How Will We Be Changed?

I know this may sound strange, but I can feel the virus inside me.  When I take a deep breath, it's there, lurking in my lungs.  Fortunately it is not winning, not with me, not so far.  But because I feel it, I keep resting.  I fear that if I push too hard, I will give it room to grow and spread.  And so I continue to rest.  I believe that I will know when it is gone, and I hope that I will have been changed for the better.

Halfway through the first week of this virus, Jan shared this video with me.  A colleague of hers from Romania got it from a colleague in Jerusalem.  I keep watching it because I find it to be so powerful.  The idea that the virus has shaken us, has stopped us, has undermined everything, and is giving us the opportunity to reimagine how we want the world to be challenges me with each viewing.  

If we could create the world anew, what we we change?  

How would we like to live differently?  

How would we want to use our time, our money, our gifts?  

One of the things I'm valuing in this time is reconnecting with so many people via Zoom and Facebook live and other virtual channels.  If we weren't stuck in our houses, we wouldn't be making these connections.  We'd think about it, sure, but there wouldn't be time.  How can we do that differently going forward?

In the video the narrator says, "This virus is part of us.  It's between us, in us."  This virus is now in me; I can feel it.  It's in us, between us, connecting us in ways we didn't expect.  We are not alone.  We belong to something greater than us.  We belong to each other.  My dear friends, maybe we're getting a do-over.  With the earth, our fragile home.  With each other.  Someone asked me if I thought God was testing us.  Of course it's possible, as I do not know the mind of God.  But I don't believe that's what's happening.  I believe God is with us in this, as God is always with God's people.  I believe God redeems everything.  I don't know how, but I already see so many signs of it.

Shelter in grace is a phrase I picked up from a reflection that came in my email.  Shelter in grace, my friends.  Listen to your bodies.  Listen to the earth.  Listen to each other.  Listen deep inside.  We may just have history's biggest do-over.  We may have the chance to offer grace to this new world that's being birthed.  When the virus leaves us, what will we choose to do?

Coronavirus: Ten Days In

Every night I tell myself I'm going to do better the next day.  Every morning, I get up, make my bed, take a shower, dress in actual clothes, not pajamas (I'm afraid I'll never get out of them), and then I'm wiped out.  To the couch I go, with a bowl of Kashi cereal and a cup of hot tea.  Another day of rest.

On March 12, I started to feel off.  Chills, achey back, and that feverish fatigue-y feeling that makes me not feel quite present in a room.  After my last meeting, I went home.  Temperature was 99.5.  High for me, but not as high as they'd been suggesting would indicate having the coronavirus.  The next day I felt well enough to do an outdoor burial, staying far from the handful of participants, after which I went immediately back home.

I've been in my house ever since.  I've been tracking my symptoms.  Temperature has remained largely at 98.8 or lower with a couple of bumps to 99.2.  Back ache remained for a few days.  All day one day I had a headache.  Diarrhea has come and gone.  A cough developed after the first few days.  It's been productive and not nearly as bad as some coughs I've had.  The fatigue, though.  Climbing stairs leaves me short of breath.  Participating in Zoom meetings and phone calls insures I'll need a nap.  I've had little to no appetite and have had to force myself to eat to keep up strength.  Every night I tell myself I'm going to get things done the next day - start cleaning the house, working on my taxes, answering emails, checking on people who are shut in or sicker than I am.  And I do a few things, but there is no energy.  On Tuesday night we had a Mission and Outreach meeting via Zoom.  So good to see everyone's face.  Every day we do a SpiritWorks noon meeting by Zoom and offer support to our volunteers.  At the end of each day, I am exhausted.  Fortunately I've been able to sleep.

On Wednesday I started to experience some shortness of breath and tightness in my chest.  That was probably the scariest moment.  I laid down on the couch, watched the Harry Potter movie I was on, (my internet isn't working properly either, so I'm watching DVDs) and went to sleep.  Fortunately by Thursday, the shortness of breath had disappeared, and that afternoon I had my first beginnings of energy since this had started.  The Indigo Girls played a Facebook live concert that lifted my spirits.

On Friday I learned that some people I've been exposed to are positive for COVID-19.  I called the health department.  They recommended testing, but said if I didn't feel up to it, I should stay home.  Every time I've looked at the instructions for testing, I haven't met the criteria.  And the thought of the effort it would take to leave my house sends me back to napping.  As I've heard about more cases in Williamsburg, I thought staying home was the best plan.  Since the first day I have assumed I have it and have quarantined myself.  People much sicker than I am need tests and the attention of our hard working health care workers.  Confirming I have it would not change my course of treatment or the fact that I will stay quarantined past the last vestige of a symptom.

