Hello, Friends!

      Among the fun things I got to while on vacation was to take part in a workshop on creative expression through movement.   I’ve never done any theatrical training, and have long stood in awe of folks who are gifted at improvisation.   So I was a bit daunted at the prospect of being with a group of strangers in a new place, and expected to generate creativity on the spot.

    Of course my first thoughts were around comparing myself to others, and coming up short—I’m sure none of you have ever done that, but it’s a tendency I occasionally have to guard against.

      Our facilitator, though, was so playfully reassuring about our time being about fun and freedom, not perfect performance, that after a few minutes all ten of us were having a blast.

      We were given several scenarios to enact, all of them whimsical, non-sensical, completely unplugged from practical reality and understood experience.   For example, groups of five had to enact movements to create the image of a given “machine”—one of ours was a birthday cake maker/decorator.

       One by one each of us jumped in, joining the others with our uniquely silly contribution to the whole—while half the group got to watch, and offer suggestions as to how we could improve our gadget on the spot by adding “features,” like animated action figures.

        By the end of our two hours, we had all jumped around, made strange noises, laughed until our ribs hurt, applauded our new playmates, and found all kinds of creative capabilities we had no notion of claiming before our time began.

        So what in the world does this have to do with anything serious, or worthwhile in a deeply spiritual way?

Everything in the world, I think, and  here’s what I mean—what if we bring a spirit if spontaneity to everything we do as church?   What if we come to worship, learning times, meetings, service activities, all of it, not assuming we know how it’s going to go, but allowing Spirit to free our minds, bodies, souls for some unexpectedly creative engagement?

      Like our teacher Katie at the workshop, and even more so, the living Christ believes in our creative capabilities, and wants us to feel free to be who we really are, without worrying about perfect performance, but instead enjoying the journey.  And we can find out much more with others than alone, about the joy and hope and love and possibility of being and becoming fully human.

       “I came that you might have joy, and that your joy might be full.”   That’s what Jesus promised, and that’s what the Holy delivers, when we allow it.

        I look forward to playing with you this Sunday, and all our days to come.

 

Shalom,

 

Sarah

 

 

 

Hello, Friends!

       As I’ve mentioned in times past, I think it’s good for us human creatures of habit to travel to new places, even if for a brief span, so as literally to expand our horizons of perspective and understanding.

        So I’m especially grateful, today, to have been blessed with the opportunity to travel to northern California with my mate and our good friends.   We spent a few days at a retreat center perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, a lovely, lovingly tended place where Nature and human nurture combine in splendid ways, filling the senses with so much beauty one can scarcely take everything in.

     I spent early morning time in solitude, my favorite spot being a large flat rock next to a waterfall, where the spring water rushed down to meet the ocean’s tides.   The sounds of both water bodies echoed in a powerful, enveloping symphony against ancient rocks long shaped by their momentum. 

      For the eyes there were beauties great and small,  immediate and vastly unreachable.   I could gaze up and see sunlight touching mountains and washing massive treetops, or out to the endless ocean, or down the coastline to watch the waves’ insistent pounding on rock sculptures of Nature’s ongoing design.

     Up close there were flowers and
 succulents and vines unfamiliar to my
 southern eye, some growing right out of the
 rock, others blanketing the ground and
 embracing their neighbors.

       Cobalt blue Western Jays were
 everywhere, their screechy hellos a bit milder
 but no less insistent than their Texas
 cousins.   And from time to time the last few
stragglers of migrating monarchs would
 dance by, reminding me of how fragile
 and yet how wise and determined the
 life force can be.

        I could go on, and I probably will,
from time to time, because I’m feeling
so enriched, so utterly blessed by the
whole experience, both times spent alone
and with others, surrounded by and filled
up with the Creator’s brilliance and wisdom.

       I love my life here with you, and I love
My life with my family and other friends—
so I wasn’t hesitant at all to leave, and
return to the dailiness of things.  But
having this bit of time in a new place,
with time simply to be, and take in,
and breathe, and walk about with no
other aim than to experience the moment
was a real gift, for which I’m most
grateful.   I awoke this morning with a
refreshed attuning to our local beauties,
the new growth in John’s garden, the
eager approach of our feline
and canine friends, the sounds of kids
 playing next door, the smiles on church
 friends’ faces as I arrived to find our new
organ being delivered.

       I think I’m fairly awake every day, and
 Pretty centered in gratitude most days.
And thanks to a few days in a beautiful
new place,  I’m a bit more fully aware
of how very blessed I am to be, and to
be here, in service to the living Christ
alongside you good people.

        I’ll try not to bore you with details
of my trip, and I promise, no slide shows
of my vacation— though photo man John
does have some splendid pics
he’d be glad to share!

         But I will pass along what might
Be useful to all of us, as we scurry
About trying to be and do good—
and that is, sometimes simply being,
and being tuned in to the beauties available
through our senses, is enough.

         I look forward to being with you this Sunday, and all our days to come.

Shalom,    

Sarah