Our last Crosswalk service was held on June 22nd. It was not an easy decision for us to end the service, but I continue to pray with hope for the seeds of new life to emerge.
In the grief attached to the ending of the service, I offer these words from Emily Dickinson
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth.
The sweeping up the heart
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
- Emily Dickinson
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Top 10 Reasons to Come to Crosswalk
#10 – It’s eight months till the next NFL game.
#9 - You can write on the grafitti board.
#8 - You bring your own soda or have a cup of coffee or tea during the service.
#7 – You can tell your Mom that you went to church on Sunday.
#6 – Your facebook status will freak out your old high school friends
#5 – It'll give you something to blog about.
#4 – Face it, you should get out of the house more.
#3 – Mythbusters is a rerun – AGAIN! – (and so is Family Guy.)
#2 – If you really miss mythbusters, we're going to be doing our own until June. Who knows, we might even blow something up!
#1 – Come on, you know the real reason.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Good Friday - Best Friends
Our family enjoyed a visit this week from a dear old friend from our days in Chicago. Pastor Martin baptized my girls when they were babies, a few months later we were on our way to a new life in the Pacific Northwest.
Born in Tacoma, my boys had never met Pastor Martin, but they'd all heard stories about this wonderful gentle man who marched sat behind 'Daddy King' at one of the organizing meetings for Operation Bread Basket, marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and still lives his life with the same principles of justice.
Coming in part to visit his cousin whose cancer had all but one the battle, Martin arrived on Tuesday for a short Holy Week visit. I came in the door that afternoon. Coming down the hall to greet me in his cardigan sweater, my dear old friend and pastor looked as kind and caring as Mr. Rogers. My heart warmed as memories and feelings came rushing back to me. Later that evening, I told my wife how I'd forgotten how much I love that man.
As we all came and went during the day, we'd all find ourselves at the table for dinner each night. Taking time each night to engage each of the children about their various activities during the day, he'd lean down to meet their eyes taking great interest in what they had to say. After he was satisfied that he'd heard enough from each of them, he'd then turn to ask Whitney and me. "Now, we can hear from the adults," he'd say as he sat upright again.
To our surprise and delight, our youngest, and usually most reticent around adults, seemed completely comfortable with this person he'd never met. Martin would listen to Andrew read prayers from a children's' prayer book he'd given the kids as a gift. Andrew would listen as
Martin explained why he'd named his own son Andrew or how scared he was when he was walking and singing with Dr. King, and people started throwing rocks at them.
As we took turns around the table during Maundy Thursday worship, it was Martin who got down on his knees and tenderly held Andrew's little feet in his hands as he poured water over them remembering Jesus' words, "as I have served you, I tell you now to serve one another."
As Whitney tucked him in last night, Andrew told her, "Pastor Martin is my best friend who is an adult."
Martin was heading to the airport this morning while we were all headed to school and work. Andrew and I drove him to meet his ride to the airport and then said our goodbyes in a 7-11 parking lot. "As he hugged my little boy tightly, Martin joyfully said, "I'll be back to visit and I'll bring Peg, my wife."
We pulled away in our separate cars, and Andrew asked from his seat behind me, "is Pastor Martin coming back this summer?" I adjusted the rear view mirror as I usually do when I'm talking to him. "No, maybe next winter, after Christmas," I said.
Andrew turned to look out the window, but could see that he wasn't really looking at anything in particular. Like me, he was already missing our friend Martin. "I don't' want to go to school today," he said quietly. I asked him, "are you feeling sad?" He nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. "It's OK to be sad when you miss someone."
It was all I said, but I wasn't sure if it was for him or for me. It was one of our more quiet rides to school. Holding our memories, sharing our love and grief in silent communion.
This morning, I watched my son say "goodbye" to his 'best friend who is an adult.' Today is Good Friday. It makes sense somehow, but I wish it didn't.
Born in Tacoma, my boys had never met Pastor Martin, but they'd all heard stories about this wonderful gentle man who marched sat behind 'Daddy King' at one of the organizing meetings for Operation Bread Basket, marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and still lives his life with the same principles of justice.
Coming in part to visit his cousin whose cancer had all but one the battle, Martin arrived on Tuesday for a short Holy Week visit. I came in the door that afternoon. Coming down the hall to greet me in his cardigan sweater, my dear old friend and pastor looked as kind and caring as Mr. Rogers. My heart warmed as memories and feelings came rushing back to me. Later that evening, I told my wife how I'd forgotten how much I love that man.
