As I sit here at the end of November, and I think about the coming days, that time of year we Christians call Advent, I must admit that I feel a bit weary. There is a lot to do before Christmas. Like me you probably have tons of shopping to do and visits to make, goodies to bake and parties to prepare for, extra money to earn and presents to wrap. Your “to do” list is probably as long or longer than mine.

              Our church calendar has filled up quickly too: practice for concerts, cantatas, and plays. There’s planning for get-togethers, meetings, trips and a multitude of other stuff to get done. Honestly, when I see everything listed, it’s pretty easy for me to get overwhelmed.

              What I long for, is to be a kid again. I want not to think so much about all the things to do, but to simply look forward to the joy and fun of Christmas. Kids don’t think of play practice as something they have “to do,” but as fun. They don’t consider cruising through Wal-Mart looking for just the right present as a chore, but as exciting. They don’t think of baking cookies as work, but as pure joy! And they relish decorating...the tree, the house, the lawn, the dog…anything at all.

              Children have a lot to teach me if I will stop long enough to consider their lessons. Children are truly innocent and pure. They are eager to trust and to believe the good over the bad. A child will love in spite of being hurt, dissed, or bullied. They will take an insult…toss one back and go on playing together without pouting or holding a grudge. Jesus said that the kingdom of God was made up of just such hearts; pure, open, and full of love.        

Jesus also said, “Let the little ones come unto me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven” (Mat 19:13). What I think is that Jesus was trying to tell us something in these words.  Jesus was trying to teach crusty, stodgy, jaded adults to notice the kind of goodness that helps a person fit in with God’s plan for the Kingdom.

Just this week, one of Pisgah’s little ones, smiling like an angel, said to me. “It’s okay, pastor Judy. She didn’t have a piece of bubble gum. I had two, so I gave her my extra piece.” I just have to tell you, the sweetness of that moment was enough to bring tears to my eyes and cause me to pray. Lord, give me a heart like hers!

Litany of Prayer in Remembrance of 
September 11, 2001

Leader: At moments when we remember the terror that our world experienced on September 11, 2001

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we revisit the feelings we have had of horror, sadness, and overwhelming grief

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we are lured to believe that revenge will melt away our conflicts

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When our security is shattered and peace floats like a distant day dream

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we resort to using religion to excuse, threaten, exclude or destroy others

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we grapple with how to create a better world for our children

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we look for ways to unite ourselves in the bonds of peace

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we coax from our disputes the hope of reconciliation

All: Help us turn our minds and hearts to you God.

Leader: When we attempt to fully surrender our lives to you God

All:  "Let us live as faithful followers of the Prince of Peace and, in the words of the author of the Letter to the Colossians: As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other…. [1] May our memory and our hope unite to move all of us toward peace and inspire us to live with compassion, confidence and courage."[2] Amen.

---

[1] (Colossians 3:12-13, NRSV)

[2]Bishop Larry M. Goodpaster, President Council of Bishops, UMC.

Uh...Excuse me, a follower of Jesus Christ, who is not a lunatic, will not intentionally murder 92 people because of a political agenda. I don't care if the media does call him a fundamentalist Christian. His religion is obviously his own, and not any Christian one that I know of!

Now that I've said that and got it out of my system...let me offer this prayer:

Lord of Heaven,

I cannot imagine the pain and devastation being felt by the families, friends, and loved ones of those (allegedly) brutally killed by Anders Behring Breivik last week. I pray that your comfort would surround them and sustain them in a completeness that is incomprehensible. Lord, take this horror that goes against everything that you are, and transform it...somehow...as only you can. I am lost against it. Have mercy, O Lord, on us all. Amen.

Western North Carolina
Annual Conference
June 8-12, 2011
Lake Junaluska, NC

This year Bishop Goodpaster's theme was "Inspire the Living Faith!" Even before we were schedule to arrive, Bishop G asked us pastors to lead our congregations in reading from, studying on, and hearing sermons from the book of Acts. As you remember, we followed suit with our 5-week sermon series from Acts, "Disciples ActingOut." I believe Bishop G was praying for all of us to be re-inspired by the acts of the earliest Christians, and that the passionate flames of the Holy Spirit would be rekindled in each one of us.

Any Christian would be inspired by going to Annual Conference. I know that many times during the week, I thought...Wow! I wished the folks back at Pisgah could see this...could hear this...could feel this. The services, the preachers, the music, and the gathering of thousands of Holy Spirit-filled souls in that place did inspire me. My mind and heart was once again filled with the awesomeness of our God, and what God wants to do in us and through us.

Another thing about Annual Conference this year was the frankness with which we were presented the statistics about our churches. Enfolded within the joy and celebration of the benefits of God's active presence with us, was the shadow of concern.

It wasn't a shadow of concern about God and God's power. It was the concern about whether we...us...you and me...the churches we attend and serve in...have what it takes to continue to make an impact in our communities. The shadow lurking was the concern about our own apathetic response to God in the coming years.

We have for 40 years seen a steady decrease in the membership of the UMC. We all know this; it isn't news. But this year we have been hammered by that reality and that the funding that has always kept pace, even through the decreasing membership, is beginning to falter.

As the baby boomer generation, which makes up a huge number of UMC membership, begins to leave the work force and live on a fixed income, there is less money coming into local churches, districts, and conferences to fund vital ministries.

Dr. Lovett H. Weems, who is the director of the Lewis Center for Church Leadership at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, DC, has explained that by the year 2018, the country will enter a time period where we will face what he calls a, "death tsunami," when the death rate in the country will increase at a dramatic rate. The bottom line is that by the year 2050, there will be 50% more deaths than in 2010.

Even though the rising death rate is a natural outcome of our aging population, it has "the potential to wipe out the UMC witness in vast parts of entire states." The racial make-up of those passing will be non-Hispanic, White and African-Americans; in other words...the majority racial make-up of our United Methodist churches. Lovett H. Weems. http://vimeo.com/22392014. (I encourage you to take a look at this video.)

The question posed to us over and over again at Annual Conference was this one: Do we have the courage to follow God in what it takes to sustain and grow our churches in the next few years? Do we have the faith, the passion, the commitment, the determination, to remain as a witness not only for the UMC, but for Christ in the places where we serve?

Bishop Goodpaster encouraged us with his words, his prayers, his example, and his commitment to reset and refocus the financial base of the Western North Carolina Annual Conference. He has challenged the congregations of our conference to be bold, to think "outside the box," and to take the problems at hand, with the leadership and help of God, and solve them.

A shadow of concern is a good thing as long as it does not turn into a paralyzing fear. Let us at Pisgah UMC not be afraid of the future. God is with us. God will lead us through anything that is coming. Our part is to listen, stay together, be focused, love God, our neighbors, each other, and trust in the power of our AWESOME God.

Death Tsunami?

Here is a video from Lovett H. Weems, Jr. who recently spoke to the UMC Council of Bishops. Weems gives some startling information about the realities of the future of the UMC. He also challenges the UMC to "Reset and Refocus" itself before we are no more. Take a look.

Lovett H. Weems, Jr. - UMC Realities from Lewis Center on Vimeo.

What do you think about Weems predictions? What do we as United Methodists need to discern from these prophetic words. Please comment.

Conflicted

I woke up yesterday morning to some historical news...the news about Osama bin Laden's CIA/Navy Seal lead death and burial. In shock, I watched as young Americans took to the streets to demonstrate their glee over the death of this criminal. (I hope there is more to it than that.) Then I began to wonder about my shock, and about why I was not feeling jubilant. It was reported that the New York Daily News headline was "ROT IN HELL."

