Faith Connections

You Can’t Miss What You Never Had?

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

June 17, 2020

A few months after we were married, my husband and I packed up a rented UHAUL truck and our little Subaru sedan and began the long drive to our new home of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Moving from Durham, NC where we had been students for 8 years, it was now time to begin a new chapter in our lives. I didn’t want to go.

As I followed behind the truck, I listened to one cassette tape over and over: James Taylor’s Greatest Hits, primarily the song “In My Mind I’m Going to Carolina.” I wore that song out while I boo-hoed all the way up to the foreign territory of the Land of 10,000 Lakes. I didn’t care about all those lakes because I had Carolina (that is, NORTH Carolina and not the university) on my mind and in my heart and James was obviously the only one who understood. Later, my husband quipped that I had clawed the NC soil so hard as we left it that the dirt under my nails might never wash out.

There’s an expression that goes like this: “you can’t miss what you never had.” So, as we drove far away from home, I wasn’t missing money, a great job or even the house I’d grown up in my whole life because I had never really had those things. With every mile, though, I was missing proximity to my siblings and parents, my beloved friends and the familiarity of the places I knew.

This week, I am in a missing place again. Along with thousands of other United Methodists from Western North Carolina, I should be at Lake Junaluska for our yearly conference meeting but due to Covid-19, the meeting has been cancelled. Honestly, in most years, I usually grumble to myself about having to go, but once I get there and see the first few lifelong friends, I begin to realize that there is simply nothing like the connection I feel to the people and place of this annual gathering.

Growing up in a preacher’s family, my children would always be curious about how carefully I packed my clothes and materials for Annual Conference. They knew this event was important to me but they never really understood why or even what happened there(it really is hard to explain). One year, I was the preacher for one of the Annual Conference worship services and my three children came to support me. Wide-eyed at the sheer number of people milling about in the auditorium, the exuberance of the fellowship and the warmth of the auditorium’s temperature, my then college aged daughter concluded that Annual Conference was like a “fraternity-sorority mixer without the kegs.” Yes, maybe. With hopefully more depth.

You can’t miss something you never had. So, this week, I am missing Annual Conference and my friends and the worship and the singing and the humidity and the ordination service and taking Holy Communion and sitting beside my best minister buddies and walking around the lake and talking under the trees and going to the Reconciling Ministries service and celebrating retirements and hearing stories of how God has been at work and seeing yet another generation of preachers’ kids roaming around with their soggy bathing suits on, hungry for lunch. I miss it all because I have had it and loved it.

In these days of great change, loss and sorrow, many of us are missing so much, we are yearning for some semblance of normalcy and reunion. We miss being at table with friends, sitting closely on a church pew, embracing when we see a friend, having a routine that makes sense, being able to focus. We miss the fullness of life and yearn for a time gone by when we were not afraid of a powerful pandemic virus.

Or maybe it’s just me that feels this way? I don’t know, but somehow, I think you might also be missing something or someone right now. And maybe, like me, you need to find nourishment in the memories until a time we can make new ones.

The cassette is long gone(melted), but the song’s poignant memory carries on. I am thankful for that song because it helps me remember the blessings of who and what I was leaving behind back in 1981. Six years later, we would travel the same highway going the other way, heading home, with Carolina on our minds. As we drove, I smiled through my tears to see the dark, rich Minnesota soil crusty beneath my nails. I didn’t want to go.

Our memories can sustain, teach and help us appreciate what we have had as we anticipate what is to come. Life is different and hard right now. But, life is not completely on hold. Our spirits are not quarantined; they can soar and find comfort in all the goodness that we have had.

So, how would you finish the line: in my mind, I’m going to…? Wherever it is, I hope it is a good place, filled with sweet memories and life-giving hope.

Lift Every Voice and Sing

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

June 4, 2020

Earlier this week, I listened to a recording of a hymn that speaks powerfully to the long, hard struggle against racism in our country. I was moved to tears. In researching a little about this hymn, I found this brief explanation: “Many people are surprised to learn that "Lift Every Voice and Sing" was first written as a poem. Created by James Weldon Johnson, it was performed for the first time by 500 school children in celebration of President Lincoln's Birthday on February 12, 1900 in Jacksonville, FL. The poem was set to music by Johnson's brother, John Rosamond Johnson, and soon adopted by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) as its official song.

