Faith, Family, & Focaccia

A faith and culture Mommy blog, because real life gets all mixed together like that.


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My Voice and Not My Voice

I have not been posting here much lately because most of what I have been writing has been sermons. Every once in a while I post those here, but sermons are really meant to be heard. They lose a bit in translation when they are read on a page (or a computer screen or smart phone). They can still communicate… but it’s different. When I preach I try to put a lot of meaning into inflection, pauses, and emotional expression. My voice is part of the sermons.

Well, this past Sunday’s sermon was recorded, which gives me a chance to share a fuller version here. A version that includes my voice.

At the same time, it’s not entirely my voice. This sermon takes the perspective of one of the characters in the gospel story (Mark 3:20-35) – the perspective of Mary, the mother of Jesus. So often we hear the Bible stories through the lens of finding the lesson – how do we boil this down to a theme or challenge that we can apply to our own lives. This is an important function of scripture and of sermons, but it is not the only meaningful way to engage a biblical text. Sometimes hearing them as a STORY – a story with human characters to whom we can relate – allows us to engage in a different kind of learning and challenge.

I hope that this sermon-story gives you a chance to hear whatever voice speaks to you.


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Poem: A Deeper Voice

My voice is getting deeper.

I am learning to give it time to rise up from the depths,

to speak with the sonorous reverberations of reflection and experience.

It used to come more quickly,

to beat staccato rhythms on the surface of my life,

tap-dancing with a light and pretty step,

meant to impress, entrance the audience,

and thus to hide the frantic drive

the constant shifts,

to balance on unsteady feet.

I used to hear all questions as a call to know the answer,

deny uncertainty,

fit my voice into the cadence of the scripted response.

A quick reply defeats the skeptic monster hiding in the pregnant silence,

the threat to birth exposure,

the messy, infant fear:

“I am a fraud…. I have nothing new and true to say.”

Words – high, strident, righteous (or self-righteous) words – were my defense,

building a facade to hide behind,

to awe the people I was too afraid to let inside.

As long as I appear to know, I will be safe.

Safe, but unknown.

Because I have to know myself to find my song,

my true, authentic, powerful voice.

I have to tear-down all the stage displays

and just stand still.

Not dancing.

Not performing.

But finally,

slowly,

breathing deep.

My voice is getting deeper.

I am learning to give it time to rise up from the depths.

There is slower music playing there.

The voice of living water.