“But Christ came into the world not so that we should understand him
                              but so that we should cling to him, so that we simply let him pull us
​                              into the unbelievable event of the resurrection, so that we simply have it 
                             said to us, said to us in all its incomprehensibility:  You have died - and yet
​                             you have been raised!  You are in the darkness - and yet you are in the light. 
                             You are afraid - and yet you can be glad.  Right next to each other the
​                             completely contradictory, right next to each other, just the way the two
                             worlds, our world and the world of God, are right next to each other.” 
                                                                                                      ~   Dietrich Bonhoeffer 
 
Beloved:

I’m now twice the age Dietrich Bonhoeffer was when he preached this sermon in Berlin in June of 1932.  Hitler came to power within months, and Dietrich’s life was two-thirds over though he did not know it.  Had he known, I suspect he’d have been far bolder.  But he sits with me here and now, young enough to be my son, and yet he’s the one nudging me through another political transition, as preachers everywhere wait to see against what sort of power the Christian gospel will be called to push in months and years to come.

Of all we cannot know, what we do not have to figure out is what God would have us say and do.  Because God’s will does not change with the political winds of time or place.  Common sense adjustments, yes.  Tactical revisions, maybe.  Fundamental change of mission and priorities, nope.  We are here to love God, love each other, and love the world as Jesus first loved us.  With our goods, with our bodies, with our reputations and, should it come to it, with our lives, knowing that nothing necessary is ever lost.  For, just as we have died, we have also already been raised.  Therefore, we can be glad.  We can be at peace.  We can enjoy today and look forward to tomorrow. 

~ peace & prayers,
​
pastor annette

Beloved: 
 
    I’ve just returned from Atlanta to find myself summoned there once more, via the New York Times, by former President Jimmy Carter no less.  Reading the news this morning I learned that he wants Baptist pastors and lay people to meet him there this fall for a summit to “soothe racial rifts in the country that are only getting worse.”  He’s asked for representatives from white, black, Hispanic and Asian churches to come and makes the case for urgency in the matter. 

     While Atlanta isn’t my favorite city, Jimmy Carter is one of my favorite Baptists.  I’ve heard him speak a few times and read his books.  I appreciate his political restraint and pragmatic faith.  He builds walls, lots of them, in Habitat for Humanity houses.  If he has a plan for racial reconciliation and unity with which he wants my help, then I’m in.  All in. 

    Thanks to Rob Drummond for preaching last Sunday.  It blessed me good.  I hope to see you tomorrow evening for supper at 6.  I'm serving rice, beans, tacos, guacamole and sopaipillas.  I hope to see you again  this coming Sunday when I'm serving 1 Corinthians, chapter 3. 

~ peace & prayers,
pastor annette
​
Duckling update - as of Monday, May 23rd the duck eggs
were still incubating at Wild Care, Inc.  I will check on
them again next week. 

​Beloved:

The church duck was eaten by a hawk last Tuesday afternoon. She’d come back for a second spring to nest and lay her eggs in the flowerbed near our parking lot.  We’ve felt really honored she chose us.  The day she died was awful for everyone involved, except the hawk.  By everyone involved I mean the duck, five women, two mockingbirds and ten unborn ducklings.  Nine of the eggs made it safely to an incubator at Wild Care.

       Global Women’s Gathering volunteers came upon the scene as they were leaving for the day.  The hawk already had the duck subdued.  The mockingbirds were screeching and dive-bombing him in an attempt to drive him off her.  He was unmoved by the mockingbirds, the rock I threw at him, and the garden hose I swung at him.  He killed her then began to pluck and eat.  It was both horrific and fascinating.

       Some people left and the rest of us gathered the nest and eggs into a box.  Wild Care wasn’t answering their phone so we googled whether broody chickens would hatch duck eggs.  Yes.  So we loaded them up and I transferred them to my henhouse. Sadly I dropped one egg in the process and discovered that the babies are about half formed but, joyfully, still moving.   I had to write “duck” on the other nine so we didn’t get them mixed up with my blue chicken eggs.  Then Wild Care did call back to say that it probably wasn’t the best plan to let my chickens hatch them since ducks need to be near water so soon after birth.  So I reloaded them into the car and delivered them to the Wild Care facility over on the west side of town.  

       I was queasy the rest of the day and still can’t bring myself to eat an egg. I’m trying not to be mad at the hawk, though I pointed out to him that he is welcome to all the chipmunks he can eat as they are destroying our retaining wall.  Besides that, I’m as much a carnivore as him.  I’ve thought plenty about violence too.  About how little violence I witness in a year.  About how if bird-on-bird violence leaves me queasy, how do people even breathe in places like Syria, Iraq, Gaza and South Sudan. And whether it turns God’s belly seeing people kill people for sport?

       Surely it must mean something when everyday life is so safe and so sheltered?  Above all else, don’t whine.  Nip the inclination to complain before it ever finds a voice.  Be thankful.  Be grateful. Be kind. Be generous.  Be glad to have another day in such beauty.  And pray for those who can only dream of it.  Pray for peace in their land and joy in their lives. 
​
~ peace & prayers,
pastor annette

May 3, 2016

Beloved:
​
    This old cat of ours.  Ben was three or four when we got him, which makes Simba seventeen or eighteen now.  He hates riding in cars.  He’s been to the vet once in his life, after a raccoon tore him up.  He lived outside and reckless most of his years, killing prey for food and sport.  The vet told me he’d die young without vaccines.  Nope.  He once spent four days and three nights stuck in a tree, higher than any cat my $75 tree man had ever rescued.  He belayed himself to the branch above Simba and rappelled up, whispering to him the whole way.  Simba staggered over to him and let himself be shrouded into a pillowcase. 

    Simba doesn’t hunt anymore.  He hasn’t scratched a kid in ages.  He lets chickens chase him, though he refuses to run.  His favorite food is canned dog food, and if he’s especially cold he’ll even snuggle a dog.  Young Simba would never have suffered such humiliations. 

    I found an online calculator for cat years which says Simba’s age is comparable to being an eighty-four-to-eighty-eight-year-old human.  Looking back, he didn’t really start to mellow until well past middle age.  The tree incident was in his late sixties.  This give me all kinds of hope for my own future.

​    I like the idea of mellowing, of learning to mind my own business, of receiving insults with good humor, of accepting help, of trying new things, making new friends of old enemies and taking comfort where it has been all along. 
​
    As I’m writing, Simba’s come to lay against the computer screen.  I’ve had to drag the window sideways to keep working.  He’s still King Simba, as some things never change. 
​
~ peace & prayers,
​
pastor annette