In Lent’s quiet, where prayers flow,
We share a bond, through hymns we know.
I place my phone upon the hymnal,
Recording moments, almost ritual.

These enduring songs, through airwaves fly,
From my voice to you, under the same sky.
In every note, our connection’s clear,
A shared faith, drawing us near.

This practice, our unique tie,
In every hymn, our spirits fly.
Dad, with me, in every tune,
Our connection strong. Precious gift.

-Christie White

[Writer’s Note: “Apologies to anyone anticipating the last rhyming couplet, but I just couldn’t bring myself to end this poem with the word boon!”]

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)

He is risen! … He is risen indeed!
Happy Easter.

Two years ago … or about a thousand — our perception of time is a curious thing — it was the time of COVID-without-vaccines-yet.

There were a pile of things that we didn’t know if we would ever do again. One of the questions we asked ourselves was … will we ever sing together in an enclosed room again?

To an extent, science has come through in the clutch. Considering some of the activities that, with good ventilation, vaccines, and a residual sense of “maybe a mask might not be a bad idea anyway”, we can now take part in, again … for me, that first year of COVID-19 is a bit like junior high school. I remember that it happened; but it does possess a bit of that sepia-toned-memory-from-long-ago quality.

I remember just enough to know I would prefer not to re-live it, thank you.

Well, not all of it. There were things we did, in place of our previous usual routines, which did yield some positive results. Notably, there are a lot more “don’t-take-this-for-granted” activities in my day-to-day life now.

One of those is: leafing through the hymnal.

For the first six months of COVID, gathering as a choir to rehearse on Thursday nights was not an option. We were all pinned to our homes; remember that? So Kevin and I went to work devising activities which could serve as a proxy — which could serve as a way to keep our music program going in some form, while we hoped and prayed that the virus would one day be controlled by vaccines or other modern miracles.

Zoom to the rescue.

On Thursday evenings, we would open up a Zoom room to whomever wanted to gather and do a little group research about hymns from the ol’ hymnal. Kevin and I took requests from our regular Zoom-visitors: what are your favorite hymns? We’ll find some information about them and present it on a Thursday evening: who wrote them, how they’re constructed musically, where the poetry of their lyrics came from, any interesting bits of history concerning them.

After several weeks — and, not coincidentally, after the killing of George Floyd — we saw an opportunity. As interesting as it had been, to investigate Old Favorites … they had mostly been written by (as we quip in the choir room sometimes) dead white Europeans, or their ancestors.

So, “Social Justice Hymnody” was born. The idea: let’s investigate hymns that have come to our hymnal from, oh, say, anywhere else in the world than western Europe and the American colonies. So we looked at hymns drawn from music of the Korean peninsula, of the south Asian subcontinent, of Native Americans … and of course we looked at African-American spirituals: the music borne of the slave trade.

Since then, any time I open the hymnal, my eyes go directly to the bottom of the page, where the information about “who wrote this, and when?” is listed.

As we approached the end of SUMC’s Palm/Passion Sunday service … and as we proceeded around the parking lot during SUMC’s Good Friday “Stations of the Cross” service … we sang one song over and over again. That song could arguably be Holy Week’s “Silent Night”, for all the usage it gets at this particular time of year. And I was more keenly, consciously aware than I had been (which before COVID had been not at all):

“Were You There?” is an African-American spiritual.

It says so right there on the bottom of page 288, and has said so since the current Methodist hymnal was published in 1989. But I had not focused on that at all, until our Thursday nights on Zoom.

It makes sense: musically, it’s not so complex that it couldn’t be taught by rote. Lyrically, all you have to do to create a new verse is change the end of the sentence “Were you there when…?”

And “Were You There” utilizes a system of coded language in its lyrics — like most, if not all, African-American spirituals. It tells the story of Jesus’ crucifixion; but underneath this narrative is a metaphor likening Jesus’s suffering to the suffering of slaves. Slaves could easily see an analogy between Jesus’s suffering and their own predicament; it’s been hypothesized that this is why there are many more spirituals about Jesus’ death than about His birth.

For some stupid reason, I had never put that together.

I just hadn’t thought about it.

There are lots of things that, until relatively recently, I just hadn’t thought about. An awful lot of them involve the persistence of systemic racism in our country and our world — and its continuing effect on people of color, four hundred years on. Economically, politically, and as we have seen very recently in Tennessee, personally.

Me, I’m a white guy brought up in an affluent town surrounded by affluent towns. This lack of awareness, sadly, has been common in such places; and I’ve been a part of that, much as I wish I’d not been.

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

For many people, Easter and spring are nearly synonymous — they’re times of renewal, and of beauty rising out of the cold, barren earth. I hope that this moment can also see a certain amount of “rising from the ashes” in the realm of how humans of privilege treat other humans who, even yet, do not enjoy that level of privilege. It can be accomplished. But it’s not going to be an Easter miracle. It’s not going to happen unless we do the work.

That COVID-era Zoom class, that “Social Justice Hymnody,” might seem like a very limited-scale version of doing the work. Raising our levels of awareness is merely a first step — but it is a step. As John Wesley may have said, and as our choir has sung:

“Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, so long as ever you can.”

It’s a start.

As is Easter.

See you in the morning.

-Rob Hammerton

If there’s one thing I missed receiving when virtues were being handed out, it’s WAITING. If an idea comes to my mind, especially something that improves my life or the lives of my family, I want to “make things better” right away.

Some of the experiences I’ve had – either trying times where there was absolutely nothing I could do to hurry things along, or in anticipation of a fun occasion – still come to mind occasionally. A joyful moment was watching Kristin walk down the aisle with her Dad, even when a guest didn’t remember that the mother of the bride really wanted to have a clear view.

But there are other moments of waiting … for instance, when my late husband was undergoing a procedure that seemed like it would never be done. And then, lo and behold, a friend came by and waited with me!

Saturday, the day before Easter, is a Day of Waiting … a day of awaiting the miraculous resurrection of Jesus. For us, we know the outcome … a joyous celebration of God’s gift of life everlasting to all who believe. It seems to me, some years, like time standing still, a little like holding one’s breath. Yet every year, faithfully, we experience the joy of God’s priceless gift of the resurrection.

May God again reassure us with the knowledge of this great gift, given to us out of God’s never failing love for us!

And (a little early) Happy Easter, everyone!

-Nancy Hammerton

[Editor’s Note: here’s a response, by an educator we know well, to the writing prompt, “My favorite scripture verse is…”]

I couldn’t easily bring to mind a favorite scripture verse but as I thought more, the story of how Jesus blesses the children surfaced in my mind. I turned to the Bible to find the verse where “Jesus Blesses Little Children” and that led me to read all three Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) where it is mentioned. My favorite of the three: Mark 10:13-16.

¹³Some people brought their children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples scolded the people. ¹⁴When Jesus noticed this, he was angry and said to his disciples, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, because the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. ¹⁵I assure you that whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” ¹⁶Then he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on each of them, and blessed them.

I chose Mark’s version because it is the one in which Jesus takes the children in his arms. He touches them in all their germy, gooey, splendor and BLESSES them. He’s not afraid to get dirty or be near them. Children are unpredictable and ask hard questions. They tell it like it is and don’t hold back their true opinions and feelings. Children need support and boundaries. Jesus takes it all in stride and takes it on! Not only did Jesus tell the kids to come to him, but he BLESSED them. He recognizes that they are wonderful and special, just as their caretakers do, with their sticky hands, need for attention, and many questions. Jesus takes the time to see the children and even reprimands the adults when they try to brush the children away to the other corners.

In this passage, Jesus also supports the caretakers of the children! Those “some people” that brought their children to Jesus were most definitely tired, exhausted, and probably had forgotten to eat at least once that day because they were busy keeping their children safe, fed, and loved. They knew they needed to get out of the daily grind, so they packed up the kids, and traveled a distance on the chance that Jesus was willing to take on their children for a few minutes. I also thought it was interesting that in the Matthew version, Jesus “went away” abruptly, it seems, after he blesses the children. I’m guessing that he recognized that children require a lot of energy, and needed a break!

I also really like Mark’s passage because Jesus reminds us to receive the Kingdom of God like a child. He wants us to be curious and learn about our world like children do. He wants us to show our emotions and share our feelings. He wants us to be open to new experiences and eager to get our hands dirty to help others.

Let us be like Jesus and scoop up those children in our congregation and bless them! I see the congregation at SUMC do this with my children every Sunday, and it means the world to me. Let us embrace the newest little ones and their unpredictable cries! They are our future and the Kingdom of God belongs to them.

-Alison Condon

[Editor’s Note: here are some thoughts in answer to the writing prompt, “my favorite Sunday ritual is…”]

There’s a little bit of a difference waking up on Sunday mornings. I’m, by nature, an early riser – much to the displeasure of almost everyone I’ve lived with, I’m afraid! I’ve done my best to keep quiet, and reading used to be an easy fix to the “what to do” problem.

Then, I had a husband who loved to sleep late, so turning on a light to read wasn’t too sensible. Then, a cat, who figured dancing on the stillest head was a way to start some mornings; so I moved into the living room to read and closed the bedroom door before Toby danced on Greg’s head. Most of the time, the head-dancing cat followed, anyway.

Then we had a baby, and two cats, and then a dog and a house, and routines were gone even if I was silly enough to try to have one.

Through very sad circumstances, were introduced to SUMC, and before I knew it, a routine was set. I had a place to go on Sunday morning, with a thing to do that I hadn’t really realized how much I missed. There were folks who welcomed me and mine, and it was very quickly a second home for me.

One thing Gram taught me when I was too young to remember the start, I could always be heard. There was this prayer … Jesus taught us. The Lord’s Prayer. I could say it in my head any time I wanted to, or needed to, and from that, I could go on. “Our Father, who art in Heaven”. The very first word included me in the company of all of us … And then my aunt sang it, and I started singing it in my head more often than not. In my head, but I was heard … and it was okay that I wasn’t as kind as Gram, and that I didn’t have the beautiful voice of Joan; I was heard and I knew it. I was accepted and loved even if I was a pain in the neck kid or an unruly teenager or any of the other things that got the self-doubt flowing. Jesus taught us all to pray, because we all need to do so.

And here’s the personal thing for my head to wrap around … I grew up saying the prayer we all share every Sunday morning just a little bit differently than we say it here. “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” was what I was used to; but what I heard the first time here was “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”. I was surprised that there was the glitch in my thinking, but there it was. I had to decide to say it one way or the other, and for whatever reason, it took a while. It wasn’t until recently that I was reminded of how what is ingrained in my thoughts now as comfortable … took a while to be that way.

There’s been a lot to try to get comfortable with in the last few years, and there are things I hope we never get comfortable with. I do know, though, that the Lord’s Prayer is a place to start and even with a change in wording here and there, the lesson is the same. God’s will be done. This is my favorite ritual, to say this prayer with all of you, and to hear a different wording here and there in my ears as we pray together and still know that we are all guided by the same God even though we aren’t all the same.

Thank you, my friends, for being folks I can share the Lord’s Prayer with.

-Cindi Bockweg

“As for the things that you have learned and received and heard and noticed in me, do them, and the God of peace will be with you.” (Philippians 4:9)

---

We pray for the hungry,
And then we feed them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the lonely,
And then we enter into their lives.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the naked,
And then we clothe them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the stranger,
And then we welcome them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the despairing,
And then we give them hope.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for the grieving,
And then we comfort them.
That’s how prayer works.

We pray for an end to gun violence,
And then we admit that we are a soul-sick people;
We repent of our colossal failure to value life;
We stop making excuses;
We demand that we change hearts and minds,
And we act.
That’s how prayer works.

(-Rev. Dr. Charlene Rachuy Cox, a Lutheran pastor, May 2022)

-submitted anonymously

[Editor’s Note: as supportive as I am of the recycling activity, I don’t often recycle Lenten Devotions blog posts. This one, though, originally published in 2021, seemed particularly topical, given the hard times that trans people are going through in this moment in American history. And, coincidentally, it seems a legitimate response to three of this year’s LentBlog writing prompts: “Someone I need to support is…” and “Here’s an act that I can do today to honor God…” and “Here’s a story about a time when (a person or a community) ‘showed up for [someone] in a meaningful way…”]

A few years ago I had the opportunity to spend an August pre-season band camp week with a high school band out in western Massachusetts. I was expecting the usual: lots of sweat and sunblock; lots of learning of notes to play and places on the field to stand; and the relatively rare chance to hang out and in fact collaborate with my good friend the band director.

I got what I expected. Holy heck was it hot out there on the parking lot. But what I also got was … a moment that I will never, ever forget.

That moment involved an example of what I can only call quiet, collective, unconscious heroism.

A few framing questions:

Who are some of the most put-upon people who are younger than college age?

High school band kids.

What was the problem that had recently earned this particular high school some very dire headlines that it absolutely would not have wanted?

Bullying.

What was that “starred thought”, that catchy and useful phrase, which was offered to us by our college band director (the fellow who taught and inspired both my high-school band-director friend and me, all those years ago)?

“Band is a place for everyone.” Very often, band is the most helpful place to be, for those kids who feel like they have no other place to be.

So, back to the parking lot, and the rehearsal room, and the auditorium, and my work with the kids who played the brass and woodwind instruments, helping them learn and perfect their parts for that year’s halftime show.

There were about thirty of them, if I recall correctly. Small band, big sound. And my band director friend had given me a tiny heads-up about one of them. Not a behavior thing; not any kind of neuro-atypical thing (por ejamplo) that would have any impact on the rehearsals we were going to run.

But that flute player, the only blonde one? What was her thing? Not much, really … only that she was going through everything a high-school kid goes through when they’re working out a new gender identity.

Okay, I said. Truthfully, the only things that I really needed to know about these kids were: what’re their names and can they play?

I’m embarrassed to tell you that I cannot at this moment remember that flute player’s name. But, at the time, “oh yes,” my band-director friend said, “she can definitely play.”

Okay then.

The week began … it progressed … and it neared its ending. All the flutes could play the notes, and hit their drill sets, and move and play together quite well indeed.

And then it came time for the “friends and family show”. That’s when the pre-season camp’s work is done; the show is on the field in some condition or other; and the band would now like to show parents, and friends, and anyone else who happened along, the fruits of the labor.

So an impressively large contingent of parents, and friends, and former band members too, gathered on the edge of the parking lot under the shade … and waited for the Mighty Marching Whatevers to make their entrance from the band room across the way.

