Month: June 2020

This morning was the 2020 meeting of the North Carolina Annual Conference. Like many things this year, it was not in person, but online. The video was “live,” but most segments were pre-recorded. I missed gathering with people. I missed eating Mexican food in Greenville. And as I listened to reports and participated in a minimal number of votes with no debate, I missed using my voice. If what we do each June is Holy Conferencing, this morning I just felt like I was a Holy Spectator.

And yet the Rev. Steve Manskar said about Holy Conferencing that it teaches us that we rely on one another in our journey of understanding our Call and our life with God. This morning I was reliant on others who created the rules, who did the work of nominations and creating the budget. And I didn’t get to speak, but I got to hear. I heard the musicians, I heard those who gave reports, I heard those who prayed over pastors moving, and I heard our Bishop preach and call us to look and ask questions about the things going on around us. I heard from others who are mourning, others who are struggling, others who are seeking justice, others who are seeking the way God calls them to use their gifts in this unique time, others who are learning to say, like Samuel, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” I’m thankful that God reminds us how reliant we are on Him, and on one another.

Yesterday one of my Facebook memories was a post from my friend Jose Luis. It has been years and years since we worked together, but each spring or summer I make sure that I see him when I’m in Ecuador. And in preparation for one of those trips, he wrote that he was “counting the days” until he saw me.

This week will be the Second Sunday in the Season after Pentecost. The Season after Pentecost is also known as “Ordinary Time,” when we use Ordinal Numbers to name the Sundays. The First Sunday. The Second Sunday. This year we’ll get all the way to the Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost before Christ the King Sunday and then we start naming the weeks in Advent. Even before we reached this very long liturgical season, we were counting. “It’s been 11 weeks since we met in person for worship.” “I haven’t had a haircut in four months.” “We’ve baked 30 loaves of sourdough bread.” There has been plenty to count.

The writer of Psalm 90 reminds us to number our days. To count them, and to treat each day not just like it’s our last, but as a day with purpose. It gets monotonous to keep track of how many days things have been this way. But I pray that we all see through the monotony and recognize each day as one that belongs to God.