Photo a day - See

See. 

I promise that I won't post a picture of my pets every day.  I'm such a lame old person these days.  This is Mefodyi trying to steal my pizza.  I love his eyes, and I sometimes think about how he sees the world.  Sometimes it seems that cats feel they exist to be worshiped.  They are primarily selfish and unfeeling beasts.  Mefodyi is the first thing I see every morning when I wake up and every evening when I come home.  We all see the world in different ways - and often we see them through the eyes of selfish and unfeeling beasts.  

  

Photos a day - return

Return.

Although a thick layer of ice covers each branch, these birds were still convinced that it was time to return.  Sometimes our heart and our gut just know that it is time to return even though all the signs point to staying in safety.  The day after this picture was taken, all of the snow and ice melted.  

Photo a day - Who am I?

The United Methodist church is encouraging people to upload a photo a day for the Lenten period.  They have provided a list of words to use as a guiding theme.  I'm a little bit apprehensive about this project.  Giving something up is easy for me - taking on another project is much more of a challenge.  I'm not exactly a photographer.  Also, this is exactly my Lent.  I don't know when my Lent is.  Because I live in Ukraine, the dates don't always line up.  I'm going to do this photo project on the dates listed because I would get much too confused doing it any other way.  

The theme for today is "Who am I?"  I hope other people post an artsy, dramatic photo - but I just wanted to post this simple picture (God knows there will be enough artsy shots of a 'black and white photo of a pool chair casting a shadow' to qualify me as a real photographer) of  me and my rescue pup.  Masik is an older dog who lost a paw when he was hit by a car.  He's really quite and gentle and he is happy most always.  

Who am I?  I'm a missionary in Lviv, Ukraine.  I have a degree in Ethnology.  I wear flip-flops as long as I possibly can.  I love hugs and I laugh too loud sometimes.  I teach at a University named after the rebel/socialist/nationalist/hero who was kicked out of it for being a rebel/socialist/nationalist/hero.  I translate poetry from Ukrainian into English.  I would eat sushi for every meal if it was socially acceptable and financially practical.  I'm a disciple of Jesus who learns slowly over time.  I save up all of my fear until the time when I really need to be afraid.  I am a student pastor not currently under appointment in my home conference and appointed but not a student pastor in my adopted conference (I seriously don't know if I am clergy or lay at this point).  I am more than my failures and less than my accomplishments.  I am happy.   

Wordless Wednesday

I finally bought a connector so I can upload photos.  So - welcome back to Wordless Wednesdays.

Erika, Andriy, baby Marta, and a giant bowl of Kutya - traditional Christmas porridge.

Sermon - Nehemiah

The story we begin with tonight is the story of a cupbearer who goes before the King and asks a tremendous favor. We are reminded of the cupbearer from last week's sermon on the wedding at Cana. The man who faithfully trusted Jesus enough to reach into the dirty water of the ceremonial cleaning basins and to bring the head of the banquet the finest cup of wine ever tasted.

Tonight we look at another cupbearer who we should model our lives after.

We don't know much about Nehemiah. We really don't know much about the timeline of his life or the events that surrounded him. His story takes place some 400 years before the birth of Christ, in a time of great uncertainty for the Jewish peoples. While their years of Babylonian captivity have ended, they are scattered throughout the various countries and are working to re-establish their cities and daily lives.

Kvitka Cysik never made it to Ukraine. She was well known for her pop songs and popular commercial jingles, but she was proudest of her collections of Ukrainian folk songs. Kvitka worked to build up and preserve the Ukrainian culture during the time of Soviet suppression. As the daughter of immigrants, she loved Ukraine and the Ukrainian language and culture. She didn't record music in Ukrainian language to make money or to increase her fame in America, she did it out of a love for her homeland. It is sad that she died before having the chance to visit Ukraine. Her folk songs are still played on the radio here, and although fewer and fewer Americans would know this American singer, Ukrainians are often quite proud of her. 

Nehemiah had made a good life for himself in the capital city of Susa. He was the cupbearer for King Artaxerxes. In the Gospel story from last week, we see Mary pushing around the cupbearer a bit and we see his tremendous faith in Jesus. However, the cupbearer in this historical setting was a well respected person. His job was not glamorous, he had to try wine before the King to make sure no one was trying to poison him and - ultimately - his job was to bring wine to the king as a servant ... it's not the best job in the world. But it was a position of respect and a position that brought him into close contact with the King. Nehemiah had a good life in the capital city of susa. But he longed for his homeland, and he loved his people and his city and it broke his heart to hear that it lay unprotected and in ruins. Nehemiah knew he had to do something to preserve and protect his homeland.

It seems from the story that Nehemiah and King Artaxerxes had a friendship of sorts. The King recognizes when Nehemiah is sad and says that Nehemiah had never been sad before, and the king genuinely wants to make him feel better. We have lost the position of cupbearer to history, but I think we all could think of some professor or businessman who is completely dependent on his or her secretary. A book I read once on getting things done in the business world recommended forgetting the birthday of the powerful businessman that you need favors from - because sending him a birthday card makes it seem like you are sucking up just to earn a favor - but instead you should learn the date of his secretary's birthday and send her flowers each year. That is the way to get the favor you need out of the powerful and important person. It sometimes seems that these people in rather powerless jobs are really the ones who pull all the strings, doesn't it?

And we find Nehemiah, the cupbearer to the King, a faithful and devout man scattered by the history of his people claiming God's promise of a return and a fulfillment of prophesy. Out of a love for his homeland, he will do whatever it takes to make things better. And Nehemiah earns the King's blessing and returns to build the walls back up.

And the stories of Ezra and Nehemiah are intertwined in some way that scholars don't fully understand, but at some point the temple has been rebuilt, the walls are reconstructed, and worship begins. It is in this worship that Ezra reads a book of Law to the people. In the tumult of exile and diaspora, these laws have been more or less lost to the people, and when Ezra reads them they weep and they mourn. There are many theories about which scroll he read to them. Some believe he read all of the Torah, or a book of the bible completely lost to us, while others believe he read the book of Deuteronomy.

Deuteronomy is one of my favorite Old Testament books, and it's a clear and concise summation of the big picture. We're going to read from the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy, In all probability, these words or words very similar to these were read to the people that day. (Read vs 1-15)

And the people wept after hearing these words. They hadn't lived up to the commandments. They had failed to raise their children in the way of the Lord. These simple commands, to share your faith as you rise and as you walk and as you go to sleep - to do each of these things while sharing your faith with your children - they hadn't done that. They had joined the religions of the different cities they lived in and they had married people with different gods and had accepted those other gods. I can't help feeling that these people wept because they had felt let down by God, and in their anger they had stopped following God's commandments. And I know, in my own heart, the number of times in the days after the accident that I felt I was talking to the ceiling and nothing more. I think we as a community understand this great sense of loss and these deep feeling of hurt and betrayal.

And we look around at Pilgrims and there are faces we haven't seen in some months and their abscense doesn't really surprise us. We pray for them and pray that they continue to connect with God and pray that they know that we are here and praying for them and that we love them and welcome them back anytime. But deep down we understand why some people might not be with us each week.

But, we move forward. We read and we believe the great goodness and faithfulness of our God. We cling to these promises and we pray and work for a better future.