What I'm saying is that I am conflicted. On the one hand, I appreciate justice for all those persons whom bin Laden has hurt, killed, maimed, and morally destroyed. On the other, I am saddened that this kind of justice is required in our world. Today, after some time for this news to sink in, my response is prayer. I pray for the world, that we can realize what we are doing to each other and to our planet. I pray that God forgives us for our hate, bigotry, greed, and malice. I pray that the light of love can overtake the shouts of U...S...A., and that we can learn another way to express our closure: with closure in this prayer:

Our God, in heaven, great is your name,
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done,
on earth as it is where you are.
Give us what we need to live this day.
Forgive us our sins, and enable us we forgive others.
Let temptation not overtake us, but deliver us from evil.
Because this world is yours.
All power is yours.
All glory is yours...forever. Amen.

Walk On Resurrection People

On Easter morning, Pisgah saints sang the beautiful hymn Easter People, Raise Your Voices (#304) as our call to worship. The third verse begins with these words "Everyday to us is Easter, with its resurrection song." As Lent has wound its way to Easter, I've been thinking about these kinds of words. More specifically, some questions that they bring to my mind: What does it mean to be called Resurrection people? How should we live when we know that death is now no defeat for those in Christ?

One of the things I love about our dear old United Methodist Hymnal is that it often acts as a theological guide for us. In our dearest and best loved hymns, and even in those we don't know by heart, are nuggets of theological wisdom for us to hold on to.

There is wisdom about the (our) human condition and remedies for it.
Dark is the stain that we cannot hide. What can avail to wash it away? (#365)
All to Jesus I surrender, Lord, I give myself to thee. (#354)

There are songs of praise and thanksgiving:
To God be the glory, great things he hath done!
So loved he the world that he gave us his son! (#98)

There are songs of petition and help:
Do, Lord, do Lord, do Lord, remember me. (#527)
Sometimes I feel discouraged, and think my work's in vain.
But then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again. (#375)

There are songs of assurance and comfort:
Through it all, through it all, I've learned to trust in Jesus. (#507)
Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come;
'tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home. (#378)

As they traveled from village to village, John Wesley encouraged all circuit riding preachers to carry with them two books, the Holy Bible, and Methodist hymnal. Our modern hymnal is rich in tradition and gives us a graceful means to worship both at church and at home. I challenge each of us this Easter season to take up our hymnal. If you don't sing or know music...just read the words, and you'll be blessed.

As for the question as to how we Resurrection people should live, we find an answer one page further in our hymnal with hymn #305, Camina, Pueblo de Dios (Walk On, O People of God).

Walk on, O people of God;
Walk on, O people of God;
A new law, God's new alliance,
all creation is reborn.
Walk on, O people of God;

We are indeed called as Resurrection people to continue our journey with God, to live and act fearlessly, with a boldness and clarity that comes with assurance from God our creator, our redeemer, our sustainer and our Lord. To God be the Glory (#98). Amen.

Walking on...in the resurrection life. Pastor Judy

Spring, Life, Resurrection, EASTER

As I look out of my office window, I see green! New life is sprouting all around. Flowers are dancing their spring two-steps around the yard, and feathered friends I haven't seen since last fall have shown up for a meal. The world outside is bursting with new life.

I hardly think of spring without thinking of Easter. We will be celebrating the glorious resurrection of the Lord this year with special services and activities. I hope each and every one of you will attend as much as you can. These days we need all the celebrations of the resurrection that we can get!

As Easter approaches I am reminded distinctly of two things: life and death. I have tried to recall when in my childhood I first experienced death. Growing up on a dairy farm had its share of dark moments when death was a certain reality. I thought of pets that met their demise from various diseases and accidents, the rodents and rabbits slain by a mower blade, and so on.

When I was about five years old one of our cows was trying to birth a calf. I loved baby calves, and I was excited to get to play with this new one in the calf barn in a day or two. Sadly though, neither the cow nor the calf survived the birth. As the cow lay so still and silent on the cold ground, I noticed my daddy's face. In a way I can't put into words, I suddenly realized that death was something awful; a bad and fearful thing.

In contrast to that day, I also experienced life on the farm. We raised chickens, turkeys, ducks, and guineas on the farm. In the winter months, daddy hatched out chicks in the basement. Our farmhouse basement was not the comfortable, carpeted, big rooms we might think of today, but rather a cold damp place where you put your canned tomatoes and green beans for the winter. That was where we had the eggs in a naked-bulbed incubator.

It seemed to me that it took forever to hatch an egg. Every evening the eggs had to be turned over. Why? I have no idea. But daddy said it had to be done and carefully. So up on a rickety stool I stood, helping him turn the eggs over and waiting for the first sign of a crack in an egg.

A crack meant that the time was getting close; the time when the baby chick would begin to emerge from its shell. Everything about a hatching egg is excruciatingly tedious. But soon after a crack appeared, things began to move more quickly. I still remember wanting to hurry the process by "helping" the little chicken out. Daddy always warned me, "He has to do it himself. In being born he gets strong."

In a while the little chick would have a big enough hole for his head to poke out. He would begin to breathe and wiggle, and then flop out of his shell...alive! What an ugly thing he was, wet, sticky, eyes like tiny Saran-wrapped marbles too big for his head.

Eventually his panting would enable him to get to his feet, wobble around like a drunk for a while, fall over, get up and go again. As we watched the chicks be born, daddy's face showed me something else...that life...especially new life...is a completely wonderful thing to behold!

Life and death; the two certainties of existence on this planet. As humans we experience them both. What I learned from dad when I was little is true for us all, life is wonderful; death is not. Death is that awful, fearful moment when life ceases, and the loss of it is almost too much to bear.

If that moment was all we had to look forward to, then our existence would be pretty meaningless. But, thanks be to God, death is not the end of us whose faith is in Jesus Christ. That is what the celebration of Easter and the resurrection means.

Easter is the celebration of our new life; our emergence into the life of Jesus Christ. It is in Christ that we humans, in our wobbly, wet, weak flesh have eternal access to the bright, never-ending life of God. The resurrection is the presence and the power of life itself. Jesus has conquered death once and for all. That is the good news. That is why we celebrate Easter.

So this Easter season, live with the fresh assurance that death has no power over you. In Jesus Christ, you are born again and live a new life!

Back in July 2010 when I came to Pisgah, I found a church that had been sailing along for nearly 135 years. Through many long and sometimes difficult seasons since 1875, Pisgah United Methodist Church has been situated and doing ministry in the Long Shoals community.

There is no doubt about the faithfulness of the people of Pisgah UMC. One look to the past shows a church that has been developing ministries, paying their apportionments, and continuing to be a faithful witness for Jesus Christ every year of her existence. Today when many churches are declining, Pisgah remains constant in worship attendance, giving, missions, and ministry.

Yet that is not to say that we, like many churches, do not face challenges. We do. The world around us is changing every day. Technology, culture, mores, family mobility and structure, and much more have affected the way we are able do ministry and the way we are able to care for our members and the community.

At the first meeting I had with the leadership of Pisgah we discussed our need for future planning. I agreed that we need a vision and a plan. In order for Pisgah to meet the needs of the community, to be true to her values and identity, and to follow God's will for ministry, we need to make plans. Plans are difficult to make though when everyone is not on the same page with God and one another.

Susanne Farnham in her book, Grounded in God, says "God knows our deepest potential, sees the hidden complexities of our circumstances, comprehends our situation in relation to the larger picture and grasps the broader implications of our plans"(5). Of course! Discerning what God envisions for Pisgah can be our way of tapping into God's divine wisdom.

During the month of February, every person at Pisgah is invited to be involved together in hearing from God. I will be presenting a series of messages Jan. 30 to Feb. 20 surrounding the theological foundations for taking time to discern God's vision for our church.

Also we will be praying, gathering information, doing surveys, defining our community, collecting historical and demographic data, and planning for a Discerning and Visioning Retreat to share all we are learning. The retreat will take place on February 25th and 26th.

Those who can and wish to participate will meet together in retreat to learn, pray and seek God together in a spirit of Holy Conferencing. What we are aiming to do is develop a spiritual environment which can enable us to see more clearly God's vision for Pisgah UMC. That's exciting.