Today “Lift Every Voice and Sing” is one of the most cherished songs of the African American Civil Rights Movement and is often referred to as the Black National Anthem.” (from The Black Culture Connection). If you would like to listen to the song while you read along, I would suggest googling the hymn title and find a version. And, while listening, let the lyrics speak to your heart and then, move your feet. Black Lives Matter.

Pastor Ashley

Lift Every Voice and Sing
By James Weldon Johnson

Lift every voice and sing
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us,
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand.
True to our God,
True to our native land.

So Many Horebs, So Much Holy Ground

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

June 6, 2020

Then God said to Moses: “…remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:5)

One day, Moses’ life changed suddenly. While dutifully tending the sheep, he wandered a little farther than usual, arriving at “Horeb, the mountain of God.” With the sheep scrounging for food on that rocky terrain, Moses turned to see a bush in flames, burning up. He wanted to understand how this could happen; what was the source of the fire?

Quickly, things got even more bewildering for out of that bush, Moses heard a voice calling his name: “Moses! Moses! Don’t come any closer. Take off your shoes--you are standing on holy ground.” And pretty soon, the bush became the place burning with God’s presence, hard to ignore, mysterious as anything Moses had ever seen.

The word “Horeb” means “wilderness, wasteland, ruins.” Mount Horeb was a wasteland. It was rocky, arid, and certainly not a vacation destination. Terence Fretheim says: “Moses’ encounter with God takes place far removed from the sights and sounds of the religious community. There is no temple nearby where he might expect a divine appearance, no sign that this is a holy place.”[1] Moses met God in a difficult-to-navigate-wasteland, through a burning bush, in a place Moses had never been, as words of holy calling mingled with the ashes and flames.

Over the last week, most of us have been wandering on Horeb; we have felt the pain of the “rock” beneath our feet and the “boulders” pressing down on our spirits as we have realized that we are in an emotional, spiritual, political and moral wasteland. God’s beloved child, George Floyd, was slowly murdered as his face was pressed down on the concrete ground by a policeman’s knee on his neck while he said over and over, “I can’t breathe.” In response to his death and the deaths of countless others who have lost their lives because of systemic racism and violence, tens of thousands have marched on the ground beneath the streets all over our country to cry out “NO MORE!” while being met with tear gas and an overwhelming police presence. And, to make it all even worse, in D.C., peaceful protesters were shoved and tear gassed out of the way so that a photo-op could take place on the grounds of an Episcopal Church to showcase the President holding up a Bible for the cameras to see. The Bible wasn’t even opened. And no prayer was even said for God’s forgiveness, guidance and comfort.

On and on. One Horeb after another. So many Horebs under our feet, in our hearts. We are wandering in a wilderness wasteland.

On that mountain, when it looked as though nothing whatsoever could live for long, a wrinkly old dried up bush burst into flames of righteous love! It was a bush that burned but was never consumed, a bush that looked hopeless until God reminded Moses that the bush was burning on very Holy Ground.

After taking off his shoes and scrunching his toes in the holy dirt, Moses heard where God would send him and what his life’s work would be. God said: Moses, since you are standing on holy ground, I want to tell you this:

“I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt. I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. I know their sufferings and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey…I have also seen how the Egyptians oppress them.”

Then, Moses’ life takes the next big turn: God calls him to go out, far away, to a place of terrific peril, amongst people who enslave and murder God’s people: God says “come, Moses, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.”

And here’s the thing: there would be holy ground all along the wilderness trail into and out of Egypt. Just as there was holy ground under the bruised and tear-stained face of George Floyd as his life was choked out of him. There is holy ground under the sneakers of the protesters. And there was holy ground beneath the shoes of the President as he unsuccessfully tried to elbow God out of the way. The ground is sacred because it is God’s and no one can take credit for its holiness nor can God’s presence be erased by human sin.

