The Dinner Table

Over dinner once we were having a conversation about race relations—how far we've come in the U.S. and how far we still have to journey towards reconciliation and the Kingdom of God. My friend Shane said that the dinner table will be the place where we find common ground. If people had more meals together, he suggested, we would probably see a difference in race relations. I'd like to take that further and say that we'd see a difference in all boundaries that we've created to separate us—class, religion, politics. We don't feast together enough.

And this makes the Eucharist Table even more beautiful for me. Here, Christ invites us to the most unifying table of all. Everyone is welcomed. I could have been born into the Church or just walked into the door and been recently moved by the Gospel. I could have all the riches in the world or own nothing but the clothes on my back. I could be from the "wrong" side of the tracks. I could be brown or black or white. I could speak Chichewa or French or English or Māori. No matter who I am, I'm always invited.

And when I go to this table to feast on a simple meal of bread and wine, the feast is the same in Nashville, Tenn., as it is in Leeds, England. It's the same today for me as it was for Martin Luther King, Jr., for St. Catherine of Siena and for Peter the disciple. And more importantly, the calling is the same. We are invited into a Kingdom feast—a meal that both blots out my iniquities and calls me to another way of living. Our feast does not end there at the pew or altar in our church buildings. We are called to a bodacious way of life that refuses to be content in the boxes created by a love-ignorant society. We're called into a new covenant. And that new way of life leads me to break bread in many different places with people of various skin tones, beliefs, sexualities and economies.

What a bold feast the Lord created for us—a feast that can truly create a new reality.

How beautiful!

May we feast with Christ and Christ's people today and everyday. May we intentionally go beyond our places of comfort to find ourselves at Christ's holy dinner table.


Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood." -Luke 22:19-20

And I think the true beauty comes when we step outside the symbol. Instead of merely taking part in a two-century-old tradition, let's also share food and talk about our experiences of God with the people that society tells us we should be staying clear of. Business people and homeless veterans, retirees and teenagers, Pacers fans and Pistons fans, Iraqis and Americans: let's all share a table together . . . Let the wafer and the juice be a reminder. -Caleb Mechem in New Neighbor: An Invitation to Join Beloved Community

Singing My Prayers Today . . .

I turned on iTunes Genius today while listening to Jennifer Knapp. These two songs popped up and surprised me and felt quite excellent for the day. I believe they will be my prayers today.



Melody of You by Sixpence None the Richer

you're a painting with symbols deep, symphony
soft as it shifts from dark beneath
a poem that flows, caressing my skin
in all of these things you reside and i
want you flow from the pen, bow and brush
that paper and string, and canvas touch
with ink in the air, to dust your light
from morning to the black of night

[Chorus]
this is my call i belong to You
this is my call to sing the melodies of You
this is my call i can do nothing else
i can do nothing else

you're the scent of an unfound bloom
a simple tune
i only write variations to
a drink that will knock me down to the floor
a key that will unlock the door
where i hear a voice sing familiar themes
then beckons me weave notes in between
a bow and a string, a tap and glass
you pour me till the day has passed

I cannot find a video or audio clip of Jennifer Knapp singing the next song, so I'll share a 30-second cover of it by Ayiesha Woods, which is pretty good. The Knapp version is beautiful, though, and you can go to this site to hear it.

Refine Me - Ayiesha Woods

Refine Me by Jennifer Knapp
i come into this place
burning to receive your peace
i come with my own chains
from wars i've fought for my own selfish gain
you're my God and my Father
i've accepted your Son
but my soul feels so empty now
what have i become?

Lord, come with your fire,
burn my desires; refine me
Lord, my will has deceived me
please come and free me
refine me

my heart can't see
when i only look at me
my soul can't hear
when i only think of my own fears
they are gone in a moment
you're forever the same
why did i look away from You
how can i speak Your name?

Lord, come with Your fire,
burn my desires; refine me
Lord, my will has deceived me
please come and free me
come rescue this child
for i long to be reconciled to You

it's all i can do
to give my heart and soul to You
and pray, and pray, oh i will pray

Lord, come with Your fire,
burn my desires; refine me
Lord, my will has deceived me
please come and free me
come rescue this child
for i long to be reconciled to You

refine me, refine me
refine me, refine me

Smile . . .

"Alright . . . you two get together and smile."

My sister Lanecia was at it again with her camera--creating 4x6 memories of my daily living. I love it. Especially this time because I was sitting next to my adorable 6-year-old friend A.

After Lanecia shot the image, I heard A say proudly, "I didn't show my teeth."

