Lent 3 and 4

Disclaimer: Youth event Friday and Saturday kept me away from internet access. I still wrote, but I'm posting those two now.

Walking on Water (Friday, March 11)

And Peter answered him, “Lord if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

While talking to a group of youth tonight about Peter, Peter’s journey, and an earnest desire to follow Jesus, this scene came to me in a new way. It hit me like a sack of bricks, actually. We’ve heard this story a million times. Peter sees Jesus walking on the water and Jesus invites him to join him. And then he got out of the boat, walked on the water for a moment, but then got scared and started to sink.

Tonight, reading this story again, I connected to it in a way I never have before. Here’s the scene I pictured. Peter (looking out across the water) says, “Hey, Jesus, is that you? If it’s you, call me out there and help me do what you’re doing.” “Come.” A simple, serious command. Come. Peter steps out on the water and walks across to Jesus. Practicing the secret to balance (don’t look down, focus on where you’re going), Peter’s eyes were fixed on the eyes of Jesus. He made it, on top of the water, all the way out there. I’ve always taken the story at face value..Peter got distracted by the wind and the waves and all of a sudden got scared. But what if before the distraction came the pride? Peter says, “Hey Jesus, this is amazing. I’m on top of the water. Look at me. Look at what I can do. Hey guys, I’m walking on water..” And when he became focused on himself, his own “coolness”, his own ability, he noticed that the wind and the waves were all around him. And he started to sink. And still…STILL, Jesus reached out a hand to save him.

I’ve been struggling this week with some things. Actually, I’ve been struggling with them for quite some time. There are some things I need to do to follow what I believe in my heart to be God’s call. And for so long, I’ve put it off, put it away, and now I feel overwhelmed by all that I’ve pushed away. I keep asking myself, over and over and over, why have I let it get this far? The answer: fear. I’ve been under the false impression that what I’m doing, what I’m working towards is something I’m doing on my own. Look at me. I have to do this. I have to do this on my own. Of course I’m scared when I think I’m out there on my own. But God didn’t say “Come!” on your own. God says, “Come.” And when God asks us to do things, it’s not do them on our own but to participate in what God is doing in us.

But still, Jesus reaches out a hand.
 




Disciple Now (Saturday, March 12)

Seeing God today was easier than it’s ever been, I think. From getting up in the morning and greeting the day with joy and love to a great Bible study to some wonderful fellowship to worthwhile missions to fantastic fellowship to heartfelt worship… We, as Christians, are called to bear witness to Jesus Christ who was and is and is to come and to help one another and the world see glimpses of the kingdom of God in the here and now and bear hope for the good future in God. As exhausted as I am, I know that’s what I’ve seen today. In study, we learned the Christ who was, the one who lived and died and was resurrected. In fellowship, the light of the living Christ came through the youth and adult leaders in the true joy and love they showed. And watching them (and participating with them) in service to the community today was a great symbol of hope for the good and final future promised to us. These young people leaned into the community, giving of themselves, doing work and sharing in conversation in ways that seemed more mature than I would have expected from them.

A brief post today, but all I need to say is that today I saw the living God who was and is and is to come…everywhere.

Confession

Lent 2

Yesterday, I felt pretty good about myself, writing all about the beauty of Ash Wednesday and the season's ability to make us understand our frailty and brokenness and mortality in ways that bring us closer to God. I will admit that I felt a need to, in some ways, play up the beauty of the symbol of Lent as it reflects human brokenness. Here's my confession...that was all well and good yesterday, but it was harder today when my brokenness was showing. Today (well, it started yesterday), events have transpired which have left me riddled with anxiety, overwhelmed with nausea, a little asthmatic, at times catatonic, and just in general, a bit weepy. No joke. Sad times.

So my first thought in sitting down to write, as I committed to do, was where in the world did I see God today? Well, I'll tell you. Even when I have felt my absolute worst (which, today ranks pretty far up there), God is always there. Always. The fact that I woke up this morning and showered and pushed myself past the very strong urge to stay in bed...a gift. The fact that I got up for the purpose of taking control of my day and the events which have led me to the edge of a nervous breakdown...a gift and the moving of the Holy Spirit. The fact that God shows up in the people who surround me each and every day...a gift, the moving of the Holy Spirit, and the incarnational ministry of those who serve a living God. Today (among many other days), a couple of people took an extra step for me. A few extra minutes spent doing the job I was supposed to be doing, a warm smile, and loving hug and parental kiss on the head, a bought cup of coffee, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and a shared meal. That's where I saw God today, and I pray that I will see God there everyday. The love of a friend is nothing more than the love and light of the living God shining through.

And lest you think I am taking back my post from yesterday, I still believe in the beauty of the season of Lent. The journey toward Easter is about walking toward reconciliation, resurrection, and the final perfection of all things. Sure, my frailty was out there for the world to see, but Easter people surrounded me, showing more fully than I can understand on my own, the kingdom of God.

Lent 2011

Lent 1

Ash Wednesday has arrived again. Today, we begin Lent and we gather in worship communities all over the world to observe this day. One of the things I think our non-liturgical brothers and sisters miss out on in not observing the season of Lent is the intentional confrontation with the spiritual journey we travel with Christ towards Easter. For those who make their whole lives intentional in this way, I commend you, but I must admit that in the busy and the crazy and the lazy, sometimes I forget to live life on purpose. There is no time of year that I live life more on purpose than in these 40 days (plus Sundays) leading up to Easter.

This past weekend, I preached the sermon in my church and in doing so, invited the congregation to join me in being transifigured with Jesus. (The text was the Transfiguration, of course.) I offered two things we need to do in order to be practitioners of transfiguration. One, you have to shine brightly the light of Christ. And two, you have to walk the walk of Christ. Specifically, at this time of year, we observe the walk of Christ down from a mountain where his glory was celebrated back into a valley and down a dusty road. He was walking, with a great (though troubling) sense of purpose. He walked towards his own death.

We, in this season of Lent, walk with Jesus towards Easter. We spend time-intentional time-attending to the spiritual disciplines meant to bring us into deeper relationship with God. In doing so, we seek to find some of those things that are getting in the way of letting Christ's light shine fully through our lives.

And it is in this day, Ash Wednesday, that we most readily understand the message of the life of Jesus Christ. God came to humanity in the flesh in order to confront mortality for us. When the pastor touches an ashen finger to your forehead, looks you in the eyes, and says, "From dust you came and to dust you shall return," you cannot help but confront your own human frailty. A couple of weeks ago, a pastor friend of mine told me about an Ash Wednesday early in his ministry. He said his wife brought their baby son to Ash Wednesday service. He'd imposed the ashes upon many foreheads before his wife reached the front of the line and it actually startled him to see his wife and fairly newborn son in front of him. Putting an oily ashen thumb to his son's forehead with the promise of dust and the remembrance of repentance transformed his thinking.

So, Lent 2011, I hope to live life on purpose every single day. I will try my best to see God in everyday. I will try to walk this walk and I will hopefully, in doing these things, try to rinse off some of the grime and dust that has been filtering the light of Christ that should be shining from me.

Does music move you?

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.

...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...

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.

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.