In the band room, the band and gathered and made a big circle, so everyone could see everyone else. One last pep talk from the director and instructional staff. If this had been an athletic team, it would have been: one last “defense on three; one, two, THREE…”

In this case, though, the band was led by its fine director through an exercise that she had been introduced to at a professional development activity of her own, some years before.

Ordinarily I am wary of these “team building activities”, these “ice breakers”. They can be anywhere from inspirational to an utter waste of time. And even the useful ones can end up being, well, just kind of “meh”, if there’s not buy-in from the participants.

This one was interesting.

First, the kids all counted off — one, two, one, two, all the way around. Each group would have a role to play; then those roles would be reversed and we’d play again.

The first group stood facing away from the center of the circle, eyes closed. (To be clear, they had been well-prepared for this; it was not a surprise. Also, they had just spent a week getting to know each other very well. These were important factors.)

The second group then walked slowly around the inside of the circle, stopping at each outward-facing person and doing one of three things for them, each of which signified something specific about the band camp week just finished.

It’s been awhile; but I think the idea was something like: gently placing one hand on the person’s head meant “I’ve been pleased to meet you for the first time, this week” … gently tapping fingertips on each shoulder meant “you and I were friends before, and are better friends now, after this week” … and gently pressing hands down upon each shoulder meant “I’ve come to care about you, this week”.

Yeah … in the wrong metaphorical hands: very squishy. Very “I’m OK, You’re OK”. Heaven help us if the participants don’t take it seriously. And in these days of being very very careful about physical contact, it could have been anywhere from risky to just plain wrong.

But in the case of this particular band, I thought as the exercise began, it might just be interesting.

The exercise finished, my band director friend gave her charges one last word of advice — “have fun” — and the band collected its instruments and flags and began to head out the back door toward the parking lot.

And I noticed that my new blonde flute player friend had tears streaming down their face.

I looked at my band-director friend, near whom I happened to be standing, and pointed at our blonde flute player, and asked a question with my face only.

My band-director friend smiled. She’d been watching specifically during that exercise.

“Every single person pressed down on the shoulders.”

I had gotten to like that band, that week. They had just the right sense of “band hype” without being fake about it; they actually seemed to enjoy working hard to accomplish something; they always made sure no one felt left out, on or off the field.

But from that moment — a moment which I really, really doubted they’d planned in advance — a moment that the entire band collectively may not even have realized they’d created — I really, really, REALLY liked that band.

It was a moment of quiet, collective, unconscious heroism.

Again, I’m willing to believe that they might have had zero collective understanding of what they had collectively done — but for all they knew, they might have turned a kid’s life around. Maybe even saved it, conceivably.

Do people really think I’m okay? that flute player may have been wondering.

Or are they all just humoring me?

Are they all putting on a good show when they’re really lying to me?

Before that afternoon, that flute player may have had no very good idea what the answers to those questions were.

They did now.

And even if they didn’t have answers to those questions regarding the entire rest of the student body who weren’t in that band … they knew what these forty-odd kids’ answer was, individually and collectively.

We’ve got your back.

Those kids played a heck of a show that afternoon.

-Rob Hammerton

To help churches in the New England Conference to grow in membership instead of shrinking, the Conference has recommended that churches start by creating a group of leaders to understand “real life evangelism” (not our concept of evangelism of someone standing on a corner and shouting that the end is near or a weird preacher on TV). The Conference recommended as a start: Unbinding the Gospel, by Martha Grace Reese.

The book says that very few Christians, including pastors, can articulate why they are Christians. I took that as a challenge. Here is my attempt to try to state why I am a Christian…

Why Am I a Christian?

I am a Christian because God loves me. I understand that He also loves all of you who are reading these words.

God, Spirit, Creator of the Universe, the most powerful being loves me and you! Returning that love, I love The Almighty Spirit, The Three in One.

My ideal is to be like the Jewish rabbi who lived two thousand years ago and died on a cross. Well … I do not want to die on a cross. I do want to share Him with others and help them know the joy of following Jesus and being a Christian. I have a long way to go. With you, dear reader, and other Christians’ help, I can move in that direction.

I am a Christian because of loving people at the Sudbury United Methodist Church who, like me, are struggling to understand how to be a follower of Jesus in our day and age. … You help me know the joy of living in company with other Christians.

So, I thank you for your support and prayers and I challenge each of us to help each other and strangers to know the joy of being associated with Christians who support and love each other.

-John McKinney

“Spring is sprung,
The grass is riz,
I wonder where the flowers is?
The bird is on the wing,
To me this seems to be absurd,
I always thought the wing was on the bird.”

This little ditty brightens my day when spring days get longer, and the air gets warmer. It’s a wonderful memory of my mom, whose 95th birthday would have been a few weeks ago. She was a lover of cultivating and raising flower gardens, an appreciator of fine music, and a faithful pilgrim on the Christian journey. And she had an amazing memory for all kinds of poetry, songs, Shakespeare, Spanish and trivia.

Once, while in a competitive game of Trivial Pursuit, she was asked, “what is engraved on the tablet of the Statue of Liberty?” Mom recited the entire Emma Lazarus poem. Afterward, I said, “Mom, there isn’t enough room on that little card for that answer!” She just looked at me with a sly smile and we both laughed.

Sadly, my smart, funny, trivia-loving mom fell victim to the cruelty of dementia in her later years.

Like other diseases, dementia can be a long and painful road. For the patient and their family, it presents a series of highs and lows that may last many, many years. Just like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you never quite know what you are going to get.

During one visit, mom told me that she had just seen Jon Bon Jovi and she shared the conversation she had with him and Chris Christie. I didn’t know she knew anything about Bon Jovi, but I bet she would have liked their song “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

During another visit, she asked me who I was. I explained that I was her daughter. Realizing that she didn’t recognize me, she looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “That must be very hard.” It was.

Then there was the very last time that I was able to take a walk with her, circumnavigating her memory unit. “Look everyone,” she cried, “this is my daughter.” She introduced me to all her friends, then passed away a month later.

Our Lenten journey is so much more than the forty days and nights we observe in the months of late winter and early spring. It is more than the passage through snowy days to the vernal equinox into budding trees and new blades of grass. It is all the journeys of our lives, relived over and over in vastly different ways, with the people we love, in varying circumstances. The journeys we take through cancer, chronic illness, homelessness, dementia, acute anxiety, addiction, depression, long COVID, losing a job, dropping out of school, or any painful and confusing challenge life offers. The journeys that test us, change us, form us, and strengthen us.

We are a gift to one another, walking together, not always knowing where, but accompanying each other through those highs and lows with God as our constant companion. God never fails us and never leaves us. Instead, God sees us through all that life throws at us to the promise of spring and the resurrection hope that we have as Easter people.

-Leigh Goodrich

Last Sunday at church I saw examples of what has been true of SUMC for all the years I have been a member: we love and value our children!

To watch Zack and Donna Mills in the parish hall, both before and after worship, helping the young members of our congregation to learn about Jesus through hands-on activities is a joy — knowing that Donna and Zack may never know exactly the impact of what they’re doing, but having faith that God will work through their efforts to keep our kids growing in their love of Jesus — a gift that is priceless and lasts a lifetime.

There was a concert after coffee hour, a time for our young people to participate by their music and their visual art as well. It was a joy to see the number of grownup folks who made attending a priority! Their words of appreciation afterward will stay with our kids, affirming their worth and demonstrating our commitment; a promise made, in some cases, at their baptism, that we as a congregation will support them no matter what — whether there be only a few or a well- attended confirmation class.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and don’t forbid them.” It’s why we’re hurrying to get the nursery upstairs over the narthex ready by Easter, a space with a window overlooking the sanctuary so they can see what’s happening. It’s not a question of whether it’s a couple of kids or twenty (and wouldn’t that be wonderful!). Every child is worth the effort and the cost.

Jesus wants EVERY child to come to him.

What a gift for each of us to have a hand in making that happen!

-Nancy Hammerton

From A New Zealand Prayer Book (He Karakia Mihinare o Aotearoa):

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world
and of our own lives rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of God’s peace enfold us, all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

-anonymous

Many of you know that I have been an elementary school teacher for more than three decades, teaching every grade from first- to fifth- over the years. One of the soft, yet crucial skills that experienced teachers develop over the years is “reading the room” to see what students need, in order to help students develop both academically and socially. I have learned from the greatest colleagues, by watching how they have made this growth happen. Now, as a gray-haired “old lady teacher,” I consider it my duty to do the same for any younger colleague who might ask me about how to approach a particularly tricky student situation.

Earlier this winter, I noticed that two students in my room — who ordinarily had played very, very happily together — were showing outward signs that they were frustrated with each other at recess. Teachers and families alike can vouch for the pandemic’s inevitable effect on the social skills and social practice of students, regardless of where they attended school or how old they were. While we teachers have been working overtime to provide social emotional learning and support in these last few years, students have also been doing their part by working very hard to practice their social skills. So, one morning after this little rift became outwardly apparent to me, I made myself more available by sidling quietly over to one of the two students who was looking dejected. I commented on the weather, and asked her about her weekend. Then, I said, “You know, I am surprised that I don’t see you playing with ‘Anonymous Student’ today. I had to wipe my glasses when I saw you over here on the bench.” Then, I asked a curious question, which is the secret tool that every teacher has in her tool box: “So, how are things going?”

The girl visibly inhaled and exhaled. I saw her get just a little teary, but then she gained her composure. “Mrs. Murphy,” she intoned. “I do like ‘Anonymous Student’, but lately I feel like she is a ‘hold on tight’ friend.”

“Tell me more,” I said, leaning in to show I was listening to the sentences which were to come, even though I could predict them with one-hundred-percent accuracy. My earnest student told me a familiar story. Girl meets girl and they become fast friends. Exclusive friends. Accidentally at first, but then, proudly. After a while, one girl decides that she’d like to invite another girl into the mix, but the second girl wants the Exclusive Rights to their friendship, and objects. Chaos ensues. Without a little teacher involvement, the curtain on the friendship might fall in a heap, leaving two unhappy actors with no more roles to play. I’ve seen this play begin many times before, and now I can recite the lines in my head.

“Well,” I said, “Clearly you are a great friend. So great, in fact, that ‘Anonymous Student’ doesn’t want to lose you! That is the good news. But let’s discuss the bad news. I understand that you would like to play with others. But can you pretend to be ‘Anonymous Student’ for a moment? Can you put your feet in her sneakers and see how she might be seeing things? She has this wonderful friend, who is her only friend. Can you see how she might feel, if you say you want to play with another person, too?” My adorable student’s eyebrows raised. I thought I saw one side of her mouth turn up into a little smile, just for a moment. “I think I have a plan to turn the bad news into more good news,” I told her. I explained it in brief to her, to let her know I wasn’t going to ignore her situation, and that I would help her.

For the next few weeks, during my regular “class meeting,” which is the name I give to our social competency learning time, I suggested that our class was ready for an amazing challenge. I challenged them to see if they could widen their social circle. I explained that spiders have it right when they weave multiple silken strands together into a durable and beautiful web. “If they only had one strand, they couldn’t catch any flies,” I quipped.

Our class made a list of ways we could get to know our class members even better. I challenged the class to play with someone completely new and different at our next recess. The class was kind enough to humor their teacher, and invite students to play who ordinarily ran in different social circles. I took pictures of toothy grins playing with new friends, and I shared them at our next meeting, praising their efforts. In the next few weeks, we played “finish the sentence” games, and I noted the sentences which caused the class to all talk at once, over the answerer. After every student had completed one sentence which they had drawn from a bowl, I pointed out those popular sentence starters, which they could use to start a conversation with a student who was new to them. “So now you know how to start the conversation, and you know it will be a good one,” I said. “Try it out at recess, and tell me how it works.”

Over the next several weeks, I reminded students of our goal — which I have found has the surprising effect of making that goal float to the top of students’ consciousness. Every few weeks, I gave students a “privacy folder” — much like the voting booths in our small New England towns — and an index card. “Write the names of four or five students in this classroom with whom you are friendly enough to play or partner during work time,” I urged. In the privacy of my empty classroom after school, I tallied the students who got a mention or two — or four. Early on, I looked to see who did not get a mention, and made sure to buddy that student with another likely future friend for work projects, or give the two students a special errand or job. Sometimes, when students got their index card and voting booth, I asked for the names of three students with whom they might talk or play, who were still not as familiar as their other classmates. I changed the desks so they would be geographically near, or I made sure they were science partners. In brief, I did what I saw my amazing now-retired colleagues doing, when I was a young, green teacher: they watched students, took mental notes, and used that data to improve students’ skills. They knew that a picture is worth a thousand words.

A few weeks ago, as the first buds appeared on the trees on our back playground, I asked students to list four or five of their friends on the now-familiar index card. When I tallied, I got confirmation of what I had been seeing: every student got a few mentions, at least. No student had a monopoly, however. The web had become strong.

This past week, “Anonymous Student” was uncharacteristically absent. My original friend bounded up to me on the playground and asked if that student was just going to be late, or whether she would be absent all day. When I told her that I believed the absent student was sick, and wouldn’t be there all day, my friend exclaimed, “Oh, too bad!!” I smiled and told her that I was so happy that she and “Anonymous Student” had forged a strong and flexible friendship, which couldn’t be pulled apart, and I reminded her about her many other new friends. She gave me a little sideways grin, flipped her long brown hair, and zoomed across the playground to another girl. I watched them, feeling happy that my little plan had worked. The next day, when “Anonymous Student” returned, I watched again, as they both held hands on their respective swings. It was a sweet sight.

Why do I tell this long story in a Lenten devotion? Well, I think that instead of giving up something during Lent, we Christians might take on more friendships in Christ’s name. We might invite someone new to join our Coffee Hour circle, or stand and talk with someone new at a Lenten dinner or after service. I realize that I could also use a regular refresher while I am at church, as I tend to enjoy my own familiar single strand. Teachers are not immune to doing the same things their students do, after all. In widening our social circles at church, and in putting ourselves in others’ sneakers, we might accomplish more than just gaining new friends at church. We might just make a holy spider web, and hold the church tightly inside of it. A stronger church.

I hope you will join me during this Lenten season in making new friends, who are increasingly worshiping with us in the pews, instead of accidentally giving up the chance to get to know new friends. Maybe you might even invite some of your own friends to church, to make our web even stronger still. After all, we’re in this web together.

