Nature as a Metaphor

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This week, the Daily Office Lectionary (the schedule that takes pray-ers and read-ers through most of the Bible in the course of two years, found in the back of any Book of Common Prayer, and online in various locations, like this) has been taking us through Isaiah.  This prophet’s words are major faves for Messianic imagery and promise–Isaiah’s are the words ones Jesus quotes most during his ministry as recorded in the Gospels.  They’ve been fertilizing my heart the last few weeks (and months–in our women’s Bible Study); here are a few thoughts on two verses from Isaiah 43, part of the Lectionary’s reading in the last week.

“When you pass through the water, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:2

We have, we do, we will face rivers and fires–storms of relationships and financial stability and physical/mental health–there is no promise God ever makes that we will be shielded or that we can avoid trials and pain in our lives.  The promise made to us here is that when we face pain and trials, because we will, we won’t be drowned or choked or suffocated or burned or consumed–we won’t be killed.  When we face pain, we have an opportunity to grow and learn and to become stronger through the trouble we’re encountering.  If we stick stubbornly to God, like a burr on a dog’s coat, our trials become moments that we can learn trust, and we can come out the other side stronger and happier and closer to God than before.IMG_2303

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?  I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19

We don’t experience much physical wilderness in our day & age–there aren’t any places on the earth that haven’t at least been mapped, if not overrun with people and paths and conveniences (especially in the US)–but perhaps you can imagine what it might be like to stand on the edge of a desert, or at the end of the road leading into the nature preserve (if that’s the closest we can imagine to “wilderness”!), and try to conceive a way through the uncharted space to wherever it is we’re supposed to go.  Even if it’s like a park, and there are paths running through this “wilderness,” such ready-made paths never seem to go quite the right direction.  Though we face areas of wilderness in our lives–relationships that are stuck and have no clear direction out of the mud, medical or financial or other problems that have only walls and uncertainty–God will guide your path (the one for just you–not a pre-made, well-worn path, perhaps).

a truth about relationships

I’m speaking broadly here–not specifically about marriage or romance, which is what immediately pops to my mind when i hear (or read) the word “relationship”–just any level of intimacy with another person, or even with some animals, I’d argue, but that’s another discussion.  The truth which dawned on me today, at a totally unremarkable moment, is that though I may wish and hope and even pray for a relationship to be what it once was, once a relationship is changed, it is never the same again.  Now that I’ve written it, it looks like a simple redundancy.  Duh–once something is changed, it is never the same again.

I’ve been mourning changed relationships.  Ones that used to be close, and i’m not sure why they’re not close anymore–phone calls just stopped being answered one month, and then invitations for dinner were demurred, and now the “relationship” is reduced to (probably one-sided) facebook stalking.  Others ruptured somewhat dramatically, over life choices, and for whatever reason, haven’t recovered.  I keep praying and hoping and wishing and plotting for a recovery.  Today I realized that though “recovery” in the medical sense might be possible (because medically, no matter what happens to you, you’re never quite the same again–heart surgery, serious illness, whatever–your body has scars and adjustments), but a restoration isn’t ever possible, at least this side of Glory (right.  “this side of Glory”, whatever that means–also for another post).

A changed, ruptured, cooled relationship can of course come to a new “better” or at least “different” place, but hoping to get back what has been lost is just sentencing oneself to disappointment.

Therefore.  let us hope & pray for restoration in Christ, and hope & pray for recovery and renovation in our hearts & relationships.

Perspectives on the Eucharist

oh, there are dozens and hundreds of theological explanations of the Eucharist–what *exactly* is “happening,” and how and why…  this is not one of those.  this is a reflection on how Jesus can specifically meet a person in the bread & wine of Holy Communion.

this morning, i learned that dear, dear friends of mine are moving about a six-hour plane ride away.  both husband and wife have been so vital to the discernment of my call to ordained ministry that i honestly don’t know where i would be without them (well, without Jesus, of course, but without their willingness to be conduits!).  thinking of their exit makes me tear up; i hope i get over that part at least by the time i see them…

as such, it’s been an emotional day.  i looked forward to going to the week-day Eucharist that the church i’m working at this year hosts every Thursday.  the familiarity of the service is so, so calming.  this particular service is small, usually less than 10 attendees, and held in a chapel that’s covered in carpet, wood and a bit of hewn-stone accent–it feels like a cozy cave (with lovely triangle windows at the top that let you see only the tops of the trees outside).  Not only was the homily about Advent and waiting (someone here is searching for a job post-grad), but Communion was something special today.

