Daily Dose (March 10 – 13)

TUESDAY MARCH 10 — My friend Tim Hansel wrote a book on parenting. He asked his young sons, “Boys, how do you know Dad loves you?”
He figured that they would say, “Daaaad, remember when you took us to Disney world, like for 10 days!” They didn’t say that, so he knew he wasted all that money.
He figured they’d say, “Daaad, remember Christmas and you bought us all that great stuff!”
They didn’t say that.
They said, “Dad, we know you love us, when you wrestle with us.”
He remembered two times. He had come home, hungry, tired, late, and he didn’t care. But these urchins were yanking on his pant leg. “So, I rolled with them on the floor. Toward the kitchen.” He said, “Just to get them out of my way.”
And then it hit him. In the middle of that very ordinary, boring, mundane experience, real life was happening. Unfeigned joy, love, intimacy, connection, grace, whole-heartedness—the really good stuff—all woven into the untidy and the commonplace.
“But,” Tim laments, “I missed it. Because I was only tuned in to Disney world and Christmas.”
There is nothing wrong with Disney world or Christmas. But they have meaning, only because we find the sacred in the wrestling times.
My confession is this… One of these days I need to give up my expectations for control (you know, hoping to orchestrate a tidier life). Let’s just say it’s on my list.
Or maybe, along with Tim, it’s time for a paradigm shift.

Here’s the deal: It’s easy to miss moments of enrichment—moments of nourishment and refreshment—when we are focused on what we think life “should” be.
Reading the Bible, God is real in small gifts and simple pleasures. God is present in the commonplace, the weak, the flawed, the compromised. The profane is not the antithesis of the sacred, but the bearer of it.
We are so bent on removing ourselves from the mundane (and certainly anything messy), that we miss miracles. And the gift of replenishment.
Not surprisingly, once we see it, we do our best to turn it into a project: five steps to creating wrestling times. We do not rest in the solace that God is present, having nothing to do with our faith, or our effort to invest the moment with meaning.
So. We have a choice. We can live life as a gift to be embraced and explored and savored. Or, we can take the typical western worldview—treat everything like a test to be completed (and hopefully aced).

Wrestling time… a good reminder about our theme for this week: Making sure our heart and soul are replenished and refreshed matters.
“Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters—refreshes others—will himself be watered.” (Book of Proverbs)

WEDNESDAY MARCH 11 — ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​“We are here to heal, not harm. We are here to love, not hate. We are here to create, not destroy.” (Anthony D. Williams)
Staying informed matters.
Bearing witness matters.
And we need to tell—and retell—the stories about those who did stand. And bear witness.

On March 10 every year, I remember Sister Mary Antona Ebo, honoring the anniversary of Bloody Sunday and the march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, AL. I was privileged to meet Sister Mary in 2013 when I walked the bridge, led by John Lewis.
Here’s her story and the light she still spills today.
A still-plucky Sister Mary Antona Ebo of the Franciscan Sisters of Mary — the first black nun to march — didn’t think she was martyr material, but felt it was time to “put up or shut up.”
On March 7, 1965, Alabama state troopers and local police — some on horseback — used billy clubs, bullwhips and tear gas to bludgeon and bloody about 600 civil rights activists who had started a march of 50 miles from Selma to the state capital of Montgomery.
News of that “Bloody Sunday” attack at the Edmund Pettus Bridge was broadcast into homes across the country and would be a turning point in the civil rights struggle. After the attack, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. issued a call for church leaders around the country to come to Selma. Sister Antona Ebo was working at St. Mary’s Infirmary, then a hospital for African-Americans in St. Louis, when news of the brutality in Selma reached her.
“If I didn’t have this habit on, if I wasn’t working,” she told her co-workers at the infirmary, “I’d be in Selma.”
“God called my bluff,” Ebo would later tell a reporter.
Ebo’s supervisor, Sister Eugene Smith, asked her whether, as an African-American nun, she would be part of a 50-member delegation — made up of laymen, Protestant ministers, rabbis, priests and five white nuns.
On the morning of Wednesday, March 10, the group flew to Selma. They were promptly taken to Brown Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church — a civil rights landmark.
Ebo later realized that inside the chapel, politician and civil rights leader the Rev. Andrew Young had referred to her when he asked “the people to stand and acknowledge that one of the great moral forces of the world was now entering the church.”
“I didn’t even know that that was me,” Ebo says now with a chuckle.

