Sticks and Snakes
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From West Coast to Where the West Beganen-USdaily22013-03-15T08:45:04-07:00Solo Retreat (Part 2)
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2013/03/solo-retreat-part-2.html
Last fall I took my very first self-directed silent retreat, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I'm still not sure why I did it (or why I plan on doing it again), but no matter how many times I...<p>Last fall I took my very first self-directed silent retreat, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I'm still not sure why I did it (or why I plan on doing it again), but no matter how many times I rejected the idea, it just kept coming back. I had a busy summer and was in the middle of making some Life Choices (different than "life choices," it seems), and time away felt very necessary. I started to think of it as a romantic vacation--a get-away, really--with just me and God. Like, maybe our relationship had lost a little bit of its zest and we needed to spend some time reconnecting. </p>
<p>Turns out, a vacation with God isn't really romantic. It's not even a vactation, actually. But, whatever. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017d41e680fb970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Badlands2" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834017d41e680fb970c" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017d41e680fb970c-500wi" title="Badlands2" /></a></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">When planning a solo retreat, the <strong>first thing</strong> you have to do is find a location. The location of your retreat is determined, in large part,  by what you are looking to get out of the whole experience--what you need to have in place when you arrive in order for your retreat to be "successful." I identified a few "needs" right off the bat: The retreat had to be close enough to drive (even over the course of a couple days) but far enough away that I couldn't chicken out and just go home if it got tough; it needed to be secluded but safe; it needed to be in a beautiful, natural setting, with easy access to hiking trails; and, it needed to have a kitchen. </p>
<p style="text-align: left;">After poking around on <a href="www.retreatfinder.com" target="_self">retreatfinder.com</a>, I was lucky enough to locate <a href="http://www.blackhillsbenedictine.com/" target="_self">St. Martin Monastery</a> in Rapid City, South Dakota.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"> </p>
A quick call to the sisters at St. Martin's sealed the deal for me. I could either stay in their monastery house--where the nuns live--or, I could stay in one of the three secluded houses that they have on their property. Both  options were good ones, but I was looking for a hermit-like experience, so snatched up one of the private houses.
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">FYI: Benedictine's are really serious about their ministry of hospitality, so they rarely charge money for their services. Instead, they welcome a "donation" of whatever you can afford to pay. Sometimes they give you a suggestiON--in this case $30 a night--but you should feel free to pay as much or as little as you can honestly afford. </p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">Once I had my location all picked out, I had to think about how to get there. Rapid City is about 7.5 hours away from Omaha, via the interstate. I've taken that trip many times, and while I like it out there on I-90, I wanted to see a little bit more on my journey. The time it took to get to the retreat--and what I saw along the way--became almost as important to me as the reterat itself. So, instead of taking the short way,  decided to stick to state highways. This allowed me to see the magnificent Sand Hills of Nebraska for the first time, as well as the Pine Ridge Reservation, and the Badlands. I spread the trip out over two days, spending the night in Valentine, Nebraska. By the time I got to the Black Hills, I was in a totally retreat-ready frame of mine. </p>
<p style="text-align: left;">My first stop in Rapid City was the grocery store, where I picked up the perishable items that I couldn't pack. Retreat eating takes some thought. You want to stay healthy and simple, but you also need to indulge in some creature comforts to offest the profound discomfort of...not speaking a word outloud for a week. I stuck to simple food--lots of soup, eggs, salads, etc.--but also picked up a box of Dove bars and a bottle of wine. :) </p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Once I arrived at St. Martin's I was given the key to my little house, and was on my own. That's where the real retreat began. </p>LifeNebraskaReligionRetreatsSpiritualityTravelLiz Easton2013-03-15T08:45:04-07:00The Banner Buffalo
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2013/01/the-banner-buffalo.html
The picture on the new Sticks and Snakes banner is one of my favorites. I took it in September at Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I love the Black Hills. I've been there three or...<p><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The picture on the new Sticks and Snakes banner is one of my favorites. I took it in September at <a href="http://gfp.sd.gov/state-parks/directory/custer/" target="_self">Custer State Park</a> in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I love the Black Hills. I've been there three or four times, but had only been to Custer <a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2008/06/a-foretaste-of-pictures-to-come.html" target="_self">once</a> before this recent trip. It is a truly special place--South Dakota's oldest and largest state park, covering an area of 71,000 acres. The park is also the home to a herd of 1,500 free roaming bison, like that big guy up there!</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Black Hills are a beautiful place to spend some time wandering, wondering what North America looked like a long time ago--before you came along, before your problems or preoccupations even knew the time of day. It's a great place for a retreat, and that's why I was there last fall. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
<a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017d40418ab6970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Photo-1" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834017d40418ab6970c image-full" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017d40418ab6970c-800wi" title="Photo-1" /></a><br /><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">I take a lot of retreats. In fact, since I went to a Jesuit High School and then was part of a great college ministry, I can say for sure that I have been taking at least one retreat a year (and in recent years, a few more than that!) since I was fourteen. That's a little crazy to me. Since being ordained, I've also led a few retreats myself. In both cases--retreat-taking and retreat-leading--I've found that one thing is always the same: I kind of dread taking the retreat, then I'm really glad that I went. Now, enough time has passed that I can just count on the being glad part and push through the dread. It happens every time. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">So, last year I decided to take my retreat practice up a notch and plan my very first self-directed silent retreat. At that point, I had taken silent retreats before and had enjoyed them (hard to believe), but I had never been on one that I led myself. In other words, I had never taken a retreat by myself that I led myself, for myself. Does that make sense? No other retreatants. A totally solo experience.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">From talking to colleagues and reading books and articles, I learned right away that you can't just set out for this type of retreat and expect it to be good. It takes planning and a certain amount of regimented scheduling (which is not always the case with other types of retreats), or else it can quickly fall off the rails. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">So, I spent the bulk of my summer researching self-directed retreats and planning mine. The book that ended up helping me the most, practically speaking, was Ben Campbell and Paul H. Lang's wonderful <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=e2x-QgAACAAJ&dq=time+away:+a+guide+for+personal+retreat&hl=en" target="_self">Time Away: A Guide for Personal Retreat</a> (Upper Room Books). I ended up relying heavily on their overview for a five-day retreat, which provides tools for prayerfully reviewing your entire life through a series of writing and meditation exercises. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">Then, in late September, I took off for a week alone--<em>totally</em> alone--in South Dakota. The retreat wasn't exactly what I planned for it to be (shouldn't I have expected that?). Challenges that I expected to have never materialized, and ones that I never would have thought to worry about slammed me over the head. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 15px;">In a future post, I'll tell you all about it. </span></p>Great PlainsLifeMinistryReligionRetreatsSpiritualityLiz Easton2013-01-20T17:22:57-08:002013? Seriously?