Though I had started to feel much better, the great fatigue returned Saturday afternoon and lingered through Sunday.  More couch time, less talking on the phone.  I have finished all Harry Potter movies and am headed into Downton Abbey.  If you get this thing, don't be surprised that it packs more than one punch.  Listen to your body.  Rest.  Rest.  Rest.

On Friday night kind parishioners left a vase of daffodils on my front porch.  It made my weekend - spring came inside the house.  On Saturday I ordered dinner from Sal's.  They had it on my porch in less than half an hour.  Countless people have volunteered to bring groceries when I need them. I cannot express my gratitude for the goodness and kindness I have seen in people.  Ten days in, I am counting my many, many blessings.  And also praying for those who have it so much worse than I do.

Looking for Hope

Sunday's sermon is up.  The text is here.  

Over the past year my process for writing a sermon has been changing.  When I first started, I wrote my sermons way in advance and practiced them over and over to get them perfectly polished for the day.  Once I was ordained and in full time ministry, that ceased to be practical, but I always went to bed on Saturday night with a sermon written.  I couldn't sleep otherwise.  However late, I would finish it.  I might tweak a line or two on Sunday morning or during delivery, but basically what I had on Saturday night was what was what it was going to be.  

My process has been evolving into a more stressful process that involves less sleep.  Now on Saturday night, I frequently have something written, but it's not quite right.  And then on Sunday morning at 5:30 am, usually in the shower, I get the inspiration for fixing it.  Then I scramble to edit it in time for church.

This past Saturday I went to bed without a sermon.  Not because I hadn't been working on it for most of the day or thinking about it for most of the week.  It just wouldn't come.  I had too much to say.  I'd seen the movie, Just Mercy, that afternoon and wanted to include it along with so many things going on in the world.  Trying to figure out how the scriptures were connected and could provide guidance, comfort, challenge, or insight into these events.  Tossing around big abstract words like hope, justice, mercy, and peace, and struggling to make them concrete without being partisan or suggesting there's one right way to achieve them.  I hear my brother and sister preachers suggesting we have to address things going on in the world specifically and directly, but I have to be careful that I'm not just preaching the Gospel according to Lauren.  And I want people to be able to hear the Good News, whether they agree with me on certain issues or not.  It's a real wrestling match.

So on Saturday night at 11pm, I realized I was getting nowhere.  What I had was boring.  I didn't know what my point was, and I knew I wasn't going to get it finished.  I needed sleep.  I went to bed, set my alarm even earlier, and actually slept.  When I woke up I said, "Okay, God, we've gotta get something written."  And, as usual, in the shower, it started to become clear.  I rushed downstairs to start writing.  But there wasn't enough time, and I really needed to be dressed to go to church.  I hit print, and took what I had, but there wasn't an ending, and I hadn't had time to read over it.  I had a selection of different paragraphs at the end, not sure where they would go.

When I preached at 7:30am, it felt like a mess to me.  The order was all wrong.  I did my best to tie it all together, but then I hurried to my office before the next service to fix it.  Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time, so I was running down the sidewalk at 9:14 to get to the 9:15 service.  Somehow God must have played a little with time, because I was walking in the door at 9:14 and by 9:16 I had put the sermon in the pulpit, gone to the sacristy and vested, come out to thank the rector for waiting for me, and was standing in the back ready to process.  "This is too stressful, God," I prayed several times over the course of the process.  

But this is what I've learned.  Even though sometimes I worry that I'm just satisfying my ego with all this last minute polishing, trying to make the "perfect" sermon, the truth is that the rewritten versions are SO MUCH BETTER than what I have before I go to sleep.  Sadly, it sometimes takes me the whole morning to get to a coherent message with a solid point.  And no, preaching extemporaneously is not the solution.  I'm not a straightforward thinker, and though I can kind of wing it on mid-week services, I ramble and repeat myself over and over and over when I try to preach without a manuscript.

My point this week is about hope and placing it in God.  Apparently, from the feedback I've received, it was a message people needed to hear.  If I hadn't been willing to keep working on it, I wouldn't have gotten there.  I'm grateful that I'm learning to hear the Holy Spirit on Sunday morning, even though I sure wish she would show up a little earlier in the week.  But I'll take it and give thanks for the opportunity to let God speak through me.

Slow Thinker: Blessing or Curse

You've heard of slow cookers?  Well, my brain is a slow thinker.  If you're looking to me for Instant Pot answers or explanations or ideas, you've come to the wrong place.  Things have to simmer quite a while before I figure out what I think.  Now before y'all start fussing and telling me that I think just fine and I don't need to be so hard on myself, this isn't a criticism of my brain; it's an observation.  I've observed that I think slowly.  Sometimes it's a blessing, and sometimes it's a curse.  Sometimes it simply is.

