“Return to the Garden”

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Sep. 22, 2019 

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

This is the book that our Tuesday Book Club will start discussing next week (hold up Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer). I was listening to it earlier this week while out for a walk on the prairie when I suddenly gasped, stopped walking, and backed the audio up so I could hear what she said again. 

Kimmerer was talking about “learning the grammar of animacy.” In her quest to learn the Potawatomi language, Kimmerer discovered that many of the objects we think of as inanimate in English are imbued with animacy in Potawatomi. She explains: “Of an inanimate being like a table, we say, “What is it?”....But of an apple, we must say, “Who is that being?” And the reply would be Mshimin yawe. Apple that being is. Yawe - the animate to be. I am, you are, s/he is. To speak of those possessed with life and spirit we must say yawe.”

Did you hear it? Yawe...sounds just like Yahweh, the name given when God is asked for a name in the Hebrew Bible. “I am.”

Kimmerer continues, “By what linguistic confluence do Yahweh of the Old Testament and yawe of the New World both fall from the mouths of the reverent? Isn’t this just what it means to be, to have the breath of life within, to be the offspring of Creation? The language reminds us, in every sentence, of our kinship with the animate world.” [1] 

Kimmerer is a botanist and a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. Her book weaves stories from her ancestors with questions and observations about the natural world. She begins the book by sharing the story of Skywoman, the creation story of those who are indigenous to the Great Lakes region of this continent. I want to share this story with you, in Kimmerer’s words. 

In the beginning, there was the Skyworld. 

She fell like a maple seed, pirouetting on an autumn breeze. A column of light streamed from a hole in the Skyworld, marking her path where only darkness had been before. It took her a long time to fall.

In fear, or maybe hope, she clutched a bundle tightly in her hand. 

Hurtling downward, she saw only dark water below. But in that emptiness there were many eyes gazing up at the sudden shaft of light. They saw there a small object, a mere dust mote in the beam. As it grew closer, they could see that it was a woman, arms outstretched, long black hair billowing behind as she spiraled toward them. 

The geese nodded at one another and rose together from the water in a wave of goose music. She felt the beat of their wings as they flew beneath to break her fall. Far from the only home she'd ever known, she caught her breath at the warm embrace of soft feathers as they gently carried her downward.

And so it began. 

The geese could not hold the woman above the water for much longer, so they called a council to decide what to do. Resting on their wings, she saw them all gather; loons, otters, swans, beavers, fish of all kinds. A great turtle floated in their midst and offered his back for her to rest upon. Gratefully, she stepped from the goose wings onto the dome of his shell. The others understood that she needed land for her home and discussed how they might serve her need.

The deep divers among them had heard of mud at the bottom of the water, and agreed to go find some. 

Loon dove first, but the distance was too far and after a long while he surfaced with nothing to show for his efforts. One by one, the other animals offered to help -- Otter, Beaver, Sturgeon -- but the depth, the darkness, and the pressures were too great for even the strongest of swimmers. They returned gasping for air with their heads ringing.

Some did not return at all.

Soon only little Muskrat was left, the weakest diver of all. He volunteered to go while the others looked on doubtfully. His small legs flailed as he worked his way downward and he was gone a very long time. 

They waited and waited for him to return, fearing the worst for their relative, and before long, a stream of bubbles rose with the small, limp body of the muskrat.

He had given his life to aid this helpless human. But then the others noticed that his paw was tightly clenched and, when they opened it, there was a small handful of mud. Turtle said, "here, put it on my back and I will hold it."

Skywoman bent and spread the mud with her hands across the shell of the turtle.

Moved by the extraordinary gifts of the animals, she sang in thanksgiving and then began to dance, her feet caressing the earth. The land grew and grew as she danced her thanks, from the dab of mud on Turtle's back until the whole world was made. Not by Skywoman alone, but from the alchemy of all the animals' gifts coupled with her deep gratitude. Together they formed what we know today as Turtle Island, our home. 

Like any good guest, Skywoman had not come empty-handed.

The bundle was still clutched in her hand.

