I'm going on retreat as a youth volunteer with a group of junior high kids and some of their parents. As we've been preparing for the retreat over the past few weeks, the theme for the weekend started to grow out of several conversations. We're going with "Music in the Mountains." There's nothing much more perfect for me given that music is the one thing I'm not sure I could live without in my life. (I could, but it would be super sad.) As a chaplain in the psych unit, I've asked this question many times in reflection groups: "If you lost your hearing, what are five things you'd want to hear just one more time?" I typically get responses like "my kids laughing" or "my husband saying he loves me." It actually astonishes me sometimes how few people mention music. They often ask me what my five would be.
In no certain order: 1)Schubert's Ave Maria 2)Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major (probably, the Allemande movement in particular, but the whole thing, really) 3)Van Morrison's Moondance 4)The simultaneous sound of waves crashing and wind rustling through the palmettos 5) And probably Ali Farka Toure's Ai Du. Yes, my list is almost entirely music.
Someone once asked me, "Does music move you?" There is no other answer than, absolutely YES.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
...with your sandals on your feet.
It's 2:30 in the morning and I'm wide awake, mostly because of adrenaline and now I wait for it to wear off. A little while ago, I managed to go from asleep in my pajamas to dressed and in a hospital room in another building 8 floors up in less than 6 minutes. When you work in an environment that requires such haste, you learn a little about how to prepare for such an occurrence. So, as my mind marvels at how adrenaline can move you so fast, I am strangely reminded of the first Passover.
Exodus 11:11 - This is how you are to eat it: with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand. Eat it in haste; it is the LORD's Passover.
When God's people were instructed to eat the Passover in Egypt, they were told what to eat and how to eat it. The meat needed to be prepared just so, the bread should be unleavened, and they should eat, fully dressed and in a hurry. But, why? Because the day and the time was coming that they would be delivered. They needed to be at the ready, not caught lazy on their heels. As Tom Long once said, if you've got time to wait for bread to rise, you've gotten too comfortable in Egypt. When we gather to eat the meal of the new covenant, the Eucharistic meal, we often remember this meal and this time in our Great Thanksgiving. We remind each other in that meal that God rescued God's people from captivity and that through Jesus Christ we are all made free, delivered from sin and death.
We, as Christians, no longer keep the tradition of Passover and the time of preparation for Passover, but sometimes I wonder if we don't lose something. In Christ, we understand that the once and final sacrifice is complete and the Passover is no longer needed, but sometimes it seems as though we've gotten too comfortable "in Egypt." A couple of weeks ago, I was reading a commentary on the Parable of the Unjust Judge from Luke's gospel. The story goes that a widow petitioned a judge everyday for justice and he would not grant it until he grew weary of her begging. Jesus notes that even the judge can be swayed so how much more quickly will God respond to our prayers than someone who is unjust. The commentary suggested that we think about whether or not we are praying steadily, constantly, everyday for justice, like the widow, or have we reached some level of comfort with injustice. Are we working for the kingdom of God, preparing for it, praying for it? Or we have we kicked off our shoes and said, don't worry, it'll come someday? I don't know...
Exodus 11:11 - This is how you are to eat it: with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand. Eat it in haste; it is the LORD's Passover.
When God's people were instructed to eat the Passover in Egypt, they were told what to eat and how to eat it. The meat needed to be prepared just so, the bread should be unleavened, and they should eat, fully dressed and in a hurry. But, why? Because the day and the time was coming that they would be delivered. They needed to be at the ready, not caught lazy on their heels. As Tom Long once said, if you've got time to wait for bread to rise, you've gotten too comfortable in Egypt. When we gather to eat the meal of the new covenant, the Eucharistic meal, we often remember this meal and this time in our Great Thanksgiving. We remind each other in that meal that God rescued God's people from captivity and that through Jesus Christ we are all made free, delivered from sin and death.
We, as Christians, no longer keep the tradition of Passover and the time of preparation for Passover, but sometimes I wonder if we don't lose something. In Christ, we understand that the once and final sacrifice is complete and the Passover is no longer needed, but sometimes it seems as though we've gotten too comfortable "in Egypt." A couple of weeks ago, I was reading a commentary on the Parable of the Unjust Judge from Luke's gospel. The story goes that a widow petitioned a judge everyday for justice and he would not grant it until he grew weary of her begging. Jesus notes that even the judge can be swayed so how much more quickly will God respond to our prayers than someone who is unjust. The commentary suggested that we think about whether or not we are praying steadily, constantly, everyday for justice, like the widow, or have we reached some level of comfort with injustice. Are we working for the kingdom of God, preparing for it, praying for it? Or we have we kicked off our shoes and said, don't worry, it'll come someday? I don't know...
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A New Song
While listening to the Switchfoot song "Your Love is a Song" recently, I remarked to a friend that I love that song because it describes how I sometimes prefer to imagine God's love. Your love is a symphony, all around me, running through me. Your love is a melody, underneath me, running through me. I realize I'm at least a little bit ripping off Rob Bell in this idea. It would be a lie to say that when I saw the video "Rhythm" in the NOOMA series a couple of years ago that it didn't stick with me. But I've gotten stuck on this idea of music as an "image" for God's love for a while. It's like an orchestra. There are different sections, the strings, the brass, the woodwinds, the percussion...all those sections have a part to play, and when those parts are executed perfectly, even alone you can recognize the brilliance. But when you start to put them together, when the parts start to layer on top of one another to create the masterpiece, it takes on a new kind of life.
I was thinking about that tonight at what may seem like the strangest of times. I spent about 2 hours with about 30 complete strangers. I spent almost the whole two hours in silence. When I did speak, it was quietly. Mostly I just listened, and at times I wiped at a tear that welled up in my own eyes. The reason we were all gathered was because I am a chaplain and a member of their family died. He died suddenly and without any warning. There were screams and sobs. There were soft whimpers and barely audible prayers whispered. The whole time, I kept thinking about God's love being like a song. The reason it kept coming to mind was because the sound of that room reminded me of those few minutes before an orchestra performance when the strings section is tuning and warming up. At first the sound is horrible. It sets your teeth on edge and raises the hairs on your arms. They are preparing for a new song.
"New song" is a biblical concept. A little bit of digging will show you that the phrase "new song" comes up more than a couple of times in scripture. And when scripture speaks of this new song, it tends to come alongside God's flipping something on its head. Some sort of condition is changing. Life is changing for good or bad. Change is coming.
Tonight, unfortunately, that family is faced with a new song, not of their desires, but they do face a new life. They will have to deconstruct their old life and reconstruct a new one that fits the new family configuration. I do not understand pain and suffering, and I probably will never find the answers I'm looking for, but I could hear the discordant notes playing and rubbing against each other tonight. My hope and my prayer is that just as the strings start to come into tune and prepare for the song, so will God's love enfold them with God's new song, a song of love and grace and mercy, even in times of grief.
I was thinking about that tonight at what may seem like the strangest of times. I spent about 2 hours with about 30 complete strangers. I spent almost the whole two hours in silence. When I did speak, it was quietly. Mostly I just listened, and at times I wiped at a tear that welled up in my own eyes. The reason we were all gathered was because I am a chaplain and a member of their family died. He died suddenly and without any warning. There were screams and sobs. There were soft whimpers and barely audible prayers whispered. The whole time, I kept thinking about God's love being like a song. The reason it kept coming to mind was because the sound of that room reminded me of those few minutes before an orchestra performance when the strings section is tuning and warming up. At first the sound is horrible. It sets your teeth on edge and raises the hairs on your arms. They are preparing for a new song.
"New song" is a biblical concept. A little bit of digging will show you that the phrase "new song" comes up more than a couple of times in scripture. And when scripture speaks of this new song, it tends to come alongside God's flipping something on its head. Some sort of condition is changing. Life is changing for good or bad. Change is coming.
Tonight, unfortunately, that family is faced with a new song, not of their desires, but they do face a new life. They will have to deconstruct their old life and reconstruct a new one that fits the new family configuration. I do not understand pain and suffering, and I probably will never find the answers I'm looking for, but I could hear the discordant notes playing and rubbing against each other tonight. My hope and my prayer is that just as the strings start to come into tune and prepare for the song, so will God's love enfold them with God's new song, a song of love and grace and mercy, even in times of grief.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Bent
The woman who was bent:
10 On a Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, 11 and a woman was there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not straighten up at all. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, "Woman, you are set free from your infirmity." 13 Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God. 14 Indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, the synagogue ruler said to the people, "There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath." 15 The Lord answered him, "You hypocrites! Doesn't each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water? 16 Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?" 17 When he said this, all his opponents were humiliated, but the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing. - Luke 13:10-17
The UMC's "Right's of Persons with Disabilities":
¶ 162 I) Rights of Persons with Disabilities—We recognize and affirm the full humanity and personhood of all individuals with mental, physical, developmental, neurological, and psychological conditions or disabilities as full members of the family of God.
We also affirm their rightful place in both the church and society. We affirm the responsibility of the Church and society to be in ministry with children, youth, and adults with mental, physical, developmental, and/or psychological and neurological conditions or disabilities whose particular needs in the areas of mobility, communication, intellectual comprehension, or personal relationships might make more challenging their participation or that of their families in the life of the Church and the community.
We urge the Church and society to recognize and receive the gifts of persons with disabilities to enable them to be full participants in the community of faith. We call the Church and society to be sensitive to, and advocate for, programs of rehabilitation, services, employment, education, appropriate housing, and transportation. We call on the Church and society to protect the civil rights of persons with all types and kinds of disabilities.
From The Book of Discipline of The United Methodist Church - 2008. Copyright 2008 by The United Methodist Publishing House. Used by permission.
You know, Luke's 13th chapter presents a very uncomfortable moment for me. A few weeks ago, the pastor at the church where I attend preached on this particular text. As he began his sermon, I began looking around uneasily. I felt a tightness in my chest that I soon realized came from the fact that I was holding my breath. See, the woman sitting next to me in the congregation might actually be described as a woman who is bent. I do not know what her specific disability is, but I can see the braces fitted to her legs and I can see that she cannot stand up straight and that her posture is directed towards the floor. I was uneasy because I felt pretty certain the sermon, in short, was going to say "Straighten up. Jesus straightens us up." It did, and yes, it's true, but I was secretly terrified about the subtext-- mainly--that if you are somehow short of what society defines as normal, there is something wrong with you. No, I do not believe that is the message of Luke 13 nor do I believe that was the message from the pulpit that morning, but so often we come across people and institutions who treat disability as significantly less.
I have grown to love a particular liberatory theology of a professor from my seminary, the late Nancy Eiseland. In her book "The Disabled God" she challenges the notion of the Imago Dei as she envisions God riding around in a "puff wheelchair" in heaven...an unsettling image for a lot of people. In her book, Eiseland writes, "Who is the one we remember in the Eucharist? This is the disabled God who is present at the Eucharist table—God who was physically tortured, arose from the dead and is present in heaven and on earth, disabled and whole... Christ’s resurrection offers hope that our nonconventional, and sometimes difficult, bodies participate fully in the imago Dei…God is changed by the experience of being a disabled body."
My prayer is that we will remember that we are all created in the image of God (and should, perhaps, expand our understanding of what that means), and that we should re-member those members of the body of Christ who we seem to cast aside as less because they make us feel uncomfortable alongside them. My thought is that we should cast off the social understanding of "disability" and of "normal." My read of the bent woman in Luke 13 is that Jesus does something remarkable for her and for all of us. No matter what has your eyes cast to the floor, be it physical, emotional or spiritual, Jesus Christ incorporates you into his perfectly imperfect, scarred and pierced body, not as a sort of member, but fully.
10 On a Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, 11 and a woman was there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not straighten up at all. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, "Woman, you are set free from your infirmity." 13 Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God. 14 Indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, the synagogue ruler said to the people, "There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath." 15 The Lord answered him, "You hypocrites! Doesn't each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water? 16 Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?" 17 When he said this, all his opponents were humiliated, but the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing. - Luke 13:10-17
The UMC's "Right's of Persons with Disabilities":
¶ 162 I) Rights of Persons with Disabilities—We recognize and affirm the full humanity and personhood of all individuals with mental, physical, developmental, neurological, and psychological conditions or disabilities as full members of the family of God.
We also affirm their rightful place in both the church and society. We affirm the responsibility of the Church and society to be in ministry with children, youth, and adults with mental, physical, developmental, and/or psychological and neurological conditions or disabilities whose particular needs in the areas of mobility, communication, intellectual comprehension, or personal relationships might make more challenging their participation or that of their families in the life of the Church and the community.
We urge the Church and society to recognize and receive the gifts of persons with disabilities to enable them to be full participants in the community of faith. We call the Church and society to be sensitive to, and advocate for, programs of rehabilitation, services, employment, education, appropriate housing, and transportation. We call on the Church and society to protect the civil rights of persons with all types and kinds of disabilities.
From The Book of Discipline of The United Methodist Church - 2008. Copyright 2008 by The United Methodist Publishing House. Used by permission.
You know, Luke's 13th chapter presents a very uncomfortable moment for me. A few weeks ago, the pastor at the church where I attend preached on this particular text. As he began his sermon, I began looking around uneasily. I felt a tightness in my chest that I soon realized came from the fact that I was holding my breath. See, the woman sitting next to me in the congregation might actually be described as a woman who is bent. I do not know what her specific disability is, but I can see the braces fitted to her legs and I can see that she cannot stand up straight and that her posture is directed towards the floor. I was uneasy because I felt pretty certain the sermon, in short, was going to say "Straighten up. Jesus straightens us up." It did, and yes, it's true, but I was secretly terrified about the subtext-- mainly--that if you are somehow short of what society defines as normal, there is something wrong with you. No, I do not believe that is the message of Luke 13 nor do I believe that was the message from the pulpit that morning, but so often we come across people and institutions who treat disability as significantly less.
I have grown to love a particular liberatory theology of a professor from my seminary, the late Nancy Eiseland. In her book "The Disabled God" she challenges the notion of the Imago Dei as she envisions God riding around in a "puff wheelchair" in heaven...an unsettling image for a lot of people. In her book, Eiseland writes, "Who is the one we remember in the Eucharist? This is the disabled God who is present at the Eucharist table—God who was physically tortured, arose from the dead and is present in heaven and on earth, disabled and whole... Christ’s resurrection offers hope that our nonconventional, and sometimes difficult, bodies participate fully in the imago Dei…God is changed by the experience of being a disabled body."
My prayer is that we will remember that we are all created in the image of God (and should, perhaps, expand our understanding of what that means), and that we should re-member those members of the body of Christ who we seem to cast aside as less because they make us feel uncomfortable alongside them. My thought is that we should cast off the social understanding of "disability" and of "normal." My read of the bent woman in Luke 13 is that Jesus does something remarkable for her and for all of us. No matter what has your eyes cast to the floor, be it physical, emotional or spiritual, Jesus Christ incorporates you into his perfectly imperfect, scarred and pierced body, not as a sort of member, but fully.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Eyes Opened
John 9
1As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. 2His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 3"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. 4As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. 5While I am in the world, I am the light of the world." 6Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. 7"Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing. 8His neighbors and those who had formerly seen him begging asked, "Isn't this the same man who used to sit and beg?" 9Some claimed that he was. Others said, "No, he only looks like him." But he himself insisted, "I am the man." 10"How then were your eyes opened?" they demanded. 11He replied, "The man they call Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes. He told me to go to Siloam and wash. So I went and washed, and then I could see." 12"Where is this man?" they asked him. "I don't know," he said.