as i knelt down and the wafer was placed in my hand with the usual words, it dawned on me that this was exactly the same thing they would do and experience when they went back to England.  they, too, would receive the cup with the same, old proclamation.  we’d be taking and eating and living in Christ, still together, somehow, though we would not live down the street (in walking distance!) from each other anymore.  we would still be tightly knit as God’s children, washed by Jesus’ blood–we will still be one body, because we share one bread and one cup.

this is exactly (one of) the thing(s) that the Eucharist is to remind us of–that we aren’t individuals, and we aren’t divided and we aren’t alone.  we are joined to all Christians throughout space (the whole earth) and throughout time (all of history) in the sacrament of Eucharist.  we all serve the same Lord, and so we are never so far away from each other as we may feel, because we are all part of the same mission.

Book love: “A Homemade Life”

right now, i should be reading Bartolome de Las Casas’ “The Only Way,” about how to convert the Native Americans, who the Spanish had just “discovered” back in the early 16th century, when Las Casas does his thinking.

instead, i am wandering around my mind, inspired by the book i just finished, thinking, “hey, i could do that!” for about the twenty-second time, reading the author’s old blog posts, then clicking through gmail-facebook-twitter, in the too-familiar sequence of the wired-in tic every internet addict (most of us, these days) must have.

i wonder where my “voice” is, i wonder if my writing sounds like “me.”  I rarely think it does.  i wonder what my “style” is.  instead of these really inane wonderings, i shall write a bit about this book.  this is not a “review”–notice–this is just “love.”

For one, Molly‘s prose.  It’s the first book in years that I’ve read chunks out loud to whoever happens to be nearby, just because the wording is so fantastic.  how does one do that? (i’ve been told, “practice.”)  As i read, and even more now, i turn over in my mind one of the little sentences of praise that’s on the back or on the front, it says, “every story tells a recipe.”  I thought it was a little bit trite when i first read the phrase, how clever the reviewer must have thought him/her-self, but as i gulped down the book, he/she was right.  and here lies my one qualm: each chapter, a few pages of story, a page or two of recipe, gets its title inspiration from the story, not the recipe.  So how am i to find one recipe when i want it?  I want to go back to the braised cabbage (we’re starting a winter CSA next week, and i’m eager to know what to do with what i’m sure will be lots of winter cabbage) and the chocolate cake that they used for their wedding and the cornmeal cake that’s eaten with maple syrup and the stewed prunes…  clearly, it’s a varietous collection, and now that she’s on to her second book, a similar style, it seems, about birthing a restaurant, i’m eager for more (but will have to wait till early 2013, according to her website).

what book has been so good that you read bits out loud?

one of those nights

Today was one of those days.  Just an hour to two too long.  You really need some good food to get your groove back, but there’s not much at home, and being 830pm and living in a “trendy” part of town–you probably shouldn’t be biking about alone (it’s not quite to super-bike-friendly territory here yet).  So you go home.  and there are plenty of trashy tv shows on DVR.  but you really need something delicious for your belly.

so you pull out peanut soup.  which starts with onions and butter (nothing smells better.  nothing).

Peanut Soup (based on, or stolen from, Colonial Williamsburg’s King’s Arms Tavern)

¼ c butter

1 finely chopped onion

2 ribs celery, finely chopped

2 T flour

8 c chicken stock

2 c peanut butter

1 ¾ c cream

peanuts

In a large saucepan or soup pot over medium heat, melt ¼ c butter.  Add 1 finely chopped medium onion and two ribs of celery, finely chopped.  Cook, stirring often, 3-5 minutes, stir in 2 T flour, cook 2 minutes, pour into 8 c chicken stock, bring to boil.  Reduce to medium and stir often till thickened and reduced, about 15 minutes.  Blend with immersion blender.  Whisk in 2 c peanut butter and 1 ¾ c cream.  Cook 5 minutes, do not boil.  Serve warm, garnished with peanuts.

 

I only had a splash of cream, but to me, it was just as good, if a bit less-thick.