Most of Iowa spent the better part of last week dealing with around two feet of snow. Whether we or someone we hired shoveled it, blew it, threw it, or just sort of pushed it around with our car tires, we have all–in one way or another–contended with Mother Nature’s frozen gift that has kept on giving. Because of my spouse’s heart condition, I am the lone snow remover in our household. To help me out, I have a snowblower with a cab that I can take on and off (depending on whether or not I need it to protect me from the wind), and I have two different kinds of shovels: A metal snow pusher and a plastic snow scooper. In other words, as far as tools go, I am set up pretty well. I’m kind of an anxious snow remover…at least prior to going out to remove the snow. On snowy days I pace from window to window and door to door–listening for any sound of snow blowers or shovels in the distance–letting me know that it’s time to give into the neighborhood “peer pressure” and get outside. I watch the radar to see if there is going to be a break in the snow. I plot and plan how I’m going to blow the driveway, and where I’m going to try and place the snow. I him-haw about waiting for the snow to end versus blowing the drive and the walks while it’s still snowing just so that the piles don’t get too large. No matter the strategy, the snow always gets moved. The other day during one of my many snow removal sessions, I was blowing back snow into our yard while making sure there was a puppy area for our little dog Dexter. I would blow the snow forward, then put the blower in reverse and come back for another pass. As I was doing this, I noticed my back and my shoulder starting to hurt, which is something that doesn’t routinely occur when I use my blower. Then I realized that while the blower was in reverse, I was also pulling the machine–trying to go faster and harder than Reverse number 2 would go. Essentially, I was fighting the machine instead of letting it simply do the work. As I continued on, I thought about all of the times I have done something similar in other parts of my life: Making drastic changes in diet and exercise routines in order to see faster weight loss results; Painting with broad strokes in social activism–demanding sweeping changes all at once, in order to see the change I want more quickly; Bringing an “all or nothing” mentality to my relationships–insisting that things are done my way or no way at all. Over and over again I do this–fighting, instead of letting the food or the exercise or the changes or the compromise simply do their work. And over and over again, I find myself hurting because of it. Maybe you can relate? Good spiritual teachers say, “What you resist persists.” In other words, when I resist letting things work on their own timetable instead of my own, and when I resist the natural flow of relationships, and metabolism, and justice-making, that flow rages even harder. Or, as Richard Rohr says, “To actively oppose something actually engages with it and gives it energy.” The idea isn’t to simply adopt an “anything goes” mindset. The idea is to find balance–”neither clinging nor opposing”--as Rohr puts it. In terms of our metaphor, it isn’t to fight the snowblower doing the work in reverse, but neither is it to rely solely on the blower’s power alone. So maybe this week you can ponder with me what it is you’re fighting? What is it that you’re pushing to happen on your own timetable? Who is it that you are demanding see things your way immediately or sooner? Where is the resistance happening in your life? Are you resisting holding on? Are you resisting letting go? Are you resisting letting things fix themselves over time? Are you resisting the work it takes to fix something? Are you resisting movement? Are you resisting being still? Whatever it is for you, I pray that you might take some time this week to think about what it would look like to stop fighting. What would your life, and your health, and your relationships look like if you stopped resisting whatever it is you have been resisting? Perhaps we’d all hurt just a little less from trying to go harder and faster and our own way? I’m not sure, but I’m willing to try…how about you? Interrupting the persistence of resistance with you, Pr. Melissa There are days when I am just “off.” Days when it feels like I read the same passages over and over again without really being able to comprehend what I just read. Days when every move I make during the day feels like it is being made in quicksand. Days when I’m tired and irritable despite having gotten a full night’s rest. Maybe you have those days too? Oftentimes, days like these cause me to want to shut myself up somewhere until I am once again fit for human consumption. I feel closed off internally and simply want to find a quilt, wrap myself up in it, and hide away with my dog nearby until whatever it is that has left me feeling this way subsides. For years I have judged myself for feeling this way. I have scolded myself and re-subscribed to the idea that “pulling myself up by my bootstraps” was the only way through. And yet, as hard as I pulled, some days those bootstraps just buckled under the weight of my being. Recently, during one of these days, from under my metaphorical quilt, I read a bit from Jesuit Paleontologist, Teilhard de Chardin. He spoke of the soul as a wondrous residence–this “hidden part of us that is in union with divinity, and is where our abundant goodness (or God-ness) exists.” Chardin believed it is necessary for us to open the door to our souls inward to find and claim this goodness. Once, when reflecting on his spiritual growth, Chardin observed: “The deeper I descend into myself, the more I find God at the heart of my being.” Truly, we all don’t have the time (or maybe even the patience) to pause long enough to deep dive into the wondrous, inner residence of our souls. But I do think we have what it takes to move through these “closed off” days in a different way. Perhaps instead of trying to power through or toughening up or shutting down completely, we might try something simple to open us–if not to the deepest part of ourselves–then simply to a place beyond where we currently are. Joyce Rupp, an author, speaker, member of the religious Order known as the Servites or Servants of Mary, and Des Moines, IA resident, proposes saying “A Prayer for Openness” in order to begin to peel back the corner of the quilt to get our minds, bodies, and souls back in connection with the One who lives and dwells in us. It is not a magic prayer that will change our “off” day into a day in which we’re suddenly and effortlessly fully “on” again. Instead, it is a prayer that helps put us in a posture of openness–gently nudging us beyond our judgments and our hustling–pointing us toward the God who dwells at the heart of our being: A Prayer for Openness Remember the Holy One is with you. Bring to mind this loving presence within you and around you as you pray the following:
