God and Wine

Excerpt from  "When the Lilies Are Gone" :: a sermon given by Mia M. McClain at Fort Washington Collegiate Church, NYC, on April 15, 2018.  It appears that we are all coming down from the Easter high—the exuberance that surrounds celebrating the one on whom many of us center our faith. I know I am. Whew! Holy Week almost took me out. I didn’t recover until last Sunday. LOL But we’ve come down from the wonderful high of Resurrection Sunday— ·             Your seer sucker suits are in the dry cleaners now.  ·             You've weaned your children off of peeps and jelly beans and chocolate eggs. ·             Many your lilies have survived thus far—maybe not (if you're a poor plant owner,        like me, your lilies are probably on their way out.) But what happens when the lilies are gone? When the beautiful fabric that once draped this...

I had a congregant pull me aside at church a few weeks ago to ask me a very urgent question. The senior pastor was out sick, the associate pastor was busy, and I had just preached. This urgent question was about her concerns for those who are cremated. "In the bible," she said, "it talks about Jesus coming back for us and raising us from the dead to ascend with him to heaven." "Okay," I replied, bemused and nervous about where this was going.  "But what about those who are cremated? How can Jesus raise them from their graves if they've been cremated." I wanted to laugh so hard, but I guess I'm a minister...or something. I replied to this concerned congregant with a carefully curated question. "I don't believe that the author meant for that to be literal. Jesus' return and the raising of the dead from their graves is a metaphorical synopsis." What I wanted to say is, "We will all be ashes ...

I preached my first public sermon on March 29, 2017. It was a total accident...at least that's what it felt like, but I'm sure God would argue otherwise. [ Read more about that experience and the after-effects here]   I was really emotional all day today. It's partially because I'm having an  issue of blood  😡, partially because I'm lonely, partially because it's Holy Week and I'm working a lot, partially because I'm approaching my 29th birthday, but mostly because today marks one year since I did this totally amazing and unexpected thing  in James Chapel at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Since then, I've preached 10 times. I've experimented with this thing  and explored my voice in more ways than I could've ever imagined. I've realized how much my acting training and career have helped me step into this thing  and I've embraced the bittersweet loneliness that comes along with this thing  (or at least I'm tryin...

Viaggio Solenne Solemn Journey A Reflective Poem I walked across a turf of green And halted where I’d be unseen To snatch a look one final time Of all I was to leave behind The beckoning of a blackbird heard Ironic doves of white appeared I swiftly summoned my untamed herd My spirit pained, eternally seared Took one last look, or so I thought At fields of roses budding by At nectar craving bees and birds At obese clouds across the sky Took one last gasp, so I assumed Of Spanish oaks and olive trees Of planted fields of fresh grown corn Of sweetly sour strawberries The light was fading quickly out I felt a sense of urgency I moved toward the darkened clout I walked yet with insurgency Yet, then I stopped and moved away The coming of another day As gleam pierced through the gloom and shade I stared at death one final time, Yet, chose the path that life had made. (c) Mia Michelle McClain

While I was listening to the presentation about The Conversation Project , I started thinking about all the mistakes I’ve made in trying to have “the conversation” with my mother. As an only child of a single, aging woman, I'm well aware that I'm her next of kin and I’m afraid I’d be completely clueless if something tragic were to happen to her tomorrow. In the presentation, something came up about entering “the conversation” by talking about your wishes first. I totally did that wrong last December, but all is not lost. I know that her mausoleum plot is paid for. I remember her talking about that back when I was in middle school, primarily because she was a single parent (and an older parent) and didn’t want me to be scrambling for burial arrangements in the event of an untimely death ( is death ever timely? ). However, we haven’t recently discussed where that information lives.  Nonetheless, I decided to walk through some of the questions in the Conversation Project’s...

i hear words that pierce me. staring at the lips of the person who utters them whilst trying to make sense of such a profoundly overwhelming statement. how shall i respond to such praise? what words could i bother to muster up? what fake expression of gratitude could i attempt to plaster on my face? "you have such a gift," they say. i struggle to make sense of such a... compliment? if only they knew this gift was a burden. i like to believe that i'm learning to smile and say "thank you." there are moments when i'm successful; but mostly, i shrug my shoulders in a way i've perfected. i tilt my weary-full head to the side, as to suggest deep gratitude for the acknowledgement-- for the affirmation-- for the chance to share these coveted gifts that are burdens. i often try my best to escape the room post service-- to hastily leave my gifts at the altar... or the pulpit. oh, how i wish to disappear into thin air after s...