn’t it be great if we had that kind of encounter with Jesus; a moment that we could point to definitively when everything changed? Both of these stories involve a transformation from broken to whole after meeting Jesus. For the paralytic, it was physical. For the Samaritan, it was emotional. In both cases, the change was almost instantaneous.

Those kind of miracles do happen. Jesus can change a life in an instant, but for most of us, the transformation is much more like that of Nicodemus, the Pharisee who went by night to meet Jesus in John chapter 3. He talked with Jesus, who told him that to enter the Kingdom of God is to be “born again” of the Spirit. To be born is to see and experience everything for the first time. To be “born again,” then, is to see and experience everything as if it were the first time, this time with the eyes of Christ.

Again, an encounter with Jesus changed everything, but for Nicodemus, it was not instantaneous. We meet Nicodemus two other times in John’s gospel. In chapter 7, Nicodemus very tepidly speaks up in defense of Jesus when other Pharisees push to have him arrested. Pointing out that the law does not judge people without giving them a hearing, Nicodemus gets rebuked by his peers who say to him, “Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you?” The implication is that the thing he said was ignorant; Galileans were the contemporary equivalent of so-called “rednecks” in the modern day. Duly shamed, Nicodemus gave no response. After Jesus’ death in chapter 19, however, Nicodemus and a disciple of Jesus went together to retrieve, wrap, and entomb Jesus’ body.

Nicodemus went from being Jesus’ opposition to being his disciple, but it took time, and it took courage. No doubt it also took a great deal of prayer, reflection, and fasting. This is why Lent is forty days, and it’s why Lent happens every year. Seeing the world with new eyes may take time and courage. It may also require a great deal of prayer, reflection, and fasting. Whether it is instantaneous or gradual, though, there is no doubt that an encounter with Jesus changes everything.

It is my prayer for you, for myself, and for the world that our intentional spiritual time in Lent would open our hearts to the Holy Spirit so that we might all have an encounter with Christ that changes how we see the world, how we see each other, and how we live our lives; an encounter that changes everything.

Keep the Faith.

-Zack Moser

Holy God,
    infinite and eternal,
    constant and patient
    everlasting, and the beginning and ending of all things …


This is a season of waiting …
    for the fast to end,

    for signs of spring to unfold,
    for palm branches and foot washings and worship at dawn.

This year, we are focused on different things – more things – in this season of waiting …

    for the time when distance and isolation will no longer be required,

    for the rescheduling of things that must be done in person,
    for life to return to normal,

        though we know we even trust – it will never be the same.


This year, we wait with a kind of desperation …
    for paychecks that may not come,
    for test results,
    for the cure.


This year, we wait for gifts of the soul we find ourselves in aching need of …
    forbearance,
    courage,
    hope.

In our waiting …
    You accompany us,

    You are with us,

    You are always with us.

Your Spirit calls down through the ages in the voice of your Beloved who beckons to us …
    to sit and wait while he prays,

    to stay awake and remain and pray with him,

    to wait and watch and wait some more.


And it is enough. It is enough …
    to be this vulnerable,

    to re-learn what it is to be church and love neighbor,

    to wait and watch and pray with Jesus

        for the morning.

What a morning it will be. Amen.

-Rev. Jill Colley Robinson, Vermont District Superintendent
(Scripture: Psalm 130:5-6)

If you see your fellow Israelite’s donkey or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it.  Help the owner get it to its feet. (Deuteronomy 22:4)

 

One of my Mom’s expressions was “Watch what you ask for – you may get it!” Now and then I have been known to wish for some time at home. A day would be a vacation of sorts, I thought.

After several days at home because of the coronavirus pandemic, I have started coming to grips with confinement, and seeing it with new eyes. For many of us, though it seems long already, it will eventually stop, leaving us to try to remember how to start our cars.

But not all of us will be that fortunate, especially home bound folks. For them, this not the “new normal” it is for us. This is their “normal” – largely confined all the time, yet with the added stress of hoping their home aides will still arrive, still remain healthy.