You know, I never really gave the book of Nehemiah a chance. Much of the book is lists of names and numbers, and without context it's a pretty boring story. One summer at camp we presented this story seven different times in seven different ways. We told the story of Humpty Dumpty and Good Knight Nehemiah who put him back together again, and we told this story through the lens of Jurassic Park. We had a great time, and it really helped me fall in love with this story. And now, as we face the challenges that we face, I am glad that God gave me that summer to learn this story and to love it.

Because Nehemiah was a simple man - he was a servant of the King, but more importantly he was a servant of the King of Kings. He led the charge to rebuild the walls of the city, and he helped the people restore their faith and their service to God. And as we sit here together this night in a rented space that isn't big enough and doesn't feel like home, I think we feel and understand some of the sadness that Nehemiah felt.

But, like Nehemiah, we choose to move forward into God's vision for us and we choose to rebuild. Nehemiah asks the King to give him all the documents he needs to pass safely and to begin reconstruction - and Valodya, who has been working non-stop for six months doing the same for us for our new student center on Gregorenko is certainly asking God for the same thing right now!

Tonight we are going to build little banks together. We want you to fill these banks over the next couple of months. Yes, certainly there is a need for money and an expectation that we will all share some small part of that financial need - but more importantly, we want you to fill these boxes with written prayers and dreams about the new space and where God is leading us. Put a few coins or Hryvnia in when you can, but every day sit and write out a short prayer or some new idea of where God could take us.

Sometime this spring we will invite everyone to bring these back and we will celebrate together the dreams that God has for us, the prayers that we have for the student center, and the ways that we can be an answer to those prayers.

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When the people wept at their shame of not fully keeping the law, Ezra and Nehemiah comforted them and told them not to weep. Instead, they explained that this day was holy - it was a time to celebrate and to worship. “Go home and prepare a feast, holiday food and drink; and share it with those who don’t have anything: This day is holy to God. Don’t be grieved. The joy of God is your strength!”

May we be a people who celebrate all that God has provided for us, a people who look to the future of what God has for us, and a people who build that future with God.

In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Re-work: a re-worked sermon

I re-worked my favorite sermon I have ever preached to preach it once more in our new context.
"On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”
“Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.”
His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim.
Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”
They did so, and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”
What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him." - John 2:1-11



Jesus was a partier. At least that was the reputation he had. He went to parties thrown by anarchists and attended by prostitutes. When we think of Jesus, many of us think of a quiet reserved man, in a field silently tending sheep as David portrayed him two weeks ago. Someone who would fit in better in a library than a bar. But Jesus' enemies felt quiet differently about him. They lambasted him for his ways. They felt that his lifestyle choices were shameful.

And they weren't so far from the truth. Now we assume that because Jesus was without sin, that Jesus always drank in moderation. We would be wise to do likewise. But whether Jesus drank at all, he was still present and active at some wild parties. His friends were people that you probably wouldn't hang out with. But maybe you should.


...


Life in Christ isn't about following the rules or trying to earn rewards or entrance to heaven. Life in Christ is a party - and you're invited.

This was the third day of the wedding. People had been drunk for three straight days, and Jesus felt it necessary to turn water into wine.

A lot of us were taught the rules of religion when we were growing up. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Don’t lie, don’t cheat. Throw salt over your left shoulder to knock the devil off. We were taught the rules.

Because it’s a lot easier to teach a toddler not to touch a hot stove, than it is to teach that same toddler how to use that stove to cook the most exquisite meals the world has ever tasted.

When I look at global Christianity, the thing that turns my stomach into knots- the truth that causes great anguish and pain- is that most Christians never move beyond the instruction of rules and regulations of the faith.

Sermon after sermon, book after book, angry grandmother after angry grandmother – they all point to the same thing: we are children and we are going to get burned by the stove.

We are not children anymore. It is time for our faith in Christ to move beyond the gentle instruction reserved for toddlers. We must move into a maturity of faith. We must no longer be afraid of the stove, and instead we must learn to cook delicious meals on it.

Because living in the fullness of Christ is a party. It’s a lavish affair that goes on and on and on. Jesus and his disciples show up while the party is in full swing. It has been going on for several days – and then they run out of wine. Not only does Jesus support the merits of having an occasional glass of wine for your health – he embraces the joy, delight, and merriment of a drunken party lasting well into next week.

Jesus tells the head servant to take a cup and fill it with water and take that cup of water to the man sitting at the head of the table. Now, if you or I were asked this request – we would go to the faucet. But, this was Cana 2000 years ago. They didn’t have faucets – they didn’t have running water. The water wasn’t safe to drink – so they didn’t keep “drinking water" around. They lived in the desert. This head servant dipped his cup into the only water supply in the house – the water that had been used in the ceremonial washing.

As guests arrived over the three day long party, the servants used the whole supply of water to wash the feet of the guests. The wedding party and the most important guests would have washed first – with clean water.  Women, children, servants, slaves, and late-comers would have washed with the dirty water that was left over.
It was this dirty water, this used-up source, that was available when Jesus asked the servant to take some water to the head of the household.

Now, these were harsh times for servants and slaves. If the servant brought you a cup of filthy, muddy water – you didn’t laugh it off as a good prank; you had his head cut off for insubordination.
If Dean Vokarchuk visited us today and suddenly started sneezing - and it became clear that he needed a tissue - if I picked up this rag and said, "Give this to the Dean of your University for he needs a tissue" would you give it to him?  Would you be disgusted and insulted by the very idea?

Although this man has never seen Jesus perform a miracle (remember, this was Jesus’ first public miracle), and has maybe never even heard him preach, he has had the privilege of interacting with Jesus. He and his fellow servants have washed the feet of Jesus and the disciples as they entered the party. What about that 20 minute interaction let the head-servant know that he could trust his job – his very life – to the words and actions of this wandering teacher and his twelve disciples? Maybe the servant knew Mary well and trusted her words intimately. We will never know for sure.

But we do know, he trusted Jesus enough to dip his chalice into dirty, used up water and walked to the front of the hall to deliver the most delicious wine ever created to the head of the party.

Jesus is asking the same of you. First, he’s asking you to trust him. You've known Jesus for longer than 20 minutes. Just as Mary says to the servant, I say to you this day, "Do whatever he tells you."

He’s asking you to take a real leap of faith and to really trust him. Jesus wants you to really trust him with not only your job and the respect that people show you, but He wants you to risk even your very life.

Second, he's asking you to dip into the dirty water of the world. Because if we want to see a miracle, we have to work with what we've got.

This world is dirty and filthy. People are mean and cruel. I could read you statistics about how many people are addicted to drugs, how many people get raped, how many children go to bed hungry at night, how many people are beat up in hate crimes because of the color of their skin or because of whom they love, or how many people are killed in violent crimes every year. I could read you these statistics, but I think that deep down you already know them. You know that we live in a fallen world.

So instead, I'll read you the hope and promise that Christ has given us. “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”

Jesus Christ is the best wine the world has ever tasted. Jesus wants us to stand up and have the courage to dip into the filthy, dirty world and to know that from that we will pull out the finest wine. When we are ready and willing to get our hands dirty and to engage with the world - at that point we will experience the fullness of Jesus Christ as Savior who can move the mountains.

