Confession — Page 12

An Advent Journey, 2013: Looking for the Light – Day Twenty

December 20, 2013 By Diana

Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel,
you who lead Joseph like a flock!
You who are enthroned upon the cherubim, shine forth
before Ephraim and Benjamin and Manasseh.
Stir up your might,
    and come to save us!

Restore us, O God;
    let your face shine, that we may be saved.

O Lord God of hosts,
how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?
You have fed them with the bread of tears,
and given them tears to drink in full measure.
You make us the scorn of our neighbors;
our enemies laugh among themselves.

Restore us, O God of hosts;
    let your face shine, that we may be saved.

Psalm 80:1-7-NRSV

I believe this is the cri de coeur of every human who has ever walked this planet, even those who will deny it up one side and down the other.

Some of us are able to silence this cry when it rises; some are able to argue it away, at least in their conscious minds. But I think it’s still in there somewhere — this cell-deep desire to be saved, rescued, made whole, energized, sanctified. Whatever kind of language you might choose to use, the issue is the same.

Shine on us, O God. Rescue us.

I love that this psalm references the ‘face’ of God. The face, the visage, that which we see when we greet one another, that space within which can reside smile or frown, delight or dismay, joy or judgment. It’s that Face that we want to shine, to radiate, in our direction.

That phrase, and all that it means, is one reason why I love and use the Aaronic blessing so often. “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

I prayed that blessing over my aunt as she lay dying last month; I offer it when I wrap my arms around another and ask for help from God for their dilemma, whatever it might be; I pray it over my husband and my children and my grandchildren, my mother and my friends; and I pray it over myself from time to time, too.

I pray it for all of us, this 20th day of our journey together. May we each pray these words more fully as Christmas draws nigh.

“Let your face shine, that we may be saved.”

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, Confession, daily devo, Encouragement, Uncategorized

An Advent Journey, 2013: Looking for the Light – Day Eighteen

December 18, 2013 By Diana

Large crowds followed Jesus as he came down the mountainside. Suddenly, a man with leprosy approached him and knelt before him. “Lord,” the man said, “if you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean.”

Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said.“Be healed!” And instantly the leprosy disappeared. Then Jesus said to him,“Don’t tell anyone about this. Instead, go to the priest and let him examine you. Take along the offering required in the law of Moses for those who have been healed of leprosy. This will be a public testimony that you have been cleansed.”

When Jesus returned to Capernaum, a Roman officer came and pleaded with him, “Lord, my young servant lies in bed, paralyzed and in terrible pain.”
Jesus said, “I will come and heal him.”

But the officer said, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come into my home. Just say the word from where you are, and my servant will be healed. I know this because I am under the authority of my superior officers, and I have authority over my soldiers. I only need to say, ‘Go,’ and they go, or ‘Come,’ and they come. And if I say to my slaves, ‘Do this,’ they do it.”

When Jesus heard this, he was amazed. Turning to those who were following him, he said, “I tell you the truth, I haven’t seen faith like this in all Israel! And I tell you this, that many Gentiles will come from all over the world—from east and west—and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob at the feast in the Kingdom of Heaven. But many Israelites—those for whom the Kingdom was prepared—will be thrown into outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Then Jesus said to the Roman officer, “Go back home. Because you believed, it has happened.” And the young servant was healed that same hour.

When Jesus arrived at Peter’s house, Peter’s mother-in-law was sick in bed with a high fever. But when Jesus touched her hand, the fever left her. Then she got up and prepared a meal for him.

That evening many demon-possessed people were brought to Jesus. He cast out the evil spirits with a simple command, and he healed all the sick. This fulfilled the word of the Lord through the prophet Isaiah, who said,
“He took our sicknesses
and removed our diseases.”

Matthew 8:1-17, 28-34-NLT

Jesus was a very busy boy on this day, wasn’t he?

As I read through this particular series of healing miracles, I picture Jesus at the heart and center of them all, much like the rose window in the photograph above the scripture finds its center in that beautiful 8-sided star.

