A letter to my nieces and nephew

Darlings,

As I sat and watched history made last night, I could not help but think of you and how wonderful it is that, on the very first time you were asked to participate in choosing the next president of our beloved country, Barack Obama was elected. You will get to tell your children and grandchildren about what happened when you voted, how hope triumphed over fear, and justice overcame centuries of shameful degradation.

We inherit a nation that is capable of great good, and astounding evil, and I believe it is our duty, our high calling, to help bend the arc of history toward justice, freedom and peace. Today the work begins again. Today we put foundations on that castle in the sky. Today we work so that tomorrow children not go to bed hungry, so that tomorrow no one will have to make a home under a bridge or out of discarded cardboard boxes. Today we put hands and feet on Matthew 25's call to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and visit the captive, so that tomorrow hope stays alive.

I believe that change is possible, that transformation and renewal is real. The year before I was born, a man from Omaha, Nebraska, stood in front of a crowd and proclaimed his profound conversion from disdain and contempt towards those of another race to a deep recognition of the beauty and worth of all God's children, proclaimed aloud his hope for a better tomorrow and a world where all people would learn to respect one another. For his conversion to hope, Malcolm X was assassinated, as were Emmit Till, Jonathan Daniel, Dr. King and countless others. This time, pray God, hope will not be shot down. This time, we can bring about healing in the nation.

Yes we can.

Happy day after the election to each of you. Now, let's get to work.

Peace,

Anne Marie

Of Symphonies and Spirit

There’s an orchestra getting ready for rehearsal down the hall. Seriously, an entire orchestra in our parish hall. For the last 15 minutes or so the sound has been chaotic—everybody warming up his or her instrument as needed, setting up, moving chairs, nobody playing anywhere near the same thing. I’d like to say it sounded pretty, but it really didn’t. I should have shut my door, but that would have required getting up, and really, who needs to do that?

Funny thing just happened though. Somebody (concertmaster? conductor?) just gave the signal, and suddenly the random bits of sound, both musical and non, ceased. It is as if everyone paused at once, took in one big breath and then, music. OK, not really “music,” but sound—one sound. One glorious note, one stunningly beautiful attempt to be in the same key at the same time. A few more moments of fine tuning and then another pause, breathe in, wait…and there they go. Off into whatever piece they are playing (I don’t recognize it just yet). Off together on an adventure that is largely scripted and predictable but that, I know, still leaves a great deal to chance. Tempo. Volume. One’s ability to actually play what is in the score.

These lovely musicians, and all musicians are lovely when they play even if they are as difficult and tempermental as all human beings at other times, these lovely musicians are practicing. Rehearsing. Going back over the same territory again and again. Yes, to work towards some level of perfection, but even more than that, to mine those notes for every drop of beauty possible, for every meaning, for every subtle point and every dramatic statement.

This to me is the spiritual life, particularly the spiritual life in community. We come together making a million different noises, warming up and stretching and yawning and complaining. We need to move our chairs and set up our “space” and then somebody gives the signal and we tune ourselves to one another and set off to pray, to worship, to question, to quest, together. I’m gonna hit a few bad notes. I am going to be too loud or too soft. And so we’ll do it again. Tomorrow, next week, next year. We do it—we go over the same territory, the same texts, the same songs, the same rituals, over and over again. Not because we desire perfection, or at least not because we believe we will achieve it, but because we are constantly seeking God in all places, and constantly discovering that there is more to discover. The well does not run dry, there is always something more to learn, to uncover.

I love the symphony down the hall. I love the symphony that is the church.

Island of Stability

OK, let me open with a disclaimer. I'm a pretty smart gal, but the complex scientific and mathematical details that comprise the discipline of physics are often just beyond (well, way beyond sometimes...) my ability to really get what the folks with all the smarticles are talking about. So, forgive me now for the technical mistakes which you will, no doubt, find in this brief musing. I'm a big picture girl who is forever grateful to those of you who have the gift of understanding the tiniest details of creation.

So, today's the day they fired up the Large Hadron Collider. This is big news, Steven-Hawking-mind-blowing big news. The potential to confirm or negate so much of what we think we know about the universe is amazing. Scientists will be sorting through the data for years.

However, my take on this event is most profoundly shaped by a comment that Max made about it this morning. As he was listing off all the cool things about the collider, he casually mentioned that some part of what is going on in there (in there? on there? is that the way to describe this thing?) might allow us to finally find the island of stability. And that hooked me.

The Island of Stability. A point at which all the magical, tiny elements inside the atom, inside you and me and everything that is, are stable. Can you imagine it? I'm not a huge fan of being still, and I'm not even sure that stillness is our ideal state, but stable? That's a plan I can get behind. Stable implies, to me, not a lack of motion, but a point at which the motion up and down and back and forth and in and out and in all those other infinite directions, the point at which all those vectors are in balance. And balance is all that. All that.

And, because there have been so many times in his life that Max has been just about anywhere but the Island of Stability, this little moment in the kitchen, as he was putting his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, was particularly poignant. Of all the details he could recall about LHC, the idea of stability on an atomic, sub-atomic level was the one that made him smile. I'm sure he was thinking about all the cool scientific and mathematical implications, but his mother was thinking about all the cool Max implications. He hopped on his bike and headed off to school, and I stood in the kitchen and looked out at the tree in the front yard, and the comings and goings of the neighborhood children, parents, dogs, bikes, etc., praying for him to know that his own particles have achieved some island of stability. Praying that he know Julian's confidence that all will be well.

So sure, I'm no particle physicist, but maybe Max is. And maybe someday he'll discover something no one has ever known, or done, or seen before. That would be totally cool. But the coolest thing would be for him, for all of us, to discover what I am sure God created for our renewal, refreshment, redemption--an island of stability.

Why I will continue to love cycling

Like every July morning, I got up early today, made the coffee, turned on Versus and sat down for a few hours of the greatest sporting event in the world--the Tour de France. And then it happened again--the kick in the gut of another positive doping test. Today was almost too much, almost that one thing that pushed me over the edge and made me never want to care about this sport again. Because I have been there so many times before. I loved Floyd--heck, I hiked up to the top of Brasstown Bald with his mom one year--and he broke my heart. And this morning, well I just about gave up.

But then I spotted the argyle of the Garmin-Chipotle team, and alongside that, the Columbia and CSC guys, and I thought again. I decided to stop for a moment and practice what I preach week in and week out from the pulpit--belief in redemption and infinite second chances. Decided to have hope even when it seems like the craziest choice in the world. Decided to have faith, to, as Jonathan puts it, keep the faith. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

It is a choice--I have a choice about whether or not I love cycling, and I choose to give in to my love for the pure grace and beauty of the sport. A choice, just like the brave, hard-working, kick-ass Garmin-Chipotle riders choosing to set things right even while they stand in a minority by doing so.

Allez Argyle! And thanks JV for speaking up, for standing up.

Le Tour Time!

It is just possible that I love Garmin-Chipotle and JV just a little too much. But how nice is it to have a team that is really a team? To see a group of guys really working together. And, although JV lets loose with an unexpected response to Robby Ventura's annoying question, what a great coach he is. There is no other sporting event like The Tour de France. What these men do on bikes is awe inspiring, and a testament to the beauty of creation.

And now for the infamous Versus moment...



Keep watching--it only gets better!

A Better Christian Witness...

Passion & Purpose

For some reason YouTube won't let me embed this, so I'll just say that you should click here and be proud of our fabulous church. Oh, and you should be considering the possibility (particularly if you are a very young person) that God may be calling you to the priesthood.