I look forward to the weeks ahead because I know that when we seek God together for God's vision God for Pisgah UMC, we won't be disappointed! To God be the glory!

Visiting Rachel

Today I received such a blessing. I visited a saint of God, met a new sister in Christ and shared the Eucharist with a parishioner whom I'd only heard about from the other members of the church. As a minister, I often go to visit peoples who are suffering from dementia, mental illness, Alzheimer's, and the like. You really never know quite what you may face, what you will be able to do or say to them. Will the person know you, recognize why you've come, or even be conscious? Today was one of those visits.
The joy for me was that this person did not know me, but I sensed immediately that we know the same Lord. As we visited and talked, I could tell she could not remember much about her circumstances, or of those who had been so lovingly caring for her, or even where she was. She was pleasant, cheerful, and happy.
So I said, "Will it be okay if I sing you a song?" When she agreed, I sang for her the great Wesley hymn, "Oh For a Thousand Tongues to Sing." She, who couldn't recall even who she was, joined in, remembering and singing every word of that hymn. This frail, clearly failing 92 year old lady, sang like she was a mere girl in church on Easter morning. Her voice was strong, fierce, and confident.
Together we sang many other songs, and she knew and remembered the words to every one of them. Amazing too, was her recitation of the 23rd and the 24th Psalm. Every word of the Eucharist liturgy she recalled, and her voice as we sang the Lord's prayer together brought such joy into my soul that I wanted to shout. I didn't. (Shouting in a Hospice home disturbs the others living there.)
Today, this sister of mine and I had church; she and me and Jesus. We three, sang, prayed together, heard the Word, shared a meal, and I was blessed completely. God is good and loves us so much. I am grateful.

©2011 Judy H. Eurey

On January 1st. I thought...

Wow! It is hard to believe that Christmas has come and gone. This was my first Christmas with the family and friends of Pisgah, and I have been mightily blessed by being with you. The Christmas blessings began showering down early in the month with the United Methodist Women Christmas meeting, where...I learned a lot about some women whom I thought were meek and sweet. When it came to "taking" what they wanted, well...they took it. I don't remember who got the jar of butterflies or the stained glass nativity, but they were well fought-over gifts! The party was great fun, great food with a great group of God's women! Blessings galore!

The music this year from the groups of gifted singers and musicians was a blessing to me too, and also a blessing to God. The Bells of Praise concert filled the sanctuary with the glory of praise, laughter, and love. I was blessed that the group let me join them this year. Believe me, it was a sacrifice on their part. They had to put up with me messing them up every chance I got. They even smiled through it all! Added blessings!

The choir also blessed me and the whole church with the Christmas cantata. I heard many people comment how beautiful the music was and how much they enjoyed seeing Cale Thornburg nearly fall backwards into Jackie Reep's lap! The flapping arms was him wind-milling...not exuberant choir directing. Some extra blessings!

What can I say to express how touching the children's Christmas play was? The kids did an absolutely fantastic job. I was proud of their and their leaders hard work in putting it all together. I was so blessed by their singing, their speaking parts, and their solos. God has graced us with a wonderful and talented group of kids who love Jesus and show us all how to love and be in the world. Abundant blessings!

Our Christmas Eve service filled me with the peace of Christ in a very special way. As we all came together and filled the church (to capacity), sang together, heard the Christmas story read, and received the Gospel message as presented by the Pisgah youth...I felt the presence of God with us. Those tears on our cheeks were tears of joy, brought by God working through the ministry of our youth and their leaders. So many blessings!

What I want to say is thank you! Thank you for the gifts of laughter, fun, love, hugs, music, grace, friendship, and oh yes, the "Edwina Piggy" gift. I give thanks to God for you, and for Jesus who is with us all. No more darkness for us; our way is forever lit by the presence of Jesus, the one born to save us. Hallelujah! Light has come!

To all the saints of Pisgah UMC, I pray for God's blessings on you in 2011 and always.

6 a.m. Snooze

(Sometimes I forget to be who I am...a poet.)




I awoke in the darkness
knowing it was morning,
but not wanting to move
from the warmth of my comfort,
not wanting to face the dawn
not wanting to touch feet to floor
or skin to robe
or arm to sleeve
or foot to stocking.

I awoke in the darkness
and ignored the coming dawn
and slept again,
until it was light...

Mabel UMCHenson Chapel UMC



Yesterday I had the difficult task of telling the congregations that I serve that I would be leaving them in June. I am being appointed to another parish. I am going to miss all the people I have come to know and love. We have been together for four years, and during those years they have supported Ed and me during some pretty rough seasons in our lives, the death of both my sister, my mother, and many friends. We pastors sometimes feel that we are the sustaining and supporting ones, but I have learned that we are together for a purpose. We are together to carry the good news of the love, grace and mercy of Jesus Christ...and we do this by not only our words, but by loving one another. I am so thankful for my years in this parish. These are some of the best people in the world!

Study Break

Today has been a good day of classes at Drew (meeting at Mt. Zion Baptist Church in Winston Salem). Our discussion was lively and rich. We delved into post modernism with one hand on our head and one on our heart. Tonight I'm in my room studying.

A Family Video

Here we are in all our glory!

Snow

It blends the landscape
in a blur of white and whining wind.
It covers the cracks and
crusts of craggy hillsides.
It pours itself onto the streets
in slick and slushy slurs.
It whitens the dark days and
dances a duet with the tick and tock
of the mantle clock.
It brings a rest into my soul
like a sigh of simple breath.

Pentecost Sunday

Blowing, flowing was the wind
as I thought of your mighty power

Hailing, flailing was the life
as I prayed for a peaceful final hour

We were drunk on the chaos
the unmeasureable richness and glee
of your breath

The breath that inhabits
and caresses and
presses our emotions
to rise through our eyes
to drain our tears colored like
joy, peace, gentleness, kindness,
faithfulness, and self-control.

Nail Scarred

In the hollow of a hand
I stand
Under my feet are written
a name
engraved, etched in a palm
in pain
When I leap out
and flee
and stand alone
upon the earth

Home for Christmas

December 23, 2007 4th Sunday in Advent, Year A

Isaiah 7: 10-16. Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19, Romans 1: 1-7, Matthew 1: 18-25



I don’t have to tell you that Christmas is nearly here. The signs are everywhere. If you haven’t already decorated your home, if you are going to you better hurry, time is running out. Tomorrow we will be scurrying here and there, buying last minute gifts, dragging out the punch bowl for visitors, or packing the car to travel home for Christmas.

When I think of Christmas, I often find myself thinking also of all the memories I have of Christmas. Maybe you do that too, think of the Christmases past, think of home, and of happy times. Well, I think that is fitting.

Between our Old Testament and our Gospel reading this morning, the prophet Isaiah has found a new home in the gospel of Matthew. It is revelation of the fulfillment of the ancient promise that Isaiah made to King Ahaz about the coming of God, King Ahaz who refused to seek any sign from God, but who received one anyway. Isaiah’s prophesy was about family, a sign that was as natural as living; a sign as natural as home.

Home. That is something that we all long for from time to time. Depending on your age, or maybe the place you are in your life, how you feel about home probably differs. As a young person, or a child, home may mean where your parents are, where you hang out with your family, do chores, eat meals, and have sleep overs. For those of us who have been out of our parents’ home for many years, we may think of home as the place we go to live, to rest, and to be at peace.

No matter who you are though, you have some kind of a feeling about home. If you are a person who did not grow up in a happy home, then you may have a deep longing for the kind of home you wish you had.

When I long for home, I am longing not for a specific place, or a particular time, or even a unique memory, but I am longing for love, the love of family.

I think for many of us that is true, our longing for home is about love. It is about being accepted for being who you are, warts and all. Home is where your parents welcome you…just because they’ve missed you. Robert Frost said, home is the place that when you must go there, they have to take you in.