The center, the thing that holds it together, upon which all the additional beauty builds. Jesus. I can so easily be distracted by the gingerbread – the details of the healings themselves. The leper coming out of nowhere, the soldier with his no-nonsense approach to getting a few more years of work out of his servant, the mother-in-law of his close friend, the crowds that just.kept.coming.

Yeah, I can go there fast.

But I wonder if maybe Matthew, and those who selected this passage for our Advent reading — I wonder if they’re asking us to do something a little simpler: look at Jesus.

Jesus, the steady center amid the swirling need. Jesus, the one who welcomes all. Jesus, the one who outspokenly applauds the faith of an enemy and warns those who share his faith tradition. Jesus, who lovingly helps an older woman get up and do what she loves to do. Jesus, who makes himself available to any and all who will come.

Oh, Lord. I can get so distracted! As the busyness builds over these days, will you kindly help me to come back to center? To keep my focus on you?

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, Confession, daily devo, Encouragement

An Advent Journey, 2013: Looking for the Light – Day Eight

December 8, 2013 By Diana

Out of the stump of David’s family will grow a shoot—
yes, a new Branch bearing fruit from the old root.
And the Spirit of the Lord will rest on him—
the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and might,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of theLord.
He will delight in obeying theLord.
He will not judge by appearance
    nor make a decision based on hearsay.
He will give justice to the poor
and make fair decisions for the exploited.
The earth will shake at the force of his word,
and one breath from his mouth will destroy the wicked.
He will wear righteousness like a belt
    and truth like an undergarment.

In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together;
the leopard will lie down with the baby goat.
The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion,
and a little child will lead them all.
The cow will graze near the bear.
The cub and the calf will lie down together.
The lion will eat hay like a cow.
The baby will play safely near the hole of a cobra.
Yes, a little child will put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes without harm.
Nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain,
for as the waters fill the sea,
so the earth will be filled with people who know the Lord.

In that day the heir to David’s throne
will be a banner of salvation to all the world.
The nations will rally to him,
and the land where he lives will be a glorious place.

Isaiah 11:1-10   -NLT

The Peaceable Kingdom, that’s what many call this passage from Isaiah 11. A picture of the future, where all of God’s creatures will live together harmoniously. Animals of every size and shape interacting peaceably with children; scorpions no longer lethal, cobras not to be feared.

And I love that imagery, too – although, to be honest — even though artists have rendered it repeatedly, I have a really hard time picturing all that wild animal/human conviviality. For me, it’s the picture in the first half of this passage that sings. That old Jesse stump, the tree from which David and then, Jesus, grew and flourished.

My spirit resonates with these lines, this picture of a righteous ruler, one who looks beneath the surface of things before pronouncing judgment. Righteousness and truth the garments nearest to his skin, closest to his person.

Yes! I love this picture. And in just the right light, I can see that this is a picture of Jesus. At least, this is one picture of Jesus. One that I like and look forward to, but one that is not yet fully realized. We still await the coming of this One, don’t we? A truly just ruler and judge, one who looks out for the needs of his people and will not abide cheating or oppressive behavior.

Can I hear an amen?

Of course, I can. We all long for such leadership, if we’re honest with ourselves and with one another. And we’re all still waiting for him to show up, aren’t we? This is the deepest layer of Advent waiting, I think. We wait for the Just One to come and make things right; we wait for justice to reign; we wait.

Lord of Righteousness, will you help us to wait with hope? To know in the deepest parts of ourselves that you are always in the process of coming to us? Help us to see you in the small victories, the short, sweet moments, even in the little ones — those small human creatures that you give to all of us. And excuse my rudeness here, but could you somehow show us your undergarments – the ones that move right next to your heart, the ones that empower you to serve the least of these? Just a flash, that’s all we need. A reminder that you’re on the throne — and yet, you stand ever ready to help us little ones see and tell the truth.

