Sermon Subjects

Posted on August 26, 2012 by evamccollaum

I have been attending churches of various types for more years than I should like to admit because it would too clearly reveal my age.  Still, there is a good deal of scripture I’ve never heard as a sermon subject.  Here is a list of my top ten sermon subjects that I’ve never heard addressed from the pulpit.

10.  “Then He said to me, ‘Son of man, eat what you find; each this scroll, and go, speak to the house of Israel.’ So I opened my mouth and He fed me this scroll.” Ezekiel 3:1-2

9.  “It was said, ‘Whomever sends his wife away, let him give her a certificate of divorce’; but I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except for the reason of unchastity, makes her commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” Matthew 5:31-32

8.  “May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!  For your love is better than wine.” Song of Songs 1:2

7.  “Give strong drink to him who is perishing, and wine to him whose life is bitter.  Let him drink and forget his poverty and remember his trouble no more.”  Proverbs 31:6-7

6.  “‘Come, let us make our father drink wine, and let us lie with him that we may preserve our family through our father.’ So they made their father drink wine that night, and the firstborn went in and lay with her father, and he did not know when she lay down or when she arose.”  Genesis 19:32-33

5.  “Now it came about on the third day, when they were in pain, that two of Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, Dinah’s brothers, each took his sword and came upon the city unawares and killed every male.” Genesis 34:25-26

4. “‘You know that those who are recognized as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them; and their great men exercise authority over them.  But it is not this way among you, ‘but whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all.'”  Mark 10:42-44

3.  “But Ruth said, ‘Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.  Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.'”  Ruth 1:16

2.  “The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does; and likewise also the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does.” I Corinthians 7:4

1.  “And I set my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly; I realized that this also is striving after wind.  Because in much wisdom is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain.”  Ecclesiastes 1:17-18

So there’s my list.  I will admit I have had discussion in Bible study about nearly all of these, but brothers and sisters talking together is not the same as a pulpit sermon.

Joy and Peace!

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Mercy Drops

Posted on August 19, 2012 by evamccollaum

“I will make them and the places around My hill

a blessing.  And I will cause showers

to come down in their season;

they will be showers of blessing.”

Ezekiel 34:26

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The Good Race

Posted on August 13, 2012 by evamccollaum

The Olympics have finally ended, thank the Good Lord.  Not that I don’t enjoy them, but they test my ability to concentrate.  If find myself admiring those beautiful people, their miraculously healthy bodies and their enthusiasm.  I also find myself casting back to the days when I had my brush with the world of athletic endeavor.

Let me make this clear.  I was NEVER destined for physical greatness, but I did try to play.  When I started high school, I joined two teams, basketball and track.  In basketball I was doomed from the outset.  I played on a remarkably terrible team, and I was the worst member of said team.  I sat so far down the bench I didn’t even know what the coach’s voice sounded like.  When I did occasionally get in the game, I spent half the time pulling up my socks and the other half accidentally fouling people in an attempt to rebound the ball.  When the spring season rolled around, I looked forward to a team that allowed more independent activity.  There was also the usefulness of the more mighty than fast.  My specialties?  Shot and discus.  In those ancient days, each member of the team had to have a running event.  The coaches tried to put me in a variety of sprints.  Understand, most of the students in my high school were Native American–members of the Jemez and Zia tribes.  They ran as smoothly as water.  They ran for pleasure.  They ran me into the ground.  Nonetheless, they had to give me something to do, so I ended up on the mile relay team.

Our team had little possibility to do any major damage.  The other three girls on the team preferred to run further out–the 800 and the individual mile.  In the mile relay each of us made one circuit of the track.  The coach tried to help us work things out, me especially.  She spent a great deal of time talking about pacing and stride.  She had me run lots of laps.  What a joy that was!  So, as the season progressed, we ran in a number of meets, and we lost every time.  It was disheartening.  I knew that our losses were largely due to my talents as a runner.  Worse, the way high school meets worked, the last event of the show was the 4X400.  That way I had ALL DAY to think about how we were going to lose.  Losing my individual events wasn’t nearly the misery that losing with the team was.  Finally, we were on the bus to the District meet, and in the near dawn twilight I made a decision.  If we were ahead when I got the baton, I would DIE before I would lose that lead.  I mentioned nothing about my resolve to anyone.  It was my secret.

That day we were up against three other mile relay teams.  It was a small district.  We practiced our hand-offs several times.  The other girls did fairly well in their events.  I think I placed fifth in the shot-put.  Woo-hoo.  It was a warm, dry day in the high New Mexico desert.  As the sun fell down the sky, I dreaded the release of the gun.