Sister Mary Antona Ebo died November 2017, at the age of 93.
In 2013, I was honored to walk the Edmund Pettus Bridge and to stand with heroes, including Sr. Mary and John Lewis. It’s not my practice to put personal photos in Sabbath Moment. But this is my way of thanking Sr. Mary for stepping up. We are on the bridge alongside Peggy Wallace Kennedy (daughter of George Wallace) and Donzaleigh Avis Abernathy (daughter of Ralph Abernathy).
In 2013 I wrote, “Today I walked across a bridge. The sun shines down from a bleached blue sky. The air may by cool, but our spirits don’t notice, as we stand and sing under the sign, Edmund Pettus Bridge. We are in Selma, Alabama on Bloody Sunday. And no, after today I will never be the same.”

THURSDAY MARCH 12 — Staying informed matters.
Bearing witness matters.
And, making sure our heart and soul are replenished—and refreshed, and grounded—matters.
In my early clergy years, let’s just say that I was wound a wee bit tight, moving way too fast, making things happen. You know, working on that long list we carried; what we hoped—no, planned—to accomplish. So, making sure that my heart and soul were replenished, was not to be found on that list.
I lived in Southern California and my friend from seminary, Paul Ford, introduced me to St. Andrew’s Abbey in Valyermo, a Benedictine monastery and retreat center in the high desert. It became my “go-to” sanctuary for renewal, where I would spend three days a month on retreat. But, let’s just say, unplugging and renewal takes some rewiring.
On my first visit, I met my—soon to be—spiritual director and dear friend, Fr. Francis Benedict.
At lunch we talked, and I told him I would be there for three days, on a “Sabbath Retreat”.
And then, outlined my plans. (You know, you can get a lot done in three days. I had sermons to write, editing on a book, and of course, books to read… I smile still remembering it all.)
We spoke again right after Vespers. And he asked, “How’s your Sabbath Retreat going?”
“I think I failed my Sabbath,” I told him.
He laughed and laughed. A laugh I gratefully carry with me to this day. And it is what spiritual directors are good for, to remind us not to take ourselves too seriously.
“How did you fail?” he asked.
And I told him that after lunch I went back to my room and laid down, for “just a minute”, and the next thing I knew, it was five p.m.
He laughed, and said, “I’m so glad you slept. You rested. You needed that. And while you slept, you’ll be glad to know you were held in the arms of God’s love.”

My Oh My. We’ve missed the point if we don’t see that unplugging and refueling is a laboratory for forgiveness, which begins with self-forgiveness. An invitation to befriend our scattered and wounded self.
Yes. Grace, indeed, is WD40 for the soul.
And the permission to let go of the strange measurements we lug around for self-worth. Here’s the bottom line: When I lose sight of who I am (or where I am grounded), I forget to be here now. The gift of enough in the sacrament of the present. As long as I’m preoccupied with apprehension of where I need to arrive, I’m unable to pause, or care, or give, or weep, or mourn, or heal, or contribute, or laugh, or savor. Unable to stay informed. Unable to bear witness.
Tell me my friend; this week, where were you able to find replenishment?
Where were you able to find renewal?
Where were you able to feel the embrace embrace—even if only a smidgen—of inner peace?

FRIDAY MARCH 13 — I was raised in a religious environment that frowned on the permission to take delight in tiny pleasures. Some of you can relate. And we too easily call invitations to savor, to pause to take delight, to enchantment, to dance and to celebrate—yes, to find joy in replenishment and renewal, “selfish”.
So. Let’s step back, shall we?
Does our world need more gestures of kindness and compassion?
Does our world need sanctuaries with more inclusion and healing and redemption?
Does our world need people who stay informed and bear witness?
Yes, to be sure. But those choices spill from a self that is grounded—a self replenished and renewed. At home in our own skin.

