Painting Prayers

I want to be an artist, but I never seem to find the time. My craft has become sermon writing, but it doesn't seem to be enough. I need something visual. I need to get back to painting.



There never seems to be enough time and too many excuses abound. My too messy house. My too busy ministry. My too lazy self.



I wish I could do it as a discipline. As a way to exercise prayerfulness.

I get inspired by the blog Painted Prayerbook http://paintedprayerbook.com where Jan Richardson paints liturgically and then blogs on it. And yet I haven't picked up a paint brush for about a year.

Part of my problem is inspiration......it comes when it comes and sometimes it comes at the most inconvenient times. I used to drop everything and respond to it, but I haven't had that luxury for the past three years.

I am so much better in touch with my self and my feelings when I can visualize them, physically exercising them out on a canvas or some other material. Crafting pain, joy, or wonderment through color and lines, smooth and rough surfaces. I can craft these things with words but it doesn't produce the same sort of satisfaction and expression that the visual arts gives me.

I'm writing this as a reminder that perhaps I'll look at this on my blog to remind myself to get out the paints and the canvas and get started.

Mi Familia

Family is such a meaningful and sometimes difficult word. Today in Spanish class we were learning the words for relationships in a family. This made me very lonely. We were asked to describe our families to one another. We were to talk about our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children.

As I described and thought of these people I became saddened and felt lonely.

Mi madre--Mi madre es muerte. Nothing else to say. I haven't learned yet how to say she was funny. She was red haired. We haven't gotten to was....we're just in the present.

Mi hermano--Mi hermano es simpatico. But we don't have a very close relationship since we grew up. There is some satisfaction in knowing that he is always there if I need him.

Mis abuelos son muertes. All of them.

Mi esposo-- Estoy divorciada. Enough said.

Mis ninos- Son fuertes de las corazones. Their hearts are strong, but I know they hurt.

Mi padre--I just told him Estoy divorciada.

That's my Spanish lesson for today. Mi familia. There are great and wonderful descriptions about them that I can share. Great memories. But unfortunately describing family also evokes difficult times and circumstances.

And yet that is the nature of family. Families go through difficult times, but they're still family.

And I am grateful for the family I do have....relatives and others that I have adopted as my own.
And I am grateful for my church family....though they drive me crazy sometimes.
I am grateful for todo mi familia.

He Who Crosses His Arms

I had seen this man at our church. He had come to Jim's service and then to mine a couple of times. He wanted to join, and so he entered my new member's class. I knew him, because he sat alone, because he held back, because he crossed his arms in front of his chest to protect himself. Yes, I had noticed him. And there he was in my class.

This class had 3 other people, a mother and daughter, and a recovering alcoholic. I had them introduce themselves. He addressed where he was from and how he had been a United Methodist his whole life. The rest of us had come from other denominations, that we had rejected and had joined the United Methodist Church because of its acceptance.

It became obvious why he held back, when he told us he was a recovering alcoholic, lived in the local halfway house, had left children behind with an ex-wife.

After the introductions we went over the Missions and Values the church had passed just months before I had gotten there. They were statements to be proud of, and I went over each one. I got to the statement that spoke of ministry with families of all diversity. I explained that the statement included all families....the single family, the divorced family, the homosexual family, and that we were serious about diversity....and that Jim and I were going to hold the church to this value. I asked if anyone had any questions or comments.

He spoke up, and told us all that after the divorce, he began to live an alternative lifestyle. And that the church, the United Methodist Church he worshipped in ,didn't approve, and how he had moved on. I responded by saying that I welcomed him, and was glad that he shared and how his experience, all of our experience add to faith and ministry. I also told him that if anyone ever gave him problems about his lifestyle, (anything but grace and love) he was to come to Jim or I and that we would be there to support him.

I looked into the other's eyes and with seriousness, I told them that as part of being members they were to uphold these values, and that if they saw anyone treating others with less than grace and love they were to act responsibly as members by speaking out against it. Reminding others of the values of the community they belonged to.

They nodded. The session continued, and as we said our goodbyes. One of the women took the man into her arms and embraced him with tears in her eyes. She had been accepted and knew that he would be accepted too.

The remarkable thing about this story is that before Jim and I came to this church it was known as the most conservative United Methodist Church in the valley. The senior pastor before us was part of the confessing movement, and the church has had an anti-homosexual group supported by pastors meeting there for years. And yet, the Spirit, she moves. Before we came, already a movement had begun. The Spirit began moving among a few members to change the missions and values and prepare the way for us.

This is my call. My call has always been to heal the damage the church has done to its people. The damage done to those within its walls and without. The damage done by hateful words, exclusionary behavior, isolation, inaction, and outright victimization. I wondered why I was called to this church. My first charge and so much damage to be undone.

But he, he reminds me why I am here. He, with crossed arms who sits with a critical eye of the church he once loved. Him, Jesus Christ revealed.

I