Lanecia confirmed that A did not fully smile or show her teeth in the photograph. So I asked her why she didn't show her teeth, and A just shook her head. I couldn't leave it at that. My sweet A had a beautiful smile; it was bursting to get out of her body. Why would she purse her lips and keep it hostage? Sure, her teeth aren't perfectly straight. Some of them are even rotting just a little.

Her family, refugees from Burma, have done the best they can to establish themselves in a new country, culture and language. A and her brother are smart and happy children who love reading and mathematics. They are excelling in school, which is especially amazing knowing their story. With the little bit their father makes, it's a wonder the children have clothes and food. If A has a few rotten or missing teeth out of their journey from Burma to the U.S., at least she has her life and her family. I'm sure they will get dental care as soon as they can afford it.

So I probed a bit more and asked A if the kids at school had said something to her about her teeth. She nodded yes. I asked her what they said to her. "They say my teeth are dirty," she said.

My heart sank into my stomach. How does poking fun, calling names and judging by appearance start so early? Is it nature? Nurtured by the American way? How is it that some 6-year-olds train a beautiful girl to lose her smile?

"The children at school are not telling you the truth, pretty girl," I told my sweet friend. I told her that her smile was beautiful and that it didn't matter what other people thought.

Lanecia took another photograph of us, and I think it's perfect.



May we practice peace in our words and deeds. May we always teach little girls and boys that their beauty does not depend on the lies of little kids who have been taught a bunch of lies themselves. May we smile and give others in our lives permission to smile, as well.

Great big sunshine smiles!

Smile at each other, smile at your wife, smile at your husband, smile at your children, smile at each other - it doesn't matter who it is - and that will help you to grow up in greater love for each other. -Mother Teresa

We Need St. Cat's Tree

I received this from my dear friend Will and just love it! It's from a message written by Fr. Richard Rohr, and it really resonates with me:

St. Catherine of Siena in her Dialogues pictures the spiritual life as a large tree:
The trunk of the tree is love.
She says the core of the tree, that middle part that must be alive for the rest of the tree to be alive, is patience.
The roots of the tree are self-knowledge.
The many branches, reaching out into the air, are discernment.
(Note she recognizes much more subtlety is needed than mere black-and-white answers.)
In other words, says Catherine, love does not happen without patience, self-knowledge and discernment.
Today we have little encouragement toward honest self-knowledge or training in spiritual discernment from our churches. By nature, most of us are not very patient. All of which means, love is not going to be very common. We need St. Catherine's tree again."

Charter for Compassion

Commit to nonviolence, peacemaking and cruelty-free living. Commit to compassion: Charter for Compassion. When Karen Armstrong won the Ted Prize in 2008, she was granted funding for "one wish to change the world." Her wish was for compassion, and the Charter for Compassion just launched Nov. 12 as a project to create a "cooperative effort to restore not only compassionate thinking but, more importantly, compassionate action to the center of religious, moral and political life."


Check out the site and join the list of people who affirm the charter.

If You're Happy and You Know It . . .

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

A warm autumn sun overpowers the usual balmy breeze.
An excited smile. A quick wave. Then she turns and runs indoors.
They're here! They're here, I'm sure she says in Karen. I don't speak Karen.
But I know the language of excitement from waiting and anticipation, and it screams
They're here when my silver car parks in front of her apartment.

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

The others arrive in the First United Methodist Church bus.
Doors open, and they carry treasure boxes--plastic containers probably purchased at Wal-Mart. Thirty boxes of Crayola markers, a few pails of Crayola super chalk, bountiful supplies of beads of all colors and rolls of blue twine. A football. A soccer ball. Four hula hoops. A tall, slender pink jar filled with bubble juice and three lovely bubble blowing wands. These are the gifts they bring. Parumpapumpum.

If you're happy and you know it . . .

A boy with large almond eyes stands with his two sisters at the end of the sidewalk.
His eyebrows arch up as his face explodes with a smile. This is his question.
He does not speak Karen, either. And though his native Bengali tongue speaks enough English to ask me the question aloud, my heart is more than happy to join in this silent conversation my little friend from Bangladesh.
I reply, beckoning to him with my hand, nodding my head and returning a smile explosion his way.

then your face will surely show it.

He walks up to me carrying a long yellow freshly dipped bubble wand. The bubble juice trickles down the wand and slides unto his tiny latte colored fingers. Blow these bubbles for me, he politely asks silently. I oblige. He watches as I slowly blow a bubble. He follows it as it bids farewell to the circle on the wand and takes flight. His smile breaks abruptly as the bubble he watches suddenly disappears to nothingness and air and memory. I blow another bubble quickly, before he has a chance to mourn the other one for too long. He falls deeply in love with this one, too. He doesn't say this. But I know from the way his hand reaches up to it as it soars into the sky. And from the return of that darling smile.