-Kristin Murphy

[Mother’s Note:

“When reading through the Lenten writing prompts with my kids, Alex immediately had an answer for this one — ‘what is your favorite part of the Bible?‘ He was so confident! We wrote a draft together and edited some phonetically spelled words like ‘anamools’ and ‘cuoot’ so it would be more readable.

“First grade is all about independence with writing with less focus on spelling. This fosters confidence with expressing ideas and I see how Kidbury at Sudbury UMC has done the same thing with the Bible. My kids are getting a great Christian education. There are craft projects reminding us of God’s presence in our lives all over our house: Alpha and Omega sun catchers, a disciple ‘ship’, pictures, and a ‘do justly, love mercy, walk humbly’ poster, to name a few.

“Noah brought the animals because ‘they keep us alive.’ I think this translates to: ‘We can eat Alex’s favorite beef chili because the cows were on the Ark!’ His recollection doesn’t include the dove and rainbow yet, but he gets that God so loved us that He saved us. With Kidbury and Zach, Alex’s ‘favorite guy’ at church, we’ll get there!”]

-Alex (& Alison) Condon

[Editor’s Note: The following is a response to one of our Lenten Devotions writing prompts: “a wound brought me closer to God. Here’s the story…”]

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At first, I couldn’t make out what was disrupting my sleep … what is that pounding? Someone at the door at … what time is it? 1:15 AM? Adrenaline is running through my body and my hands are shaking as I hastily throw on some jeans and run down the stairs on wobbly legs, fearing … and yet knowing … what’s on the other side of that door: two police officers informing me that my son has been in a very serious accident. “He’s been rushed to the Trauma Unit at UMass Memorial.” They offer no other details, but urge us to get there ASAP (as if we needed any urging).

I instinctively grab my Bible (is this the end? Will this be goodbye?) and Chip and I jump in the car to drive the agonizing twenty-five minutes to Worcester. We don’t talk much.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” we are told, as we are ushered into a trauma room where my unconscious, bloodied and broken boy lies connected to machines. His face, grotesquely distorted by swelling and bruising, is barely recognizable, but this is my precious son, who I love beyond measure.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son.” (John 3:16)

I can’t imagine making the choice willingly. What an unbelievable sacrifice, God.

Hours go by as we sit beside him, praying for God’s Grace and Mercy to restore this beautiful life that He created.

“He is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.” (Ephesians 3:20)

God’s got this.

I occasionally look up at the TV that is playing across the other side of the Trauma Unit, and notice that my son’s dramatic crash has made the morning news. I see the mangled remains of his van, its contents scattered everywhere. The weight of it all is crushing.

“The Lord is near the broken-hearted and he saves the crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

Thank you for holding us in the palm of Your Almighty hand.

I somehow want to make sense out of this senseless situation.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Thank you that this is not mine to figure out.

I feel sick.

“Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

I know that you love my son even more than me [how is that possible??], and that you will make all things work for good.

This became an all-too-familiar, yet never less-terrifying scenario, as it repeated over the course of several years. Traumatic brain injury is a savage, stealthy destroyer. And yet God, in his amazing way, reached me in my despair to create a new thing in me. I cannot understand how a person without faith can navigate tragedy successfully. While I felt at times that I could not go on, I know now that God was lovingly growing me in faith –- a precious gift for which I am grateful. His promises carried me through when the bottom fell out, over and over again. My relationship with my Lord and Savior is now far deeper as a result.

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.

A privilege indeed. And for that I give joyful thanks Every. Single. Day.

-Leslie Bell

Fritos, Cheez-its, popcorn, Cape Cod Potato chips, Doritos — and let’s not forget pretzels with a little ranch dip — the list goes on and on, ad nauseam (no pun intended) — these are all my culinary downfalls (as far as snacks are concerned).

The way that I was always taught to address the Lenten season was to give something up — not something frivolous or of little consequence but something that truly would make me stop and think about Jesus’ forty days in the desert and his suffering on the cross for our sake. So: my go-to choice for giving something up was, naturally, always, salty, savory, crunchy, snacks. And sometimes, I would even go so far as to vow to give up snacking between meals altogether.

But as I grew older these promises evolved into something else. For instance, if I gave up snacks altogether, I rationalized that if I never stopped eating during the day, the snacks weren’t really snacks but just extensions or continuations of whatever meal they succeeded or preceded. So, my whole day was just one big feast of sorts. In retrospect, not really a good way to observe Lent.

And if I gave up these salty snacks per se, and substituted them with, say, an apple or some carrots or something, I’d become grouchy, hungry, and begin to feel sorry for myself.

And although I hate to say it — abstaining from these wondrous savory snacks rarely made me feel closer to God or more cognizant of Jesus’ suffering. In fact, I’d find myself not thinking about Lent at all but just counting down the days until when I could bury my head in a feedbag of nacho Doritos to satisfy my hunger.

This type of Lenten sacrifice works for many people and that is a great and wonderful thing. We should be trying to draw ourselves closer to God and Jesus during Lent — and if this works, then run with it, by all means. But if this practice doesn’t work, what do we do try to get closer to God and the spirit of Lent?

I have a suggestion: instead of “giving something up,” why don’t we sort of “jump in with both feet”? In other words, instead of abstaining during Lent, why don’t we take something on? Add something to our daily routine to become closer to God. There’s lots of ways to do this — maybe read a morning devotional or a passage from the Bible, volunteer somewhere, or endeavor to do something that will benefit someone, or even attend a few extra church services (imagine that!).

For me, I am finding that devoting a little extra time daily to think about the blessings and grace that God has provided me, brings me closer to God and makes me more aware of Jesus’ presence. And the concomitant spiritual boost that it gives me makes me more cognizant and aware of the sacrifices that Jesus made for us.

I know lots of theologians may not agree with this line of reasoning, but it’s working for me. I am becoming closer to God and Jesus — and I find myself embracing the Lenten season rather than trying to dodge it.

-Tom Gero

Hot Cross Buns! Hot Cross Buns!
One a penny, two a penny.
Hot Cross Buns!
If you haven’t got a penny,
a ha’penny will do.
If you haven’t got a ha’penny,
then God bless you!

They are not quite sure where and when hot cross buns were first created, but it may have been by a monk named Brother Thomas Rodcliff at St. Alban’s Abbey in England, in the 14th century.

The buns from his recipe, called Alban Bun, were distributed to the poor people who lived around the abbey, on the Friday before Easter starting in 1361.

Every part of the buns, according to Christianity by Ina Taylor and Ina Turner, is symbolic. The cross on the top shows how Jesus died. Spices inside remind Christians of the spices put on the body of Jesus. Sweet fruits in the bun show how blessed we are as Christians.

The Elizabethan people took them very seriously. Queen Elizabeth I passed a law limiting their sales any time but Easter. But people wanted them more often, so started baking them at home.

They were first referenced in print in Poor Robin’s Almanac in 1733, as a street cry used by bun sellers, calling “Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs, with one or two a penny hot cross buns.”

-Lynn Cunningham

Wouldn’t it be nice to see a hummingbird right now?

I ask this question the night before we’re being hit with the biggest snow of the winter to this point.* “Yes, please! It would be amazing to see a hummingbird right now,” is the response I suspect that most of you are yelling! As I pondered what to write for this year’s Lenten devotion, I kept coming back to these small but mighty flying creatures. In past years, I’ve written about the great blue heron and its significance and symbolism in my life, so it makes sense that I share a story about how the tiny hummingbird has found a special place in my heart.

I’ve always been fascinated by hummingbirds, and my late mother-in-law fancied them quite a bit, so I most definitely notice when they arrive for a split-second visit on my porch. Typically, when a hummingbird comes close by, you can hear the soft hum of their wings, which beat sixty times a second. They visit flowers and quickly move onto the next, often flying away and returning later to discover where more nectar is hiding. The little winged beings sup from 1,500 flowers and eat approximately seven hundred insects each day. I’m in awe of the exquisite and extraordinary lives of hummingbirds.

I find that so many of us are like the hummingbird —- we go, go, go. We move so fast and try to cover as much ground as possible before we take an opportunity to restore. I’ve never seen a hummingbird perching on a branch to rest their wings, but I know that they, like us, must rest their little bodies (the average weight of a hummingbird is less than a nickel!) and energize for tomorrow.

When hummingbirds make a brief, yet marvelous, appearance in my life, they remind me to pause and remember that I’m a child of God whom He wants to serve and help others. I remember that my life shouldn’t be all about the go go go and the do do do. It must be about powering up my wings to do the work God wants me to do; but first I have to stop and pray and ask for His help in knowing what that is. I need to restore, to re-energize for tomorrow.

During the spring of 2021, months after my nephew Ryan passed away from leukemia, my sister’s back porch seemed to be surrounded by hummingbirds. Her friends placed huge colorful flowering planters all over her deck, and as the orange, red, and purple flowers flourished, many little winged creatures came to visit my sister.

She spent a lot time on her porch grieving, praying, and reflecting on her life and Ryan’s passing. There were times when she had multiple hummingbirds flying around her at the same time … it was almost as if Ryan was there to help restore her soul.

A flock of hummingbirds is referred to as a glittering, a shimmer, or a tune. God must have known that my sister needed to be “glittered” with Ryan’s presence and envision the shimmer of heaven’s wonder. Now, when I am blessed by a hummingbird visit, I say “hi” to Ryan, ask God to look over my mother-in-law, and remember to power up my wings in Jesus’ name.

After all, even thin, fragile wings can cover just as much ground as the massive wings of a great blue heron. We are small but mighty people who can do big things. Power up, but remember — especially in this Lenten time of reflection — to restore for tomorrow.

-Kristen Straub

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[*Editor’s Note: this post was written at the very beginning of March, and held for publication until this morning. Hence, the reference to massive imminent snowfall. In case you wondered.]

Wednesday night is my bowling night out with the guys. Two weeks ago, I was running late and decided to stop by KFC in Hudson on my way to the bowling center in Worcester. It was cold and rainy and as I pulled into the parking lot; I was approached by a man, Jonathan, who asked if I could give him some money for food.

He was clearly miserable, cold and wet and I decided to invite him into KFC with me and said I would share a meal with him. He was reluctant to come in but finally he agreed.

The staff was ready to throw him out, as I’m sure they had done many times before, but I asked him to order whatever he wanted and to find a seat and I would bring the order over. He ordered an eight-piece family dinner for $30 and asked if that was OK. I didn’t know you could spend $30 on a meal at KFC but we did!

When I brought the food over, he was ready to go but I insisted we sit together and eat.

He didn’t say much but sat quietly and ate most of the meal.

We went our separate ways after the meal.

I hope Jonathan felt some sense of belonging if only for a moment.

It was the best $30 I have spent in a long time.

-Dave Jacob

“And let us consider together how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another –- and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” (Hebrews 10:24-25)


It’s been a full three years since our world was flipped upside down and shaken. The COVID pandemic by now has touched all or nearly all of us in some way. Some lost family or friends. To some, the change to a “stay at home” work environment was a loss… a loss of friendships, or even just conversation. And, sadly, business owners suffered financially.

But as I sat in church last Sunday, I couldn’t help but think how much effort was put into keeping our church open, to continuing services both in-person and online. So that we had a safe place where we could gather to see fellow church-goers, if even though wearing a mask. A place where we could go to find peace among the chaos. To hear familiar music. A place to clear your mind and recharge for the coming week of turmoil, hate and sad news throughout the world.

As we begin to get back to normal –- well, a new normal –- I’m so very thankful we had, and still have, a wonderful place, our safe haven, to go to and recharge. My sincere thanks to all that made it happen.

-Jeff Lance

This past Sunday, our Choir presented an anthem entitled “Saint Patrick’s Lorica”.

The term lorica is used in a number of Old Irish prayers. They all arose in the context of early Irish monasticism, in the 6th to 8th centuries. … The allusion is probably to Ephesians 6:14, where the Apostle bids his readers stand, “having put on the breast-plate of righteousness”.

We thought you might enjoy reading the text — separate from the musical setting.

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I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity
By invocation of the same
The Three in One, and One in Three.
His bursting from the spiced tomb;
His riding up the heav’nly way;
His coming at the day of doom:
I bind unto myself today.

I bind this day to me forever
By power of faith, Christ’s Incarnation,
His baptism in the Jordan River;
His death on cross for my salvation;
Confessors’ faith, apostles’ word,
The patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls;
All good deeds done unto the Lord,
And purity of virgin souls.

Christ be with me, Christ within me
Christ behind me, Christ before me
Christ beside me, Christ to win me
Christ to comfort and restore me

Christ beneath me, Christ above me
Christ in quite, Christ in danger
Christ in hearts of all that love me
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity
By invocation of the same
The Three in One, and One in Three.
Of whom all nature hath creation;
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.
Amen.

-the SUMC Music Staff

A few years ago, I had the privilege of traveling to Ireland for 10 days. Ireland is a special place —- beautiful scenery, a spoken language that is musical to the ear, and some of the most interesting people I’ve encountered in my travels. It has, in some cases, the feeling of mystery.

As the trip went on, my friend and I found ourselves in Dublin. Since I was becoming short of the local currency, I was glad to see the size and bustle of the city, thinking it had to be easy to get some. We were standing back from the edge of the sidewalk, debating which way to walk to find a bank. Not far off, I noticed a man watching us, a nice looking, youngish man, quite tall, wearing a green jacket and a pointed hat, although it wasn’t close to St. Patrick’s Day. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed him before.

Just as we took a step toward him, he came over to ask if we needed help. We explained that we needed some place to get the local currency and asked if he could give us directions to a bank. He began to give us directions and then, seeing our comprehension was somewhat lacking, he said, “Here, I’m going that way, I’ll show you where it is.”

The light changed and we crossed the street to a narrow cobblestone lane. I hurried to keep up with his long legs, as he walked beside me. All of a sudden my toe caught in a crack in the pavement and I started to fall! It happened so quickly that I had no chance even to put out my hands to break my fall. Suddenly I felt my arm being grasped, breaking my fall and saving me from injury. The young man helped me up, concerned that I might have been hurt, but even my knees had escaped without a scratch!

After a moment, we started on together, this time a little more slowly. Pointing out the bank, he came in with us to show us which line to stand in. As we turned to thank him, he was gone…

My friend asked me, “Who was that fellow? Was he a leprechaun? How did he happen to be here at the right moment?”