It is interesting that this is Jesus first public miracle.  Some scholars talk a bit about how it doesn't make sense.  It doesn't fit with his other miracles.  His other miracles are about healing the sick, giving sight to the blind - in short, they are about helping people.  Turning water into wine, it feels a bit like a magic trick, doesn't it?  This might be the only miracle recorded only once in the Gospels.  It doesn't fit as well into the ministry.  But, here's the beautiful part ... this is the exact miracle that all must experience first.  In our first encounter with Christ, we are dirty and used up and at Christ's direction someone picks us up and believe in us and in our value.
And we go out into this dirty and filthy word and we continue this miracle.  We lift up the dirty and broken and we listen to Christ's command to lift them up to become something so much greater than we could ever imagine.
Trust that the Holy Spirit will guide you. Don't just give a few coins to the old lady holding out a cup - ask her to share her story. Think about where you spend your free time and where people who don't know Jesus spend theirs.

There's this really beautiful miracle that Jesus wants to make happen, but he needs you to take the lead and dip into the dirty water and to risk your life to bring it to the world. I don't know what it is, but I think that you should "Do whatever he tells you."

This sermon might seem familiar to a few of you, I preached something quite similar almost two years ago on my last day in Ukraine before heading back to the states.  When I left, I really didn't think I would ever be able to come back - or at least not for years and years.  but I wasn't afraid, because over the year I had spent with you; I had learned the great truth that you are so very capable.  You trust God with so much and you love one another so radically.

If Christ were standing here, there would be so many of you who would trust him enough to dip into the dirty water and take the chalice to the head table - you do it day after day in your lives.  You show tremendous, radical faith every day.  You are an inspiritation.

These last six months have been so hard.  We have faced every kind of trial and pain.  We have sloshed around in the dirty water of the world, and on many days it felt like we might drown.   But, we survived and now we move forward to thrive.  We take the bad and the ugly that the world had to offer, and Christ makes it new and wonderful because of our faith in Him.

We  gladly dip our chalices into this dirty water - because we have the hope and the promise that Jesus Christ saves the best for last. The best is yet to come, and we are part of making that happen.
May you always have the freedom to live in the joy of Christ. May you have the courage to celebrate and party in the face of whatever challenges may arise. Amen.

Sermon - John Baptist

When I was a kid, there was something about the Christmas eve service that always bothered me.  I liked the decorations, and the music, and of course I liked holding fire as a child!, but the thing that always bothered me was the reading of the scripture.  It always bothered me because we were asked to open our Bibles to Luke 2.  As a kid, I always thought it was strange that there would be something before the birth of Jesus in the story of Jesus.  I always wondered what could possibly have been so important to be placed before the birth of Jesus.  Well, as an adult there is no need to worry because I can open my Bible to Luke 1 and read the story.

[Read Luke 1:5-24]


The birth of John the Baptist.  We often read from Luke, because he was a master story-teller.  While Matthew wrote to convince a Jewish audience that Jesus was the Messiah, and Mark wrote a quick, concise  narrative of the events - Luke wrote with an incredible sense of wonder and joy at the amazing events of the story.  Luke was a doctor, fascinated by the miracles of Jesus, but he was also a writer and you can see that in the way he uses words.  Zacharias and Elizabeth were a faithful and loving couple.  Sadly, their faithfullness and ministry has been undercut by the fact that Elizabeth was barren.  To be childless in those days was a great tragedy, and Luke emphasizes this.

A comedian once talked about his prayer life - and he prayed that if God wanted him to share his faith, to send a sign.  He sat down on a bus, and the man next to him began to cry and looked at him and began talking to him.  "My life is just in shambles and I just wish that I knew God.  Do you know God?"  He immediately bowed his head in prayer and prayed "Dear God, if you want me to share my faith - please turn the bus driver into an Armadillo."

And we see Zacharias, chosen to go into the holiest place of the temple, is confronted by mighty angel Gabriel.  And Gabriel shares the tremendous news that his wife will bear a son who shall be named John.  And Zacharias, looking at this tremendous angel says, "(vs. 18) How will I know this for certain."

He is struck with muteness - that's apparently what you get for asking dumb questions - but still shares in the tremendous joy of his wife bearing a son.

----

After Mary is visited by an angel of her own, she goes to visit her cousin who is also with Child.

This is a story of a baby jumping in the womb - but this is a very important story.  In Luke 1, we see the first full proof of the trinity.  Now, I'm always nervous when I make a definitive statement about the Bible (i.e. first, only)- because I'm not a very good student at anything; so let me know if I'm wrong on this.  In the Old Testament, we get hints of the trinity.  We have God, the promise of the Messiah, and mention of the Holy Spirit in different ways depending on interpretation.  Even in Genesis, God uses the pronoun "we."  We get glimpses of this, but in this earliest story of the birth of John the Baptist, we have the first story where all three members of the trinity are present together in the same view.  The Lord God spoke these words to Mary, who was carrying God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit fills Elizabeth as her own baby jumps inside of her womb.  This is incredibly important - because from the very beginning of the story we see all of God fully intertwined in this story.  We see God working in different ways for the redemption of the world.  And Mary sings her song filled with joy.

Luke 1:46-56
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And Zacharias receives his speech again when he names his son John, and Jesus is born in the manger and Jesus and John grow up in their different ways and begin in ministry.


And John begins to baptize his followers for repentance sake.  I had a Bible professor years ago that said that before John the baptist, there was no such thing as baptism.  And the Jews certainly had a lot of ritual cleanings, but this wasn't that.  This is important - when John baptized Jesus, he baptized a sinless man.  This wasn't a ritual cleaning ... this wasn't to clean Jesus of some sin or some wrongdoing.  Jesus' baptism was about a promise.

After John finally agrees to baptize Jesus, we see the skies open and the Holy Spirit coming down as a dove.  Everyone present hears the voice of God saying, "This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased."  It is in this scene that we clearly view all three parts of the trinity.  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  And it is in this moment that we hear the full promise of God for the people through his Son.

This phrase that God speaks, it glues together two separate Old Testament prophesies.  The first promises a son and a savior for the Jews, the second promises a savior and judge for all peoples.  This baptism of Jesus, it is a promise.  It is a promise that Jesus will be the savior.  It is the fulfillment of prophecy.

And again, we see in this story the full gift of the Trinity.  God the Father speaks these blessed words, God the Son is baptized by John, and God the Holy Spirit appears in the form of a dove.  This is the first place in scripture where all three members of the trinity are physically sensed as completely separate.  - Let me clarify ... It wasn't like the voice of God came out of the dove - each member of the Godhead is present in a real way - a voice, a dove, a man standing in the river.  This is huge.  God is fully present with us.  All of God is interacting with creation.

[Read Luke 3:21-22]

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And this is what is so fascinating about John the Baptist.  John is this incredibly charismatic figure.  People whisper the miraculous story of his birth, while walking way out into the desert to hear him preach.  He holds to the strongest interpretation of the Jewish law, and eats bugs and honey, and wears a camel-hair robe.  This man couldn't do anything to get more attention if he tried.  It seems that everyone is staring at him, is talking about him, is plotting against him, or is deciding to follow him.

I'm not an inconspicuous person.  I think people generally understand that I'm an American, or at least a foreigner.  I'm big, and my laugh is loud and I really don't blend into the background anywhere I go.  And while people usually guess that I'm an American, I always feel bad for the African students who immediately stand out as foreigners.

John the Baptist was like that.  He stood out.  David compared him to a crazy professor with a giant beard once.  And the people crowd around and wonder out loud if he is the Messiah that their people have been waiting for.

