“Lord, save me!”

Posted on August 10, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken near St. Augustine, FL.)

(Photo taken near St. Augustine, FL.)

Peter has left the boat – he has stepped out on faith to go to Jesus. But then, halfway there, he begins to sink even as the waves begin to rise. He is powerless to do anything about it. He is terrified and shouts: ‘Lord, save me!’

Even in his weakness, this Peter is amazing, courageous. He shows us what it looks like to follow Christ, to be obedient. Somehow we muster the courage to do what we discern God is asking of us. But invariably we will come to a place where we are face-to-face with our utter powerlessness.

It is easy to lose heart when we are halfway there:

“Did I do the right thing to leave that abusive relationship?”

“Will I be able to face life without alcohol?”

“Will my family ever be able to forgive me?”

Even Jesus’ disciples and closest friends found themselves sinking in the mire more than once.

But they discovered what each of us longs to know: we need not fear.

The mercy of God and the truth of our lives have met.

The One who created everything that is holds us gently and tenderly.

Our desperate cry “Save me!” is never lost. It reverberates in the very heart of God.

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“Forgotten by us, but dear to you.”

Posted on July 29, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken at Camp Weed in July 2014.)

(Photo taken at Camp Weed in July 2014.)

This day I find myself meditating on a prayer from a beautiful Litany for Compassion:

“For all who are forgotten by us, but dear to you:
We entreat you to hear us, good Lord.“*

I think of the pain and loss that relentlessly pepper the headlines. Of those victims of senseless violence and unimaginable cruelty in the Middle East, in the Ukraine, and behind closed doors in our own neighborhoods.

I think of unexpected illness, lives cut short, and loss and disappointment for which there is no rhyme or reason.

And then I look at the beautiful youth who have come to church camp this week. Even in their own short lives and families, they have experienced pain, loss and disappointment.

But there is also grace. Tremendous grace. There is the loving embrace of a community that says: You belong. We are family. We are friends.

My prayer is that these young ones come to experience authentic love in a deep and profound way. That we all come to know and experience the love of God who never forgets, who is always present, even in our darkest hours.

Give us strength and grace to search your heart, O God, and may we be blessed to find you in our neighbor.

*From The Wideness of God’s Mercy (pp 278-9) by Jeffery W. Rowthorn.

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Fields of wheat.

Posted on July 18, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Beautiful sunflower -- which some would classify as a weed -- photographed in the garden of dear friends Darlene and Bob.)

(Beautiful sunflower photographed in the garden of dear friends Darlene and Bob.)

This Sunday we will hear again the parable of the wheat and weeds (Matthew 13:24-30; 36-43). It is one of the gospel messages that can be disconcerting, even disturbing. At the end of the age, none of us wants to find ourselves thrown into the fiery furnace. A knee-jerk reaction to this reading might be to roll up our sleeves and get to work ridding the fields of our lives and hearts of their weeds. Others of us who have tried this futile exercise may be weary and inclined to throw in the towel.

I can’t help but think of my yard and its endless yield of all manner of weeds. I will never get rid of them all but will continue to do what I can, while fostering the “desirable” flowers and plants I find there. It is important to remember that God is the gardener who cares for us and longs to build up that which is beautiful in us.

It is our job not to do the actual weeding but rather to turn to God and seek God’s will. God knows what is best and what is necessary to refine and transform us day by day into beings that can bring gifts of service, love and hope to a deeply troubled world.

Our AA friends have gotten it right with the 7th Step prayer, which reads:
My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad. Please remove from me every single defect of character, which stands in the way of my usefulness to you and to my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here, to do your bidding. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p 76)

It is important and necessary for us to take inventory, to identify those things that separate us from experiencing the love of God and from sharing our abundance with others. But we must trust the Holy Spirit to do the work of burning away the weeds to make room for God’s goodness to enter in.

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The garden of my heart.

Posted on July 12, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken at Holy Spirit Monastery, Conyers, GA.)

(Photo taken at Holy Spirit Monastery, Conyers, GA.)

In tomorrow’s Gospel lesson, Jesus tells the parable of the sower. Hearing this parable used to make me uncomfortable. I worried that my soil was too rocky or shallow, that the good news would die or be snatched away. Looking back, this certainly seemed to be the case. I had times as a young person when I was very “religious” and spent many hours in scripture, and I had other periods of blatant rebelliousness, fueled in part by various forms of addiction.

In reading the parable of the sower, I couldn’t help but think of one of my 12-step mentors. Vange would refer to her “resentment garden” as she gave a regular account of how she was tending it. “When I water those resentments, they just grow and flourish,” she would chuckle. But, then she would talk about the good work of weeding and eradicating those suckers.

