children of Cornelius

This week, we moved a little farther down the road, and picked up the story with Peter at a gentile’s house. Audio’s below and text is after the jump.

keeping up with the Spirit

Icon of St. Philip and the Ethiopian by Ann Chapin

Our story Sunday was one of my favorites, because it is so incredibly unlikely. A disciple is headed down a road in the middle of the wilderness when all of a sudden he meets the treasurer of Ethiopia, who is also a eunuch. What? But this is how it is with the Spirit. We’re led into all sorts of encounters we would never expect. And thank goodness!

a different story

The text for last Sunday at Bethany was a thorny one. Acts 3:1-20 tells the story of Peter and John healing a man and then Peter delivers something of a screed to the crowd when they are amazed at the healing. The part that caught my eye, though, was Peter’s title for Jesus. He names him “Author of Life.” Jesus is the Author of Life, the one who writes a new story. Thoughts on that in the audio below and the text after the jump.

resurrection people

Easter is not just a day–it’s a season. (Candy manufacturers should totally take advantage of this and continue to sell Cadbury eggs.) And for the season of Easter we’ll be studying Acts at Bethany. Acts tells the story of what happened next. Jesus was raised; then what?

We started this week with a passage from Acts 4:32-35 that describes the early Christians this way:

Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.

I didn’t use this poem by Wendell Berry in worship on Sunday, but it was in the back of my mind all week. As usual, the poet says it better than the preacher. Audio from Sunday is after the poem, and text is after the jump.

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

on the road to Galilee

All the gospels agree that Easter began early in the morning. I hope that wherever you were Easter morning, and however you observed the day, you had at least a few moments of the kind of peace that dawn brings.

At Bethany this year we read John’s account at the sunrise service and then Mark’s account at 10:30. The audio below and text after the jump both reflect on Mark’s story.

a different kind of parade

African Palmyra Palm by Atamari

First, go read this poem by David LaMotte. It’s fantastic. And the thoughts on Palm Sunday that follow depend on it. Also, did I mention that it’s fantastic? It will be a children’s book soon. I can’t wait. (Hat tip to Maryann McKibben Dana for the suggestion to consider this poem in a Palm Sunday context. Brilliance.)

Okay – now that you’ve read David’s great poem, there’s audio of thoughts from Sunday below and then text after the jump.

of wine and coats

Garth last week, and Dolly this week! I promise there are other musical influences beyond country in my life. The text for this week has a couple of Jesus’ more confusing statements. We read from Mark in worship, but Matthew and Luke also each record these sayings and then interpret them differently. That’s always a sign that the saying was confusing–even back when the gospels were being written.

In my prep this week, I ran across this sermon by Paul Tillich. He did far better with the text than I did, and you’ll see his thinking influenced mine. Really, if you just have a few minutes, you should listen to Dolly and go read Tillich’s sermon.

If you happen to have more time, the audio of my thoughts from Sunday is here and the text is after the jump.