It reminds me of a quote in Hebrews 13:2, which says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels unaware.” However, in this case, WE were the grateful recipients of help from … an angel? As one of my aunts used to say when she couldn’t figure out something, “Well, it’s just one of the mysteries.”

-Nancy Hammerton

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever. (Psalm 136:1 (NRSV))

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing,
give thanks in all circumstances;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (NRSV))

Give thanks to God. This message repeats throughout the Bible. Just in case we missed it. Just so we don’t forget.

I find that moments of shared thanksgiving can be especially heartfelt. They seem to magnify the feelings of gratitude and reinforce the bonds between those sharing in the prayer. For example, at a recent Lenten supper, Heather Josselyn-Cranson began the evening by having us sing the Johnny Appleseed Grace. It is a joyful and carefree tune, which appeared in Disney’s “The Legend of Johnny Appleseed” in 1948, and goes as follows:

Oh, the Lord is good to me,
And so I thank the Lord,
For giving me the things I need;
The sun and the rain and the apple seed.
The Lord is good to me.

Heather recounted that as a young camper, she and her fellow campers carefully omitted the word rain. We shared a chuckle and were soon off to the serving line feeling like happy campers ourselves — hungry and ready to be fed.

Another grace that most of us know is:

God is great, God is good,
And we thank him for our food;
By his hand we all are fed;
Give us, Lord, our daily bread.

This prayer is often shared with young people, which is a blessing in itself.

Another “thank you” that I love is:

This is the day that the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24 (NRSV))

I first memorized this verse as an adult, while teaching a Sunday School class for second graders. Our music instructor was warmly greeted each week for a ten-minute singing session. He would play piano, leading old favorites and teaching soon-to-be favorites. The musical rendition of this verse was the new song one spring and faithfully practiced each Sunday. Eventually the young voices were able to not only sing it, but sing it in a call-and-response (echo) version that was haunting in its beauty. Once again, the prayer’s impact was magnified by its being a group experience.

I’ll close by sharing a prayer that was part of the morning exercises in my first grade class many years ago in North Bennington, Vermont, and which was followed by a hand-over-the-heart Pledge of Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. I still know this prayer and often use it as the start of longer, and more complicated, adult prayers. It serves as a way of centering my thoughts and focusing on God. The words may be simple, but it covers the basics.

Thank you God for another day,
For time to rest and time to play,
For pretty things that my eyes may see,
For people to love, and who love me. Amen.

Giving thanks for all of you!

-Sandy Burns

I’m very fortunate to live in the woods, surrounded by beautiful trees and shrubs.

In the spring, watching new little leaves and tiny buds grow into mature leaves and flowers is a continuing, joyful experience.

In the summer, the fully-leafed mature trees tower over the house and provide cooling shade during the hot summer months.

In the fall, the gorgeous red colors of the sugar maples and the yellows and browns of the other maples and oaks provide a wondrous beauty (and lots of leaves to rake!).

And in winter, what is there to look at? The tall, green beautiful pine trees that have been there all along! As we look at our world, the ever-present pine trees can get pushed to the back of our vision when more showy, more beautifully colored trees are present.

God can be like the pine tree — ever-present but not always as important in our lives as He should be. Let’s not let the busyness and shiny things in our lives keep us from needing and seeking our ever-present Lord.

-Jody Avery

[Ed. Note: the writing prompt is “Here’s a story about a time when a person ‘showed up for me’ in a meaningful way…”]

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When my mother died, I went to Florida for her funeral, assuring my family I would be fine on my own. It was just as the first fall week of school was beginning, and I assured Rob and Kristin that Nana would tell them definitively NOT to come, to go and teach (something I have since regretted).

So Kristin decided to write a piece about her grandmother and asked me to read it at her service.

It’s a beautiful, loving tribute to a grandmother whom we didn’t see very often because she lived at a distance, but she always kept a close connection to Rob and Kris by sending them picture postcards of animals or something a child would connect to, always with only a “Love, Nana,” and they adored her. The last sentence in Kristin’s loving tribute to her beloved grandmother was something like “…even though I will miss Nana, I know she is safe in heaven with God.”

So when I arrived in Florida, I told my sister that I would like to read what Kristin had written at Mom’s service. My sister said nothing for a moment, and then said, “Well, Pastor probably won’t allow you to.” (I forgot to say that this was a Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, a lot more conservative, shall we say, than our United Methodist Church!) Finally, she agreed to take what Kristin had written to Pastor to get his approval. The next day Pastor reluctantly agreed to my reading it, but I was to leave out the final sentence which said something like “I’m sure I will see Nana again when I get to heaven,” or something close. Being who I am and tired to boot, I said, “What!!!” Well, in his mind, that was not theologically correct, so I must not say it.

On the afternoon before the funeral, my sister and I were banished to the “library” until someone told us to come into the sanctuary. By now, I was getting a little anxious as to how I would be received, given that my sister and I have a tenuous relationship, and heaven only knows what she could have told all her friends about me. I remember saying to God, “surely, you’ll help me???” Well, as I stood looking out the door, who should I see coming but a wonderful former member of SUMC who some of you will remember: Kris Brown, now also living in Naples. I was stunned! She told me that although she never read newspaper obituaries, for no reason she could put her finger on, she had read them the day before. There she saw my name, and knew she would attend.

She asked me what she could do for me, and I said, “Stand next to me at the collation,” which she did. But guess what: everyone came up to me with heartfelt sympathy and could not have been more lovely. Thank you, God!!

Oh, and Kristin’s piece? I read it all the way through —- including the last sentence.

-Nancy Hammerton

[Author’s Note: “I read through the writing prompts Rob sent for us, and was grateful for the list… I always have a really tough time starting when I am unsure.”]

What I am thankful for hit my eyes at the exact same second our newest family member hit the door, signaling the “need” for relieving himself outdoors instead of indoors. I’m sure you’ve heard doggy tales!

Our Benny is adorable. He’s still relatively small, so he’s very much in the learning phase.

We got him from a shelter, the same one we’ve gotten two dogs before him from. They have all been mixed breeds and lab has been part of the mix. We’ve been so fortunate with our puppies; they’ve all become loved members of the family very quickly. I have always been a dog lover; I cannot remember a time when there wasn’t a loved dog in my life, even if when I was little that dog lived a thousand miles away.

Then, I got a little older, ten, and our little family of three — Mom, my brother and I — met Jim and within months Mom and Jim were married and Jim was Dad in a heartbeat and Dad thought if we were getting a house, we needed a dog. So, Dusky entered the family. And, I watched Dad with Dusky, and my suspicions were confirmed. Dad didn’t say a lot of words; he walked the talk. I watched him with Dusky and I knew he loved me.

We were on our second dog by the time I was a young adult, and picking my own apartment was cool, but I missed the greeting at the door when I got home, even if it was MY apartment because I was all grown up! The coolness didn’t last quite as long as I hoped it would, but Sammy was always at home when I went back for a visit, so in addition to hugs from Mom and Dad, I got jumped on and I loved it.

Greg, Heather and I got our first house when Heather was four, and I knew I needed a dog the same way Dad did. It was just a fact. Greg wasn’t quite as sure of that fact as I was, but Heather sold him with a bat of her eyes, and Ollie was our find at Buddy Dog. He was also adorable, and more work than I remembered Mom and Dad handling, but soooo worth it. He was near me all the time, day in and day out; if I was at home, he was near. If I drove to the grocery store we would ride together and I would tell him what the rest of the plans for the day were or work it out with him in order to figure them out. If I said the word “ride” he was always the first to the door, as was our next in line, Jess. Jess was also my constant companion, but in a slightly different way.

After Jess came Magic. Magic was more independent than Ollie or Jess, and the car was NOT her thing at all, so I got used to a different reality as I drove, and often at home, also. And, even though she was quite happy soaking up the sun outside without me, she was also very happy to put all fifty pounds of her sleepy self in my lap in the evenings and we settled down at the end of every day like that until she got so strong as she jumped out of my lap she started leaving bruises while pushing off. I had to move her spot to be next to me instead of on me, and we were good together.

And, then, like Ollie and Jess, Magic showed a sign of illness. Unlike Ollie and Jess, she had a couple more months with us before she couldn’t be comfortable anymore, and we said goodbye. It had been pretty exhausting, just keeping her fed and getting her in the car against her will and getting meds that were working well into her by trickery and letting her outside one or two times a night. It was like having another baby, but with the knowledge she wouldn’t be growing; she was dying.

The thing that made sense to me at that point was to get another dog; but slightly older than a puppy, because I didn’t see me as capable of getting a puppy house broken in the winter, especially at night, as I’d like to be; and I was pretty sure Greg and Ayden would appreciate not being told to take the puppy out, also. So, I signed up at shelters, and specified housebroken dogs when asked. Sterling Animal Shelter wrote back in a few days, saying they were expecting a few young dogs in a week, but they had this one puppy left from a litter of twelve if I was interested.

I wanted to be able to say “no” about the puppy. I told Greg and Ayden. Greg had sort of agreed with my original thought about the middle of the night stuff, and Ayden had tried not to tell me how much he thought puppy was the way to go, but I had slight hopes the idea had jelled a little more and that one of them could say “we should wait until next week”. Neither of them said any such thing. So, I pointed out that the nighttime stuff was theirs. They still said “puppy”. A couple of other points came up and it was like there was just no point in not meeting this puppy. It was just the way it had to be, so I told the shelter we’d be there the next day to meet “Patch” as he was called then.

It seems that Magic got word to Patch, because Patch took one look at the three of us, and headed straight to Ayden, kissed Ayden’s face, just like Magic had eight and a half years ago; and we had a new twelve-week-old puppy, whose name had changed by the time we were in the car on the way home.

So, Ayden and Greg took the puppy outside in the middle of the night, I am on call a LOT more in the evening than I was prepared for, and Benny and I are doing ride-alongs daily as he becomes my next car buddy.

We didn’t expect to lose Magic so young. I wouldn’t have traded Ollie for any dog on the planet and then came Jess who was her own self at the same time she healed my heart from its loss. Life is that in so many ways.

I am so grateful for this puppy who drives me bonkers because he knows the thing to do is to knock at the door seventeen times a day to get the treat and the praise which he follows by melting my heart by climbing in my lap in the evening and keeping me warm. I am so grateful for the gifts that God sends me at the exact same time I am being driven a bit bonkers, often by those gifts! I am in my sixties and I am still learning and still open to learn, and it keeps me warm and I hope that continues for the rest of my life, even when I am declaring that sixteen times a day would be better than seventeen!

Gratitude is a lifelong thing to learn, I do believe.

-Cindi Bockweg

The Lenten Devotions writing prompt said, “My favorite scripture verse is…”

And I went immediately and aggressively to the book of Matthew, the sixth chapter. That’s right in the middle of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. In particular, I am happy to (ironically) wave Matthew 6:5 around: “And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others…”

I’ve been known to make a fuss about the people who love to get within reach of a TV camera and make absolutely sure that you know they’re the best, most devoted, most passionate Christians you’ll ever meet.

Whether they’re making a fuss as pundits on cable TV news shows pontificating about current events … or they’re televangelists extolling the value of their highly Christian characteristics, so that their viewers may be inspired to send them yet more money (to fund their rather glitzy lifestyles, as it has turned out, rather than, ya know, helping the poor) … more often than not, I feel like Jesus might have been suggesting a New Beatitude: blessed are NOT the fuss-makers, for they have totally misinterpreted the Scriptures, if they’ve read them at all.

All of which, you might suggest to me, is a heck of thing for me to say.

For openers, the first half of Matthew’ sixth chapter reads like a guidebook for “How to Lent”: “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others…” … and then the aforementioned “whenever you pray…” … and then, most Lent-ly, “whenever you fast, do not look somber, etc etc, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret…”

So let’s put together a Lenten Devotions blog, splash it all over Facebook, like! subscribe! share!, and post loud graphics all over the place when you’re freshly in need of writers!!

(Jesus might shake his head sadly. Lent ought not be a high-intensity PR moment, yeah?)

And all this talk of “do what you do, but don’t make a loud flailing big deal of it because that’s not the point” is similarly a heck of a thing for a church musician to say — at least the kind of church musician who is seen every Sunday standing in front of a set of singers and quite literally flailing.

Ah, but the church musician comforts himself — and actually does believe what he’s saying, in spite of what it looks like to folks in the pews and watching the livestream — by knowing in his heart that the job he is doing consists not of self-aggrandizement but of community encouragement: offering the most useful musical assistance possible, via conducting gestures and such, to the assembled volunteer singers, that they might do the best possible job of presenting praise to God through song.

That song, of course, hits the ears of the assembled congregation on its way to God’s ears; the whole thing can appear to be a performance, but we in the Chancel prefer to refer to it all as a presentation. At the very least, I never take an individual bow after an anthem is finished, and neither does our the Choir. What it’s not all about is us.

Which leads me to a memory from nearly thirty years ago, when I was starting out as a graduate music-education student at Boston University. One of the requirements of that particular experience was to participate in one of the University’s large ensembles; the one that made sense for me was the Wind Ensemble. The conductor of the ensemble was a gentleman named Malcolm W. Rowell, and twice a week he drove two hours from his home in Amherst to conduct a BU Wind Ensemble rehearsal, and then drove two hours back.

I learned a ton about conducting from him, those two semesters in 1995 and 1996. Partly I learned that major-league conductors have to know the musical score backwards and forwards. I’ve joked that Mr. Rowell knew the third percussionist’s part, the second bassoonist’s part, and the baritone saxophonist’s (me) part better than the players did; except that it wasn’t a joke. “I believe you’ll find,” Rowell would purr knowingly, “that in bar 47, that is an A flat.” Uhh, oops, I’ll be darned, he’s right.

But the memory that kicked loose as I considered Jesus’ advice about comporting, or conducting yourself, whether it was Lent or any other time, was from the day we were working on a particular march. It was a composition named “Rolling Thunder”, by the great American march composer Henry Fillmore. In it, all the instruments are playing at the upper limits of what they can achieve technically — woodwind players’ fingers flying, as they tend to in most marches anyway; and the trombone section playing a fast-moving melody that one would think impossible for instruments with only slides and not keys or valves to change from pitch to pitch. And the whole thing goes fast. Ferociously fast! If you close your eyes while listening, you can easily imagine that the thing must be a visual riot, as close to a musical Road Runner cartoon as can be created. (A video of the University of Michigan Symphonic Band playing “Rolling Thunder” is here, for your reference and enjoyment.)

