Years ago in seminary, I came across this prayer by Archbishop Oscar Romero, and its words have guided and encouraged me through soon to be 32 years of ministry. I came across a faded copy of the prayer in a box unpacked from my last move, and its truths strengthened my spirit once again.
A Step Along the Way
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
That is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,
a step along the way, an opportunity
for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own. Amen.
It's good to be reminded of these timeless truths and to be strengthened and encouraged once again.
Elizabeth
Flakes began falling Friday evening, softly, silently – I was out and about filling the bird feeders, and putting out deer corn and corn cobs in the feeders for the squirrels. It was lovely, quiet, and still. By morning, Jackson Springs was blanketed in freshly fallen snow. The sun was out to showcase the beauty, and the cold kept it all in place.
Tracks in the snow showed lots of activity – raccoons and deer, possums dragging their long tails, and the prints I made in and out and round about enjoying the day. I’d been longing to walk in the snow through the woods, and was able to fulfill that longing on Saturday in the woods surrounding the manse.
I had a facetime visit with my great grandson, and saw him make a snow angel! I decided to try to make one for him, and gave thanks I was able to get back up after my efforts! A friend made three snowballs to keep in her freezer as a reminder of the gifts of this day, and discovered they settled into the shape of a mother holding her baby – honestly, you’d have to see it to believe it – a special gift for her, reminding her of her mother, who died in December. Friends and neighbors texted pictures of the beauty in their yards and neighborhoods. It was a day for homemade soup, for steaming cups of tea and hot chocolate, for enjoying the day outside, and also from the inside out – looking out each window of the manse I saw beauty all around!
I remember snows in Kentucky and Virginia that came more frequently and stayed longer, and all the fun we had sledding and warming ourselves by the fires neighbors built in sledding areas. I remember struggling to get the baby into the snowsuit passed down from child to child, and watching the older children sledding, building snowmen and snow forts, and having snowball battles. We made our share of snow angels, too. When things got too wet and cold to be fun anymore, we’d head inside for a warm bath, dry clothes and hot chocolate and peanut butter graham crackers, while the outdoor gear spun in the dryer to be ready for the next round! I must confess that I found myself reaching for the hot chocolate and the peanut butter graham crackers with not a child around!
There’s a wonderful poem, “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I first read Robert Frost’s poem in high school and it’s been a favorite ever since. “Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening” in Jackson Springs was a special blessing, reminding me that I, too, have “promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep” – and I give thanks.
Elizabeth
Psalm 36 was one of the lectionary texts for January 16, the day the snowstorm brought life to a standstill in many places, with Moore County being one of the areas hardest hit. The psalmist writes, “Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds … you save humans and animals alike, O Lord … O continue your steadfast love to those who know you!”
Now more than ever we need this reassurance. In the Jan-Feb ’22 issue of Presbyterians Today, Chip Hardwick’s article, “Be Assured, God is Still leading You” reminds us that God is at work in the changes the continuing pandemic brings.
We Presbyterians affirm that the church is “reformed and always reforming.” Hardwick reminds us of the conversations Christians have had through the centuries: “Can we invite Gentiles in? Can we speak the local language in Mass? Does a drum set belong on the chancel? And, as each question gets answered, a new season, marked by joy over the new things God is doing, and lament over what is gone, is heralded in … Over the past two years, the pandemic has taken the church’s notoriously slow-moving changes out of the crockpot and put them into the microwave.” All at once we entered a virtual reality, rethinking everything we ever did, with Zoom meetings, services on Facebook Live and You Tube; with “social distancing” and “masking” considerations and few opportunities for being together.
“As we move forward in 2022,” writes Hardwick, “it is still unclear what church will look like once the pandemic has moved into the rearview mirror. How will online and in-person ministry coexist? How will stewardship be impacted? What will be the best way to serve our neighbors? … Moving into a new season can be disconcerting, yet the church’s vitality depends on balancing our lament with hope and by living faithfully in a season of continued uncertainty. And when our fears and frustrations rise, let’s join the psalmist and pray, “Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds!”
Such faithful and encouraging words!
May they give us hope for the living of these days.
Elizabeth