John the Baptist states that he is not worthy to untie the sandals of the One who is to come.  And well, I have a question.  When was the last time someone untied your shoes?  When was the  last time someone tied your shoes?  Is this a normal thing that happens?

Even the poorest people in Jesus' day wore sandals.  But the wealthy and the important - they REALLY wore sandals.  The sandal was a simple piece of wood attached to the foot.  The poor had some small string holding it to their feet.  The rich and the powerful had elaborate gold, silver, and diamond arrangements around their feet.  Because of these extravagant shoelaces, wealthy homes had low servants who untied the lavish laces of their wealthy guests.  This was a symbol of servitude, because it represented a great distance in social level.  The rich and the wealthy weren't going around untying each other's shoes - it was done by someone so insignificant that you wouldn't even notice.  Can you picture the image of one wealthy man visiting another - and the two important men talk while the lowest servant quickly tries to undo the tangle of laces?

When John makes this comparison - he is saying that he is so much less than the Messiah, that he shouldn't even be noticed.  And John, after being part and conductor of the monumental event of Jesus' baptism, he moves on with his life and works hard to make himself smaller.  And we see this later, in one of the most beautiful verses for us as Christians.

[Read John 3:25-30]

He must increase, but I must decrease.  As we grow in our Christian faith, we become less and God becomes more.  Have you ever met a Christian and just felt like you were in the presence of Jesus?  These are the men and women who have spent a lifetime decreasing while allowing God to increase.

And this is the crux of all ministry.  When we are in ministry, we believe that this is Jesus' ministry.  The goal of any leader or pastor is to make himself or herself smaller and to make Jesus more well known.  When I don't prepare enough and my sermon isn't very interesting - you have seen a bit too much of me and not enough of Jesus.  When I fail to love someone, you have seen too much of me and not enough to Jesus.  This is a terrible shame.  When we live our lives, our goal is to have less of us and more of Christ.

I pray that the longer I serve God the less people will see and love me and the more they will see and love Christ.

Through this birth story and the baptism of Jesus, we see all of God in all of God's roles ministering to creation - and in John the Baptist's life we see ourselves.  We see what our role should be as well.

We are so unworthy of salvation - we aren't even worthy to be in the presence of God the King of Kings - and yet God asks us to step up and do great things in his name.  And yet, this is not for us to boast of.  Instead, it is an opportunity for us to blend in.  It is an opportunity for us to disappear, and for Christ to be seen in and through us.


Go forth this day - remember your baptism and God's promise - and live in the shadow of God's glory.
In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Story Saturday

[An attempt to capture my life in humorous narrative format.]

The basic idea was that Olya Reiter would assemble a collective of people ranging from cool to spectacularly cool, and together we would greet the new year in style.

The elongated formula involved a frantic trip to the largest supermarket with the ten of us contending against the thousands of other people who felt that shopping at the last minute made the most sense.  It also involved a two hour train trip into the vast unknowns of the Carpathian mountains.  It also involved potent potables a-plenty and a three hour dance session, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I can honestly state, that the New Year's holiday is on the low end of my list of favorite holidays.  In childhood we kept a small cardboard box in the cabinet under the TV which held the four strips of paper bearing our annual New Year's Resolutions.  Dad always re-entered his submission from the previous year: to lose weight and stop smoking.  Mom always meticulously planned out her resolution, and without fail celebrated a minor victory at completing whichever task she had self-assigned.  Mine were always quirky and my sister's were somehow unmemorable.  We didn't drink in my family, so the libation never amounted to more than weak apple juice or store-bought eggnog.  We were wild and crazy, and I brought this into my adult life.

I had never traveled anywhere for New Years.  I can't remember any significant party attended, nor do I have a good reason for this condition.  My guess is that most midnights were greeted from the comfort of my pajamas and quickly ushered out the door before a good night's sleep.  My memory holds that last year, Nazar and I threw a New Year's party which ended at 9PM so guests could attend more swinging functions and booze it up as our apartment was dry at the time.

And so it was with great relish that I envisioned a boozy affair with practical strangers in the mountains.  It was for its very ubiquity that I was enamored.  While most of my peers had celebrated in this fashion for decades, this was utterly new territory for me.  I was asked to bring two bottles of drink and a meal that represented my homeland.  I was also instructed that preferably it should be vegetarian.

Now, what's funny to me is the idea that nothing that represents my homeland (or my adopted country for that matter) is vegetarian.  But, I feel that my country is a paradox more than anything, so I fired up a vegan meat(less)loaf with a sweet BBQ sauce.  I packed my bags and waited for everyone else to be ready.

The group, as promised, was a tremendous collection of intellectuals, non-conformists, and artists.  It was wonderful to have such stimulating conversation.  We walked in the forest and read aloud as a group the works of a 19th century Ukrainian feminist author.  We watched movies and ate big meals together.  We celebrated the previous year and welcomed in the new year.

In Ukraine, the tradition is to sing the national anthem at midnight and to listen to the President's New Year's greeting.  We didn't have a TV, but the infamous joke is that our president here doesn't speak the Ukrainian language very well - so I was nominated to give the speech in broken Ukrainian.  It was a delightful toast.  I confused some words and ended up wishing that everyone would have "everyone they wanted" instead of "everything they wanted," to the obvious delight of everyone.  We did some relay races outside in the cold and then returned to the main room for dancing and a photo session.

And in the morning, having completely forgotten my annual routine of resolutions, I talked with my dear friend Valya about it.  We sat on the front porch of a pine-wood cabin overlooking the mountains.  There was no snow, but the bright sun was only as warm as a mother-in-law's smile so our coffee and blankets had to keep us warm.  I asked her what resolutions she had made.

"Michael, I don't believe in making resolutions." was her reply. "I just try my best every day to be happy with what I've got and who I am.  And I'm happier than most, so it must be working."   And with that, she left to go check on a friend who had drunk considerably more than either of us.  

And so, for the first time in my life I decided to eschew all mention of resolutions.  I decided instead to live each day to the fullest and to be happy for the good and bad in each day.  Without the weight of reminders of all I have done wrong or inadequately this year, I truly felt free to sit on the porch and enjoy the sunrise, a cup of coffee, and the British crime novel in my lap.

The best of the rest.

I'm on a theme.  You should probably read my last sermon and my post about St Cecilia of the Potato Jesus for this to be in context.

The sermon is about Simeon and Anna and the other post is about the woman who destroyed a fresco and created an internet meme.  (See.  Now aren't you interested enough to click the links?)

The temple was filled with priests.  Spain has lots of artists.

When Simeon and Anna give their declarations, they do so in a temple filled with people.  Holding up a baby and explaining that he is the Promised One is one of those things which tends to draw a crowd.  And, it is so interesting to me that this temple is filled with priests fulfilling their priestly obligations, and none of them speaks these words.  An old man wanders in at the direction of the Holy Spirit and the old widow-woman who had been praying in her own way for 70+ years are the ones prophesying.  God used these two people to make the good news known.  There were others in the same temple, others who were more qualified and better respected.  There were priests - including those who performed the purification rituals - who didn't mention the baby-king connection.  But, two elderly wanderers proudly and loudly shout out the good news.

And, what exactly makes a piece of religious art valuable?  Age, yes, but the last supper has been repaired so many times that some experts have even said that none of the original paint remains.  A painting is ultimately more valuable if it is beautiful.  