Practicing openness–even from under “the quilt”–with you, Pr. Melissa A few days ago, our very senior miniature schnauzer, Dexter, began having digestive issues. He got sick numerous times, and became more lethargic. We tried all of the home remedies we could think of, but they haven’t seemed to help. This morning (Tuesday) was the first morning our vet was open in 2024. As soon as I could, I called in and explained the situation to them. They had a few more things for us to try at home with Dexter before they said he needs to be seen. So, I went across town and picked up special food, some probiotic packets, and two digestive support gels in pre-measured syringes. All of it feeling a lot like a Hail Mary intervention. As I write this (and even as you read this), I have absolutely no idea whether or not the interventions given to us by the vet will work. I have no idea whether or not Dexter will bounce back just one more time. I have no idea whether or not he is suffering. All I know is that we have to wait and see and field whatever comes our way. This, I am not so good at doing…maybe you aren’t either? As I walked this morning and as I have been out and about today in the truck, I haven’t been able to avoid all of the new year-focused news stories promising that this new year can bring about a “new you,” and that all has been made new by the simple flipping of the calendar. But Dexter isn’t shiny and new…and neither am I. The same problems that plagued Dexter at the end of 2023 are plaguing him still. I still have my same insecurities, my same hangups and health issues. I still get hurt by the same things and sometimes even the same people. My blonde-ish hair still hides the gray that’s beginning to appear in it, and I’m still worried about the people I love the most in this world. There is nothing about this new year that feels new…besides maybe the newness of having to write 2024 instead of 2023 on documents now. For some of us, this sameness is a surprise, particularly in the face of all the world’s focus on all things being new. But for contemplatives and those who practice contemplative prayer, the sameness is part of God’s unveiling. It is to say, “This is what IS now,” while leading us toward the question, “What does this have to say to me?” The sameness asks us to listen more deeply to our lives to learn what it has to teach us–just as it IS, not as we wish it to be. It is, Richard Rohr says, an invitation to look at the circumstances of our lives here and now–and not the changing of the calendar–and inquire, “What’s the message or gift in this for me? How is God in this event? Where is God in this suffering?” The changing of the calendar year isn’t a magical time when everything is shiny and new. Despite what the song says, old acquaintances actually aren’t forgotten and never brought to mind. Everything–including us and our dogs–are the same…until we aren’t. Until God’s new thing is unveiled to us, in us, and through us. Which is good news, I think, for those of us prone to hustling–trying to become something we are not yet or maybe will never be. We don’t have to feel like new year failures because we are the same as we were just days ago last year. We can settle in and trust that–if we’re willing to stare deeply into the circumstances of our lives–we will see a new message and receive new insight on how God is showing up…even in our uncertainties…even in our suffering. It’s not an “all at once” kind of thing. It’s a little at a time. Over and over again. The gift that truly keeps on giving all year round. Or as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13:12, “For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.” That’s not a promise just for the new year or even for the end of our lives…it’s a promise for right now too. Hold onto that promise, and maybe let the high ideals of the new year go. God is at work...always and already God is at work. On the journey toward knowing with you, Pr. Melissa Tomorrow night is the longest night of the year. It’s the Winter Solstice, which, according to Jamie Carter at Live Science, will occur at 10:28 p.m. EST on Thursday, Dec. 21. Carter explains that, “Earth orbits the sun every 365 days while spinning on an axis tilted by 23.5 degrees. Its northern axis is tipped away from the sun on the winter solstice, resulting in the day with the fewest hours of daylight, and thus the longest night, all year in the Northern Hemisphere.” That’s the science of the Winter Solstice, but there is also a cultural aspect. I’ve written before about Yule, “The pre-Christian festival, the Feast of Juul, that was observed in Scandinavia at the time of the December solstice. Fires would be lit to symbolize the heat and light of the returning Sun and a Yule log was gathered and burnt in the hearth as a tribute to the Norse god Thor.” Modern Western Christians, too, have marked the longest night with “Blue Christmas” worship services for those who find that they are struggling during the holiday season due to a loss, illness, or other difficult life circumstances. Beyond celebrations and daylight hours, however, there is another–perhaps even more important–aspect of the longest night: Spiritual. We often miss how the longest night, and the shortest day, can speak to us on a spiritual level, but be assured, it does. So often this