"Child, get up!" (song)

From last night's service of prayer for healing, a reflection of Luke 8:49-56

Sometimes it seems the most challenging time of the day is the morning, when we must get out of bed although we would rather get more sleep. As important as sleep is, eventually we must get up and live our lives, doing what we are here to do.

The first Christians saw sleep as a metaphor for death. As the Apostle Paul writes to the church in Thessalonika, “But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep” (4:13-14).

In tonight’s scripture reading, Jesus raises a girl from sleep which, to most people, seemed like death. I ask us to think about how we are like the young girl.

How have we as individuals, communities, societies, the church, fallen into a sleep which looks like death?

What parts of us need reviving, need fresh life?

How might we need to wake up to do the work we are called to do?

May we, like the young girl, hear Jesus’ call to us: “Child, get up!”

And may we rise to the glory of God.

Chant: "Wake up, O sleeper"

 

Running the race (short sermon)

The winter season has begun on Iona: the volunteers have left, and we no longer have guests coming every week. Also, our morning services begin a half hour later, at 9:30, and we have only three evening services: the quiet service on Sundays, the service of prayer for healing on Tuesdays, and the Holy Communion or Agape service on Thursdays, and these begin earlier in the evening, at 7:30. For now, it is a time of breathing, of slowing down.

A few Fridays ago, when we still had Friday evening services, I led a service based on a passage in the book of Hebrews about running the race God has prepared for us. Below is my reflection on the scripture passage, followed by a closing blessing.

~

What race are you running? What does the course set before you look like?

Some of you may be visiting Iona from far away and are here on a pilgrimage, seeking God, your soul yearning to find peace and life. Like a race, your journey to this island involved preparation and stamina, as you needed to plan for and endure the long train, bus, and ferry rides. Here at the Iona Centres we lead pilgrimages every Tuesday in which we guide pilgrims to various places on the island, reflecting on God through the history and landscape of Iona. Like a race, our pilgrimages require preparation. You need to make sure you have sturdy footwear and waterproof clothing. You need to be fit to endure the walks over rugged terrain for several miles.

Some of you are staff members working for the Iona Community. Working here can feel like a race. Just as runners need to train and pace themselves, it takes endurance to do our jobs well over a stretch of time.

Or maybe you are running a race in a different way. Maybe you are working on a project that will take a long time to complete. Maybe you are a parent and find that raising children is your main focus in this stage of your life.

What race are you running? What does the path before you look like?

Everyone who follows Christ is running a spiritual race. Being a Christian means being on a pilgrimage. As we travel, as we open ourselves to God, with God’s help we become more Christlike. This is the goal of our faith.

How might the road or roads you are on help you to live more deeply in God? How are you growing in Christ’s image?

Listen again to the scripture, for it is for all of us who find ourselves on a journey: “Let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.”

We can finish our race of growing in God, we can arrive at our destination, we can fulfill the work God has begun in us because Jesus finished his race. He suffered death, though he had done no wrong. Through his trial he trusted God and put himself into God’s hands. Because of that, God raised him from the dead and used his cruel death as the means to bless all people, to overcome death and overturn evil.

If we keep our eyes on Jesus, we can learn how to run our own races well. Every pilgrimage needs a guide, and Jesus is our guide. He has journeyed through all of life’s paths and so he fully knows our own. We can trust that he will help us on our own journey so that we can run and finish our races well.

~

 

May God make clear the path before us
May we know the presence of Jesus beside us

And may the Holy Spirit fill us with a second wind

That we may finish well the race God has prepared for us.

Amen.

 

Christ, live inside our hearts (song)

On 24th September (you can tell I'm getting accustomed to British conventions) I married Miriam. If you don't know her already, she's a wonderful young woman, and one whom I love very much. The scripture passage for our wedding service was Ephesians 3:14-21, about Christ living in us, deepening our knowledge of his love. I wrote a hymn for the service based on the passage, which I'm sharing below. The tune is LOVE UNKNOWN (http://www.hymnary.org/media/fetch/104638).