When she toppled from the hole in the Skyworld she had reached out to grab onto the Tree of Life that grew there. In her grasp were branches -- fruits and seed and all kinds of plants. These she scattered onto the new ground and carefully tended each one until the world turned from brown to green. Sunlight streamed through the hole from the Skyworld, allowing the seeds to flourish. Wild grasses, flowers, trees, and medicines spread everywhere. And now that the animals, too, had plenty to eat, many came to live with her on Turtle Island too. [2]

Kimmerer places this story in conversation with one of the Jewish and Christian creation stories that we heard from Genesis this morning. “One one side of the world,” she says, “were people whose relationship with the living world was shaped by Skywoman, who created a garden for the well-being of all. On the other side was another woman with a garden and a tree. But for tasting its fruit, she was banished from the garden and the gates clanged shut behind her.” [3]

Our story from Genesis....for all of its richness and wisdom about humanity and God….the interpretation of this story has also laid the groundwork for great abuse of the Earth by humanity. 

The humans are originally blessed. They are portrayed as the culmination of God’s good works. The icing on the cake of creation. They are told to be “fruitful and multiply” to “fill the earth and subdue it.” The humans are “given” every plant and every animal….given to hold one another as dear companions? Or given to possess and use? 

“In Native ways of knowing,” Kimmerer says, “human people are often referred to as ‘the younger brothers of Creation.’ We say that humans have the least experience with how to live and thus the most to learn.“ [4] 

Looking around at the devastation that humans have wrought on the Earth, it’s not too difficult to agree with Kimmerer on this point. For all of the amazing things that we humans have accomplished...we have also caused vast destruction out of our desire to control. 

Reading about climate change these days, it can be incredibly difficult to find hope of healing or wholeness. The magnitude of the changes that must be made feels overwhelming. Is it even possible for humans to find our way back to the Garden at this point? Or are we forever banished from that union with nature that our sacred stories say is our birthright? 

I honestly am not well-versed enough in the intricacies of environmental sustainability to know whether or not we can turn this whole ship around at this point. But, what I do know is this: “as for me and my house, we will love all of Creation.” 

I do not know if this loving will fix the planet, but I do know that loving the Earth is what we were created to do. I do know that the amazing complexity of nature has so much to teach us...about how to heal human bodies, minds, spirits. And how to BE more fully human...the way God intended us to be. 

Our Christian creation stories tell us that God created us in God’s image….literally drawing us up out of the earth. The first human was called ha-adam….mud-dweller, Earth-creature. We came from the soil and were created to live in harmony and mutual love with the soil...and the plants that spring from it, and the animals that share the land with us. Loving the Earth as we love God and as we love our neighbors and ourselves is just and right and good. 

Of course, we can only love what we know. And so, perhaps, this love grows just a little each time we pause to watch a bug crawling along, or make time to just be outdoors. Surely this love grows when we pause before a meal to give thanks for the sustenance we receive from the Earth. And I can feel this love deep in my bones when I take my shoes off and walk on a carpet of grass, or grow silent to hear the wind rustling in the cottonwood branches. 

I reached out to several people in our congregation this week to ask them a simple question, “What have you learned from plants?” I had so much fun reading their responses. And I noticed several themes that emerged from these wise people. 

Nearly everyone spoke of their amazement at the sheer adaptability of plants. Les Kuhlmann noted that this is because plants don’t have feet….they must learn to thrive wherever they are. Too wet? Too dry? Too hot or cold? They have to roll with it. Their lives depend on it.

Plants in our gardens that we thought were long gone, bloom once more, reminding us of friends and family who shared with us years ago. Mary Ellen Titus spoke of remembering the eyes of a kindergartener who shared a few sprigs of sedum….all these years later, Mary Ellen remembers her when the sedum returns each year in her garden. 

And it’s a good thing plants are resilient, because we and other animals rely on them for life! As Tim Kaine pointed out, “If it were not for green plants (which are capable of making their own food from sunlight and what they draw from the soil) we would not be here; as humans are little more than charismatic plant parasites, and not always that charismatic.”

Tim also noted that plans have adapted to nearly everything over the millennia. Fire, flood, invasive species, climate change. He closed his reflections this way, “I could go on at some length...but what lessons we can gain if we will but observe, seek to understand how to behave, listen, and contribute to a community of diversity; a community which shows us the way to stability and sustainability.”

When we do what Tim counsels...when we learn from the natural world, we take our rightful place in the Garden once more. Not as conquerors or owners...but as co-creators, friends, neighbors. We were given every kind of plant...not only for food, but as companions and teachers. 

Perhaps there is a way back to the Garden….after all, our entire faith story is one of eternal do-overs. It begins with what Kimmerer calls “becoming indigenous to a place”....”living as if your children’s future matter[s], [taking care of] the land as if our lives, both material and spiritual, depend on it.” [5] 

Because they do. 