13They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. 14Now the day on which Jesus had made the mud and opened the man's eyes was a Sabbath. 15Therefore the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight. "He put mud on my eyes," the man replied, "and I washed, and now I see." 16Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath." But others asked, "How can a sinner do such miraculous signs?" So they were divided. 17Finally they turned again to the blind man, "What have you to say about him? It was your eyes he opened." The man replied, "He is a prophet." 18The Jews still did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they sent for the man's parents. 19"Is this your son?" they asked. "Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?"
20"We know he is our son," the parents answered, "and we know he was born blind. 21But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don't know. Ask him. He is of age; he will speak for himself." 22His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for already the Jews had decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus was the Christ[a] would be put out of the synagogue. 23That was why his parents said, "He is of age; ask him."
24A second time they summoned the man who had been blind. "Give glory to God,[b]" they said. "We know this man is a sinner." 25He replied, "Whether he is a sinner or not, I don't know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!" 26Then they asked him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" 27He answered, "I have told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?" 28Then they hurled insults at him and said, "You are this fellow's disciple! We are disciples of Moses! 29We know that God spoke to Moses, but as for this fellow, we don't even know where he comes from." 30The man answered, "Now that is remarkable! You don't know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. 31We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly man who does his will. 32Nobody has ever heard of opening the eyes of a man born blind. 33If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." 34To this they replied, "You were steeped in sin at birth; how dare you lecture us!" And they threw him out.
35Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" 36"Who is he, sir?" the man asked. "Tell me so that I may believe in him." 37Jesus said, "You have now seen him; in fact, he is the one speaking with you." 38Then the man said, "Lord, I believe," and he worshiped him. 39Jesus said, "For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind." 40Some Pharisees who were with him heard him say this and asked, "What? Are we blind too?" 41Jesus said, "If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains.
My family comes from a small town, not too far outside Charleston. Charleston is a pretty diverse city so you’d think that being close would affect us out in the country, but really, we were pretty much the Deep South, and we were somewhat secluded and homogenous. Growing up in a place like that means you aren’t exposed to a wide range of experiences that the world has to offer. The world is only as big as the high school football stadium. I grew up thinking that everything I needed to know about life I could have learned in our town. I grew up thinking I wasn’t ignorant of anything. And then I moved the 45 miles to Charleston for college. I’ll never forget the kind of culture shock of my first semester. I didn’t know that my whole life I’d been blind to a whole world around me. I met students from all over the country and all over the world. I met people with different political ideologies, religious leanings, and sexual orientations.
I’ll say, while this entrée into a broader world was eye opening, it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t looking for change. I wasn’t looking for my eyes to be opened. And when they were, I didn’t always like what I saw. When my world suddenly expanded, what I saw sometimes wasn’t all that pleasant. Because with different ideologies, leanings, and orientations comes just that— difference. Because my eyes were opened, I was stretched and pulled and questioned and challenged.
And so it was with the man blind from birth when Jesus came into his life. Jesus and his disciples were walking along and encountered this man, a man who had never seen the world around him. He had never had sight and did not even know what he was missing, probably. In fact, he wasn’t even looking to be healed. He didn’t seek Jesus out. Jesus came into this man’s life and opened his eyes, and before he knew what hit him, he began to be pressed and stretched and questioned and challenged. When this man’s eyes were opened, what he saw was a lot of ugliness. He saw the infighting among his neighbors. He saw the power struggles that existed in his community, power struggles that set the Pharisees at an uneasy posture. He saw his parents hauled in for questioning and he saw them sort of throw him under the bus. They said, “Don’t ask us. Ask him. We aren’t a part of this.”
This man who was once blind and left alone to his own business, now sees and what he sees is a community of turmoil. For me, at first glance, I’m almost sad Jesus didn’t leave this man alone, let him be happy in his limited world. After all, I was happy growing up in my small town, where all I knew outside of my little area was on the news and, thus, far removed. My world was limited, but I didn’t really feel its limits. When I looked around, most everyone was like me so there wasn’t much conflict. Now I have been exposed to a much bigger world, and I have seen its ugliness, its conflict, and its confusion. In this man’s world, when he was blind, people left him alone. He didn’t have to make choices, answer questions about what he believes. He didn’t have to answer any questions about who he follows and what his theological grounding is. But Jesus came along, opened his eyes, and opened him up to a world of questions, questions without answers that will ever satisfy everyone.
But rather than responding in anger, rather than looking back to the days of his blindness, this man confesses Jesus as Lord. The Pharisees ask him who Jesus is and how it is that he has performed this miracle. His response: I don’t know all of that, but I do know this. My life is changed and now I see. And when he met Jesus again, because his eyes had been opened, he recognized him and witnessed to his identity when he said, “Lord, I believe.”
Like the blind man confessed, I must confess what I know. I don’t know how exactly God works or what God looks like, but I do know this. In everything I see, I see God. God is at work, ever-present. God comes to us before we know that’s what we need, opening our eyes and moving with us. And what I know is that as we continue to move through this world, we see more and more, experience more and more. Some of it is hard. Some of it challenges us. It’s different and it’s other. But what we see when we recognize God’s overwhelming presence is the beauty that comes to us when our eyes are opened. We recognize that the world is much bigger than our backyard and this God-breathed, grace-filled world is beautiful, even when it looks ugly from our outsider’s view.
What all this means is that we cannot be content to stay inside this church building, comfortable with the walls between us and the rest of the world. God has come to us, pouring grace and mercy over us, opening our eyes to God’s work and to God’s world. We must push outside these comfortable walls to see, to really see. As we do this, let us go out and confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. And amidst all of what we see as conflict and difference let us embrace each other and celebrate our graceful difference because we are all one in Christ Jesus.
1As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. 2His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 3"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. 4As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. 5While I am in the world, I am the light of the world." 6Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. 7"Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing. 8His neighbors and those who had formerly seen him begging asked, "Isn't this the same man who used to sit and beg?" 9Some claimed that he was. Others said, "No, he only looks like him." But he himself insisted, "I am the man." 10"How then were your eyes opened?" they demanded. 11He replied, "The man they call Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes. He told me to go to Siloam and wash. So I went and washed, and then I could see." 12"Where is this man?" they asked him. "I don't know," he said.
13They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. 14Now the day on which Jesus had made the mud and opened the man's eyes was a Sabbath. 15Therefore the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight. "He put mud on my eyes," the man replied, "and I washed, and now I see." 16Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath." But others asked, "How can a sinner do such miraculous signs?" So they were divided. 17Finally they turned again to the blind man, "What have you to say about him? It was your eyes he opened." The man replied, "He is a prophet." 18The Jews still did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they sent for the man's parents. 19"Is this your son?" they asked. "Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?"
20"We know he is our son," the parents answered, "and we know he was born blind. 21But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don't know. Ask him. He is of age; he will speak for himself." 22His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for already the Jews had decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus was the Christ[a] would be put out of the synagogue. 23That was why his parents said, "He is of age; ask him."
24A second time they summoned the man who had been blind. "Give glory to God,[b]" they said. "We know this man is a sinner." 25He replied, "Whether he is a sinner or not, I don't know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!" 26Then they asked him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" 27He answered, "I have told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?" 28Then they hurled insults at him and said, "You are this fellow's disciple! We are disciples of Moses! 29We know that God spoke to Moses, but as for this fellow, we don't even know where he comes from." 30The man answered, "Now that is remarkable! You don't know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. 31We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly man who does his will. 32Nobody has ever heard of opening the eyes of a man born blind. 33If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." 34To this they replied, "You were steeped in sin at birth; how dare you lecture us!" And they threw him out.
35Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" 36"Who is he, sir?" the man asked. "Tell me so that I may believe in him." 37Jesus said, "You have now seen him; in fact, he is the one speaking with you." 38Then the man said, "Lord, I believe," and he worshiped him. 39Jesus said, "For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind." 40Some Pharisees who were with him heard him say this and asked, "What? Are we blind too?" 41Jesus said, "If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains.
My family comes from a small town, not too far outside Charleston. Charleston is a pretty diverse city so you’d think that being close would affect us out in the country, but really, we were pretty much the Deep South, and we were somewhat secluded and homogenous. Growing up in a place like that means you aren’t exposed to a wide range of experiences that the world has to offer. The world is only as big as the high school football stadium. I grew up thinking that everything I needed to know about life I could have learned in our town. I grew up thinking I wasn’t ignorant of anything. And then I moved the 45 miles to Charleston for college. I’ll never forget the kind of culture shock of my first semester. I didn’t know that my whole life I’d been blind to a whole world around me. I met students from all over the country and all over the world. I met people with different political ideologies, religious leanings, and sexual orientations.
I’ll say, while this entrée into a broader world was eye opening, it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t looking for change. I wasn’t looking for my eyes to be opened. And when they were, I didn’t always like what I saw. When my world suddenly expanded, what I saw sometimes wasn’t all that pleasant. Because with different ideologies, leanings, and orientations comes just that— difference. Because my eyes were opened, I was stretched and pulled and questioned and challenged.
And so it was with the man blind from birth when Jesus came into his life. Jesus and his disciples were walking along and encountered this man, a man who had never seen the world around him. He had never had sight and did not even know what he was missing, probably. In fact, he wasn’t even looking to be healed. He didn’t seek Jesus out. Jesus came into this man’s life and opened his eyes, and before he knew what hit him, he began to be pressed and stretched and questioned and challenged. When this man’s eyes were opened, what he saw was a lot of ugliness. He saw the infighting among his neighbors. He saw the power struggles that existed in his community, power struggles that set the Pharisees at an uneasy posture. He saw his parents hauled in for questioning and he saw them sort of throw him under the bus. They said, “Don’t ask us. Ask him. We aren’t a part of this.”
This man who was once blind and left alone to his own business, now sees and what he sees is a community of turmoil. For me, at first glance, I’m almost sad Jesus didn’t leave this man alone, let him be happy in his limited world. After all, I was happy growing up in my small town, where all I knew outside of my little area was on the news and, thus, far removed. My world was limited, but I didn’t really feel its limits. When I looked around, most everyone was like me so there wasn’t much conflict. Now I have been exposed to a much bigger world, and I have seen its ugliness, its conflict, and its confusion. In this man’s world, when he was blind, people left him alone. He didn’t have to make choices, answer questions about what he believes. He didn’t have to answer any questions about who he follows and what his theological grounding is. But Jesus came along, opened his eyes, and opened him up to a world of questions, questions without answers that will ever satisfy everyone.
But rather than responding in anger, rather than looking back to the days of his blindness, this man confesses Jesus as Lord. The Pharisees ask him who Jesus is and how it is that he has performed this miracle. His response: I don’t know all of that, but I do know this. My life is changed and now I see. And when he met Jesus again, because his eyes had been opened, he recognized him and witnessed to his identity when he said, “Lord, I believe.”
Like the blind man confessed, I must confess what I know. I don’t know how exactly God works or what God looks like, but I do know this. In everything I see, I see God. God is at work, ever-present. God comes to us before we know that’s what we need, opening our eyes and moving with us. And what I know is that as we continue to move through this world, we see more and more, experience more and more. Some of it is hard. Some of it challenges us. It’s different and it’s other. But what we see when we recognize God’s overwhelming presence is the beauty that comes to us when our eyes are opened. We recognize that the world is much bigger than our backyard and this God-breathed, grace-filled world is beautiful, even when it looks ugly from our outsider’s view.
What all this means is that we cannot be content to stay inside this church building, comfortable with the walls between us and the rest of the world. God has come to us, pouring grace and mercy over us, opening our eyes to God’s work and to God’s world. We must push outside these comfortable walls to see, to really see. As we do this, let us go out and confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. And amidst all of what we see as conflict and difference let us embrace each other and celebrate our graceful difference because we are all one in Christ Jesus.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Happy Birthday, Holy Spirit
Prayer is a funny thing. I wish I prayed more. I wish I was better at it. I wish I knew the right words or I wish I could focus my thoughts better. I wish the world around me didn't bleed into my prayers. I am reminded of the anonymous Russian pilgrim who set out to fulfill the Pauline command to pray without ceasing. He wandered the country looking for some wise person to tell him how this could become accomplished. And a piece of advice he received was to pray the Jesus prayer (Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner) over and over again, 3000 times a day, 6000 times a day, and so on. I think about that and can't help but think of the tragic character Franny in Salinger's Franny and Zooey who went literally crazy with the prayer on her lips. And then I go back to the pilgrim who learned the most important lesson about praying that prayer over and over again. It was that once the prayers of his lips became the prayers of his heart, then he would pray without ceasing. I love that lesson, and I try to think of the pilgrim (and not Franny) when I reflect on it. The prayer of my heart, not just the prayer of my lips.
Ah, yes! If only it were that simple...
I wish I could spend some time earnestly learning how to pray better, stronger, more authentically. I wish everything I did was so pointed towards God that everything I did was a prayer to God. But it's not the case, not for me. I simply don't know how. I will struggle with it, struggle with my thoughts and feelings, and my communication with the divine, and I will search for the words and the right heart and all that forever. Which, then, leads me to the title of this blog. Happy Birthday, Holy Spirit! Today is Pentecost, 50 days after Easter. Today is the day we celebrate the Holy Spirit depended on those gathered. The Holy Spirit which was sent as an advocate, sent to show us that God is still here, God is still with us. God has not left us alone. Even as we struggle, God knows and God hears. And what's even better is that God intercedes for us when we aren't strong enough to do or say or feel or be as we ought. My most favorite, most comforting, passage in all of scripture comes from Romans 8: "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God" (v.26-27). Sighs, sighs too deep for words.
Praise God for the coming of the Holy Spirit so that men and women will prophesy and the old shall dream dreams and the young shall have visions. Praise God for the Holy Spirit who intercedes for us when we can't for ourselves. Come, Holy Spirit, come.
Ah, yes! If only it were that simple...
I wish I could spend some time earnestly learning how to pray better, stronger, more authentically. I wish everything I did was so pointed towards God that everything I did was a prayer to God. But it's not the case, not for me. I simply don't know how. I will struggle with it, struggle with my thoughts and feelings, and my communication with the divine, and I will search for the words and the right heart and all that forever. Which, then, leads me to the title of this blog. Happy Birthday, Holy Spirit! Today is Pentecost, 50 days after Easter. Today is the day we celebrate the Holy Spirit depended on those gathered. The Holy Spirit which was sent as an advocate, sent to show us that God is still here, God is still with us. God has not left us alone. Even as we struggle, God knows and God hears. And what's even better is that God intercedes for us when we aren't strong enough to do or say or feel or be as we ought. My most favorite, most comforting, passage in all of scripture comes from Romans 8: "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God" (v.26-27). Sighs, sighs too deep for words.
Praise God for the coming of the Holy Spirit so that men and women will prophesy and the old shall dream dreams and the young shall have visions. Praise God for the Holy Spirit who intercedes for us when we can't for ourselves. Come, Holy Spirit, come.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Easter People, raise your voices...
..sounds of heaven in earth should ring.
On Sunday morning, I delighted in the liturgical response all good Methodists (and plenty others) know so well. Pastor: Christ is risen! People: He is risen indeed! In fact, I got a text message at 6:30 Sunday morning from a friend who simply sent "Christ is risen." I responded, sort of in my sleep, with the joyous response. "He is risen indeed." Where, oh death, is thy sting? Lord, you have delivered us from captivity to sin and death! ...But, oh how quickly the joy of Easter morning can fade. I have worked two days this week and I am worn out. I've had five of my patients die in these two days. I have not been in one single joyful room. I am a little weary, and it's only day two of my week. So, for comfort I turn to the familiar Easter evening text in which the disciples felt weariness in even greater measure than I feel right now at 8:30 on Wednesday evening.