In my experience, it takes focused intention and commitment to properly tend the garden of my heart. The ground can look clear and pristine at times, but I know those resentments will spring up again at some point. When it comes to gardening, I am most enthusiastic about planting pretty new flowers and far less motivated by the need to weed and create maintainable boundaries. I must remind myself that regular inspections, with weeding and pruning, are what make room for beauty. They make for a garden space that is inviting and healing.

Why do I continue to balk at the hard work of tending the garden of my heart? Every time, once I get past the resistance, once I get down on my knees, hands deep in the dirt, I find a healing, transforming space. In that rich, fecund decay I find the source of new life.

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Sabbath time.

Posted on June 28, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Beautiful sunflowers from the sabbath garden space of dear friends Darlene and Bob.)

(Beautiful sunflowers from the sabbath garden space of dear friends Darlene and Bob.)

This weekend I carved out time I didn’t think I had. To spend time with dear friends, time breathing in salt air, eating fresh food and feeling the sand beneath my feet.

It is an odd quirk of mine – a defect of character perhaps – that tells me I am not worthy of sabbath time. At least not until that “one more thing” has been accomplished. The problem with that is there is always “one more thing.”

Because my beagles got to spend time in a swimming pool last evening, I too spent time in a swimming pool. My younger hound Blossom allowed me to carry her in to the water. She trusted me just enough. However, even as I held her close, she folded her neck and head against my neck, holding onto me as best she could.

The elder beagle Rose, on the other hand, also trusted the hands that held her as she entered the water. Rose kept very still but her beagle body was not at all tense. She did not lean into the human that held her. Instead she trusted those hands that lifted her up. She trusted the buoyancy of the water, even relaxed into it. She trusted the love of “the Other.”

After 18 hours of sabbath time, I find myself still with “one more thing” to do, but it isn’t worrisome. Though the time is short, I am no longer tense or anxious about it.

There is nothing on my plate or in my dreams that justifies ignoring the need for personal sabbath. My penance will be to experience more sand, more air, and more letting go, trusting the Love who made the Sabbath for humankind.

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A letter from jail.

Posted on June 18, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in Garden of Hope at Clara White Mission. Peggy, who coordinates the work, gives thanks for the guidance provided by the Extension Center of Duval County.)

(Photo taken in Garden of Hope at Clara White Mission. Peggy, who coordinates the work, gives thanks for the guidance provided by the Extension Center of Duval County.)

The name on the envelop was unfamiliar, but I recognized the return address from the local jail.

The letter was sent to the attention of “Mother Beth” of Church Without Walls and made its way to St. John’s Cathedral.

It is humbling and a little embarrassing to have someone remember my name and figure out how to reach me while I did not recognize his name on the envelop.

Then I opened the letter, which began with the writer introducing himself as “Jerry (Gerald).”

You gave me a cross necklace Easter Sunday and asked me my name, he wrote. You told me it was the same as your father’s.

Immediately, I remembered the conversation. On that glorious Easter Sunday, we had given out Ecclesia crosses and blessings for any congregant that wished to receive one. I am deeply moved that this Jerry was connected so certainly, that he became a part of our “church without walls” community through that simple act. I think we clergy sometimes wonder if what we do when we gather for worship makes a difference. Are these rituals hollow and repetitious or do they carry meaning?

Hearing Jerry’s experience encourages me to carry on. We have no idea what impact an act of simple hospitality might have. Most often we will never know. But once in a while we get lucky. Once in a while someone is moved to share their story.

Some people might roll their eyes at this one. They might say, the guy’s in jail. What good has that hospitality done?

Plenty of good, I say. Jerry knows he has a place where he will be accepted, no matter what. He is a part of a valuable expression of the Body of Christ. He reminds us that Christ calls us to reach out and connect wherever we may find ourselves on our life’s journey.

Jerry’s reaching out is changing me. It strengthens me. It tells me to not wait until I have my act together to be a part of the Church. The Church needs us right now, as we are, right where we are.

And the Church, if it have any truth in it, will welcome us.

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Growth hog.

Posted on June 8, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken this week at Kanuga Camp and Conference Center near Asheville, N.C.)

(Photo taken this week at Kanuga Camp and Conference Center near Asheville, N.C.)

On a short walk in the woods, my friend Nancee expanded my vocabulary when she called me this:

Growth hog.

It made me laugh, even snort a little, and otherwise delighted me.

I love this term. It speaks to that part of us that is constantly yearning to be born. That part of us that is reaching toward a dream for a better world, a meaningful life, and the chance to make a difference. The chance to live into the vision that God has for us.

Once we have a taste of what is possible, it is difficult to be satisfied with what is. We can certainly be grateful for what is. We can appreciate what we have but, before much time passes, it will come again – that nagging sense that something new is longing to be created.

I read recently that the cells of the human body are replaced every seven years. Doesn’t it make sense that the vision for our lives would be subject to the same cycle of renewal? Doesn’t it make sense that we would constantly be writing and rewriting the story of our lives as we encounter and embrace new experiences, new understanding and new possibilities?