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

We circle up. It's time for us to leave. We stand there together--different churches, different religions, teenagers and adults and children, multiple languages, citizens of the U.S. and Bangladesh and Burma and Thailand and Iraq and maybe other children whose names I did not catch and whose home countries I did not ask. Communicating sometimes with words, mostly with smiles. All refugees really. None of us belong here ultimately. We circle up to sing our prayer each time we visit these children at Turtle Creek apartments: three verses of a childhood tune that gets us all clapping our hands, stomping our feet and saying hooray! And though I don't hear Jesus audibly speak to us in that moment, I feel his smile on all of us. I take a deep breath and inhale this Saturday morning memory.

The kingdom of God is near. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

**

"Everybody smiles in the same language. And for that, I am so thankful." Jena Lee, Executive Director of Blood:Water Mission

**Image by KatJo

People Like Me

What I love about hip hop--real, pure hip hop--is that it puts music to storytelling. One of my favorite storytellers these past few years has been the dusty foot philosopher K'naan from Somalia (though he spent a significant part of his life in Canada when his family had to flee his war-torn homeland).

So many songs have spoken to me on different days since I've been listening his latest CD Troubadour almost obsessively the past few weeks. Today, though, his song "People Like Me" spoke most to me. I felt like the stories in this song were having a dialogue with the stories of people on our Pray With Africa prayer community. Specifically, this morning I was most moved by a prayer on our site from a woman named Monica:

I pray that I may find serenity and strength to overcome an addiction that I have had for many years to doing harm to myself. I cannot do this alone--only by the grace of God and the blood of Jesus Christ who has given and sacrificed all that I require for this life and the eternal. Help me to love myself that I may better love and serve others. Amen.

All around the world, there are hurting people surviving on hope and a prayer, and I like that K'naan writes his own prayer, asking God to open the doors of heaven for hurting people like all of us . . .



Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Is it fair to say that I am stressing out
I'm stationed in Iraq, and they won't let me out
My homeys said I was stupid for even joining
My counselor said that my decision was disappointing
How she had good for good state colleges
and with my good grades it wouldn't have been a problem
but they don't understand the power of significance
more than brilliance and certainly more than dividends
and if you ask me now would I repeat it
Would I fight in a war I don't believe in
Well the answer is if not me where the cancer is
they been doing this before Jesus of Nazareth
and after all this time it is still deadly hazardous
and bush isn't really being all that inaccurate
When he says we're winning the war cos its staggering
but that's 'cause we're killing everybody that we see
and most of us soldiers we can barely fall asleep
and time and time again I'm feeling incompetent
cos my women back home, we're constantly arguing
and i must be crazy cos all I'm obsessing with is
her Myspace and Facebook and who's commenting
I swear to God if she's cheatin' I'm doin' her ass in
I can tell with one look and it came to me sounding
like something from a song hook

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Meet Sarah, the proud mother of young Sebastian
suburban professional went to college in Ashland
In self pity she suddenly cried,
would my life be important if I suddenly died?
Neighbors saying what a nice women she was
keeping mostly to herself ever since the divorce
and with the company downsizin' and the fall and all
she really shouldn't take it that personal at all
It wasn't her boss who had his eyes on her thighs
and got a rise from her risin' off the desk though
and despite rememberin' sayin' no plenty of times
it was still a damn surprise being let go
and now stuck with a mortgage she cant afford
and too educated to blame the corporate world
She got on welfare and hated it case work a power trippin'
and generally being degraded if,
nothing else she was treated sick
and ineffective which is the worst thing
that she'd been left with
Damn, no magic from David Blane,
no painter to pain this pain,
No Morgan Freeman to narrate the shame
So she took refuge and prayer
kinda like findin' God in the phone book
and it came to her sounding something like a song hook

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

I guess I told you about myself to a degree
just by telling you about people like me
but people like me they speak politely
they don't start no beef or piece of white meat
Everybody gotta eat but everybody doesn't
which is why i want to tell you about my favourite cousin
he and I grew up where the sun shines
and we both partook with the gun crimes
and we both liked American rap rhymes
even though we didn't understand one line
if you remember my line of notes in my last album
I talked about a close call with a grenade
I think we both must have been about 7th grade
But don't panic. We both survived without damage
But we developed a bond like we survived the Titanic
But when the country became frantic
my mother tried to get us out, planned it
to the last detail except the plan got derailed
'cause there wasn't enough money for the plane tickets
How bitter when my mother had to chose who to take with her
so my cousin got left in the war and that's just hard to recall
but now i take refuge in prayer,
kinda like finding God in the phone book
It came to me sounding kinda like something from a song hook.

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

[ K'naan Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]