John 20:19-23
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!" After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.
Again Jesus said, "Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you." And with that he breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven."
First of all, with absolutely no statistical support for my claim at all, I will say that of the pastors who preach on the Jesus' appearance to the disciples after the resurrection this Sunday, 70% will talk about Thomas (who appears in the next few verses which I have not included). Old Doubting Thomas. Remember, I made that number up, but I bring it up because of how often I've heard about that Thomas character who has forever gained the title of doubter.
I doubt, I question, and in a week like the one I'm having, I would be a hypocrite to be hard on Thomas. And really, is it so far a stretch of the imagination for you and me to understand how Thomas's mind might not have been able to stretch far enough to believe someone who was dead had somehow come back from the dead? I, for one, could use a break as I doubt and fear, so I am going to give Thomas a break as well.
The others in the upper room that day weren't all that prepared either. There they were, sitting in that room with the doors locked. They were sitting on their hands in fear and perhaps a little regret. They'd not stood up for their teacher when it mattered most. They'd not showed up at the cross. They had fallen asleep in the garden, denied the one they had been following, and found themselves powerless and afraid. And then something so strange happens. Jesus appears. He came right through the locked doors and appeared among them. He drew so close to them that they could touch his wounded body. Rather than giving them the scolding they may have deserved for their faithlessness, he loved them. In moving past the locked doors of the upper room, he moves past the locked doors of our hearts--doors that have been locked by fear, sadness, worry, anger, and hatred. He moves among us and rather than chastising us for all our failures, he draws so lovingly near to us that we can feel his breath on our skin. For a brief moment, in the midst of utter chaos, there is peace.
As he breathes out the Holy Spirit on us, we are empowered and challenged to show that same peace to the broken and hurting world. In the world around me, I can see the marks and wounds of Christ's body. I am so close I can touch them. What I do everyday, the sad and broken places I enter into, what that's all about is reaching out and touching the holes in hands and putting my hands in the wounded side of Christ. And what I can and should do is draw near, as Christ has done for all of us, and share the peace that I know in Christ's resurrection and the power of the Holy Spirit. Quite honestly, that's the reason I make myself get up every morning and go to work. That's what it means to be an Easter people, I guess. Peace making and peace showing. Easter people, let us sing. Alleluia and Amen!
On Sunday morning, I delighted in the liturgical response all good Methodists (and plenty others) know so well. Pastor: Christ is risen! People: He is risen indeed! In fact, I got a text message at 6:30 Sunday morning from a friend who simply sent "Christ is risen." I responded, sort of in my sleep, with the joyous response. "He is risen indeed." Where, oh death, is thy sting? Lord, you have delivered us from captivity to sin and death! ...But, oh how quickly the joy of Easter morning can fade. I have worked two days this week and I am worn out. I've had five of my patients die in these two days. I have not been in one single joyful room. I am a little weary, and it's only day two of my week. So, for comfort I turn to the familiar Easter evening text in which the disciples felt weariness in even greater measure than I feel right now at 8:30 on Wednesday evening.
John 20:19-23
On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!" After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.
Again Jesus said, "Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you." And with that he breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven."
First of all, with absolutely no statistical support for my claim at all, I will say that of the pastors who preach on the Jesus' appearance to the disciples after the resurrection this Sunday, 70% will talk about Thomas (who appears in the next few verses which I have not included). Old Doubting Thomas. Remember, I made that number up, but I bring it up because of how often I've heard about that Thomas character who has forever gained the title of doubter.
I doubt, I question, and in a week like the one I'm having, I would be a hypocrite to be hard on Thomas. And really, is it so far a stretch of the imagination for you and me to understand how Thomas's mind might not have been able to stretch far enough to believe someone who was dead had somehow come back from the dead? I, for one, could use a break as I doubt and fear, so I am going to give Thomas a break as well.
The others in the upper room that day weren't all that prepared either. There they were, sitting in that room with the doors locked. They were sitting on their hands in fear and perhaps a little regret. They'd not stood up for their teacher when it mattered most. They'd not showed up at the cross. They had fallen asleep in the garden, denied the one they had been following, and found themselves powerless and afraid. And then something so strange happens. Jesus appears. He came right through the locked doors and appeared among them. He drew so close to them that they could touch his wounded body. Rather than giving them the scolding they may have deserved for their faithlessness, he loved them. In moving past the locked doors of the upper room, he moves past the locked doors of our hearts--doors that have been locked by fear, sadness, worry, anger, and hatred. He moves among us and rather than chastising us for all our failures, he draws so lovingly near to us that we can feel his breath on our skin. For a brief moment, in the midst of utter chaos, there is peace.
As he breathes out the Holy Spirit on us, we are empowered and challenged to show that same peace to the broken and hurting world. In the world around me, I can see the marks and wounds of Christ's body. I am so close I can touch them. What I do everyday, the sad and broken places I enter into, what that's all about is reaching out and touching the holes in hands and putting my hands in the wounded side of Christ. And what I can and should do is draw near, as Christ has done for all of us, and share the peace that I know in Christ's resurrection and the power of the Holy Spirit. Quite honestly, that's the reason I make myself get up every morning and go to work. That's what it means to be an Easter people, I guess. Peace making and peace showing. Easter people, let us sing. Alleluia and Amen!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Lent 40!
It is finished.
The sixth word is one that we know oh so well. Surely when Jesus uttered those words, he was thinking, "Finally. The end of this suffering." But the Greek word he utters--tetelestai--really is something greater than that. It's more than "it's over," more like "it is over and completed." Jesus had fulfilled his purpose. He had introduced to us the kingdom of God. He had showed us abiding love and grace. He finished the work of salvation. And the reason it's important for us to remember this last word in terms of completion is so that we can know that Christ completed it and we don't need to, nor can we, add to it.
Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.
This final word from Christ on the cross is another quotation from a Psalm. Here are the first 5 verses:
Psalm 31
1 In you, O LORD, I have taken refuge;
let me never be put to shame;
deliver me in your righteousness.
2 Turn your ear to me,
come quickly to my rescue;
be my rock of refuge,
a strong fortress to save me.
3 Since you are my rock and my fortress,
for the sake of your name lead and guide me.
4 Free me from the trap that is set for me,
for you are my refuge.
5 Into your hands I commit my spirit;
redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.
Psalm 31 begins with petition for deliverance. To quote this means that Jesus asks to be delivered after he has already suffered. The implication is that Jesus is already pointing to the resurrection, right there from the cross. He would not be delivered from suffering and death, but there would be something beyond this, something wonderful.
Jesus went ahead and pointed to Easter. Easter is nearly here. Lent is nearly complete. While we know tetelestai, it is finished, we also know our spirits are committed into the hands of God who moves in us and with us, showering us with grace as we live as Easter people. We need not do anything for our salvation, but God doesn't leave us to sit on our heels. May we, as Easter people, live our lives to the glory and honor of God who creates, redeems, and sustains us.
The sixth word is one that we know oh so well. Surely when Jesus uttered those words, he was thinking, "Finally. The end of this suffering." But the Greek word he utters--tetelestai--really is something greater than that. It's more than "it's over," more like "it is over and completed." Jesus had fulfilled his purpose. He had introduced to us the kingdom of God. He had showed us abiding love and grace. He finished the work of salvation. And the reason it's important for us to remember this last word in terms of completion is so that we can know that Christ completed it and we don't need to, nor can we, add to it.
Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.
This final word from Christ on the cross is another quotation from a Psalm. Here are the first 5 verses:
Psalm 31
1 In you, O LORD, I have taken refuge;
let me never be put to shame;
deliver me in your righteousness.
2 Turn your ear to me,
come quickly to my rescue;
be my rock of refuge,
a strong fortress to save me.
3 Since you are my rock and my fortress,
for the sake of your name lead and guide me.
4 Free me from the trap that is set for me,
for you are my refuge.
5 Into your hands I commit my spirit;
redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.
Psalm 31 begins with petition for deliverance. To quote this means that Jesus asks to be delivered after he has already suffered. The implication is that Jesus is already pointing to the resurrection, right there from the cross. He would not be delivered from suffering and death, but there would be something beyond this, something wonderful.
Jesus went ahead and pointed to Easter. Easter is nearly here. Lent is nearly complete. While we know tetelestai, it is finished, we also know our spirits are committed into the hands of God who moves in us and with us, showering us with grace as we live as Easter people. We need not do anything for our salvation, but God doesn't leave us to sit on our heels. May we, as Easter people, live our lives to the glory and honor of God who creates, redeems, and sustains us.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Lent 39
5. I am thirsty.
I went to a Good Friday service this evening that was a Seven Last Words and Tenebrae Service. While the pastors read each word and the passages that went with them, I tried to stay centered and reflect on the word. When we got to this word, I kept flashing on a memory. I remember a retreat I attended when I was in high school. The theme was "Come to the Water" and during each session we sang the song "For Those Tears I Died." Come to the water, stand by side. I know you are thirsty. You won't be denied. I felt every teardrop, when in darkness you cried. And I strove to remind you, for those tears I died. (M. and R. Stevens Jesus made a simple statement from the cross. I am thirsty. What a natural human urge! Thirst! And they gave him sour wine to drink, hardly a thirst-quencher. What I remember from that retreat was a feeling of my cup being full. I remember feeling spiritually fed. I had drawn near to the living water and was not denied.
On this Good Friday, I am reminded of the thirst of Jesus Christ was so that I might never thirst again. Except that I am thirsty. I am not thirsty for sour wine but for the new wine, the new wine of the kingdom. Hearing Jesus utter words and a request so human tells me once again of the importance and wonder of the incarnation. "We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God" (Barbara Brown Taylor, Altar in the World). I hunger and thirst, not to know more about God, but just for more God.
I went to a Good Friday service this evening that was a Seven Last Words and Tenebrae Service. While the pastors read each word and the passages that went with them, I tried to stay centered and reflect on the word. When we got to this word, I kept flashing on a memory. I remember a retreat I attended when I was in high school. The theme was "Come to the Water" and during each session we sang the song "For Those Tears I Died." Come to the water, stand by side. I know you are thirsty. You won't be denied. I felt every teardrop, when in darkness you cried. And I strove to remind you, for those tears I died. (M. and R. Stevens Jesus made a simple statement from the cross. I am thirsty. What a natural human urge! Thirst! And they gave him sour wine to drink, hardly a thirst-quencher. What I remember from that retreat was a feeling of my cup being full. I remember feeling spiritually fed. I had drawn near to the living water and was not denied.
On this Good Friday, I am reminded of the thirst of Jesus Christ was so that I might never thirst again. Except that I am thirsty. I am not thirsty for sour wine but for the new wine, the new wine of the kingdom. Hearing Jesus utter words and a request so human tells me once again of the importance and wonder of the incarnation. "We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God" (Barbara Brown Taylor, Altar in the World). I hunger and thirst, not to know more about God, but just for more God.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Lent 38
4. My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?
More honest words have never been spoken. If you've never asked this question, I either don't believe you or you're fortunate not to have had to cry out in desperation.
I've spent a significant portion of my day today talking about the death of my father. I wrote about him for a CPE assignment and I couldn't help but carry him with me on this day which is so focused on pointing towards the cross and death of Christ. The death of my father represents the great sadness of my life up to this point. He died in the first semester of my first year of seminary. You might think that being surrounded by a community of pastors and pastors-in-training would be a good place to experience loss and grief. You might be wrong about that. Because everywhere I turned, I couldn't escape people who shouted praises to a God whose steadfast love will always sustain us. I didn't feel that so much. I didn't doubt God existed. I only doubted God's caring about me. I stopped praying. I only went through the motions of school because I didn't want to quit. I was lonely and depressed, in the pits of despair. I was truly crying out, My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?! After a while, I worked through my grief and learned that my crying out was better than turning away at all.
I spend a lot of time talking to folks about how it's okay to question and to be angry and to feel whatever it is they feel about their situations and about God. Somewhere along the way we got this idea that we cannot ever question God. The psalmist sure missed that memo.
I understand that everything Jesus did wasn't just for my peace and comfort. I realize that I am also meant to be challenged and guided and all that, but here again, I find myself comforted by Jesus crying out on the cross. My God, my God why have you abandoned me? Jesus cried out in that way, and I know that's the natural response to crisis.
Psalm 130
1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
2 O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.
5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
6 My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.
More honest words have never been spoken. If you've never asked this question, I either don't believe you or you're fortunate not to have had to cry out in desperation.
I've spent a significant portion of my day today talking about the death of my father. I wrote about him for a CPE assignment and I couldn't help but carry him with me on this day which is so focused on pointing towards the cross and death of Christ. The death of my father represents the great sadness of my life up to this point. He died in the first semester of my first year of seminary. You might think that being surrounded by a community of pastors and pastors-in-training would be a good place to experience loss and grief. You might be wrong about that. Because everywhere I turned, I couldn't escape people who shouted praises to a God whose steadfast love will always sustain us. I didn't feel that so much. I didn't doubt God existed. I only doubted God's caring about me. I stopped praying. I only went through the motions of school because I didn't want to quit. I was lonely and depressed, in the pits of despair. I was truly crying out, My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?! After a while, I worked through my grief and learned that my crying out was better than turning away at all.
I spend a lot of time talking to folks about how it's okay to question and to be angry and to feel whatever it is they feel about their situations and about God. Somewhere along the way we got this idea that we cannot ever question God. The psalmist sure missed that memo.
I understand that everything Jesus did wasn't just for my peace and comfort. I realize that I am also meant to be challenged and guided and all that, but here again, I find myself comforted by Jesus crying out on the cross. My God, my God why have you abandoned me? Jesus cried out in that way, and I know that's the natural response to crisis.
Psalm 130
1 Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
2 O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.
3 If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.
5 I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
6 My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 O Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Lent 37
3. Woman, here is your son.
I spent a while in a hospital room today with a patient and her husband. When I walked into the room, I got my hand sanitizer and introduced myself as the chaplain. The patient, in a strained voice filled with tears said, "We need help." This moment of panic flashed in front of me because her plea for help seemed urgent and I immediately wondered what I needed to do. I asked her what was going on and she choked back tears and told me about her condition. She's a mess. She really is. I pulled up a chair so that I could sit close to both the patient and her husband. Her husband proceeded to tell me the story of his wife's accident and all about their lives and struggles. I responded politely through his stories with "holy hmms" and "that must be hard" and "oh, I'm sorry to hear that" knowing that I would eventually ask those spiritual assessment questions that ask about sources of strength and joy and faithful coping mechanisms. And then he got quiet, and said, "Ma'am, I need you to tell me why? Why would God, the God who this woman beside me has done nothing but love and serve all her life without ever saying an unkind word, why would God let this woman suffer?" My spiritual assessment questions which, I must admit, serve to distance me a little from the patient and his/her struggle at times went out the window. I snapped back to reality and I faced this man in a moment of pure human honesty and pain.
It's very easy to over-spiritualize the cross. The cross is a whole lot less messy if we keep it in view only as a corner of the screen that really centers on Easter morning and the Resurrection. Jesus suffered and died, BUT Jesus rose. Sure. But Jesus suffered and died. When Jesus scans the crowd from the cross, he notices his mother. "Woman, here is your son." To think of Jesus as a man, with a mother, is a lot harder to swallow. These words of Jesus bring to us a sense of horror about the scene because we are forced to see this torture and death through the eyes of his mother.
