Today’s scripture: Psalm 30 (NRSV) (The Message) (KJV) What might God be saying to me?
My thoughts (Anna Woofenden):
“You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”
When I hear these familiar lines, I’m drawn to the second-half of the equation. Let’s talk about the dancing and this joy-filled clothing.
“You brought me up from the grave, you spared me from going down into the pit.”
Rescue and new life — excellent! I’ll avoid even acknowledging that the pit is there, thank you very much. Let’s stick with the new life, the joy, and the springtime. They’re pretty, new and shiny, light and fluffy.
But look outside for a moment. Fall is upon us. The leaves are dying, the plants are curling up and drawing in. Things are rotting, decomposing, returning. Cycles and seasons are part of the journey. The pathway to life is through death. Death to our self, to our agendas, to our need to control. Birth to the idea that God is God and we are not. There are internal parts of us that need to die, in order for the Divine Life to flow through more freely.
Or another way of framing it: You are a pumpkin.
A pumpkin, filled with the seeds and muck, mixed with hope and new possibility, baggage and old stories. Terrified of the pain of carving, while yearning to shine brightly. You are a pumpkin in the hands of the Carver, anticipating the scooping out, to make space for the light.
You have a choice; you can stay on the vine. Comfortable and secure, yes, but in the end, probably just a waste, rotting away. Or you can make the choice to allow, or in moments of bravery and insanity, even invite the Carver to take out the knife and begin to hollow — to open us up to the emptying out that Christ calls us to.
In order for God to flow through us, the vessel needs to continue to be cleaned out. The shining of our light requires it. We can all probably think of a time where we have felt the carving, the spiritual surgery, the scooping of the goop. Maybe when we lost a loved one, or transitioned jobs. When we came up against challenges in relationships, experienced a health crisis, or a spiritual crisis. When we encounter doubt, struggle, the daily grind.
Next time you carve a pumpkin, remember that you are like that pumpkin. Invite the Divine Carver to continue to shape you. Immerse your hands in the seeds and yuck. Acknowledge and embody the fact that shining involves walking through the valleys, the shadows, and the pain.
Hollow Me
By Stephanie Eden
One October a pumpkin grew
Full of seeds and thoughts
She said I don’t wanna be one of those
That sits around and rots
Pick me now cause I wanna be
Like other pumpkins I’ve seen
With a picture and a warming light
For the kids on Halloween
But the other pumpkins warned her
It’s a process you can’t handle
Being scraped and carved right to the flesh
Till you’re cleaned out for a candle
The pumpkin she was determined
Her fate was in decoration
But with the first stab of the knife she thought
Time for reconsideration
They were right she thought I’d be better off
As a pie or on the vine
Why wasn’t I satisfied as a big orange squash
Why did I want to shine?
But the carver’s hands were gentle
And she could sense the jubilation
As he held her and he made his plans
In great anticipation
As he began to scrape inside she found
To her seeds she was attached
She was afraid without all her junk inside
She’d be more likely to get smashed
But she noticed, too, a feeling
Of freedom as she was emptied
All the space and possibilities
Like holding light instead of seeds
Though she never had felt pain
As a pumpkin on the vine
The pain could not come close to how
Good it felt to shine.
Thought for the day: Where is God hollowing you right now? What needs to be emptied out? What light is bursting to be shone, that needs the surgery to let it free?
We encourage you to include a time of prayer with this reading. If you need a place to get started, consider the suggestions on the How to Pray page.
Our guest author, Anna Woofenden, is an MDiv Student at Earlham School of Religion.