A happy life.

Posted on April 22, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Found on our "church without walls" altar.)

(Found on our “church without walls” altar.)

On Palm Sunday, when I went to clear off the altar, I found this box of instant mashed potatoes next to the offering plate. At first, the package seemed strangely out of place, but almost immediately it made me think of the early church, when folks brought offerings of food and produce to worship, placing them on the altar to be blessed and shared with those in need.

We all have an innate desire to give, to be generous. It’s in our DNA.

This gesture made me think of Maurice, a friend I met more than a year ago, outside of Clara White Mission on a Wednesday during our coffee and prayer fellowship. He called me over and opened his grungy duffle bag. He rooted around for a moment and then pulled out three beautiful, fresh pink grapefruits and thrust them at me. My first instinct was to say: I don’t need your grapefruit. You do! But, fortunately, I received them with humble thanks.

We all need to give. The One who gave everything for us calls us to give freely. We are blessed when we share what we have.

This is the secret to a happy life.

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Unity in diversity.

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

abbeytreesMy Lenten discipline of making confession became something much bigger. It resulted in a challenging and amazing conversation with a monk who also is a Catholic priest. While on retreat, I had scheduled time to make my confession – a practice I am committed to as part of a “rule of life.” After we introduced ourselves, I explained that I am an Episcopal priest. That’s where things seemed to head south.

First, noting my practice of making retreat at monasteries (some Catholic), he pointed out that I keep coming to the Catholic Church; this struck me as a lightly veiled attempt to see if I am at all drawn to “conversion. “ “There is only one church,” I told him. “One Lord. One faith. One baptism.”

He was completely flustered. “Why would you come to a Catholic priest for absolution?”

“Why not?” I asked.

As he began to explain our differences, I explained my simple faith, based on the Gospel, based on the command to love God with all our heart, mind, and strength and to love our neighbors as ourselves. I must admit, his confusion – his not knowing what to do with me — felt like rejection. Part of me wanted to cut and run, maybe even pack my bag. But then I noticed that this man — the neighbor sitting right across from me — was uncomfortable, too. He was struggling.

We spoke about our churches briefly and then the conversation got real. He spoke about his resistance to a call to the priesthood and even more so as it became a call to the monastery. I shared with him about my own experience with resistance, first spending 15 years fighting a call to ordained ministry, and then resisting a call to ministry on the street (what could this white woman of privilege possibly know about life in the street?).

As we spoke less of theology and more of humanity, we discovered that we each have “Mary” temperaments and “Martha” lives – vocations that call us to busy-ness and yet still yearning for a life of silence and prayer.

My friend spoke of a desire for unity and yet is unable to dismiss the differences and separations that exist between and among our churches. I spoke of Christ’s presence in all things, of his relentless action (though not always with our cooperation) to bring about unity and reconciliation among all people. “That is an interesting way to look at it,” he told me.

Noticing much time had passed and not wanting to overstay my welcome, I thanked him for speaking with me. “I don’t want our conversation to end without peace,” he said. “You came here for something in particular and I feel badly that I can’t give it to you.”

“I would rather have an honest conversation, would rather we be authentic with one another. That we are able to spend time together and speak honestly about these things is a gift.” We sat with this for a moment.

“You did come to make confession. Is there anything heavy on your heart that you want to share?”

“Would you be willing to pray for me?” I asked. He agreed.

After I named two or three troubling shortcomings, he placed his hand on my head and prayed for me tenderly. He prayed for God to forgive all my sins.

As we parted ways, we agreed to pray for one another.

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The gift of the shadow of death.

Posted on April 2, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in my backyard.)

(Photo taken in my backyard.)

This morning I saw my friend Abe for the first time in weeks. He looked bright-eyed and well-tended. As we spoke, I noticed a body brace peeking out from his windbreaker and asked him what had happened.

“I got beaten with a baseball bat, ” he said, matter-of-factly. He said he was hospitalized for more than a month.