But while the BU Wind Ensemble was playing it, Mr. Rowell stood on the conductor’s podium, right arm outstretched, conducting baton resting gently in his right hand … barely moving. And it wasn’t as if he was uninspired, or uninterested, or uncaring of the musical result of the moment, or doing very little mental work to lead the group. He was just not making a giant show of himself.

He was providing, for the band, a visual understanding of how fast the tempo ought to go … occasionally lifting his left hand to give some instrument group or other a cue as to when to play after having not played for a moment, or to emphasize where a cymbal crash ought to be especially intense … occasionally lifting a pair of eyebrows to mark a significant musical moment … but otherwise not drawing a whole lot of attention to himself. He was giving us the musical information we needed, and otherwise not being a distraction to anyone.

From a band-concert-audience perspective, he and the back of his tuxedo were almost completely still. It was the band that was doing the work.

(Incidentally, if you watch the the Michigan band video linked above, you’ll see their conductor, Michael Haithcock, making rather small conducting movements himself. Still, in 1995, Mr. Rowell made Haithcock’s conducting look big by comparison. Remarkable!)

I also seem to recall that when the piece was over, Mr. Rowell would extend a mere index finger in the direction of whatever soloists should stand and be acknowledged, and twitch it just a bit to say “okay, stand now” … and then he would move quietly to the side of the stage, extend his arm toward the Wind Ensemble as if to say, “they did all that work” … and take the tiniest of head-bobbing bows.

I haven’t always succeeded in emulating these bits of wise conducting technique in my times in front of the Choir, or whatever other groups I’ve been able to conduct. Partly this might be because in a lot of those volunteer-ensemble situations, micro-miniscule gestures aren’t as helpful as being visually obvious; or at least I comfort myself by thinking this.

So I continue to work to not make such a big deal of myself. Most times, a conscious thought is required. A little smaller there, Rob. And only when the Choir knows the piece well enough that I don’t really have to look like the person on the tarmac flapping her or his arms, telling the jumbo jet pilot when to throw on the brakes so he doesn’t pile through the airport terminal windows.

Matthew chapter six, fella. It’s not all about you.

-Rob Hammerton

I watched him carefully. His breaths at times raised his now-concave chest up and down dramatically. When he had as much air in his lungs as he could manage at this point, his ribs were so close to the surface of his body I feared they would break through soon. On his back in bed, his right arm was over his eyes as if the little light in the dark room was blinding him. The shape of his open mouth reminded me of his father’s when he fell asleep, head resting on the back of the chair, while watching television in the family room. His long legs had raised him to close to six and a half feet tall when he had been able to stand. The two bent matchsticks with socks on the ends lay in a jumble partly outside of the blankets near where I sat in my chair. He used to complain with a big grin that his friends who visited him would grab one of his feet in greeting. But he had peripheral neuropathy. The squeeze to him felt like an electric charge flowing through his extremities. He would stiffen and arch his back in pain.

I wanted to wake him to talk about something, anything. He had had no interest in talking for the last week or so, though. The jokes and laughs were long gone. He either slept or tried to come to grips with dying when awake. I wanted to make his death easier than I had his life for the previous thirty years.

He was three years younger than me. We shared an older brother. I am only twenty months younger than my older brother. The two of us shared a bedroom for close to ten years. We watched the same television programs. Our classrooms in elementary school were often next to one another. I got along with his friends because we were close in age, but I didn’t horn in on my brother when he had a friend over.

Three years is an eternity when you’re in elementary school, however. I didn’t want my baby brother anywhere near me when I had a friend over. Often our disagreements quickly became physical, until he became taller than I was. And when he got into middle school, he and his own friends became cutting with sarcasm about the music I listened to and my driving. I returned the “favor” by laughing in his presence when he told our parents about difficulties he was having. He hit middle school when I hit high school, and I had graduated by the time he made it to high school. There was neither time nor opportunities for us to become close.

Things turned in the 1980s. I became sick enough to require frequent hospitalizations. I was touched that when he got as close as Chicago on business travel from California, he often flew on to the east coast to see me in the hospital. We would talk as only siblings can about what it was like to grow up in a house with our parents. Our phone calls often included a lot of laughter. But there was always that rock at the pit of my stomach. I deeply regretted being a jerk to him. I felt it was my fault we had so little time to be close when he became the one to be in the hospital and I was the traveler. I still feel this way.

Many people have pointed out to me there was nothing in my relationship with my brother that was unusual. I need to forgive myself, they say. I’d like to. I’ve made progress. However, the rock is still there, and it isn’t getting any smaller. My parents have both died. Other family connections are thin.

I have a table right outside the bedroom door at home. On it is a photograph of my brother. I say hi to him on occasion. I tell him I miss him. I hope I am a more compassionate brother and friend now. For others, I don’t want the rock they carry to be one of a pile in the pit of the stomach. I wish it to be a semi-precious stone they are proud to carry in spite of its burden.

-David Downing

That spring, in quick succession we experienced a number of life-defining events.  I was approved for ordination in the UMC. I interviewed at a suburban Boston church for the role of associate pastor. I graduated seminary. I was ordained and I received a call from the District Superintendent saying the bishop was appointing me to Sudbury UMC.  We prepared to move from our small studio apartment on the seminary campus to the four-bedroom parsonage on Drum Lane.  I was told to expect some church people to show up at the seminary one Saturday morning in late June to help us move.

You did show up. There were at least five trucks and 20 people. Within two hours all our worldly possessions were packed in the trucks, driven the 20 miles west, unpacked and put onto shelves and into cabinets. The other students at the seminary snuck peeks out their windows and later told me they had never seen such a thing. Most expected to rent a trailer themselves, get a TripTik (remember those?) from AAA, and find their own way to their first appointment.

Over and over again, in the six years I served as the associate, you showed up for one another and for the community. You showed up for the youth when I asked for volunteers to go on work team weekends. You showed up for 7:30am Bible studies.  You showed up for one another in covenant groups for years on end, as you met to talk about your lives, your children’s lives, books you might read together, and ideas you were working through.  You showed up and together produced music to lift the rafters of the church and our spirits also.  You showed up for difficult discussions about the best way to do ministry in our community and beyond.  You showed up, sometimes in silence and usually carrying a prepared meal, when hard or terrible things happened. You showed up for games of rounders, for teaching Sunday School, for fixing the parsonage plumbing, for folding and sending the newsletter… You showed up.

This commitment to and habit of showing up for one another is a church’s superpower. This consistent presence and engaged caring for one another is the best living example and clearest reflection of God’s love for us. This season of Lent, let this be our continued aspiration in ministry: to find ways that we can show up for one another as God has always shown up for us.

-Avis Hoyt-O’Connor
Associate Pastor, Sudbury UMC, 1989-1995

When I think about fasting, I immediately think of physical fasting. Perhaps this stems from my first exposure to Lent being friends giving up chocolate or sweets. But as Pastor Leigh described in her sermon a few weeks ago, a Lenten fast is not necessarily a physical one. Instead it may be a “giving up” of behaviors that don’t support one’s faith. I considered some of the examples she brought up, such as fasting “negative thoughts about neighbor” or “fear … about people who don’t look, or act, or think…” like me. My initial reaction is to think I am above that. I love everyone. I know that everyone I meet is a child of God. But as I go through my daily life, particularly in stressful environments like the veterinary hospital where I work, or during a chaotic commute on the Mass Pike, I can easily lose that sentiment and find maintaining my “children of God” mindset to be a challenge. It can be hard, at times, to prevent quick judgments from forming in my mind.

But I can carry with me the intention to love like Jesus loves and bring myself back, again and again, to thoughts of loving kindness and compassion rather than judgment. I can remember that people of all backgrounds and means, from those who struggle to get by to those with considerable privilege, suffer and experience times of hardship. I can bring this to my mind when someone treats me in a less-than-polite manner as a counter to my initial judgment. I can give that person a break. I don’t have all the details and it’s strange, really, that judgments come so readily when I have little sense of what someone may be going through when our paths happen to cross. I recall a saying: “Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” It’s definitely easier to be kind to people who are pleasant or follow societal expectations for “good behavior”. But, God loves all her children, regardless of their imperfections, social awkwardness, or curt manner. I can offer everyone a smile or a kind word and pray that they find relief from whatever it is that burdens them and that I might find the willingness to accept people as they are.

So, my fast this year is to replace (or, at least, to promptly follow) judgment with loving kindness and try to keep this in the forefront of my mind as I move through my day. The season of Lent is a reminder to be more intentional about my thoughts and actions as I attempt to be a small light in our sometimes dark, often trying world. So I hope I can remember to take at least a moment throughout my day to allow God’s spirit to meet me in the midst of my worldly troubles as I seek to emulate the goodwill and love that God freely offers to all Creation.

-Kate Moser

[Ed. Note: here’s an item recently posted at the Daily Stoic website.]

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“We are so busy. We think we’re supposed to be. We think that’s how we get better. We think that moving is the only way to move forward.

“You might think that Marcus Aurelius could relate. After all, he headed an entire empire! He had books to read, writing to do, laws to pass, cases to hear, troops to lead. So yes, he was a busy man. He, like us, was pulled in many directions. He had ambitions, worries, hopes, and dreams.

“Yet when he speaks most beautifully, it’s of moments of quiet and calm. ‘If you can cut free of impressions that cling to the mind,’ he said, ‘free of the future and the past —- can make yourself, as Empedocles says, “a sphere rejoicing in its perfect stillness.”’ Have you ever had a moment like that? If you have, you know how special it is. You know what kind of insights you were able to access, what kind of happiness crept in, what kind of peace you were able to feel. Marcus wrote that having that stillness allows us to ‘concentrate on living what can be lived (the present moment).’ Only then, he said, ‘can you spend the time you have left in tranquility. And in kindness. And at peace with the spirit within you.’

“You deserve moments like that. Moments where you watch the snow fall. Moments where you sit quietly with a book. Moments where you look out the train window, not on a conference call, not checking email, not wondering how long until you arrive in the city, but a moment to check in with yourself, to think about your life and what you want to do with it. Moments with loved ones. Moments where you are grateful, connected, happy, creative, in the zone —- doing whatever it is that you do best.

“When the Stoics talk about stillness, they aren’t talking about some abstract notion. They are talking about maybe the most important thing you can be doing in your life. They are saying that all the ‘work’ you are doing, all the thoughts you’re expending trying to get ahead, trying to force a breakthrough, are pointless.

​”The real way to charge ahead is to slow down. To clear your mind. To rejoice in perfect stillness, free of the future and the past, fully present and locked in. You can do it. You deserve that.”

-submitted by Meg Fotakis

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (Matthew 7:12)

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I am remembering a book written by a young friend that is called 1,000 Mitzvahs: How Small Acts of Kindness Can Heal, Inspire and Change Lives [by Linda Cohen]. It might also be true that small acts of kindness can change the world!

So, I am trying to practice a small act of kindness by smiling at people I pass by. I smile at strangers walking down the street or in the grocery store. They might think “what she smilin’ about?” But usually it makes them smile. And then they will make someone else smile. That could improve the day and the life of a lot of people.

I am also chatting with fellow shoppers at the store, agreeing with their choice of a certain brand, or that I like their scarf or their earrings. It usually makes them smile!

And I am trying to be a more patient driver, and slow down to help someone who is trying to pull out of their driveway or a side street. It might make them smile and then return the favor to someone else.

But sometimes I am having a bad day and I hope someone will try to make me smile.

-Lynn Cunningham

I recently heard that it’s just as hard to lead a hopeful and vivacious life as it is to lead a fearful and morbid life. The only difference is hope and vitality are just nicer.

Life is hard no matter what so why not choose hope? Hope gives us meaning and momentum.

My hope is renewed when I sit in church on Sunday morning. The rhythm and pattern of the service, the music, the deep breath-in lead by Leigh — they center me. When I’m centered and thoughtful, I’m less fearful and feel more confident about my hopes. I like to look out a sanctuary window at the tall, green pines; and at the cross on top of the steeple when I enter. I like to hear the voices of those around me when we recite the Lord’s Prayer together. Praying in unity really lifts my hopes as I figure each voice is lifting up their hopes to God. I hope my prayers somehow strengthen someone else’s hope and I receive others’ prayers to strengthen mine.

So join me in working to lead a life with hope and vitality. I’m still working on it and when I get there I can vouch that it really is waaaaaay nicer.

-Vikki Jacobson

Three years ago when COVID hit and we had to quarantine, I had to be extremely careful because I was in the “elderly” category and have several health issues that put me at risk. Since I like to send cards to friends and had no way to purchase them, I resorted to the Current Catalog. They carry every type of greeting card you could need, whether it be sympathy cards, get-well cards, or birthday and anniversary cards.

As I looked through all of their selections I came across a card that was blank on the inside so that you could write a note for anything. The poem on the outside caught my attention, and I want to share it with all my SUMC family because each time I try to order it again it has been out of stock. I think this is a perfect prayer for our Lenten season.

I said a prayer for you today.
And know God must have heard. I felt the answer in my heart, although He spoke no word.

I didn’t ask for wealth or fame,
I knew you wouldn’t mind. I asked Him to send treasures, of a far more lasting kind.

I asked that He’d be near you,
At the start of each new day. To grant you health and blessings, and friends to share your way.

I asked for happiness for you,
In all things great and small. But it was His loving care I prayed for most of all.
-Unknown

Blessings to all of you in this beautiful Lenten season,

-Judy Aufderhaar

“Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” (Matthew 7:7)

For many years, as one of the teachers of middle school Sunday School classes, known for a while as the “Grapple Group” here at SUMC, I stressed to the students the promise that God is, and will always be, with us. I also used as a mantra during those years, “Seek and ye shall find,” as a starting point for those who had yet to discover the presence of God in their lives.

This was an important message for me to share because I have felt the presence of God so powerfully in my life, and I hoped that all of the youth in the class would also someday experience the presence of God in their lives if they had not already done so. Even though I have had a number of awe-inspiring encounters with God over my lifetime, and even though we are encouraged to witness to others how God has been in our lives, I have been hesitant to share my “God experiences” with others. On Sunday, February 19th, Pastor Leigh addressed some of the reasons why people, like me, hesitate to share such personal experiences – accusations of being under the influence; emotional; or the most troubling, that we might be accused of “making it up.” Well, Pastor Leigh’s sermon has emboldened me to share one of my experiences, one that was fleeting, yet profound for me.