Christmas is about family, love, and home. Deep within each of us is what someone once called a God-sized hole, one that we are always longing to fill. This week I watched a movie called Apocalypto, it is about the fall of the Mayan civilization as seen through the eyes of a young warrior called Jaguar Paw. Before his village is attacked and he is captured for human sacrifice, he listens to the wise elder tell a story about the fate of humankind.

The old one said, that one day the animals noticed that the humans were sad, and they wondered why. The wise old owl said, they were said because they were weak and poor. So each one of the animals came one by one to offer the humans a gift, strength from the Jaguar, keen eyesight from the eagle, agility from the monkey, and soon the humans had all the gifts the earth could give. But the animals noticed that the humans were still unhappy. Then the wise owl said, the humans are unhappy because things of the earth cannot make the human happy, even if he possesses everything.

Now this may be a fiction, but human life down through history seems to bear it out that even people from ancient pagan civilizations knew about the God-sized hole in the human heart that can not be filled with anything that is of the earth. Maybe they didn’t call the hole a God-hole, but it was something within humans that could not be filled.

I’m sure King Ahaz had such a longing. He needed a sign of God’s presence, one described by Isaiah to be as deep as sheol, or as high as heaven. Not so different are any of us from King Ahaz.

Isaiah told of a young girl who would bear a son, called Immanuel, which means God with us. It would be a sign to the Jews, a sign to the nations (all people), that God was with us. God, who is our ultimate home.

You see, God knows all about that God-sized hole in our hearts, the one that can never be filled with things of the earth. God knows because God created us. God knows about the longing, the desires we have for love, our need for being accepted, our yearning for contentment.

God who knew that no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many things we accumulated, no matter how good we were to try to be, we would be unable to fill that God-sized hole. God knew that we could not come home to God, so God came to us.

He came into the world, just as vulnerable as we are, with just as much danger from gestation, and primitive birth techniques, and subject to all the cruelties of power-crazed rulers, and harsh living as anyone had…to be at home with us.

God came so that God could fill up those big ole holes in our hearts, those holes that can only be filled by someone higher than the heavens and someone deeper than Sheol, someone not of this place, but someone of all places; someone not of this time, but someone of all time; someone not just of our hearts, but of all hearts. God came to fill us, to complete us, and to live with us always.

It is so easy to say, “peace on earth and good will to all people,” but it is so difficult to accomplish. It is difficult to accomplish because we all have not been filled. Some of us are like King Ahaz, who will not ask for God to do a thing. So we struggle still. We struggle with one another, with our possessions, with the state of our souls, so there is no peace.

There can be no peace until we are all home, and our longings are fulfilled, by God being with us, filling our hearts with love, grace and peace of the Holy Spirit.

As I conclude I want to share a Christmas memory with you. I remember the year I got my first bicycle. I think I was about 8 years old. It was a big bike for me, and I could only reach the pedals by standing up on them. I lived in the country, and we didn’t have any sidewalks to ride on, so my first ride was down through the yard.

With Momma and my little brother cheering on from the front porch, my big brothers started me off at the top of the yard with a push, one running along side part of the way down. I can still remember the sound of my pounding heart as I wobbled and jerked down through the grass, trying to keep that great two-wheeler upright.

My father stood at the bottom of the yard to catch me. I had not yet found out about braking. Every time I came down that slight hill, I headed right for the middle of the only small tree in the yard. No matter where my brothers started me out, I’d head for that tree like it was a beacon in a stormy sea.

But I never did hit the tree. Just about the time I was to smash into the tree, my dad would grab the handle bars and turn me aside. After about 20 times, I finally got the hang of bike riding.

Maybe I’m just being sentimental when I tell this story, I may have even told it to you before. What I love about this memory though, is not that it has the facts of how I learned to ride a bike, but I love this memory because it feels like home. I love this memory because it was my family who taught me how to ride that bike, they cheered me on, they laughed at me always going into the tree, and my dad was there to catch me before I fell.

When we know God and live with God in our hearts, our spirits are at home. God is there to cheer us, teach us, run along beside us, and catch us when we fall…cause…you know we fall a lot.

The thing that we long for about home is love, a soul-filling love, a God-shaped love from heaven who was born at Christmas. Jesus, God with us, Emmanuel, Jesus is that love.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Christmas Witnesses

Third Sunday in Advent - Year A - December 16, 2007

Isaiah 35: 1-19, Luke 1: 46b-55 (The Magnificant), James 5: 7-10, Matthew 11: 2-11

This week we continue into the beautiful season of Advent. These last weeks we have been hearing about how we are to be ready for the coming of Christ in our lives. Jesus himself has given us the directive to remain awake and watchful, like being ready for a thief in the night. Jesus’ call to us has shown us that we must daily place ourselves in readiness for Jesus’ coming. Last week we examined what the readiness looks like in our lives, that it is a process of repentance, of letting go of the burdens of sin and struggle we carry, and turning towards Jesus.

Our gospel lesson this week has us once again hearing from John the Baptist. So different are his words this week, than from the words we heard last week. The fiery preaching, the shouting of “Repent!” has ceased as John sits locked up in a dark dungeon by a cynical ruler.

I’m not surprised by what John is asking. There is something very profound that happens to us when our freedom is taken away, whether that freedom has been taken by the authorities, or whether that freedom has been taken by illness, depression, heartbreak or the many other difficult passages of our lives. Losing our freedom sometimes forces us to address issues in our lives that we could have been ignoring.

As John wasted away in prison, the issue that came up for him was doubt. What?! Doubt? From John the Baptizer, who knew Jesus invitro; John, who immediately knew Jesus as he stood on the bank of the Jordan asking to be baptized; John, who had lived his entire austere desert life waiting and proclaiming that the one of whom Isaiah spoke was indeed coming and was indeed here.

Yes. John doubted. He had probably heard about the ministry of Jesus, how he was teaching, about love, justice, forgiveness…how he was healing the sick, and feeding the hungry and giving hope to those who were oppressed. John also knew that the message that Jesus was proclaiming was not like his own. The expectation that the one coming would bring judgment and wrath on the world was simply not being realized in Jesus. So, John doubted.

I wonder how many times I have been in such a place; A place where I think I have it all figured out; A place where I am sure that I know exactly how God is going to work things out. And how many times have I been mistaken about God’s plan? Plenty. And of course…a nagging doubt will creep in. What was I thinking? Could I be wrong about God? Why would God act this way?

I think we can all relate to John’s state of mind because all of us have been in a place like John was in. Not in a physical sence, not in a physical prison perhaps, but in a place where we are bound down by circumstances, finances, relationships, or health issues that have us considering whether we too could have been wrong about this faith in Jesus thing.

So John calls together a bunch of his devout followers. He tells them: go to Jesus and ask him outright! Are you the one, or should we wait for another? No doubt that command from their leader John must have shaken up his followers quite a bit. Imagine if you heard that on his death bed, that John Wesley, or Martin Luther King, or Billy Graham had said, I’m just not sure I’ve been right about this thing. You better go ask someone else. Maybe I was wrong.

So off the disciples of John go and they ask Jesus. Are you the one? And now I ask: Is Jesus the one? Jesus did not tell them yes…or no. Do you find that odd? That Jesus would not just come right out and say. Yes…I’m the one. An answer like that would have made things a lot easier, for sure. But rather, Jesus answered, “Go and tell John what you hear and see.” Experience for yourself, is what Jesus was saying. Hear and see for yourself…then go and tell.

You see, I could stand here the rest of my life telling you that Jesus is the one. But unless you are ready to hear, to see, and to experience Jesus for yourself, then you will never know for sure. You will doubt, you will get in places where your feel imprisoned, and like John, you will seriously doubt.

You know, it would be so much easier for us if we didn’t get into such places. If once and for all, assurance of Christ was made crystal clear, that no amount of pain, heartache or grief could throw a shadow of doubt. Then we could just go on about our lives…happily in the knowledge of Christ. But that isn’t really what God wants for us.