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2013/01/2013-seriously.html
It's a little intimidating to stare at a blank blog page after, oh, more than two years since last posting. I have excuses and reasons for my long absense, of course, but I won't bother you with those. They aren't...<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">It's a little intimidating to stare at a blank  blog page after, oh, more than two years since last posting. I have excuses and reasons for my long absense, of course, but I won't bother you with those. They aren't that good anyway. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Lots of things in my life are the just like they were in 2010. I still live in Omaha, in the same apartment. I'm still a priest at the same church. I still read a lot, and still have only about five good recipes in my cookbook. I still feel like I just moved here. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f941d2970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Blog1" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834017c35f941d2970b" height="244" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f941d2970b-300wi" style="width: 275x275px;" title="Blog1" width="270" /></a><a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f94371970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Blog2" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834017c35f94371970b" height="245" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f94371970b-300wi" title="Blog2" width="261" /></a><br /><br /></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017d4028212e970c-pi" style="display: inline;"></a><a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f92cec970b-pi" style="display: inline;"></a><a class="asset-img-link" href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834017c35f92e10970b-pi" style="display: inline;"></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">A recent gig as a guest writer for my friend Jara's blog, <a href="http://thethirtygirl.wordpress.com/" target="_self">The Thirty Girl</a>, made me realize how much I miss having a room of my own on the Internet. So, I thought I would revive this place and give it a bit of a makeover. What do you think of the new design? Maybe my next post will be about that beautiful bison up there. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Welcome back!</span></p>LifeLiz Easton2013-01-18T10:58:48-08:00The End of Summer
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/10/the-end-of-summer.html
I think that summer is over. This revelation is a bit of a dissapointment, especially because I had a lot of great plans for summer-related posts here at Sticks and Snakes. Too bad. I loved summer in Omaha, which was...<p>I think that summer is over. This revelation is a bit of a dissapointment, especially  because I had a lot of great plans for summer-related posts here at Sticks and Snakes. Too bad. I <em>loved </em>summer in Omaha, which was a huge surpise because I usually hate the heat. This year I ate up the high temperatures and I even got a tan. I felt like my body was soaking up every ounce of vitamin D that it lost in the last cruel winter, sweating out all of that snow-related depression. But now there is a crisp chill in the air and the leaves are turning colors. The last time I tried to sit outside in the sun and read I was bitten by all these tiny, weird bugs. The jig is up.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013487e6a93c970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Apples" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013487e6a93c970c image-full" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013487e6a93c970c-800wi" title="Apples" /></a></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">In Nebraska, you feel the seasons on y0ur skin instead of marking them on the calander, an existential shift that I am still adjusting to. In the Bay Area, it pretty much felt like early spring all the time. You could always count on wearing a scarf in San Francisco, but you could also keep the same wardrobe all year 'round. Out here, though, the seasons are real, which is actually a great (though sometimes mournful) way to mark time. Not ready for summer to be over? <em>Too bad </em>says the smell of the wind. <em>Suck it up</em>.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013487e6ab2d970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Spool" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013487e6ab2d970c image-full" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013487e6ab2d970c-800wi" title="Spool" /></a> <br />Like most things, I like the changing seasons because of the synapse-snapping memories that come alive in scents and sounds. This season--the very particular Midwestern version of this season--reminds me of the first time I arrived in Omaha, as an intern in the fall of 2005. So much has happened since then, and yet the  air smells the same. This is the time of year when I like buying coffee at gas stations early in the morning because that is what you do on cross-country road trips. Maybe I just really need to go on a road trip.</p>LifeNebraskaOmahaLiz Easton2010-10-01T11:33:31-07:00Happy Oma-versary
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/08/happy-omaversary.html
Twelve months, four seasons, fire and ice: I have been living in Omaha, Nebraska for almost exactly one year. I used to marvel in disbelief when I heard older people say things like, “Hasn’t this year just flown by?” Or,...<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: normal; border-collapse: collapse; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 13px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">Twelve months, four seasons, fire and ice: I have been living in Omaha, Nebraska for almost exactly one year. I used to marvel in disbelief when I heard older people say things like, “Hasn’t this year just flown by?” Or, “It seems like Christmas was just yesterday!” Are you kidding me? Time doesn’t fly, it creeps, it slogs. When I was in school (for a rough total of twenty-one years), days and weeks and months passed slowly because they were always marked by deadlines. Seminary felt like a lifetime spent in limbo (have you seen </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">Inception</span></span></span></em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; "> yet?), where I managed to grow into an old woman while maintaining my youthful appearance. There was nothing fast about it. But now that school is behind me and I no longer mark time by papers that are due or tests that are taken, I understand what all those people meant when they remarked on the quick passage of years. I really do feel like I just moved here.</span></span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; ">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013485f0ac4f970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Sky1" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013485f0ac4f970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013485f0ac4f970c-800wi" title="Sky1" /></a> <br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">This has been a big year for me: spiritually, psychically, emotionally, a lot has happened. Almost all of it has been remarkably positive. I was ordained a priest and celebrated a whole year of “firsts” (first Eucharist, baptism, wedding, funeral, etc.) in one of the healthiest, most vibrant communities of faith imaginable. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better parish with which to begin my ordained ministry. After years of living in a cinder-block cell, I finally had the opportunity to make a home for myself, something I have been fantasizing about and craving for a long time. I even learned how to cook. Of course there were the tough times, too, most notably a winter that tested my emotional resolve with face-smacking temperatures, and an uncomfortable growth spurt incurred by sad events. Like I said, it was a big year.</span></span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; ">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013485f0b2cf970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Sky3" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013485f0b2cf970c " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013485f0b2cf970c-500pi" title="Sky3" /></a> <br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; "><span style="font-size: medium; "><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">This year I learned how important </span></span></span><em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">place</span></span></span></em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; "> is to me, and after one cycle through the loop of bold Midwestern seasons, Nebraska remains a bit of an enigma. By “Nebraska” I mean the place writ large, not the people (whom I mostly find delightful) or my day-to-day life in Omaha (which is very pleasant), but the identity of this particular stretch of prairie, its location in the makeup of America’s psychic character. What is Nebraska? What does it mean? And why do I care?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">I guess I care because I keep ending up here. As a person who believes in a God who calls, I feel strongly compelled to at least seek to understand why I have landed in Nebraska. What does this place have to teach me, I wonder? Why do I keep coming back?</span></span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; ">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd23de970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Sky4" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd23de970b image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd23de970b-800wi" title="Sky4" /></a> <br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: medium; "><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">While I sometimes feel at loose ends when it comes to my ability to connect to the ground beneath my feet, I do manage to feel strongly connected to the sky above. I have written a lot about my love of Nebraska weather, or, if not love exactly, </span></span></span></span></span><em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">appreciation</span></span></span></span></span></span></em><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; "><span style="font-size: 14px; ">. <span style="font-size: 13px; ">The weather here resonates with me. The sky feels significant in a very real way. This spring and summer has redeemed a little bit of last winter, mostly because the long stretches of cold and snow forced me to focus on survival rather than catharsis, and thunderstorms and bold sunsets are nothing if not cathartic.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; ">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd24e5970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Sky2" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd24e5970b selected" src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f2cd24e5970b-500pi" title="Sky2" /></a> <br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; "><font size="3"><span style="font-size: 12px; "><span style="font-size: 13px; ">Here’s a little secret about me. It’s not really a secret, just a thing that nobody else knows because nobody else is there to see it. When I am awoken by a thunderstorm at one or two or three o’clock in the morning, I get out of bed, make a cup of tea, open all the blinds in the apartment but leave the lights off, and watch the sky like it’s a blockbuster movie. Sometimes I sit on the back porch where the humidity makes my hands slick and the lightening gives me static goosebumbs. I don’t care that I lose sleep; I don’t care that I feel and look a little crazy. Something in my spirit is closely hewn to all that electricity and pressure and water, and I wouldn’t have known that had I never lived in Nebraska.</span></span></font></p></span>LifeNebraskaOmahaLiz Easton2010-08-02T10:17:54-07:00Demons, Pigs, and Jesus--Oh My!
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/06/demons-pigs-and-jesusoh-my.html
The following is last Sunday's sermon (Proper 7C), based on the story of the Healing of the Gerasene Demoniac, found in the gospel of Luke. Enjoy! photo/source The Healing of the Gerasene Demoniac Our text from the gospel of Luke...<p>The following is last Sunday's sermon (Proper 7C), based on the story of the Healing of the Gerasene Demoniac, found in the gospel of Luke. Enjoy!</p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013484d14923970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Mt08_33" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013484d14923970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013484d14923970c-800wi" title="Mt08_33" /></a> <br />photo/<a href="http://www.bricktestament.com">source</a></p><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', helvetica, clean, sans-serif;"><font face="arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif"><br /></font></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"><strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight:
normal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS"">The Healing of the Gerasene
Demoniac<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS"">Our text from the
gospel of Luke this morning/today is often referred to as “The Healing of the
Gerasene Demoniac.” The Healing of the Gerasene Demoniac. Here we are, right
away, with at least two words that don’t make sense to our modern ears: What is
a Gerasene? What is a demoniac? Allow me to offer this astute theological explanation:
Don’t worry about it. Don’t trouble yourselves with those words. They don’t
really matter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Almost every time I
have heard a sermon preached on this text the preacher spent a good few minutes
describing the first century Jewish worldview and how it understood demons, how
it understood pigs, and the precise location of Garesanes, the town where
today’s story is set. But as you all know, my sermons tend to be short, and I
don’t want to waste your time, so just know this: For the purposes of
understanding this gospel, Garesanes is “the other side of the tracks,”
and a demoniac is a person living in the absolute depth of human suffering. We
don’t need to develop a theology of demons to know what this man was going
through.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>When we meet Jesus
today, he has just stepped out of a boat with his disciples, having travelled
to a town quite different from Galilee, a town populated by Gentiles whose main
subsistence is swineherding, cultivating those animals that Jewish tradition
deemed as distinctly unclean. As soon as they moored their boat and sloshed out
of the sea onto solid land, they are encountered by the town outcast, a man so
troubled—so consumed by that which is not God—that he lives in the wilderness,
naked, and scorned.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>We know this man.
