Need more Ogle

It was my first year of seminary. The choir director of my local congregation asked me to put together a narrative, in three parts, interspersed between the choir’s Christmas anthems. Flattered, I imagined a one-woman drama, in which I played a character in the Bethlehem narrative. I imagined seeing the tired but proud mother, the soft cry of the baby, the choir’s lullaby, stepping over sheep and around lowing cattle in my character’s quest to worship the newborn king. So I wandered the Cokesbury store, peering into advent devotion books, peeking into a collection of Christmas drams, imagining the worship experience I would create.

Daniel Ogle asked the question we all ask, seeing one another in the Cokesbury store after classes are well underway. “What are you doing here?” After all, who in a seminary has the time, money, or inclination to shop for additional reading? I explained my quest—did he know of a female monologue set in the Christmas story?

In best rabbinic tradition, Daniel answered my question with one of his own. “What’s wrong with the magnificat?”

“Nothing. Just not what I’m looking for.”

I left the store soon after, flabbergasted by the encounter.

Yes, I knew about Mary’s monologue (Luke 1:46-55). I was ashamed of myself…I had not even considered turning to scripture. What did that say about the authority of scripture?

But the greater shame…I knew that I would choose not to use the magnificat. I wanted sweet; I wanted sappy. I would not tell my congregation that the Messiah would turn the economic order upside down, put down the mighty and exalt the low, fill the hungry and send the rich away, empty. I would give them the Messiah they wanted and expected.

I knew then that I am not as brave as Mary; I failed to cry out that God would scatter we who are proud. My congregation expected lullabies. They would revolt if I instead proclaimed scripture!

I struggle to be brave.

I strain to, at most, sneak in words of liberation and rebellion. Wearing boots instead of pumps is about as subversive as I get.

I will always have the tendency to comfort the afflicted rather than afflict the comfortable. The comforted are always so appreciative. They like me.

I sit in my comfortable chair, in my well-apportioned office, with my pretty crosses decorating the wall, thinking maybe I need some Ogle.

Praying Psalm 25

To you, Lord, we lift up our souls. We turn to you with praise and adoration, with thanks for your steadfast love and faithfulness. We are overwhelmed by the ways that you reach out to us, desiring us to turn to you. We are overwhelmed, by your presence during times of silence, by your presence in scripture and in listening. We are startled by your presence when we gather with others. We are overwhelmed when you offer through another person the smile, the handshake, the hug that we didn’t even know that we needed. We are amazed when you speak through another’s words the words that we need to hear. Thank you. We thank you.

To you, Lord, we lift up our souls. We turn to you with confusion and frustration. We have tried to follow your path, to walk in your truth, and yet…we have failed. We want to love you with every part of our being, but fear and pride get in the way. We vow to spend more time with you, and let busyness and the interests of others get in the way. We want to give more financially, but God—it’s hard—what if there isn’t enough? We want to speak the neighbor, to love neighbor—but I don’t know what to say—and what if they reject me? Worst of all, Lord, there are neighbors we never even notice. People you love, but that we walk past, drive by, and never see. We lift to our failures.

To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, because we have nowhere else to turn. Other paths lead to emptiness. Other ways lead to destruction. We have tried other ways…and in brokenness, pain, and finally humility, we turn to you, we surrender. Teach us your way. Lead us in your paths.

To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in the abundance of your love and care. We lift up the worries of this day:

A broken economy, with no consensus on how to correct this situation. The pain of job losses, the fears of who will be next. We name to you those who suffer financially.

Our worries over broken relationships—relationships that are strained. We name to you those persons who we long to reach out to more deeply and faithfully.

Our fears for those who suffer. We name to you those who are sick, those who are hospitalized, those who need your loving care and healing.

To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in your faithfulness, trusting in your steadfast love. To you, Lord, we live and pray the words your son taught: Our Father, who art in heaven…