I ran third leg, the weakest leg.  Our first runner was a wiry girl who looked like she needed a sandwich and was made of mostly leg bones.  When she came around the last turn, she was about two yards ahead of the “field.”  Our second girl, a shy junior, loped away.  I watched in horror as she held the slim lead ALL THE WAY AROUND THE FIELD.  I knew the last runner, our only Senior girl, was looking at her last chance to win.  I cast my eyes over my shoulder, began to trot then extended my right hand behind my hip.  When I felt it touch my palm, I clenched my hand shut, threw my hand back and exploded away.  I could hear my coach screaming, “Slow down!  SLOW DOWN!”  In my head I yelled back, “SCREW YOU!  I’m doing it MY WAY.  SCREW PACING.  Who needs pace?  I need a lead, as big a lead as I can build.”  Here’s the thing.  I don’t think anyone in that entire stadium had every seen a chubby little white girl move like that.  I imagine all the terror of my meager fourteen years was making my legs feel springy and light.  The other teams were totally devastated.  I think my biggest lead was thirty yards.  It was the miracle of my life for the first three hundred yards.  That’s when I hit the wall.

I hit the wall every time I ran 400 yards.  The first three hundred felt like a rational activity, something anyone might do for the fun of it, and the last hundred yards felt like somebody had turned the air into a combination of wet clay and old honey.  Why would anyone run 400 yards?  On that fateful day, when I hit the wall, my lungs started trying to leave my body, via my throat.  I kept moving, but the lane lines were squiggly and reminded me of bones.  The other teams began to reel me in, oh so predictably.  I just kept moving toward my team mate, her dark, surprised eyes watching me, so that she could change her easy gallop into a walk-speed trot for the hand-off.  My ears are ringing; the light in my peripheral vision is warped; there is D., the fourth leg.  She is at the end of my arm, and the bar comes forward of its own accord and drops into her waiting palm.  I stagger after her and then I am across the curb that surrounds the field and I am kneeling on the field.  I feel the other members patting my back and I know they are saying things and the coach is smiling at me.  I don’t care if we win.  I am just thankful, with all my heart, with all my soul, I didn’t lose it for us.  When my vision clears, I turn my eyes to the tape stretched across the lanes.

That evening, after getting off the bus at the turn-off of the road that led our house, I ran home.  My parents were there and one of their friends, Mr. English.  They expected my usual story of woe.  Imagine their surprise.  Mr. English was so proud he gave me a kiss on the cheek.  Very continental was Fred English.

As I watched the 2012 Olympics, with the world cheering, I realized, that day, so very long ago, it seemed my whole world was proud of me and loved me.  So it is with triumph, short lived and dear.

To all who seek to run the good race, keep the faith.  Triumph awaits.

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He put a new song in my mouth

Posted on August 5, 2012 by evamccollaum

“Happy are those who make the Lord their trust,

who do not turn to the proud,
to those who go astray after false gods.

You have multiplied , O Lord my God,
Your wondrous deeds and Your thoughts toward us;

none can compare with You.

Were I to proclaim and tell of them,
they would be more than can be counted.”

Psalm 40:4 & 5

 

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The Limits of Physical Space

Posted on August 4, 2012 by evamccollaum

I have been watching the PBS program NOVA a lot lately.  They have been exploring the theories of modern Physics.  They talk about Einstein and time space, Bohr and quantum mechanics, spooky action, entropy and parallel universes.  Newton thought of space as a three-dimensional grid.  Einstein said space could be warped and bent.  Bohr proposed particles linked across infinite distance.  While I listen and watch, I form an ever-deeper magnetic sink on my couch.  If only I could have used Physics to confront the last part of my trip back from New Hampshire.
I connected out of Midway in Chicago.  It was late in the day.  The crowds roiled like muddy river water.  Who cares if you’re in “A” group when you are packed elevator tight along every concourse?  I decided to try the same trick as the first stretch but aim for a window seat.  Madness!  When I got on the plane, the first row had a couple (clearly in the early part of their shared life) in the first row, the girl in the center seat.  They didn’t look particularly thin, but they did look young.  When I asked, “My I take the window?” the young woman gave me the “Fine…you cow” sigh.  Oh, that stuck right in my flank.  Oh yeah? I thought.  Oh yeah?  You can’t scare me.  You have no idea who you’re dealing with.  It turns out I didn’t know who I was dealing with either.  When I wedged myself into my seat, it became obvious that there are limits to physical space.

On one of those physics programs, the narrator explained that if all the space was removed from all the atoms and between all the atoms in the Empire State Building, the remaining mass would be about the size of a grain of rice, a tremendously heavy grain of rice.  Physics is crap.