Abe is a gentle, peaceful man. I doubt there was anything he did to provoke such an attack though, even if he had, he should not have to experience such brutality.

“I could have died,” he told me. His attitude was one of gratitude that he had survived, that God was with him, even in the midst of violence, and that God is with him now.

Shortly after that, I saw another friend, who put on a cheerful face when I greeted him. He didn’t look as bright as I’d seem him in the past. “You seem a little down in the dumps.”

“I’ve had a set-back,” he told me.

I learned that his camp had been raided without the 24-hour posted notice that law enforcement are required to give. All of his belongings were taken. He was starting from zero. He didn’t ask for anything, said he was grateful just to have someone listen. “I’ve been carrying that around inside. It feels good just to tell someone.” He plans to be baptized at our Easter celebration. He is ready to give all that he is to Jesus, to follow the way of Christ as best he can.

The human spirit is amazing. The instinct to survive, to reach toward the possibility of new life, is palpable, even with those who find themselves living on the edge. Perhaps this is a gift that can be found in life on the edge. It may be similar to what 12-steppers call “the gift of the bottom,” when we are at the place where we have fallen apart so completely that there is no fall-back position. It is in that place where we can come to believe that, with God’s help, it might just be possible to fall back together.

Posted in 12-step spirituality, Baptism, Christianity, Diocese of Florida, faith, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

New life.

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in Israel, summer 2012)

(Photo taken in Israel, summer 2012)

The past few days I have been thinking about what it means to be brave. Lately it shows up most often for me in a willingness to be vulnerable with others.

This week I had an opportunity to speak about my journey with two different colleague groups. The dialogue stretched me, encouraged me, enlivened me. Some parts of my life story that have seemed quite messy and painful have begun to take on the aura of rich, organic material wrought with possibility. God is at work.

At one point, in one of my conversations there was a huge pause — an opportunity to decide if I would speak my truth with this fine, holy group of men or brush over it.

It would have been easy to do the latter. It would have been expeditious. Nobody would have challenged me in doing so. And quite possibly the opportunity that had presented itself would have been forgotten by my colleagues before too much time passed.

Taking advantage of the “pause,” I closed my eyes and focused, breathing deeply as I shared my experience of being a lone woman in a sea of men. Granted, the camaraderie had been amazing. But I had paid a price each time I brushed things over.

When I spoke my truth calmly, my weariness began to dissipate. Strength rose up in its place.

I remember reading somewhere that “the only thing more frightening than speaking your truth is not speaking it.”

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Two nickels.

Posted on March 17, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in December along the St. John's River.)

(Photo taken in December along the St. John’s River.)

This past Sunday a man, whom I don’t recall meeting before, approached me during the peace.

“Mother Beth,” he said with a sense of purpose that made me wonder what he wanted.

He held up his hand. “When is the basket?” he asked. There was a pause before he told me, “I have 10 cents.”

It was then that I saw the two nickels he pressed together carefully, holding them between his thumb and forefinger.

I pointed to a young boy named Skylar, who was visiting and eager to be put to work. “Watch for this young man. He’ll come around with it in just a minute.”

The man turned away and headed back to his perch along the low wall. I had a sinking feeling, wondering if I should have dispensed with the order of things to receive his offering on the spot. “God bless you!” I called to him.

That willingness to surrender all is humbling to behold.

I caught a glimpse of it in the fresh-faced young boy who wanted to be of service, even here in this parking-lot community that he was experiencing for the very first time.

I saw it in the vulnerable, pleading face of a downtrodden man who reached out, eager to be a part of, to give what he could.

And I saw it last Wednesday evening, when I shared my sense of call with two small congregations, west of Jacksonville. As is their custom, a small basket was set out during communion. Our “church without walls” ministry received its largest love offering ever.

Sometimes we can diminish what we have to offer so that it seems almost pointless to bother. But deep down within us we have a need to give, to connect. The imprint of God is in us. It is our nature to be generous. To throw caution to the wind. To give freely.