Last Sunday afternoon, I decided to call some of our homebound folks to see how they’re coping with COVID-19. I wanted to let them know they’re not forgotten. Recently, I spent some time calling half a dozen folks in our congregation whom I thought would like a little diversion on a Sunday afternoon. I’m delighted I did! What a great afternoon I had! Every one of them was delighted I called, clearly longing for someone to chat with, and thanking me multiple times for getting in touch.

One lady reminded me that we first met when she substituted for my teacher daughter, as I stopped by the classroom to bring work home to Kristin. We talked about her life as a single mom and teacher, working hard to make a life for her children. Her daughter, sheltering at home in New Hampshire, has been trying to get food delivered to her – difficult, as markets have ceased delivery. Even a favorite nearby restaurant has stopped delivering. (If you know a Wayland restaurant that will deliver, please let me know. She’ll have food; her daughter will be relieved.)

Another person was glad of my “company” and in a 15 minute conversation, I got to know more about her interesting life than I had in several conversations at church.

One of our homebound members was struggling with some additional medical issues, so I also spent time talking with her caretaker, realizing caretakers are just as “homebound”.

And on it went — lonesome folks, grateful for a little relief to carry them on, in days to come.

So what did I learn on Sunday afternoon? Something I had not expected: as much as everyone was happy to have a call, I benefited as much as they did! Now, before whining about being in, I remember that eventually I’ll likely have my “wheels” back. It made me wonder if I could be as strong, as cheerful, and non-cranky as they were, patience not being my strong suit. But most of all, it made me HAPPY!

So I invite YOU to call someone you know who lives alone, who would just love to chat and feel remembered and valued. Listening to their fears and concerns, giving them something to laugh about: that’s a priceless gift — for both of you!

-Nancy Hammerton

Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water’s edge. He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said: “Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.” …
Then Jesus said to them, “Don’t you understand this parable? How then will you understand any parable? The farmer sows the word. Some people are like seed along the path, where the word is sown. As soon as they hear it, Satan comes and takes away the word that was sown in them. Others, like seed sown on rocky places, hear the word and at once receive it with joy. But since they have no root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away. Still others, like seed sown among thorns, hear the word; but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful. Others, like seed sown on good soil, hear the word, accept it, and produce a crop—some thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times what was sown.”  (Mark 4:1-8, 13-20 (The Parable of the Sower))

 

Often when we seek to understand the parables spoken by Jesus, we focus on the easiest or the clearest interpretation. A closer look can often reveal other meanings relevant to our faith. The primary speaker at the Central Massachusetts District Resource Day last year, the Rev Dr Albert Mosley, the Chief Mission Integration Officer of the Methodist Hospital System in Memphis and formerly President of Gammon Theological Seminary, offered such an atypical interpretation of the Parable of the Sower. I will try to boil down his thoughtful and inspiring sermon into a short devotion faithful to his theme and relevant to God’s presence among us and God’s acceptance of all people.

You know the story: the farmer goes out to plant his fields. He spreads the seed by hand, doing his best to keep it on fertile ground. But inevitably, some of the seed falls on the path, where the birds eat it. Some falls on rocky and shallow soil, where the roots of the seedlings are too short to sustain the plants in the hot sun. Some falls among thorns that choke out the seedlings. But some of the seed falls on good ground, where it takes root, grows and produces a bountiful harvest.

Jesus interprets the parable to his disciples by comparing the seed to the word of God, the poor soil conditions to situations in the lives of people that prevent them from internalizing the word, and the good soil to people who hear and retain the word and reflect it in their lives. This obvious interpretation of the parable focuses on the seed and the soil: the word of God is most likely to flourish when heard by advantaged and righteous people with accepting minds.

