Laurel Massé

Swords into Plowshares

There is a fascinating article in this past Sunday's NY Times magazine about what I see as very exciting changes within the evangelical churches. You can read the whole thing here , but below is an excerpt.

[On] the eve of the Iraq invasion, Hybels [Bill Hybels, founder of Willow Creek Church] preached a sermon called “Why War?” Laying out three approaches to war — realism, just-war theory and pacifism — he implored members of his congregation to re-examine their own thinking and then try to square it with the Bible. In the process, he left little doubt about where he personally stood. He called himself a pacifist.

Hybels traced the “J curve” of mounting deaths from war through the centuries. “In case you are wondering about this, wonder how God feels about all this,” he said. “It breaks the heart of God.”

At his annual leadership conference this summer, Hybels interviewed former President Jimmy Carter. To some Christian conservatives, it was quite a provocation. Carter, after all, was their first great disappointment, a Southern Baptist who denounced the conservative takeover and an early critic of the Bush administration. Some pastors canceled plans to attend.

“I think that a superpower ought to be the exemplification of a commitment to peace,” Carter told Hybels, who nodded along. “I would like for anyone in the world that’s threatened with conflict to say to themselves immediately: ‘Why don’t we go to Washington? They believe in peace and they will help us get peace.’ ” Carter added: “This is just a simple but important extrapolation from what a human being ought to do, and what a human being ought to do is what Jesus Christ did, who was a champion of peace.”

Autumn in New York

I walked across Central Park today to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's closed on Mondays, which  I had forgotten. So I didn't visit great works of art, at least not framed ones. But I did see the most beautiful Irish Wolfhound imaginable. He was big-boned, well-built, magnificent. A different kind of work of art and greatness. I asked to pet him, his owner acquiesced, the dog graciously accepted my attention.

Then, as I walked back across the park to the west side, I felt myself slip into sadness. Or rather, there was suddenly a sadness on me, a beautiful and apt Irish expression. The sadness was on me, not in me. I miss my dogs. I usually feel this as an inner glow of joy for having had them at all. Sometimes, though, I feel the weight of their absence, heavy, grey, and sad.

I don't remember what I have written about them, but here is what they were: Shekinah, a Belgian Tervuren named after the feminine aspect of God, was courage and willfulness and incandescence. Wisdom 7:22 - 25a actually describes her perfectly, and here is some of it:

For within her is a spirit intelligent, holy,
unique, manifold, subtle,
mobile, incisive, unsullied,
lucid, invulnerable, benevolent, shrewd,
irresistible, beneficent, friendly to human beings,
steadfast, dependable...
quicker to move than any motion...
She is a breath of the power of God...

Shekinah was pushy. She taught that a car ride is an adventure, a walk is pure joy, and that sometimes it is appropriate to stand your ground, growl, and show an elegant sharp tooth.

My Shadow, a Belgian Sheepdog, was a quieter soul, devotion embodied. Faithfulness. Trust.  This dog had a noble heart and attitude, friendly to all people, but adoring only one. This was not so as to be adored in return, not like we do when we say "I love you" so as to force the reply "I love you, too,"  but rather loving  because he couldn't help himself, because he could do no other, a constant outpouring of love. He made more friends in his brief time here in the city than I had ever dreamed possible, as people gravitated to him, and felt good in his presence. His verse is Acts 18:9b - 10:

I am with you. I have so many people that belong to me in this city that no one will attempt to hurt you.

These are the companions I am missing today, on a crisp autumn day, when the sunlight is golden, the air in the park smells of earth and leaves,and none of the dogs are mine. It seems to me, though, that I still have my dog-inspired tasks: Christ calls us to love - can't I be as joyous as Shekinah? and as devoted as my Shadow? It's the least a human can do.

Fire

Pray for Southern California.
Pray for the people. Pray for the animals. Pray for the trees and the hills, and for the land itself.
Pray.

Cathedral Compline

A few days ago, I noticed that the light has changed. It comes in my apartment window at a different angle, and it is golden. Glowing. There are two trees outside that window. One of them remains resolutely green, but the other one has shifted toward yellow. More gold.

This evening the Cathedral is celebrating Compline, the quiet prayer. I don't know if this is something new, or something restored after an absence, but I am going to be there, singing. And waiting. And breathing. In the company of other believers, of doubters, of the hopeful, of the lost.

9 PM tonight, at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Come join us, and let the prayers of the night settle around you like a warm shawl.