January 4, 2019
Dear Village Family,
The calendar has turned (that happens quickly doesn’t it?) and the new year has come. I don’t know if you made any new year’s resolutions, and if you did, if you have still kept them…. but I have a suggestion. I’ll say more about that in a minute.
This Sunday we will reflect on Epiphany, the day the church celebrates the visit of the magi. The Magi were travelers from the east who brought gifts to Jesus. It is a story that has captured the imagination of the church. One of my favorite poems is called “The Journey of the Magi,” by T.S. Eliot. I have copied it below. This Sunday I want to tell you why I think this story is our story.
I am also excited because at our 9:30 and 11:00 services at Mission and at our Antioch service we will celebrate the Ordination of Officers. I will be preaching at these services and Rev. Hallie Hottle will preach at the Gathering services at 5:00 Sunday afternoon.
I am traveling Sunday to meet with the Moveable Feast. This is a group of about 24 pastors who gather once a year to study together. We prepare papers before we arrive and discuss Biblical texts that we might use for preaching in the year to come. This group of gifted colleagues has inspired and instructed me over the years. The truth is, I would be a lesser pastor without this group.
So here’s my suggestion. I expect I will grow this week as I study with my colleagues. As you are thinking about 2019, put something on your list that will stretch your faith, nourish your soul. Take a class. Set aside a regular time for prayer. Volunteer with one of our mission efforts. Make worship a more regular practice (if worship is not something you do regularly, I would put this at the top of the list). You don’t have to do this forever, but make sure you do something that feeds your faith. Let Village help you with that. Try this and it may not simply be a Happy New Year, but maybe a more meaningful new year.
See you Sunday….and enjoy Eliot’s poem.
Shalom…
Tom
The Journey Of The Magi
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Dear Village Family,
The calendar has turned (that happens quickly doesn’t it?) and the new year has come. I don’t know if you made any new year’s resolutions, and if you did, if you have still kept them…. but I have a suggestion. I’ll say more about that in a minute.
This Sunday we will reflect on Epiphany, the day the church celebrates the visit of the magi. The Magi were travelers from the east who brought gifts to Jesus. It is a story that has captured the imagination of the church. One of my favorite poems is called “The Journey of the Magi,” by T.S. Eliot. I have copied it below. This Sunday I want to tell you why I think this story is our story.
I am also excited because at our 9:30 and 11:00 services at Mission and at our Antioch service we will celebrate the Ordination of Officers. I will be preaching at these services and Rev. Hallie Hottle will preach at the Gathering services at 5:00 Sunday afternoon.
I am traveling Sunday to meet with the Moveable Feast. This is a group of about 24 pastors who gather once a year to study together. We prepare papers before we arrive and discuss Biblical texts that we might use for preaching in the year to come. This group of gifted colleagues has inspired and instructed me over the years. The truth is, I would be a lesser pastor without this group.
So here’s my suggestion. I expect I will grow this week as I study with my colleagues. As you are thinking about 2019, put something on your list that will stretch your faith, nourish your soul. Take a class. Set aside a regular time for prayer. Volunteer with one of our mission efforts. Make worship a more regular practice (if worship is not something you do regularly, I would put this at the top of the list). You don’t have to do this forever, but make sure you do something that feeds your faith. Let Village help you with that. Try this and it may not simply be a Happy New Year, but maybe a more meaningful new year.
See you Sunday….and enjoy Eliot’s poem.
Shalom…
Tom
The Journey Of The Magi
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.