* As an added Advent bonus, I heartily recommend you click on this link and meander over to SheLoves fine post on Random Acts of Advent Kindness. I’m going to try and do this as often as possible and I encourage you all to check it out for yourselves.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, Confession, daily devo, Encouragement, God's gifts, hope, Uncategorized, Waiting

The Truest Disciple: Reflections on John 12:1-8

November 11, 2013 By Diana

I’m nearing the end of a wonderful online writing class (offered through www.tweetspeakpoetry.com) and for one of our lessons, we were asked to write something in the style of one of our favorite authors. I chose Barbara Brown Taylor, whose sermons are perfection. This small meditation is a very feeble attempt to echo her insightful handing of familiar Bible passages.

“Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)

Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

It was a party, you know. A dinner party. Because that’s where all the really good things in life happen, right? Sharing a meal with people we love, laughing over a shared glass of wine, telling stories, building memories.

And they were all there, the whole motley crew. The Twelve that followed Jesus up the road and down again. And the three – the siblings, Martha, Mary, Lazarus – who loved Jesus and hosted him time and again.

And this was a special party, truly special. Lazarus had been . . . well, there’s no other way but to put the bald truth out there — Lazarus had been dead.

And then he wasn’t, because Jesus said, ‘Come out.’

But like many parties often do, this one wound down to just three people, three people in the spotlight.

Jesus, because . . . well, he was Jesus, after all.

And Judas, because he asks hard questions and flings accusations.

And Mary.

Mary?

Right here, in the deeply misogynistic world of 1^st century Palestine, the one in the fullest glare of the spotlight, the one truly faithful disciple turns out to be . . . a woman.

All the guys are there — the crusty fisherman, the bickering brothers, the tax collector, the one who sat under the fig tree. And they’ve all been there for the last three years, covered in dust, sprinkled with Galilean water, living the daily ins and outs of the Jesus life.

Yet somehow, they missed it. They missed the point of it all, the thrust of their mission, the terrifying end of the story they didn’t even know they were telling.

But Mary?

Mary gets it. She is so full of the glorious, heartbreaking truth that it literally pours forth from her body. She comes to the end of the dining couch, where Jesus is reclining by the table. She bends down, breaks open a wildly expensive vial of fragrant oil, and pours it over his feet, loosing her hair to rub it right into the cracks and crevices, scandalizing everyone in the room except the one she came to anoint.

Because, you see, she had been paying attention. Like that other Mary, she was ‘pondering these things in her heart,’ listening with care. As Judas snarled, Jesus calmed the storm: “Leave her alone . . . this perfume has been stashed away just for today, to prepare me for . . . my burial.”

Even here, on the eve of his own brutal death, Jesus insists on changing up the rules for acceptable behavior. He shuts down what we might call the ‘churchy’ attitude, the self-righteous platitudes, and he elevates the simple but loving actions of a contemplative woman.

What we do and why and how we do it — that’s what counts. It’s not so much what we say or even what we believe — it’s what we do. Because the take-home truth is this: the surest sign of a true disciple is the delicious aroma that permeates every corner of the house.

Every corner.

In the midst of a hard and tiring week, I’m thankful tonight for
the stories of scripture,
the gentle care of health aides where our moms live,
the sunshine sparkling on the water,
a 91 degree swimming pool for therapy on unhappy tendons,
CPK salads for dinner.

Joining this with Michelle and Jen, Ann & Jennifer this week:

Filed Under: biblical reflection, Confession, daily devo, giving, God's gifts, hope, preaching, Sermons/Homilies, Wonderings in the World

Tuesday’s Read, Read, Read! (a book review and a synchroblog to celebrate Sarah’s new book!)