I've always been careful about decisions large or small in my personal life.  Christmas shopping takes me forever because I have to go around to all the stores and see what the possibilities are before committing to purchasing something.  When I was younger, back when all shopping happened at the mall, I had to visit every store to see what they had.  Once the circuit was complete, I would double back, finally certain of what I wanted to buy.  Christmas shopping with me is a lengthy process.  Online doesn't help much - items lay stranded in my cart for months before I'm ready to hit "purchase." Sometimes the purchases never get made because I simply can't decide.  That's when the slow thinking is not helpful.

With big decisions I'm also slow.  I don't know until I know.  All the possibilities have to marinate before I'm ready to put the meat on the grill.  Whether I'm buying a car, deciding which seminary to attend, choosing my health insurance, or discerning call, I need time.  This can be frustrating to those around me, and even to me, but I can't decide until I've weighed the variables, considered the options, consulted with wise advisors, listened for God, and then waited until I know.  How do I know?  I can't tell you.  But when I know, I know, and when I finally do know, I can act pretty quickly, sometimes to the surprise of others.  Until then it's waiting for the slow cooker to finish.

Slow thinking can be a real challenge in ministry.  I don't enjoy teaching much, because people always have questions, and I rarely have quick answers.  Newsletter article writing, sermon writing, program planning, announcement creating all need to be done at a faster pace than I easily move.  And being Acting Rector at Bruton this year highlighted how slow my brain is.  Each day issues and questions came flying at me faster than I could process them.  Unlike Katniss in The Hunger Games, my reaction time is slow - I wouldn't have made it far in those contests. I learned to step it up a bit, but to the end, I continually felt like I was moving through Jello when I needed to be a Nascar driver.

Our world is fast moving, and technology has made it so much faster.  You snooze, you lose, as they say.  There's nothing wrong with slow cookers or crock pots - they perform very valuable services.  We need more slow thinkers - or perhaps more slow responders.  Impulsively saying or posting every thought that comes in our minds doesn't seem to be enhancing the global conversation.  But in a world of Instant Pot, the slow thinkers are often too far behind to contribute.  I love to listen to witty banter, and sometimes I really wish I could make strong points in a debate, but by the time I've thought of what I want to say, the moment has passed. Seems best to observe from the sidelines though that can mean my voice isn't heard.

Most of the time I don't mind being a slow thinker.  I like that I take time to consider decisions and I don't jump into things hastily and then have to back out with regret.  Giving food time to marinate is a good thing - brings a lot of flavor to what you're cooking.  While the cook is out getting things done, the pot simmers along, ready at the end of the day.  I admit that sometimes, I wish I could just dump the options in the Instant Pot and have the decision made quickly!  Better yet, how bout the Microwave?

When I'm the person in charge, being a slow thinker often feels like a curse, but overall, I consider it to be a blessing.  In 2020 I sense that some of the things that have been simmering on the back burner of my brain may be just about done.  I'm eager to see how they'll taste!

Deus Nobiscum: God With Us

On the First Sunday of Advent, I preached this sermon.  The text is here.  In it I spoke about my experience in the theatre with deus ex machina or "God from a machine" who descends from on high to fix all the problems.  I made the case that instead of that Greek tragedy kind of a god, Christianity has deus nobiscum, Emmanuel, "God with us."  On this 8th day of Christmas, this first day of a new year, this first day of a new decade, I think I could preach the same sermon.  God is not coming to magically resolve all of our issues with the wave of a magic wand (as much as I often wish that were so.)  Rather, God is here with us, in the midst of our suffering, in the midst of our joy.  God is here with us, loving us, equipping us, crying with us, and rejoicing with us each and every day.  May each and every one of us know God's presence with us and do our part in this new year to be the people God created us to be.

Unexpected: A Sermon Not Preached

Due to the nasty cold, I didn't get to preach at my appointed time on Christmas Eve.  If I had, this is what I would have said.  I'm indebted to Ann Weems for the inspiration.  

"Unexpected"

The Rev. Lauren McDonald

Christmas Eve, 2019

Unexpected

by Ann Weems

Even now we simply do not expect 

         to find a deity in a stable.

Somehow the setting is all wrong:

         the swaddling clothes too plain,

         the manger too common for the likes of a Savior,

         the straw inelegant,

         the animals, reeking and noisy,

         the whole scene too ordinary for our taste.

And the cast of characters is no better.