But if we focus on the sower, we receive a different message. The sower casts his seeds on all soils with little regard to where they fall. Likewise, Jesus directed his ministry to people in all conditions who were willing to listen. God loves and accepts people in all situations, including the marginalized, the poor, the oppressed and the sinner. Even more importantly, God, the sower of grace, offers grace to people in all conditions, not just to the fortunate and righteous.

We are beneficiaries of a sower who is among us and who isn’t concerned where the seeds fall. How can we, and the church, be judgmental and exclusive when God extravagantly casts grace on everyone? We should be casting seeds of love, care and acceptance to all people, and especially to our brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ.

Prayer: Dear Lord, we thank you for your unconditional love. Help us to prepare ourselves to be fertile ground for your word. And may we not falter in the acceptance of all your children in whatever condition they may be found. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

-Richard Morris

Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts,… (Acts 2:46)

 

Dear Friends,

As we enter a new Lenten season, I want to share with you two thoughts from two different people. I want to ask you to begin with reading Acts 2:46: “And day after day….” Encouraging sincerity of the heart, re-charging with simple meals and loved ones, fellowship, the Bible, and may I suggest adding classical music into your “bag of tools” to re-charge.

Two sentiments I want to share are copied and pasted from two amigos. The first expressed that “I had a dream that my Mom came to wake me to say… ‘This has all been a Dream.’” Can you ponder and absorb that sentence? I found it simple and yet profound. The visual of a loving mother waking a young child peacefully from slumber. This thought is soothing to the author as life is very difficult for him. One can relate to that wishful dream if one has empathy for the author in regards to that this life is not what God intended.

The second, copied from Steven Osborne: “What does music mean?” Steven Osborne, an intermediary for me with expressing how profound classical music can be in one’s life. The post on his website states: “Last year I gave a lecture at St. Magnus Festival called ‘What does Music Mean?’, an attempt to explore the mysterious and wonderful phenomenon of that shared silence which can build up in successful concerts.”

I humbly ask you to contemplate both sentiments from two different people with Acts 2:46 as your lens. My hope is to provide an up-building and refreshing moment for you during Lent.

Sincerely,
-Meg Fotakis

Lent was never part of my religious observance. I worshiped with my family in a nondenominational, Baptist-leaning church where we looked forward in February and March to Spring with the beginning of new life and the celebration of Easter.

I have, however, been reading about the significance of Lent as the 40 days set aside for prayerful reflection, fasting, confession of sin and growing into a closer relationship with God in preparation for Easter. It has been compared to the 40 years of the Jewish people wandering in the wilderness preparing to enter the promised land and of Jesus spending 40 days in the wilderness being tempted by Satan and preparing for his ministry.

At the end of “40” comes blessing and the fulfillment of God’s plan. The Jewish people entered the “land of promise” and Jesus completed his work of salvation for us through his death and resurrection.

In this life, I believe that God allows for periods of time when it feels very much like being in the wilderness with little direction and little sense of God’s purpose in our lives. It’s these times as well as at Lent that bring us closer to God and stronger in our walk with Jesus. For me, it has been the past year and a half when I have dealt with major surgery, periods of slow recovery, downsizing of my job, and having to find meaning in life as I approach retirement. It has not been easy, but I believe that Jesus has always been with me and provides hope in this life and in the next.

Ultimately, Lent culminates in Easter. Jesus comes alive and provides new life for us now and in the future.

Though not considered an Easter hymn specifically, one of my favorites is “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth”. The words are as follows:

 

I know that my Redeemer liveth,
And on the earth again shall stand;
I know eternal life He giveth,
That grace and power are in His hand.

I know His promise never faileth,
The word He speaks, it cannot die;
Tho’ cruel death my flesh assaileth,
Yet I shall see Him by and by.

I know my mansion He prepareth,
That where He is there I may be;
Oh, wondrous thought, for me He careth,
And He at last will come for me.

REFRAIN:
I know, I know that Jesus liveth,
And on the earth again shall stand;
I know, I know that life He giveth,
That grace and power are in His hand.

 

-Jackie Kessler