We can learn from Jesus, who is, let’s be honest, often a PR-department’s nightmare. In the middle of his busy schedule (healing, teaching, and caring), with a lot of people clamoring for his attention (“and the whole town gathered at the door”), he withdraws to a solitary place to pray, to be alone in the desert, to be at home in his skin.
His disciples, not understanding, and genuinely put out, hunt him down.
When they find him, they exclaim, “Jesus, what are you doing here… doing Nothing!? Do you want to be a good Messiah, or not? Get back down there! People are counting on you down there. What will people think? Jesus, we need to get you to a time-management seminar. You could accomplish so much more!” That’s all from the first chapter of Mark’s Gospel. And yes, let’s call it my “slightly loose” translation.
However: Listen to the literal translation, which will sound very familiar, especially to our modern ears, “Jesus, everyone is looking for you!”
We’ve all heard some variation of this show of displeasure. Implying, “You have some nerve, saying ‘No’.”
This way of thinking preys on two temptations. One, it assumes that we derive our worth and value only (or primarily) from what we do, or produce. Therefore, we are motivated to be “indispensable”.
Two, we assume that rest (or Sabbath or withdrawing or savoring life in the present) is wasteful, and should inflame guilt. (“Shouldn’t you be doing something worthwhile with your time?” we hear the inner-voice nag.)
Like I said, Jesus needs a spin-doctor.
Listen to his response: The disciples said, “Everyone is looking for you.”
Jesus replied, “Then let us go somewhere else.”
Here’s the bottom line: For Jesus, withdrawing is not optional. It is intentional and essential.
Did Jesus quit his healing, teaching and caring? No.
Did Jesus quit bearing witness—being a place of grace and rebuilding? No.
Did Jesus quit lifting up marginalized people, saying no to social hierarchy? No.
But his caring was based on this: We give—we relate, care, listen, serve—wholeheartedly, if we are at home in our own skin.
When I am lost or consumed in the daily-life-hubbub, I can lose sight of that. Although, I do sooo enjoy the adrenalin rush from being “indispensable”.
When I give in to the “should” of being all things to all people, when I give up the need to withdraw for rest and renewal, I lose the rhythm of life—and the gentle gifts of grace and wonder and tiny delights—that feeds my soul.

In withdrawing Jesus is saying to his disciples, “Do you see that clump of people? Do you know why I have any power in that clump? Do you know why I care and heal and make a difference in that clump?
Because I regularly say ‘No’, to withdraw, to a place where I listen to a different voice—my Father’s voice—about my identity.”
I know this from personal experience. If I don’t say ‘no’ to daily-life-hubbub, ‘no’ will be said for me by default, and I will end up saying ‘no’ to the people I love the most.

Tell me my friend; this week, where were you able to find replenishment?
Where were you able to find renewal?
Where were you able to feel the embrace embrace—even if only a smidgen—of inner peace?​​​​​​

Prayer (poem) for our week…
A Prayer with Open Eyes
May my prayer always be a prayer with open eyes.
Open to pain, to all injustice, to so much brutality,
to the scandal of misery coexisting with opulence,
to consumerism advancing over solidarity.
But also to the colors of the sunset,
to the transparent smile of those who love each other,
to the sown fields that promise abundance.
May it be a prayer with open ears,
so that the cry, the weeping, the demand,
the noise of a wounded society,
and the clamor of violated creation may burst forth within it.
But also the trill of the thrush,
the murmur of the leaves that move in the wind,
the lullaby of the waves that caress the sand.
May it be a prayer with open hands.
So that my life may be coherent and not an empty discourse.
Open hands to share, to offer a pat of encouragement,
to greet every person in their human dignity,
to build, together with other hands, a new world.
But also to enjoy a caress,
to feel the rain, to prick oneself when picking a rose,
to take a beloved hand and keep walking…
May it be a prayer with open lips.
To never remain silent in the face of corrupt power,
to be a prophetic voice, a gospel that resounds with fullness,
to harmonize with other companion voices in a liberating song.
Also to savor the bread and wine,
to give and receive kisses that do not betray,
to whistle softly, to blow on the dying flame.
May it be a prayer with willing feet.
Willing to journey along paths that inspire hope,
along trails that dignify and promote rights,
along roads of encounters that nourish the soul. And also to walk on the freshly cut grass,
to play ball with the neighborhood kids,
to put them in cool water after a long day.
But above all, even if I couldn’t see or hear or speak or move,
may my prayer always be authentic and trusting,
in full communion with you,
God who embraces all that we are and have and feel.
Gerardo Carlos C. Oberman

​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Photo… “Terry, First Flowers of Spring. Crocus and Osoberry,” Geri Hanley… Thank you Geri… And thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com

​​​​​​​Donation = Love… Your gifts make Sabbath Moment possible.
I am so very grateful.

Please Share Sabbath Moment with others.
​​​​​​​And find it on Facebook @RevTerryHershey