Prayer has fallen on hard times, I think. In the wake of school shootings and the sufferings of the world, those who say, “I’m praying for you” are mocked for not doing anything “real” to address the problem. I even hear my pastoral colleagues rail at the “uselessness” of prayer. I suppose there can be some truth in that criticism. Prayer is often an act of desperation in the face of hopelessness. It is even the insipid response to a situation we wish would just go away. We “pray” when we lack the courage, ability, or desire to act.
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Lots of people have lots of questions about matters of faith. I know this. I also know that many folks are reluctant to ask those questions. Sometimes it is because the question might reveal too much about their struggles. Sometimes it’s because they asked a question once and it led to judgment or dismissal. Sometimes folks fear that the question is silly. I was thankful this morning as I saw small puddles of water on the deck. It had rained in the night. Though we are not, by definition, suffering a drought, you could not convince my pollinator garden of that fact. I’ve been watering, especially the plants new this season, but it’s not the same. The old saying goes, “Watering keeps the plants alive. Rain makes them grow.”
In 2025 (not so far away), Holy Trinity will mark its 75th year of ministry in Ankeny. Such a milestone is certainly a cause to look back and give thanks for all the blessings God has granted in and through the congregation. More important, however, is that we look ahead to the call God issues to love in the days and decades ahead. As I was driving to church the other morning, my mind wandered. I arrived at Des Moines Street and realized that I had driven most of the commute without paying any attention. I don’t even remember the price of gas (paying attention to gas prices is a habit I picked up from my father). I don’t remember if the light at Irvinedale was red or green. I don’t recall much of anything from the trip. Things around Holy Trinity have been a bit busy. But it’s not the usual kind of busy. It all started later in the afternoon on Sunday. A bunch of people showed up and then started having all sorts of fun. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking that I needed to step in and do something because having fun in church is just something we’re not supposed to do. But I didn’t know what to do, so I just watched as these people were having fun here in the building. Last Sunday was the second Sunday of Pentecost and the beginning of Ordinary Time. Ordinary Time. So much of every life is spent doing ordinary things. When we go through life, we observe so many things that we would consider to be ordinary things. And because they are ordinary, we don’t seem to remember them. If you question this, just try to remember what you ate for supper last week or last month. "When God began to create the heavens and the earth, the earth was complete chaos.” (Genesis 1:1-2 NRSVue) The creating God brings order out of chaos, life out of death, and light from darkness. Sometimes the way God works to order the chaos is spectacular, nearly miraculous. Look at the way cells in a body can coalesce into a living being, so complex and full of vitality. Look at the night sky and see the way that stars and galaxies move in a cosmic dance. Witness the way God can knit together people in a community that expresses love and grace to one another. “I just can’t watch or listen to the news anymore, Pastor. It is too much.” I nodded my head and said I knew exactly what he meant. I hear this from many of you, and feel it in my own heart, on a regular basis. The suffering and pain of this world is enormous. It is overwhelming. It has so many dimensions that one can’t figure out where to start. |
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