Growth opportunities may be inconvenient but they are inevitable. Lean into them. Give thanks for them.

You might find that you are a growth hog, too.

You send forth your Spirit, and they are created;
and so you renew the face of the earth. (Ps 104:31)

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Grace breaks in.

Posted on May 26, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken at a Church Without Walls service.)

(Photo taken at a Church Without Walls service.)

There is no doubt in my mind that many sacred things are happening around us at any given time. They may be small, almost imperceptible events. Or they may be life-changing, seminal happenings.

I am also convinced that I often miss them, even when they unfold right before my eyes. When I do get to notice one of those special moments — when grace breaks in — it is humbling. It is a gift given me, this opportunity to witness hope being born, to witness the love that calls forth love.

A couple of weeks ago at street church (churchwithoutwallsjax.com) one of our regular congregants — a man who is highly delusional yet unexpectedly resourceful as he navigates life on the street — approached me just after our service had ended. Usually, he comes with a litany of words that, in spite of being intricately woven together, make not one wit of sense to me. But this time was different. He came right up to our altar, standing across from me as I took care of the vessels from communion. I had just announced that we could use help consuming the consecrated bread that still remained. He said nothing as he stood there, his head bowed.

“Did you want to help us finish the bread?”

He nodded slightly. “I want the prayers, too,” he said.

It was startling to hear him voice an articulate thought.

“I missed it before…” He appeared to be referring to communion a few minutes earlier. Apparently lining up with the rest of the congregation was too overwhelming.

I broke off a piece of bread and lifted it up. “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”

He took it in his hands and said a prayer before consuming it.

I held up a cup of consecrated juice: “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.”

He took the cup, uttered a beautiful prayer and consumed it.

In those brief moments, when he was drawn to the body and blood of Christ, he was lucid and calm.

Then as quickly as he appeared before me, he darted away, but with the promise that he would be back. The Word, he explained, is what he hungers for.

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“Nothing bad.”

Posted on May 17, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Another dear friend Deb Fewell took this photo when she joined us for church!)

(My dear friend Deb Fewell took this photo when she joined us for church!)

This week I visited with a friend who has become very interested in our “church without walls.” Her heart for those on the edge – for those who have been lost, forgotten or rejected – is not new.

She has an email pen pal – a homeless man with whom she corresponds from time to time. In her most recent correspondence with him, she asked him if he has heard of our “church without walls,” and he said that he has.

My friend then wrote, “What have you heard about it?”

His answer was simple: “Nothing bad.”

Nothing bad. That, I think, was a compliment of sorts. Brings to mind the call for physicians to do no harm.

My sense is that this fellow’s experiences with the churches he encounters are none too friendly. That doesn’t surprise me. Our churches often are not very kind to folks on the street. We mean to be kind, helpful even, but we are not very comfortable with the idea of co-existing with folks who are deeply impoverished and often troubled,* much less of existing in true community with one another.

This morning I led a retreat for vestry members of two small parishes. Today we tend to think of a “parish” as one of our Episcopal churches, but one of the retreat attendees had an excellent observation. “Your ministry calls to mind our Anglican roots. It reminds me that in the Church of England years ago, parish referred to an entire area.” I loved hearing this reminder that a parish includes not just a physical church facility and the people who associate with it, but rather it encompasses a geography — a number of square miles — and all who reside there.

Everyone belongs to God. And we are called to serve those in our midst.

*Of note, Florida ranks 50th in the nation in funding for mental health, and Duval County, which is home to this ministry, is the poorest funded county in the Florida.

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Icons

Posted on May 3, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken outside of Wakulla correctional facility outside of Tallahassee, FL.)

(Photo taken outside of Wakulla correctional facility outside of Tallahassee, FL.)


Standing behind a thick marigold line
waiting our turns to drop identification
into a small pass-through drawer,
together forming a community as we each
hope for a green light to enter the facility
to visit a friend or family member.
An African American family — a young mother
with a little girl and little boy.
Her excited toddler son hoisted onto
Grandpa’s shoulders as a distraction.
Dimples lie deep in creamy caramel cheeks.
Red white blue and black high-tops
match his starched plaid shirt.
I wonder if between visits he remembers
his father. His smell. His touch. His longing.
A tall, willowy white woman is next up.
“I don’t have any idea what I’m doing,”
she says to the worker, an ill-defined shadow
behind smoky dark glass.
“I’ve never been here before.”
Behind dear Darlene and me are
two redheads: a kindly graying man
with his disabled, adult daughter, her short fuchsia hair
hopelessly struggling to lie flat against
her ghostly white scalp.
When we get to the window, I offer
my driver’s license and a clearance number
a friend obtained for me.
“This is a volunteer clearance,” the Captain explains.
“You can go to chapel but you aren’t cleared
to visit an individual prisoner.”
Darlene is crestfallen, sad as am I.
“You go on,” I assure her.
“We’ll come back again.”

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