time of year, many of us have moments of anxiety, or fatigue, or even dread. We may be grieving the loss of someone we love who has died in the past year or in years gone by, but we might also just be a little sad for no apparent reason. On the longest night, it almost feels like the universe is giving nod to our weary spirits and our broken hearts. It almost feels like all of creation is a little colder, a little darker, a little more lonely in some way. It almost feels like the heavens and the earth are right there with us–a little sad for no apparent reason. But the Winter Solstice is far more than some universal, cosmic depression. It is the moment when transformation begins. From the exact moment that the solstice occurs–10:28 p.m. EST on Thursday, Dec. 21st–everything begins to change. No longer is the Northern Hemisphere tilting away from the sun–away from the light–it is now tilting toward it. With nights that grow increasingly shorter, and days increasingly longer–and all of the transformation in the natural world that comes with it. From the depths of darkness, something new begins to be born. As Christians, we see this message of transformational darkness happening in the stories of our faith. The darkness of the womb is the place where transformation begins for a world in desperate need of the One who would show us the Way. At Easter, too, we see yet another transformational moment beginning in the dark–new life springing from the darkness of the tomb. So, if you’re grieving this time of year. Or if you are anxious, weary, fearful, fatigued, or just generally sad, please hold onto the deep truth the Winter Solstice speaks to us: The darkness is not a destination, but the birthplace of transformation. It is the start of something, not the end. Light and warmth are being born from this cold, dark, long, and lonely night. So as we head into the Longest Night tomorrow night, I implore you, don’t ignore your darkness, and don’t try to pretend that it’s not there. Embrace it. Pay attention to it. Sit in it knowing that this is the place God chooses to enter into our human reality. God is here, and you are not alone. Sitting in the dark with you, Pr. Melissa Recently, my spouse and I have been streaming our way through the “Friends” television series. I watched every episode when the series first aired on TV, and I have since seen every episode more times than I can count. However, this is officially my spouse’s first time through. Most evenings in our house lately, we will eat supper together, get done whatever chores or errands we need to do, then we will retire to the living room and watch 2 or 3 episodes of the sitcom (without commercials they’re only 20ish minutes each) before heading to bed for the night. Each night–without fail–I will find myself literally laughing out loud at some one-liner or some facial expression or humorous situation in a particular episode. And as I laugh each night–without fail–I will find myself looking across the room in my spouse’s direction, just to see if they are laughing too. To be sure, I’d find the show funny even if they weren’t laughing, but there’s something almost magical about those little moments when our eyes meet for a short time of shared laughter. I recently heard a colleague describe times like these as “micro moments”--moments that seem small or insignificant at the time but, steadily and over time, make a life. Micro moments have nothing to do with grand gestures or expensive vacations, but have everything to do with the most ordinary of details. Like knowing the way someone takes their coffee, or the way a couple who has read the Sunday paper for years divides the newspaper up into sections for each person to read without even having to think about it. Or Saturday mornings spent eating sugary cereal and watching cartoons with siblings, or enjoying Sunday chicken after church at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Whatever the case, these micro moments don’t seem particularly special or significant while we are in them but, when we look back, are often the moments that stay with us the most. Which leads me to wonder if maybe–rather than only appreciating them in hindsight–we could figure out a way to be more present during these micro moments? Like, if these little moments are going to be the moments that stick with us and the moments that comprise our lives as individuals or our lives as part of other people’s lives, maybe we ought to practice being as present as we possibly can in those moments of laughter, or during those Sunday after church meals. Maybe–especially this time of year–when the pressure for the big gift or the big Christmas family get-together is at an all-time high–we could all pause and remember that it’s the little moments inside those BIG efforts that make it all worthwhile: A quiet evening after a day of holiday ruckus, a grandchild’s smile, the hand you get to hold while you watch others open their gifts, praying the same prayer before the holiday meal that has been prayed for generations. I don’t know if it would make any kind of difference at all, but I definitely want to spend what’s left of this Advent and Christmas season trying to find out. Maybe you’d like to join me in that endeavor? My hunch is that by being more intentional with our presence–mind, body, and spirit–we’ll find that those micro moments aren’t nearly as small and insignificant as we might see them now. In fact, they just might be the whole point. On the journey with you, Pr. Melissa |
Rev. Melissa Sternhagen
Rev. Melissa Sternhagen was called as the pastor of St. Paul Congregational UCC in June of 2020. Prior to her call to St. Paul, Pr. Melissa worked as a hospice chaplain in the Ames, IA area, following pastorates at rural churches in Central Iowa and Southern Illinois. Pr. Melissa is a second-career pastor with a background in agribusiness and production & supply operations. She received her M.Div. from Eden Theological Seminary in St. Louis, MO, and holds a MA Ed. in Adult Education and Training, and a BA in Organizational Communications. Archives
April 2024
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