May it be so. In our hearts and our actions. Amen. 

[1] Quotes in preceding paragraphs from Kimmerer, 56. 

[2] Kimmerer, 2-5.

[3] Kimmerer, 6-7.

[4] Kimmerer, 9. 

[5] Ibid. 

“Sympathetic Joy”

Luke 15: 1-10

Sep. 15, 2019 

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

There’s a video by primatologist Frans de Waal that shows an experiment involving capuchin monkeys, who are some of our distant relatives. In this video, one of the monkeys gives a scientist a small rock and receives a slice of cucumber in return. The monkey seems very happy to repeat this trick and enjoys the cucumbers he receives. 

Eventually, the first monkey observes another monkey giving a small rock to the scientist...but the second monkey receives a grape instead of a cucumber. The grape is a sweeter, tastier food for the monkeys and after the first monkey sees his neighbor receive a grape in exchange for a rock, he eagerly gives another rock to the scientist. But instead of receiving a grape he gets ANOTHER slice of cucumber. 

This time he’s not happy about the cucumber situation. He looks down at the vegetable in his hand in shock and then throws the cucumber at the scientist in anger. He’s so mad that he grabs window of the cage he’s in and shakes them in uncontrollable fury. [1]

Seems that monkeys are a bit like humans, right? We are often content with what we have...until we see that someone else has it better than us. Or until we look at someone else and think they are getting more than what they deserve. 

This week’s lectionary passage from Luke features the religious leaders of Jesus’s time demonstrating this human tendency. As long as Jesus has come to preach good news to them...well, that’s good news. But when Jesus starts hanging out with tax collectors and sinners and other folks that the religious elite look down upon? Well, now they’ve got a problem. They grumble about Jesus. He’s too welcoming. It’s unbecoming for him to mix and mingle with sinners and outsiders. 

And so Jesus tells them a parable. Two, in fact. The first is about the shepherd who has 100 sheep. One of them wanders off. Does he just forget about the lost sheep? No, of course not. He traverses hills. He traipses through valleys. He looks in caves. Until he finds the one lost sheep. And when he finds the sheep he throws a big party to celebrate.

The second parable is similar. A woman has ten coins but loses one of them. Does she throw her hands up and say, “Oh, well”? No, of course not. She gets out a lamp. She bends down low. She sweeps and squints. Until she finds her lost coin. And when she finds the lost coin, she throws a party to celebrate. 

Now, my guess is, all this partying isn’t fiscally responsible. I bet the party cost more than the lost coin did in the first place! And theologian Amanda Brobst-Renault notes that it’s actually a bit shocking that the shepherd would go out in search of one lost lamb. Because a lost lamb is very difficult to find in the Judean landscape. It’s quite hilly and there are lots of nooks and crannies where a lost sheep can go...but a shepherd ca’t get into. Furthermore, there are “myriad predators (jackals, hyenas, leopards, foxes)” that make a lost sheep vulnerable. Going out in search of this lost sheep is not a sure thing. [2]

And perhaps that’s why the shepherd throws a big party when he finds the stray lamb. Because it’s a big deal that this one creature was returned to the fold. 

Jesus ends his mini-lecture to the religious leaders by saying God rejoices in heaven just like the shepherd and woman when a sinner repents. 

We’re not told how the religious leaders responded to this story. But my guess is they may have been offended. Because God’s grace is uncomfortably big in these parables. God is relentless in chasing after us. God is absurdly focused on bringing every last person back into communion. 

Imagine your worst enemy. Even them, God? Yep. Even them. 

Imagine yourself at your most lost...falling apart, completely outside the bounds of respectability. Even you, God? Yep. Even you. 

Even me. Even all of us. Even the people we look at and say, “Really, God? That person?” Yup. Even them. 

Now I’ve gotta do just a little thing on what Jesus means in the gospel of Luke when he talks about sinners repenting. Sin in Luke’s Gospel is always communal. It’s always about relationship and community. It’s not the little things we do that “break the rules.” It’s the rupture of relationship. It’s people being cast aside as unwanted and unwelcome. It’s when we humans get way too focused on “us versus them” and forget that it’s all about “we.” The Realm of God, that Beloved Community that Jesus is pointing to with his ministry is like a centrifugal force….drawing every single person back into relationship with God and one another. 