Lately, I am feeling a little weighed down. A tad weary. Like I don’t have any more to give. But, if I dig down, I know I can find my two nickels. And, for now, that will be enough.

Posted in Christianity, congregational development, Diocese of Florida, Episcopal church, faith, Grace, Uncategorized, unity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Giving up shame.

Posted on March 3, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

Shared these thoughts 2 years ago, at the start of Lent. Still fits so I pass it along once again. Blessings for a Holy Lent — for a time of reflection that draws you closer to your authentic self and to God.

Mother Beth Tjoflat's avatarwalkingwithclare

There is a fair amount of chatter these days about how best to observe a Holy Lent.  Many people choose the discipline of giving something up – like chocolate or wine or Facebook.  Others take something on – a new spiritual discipline, an extra visit to the altar rail for communion or a new 4th Step moral inventory and 5th step admission to oneself, to God and to another human being.  Others may wish to make confession to a priest.

On Ash Wednesday, as we marked the beginning of Lent, I avoided the “take-something-on/give-something-up” dichotomy, opting instead simply to be more intentional about time with God, however that may look. That intention continues.  But I’ve also decided to give something up and to take something on.

Specifically, I am giving up shame.  That corrosive emotion, as I know it, is neither healthy nor helpful.  When I give into…

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Transfiguration moments.

Posted on March 2, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken at Lake Logan, NC, in September 2013)

(Photo taken at Lake Logan, NC, in September 2013)

It was a joy and privilege to preach this morning at St. John’s Cathedral, Jacksonville, FL.

(2 Chron 6:18-21; Ps 99; Matt 17:1-9)

“Transfiguration Moments”

May I speak in the name of God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

There is nothing ordinary about
Matthew’s Gospel this morning.
He tells us that Jesus led Peter, James and his brother John up a high mountain.
We sense that something very significant
is about to happen.
And, of course, it does.
The disciples are so affected when
they see Jesus transfigured –when they see Moses and Elijah with him –
that that they want to build dwellings to
capture the moment.

The transfiguration was not necessary to
reveal the identity of Jesus.
Peter already had acknowledged him as the Christ,
the Son of the Living God.
The transfiguration was not necessary for Jesus.
It was Peter, James and John who needed this experience.
Disturbing as it was in that moment,
they needed to see and experience the power
of the Living God in their midst,
up close and personal.

Sometimes you and I are given
transfiguration experiences.
Maybe not so dramatic or alarming.
Maybe not of the mountaintop variety.
But they happen all around us.

I experienced one such moment when
my mother Sarah and my father drove me to Live Oak
so I could attend Cursillo #55.
I had just climbed on the bus with the other candidates
for the final leg of the journey into Camp Weed.
I looked out the window to see my folks standing
arm-in-arm as they waved to me.

I cannot explain precisely what I experienced
but their expressions in that moment
were extraordinary.
I saw freedom and love and joy in their faces.
For the first time ever,
I recognized their true identity –
not as my parents but as children of God.
Their smiling faces shone with the glory of God.
In that moment they were transfigured.
In that moment, I caught a glimpse of
my own identity.

I remember hearing, just a few years ago,
about a transfiguration experience of sorts from Lupe,
an abuela (a grandma), whom I met in
Riobamba, a small town in Ecuador.
She had been hosting a weekly Bible study
for her neighbors.
While their children played nearby,
the adults would read scripture and
pray for God to help them feed their families
and take care of basic needs.
One day the adults noticed the children playing “house”
with plastic food and other toys.

The children began to pool their belongings
to make sure everyone had sufficient food
and other resources.
Watching the children work together was
a transfiguration moment for Lupe.
She sensed that God was revealing something
important through the children’s actions.

Lupe began to wonder what might happen if the adults
were to pool their money to buy groceries in bulk.
Eventually she convinced her neighbors to
each pitch in $5, hoping that together they
would be able to buy enough vegetables and
food for a week.
They ended up buying enough food for 2 weeks!

