Seeking Authentic Voice

For the third time in three weeks I found myself engaged in a Bible study on this story: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 A ll the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." So Jesus told them this parable: "There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; ...

On the last Sunday after the Epiphany I offered the congregation two pieces of paper, one with the question, "This Lent I hope to cultivate..." and the other with the question, "This Lent I hope to let go of...". Then after the service we folded the papers into origami butterflies. I then wrapped each butterfly in tissue paper and hung them on our dried branches as cocoons. We'll open the cocoons for Easter and rehang the butterflies. On Pentecost we'll let them go, perhaps burning them and sending them up into the air?  I didn't read what people wrote, but as I folded some of the paper squares into butterflies I did see some of the responses, it was interesting to note how many said they hope to let go of "anger" in this season of Lent.  Anger. Anger was not my response, but I understand the desire to let go of anger. We live in an angry world today, so much anger all around us.  How do I let go of anger? Will I let go o...

One year ago, on February 14, which was the odd mix of secular and religious, of Valentine's Day AND Ash Wednesday, I made an impulsive, radical change. As I put on my alb, the robe that clergy in the Episcopal Church (and some others) wear as part of our worship vestments, I pondered my sermon. That's typical. But this time I thought, UGH! I cannot preach THIS sermon again. I mean it wasn't BAD exactly. It had all the right components for an Ash Wednesday sermon, a mediation on the invitation to observe a holy Lent. But oh was it dry. I just couldn't bear it. So I left my iPad behind and walked out to lead worship deciding that I would say whatever the Spirit led me to say in the sermon time. It was a little exciting. The congregation was small and intimate, so I felt like this would be okay. And, it was. I did the same thing on the first Sunday in Lent. Then the next Sunday. And now, every Sunday for the last year. No written manuscript. Well, once in a while I...