The humanness of Jesus is something that is so important to me that it's something I identify as a cornerstone of my own faith. Yet, somehow, even as I consider it so important, I seem to rush past it when it seems too tough to handle. So often when I sit with dying patients, their minds go to the loved ones they know they'll soon leave behind. This is a very human thing. "Woman, here is your son." As uncomfortable as it may be, I commit to take the next couple of days of this Holy Week to sit with the messiness of the man rather than rushing to the glory of the divine.
I spent a while in a hospital room today with a patient and her husband. When I walked into the room, I got my hand sanitizer and introduced myself as the chaplain. The patient, in a strained voice filled with tears said, "We need help." This moment of panic flashed in front of me because her plea for help seemed urgent and I immediately wondered what I needed to do. I asked her what was going on and she choked back tears and told me about her condition. She's a mess. She really is. I pulled up a chair so that I could sit close to both the patient and her husband. Her husband proceeded to tell me the story of his wife's accident and all about their lives and struggles. I responded politely through his stories with "holy hmms" and "that must be hard" and "oh, I'm sorry to hear that" knowing that I would eventually ask those spiritual assessment questions that ask about sources of strength and joy and faithful coping mechanisms. And then he got quiet, and said, "Ma'am, I need you to tell me why? Why would God, the God who this woman beside me has done nothing but love and serve all her life without ever saying an unkind word, why would God let this woman suffer?" My spiritual assessment questions which, I must admit, serve to distance me a little from the patient and his/her struggle at times went out the window. I snapped back to reality and I faced this man in a moment of pure human honesty and pain.
It's very easy to over-spiritualize the cross. The cross is a whole lot less messy if we keep it in view only as a corner of the screen that really centers on Easter morning and the Resurrection. Jesus suffered and died, BUT Jesus rose. Sure. But Jesus suffered and died. When Jesus scans the crowd from the cross, he notices his mother. "Woman, here is your son." To think of Jesus as a man, with a mother, is a lot harder to swallow. These words of Jesus bring to us a sense of horror about the scene because we are forced to see this torture and death through the eyes of his mother.
The humanness of Jesus is something that is so important to me that it's something I identify as a cornerstone of my own faith. Yet, somehow, even as I consider it so important, I seem to rush past it when it seems too tough to handle. So often when I sit with dying patients, their minds go to the loved ones they know they'll soon leave behind. This is a very human thing. "Woman, here is your son." As uncomfortable as it may be, I commit to take the next couple of days of this Holy Week to sit with the messiness of the man rather than rushing to the glory of the divine.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Lent 36
2. I assure you, today you will be with me in paradise.
I try so hard to find the right things to do, the right things to say, even the right things to believe. Every day is another day I struggle to live my life in a way that is pleasing to God and to be a faithful follower. The most difficult to understand of Christ's last words is the one that I strangely find the most comfort in hearing. The man hanging next to Jesus was not one of his followers. The one memorable thing that man said was, "Jesus, remember me." And scripture tells us that Jesus said, "Today you will be with me in paradise."
Jesus, remember me. I am reminded of a saying that I've heard quoted in at least a couple of places but have never found out who said it, precisely. A monk once said, "Father, I don't always know the right thing to do, but I think the fact that I want to please you pleases you." I still want to find the right thing to do. I still want to grow in holiness and to have the mind that was in Christ. But as I fail in my struggle, Jesus, remember me. And I find grace in the knowledge of God's transcendent grace, transcendent because it is freely offered and I don't have to earn it. Jesus, remember me.
Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.
Let the words I say confess my love.
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune.
Father, let my heart be after you.
-Needtobreathe, Garden
I try so hard to find the right things to do, the right things to say, even the right things to believe. Every day is another day I struggle to live my life in a way that is pleasing to God and to be a faithful follower. The most difficult to understand of Christ's last words is the one that I strangely find the most comfort in hearing. The man hanging next to Jesus was not one of his followers. The one memorable thing that man said was, "Jesus, remember me." And scripture tells us that Jesus said, "Today you will be with me in paradise."
Jesus, remember me. I am reminded of a saying that I've heard quoted in at least a couple of places but have never found out who said it, precisely. A monk once said, "Father, I don't always know the right thing to do, but I think the fact that I want to please you pleases you." I still want to find the right thing to do. I still want to grow in holiness and to have the mind that was in Christ. But as I fail in my struggle, Jesus, remember me. And I find grace in the knowledge of God's transcendent grace, transcendent because it is freely offered and I don't have to earn it. Jesus, remember me.
Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.
Let the words I say confess my love.
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune.
Father, let my heart be after you.
-Needtobreathe, Garden
Monday, March 29, 2010
Lent 35
Welcome to Holy Week, the week between Palm Sunday and Easter, the final week of Lent. There is a church tradition that honors the seven last words of Christ as he faced the end of his suffering, and in the spirit of that tradition, I offer these Holy Week reflections.
1. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Forgiveness. What a mighty and wonderful, good word. Jesus has been beaten, ridiculed, and now hangs on a cross, an instrument of torture and death. What are his first words from the cross? Words of forgiveness. Of course those would be his first words from what we now perceive as the very symbol of forgiveness. We began Lent with the dirt and ashes that reminded us to repent and believe the gospel. Here, at the end of Lent, we are offered this word of forgiveness for all those times when we've failed to do just that. I give thanks for the mighty and wonderful, good word that Christ offered to those who literally beat him and killed him and for me, a sinner in need of the grace of God.
I don't know who wrote the following litany, so forgive the possible copyright violation. I came across it a while back and return to it from time to time.
For those who have betrayed us...for those who have let us down...for those who have been indifferent to us...for those who have crippled our lives...for those who have doubted us...for those who have accused us...for those who have preferred others to us...for family members who have hurt us...for those who have denied us...for those who have walked away from us... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy, hear our prayer.
For my own self pity...for my lukewarmness...for my times of despair and distrust... for my refusals to be hugged...for my disbelief in your love...for my searching everywhere but in your heart...for apologies frozen on my lips... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change, and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy, hear our prayer.
For my words of love unspoken...for greetings and embraces ungiven...for compliments never offered...for a heart closed in self-centeredness...for my own unforgiving postures...for not believing in your forgiveness... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy hear our prayer. AMEN.
1. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Forgiveness. What a mighty and wonderful, good word. Jesus has been beaten, ridiculed, and now hangs on a cross, an instrument of torture and death. What are his first words from the cross? Words of forgiveness. Of course those would be his first words from what we now perceive as the very symbol of forgiveness. We began Lent with the dirt and ashes that reminded us to repent and believe the gospel. Here, at the end of Lent, we are offered this word of forgiveness for all those times when we've failed to do just that. I give thanks for the mighty and wonderful, good word that Christ offered to those who literally beat him and killed him and for me, a sinner in need of the grace of God.
I don't know who wrote the following litany, so forgive the possible copyright violation. I came across it a while back and return to it from time to time.
For those who have betrayed us...for those who have let us down...for those who have been indifferent to us...for those who have crippled our lives...for those who have doubted us...for those who have accused us...for those who have preferred others to us...for family members who have hurt us...for those who have denied us...for those who have walked away from us... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy, hear our prayer.
For my own self pity...for my lukewarmness...for my times of despair and distrust... for my refusals to be hugged...for my disbelief in your love...for my searching everywhere but in your heart...for apologies frozen on my lips... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change, and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy, hear our prayer.
For my words of love unspoken...for greetings and embraces ungiven...for compliments never offered...for a heart closed in self-centeredness...for my own unforgiving postures...for not believing in your forgiveness... We ask the power of your forgiveness, the gift of change and the grace of hope...
Hear our prayer, hear our prayer, God of mercy hear our prayer. AMEN.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Lent 34
I bet on a horse today, sort of. We put in a dollar a race and you drew your horse's name out of a cup rather than picking on your own. It was a just a way to get excited about the race, but I can tell you, it worked. I was super excited about my horse Waracha, #6 with the jockey in an argyle sweater. When Waracha came out cantering to warm up, everyone made fun of my horse and ribbed me about the bet because Waracha was having to be escorted because he was antsy and fighting against his reins. While all the other horses were showing off, cantering with heads held high, my horse was trotting sideways. You know, though? When the gun went off and the race started, Waracha kicked it in gear and took off, straight as can be, a full 4 lengths ahead of the others. When it was all said and done, Waracha didn't win. Another horse pulled ahead, but Waracha ran the race well, despite what everyone thought of him before the whole thing started.
When Jesus selected his disciples who would follow him, he didn't pick the ones who walked well. He didn't pick the desirable ones. He picked from the low class and the unpopular. Jesus didn't pick for status. Jesus used some folks who society didn't really care much about and he worked with them. God has a habit of taking what's broken and using it. It doesn't always shine or win, but God also has a habit of never giving up and never ceasing to love and offer grace.
When Jesus selected his disciples who would follow him, he didn't pick the ones who walked well. He didn't pick the desirable ones. He picked from the low class and the unpopular. Jesus didn't pick for status. Jesus used some folks who society didn't really care much about and he worked with them. God has a habit of taking what's broken and using it. It doesn't always shine or win, but God also has a habit of never giving up and never ceasing to love and offer grace.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Lent 33
In CPE this week, we were asked to reflect on one significant "encounter with the holy" and I found that it is so typical of me to encounter the holy this way (posted below). How do you encounter "the holy" and how or what do you perceive "the holy" to be?
On a Wesley Foundation retreat in college, we traveled to the Methodist summer camp, Asbury Hills. Because a storm had come through recently, a bridge was washed out that meant we couldn’t use the regular indoor meeting facility. This meant we hiked up a mountain trail to an outdoor shelter for all of the Bible study and worship events of the weekend. The guest speaker was a campus minister who had never done one of these events before and found herself a little unprepared for the amount of programming she had to fill. As a result, we spent the entire weekend reflecting on one Bible passage, two short verses. 1 Kings 19:11-12 was the passage she chose. There was no big lecture and no in-depth Bible study. When we gathered the first time that weekend on the side of a mountain in the midst of nature, she read, “He said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” We spent the weekend in quiet reflection, on a mountain.
After one of the sessions, we were challenged to go off and spend some time alone, seeking the silence and stillness that the outdoor setting offered. I wandered down the hill a little ways and found a nice spot away from other students. It was a very spiritual experience for me. I reflected upon God and God in my life. I got this sense of being so small, yet I experienced a great sense of peace. Silence and stillness is something I crave, something I long for in life. My life is always so busy and hectic that sometimes I feel disconnected from everything, a rag doll bouncing around. To refill my cup, so to speak, I seek God in the quiet space, the sheer silence. What that encounter with the holy taught me is that I have to find space and time to get out of the way. Sometimes I, and the busyness of life, get in the way and I don’t recognize God’s presence. The fact that the speaker wasn’t prepared and thus kept us from being overprogrammed, meant that nothing was in the way.
May we all find the holy in our lives, however God comes to us.
On a Wesley Foundation retreat in college, we traveled to the Methodist summer camp, Asbury Hills. Because a storm had come through recently, a bridge was washed out that meant we couldn’t use the regular indoor meeting facility. This meant we hiked up a mountain trail to an outdoor shelter for all of the Bible study and worship events of the weekend. The guest speaker was a campus minister who had never done one of these events before and found herself a little unprepared for the amount of programming she had to fill. As a result, we spent the entire weekend reflecting on one Bible passage, two short verses. 1 Kings 19:11-12 was the passage she chose. There was no big lecture and no in-depth Bible study. When we gathered the first time that weekend on the side of a mountain in the midst of nature, she read, “He said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” We spent the weekend in quiet reflection, on a mountain.
After one of the sessions, we were challenged to go off and spend some time alone, seeking the silence and stillness that the outdoor setting offered. I wandered down the hill a little ways and found a nice spot away from other students. It was a very spiritual experience for me. I reflected upon God and God in my life. I got this sense of being so small, yet I experienced a great sense of peace. Silence and stillness is something I crave, something I long for in life. My life is always so busy and hectic that sometimes I feel disconnected from everything, a rag doll bouncing around. To refill my cup, so to speak, I seek God in the quiet space, the sheer silence. What that encounter with the holy taught me is that I have to find space and time to get out of the way. Sometimes I, and the busyness of life, get in the way and I don’t recognize God’s presence. The fact that the speaker wasn’t prepared and thus kept us from being overprogrammed, meant that nothing was in the way.
May we all find the holy in our lives, however God comes to us.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Lent 32
You have heard it said...But I say... - Jesus
I'm working on putting together a case study at the hospital about a situation that came up recently. This little project is requiring me to talk to a whole bunch of people and get their various perspectives on a case. Last week, when this whole thing came up, it seemed so cut and dry. The case was presented to me by one person and I heard her viewpoint and I thought, well, that's it then. But then today, I talked to another person involved in the case. And it was almost like she was describing a completely different situation. The perspective changed and it seemed the whole thing changed all together.
I've done a lot of talking about sitz im lieben lately, which is a super cool sounding German epistemological term that basically means that you can only know what you know from where you are sitting. Basically, I KNOW something, but I know it through the lens of a middle-class, white, Southern, theologically trained, Christian, female eyes. Likewise, someone else might know something through poverty stricken, non-English speaking, immigrant, Asian, male eyes.
Scripture is a little like that, I suppose. For one thing, I am going to read the text differently than someone else, but there is also the gospel lens. I've been arguing, quite spiritedly, with one of my peers lately about interpretation of scripture. He considers biblical "commands" compulsory if they appear in both the Old Testament and the New Testament. His interpretation of scripture seems as simple as that. For me, I read everything through the lens of the love ethic of the gospel. That is my lens. That is how I know what I know. God loves us. God wants us to love God and to love one another. We are created, redeemed, and sustained by God's grace. But, I have to also recognize that how I understand this lens is through my own sitz im lieben. I don't know how we come together. I don't know how the gap gets bridged, but for sure, the place to start is to recognize that we know what we know in different ways for different reasons.
I'm working on putting together a case study at the hospital about a situation that came up recently. This little project is requiring me to talk to a whole bunch of people and get their various perspectives on a case. Last week, when this whole thing came up, it seemed so cut and dry. The case was presented to me by one person and I heard her viewpoint and I thought, well, that's it then. But then today, I talked to another person involved in the case. And it was almost like she was describing a completely different situation. The perspective changed and it seemed the whole thing changed all together.
I've done a lot of talking about sitz im lieben lately, which is a super cool sounding German epistemological term that basically means that you can only know what you know from where you are sitting. Basically, I KNOW something, but I know it through the lens of a middle-class, white, Southern, theologically trained, Christian, female eyes. Likewise, someone else might know something through poverty stricken, non-English speaking, immigrant, Asian, male eyes.
Scripture is a little like that, I suppose. For one thing, I am going to read the text differently than someone else, but there is also the gospel lens. I've been arguing, quite spiritedly, with one of my peers lately about interpretation of scripture. He considers biblical "commands" compulsory if they appear in both the Old Testament and the New Testament. His interpretation of scripture seems as simple as that. For me, I read everything through the lens of the love ethic of the gospel. That is my lens. That is how I know what I know. God loves us. God wants us to love God and to love one another. We are created, redeemed, and sustained by God's grace. But, I have to also recognize that how I understand this lens is through my own sitz im lieben. I don't know how we come together. I don't know how the gap gets bridged, but for sure, the place to start is to recognize that we know what we know in different ways for different reasons.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Lent 31
Someone at work shared this poem with me today. It's called The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I'll let it stand alone as today's entry.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can
disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can
disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Lent 30
Anger is a funny thing. When it boils up inside, it has to come out, somehow. When it doesn't, that's when even more serious problems creep out. Mind you, there are healthy and responsible ways to let anger out and not so healthy and responsible ways.