God wants for us to grow some spiritually everyday. God wants us to have full assurance. To grow us though God may allow us to wake up every morning with the tiniest doubt and ask, are you the one? For we must always be seeking Jesus.We are called to make ourselves ready and available for Christ coming everyday, whether that day we feel imprisoned, or as free as the air. That making ourselves ready everyday for the coming of Jesus in our lives is a process called sanctification, a daily growing in Christ.

As we did two Sundays ago and yesterday at Mabel…tonight at Henson Chapel, we will be participating in a Christmas program. We will sing carols, and watch the children dramatize the Christmas story. The same story will be told again. The one where Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem and Jesus is born. The shepherds and the angels, the Magi from the east all coming to worship the baby king.

Someone once commented, “Good grief, I don’t want to go again this year. It’s the same story as last year, nothing is changed.” How true a statement that is. We have a story to tell, one that we have experienced not only every Christmas since most of us can remember, but one that does not change.

That story is about God and God’s great love for us. In Philippians 2, Paul says that Jesus, who being the very nature of God, did not consider that position, equality with God, to be more important than coming to us, but rather Jesus humbled himself, laid aside that glory of God. He took on earthly flesh, was born of a human being. This is Jesus, the one whose birth we celebrate, the one on whom we wait for…to come to us.

I wonder how many of us has ever experienced this. You are going to be introduced to someone new…maybe a friend of a friend. You have been told about this person, what they look like, how they act, maybe their hobbies. You know a lot about them even before you meet them. But, even so, until the day comes when you are actually introduced to them, reach to shake their hand, and speak to them…you really have not experienced them as a person.

It is the same with Christ. We tell the story of Jesus to a world who has not met him. They’ve heard a lot about Jesus, they hear about his birth every Christmas, about his death and resurrection every Easter, they witness the good and the bad behavior of his followers, and they think that they know Jesus pretty good.

But until they truly experience the person of Jesus coming to them, meeting them person to person, speaking to them in their hearts, embracing them with his love and forgiveness, all they really know about Jesus is the stories they have heard about him.

Jesus has come into the world, not so that we will have a Merry Christmas, or be able to max out our credit cards once a year, decorate our homes, or go to Grandma’s to open presents. Jesus has come into the world to save us. Jesus has come so that we can hear and see him, to experience for ourselves the true God of heaven.

Those who think they know all about Jesus from the stories they’ve heard must do like John’s disciples did, like we have done. They must meet him; they must be introduced to the person of Jesus Christ by God’s Holy Spirit. They must hear, and see him, personally, to be saved.

As those who have met Jesus, persons who have been saved by his marvelous grace, we are now like the disciples of John, we must go and tell the story, we must be Christmas witnesses empowered ourselves by God’s Holy Spirit. We must go and it…on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere. Amen.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Journey to Hope

Second Sunday of Advent - Year A - December 9, 2007

Isaiah 11: 1-16, Psalm 72: 1-7, 18-19, Romans 15: 4-13, Matthew 3: 1-12

Here we are at the beginning of the richest part of the advent season, the second Sunday marking the halfway point. Last week our gospel lesson had a word from Jesus about being awake, watchful, and prepared to experience the coming of the Lord. This week, John the baptizer tells those who came to hear, just how to prepare for the Lord.

Paul, from the book to the Romans announces that Christ comes so that all, particularly we Gentiles, shall have hope. And from the prophet Isaiah, we have a vision of the kingdom which comes in Jesus, wolves and lambs lying together, children and snakes playing, and no more hurt or destruction. Yes we are indeed in a rich, rich part of Advent, and the good news of salvation at hand.

But, when we again listen to the words of John the baptizer, it may appear that the news he is bringing is not so good. Shouts about snakes in their midst, repentance, unworthiness, and the burning of the unquenchable fire, all of these remind me of the messages of some of the “hell and brimstone” preachers we all heard. And of which thankfully, are becoming fewer as the years go by.

You know some, or have probably have heard a few of them in your lives. They are masters of persuasion, and perfect purveyors of the altar call. These preachers seem to almost have been eyewitnesses of the fires of hell, explaining its heat, the eternally searing skin, the sulfur, the totality of suffering, all in an effort to convince people that hell is real and they are headed there, if they, at this very hour do not turn from their wicked, snake-like ways!

They’re style of preaching is of the John the baptizer school of preaching. So where is the hope in a sermon like that and like the one that John preached? The hope is found not in the preaching, but in the one of whom they preach, Jesus.

Such sermons appeal to many of us, because after all, we do not want to go to hell when we die. (some people avoid hell, by denying it) Such appeal is exactly what brought the Pharisees and Sadducees out to see this spectacle of preaching that John was doing. It wasn’t they believed that they were going to hell (they did not really have the same concept of it as we do), but they simply believed that life as a Jew in those days was a “hell” in itself. They desperately wanted the kingdom of God to come on earth and deliver them from Roman occupation and to restore the throne of their father David.

That’s what they wanted but what they heard from John was repentance. He preached that lives must be changed in order to prepare for the coming kingdom, which he called the wrath to come. Much as I want to embrace John’s entire message…there is something that needs to be cleared up. It is the idea, that we can, or are able to “clean ourselves up.” Obviously that is not an orthodox belief for us, because we believe that it is only though the Holy Spirit working in our life, that we are in any way “cleaned up.” All the washing in the world, John’s or otherwise, all the striving to be good, righteous, and holy will come to a big fat zero without God in our lives.

The Pharisees and Sadducees were the clear evidence of that. They won the prize for striving to live a holy life. In fact they were the top repenters of their day. Not only did they continually work and work to remain pure, they were insistent that every other Jew was to be just like them. Only then, when everyone had finally become pure, would the kingdom finally come.

Only, it couldn’t be done. Not by the purest Pharisee, not by the most pious of Sadducees, not by John, the ones he was baptizing, nor by any one of us. Try as we might, we just can’t be repentant, holy, or righteous in and of ourselves. We need God’s help. We need God’s grace, God’s gift of Jesus.

The holy people of John’s day just didn’t get that. I’m not certain that John himself got it either. But, there was one thing that John did get. That was that someone was coming…someone was coming who would enable people to change…someone who would enable people to produce fruit so that the repentance they wanted to do was of value…someone was coming whose cleansing of them was of God, through the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

There in lies the hope. All of the hope that the people had for redemption, for restoration, for the peaceful life where wolves and lambs, children and vipers would romp together in harmony was coming in the person of Jesus Christ. John said…one is coming. Prepare, may the way straight.

We are even today making preparations. This week I put up my Christmas tree, and bought wrapping paper, and set out the nativity on the dining room server. I’m practicing Christmas carols, reading a new advent devotional, and sending Christmas greetings to my friends and family. But I have to ask myself if that is what Jesus meant when he said to prepare. I don’t think so.

According to what John the baptizer is saying, readiness for the one coming, requires repentance, a turning around, letting go, a kind of “doing-things-differently.”

Let’s imagine. If it helps you, close your eyes. Imagine that you are walking along an uphill road; it’s steep; you are carrying quite a load of stuff. You have yesterday’s newspapers, at least a month’s worth, with all of their bad news tucked under your arm. In your hand you hold the handle of a trunk of old clothes. They are favorite that you just refuse to turn loose of, even though they no longer fit you, they are out of style, and have moth holes eaten in them. The trunk weights a ton.

Up the hill you trudge, step by step, wishing that the bundle of heart aches that are strapped to your back was not so heavy. You know, those mis-placed and hurtful words you spoke to your friend, those ill feelings toward your neighbor that you constantly carry, those old addictions you can’t shake no matter how good you try to be, those ancient fears of failure and of being alone of never being healed, those broken relationships. You wished you could drop the bundle of heartaches, but somehow you just can’t let them down. But you wish they didn’t weigh so much.