Holy Ground is everywhere because God is everywhere. As the Psalmist says: “ the earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it.” The burning bush didn’t make the ground holy, God did. The ground under Moses’ feet had been holy all along because God had been there all along, just waiting for Moses to show up.

From that moment on, Moses’ job was to help the Pharaohs and the slaves, the believers and the faithless, the abused and the abusers, the chosen and the forgotten, to understand that when you walk on holy ground--and we all do--you have a calling to work for justice and love.

Right now, the bushes are burning, the soil is rocky, the challenges ahead of us feel like an endless wasteland. Because of God, though, the bushes, the soil, the wasteland and our shattered hearts in our wearied bodies stand on holy ground. Like Moses, we don’t know where to go or what to do; we can’t see very far as we wander through the wilderness. But, we don’t have to wander in the dark for long. There are burning bushes everywhere, brightly showing us that everything and everywhere is filled with a relentless, justice seeking, loving Spirit. The Spirit that calls us to help God free the captives, bind up their wounds and fiercely love one another in the wasteland and beyond. The Spirit that will empower and accompany us as together, we help God bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice. [2]

[1] Terence E. Fretheim, Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, Exodus volume, pgs. 53-54.

[2] A paraphrase of a quote by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Living Wholeheartedly Behind a Mask

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

May 28, 2020

My mother died on the ninth day of North Carolina’s “Stay Home, Stay Safe” order. She had lived a full life and at 89, still had a healthy body. Her doctor and I used to marvel that she only took one prescription medication each day, a little pill for high blood pressure. But, over the last few years of her life, dementia had slowly moved in, gradually clouding her ability to carry on the witty, insightful conversations that her friends and family members had enjoyed for so long.

Because mom’s last 18 months were spent in the skilled nursing facility at Givens Estates in Asheville and I live nearby, I was able to visit with her almost every day. We had such fun, even in her fogginess. She would smile, comment on what I was wearing, ask about her grandchildren, look at the trees and birds out of her window, sing. During our visits, the staff of the facility were in and out, tending to her needs with loving care and amazing physical stamina. They became like family to both of us. They encouraged us by words and actions. Mom was forever trying to pry out the details of their love lives.

In mid-March, the facility went on lockdown; no visitors allowed and rightly so: the residents there are vulnerable and Givens’ primary job is to protect them. It is fundamental. A few days after lockdown began, mom began her dying process. She did not have Covid-19. She wasn’t sick at all; she was entering the time of transition, becoming weaker and non-responsive. The head administrator called me and said that when it was determined she was close to the end, I could make a “compassion visit.”

Over the next few days, I made 3 “compassion visits” and each time, I wore a mask and gloves and stayed sequestered in her room. As her caregivers came in, they, too, had on masks and gloves. When our eyes met over the masks, they were usually filled with tears.

During the third and last visit I made to be with mom, she opened her eyes for about 30 seconds and looked startled. It occurred to me that she may not recognize me behind a mask, maybe the mask scared or confused her. So, I very deliberately said: “Mom, it’s Ashley. I’m right here. I have on this mask because a 'bad cold' is going around and I don’t want to give germs to anyone. I love you so much.” (I was pretty sure using the words “COVID-19 Pandemic” might not connect with her so I kept it simple and inaccurate).

The last time my mom ever saw my face, I was wearing a mask. And, maybe that’s ok. Because the mask represented something she strongly impressed upon us all of our lives: “think of the other person and care for them, even when it is inconvenient for you.” She taught us the Golden Rule. She taught us to be kind.

And while I grieve that I had to kiss her beautiful cheek for the last time through a mask, I take comfort in knowing that perhaps by wearing it, I helped protect the remarkable CNA’s, PT’s, nurses and administrators who were showing up to provide care with their whole hearts each day.

What we know now that we didn’t fully know in mid-March is that it is going to take a Herculean effort to stop this virus. It is going to take big things like the discovery of a vaccine, hand washing, social distancing, wearing masks and listening to the guidance of our brilliant scientists and public health experts.

As I see it, the only way we will repair the fragile fabric of our society is by using the “thread” each of us has been given -- our very life -- for the good of the whole cloth: our world community. We must be the menders, the repairers of the tears that are happening in every family and community around us. We must shift our thinking from “what is good for me” to “what can benefit and protect my neighbor?”