Christ, live inside our hearts

And make us strong to know

And nourish us to grow in knowledge of your love:

How long and high, how wide and deep

A love beyond all we can know.

Christ, live inside our hearts

And rise into a spring

That gushes into living water endlessly

Then overflow like steady streams

For thirsty ground and seeds to drink.

Christ, live inside our hearts

And grow into a tree

That bears good fruit in season, shading those beneath

A tree of life with healing leaves

That brings delight to all who eat.

Christ, live inside our hearts

Prepare in us a room

That’s fit to welcome you and whom you bring along

Come, set the table for the feast

That we may make our home in you.

Christ, live inside our hearts

And fill us with your love

That we may love each other as you have loved us:
As broken bread and poured-out cup,
Your love is life and is enough.

Beside running water (sermon)

Sermon preached by Josh Seligman at the Iona Abbey on 1 May, 2016.

Acts 16:9-15

The book of Acts tells a history of the early church, and the ways God worked through the apostles. One of these apostles, Paul, once persecuted Christians. But after seeing Jesus in a vision, his whole life changes. God calls him to proclaim the good news of Jesus throughout the world, and he does. In the events leading up to our passage this morning, the Holy Spirit forbids Paul to travel to Asia, but then, as we have heard, Paul has a vision of a man from Macedonia begging for help. Paul and his companions believe this is a message from God, so they go right away.

They arrive in Philippi, a major Roman city, and stay there for a few days. On the Sabbath, they look for a place of prayer outside the city by a river, and find a group of women worshiping. The city of Philippi did not have a synagogue, or a Jewish house of prayer, because there were not enough Jewish men. Ten adult men were required for a synagogue, and if there was no synagogue, Jews would often gather for prayer beside running water.

This picture of Paul and his companions with the women worshiping by the river reminds me of times I have rested beside streams flowing over rocks in the woods. Running water is refreshing, but it also brings with it heaviness, depth, a sense of sadness, perhaps even loneliness, through its echoes and whispers. I wonder if these women also felt sad and alone. They may have been the only Jews in their whole city, the only ones who worshiped God on the Sabbath, the only ones who knew the lyrics and melodies of their songs. Where were their families, the Jewish men, their young children?

They had no building to shelter them, and no holy temple. These women remind me of the Israelites in exile in Babylon, yearning for a home of worship. I think of one of the songs they wrote while in captivity, Psalm 137, which also takes place beside running water:


    By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
    when we remembered Zion.
    There on the poplars we hung our harps,
    for there our captors asked us for songs,
    our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
    they said, “Sing us one of the songs from Zion!”

    How can we sing the songs of the Lord
    while in a foreign land?


The women welcome Paul and his companions to sit and speak with them. Based on Paul's previous speeches, he probably told them about Jesus, the one through whom God did mighty things, the one people crucified, but also the one God raised from the dead, and that all of this happened as foretold in the scriptures. Paul probably told them that Jesus was the messiah, their promised savior and King, and that through committing their lives to Jesus, they would have abundant life. Then the scripture says, “The Lord opened [Lydia's] heart to respond to Paul's message.”

How does Lydia respond? After being baptized with the people who live with her, Lydia invites—insists—that Paul and his friends stay with her. She says, “If you consider me a believer in the Lord, come and stay at my home.” It's as if her whole identity as a new believer in Jesus depends on whether or not they will accept. Her hospitality is bound together with her faith. Lydia's welcome comes from the working of God in her heart, a spontaneous gift. Perhaps it is also because now she sees Paul and the others as part of her family. She is filled with love for them and gratitude for their message.

I am intrigued by the movement that occurs from the riverside to Lydia's house. That morning, the women had gathered for worship and found strangers coming to sit and speak with them. Then they experienced God at work, opening Lydia's heart. That evening, they fellowship in a new way, by staying in Lydia's home as a sign of her changed life. It's as if these worshipers of God have now found their synagogue. And this synagogue does not require a specific location or ten adult men or even a building; what it needs is the work of God opening their hearts to one another.