Though that couple looked no more wide than the young and limber should, they were seated, and I was not aware until I had committed myself to the third seat that all three of us were extra broad in the beam.  Oh, the wretchedness.  Within the padding of the flesh of my hips, I could feel my pelvis being squeezed, and squeezed.  I was wearing jeans and a long shirt and a vest and the fabrics of all three began to get less and less effective.  I was sweating, and the young woman was sweating and (I dare to suppose) the young man was sweating.  To try and reshape my body I braced my feet on the bulkhead.  My legs trembled.  My bladder migrated up to just underneath my lungs.  I tucked by shoulders forward and leaned against the outside of the plane, and my spleen supposed I was being crushed by Puritans in the seventeenth century.  “Confess!  You have practiced witchcraft.  You have allied with the devil.”  Oh, no.  Oh, NO!  “It was Tituba.  She made me; she forced me.”  (Oh, yes.  I went there.  I went to The Crucible.”)  My belly pushed forward and threatened to release an alien being implanted there to grow as a parasite until it burst forth and began dripping acid saliva on everything.  My arms became loaves of wet, stale bread.  I looked out the window and saw a lizard fly by.

That was the first five minutes of the flight.

If there had been a machete nearby when I got off that plane, I would have I would have happily hacked off chunks of my self–my arms, my thighs, my substantial hips, my big old feet.  As a finale, off with my head!

I’m recovered, a little bit.  I have begun again to work-out with more enthusiasm.  But, I know this game.  My flesh knows nothing of Physics, nothing of logic.  My flesh is a stubborn structure–fierce, hard, and gushy at once.  My flesh resists all lessons and all subduing forces.  Thus, I will not carry it on a plane again for a long,  L-O-N-G time.  Perhaps in future I will take the train.

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Sometimes Planning Makes Things Worse

Posted on August 2, 2012 by evamccollaum

For those planning to fly Southwest, I will NOT share what I had to do in order to get in “A” group before boarding in Manchester, NH.  I don’t think the planning ahead helped me.  You can judge for yourself.  The airport at Manchester has an interesting installation. 

It’s a moose.  It’s made of iron.  Yes, I know.  I have a low “interesting” threshold.  

So I have my “A” ticket, and I head down to the airport.  My brother drives me in my nephew’s car.  It feels a little Tobacco Road, but nothing untoward.  When we get to Manchester, we’re hot and thirsty, so we order something horrible to drink at the airport Duncan Donuts.  Understand, we weren’t trying to find something terrible.  We just did.  It was about as much fun as drinking a glass of iced cabbage water, only sweeter. 

Dean waves goodbye, and I go through the security gate, and I head to the spot where I will wait some more, for the boarding call.  Some little boy is running slalom plaths between the number signs.  (Don’t worry if that doesn’t make sense.  If you try to board Southwest anytime soon, it will make MISERABLE sense.)  I think since I am in the “A” group I will get an aisle seat.  I will, but the flight will be TOTALLY full.  That becomes obvious as the hours tick past.  When I get on board, I will look for two people who appear to be together with one near the window.  When I get on the plane, I see a promising sight.  There, in the second row, are two tiny women.  One is obviously the middle-aged daughter of the other.  MY PEEPS!  “This is fantastic,” I think.  This will be simple, be familiar, maybe even fun.

It begins with the two of them eating from bags of strange brand chips that smell much like Cornnuts.  They eat for half an hour.  On some undetectable signal, they put their food away, and now we may chat. 

“We’re coming back from a family reunion.  We live in California now.  I work at the Burbank Airport.”  All this the daughter tells me with a thick Rhode Island accent.  “We didn’t stay as long as we planned.  Mom got sick, so I had to talk her into it. ”

I say, “Oh…”

The mother says, “What are you telling her?”

The daughter says, “I told her that we went to a family vacation.  We had to cut our trip short because you got sick and then I had to talk you into it.”

The mother says, “Oh.”

“So we were out there for just a short week.  I had originally planned to be gone for two weeks, not that my job is all that hard, but I already had asked for the days off, so I really couldn’t change them.”

“What are you telling her.”

“I told her we were only here for a short week, but we had to go back because I already asked for certain days off and I had to get back to work, eventhough my job isn’t that hard.”

It got even more scintillating a bit later. 

“Mom, wiggle your foot for me.  Wiggle your foot.  The doctor said I should have you move your foot regularly to make sure…Mom, please!  Mom!  Wiggle your foot.”

(And still later.)