As Christians, we are called by God to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. Jesus teaches us that when we care for the “least of these,” we care for Him. This pandemic has ripped back the veil to reveal that there are thousands of people who would qualify as “the least of these" ... the elderly, poor, uninsured, unemployed, people who live in food deserts, those with compromised health, children with inadequate food to get through the week since their school lunches aren’t available. On and on and on. How can one person like you or me influence the vast array of very human problems our world faces?

Small practices can have huge impact. What if wearing a mask and washing our hands could be seen as ways we can answer Jesus’ call to care for one another? What if a temporary inconvenience could lead to saving lives? What if a suspension of our reckless desire to “be free and do what I want to do whenever I want to do it” for a few more months could result in a life being saved? Let’s face it, none of us looks our best in a mask but that is no excuse for not wearing one. A friend discovered a silver lining on mask wearing when she said recently: “I am seeing people’s eyes over their masks and they are so beautiful.”

This is no time for “hyper-individualism.” [i] We are created for community. As always and perhaps as never before, God is calling us to be our best selves, to dig deep and to love each other with our whole hearts. Right now, that means wearing masks in public. In the long run, loving wholeheartedly may lead to a spiritual awakening to the healing power of sacrificial love.

[i] A phrase from David Brook’s book The Second Mountain in which he says: “…when individualism becomes the dominant ethos of a civilization-when it is not counterbalanced with any competing ethos-then the individuals within it may have maximum freedom, but the links between the individuals slowly begins to dissolve.” (The Second Mountain, p. 10)

The Zoning Department, The Backflow Testing and The Poignant Tattoo

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

May 21, 2020

Over the last few months, I have been traveling in unknown territory. After decades of church ministry, and by that I mean pastoring churches that were already established when I showed up. I am now the founding pastor of a new church. Brand new. Start from scratch kind of church. The kind of church that currently hasn’t yet opened for worship. When we do open, we will begin to know who some of our congregation might be. No telling, really. We know there are people out there who are searching for a faith community to call home, for a place of inclusive welcome, for a place that lets them deepen their faith at their own pace. We just don’t know many of them yet.

Even though the pandemic has delayed our “in person” opening, we are still getting ready to greet them, to serve them, to love them, to worship with them, to serve alongside them. I can barely contain my excitement.

There are things that have to happen first and this is where the unknown has entered my recent life in unprecedented ways. For instance, a few months ago, I went to the City of Asheville Permit Office. I have never, ever been to such a place. They have an entire language they speak that in no way matches the language I speak and think. I filled out form after form as I applied for a building permit(even though we are not building anything at all, structurally). While I waited, one of the clerks told me about her church’s feeding ministry and how many hundreds of people they serve each week. She thought I’d like to know since my form said I was pastor of a church that is moving into a former bar-b-q restaurant.

Thinking I was done and ready to head out of the permit world, I was quickly directed down the sidewalk to the Zoning Department. There, I met with a woman who endeared me to her because she used multi-colored Flair pens for her government forms; I love Flair pens and use them every day. Assuming we were kindred spirits, I asked her to explain what I was doing there. Wrong question. She looked up long enough to tell me to sign her forms and then go back up to The Permit Office, pay a bunch of money and call them back in 48 hours. I didn’t even get to use her Flair turquoise pen. I still invited her to Wellspring church, though. She knows how to find us: our address is printed all over those forms!

Released from The Permit Office, I hurried to the church building where I had a noon appointment with a guy named John who would do Backflow Testing on our water. I had no idea what backflow testing was but it was clear that in order to open our church soon, we had to get our backflow checked out. John and I had a nice talk and then he got to work. Soon, he came in smiling, saying that everything was in order and asked if I could sign some forms? I signed off, invited him to worship with us, we shook hands(this took place in February, pre-Covid-19-awareness) and then he left for another backflow situation.