Or, maybe we have been him. If our troubling lack of identity, our inability to
find control in our lives, did not lead us into an actual wilderness, it may
have led us very close. And how many of us have watched, confused, helpless, as
a friend or loved one struggles to gain footing after despair has swept them
out to sea? We know the Gerasene demoniac, and Jesus knows him too.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>The man approaches
Jesus and his disciples and the demons inside of him beg not to be tormented.
They beg to remain, untouched, living as hosts inside his body. But Jesus, in
his quick-thinking compassion, casts them out and allows them entrance into a
herd of pigs. The pigs, frantic, rush in a single movement toward the edge of a
cliff and finally, into the sea, where they and the demons perish.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Imagine the chaos
in Garesenes at that moment. A group of unknown strangers landing on the
seashore. The town’s primary outcast approaching the group and falls to his
knees. Voices begging, pigs squealing, finally a whole herd of livestock
sacrificed for the health of one man. Only Jesus remains calm. Only Jesus is
unflinching. The text tells us that the swineherds, having witnessed the event,
high tail it into the town center where they share the news of what they have
seen. People begin to gather around Jesus, his disciples, and the former
demoniac—probably hesitating to get too close—and fear overtakes them. They ask
him to leave. They run him out of town.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Like many of the
gospel stories, this one provides us with a couple options of entry. There is
the demoniac himself, whose life appears to lack meaning, whose whole identity
has been stolen from him, replaced by something that he cannot understand, that
he cannot overcome. As I said earlier, whatever you believe about demons, all
you need to accept is that this man is suffering. Perhaps he is suffering like
we have suffered? Or like someone we know well?</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>And then there are
the townspeople. Normal agrarian folks, Gentiles, working with livestock, who
may as well be a world removed from Jesus, his Jewish context, his identity as
Messiah. In an immediate society where Jewish Temple culture defined the
important structures of the day, this group of people were certainly on the
fringes, outcasts themselves. And the one person that they could claim
authority over, that they could say with certainty that they were better than,
lived alone in the wilderness, naked and possessed by demons.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>And along came
Jesus.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS"">When hearing this
story, one might wonder why the townspeople were so eager for Jesus to move on.
Wouldn’t they be amazed by his healing powers, we wonder? Wouldn’t they want to
be healed too? Surely someone’s child was sick at home, someone’s brother was
dying or mother was unable to make ends meet? Wouldn’t they want Jesus to stay
awhile and spread his miracles around? After all, if he was able to heal the
lowest member of their social structure, they must have recognized that he
could do just about anything else. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>It is for all of
these reasons that I can identify with the townspeople when I enter this story.
Maybe you can, too.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>As I have gotten
older [LAUGHS], I have noticed a strange phenomenon, one that I am willing to bet has
been around since the beginning of human communities. I have noticed that
oftentimes, when a person gets well, gets their life back on track, the people around
them—their families, their friends—can sometimes have an incredibly difficult
time accepting their newfound health.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Here is an example
that is particularly timely considering our economy. A family is in debt. They
are so far in debt that they are considering having to file for bankruptcy,
something that they never imagined having to do. They are ashamed. They are
afraid. For years they have been making decisions that they knew were not
financially responsible, but they had trouble stopping. They built a life for
themselves that swelled well beyond their means—buying things they could not
afford from houses to cell phones, cars to computers. Their life became
confusing. The debt was so large that it didn’t make sense anymore, so it
seemed impossible to turn around. Their marriage is strained, they have trouble
sleeping, they are overwhelmed. Somewhere along the way, they realize, they had
lost a sure sense of their identity. They hit rock bottom.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Through the counsel
of financial advisors, this family is slowly able to start getting their life
together. They learn about their debt—they stare that big number in the face
and they don’t look away from it. They set boundaries. They consolidate loans.