I said at least a couple of times today that anger is my favorite stage of grief, though I may have said it somewhat sarcastically. Anger does, indeed, have the most potential for some very interesting manifestations. The chaplain takes on many roles in her job. Sometimes she is confessor. Sometimes she is simply listening ear. Sometimes she is spiritual resource. Sometimes she is minister of ritual. And just sometimes, she is punching bag. Today, I filled the punching bag role, and I'd like to add that I fulfilled this role with as much grace and charm as is befitting of a Southern lady. At the deathbed of his father, a young man, without any provocation other than I was not the chaplain he hoped to see, went absolute nutso and cursed at me, about me, and near me for a couple of minutes. Then his mother, the patient's wife, and I were sharing a tender moment. I reached out and touched her shoulder and almost came back with a nub. She shouted "Don't touch me!", yelled at me a little, freaked out and after another moment or two, she got up and ran away from me. (Pretty much love my job some days...)
Like I said, anger really is a funny thing because it's outlets really are unpredictable. They weren't--at least I don't think--angry at me, personally. But their grief mixed with guilt came out in anger and it had to go somewhere. They didn't feel like they could be mad at their deceased family member (though my hunch is, that's who they were really mad at) so I became the object of all their anger. At first I felt really frustrated by my 15 minutes in the room, thinking it was a train wreck, but after a bit, I realized that just maybe I shouldn't beat up on those folks too bad. They were just angry, after all.
This evening, I've been trying to imagine "angry Jesus." I wonder what it must have been like sitting on the steps at the Temple, resting my tired feet, and then all of a sudden being drawn into commotion because that Jesus fella seems to have gone absolutely nutso and is flipping tables over and admonishing people for doing things they'd been doing there in the Temple for a while. I kind of like the wild Jesus I picture in my mind right then and there.
I said at least a couple of times today that anger is my favorite stage of grief, though I may have said it somewhat sarcastically. Anger does, indeed, have the most potential for some very interesting manifestations. The chaplain takes on many roles in her job. Sometimes she is confessor. Sometimes she is simply listening ear. Sometimes she is spiritual resource. Sometimes she is minister of ritual. And just sometimes, she is punching bag. Today, I filled the punching bag role, and I'd like to add that I fulfilled this role with as much grace and charm as is befitting of a Southern lady. At the deathbed of his father, a young man, without any provocation other than I was not the chaplain he hoped to see, went absolute nutso and cursed at me, about me, and near me for a couple of minutes. Then his mother, the patient's wife, and I were sharing a tender moment. I reached out and touched her shoulder and almost came back with a nub. She shouted "Don't touch me!", yelled at me a little, freaked out and after another moment or two, she got up and ran away from me. (Pretty much love my job some days...)
Like I said, anger really is a funny thing because it's outlets really are unpredictable. They weren't--at least I don't think--angry at me, personally. But their grief mixed with guilt came out in anger and it had to go somewhere. They didn't feel like they could be mad at their deceased family member (though my hunch is, that's who they were really mad at) so I became the object of all their anger. At first I felt really frustrated by my 15 minutes in the room, thinking it was a train wreck, but after a bit, I realized that just maybe I shouldn't beat up on those folks too bad. They were just angry, after all.
This evening, I've been trying to imagine "angry Jesus." I wonder what it must have been like sitting on the steps at the Temple, resting my tired feet, and then all of a sudden being drawn into commotion because that Jesus fella seems to have gone absolutely nutso and is flipping tables over and admonishing people for doing things they'd been doing there in the Temple for a while. I kind of like the wild Jesus I picture in my mind right then and there.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Len 29
I'm going to stand up on a soapbox, though frankly I don't think I have the energy this deserves. But, I believe in the separation of church and state. That view is less than popular here in the Bible Belt, but a lot of my views and opinions are less than popular so it's neither here nor there. Why, on this night do I care about the separation of church and state? Because I was watching the news and I heard about the Spartanburg County Council controversy over prayers in public meetings. Councilman Mintz prayed and "invocation" (I use quotes b/c I'm not sure he knows what the word means) that caused someone to finally speak up. He prayed a HEAVILY Christian prayer, and very patriarchal prayer, and he used God to push his agenda. His agenda = abortion is the cause of humanity's downfall, same-sex marriage is not only sinful but sick, and missionaries, soldiers, and cops are great. Regardless--seriously, regardless--of where I fall on any of these particular issues, I believe in the separation of church and state. I don't think we should pray in public meetings at all, but if we must, I wouldn't make any christological claims or manipulate God into promoting a side.
I don't want the state mandating how the church runs, so I am pretty much okay with the church staying hands off the state. Where my faith does influence me is that I have a vote in this representative government. My faith influences me just as I'm sure it influences you and everyone. We are given the opportunity to vote out of our own convictions. And if we believe in democracy, we have to trust it. That's the agenda pushing part of my soapbox. The other part, the part where I think prayer should stay out entirely, comes from the fact that I have a deep respect for everyone's right to religious freedom and expression. When we only allow one form of expression, we are denying others. I had this conversation with my mother and she said she wouldn't have any problem if a Jew or Muslim wanted to pray at the Council meeting. She would have a problem, though, and so would so many other people. The result would likely be that prayer in public meeting would cease. The message: pray our way or no prayer at all. Even still, it's never equal or fair.
I could have a lot more to say on the issue, but I won't. I feel pretty strongly about it, though. Sure, the church influences the state, but I think it only should insofar as it influences me.
I don't want the state mandating how the church runs, so I am pretty much okay with the church staying hands off the state. Where my faith does influence me is that I have a vote in this representative government. My faith influences me just as I'm sure it influences you and everyone. We are given the opportunity to vote out of our own convictions. And if we believe in democracy, we have to trust it. That's the agenda pushing part of my soapbox. The other part, the part where I think prayer should stay out entirely, comes from the fact that I have a deep respect for everyone's right to religious freedom and expression. When we only allow one form of expression, we are denying others. I had this conversation with my mother and she said she wouldn't have any problem if a Jew or Muslim wanted to pray at the Council meeting. She would have a problem, though, and so would so many other people. The result would likely be that prayer in public meeting would cease. The message: pray our way or no prayer at all. Even still, it's never equal or fair.
I could have a lot more to say on the issue, but I won't. I feel pretty strongly about it, though. Sure, the church influences the state, but I think it only should insofar as it influences me.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Lent 28
I heard a sermon a couple of years ago in which the pastor compared the Jewish experience of Passover to her own Christian lenses of how Christ changed the ritual. She noted that she has a Jewish friend who spends several days leading up to Passover completely gutting her house, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, and getting it completely spotless for the preparation for the Lord's coming. She noted how thankful she is that in Christ, we don't have to be clean and spotless for God in Christ to come to us and save us. And she was right. We are accepted just as we are. Lent, though, is sort of about that preparation, that growing toward God. We are accepted just as we are, but we also grow in holiness. I'm in need of some of that clearing the clutter, recentering, better prepared to receive grace kind of mind frame.
Come and Find the Quiet Center (words by Shirley Erena Murray) (TFWS 2128)
Come and find the quiet center,
in the crowded life we lead
find the room for hope to enter,
find the frame where we are freed:
clear the chaos and the clutter,
clear our eyes that we can see
all the things that really matter,
be at peace and simply be.
Silence is a friend who claims us,
cools the heat and slows the pace,
God it is who speaks and names us,
knows our being, touches base,
making space within our thinking,
lifting shades to show the sun,
raising courage when we’re shrinking,
finding scope for faith begun.
In the Spirit let us travel,
open to each other’s pain,
let our loves and fears unravel,
celebrate the space we gain:
there’s a place for deepest dreaming,
there’s a time for heart to care,
in the Spirit’s lively scheming
there is always room to spare!
Come and find the quiet center,
in the crowded life we lead
find the room for hope to enter,
find the frame where we are freed:
clear the chaos and the clutter,
clear our eyes that we can see
all the things that really matter,
be at peace and simply be.
O God, you have let me pass the day in peace;
Let me pass the night in peace, O Lord who has no lord.
There is no strength but in you. You alone have no obligation.
Under your hand I pass the night. You are my Mother and my Father. Amen.
Come and Find the Quiet Center (words by Shirley Erena Murray) (TFWS 2128)
Come and find the quiet center,
in the crowded life we lead
find the room for hope to enter,
find the frame where we are freed:
clear the chaos and the clutter,
clear our eyes that we can see
all the things that really matter,
be at peace and simply be.
Silence is a friend who claims us,
cools the heat and slows the pace,
God it is who speaks and names us,
knows our being, touches base,
making space within our thinking,
lifting shades to show the sun,
raising courage when we’re shrinking,
finding scope for faith begun.
In the Spirit let us travel,
open to each other’s pain,
let our loves and fears unravel,
celebrate the space we gain:
there’s a place for deepest dreaming,
there’s a time for heart to care,
in the Spirit’s lively scheming
there is always room to spare!
Come and find the quiet center,
in the crowded life we lead
find the room for hope to enter,
find the frame where we are freed:
clear the chaos and the clutter,
clear our eyes that we can see
all the things that really matter,
be at peace and simply be.
O God, you have let me pass the day in peace;
Let me pass the night in peace, O Lord who has no lord.
There is no strength but in you. You alone have no obligation.
Under your hand I pass the night. You are my Mother and my Father. Amen.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Lent 27
I was thinking of my friend and mentor Chad today. I'm posting a reflection I wrote almost two years ago, not long after Chad's death. After 9 months working in the hospital, I find some of my reflections about the miracle of using someone's death for something/someone else a little more troubling than I did while still in seminary, but here it is anyway.
They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah will have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.” (Genesis 18:9-15 )
I was reading this passage and thinking on the surrounding Genesis narrative when I was reminded of a story a dear friend and mentor once told me. About 14 years ago, Chad needed a heart transplant. He was on the donor list, patiently waiting. The doctors in the upstate of South Carolina wanted him to stay close to the hospital because his worsening condition was moving him closer and closer to the top of the list. He and his wife had a lake cabin not too far from town so they had decided to go out there to stay while they waited, hoped, and prayed. Then the call came. A young man had been in a car accident. They had a heart for Chad. Chad told me that while he knew he needed the heart and should have been excited, he was upset by this. He told me he went out to the lake and prayed. The scene he described and picture he painted was beautiful and I couldn’t do it justice to retell it here, but the general point is, he felt like he was meeting directly with God in that moment. He prayed to God saying that he wanted to live, but he didn’t want to live this way. He didn’t want to take the heart of some poor teenager who’d had to die so he could live. He cried out to God for a miracle. Like Sarah, he’d forgotten to put all his trust in God. He’d forgotten that God often provides in ways we may not expect or understand. Then, in the silence of that moment, he realized that God had given him a miracle already. That young man was going to die anyway. But God had provided a miracle. Doctors had learned to give life where there was once only death. Organ donation is anonymous so Chad didn’t know the boy’s name. All he knew was that the boy was the one God would use to save him. Chad began to feel peace about the whole situation and was able to accept the heart that would keep him alive for another 14 years.
He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” (Genesis 15:5)
Chad was a staunch advocate for organ donation. He was a Methodist minister who connected that miracle moment to his faith and preached about it from the pulpit. He wrote about it. He retold that story over and over and over. He even went on radio shows to talk about it. On one such radio show not long after the transplant, he was retelling the story. He had described it just as he told me and said that a young teenage boy had been killed in a car accident in Spartanburg and had given him life. He gave the date of the accident and transplant. A couple of days later, Chad received a phone call. A woman had been listening to the radio show, and because of the details he’d given, she realized that Chad was talking about her son. She called the radio station and got his contact information and called him. They connected. She was grateful to learn of the way in which God had used her son to give life. She became very close to Chad’s family, visiting and staying in touch. She became a loved member of the family.
Do you believe in miracles? Do you recognize the hand of God guiding your life? I really believe that God’s love and God’s grace will have far-reaching effects on our lives. I believe in the body of Christ, my Christian family. I pray that one day I may be a miracle for one of them, one of you. I thank God for the miracle that you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, have been and will be for me. The grace of God is upon us, working in us just as it did for Abraham and Sarah and Chad and countless others. There is nothing too great for our God.
They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah will have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.” (Genesis 18:9-15 )
I was reading this passage and thinking on the surrounding Genesis narrative when I was reminded of a story a dear friend and mentor once told me. About 14 years ago, Chad needed a heart transplant. He was on the donor list, patiently waiting. The doctors in the upstate of South Carolina wanted him to stay close to the hospital because his worsening condition was moving him closer and closer to the top of the list. He and his wife had a lake cabin not too far from town so they had decided to go out there to stay while they waited, hoped, and prayed. Then the call came. A young man had been in a car accident. They had a heart for Chad. Chad told me that while he knew he needed the heart and should have been excited, he was upset by this. He told me he went out to the lake and prayed. The scene he described and picture he painted was beautiful and I couldn’t do it justice to retell it here, but the general point is, he felt like he was meeting directly with God in that moment. He prayed to God saying that he wanted to live, but he didn’t want to live this way. He didn’t want to take the heart of some poor teenager who’d had to die so he could live. He cried out to God for a miracle. Like Sarah, he’d forgotten to put all his trust in God. He’d forgotten that God often provides in ways we may not expect or understand. Then, in the silence of that moment, he realized that God had given him a miracle already. That young man was going to die anyway. But God had provided a miracle. Doctors had learned to give life where there was once only death. Organ donation is anonymous so Chad didn’t know the boy’s name. All he knew was that the boy was the one God would use to save him. Chad began to feel peace about the whole situation and was able to accept the heart that would keep him alive for another 14 years.
He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” (Genesis 15:5)
Chad was a staunch advocate for organ donation. He was a Methodist minister who connected that miracle moment to his faith and preached about it from the pulpit. He wrote about it. He retold that story over and over and over. He even went on radio shows to talk about it. On one such radio show not long after the transplant, he was retelling the story. He had described it just as he told me and said that a young teenage boy had been killed in a car accident in Spartanburg and had given him life. He gave the date of the accident and transplant. A couple of days later, Chad received a phone call. A woman had been listening to the radio show, and because of the details he’d given, she realized that Chad was talking about her son. She called the radio station and got his contact information and called him. They connected. She was grateful to learn of the way in which God had used her son to give life. She became very close to Chad’s family, visiting and staying in touch. She became a loved member of the family.
