“Hope has two beautiful daughters: their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them the way they ought to be.” -Saint Augustine

This week, we take up the story of Abraham, Sarah and Isaac. It is an old, old story with themes of waiting, promises, pain and hope.  One some level, there are things that we have all given up on. A life we thought we would be living. Meeting the right person. Taking up an instrument. Finishing a degree. Having enough money in savings to breathe a bit easier. Being good at soccer.  Mending a relationship that seem irreparable. What is it that you have given up on?

From the beginning of HW, we have tried to put our most vulnerable population out front and let them set the pace. Most often, this is our kids. Allowing them to lead had continually shaped how we are together as a community. It just occurred to me that it’s happened again. Here is how…

Early yesterday morning, I was preparing for text study. (Yes, I study before gathering with others to study…this way I have something to contribute AND I look way smart. Which is the goal.) Anyway, I started to think about an alternative lectionary that is now circulating around preacher’s corners. Sidenote: the lectionary is the cycle of texts from the Bible that we hear/preach each week. Anyway, I read through the fall narrative lectionary and saw Abraham and Sarah, Joseph in Egypt, Ruth (RUTH!!), Soloman, Elijah…and a whole bunch of others.  It’s a whole trip through the Old Testament…leading up to Jesus’ birth on Christmas (thus, “narrative”). It’s the story that has shaped our ancestors. It is our story. Do you want to learn it together?

What does this have to do with kids? Well…they tasted, listened, felt, saw and smelled their way through the whole narrative during Wild Week in August. Totally trumped by the youngsters! Oh, those kids and their new fangled old ideas.

So, come and hear these stories. Try them on. See what they have for you and your life.

Well folks. I know you have all enjoyed our time at Highland Park picnic area…buuuuuut, this is the final Sunday in the park. I know, I know. You will miss the hotdogs and steamy 105 degree temps. (Seriously, the weather was perfect our first week in July…and then it exploded). We have been shaped by the experience. We have been patience.  And now…we are entering into a one-month trial with Acme Scenic Arts on West 7th. Read about them (fascinating) http://www.acmescenicarts.com/about.html.

What you need to know is that space is beautiful…spacious, warm and bright. One very exciting thing we gain in this move is a sink for filling our water/coffee pots. Score! No more hauling water jugs to and from the space. Thank you, Jesus. Plus…tall, tall ceilings. And it’s right on our main drag. This gallery is connected to an AA meeting house, a bar and another gallery and a tea house. A little something for everyone. And now, a little Humble Walk.

If the courtship goes well (they like us, we like them…), we will sign on for six more months.  We will have limited chairs for the trial month, so we would love you to bring a camp chair or two when you come. And you will come. And you will bring everyone you know. And it will be awesome.

What do you all think? Do we have your blessing to sign up for this dating service?

Check out this baptismal font. Yeah, baby! Since our exodus from the Pilney Building, we have been gathering in Highland Park on Sundays. It looks, feels, tastes, smells and sounds differently. We are at picnic tables. Some folks sit on the grass. Others bring camping chairs. Last week, our community included three dogs and an uncle from California.

Babies crawl around on blankets. Small people run and run and run in the green space. Prayers are spoken. Wine is poured into plastic cups. Word is read, chewed and responded to. There are always too many hotdogs. Friends who come to the park to play (with no intention of going to church) are invited in to eat. And suddenly, we are there together, breaking bread.

Last Sunday, it was swampy hot. Someone commented on facebook that we should probably be worried about the pull of Highland Pool…so tantalizingly close to us….just across the street. We responded that we will just claim the pool as the biggest baptismal font ever. If you get pulled over to the pool, we will rejoice with you. That’s the thing about how the Holy Spirit seems to work–drawing us in, closer to the water. And if you spend enough time by that water–you are eventually going to get wet.

Come and see.

This Sunday, we will gather for the last time in the Pilney Building. We don’t have our next home in place. Well, we know where we are going to be in July:  Highland Park…like the actual park, park…on Montreal across from the pool. But, beyond July (or possibly August)…we are still homeless.

We own a few Rubbermaids full of stuff. Cups, plates, coffeemaking supplies, altar clothes, etc. It’s not a lot…but more than any one person would want to store.

So, on Sunday, we gathered all our physical assets into  two piles. One pile was the stuff we want to be free of…large pillar candles, cocoa mix, etc. These were free for the taking. Even mobile churches with few assets can stand to downsize.

The second pile contained items looking for foster care. We asked folks to take home an item or two, store them and then bring them back in a month or two when we find a new place. Out the door went the Paschal candle and stand, the Goodwill collection of coffee mugs, the art supplies.