The problem is that we value the same things the world values.  This is especially true about people in ministry.  Are you attractive?  Great -that's super important to the Lord.  Are you charismatic?  Perfect - that's exactly what the Lord needs right now.

One friend who was a District Superintendent said that she used to do a long interview processes with congregations to hear what they were looking for in a pastor.  She said, "I never once heard anyone say they wanted someone who couldn't preach their way out of a bag, preferably a woman, preferably handicapped.  I would ask them, 'and would you like him to be taller than six feet or shorter."  They usually answered honestly that taller than six feet would be preferential.

And what is funny, is that God keeps calling all of these people who we don't want.  God keeps calling people with surnames much too inappropriate to put on church signs,  with not quite enough hair on their heads to keep people happy, and something else funny so that I'm not forced to write the painful reasons churches really use to reject people from ministries.

One of the reasons that I love Cecilia Jimenez so much, is that I see myself and my ministry in her painting.  After spending weeks with a local artist repainting the sets for the children's ministry at my college church, one grandmother asked me, "Why did you make it so pukey looking?"  That's the funny story.  I have some other stories of trying to do something in ministry and being rejected.  I can laugh at the "pukey" comment, but the rest just break my heart.  It's hard to be rejected by people for something God has called you to do.

And these are the heroes the Bible lifts up over and over again.  The shepherd-boy-king who became the adulterer-murderer-king who became the king known as a "man after God's own heart.  The prostitute who risked her life for the spies and helped the Jewish people capture her city.  The twelve bumbling blue-collar men who seem to always get the answer wrong and yet managed to spread the Good News all over the world.  These are the heroes that God lifts up over and over again.

These are the heroes we should be lifting up as well.  The ones who aren't really the best at anything, but they give all of their efforts to God in the knowledge that God has called us, and God will take care of the details.  
    

St. Cecilia of the Potato Jesus

I think that someday they will make Cecilia Jimenez a saint.  Not now.  Certainly not any time soon.  Right now, she is scorned by all of those around her.  Her depression is so severe that she can't even leave her home.  But someday, centuries from now, she will be remembered for her faith, devotion, and sincerity.  

Who is Cecilia Jimenez?  She is the woman who is now infamous for this "renovation" project on an icon at her local parish.   

It has become known as "Potato Jesus" and has spawned hundreds of internet memes.  The original was painted by a critical and commercially unsuccessful Spanish painter who most of the world has forgotten about.  It was restored by Cecilia Jimenez who will one day be made a saint.  

I love this woman, because I have spent my life around people just like her.  The painting had been severely damaged by humidity, and there were no funds to have it professionally repaired - so she took up paint and brush and did it herself.  

The church universal is held together by the glue of men and women like Cecilia.  Having spent a lifetime praying in this church, she felt great sorrow that the beloved icon had been ruined by moisture, and she did what she could.  

Of course, the priest says he had no idea she was doing it, but she had been painting for days in plain sight of everyone.  Either her priest hadn't shown up to the church in over a week, or he is lying.  It's a pity.  Her priest should embrace her.  What a moment for the church to show grace.  The priest should be leading a large party and celebration in recognition of the new masterpiece of human devotion to God.  

Because, what better represents all of our efforts of faithfulness; the perfect production of a static Christ by an acclaimed artist or the wrecked, tattered devotion-driven failed attempt of an older, faithful woman.  

One of my favorite songs, when I was a new Christian, was called Dandelions.  It compared our attempts at devotion to a child picking dandelions for his mother.  Compared to what God has done for us, all of our efforts are childishly laughable, and tenderly embraced by God.

I recently preached my first sermon in Ukrainian.  It was about Simeon and Anna.  I focused primarily on Anna, because I had never really thought about her role in the story before.  How laughable was my attempt at preaching in Ukrainian you might ask?  At one point I mixed up the Ukrainian word for promise (OBitsyanka) and the Russian word for monkey (obiZYAnka) - stating that Simeon had a "monkey" from God that he would see the Messiah before his death.  No one laughed, but everyone smiled.  

It was my first attempt, and it wasn't an utter failure.  It was pretty good, and everyone was very encouraging.  But, it wasn't much better than dandelions or this botched painting.  It was done in faithfulness to a calling, and it brought great joy.  It was a blessed and holy time - for me if for no one else.  

And, here is what I wanted to include in that sermon, but couldn't get the words right.  Cecilia Jimenez is Anna.  

Anna was an old woman who had lived at the temple praying and worshipping for years.  She was a woman, old, a widow, and childless.  Her culture had no value for her.  She was the crazy church lady.  She wasn't even allowed into the main part of the temple because of her gender, but still she stayed.  And she prayed.  She prayed that the Savior would come - and God heard her prayer and answered her prayer.  

I wonder what Cecilia Jimenez has spent her life praying for?  Has God answered her prayers without her knowledge?  

In the end, I believe with all of my heart, that she will be rewarded for her faithfulness - regardless of the outcome of this one failed attempt.  In the future, people will read about her work and be inspired by the simple fact that our terrible, failed attempts at proper devotion to the God we love are truly loved by the God who loves us.  

Potato Jesus has brought hundreds of people into that little church to see the new tourist attraction.  Maybe just one of them will be inspired to spend some time in prayer or contemplation.  It will be worth it.  Even our sad attempts to live out our devotion to Christ can help show the way to the Savior.  

          

My first sermon in Ukrainian

When Hans, the previous Bishop of Eurasia, first invited me to Kyiv for a breakfast conversation some winters ago - I was all kinds of nervous.  I could have taken the overnight train to Kyiv and made it to the hotel he was staying at for breakfast in the morning.  But, the problem with the overnight train is that you can't brush your teeth on the train.  The water isn't potable, and it's not safe for brushing.  It seems that the entire trainfull of people waits in line for the bathroom at McDonald's.  I usually skip this step and just chew some minty gum - but that didn't seem appropriate for having a meeting with the Bishop.

In the end, I arrived in Kyiv the night before and stayed with friends.  I know a group of artist who live in a commune - and somehow, spending the night in a commune seemed more appropriate than chewing minty gum before meeting with the Bishop.  I nervously brushed my teeth for about twenty minutes.

Bishop Vaxby immediately calmed my nerves.  He asked me to call him Hans, introduced me to the group he was visiting as one would introduce an old friend, and excused us to a second dining room.

His news was all good.  He shared that he would be asking the General Board of Global Ministries to invite me to work in Lviv.  It was really a dream come true.

Hans said that he had heard me speaking Russian and Ukrainian, and this was one of the reasons he wanted to invite me.  He said, "You are young, and within a year of language study you will be preaching in Ukrainian and Russian."  I was shocked to hear that my Bishop had more faith in me than I did.

I'm not quite there yet.  I've had to sacrifice my Russian skills to make true progress in Ukrainian.  At preaching club, I preach impromptu sermons in Ukrainian.  They are all 3-4 minutes long, and the small group is very encouraging.

Tomorrow, I will preach my first full sermon in front of a congregation in Ukrainian.  At the student center, the sermons will likely always be in English - as students feel very comfortable with that, and many people enjoy the practice of interpreting.  At the United Methodist church here, however,  we wanted sermons to all be in Ukrainian.  This will be the first time I preach at the church since the accident, and it will be my first sermon in Ukrainian.