Do you believe in miracles? Do you recognize the hand of God guiding your life? I really believe that God’s love and God’s grace will have far-reaching effects on our lives. I believe in the body of Christ, my Christian family. I pray that one day I may be a miracle for one of them, one of you. I thank God for the miracle that you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, have been and will be for me. The grace of God is upon us, working in us just as it did for Abraham and Sarah and Chad and countless others. There is nothing too great for our God.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Lent 26
At Gibeon the LORD appeared to Solomon during the night in a dream, and God said, "Ask for whatever you want me to give you." Solomon answered, "You have shown great kindness to your servant, my father David, because he was faithful to you and righteous and upright in heart. You have continued this great kindness to him and have given him a son to sit on his throne this very day. "Now, O LORD my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David. But I am only a little child and do not know how to carry out my duties. Your servant is here among the people you have chosen, a great people, too numerous to count or number. So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong. For who is able to govern this great people of yours?" The Lord was pleased that Solomon had asked for this. So God said to him, "Since you have asked for this and not for long life or wealth for yourself, nor have asked for the death of your enemies but for discernment in administering justice, I will do what you have asked. I will give you a wise and discerning heart, so that there will never have been anyone like you, nor will there ever be. -1 Kings 3:5-12
If I examine my prayer life and think about all the things I pray about and for the things I pray for myself, I most frequently pray for wisdom. God, give me your wisdom, give me a discerning heart. I want to make good decisions, to know the right thing to do. When thinking about wisdom, the biblical figure who most readily comes to mind is Solomon. I’ve heard sermons and bible studies on this story, and often I’ve heard of the great shining example of faithfulness and selflessness of Solomon, but in reading the whole story of the wise king, I’m left a bit troubled. That’s because Solomon, like his father, David, before him is a complicated character. That guy screwed up as many things as he got right. He is a struggling combination of both saint and sinner. I mean, when we read about Solomon dreaming at Gibeon, the story follows right after the account of him sacrificing on another god's altar.
And even still, God comes to him, questions him, listens to him, receives him, and blesses him. The reason I bring this up is that in Solomon's dream it is God's response, rather than Solomon's, that is worthy of praise. This was not Solomon's aha moment in which he turned a corner and made all wise choices from here on out. Solomon’s life was a mixture of both wise and very unwise moments. However, the good news for Solomon is that in spite of every action God did not leave him alone or leave a promise unfulfilled. Time and time again God speaks with Solomon about his actions both faithful and unfaithful. And God continued to use Solomon to accomplish God’s plan for the Israelites. See, what I love about this story is not that Solomon gave the right answer, but that as Solomon struggled and so often got it wrong, God continued to be the God of grace and forgiveness.
I pray for wisdom and I get it right and I screw it up in probably equal measure. But God still uses me, a broken human being. Praise be to God whose wisdom passes all my own understanding.
If I examine my prayer life and think about all the things I pray about and for the things I pray for myself, I most frequently pray for wisdom. God, give me your wisdom, give me a discerning heart. I want to make good decisions, to know the right thing to do. When thinking about wisdom, the biblical figure who most readily comes to mind is Solomon. I’ve heard sermons and bible studies on this story, and often I’ve heard of the great shining example of faithfulness and selflessness of Solomon, but in reading the whole story of the wise king, I’m left a bit troubled. That’s because Solomon, like his father, David, before him is a complicated character. That guy screwed up as many things as he got right. He is a struggling combination of both saint and sinner. I mean, when we read about Solomon dreaming at Gibeon, the story follows right after the account of him sacrificing on another god's altar.
And even still, God comes to him, questions him, listens to him, receives him, and blesses him. The reason I bring this up is that in Solomon's dream it is God's response, rather than Solomon's, that is worthy of praise. This was not Solomon's aha moment in which he turned a corner and made all wise choices from here on out. Solomon’s life was a mixture of both wise and very unwise moments. However, the good news for Solomon is that in spite of every action God did not leave him alone or leave a promise unfulfilled. Time and time again God speaks with Solomon about his actions both faithful and unfaithful. And God continued to use Solomon to accomplish God’s plan for the Israelites. See, what I love about this story is not that Solomon gave the right answer, but that as Solomon struggled and so often got it wrong, God continued to be the God of grace and forgiveness.
I pray for wisdom and I get it right and I screw it up in probably equal measure. But God still uses me, a broken human being. Praise be to God whose wisdom passes all my own understanding.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Lent 25
It's been quite a night here at good ol' SRH and it's not even midnight yet. Between upset patients, contact precautions, code blues, rapid responses... I wonder why I'm stopping to do such a silly thing as blog about it. Well, it's a Lenten promise for one thing, but even more importantly, I REdiscovered something tonight...
I've talked to other chaplains and evidently I'm not the only who goes through this, but I go through waves of total desensitization and waves of raw emotion in my job. It had been a while since I really "felt" anything. Sure, cases have stuck with me and I've felt sad or angry or whatever the appropriate emotion when talking about it with others, but it's been a couple of months at least since I've been truly moved by my job. It doesn't seem like I've been doing this long enough to already lose a sense of emotion, but you'd be surprised what sort of coping mechanisms creep up pretty quickly. I found the emotion tonight. And tonight, I am glad for that tiny little piece of scripture to remind me that "Jesus wept." It's helpful when you ask the WWJD question and you can say, with evidence, that Jesus would cry like a baby, and that gave me a pretty good feeling as I walked across the bridge from the Tower to the Main Building weeping openly. Hey, it's what Jesus would do.
I've been involved in at least 5 really tough cases tonight and obviously, I cannot talk about them here, but they have affected me and moved me and reminded me why my job is so good and so terrible all at the same time. I can't tell you their names or who their families are or even what's wrong with them, but I can REmember them. And when I say REmember them, I do not only wish to have memory of them, but to REmember them in the whole Biblical, anamnesis, re-membering, sense of the word. It's not good enough to just remember in the shallow sense, but I want to remember them in the sense that they should be understood as spiritual and embodied beings worthy of love and dignity and intimacy and all the things their illness has denied them. I REMEMBER those five people and their families and pray for grace and peace for them this night and all the nights here on out.
I've talked to other chaplains and evidently I'm not the only who goes through this, but I go through waves of total desensitization and waves of raw emotion in my job. It had been a while since I really "felt" anything. Sure, cases have stuck with me and I've felt sad or angry or whatever the appropriate emotion when talking about it with others, but it's been a couple of months at least since I've been truly moved by my job. It doesn't seem like I've been doing this long enough to already lose a sense of emotion, but you'd be surprised what sort of coping mechanisms creep up pretty quickly. I found the emotion tonight. And tonight, I am glad for that tiny little piece of scripture to remind me that "Jesus wept." It's helpful when you ask the WWJD question and you can say, with evidence, that Jesus would cry like a baby, and that gave me a pretty good feeling as I walked across the bridge from the Tower to the Main Building weeping openly. Hey, it's what Jesus would do.
I've been involved in at least 5 really tough cases tonight and obviously, I cannot talk about them here, but they have affected me and moved me and reminded me why my job is so good and so terrible all at the same time. I can't tell you their names or who their families are or even what's wrong with them, but I can REmember them. And when I say REmember them, I do not only wish to have memory of them, but to REmember them in the whole Biblical, anamnesis, re-membering, sense of the word. It's not good enough to just remember in the shallow sense, but I want to remember them in the sense that they should be understood as spiritual and embodied beings worthy of love and dignity and intimacy and all the things their illness has denied them. I REMEMBER those five people and their families and pray for grace and peace for them this night and all the nights here on out.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Lent 24
This CPE unit is all about sex. We are currently reading Homosexuality and Christian Faith edited by Walter Wink. It's a pretty good read. As we, as a CPE group, struggle together to find responsible language and the most loving response to one another, we've been spending a lot of time talking about homosexuality. I offer a couple of perspectives...
The UMC Social Principles (as found in the BOD, page 103-104) states that "We affirm that all persons are individuals of sacred worth, created in the image of God. All persons need the ministry of the Church in their struggles for human fulfillment, as well as the spiritual and emotional care of a fellowship that enables reconciling relationships with God, with others, and with self. The United Methodist Church does not condone the practice of homosexuality and consider this practice incompatible with Christian teaching. We affirm that God's grace is available to all. We will seek to live together in Christian community, welcoming, forgiving, and oving one another, as Christ has loved and accepted us. We implore families and churches not to reject or condemn lesbian and gay members and friends. We commit ourselves to be in ministry for and with all persons."
The intro to the Wink text is written by James Forbes, perhaps one of the most engaging preachers I've ever heard. He says, "Holy Ghost, talk to us. Some things are different now from the other days. Jesus, when you were preaching in the old days, people assumed the sexuality thing was basically that God made everybody heterosexual in orientation. Now, Jesus, the scientists and other people are telling us that we were deceived in that. That just as the bodies in heavens are different and the constellations are different, and just as in nature there are differences that we never noticed, that human beings are not all the same. That if you lined all of us up around the room, that we may be as different as you can imagine in our tastes, in our desires, in our approach, in what we would do with ourselves, in what would be a fulfilling relationship for us. Line us all up: even all of the straights are not the same. And all of the gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgendered folks don't have the same perspective. We are so different, and we ask the Holy Ghost: Holy Ghost, will you help us to walk around this circle and tell us, Holy Ghost, which ones of these you want us to put outside of the circle because they are an abomination in the sight of God?"
I don't know how I feel about this issue, or many others. I struggle through how I feel and what I think on a consistent basis. I am thankful that the UMC also commits to struggling through the issue. As I struggle, no matter what, I tend to fall on the side of love. Love your neighbor. Love your neighbor for all he or she is. I don't want to make the choice about who has to step out of the circle and who gets to stay in. I have faith that we--whoever we may be at any given point--can work toward faithful response, language, and love in all things.
The UMC Social Principles (as found in the BOD, page 103-104) states that "We affirm that all persons are individuals of sacred worth, created in the image of God. All persons need the ministry of the Church in their struggles for human fulfillment, as well as the spiritual and emotional care of a fellowship that enables reconciling relationships with God, with others, and with self. The United Methodist Church does not condone the practice of homosexuality and consider this practice incompatible with Christian teaching. We affirm that God's grace is available to all. We will seek to live together in Christian community, welcoming, forgiving, and oving one another, as Christ has loved and accepted us. We implore families and churches not to reject or condemn lesbian and gay members and friends. We commit ourselves to be in ministry for and with all persons."
The intro to the Wink text is written by James Forbes, perhaps one of the most engaging preachers I've ever heard. He says, "Holy Ghost, talk to us. Some things are different now from the other days. Jesus, when you were preaching in the old days, people assumed the sexuality thing was basically that God made everybody heterosexual in orientation. Now, Jesus, the scientists and other people are telling us that we were deceived in that. That just as the bodies in heavens are different and the constellations are different, and just as in nature there are differences that we never noticed, that human beings are not all the same. That if you lined all of us up around the room, that we may be as different as you can imagine in our tastes, in our desires, in our approach, in what we would do with ourselves, in what would be a fulfilling relationship for us. Line us all up: even all of the straights are not the same. And all of the gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgendered folks don't have the same perspective. We are so different, and we ask the Holy Ghost: Holy Ghost, will you help us to walk around this circle and tell us, Holy Ghost, which ones of these you want us to put outside of the circle because they are an abomination in the sight of God?"
I don't know how I feel about this issue, or many others. I struggle through how I feel and what I think on a consistent basis. I am thankful that the UMC also commits to struggling through the issue. As I struggle, no matter what, I tend to fall on the side of love. Love your neighbor. Love your neighbor for all he or she is. I don't want to make the choice about who has to step out of the circle and who gets to stay in. I have faith that we--whoever we may be at any given point--can work toward faithful response, language, and love in all things.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lent 23
"Here I raise mine Ebenezer; hither by thy help I'm come; and I hope by thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home." Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing is one of my favorite hymns. Have you ever wondered what that means--here I raise mine Ebenezer? I thought about it's meaning tonight while browsing the Letterboxing in America site. A friend of mine in Atlanta told me about letterboxing this weekend and sent me a whole list of letterboxes for me to search for right here in Greenwood. What is letterboxing, you may ask?
From letterboxing.org:
Letterboxing is an intriguing mix of treasure hunting, art, navigation, and exploring interesting, scenic, and sometimes remote places. It takes the ancient custom of placing a rock on a cairn upon reaching the summit of a mountain to an artform. It started when a gentleman simply left his calling card in a bottle by a remote pool on the moors of Dartmoor, in England.
Here's the basic idea: Someone hides a waterproof box somewhere (in a beautiful, interesting, or remote location) containing at least a logbook and a carved rubber stamp, and perhaps other goodies. The hider then usually writes directions to the box (called "clues" or "the map"), which can be straightforward, cryptic, or any degree in between. Often the clues involve map coordinates or compass bearings from landmarks, but they don't have to. Selecting a location and writing the clues is one aspect of the art.
Once the clues are written, hunters in possession of the clues attempt to find the box. In addition to the clue and any maps or tools needed to solve it, the hunter should carry at least a pencil, his personal rubber stamp, an inkpad, and his personal logbook. When the hunter successfully deciphers the clue and finds the box, he stamps the logbook in the box with his personal stamp, and stamps his personal logbook with the box's stamp. The box's logbook keeps a record of all its visitors, and the hunters keep a record of all the boxes they have found, in their personal logbooks.
Letterboxing reminded me of the biblical Ebenezer. Ebenezer, in its scriptural context, means "stone of help." After battling the Philistines with God's help, Samuel erects a memorial stone (1Sam. 7:12) as a symbol of God's help. He was basically saying, "The Lord has brought us safely this far." Where are those Ebenezers in your life that you thought to stop and think, God has brought me this far? I have to admit that I have not done a very good job of stopping and setting those benchmarks for myself. It's so easy to get lulled into the rhythm of life and forget that we're not doing this alone. We stop and think about God's movement in our lives when we need God or when something "out of the ordinary" happens. I'm going to try to be better at that, recognizing that every step is with God's help. Maybe as I search all over town for these letterboxes that's the message I'll stamp in the logbook. Here I raise my Ebenezer.
From letterboxing.org:
Letterboxing is an intriguing mix of treasure hunting, art, navigation, and exploring interesting, scenic, and sometimes remote places. It takes the ancient custom of placing a rock on a cairn upon reaching the summit of a mountain to an artform. It started when a gentleman simply left his calling card in a bottle by a remote pool on the moors of Dartmoor, in England.
Here's the basic idea: Someone hides a waterproof box somewhere (in a beautiful, interesting, or remote location) containing at least a logbook and a carved rubber stamp, and perhaps other goodies. The hider then usually writes directions to the box (called "clues" or "the map"), which can be straightforward, cryptic, or any degree in between. Often the clues involve map coordinates or compass bearings from landmarks, but they don't have to. Selecting a location and writing the clues is one aspect of the art.
Once the clues are written, hunters in possession of the clues attempt to find the box. In addition to the clue and any maps or tools needed to solve it, the hunter should carry at least a pencil, his personal rubber stamp, an inkpad, and his personal logbook. When the hunter successfully deciphers the clue and finds the box, he stamps the logbook in the box with his personal stamp, and stamps his personal logbook with the box's stamp. The box's logbook keeps a record of all its visitors, and the hunters keep a record of all the boxes they have found, in their personal logbooks.
Letterboxing reminded me of the biblical Ebenezer. Ebenezer, in its scriptural context, means "stone of help." After battling the Philistines with God's help, Samuel erects a memorial stone (1Sam. 7:12) as a symbol of God's help. He was basically saying, "The Lord has brought us safely this far." Where are those Ebenezers in your life that you thought to stop and think, God has brought me this far? I have to admit that I have not done a very good job of stopping and setting those benchmarks for myself. It's so easy to get lulled into the rhythm of life and forget that we're not doing this alone. We stop and think about God's movement in our lives when we need God or when something "out of the ordinary" happens. I'm going to try to be better at that, recognizing that every step is with God's help. Maybe as I search all over town for these letterboxes that's the message I'll stamp in the logbook. Here I raise my Ebenezer.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Lent 22
For the couple of people who actually follow this, my sincere apologies for posting a day late. It was like a Jewish Lent or something this week, taking a Saturday sabbath. Anyway...
