Donkey Tale: Palm Sunday Reflection

I am nothing special. Up until yesterday, I had served no great purpose. I was simply a beast of burden, put to work day in and day out hauling my master’s wares back and forth from home to the city. It’s hard work, but that’s what we donkeys do- we carry things.

I was not working yesterday; I was tied to my master’s home, with my baby by my side, minding my own business. It was good to have a day of rest! Suddenly, out of nowhere, these two men appeared; they walked right up to me and my baby as if we belonged to them. My baby was frightened- he doesn’t really like strangers yet- he can be quite shy. I was perturbed- who did these men think they were? They started to untie me and my master came running out of the house; he seemed upset. “Stop!” he called out, waving his arms wildly. “What do you think you are doing? That’s my donkey!” The men seemed very calm. They said, “The Lord needs it.” My master seemed to relax; he shrugged his shoulders and went back into the house. I was upset! Who is this Lord? What could he possibly want with me? This was my day off, after all- I didn’t want to go work for a stranger! But I wanted didn’t matter- I am, after all, just a donkey.

The men untied me and led me away; thankfully they brought my baby too, who stuck by my side as if we were glued together. They led us out to a stand of trees, where there were more men, all of them strangers to me. One of the men was kind; he stroked my muzzle and ran his hands over my baby soothingly. He butted the man playfully and the man laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, but when I looked at his eyes they were sad. Some of his companions put their cloaks on my back; I had carried many loads of cloth in my day, but never actually worn any! My baby laughed at me and I shushed him; he needed to be on his best behavior, or the men might not let him stay with me while I worked. The gentle man climbed on to my back and I shifted my hooves under his weight. He was heavy, but it was nothing I hadn’t carried before. One of his companions took the rope from my halter in his hand and clucked at me to move; we began our journey.

I plodded along steadily, carefully watching where I put each hoof, feeling the weight of his body shift and sway along with my steps. I was paying so much attention to where I was walking that I barely noticed the group of people beginning to form around us. They seemed to come out of nowhere, and as we walked along they started shouting, “Hosanna!” As they shouted more people came, and as we drew closer and closer to the city the people began to cut palm branches from the trees, waving them excitedly and cheering.  Some of the crowd ran ahead of us, and they took their cloaks and spread them on the ground. I tried to stop; I didn’t want to get their clothes dirty by stepping on them!- but the man urged me forward, and I had no choice but to walk on the cloth and palms that were being laid at my feet. My baby began to enjoy this attention; he pranced along as if he were a stallion, not a donkey, and I worried he would break away from me and get lost in the crowd. They were beginning to press against us, and I noticed that the man’s companions were forming a circle around us, keeping the crowd from swarming over us. “Hosanna in the highest!” they cried; the noise was deafening. “Hosanna to the Son of David!” Ah, I thought, so that’s who this is! I didn’t know David had a son…

We reached the city and now it was almost more than I could bear. People kept shouting, calling out, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” and “Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna!” Palms were waving, cloaks were being strewn on the ground, people were reaching out trying to touch him, trying to touch me- I kept my head down, uncomfortable with all this attention.

I am, after all, a humble donkey.

As we passed into the city and the crowd grew larger, more and more people came, but instead of praising the man, they looked worried. “Who is this?” The question rippled through the crowd, growing stronger and stronger as leaned out their windows or stood in their doorways to watch our procession into Jerusalem. “Who is this?”

And I began to wonder; who is this man that draws these people, who is treated like a king, who is exalted by the people but is riding on me, a donkey? Who is this man that makes the religious leaders look nervous, and makes the people look hopeful? Who is this man, and where am I taking him? What is his purpose at this time, in this place?

Finally my questions are answered; this is Jesus. Ah, yes- I have heard of this man. And now I wonder how I could not have recognized him. I have heard of this man Jesus; the people in the market would talk to my master about the wonderful things he had done, of what he teaching. I even heard he had made blind men see, and made lepers clean! I also heard that the religious leaders did not like him, even that they were hoping to trap him in his teaching in order to punish him.