I wrote a rough guide of what I wanted to say, sad down with my Ukrainian teacher and went line by line of how I would say it in Ukrainian.  She showed me in each line, how the grammar should fit better and which words might make more sense.  It really could almost be a children's sermon - and it certainly isn't my most impressive theological treatise - but it makes my heart happy to know that tomorrow I will push and stretch myself a little bit more - and to know that maybe I should have as much confidence in myself as my bishop does!

Below is the Ukrainian and following that is the English. From the text Luke 2:21-38.
 
Це історія чекання.

В давнину єврейський народ вмів довго чекати. Сорок років вони чекали в пустелі. Століттями вони чекали на відбудову стіни. Тисячоліттями вони чекали на Месію.

У мене нема терпіння. Я не вмію чекати. Коли я жив в Росії десять років назад, був тільки один магазин, який продавав екзотичні фрукти взимку. Там завжди була неймовірно довга черга. І коли приходила чиясь черга, він довго і нудно роздумував що він хоче купити.  Перший раз щоб купити мандаринки я прочекав пів години.

Пізніше мені потрібно було зареєструватись і я прочекав в черзі два дні в держустановах на різних кінцях міста. Я написав своїм батькам листа, (який йшов до них десять днів, і ще десять днів я чекав їхню відповідь), отож я написав їм в листі про ідею чекання. Я не знав як пояснити їм цю ідею, бо я ніколи до цього не чекав довше ніж п'ятнадцять хвилин. Ми жили в маленькому місті і там не було достатньо людей щоб утворилась черга. Я думав що вони не зможуть зрозуміти як довго я чекав на свою реєстрацію і мандарини.

----

Мої батьки ніколи нам не розповідали як довго вони чекали на мій і моєї сестри народження. вони ніколи не розповідали про бажання, надію, молитву і очікування дітей. Моїй мамі було тридцять два роки коли я народився. Я ніколи не зауважував що моя мама старша ніж мами моїх однокласників. Після мого народження моїй мамі було потрібне переливання крові. А в цей час це було дуже небезпечно через часті випадки зараження ВІЛ-СНІДом.  Мама ніколи не розповідала про те як боялась переливання крові і як потім чекала на негативні результати тесту.

Сьогодні ми читали історію про чекання і я думаю, що навіть для нас ця ідея чекання є не зовсім зрозумілою. Єврейський народ тисячоліттями чекав на Месію. Симеон - старий  віруючий чоловік. Йому було обіцяно, що він побачить Месію. Коли він тримав це дитя на руках, він знав що його час вже прийшов.

Але мене найбільше цікавить Анна, стара жінка, яка не отримала обіцянки побачити Месію перед своєю смертю. Коли я вперше прочитав цю притчу, я не зрозумів чому Анна така важлива в цій історії. Отож , чому вона така важлива в цій історії? Вона така важлива в цій історії, тому що вона провела весь свій час в храмі, в молитві. Про що вона молилася? Вона молилася про прихід Месії, обіцяний в Святому Писанні.

Найцікавіше про Анну є те, що її вважали нічого не вартою.Вона була старою жінкою, вдовою, і бездітною.Вона була нічого не вартою в своїй культурі , але  в очах Бога вона була безцінною. Господь послав їй свого сина. Бого почув її молитву і відповів на неї.

Ми не зовсім розуміємо поняття молитви. Багато з нас не вміють молитися як слід. Ми не знаємо як діє молитва. Але ми знаємо, що Бог відповідає на наші молитви. Хіба це не цікава думка, що Бог почув молитву Анни і відповів їй?!

Бог слухає нас.

Бог відповідає на наші молитви.

І навіть в час тяжкого горя і болю, Бог чує наші молитви і Бог чекає нас.  
 
------

І на завершення, пастор Адам Гемільтон написав: "Різдвяна історія закінчується на хресті і в пустому гробі. Господь зазнає найбільшого зла, на яке спроможні люди. Його  бичували  і розіпяли на хресті, він помирає в агонії. Але це не кінець історії. На третій день  гріб спустів і Христос воскрес. Воскресіння показує нам, що ні смерть, ні ненависть, ані зло ніколи не візьмуть верх."

Наші молитви можуть мати різні відповіді - не тільки ті, на які ми хочемо, але в цей самий час ми розуміємо, о Господні шляхи це вищі.Чекаючи на Різдво, нехай Господь нагадає нам, що Він чує наші молитви і відповідає на них.

Амінь

Story Saturday

a series of posts in which I try to write a humorous account of my harrowing life

It was Voloday who invited me to the evangelism conference.  I like evangelism.  I life conferences.  I like meeting other Christians.  But the idea of listening to people prattle on in Ukrainian for several hours wasn't so appealing.  But, I couldn't think of anything better to do with my weekend than be judged by Baptists who might have seen me drink wine at a restaurant - so, of course I said, "Yes!"

The opening worship brought me to every poorly planned chapel at my Christian college.  There was off-kilter dancing, out of rhythm clapping, the theme song from Rocky, and older men trying to look like teenagers while using out-dated black slang.  It was delightful.

It was during the first session that we broke into groups to discuss the topic of barriers to evangelism.  When I was pressed to answer, I honestly stated that my biggest barrier was that I simply didn't have a lot of non-Christian friends.  I work at a church and I'm surrounded by Christians all day.

The entire group stared blankly at me.  I went through my answer in my mind and checked my cases.  I had used the proper endings all around.  Their blank stares began searching to find each other.  Reinforced by herd mentality, they all resumed the stare down.  Their stares spoke volumes, presciently, "Why would you have non-Christian friends?"  Mercifully, someone else in the group spoke up with a more agreeable opinion and everyone enthusiastically agreed.

From time to time, someone in the group would look back at me.  Our eyes would meet - and their faces would flash recognition.  Clearly I was a socialist.  Clearly I was a backslider.  Clearly I hadn't read my Bible.

And maybe all of those things are true, at least on different days.  I called my mother later in the day to complain about this.  She had about as much sympathy as Scrooge might.  "Well, that's what you get for being a liberal."  I told her that I was joking about bringing my flask and taking a swig during the session, but she was clearly not convinced.

Wordless Wednesdays

Annual Christmas Letter

This will be the first year I write a first-person Christmas letter.  It is my habit to write a third-person, humorous account of my year in review.  To be honest, this was the hardest year of my life.  I am thankful for this year, for the growth it caused in my life, and for the people that surrounded me in it - but it was hard.

I moved full time to Lviv, Ukraine.  It was wonderful to finally have a full time placement.  For the previous 3 years, I hadn't slept in the same bed or room for more than three months at any time.  This had been exhausting, and I was thankful for the permanency of home.

Moving is stressful.  Upon arrival, I plunged head first into full time language study.  Nazar lived with me, and we would have lessons, lunch, lessons, dinner, some fun or friends over in the evening, and then more language study before bed.  Usually we would still be having lessons at 1 in the morning.  I loved this exhausting time of cramming cases and rules into my head.  In my spare time I took up painting and found I have a real knack for it.

My brain was so tired from language lessons, that I really couldn't function enough to do anything else.  The entire winter was consumed with language lessons and cultural adaptation.  Nazar's grandmother took me into her home for the holidays and made me feel part of the family.

In the spring, I began working more and more with our church planting efforts in Stryi.  Vitya, an older teenager from the church, traveled with me back and forth to work with us in the effort.  It was good to get to know Vitya.  Although he doesn't speak a word of English, and isn't my translator, it is still nice to have a native speaker to help me out from time to time.  In the mornings, or in the evenings when I am tired; I am completely incapable of speaking Ukrainian.  There were many times when Vitya did a good job helping me navigate difficult situations.  Sadly, we had to close down our efforts in that town.

