the pattyo

a good hair day can be so nice.

I thought you might like to know that.

Did you?
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My church is in the process of deciding whether to sell our building and “head to the hills” … no, not really … head to South San Jose, actually … or stay where we are. We are a small body, and according to some we are dying. Those folks who want to move suggest that we can only grow by locating elsewhere. Those who prefer to stay suggest that we need to do more where we are, and utilize a building that, while in need of repair, has great value.

I’m staying out of this whole thing. I don’t think a change of building is the answer, but I honestly don’t know that anything will change if we stay unless more than we are willing to change takes place. (And I won’t go into that here.)

I do read the emails that come through, though. People on either side are quite vocal about what they think is the answer. It’s interesting.

Each email is signed “In His name” or “His servant” or “In His service” and, well, how can one argue since they are all so humble and all?

Somehow the way they sign ticks me off. I don’t know exactly why. Maybe because it implies that they are only doing God’s will and who can complain then? Somehow it takes all the decision making they are doing and suggesting that God is doing the decision making. If they are signing as God, or if they are just being God’s servant, they must be right … right?

But here’s the weird thing; I do believe in God’s sovereignty. So in the long run, God is making the decisions. Hmmm. (Some folks at my church don’t actually believe that, though; they suggest that we can choose something and take that away from God.)

Anyway, next Sunday they are voting. I say “they” because I’m not sure I’ll be there.

My father said an interesting thing to me the the other day. He said that maybe I need an Episcopal church. I wonder. I miss liturgy. I miss formality: it can have great meaning if it doesn’t get lost in the ritual. I certainly miss good music. It’s difficult to worship while wearing ear plugs. At least for me.
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From Kelsey’s site:

7:45am – Yesterday I bought a new fish. This fish wil live at work. His name is Tester. He is a Beta . . .

That makes him the Beta, Tester.

Teehee . . .

That girl cracks me up sometimes!
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Born as a son, led like a lamb,
Sacrificed like a sheep, buried as a man,
He rises from the dead as God,
Being by nature both God and man.

He is the judge of all things:
When he judges, he is law; when he teaches, word;
When he saves, grace; when he begets, father;
When he is begotten, son; when he suffers, lamb;
When he is buried, man; when he rises, God.

Come, then, all you races of humankind, whom sin has saturated,
And receive the forgiveness of sin.
For it is I who am your forgiveness; I, the saving pasch;
I, the lamb, sacrificed for you; I, your purification; I, your life;
I, your resurrection; I, your light; I, your salvation; I, your king!
It is I who bring you to the heights of heaven:
It is I who shall raise you up here on earth.
I will show you the eternal father, I will raise you with my right hand.

I found this here so check out the entire blog if you’d like. I realize Easter was yesterday for most of us, but I am well aware that others will be celebrating Easter in about a month. Julian Calendar says April 18, and Gregorian says May 1. In case you were wondering.
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I call it soda. Just like this said I should.

Whew. You know how I hate being different.

;-)

“Pop” is the noise my Rice Krispies make. “Coke” is a brand (and is better than Pepsi). “Other” … well … calling soda “other” is just wrong!
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A holy lightening stands before the cave
while guards lie, stonelike, on the hardened ground.
One white garbed angel speaks from open grave,
his presence with the missing stone astound
the mourning women. Overwhelmed by fright,
and sorrow filled, unable now to move
they stand in frozen heaviness despite
an open tomb where graveclothes resting prove
the proclamation.

Truth has freed their tongues
to tell the others news that cannot wait.
One numbly turns to go, the other runs
ahead to spread this information: The fate
of He who hung upon a cross and bled.
He is alive! He rose just as He said.
—–

Deprived of bandages, and bleeding, worn
from endless suffering, your silence now
breaks through my tears. In shock, I wonder how
all that I thought would save us has been torn
from my still needful hands. Is this the end?
You, hanging from the tree no longer see –
don’t hear the jeers. Most friends have thought to flee
in fear, and few remained here to attend
to what is left: a broken body, bruised
and void of life. I stretch my arms out, try
to reach you, but you are too far away.
You’ve left me here, alone, and I, who used
to follow you as truth now wish to die
and question how I’ll survive every day.
—–

A holy lightening stands before the cave
while guards lie, stonelike, on the hardened ground.
One white garbed angel speaks from open grave,
his presence with the missing stone astound
the mourning women. Overwhelmed by fright,
and sorrow filled, unable now to move
they stand in frozen heaviness despite
an open tomb where graveclothes resting prove
the proclamation.

Truth has freed their tongues
to tell the others news that cannot wait.
One numbly turns to go, the other runs
ahead to spread this information: The fate
of He who hung upon a cross and bled.
He is alive! He rose just as He said.
—–

The arms spread out, the blend of blood
and muscle: these spell love? Death hangs
in front of us, and staring, still
we do not comprehend. What seems
the ending, in the future will
become the answer to our curse
and a beginning to new life.
But now our eyes are blinded, ears
are closed, the mirror not just dim
but blackened. We can‚t understand.
Then, later, one large stone is moved
and linen seen; the empty tomb
the evidence that all he said
was true, the mystery revealed.

—–

Deprived of bandages, and bleeding, worn
from endless suffering, your silence now
breaks through my tears. In shock, I wonder how
all that I thought would save us has been torn
from my still needful hands. Is this the end?
You, hanging from the tree no longer see –
don’t hear the jeers. Most friends have thought to flee
in fear, and few remained here to attend
to what is left: a broken body, bruised
and void of life. I stretch my arms out, try
to reach you, but you are too far away.
You’ve left me here, alone, and I, who used
to follow you as truth now wish to die
and question how I’ll survive every day.

PEM 6/29/01
(This isn’t exactly a stunning poem – duh! – but I was attempting to get to the emptiness that Mary Magdalene must have felt as she watched Jesus being crucified.)
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