And now I am worried.

I am worried because, once we were in the city, we went to the temple. The man climbed off my back and patted my head. His hand was warm on my neck; he thanked me for the ride. My baby pushed against him, seeking praise from this man who brought hope to the city. We watched as he entered the temple; I heard shouting, and the sound of tables being overturned. Birds flew out, free from their cages, and I thought, for a moment, if he had freed them, why couldn’t he free me too? But the one who was leading me took us away, out of the city, the cloaks and palms now trampled into the dirt, unsalvageable. I was so tired. We journeyed home, my baby and I, back to our master. The man left the cloak on my back, a souvenir from our journey.

I do not know what will happen to the kind man, but I little time to think about it. Perhaps I will find out the next time we go into the city. If we see him, will he remember me? Will the people recognize me? Probably not. I am, after all, only a donkey.

Transfiguration Sermon

Matthew 17:1-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Jesus went up the mountain. Well, to be perfectly honest, this is not the first time Jesus has gone up a mountain. Jesus had been going up and down mountains, and back and forth across lakes, and has walked through deserts and cities all throughout the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus has been going up mountains, preaching, teaching, and resting. Jesus has been going up mountains, but it is on this mountain that everything changes.

When Robb asked me what Sunday I would like to preach, I immediately jumped on Transfiguration Sunday. This is a great text! There is so much going on in this passage that one could speak about. Here is Jesus, taking his three closest disciples, on a special trip. Special trips are always fun and exciting, aren’t they? This four-some go on this long hike up a big ole mountain, for no apparent reason at all. We don’t know what was said on that hike up the mountain, maybe Jesus did some more teaching, maybe they talked about what was going on in their lives and their mission; maybe their conversation was similar to conversations we have when we go hiking; oh look at that beautiful shrub, isn’t this view fabulous? Quickly turning to, my knees hurt, my feet hurt, when are we going to get to the top… and then there is that point in the hike when all talking ceasing, when all we are looking at is where are feet need to go next, and the only sound is that of our labored breathing. I don’t know what was said on that long hike up the mountain, but once they reached the top, Peter, James and John were in for more than just a great view of the surrounding countryside. What they encounter is perhaps one of the greatest special effects moments in the Bible: Jesus is transfigured! His face shines like the sun! His robes, which were probably really dirty, and grimey, and sweaty, especially from that hike he just made, become dazzling white! I imagine a bright light surrounding his entire body, nearly blinding the poor trio, and THEN, the two greatest prophets of the Hebrew people appear! Moses and Elijah! Holy smokes! And THEY’RE probably all dazzling white too, and they start talking to Jesus! Woah! This is big stuff! These three are probably thinking, wow, we knew Jesus was important, but he must be really something for Moses and Elijah to come down from heaven to talk him! And Peter –I love Peter, he’s always saying putting his foot in his mouth or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time- gets super excited and interrupts the conversation that is happening between Moses, Elijah and sparkly Jesus- Can we stay? Let me build you houses! This is great, let’s keep this going! And then his excitement is turned to fear as a loud booming voice, from inside a cloud, of course, declares those words that were first spoken at Jesus’ baptism, that “THIS is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; LISTEN to him!” And of course, in true dramatic fashion the three fall to the ground in fear and awe, quaking, I imagine as the Cowardly Lion so quaked as the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz shouted at him, and then- suddenly- everything returns to normal. Moses and Elijah are gone. The great cloud is gone. And when Jesus goes to his friends, he is no longer dazzling; it’s just Jesus. Dirty Jesus in his grimey robes, consoling them, telling them not to be afraid. They go back down the mountain, back to reality, back to the other disciples, changed. Changed, and charged with a secret: Tell no one of this until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Wow! Talk about Hollywood-esque! We’ve got lights, sound effects, and our poor actors have to cover a spectrum of emotions within a short period of time. The message? Jesus is Divine! Jesus is the Son of God! Hallelujah!

