I woke up in Spencerville, Maryland, this morning. I’ve been here since Friday, worshiping alongside members of the Friends of Jesus, a Conservative Quaker gathering with meetings in Philadelphia, Detroit, and D.C. We had rain on Saturday – not much, but enough to keep us inside, sitting around tables in the wood-floored dining hall, talking about what it means to be a Friend, talking about our experiences with scripture, talking about where we’ve been and why we came this weekend, talking about all the things folks who care about Jesus talk about when there’s enough rain to keep them inside.
Some of the talk was good.
How does your view of the atonement affect the ways you welcome fellow wanderers? What’s an image that’s been helpful in thinking about what it means to be a gathered community? Where are you experiencing the power of the Holy Spirit? Are we prophetic? Are we willing to be?
Some of the talk was hard.
There were disagreements. There were times when people shared vulnerably and weren’t received, times when their experiences were questioned or corrected. There were tears of release, and there was also deep pain. Isolation. A sense that even here, where we are really trying, there might not be safety for those who need it most.
On Saturday night, I felt a leading to share out of Mark 3, a passage in which Jesus goes home, and a crowd gathers. Scribes come down from Jerusalem and accuse Jesus, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” Jesus “called them to him, and spoke to them.” For the next seven verses, we get a sense of what Jesus said to the scribes. And then his family shows up, “and standing outside, they sent to him.” But Jesus points to the people he’s been talking to: “Here are my mother and my brothers!”
There are gaps in the passage that invite additional interpretive work, but I have two noticings. The first is that Jesus appears to have conceded nothing in this conflict. He simply called them to him. And the scribes, also, as far as I can tell, conceded nothing. They simply came closer to Jesus.
And that made all the difference.
Eric Muhr
Share Stories Change Lives
About this time last year, I came on staff part time to work with Dan McCracken on the transition at Barclay Press. Dan had been an integral part here (and in several prior locations) for more than four decades, and we both knew it was going to take a little while for me to learn the ins and outs. As you can probably imagine, last fall didn’t give Dan and me all the time we needed. There are still a lot of moving parts that don’t make sense to me. So I’m trying not to do too much damage while also doing my best to move us forward in an age that is increasingly digital, increasingly connected, and increasingly complex.
In the meantime, we’ve published two books and have three more in the works for release in summer 2017. We’ve expanded the number of digital Fruit of the Vine subscriptions and moved forward on plans for a significant but subtle transition to Illuminate. Much of what used to fall under Dan’s responsibility has been transferred to other staff in order to allow me to continue in a half-time role. This gives other staff more autonomy and ownership while also saving us money. And we’ve started to attack our ongoing debt in earnest.
This last year, we’ve been able to retire more than $4,000 in continuing debt, putting us closer to our goal of being completely debt-free. That continuing debt – just a little more than $20,000 – won’t keep us from moving forward, but it’s a burden that slows us down, makes it harder to take on new projects, means I have to do careful calculations in deciding which bills can safely be paid at the end of each month.
It’s not a very exciting project, but this is what we’re aiming to do in 2016 – to finally get caught up on all our bills. And I could use your help. Please pray that God will help me to identify the right kinds of ministry opportunities that will meet real needs among Friends. Please take a look at our discounted books – stock we’d like to move out of our offices and off of our bottom line. Please also consider what you might be able to give to help us reach our goal. You can click on this link here or on the Share Stories Change Lives link in the margin to make a donation through PayPal.
Thank you for all the ways you’ve already contributed to the work of Friends and the work of Barclay Press!
Eric Muhr
More than pixels
I’m sitting in front of my computer, typing these words and also watching as they show up on the screen. Pixel-points of light and color. In her devotional focus on Psalm 139:13-16 in this morning’s Fruit of the Vine, Katy Matchette thanks God that “we are not random pixels dancing across a disorganized screen.” Of course, this reality doesn’t always feel good. Katy acknowledges that her aging body, for instance, sometimes makes her want to shout, “Help! I’m falling apart!” The flip-side of these aches and pains is that they focus Katy’s attention, force her to notice “the marvelous complexity of my body.”
I think this is important. I am more than a brain, more than my passions. I am also a human being with a body, created by God. As a gift. And even though we know God “created us humans,” Katy notes that we may forget or overlook the fact that God also created each of us: “Much better than merely putting the whole cycle of reproduction into motion!”
In the image above from the Oregon Coast, my body made it possible to walk out on the sand and step into the water. I climbed a rock to get a better view of others on the beach. It was glorious. But then, on my way down from this particular rock, I had to jump, and I didn’t hit the landing right. It hurt. I limped up the hill and back to the parked car, and I wasn’t as grateful for the beauty of God’s creation as I had been just minutes before. Maybe you can relate.
Maybe that’s why Katy’s reading seems especially important for me this morning. “‘Fearfully and wonderfully made’ applies to more than interlocking body parts.” But those “interlocking body parts” help me to remember – especially when they’re not working the way I want – that “God cared enough about each of us to anticipate the life he wanted for us. He created us for a reason.”
Katy ends with this prayer: “Father, thank you for knowing me. I am awed that you wove all my intricate parts into a person who fits into your scheme and your kingdom.”
This is my prayer this morning as well.
Eric Muhr