Let me pause here and sum up: I am used to preaching, teaching, visiting, worshiping, building relationships; it’s what I love and what I’ve done. But, ministry is now calling me to unknown, unexperienced places so that I can help a newbie church get ready to embrace people who inhabit places I’ve never been whether they be in city offices, lonely places of rejection, tables that are too small to include them or in places of earnest seeking. We have to have the permits and the good backflow in order to make welcome the friends we do not yet know.

Overwhelmed with the teeny little details of doing church with which I have never had to deal with (thank you, Lord), I was ready to get back to thinking about “important stuff.” As I finished up the paperwork with John, I noticed a lovely, scrolling tattoo on his forearm. Have you ever tried hard to read someone’s tattoo while also acting disinterested? I have. I’m not sure he noticed how my head was bending back and forth but I just had to read it.

While he was packing up his clipboard I read the whole thing. And I had to choke back the tears. For there, on his muscular, rough arm were these words:

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Right above the scripture was a tattooed picture of two little baby shoes.

And I knew that I was not in unknown territory at all: ministry, connection, can happen everywhere. I pray it happens at Wellspring. And wherever you are.

A View from Your Window

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

May 15, 2020

A friend of mine who has perpetual wanderlust told me about a Facebook page that she has enjoyed during the quarantine called The View from My Window. The vision of The View from My Window group page is “for you to share the atmosphere of your daily Life, from BEHIND YOUR WINDOW, where you live during Covid19 lockdown.” My friend said that looking at this page has helped her feel less confined while also engaging her imagination as she looks at actual pictures that people post.

Lured by the promise of traveling around the world from my desk chair, I subscribed to the site and am now an enthusiastic follower. At first, I imagined I would see pictures of yards and birdfeeders, mountains and oceans, pretty trees and maybe a dog or cat. But, I see so much more there: there are also pictures of a dry, patch of grass, boarded up apartment buildings, and a tiny, drab balcony with a splash of color from a flowerpot. The pictures are not of all snow-capped mountains and peony bushes but rather, of broad slices of real life around the world.

Besides the photographs, there are comments from people all over the world in many languages, thanking the photographer for sharing a sense of life where they are quarantined. Many of the comments contain wishes and blessings for the health and safety of each person and words of gratitude for the beauty of the world that can be found if we only notice.

As I have looked out of my windows over these last months, I have seen things for the first time, noticed spring erupt more beautifully than I can ever remember, seen and heard the wind blowing ferociously and watched the rain fall in sheets. I have observed deer munching their way across the yard and our dogs luxuriating in the sunshine.

And while I’ve looked out of my windows, I have become lost in thought, daydreams, and in prayer. I’ve thought about my friends and family and longed to see them. I’ve prayed for those who are sick and grieving, lonely and worried. I’ve smiled as I relived memories of talks and laughter that have happened in our backyard. I’ve given God thanks for the blessing of being able to look out my window and see beauty when so many people cannot see much that looks like hope or healing or future.

How we live “behind our windows,” what we see, pray for and think about, is perhaps the first step towards how we will live when we are able to go out and be in the world again. If, while looking out of our windows, we also look inside ourselves, we may renew or discover our passion to help heal the world, build relationships, show compassion and work for justice. Gaze upon your outside landscapes. And also, look through your spiritual window so that you may discover and embrace your lovely internal landscape with all its own valleys and hills, clouds and light. It is all worth seeing.

Questions to Consider:

As you look in your “spiritual window,” how is it with your soul?

Look out: where do you see beauty?

Now, look inward: where do you see beauty?

Are there parts of the world whose windows you don’t want to look through?

What did the songwriter mean when he wrote: “how good it is to love someone, how right it is to care?”
How would our lives become simpler and more meaningful if we focused on loving and caring?
Ask Sister Simplicity to sit with you “by the fire” and together, make a list of the simple things that make your life worth living.

The Simple Things

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

May 3, 2020

Lately, I have committed myself to notice the simple things of each day and do my best to revel in them. To wholeheartedly embrace them and to allow them to be my teachers. It is quite an exercise for me because I have an advanced degree in complexifying things. I know how to pile on worry, hand-wringing and over-thinking into almost every situation.