I also had a chance to have breakfast with Illya's mom and worship with them at their Greek Catholic church.  I took a vacation in Romania and had a wonderful time with some European friends in their final days as exchange students.  It was perfect and relaxing.

I came home early so that I could see Nazar off to the airport.  He is a mission intern - and I am incredibly proud of his service in South Korea.  It was on my way to the airport with him and his grandmother that I got the call that there had been an accident at the student center.  The day was filled with confusion and sadness.  By the evening, all of our faces were plastered on all of the news outlets and we understood that our dear friend Illya had died, as well as an American from the team, David Nevotti.  David Goran was in the hospital without anti-biotics or painkillers and it was clear that he would need to be airlifted to Germany to have his pelvis operated on.

Our Bishop, Hans, and his wife Kaika came to be with us and it was wonderful to have their wise presence at the time.  The criminal investigation opened up and put our pastor and community at risk.  The weeks and months that follow are somewhat of a blur.  If asked to recreate a time-line, I don't know if I could.  All I remember is how wonderful the Ukrainians in our community were throughout the entire ordeal.  The constant meetings, being stopped by a friend on the street and ducking into an alleyway for prayer, the Bible-verse sharing, the 3 AM phone calls with my pastor.

Pastor Lyubomir watched a video on surviving in a Ukrainian prison.  One of the hints was to have lots of cigarettes on you when you were arrested so that you could trade for things you needed.  Lyubomir and I both bought packs of cigarettes and started carrying them, just in case.  When we would greet one another, we would silently tap our hidden packs of cigarettes.  Thankfully, the legal fears were nothing but fear.  We faced each day, and the two of us shared the burden of dealing with the legal situation.

My colleague and friend from New York, Vladimir Shaporenko came for a visit.  It was good to spend time with him, and for him to see this incredible ministry.  He was blown away by how wonderful the students were.  He promises to return again and spend more time with us.

My dear friend Maks, the first of the students to embrace me as a brother, passed away under unknown and mysterious circumstances.  His funeral was unexplainably hard.

After Nazar left, the guest room was empty.  Nazar and I had talked with Vitya about furthering his education - and I had encouraged him to apply to a technical college.  He excitedly called to let me know that he had been accepted to one.  The next day he showed up with his bags.  I slowly put everything together - that of course he had understood that our encouragement and my excitement had been an invitation of a place to live.  I was tired of living alone, understood that his family could never afford to pay for him to live in the city, and gladly accepted the company.

After a few months, it was obvious that his reading skills weren't strong enough for the technical college and he was put in a remedial program.  Although he is 19, he was put with 15 year olds in a high school.  Rather than a roommate, I ended up with an accidental teenage son.  My evenings are filled with homework help, remedial reading, and other parenting things.  My house is filled with his teenage friends, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  Everyone at church teases me about having a teenage son and still no wife, but it's a good-natured joke and I enjoy it.

Following the accident I also found a few new friends, who have been wonderful companions and truly compassionate to me.  I don't know if I would have survived without Den and Olya in addition to all of my friends from the student center.  I also found out that I really enjoy translating Ukrainian poetry into English.  I've been told that I have a knack for it, and will hopefully publish some poems next year.

This year has been long, hard, and challenging.  But, I have grown, matured, and changed.  I hope that all of you will have a wonderful Christmas.  Thank you for keeping me in your prayers this year.  I pray that next year will be a blessed one for all of us.

Love, Michael Airgood.

  

Story Saturday

I'm almost never afraid anymore.  For the longest time it seemed that any task could instill fear in me when needed to be performed in Ukrainain.  I was always afraid I wouldn't know the right word, or I would mix up my cases and embarrass myself.

I still do all of those things, they just don't scare me anymore.

I get most of the way through a rather long paragraph of information and realize that I have no clue how to say suffocate in Ukrainian, and so I prattle on for a bit longer and finally mime out the rest.  Everyone shares a good laugh at my expensive and we move on with our lives.

I was visiting a friend's village - and his mother recommended that I go visit the school and speak to all of the students.  Now, in America we would never do this.  I can just imagine a Mexican immigrant coming to our school and insisting on speaking to all of the Spanish students.  I do, however, have some experience and a few titles behind my English Teacher desk; and I distinctly remember Nazar sharing story after story of the loons they invited to come and speak to his class - so I knew I would fit in.

One loon explained to Nazar's class why they should never add sugar to tea.  They should taste the actual herbs and spices of the blend of tea.  Apparently this was shared during an all-school assembly time, and apparently he used 45 minutes to convey this point.  And to whit, Nazar still refuses sugar in his tea.

And, so, it felt quite natural to march into the school and ask to speak to the director.  Of course I was well received and invited to speak to all of the classes.  The students cleaned each classroom before I entered, and were all wonderfully polite.  The oldest students were absolutely terrified to practice their English, and together we mostly spoke Ukrainian.

It was the younger students, the eighth class and younger who spoke fluently and confidently in English.  They asked me all kinds of questions that would be much to personal to ask a stranger in America - but fit right in here.

In Ukrainian school's it's altogether miraculous to find an intelligent boy.  All of the girls are regarded as bright students, but the entire male population is fitted with dunce caps in Elementary school and they wear them straight through their second doctoral degree.  Of course, in the village the boys miss a tremendous amount of school because they are needed in the fields - so girls do get much more classroom time.  There are other reasons, too.  Classroom time is neatly planned around rote-memorization and recitals.  Girls excel in these tasks, and girls are rewarded for excelling.

It doesn't seem to matter how naturally intelligent a boy is, the second he is put in a room of female students and female teachers he becomes an idiot.

Each classroom has an icon at the head of the room.  This fascinates me.  I remember my third grade teacher kept a Bible on his desk and reminding us occasionally that it was his right to do so.  When I began teaching at the University, I was given a small book of prayers of the saints to read at the beginning of lessons.  But, I was most fascinated most by the icons.  There really isn't any rhyme or reason for which icon to hang.  I guess it would make more sense to me if each room had Jesus, or even Mary - but some rooms had random saints, Ukrainian nationalist saints, or others I didn't know of.

It was the 11th form classroom whose icon fascinated me the most.  The icon was larger than life - it filled half of a wall, really.  The icon of Mother Mary breastfeeding baby Jesus.  Her ample bosom seemed to spill out into the room of pubescent students.  I can't imagine who was so inspired to buy this and hang it in a room filled with young men.  It was just so incredibly distracting.  The entire time I tried to talk about grammar and such, my eyes just kept going back to that icon.  The way it seemed that the eyes of both Mary and suckling Jesus followed you no matter where you went in the room.

And standing in front of a room full of students who wouldn't speak English to me, and being chased by more than the eyes of a couple of saints, I immediately remembered what it was like to be afraid again.

Wordless Wednesdays

This is a tank.  The sign is also ironicly funny. 

Story Saturday

I had to wait until the next day to get my results.  I asked Pastor Volodya to go with me to the next appointment.  His vocabulary is a bit larger than mine between our two languages - but he wouldn't be my interpreter - just another friend.

We were given the MRI scans in a large brown envelope and sent upstairs to the doctors office.  We were early, so I pulled out my scans.

