Underestimating Faith

She doesn't like the questions, 

because to her and her mother before her,

faith is something private, personal,

experienced in actions 

not explained in words.

Still, she allows the questions

because, maybe, she wishes she had 

asked more of her own mother.

And so she answers the best she knows how.

Which is perfect.

She helps us imagine her

as a young girl. long hair in braids, 

sitting with her mother Sunday after Sunday, 

in a church that did little to nourish her soul.

(But perhaps it taught her 

that showing up is the first step.)

The sermons, as she remembers,

did not even begin to unlock 

the mysteries of the Divine for her.

But she discovered them later.

God does that. 

Small beginnings, one after another -

a year at a Christian college, 

then a class at the University of Iowa, 

that looked at the Bible as literature.

God's word disguised 

as a Humanities credit.

God does that too.

Married in her husband's childhood church, 

they moved around too much in the early

years of life together

to join a congregation of their own.

She tells us of visiting St. Andrews the first time.

remembering the cold metal folding chairs 

in the fellowship hall

(there was no sanctuary at that time).

She recalls the screaming kids

the chaos of that first visit.

She did not plan to go back.

Funny thing is, that's where they ended up.

And it was then that her faith deepened 

with Bible studies, women's retreats, 

singing in the choir, 

teaching Sunday school, 

getting involved in the church leadership,

putting together dramatic performances,

seamlessly linking her beliefs with 

her passions.

The small tributaries - 

her father's church,

her mother's church, 

her husband's family's church,

and finally her own church - 

all fed into something larger, 

unexpected, always changing.

A sacred place with gentle twists and turns.

God works that way.

Now at 90 years old

she gets up from her pew and walks

the familiar path up to the altar 

to receive the sacraments,

like she has, so many times before.

Perhaps when you 

grab the corners of your faith

and hold it next to someone else’s

it doesn't seem to measure up.

But to those who know her,

her faith is easy to see.

The questions make her uncomfortable.

They always have.

Still, she seems glad we asked.

The Gospel as Told By a Woman

They weren't present at the Passover meal,

but they might have been the hands that prepared it.

(You can always find them in the story

but you often have to look past the main characters.)

They gathered at the foot of the cross

paralyzed by heartbreak and grief

as the light of the world was snuffed out

and the world became dark.

They headed for the tomb

at daybreak as the Sabbath ended

driven by the need to care for their Lord's body

and became the first witnesses 

of the resurrection,

delivering unbelievable news to the disciples

and really, the world.

What I would give

to hear the story of God's love through Jesus,

told by these woman.

The women who loved deeply enough

to be there, in the midst of the suffering and hate.

Bearing witness as it turned into

the Greatest Love.

Come, listen.

Spare Change

I sat in church on Sunday morning, a welcomed visitor, feeling at home, experiencing worship through music, scripture, and a sermon that took off from where my morning devotions had taken me earlier that day.

Midway through the service I heard it announced that this month's change offering was going to Noah's Ark Children's Ministry Uganda, the place my daughter and her family live and serve. The offering plate was passed around and loose change and bills were collected from the small congregation.

I watched a young boy carry the offering plate to the front of the church, reaching up high to set it on the altar. The image of that young boy transposed itself in my heart and mind to the children I have come to know and love at Noah's Ark. Young boys of similar age, worlds apart, loved by the same Father.

My heart was filled in unexpected ways that morning. God does that.

From the generosity of a small congregation, into the hands of a young boy, pausing at the altar, and landing in the hearts of children whose world is defined and limited by poverty.

The offering plate held more than coins that morning. It overflowed with love and hope. 

Yes, God does that.