During these last weeks of less distraction, less calendaring, less busy work, I have begun to tame the Demand Diva that lives inside of me. I have told her to let go and find someone else to control because I have found a new friend to love; I’m calling her Sister Simplicity. She and I have had quite a time together lately as she has taught me to appreciate the little things, to stop & absorb them into my spirit. Just in one day she helped me appreciate:

the majesty of a new bloom on the white iris in the backyard
the first baby hummingbird of the season who appeared at our feeder
the deep giggle of our grandson over a zoom call when his ridiculous grandparents made goofy faces
the song of the windchimes during a heavy rain
the arrival of a new hardback book by one of my favorite authors
listening to Ed Kilbourne sing Poems, Prayers and Promises a poignant song about life and friends and what makes life worth living

In fact, it was Ed’s rendition of an old John Denver song that put me in touch with the beauty of simple things. Sister Simplicity made me listen to it over and over until I really heard its message, summed up in these words:

I have to say it now, it's been a good life all in all
It's really fine to have a chance to hang around
Sit here by the fire and watch the evening tire
While all my friends that I have gathered pass the bread and wine around…

And talk of poems and prayers and promises and things that we believe in
How good it is to love someone, how right it is to care
How long it's been since yesterday and what about tomorrow
And what about the dreams and all the memories we share?

The basic things of life do not need invitation or scheduling from me or you; they wait to be discovered. They are the things that provide the deepest connection to the all of life, to finding our place in the universe. Through them, life becomes less focused on scarcity and more on abundance; less on boredom and more on wonder. Valuing the simple things leads us to deeper connection with others because isn’t friendship enhanced when we notice and appreciate our friend’s beauty and uniqueness?

Now that we’ve become friends, Sister Simplicity just gently takes my hand each day, slows me down and leads me into the yard, under the sky, under the branches of my trees, to the woods, to the book, to the Beethoven symphony or the perfect music of Joni Mitchell or to the memories that seem more beautiful than ever and she says: “look, listen, and while we’re at it, let’s ‘sit here by the fire and watch the evening tire…and talk of poems, prayers and promises, the things that we believe in…how good it is to love someone, how right it is to care…”

What did the songwriter mean when he wrote: “how good it is to love someone, how right it is to care?”
How would our lives become simpler and more meaningful if we focused on loving and caring?
Ask Sister Simplicity to sit with you “by the fire” and together, make a list of the simple things that make your life worth living.

Bridges

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

April 25, 2020

As a teenager, I had an array of groovy posters hanging in my bedroom. Desiderata “Go placidly amid the noise and the haste and remember what peace there may be in silence"; one by Frederick Perl "I do my thing and you do your thing…"; and one of the Monkees band "Take the Last Train to Clarksville."

But, the poster I liked the best said: “People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.” Even as a young teen, I was captivated by the notion that people had an alternative to loneliness and separation by building bridges.

During this time of isolation, I have thought a lot about how people can build bridges between each other in spite of being physically distant. Many of us have already found ways to use Zoom, Facetime, the phone and even snail mail to stay connected to the people and causes that are most important to us. Honestly, those are easy bridges for me to construct. Yet, I find that I am much less likely to contact people with whom I might need to rebuild the broken bridge between us. In those cases, it is easier to build a wall than a bridge. Why? Because bridge building usually requires saying “I am sorry,” or “I know I hurt you,” or “I wish I had done something differently.” It could even involve saying “I need help.” Walls go up and the bridge waits to be built for another day.

As people of faith, though, our calling is to take the harder paths and reach out over the chasms between us to close the gaps. It is, after all, what God did by sending Jesus to the world. II Corinthians 5:17-20 claims: “God reconciled us to Godself through Christ and given to us the ministry of reconciliation…. entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.”

Jesus is the bridge God built because humans had only succeeded in building walls. Walls keep people, love, grace, acceptance, forgiveness and community out. Bridges invite encounter, a meeting place, a coming together even if there has been a long history of pain. God in Christ is heaven-bent on bringing us closer and forgiving us of our brokenness so that we can be ambassadors of reconciliation and peace in our world. God always takes the first step and then, amazingly, invites us to join God in living forgiveness, giving second chances, being repairers of the breach.