They sell cars. It takes time, but they start feeling in control again. They
are proud of their good decisions. They can see a very bright light at the end
of the long tunnel that had held them captive for so long. While they still
have a long journey ahead of them, they are in the process of being restored to
wholeness, to health.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Now, wouldn’t you
think that the people surrounding this family—the friends and loved ones who
have known them the longest—would rejoice in this newfound freedom? Some do,
certainly. But others are immensely uncomfortable. Their own feelings become
confused. Deep down, their own shameful realization: They resent this family’s
new health. Not because they wanted them to continue to suffer—not at all—but
because the boundaries of their community just changed.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>Psychologists might
call this family the “identified patient” in their social circle. Things aren’t
going well for them, so everyone else gets to focus their attention in that
direction, effectively allowing them to not look too closely at their own
problems, issues, <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">demons</strong>. When the
identified patient gets well, the structure around them has to scramble and
re-orient itself. Suddenly and uncomfortably, friends and family have to look
within themselves at their own need for healing. This can be an awkward and
painful process.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>We can see this
pattern play out in a variety of healing narratives. The alcoholic who gets
sober, the abuse survivor who can finally tell her story. While we rejoice in
wellness, we chafe against the discomfort of a new person, filling a new role.</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>The man in
Garesenes begs that he might stay with Jesus. He is well now, and this is
his escape route. He can leave town and start a whole new life for himself. No
one will remember him as the demoniac hiding in the woods, no one will know
where he came from. But Jesus has something else in mind: “Return to your
home,” he says, “and declare how much God has done for you.” In other
words—tell your story. Go and tell your story, even to those people who knew
you before, the people who mocked you, who feared you, who pitied you. Tell
them the good news of what happened here on the shore, and in time, others will
be brought to wellness, to healing, too.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p>The good news—the
gospel—in this story is found in two parts: First, the incredible, complete,
full way in which Jesus can heal us and bring us to wholeness when we submit
our lives to him, and second, the way that our own health can transform our
communities, and first awkwardly but ultimately gracefully.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p><em>Return to your
home, and declare how much God has done for you</em>, Jesus says. <em>So he went away,
proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.</em></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Trebuchet MS""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.bricktestament.com"></a> </p>SermonsLiz Easton2010-06-23T12:55:55-07:00Sermon Updates
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/06/sermon-updates.html
The following are two recent sermons. The first was preached on the Seventh Sunday After Easter (May 16?), just after I had seen a stage production of John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men." I preached the second one last weekend...<p>The following are two recent sermons. The first was preached on the Seventh Sunday After Easter (May 16?), just after I had seen a stage production of John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men." </p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f0400830970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Of Mice and Men0001" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f1788340133f0400830970b " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133f0400830970b-500pi" title="Of Mice and Men0001" /></a> <br /> </p><p>I preached the second one last weekend (June 6), Proper 5. You can read both sermons after the jump, or listen to the audio of the first one (the second one should be up soon) <a href="http://allsaintsomaha.org/sermons.html">here</a>. </p><p></p><p></p><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Of Mice and Jesus</strong></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">(Easter 7C, May 16, 2010)</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial">“What must I do to be saved?”
(x2)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>This question, asked of Paul
in today’s reading from the book of Acts, rings throughout history as a
common cry of humanity. What must I do be saved? What must I do to truly feel
free?</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Today’s account of Paul and Silas
as they evangelize their way through Europe is really a story about slavery and
freedom, captivity and redemption. Here, we find accusations of ownership, real
jail cells, shackles, and a quest on all sides to either strengthen or loosen
the ties of oppression. It is a story in two parts.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>First, the slave girl with a
gift of “divination,” or fortune telling, who followed Paul and Silas for days,
proclaiming, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a
way of salvation.” Slaves to God, followed by a slave of men. For days she
trails after them, proclaiming the truth about Paul’s slavery—proclaiming the
gospel, really—until Paul has had enough. The text actually says that he was <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">annoyed</em>. Turning around, Paul rebukes
the spirit living inside the girl and casts it out.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>This is, at first glance, one of the least sympathetic
stories that we have about the life of Paul. Something about it just rubs the
wrong way…probably the overt use of the word “annoyed,” which seems to devalue
the plight of this young woman and further build Paul’s reputation as a bit of
a show-boater. He casts out a demon because he was <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:
normal">annoyed</em>?</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>But while Paul’s motives may
have been a little selfish—trying to rid himself from a tagalong—God’s grace
remains self-less, and by freeing her of the demon that made her tell fortunes,
God liberates the girl from at least one aspect of her oppression. No longer
can her owners cart her around town like a sideshow act, making money from the
demon inside her. While she remains a slave—a category of Roman society that
was systematic, deeply entrenched, and tightly hewed to the empire’s economy—she
regains her humanity. Without the oppressor dwelling inside of her, the slave
can experience a freedom she has never known.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Which leads us to the second
story. The young girl’s owners are so angry with Paul and Silas for casting out
the demon and effectively making lame their cash cow, they appeal to the local
government to have the two men arrested, which they are, on charges of
subverting the power of the state and undermining Roman order and Jewish
customs. These are the same charges that led to Jesus’ arrest not long before.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>While in jail, Paul and
Silas sing hymns and pray to God—all within earshot of the other prisoners, for
whom captivity is a lived reality—until a massive earthquake breaks their
chains and opens the prison doors. While it seems that the natural reaction
would be to make a run for it, all of the prisoners stay put. The guard,
awaking to find shackles broken and doors flung open, is driven to drastic
measures—afraid of the fate that awaits him when he tells the authorities that
all the prisoners escaped—until Paul points out that everyone is accounted for.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Here, another insight into
captivity and freedom. I imagine the guard’s shock and confusion. It seems so
unnatural, so unlikely, for prisoners to not rush to escape as soon as they are
able. But, for Paul and Silas at least, we see here how the culture’s
understanding of captivity and freedom is of little consequence. As far as they
are concerned, they <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">are</em> free. Even
when they are chained to an iron bar in a prison cell, their true freedom in
God means that they don’t have to go anywhere to know ultimate liberty. The
jailer, on the other hand, who by social convention is an utterly free man, is
so bound by the pressures and conventions of his role within the state that he
is ready to take his own life when he thinks that me made a mistake on the job.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>He throws himself on the
ground and asks Paul a simple question: What must I do to be saved? <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">What must I do to be saved?</em></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Saved from what, we wonder?