Over the years, this grew into a food co-op that
has been duplicated in multiple cities in Central
and South America.

We also met Lupe’s grown son Roberto, who was
one of the children that inspired this effort.
He travels to nearby countries, training others on
how to start a food co-op and encouraging
farmers to produce organic vegetables and
to sell locally.
Today he has a family of his own, and
he serves in the Ecuadorian cabinet as
Minister of Food Sovereignty.

Transformation moments stir us up.
They move us toward something new.

Last Wednesday I witnessed a transfiguration of sorts.
My friend Michael, a man I met on the street nearly
two years ago, approached me during our
Morning Prayer Coffee fellowship at Clara White Mission.
We have spoken and prayed together off and on.
Michael has a history of substance abuse.
He has enjoyed periods of being clean and sober.
But then “The devil comes in,” he tells me.
I notice that Michael has never embraced
12-step recovery communities.
He hangs on the very edge at best,
convinced that faith in Jesus is enough.

As he approached me Wednesday,
he had a look of intention on his face.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Not so good,” he said. “I relapsed and I just got out of jail.
I need you to help me,” he said.
What I saw in his face — in his entire being –
in that moment of clarity,
was a man transfigured by the Spirit of Truth.
When he asked for help, I knew he meant it.
I knew he was willing.
I wrote down the name of a man who
could help him enter a recovery community.
“Why don’t we call him right now, together,”
I suggested and he agreed.
We met and all was arranged.
He called me Friday morning,
Excited to be moving in.
“This morning, when I woke up,
I felt the hand of God like never before.”

These experiences of transfiguration often happen
in the briefest of moments,
but they are more real than the flesh on our bones.

These moments provide an opening for
the grace of God to enter our lives in
a new and profound way.
The moments themselves become
meaningful when we let our guard down,
when we follow through with action.
Jesus was not interested in having the disciples
worship him or Moses or Elijah.
He was showing them the true source for the work
he would give them to do:
Welcome the stranger, feed the hungry,
visit the prisoner, heal the sick.

My friend Michael may find recovery
but he will only hang onto it,
If he is willing to give it away,
if he is willing to share what has been given to him.
This will be his work.

Transfiguration experiences require risk
and vulnerability.
They inspire us to consider what Lupe told us
that chilly morning in Ecuador:
“Another world is possible.”

Moments of transfiguration remind us
that God is alive and well,
and that He is with us in our work.

On Wednesday we will observe Ash Wednesday and
enter a season of reflection and repentance.
If we can remember that we are merely dust and
to dust we shall return,
it will be easier to see the folly of hiding
our true selves from God or from one another.

This Creator of all things cannot be contained,
not on earth or in the heavens above the earth.
But I promise you that this Living God –
this One who is Love –
dwells here, with us mortals on earth.

This Living God longs to bring us together,
to make us whole, not just as individuals
but as a community.

Watch for him. Wait for him.
Do not be afraid.
Amen.

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Fully alive.

Posted on February 16, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in my backyard.)

(Photo taken in my backyard.)

This sermon was offered this morning at San Jose Episcopal Church where I was blessed to preach and celebrate.

(Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Psalm 119:1-8; 1 Cor 3:1-9; Matt 5:21-37)

“Fully alive.”

A few weeks ago I had an opportunity to
meet a remarkable man.
He serves as the chaplain at
​a nearby state mental hospital.
Chaplain Gene offers spiritual support to the
300 residents and staff members of that facility.

He shared a story of a woman who had a
​deep longing for God.
She was psychotic and, though medication could sometimes quiet the voices that plagued her,
​it could not silence them altogether.
Nights were particularly bad for her.
She was convinced that she was demon-possessed.
She struggled to understand why God
would not save her from this hell on earth.
She imagined she must be inherently bad.