If only it were that simple.

As I wrestled with this text I had to put aside this Technicolor version of the Transfiguration that we are probably all so familiar. As I did, I found myself asking questions. So let’s walk through this again. Six days later- six days after what? If we start to read backwards in the text we soon find the answer: six days after Peter has declared “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). Now, Peter has been with Jesus almost since the beginning; after Jesus was baptized by John, and after he fasted in the wilderness for forty days and was tempted by Satan, he comes across these two brothers who are fishermen, Simon who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew, and he said, “Follow me.” So they did. Next Jesus comes across two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, and he says to them, “Follow me.” So they did. This Peter, who joins up with Jesus in chapter four, who hears all the sermons, witnesses all the healings, is there when Jesus calms the storm, who tries to walk out on the water with Jesus (Matthew 14:28), it takes this Peter until chapter 16 to come to the realization that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. I suppose we can be a little easy on Peter; none of the disciples are every very bright, no matter what Gospel you are reading. But this makes me wonder; if Peter has just figured out who Jesus is, and Jesus knows he knows this, then why bring him up on the mountain? If Peter clearly knows this, why does he need to be reaffirmed? Couldn’t this mountaintop experience have better served one of the other disciples? Why is it Peter, who is witnessing this miraculous revelation, also the one who is naïve enough to think that we can prolong these mountaintop experiences indefinitely?

Maybe I should be gentler with Peter. After all, don’t most people want to keep living in their own personal moments of transfiguration? When we first see our children and realize that our lives will be changed forever? When we get into the college or career field we have felt called to, and suddenly doors seem to be opening? When we get that promotion, with all the new authority and perks that come with it, and we see life only moving up from this point? When our hearts are strangely warmed, and feel closer to God or Christ than we ever have before in our lives and we can say, without a doubt, that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and that I am a beloved child of God? Don’t we think these mountaintop moments will last forever? But then, just as Peter, James and John had to come down the mountain, so do we.

They came down that mountain, and returned to life as usual, but with some changes. Jesus had already been teaching, and healing, and the Pharisees had been plotting against him as he “broke” the Jewish laws, especially regarding the Sabbath. After the transfiguration Jesus continues healing and teaching, and being tested by the Pharisees and scribes; he also begins telling the disciples how he will die, and that one of them will betray him. The light that shone so brightly on the mountain is starting to get a little darker, and the disciples begin to get nervous, and to doubt, and to fall even deeper into misunderstanding. The storm brews even thicker once they enter Jerusalem, and we see a different side to Jesus, as the disciples do as well. Jesus becomes filled with righteous anger, throwing merchants out of the temple, overturning tables, and publicly speaking out against the scribes and Pharisees, saying over and over “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees!” Surely this is not what the disciples thought they were getting into; surely this was not the direction their mission had been headed… They descend into that valley of doubt, but some descend further than others. And there is one who descends so far, one who had NOT been to the mountain, who had not heard the voice of the Living God cry out “This is my Son the Beloved,” who becomes so lost that he betrays his leader. “Then one of the twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, “What will you give me if I betray him to you?” They paid him thirty pieces of silver. And from that moment he began to look for an opportunity to betray him” (Matthew 26:14-17).

As the events of Holy Week unfold, all of the disciples descend from the mountain; Judas betrays Jesus, many of the disciples, scatter, and even Peter, Peter who should know better than anyone else, denies his relationship with Jesus. Are there not times when we too come down from our mountains, when we walk through valleys of trials, and doubts? Are there not times when we suddenly feel so far away from God that we can no longer remember that moment on the mountain, when we can no longer remember that feeling of love and closeness, when all we feel is alone and deserted? Are there not times when we, too, are tempted to deny, or flee, or even betray our God?

