During service this morning we discussed spiritual practices that bring us closer to the divine. One such practice is the contemplative "Jesus Prayer."It is a practice that has roots back to the Byzantine era and desert ascetics in Egypt.

Below is a film about the history, practice and mystery of The Jesus Prayer. Dr. Norris J. Chumley and the Very Rev. Dr. John McGuckin travel to monasteries in Egypt, Mt. Sinai, Transylvania, and Russia among others seeking to learn more about this prayer and how it can deepen our conversation with God. 

Central Christian Church of Danbury is currently seeking a part-time music director. Responsibilities for this position include:

• choosing and preparing music for our Sunday morning service and any other special services to be discussed in person.
• playing piano (and other instruments if able)  
• singing and leading music for service – typically 3-4 songs
• communicating and working with organist
• working with pastor to help develop Sunday morning worship
• reading music is preferred, but playing by ear is welcomed as well.

 
The time commitment will include a one-hour service on Sunday mornings, a weekly meeting with the pastor and whatever time you need to prepare for Sunday. Experience with various forms of classical church and also contemporary/gospel worship music is desired. 
 
Please email a cover letter and resume to centralchristiandanbury.music@gmail.com.

by Stephen Tickner
On Sunday I opened my sermon by discussing the Palestinian poet Taha Muhammad Ali. I thought I would give everyone the opportunity to read one of my favorite examples of his poetry. If you would like to read the biography of his life written by Adina Hoffman, you can find it here.

Revenge 
by Taha Muhammad Ali
At times ... I wish 
I could meet in a duel 
the man who killed my father 
and razed our home, 
expelling me
into
a narrow country.
And if he killed me, 
I'd rest at last, 
and if I were ready--
I would take my revenge!

But if it came to light, 
when my rival appeared, 
that he had a mother 
waiting for him, 
or a father who'd put
his right hand over 
the heart's place in his chest 
whenever his son was late 
even by just a quarter-hour 
for a meeting they'd set--
then I would not kill him,
even if I could.

Likewise ... I 
would not murder him 
if it were soon made clear 
that he had a brother or sisters
who loved him and constantly longed to see him. 
Or if he had a wife to greet him
and children who 
couldn't bear his absence 
and whom his gifts would thrill.
Or if he had 
friends or companions, 
neighbours he knew 
or allies from prison 
or a hospital room, 
or classmates from his school ...
asking about him 
and sending him regards.

But if he turned 
out to be on his own--
cut off like a branch from a tree--
without a mother or father, 
with neither a brother nor sister, 
wifeless, without a child, 
and without kin or neighbours or friends, 
colleagues or companions, 
then I'd add not a thing to his pain 
within that aloneness--
not the torment of death, 
and not the sorrow of passing away. 
Instead I'd be content 
to ignore him when I passed him by
on the street—as I 
convinced myself 
that paying him no attention 
in itself was a kind of revenge.