This spiritual experience occurred a few years ago in the basement of our house. I was exercising on an elliptical machine, a funny contraption that simulates the aerobic exercise of running without jarring the joints as sometimes happens when running on hard surfaces. It was, and is, my practice to pray during my exercise sessions. It is a quiet time, with no distractions. One day, while straining on this machine, I turned my head to the right to take a deep breath, when suddenly I felt a momentary, instantaneous flash of something profoundly beautiful. It was as if God was sharing with me, viscerally, at that instant, what God’s kindom is like – astonishing peace, harmony, love, and beauty. Perhaps this experience was, for me, a liminal glance into what many of us refer to as “heaven,” or perhaps what God’s kindom on earth could be like.

I don’t know where this flash came from or why it happened, other than to recognize and accept it as an instance of God being with me that day and responding to my praying during that exercise session. I wasn’t praying for anything in particular. Rather, I was simply seeking to grow closer to God, my creator, the source of my life. This moment was something that I cannot describe in greater detail. It was more of an instantaneous flash and a sensation of “knowing,” rather than a visual experience which could be described with words. No matter what it was, I feel blessed to have experienced it.

So, there you have it. I have shared with my friends at SUMC one of my blessed personal experiences with the Divine. For those who have never had similar spiritual experiences, I can appreciate the skepticism. However, I can assure everyone that I was not under the influence; I might have been tired but not emotional; and most importantly, that I did not make this up. Through my own, very real, experiences (experience is one leg of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral, by the way), I am convinced that if we seek the presence of God and pay attention to what is happening around us, we will find that God is with us in every moment of our lives. For this I am truly grateful. Praise be to God!

Loving Creator, we thank you for your promise to be with us, always and forever. May we stay alert to see your presence in the ordinary events in our lives. Amen.

-Trey Burns

It’s a coincidence – or maybe the moving of the Holy Spirit! – to see the question “How can I be in solidarity with the poor?” as an option for our Lent Blog this year, as this question resonates with a class I’m teaching this Spring. The class is grounded in Liberation Theology, a way of thinking about God and humanity, and a way of reading the Bible, that puts us in greater solidarity with the poor.

Liberation theology arose in the middle of the twentieth century, largely in Central and South America. As you can tell from the word “liberation,” this thinking centers on the concept of freedom: freedom from systems that marginalize and oppress, freedom from sin, and freedom from a paralyzing sense of fate that prevents us from making life better for everyone here and now. Oscar Romero, who was martyred by government soldiers while leading worship for his support of the poor in El Salvador, is one of the more famous enactors of liberation theology.

Why would anyone kill an archbishop who supports the poor? We see the answer in comparing a liberation theology perspective to a more traditional (but less Biblical) Christian perspective. Often, people assume that the hope Christianity provides to the downtrodden is a hope in heaven: “things may be miserable for you now, but after death you’ll be rewarded.” While the hope for heaven is not a bad thing, this sort of “pie in the sky by-and-by” thinking mostly serves to retain the status quo. Putting one’s hope only in heaven serves to keep the rich wealthy and keep the poor lowly.

By contrast, liberation theology proposes that God wants all people to have what they need for a full and healthy life here and now. Under liberation theology, people are called to work for equality and justice on earth, with faith that God supports this work. You can see how this might lead to danger: people who hold wealth and power are often not eager to share those things with the poor, and they even resort to violence to prevent such a sharing.

Liberation theology calls us to be in solidarity with the poor by working with them to provide all people fair wages, equal opportunities, and the resources they need for health and wholeness. Liberation theology calls us to love the poor just as God does, and to desire their benefit as much as God does.

So how can we be in solidarity with the poor? We might try:

• Reading the Bible through the eyes of the poor… what do the scriptures mean to people without enough to eat, or without a home?
• Supporting policies which help the poor by voting, contacting Congress members, writing letters, sending e-mails, protesting, donating… You name it!
• Praying for the poor, actively and often.
• Befriending and being with the poor, by volunteering for and talking with them.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says “Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” Let us look to be in solidarity with these heirs of the kingdom, and let us work with them to bring about God’s kingdom here and now.

-Heather Josselyn Cranson

What do you do first thing in the morning? Perhaps you get out of bed and make a cup of coffee or think about your to-do list. But what if before you even got up, you said this Bible verse: “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let me rejoice and be glad in it.” Even if you may be feeling stressed, overwhelmed, disappointed or worried, this is a great way to start the day.

Sometimes we just need to stop, relax and rest. Take a deep breath and reflect on what is really important. This could help us gain a new perspective and accept circumstances we cannot change. It is a time to be in God’s presence.

Special opportunities I have had to stop, reflect, and rest have been on day-apart church retreats. In past years at SUMC, I enjoyed Lenten retreats, women’s retreats and especially the yearly weekend family retreats at Geneva Point on Lake Winnepesaukee in New Hampshire. But you can stop, relax, and rest any day, any time. Just sit quietly and see what happens.

Recently, I found the following, which I must have written on one of those day-apart retreats. It speaks to me to this very day. I hope it resonates with you as well.

-Nancy Sweeney
(former SUMC member now living in Plymouth, MA)

[Ed. Note: here are some thoughts in response to the writing prompt, “My comfort zone is holding me back. Here’s how…”]

In a recent conversation with my business coach, she asked if I am addicted to comfort. She saw the signs: a malaise when nothing is wrong, low energy to get things done, just having the blahs. I blamed it on the January slump and short days. But when January turned into February and it continued, I wondered.

When she explained “comfort addiction” as the lack of stimulation causing the blues, I had to consider it.

After the call, I did some Google research and found a couple of articles on comfort addiction, but they didn’t explain it well. One article described it as liking your physical creature comforts to excess. For example, not being willing to camp anymore because of being uncomfortable or having to travel with your favorite pillow. That wasn’t me. I like comfort but that doesn’t inhibit my activities.

I discussed the concept with my best friend, who said that as we get older, particularly in the winter months, we all want to nestle in and be at home under a comfy blanket with a hot cup of tea. She aims to have that time every weekend and enjoys it. It energizes her.

I countered that I had plenty of comfortable time at home, and I still had the blues. More hygge time would not help.

As my coach explained to me: “a comfort addiction means that you get used to the good life you built for yourself, yet it’s not bringing you joy. This can be a sign that you lack learning, stimulation, and new challenges.”

As a new empty-nester with lots more time, a drop in responsibilities and the lack of teenage drama around me, I did have a comfort addiction. Without new challenges in my life, I felt stale.

God invites us to live this life to our fullest. This means not letting our comfort zone hold us back from experiencing and learning. This means looking for fun new activities to do when comfort gets too addicting or boring.

With this insight, I sat back down at Google to find a new experience and then registered for a Winter Outdoor Training Experience through the Appalachian Mountain Club.

What might your comfort zone or addiction be holding you back from trying in this life?

-Wendy Pease

Nearly forty years ago, I heard the word “mulch” used during a discussion about the length of academic terms. Nan Keohane was the president of Wellesley College when she said that learners need time to allow ideas to percolate and generate mulch during a semester. This still resonates with me and I welcome the incentive to ponder and prepare for the joy of Easter during the season of Lent. Rob’s request to each of us to contribute entries to the Lenten blog starts the process of deciding on a topic and then writing something to share with others.

I have been a member of the choir at SUMC for more than fifty years (yikes!) and find that I know many Bible passages from singing anthems and hymns that use Biblical text. The words, combined with notes, chords, rhythms, and voices of those with whom I am singing fill my heart in a way that magnifies any understanding that I might gain from reading and studying the words alone. (And this is a lifelong project.)

But, besides using text, there is another way that music speaks to me. One year ago, Kevin gifted us with a postlude that I had never heard before, rich in chords and in a minor key. Whenever Kevin plays, particularly when he improvises, I wait with anticipation for the final chord, wondering whether it will be in a major or minor key. This particular postlude ended with a major chord and I mentioned to Kevin that I had not expected this, a “major” and unexpected change. Kevin then shared with me that he had played the Ukrainian national anthem and it was important to him to end it with a sound of hope.

The music that we sing during Lent is often subdued, written in a minor key, with words such as “Were You There…” that transform the events of our everyday lives back to a time and place of confusion, misunderstanding and sorrow. The weeks of contemplation force me to think about the pain of denial, followed by betrayal, fear and a brutal death. The days get longer and new life appears around us in all its glory, nurtured by the mulch that strengthens and feeds us. When we gather on Easter Sunday to sing, my joy is magnified by breaking out in joyous song.

-Ann Hamilton

[Ed. Note: some of our authors utilize this year’s list of nearly three dozen possible writing “prompts” to inspire thoughts that can then be turned into Lenten Devotions. Some don’t. Interestingly, if you’re trying to work out which one today’s writer could have been responding to, the answer might be “a great many of them all at once”.]

Back in the Dark Ages (the 1960s), while I was still in Southern California and chairman of the missions commission at Alhambra First Methodist Church, I was trying to get things going in combating racism.

An opportunity suddenly arose from a furious assault on a big civil rights march as it trudged toward Selma, Alabama. The brutal assault on marchers soon led to a second, even larger national protest against the awful treatment that civil rights marchers had run into during their first attempt to protest the tradition of rabid segregation engrained in racist Alabama.

State troopers and others had first viciously attacked the original column of marchers, brutally beating and otherwise attacking people as they crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge, en route to Selma. The marchers’ original goal was to ensure their angry message got to Alabama’s capital city.

In response to news of that attack, a large group of California clergy members flew to Alabama to re-do the original protest march.

And it turned out that one of those clergy volunteer “marchers” was my pastor, Harry Adams, an extraordinarily articulate preacher.

When I asked, “why did you go?” … his reply: “I had to put my money where my mouth is.”

‘Nuff said.

-Bob Cooke

[Ed. note: In the spirit of Lenten introspection and “almsgiving” — “the giving of alms is one way to share God’s gifts—not only through the distribution of money, but through the sharing of our time and talents”, wrote one thinker — we continue this year’s Lenten Devotions with a brief note about things that proper communities do…]

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I am so grateful for my church and its members. Having fractured my back and being out of commission for many weeks, I truly appreciate SUMC.

I received twenty-two get-well cards, many phone calls, flowers, and personal visits, which all really helped the healing process. I appreciate being able to watch our church services on Zoom, and to attend meetings. Pastor Leigh was most comforting with her prayer.

Thank you one and all.

-Lyn MacLean

Sunday’s palms are Wednesday’s ashes
As another Lent begins
Thus we kneel before our Maker
In contrition for our sins

I’m not sure when I first focused on the idea that the ashes which are used on Ash Wednesday to mark Christians’ foreheads aren’t just any ashes, but rather are the results of burning the palm leaves that were waved triumphantly on Palm Sunday.

It was definitely long after the first time I ever sang the hymn “Sunday’s Palms Are Wednesday’s Ashes”. That hymn can be found in the middle of our hymnal, “The Faith We Sing”.

Its text was written in 1982 by the British-born educator and writer Rae E. (Phillips) Whitney (1927-). She wrote, “…alas, I have been unable to find out when and where the custom began, even though, during my research, I consulted two of the best liturgical scholars in the Episcopal Church. Does anyone know the answer?”

In his series of articles about the history of various hymns used in Methodist hymnals, Prof. C. Michael Hawn didn’t shed any light on the custom’s origins; but in any case, he wrote:

“Linking the green palms of Palm Sunday to the charred palms of Ash Wednesday highlights the irony of the coming Holy Week: the week begins with palms waved in celebration of the Messiah and concludes with the Messiah hanging on a cross.

“For those that observe this aspect of the Christian Year, the ongoing cyclic nature is pivotal to the experience. Ash Wednesday connects us to the Palm Sunday of the previous year and reminds us of the coming of the next Palm Sunday and the beginning of the next Holy Week. Ash Wednesday places us, the penitent worshipper on our knees, in the center of the drama on the journey to the cross.”

It is true that in this online format, first post of this year’s Lenten Devotions blog appears directly after the last post of last year’s Devotions. While it has been noted that in many instances, “coincidence takes planning,” it would undoubtedly be presumptuous of me to suppose that this juxtaposition is even remotely comparable to the symbolism of tonight’s ashes being last spring’s palms.

That said … in preparing for this year’s Lenten Devotions effort, I absolutely returned to previous years’ writings, both in the effort to inspire my own writing and in the effort to pull together a collection of writing “prompts” which might inspire others’ writing … even (or perhaps especially) those members and friends of our Sudbury UMC congregation who have written so prolifically for the Blog before.

Already this year’s writings have been arriving on my electronic doorstep. Without wishing to set up unattainable expectations, I am nonetheless willing to suggest that each morning during Lent (not including Sundays, since I have learned that this is theologically accurate — how ’bout that!) … you will be moved and inspired. Perhaps even to the point that you may wish to contribute some writing of your own.

Either way, I do hope that the writings that will follow throughout Lent will help you navigate this season of introspection, in preparation for the events of Holy Week and the celebration of Easter.

-Rob Hammerton

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P.S. In preparing today’s piece of writing, I went to the “Book of Common Prayer”, hoping to find some Ash Wednesday liturgy that might shed some light on the charred-palms tradition. Except instead of the suggested pages 264-269, I mistakenly went to page 254, where I discovered the concept of “Ember Days”. My follow-up research about that term revealed that “ember days” have nothing to do with the burnt Palm Sunday palms except in an agrarian sort of way. But they are days of prayer and fasting. Hmmm. Again, sometimes “coincidence takes planning” — even if it’s not our (Earthly) planning effort…

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)

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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)

Last night, before our Good Friday service and just after the choir had finished its warmup and sing-through of the anthem they were to present, Kevin offered a prayer. In it, he noted that we’ve now reached the “ringing silence” that is the time between the trauma of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter Sunday.

This year, we’ve held Lenten suppers on Wednesday evenings … as historically has happened before at SUMC.

This year, we’ve held a Palm Sunday service with many people in the pews, acolytes lighting the candles, a choir of more than a handful singing (and chanting) anthems, and handshakes and coffee hour afterward … as happened before at SUMC.

This year, we’ve held a Maundy Thursday service with foot- and hand-washing opportunities … as has happened before at SUMC.