We don’t often talk about what happened to Judas. Judas moved beyond doubt; he moved to despair. “When morning came, all the chief priests and the elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor.

When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders. He said, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself” (Matthew 27:1-5). So deep was his guilt, and his despair, so deep was the chasm he felt between himself and his God, that even the words of the psalm “if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there…If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,” even the darkness is not dark to you” (Psalm 139) could not resonate within his soul.

This Sunday is a turning point, not only in Matthew’s gospel, but also in the seasons. We celebrate the divinity of Christ, we recognize that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and then we descend the mountain, to journey together through Lent, through this season that ultimately leads up to the crucifixion of Jesus. We journey with the disciples through their doubts and fears, and we observe as they mourn the loss of their great teacher.

But hear the Good News: because we stand on this side of the resurrection, we need not descend into despair. Because we stand on this side of the resurrection we know that the tomb will be empty, and the Christ is alive! And because we stand on this side of the resurrection, we can fully place our trust in God, who never deserts us, who is always beside us, up the mountains and down the valleys that make up our lives.

Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.

Do you not know that you are God’s temple? These words from Paul to the conflicted community within Corinth seem to be resonating with me during this season of my life, and perhaps they will resonate with you as well. 

Do you not know? Paul poses this question following a rich metaphor he has just provided for the Corinthians, a metaphor where Christ is the foundation of their faith, but then the emerging building is shaped by others, such as himself and Apollos. He speaks of the care that must be placed in the shaping of this building so that it can withstand the fires of trials and persecution. He speaks of a building that is not only strong, but beautiful, a building that is gilded with gold and silver, a building encrusted with precious stones, a building that could rival the great Temple of Jerusalem or even the temples devoted to Greek and Roman gods for that matter. Surely this beautiful building, this temple, is worthy to house the Spirit?

I think back to the church that I grew up in. I was a “One church” kind of girl; I think I was well into adolescence before I even stepped foot into a sanctuary other than the one located on Harford Road in suburban, Parkville, Maryland. The sanctuary of Hiss United Methodist is a pretty typical sanctuary: you enter through the double doors into the narthex area, where you would be greeted by ushers before entering the sanctuary. The main aisle is carpeted in a rich red, with rows of polished wooden pews on either side; there is an open area between the first pew (which is usually empty) and the communion rail, behind which is the slightly elevated chancel area, where the pastor and choir sit during worship. Behind them was the altar, flanked on both sides with colorful banners that changed to reflect the colors of the church seasons. Lightly stained-glass windows filtered sunlight into the morning worship services and led one’s eyes up to the tall, gracefully curved ceiling. While not built of gold or precious other precious metals, surely this building could house the divine.

When I was young, probably four or five, I was convinced that Jesus lived in the ceiling. Well, not actually in the ceiling, but rather, suspended from it. Now remember, I had never been in any other sanctuary, so I had nothing to compare ours to; hanging from the ceiling, centered above the communion rail, was a box. A big, body-sized, rectangular box. I thought this box was special; I thought this was where God, or Jesus, or the Holy Spirit, or maybe even all three(!) resided, if not all the time, at least whenever there were people in the building. Imagine my embarrassment when I later discovered that the box was actually a part of the sound system and not some divine dwelling place! It was probably around this same time when the meaning of the children’s hand game “This is the church, this is the steeple,” began to click for me. We sang “The church is not a building, the church is not a steeple- the church is not a resting place, the church is the…” people. The people.

Do you not know, that you are God’s temple? 

Do you not know that God’s Spirit dwells in you?

When Paul writes this, he uses the plural for you. Just as he writes of how the community of the church makes up the body of Christ, he talks about how it is within this Christian community that the Spirit dwells. The community is the temple, for where two or more are gathered, there the Spirit is also.

