The Experience of Praying Together

I feel like I know a secret about Imago, but I’m not the only one who knows it.  It is one of my favorite things, like a full grown Oregon raspberry:  ripe and ready, waiting to be experienced. 

When we as a body gather to pray with one another on the last Wednesday of each month, I want to be there, receiving in that moment what Christ brings to us as we seek Him.  Each time that we come together is a bit different.  I often experience some surprise in how He reveals Himself...in a prayer that is raised up by a child in our midst, or a connection with someone I’ve not met before, or a scripture spoken, offering hope.

This past month, the surprise was an invitation into a movement.  

After gathering in the sanctuary, our little band of pray-ers was lead into a back room in our new building—a quiet little place that is in contrast to the big room out in front.  As a group, we found ourselves in a small chapel as Rick spoke about what is possible when God’s people pray. 

The Man in the Dark Room

Stephanie Ghering, an artist in our community, will be showing her paintings on July 15th from 6-9 pm in the foyer of the church on SE 14th and Ankeny. This show, entitled "Toward Beauty," explores how Stephanie understands her life as a series of (small and large) conversions to beauty -- of turning toward beauty. The show will be open from 6-9 pm, and at 7:30, Stephanie will share aspects of her story, and how these paintings came to be.

Stephanie speaks about one of her pieces, here:

The Man in the Dark Room
Sea, Red, Silver VI

G. K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday is a wild romp of a story about anarchism, poetry, creation, and what it means both to celebrate and to rest. The climax involves a giant riding an elephant, a zoo escape, a hot air balloon, and a breathless chase through London streets and English countryside, finishing in the costume ball to end all costume balls—and after all this, there comes a time of stillness.

The books’ main characters are all named after the days of the week—Monday through Saturday are human; Sunday turns out to be much more than human. Monday is dressed for the ball in a stark robe: half solid black, half pure white. He represents the separation of light and darkness on the first day of creation.

Monday is angry. Sunday has led them on a complicated wild goose chase over the course of the book, acting both as the head of the secret police (“the man in the dark room”) and as the mastermind of an anarchist plot to blow up the world. Monday thought he was employed by the man in the dark room in order to foil the anarchist plot; now it turns out the foilers and the plotters were really on the same side.

Finding Glory in the Midst of Uncertainity

The last couple of days I have been struggling with the insecurity of starting a new career, in a new city, and passed by this verse:

"For they loved human glory more than the glory that comes from God." John 12:43

Human glory is so tangible. People are right there in front of you, offering words of glory and admiration giving immediate results. They tell me that I am okay, in fact, I AM AWESOME! When this happens I can feel radiating heat surround my body as I begin to glow in self assurance and the desire to always function out of this overwhelming confidence.

But it does not last. I continue to seek this crack of choice, labeling me a "people pleaser,” even though I know seeking God's glory is clearly the only lasting assurance I need.

Memorial Day

Following Memorial Day this past weekend, we stop to remember those who have given themselves for others. We are mindful of those at Imago who are wrestling through grief, pain, or loss, and turn to the story of Jim and Mariyln Weisenburg, community members who are continuing to experience the loss of their son, David, to the war in Iraq in 2004.

Jim and Marilyn speak to where grief has taken them in this podcast from May 20, 2007, starting at minute 27


Upon the birth of her twin grandchildren, coinciding with Memorial Day this year, Marilyn shared these thoughts:

It is Memorial weekend and I am overjoyed to meet my new grandsons, Elliott & Silas,
I am also deeply grieving the absence of David in the midst of this joy. David and his sister Elizabeth were very close, the best of friends. For him not to be here to rejoice with his sister at the birth of her babies is very painful for all of us. I feel like we've been robbed all over again, as we experience his death at another level. He would have been so thrilled to meet his twin nephews who were born on Thursday night. We miss his presence with our other grandchildren, Aubie, 3, and Lincoln David, 2, as well.