This year, we’ve held a Good Friday “Stations of the Cross” service, with movement around our campus and multiple readers … as has happened before at SUMC.

This year, we’ve offered a wide variety of Lenten writings, written by a large number of members and friends of our congregation … as has happened before at SUMC.

I’ve had the happy experience of being the owner of the eMail inbox into which eMail messages, with pieces of writing attached, have dropped with a cheerful ding!. “Lent Blog”, read the subject lines of those eMail messages, and I’ve opened the attachments with a sense of anticipation not unlike a series of micro-Christmas mornings.

When we’ve posted a piece of writing each morning, only at the end of it do we identify who the author has been — so that people are either surprised to learn that identity, or unsurprised, depending upon whether that author’s writing style or subject is a predictor.

This year, none of those authors have been our departed friend, Janet Johnson. And … at least in the time I’ve been editing our online devotional efforts … that has not happened before at SUMC.

It has been its own version of a “ringing silence”.

Now — as I’ve said, a nice number of SUMC members and have leapt into the fray, written pieces academic and personal, expository and ruminative, brief and lengthy … from far and near!

And I have done my level best, in my “hey wouldn’t you like to help out with the Lenten Devotions Blog effort?” sales pitches, not to include any mention of Janet’s passing. As I have noted in other spaces, I’m not heavily into laying guilt: it feels terrible to do it, and even if it’s a successful tactic in the short term, it’s not a recipe for success in encouraging people to participate in any activity over the longer term. And invoking Janet’s passing would be the ultimate guilt-edged recruiting tool, wouldn’t it?

(I do apologize for that pun. But I also bet that Janet would get a chuckle out of it. And if so, I would frame that chuckle and mount it on my wall of writing successes.)

But Janet hasn’t been far from my thoughts, during this year’s Lenten season. Beyond the multiple written contributions that she would pour into my eMail inbox each time I’ve lit the LentBlog or AdventBlog “Bat-signal” … I always looked forward to our interactions, infrequent though they may have been in the last several years. In the times when we were able to send a pack of singers over to Newbury Court to sing Christmas carols there, it was always enjoyable seeing her and chatting briefly. And this diminutive figure was a giant personality during the moments when she would appear here in Sudbury for Sunday service and coffee hour.

I’ve missed her. We all have — whether we knew her for a very long time, or knew her only for a brief span, or got to know her through her autobiographical Devotional writings.

But as we reach this ringing silence, this Saturday in Holy Week, and as we reach the conclusion of this “writing cycle” — the 2021 AdventBlog and the 2022 LentBlog — I’m confident that we’ve risen to the challenge of trying to fill what unquestionably was a sudden void in our writing effort.

I invite you to scroll down in this Blog, through the Lenten and Advent writings of the past three years, and find Janet’s writings. If they stay with you, and inspire you to answer future “would you like to write for us?” bells, great. Even if not, whether or not you’ve read them before, I predict that you’ll benefit from the experience.

-Rob Hammerton

Each April, we celebrate Earth Day, a time to think about ways that we can be better stewards of God’s creation. During my Lenten journey, I have been reflecting on ways that I can have a bigger impact as an advocate for environmental justice, while also personally having a smaller impact on our environment. I’ve made some personal commitments including:

[] I’m reducing my use of plastics by switching to items that don’t use plastic containers, like bar soaps and bar shampoo, and laundry detergent sheets.

[] I’m reducing my consumption of meat.

[] And then I’m striving to improve my recycling by assuring that I’m recycling correctly. Follow these tips to be sure you are too!

As a member of the SUMC Social Justice Committee, I’ve been reading more about the UMC’s commitment to Environmental Justice – and the pillars of Sustainability, Food Justice, Clean Water, and Climate Justice.

Join me in reading more about what our United Methodist Church is doing and thinking
about how we can make a difference to live sustainably, this Earth Day and every day. And please join the Social Justice Commission on Sunday, April 24, as we welcome Rev. Sheri Smith to help us celebrate Earth Day.

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A Prayer from our UMC Partners at the Creation Justice Ministries:
God, we come to you in grief and despair for the state of your creation.
Lord, have mercy on your planet and people.
Today, we look with an unflinching gaze into the reality of climate catastrophe, because we are to be a people who do not turn away from suffering and injustice.
Lord, have mercy on your planet and people.
May our lament turn to compassion and our rage turn to action.
Lord, have mercy on your planet and people.
When hope seems foolish and impossible, may we continue to work for the restoration of this world.
Lord, have mercy on your planet and people.
In grief, despair, and lament, we offer this prayer through Jesus Christ, our creator, redeemer, and sustainer.

-Kim Prendergast

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”
-Ecclesiastes 3:1

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The words below are from the “Hymn of Promise” (United Methodist Hymnal #707). These words are very meaningful to us, especially during this season of Lent. Though we do not know the future, we can cling to God’s promises as found in scripture and nature. All will be revealed in its season.

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In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter, there’s a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
There’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time infinity;
In our doubt, there is believing; in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection; at last, a victory,
Unrevealed until its season; something God alone can see.

-Nancy and Jim Sweeney
(former SUMC members now living in Plymouth, MA)

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[“Hymn of Promise” © 1986 Hope Publishing Co.]

[Editor’s Note: we don’t usually identify our Lenten Devotions writers until the end of whatever it is they’ve written. Today we’ll make an exception:

[Dr. Belinda Forbes is a Global Missionary with the Board of Global Ministries (GBGM) of The United Methodist Church serving in Nicaragua, Central America. Dr. Forbes was commissioned by GBGM in 1997 and has carried out her missionary service in different placements. A dentist by profession, Dr. Forbes serves God and the Church by contributing to community dental health programs, coordinating short-term mission teams, mentoring volunteers, and interfacing with international partner organizations.]

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In a virtual Bible study with supporting church Sudbury UMC (New England Conference), member Ann Hamilton makes a comment that there are certain Scriptures that make her feel “squidgy.” Amidst the laughter at this funny word usually reserved for a fisherman’s damp, clammy boots, she is asked to explain. Ann says that some parts of the Bible are difficult, hard to accept, make her feel uncomfortable … and “squidgy.” In Spanish we might say, “inquieto,” or restless, as a child that cannot sit still or a night where sleep is elusive and turbulent.

Throughout the Christian calendar we come across passages that make us feel this way and may even prompt us to question God and the wisdom behind stories of persecution, war, exile, and death.

Entering Holy Week brings us to the last supper, the betrayal, the arrest, crucifixion, and death of Jesus, all contrary to what was expected of the Messiah.

The expectation was that Jesus would enter Jerusalem with the glory of an earthly king … despite the welcome cries of “Hosanna,” he rode in humbly on a donkey over a path of palms.

The expectation was that the disciples would be united to defend Jesus … instead there was betrayal, denial, dispersion, and darkness.

The expectation was an overthrow of the powers … when Jesus was arrested and accused of proclaiming himself King of the Jews, Jesus went quietly, responding, “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.” (John 18:37 NIV)

The expectation was that he wouldn’t die … but he did, agonizing on the cross and even questioning God’s purpose.

The Scripture we will read and remember during Holy Week gatherings is as squidgy as it gets. We may want to turn away and skip over the depth of pain and despair to get to the Easter lilies, alleluias, and Sunday lunches, but there is no avoiding the difficult, dark path that is before Jesus as he assumes the burdens of the world to finally vanquish death. Yet God is at hand during Jesus’s journey. This reminds us that in the dark times our world currently faces, God is there at every moment. This is a moment for repentance and renewal and a choice to be on the side of truth.

Whether you enter this holiest of weeks feeling restless or even squidgy about what is to come, there is hope and promise beyond the grave. Let our hearts move gently but confidently and courageously this week to reach that promise of the new Covenant with God’s people, bringing us to a new life in Christ and new place of joy to serve the world.

Grace and peace,
-Belinda

Good Friday has long been a “must” for me to observe and make a priority. When I was working (outside my home), I always arranged to be off so I could attend a Good Friday service. (Oddly enough, the only person for whom I worked who questioned why I “needed” to be off was one of the several pastors in the church I served as a church secretary.)

Not every church, including the church I attended in my small hometown, had a Good Friday service. It was an era when many folks thought only Catholics went to church on Good Friday.

My “Good Friday church” was a large Episcopal Church in a nearby town. The first time I went there, it was a clear day and the sun streamed through the stained glass windows. For me, it was a private occasion, so I especially appreciated the lack of chitchat among those present. It was the first church where I found that one kneeled for prayers, which added to the atmosphere. I felt at peace there.

After we moved here, I attended the Sudbury Clergy Association Good Friday service until SUMC began to have its own evening worship. My favorite Good Friday service was one held outdoors, much like what I think is planned for this Friday’s worship at SUMC, where families come and participate as we move from station to station around the exterior of our church.

To me, it’s important that we bring our children on Good Friday. That way, they experience it as part of “church,” not something that doesn’t really “count.” To have God sacrifice His Son on a cross so we may have eternal life — counts!

“…Rarely will anyone die for a righteous person…”
-Romans 5:7 NRSV

And if our children are now adults living away, we ourselves can come, as part of the oath we take as a congregation whenever a child is baptized, to “do all in [our] power to nurture this child and increase their faith, confirm their hope, and perfect them in love.” What better way to do that than by example?

Pray for dry weather on Friday! See you there.

-Nancy Hammerton

[Editor’s Note: If there’s a lighter side to Lent, then one of our very-regular contributors may have found it…]

I am remembering an Easter-time when I was a child. My brother and I were invited to an Easter party at a house with a lovely lawn, where we rolled Easter eggs and looked for candy.

When it was time to go home, the hostess handed out baby chicks! Our mother said “oh, no,” and we said “oh, yes!”

I named mine Chicken Little, and my brother’s was Hezekiah. My brother’s chicken used to perch on his shoulder as he walked around the house. My chicken was not as brave.

We lived in a townhouse, and the chicks were getting bigger. They also started making noises. We could hear our next-door neighbors when they played music, so they could probably hear our chickens.

My mother explained that we had to find a new home for them. She met a young man who worked at the grocer’s and lived on a farm. He said he would give them a good home.

So sadly we had to say goodbye to our chicks. But my brother and I knew it was the best thing to do. They could go and play outdoors and be with other chickens, so we were happy.

As an adult, I know chickens should not be handed out like toys. And it may even be illegal. But for us it was like a 4-H project, and we learned something about caring for animals.

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“If you come across a bird’s nest in any tree or on the ground, with young ones or eggs and the mother sitting on the young or on the eggs, you shall not take the mother with the young. You shall let the mother go, but the young you may take for yourself, that it may go well with you, and that you may live long.”
-Deuteronomy 22:6-7

“Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.”
-Proverbs 12:10

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God.”
-Luke 12:6

-Lynn Cunningham

[Editor’s Note: the following poem was written by the 17th-century poet and Anglican cleric Robert Herrick (1591–1674) — he of, among other things, the famous first poetic line “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may”. Nearly four hundred years ago, he just may have had Lent figured out…]

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Lent
Robert Herrick

Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour?

No; ‘tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;
And that’s to keep thy Lent.

[Editor’s Note: this is a lightly-edited transcript of yesterday’s Choir Director Check-In video, on a topic that is relevant this very weekend! To see the video, which is a lot more visual than this LentBlog post, visit SUMC’s Facebook page.]

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Sprechstimme!

You will be unsurprised to learn that this word is German. It seems they have a fun-sounding word for most everything.

This word is one way of describing the Offertory anthem that the choir will present. I would say that the choir was going to sing it, but that’s not true, strictly speaking.

We now flash back to early 2007.

As we headed into Lent that year, I got reading through the various descriptions of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem contained in the four Gospels. For some reason, the passages in the books of Matthew and Luke struck me.

To make a long story short: by the end of that reading session, I was imagining a choir anthem built out of extracts from those texts, accompanied by interesting harmonies from the Trinity Brass, the quartet headed by our dear departed friend Ron Smith that would visit our Sunday services from time to time.

The gimmick: not a word would be actually sung.

Rhythmically presented, yes. But no singing of actual pitches.

And that is pretty much the definition of that German word, Sprechstimme.

In German, it literally means “speech-voice”. It’s a cross between speaking and singing in which the tone quality of speech is heightened and lowered in pitch along melodic contours indicated in the musical notation.

So I wrote a rhythmic setting of four Scripture passages, presented by four groups of voices, about akin to the soprano, alto, tenor and bass voice parts– higher and lower female speaking voices, and higher and lower male speaking voices.

The first two passages are from Matthew’s gospel:

Matthew 21:5 … “Tell the daughter of Zion, look, your king is coming to you, humble, and seated on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” And Matthew 21:2-3 … “Go into the village ahead of you, & you will find a donkey and a colt. If anyone asks you why you are untying them, tell them, ‘The Lord needs them.’”

These passages are spoken by the choir, over top of the instrumental accompaniment, mimicking the rhythms that the words would form if they were merely recited as a prose narration. That’s the first third of the piece.

The last two-thirds of the piece is a rhythmic presentation of another pair of passages: Matthew 21:9 says, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”, and the lower voices of the choir assemble it into a more musical “groove”, which then itself becomes background accompaniment to higher voices speaking Luke 19:38: “Peace in heaven! Blessed is the coming Kingdom! Glory in the highest heaven!”

This section begins with the choir voices representing the crowds who line the streets to observe Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Early in the section, they chant with enthusiasm, but also with respect,as a unified group … but by the time the piece concludes, it’s devolved into each voice group trying to out-enthusiasm the others, and it becomes a raucous rabble. It moves from triumphal to traumatic … not unlike the story of Holy Week.

When we first presented this piece, in 2007, the congregation reacted as I expected, and actually as I’d hoped — recognizing the work that went into preparing it and presenting it well … but scratching their heads a bit. I got lots of questions and “don’t take this the wrong way” comments at coffee hour afterward. It was fun.

Part of my logic was, if you listen to pretty music all the time, after awhile you may forget it’s pretty. Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone!

Or: ya can’t eat dessert only!

Or: a listening challenge isn’t bad. It’s just not something that American popular culture offers much, because it’s risky. It’s not a guaranteed mega-hit. It’s not a guaranteed blockbuster. It doesn’t sell merch.

It’s why Hollywood makes sequels so often. It’s why, forgive me, American pop music — and, if I’m being honest, a lot of contemporary Christian music — tends to sound a lot alike.