My question for us today is not how are we as a community the temple of God, but rather, can we each, as individuals, be a dwelling place for God? Can the spirit reside in each one of us, pulling and shaping and molding us into the people we are capable of becoming? If the Spirit dwells in us, if we are God’s temple, how should we care for that temple? How should we look at our bodies?

Isn’t it funny, how we pay so much attention to our bodies throughout every moment of the day, but when we enter a worshiping space we almost seem to ignore it? We don’t really talk about bodies in church, do we? If we do, isn’t it often in a negative way, like talking about the “sins of the flesh”? Or, perhaps we address certain parts of the body, but these mentions are often only skin-deep; we talk about the color of our skin in the context of talking about boundaries and barriers that need to be torn down in order to create an authentic, Christian community, but nothing about the bodies that this skin encases. Our bodies are wonderful gifts from God, gifts that are meant to be used and enjoyed. Gifts that are modeled after God’s own self.

In the beginning, when nothing existed but chaos and God created the land and the sea, the sun and the stars, all creeping things and all swimming things; when God made grass green and the sky blue; when God made cows and bears and cats, God saved something special for last. I particularly like the way that Tanya Bennett, the chaplain at Drew, describes this final creation: "When everything else was done, God took clay and formed an image of God’s own self, and breathed into God’s own breath, and said, “You are the one I’ve been imagining. You, and everything you see around you, is my beloved creation. And all of it is good!” 

How often do we look at ourselves as a beloved creation of God? When we look in the mirror, particularly those un-flattering mirrors in dressing rooms, do we see ourselves as the one God has been imagining? Do we see ourselves as vessels of God’s spirit, of God’s love? Or do pick ourselves apart, wishing that our bellies were smaller, our abs firmer, our calves bigger and our arms not so flabby? Do we look at our faces and see Christ reflected back at us, or do we notice the pimples, the blemishes, the crow’s feet? When we finger our hair, do we rejoice in the knowledge that God knows every hair, every follicle, on our heads, so deep is God’s love for us, or do we wish our hair was curly when it's straight, or straight when it's curly, or bemoan the fact that those hairs are turning to different colors or even falling out? When we look at ourselves in the mirror, can we say with joy and thanksgiving that we are fearfully and wonderfully made!? Or do we see an on-going construction project, a project that will never live up to the expectations that we, and society, have placed on them?

I think God loves our bodies; not only for our body’s sake, but for what they house. God loves us- God loves us so much that God came to earth and lived in a human body! And just as we fail to see to Spirit that dwells in each one of us, the people failed to see Christ in the human form of Jesus of Nazareth. How often do we fail to see the glimmer of divinity in those around us? If we were to view ourselves and our neighbors as the strong, beautiful temples that we are, how might we treat our bodies, and spirits, differently? Perhaps we would be kinder and gentler to ourselves; perhaps we would seek to help others be the temple that they are capable of being. Perhaps we would take care of ourselves, and others. Each one of our answers will be different, just as each one of us is housed in unique bodies, with unique stories, with unique callings. No matter how different we may be, both inside and out, there is one thing that I hope we may all be able to say: 

That I am God’s beloved, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

In closing, I would like to share with you a text written by Ruth Duck; these words have been set to music and are placed in the Faith We Sing, but for today, I want you to simply listen:

 “Sacred the Body”

“Sacred the body God has created, temple of Spirit that dwells deep inside. Cherish each person; nurture creation. Treat flesh as holy, that love may abide.

Bodies are varied, made in all sizes, pale, full of color, both fragile and strong. Holy the difference, gift of the Maker, so let us honor each story and song.

Love respects persons, bodies and boundaries. Love does not batter, neglect, or abuse. Love touches gently, never coercing. Love leaves the other with power to choose.

Holy of holies, God ever loving, make us your temples; in-dwell all we do. May we be careful, tender and caring, so may our bodies give honor to you.”

Amen.

An Old Paper I Discovered

I was cleaning the other day-

wait, let me rephrase that.