Repentance. It means letting go, dropping everything, turning around. Repentance is being prepared. It’s looking to Jesus and saying, I can’t do this on my own. I can’t carry these heavy loads up this steep hill. Lord help me. Forgive me, and help me forgive; help me kick this addition that chokes me; cleanse me with your Holy Spirit.

Repentance is a prayer to God; A true action, a decision, one that is from the heart. Repentance is giving yourself up to Jesus to be washed by the only sin cleansing power in the universe, the grace of God through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Today I say that God is calling us all to repentance. Our repentance means that we know we are sinners, but we are ready to lay those sins down, and to turn towards the one who is coming, Jesus.

Jesus is all of our hope. Jesus is the hope of the world. And Jesus is coming to give us love, grace, forgiveness, abundant life, and peace. Life in Christ is a more excellent way of living. Thanks be to God.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Ready, Set...Watch!!

First Sunday of Advent - Year A - December 2, 2007

Isaiah 2: 1-5, Psalm 122, Romans 13: 11-14, Matthew 24-36-44

The beginning of the new Christian year is today, the first Sunday of Advent. We’ve lit the advent candle and spoken of God’s great love given to us at Christmas. In the lectionary cycle, we begin year A, the first year in our three year cycle. But for most of us, it seems like the end of the year. We have been conditioned through out our lives to expect the newness of a new year to begin a month from now, when the calendar flips over to January 2008. It’s confusing and sets up a tension between old and new. Is it time for the new? Or not?

Paul wrote to the Romans that their “salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near.” To me that sounds like the end of things is drawing near and that the day we have been waiting for, the day of our salvation, the dawning of God’ kingdom, is close at hand, at least closer than it used to be.

Our gospel lesson finds Jesus teaching from the Mount of Olives. He has departed from his teaching at the temple, and in this section of the book of Matthew we find him answering some pertinent questions posed by his disciples. When is the time Lord, they ask. When will we know that the end is near?

Two other gospel writers record these same questions and Jesus’ answers to them. When the gospels were written, the Lord’s imminent return had not occurred, so it is not surprising that such interest existed in the hearts of the gospel writers about Christ’s return. As they waited, just as we do, the questions about the signs must have been as prominent in their thoughts as it is in many people’s thoughts today. Just how can we know when Jesus will come?

As you read the gospel of Matthew, along with the gospels of Luke and Mark, Jesus gives a variety of signs that the end is near: destruction of the temple, lightening, thunder, a darkened sun, a darkened night sky, falling stars, false prophets, nations rising against nations, earthquakes, famines, roaring seas, human perplexity.

When we read this list of signs, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that all the things that Jesus has said would be a sign of his coming has already happened, once, twice, or thousands of times. It feels like the end should be at any moment. It feels like the new kingdom should be appearing even today, that the clouds should burst open and the appearing of the Lord should happen even this very minute.

When will Jesus come again? It is an eternal question. In our gospel, Jesus tells the disciples that they will stand on the brink of the coming of the Lord, but even so, no one, not them, not the angels, not even Jesus himself, knows when the coming of the Lord will be.

What is sometimes hard for us is that we don’t like the idea of not knowing, do we? We modern people like to control our lives. We own day timers, day runners, PDA’s, blackberries, and all kinds of calendars, hang-on- the wall kind, electronic, and computer ones. I for one, hate to be caught off guard or forget an appointment, meeting or the like…and I think that I’m not the only one here who is like that.

Some surprises are good, but when it comes to being surprised by the second coming of Christ, we don’t like that kind of surprise. Well…too bad for us. We won’t know when it will happen, no matter how many biblical numeric formulas we figure out, no matter how many times we read Daniel and Revelation, no matter how many prophetic signs we declare, no matter what we do, we won’t know…Jesus said so.

We can certainly distract ourselves with speculation though. In fact a huge number of Christians distract themselves from work in the kingdom by continually focusing on the date, time and imminent coming of Christ. The multimillions of dollars made by Tim LaHaye on his Second Coming novels are proof of the great interest people have in this subject. He has over 25 books out now revolving around the second coming of Christ. For a fictional account, they are fascinating reading.

But we should not be taking our warning from Tim LaHaye or the dozens of other Second Coming gurus, who try to convert us by threatening us with that second coming. The warning is clear enough coming from the word of our Lord Jesus. If you notice, Jesus words to his disciples are not filled with fear, but with the hope of the second coming.

Jesus was telling the disciples that they were quite like Noah, that they would be saved. For Noah, there was no surprise when the rain drops began to fall in the desert. Noah was well prepared for what was coming. He had been busy building the ark. He had been about what God had told him to be about.

When we go back and read what God said to Noah, we find that Noah did not know when the rain would begin. God did not say, “Noah, build an ark. I going to start the rain on Saturday morning at 10:30am.” No what God said was build the boat, be ready.

That is exactly what Jesus is telling his disciples. The second coming will not happen when you expect it, but it will be happen. Jesus relates that the time will be like the moment that a thief breaks into your home…when you least expect it. In other words, you don’t know when, so take measures.

The measures Jesus wanted his disciples to take, and the measures we are supposed to take are to be ready. Be ready for that glorious day of his appearing. Watch for it. Expect it at all times. Be prepared like Noah was prepared.

Jesus has not left us alone in our preparation, but Jesus has left with us a great advocate, the Holy Spirit, who guides us to all truth. We are prepared for the day of Jesus’ second coming when we have placed our faith in Christ as our savior. Then our salvation, which comes nearer everyday, is assured.

The good news for today is this: Jesus is coming. Prepare yourself. Watch. When the rain drops start to patter the ground, and the lightening and thunder begin, be propped back on the deck of the ark of God, the great ship of Zion, living in the safety of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

© Judy Eurey 2007

Grief

Grief is a back street,
noisy, confusing, maddening.
Main St. is one block over
Where gay flags flutter, and
storefronts are gilded with
shirts, shoes, shorts and hats,
where people ride past on their
way to places of adventure

No one takes the back street on purpose.
It is full of pot holes filled with tears.
Pain screams by you like you’re standing still
on its way to pierce another soul.

Life is rife with detours to these back streets,
unexpected and shocking are the yellow signs,
the orange barrels, the blinking lights that
turn you from Main St. where you have been
riding along with a tank full of gas.

Swimming Alone

She rode to the creek perched on a gray doughnut
wheel fender, shirtless, shoulders pink and freckled.
Father dropped her at the edge leaving her alone to swim.

Even at eight, the gliding waters draw her
to place her feet on a round granite stone, squatting,
clutching the smooth surface with bare mud caked toes.

She examines the water, a moving sheet of glass,
where waterbugs skate in scissor steps, fishes dart like fleas,
and crawdads crawl sideways, pinchers tucked, tails fanned.

Silver leafed beeches cut bright sunlight into mottled
shadows that spook the surface like a flashlight in dark woods
bouncing beams back and around and through the current.

Upstream and downstream the flow bends away.
She tries to think of where it came from and where it goes
after lapping past her, but the thought is too big.

The floor of the creek is brown velvet speckled with
sparkling mica that catches the fractured sunlight
and fires the illusion of gold into her eyes.

A finger swirls the skin of glass, she stands, jumps
feet up, bottom first, white panties smacking the surface
churning the wet world into mushroom clouds of mud.

In the field over the creek, the tractor chugs
cutting through green corn, blades of the combine
chopping and churning tender stalks into silage.

Ash Wednesday Cross

The sign on my head
could burn its way
through skin, sinew and skull
to be indelibly scarred
on my brain

It could be so meshed
with my mind, that my every
glance is overlaid with
its image—so that—
to view this evil world
would not be a vision
of evil, but rather
a mere backdrop to that cross

This sign on my head
remains on my head
not burning—for its
scarring is not on me,
but on Another, instead

From dust I came,
to dust I shall return.
Selah




©Judy Eurey

Rabbi

For his birthday I took
ambrosia to the Rabbi
boxed in a recycled
Smithfield Ham container.