We come here this morning from a variety of places and paths. Maybe some of you are like Paul: in a foreign land looking for a place to pray, perhaps where the people sing the songs you know. Maybe you have heard wonderful things about this island, how it is a holy and thin place, rich with history and spirituality, and you want to see for yourself what this means. Maybe you are like how Lydia may have been, going to church week after week seeking God, yearning for true communion.

The women gathered by the riverside, and the men found a place of prayer by the riverside, but the riverside was not the destination. It was the passageway which led to the door. In the same way, it is not this abbey or this island that we seek when we worship God. The sea, stones, wind, and history here are inspiring, but there is no life in these things. Instead, they point us to God, who is our life. What we need is for God to work in our hearts. When God opens our hearts, we change as Lydia changed. We see each other no longer as strangers, but as members of the same family, the same body, gifts from God bound through the Spirit of Jesus. When we gather in his name, he lives in our midst, and we become his temple.

And, like the place where the women worshiped, a river flows through this place too. And not just here, but throughout the world. It is the river of Christ, who is the source of our everlasting life. He invites us to come, drink, and live. No one who drinks this water will ever thirst. His tears have become the source of our healing, and they will wash away our own tears. And he is alive and has shown that, although weeping may last for a night, joy comes in the morning.

So, like Lydia, let us offer our hearts and our homes to one another this morning, this week, for however long we have together. May our hospitality overflow from the life we have in Christ. Come, let us stay with one another, and thus prove that we are believers in the Lord.

The Return of the Grass Kingdom (story)

Long ago, the grass on the Isle of Iona grew so tall it nearly touched the bottom of the sky. The grass kingdom was most proud of the grand towers, fortresses, and temples it built, one pebble and one stone at a time. The grass boasted that nothing could move these creations—not even the wind.

The highest of these fortresses was the hill that is now called Dun I, but which the grass called the Tower to Heaven. The grass built it so that everyone who lived on the island and who could see it from afar knew of the grass kingdom's power.

The islands of Tiree and Coll, to the west, saw the pride of the grass kingdom. Assigned to be caretakers of Iona by the Maker of All Things, Tiree and Coll realized that the island's pride would one day destroy the isle and spread to other lands. So Tiree and Coll summoned the north and west winds to blow on Iona until the grass was cut. For one week, a terrible storm blew. Blade by blade, the tall grass scattered into the air, forming a bridge across the waves to the Isle of Mull.

The inhabitants of Iona—for there were people who lived here even then—escaped across the bridge. But before the storm reached its peak, some of the islanders built a cairn on top of the Tower to Heaven to remember the grass kingdom. They grasped some of the pieces of grass that flailed in the wind, cupped it in their hands, and whispered into it, and then dug the grass in the cairn, hoping that one day, they or their descendants would return, find the cairn, and hear their message.

Ages passed, and nothing grew on Iona. All that remained were boulders and stony ruins. But during this time of deep stillness and silence, when no wind blew on the isle, and when nobody dared visit it, the Maker of All Things looked with favor on Iona, and called the north and west winds to blow gently on the land. When this happened, some pieces of the grass in the cairn on the Tower to Heaven drifted across the island and buried themselves in the ground. Then it rained for many days: a soft, gentle rain. The grass began to grow again, and soon people and other living beings returned to the island. 

If you climb Dun I and press your ear against the cairn, or if you listen to the grass swaying in the north and west wind, you may hear the message of the people who once lived here, a prayer that one day the grass kingdom would grow again, only this time, it would use its strength to feed and nourish others, and would grow in praise to the Maker of All Things. 

With thanks to Miriam

Laughter

Jesus Christ is risen. Alleluia!

Tonight my friend Richard led a service of holy laughter, in the manner of Greek Orthodox Christians who have celebrated Easter through festivities and telling jokes. This is all to reflect the ultimate joke God played on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. It felt so refreshing to laugh in the service--and to remember the goodness of humor. Praise God.