On Thursday, I read about another of Glenn Beck's inflammatory tirades on his Fox News show and was more than a little displeased with what he said. Part of me says, oh that's just Glenn Beck being Glenn Beck, but the other part of me knows that a whole lot of people take him seriously. And this time he went after an area that I care a whole lot about, and that is, the church being about the business of the gospel. Glenn Beck says that if you belong to a church that cares about social justice, then you belong to a church that is using code words for communism and Nazism. I belong to a church (not just a local congregation, but a denomination) that over and over again affirms our commitment to social justice.
This morning, Rev. David Jones of Glenn Memorial UMC in Atlanta delivered a sermon in his sermon series on the Lord's Prayer. The topic this morning focused on the prayer's petition for the Lord to "give us this day our daily bread." Bible scholars let us know that the daily bread is a reference to the Israelites in the Exodus wilderness receiving daily manna that they were to gather daily and only enough for the day. As David Jones continued to flesh out the history of the daily bread, he made a statement that struck me deeply. He suggested that Jesus is not just teaching us a prayer in the Lord's prayer but teaching us about all manners of things. And one of the things we find when we pray--not to my father, but to our father--is that around God's table we should be learning to pass the bread from our father to our brothers and sisters.
When Jesus was asked, "Teacher, what is the greatest commandment?" his answer seemed like two separate things, but he was drawing the two together so that they could not be separated. First, love the Lord with all your heart, mind, and soul, and second, love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:36-40) The love of God and the love of neighbor cannot possibly be separated. To love God means to love neighbor and to love neighbor is an act of devotion towards God. When David Jones said this morning that the church ought to see itself as a bread truck, he got an Amen from me.
So, Glenn Beck, if you think me a communist, then so be it.
On Thursday, I read about another of Glenn Beck's inflammatory tirades on his Fox News show and was more than a little displeased with what he said. Part of me says, oh that's just Glenn Beck being Glenn Beck, but the other part of me knows that a whole lot of people take him seriously. And this time he went after an area that I care a whole lot about, and that is, the church being about the business of the gospel. Glenn Beck says that if you belong to a church that cares about social justice, then you belong to a church that is using code words for communism and Nazism. I belong to a church (not just a local congregation, but a denomination) that over and over again affirms our commitment to social justice.
This morning, Rev. David Jones of Glenn Memorial UMC in Atlanta delivered a sermon in his sermon series on the Lord's Prayer. The topic this morning focused on the prayer's petition for the Lord to "give us this day our daily bread." Bible scholars let us know that the daily bread is a reference to the Israelites in the Exodus wilderness receiving daily manna that they were to gather daily and only enough for the day. As David Jones continued to flesh out the history of the daily bread, he made a statement that struck me deeply. He suggested that Jesus is not just teaching us a prayer in the Lord's prayer but teaching us about all manners of things. And one of the things we find when we pray--not to my father, but to our father--is that around God's table we should be learning to pass the bread from our father to our brothers and sisters.
When Jesus was asked, "Teacher, what is the greatest commandment?" his answer seemed like two separate things, but he was drawing the two together so that they could not be separated. First, love the Lord with all your heart, mind, and soul, and second, love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:36-40) The love of God and the love of neighbor cannot possibly be separated. To love God means to love neighbor and to love neighbor is an act of devotion towards God. When David Jones said this morning that the church ought to see itself as a bread truck, he got an Amen from me.
So, Glenn Beck, if you think me a communist, then so be it.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Lent 21
Since I had to run out last night, I'll continue with my point. During days like I had yesterday, I find myself despising the symbol of Lent and craving the joy and assurance of Resurrection. Sometimes as a chaplain, I am disgusted with myself for the work that I know I have to do. Even more, I know that the work I have to do is good work, but it still feels so... I don't know... I don't know the right word, but I often find--and last night was no exception--that when things are going seriously wrong with a patient, family members are freaking out and scared but they cling to hope that their loved one is going to get better no matter the circumstances. And sometimes, most of the time, the chaplain's job is to ask the hard questions, to bring to the surface the reality that they already know somewhere inside them.
Last night, for instance, I walked into a very bad situation with a very sick patient. Her family was freaking out as they watched nurses and doctors frantically trying to get her stable. I asked the patient's daughter if she'd like to take a walk. We ended up walking down the hall and sitting in the family waiting room and the whole time she talked about hoping "they'd find out what's wrong and fix it" I was working the word "die" into the conversation as often as was possible and reminding her of her mother's mortality. "I hope so too. You know your mother is a very sick lady though, right? Have you thought..."
I asked hard questions in a whole range of ways and it was important for this woman to talk these things out, but when I returned to the on-call room, I felt covered in dust and ashes. In this time of year, especially, I try to connect my work to the season and right now, I'm crying out for Lent to be over. I want to shake the dust from my sandals and wipe the ashes from my forehead. Ready already for a Resurrection story.
Last night, for instance, I walked into a very bad situation with a very sick patient. Her family was freaking out as they watched nurses and doctors frantically trying to get her stable. I asked the patient's daughter if she'd like to take a walk. We ended up walking down the hall and sitting in the family waiting room and the whole time she talked about hoping "they'd find out what's wrong and fix it" I was working the word "die" into the conversation as often as was possible and reminding her of her mother's mortality. "I hope so too. You know your mother is a very sick lady though, right? Have you thought..."
I asked hard questions in a whole range of ways and it was important for this woman to talk these things out, but when I returned to the on-call room, I felt covered in dust and ashes. In this time of year, especially, I try to connect my work to the season and right now, I'm crying out for Lent to be over. I want to shake the dust from my sandals and wipe the ashes from my forehead. Ready already for a Resurrection story.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Lent 20
Halfway through Lent... You know, I've always said Lent is a liturgical season that I love, because the Christian calendar represents the seasons of life, really, and no life is without the dark stuff. I quote my friend in an Ash Wednesday reflection from a couple years ago about the precise feelings I have right now, only halfway through the season:
Lent is more raw and real to me as a pastor as it ever has been before. I’ve always been drawn to this season, for the opportunity to be quiet and still, to take stock and begin again. So what a privilege it is to experience this sacred season as a minister. Being with these gathered communities on Ash Wednesday, I was actually looking forward to this Lent. Overwhelmed by the holiness and ready to live this intentional life day by day, for forty days, with people I deeply love. What could be better? I thought I was prepared, centered, ready for the wilderness.
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
I must have been smoking those ashes.
My Lenten confession: Two and a half weeks in, away from Ash Wednesday, I am done. Ready to quit. Willing to break my contract with Lent, no matter the consequences. I’m ready to run out of the desert and dive into the cool waves of the ocean. Trade my ashes for alleluias and dust for dancing. Ready already for resurrection.
And I will have to leave it at that for now as I've just been paged to the ER, back the reason that I'm ready already for Easter morning. Have a goodnight, interweb.
Lent is more raw and real to me as a pastor as it ever has been before. I’ve always been drawn to this season, for the opportunity to be quiet and still, to take stock and begin again. So what a privilege it is to experience this sacred season as a minister. Being with these gathered communities on Ash Wednesday, I was actually looking forward to this Lent. Overwhelmed by the holiness and ready to live this intentional life day by day, for forty days, with people I deeply love. What could be better? I thought I was prepared, centered, ready for the wilderness.
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
I must have been smoking those ashes.
My Lenten confession: Two and a half weeks in, away from Ash Wednesday, I am done. Ready to quit. Willing to break my contract with Lent, no matter the consequences. I’m ready to run out of the desert and dive into the cool waves of the ocean. Trade my ashes for alleluias and dust for dancing. Ready already for resurrection.
And I will have to leave it at that for now as I've just been paged to the ER, back the reason that I'm ready already for Easter morning. Have a goodnight, interweb.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Lent 19
I spent about 7 hours with my mom today, and right now she's reading/sleeping on my couch. So, on this night, I turn to my good and faithful companion--Prayers for a Privileged People--for Walter Brueggemann's always inspiring words.
Children on Mother's Day
We are children today of many mothers,
some of us grateful and glad,
some of us cynical and defeated,
all of us living lives that are pure gift
from you and for you.
As we give thanks for our mothers,
so we think of children who you treasure
and invite close in.
For newborn babies arriving in these restless days,
for children loved and lost awhile--
Joshua, Charles, Michael, Sophie, and a world of others,
for children born feeble and troubled
and loved in their need,
for children infused with napalm and
shrapnel and hate and fire,
for children who know the sharp edge of Pharaoh and Herod,
and a thousand other uneasy men of force.
In the midst of this parade of innocence,
we submit all the treasured children of the world to you,
that they may prosper, and that we may become more fully
your daughters and sons,
children of your commandments,
recipients of your gifts,
bearers of your hope.
You have said, "Let the little children come."
Here we are--yours...
that we may receive your nurture
and your discipline.
Children on Mother's Day
We are children today of many mothers,
some of us grateful and glad,
some of us cynical and defeated,
all of us living lives that are pure gift
from you and for you.
As we give thanks for our mothers,
so we think of children who you treasure
and invite close in.
For newborn babies arriving in these restless days,
for children loved and lost awhile--
Joshua, Charles, Michael, Sophie, and a world of others,
for children born feeble and troubled
and loved in their need,
for children infused with napalm and
shrapnel and hate and fire,
for children who know the sharp edge of Pharaoh and Herod,
and a thousand other uneasy men of force.
In the midst of this parade of innocence,
we submit all the treasured children of the world to you,
that they may prosper, and that we may become more fully
your daughters and sons,
children of your commandments,
recipients of your gifts,
bearers of your hope.
You have said, "Let the little children come."
Here we are--yours...
that we may receive your nurture
and your discipline.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Lent 18
Further thoughts on communication... I thought about this while thumbing through one of my favorite books of funny short stories. Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch was written by Hollis Gillespie, who I met at a book festival a couple of years ago and laughed out loud for the whole hour she spoke. Here's a sample from "Hellish Gargoyle":
You think I'd be better at the whole communication thing, considering I'm an official foreign-language interpreter. Fortunately for me I represent people who have no idea I'm using a very broad interpretation of the word "interpreter" to describe my services. As far as they know, I'm translating their words with sparkling precision, but luckily Germans are pretty tolerant of non-natives who attempt their language, so the interactions usually go off smoothly. Once, an American doctor directed me to ask a German patient when she had had her last bowel movement and asked her, essentially, "Madame, when was the last time you went to the toilet solidly?"
She answered my questions and laughed. My clients must think I am very clever, as I am always making people laugh in thier native languages. It is apparently even funnier because I have perfect pronunciation, and i can turn to a German pharmacist and say without a hint of an accent, "It would please me greatly to purchase medicine for my fluid nostrils," or to a Spanish tax driver while searing for the metal end of the over-the-shoulder safety strap, and tell him, "Pardon me, but I am missing the penis of my seatbelt," or to an Austrian hotel clerk regarding a beautiful fountain nearby, "Is it possible to acquire a room with a view of the urinating castle?"
It must be hilarious to hear those massacred phrases spoken with the determined clarity of a cowbell...
So, what's the point? For one thing, that's a funny story. But for another, I think about how often lines of communication get so crossed with people, in the hospital, in the church, in life. For humans to rely so heavily on the spoken word, we are pretty bad at it, pretty often. I spend a lot of time with patients who are not communicating on the same level as me, but somehow we end up on the same page. It matters less the words you use that what you mean, sometimes. It's like the man I talked about yesterday. He thought we were going to hook up jumper cables to his hospital bed and we were going to ride around town. Those words made absolutely no sense if they are only words, but he was pretty effectively communicating to me that he was trapped in his hospital room, or in the nursing home he'd been in, or perhaps even his mind, and he was ready to go out for a joyride. I pray that I may slow down long enough, be patient enough, to get past the poor translations and get to the meaning of the thing. And I pray that those around me would offer me grace with my terrible translations too.
You think I'd be better at the whole communication thing, considering I'm an official foreign-language interpreter. Fortunately for me I represent people who have no idea I'm using a very broad interpretation of the word "interpreter" to describe my services. As far as they know, I'm translating their words with sparkling precision, but luckily Germans are pretty tolerant of non-natives who attempt their language, so the interactions usually go off smoothly. Once, an American doctor directed me to ask a German patient when she had had her last bowel movement and asked her, essentially, "Madame, when was the last time you went to the toilet solidly?"
She answered my questions and laughed. My clients must think I am very clever, as I am always making people laugh in thier native languages. It is apparently even funnier because I have perfect pronunciation, and i can turn to a German pharmacist and say without a hint of an accent, "It would please me greatly to purchase medicine for my fluid nostrils," or to a Spanish tax driver while searing for the metal end of the over-the-shoulder safety strap, and tell him, "Pardon me, but I am missing the penis of my seatbelt," or to an Austrian hotel clerk regarding a beautiful fountain nearby, "Is it possible to acquire a room with a view of the urinating castle?"
It must be hilarious to hear those massacred phrases spoken with the determined clarity of a cowbell...
So, what's the point? For one thing, that's a funny story. But for another, I think about how often lines of communication get so crossed with people, in the hospital, in the church, in life. For humans to rely so heavily on the spoken word, we are pretty bad at it, pretty often. I spend a lot of time with patients who are not communicating on the same level as me, but somehow we end up on the same page. It matters less the words you use that what you mean, sometimes. It's like the man I talked about yesterday. He thought we were going to hook up jumper cables to his hospital bed and we were going to ride around town. Those words made absolutely no sense if they are only words, but he was pretty effectively communicating to me that he was trapped in his hospital room, or in the nursing home he'd been in, or perhaps even his mind, and he was ready to go out for a joyride. I pray that I may slow down long enough, be patient enough, to get past the poor translations and get to the meaning of the thing. And I pray that those around me would offer me grace with my terrible translations too.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Lent 17
Where along the way did I get the idea that my words mattered so much? Let me clarify. Where along the way did I get the idea that someone who won't remember what I say to them or someone who can't hold a "normal" conversation isn't worth my time? Too many times I have given less time to dementia patients or let nurses let me off the hook when they say, "Don't worry about checking in there? She won't know who you are or remember you came?" I'm not sure where I got the idea, but I seem to have been operating under some assumption that what I say matters more than where I am.
I met a man today. I didn't know anything about him before I walked in the room. His door was open, he was sitting up on his bed and I walked in and introduced myself. He reached out and shook my hand, telling me his name. He asked me how I was doing and thanked me for stopping by. Everything seemed normal until: "Hey, you got any jumper cables?" "No, sir. What do you need jumper cables for?" "Because me and you are gonna hook 'em up and crank up this bed! You see that door there (as he pointed to the wall). Open that up wide. You reckon this bed will fit through there?" He proceeded to tell me all the places we'd go and do, using the bed as the car. I felt a bit of shame when the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn't have walked in that room. I then changed my thinking and started talking to him about the things we'd do and where we'd go. We had a 10 minute, whimsical conversation. The only bit of reality was when I had to convince him that he didn't need his shoes on, mostly because I was concerned he would walk out if I helped him put his shoes on.
I realized today that this experience, and all those other times I've let women think I'm their daughters and all those times I have let old men think I'm their wives, are moments of true care. I don't know when I got the idea that words I say carry so much weight that they should never be forgotten. It's the being there that matters a whole lot more.