November 5, 2013 By Diana

First, the book review:

Every once in a great while, a voice arises that speaks truth in love for an entire generation of Jesus-followers. Sarah Bessey is such a voice. I began reading her blog three years ago, and quickly discovered a Soul Sister. Sarah has the heart of an artist, the skill of a surgeon, and the grace of a dancer when she begins weaving words together. And she has woven them into a masterpiece with this beautiful, heartfelt, lyrical book. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

With a foreword by Rachel Held Evans and a stunning manifesto by Idelette Mcvicker leading the way, Sarah dives into her topic with an extended version of a popular blog post, “A Bonfire on the Shore.” All of us — egalitarians, complementarians, feminists, non-feminists — are invited to join her around that bonfire, to listen to one another in love and to share stories, life lessons, observations, and most especially, questions and answers that we have lived in the everydayness of life as well as wrestled with in our minds. “I want to tell the truth, but first I want to live the Truth,” she says; “I won’t confuse critical thinking with a critical spirit,” she promises.

And then she dives into the whole Big Topic, declaring that yes, she is a feminist — but only because she is following after the ways, words and actions of Jesus, her savior and friend. She is learning from Jesus what it means for each of us to be a human person, whether male or female. Never discounting the differences between men and women, Sarah makes a strong case for her position without alienating those who might disagree with her. She stakes out her place: “Patriarchy is not God’s dream for humanity. It never was; it never will be.” But she leaves room for conversation: “I don’t think God is glorified by tightly crafted arguments wielded as weaponry.”

Telling pieces of her own story all along the way, Sarah looks at the whole of scripture first, most especially at the words and work of Jesus in the gospel narratives, refusing to allow the ‘problematic passages’ to take precedence over what she sees happening in Jesus’ relationship with women. She does this, however, without ever discounting the power and authority of the biblical message. She works hard to sift out the cultural specificities from the timeless truths, always with an attitude of appreciation and respect for the Word of God.

Sarah gives testimony to the partnership she enjoys in her own marriage, making a beautifully strong case for mutual submission. She makes room for single women at the table of full-personhood without diminishing the joy she has found in being married and birthing babies. And she calls the church to open-handed, open-hearted sharing in the work of kingdom living, inviting us to reconsider traditional ‘women’s ministries’ in the light of all that needs doing in the wider world.

This is a joyful book, an honest book, a welcoming book. I don’t know if you will find yourself proudly wearing the, “I am a Jesus feminist” badge when you finish it. I hope so. But I do know that you will be glad you read this book, that you will wrestle with the questions she asks and the stories she tells, and that you will stand up and cheer when you read the opening invitation and the closing benediction. Because Sarah writes truth, with a capital “T” — but she never tells it without love. And YOU, yes, you, are so very welcome here.

I received an advance release digital copy of this fine book from Simon & Schuster Digital Sales, Inc, in exchange for my honest review. This is it – and it is an honor. But I highly recommend that you purchase a hard copy of this one – it needs dog-earring and marking up. I compiled a 7-page document of favorite quotes and ideas, some of which are my own response to Sarah’s thinking in these pages. Now, that’s a good book.

And now, the synchroblog — my own reflections on why I am who I am:

They came streaming down the center aisle on Sunday morning.
Men, women, children.
Students, grandmothers, professors;
building contractors, retirees, babes-in-arms.
Down they came, moving slowly beneath the chandeliers,
bending low over the basket,
taking a morsel of bread
and dipping it into the offered cup.

“The body of Christ, broken for you.”
“The Cup of peace, given for you.”

And, once again, I remembered who I am.

It was All Saints Sunday, a day of remembering.
And we did exactly that.
We re-membered ourselves,
all of us — past and present — in litany,
in prayer, in memory.
The presence of those who led the way
to where we now are was palpable,
breathing out of the wood and stone and stained glass,
echoing in the guitars and piano,
standing right there in the worship center with us,
shoulder to shoulder.

We lit candles to help us remember.
And we thanked God for friends and family
who have left this physical realm,
this place-in-space that only partially reveals the truth of who we are.

And we sang!
Oh, how we sang,
joining our 300 voices with the sound
of saints and angels
around the world and across time,
remembering who we are.

This is our home, these are our people,
this is our song.
I am a woman, yes, I am.
I am glad to be female,
grateful for the power of my body,
the gift of child-bearing,
the ability to nourish.
But I am also a human being.
First and foremost, I am that.
And I am blessed to be part of a community
that celebrates both truths,
that doesn’t hesitate to acknowledge
the ways in which my femaleness
brings wholeness to the image of God
in the midst of the sanctuary.