Here are a few jokes I can remember from the service:


Q: Who was the most successful female financier in the Bible?
A: Pharaoh's daughter. She entered the bank of the Nile and came out with a little prophet.

Q: How do we know God is left handed?
A: Because Jesus sat on God's right hand.

Q: What kind of a man was Boaz before he married?
A: Ruthless.

"The Strange Guest" by Alfred Noyes (poem)

You cannot leave a new house
 With any open door,
But a strange guest will enter it
 And never leave it more.

Build it on a waste land,
 Dreary as a sin.
Leave her but a broken gate
 And Beauty will come in.

Build it all of scarlet brick,
 Work your wicked will.
Dump it on an ash-heap,
 Then--O then, be still.

Sit and watch your new house
 Leave an open door.
A strange guest will enter it
 And never leave it more.

She will make your raw wood
 Mellower than gold.
She will take your new lamps
 And sell them for old.

She will crumble all your pride,
 Break your folly down.
Much that you rejected
 She will bless and crown.

She will rust your naked roof,
 Split your pavement through,
Dip her brush in sun and moon
 And colour it anew.

Leave her but a window
 Wide to wind and rain,
You shall find her footstep
 When you come again.

Though she keep you waiting
 Many months or years,
She shall stain and make it
 Beautiful with tears.

She shall hurt and heal it,
 Soften it and save,
Blessing it, until it stand
 Stronger than the grave.

You cannot leave a new house
 With any open door,
But a strange guest will enter it
 And never leave it more. 

"Distant Voices" by Alfred Noyes (poem)

Remember the house of thy father,
 When the palaces open before thee,
  And the music would make thee forget.
When the cities are glittering around thee,
 Remember the lamp in the evening,
  The loneliness and the peace.

When the deep things that cannot be spoken
 Are drowned in a riot of laughter,
  And the proud wine foams in thy cup;
In the day when thy wealth is upon thee,
 Remember the path through the pine-wood,
  Remember the days of thy peace.

Remember--remember--remember--
 When the cares of this world and its treasure
   Have dulled the swift eyes of thy youth;
When beauty and longing forsake thee,
 And there is no hope in the darkness,
  And the soul is drowned in the flesh;

Turn, then, to the house of thy boyhood,
 To the sea and the hills that would heal thee,
  To the voices of those thou hast lost,
To the still small voices that loved thee,
 Whispering, out of the silence,
  Remember--remember--remember--

Remember the house of thy father,
 Remember the paths of thy peace. 

"Music and Memory" by Alfred Noyes (poem)

Music, that is God's memory, never forgets you.
 Music, in atom, and star, and the falling leaf,
Binding all worlds in one, remembers for ever
 The least light whisper and cry of our joy and grief;

Chord calling to chord, through swift resurrectional changes,
 From key to key, in the long unbreakable chain . . .
All, all that we ever loved, though it sleep in the silence,
 At a touch of the Master shall wake and be music again.

"Creation" by Alfred Noyes (poem)

In the beginning, there was nought
 But heaven, one majesty of Light,
Beyond all speech, beyond all thought,
 Beyond all depth, beyond all height,
Consummate heaven, the first and last,
 Enfolding in its perfect prime
No future rushing to the past,
 But one rapt Now, that knew not Space or Time.

Formless it was, being gold on gold,
 And void--but with that complete Life
Where music could no wings unfold
 Until God smote the strings of strife.
"Myself unto Myself am Throne,
 Myself unto Myself am Thrall,
I that am All am all alone,"
 He said, "Yea, I have nothing, having all."

And, gathering round His mount of bliss
 The angel-squadrons of His will,
He said, "One battle yet there is
 To win, one vision to fulfil;
Since heaven where'er I gaze expands,
 And power that knows no strife or cry,
Weakness shall bind and pierce My hands
 And make a world for Me wherein to die.

All might, all vastness and all glory
 Being Mine, I must descend and make
Out of My heart a song, a story
 Of little hearts that burn and break.
Out of My passion without end
 I will make little azure seas,
And into small sad fields descend
 And make green grass, white daisies, rustling trees."