I met a man today. I didn't know anything about him before I walked in the room. His door was open, he was sitting up on his bed and I walked in and introduced myself. He reached out and shook my hand, telling me his name. He asked me how I was doing and thanked me for stopping by. Everything seemed normal until: "Hey, you got any jumper cables?" "No, sir. What do you need jumper cables for?" "Because me and you are gonna hook 'em up and crank up this bed! You see that door there (as he pointed to the wall). Open that up wide. You reckon this bed will fit through there?" He proceeded to tell me all the places we'd go and do, using the bed as the car. I felt a bit of shame when the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn't have walked in that room. I then changed my thinking and started talking to him about the things we'd do and where we'd go. We had a 10 minute, whimsical conversation. The only bit of reality was when I had to convince him that he didn't need his shoes on, mostly because I was concerned he would walk out if I helped him put his shoes on.
I realized today that this experience, and all those other times I've let women think I'm their daughters and all those times I have let old men think I'm their wives, are moments of true care. I don't know when I got the idea that words I say carry so much weight that they should never be forgotten. It's the being there that matters a whole lot more.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Lent 16
Well, it's 9:30 on Saturday night and I'm getting ready for bed. Sounds pathetic, but I promise you, it is not. I have been with my youth group at the Disciple Now event in Greenwood. Our Methodist Church got together with two Presbyterian churches and three Baptist churches for an event with around 200 kids. We had worship and a guest speaker followed by Bible study last night before getting them to bed around 1 am. This morning, more Bible study, a couple hours of service in the community, more Bible study, free time and worship with guest speaker again. This weekend has been full of activity, great things, and all the middle school girl drama you could possibly cram into two days.
Despite my fairly serious problems with some things the guest speaker said (and let's face it, I'm ridiculously critical, a fact that drives even me crazy) I absolutely loved watching those kids gather around the stage and sing and shout to the music, to put their arms around each other, to reach out in service in various ways throughout the weekend. A lot of the kids were just having a good time, but I could tell a few of them were genuinely learning with a strong desire to be right where they were.
The owner of the girls' host home has a habit of making all children who come into her home memorize 1 Timothy 4:12. "Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity." It was an appropriate frame for the weekend with our kids. No deep reflection here, tonight. Only want to say, I am exhausted, but it was a pretty good weekend with the younger members of the body of Christ (despite the drama). I want to celebrate God's ever-moving presence.
Despite my fairly serious problems with some things the guest speaker said (and let's face it, I'm ridiculously critical, a fact that drives even me crazy) I absolutely loved watching those kids gather around the stage and sing and shout to the music, to put their arms around each other, to reach out in service in various ways throughout the weekend. A lot of the kids were just having a good time, but I could tell a few of them were genuinely learning with a strong desire to be right where they were.
The owner of the girls' host home has a habit of making all children who come into her home memorize 1 Timothy 4:12. "Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity." It was an appropriate frame for the weekend with our kids. No deep reflection here, tonight. Only want to say, I am exhausted, but it was a pretty good weekend with the younger members of the body of Christ (despite the drama). I want to celebrate God's ever-moving presence.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lent 15
Sanctification
And how do I have hope for the flawed and broken body of Christ? Because I believe in sanctifying grace. There is a particular Wesleyan emphasis on sanctification, or holiness. As I learned, and learn, more about Wesleyan theology, I was instantly drawn to the idea that by God’s grace, we are becoming closer to who God created us to be. I love the Wesley hymn, “Finish, then, they new creation; pure and spotless / Let us be. Let us see they great salvation / Perfectly restored in thee; changed from glory / Into glory, till in heaven we take our place, till we / Cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise” (UMH 384).
Probably the most hotly debated point of Wesley theology is the feeling that we come dangerously close to works righteousness. Sanctification, the “moving on toward perfection,” was the term used to describe Wesley’s inability to preach faith alone as necessary. He emphasized the practice of spiritual disciplines, practices, and good works. To the opponents who criticized this perceived works righteousness, he countered by asserting that any good work we do is due to the grace of God working within us through the Holy Spirit. It is always, always, grace that moves us along in sanctification.
That’s where my hope lies. That sanctifying grace works in us gives me hope in the sanctification of us, the body of Christ, and of all things. We are so broken, hurting, and hurtful, but by searching the scriptures, practicing our faith, seeking after the means of grace, we receive grace, grace that helps us grow. “To our surprise and delight, we wake up to find ourselves miraculously moving in the same direction as God, working with the grain of the universe because God is working in and through us” (Willimon, UM Beliefs). I believe we were, and are, created in God’s image. The image of God has been broken or distorted and we are tragically flawed human beings. By grace we are saved from our brokenness, and by grace, little by little we are restored as bearer’s of God’s image.
And how do I have hope for the flawed and broken body of Christ? Because I believe in sanctifying grace. There is a particular Wesleyan emphasis on sanctification, or holiness. As I learned, and learn, more about Wesleyan theology, I was instantly drawn to the idea that by God’s grace, we are becoming closer to who God created us to be. I love the Wesley hymn, “Finish, then, they new creation; pure and spotless / Let us be. Let us see they great salvation / Perfectly restored in thee; changed from glory / Into glory, till in heaven we take our place, till we / Cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise” (UMH 384).
Probably the most hotly debated point of Wesley theology is the feeling that we come dangerously close to works righteousness. Sanctification, the “moving on toward perfection,” was the term used to describe Wesley’s inability to preach faith alone as necessary. He emphasized the practice of spiritual disciplines, practices, and good works. To the opponents who criticized this perceived works righteousness, he countered by asserting that any good work we do is due to the grace of God working within us through the Holy Spirit. It is always, always, grace that moves us along in sanctification.
That’s where my hope lies. That sanctifying grace works in us gives me hope in the sanctification of us, the body of Christ, and of all things. We are so broken, hurting, and hurtful, but by searching the scriptures, practicing our faith, seeking after the means of grace, we receive grace, grace that helps us grow. “To our surprise and delight, we wake up to find ourselves miraculously moving in the same direction as God, working with the grain of the universe because God is working in and through us” (Willimon, UM Beliefs). I believe we were, and are, created in God’s image. The image of God has been broken or distorted and we are tragically flawed human beings. By grace we are saved from our brokenness, and by grace, little by little we are restored as bearer’s of God’s image.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Lent 14
I've decided this is day two of my three day stackpole series. It may be a little lazy to post something I've already written, but mostly, I put a lot of thought into figuring out which three pieces of my theology are so important that if any were taken away that the rest would fall down.
The Body of Christ
My second stackpole leads pretty naturally from the first. It speaks to the embodiment of Christ’s presence. It is pretty easy to look to scripture, look to the ministry of Jesus and like what he was doing. It’s one thing to like his teaching and get behind the example he set, but it’s a whole different thing to be able to get behind the “body of Christ.” UMC Bishop Willimon writes, “Alas for us rugged individualists, the church, for all its sorry infidelities, is the form that the risen Christ has chosen to take in the world. If we are to believe in Christ, we’ve got to believe in him as he is—embodied and embedded in the church—rather than in some disembodied form that would make Christ easier for us to handle” (United Methodist Beliefs: a brief introduction, 2007). I choose to believe that, empowered by the Holy Spirit, Christ’s presence is still real in the world. In Eucharistic liturgy, I take very seriously the petition to the Holy Spirit when I, or some other pastor, speaks the words, “Pour out your Holy Spirit on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be, for us, the body and blood of Christ so that we may be for the world the body of Christ..”
I think I need to see Christ present in the body of Christ in just the same way I need the incarnation. A far off God is not the God I can relate to, who I can trust and love and be in relationship with. So often, we see the Church get it wrong. We get it so wrong and wander so far from the gospel that it’s hard to see Christ’s presence, but God chose the Church. After Jesus’ resurrection, he returned to those disciples, not to wise men and political leaders, but to the people who bumbled and stumbled, got it wrong as often as they got it right. That gives me hope, hope for myself and hope for everyone.
The Body of Christ
My second stackpole leads pretty naturally from the first. It speaks to the embodiment of Christ’s presence. It is pretty easy to look to scripture, look to the ministry of Jesus and like what he was doing. It’s one thing to like his teaching and get behind the example he set, but it’s a whole different thing to be able to get behind the “body of Christ.” UMC Bishop Willimon writes, “Alas for us rugged individualists, the church, for all its sorry infidelities, is the form that the risen Christ has chosen to take in the world. If we are to believe in Christ, we’ve got to believe in him as he is—embodied and embedded in the church—rather than in some disembodied form that would make Christ easier for us to handle” (United Methodist Beliefs: a brief introduction, 2007). I choose to believe that, empowered by the Holy Spirit, Christ’s presence is still real in the world. In Eucharistic liturgy, I take very seriously the petition to the Holy Spirit when I, or some other pastor, speaks the words, “Pour out your Holy Spirit on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be, for us, the body and blood of Christ so that we may be for the world the body of Christ..”
I think I need to see Christ present in the body of Christ in just the same way I need the incarnation. A far off God is not the God I can relate to, who I can trust and love and be in relationship with. So often, we see the Church get it wrong. We get it so wrong and wander so far from the gospel that it’s hard to see Christ’s presence, but God chose the Church. After Jesus’ resurrection, he returned to those disciples, not to wise men and political leaders, but to the people who bumbled and stumbled, got it wrong as often as they got it right. That gives me hope, hope for myself and hope for everyone.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Lent 13
For my CPE assignment due tomorrow, I have been asked to write about the "three stackpoles of my theological house." We weren't given any instruction further than that, but I take it to mean I should identify the three most important theological points in my spirituality/faith/theology. Tonight, I will share one of my stackpoles. That is, the Incarnation.
One of the most beautiful images in all of scripture is of the man Simeon in the Temple with the infant Jesus. "Simeon took him to in his arms and praised God, saying, 'Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.' The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother, 'This child is destined to cause the falling and the rising to many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.'" (Luke 2:28-35) Simeon speaks powerful words claiming the sovereignty and power of Jesus as God, the one who will save. But the thing that makes this image so beautiful is that while speaking these powerful claims, these strong word, he is holding the infant Christ in his arms. I imagine him holding him close to his chest, drawing him close to his lips as he tenderly speaks his celebration and blessing over the boy Christ.
Why is the incarnation so important to me? Perhaps because of the time and energy I've spent reaching out, trying to find the God I can relate to. I've mentioned before that the image of God I grew up with never really worked for me. It was hard to imagine old-white-man-in-the-sky really caring about me, loving me deeply and unconditionally. But as I grew up and learned about Jesus, and as I matured came to really know the love of Christ, that Christ is God in flesh has become so much more important to me. Many Christians would name the crucifixion as the most important thing Christ did, but it has always seemed a greater sacrifice to me for God to humble God's self so low. God loves us so much that God actually became one of us, taking on all of the messiness and pain and suffering that entails. Knowing God incarnate, knowing a God I can look to as a human example, knowing a God I can touch, and see, and feel, and imagine, has made all the difference in my faith.
So, the incarnation is a stackpole of my theological house, perhaps the most important one. If I don't know the God I can relate to, then there's not much else that matters.
One of the most beautiful images in all of scripture is of the man Simeon in the Temple with the infant Jesus. "Simeon took him to in his arms and praised God, saying, 'Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.' The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother, 'This child is destined to cause the falling and the rising to many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.'" (Luke 2:28-35) Simeon speaks powerful words claiming the sovereignty and power of Jesus as God, the one who will save. But the thing that makes this image so beautiful is that while speaking these powerful claims, these strong word, he is holding the infant Christ in his arms. I imagine him holding him close to his chest, drawing him close to his lips as he tenderly speaks his celebration and blessing over the boy Christ.
Why is the incarnation so important to me? Perhaps because of the time and energy I've spent reaching out, trying to find the God I can relate to. I've mentioned before that the image of God I grew up with never really worked for me. It was hard to imagine old-white-man-in-the-sky really caring about me, loving me deeply and unconditionally. But as I grew up and learned about Jesus, and as I matured came to really know the love of Christ, that Christ is God in flesh has become so much more important to me. Many Christians would name the crucifixion as the most important thing Christ did, but it has always seemed a greater sacrifice to me for God to humble God's self so low. God loves us so much that God actually became one of us, taking on all of the messiness and pain and suffering that entails. Knowing God incarnate, knowing a God I can look to as a human example, knowing a God I can touch, and see, and feel, and imagine, has made all the difference in my faith.
So, the incarnation is a stackpole of my theological house, perhaps the most important one. If I don't know the God I can relate to, then there's not much else that matters.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Lent 12
I've been sifting through The Book of Discipline of the United Methodist Church (2008 edition) this evening. Could there really be any more thrilling reading for a nice night at home, curled up on the couch, looking out at the snow? Really?
I was looking for an answer to a theological question but somehow got sucked in. First, I'd like to say that of all the things the UMC feels the need to comment on, I am particularly proud that within the Social Principles we have a statement about outer space. "Paragraph 160. E) Space - The universe, known and unknown, is the creation of God and is due the respect we are called to give the earth. We therefore reject any nation's efforts to weaponize space and urge that all nations pursue the peaceful and collaborative development of space technologies and of outer space itself." I make light of this particular section, but I have to say, the UMC Social Principles is a fantastic document of which I am proud. Our Social Creed, which I include here, is a statement and prayer I can get behind.
We believe in God, Creator of the world; and in Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of creation. We believe in the Holy Spirit, through whom we acknowledge God's gifts, and we repent of our sin in misusing these gifts to idolatrous ends.
We affirm the antural world as God's handiwork and dedicate ourselves to its preservation, enhancement, and faithful use by humankind.
We joyfully receive for ourselves and others the blessing of community, sexuality, marriage, and the family.
We commit ourselves to the rights of men, women, children, youth, young adults, the aging, and people with disabilities; to improvement of the quality of life; and to the rights and dignity of all persons.
We believe in the right and duty of persons to work for the glory of God and the good of themselves and others and in the protection of their welfare in so doing; in the rights to property as a trust from God, collective bargaining, and responsible consumption; and in the elimination of economic and social distress.
We dedicate ourselves to peace throughout the world, to the rule of justice and law among nations, and to individual freedom for all people in the world.
We believe in the present and final triumph of God's Word in human affairs and gladly accept our commission to manifest the life of the gospel of the world. Amen.
I was looking for an answer to a theological question but somehow got sucked in. First, I'd like to say that of all the things the UMC feels the need to comment on, I am particularly proud that within the Social Principles we have a statement about outer space. "Paragraph 160. E) Space - The universe, known and unknown, is the creation of God and is due the respect we are called to give the earth. We therefore reject any nation's efforts to weaponize space and urge that all nations pursue the peaceful and collaborative development of space technologies and of outer space itself." I make light of this particular section, but I have to say, the UMC Social Principles is a fantastic document of which I am proud. Our Social Creed, which I include here, is a statement and prayer I can get behind.
We believe in God, Creator of the world; and in Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of creation. We believe in the Holy Spirit, through whom we acknowledge God's gifts, and we repent of our sin in misusing these gifts to idolatrous ends.
We affirm the antural world as God's handiwork and dedicate ourselves to its preservation, enhancement, and faithful use by humankind.
We joyfully receive for ourselves and others the blessing of community, sexuality, marriage, and the family.
We commit ourselves to the rights of men, women, children, youth, young adults, the aging, and people with disabilities; to improvement of the quality of life; and to the rights and dignity of all persons.
We believe in the right and duty of persons to work for the glory of God and the good of themselves and others and in the protection of their welfare in so doing; in the rights to property as a trust from God, collective bargaining, and responsible consumption; and in the elimination of economic and social distress.
We dedicate ourselves to peace throughout the world, to the rule of justice and law among nations, and to individual freedom for all people in the world.
We believe in the present and final triumph of God's Word in human affairs and gladly accept our commission to manifest the life of the gospel of the world. Amen.
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