For the last forty years, this is the truth my husband and I have lived:
we are partners.
We are equal before God.
We bring different gifts and abilities
to our shared table,
but we are, each of us, seen by God for
who we are,
ALL of who we are:
sinful,
broken,
loved,
redeemed by Jesus,
gifted by God,
called and filled by the Holy Spirit,
commanded to love God, others and ourselves,
sent to a world that hungers for grace.
Both of us.
BOTH OF US.

The candles were still gleaming Sunday evening,
as a small group of us gathered to worship Taize style.
Sung prayer, lectio, and once again,
a shared table.

But this time, a litany of silence.
Silence.
Deep enough to hear the bread tear,
quiet enough to hear the purplish fluid being poured out,
every last drop.

Dark enough to exhale.
To fully exhale all the worries of the day,
the carbon dioxide of doubt,
the staleness of fatigue.

It is within this context that I can say yes,
I am a Jesus feminist.
In the center of worship,
in the midst of the congregation,
in the place where I am known.

And in that powerful, life-giving truth,
I rejoice!

My deep thanks to those who lead our congregation in worship that is real and rich – Don Johnson, Jon Lemmond and Bob Gross. It is Bob’s voice that you hear, along with his composing and arranging skills, in the Taize songs I have linked in this piece.

I am joining this post with Sarah’s synchroblog, with Michelle’s weekly invitation and with Jennifer’s storytelling.

Filed Under: Book Review, Church, church year, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, Jesus Feminist, ministry, personal journey, Sunday Reflections, synchro blogs/blog hops, Uncategorized

31 Days of Giving Permission . . . TO TELL THE TRUTH

October 30, 2013 By Diana

We’re almost at the end of this giving permission cycle,
this recognition that sometimes,
we need someone else to say,
“Yes! That’s a grand idea!
Go for it!”

And today’s topic is a tricky one, isn’t it?
Because sometimes when you want to tell the truth,
you can feel as lonely as this lighthouse,
out there all by itself,
trying to keep the ship off the rocks,
all by its lonesome.

Because the truth about the truth is this:
There are always more layers than we know.
Life is complicated,
and understanding what has happened,
why it has happened,
and who made it happen
can sometimes take a while to suss out.

This is most especially true when it comes to truth-telling
about anybody else — we cannot know all the pieces,
all the layers of their story, can we?

Maybe that’s why I want to emphasize personal truth-telling
in this post: telling the truth about yourself,
as well as you possibly can,
with care and caution and concern.

There are a lot ‘catch-words’ about this truth-telling stuff
making the rounds these days.
Words like ‘authenticity,’ ‘vulnerability,’ ‘telling-it-like-it-is.’
And those are fine words, good words, important words.
But sometimes, in our efforts to tell the truth,
we can find ourselves standing out there, all by our lonesome,
a bright red tree against a sea of green,
calling attention to ourselves,
and not always in the way we intended, either.

So, I want to give you permission to tell the truth,
to tell your truth.
But I want to give it with a caution.
Tell it first to a small group of like-minded people,
people who know you, who love you, who want the best for you.
Then you won’t feel like so much of a stand-out —
you’ll be one among several.
Sometimes we need to practice truth-telling
in a safe environment,
with people who know us,
before we make any declarations to the universe
about who we are and what we’re dealing with.

Then, when the time comes
to tell the truth in a bigger pond,
a pond where you really might be the stand-out attraction,
you’ll have that experience to help you tell it.
You’ll shine, and you’ll begin to reflect
the Truth with a capital “T” to all who listen.
And that’s the kind of truth-telling that changes things.

Authenticity is a very good thing;
just make sure you know your truth very well indeed
before you share it with the wider world.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Blogging, Confession, Encouragement, Words

31 Days of Giving Permission . . . TO IMAGINE

October 21, 2013 By Diana

Imagine you’re a 1st century Galilean.
And you’re proud of the hometown boy who made good
down there in Judea.
You’ve heard rumors that he’s got a real way with words,
that he puts on quite a magic show,
and that the crowds are eating it up.