Then shrank His angels, knowing He thrust
 His arms out East and West and gave
For every little dream of dust
 Part of His life as to a grave.
'Enough, O Father, for Thy words
 Have pierced Thy hands!' But, low and sweet,
He said 'Sunsets and streams and birds,
And drifting clouds!'--The purple stained His feet.--

'Enough!' His angels moaned in fear,
'Father, Thy words have pierced Thy side!'
He whispered, 'Roses shall grow there,
  And there must be a hawthorn-tide,
And ferns, dewy at dawn,' and still
They moaned--Enough, the red drops bleed!
'And,' sweet and low, 'on every hill,'
He said, 'I will have flocks and lambs to lead.'

His angels bowed their heads beneath
 Their wings till that great pang was gone.
Pour not Thy soul unto Death!
 They moaned, and still His Love flowed on:
"There shall be small white wings to stray
  From bliss to bliss, from bloom to bloom,
And blue flowers in the wheat; and--" 'Stay!
 Speak not,' they cried, 'the word that seals Thy tomb!'

He spake--"I have thought of the little child
 That I will have there to embark
On small adventures in the wild,
 And front slight perils in the dark;
And I will hide from him and lure
 His laughing eyes with suns and moons,
And rainbows that shall not endure;
 And--when he is weary, sing him drowsy tunes."

His angels fell before Him weeping.
 'Enough! Tempt not the Gates of Hell!'
He said, 'His soul is in his keeping
  That we may love each other well,
And lest the dark too much affright him,
 I will strow countless little stars
Across his childish skies to light him
 That he may wage in peace his mimic wars;

And oft forget Me as he plays
 With swords and childish merchansize,
Or with his elfin balance weighs,
 Or with his foot-rule metes, the skies;
Or builds his castles by the deep,
 Or tunnels through the rocks, and then--
Turn to Me as he falls asleep,
 And, in his dreams, feel for My hand again.

And when he is older he shall be
 My friend and walk here at My side;
Or--when he wills--grow young with Me,
 And, to that happy world where once we died,
Descending through the calm blue weather,
 Buy life once more with our immortal breath,
And wander through the little fields together,
 And taste of Love and Death.

"The Song Tree" by Alfred Noyes (poem)

When I was volunteering on Iona last year, Miriam lent me an old, hardbound blue book of poems by Alfred Noyes. Here are five poems that have stood out.

"The Song Tree"

Grow, my song, like a tree,
 As thou hast ever grown,
Since first, a wondering child,
 Long since, I cherished thee.
It was at break of day,
 Well I remember it,--
The first note that I heard,
 A magical undertone,
Sweeter than any bird
 --Or so it seemed to me;
And my tears ran wild.
 This tale, this tale is true.
The light was growing gray;
 And the rhymes ran so sweet
(For I was only a child)
 That I knelt down to pray.

Grow, my song, like a tree.
 Since then I have forgot
 A thousand dreams, but not
The song that set me free,
 So that to thee I gave
My hopes and my despairs,
 My boyhood's ecstasy,
My manhood's prayers.
 In dreams I have watched thee grow,
A ladder of sweet boughs,
 Where angels come and go,
And birds keep house.
 In dreams, I have seen thee wave
Over a distant land,
 And watched thy roots expand,
And given my life to thee,
 As I would give my grave.

Grow, my song, like a tree,
 And when I am grown old,
Let me die under thee,
 Die to enrich thy mould;
Die at thy roots, and so
 Help thee to grow.
Make of this body and blood
 Thy sempiternal food.
Then let some little child,
 Some friend I shall not see,
When the great dawn is gray,
 Some lover I have not known,
In summers far away,
 Sit listening under thee,
And in thy rustling hear
 That mystical undertone,
Which made my tears run wild,
 And made thee, oh, how dear.

In the great years to be?
 I am proud then? Ah, not so.
I have lived and died for thee.
 Be patient. Grow.