“Mom, let’s go to the bathroom.  Yes.  Come on, Mom.  Let’s go to the bathroom.  They won’t let you go to the bathroom in a little while, so let’s go now.  Come on, Mom.  Let’s go, Mom.”

The Mother says, “Leave me alone.  I’m sleeping.”

“Come on, Mom.  Let’s go.” (To me as I get up to let them pass.) “Oh, thank you.  Could you help me?” 

I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, the daughter or the mother.  My peeps.  Oh, my peeps. 

Halfway through the flight, I’m praying, “Thank you, Lord, for my mother.  Thank you, Lord, for MY mother” in an endless loop.

Tomorrow, the last and most horrendous of all flights!

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No Good Way

Posted on August 2, 2012 by evamccollaum

I flew to the east coast this summer.  I flew Southwest.  I like Southwest, in principle.  I like the egalitarian philosophy of seating people on a “first come, first served” basis.  Of course, they really don’t do quite that anymore.  Now they do some really weird stuff, all designed to improve the experience and all unable to do so. 

I should add that I am no tender, slender flower.  When I move around in the world, I am unaware of how large I am…until I buy a plane ticket.  I’m the kind of person who suspects airlines will eventually charge by the pound, and I will no long have to face flight of any kind. 

Here are some strategies for making flying bearable.  First, try signing up early.  It won’t work.  They will TOTALLY book the flight, so no matter what seat you get, you’re going to be sharing an arm rest.  I, having avoided flight for some years, did not sign up early.  This meant I was in “C” group for boarding.  The “C” stands for craptackular.  I knew it was going to be center seat for me, so I decided I would look for two thin people and wedge myself between them.  First leg, I spot a passed out skinny guy asleep by the window and a particularly mature woman on the aisle.  (In the course of the flight I discovered she was ninety.  Ironic, same weight as age.)  I asked, “May I take that seat?”  She smiled up at me and half nodded, but I don’t think she really heard my question.  She didn’t move.  My thought?  Okay, here we go.  I lifted my stout right leg and straddled the poor woman.  Her expression was a mixture of shock and awe.  So be it.  We had to change planes in Baltimore, and that stretch was the best one of the trip.  I only thought about death for about 25% of the flight. 

The second stretch I ended up between TWO particularly mature women.  There’s this  adage about stereotypes and how they spring from genuine experience.  I had heard the insensitive jokes about “Jewish Grandmothers” living in Florida and traveling back north every summer.  Combining these two women would have made the perfect stereotype.  One of the grandmothers was stylishly dressed and reading Willa Cather.  I would have liked visiting with her more if she weren’t pretty darn deaf.  I ended up being the forward voice repeater for the flight attendant.

“Ma’am, would you like something to drink?”

(No response.)

“THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE SOMETHING TO DRINK!”

“Oh, yes.  Thank you.  I would like a ginger ale.”

The other grandmother had fine hearing, and she was reading one of the nastiest soft porn “romance” novels on the market.  She had the most wonderful accent, and I’m ashamed to say I spent most of the trip encouraging her to talk just so I could imitate her accent later.  It is not necessary to estimate the amount of time I spent thinking about death on this flight.  It would come across as insensitive.

On the way back I did the things it takes to get into “A” group.  I don’t want to talk about the things I did.  I’m not proud of them.  Tomorrow, the flights back, and why I’m going to try to improve my work-out habits.

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Stubborn Virtues

Posted on July 31, 2012 by evamccollaum

While we were at Brian’s house, I hatched the idea that we could still go camping.  I spent three years in high school attending Jemez Valley High, and so the Jemez Mountains hold a sentimental appeal.  Far up, in the high timber, is Fenton Lake.  I figured I could give Mother her camping trip if we took the road from Cuba, NM across the mountains to Fenton Lake.  I even reserved a camping spot ahead of time through the NM State Park web page. 

Not for nothing, but that site is really useful, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is planning a camping trip in or near one of the NM State Parks.  For one thing, most of the parks have photo images of the camp grounds and DETAILED descriptions of everything in the park.  Just to be sure, I called the Fenton Park people to find out which spot would be best for Mother and me.  Mom decided she was game, and so after three days with Heather and Brian we headed out.  We figured we would stay at the park one night and then drive back to Roswell, as we were expected for the JOY Writers’ weekly meeting at the JOY Center on North Montana.

The road across the mountains turned our to have over twenty miles that were unimproved.  Yep.  But, twenty-eight miles through the high mountains across passes that are only open for eight months a year was still better than the road to Chaco Canyon.  Seriously, whoever is in charge of that road needs a beating.  Here’s what the road looked like through the Jemez.

 

Tents today really work well.  It took me twenty minutes to set up two small tents. 