We are down to the very basics: our altar stuff (baptismal bowl, cross, chalice, plate, offering can). With any move, you get to see your stuff…right there, all laid out and then decide what you really need. For the next month or two–we need one Rubbermaid.

A couple Sundays ago, we arrived early to set up for our Feast. We were all living with the new idea of leaving the Pilney space for good. We had just spent all of Saturday participating in Summer Homework–working on six homes in a three block radius. Sore, tired, hopefilled bodies. Hot City Pizza was busy making an endless supply of pizza for us.

Right away, we realized a small hitch in our setup plan. The elevator was in the basement–which meant we couldn’t use it–which meant we couldn’t access our Rubbermaid bins–which meant we didn’t have our regular altar stuff.

We punted. A coffee mug with “Mother” on it served as a chalice. Grape juice rather than wine. A paper plate held the bread. A group drew a cross. Pretty soon, someone offered a stuffed puppy on the altar. When we say things like: the church=gathered bodies around wine, bread, water, word…sometimes we actually have to live it.

We had some visitors that day (welcome to the holy chaos, friends). One visitor was Melissa Pohlman, who serves a church in N. Minneapolis (yes, where the tornado ripped through/apart). She sent us this as a response/thank you.

The trappings never did it for me

Big complicated inside words

And programming from the ‘50’s

Left me cold

But pizza from across the street

With a homegrown salad

In a borrowed space, soon left

Enough orange Fanta to share

There He is.

Embargoed Rubbermaid tubs

Marker to paper drawn

A cross in the style of Microsoft Office clipart

Bread and “wine”, cups and plate

Is enough. Enough to hold him for a quick minute

The altar is just the right place to rest

Beloved puppy and aforementioned Fanta

We are sent even before we have begun

Back to the rest of our lives

Full, with a little extra body delivered

From four year old to four year old

No one lacks for much

And I sing along.

We are moving. Literally. And probably in all sorts of ways metaphorically. We are being moved. Literally. And most likely in all sorts of ways metaphorically.

For the first 24 hours, I wasn’t exactly on board. “Now??? But I just got home from that thing in NJ and I’m tiiiiiired.” “But, Summer Homework is this weekend.” “There are so many other things to do this month…I don’t want to put energy into moving. I want to hang out with my people.”

And then someone offered us the use of their yard.  “We’ll even mow.” Someone else said, “It’s okay, Jodi. We can meet in homes if we need to.” And then someone dropped by for coffee and said, “The space doesn’t really matter anyway. Church is people. As long as the people are there–who cares where we meet.” Someone else suggested gathering at a park. Another person said, “I’m actually really excited about this!” And she meant it.

It all sort of broke my heart (in a good way) and I can’t help but be on board. We have three more weeks to gather at the Pilney…to search for a home and to dream about what this might push us to do/be. You KNOW we are going to grow–change has a way of doing that to folks. And this church isn’t our anyway, it’s God’s. God will not abandon us.

So, here’s what we need. Lots of you are calling with info on available spaces. I need you to be on the look out–and if you find something that you think might work–go on and get the facts. Call and find out if it’s available, how much rent would be, if they want to play with us. (You need to say that we are ELCA. This could be a deal breaker.)

We need space for 30-80. We come with 5 Rubbermaid bins that we want to store during the week. We have children. Our current rent is $75 a week. We want to stay in the West End (we have bus riders and bikers and some walkers). We eat–a kitchen would be thrilling…but we are also used to camping. Go! Investigate. And if something sounds good, let me know.

I have so much to tell you all about the gathering in NJ. And I promise I will. While I was there, I shared a little picture of our life together. Here is what I said…

“Although I never intended to be a store-front preacher (hello…Lutheran), we have found ourselves in a store-front on Sundays at 4:30PM. The thing that’s amazing is that we are in the middle of all sorts of life happening around us.

The firestation is two doors down. Last month, we invited the crew to join us for a feast. And it was awkward and sweet and a now we know about one another. Plus, we cannot help but be aware of every emergency they are called to…we see the trucks and hear the sirens during worship. Every week. 

We are at the intersection of a busy bus stop. When the bus stops (during worship), we see the riders and they see us. Cups of coffee are shared between bus riders and public. Often there are donuts involved.

We know we are in the middle of all sorts of life being lived. One telltale sign is the pair of turquoise women’s lacy underwear that I found tied to the door handle last Sunday. (You probably don’t want to dwell on that one too long.)”