Grow, my song, like a tree.

145 (poem)

Today was my last day of proofreading academic papers. I'm so thankful to have had this job for the past year and a half. It was fascinating reading papers on a wide variety of topics, everything from the history of pirates to Chinqua, the Chinese artisan who worked in London modeling clay figures of European noblemen, to the Yorkshire dialect in literature and TV to efforts at restoring the harlequin toad to the most effective way to kick a soccerball to the history of restrooms to prison reform in France. . .

I thank God for this chapter (or should I say section?) of my life, and I look forward to my next steps. Today I found one of my journals from a year and a half ago. Upon receiving the proofreading job, I had written my own version of Psalm 145. I share it here to recount the goodness and provision of God.

"145"

Praise praise praise praise
Thanks thanks thanks thanks
Yes yes yes yes

I will give

Praise praise praise praise

to the Lord
for he has been
so good
to me.

Every day I will

Bless bless bless bless

You

and tell
of all
Your mighty works

You who are
gracious and merciful
slow to anger, and
abounding in steadfast love,
good to all You have made.

You hold the unsteady
You raise the humble
You provide food
with an open hand.
You satisfy all we desire.

Just and kind
You are near to all who call on You.

Praise praise praise praise
Bless bless bless bless
Yes yes yes yes!

Hymn: Though I have tried to follow you

Almost a year ago I wrote a hymn about God's forgiveness through Jesus Christ. I've made a few revisions to it so that the meter is entirely uniform. I'm more satisfied with the ending now, too, since it more clearly expresses what I hope to convey.


Though I have tried to follow you
I find I'm still in need
of your strong light to heal my thoughts
and guide my every deed.
How narrow is the road to life!
How easily I stray!
Yet still my eyes are fixed on you
to navigate my way.

When you walked down the streets we knew
you offered all your grace,
forgiving those who turned to you,
revealing God's embrace.
When you hung high upon a tree,
you saw where I was lost
and drew me with your broken heart
to meet you at the cross.

Your wounded body broke like bread,
your blood poured out like wine.
You lifted up our life and death
to save us for all time.
You tell us now to take and eat,
for in this, you are found.
We eat and drink this healing meal:
we stand on holy ground. 

So make us strong to do your work
and follow all your ways,
to share the gift we have received:
new mercies every day
and travel on this narrow path
that flows through time and space
uniting all who turn to you,
revealing God's embrace.


Text: Josh Seligman
Tune: RESIGNATION/CONSOLATION
Revised Jan. 2020, this time for theological reasons

What do we imagine?

Lately I have been thinking about how our plans shape our lives. A verse that comes to mind is Genesis 6:5: "The LORD saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually" (NRSV). One translation replaces the phrase "inclination of the thoughts of their hearts" with "everything they thought and planned" (CEV), another with "every intent of the thoughts of his heart" (NKJV), and another with "every imagination of the thoughts of his heart" (YLT). The passage goes on to say that, upon seeing humanity's evil works and imagination, God grieves.

Thoughts of our hearts, inclinations, plans, intentions, imagination--these are related to each other, and they are also related to our actions. It seems that our actions spring from our meditations. As Jesus says, "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks" (Matt. 12:34). This makes me ask, What do I imagine? How might that influence my actions and decisions?

Children of God are called to reflect the kindness, justice, and righteousness of God. Does our imagination, do our plans and dreams, express such qualities? If not, how can they?

It seems that our imagination is fed by everything we observe. Just as a writer writes mainly with words that are part of her vocabulary, we imagine primarily with images that are part of our memory. The root of the word imagination is image, which means something that represents something or someone else--usually in a visual medium, like a drawing or a sculpture. So, what images do I look at? What kinds of movies, TV shows, Facebook posts do I see? What music, whose voices do I listen to? On a deeper level, what do I read? What stories, ideas, characters live inside my imagination? Beyond human creations, how much time do I look at, listen to, smell, taste, feel things that God has made--the warm light of the setting sun brushing against the tops of trees, a pillar of cloud climbing a mountain? And how do all these elements and my memories of them interact inside of me?