Way to go, Jesus.

The thing is, though, Jesus can see right through you.
Yeah, he can.
He can see that you’re impressed by the bells and whistles,
but you haven’t a clue who he is,
what he’s really about.

Imagine next, an outsider comes along.
Someone who actually follows Jesus over hill and dale,
and begs him for help.
A ‘royal official,’ John’s gospel tell us.
Not only an outsider, but a leader of the band,
the band that has taken so much from Israel already.

And this guy, more than the hometown folks,
gets it.
He sees Jesus more clearly than
any of those who watched him grow up,
than any of those who are on the inside.
He has a sick boy,
and he’s not too proud to beg,
“Jesus, heal my boy. I know you can.”

Imagine that Jesus then turns to all those
round about,
all those old friends and family,
all those who maybe should have seen
and understood more than they did,
but who were, as Jesus himself remembered,
the very ones least likely to welcome
Jesus. . . the prophet.

Because that’s who he was, right?
Yeah, he was a great teacher,
yeah, he spoke with authority,
yeah, he made wine out of water,
and yeah, he did some cool healing tricks.
That Jesus, everybody wants to pat on the back

But Jesus, the prophet?

Ain’t nobody wants a prophet around.
They get up in your business and they pontificate
and they tell it way too much like it is.

It’s to those very skeptics that Jesus says,
“Unless you people see signs and wonders,
you will never believe,”
with such sorrow and heaviness in his tone.

But to the one who came begging?
The guy on the outside?
Jesus has only one word:
“GO.”

Our pastor put it this way:
“He had to leave in order to believe.”

And you know what?
The guy did exactly what Jesus told him to do.
“He took Jesus at his word and departed.”

And sure enough, before he even sees the boy,
word comes that he is well!

And the timing of that wellness?
EXACTLY when Jesus had said,
“GO,
your son will live.”

Imagine that!

Can you imagine that maybe you’re at such a point in your own journey?
A point where you just have to take that step,
trusting that somehow, you’ll see the work of Jesus when you get there?
Maybe you, like I, have to let go of the Jesus picture we’ve cobbled together,
the one that suits our purposes,
that meets our definition of what a
healer, a savior, a friend should look like.
Maybe, just maybe, we have to embrace ALL the pieces
of this strange and wonderful person
and stop with the pats on the back, you know?

Maybe we need to turn into the unknown and say,
“I’m taking you at your word, Lord.
I’m trusting that you are out for my good,
even though all I can see is dark and hard and scary.”

Can you imagine that?

My thanks to Pastor Jon Lemmond for his thought-provoking sermon yesterday, entitled, “The Galilean in You, the Galilean in Me. . . ” It’s painful to recognize those Galilean traits in myself, but so important to do it, to let loose of my own carefully defined picture of Jesus and allow him to be someone beyond my comprehension, beyond my power to define. Joining with Michelle today and with Jen, too.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, biblical reflection, Blogging, Confession, Encouragement, Sermons/Homilies, Uncategorized, worship

31 Days of Giving Permission . . . TO BE SEEN

October 13, 2013 By Diana

The sermon topic was centered around the encounter of Jesus with the Samaritan woman at the well, one of the richest passages in the entire New Testament. So many layers, so much great stuff to think about. And our pastor did a fine job asking good questions, finding great points of application. It was my turn to lead in prayer, and I wove together some of my own thoughts on that passage and the emotions that were triggered by a poem posted on Facebook Saturday by John Blase, one of my favorite people writing anywhere. The gospel passage is about a tough conversation, and a woman who discovers that there is a man, an amazing man, who truly sees her for all of who she is — and accepts her anyhow.
So as you pray this prayer today, will you give yourself permission to be fully seen by Jesus? For who you are and what you’ve done and what you’ve not done?