And, all of this is completely true. But, the Pilney Building is only a tent. Humble Walk is you. Is me.  And we will be Humble Walk whether we gather in the Pilney (Sundays), an alley (summer Wild Wednesdays), a park (WW’s), a bar (Theology on Tap), a garage (Good Friday) or in one anothers homes (Summer Homework).

Keep that in mind…because here is the kicker…we are getting the boot from the Pilney. We have 30 days to find a new space. It’s fair–our agreement with the owner’s of the building was a 30 day notice. And that if they needed the space for something fulltime–we would move on.  We have lasted waaaay longer than we thought we would.

So, we’ll enjoy the next month (come! enjoy!)…and we’ll all be on the lookout for a place to gather. We will all think about…dream about…what we want that space to look like and where we want it to be located. We will take time to be sad…and we will embrace the reality that our gathering space is only a tent. We are HW.

Last week, I ran into a friend at synod assembly. Perhaps you already know him…Pastor Dave Greenlund at Peace Lutheran in Lauderdale. Dave has already coached us through Summer Homework (we ripped off their idea in its entirety and gave it a new name). ANYway, he asked what we do with art within our worship space. Which led to me say that we are looking for ideas of creating a holy space within our tent. Along with the coffee cups and fire trucks wailing by. But it gets tricky since we set up and tear down each week. Things get broken easily.

Dave, lovely, Dave offered to teach us how to do silk printing. Which we can do in liturgical colors and help define our space. PLUS, they are durable/hard to break. Do you want to learn? And then come back and teach the rest of us?

A few of you already signed on for this project. If anyone else wants to go, do, learn and then equip the rest of us…tell Rachel Kurtz. It will mean a two-hour commitment sometime between now and June 12.  You will make something flaming red for the season of Pentecost (begins June 12).

This morning, I was part of a group that led worship at the Festival of Homiletics in Minneapolis. What do you get when you gather 1100 preachers from all over the planet, put Karoline Lewis in the pulpit, Rachel Kurtz and Lowell Mickelson on hand drums, Jonathan Rundman on mandolin, Nate Houge on guitar and me telling everyone to rise and sit? Well, it makes for an alright worship.

Some of you asked about the prayers. Yes, I wrote them. Yes, you can use them/rip them off. No, you don’t need to tell anyone where you got them.

On a sidenote, one of you fine preachers said you want to be able to write prayers like this. And what I can tell you is this: you can. Of course you can. First, let go of all that churchy language. I like polished language as much as the next person. I really love well-crafted, thoughtful prayers. But it often feels that in our crafting, we use about the same 10 words/phrases over and over until they have completely lost their meaning.

Pitfall to avoid: What you might be tempted to do is work at being hip or relative. That will never work. (Look at us, people. We are complete dorks. It’s okay. Claim it and stop trying to be otherwise.) What you can do is think of yourself as a translator. Think about all those beautiful churchy theological statements. Now picture yourself sitting at your local bar or coffeeshop and throwing about those words. Ick! Who talks like that? I’m not saying to dumb things down. I’m saying–use normal words to describe what it is you are getting at.  Because if you are using language that only your colleagues use–then you have completely forgotten/left out  your gathered body.

Alright, I will stop preaching. Here they are:

(Based on John 14: 1-14)

Let us pray for the church and all those in need.
(silence)
Abiding Christ, we know you are with us. Our education, experience and our Grandma’s tell us you are here. Yet, so often we forget. Quite frankly, it feels easier to just do things on our own. Our way. On our timeline. Lone rangers have their place, Lord. Dictators get stuff done. Managers are effective. But this morning, we hear that you not only send us, but you go along with us. You command us to love but first empower us to love. Help us recognize that we do not function alone, that we are not in charge, that you do not need us to manage you, that we are not in control. Lord, in your mercy…

Abiding Christ, if the world does indeed end on Saturday, we look forward to what you have prepared for us. We trust that you will sort out who gets which room and we do not have to scramble for the best view. If Sunday morning comes and we are, in fact, still around, give us eyes and hearts and bold visions for what we are able to do here in this kingdom. In our churches. In our neighborhoods. Maybe even push us to find rooms and safe dwellings for those who woke up in shelters this morning. Lord, in your mercy…

Abiding Christ, you have called us to be preachers of your word. Thank you. It is such a strange job. We stand in pulpits on Sundays, hoping we haven’t missed the Good in the News. We pray we don’t screw it up. That we might have something to offer those who have gathered. And then Monday rolls around and we begin the whole process again. Give us patience, persistance, humor, humility, creativity, collegiality and honesty in this work. Lord, in your mercy…