Chaplain Gene is a staunch Southern Baptist.
He is fond of saying that 25 years ago
he had a number of answers for most any question.
But with the passage of time — and after serving
almost 2 decades with the mentally ill —
he is quick to say that he has few if any answers.

He spends much of his time walking
around the hospital grounds,
talking to folks and listening to those
​who need an ear.
He offers a couple of devotional services during
the week in common gathering areas.

Before I headed back to Jacksonville,
we spent some time in a lovely free-standing
chapel located on the grounds of the hospital.
Chaplain Gene told me that the previous weekend,
they had offered the first Sunday Eucharist service
in more than 2 ½ years.

With funding cutbacks, they simply could not
afford to pay the staff that would be needed
to monitor such a gathering,
while still maintaining proper staffing levels
elsewhere on campus.

So they were able this one time to offer a
communion service no one was expecting.
More than 80 patients came to that service,
many of whom suffered just as deeply as
​the woman I told you about.
Many of whom probably wonder from time to time:
“Why has God cursed me?”

So, where might we find God in all of this?
That’s not an easy question to answer.
But it is safe to say that God is
in the deep hunger that drew those patients
​to the Eucharistic feast.
In just the same way, God is in the longing
that draws us here to worship,
​that draws us to His table.

We choose life each and every time
we come together as brothers and sisters,
united in the One who will never forsake us.

And yet, today’s gospel does not cut us any slack.
Jesus seems to raise the bar to a standard
​few if any of us can keep.
Sometimes Holy Scripture can seem harsh and unrelenting.
At such times it can be good to take a step back,
to wonder about what the Holy Spirit is trying to say
​to us through these verses.

It is safe to say that Jesus is talking to us about
the quality of our relationships
​and how we treat one another.
It can be hard work, truly being in relationship
​with one another.
It means being willing at times to have
​difficult conversations.
It means not just seeking forgiveness
​but also being willing to offer forgiveness.

Each Sunday as we begin our
Church Without Walls service,
the community declares:
“Whoever you are and wherever you
find yourself on the journey of faith,
​you are welcome here.”
That means all are welcome. Everyone.
Those with whom we agree and those
with whom we disagree.
Those who look and act like we do,
and those who may be quite different.

A couple of weeks ago, a young woman
came to our Sunday Service for the first time.
Then the following Wednesday, she showed up
for our Morning Prayer and Coffee fellowship,
​outside of Clara White Mission.
She approached me to apologize for
​leaving church abruptly.
Apparently someone had made her feel unwelcome.

When I reached out to shake her hand, I noticed
she had numerous scars on her forearms,
​from cutting herself.
Then she told me she was a Satanist,
that she had been raised that way,
and wondered if she could still come to church.
I admit, something inside me hesitated but
“Yes, you are welcome to come” I told her.
Whoever you are and wherever you find yourself
​on the journey of faith … is another way of saying
The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.

I don’t know about you, but at times
I find myself wanting to explain things to God,
​to argue with his crazy logic,
when all he wants me to do is surrender.
“Let your word be ‘Yes, yes” or ‘No. No;’
anything more comes from the evil one.”

Last Sunday as several folks gathered on the grass
before the service, one man called me over.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
As I approached him, I must confess that I hoped
he wouldn’t ask me for something I couldn’t give him.
I introduced myself and then sat down with him.
“What’s going on? I asked.
He looked at me with a face etched by
​pain and exhaustion.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he said.
“I don’t want to drink anymore.”
He was weighed down with despair, but
he was also in that grace-filled space of
knowing his own powerlessness.
He was ready for a new possibility.

What does it mean to choose life?
It means trusting God enough to bring everything
that we have and all that we are to the altar.
The 12-steppers pray it this way:
“God, I am now ready for you to have
​all of me good and bad.
Take away my defects so I can be useful
​to you and to others.”
That is what it means to be a living sacrifice.

You good people of San Jose Episcopal
have been wonderful partners,
providing support and, most of all, the gift of
your presence at our church without walls services.
You come regularly as a group, and some of you
even come on your own from time to time.