In contrast to the thoughts and plans which grieved God, maybe the goal is to cultivate an imagination that reflects God's character. Perhaps this resembles the Apostle Paul's encouragement to think about "whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise" (Philippians 4:8). 

God created humanity in God's image (Gen. 1:27). We are called to be works of art which represent God in the world. May God purify our imaginations so that we bear the fruits of kindness, justice, and righteousness in our actions, and may we feed our imaginations with works of art that reflect God's character so that our very thoughts and intentions bring delight to God.

Micah's good plan

Yesterday I wrote about how our plans shape the world. The prophet Micah describes how the wicked plans of the people of Israel become evil actions:

Woe to those who plan iniquity,
to those who plot evil on their beds!
At morning's light they carry it out
because it is in their power to do it.
They covet fields and seize them.
They defraud a man of his home,
a fellowman of his inheritance.
Micah 2:1-2

Micah goes on to proclaim God's judgment against the Israelites for their evil. But then, at one crucial point, Micah shifts his perspective. Instead of speaking against the people, he confesses his own sin, asking what he may do about his guilt:

With what shall I come before the LORD
and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of oil?
Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD
require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.
verses 6:6-8

We are not forgiven of our evil deeds through material sacrifices, Micah writes. What does God seek from us? That we act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. It almost seems like Micah is writing that we need a new plan, a plan God has already shown to us, only we never before put it into practice. God desires a change in our character so that we reflect the character of God, who "desires mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings" (Hosea 6:6). The sacrifice God asks of us goes beyond any possession we may offer; God requires us to give him our very heart.

It is in the heart where we make our plans. With God's help, may our hearts so change that even our dreams and intentions align with the dreams and intentions of God, and so also our actions.

Reflections on the new year

Happy New Year!

Last night I reflected on the previous year and thought about the year to come. It seems the beginning of the new year is a time when many people think about the future. We make plans, we dream, we prepare, and all of this is done in hope. The future is a mystery, but we move into it with our plans and goals, much like creating a work of art, striving with hopeful certainty that it will one day be complete, bringing satisfaction. Followers of God prepare for the future in the hope that it is not only we who are creating, but that God is creating through us; as the Psalmist writes, “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1). This verse implies that while we do take action in building, most importantly, we need to build according to God’s architectural plan, in cooperation with God, otherwise our work is meaningless.

Who, then, is this God we must work with? How can we know we are creating alongside God; in other words, how can we know we are doing God’s will, living as he desires we live? Perhaps the following passage from the book of Jeremiah will help. I read it yesterday and have been reflecting on it in relation to the new year:

This is what the LORD says:

“Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom

or the strong man boast of his strength

or the rich man boast of his riches,

but let him who boasts boast about this:

that he understands and knows me,

that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness,

justice, and righteousness on the earth,

for in these I delight,”

declares the LORD.

Jeremiah 9:23-24

God has given us the gift of creativity, with which we shape the world. Consider how our designs steer the direction of God's creation, how they help and harm the planet: animals, plants, the elements, and fellow humans. It is with creativity that we prepare for the future. In our plans and executions of those plans, we often showcase our skill, our intellect, our resources, our abundance. While in many cases these qualities are good, God tells us through Jeremiah that such displays don’t quite represent the character of God. Who is God, and what does God make in the world? Kindness, justice, and righteousness; in such things he delights. If we are to be proud of something, it should be that we know and understand this God, and act in accordance with God’s ways.

How can my creating reflect the character of God? The future belongs to God; this year is in God’s hands, and God is already performing kindness, justice, and righteousness in the world. As I think about 2016 and as I act on my plans, may I do so in harmony with God, sharing his pursuit of kindness, justice, and righteousness. May my boast be solely in knowing this God, whose heart is merciful, most clearly revealed to us through his son Jesus, whose kindness, justice, and righteousness continue to create the world.