I was attempting to de-clutter the other day (there, that's a bit more accurate).
I decided to tackle some of my old manuscripts that I had stashed away from high school and college, hoping to purge the contents of my file box to make room for more "important" papers.

What I discovered, other than an unwillingness to throw away my work, was an essay that I had written during the summer of 2008, in English 102. 

If memory serves me correctly, the assignment was to pick one poem from several we have been given in a hand out (of course, the hand out is missing) and to write an essay on it discussing how gender roles are depicted in the poem. I found not one, but TWO essays: the second had written, in big, capital green letters 

DO NOT GRADE!

The professor had not graded it, although he had made comments in the margins, proving that he had, in fact, taken the time to read it.

What impressed me about this essay (which is probably not impressive at all to others) is my grasp of sexism. I had never taken a course in gender studies, had rarely discussed this in classes, and at that point had a rather narrow and traditional understanding of gender.

Since I haven't written anything on here for a while, let me indulge myself by sharing with you what the 21 year old version of myself had to say about the poem: What Little Boys Are Made Of

Bed time stories, nursery rhymes and even hymns have been used throughout history to indoctrinate members of society. these pieces of work are often directed at children, who are in the early stages of development and therefore more easily "trainable." The characteristics that these poems suggest children display are blatantly stereotypical by today's standards. While the same nursery rhymes are used today, the audience and the expectations of children's behavior have changed considerably in some reagards, while in others they have remained drastically similar.

The nursery rhyme What Are Little Boys Made Of appears to ask very innocent questions. What are little boys, and girls, made of? How are children supposed to act according to their gender? Boys are apparently made of "snips and snails and puppy-dog tails." When this nursery rhyme was originally written, it undoubtedly described an average boy. Boys would have spent a good amount of time outside; helping their father with chores, working the fields, and exploring their surroundings. It was a way, perhaps the way, of life. Boys were raised to be diligent workers; once they grew older and had a family of their own their life depended on their ability to work. The stanza about young men, however, paints a different picture. Instead of a strong laborer, the poem describes hopeless romantics. The young men are filled with "sighs and leers and crocodile tears." These men appear to have their heads in the clouds, potentially dreaming about anything from a political revolution to the young lady down the street. The second mention of an animal is very interesting. In the first stanza boys are paired with puppies; fun-loving, innocent creatures. In the second stanza, however, the young man is paired with a crocodile, a dangerous, violent beast that is untrustworthy. An interesting depiction of what society believes a boy should grow up to be. While it would be possible for the boy in the first stanza to turn into the man of the second, there is also the possibility that each stanza describes not only differing age groups but also class distinctions. The second stanza describes far more accurately how one might perceive a young man in the aristocracy than a young laborer.

While the men tended the fields or the shop, women stayed at home, taking care of the house, preparing meals, and tending children. The verse about little girls is clearly indoctrinating, in that it says girls are made of "sugar and spice and all things nice." Sugar and spices were kept in the kitchen. It can be assumed that, like these food products, women are also to be kept in the kitchen. However, while the verse on little boys is very clear cut, the verse on girls can be delved into a bit more deeply. Sugar, especially white sugar, was hard to come by hundreds of years ago. It was very expensive, and therefore purchased only by the wealthy or for very special occasions. Many spices were also expensive, due to the fact that they were imported from then exotic lands. What can this say about women? That in order to have the "sugar and spice" one must have money. And, as in all material possessions, the nicer it is, the more money it costs. The nicer the girl, the richer the man must be. The link between women and material objects is made again in the verse about young women, which states that they are made of "ribbons and laces and sweet pretty faces." Again, ribbons and lace were a novelty, not a necessity. However sweet the face, she and society demand that it be adorned with decorations. While "sweet" can clearly be an obvious statement about a woman's physical features, it is interesting how it relates back to the first verse, where girls are made of sugar and spice. If variety be the spice of life, what does this say about young women, who are supposedly a mixture of sugar and spice? Perhaps it hints that underneath a sweet, sugary exterior lies a zest, sourness, or even bitterness, as spices tend to add to food. While there is a small hint as to a girl's emotional character, much more attention is given to the physical and material aspects of woman.

