"Postponing Life" - A Reflection from Martin B. Copenhaver

Excerpt from Luke 12:16-21

"Then [the rich man] said, 'I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all of my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you.'"

Reflection by Martin B. Copenhaver

In the last decade of my father's life he developed an interest in wine. There is more to this hobby than you might imagine. My father would read about the many varieties and vintages and vineyards. When a wine was purchased, it was carefully stored and catalogued. Occasionally he would even drink the stuff. That was always an elaborate ceremony, beginning with uncorking the bottle, then tasting the wine to make sure it was suitable to serve, accompanied by florid comments about bouquet and body, descriptions that no one else understood fully or, frankly, cared much about.

When friends learned of my father's interest in wine, they would sometimes give him a special gift of a rare and costly bottle. I never remember those wines being served. He always said he was waiting for a special occasion. The occasion never came. When my father died -- "This very night your life is being demanded of you." -- those bottles remained unopened. I believe he intended to drink them and, oh, how he would have enjoyed the ceremony of it all. But special occasions, like tomorrow, seem never to arrive. As Ben Hecht put it, "Time is a circus that is always packing up and moving away."

Of course, the point is not that we should eat, drink, and be merry while we have a chance, even as that is not the point of Jesus' parable. Rather, the point is that if we postpone little pleasures at our peril, how much more perilous is our tendency to put off doing what is truly important in life.

Prayer

Dear God, don't let me use the future as the repository of all that is good and worthy. That is, help me to live fully in the only day in which I can live -- today. Amen.

About the Author

Martin B. Copenhaver is Senior Pastor, Wellesley Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Wellesley, Massachusetts. His new book, This Odd and Wondrous Calling: the Public and Private Lives of Two Ministers, co-authored with Lillian Daniel, has just been published.

"Habitat for Divinity"

2 Samuel 7:5-6
“Go and tell my servant David: Thus says the Lord: Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle.”

Matthew 13:1-8
"[Jesus] told them many things in parables, saying: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty."

In the days of King David there was a need for rootedness, for the house of God to be made more permanent than an ark borne in a tent by a wandering people. Yet what became fixed was mobilized again by Jesus' reminder that the only permanent habitat for Divinity was in the hearts of human beings, putting the work on us to prepare ourselves to house the truth of God.

How will we create a space worthy of Divine abiding? When the "seeds" of God's truth are sown on us, will be protected by good soil or become blanched by the harshness of life? Will they be overgrown by other concerns or find the nourishment they need to bear fruit? God still requires rootedness - how's our soul's soil?

Rev. James goes to Washington . . . ish.

I'll lead with the moral of the story:

"Sometimes, when you're nice to random strangers, they remember you later and ask you to do highly public and moderately important things."

Such was my experience when I was a) nice to a local senator (I didn't know who he was) when he came through the hand-shaking line at church and b) nice to his clerk when I visited him in the hospital after surgery (I didn't know who he was, either).

And so I was invited to give the prayer before the opening of the State Legislature last Wednesday. This is an honor on par with ringing the opening bell on Wall Street. Ok, not "on par with," but similar to in the sense that a) they have someone do it every day, and b) you only get noticed if you screw up.

So I showed up in an appropriately serious suit (which I discovered during my time there had a nice little hole in the leg, so if anyone had really great vision and the right angle they got not only a prayer, but about a quarter inch square of man-thigh) and took pictures with people I would later discover were of genuine political significance. They were wonderfully gracious and welcoming:


Step 1: After a short tour I was seated in a chair (you can't really see it in the picture) that was far too big for me, which led me to wonder: Which makes you more self-conscious - sitting in a chair that is far too small, like in a kindergarten classroom, or in a chair that is too big, like you're saving it because your giant friend is in the bathroom? Here I am pondering that:


Step 2 ("I thought we'd be dead by step two, so this is going great!"): After a one-sentence introduction about how the day was, in the Christian tradition, Ash Wednesday, I offered a prayer:

"Holy and Gracious God, Eternal Spirit: We call you by many different names and recognize you in many different forms and places. Yet we come before you today with our common work to do, our common work of service to the people of our communities. As we set our hearts and minds to that work, we ask that you grant us faith in the face of uncertainty, the courage for honesty, the insight for growth, a passion for justice, the patience for peacemaking, the grace for compromise, suspicion of the promises of power, the discipline of mind and generosity of spirit that have always led to meaningful, sustained, flourishing and abundant life. Amen."

Here I am saying that. Note that this prayer was making people (left to right, respectively) tired, amused, and confused/angry, which is actually a pretty accurate cross-section of the reactions I usually get when I speak out loud.


All told, it was a wonderful experience, actually. I'm always afraid that inclusive, ecumenical prayers will end up being simply lukewarm, generic niceties, but this, in the moment at least, sounded and felt right. I'm very grateful for the opportunity - it was a neat forum.

Next time, though, I'm going fire-and-brimstone; I want my name in the paper.

One Naked Baby, Two Goofy Parents, Three . . .

Click on the link below to watch the video. Enjoy!

(The first part is about a book we read called "Little Indian Two Feet," about a little boy who has no horse and so has to "walk, walk, walk").

Cue the Music . . .

Follow this link:

http://www.andrealenejames.com/Listen.html

and click on the song you want to hear.

Good news / Bad news

The good news: The Augustana Choir just came to town, two miles from where we live. We went, we heard, we took home some college kids (don't worry, we returned them). Besides an incredible concert, we also received a CD: a compilation of Augie choirs 2003-2007 - and we're on there! Frequently! I had hoped to augment this blog by posting the music, but I can't. I'll have to find a way to get these recordings to you all. But they include some of my all-time dream favorites.

Among them is Franz Beibel's (sp?) Ave Maria, sung as an all-men's piece, and Angus Dei, a choral adaptation of Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings (which includes an AnDrea Dunn solo). And Isaiah just fell asleep on my shoulder as we sat and listened to them.

The bad news: I'm pretty sure life is downhill from here.

A Transfiguration Prayer

Holy One, we thank you for this day and for this time together. We are reminded this morning of the preciousness of life, the life that everywhere surrounds us and dwells within us, yet remains so fragile in every form.

We thank you for the ways in which you are revealed through that life. As we see you revealed in acts of giving that quell anxiety, acts of hospitality and welcome that break down barriers, acts of generosity that shake off fear, we are reminded that you are a God that broke down all barriers that keep us apart, a God who seeks healing, wholeness and reconciliation.

As we see you revealed in the face of the suffering, the oppressed, as we are moved by compassion and angered by injustice, we are reminded that you are call us as peacemakers, those who will work to conform the world to the plumb line of justice.

As we see you revealed in beauty, in nature, in the voices of our children singing, in loving relationships of all kinds, when the most ordinary elements of our lives begin to glow sacred, we are reminded that you are a God who wishes for us an abundant life of great promise.

As Jesus is transfigured and so reveals you, so may we be transformed to do the same. Amen.