Ministry in Motion

Now Mount Sinai was all in smoke because the LORD descended upon it in fire; and its smoke ascended like the smoke of a furnace, and the whole mountain quaked violently. Fire is a wonderful picture of the work of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is like a fire in at least three ways: He brings God’s presence, God’s passion, and God’s purity. The Holy Spirit is the presence of God as He indwells the heart of the believer. I'm drawn to the story in the Book of Acts (The acts of the Holy Spirit):  When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them... I like what Luke Powery wrote: "At Pentecost, each body and ethnicity is affirmed as sacred and of worth, a human being loved by God. No human voice or body is denied the presence and fire of God." May the f

  But now, O Lord, You are our Father; we are the clay,  and You our potter;  and all we are the work of Your hand   ~  I saiah 64:8 Because clay can be both pliable and permanent, it has been used for everything from writing to brick-making, from cave drawing to cooking vessels.   Every culture has left its mark in some form of clay. And the symbolic clay that you are holding today carries the whole story of creation. When was the last time you held a lump of clay in the palm of your hand? Consider this contemplative practice :   Find a comfortable place to sit, hold your clay cupped in your hands.   As you breathe in, notice the ease and naturalness of your breath.  As you inhale and exhale, try your very best to let go of anything you do not need in order to be present — be here and now.  With each gentle breath, in and out, let your eyes close or go soft.   Let your mind rest in the clay. Close your eyes if that makes you comfortable.   Maybe you’ll be content and inclined to simpl

"W e shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” —T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets   Richard Rohr wrote recently: “In the metaphor of life as a journey, I think it’s finally about coming back home to where we started.” Reading these thoughts stirred me to thinking about my personal story, which is not highly publicized, well known or particularly noteworthy to anyone but me. But it’s mine. I own it now and for all generations to come or as long as I’m remembered.   Reading and rereading Rohr’s brief quote concerning coming back home, I’m given to and almost overwhelmed by pause: the beginning beauty and simplicity of my life’s genesis. Not necessarily my family of origin, but my ideals, my expectations, my explorations. Beautiful maybe sometimes illusive and slippery concepts like: equality, justice, life, playfulness, curiosity, friendship, hugs and smiles.   If life is a journey and