He will be, mid bite
the last spoon of the sweet fruit
being ladled into his
peyos-centered mouth
when the kosher bell
rings in his brain.

Gingerbread Village

Gingerbread Village

In every gingerbread village
there is a house exploded
the walls are pounded out
and the roof has fallen in
from the weight of the adornments
and the lack of interior support.

Such a house sits in close
proximity to God’s house
within sight and song.
Parishners pass it every Sunday
on their way to pray,
pitying the people who lived there,
though they never knew them.

The wrecking crew will come
and remove the candy carcass
the ginger sticky walls
the green jellied bushes
the jolly peppermint windows
the coconut snow

Left behind will be
a vacant lot, a foil floored hole
gaping in the community,
where the labors of the
home builders are forgotten
even though nobody really knew them.

©Judy Eurey

Lonely Battlefield

On this lonely battle field
I think of home

The roses by the front gate
which prick the visitor
The deep well, from which we have
drawn our cool water
The worn path to and from
the brown barn, where the cows stand nodding after milk time
The apple tree in the side yard,
and eating the small green bellyaches
my tree in one arm
my friend in the other,
spitting forbidden snuff
to the bee sting on my shoulder
The rasp of the chickens scratching
the hard pan under the eave of the house
The mew of the yellow cat
and her inches long kits
The gobble of old Tom
too tough a bird for a Thanksgiving meal

I think of home, the careless days,
the wicked nights,
the domestic skirmishes ending in door slams and
new day mornings, hugs and a cup of coffee,
cigarette breath,
and a kiss on my neck

I think of home
and
I hold these jewels of memory
as my sacred sacraments
eating and drinking them
in Great Thanksgiving,
because they are life giving to me

a way to transcend
this lonely battlefield

Peter! ?

(Meditation on Mark 1: 14-20)

What was in his voice, the turn of head,
the light in his eye,
that made a man to drop his life
as if it were a lie?

In what frame does such a
picture grow,
where family and funds are
loathed, abandoned, cut?

To end in tumbled cruciform
with beaten brow and chest
instead with nest of Spirit
to eat your full life’s best?

To fish for those who do not swim,
to heal and not consume,
to speak the words that drove you thus,
“Come and follow him.”

Angels in the Sky

There is something so amazing,
so breath-taking
about Christmas
that it is difficult to distill it into words.

But that is the way it should be.
Christmas.
The day we celebrate the moment
our salvation was born
and given to us.

Before, we were like shepherds
in the fields
going about our meager lives.
Then wow!
Angels in the sky,
a multitude of them singing.

They not only sang, they spoke, they announced
the birth of a king.
When else has a king’s birth been announced
to anyone
in such a manner?

Never.

The shepherds were wowed, terrified, and
at that moment, their whole lives changed.
They knew it, and they ran.
They left their livelihood, their sheep, their home.
This thing that had happened imported life.
Nothing else mattered.

The good news! brought to them, and
nothing else mattered.
A king, a savior, the Messiah, the anointed one

God with us, the amazing good news
God—the creator
God—the healer
God—the provider
God—the one who loves us
God—came and nothing is the same anymore!

Table Rock Charge Fellowship and Prayer Meeting

The three came together
to break bread
and pray

Amid the disasters, floods,
famines, dysentery, mental breakdowns,
deployments, plane crashes, churning seas,
goodbyes, flipped SUV’s, depressions, chemo,
empty pockets, and the other cascading terrors
of existence

There was joy
Unbelievable as that sounds
There was joy

Since the three came together
broke bread
and prayed

Winter Reprieve

Semi-Inspired Musings

The caw, caw, caw of a coven of crows
sprinkles the landscape in mock aggression.
Toby ahead on the path, trotting in Z’s,
nose bouncing to the ground, grinning his dog grin,
tongue extended, eyes as bright as a brown marble in sunlight.

What does he smell?
Rabbits, turkey droppings, deer tracks?
He lingers over a matted clump of weed, momentarily motionless,
then on, blazing the trail.

I sit down in the warmth of dead grass shorn close to the earth last fall,
the loamy scent familiar,
and upon the jetty of river bolder, the chugging of rapids
cast a spray of fresh fragrance, icy damp.
I breathe it in and am thankful.

Give Attention

When an angel appears in your presence
give attention
for it may be Good News he brings

When a new star adorns the night sky
give attention
for it may be the light for the darkness

When a virgin gives birth to a son
give attention
for God may come anytime

We Have Stood

We have stood the harvest,
the cutting away from the earth.

We have stood the picking up,
the stacking, the drying, the bending
the breaking of our bodies.

We have stood the congregating,
the laying down,
the crushing from clomping feet,
the calamities of the curse.

We have stood becoming
a pure powder,
our brokenness mixed, molded,
privately, publicly, and then
panned together, a perfected people.

We have stood the Holy fire,
the kindling, the match,
the conflagrating heat,
the flesh scented smoke rising skyward.

We have stood the hot, hot oven
triple digit degrees,
the baking, the broiling,
the fixing solid of our parts.

We have stood,
alone.
Yet now,
we stand together.

One loaf,
blessed, broken and given
from the Master’s hand.

Thea (tea)

hot, iced, honeyed, lemoned,
cupped, capped, mugged, lugged
over hills in burlap sacks, sorted

dried, crushed by the other, dark
skinned Asians alive in
valley tenements twelve to a room

tatami mat unfurled, a red carpet,
red satin slippers padding, tiny steps of
a gashed red mouth in chalky face

ganga smacked junkie, chasing a
dragon, mouth smoke and
lungs sucking Acapulco gold

skirted scabby-kneed girls and teddy bears
with tin cups and teapots, cookies
on a wide platter, munching

biscuits and tea keep growling
from the royal belly of
Anna, 7th Duchess of Bedford, 1

who conceived for afternoon
at four, unknowingly led to
Cop Killer2 and death

for new thought hemlocked
in time numbed from feet
up to a Celestial sky

high on Teaberry, sweet
juicy teeth chewing chi
black, barley, and green

from racing clippers pulled to port
Cutty Sark and Stornaway,3 slant-eye
wabi-sabi inhabits Camellia leaf on bush.





1. Began tradition of afternoon tea in 18th century England.
2. 1992 song by rap artist, Ice T.
3. Mid-19th century clipper ships that competed in races from China to the London Tea Exchange to be the first to action tea cargo at market.

Khaki Man

What did Daddy do

when he caught his hand
in the cornpicker? His thin
baby finger healed with less
than half a nail. He trimmed it
with a pocket knife sitting
on a blunt-hearted tractor
seat.

He was a khaki man,
in shirt, pants and plastic
panama hat that stood up
to storms.

He classified the trees
and lay on cold ground pointing
to constellations he learned navigating
to war-time ports.

In hot July he drank russet tea
from a Mason jar and breathed in—
herbicide from the weed sprayer.

He toured his last lima
field, felt the wadded sod and
fretted for rain. He died
wearing a diaper in his
granddaughter’s bedroom,
blind to the blue dot
wallpaper Crayolaed
with corn stalks
and brown beetle bugs.

Gentile Daughter*

She whispers in a foreign tongue
and crawls the base of the garden gate
like a cornered bitch, at home among
the stench and stone. To congregate

she crawls over the garden gate
to dance naked on the road
tapping stench and stone to congregate
with Satanic hosts, as if she owes

a naked dance on the road
to unclean spirits and other
Satanic hosts, unaware she owes
nothing, not soul, nor mind. Her mother

for unclean spirits, another
priest she prays to find
to free the soul, the mind, the mother,
finished with remedies so unkind.

This priest, she prays to find,
is a Jew from Galilee.
She’s finished with remedies, the kind
of fire and flogs, amulet and poison tea.

She finds the Jew from Galilee,
who walks on, ignores her plea, her ache,
offers not even fire or flog, amulet or poison tea.
He shuns the dog, for children’s sake

and walks on, ignores her plea, her ache
“Just one crumb,” she begs, head hung,
“for dogs shunned for children’s sake,”
she whispers in a foreign tongue.