I have a long way to go in living into my ambassadorship but God in Christ continues to work on me and offer me the grace I need for one more day, one more ty, on more attempt to join myself with others as we tear down walls.

Wellspring Congregation has been born to be a place of reconciliation, grace and safety for all people. We want to be a bridge because even before this pandemic, our country’s citizens were experiencing the highest levels of loneliness than ever before: “more than three in five Americans are lonely, with more and more people reporting feeling like they are left out, poorly understood and lacking companionship…” (report by Cigna entitled “Loneliness is at Epidemic Levels in America").

This sense of isolation doesn’t just happen in the secular world. In our United Methodist Church, LGBTQ+ persons have experienced intense isolation and many are on the cusp of leaving the denomination because they have been excluded and shamed, painfully told that there was no room for them to live their lives fully and openly. For me and for many thousands of other people, this exclusionary message simply is not consistent with the message of II Corinthians 5:17-20 nor with our theological belief that each person is God’s beloved child. God has reconciled all of us through Jesus and entrusted all of us with the ministry of reconciliation.

And so, before Wellspring even opens its doors, we will be a Reconciling Congregation! This week, we were accepted into membership in the Reconciling Ministries Network; read more about that here: rmnetwork.org. You can find Wellspring’s grace-filled Reconciling Statement on this website by clicking the “About” tab: Reconciing Statement

Wellspring is committed to being a bridge building congregation! We are tired of walls! Are you?

Questions for Reflection:

Who, in your life, needs to know that they have a place in God’s family?
What walls have you run into or participated in building in our community?
Where do you need to build a bridge?

Your Mustard Seed

Ashley Crowder Stanley, Pastor

April 18, 2020

Jesus put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”

(Matthew 13:31-32 CEB)

On Monday, I decided to have a picnic lunch in our backyard. It was a pristine day and besides, I wanted to see what was flittering around the recently filled hummingbird feeder. I went into the pantry to grab a few paper plates and napkins when I realized that the paper plates I had were birthday themed and the paper napkins were Christmas themed and they didn’t match at all. Balloons don’t go with poinsettias.

And then, my constant mantra during this quarantine ran through my mind: Use What You Have. Don’t worry about such silly things, I reminded myself. You are sheltering in place which is as good a time as any to dip into the surplus of so many things (hotel shampoos, ketchup packets, cans of tomatoes ) that you have collected over the years for whatever reason. Use What You Have and let go of the urge to gather more or make what you have perfect. Use What You Have may be the best approach to groceries, toiletries, puzzles and sample sizes of detergent during this pandemic.

And, Use What You Have may also be the best approach to our faith, especially if our faith seems as small as a pebble in the face of a Goliath time of isolation and worry.

Jesus told a parable about a teeny little mustard seed which grew into a tree strong enough to hold a bird’s nest. Surprising considering how it starts out. The mustard seed isn’t impressive to look at or to hold but it can do mighty things when it is planted in the right soil and tended by the Gardener who cares. “Use What You Have little mustard seed and pretty soon, your branches will provide a home for a nest and shade for sweaty workers.”

Use What You Have when it comes to your faith and if it seems wobbly or dry or riddled with cracks, fear not: you can lean on the faith of your friends, your family, your pastor, your community, until your faith regains its strength. A friend who was having a terrible time of it the other night texted me: “I can’t seem to pray. It’s your turn.” And I did pray for her. It’s what we do for one another. Just ask. Just lean.

You may have a tiny little mustard seed of faith buried deep down in the soil of your soul that only needs the steady sunshine of your friend’s prayer to grow a bit hardier. Or, you may take a risk, open your hand and show God your one little seed that feels so inadequate and ask God to help it grow enough to sustain you for this day, this hour. It doesn’t have to be a tree already; God knows how to take tiny little seeds of faith and make them grow. And, God plants our lives with people who know how to use what they have, even if it is only that half-filled beat up old watering can, to tend the seed until you are able.

Questions for reflection:

What do you have that you can use to help yourself, your family and others during these days of social distancing?
What mustard seed are you holding is waiting for you to discover?

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