Next to our spot was NOT Fenton Lake but a beaver pond.  Before this experience, if I read that someone in New Mexico parked next to a beaver pond and watched the beaver work into the late hours, I would think it was a vulgar joke.  But, no, it is not.  I’m not joking.  We watched ducks, and some rare black water birds, and a beaver.  The evening was fun and we ate well.  I had insect repellent and new warm jackets.  The area was quiet and well maintained and the potties were just a few yards behind our truck. 

It seemed I had done it, given camping back to Mother, and then the sun set.  Night in May in the high mountains is C-O-L-D.  My tent was too little to hold a cot, so I was sleeping(read trying to sleep) on the ground.  Every little bit I would call (soto voce) in the pitch blackness, “Mom, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

(With a tone of utter discomfort), “I’m fine.”

 At about 12:30 a.m., Mother called out, “Eva, are you awake?”

Shaking off a just achieved sleep, I said, “Yes.”

“I can’t take it anymore.  I have to get in the truck.  I’m freezing.”

So, there it was.  In the dark I loaded us back into the truck.  We were camped in a “quiet” area, which meant no loud noises after 10:00 p.m.  I started up the truck in order to heat the cab, and it began SQUEALING! (Imagine the legendary banshee!)  It was one of those sounds made by a really dusty belt that is objecting to being used after midnight.  I’m sitting in the truck muttering, “Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!” 

For a few more hours I started the truck and let it run until the cab was toasty and then cut the engine.  Eventually mother and I both got to sleep, but only after the wee hours, “Oh, yeah, and I have to pee.”

When dawn came, with its rosy, icy fingers, we struggled to gain consciousness, so I put on the camp coffee pot, but I didn’t think it was getting hot quickly enough so a built this huge, accelerated fire, which caused the little glass thingy in the lid to break.  Lovely, but at least the coffee was really hot.

We took the road down the other side of the mountain, by Bandelier and Los Alamos.  We cut straight south then and ran like mad to make the afternoon meeting.  As it was, we were thirty minutes late.

When I got ready to come north again to try camping by Eagle Nest Lake, I asked mother if she wanted to go.  She declined.  Sigh.  At least she won’t feel like she misses going camping anymore.

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Devotion: Tomorrow will bring worries of its own.

Posted on July 29, 2012 by evamccollaum

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not of more value than they?

And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?  And why do you worry about clothing?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.

But if God so clothes the grass of the field which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven,

will He not much more clothe you–you of little faith?”

Matthew 6:25-30

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Why Didn’t It Appear in the Opening Ceremony?

Posted on July 29, 2012 by evamccollaum

 

The English invented the sandwich, one of the greatest of all inventions, of all time, seriously.  Not only did the English invent the sandwich, but they have come up with some of the most important essential steps in making the things.  Maybe the first Earl of Sandwich was one of those characters marching around in the top hats.

In honor of the Olympics, I will discuss some of the best techniques for sandwich building.  First, toast the bread.  While it is not possible to make a GREAT sandwich with mediocre, store-bought bread, it IS possible to make a good sandwich with the super market brands, but only if you toast them.  Whether you toast them in a pan on a grill or in a toaster, the toasting is essential, and immediately after toasting you must butter both slices.  This may not seem right.  It may not seem necessary, but the truth is what the English have always known:  toasting makes everything better.  Witness chestnuts.  Buttering both pieces of bread will allow them to keep their integrity.  (The British really know integrity, notwithstanding there sensational headlines.)

Second, don’t skimp on the ingredients, especially not the meat.  Let’s say you’re making the ancient classic, the BLT.  Be sure to use at least THREE slices of bacon on each sandwich.  Though the treatment of the bread is essential, it’s not really about the bread.  It’s about the filling.  Also, make sure the lettuce (or arugula or basil or cilantro) is dry before it goes on the bread.  It doesn’t have to be BONE DRY, but it should not introduce excessive amounts of liquid to the combination.

Third, when using tomatoes, keep them between the greens and the meat.  Be sure the tomatoes are vine-ripened and from a home garden.  This may sound fussy, but it’s the way of the universe.  No one gets really good tomatoes from super markets.

Fourth, cut the sandwich before serving.  I don’t know why everyone doesn’t do this.  Cutting the sandwich makes it better.  It doesn’t matter why it works.  Just do it.

Finally, frost the glass for the beverage.  It takes just minutes.  You can put it in the freezer when you start to prepare the sandwich, and by the time you’re ready to serve, the glass is frosted.  Those little details–the frosted glass, cutting in half, toasting the bread–express love.  That one free ingredient makes a world of difference.

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