It is amazing how quickly community develops.
I see it in the smiles of our regulars who
recognize you and greet you when you return.

This is true liturgy – the work of the people
​with God — at its finest.
Something happens in that funny patch of grass.
Something happens under that sycamore tree
​in the diocesan parking lot.
Something about that space makes it easier
to let our guard down, to be ourselves.

To own all of who we are
​– our frailties and our strengths –
is to be fully present, to be fully alive.
In 2 ½ weeks we will recognize Ash Wednesday
and enter into the season of Lent.
This is a wonderful time to take stock.
To gather ourselves – the good and the bad –
​and bring it all to the altar.

May God give each of us the grace to choose life.
Whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves
​on the journey of faith,
may we encounter the True Source of Light and Life.
May we be blessed.
Amen.

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To be despised.

Posted on February 5, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in parking lot where we worship on Sundays.)

(Photo taken in parking lot where we worship on Sundays.)

“Sometimes laws are used to push people aside, to get rid of people we don’t like. To make them go away.”

At Bible study this morning one of our friends from the street made this observation as we reflected on scripture. Our understanding and appreciation of the law is shaped by our context, by what the scholars call “our social location.” Sometimes we would benefit from trying to view life from someone else’s context.

Imagine spending a weary day trying to find work or resources enough to get by, just for that day. Imagine being exhausted from walking across town. Imagine pausing to rest your head or stretch out on a vacant bench in a public park only to be told, “You can’t sleep there. Move it along.”

Our laws are meant to protect the most vulnerable among us but, if we are honest, we sometimes pass laws to protect our carefully constructed way of life from those who make us uncomfortable. We want to beautify our cities, to sanitize spaces paid for by our hard-earned tax dollars. We want the “problem” to go away but we don’t want to do the hard work of identifying and dismantling systems and policies that perpetuate poverty.

We need prophets among us to call out injustice. We need lawmakers who will listen to the silent cries of the voiceless as if they were their own children, their own family. After all we are, all of us, family.

To be despised for caring for the weak and hurting among us: that would be a beautiful thing.

Posted in Christianity, Diocese of Florida, faith, Grace, Uncategorized, unity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Becoming friends.

Posted on January 30, 2014 by Mother Beth Tjoflat

(Photo taken in downtown Jacksonville.)

(Photo taken in downtown Jacksonville.)

This past Wednesday morning was one of our coldest yet this year. It was drizzly and the wind blew right through the patio area outside Clara White Mission, where we host a weekly Morning Prayer and coffee fellowship.

“Good morning,” I greeted my friend Benny, who came off the street for breakfast and some hot coffee.

“Best, most glorious morning of my life,” he responded, giving me something to contemplate.

Over the course of the next hour, there were many conversations and connections made, as we visited with old friends and met new ones.

With the wind chill biting at us relentlessly, I wondered if anyone would bother to come to the Bible study. A few minutes before we were to begin, I glanced over and a small group was already gathering. We asked God to be in our conversation as we pondered scripture. We prayed for one another and for those who were not present. We prayed for our broken world. More than anything, I was struck by a strong sense of hope – an affirmation that God is with us, even in the darkest, coldest corners of our lives.

I was struck by the power of attitude — an attitude of gratitude fueled by the sense that none of us is ever truly alone, not even in our loneliest moments.

At one point in the morning I walked over to a spot where a frisky puppy – a beautiful chocolate Lab mix — had been tied up. He was friendly and full of life. Just as I got close, a man came out, picked up his bowls and stuffed them in a nap sack. He looked down mostly and wore a cap low over his eyes.

“Is this your dog?” I asked.

The smile that broke across his face was priceless. There was no mistaking that this pooch is his best friend. If wiggling uncontrollably is any indication, it became clear that “Buddy” felt the same way about this soft-spoken man.

We need to know that we are loved unconditionally. However, we not only need to receive this unconditional love. We also need to find a way to share it.

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