Love Letters

By Rev. Kay Ash

To be confessional, sometimes the Monday after I share a sermon I wonder “what in the world do we do now?”  Just reading through the news in the morning is enough to make us question whether we will make it to lunchtime, right?  The focused upon scripture from last Sunday came from 1 John 1:1-2:2.  As I mentioned, this information was written to the early church as it began to define the boundaries around what they believed and how they should function as a church.  Unfortunately, the early church was at the point of schism – exactly where our beloved church stands today.  Just a week ago, 2 churches in Mississippi voted to remove themselves from our connected denomination.  Lord, in your mercy, here our prayers.

    So, as we stand at an impasse with two immovable, inflexible points of view, “what in the world do we do now?”  The book I mentioned “The Anatomy of Peace” offers several well-tested suggestions; but, are those strategies rigorous enough to hold up in our contentious world?  Firstly, can we acknowledge that our go-to strategies of discipline and correction have not been successful over time?  Our prison system is more than enough of an example.  So, if we do not spend our energy correcting what is wrong in our world, what do we spend our energy on?

    Although it may seem deeply counter-cultural, spending our time energizing what is right in the world seems to fall in line with our calling, individually and as a church.  Even though doing so might seem foolish or vulnerable in today’s culture of criticism, in truth, all of us are sacred and holy because our essence comes from God.  Therefore, we are called to recognize the holy in everyone before we offer an opinion or viewpoint.  Impossible as it may seem, imagine for a moment that it works.

    Decades ago, I was a member of the Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew United Methodist in New York City.  Located on the Upper West Side at 86th Street, our beautiful but crumbly 100 year old building was and continues to be an oasis of peacefulness in a chaotic location.  I remember one morning in particular when our congregation learned that the roof of a near-by synagogue had caved in during the night.  Thankfully, no one was injured.  However, a vibrant group of our nearby Jewish brothers and sisters suddenly had no home.  It was clear from the very beginning, we knew what to do.  We removed all of the Christian symbols from our sanctuary and placed our Bibles and hymnals on rolling carts.  Then we cleaned and polished, scrubbed and shined our crumbly old worship space.  In the meantime, our Pastor called the Rabbi of B’nai Jeshurun and invited them to share our space.  It is impossible for words to describe the love shared between the two congregations, one Jewish and one Christian.  The roof collapsed in 1991, the synagogue was fully repaired several years later, but the two congregations are still together!  

    With that history in mind, just last year the Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew United Methodist was vandalized.  In specific, someone drew a swastika underneath their “Hate Has No Place Hear” sign which hangs the large wooden doors that lead into the sanctuary.  So, what did they do that next morning when they found a symbol of hate on their building?  They remembered that everyone is sacred and then they offered their opinion - by writing a letter of love and taping it to the door.  Then, they placed a card table outside on the sidewalk with paper and markers.  In no time at all the symbol of hate was covered with love letters from the community.

    As impossible as it may seem in this time of immovable, inflexible viewpoints, God is still at work in us and through us.  Our hope is real.  Don’t believe it?  We’ve got some paper and markers around here, let’s write some love letters!

In the Afternoon

By Rev. Kay Ash

It is hard for me to remember a time when I was not surrounded by the wonder of children.  There have always been children:  the sound of their voices, the energy of their presence, the delight that comes from their perspective.  I am so thankful that throughout my lifetime there have been lots of children, mostly because I really love children, but also, because it is through children that I best experience God.

Growing up here in Oak Cliff, close to Kiest Park, I had that kind of up-bringing where everybody on the block watched over me like a mom, none of our doors were locked, fireflies or cicadas were caught in mason jars and the dozens of kids were just like family.  Not to mention, the more than two dozen cousins who were my actual family and who “dropped by” so much that I thought they lived with us.  There were so many of us at our epic nightly hide-and-go-seek extravaganzas that we did not always “find” everybody before dark.  No matter what, we were safe and we were loved.  