As we all came and went during the day, we'd all find ourselves at the table for dinner each night. Taking time each night to engage each of the children about their various activities during the day, he'd lean down to meet their eyes taking great interest in what they had to say. After he was satisfied that he'd heard enough from each of them, he'd then turn to ask Whitney and me. "Now, we can hear from the adults," he'd say as he sat upright again.
To our surprise and delight, our youngest, and usually most reticent around adults, seemed completely comfortable with this person he'd never met. Martin would listen to Andrew read prayers from a children's' prayer book he'd given the kids as a gift. Andrew would listen as
Martin explained why he'd named his own son Andrew or how scared he was when he was walking and singing with Dr. King, and people started throwing rocks at them.
As we took turns around the table during Maundy Thursday worship, it was Martin who got down on his knees and tenderly held Andrew's little feet in his hands as he poured water over them remembering Jesus' words, "as I have served you, I tell you now to serve one another."
As Whitney tucked him in last night, Andrew told her, "Pastor Martin is my best friend who is an adult."
Martin was heading to the airport this morning while we were all headed to school and work. Andrew and I drove him to meet his ride to the airport and then said our goodbyes in a 7-11 parking lot. "As he hugged my little boy tightly, Martin joyfully said, "I'll be back to visit and I'll bring Peg, my wife."
We pulled away in our separate cars, and Andrew asked from his seat behind me, "is Pastor Martin coming back this summer?" I adjusted the rear view mirror as I usually do when I'm talking to him. "No, maybe next winter, after Christmas," I said.
Andrew turned to look out the window, but could see that he wasn't really looking at anything in particular. Like me, he was already missing our friend Martin. "I don't' want to go to school today," he said quietly. I asked him, "are you feeling sad?" He nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. "It's OK to be sad when you miss someone."
It was all I said, but I wasn't sure if it was for him or for me. It was one of our more quiet rides to school. Holding our memories, sharing our love and grief in silent communion.
This morning, I watched my son say "goodbye" to his 'best friend who is an adult.' Today is Good Friday. It makes sense somehow, but I wish it didn't.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
A Call to Obedience
It took me a little while, but at some point in my life, I realized that there are lots and lots of little things that inspire me. I’m pretty sure that I miss lots of these, but I get tremendous value out of the ones that I actually recognize. These nuggets of inspiration come in all shapes and sizes. Even something seemingly ordinary can stick out like a bright light to me.
I try my best to use these bits of radiance as reminders of God’s presence in my life. Of course, we all know life isn’t always so simple or rosy, and blindly searching for inspiration or comfort can lead to some pretty dark places. However, God equipped each of us with that inner voice that tries to keep us from heading down the wrong path.
Whenever I fail to respect God, that inner voice tries to get my attention, frantically waving its red flag. God gives us the freedom to choose to obey or not. Though not always easy, our obedience pleases God, and though I've no proof of it, I think God lets me know I'm on the right track when I can sleep better at night. If I'm bothered by a previous decision, action or conversation, there's a good chance I've wandered off the path.
Following the path that God lays before us isn’t always easy and doesn’t always feel good. God has a tendency to lead us out of our comfort zones. May we all keep our eyes trained on the One who leads us down the 'path of righteousness,' rather than looking for the shallow, temporary short cuts that often lead to our getting lost.
It took me a little while, but at some point in my life, I realized that there are lots and lots of little things that inspire me. I’m pretty sure that I miss lots of these, but I get tremendous value out of the ones that I actually recognize. These nuggets of inspiration come in all shapes and sizes. Even something seemingly ordinary can stick out like a bright light to me.
I try my best to use these bits of radiance as reminders of God’s presence in my life. Of course, we all know life isn’t always so simple or rosy, and blindly searching for inspiration or comfort can lead to some pretty dark places. However, God equipped each of us with that inner voice that tries to keep us from heading down the wrong path.
Whenever I fail to respect God, that inner voice tries to get my attention, frantically waving its red flag. God gives us the freedom to choose to obey or not. Though not always easy, our obedience pleases God, and though I've no proof of it, I think God lets me know I'm on the right track when I can sleep better at night. If I'm bothered by a previous decision, action or conversation, there's a good chance I've wandered off the path.
Following the path that God lays before us isn’t always easy and doesn’t always feel good. God has a tendency to lead us out of our comfort zones. May we all keep our eyes trained on the One who leads us down the 'path of righteousness,' rather than looking for the shallow, temporary short cuts that often lead to our getting lost.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Do Not Worry
Bad news is coming at us all the time these days. It's enough to make you want to crawl under the covers and not come out until everything's better. How is it some people can seem so carefree about it all? How come they're not stressed out and worried about what's going to happen?
