Rev. Zach

Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23     James 2:1-17     Mark 7:24-37 As some of you may know, I have from time to time taken to studying scripture in coffee shops instead of my office.  Something about the buzz of human interaction makes the gospel come alive.  Certainly there are distractions, but none of them have the weight of property issues or administrative tasks. One such day I overheard two women talking about their past and current struggles.  They were both displaced by Katrina, and probably in their late 40’s.  One of them, who called herself Karen, noted my Bible and asked for prayer.  She was living on Social Security while getting certified as a medical transcriptionist.  I did pray with her, but I did not share the poem they inspired.  It seemed a bit much to tell a stranger that I wrote a poem about her, but I’ll share it with you now.  It was raining that day, so the title of the poem is Rain. I hear a wo...

Acts 4:32-35     Psalm 133:1-3     1 John 1:1-2:2     John 20:19-31 Today we have some of the most romantic passages in the lectionary.  I don’t mean that they are all lovey dovey.  I mean they are the stuff of dreams.  They are the kind of passages that draw many of us to think of ideal images of the church in harmony and Jesus returning to calm fears, answer doubts, and give power to those who follow him.  These are certainly good images to hold onto, but there may be more to it than that. For me, theses readings conjure up memories of singing around a campfire.  It usually began with a two-part harmony chorus.  The boys would often start – some faking a low voice until they could make one, or at least hide their awkward squeaks in the group. Walkin’, walkin’, walkin’ in the light  Walkin’, walkin’, walkin’ in the light  Then the girls would come in a little too high before settling into somethin...

Isaiah 13:1-13 Hebrews 12:18-29 John 3:22-30 As I began to write these words I became overwhelmed with a feeling of inadequacy. I was reminded of a recent comic strip that had a story inside a story. The first three pains were of a hero falling off a cliff saying to himself, “How do I get out of this? Think, think!” Then, just before impact he resigns to say, “Nope. I got nothin’.” The last frame shows someone looking over the shoulder of the author of the story and saying, “Wow. So that’s what writer’s block looks like?” Tragedy makes us feel powerless, and we do not like feeling powerless (note comment by Angele McCord following this article ). In the wake of reports from the senseless shooting of 20 innocent children and 6 courageous women, nothing seems to make sense. Social media sites exploded with reactions on every side of the issues this opened up. (Interestingly – I could not think of a non-violent term to describe the spontaneous spike in activity. Violence is s...

As I helped my dad into my stepmom's car to leave the hospital we made fists and I said, "You fight this thing." We punched knuckles, and I turned to walk inside to the ATM for parking money. As I turned my first tears came to me. I sniffled and held back the tide as I walked through the lobby, thinking how many times I'd seen others this way and what I must look like. I made it back out to the parking lot, whimpering under my breath. I almost wanted others to hear me, but I dared not make a scene. As I got to my car a cheapy, clunky charm from a toy cought my eye. It was an angel. For a moment I considered the child who may have lost it as I selfishly snatched it up for my own comfort. As I sat in my car blowing my nose and regaining composure I heard a horn beep but did not consider it. Suddenly a large African American woman appeared outside my window asking plaintively and forcefully, "Are you going to move that car?!" I wanted to roll down the...

Dad's home now. He's been diagnosed with Mantle Cell Lymphoma, an aggressive form of cancer originating in the bone marrow. He's already begun chemo, and will continue for 6 months. Assuming it is in remission at that point there will be a bone marrow transplant. I spent the night with him last Thursday, his last night in the hospital so far. During the early morning hours he came in and out of sleep. At times I sat watching him wishing there were words or questions to ask that might unlock the secrets of life as he knew them. I wondered about the pieces of his life I wil never know. Stories from childhood I never before cared to hear... a clear understanding of the nuances of buying and selling a house... the joys and sorrows of life choices that I have felt the reprocussions of but will never know about. Friday morning they brought in his breakfast, and he shared it with me. I offered to go get my own, but he was not hungry enough to finnish it. We had been talk...

I'm at Northside Hospital in Atlanta, GA with my father. He has an enlarged spleen and is awaiting a biopsy over the Labor Day weekend, which means it wont happen till Tuesday. I've been here through the night. Its Sunday now. Presently he is zoning on Demerol. Primarily I have been helping him sit up or stand or navigate his way to the can. I've also been interpreting treatment for him and keeping him from driving the nurses crazy. The pain has him somewhat disoriented, and he has a mild form of Parkinson's that makes it hard for him to access the words he needs to adequately express his thoughts when he gets stressed. In the midst of all of this we shared a prayer a little while ago. We were talking about how he was glad to have me here and to receive care from me as a son and as a minister. I expected him to expect me to pray, but he began with a "Dear God" and I awaited like a child at Christmas to see what would follow. I truly expected to hear...