To repent in this Gospel is about turning and re-turning. The Hebrew word for repent is literally “turn.” When we repent, we are like the sheep or coin welcomed back into community. It’s a turning, a movement; solid and firm steps back towards belonging with and through God. Repentance is connection, realignment. Biblical scholar Matt Skinner says repentance is about knowing who you are and being brought into this new arena where God’s salvation is fully known and actively transforming the world. [3]

When I was listening to Skinner talk about this passage earlier this week on the Sermon Wave podcast, something else he said really stood out to me. Because someone asked, “So, what’s this passage about?” And what immediately jumped into my mind was “sin” or “repentance” or “lost things being found.” But what Skinner and the other hosts said was this: this passage is about joy. 

Did you catch that? Because I almost missed it, I was so caught up in wondering about sin and repentance and grace and being found. But in both of the parables, the finders are filled with joy when they find what’s been lost. Incidentally, the exact same thing happens in the next parable in Luke if you keep reading….the lost son returns to his father and another big party is thrown. 

There is something about being a part of God’s Realm...something about being welcomed into that boundless arena of God’s grace and salvation that is DEEPLY connected to joy. Preaching professor Karoline Lewis says “To live in God is to tap into joy.” 

In their magnificent work, The Book of Joy, His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu spend time in conversation about obstacles to joy. What gets in the way of us being connected to that joy which seems to be at the very heart of the Gospel? 

One of the things they mention as an obstacle to joy is envy. When we are resentful...when we look at what someone else has and say, “wait a minute, why do they have that? They don’t deserve that,” or “why don’t I have that? I deserve it, too!” we are turning toward resentment instead of joy. Just like the monkey who was content with the cucumber until he realized the grape was also a possibility. Just like the religious leaders, who looked at Jesus chatting with the lowly sinners and tax collectors and said, “Now, wait. You’ve gone TOO FAR.”

Joy and resentment cannot coexist. 

And so when Jesus sees these religious leaders...these folks who really should have known better...and he sees their bitter, angry hearts filled with resentment….he gives them stories about seeking joy instead. He invites them to imagine a world where there is no “us and them,” a world where we finally realize that all the boundaries we draw are arbitrary, a world where we finally come to understand that God’s love is not like a pie. You getting a bigger slice doesn’t mean I get a smaller one. 

And if we can only realize this….if we can get it on a cellular level….well, I think that’s when we start to hum along with everything in the universe that tuned into the frequency of God’s joy. 

This is why Jesus gives stories about joy...because it’s the antidote to resentment. When we are tuned into God’s joy, our fear starts to dissipate. Our anger deflates like an aging balloon. Our constant, nagging anxiety about whether we are enough starts to slip away like the sun dipping down below a far off horizon. 

In The Book of Joy, the Dalai Lama shares that there is a Tibetan Buddhist teaching that says what causes suffering in life is a general pattern of how we relate to others: “Envy towards the above, competitiveness towards the equal, and contempt towards the lower.” [4]

“Envy towards the above, competitiveness towards the equal, and contempt towards the lower.” 

When we live in those ways we prevent ourselves from taking our place in God’s great arena of salvation and love. We refuse to let ourselves be found. We let ourselves stay hidden and lost. 

The Dalai Lama continues. In his tradition there is the concept of mudita, which is often translated as “sympathetic joy.” [5] It’s looking at what someone else has and being happy for them. Even if we think they don’t deserve it. Even if we don’t understand why they have it. Even if we wish it were ours. 

Archbishop Tutu explains that in some villages in Africa, when people greet one another they say, “How are we today?” [6] So the idea is that how YOU are has something to do with how I am. Your achievements, your happiness, your well-being are a blessing to ME. Mudita is feeling joy when something goes well for someone else. Mudita is realizing that we are not as separate from one another as we might think. Mudita is a “natural outgrowth of compassion” and “sees joy as limitless.” [7]

The Dalai Lama says that we cultivate mudita by recognizing our shared humanity. We are too quick to think about “I and they.” He says we need to remember it’s really all about “we.” And he says that we have to work on preventative measures. Cultivating gratitude each and every day makes us less likely to slip into resentment or envy. 

When we cultivate mudita - sympathetic joy - we are allowing ourselves to hum along on the frequency of God’s great, deep joy. It’s what we were created to do. And God’s desire is for each of us to experience moments where we rest secure in that joy...nestled in close to God’s heart...sure as can be that there is enough love, enough grace, enough care to go around for everyone. 