Considering that this nursery rhyme was written well over a century ago, one might argue that it has no validity in today's society. Boys no longer romp outdoors, exploring the mysteries nature provides in the form of bugs and animals. Instead they sit inside, playing video games and watching televisions, their minds being filled with notions of war, crime, and sex. Meanwhile, a girls place is no longer in the kitchen. She is encouraged to participate in previously male-dominated activities, while also trying to assert her femininity by making herself as sexy as possible. Young girls paint their faces with makeup and bare their chests in the hopes of attracting a young (or older) man's eye. The young men of today are not much different than those portrayed in the nursery rhyme; they are unrealistic dreamers, only instead of dreaming of a revolution, they dream of being rock stars. Instead of the young lady down the street, they fantasize about Playboy bunnies. Just as in the poem, young men of today  know how to get what they want, be it through tears, arguments, or violence. Despite the steps made towards gender equality, there are obvious stereotypes that have failed to be destroyed through the years.

While the nursery rhyme What Are Little Boys Made Of still exists in current children's books, it and other nursery rhymes like it are far from being the culprits of the indoctrination experienced by today's young boys and girls. They have been replaced by magazines, movies, and television shows the depict how Hollywood and the larger media feels men and women should dress, act, and treat others. Nursery rhymes have become nothing more than nostalgic remnants of the past. "What are little boys made of? Snips and snails and puppy dog's tails." And little girls? "Sugar and spice, and all things nice."

How nice.

The Beginning of my Crazy Quilt

The other day I, rather impulsively, began a quilt.

Now, I haven't quilted in years, and my few attempts have often failed. However, I felt a sudden urge to be creative, and my bag of scraps and sewing machine called my name.

My squares are probably not perfectly square, and not all the pieces are stitched together perfectly; but this quilt's only purpose is to serve as a creative outlet for me, and I am going to try to put my perfectionism aside (otherwise I'll just give up).

I used dark fabrics for my first block; a dark wash denim (that I used both the right and wrong sides of), a pair of black slacks that were in need of mending (who was I kidding- I don't mend!), and an old tie Evan had put in the "Give Away Basket." I didn't have a pattern in mind, I just started sewing pieces together.

This is what I got:

And, as I created it, a theme and pattern came to me.

Are you ready for it?

"In the beginning"

So, if this first block were to be accompanied by a commentary, it would read as such:

In the beginning 

when God created the heavens

and the earth,

the earth was a formless void

and darkness covered the face of the deep...

[Genesis 1:1-2a]

Here is the second block I made, although it may need to be third in the sequence if I'm going to strictly follow the scripture:

 Then God said,

"Let there be light";

and there was light.

I stitched the body of the sun on by hand- not sure if you can see the pink thread or not. I tried to show the light emerging out of the darkness and chaos from the first block.

And here are the two side by side : )

That's all for now! We'll see how I progress.

Peace,

Amanda

2010 Wrap Up

Happy New Year!!!!

Considering it's almost noon on 1-1-11 I may be a little late with that greeting, but who cares? : ) I meant to post this last night (while it was still 2010) but never got around to it. Story of my life.

Anyway...


Here are a few things that have happened since I last posted (in September...I'm a bad blogger, lol)

- I served as Interim Music Director at UMC Madison in addition to being Assistant Pastor
- Evan and I got two adorable kittens, Vinny and Yoko (I'll write about them sometime soon and post pictures)
- Evan and I got officially engaged!!! (I'll write about this too!)
- I made the decision to transfer to the New England Annual Conference, and told my family

I think those are the BIG things that have happened in these last few months!

Here's to the new year! May it be filled with peace, joy and countless blessings!!!