With the possible exception of the kings,

         who among them is fit for this night?

         the shepherds?  certainly too crude,

         the carpenter too rough,

         the girl too young.

And the baby!

Whoever expected a baby?

Whoever expected the advent of God in a helpless child?

Had the Messiah arrived in the blazing light of the glory 

of a legion of angels wielding golden swords,

the whole world could have been conquered for Christ

right then and there

and we in the church – to say nothing of the world!– 

wouldn’t have so much trouble today.

Even now we simply do not expect 

to face the world armed with love.

This poem by Ann Weems captures the unexpectedness and the scandal of the Incarnation.

Whoever expected a baby?

A savior with power and might?  Yes. 

A conquering Messiah?  Sure.

A victorious king or ruler?  You bet.

A poor helpless baby dependent on parents for everything?  Uh…

A vulnerable Messiah in a diaper?  Well…

A savior who doesn’t even save himself?  Definitely not.

No one expected him in the way that he came.  

And even knowing how he came, we still don’t expect him.

When I first read this poem earlier in Advent, it was the last line that caught me like a punch in the gut:

         Even now we simply do not expect 

to face the world armed with love.

We arm ourselves with many things in an attempt to protect ourselves and our loved ones.  And it’s understandable.  It’s a dangerous world out there.  

So we arm ourselves with guns and weapons, with alarm systems, fences, and walls, trying to keep the danger out.  

We arm ourselves with money and things, staving off the fear that there will not be enough.

We arm ourselves with hostile words, with our sense of self-righteousness.  The other side is wrong, and we are right. 

We arm ourselves with sarcasm and cynicism; no one’s going to get one over on us or see how much we care.

We arm ourselves with false smiles so that no one can see how we’re hurting.

We arm ourselves with our intellects so that no one will know how vulnerable our hearts are.  

Much as we try, the armor does not protect us, nor does it keep us safe. Not from physical harm.  Not from emotional harm.  It may give that illusion for a while, but ultimately it will fail.  

Sisters and brothers, the goal isn’t to be safe.  If it were, God would have stayed put and never come to live among us, never come to be God with us.

The way of God is the way of love.

When we are armed with love, we are not safe.  People can and will hurt us.  We will be vulnerable.  

When we are armed with love, we will go places we never expected to go, meet people we never dreamed we’d meet.  

When we are armed with love, our hearts are soft and our arms are open.  We embrace the other, we admit when we’re wrong, we accept that we are not in control.

God came as an infant.  It’s completely crazy.  Absolutely unexpected.  Can you imagine anyone less in control than a baby?

But when you look in the child’s eyes, you see the love.  

You know yourself to be loved.  You know the world to be loved.  You know God’s love.

This Christmas my prayer for each of us is that we will discard the weapons and armor that no longer serve us and that we will instead wrap ourselves in the cloak of God’s love. 

When we do, we will find ourselves singing joyfully with the angels, Glory to God in the highest heaven.  O come let us adore him.

New Year's Eves

We're in the final hours before Advent starts.  New Year's Eve for Christians!  Tomorrow is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the season in which we wait and prepare for the coming of the Christ child and the 2nd coming of Christ.  Unlike New Year's Eve for the calendar year, this eve starts quietly in the dark without fireworks or champagne toasts, without parties and countdowns, without rockin' TV shows or celebrity concerts.  In this season we don't join gyms and make weight loss goals, and most of us don't make resolutions.  In this season we wait.  We journey with John in the wilderness.  We repent.  We listen with wonder to the angel's news.  We prepare.  We anticipate.  We get ready.

I actually celebrate three New Year's Eves each year.  One is on December 31, the turning of the calendar year.  The second is the eve of my birthday, my own personal New Year's Day.  And the third is the evening before the first Sunday of Advent.  It is the third that I love the most - as we walk in darkness we await the great light.  What do I need to do to be ready for its coming?  Tomorrow we will light a single candle on the Advent wreath, and the new season will begin.

Tonight I am preparing to preach tomorrow.  I'm finishing up Thanksgiving pie and listening to the purrs of my kitties as they keep me company while I type.  It's been a gloomy, dismal day outside, one that makes it easier to sit on the couch and ponder the season ahead.  The calm before the holiday storm.  My Advent wreath is ready and waiting though I have forgotten to purchase my candles.  After church tomorrow I will remedy this.

While preparing my sermon I read a quote from David Lose about tomorrow's Gospel reading, "We end up preparing for Christmas rather than for Christ and thereby more easily miss the presence of our Lord in the face of those in need..."  

My prayer for all of us is that we will not be so distracted by preparing for Christmas that we neglect to prepare for Christ.  May Christ be born in us again this new year and always.