* See Matthew 15: 21-28 as reference.
(The form of this poem is Pantoum)

He, the Bread

I cannot see him in the morning mists
as blind to hope I’ve found myself to be.
What grace is there to open eyes to see
if love at all in this garden exists?

Here earth weights stubborn as sour grapes amassed
on vines that grow from soil of rock and rums
where wheat and rye a seedless chaff becomes
so parched of rain that fruit produced can’t pass

as food good for any use. Yet, from this bed
a meal is formed intended for a child
to eat and drink as open eyes be formed.

It is a bread broken, but blessed instead,
a wine pressed out as from a vein so mild,
love’s nourishment that clears the mist of morn.

Keepsies

At 6:30 a.m.
the darkness impedes the light still
yet morning has fired through
my sleep, a bully shooter
scattering my dreams like marbles
they roll beyond the boundary
of my consciousness
where a rough knuckled fist
scoops
and pockets them

I’m clouded
I can’t remember
my crimson swirl aggie or
from whom I snared my last mib or
the circle where I sported and nudged
and lagged and plunked

Now in the dark morning
my senses perceive only a hint of
those alabaster glasses
which once inhabited me and
befriended me and
were as known to me
as the night

Across the barren land in march

tree, stick of frail arm and swollen rusty digits
standing, a mourner amid the dead
musty forest floor, littered, brittle leaves
curled like empty cocoons
field, sucked dry, cracked in angling lines,
pits where blood of grass and grain
seeped away, leaving behind the
withered blades, bent and broken
pond, ripple free, all life
sleeps, forgotten, in Sheol

and in three days,

a reverie of sound, wind chimes,
beneath my window alert me
the spirit is moving, blowing,
God’s Marching Wind,

Oh!

Spirit of resurrection

the fierce Grace of Him
who is not dead
awakens His creation
to live again

Jedidiah's Brother

Tiny suckling body cradles a fever
of unforgiveness, then succumbs.
The passion of a king was loosed
in the Spring, when lambs are born
and lie, their coats slick and glistening
like oiled olive skin.
The blameless bred lust and riled
rape into being.

Power’s prerogatives are covert.
Innocents are pierced without
recourse. From dying lips a question
escapes. How many lambs
are required for redemption?

Bust of Wisdom

…where there is doubt, faith…

The book was placed
on a slant-top pedestal
like a Grecian bust
of Sophia

I decided to take inventory of her
checking from many, (though
surely not all) angles

Dragging a wooden stool
from the nursery, I step up
to peer down onto the top
of her marble head—so hardened
was the surface, I discounted there was
anything beneath that was worth gathering
a hammer and chisel for—and step off my stool

Squaring off face to face, I stare into the contours
of her inanimate eyes, the unbreathing nostrils,
the unspeaking lips

this illuminates?!

In a last effort, I whisper into her
stone ear, hoping, praying that
Sophia will hear, and by some miracle,
wake up,
react,
reach for me,
reveal herself,

but she does not,

so cold is she,
even a nod she doesn’t extend

Enemy Camp

Here in the enemy camp
my hand is bulleted with
small cups
indentions from grasping
rosary beads over the last hours
in which your heartbeat has slowed
to an imperceptible drumming
even softer and slower
than the tick of my pocket watch.

I think of the years I’ve listened
to the whisper of breath you
drew and blew into the nights
as we spooned
like matching ladles in the soup.

For months I’ve been amazed
how vividly my memory has videoed
your face as on hot summer evenings
when we groaned together,
you above, me below,
our hands clasped together
as you rode about on
our carnal charger.

The ruminations that occupied our lives,
the hours spent hashing out the details of our days,
our speculations and ciphering over long-range finances,
the wonderings about the exaggerations of the enemy,
our prayers in the midst of conflicts,
all these our quiet mortars of resistance.

I’ve held the ramparts for too long
watching the end encroaching,
our territory threatened,
the space allotted to us by the Timekeeper
plinking away like the sweep of a Sten gun.

Maybe, my breath will cease just when yours does,
and maybe, my heartbeat will stop.
Embracing we’ll retreat
unseen from this fire line of days,
go together
far beyond the enemy’s battlements
and build a bulwark impenetrable.

Winter Window

Before prayer meeting
they fidget and scurry
together,
the minor Tit-mice perch up front
on Oak heavy arched-backed benches
looking like scholars in their peaked hats and dark-
distinguished suits.

The Blue Birds scramble around
in the spotty brown grass gathering the naughty
Juncos, the belligerent Robins, and
the wild Jays, standing them in lines and
daring them to back talk.

The Nuthatches are in the fellowship
hall, making coffee for later, and plopping
seeded cookies on round platters for the
visiting Cardinals, and the Downy
Woodpecker, who drops by on occasion.

The Goldfinch choir is in the
choir loft warming up and
bickering over the placement of their
chairs, the temperature of the room, and
which Amen should be sung at the close
of His sermon.

Then at the peal of the gathering
carillon, which some have said,
sounds like
the rush of a mighty wind,
all are inside and seated,
even the black-capped Chickadees
have sneaked in
through a crack in the door.

And when He arrives,
all are awed and behaved, because
the expanse of His wings
fills the whole house.

If I make my bed in Sheol

A frightened widow
hung on to her son,
her broken heart,
her tears unceasing,
while darkness approached,
invading and dimming the light
he shone

and the darkness suffered
until the heavy purple clouds of heaven
wept and gave water
that mixed with the son's blood
and washed in variegated rivulets
through his matted hair,
down his stripped back,
around his bruised breast,
across his bear loins,
over his pierced feet,
a whelping flow which
poured onto the dry, hardened ground,
and sunk below its brazened surface.

Even below,
where no light had ever shone.


©Judy Eurey 3/04

God Talk

How many languages does God know?
Does he know Tai, Lapland or Congo?
Does he know French, Welch, or Chinese?
Can he speak in Portuguese?

Does he talk to a storm,
and to the bees when they swarm?
Can he converse with a dove,
and explain the ways of love?

When tornadoes roam about?
Can God command them to leave out?
Can he tell them what to do?
Can he make them listen too?

Does God speak to the snow,
and tell it exactly where to go
And what about the gentle rain,
can he speak its perfect name?

Does God answer the wind’s low moan,
and calm its fears and take it home?
Does the blue of the sky
speak to God and he reply?

Through ceremony and wedding vows,
does God merely stand around,
or does he whisper into ears,
that love can last a million years.

And what about the angry man,
who holds a weapon in his hand.
Can God make him understand,
that hate and death aren’t His plan.

And in the dark of a Hospice bed,
when our prayers have all be said,
and there’s no strength to utter words,
does God speak, and is he heard?

Surrender

"I surrender all. I surrender all.
All to Thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all."

the notes trail down, down, down.

It’s like saying to me, a voice,
from somewhere far away,
"Give me all your money
give me all your food, your house and all its rooms.

I want your talents,
your voice, your pen,
your time carved out for yourself,

I want your thoughts, your friends, your lust,
your 401K, your car, your clothes, your children,
your husband, and your ministry."

"You don’t need them at all,"
is the whisper.
"Give me the key, too, the one to that room,
the one at the corner of your heart, the one hiding
the you, who,
no one sees (but me)."

The Voice sounds like mellow oil
being poured from a vessel of alabaster,
white and hard. I sense its sagacious fragrance
seep down through my soul, a caressing
not unlike my lover’s.

My mind rushes
and questions
and cries
and flees
but the Voice hastens closer,
closer,
until I feel the presence of the Voice
echoing within the recesses of my fractured heart
whispering at the crack of the closed door.

Deliberately I steel beneath
the Presence
knowing that if only
I remain as I am
I will silence the Voice into retreat

Then I will bathe
in the milky presence of myself
washing away the slick of
fragrant surrender.