Saved from the wrath of the higher-ups in the Roman bureaucracy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Saved from a particular bondage, from
an empty life, from the struggle to be something that he is not? Whatever it is
that is chasing this man, holding him down, making him less free than the
prisoners he guards, he knows that he is at a crossroads now and he is ready to
choose real freedom over everything else. The kind of freedom that Paul and
Silas seem to enjoy.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>As Americans, we talk a lot
about freedom, so much so that the word itself has become tied to our patriotic
identity. The type of freedom that we enjoy—political, religious, economic—is a
rarity on the face of the planet, and it should be celebrated. But is it
possible, at times, to confuse freedom and captivity?</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">Is it possible, like the jailer, to think
that we are free when we are really slaves?</span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Last night [on Friday night]
I saw a production of John Steinbeck’s <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Of
Mice and Men</em> at the John Beasley Theater in South Omaha. For those of you
who haven’t read the book, the story follows two friends, George and Lenny, as
they hop from ranch to ranch in Depression-era California. Lenny is
developmentally disabled, and George, a longtime friend, has taken on the role
of care-taker, trying to keep Lenny out of trouble as they are chased from
ranch to ranch due to one misunderstanding after another. The two men are
companions, a package deal, and while Lenny is unable to function alone in the
world, George’s responsibility forever ties the two together.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Throughout the story,
whenever George gets mad at Lenny, he tells him how much easier his life would
be if he were alone. He would enjoy so much freedom. He could go out on the
town, spend all the money he makes, never have to worry about the safety of his
friend. He’s serious, too—he means it. Without Lenny holding him back, George
would lead an utterly <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">free</em> life.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>But each lone cowboy that
they meet is strangely intrigued by—even jealous of—their companionship. In <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">their</em> utterly free life of spending
their money, moving from job to job—the life that George dreams of—they find
loneliness, restlessness. Through a serious of tragic events, George learns
that the freedom that he yearns for is really captivity, that true freedom is
found in the commitments he has made to the companionship and brotherly love of
this one person. While Lenny appears to be a liability, it is really he that
saves George.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>I will spare you the details
of the ending, which is honestly too sad to tell, but the point is that
sometimes the sheer awesomeness of the choices that we are able to make, of the
things that we are able to buy, of the allowance our culture gives for excess
and flight, can be a prison sentence masquerading a freedom. In our society, we
become experts at making choices at a very young age. What we need help with is
the ability to make commitments, to find freedom in the denial of so many
options.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>This is the truth of the
Christian life and that Paul and Silas make known to the jailer in today’s
story. <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">What must I do to be saved</em>, he
asks? The answer: Believe in the Lord Jesus. This is not a passive salvation, a
magical incantation that will erase all the dangers and oppressions of this
life. After all, the jailer is still subject to discipline by the Roman state,
and the young woman is still a slave to her masters. But by believing in Jesus,
by making a commitment to follow the way of Christ, to <strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight:
normal">really believe</strong> and fashion our lives accordingly, Paul is showing
us the way to a type of freedom that the material world does not know.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>What enslaves you? What
holds you captive? We all have something, and often times it looks a lot like
freedom. True liberation is only found in something other than ourselves, in
the belief that God has something greater in store for us. </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"><strong style="mso-bidi-font-weight:
normal"><span style="font-family:Arial">Hosting the Word of God<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">(Proper 5C, June 6, 2010)</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>What does it mean to be a
host? For many of us, the word conjures up images of dinner parties and out of
town guests, the opening up of our home to people other than those who normally
live in it. Hospitality. Entertaining. If you are a scientist, perhaps you
think of viruses or tiny organisms establishing themselves in host animals or
host cells. Or, if you are Episcopalian, you might think of the Eucharistic
host, the round circle of bread placed in your hands, feeding you with the Body
of Christ.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>The word “host” has a
variety of definitions, and many of them find expression in today’s reading
from First Kings. Here, we find that miraculous story of Elijah’s unexpected
host in the wilderness—a widow whose family is dying of starvation—and the way
that God continues to feed them by never allowing their supply of grain or oil
to run dry. We also hear of the near-death of the widow’s son, of Elijah’s
desperate prayers, how he hurls himself on top of the young man’s body as he
cries out to God, and how God revives the boy and restores wholeness to the
widow’s nearly dashed dreams.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>As is often the case with
the Old Testament, we need start with a little background. At the time of this
story, Ahab was king of Israel. He was an evil king who introduced the worship
of Baal, a false god who was said to control the rain, into the lives of the
Israelites. Ahab is married to Jezebel, whose people worshipped Baal back in
her hometown. Enter Elijah, a prophet with a clear message: Your rain god will
not work. In fact, there will be no rain until I say that there will. Only the
one true God, Yahweh, should be worshipped, and only Yahweh will fertilize your
crops.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Ahab does not take this
message too well—he was counting on Baal to end the drought that was plaguing
his people—and it becomes imperative that Elijah leave town. God cares for the
prophet as he hides, giving him plenty of water to drink and sending ravens to
deliver food. The drought worsens and even the ravens cannot provide enough sustenance,
so God sends Elijah through the wilderness and finally to a place called Sidon,
where he meets a widow gathering sticks for a fire. He asks her to bring him
some water and some food. She can manage the water, she says, but she only has
enough food to make one last meal for herself and her son.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; "><em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Arial">I only have a handful of meal and a little oil in a
jug</span></em><span style="font-family:Arial">, she says<em style="mso-bidi-font-style:
normal">. I am going home to prepare it for my son so that we may eat it and
die.</em></span></span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p><span style="font-style: normal; ">I am going home to prepare
it for my son so that we may eat it and die.</span></o:p></span></em></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>This line jumps out of the
text and begs to be reckoned with. We can only imagine the complete and total
desperation of this woman, a woman who has already lost her husband, who has
been ravaged by famine and knows with absolute certainty that she can only feed
her child one more meal. She is going to die. Her son is going to die. She
wants this stranger to leave her in peace.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>This widow speaks to our
lowest points, to our own tragic life events, our own seasons spent in drought
and famine. In these times, we too may only bear the thought of being left
alone, out of sight, away from strangers or even friends. Hers is, I think, a
very natural reaction, one that we might have difficulty finding fault with.