If it doesn’t make us feel good, we won’t go back and listen to any more of it. Or BUY any more of it.

I likes what I knows, and I knows what I likes.

Why do I go through this convoluted story?

Because we’re going to put the anthem up again.

This Palm Sunday [tomorrow], at Offering time … fasten your seatbelts. We’re doing it.

One good bit about this: since I wrote it, I own the copyright, and I declare that it’s okay to livestream it.

One challenging bit about this: often, church musicians opt to park the pretty, accessible, feel-good music during Offering time, on the logic that people may feel more generous if they’re smiling, rather than trying to figure out what’s going on musically.

But we hope that if you’re in church or watching [tomorrow], you’ll give this one a chance. The only other time we’ve presented “Hosanna to the Son of David”, it was 2014 … yeah, about every seven years! … so this might be a new listen for many of you.

See if it works for you.

See if it doesn’t.

See if it’s a challenge to listen to.

See if it achieves its purpose, at least in your opinion.

And then let me know.

If you don’t like it, let me know. I’m a grownup. I can take it. Crucially, let me know why you didn’t like it. It’s too easy to say, “ooo, I don’t like it” and leave it at that.

And if you DO like it, … definitely let me know. I’m a human. I like good reviews.

Either way: I hope you’ll appreciate the work that our choir folks have done to wrestle with this piece, and put it together again. It was really written with a larger choir in mind, about five or six people per vocal part; and in these COVID times, we’re grateful to have one or two on a part, and for this piece, the effect is maybe not quite so striking. Nobody’s fault; it’s what’s happening now … but actually, that means that this smaller group is having to do more work to produce the original intent of the piece.

One more thing we can do to claw our way back toward “how we used to do things”.

-Rob Hammerton

Many times, over the thirteen years we have lived in our townhouse, I have photographed the afternoon or early evening sky from the same vantage point. I have photographed the place in all seasons, and have seen pallets of different colors painted across the sky here. I am reminded that things are always changing. Some of the changes are welcome, others are inconvenient, and still others are downright intrusive, or even devastating. Some are turning points which we will always remember clearly and precisely. Others we will understand only later.

I wrote this blessing when I arrived home one day last week. A family member (I work now as a hospice chaplain) told me that some years before when the patient’s wife died, she stopped singing for a year and a half. She said, “My aunt didn’t even hum a tune like one does mindlessly around the house. It was like there was no music left in her heart.” So this blessing is for her, and for all of us, as we walk through the changes that life brings.

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For the chosen changes in our lives,
The new job,
The heart flutter with a new partner,
The relief of finding a new friend,
A well-earned retirement,
May all these enrich and strengthen us.
May all these gladden and refresh us.
May we claim and celebrate the, knowing them as gifts from God.

For the changes that slide into our days, just beyond our notice, and happily, take up residency with us,
The increasing warmth of the spring sun,
The longtime, quiet intimacy of one who knows us well,
The house that feels more and more like home as the days and years go along,
May all these things come into focus so that we may truly see them.
May these gifts not go unnoticed, unappreciated, and unsung.
May we claim and celebrate them, knowing them as gifts from God.

For the changes that come unbidden, maybe even unwelcome initially,
The process of aging—wisdom gained but other things lost,
The new colleague at work who doesn’t yet know the way of things,
The empty nest,
May we ask our own hearts to be open, ready to receive, prepared to prosper.
May we come to a time when we can claim and celebrate them, finding that these too are gifts from God.

For the changes that come into our lives by terrifying storm or by slow erosion, the changes that take the song from our hearts and leave us without so much as a tune to hum to ourselves,
The sudden death of one we love,
The illness that robs us of who we thought ourselves to be,
The slow drop-by-drop devastation of memory loss—our own or another’s
The horror of pollical events that suddenly are not far away or separate from us.
May we allow love and grace to bridge these gaps in us and around us.
May we, by prayer, with the help of those we love and who love us well, find peace amidst such storms.
May we remember that even when we cannot even hum a tune to ourselves, in time we will sing again. And in the meantime, there are others who raise their voices on our behalf. They will teach us to sing again.
And through all the changes may be always know that God is present, helping us through whatever the world throws at us. This gift is God’s greatest gift of all.

-Rev. Avis Hoyt-O’Connor

[Editor’s Note: I was just leafing through the pages of a couple of SUMC’s pictorial directories from the not-so-recent past, and thinking of the people and structures that remain — and those that don’t — and where I might fit into the grand SUMC timeline. Must be something in the air…]

As one of the members who watched the church being built in the early 1960s, and the Hawes family being a friend of our family, I have seen many changes take place through the years.

The History Committee, made up of Bev and Roy Paro, Bob Vannerson, and myself, produced a booklet on the church’s history. This is available by contacting the church office. The pictures mounted on the walls on both sides of the ramp leading to the church office was another project that this committee produced. The building of Chris Rose’s house by church members is also there for review.

All this shows how important the church has been in my life. Many friendships have lasted through the years and are still growing. Easter is a time to reflect on how fortunate we are to have such a religious place to meet and pray.

-Lyn MacLean

How can I be of service?

I don’t know these days, most of the time.

I was looking forward to spring, more than I realized, I guess. That touch of warmth that hit us a bit ago really wakened my desire to wear less on my feet, and to have my fingers in the dirt!

Gram and Dad both got a bit woken up in the spring, every single one of the springs I got to share with them. Gram would count blossoms and Dad would plant tomato seeds in pots in the picture window and before we knew it, we were listening to tomato-growing stories. Again. As a kid, I figured there were more interesting things to hear.

Gram would ask Dad questions about this or that about growing things. I used to wonder, why was she asking him, not the other way around?

Dad grew the vegetables, Mom the flowers. Gram did a bit of both, and she’d ask questions and conversations would start. Seemed kinda boring at the time I was living under Mom and Dad’s roof, reading family letters and overhearing phone conversations.

I didn’t recognize, as a kid, that this was a gift of service that they have all passed along to me. The talk of tomatoes when I was a teenager had a way of irritating me as not worth my time; at the same time it seemed rather attractive to me in a “don’t tell my friends” kind of way. Gram understood (she’d lived through raising her teens), but I felt I bugged my parents by not wanting to appear interested in their stuff.

At some point, I noticed what it meant to folks to receive the things my parents and Gram passed along. Dad always had tomatoes and stories of their growth and Mom and Gram brought smiles to many faces at the sight of pretty flowers. And, I wanted to do the same.

Where am I going with all the thoughts of spring? I dunno. It’s been a tough couple of years and I am really feeling the need to grow at the exact same time I am seeing the opposite every time I turn on the TV. I know spring will show itself, in berries on the local nursery blueberry bushes and daffodils in the front yard, and tomato plants will grow; and I know all that because I’ve been given that gift by those who have saved potato peels for compost and learned about the fertilizer and handed over the bouquets. Gifts of service? I think so. Nothing anyone is going to get medals for, but life will continue and the light will shine and smiles will show.

Tomatoes can be started. Spring is here. Easter is coming. Thank God.

-Cindi Bockweg

Some time last week, a co-worker asked me to provide backup for her during what we call “Lunch Bunch.”

While many of the preschoolers we work with leave at the end of the morning to go home to eat lunch and take naps, we have several who eat lunch at school before going home or to the classroom where they will spend a couple more hours before their parents come to get them.

In all the time I have worked at the school, Lunch Bunch has been my least favorite thing to do. I have been known to say I would do anything else (diaper changes?) if I did not have to do Lunch Bunch. The kids are pretty tired by that time of the day, and behaviors get challenging.

Most of the time I have pretty much gotten my way — seniority does have its perks, as they say! But this time, my co-worker and friend was so persuasive. I tried to assure her that I was close by and available to jump in at a moment’s notice if things got crazy, but she thought it would be more helpful if I sat in the room with them the whole time. Technically, only one teacher is required to sit with them during lunch if the group is small, as this one is.

My mind kept listing all of the other things I could be getting done during that time, and how waiting until lunch was over would make my day longer. I tried reasoning that I was saving the school money by getting done sooner. “Please!” she persisted. “It won’t really add that much time…” Ugh. “Okay.” I relented. “We will give it a try.”

That night, as I tried to fall asleep, my mind kept going over and over the frustrating feelings, and maybe resentment, that I was experiencing about getting talked into doing something I have mostly avoided for so long. I just could not fall asleep. I like this co-worker a lot, and I knew she really did believe her plan could make a difference, and that lunch would be calmer and more easily managed. I wasn’t so sure, but mostly I didn’t like feeling roped into something I didn’t want to do, and I didn’t like feeling angry, and I didn’t like feeling guilty about being angry. Sleep experts would not rate this as a good remedy for a good night’s sleep.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of frustrated wakefulness, I turned over to sleep on my other side. The instant I changed position, my mind blanked. Thoughts of school apparently were left on the other side of the pillow. Strange.

I tried to pick up the thought stream from before I rolled over, and then stopped. Why would I do that?! It had been keeping me awake for hours! In place of those thoughts I realized my mind had switched to other themes, like walking on the beach in Maine with Joel and picking up sand dollars … working with new acolytes in the church again after such a long time … remembering our most recent visit with our granddaughter, Rozzie. Before I knew it, it was morning and I was waking up from beautiful, peaceful dreams. And I also felt at peace with Lunch Bunch.

It occurred to me that my experience that night was something like repentance. Repentance is not about feeling guilty or remorseful. It means to turn around, to rearrange your way of thinking, feeling and being, turning your back on things that are wrong. In a very literal way, I turned my back that night, away from the negative feelings I was having, and towards people, places, and activities which have been blessings in my life, gifts from God. And by the way, Lunch Bunch has turned out to be kind of fun!

Life is full of things that frustrate us, make us angry and resentful. While we are focused on those things we can never be at rest. Listen! God is calling you, “Turn around! Roll over! I have blessings for you, if you will turn around. Turn your back on those negative thoughts that give you no peace. I have peace and blessings for you.” Sometimes we get reminded that those blessings have been there all along. Those negative thoughts are our creations, not God’s. God is offering us something so much better!

Prayer: Thank you God, for the peace you offer to us when we turn away from the negative thoughts and feelings we have, that keep us from living full and joyful lives. Help us recognize the blessings you offer to those who turn in repentance toward you.
Amen.

-Wendy Guillemette

Yesterday’s first choir offering, during Sunday worship, consisted of a familiar tune — “How Can I Keep From Singing?” — with a newer set of lyrics by the popular lyricist Brian A. Wren.

As the choir assembled this item during rehearsal on the previous Thursday evening, it struck a number of us that this new hymn text was an interesting and welcome addition to a sadly very-limited genre: … hymns about women.

Our United Methodist Hymnal and “The Faith We Sing” have a few hymns that do include women of the Bible in their subject matter, but very very few. Brian Wren’s poem, “A Prophet-Woman Broke A Jar,” perfectly fit a service that featured that particular Gospel reading from the twelfth chapter of John.

We initially thought perhaps we should print up the lyrics and place them in the pew racks so people could read the text for themselves; ultimately we didn’t because we felt we would be able to enunciate the words clearly enough, and that the sound system would properly send those words out into the Sanctuary, and into the livestream.

Instead, we’d like to include them here, so you can read or re-read them for yourself …

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A prophet-woman broke a jar,
by Love’s divine appointing.
With rare perfume she filled the room,
presiding and anointing.
A prophet-woman broke a jar,
the sneers of scorn defying.
With rare perfume she filled the room,
preparing Christ for dying.

A faithful woman left a tomb
by Love’s divine commission.
She saw; she heard; she preached the Word,
arising from submission.
A faithful woman left a tomb,
with resurrection gospel.
She saw; she heard; she preached the Word,
apostle to apostles.

Though woman-wisdom, woman-truth,
for centuries were hidden,
unsung, unwritten, and unheard,
derided and forbidden,
the Spirit’s breath, the Spirit’s fire,
on free and slave descending,
can tumble our dividing walls,
our shame and sadness mending.

The Spirit knows; the Spirit calls,
by Love’s divine ordaining,
the friends we need, to serve and lead,
their powers and gifts unchaining.
The Spirit knows; the Spirit calls,
from women, men, and children,
the friends we need, to serve and lead.
Rejoice, and make them welcome!

-the SUMC Music Staff

[Editor’s Note: April 2 was the one hundred and eighth anniversary of the birth of a famous (and officially knighted) (and dearly departed) English actor. In a 1997 interview with author James Grissom, he made a suggestion that we may find helpful in this moment, which is both the midst of Lent and a particularly traumatic time in our history. Here it is.]

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“Life is so frequently unbearable — you think you can’t possibly go on.

“Life — the survival of life — is the getting up again and going on, and the means of doing this vary, but at the heart of all things moving forward is the realization — for me, at any rate — that the world, your friends, your own broken heart need your friendship and your laughter and your willingness to go on.

“Break down and acknowledge your loss, your anger, your diminishing assets; but fall right back on a laugh, a story, a meal — whatever you can cobble together and give to someone else, to yourself.

“My sadness has always been, I think, a reminder that, in my spell of solitude and serenity, the world was still out there getting beat up, people were in pain, and I need to get back to tending to them.

“The greatest gift sometimes is the outstretched hand.”

-posted online by Andrew DeLisle

[Editor’s Note: …one last examination of our Lenten-study subtopic of prayer. For all we know, the author might have some pull…]

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As a science news reporter, I very often attend semi-technical meetings in different parts of the country, including California, where I grew up. I especially remember one geology conference in particular, because seismicity (a/k/a earthquakes) are something I’d experienced before moving East.

Although not really common events, the ground’s ancient habit of occasionally getting the violent shakes tends to inspire saying one’s prayers. Remember, it was a strong earthquake, followed by a hellish fire, that almost demolished all of San Francisco in about 1906. And also remember that earthquakes of lesser magnitude have continued — unpredictably — ever since. So in essence, California — and much of the US west coast — still has the deadly jitters.

At one meeting in particular — held in California — a squad of geologists put together a special field trip to examine firsthand that crack in the ground called the San Andreas Fault.

So, when a chance arose to go see the notorious fault line up close, in person, I signed up. I took the bus ride … and, indeed, the viewing was so close I got to stand astraddle of that notorious crack in the ground. Of course, I had the jitters — even a prayerful attitude — atop that infamous fault line. Other visitors apparently hoped, even prayerfully, that the notorious system would just stand still.

-Bob Cooke