Even you. Even me. Even our worst enemies. Even those we can’t imagine would receive an invite to God’s epic party. 

Thanks be to God.

NOTES: 

[1] Story found in The Book of Joy by Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Abrams, p. 136. You can watch a clip here: https://youtu.be/-KSryJXDpZo 

[2] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4165

[3] Working Preacher, Sermon Wave podcast for Sep. 15, 2019

[4] Book of Joy, p. 136. 

[5] Ibid., 142. 

[6] Ibid., 143. 

[7] Ibid., 142. 

“God…? Are you out there?”

Jeremiah 18:1-11, Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18

Sep. 8, 2019 

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

One of the great gifts of my sabbatical time this past summer was having the opportunity to worship with many different faith communities. I sang traditional hymns and contemporary songs with our UCC kindred in Oklahoma. I was warmly welcomed by our friends at Bethel AME just down the street. I visited my old stomping grounds at College Avenue United Methodist. I meditated and chanted with Buddhists in Topeka. 

I spent several Sundays with our local Society of Friends, better known to most of us as Quakers. The local meeting here is an unprogrammed one, meaning it’s primarily a time of sitting together in silence. A time to gather in community and turn towards the Holy...sitting before God with the hope of knowing and being known. 

The first Sunday that I worshiped with the Friends I had a bit of an “Are you there, God? It’s me, Caela,” moment. It was one of those days where I just couldn’t settle my spirit down. Do you ever have those? Like, you’re really pumped to have finally set aside the time for prayer and contemplation...you’re there...you’re ready to go. And you sit down to pray and...nothing. Nada. You feel as alone as can be. And you’re thinking, “Hey, God. I did my part. I showed up. Where are you, exactly? Because I sat aside this time to be with you and now it feels like you’re off somewhere else.”

So I shifted in my seat some more and I looked out of the corner of my eye to see what others were doing and I may have sighed in exasperation (hopefully internally, not audibly). Finally, I found the words that felt right. Tentatively, I spoke to God (in my head, not out loud) and said, “God….? Are you out there?”

And, I kid you not, the voice came back to me instantly. It was neither male nor female, young nor old...felt familiar but at the same time was not a person I could place...and the voice said, quite clearly, “No, silly. I’m in here.” 

I almost laughed out loud. Because the whole thing just summed up so many of the struggles I have had with my prayer life. I was taught as a child that “prayer is talking to God,” and God, in my childhood faith, was an old man who lived up in the sky. He had a white beard and a kindly face. He was big and tall and strong. He was definitely a he and he looked like a person. And he lived somewhere out there...far away from me, up in the heavens. 

Over the years, my image of God has shifted and changed. God no longer feels like some person up there in the sky. God feels as close to me as my own breath...but somehow outside of me, too. I guess speaking of God as a Spirit or a Force feels more authentic to where I am right now...but calling God “it” feels too impersonal. My spiritual director recently referred to God as “them” and that felt interesting...but, also, not quite right. 

Humans have been struggling since the dawn of time to figure out how to talk about God. Is God out there, up there, in here? Is God a man, woman, child, community of people-like-creatures? Is God a force, spirit, idea? It seems whenever any of us says “God” it conjures up an image in someone else’s mind that is completely different than what you’re thinking of. 

Our ancient faith ancestors frequently used metaphors and images to try and convey their experience of the Divine. In today’s passage from Jeremiah, we have the image of God as a potter, working steadily at a craft. In this illustration, God’s people are the lumps of clay being formed into new vessels. When God wants to speak to Jeremiah, the word comes to him and says, “Go down to the potter’s house.” Apparently there is something about being present with the clay and water and table and wheel that is meant to open Jeremiah up to receive a message from the Holy. 

He goes and listens. But the message is….complicated. Even in this image of God as the potter, there is tension and confusion. Is God the warm, competent craftsman who lovingly shapes each piece of clay into the vessel was destined to become? Or is God an angry deity with control issues? Smashing works in progress when they don’t measure up to expectations, carefully controlling each and every piece so it turns out just so...with no regard for what the clay might want?

I have to say...as much as I find the idea of God carefully molding my life comforting in some ways, I also find it puzzling. Because there have certainly been times where, to be honest, God just didn’t seem to be that tightly in control of what’s going on here, you know?

