Faces of Federated - Entries from January 2012

SunSundayJanJanuary22nd2012

January 22, 2012 - Hal Maskiell

Posted Sunday, January 22 2012 @ 12 PM byHal Maskiell Tagged No tags 0 comments Add comment

That’s a nice story we just heard. Jesus walks along the beach, calls four fishermen, they drop everything – on the spot – and follow him. But, I gotta tell ya, I’m having a pretty tough time picturing myself in that story. I mean, do these guys even know who Jesus is? He’s not pulling out his business card – Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, Savior of the World, 1-800-SAVE MAN – here, is he? How would I respond if someone – a minister, teacher, holy man – were to walk up to me as I’m climbing into an airplane with a student and say “Come with me, Hal, and I’ll teach you how to REALLY fly.” “Sure. OK, Sorry Francesco, I gotta go. No flying today.” I’m just not seeing it happen that way!

We seem to have a bit of an advantage today. We have a couple thousand years of history telling us who Jesus is – although we still don’t know what he’s looking like when he appears to us. We still have to discern whether it’s really God talking to us or not. And, if we decide it is God’s voice coming through this person, we have to trust God. My mother used to tell me “he who trusts doesn’t worry and he who worries doesn’t trust”. My wife will tell you that, all too often, I don’t do very well at trusting when it comes to money, work, and seeing the future. I worry!

So how do I reconcile this worry with the need to trust God. To the claim – and knowledge – that God is our rock and our salvation – or more to the point – is MY rock and MY salvation? It’s work. It requires effort. I have to admit that my reading and prayer life have slipped in the past couple years; I just don’t seem to find time for them as I used to. I’m not pleased with this but I haven’t managed to correct it yet, either. It’s on my “to do” list.

Meantime, I guess, I just know. I know that God loves me. I know that not everything is going to go my way. But I also know that, at the end of the day, it’s going to be alright – that God will love me and care for me somehow. I have to trust that when I turn a student loose to solo – that critical time when I climb out of the airplane and tell him (or her) to go fly it yourself – that I’ve taught him the things he needs to know to do so safely. But also that God is looking out for both of us – my judgement and my student’s – the hope and expectation that nothing disastrous is going to happen to the airplane or the weather or the student’s medical condition – in the next half hour. I have to trust myself and my student – but, most of all, I have to trust God. (And I don’t ever make that decision to climb out of the airplane for the first time without whispering a prayer for wisdom.)

I also have to remember that when I say that God is my rock and my salvation, that isn’t an assurance of wealth or health or a good time at work. It’s deeper than that – much deeper. We’re talking about the real stuff now. My spirit. My soul. Eternity. That even when wealth and health go, even when the outward appearances of this world turn ugly, the eternal, internal reality is that – somehow – God still loves me. Extravagantly. Eternally. Unconditionally.
That’s reality.

Pray with me.
Help us, dear God, to know your presence, to trust your goodness even when the world’s signals may turn against us. Help us to trust you and to remember, deep in the core of our being, that you are our rock, our salvation, and our reality. And help us to act, as we go about our day to day business, like we know this reality. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

SunSundayJanJanuary8th2012 January 8, 2012 - Thea Mozingo

Posted Sunday, January 08 2012 @ 12 PM byThea Mozingo Tagged No tags 0 comments Add comment

Good Morning.

A few a years back, my family and I made a trip to Mammoth Cave National Park. After an hour or so of hiking, we arrived at a large cavern where there were benches, electric lights on the walls and a park ranger. After everyone on the tour was seated, the park ranger turned off the lights. I would like to say that it was pitch black at that moment or even say that it was so dark that we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces, but those would be gross understatements. As a farmer’s daughter and granddaughter, I have been driven to the middle of a corn field in Iowa where all light were extinguished to see the stars. That is pitch black. This was a darkness so profound that it had a smell, a feel and a sound all its own. My wee ones gripped my hands while they waited for the second half of the demonstration. The ranger lit one small candle and immediately this large room was flooded with light. Now, I am not saying that I could have done much more than read the outlines of the other people and benches or see the faces of those sitting closest to me, but the illumination of one small candle was striking. The electric lights were turned back on, people gathered up themselves and their belongings and continued on the tour.

This demonstration has stuck with me in a number of ways and for a number of reasons. As a greenie, it reminds me how over illuminated we can be-lights for all occasions, burning at all times. Ok, I’ll get off my soap box now, but you get the point.

In my current job with a local pediatric cancer non-profit, that one candle reminds me to be both aware of and grateful for the difference that one person, one act can make, no matter how apparently small. At the darkest of times for our families who have a child with cancer, all support and help that is offered can be that one candle. We have times where we are able to provide the giant candelabra of support – the room bathed in light. Then we have the birthday candle moments, where we can only make out the faces of those closest to us. What I have grown to appreciate is that both the 10,000 watt flashlight and the small single- battery Jesus Loves Me flashlight handed out at VBS do exactly the same thing. They bring light into the darkness. They bring promise and hope.

Then came the invitation from the beautiful, light-filled Susi’s to speak today on Epiphany Sunday. In the Western church, Epiphany Sunday usually celebrates the coming of the Magi. The Eastern Church traditionally celebrates the baptism of Christ. There is also often a focus this Sunday on the gift of light. My little candle came to mind once more. I confess that I am much more of an Advent Christian than an Easter one. Blasphemy indeed! But there is something about Advent that has always spoken to me in a way that no other season of the church year does: Isaiah’s people who walked in darkness and saw a great light, the Magi who followed the star, the birth of our savior in a humble manger.

I am drawn to these people who were living in a time of emotional and spiritual darkness every bit as profound and dark as that cave I visited. They waited and watched and hoped for their Messiah, their Emmanuel, and he came. I can think of times in my own life and in the lives of family and friends where there was nothing but darkness. I don’t doubt that many of you have had those times as well. What can we do in the bleak midwinters that happen in our lives? Personally, I can listen to Handel’s Messiah and be reminded of the power and meaning of Christ’s birth both in his time and in our time. Maybe there are lines of scripture that bring you comfort. Maybe it something as simple as allowing yourself to be open to simple words and kindnesses offered by loved ones. They are all candles in the darkness. They are the light of promise and hope. 2000 plus years ago, in a bleak and dark time came the birth of just one child. A birth that changed everything. The stories of the Magi and the shepherds and the angels and a star that led them all to a babe born in a manger hold the promise of unbelievable and undeniable hope. One candle, lit in the darkness that changed everything forever. Amen.

O Divine Light,
we confess that sometimes we look to you
to be a neon sign or even a burning bush
offering easy answers to our problems
in the moments when our lives are most dim.
And we confess that sometimes we expect you
to do most of the work to light our way
while we sit back and watch you work.
But your Still Speaking presence reminds us
that we embody your light.
You have empowered us with spiritual "currents"
of wisdom, strength, compassion, and peace
and when we trust enough to let your life flow within us
we find our life journey well illuminated.