Of course, you would be right if you accuse me of romanticizing my childhood, but I do have such wonderful memories of Oak Cliff.  However, if we strip away the sentimentality and my rose-colored glasses, those foundational parts of my childhood planted the seeds of ministry shared with KPUMC today.  When unconditional love is shared, it often blossoms in unexpected ways.

The experiences that I remember most vividly, where I found God most often, happened in the afternoons (I really mean EVERY afternoon).  After school or on hot summer days the kids would gather on the front steps of my house.  I am 100% sure this had a lot to do with the cupcakes or cookies that were coming out of the oven at the same time, which were washed down with gallons of extra-sugared Kool-Aid.  Besides the sweet treats, my Mom taught children to read.  

Slowly but surely, word after painstakingly difficult word, all of us took turns learning to read Little Golden books.  Perhaps it was the goodies, but no one complained; we just tried, day after day.  Some were faster than others and some were confident where others were shy. But, in those gatherings, we were equal to each other and unconditionally loved.  

My Mom continued this practice for decades after I grew up and moved away.  She believed so strongly in education, something she yearned for herself.  I truly have no idea how many children sat on our front steps over the years.  I do know that all of them read, all of them ate gobs of sugar, and all of them experienced the sacred, holy, unmistakable presence of God.  I am extra sure of this because so many of them told me at my mother’s graveside.  

On the front steps of my home in Oak Cliff, I learned what the presence of God feels like; what is looks like, tastes like, sounds like and how enthusiastically God shows up, even in the midst of sweaty little kids.  It was within these foundational experiences that the seeds of ministry blossomed into the hopes and dreams of Kingdom Come that we share today.  I am so thankful to be back in the Oak Cliff area and so very thankful to have the privilege of serving at KPUMC.  By the way, have you noticed?  The people here at KPUMC are amazing!  Let’s get together on an afternoon sometime soon.

A Mini-Resurrection

By the time you read this, a refugee family of seven from Afghanistan will be safely settled in their new home in Dallas, Texas.

Over the last week, a Catalyst Group from KPUMC has been hard at work getting a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment in north Dallas ready for their arrival. Oscar Brown and Mary Ann Climer went shopping for furniture at some resale shops and found a beautiful dining room set, couches, and other assorted pieces. Mary Ann found housewares at Goodwill, and bought fresh groceries to fill the refrigerator and pantry. Bev Sladek and I made up the beds, put contact paper in the kitchen shelves, and put books and toys out for the children. Sally Climer had a meal prepared for their arrival last night (Wednesday).

I think of the preparation work as especially appropriate for Holy Week. During these days in which we observe the suffering and death of Jesus Christ, our church has been working on behalf of a family which has suffered much in the preceding years. We know very little about this family, except that they are from Afghanistan, have five children — four boys from the age of 13 to 6, and a two—year old daughter. We also know that the father had worked alongside US Special Ops forces, and for that reason, his identity must be kept secret as much as possible. We don’t know yet what they have experienced over the past seventeen years — since the US began military operations in Afghanistan — but we can safely assume that things became untenable for them to stay.

And even though we can also safely assume that they are Muslims, I would like to suggest that their arrival in the US is a kind of Easter moment for them. They are about to experience a sort of mini-resurrection, a chance for them to start again. Here in Dallas they will be able to enroll all their children in school, find meaningful employment, and begin to dream of the future.

That’s what Easter is about, isn’t it? In the resurrection of Jesus, we have the perfect symbol and guarantee of the possibility of new life. What our refugee family from Afghanistan is experiencing right now, is something that you and I can experience as well right now.

New life, setting aside the past, repentance, leaving behind old ways of being and thinking — all of this is possible because Jesus has broken the power of death and sin. We don’t have to remain mired in the muck of the world’s dysfunction. We are renewed and empowered by the Holy Spirit to be “resettled” into a new place, a safe space that we recognize as home.

Come home to Jesus this Easter. Come home to yourself.