Why give this stranger food? Why now, when she and her son are so close to
death?</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Elijah quotes scripture to
the widow, and eventually convinces her to share her food. And God provides.
The meal and the oil never run out, and the entire household eats for many
days. It is a miracle, but not the last miracle that God blesses the widow’s
family with. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Later, even with the
blessing of several more meals, the widow’s son becomes very ill and draws
close to death. The widow blames Elijah, who takes the boy from her arms, cries
out to the Lord, and covers the son’s body with his own. Again, God listens to
Elijah, and the boy is restored to health.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Miracles. We use that word
quite a bit. In popular usage, a miracle is something unexpected, even
improbable, that brings about our most desired outcome. In classical
philosophy, however, the definition of a miracle is much more specific. A
miracle brings resolution not to the improbable, but to the truly <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">impossible</em>. A miracle defies the laws of
science, it happens without any conceivable earthly explanation.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>However we understand
miracles, for people of faith one this is sure: they are the product of divine
intervention. And in the story of Elijah’s visit to the widow, there are not
two but three miraculous events at play. The never ending meal and oil, the
recovery of the dying son, and a third—the very willingness of the widow to
invite Elijah into her home in the first place.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>Here is where our
understanding of the word “host” becomes crucial. Hospitality is an important
biblical theme throughout the Old and New Testaments. In ancient times,
hospitality was an imperative. Travelling people were taken into homes, where
the fattest goat was slaughtered and welcoming parties lasted late into the
night. God is serious about hospitality. The whole city of Sodom and Gomorrah
was destroyed when the townspeople could not honor Lot’s hospitality toward two
mysterious visitors.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>But hospitality did not end
in Biblical times. As Christians, we too strive to be hospitable people. Our
Welcoming and Evangelism Mission Team, for example, helps set an orientation
toward hospitality here at All Saints. And we all know those people whose homes
are always open to visitors, whose effortless ability to make us feel
comfortable seems to be a gift from God. Being a good host is important for the
health of our communities and of our own spiritual lives.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>The widow in Sidon was a
host. Perhaps miraculously, she allowed a dirty man wandering in the wilderness
to share her home while she and her son faced certain death due to starvation.
Her hospitality was unparalleled. It had to be more than simply a cultural
expectation. Something else had to be going on.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>When we are at our lowest
points, like that widow, we hunger and yearn for miracles. We open our whole
selves, every fiber of our beings, to God’s hand, God’s work, God’s prophets. What
it means to be a host changes. We are no longer hospitable for the sake of the
comfort and reception of the other, we are host <em style="mso-bidi-font-style:
normal">to</em> the other. Like a host organism, a host cell, we welcome God’s
prophet, God’s word into our very selves, to go to work within us. The
relationship is no longer one-sided, it is reciprocal, symbiotic. Our very
selves host the divine.</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p>It is a daring leap to host
the word of God in our midst. But when we allow ourselves to go there, to truly
welcome God to work within us, there are incredible consequences. The widow in
Sidon took a chance by inviting Elijah home with her. Her whole self was ready,
primed, open, for God, and God’s prophet received her invitation and the
miraculous happened. At our low points, even at our high points, we too must
dare like the widow did—dare to be open to God. </o:p></span></p>
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p>SermonsLiz Easton2010-06-07T10:32:31-07:00Good Summer Book
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/06/good-summer-book.html
I've been reading a lot lately. Who am I kidding? I always read a lot. The difference is that recently I've been passing over longer tomes in favor of quick reads, which are perfect for summer. A recent favorite is...<p>I've been reading a lot lately. Who am I kidding? I always read a lot. The difference is that recently I've been passing over longer tomes in favor of quick reads, which are perfect for summer. A recent favorite is Meghan Daum's <em><a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=BNQHbWeSAvAC&printsec=frontcover&dq=life+would+be+perfect+if+i+lived+in+that+house&source=bl&ots=BkDB3S4IDL&sig=Pd9umNo32Uep3K-aDjW-H5bHybg&hl=en&ei=u0UITKrYOcO78gb775GwAQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=4&ved=0CCoQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q&f=false">Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived In That House</a></em> (Random House), a collection of essays about the author's lifelong search for the perfect dwelling place. </p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340134831743da970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="9780307270665" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f1788340134831743da970c " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340134831743da970c-800wi" title="9780307270665" /></a> <br /> <br /><p style="text-align: left;">I was initially attracted to the book because of Daum's short-lived relocation from New York City to Lincoln, Nebraska. I like reading about Nebraska transplants, mainly because native Nebraskans just can't understand my obsession with the weather and the sky out here. It's nice to read other people's reflections and know that I'm not crazy. <br /></p></p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013483179890970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="NebraskaFarmhouse-KyleSobanja-sml" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013483179890970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013483179890970c-800wi" title="NebraskaFarmhouse-KyleSobanja-sml" /></a> <br /><span style="font-size: 12px; ">image/</span><a href="http://sites.google.com/site/buzzaben/thegreatwesternroadtrip"><span style="font-size: 12px; ">source</span></a><span style="font-size: 12px; "> </span></p><p>The Nebraska sections of the book are short and not entirely crucial to the story. What matters the most in this great collection is how external factors like where one lives--and how one's style is reflected in his or her surroundings--can overshadow the significance of <em>how</em> one lives. That is, your life will never be perfect just because you live in that house. Shelter magazines, design blogs...I am among that guilty group of people who get a thrill of aesthetic excitement (and oftentimes jealousy) from simply looking at pictures of how other people live in their well appointed abodes. My insistence on real hardwood floors significantly narrowed my options when searching for apartments, and those floors were only the tip of the iceberg.</p><p></p><p><em>Life Would Be Perfect</em> is a funny,well-written, poignant exploration of what makes a home. I highly recommend it for your summer reading list. </p>BooksLiz Easton2010-06-03T17:42:25-07:00The End/Beginning of an Era
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/05/the-endbeginning-of-an-era.html
Some of you probably already know how much I love my car. It's a reliable fifteen year-old Ford and it has driven me halfway across the country five times, which is like driving all the way across the country two...<p>Some of you probably already know how much I love my car. It's a reliable fifteen year-old Ford and it has driven me halfway across the country five times, which is like driving all the way across the country two and one quarter times. We've seen a lot together and have been to some great places. In difficult pastoral situations, my car is my sanctuary. Sometimes when I am in the hospital, practically bursting blood vessels in my face in an effort to keep from crying, my mantra is, "I just need to get to the car...I just need to get to the car..." And then when I get inside and close the doors, I cry as much as I want. </p><p></p><p>Well, the Washington tabs finally expired, so I bit the bullet and had the car registered here in Nebraska.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133ef574aca970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Washington" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f1788340133ef574aca970b image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f1788340133ef574aca970b-800wi" title="Washington" /></a> </p><p style="text-align: left;">While it may sound silly, the transition has been a bit of an emotional ordeal for me. I liked the Washington plates. They were pretty, with a nice image of Mount Rainier emerging amid bold colors. I liked the old-school raised numbers, which made me imagine actual prisoners pounding on the plates with a level of skill instead of just a computer somewhere spitting them out. Most of all, I liked that they were from Washington, which is where I am from, and where my family still is. It was sad to pry those dented plates from their dirty spots on the front and back of my Ford.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f17883401348286c120970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Nebraska2" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f17883401348286c120970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f17883401348286c120970c-800wi" title="Nebraska2" /></a> <br />  </p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">But change happens, and now my car looks like it actually belongs here instead of shouting, "Hey! I'm just passing through." This makes sense, of course, because I'm not just passing through. I have a life for myself here in Nebraska and I guess it's about time that my car reflects that.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">I am, however, thinking of framing one of the old Washington plates and giving it a prime spot on my office wall... </p><p></p>LifeNebraskaLiz Easton2010-05-30T14:58:47-07:00Meandering
https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/my_weblog/2010/05/meandering-.html
Today is beautiful in Omaha, Nebraska. It's a warm and sunny 85 degrees outside with a slight breeze and unusually low humidity: perfect. Today is also one of those rare Saturdays when I have nothing to do, an anomaly that...<p>Today is beautiful in Omaha, Nebraska. It's a warm and sunny 85 degrees outside with a slight breeze and unusually low humidity: perfect. Today is also one of those rare Saturdays when I have nothing to do, an anomaly that I've been looking forward to all week. I woke up early this morning, checked the forecast, and knew that I had to get out of the house for a while to enjoy the beautiful early summer (or is it late spring? I can't tell) sunshine. </p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013482814c5c970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Bridge" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013482814c5c970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013482814c5c970c-800wi" title="Bridge" /></a> <br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">At first, I thought of going to Lincoln (about an hour away) but realized that I wouldn't really know what to do o once I got there. For a long time I toyed with the idea of driving to Yankton, South Dakota, a town that appeals to me only because it is mentioned over and over again on the HBO series <em>Deadwood</em>. Finally, I decided to stick close to town and explore one of my favorite spots near Omaha, the <a href="http://www.fws.gov/refuges/profiles/index.cfm?id=64640">Boyer Chute National Wildlife Refuge</a> and the sleepy towns surrounding it. </p><p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013482814cc2970c-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="House" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e551976f178834013482814cc2970c image-full " src="https://sticksandsnakes.typepad.com/.a/6a00e551976f178834013482814cc2970c-800wi" title="House" /></a> <br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;">I did a lot of slow driving, a lot of walking, and some much needed sitting in the sun. I even took some pictures. All in all, a very relaxing morning. </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p>LifeNebraskaOmahaLiz Easton2010-05-29T11:13:55-07:00