I have a theory. I think some of them are so busy living today, they don't have time to fret about tomorrow. They've discovered that everyday has the potential to be the best or worst day of their life, and if they spend it worrying about tomorrow...well, let's just say it probably won't be their best day.
"But I can't help it," I've heard people say. "I'm just wired that way." I suppose that could be true, but I suppose that means transformation is impossible. Alcoholics will just drink themselves to death, overeaters will die of obesity and worriers will fill each day with worries about tomorrow.
Then again, maybe there's something to be said for opening ourselves up to God's grace and love. If practice makes perfect, we could choose to practice the art of living today, and when tomorrow's worries come, we can set them on the shelf like that 'one little drink' or that extra piece of pie.
Addictions are like that, they convince us there's no way we can live without them. "An addiction," someone once said, "is anything we use to fill that empty place inside of us that belongs to God alone." May you be so full of God, you have no space for worry...or any other addiction.
I have a theory. I think some of them are so busy living today, they don't have time to fret about tomorrow. They've discovered that everyday has the potential to be the best or worst day of their life, and if they spend it worrying about tomorrow...well, let's just say it probably won't be their best day.
"But I can't help it," I've heard people say. "I'm just wired that way." I suppose that could be true, but I suppose that means transformation is impossible. Alcoholics will just drink themselves to death, overeaters will die of obesity and worriers will fill each day with worries about tomorrow.
Then again, maybe there's something to be said for opening ourselves up to God's grace and love. If practice makes perfect, we could choose to practice the art of living today, and when tomorrow's worries come, we can set them on the shelf like that 'one little drink' or that extra piece of pie.
Addictions are like that, they convince us there's no way we can live without them. "An addiction," someone once said, "is anything we use to fill that empty place inside of us that belongs to God alone." May you be so full of God, you have no space for worry...or any other addiction.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
What happens when the demons are in church?
Not everyone thinks of demons as little red devils sitting on your shoulder, but chances are you've spent your share of sleepless nights wrestling with yours. They go by different names: anger, fear, jealousy, sadness...
No matter what you call them, Crosswalk is a place you can bring them. When it's over, you may still end up taking them home, but give it time and by the grace of God, they'll lose their power over you.
LOST in Lent continues tonight as we unmask some of the demons of the survivors of Oceanic 815.
No matter what you call them, Crosswalk is a place you can bring them. When it's over, you may still end up taking them home, but give it time and by the grace of God, they'll lose their power over you.
LOST in Lent continues tonight as we unmask some of the demons of the survivors of Oceanic 815.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Christians have been traipsing through the stark landscape of Lent for centuries. There among the sharp edges of rock and ever changing topography of shifting sand, they have searched.
What have they looking for?
No treasure chest is buried there; no caves with hidden wonders.
Like the Israelites who wandered in it for 40 years and Jesus who fasted and was tempted in it for 40 days, they search for that "promised land" where God and soul commune.
Tonight we step into that desperate place again. While each of us may have begun the journey a few days ago in the the smoke of burning palms, the flaky taste of death in our Ash Wednesday mouths, tonight we step in together - as a community.
Even though we will all go in together, we are not foolish enough to think that we will be able to travel together. The search we are on is in the deep interior places, hidden in our souls.
We may feel comforted by the felt presence of others. We may be reassured by the occasional voices we here calling out. But we are each going, where no one else may go. It is a place that is no place, a place of blazing fire and darkest night, a place only One other may inhabit.
Let us go together and may we all be changed when it is time to come out of the wilderness.
Lost
Stand still.
The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying
Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
- David Wagoner
What have they looking for?
No treasure chest is buried there; no caves with hidden wonders.
Like the Israelites who wandered in it for 40 years and Jesus who fasted and was tempted in it for 40 days, they search for that "promised land" where God and soul commune.
Tonight we step into that desperate place again. While each of us may have begun the journey a few days ago in the the smoke of burning palms, the flaky taste of death in our Ash Wednesday mouths, tonight we step in together - as a community.
Even though we will all go in together, we are not foolish enough to think that we will be able to travel together. The search we are on is in the deep interior places, hidden in our souls.
We may feel comforted by the felt presence of others. We may be reassured by the occasional voices we here calling out. But we are each going, where no one else may go. It is a place that is no place, a place of blazing fire and darkest night, a place only One other may inhabit.
Let us go together and may we all be changed when it is time to come out of the wilderness.
Lost
Stand still.
The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying
Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
- David Wagoner
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