Once Jesus arrives on the scene, our images of what God might be expand further. There’s a story I heard once from another UCC pastor. He talked about how his daughter was sometimes scared at night before bed and he tried to comfort her by reminding her that God is always with us, even if we can’t see God. The little girl replied, “But I need God with a skin-face on, daddy!” [1]

God with a skin-face on. For many Christians, this is part of what Jesus represents. An image of God that walks among us, breathing the same air we do, showing us how to meld humanity and divinity together, teaching us how to live, reminding us that we, too, are made in God’s image. Jesus, the Incarnate One...came to remind us that God dwells among us. 

“Are you up there, God?” 

“No, silly. I’m right here next to you. I’m your co-worker, your neighbor, the woman giving you change at the drive through window, the child peeking up over the pew in front of you during worship and waving to say hello.” 

Father Richard Rohr recently wrote a book about the Universal Christ and the subtitle is “another name for every thing.” The idea is that Jesus was simply one incarnation of the Cosmic Christ...that force of love that resides in everything. Rohr says that when we talk about Jesus’s birth in Bethlehem we are actually talking about at least the Second Coming of Christ...because the first arrival of Christ was when God breathed life into creation. Rohr says we are living in a “Christ soaked world”...every bit of creation, seen and unseen, infused with the Divine. 

“Are you out there, God?” 

“No, silly. I’m in here….soaked into you so deeply you don’t even see me sometimes. I’m here in this smooth river stone. Here in the next breath you take. And the next. Here in the beauty of the pounding of ocean waves. But also here in the terror and pain of a hurricane. Here when the relief workers come, and here when they leave again. I’m here in all of this beautiful, broken, Christ-soaked world.”

A few weeks after I had my “Are you there, God? It’s me, Caela,” moment with the Friends, I went back to worship with them again. My heart was heavy because it was the weekend when there were two major mass shootings in our country. I was feeling scared, angry, and just incredibly, incredibly sad. 

I wanted a God that might be a potter, like the one Jeremiah spoke of. Someone with kind, loving hands who might be able to take us all into those strong hands and remold us into our better selves. I wanted a God that could actually reach out into our hurting world and literally smite swords into plowshares...weapons of mass destruction into instruments of healing and hope.

I sat down in the chair and opened my heart to God. Potter at the wheel. God-with-a-skin-face-on. Mother-God. Father-God. Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ. Just anything I could get close to. 

For a good long while, I just cried. Tears ran down my face and I tried not to be too sobby...I didn’t want to take up too much space in the room. So I sniffled and dabbed and some of the words from the Psalm we read earlier today started to bang around inside my heart. “You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.” 

It felt good and healing just to sit there in my grief and anger and fear and know that I was known. That God sees us for who we are and does not turn away. That God hems us in...bringing us back into bounds when we flail all over the place. Coming alongside and behind and before...making our paths straight and the rough places smooth. The God that lays a warm hand upon our spirits and soothes us, brings us back to our breaths, helps us find the strength for another day. 

About the time my tears were subsiding, I looked up and noticed two of the women sitting across the circle from me. The adult daughter brought her knitting each week to work on and her skein of yarn had gotten all tangled up. Her mother reached out -  gently but firmly - and took the skein from her daughter. Slowly, steadily, she began to untangle the knots. She worked from one end, then the other. She took breaks. And as I watched her work, silent and faithful, I thought, “What if God isn’t just the weaver who knits us together in our mother’s wombs, as the psalmist says, but is also the Great Untangler, working alongside us and within and through us and beyond us to fix all the messes that exist in this world?” 

She worked and worked. For over 15 minutes, this mother carefully worked on those knots. And I became desperate for her to fix it all. “Mend the whole world while you’re at it!” I thought, furiously. (Spoiler: she did not ...even though I desperately wished it could be so.)

But once the silence ended, we all sat together and looked at the yarn. It was almost untangled. Almost. The mother said she was going to take it home and lay it out on her floor where she had more room. I felt certain that it would get untangled. I knew she would stick with it. 

“Are you out there, God?” 

“No, silly, I’m right here. Tirelessly working to mend the world. I am the Great Untangler. The weaver of new life in old wombs. I am the Potter that molds and re-molds. I am here with a skin-face on and I my presence soaks through every bit of this world. I am...I am...I am…” 

Notes:

[1] This delightful story can be found in Words for the Journey by Martin Copenhaver and Anthony Robinson