It was like a branch of broccoli sticking out between two teeth.  Tiny, yet completely undeniable in every way - with no medical training I could see the herniated disc popping out.  This was not good.

When the doctor pulled out the scan, I just watched his eyes.  They winced when they came to the slide I had noticed.  He tried to play it cool, but I knew it was bad.  He drew a picture of the scoliosis in my spine, and explained that the combination of my crooked spine and my incredible weight problem had caused this.

Valodya believes innately that all Christians should have rockin'-bods.  He doesn't believe that a Christian should be on the heavy side, and he always shares a look of disgust when I eat anything sweet or anything at all really.  As soon as the doctor began discussing a diet plan, I immediately regretted bringing Valodya.  I wished that Den or Olya had been with me - they at least could have playfully teased rather than judgmentally reproved.
 
I knew my life would be a living hell after this.  Long after the pain in my back had faded, Volodya would be pressing and pushing me about my girth.  What upsets me most, is that I am not even large by American standards.  Compared to most of Minnesota I'm trim and petite.

As we left, Valodya said, "Do you think that Doctor is a Jew?"  I wish that the written word could fully capture the intonation of disgust registering in his voice, - that you could draw a crooked nose above words to symbolize a genocidal tone -  but, sadly - that's all up to your imagination.  I weakly responded, "Yes, I think so."  And he volleyed, "Good.  That's very good ... Let's go for a run."

Tonight at Pilgrims, we are having a fun night.  We've had so many challenges and setbacks this year, and we hope to end on a lighter note.  We will do a scavenger hunt and end with pizza.  It should be delightful.

The one catch is that the groups will be tied together for the scavenger hunt.  It should be delightful.

"My best friend growing up was my next door neighbor.  We did everything together.  Alex was two years older than me, and our older siblings were the oldest kids in the neighborhood, so they were in charge.  We always played wonderful group games together and had a great time.

One day, Alex and I began a conversation about our religious understandings.  Specifically, we began arguing about which of our families was more religious.  I had never seen Alex in church before, and because at this point in my life I assumed that there was only one church in the universe, I assumed that meant that Alex didn't go to church.

He explained that he went to the other big Protestant church down the road from the one I went to.  I explained that my mother was the organist at my church.  He explained that his mother was also an organist and played the organ at his church.  We continued discussing the involvement of each of our family members to try and decide which of us was from the more religious family.

It was an odd game for children to play, but it is an even odder game for adults to play.

History has recorded many wars fought throughout the centuries between different groups and factions within the church.  There has been much division.  This is the reason that Pilgrims is proudly inter-confessional.  We believe in Unity of the body.  We believe that we are better together than we are apart.

Certainly we have disagreements, and arguments, and occasionally we raise our voices.  It doesn't happen often, but sometimes it does.  We choose to live together in community and to figure these things out.  It would be easier to just all stay separated, but we choose to take the much harder path of being together.

Alex and I were opposites in every way.  He runs ultra-marathons today, just as an example of how different we are!  But, our families lived side by side and we were together through good times and bad times.

God has brought us together as a community, and whether we always agree or not, we understand that God has brought us together for a reason.  The Bible talks about friendship, and says that a cord of three strands is not easily broken.

Can I have two volunteers?

God calls us together.  We are here for each other.  When times are tough, we hold each other up.  I can't tell you how many times a phone call, message, or prayer from someone in this community has lifted me up and made me stronger.  God binds us together as one people, and we leave this place to face the world bound together as one people.

Amen.

Wordless Wednesdays

Story Saturday

Some weeks later, my back is still not feeling much better.  While we have tried most of the folk remedies not involving "eye of toad and tail of newt", my friend Lyubomir finally called a doctor for me.  I thought about taking a translator with me, but decided against it.  It seemed like a doctor's visit would be more exotic without a translator.

Somewhere in the middle of my appointment when I was explaining my "slipped capital femural epyphysis" operation - I really wish I had brought one.  Thankfully, the clinic had the internet and google translate knows all.

My doctor was a short, hairy fellow.  He certainly could have been middle-eastern, but his name was pure Ukrainian nationalist.  I wondered if he was perhaps ersatz - like the Chinese-American doctor named Chris(tmas) Carol.  But, he was very pleasant to talk to - and we talked for over 40 minutes.  My friend had recommended a private, Catholic clinic.  It was miles above the state-owned hospitals.  It was modern, clean, and inexpensive by my standards.  The doctor gladly repeated himself three times whenever it was needed.  He asked a lot of questions, and when he found out that my mom had undergone back surgery, he immediately sent me down to get an MRI.

As I walked down the bright, clean hallway - it morphed into the most hideous, Soviet prison my mind could imagine.  It suddenly dawned on me that I had never really gone to the doctor alone for anything serious before.  Then it dawned on me that perhaps something was seriously wrong - and I felt so incredibly alone.

I texted Olya, one of my closest friends, and asked her to come and sit with me.  She texted back that she was in Poland.  It was cavalier, one of those, "Olya can't come to the phone right now because she's in Poland" messages.  I didn't want to call any of the students from the student center and get the gossip cart rolling - and I nervously clicked through my contact list to think of someone outside the community who might be free and willing to come sit at the clinic with me.
 
My friend Den's name popped up.  We met through my friend Valya who is fashionable and hip and who know's everyone who is anyone in this city.  Den works for a film festival, and looks like that's about right.  Den looks a little bit like Johnny Depp, but not so very masculine; and when he talks he sounds a bit like a self-conscious Truman Capote.  He's a new friend, but very fun to be around. I enjoy spending time with Den because we both get to practice language - but it is never forced.  We will talk in Ukrainian and I forget and start into English until he forgets and we switch back and forth this way.  It never feels like I am giving an English lesson or taking a Ukrainian lesson.
 
He promised he would be waiting for me when I finished the MRI.  And immediately my fears subsided a bit - which is good because it was at this point that they pulled me into the room.

They put me into a small closet and the attendant mumbled something.  Thankfully, I've had enough screening and examinations to know the drill and quickly changed out of my clothes into the paper poncho.

Boy, does being being squeezed into a paper-thin, plexi-clear, paper poncho designed for a tiny Ukrainian make me forget that I actually speak Ukrainian.  The nurse came and asked me a series of very serious, ominous questions.  His tone imbued each one with a sense of life or death, and yet it was as if I had just landed in this country that morning.  The only thought running through my head was, "I need an adult!" - and finally he switched into English and asked me if I had ever had an MRI before.  I said yes and we proceeded to the room.

My last MRI had cost 300 times more than this one would - and the only difference was I had listed to Bach during it.  This room was filled with odd techno-music.  I thought this was bizarre - but when the machine startled it's rattles and poundings, it seemed to fit the music nicely.

I fell asleep instantly and was relieved forty minutes later to get to put my clothes back on.  Den was waiting out in the lobby as promised.  I sat down next to him and we talked a little bit about what might be wrong.  I looked up and noticed that the woman working in the coat room was staring at us.  We must have looked an odd pair, because her expression read, "Don't you know this is a Catholic clinic?"  Den noticed what I was noticing and began to laugh.  "Yes, the woman at reception had the same look when I said that I was not your translator, but just a friend."  We both laughed, which made Scowly McCoatroom very nervous.
 
We sat for a while longer as the sounds of techno music left my ears and coat-room woman's scowl melted away.  And we got up and began the long, slow, walk home.

(to be continued ...)