Tag: faith

Who Is She?

~ Judith C Evans ~ 4 Comments

How do I see her?
Blessed Mother, Queen of Heaven, Virgin Mary:
these are names that people have given her.
But who is she?

When I see the mother of our Savior,
I see the courage of women:

She said “yes” and stepped into the never-before,
the great unknown,
unfairly judged by neighbors,
nearly losing her betrothed at a time when “unmarried” and “pregnant” meant banishment or death by stoning.

I see the strength of women:

A pregnant teenage girl,
she rode 100 miles on a donkey,
sleeping on the ground,
surrounded by Roman oppression.

I see the wisdom of women:

It was time.
She knew that her son was ready before he knew it.
“Do as he tells you,” she told the servants at the wedding. And then there was wine,
and the greatest ministry of all time began.

I see the anguish of women:

She visualized her son’s destiny as she nursed him,
cleaned him,
baked bread for him.
Her heart nearly stopped when she couldn’t find him,
and then rejoiced when he turned up
discussing theology with scholars:
a prelude to a future loss,
that horrific afternoon at the foot of the cross.

I see women celebrating:

Beyond all human-sized hope,
her son conquered death.
She had dared to believe in hope,
and when hope’s light seemed extinguished,
she hoped one more time.

Who is she?
She is each and every one of us.
Whole, messy, wounded, blessed.

Bewildered by the mystery of it all,
yet willing to try one more time
to comprehend God’s purpose.

Learning to receive God’s mercy and grace,
realizing that we are seen and loved
beyond our understanding.

Sanctuary Doors

~ Judith C Evans ~ 3 Comments

We stopped attending worship in March.
Palm Sunday, Holy Week and Easter happened at home and online.
We watched live-streamed labyrinth walks and posted #stayhome selfies, grateful to gather in this way.
The sanctuary doors remain closed,
Save for a dedicated crew who virtually serve the body of Christ.

“A little while, and you will no longer see me…”

We had heard reports of the virus for weeks.
It didn’t seem real.
Then we learned about social distancing and non-essential businesses.
Then it forced our doors closed.
When would we see each other again, take communion, sip coffee in the fellowship hall?

“…and again a little while, and you will see me.”

Like a thief in the night, holiness transformed our loneliness.
Encouraging chalk messages appeared on sidewalks:
“Stay safe!” “Love is stronger than fear!” “He is risen!”
Pink, green, yellow and blue letters bearing good news greeted us in the morning.
Daylight hours lengthened.

Parents and their kids drove through a neighborhood,
Pausing and honking their horns in front of a house where a four-year-old celebrated his birthday
Behind closed doors.
Neighbors anonymously left groceries on doorsteps.
Strangers in masks cried for each other over job losses,
Trying to make sense of it all.

In a little while, we saw Him —
In each other, in creation, in ourselves.
We still mourn our losses,
But the sanctuary doors are flung wide open today,
In the broken heart of the body.

You Send, I See

~ Judith C Evans ~ Leave a comment

You send the September breeze
When my heart aches at seeing summer end.
The breeze ripples through the maple boughs,
Still bendable in the early fall heat,
So that I hear the trees whisper
Of beginnings in the endings.
Of going underground to work the magic of growth.
You send what You know I will see.

Years ago, that Arizona noon hour,
You sent a white dove for me to see
As I wandered, crushed, defeated,
On the crowded sidewalk in that mountain town.
Your dove strolled ahead of me,
With her feathered head bobbing,
Past the best burger joint in town,
Flipping through discarded potato chips
And dodging hurried footsteps
Of people on their lunch breaks.

I was grateful that You sent
That impossibly white dove
On that impossibly discouraging day,
To remind me of Your provision.
Of course it was You,
Holy Spirit,
Helper,

Or maybe the dove was a daily visitor on that street,
And You simply shifted my gaze
Toward her bobbing head,
As she nibbled on crumbs, blissfully unaware
That we see You in her.

When We Had First Begun

~ Judith C Evans ~ Leave a comment

I wondered if I’d pass this way again.
Stained glass shimmers in the morning sun;
Worship service ends at half past ten.

“I miss them,” was my thinking now and then;
My soul’s rest in God had just begun.
I wondered if I’d pass this way again.

Bible studies met an idle pen
And contemplation formed a church of one.
Worship service ends at half past ten.

This morning, though, I remembered when
They welcomed me in late October’s sun.
I wondered if I’d pass this way again.

Emerging from the womb of my den,
I join old friends to praise the risen Son.
Worship service ends at half past ten.

Voices soar in praise and sweetly blend,
Recalling days “when we had first begun.”
Grateful that I’ve passed this way again;
Worship need not end at half past ten.