A Post-Pentecost Prayer
October 13, 2013
written by Diana R.G. Trautwein

I came into worship today with this poem on my heart.
It’s written by a friend I’ve met online. He’s a writer, an editor, a poet,
and a bit of a cowboy, who lives in Colorado.
And he often puts words to things I’m wrestling with,
words that are just behind my eyes, but I can’t quite see.

Do you know that feeling?
His name is John Blase and these are his words.
They’ve been haunting me a bit this weekend:

The loneliness lays
claim to you with
cumulative power.
It starts as a wild hair.
You break rank and
keep your eyes open
as others bow to pray.
You see a sea of crowns
for the very first time
and feel adrift: who
are these strangers?
You close your eyes
before the final amen,
a timed acquiescence.
You file out with the
throng into the bright
sunlight. But you can’t
shake the bony chill.
You sense this will
only grow sharper.

–-John D. Blase*

As we, in this circle, go to prayer, I want to acknowledge that
some of you may well be feeling what is described here.
And if you want to keep your eyes open while we pray, that’s just fine by me.

Let’s pray together:

There are days, LORD, when the only prayer we can find
is the one we just sang: Come, Lord Jesus, come.

The truth is,
we’re all thirsty, most all the time.
We’re thirsty for things we can’t quite name,
hungry for friends we don’t quite see,
often painfully aware that we’re lonelier than we know.

And that’s one of the reasons that we come here,
and we join our voices together, to sing out your praises.
Somehow, we feel a little less alone, a little more connected,
when we sing.

But I’m not sure that connection is as easily found when we pray.

So, as we begin this part of our conversation with you today, Lord,
I want to acknowledge those who feel the bony chill of loneliness and disconnection.

Our gospel story today tells us about such a one, a woman on the edge,
on the outside of her community.
Yet, you saw her. You acknowledged her and drew her out,
you confronted her and challenged her.

You. Saw. Her.

She gave you water from the well.
But you gave her life, and hope and newness.
And she ended that well-side conversation
with all of that outside-the-edginess gone, her loneliness dissolved.

So I guess, Lord, I am asking you to remind us — each one of us,
in ways that are as unique to us as they were to that woman —
that you see us.

Tell us again that the water you give is the only water that works,
living water that does what water does –
it filters down into every crack and crevice and brings new life.
It meanders, and slowly but surely snakes its way into every layer of who we are,
and it changes us.

Even on the lonely days, it keeps on trickling down.
Even when we can’t find the words because the grief is too deep,
or the fear is too high,
or the harsh words we said in the car on the way to church are still hanging in the air —
that water of life keeps working its way into us.

Will you help us to remember that, please?
To know that when we come to the Water that is you,
we will always find what we need?

We confess to you that we don’t always make it easy
for your water to do its watery thing.

We build dams and we blow a lot of hot air
and we sometimes even turn off the spigot,
with our stubbornness and our proclivity for desert living.
Forgive us, Father, and strengthen us to follow the river of life right to its source!

Thank you so much for the richness of your gift to us,
for the assurance that our hope is in you, and nowhere else.

And help us to see with your eyes, to spot those who are lonely
and reach out in kindness,
to offer that famous cup of cold water
in ways that are specific and unique to each person along the way,
help us to be leaky vessels,
through which the water of life gets spread all over the place.

We will thank you and we will praise you
and we will gladly drink at the fountain again and again.

In Jesus’ name, amen.

*Here is a link to John Blase’s website, The Beautiful Due. I urge you to subscribe and get his beautiful, thoughtful, challenging poetry in your inbox. You will never regret it.

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, biblical reflection, Blogging, Confession, Encouragement, John Blase, prayer, Spiritual Formation, Wonderings in the Word, worship, Writing

The 31 Day Challenge!

September 30, 2013 By Diana

. . . to disconnect

It’s been quiet here the last week or so.
And there’s a good reason for that.

I’m traveling right now,
a combination of business, pleasure,
and commitment.
There was no room for writing in this space,
not any way I sliced it,
so I gave myself permission to . . .

disconnect

for a few days.
Not forever, and not from everything,
but from here, for now.

And you know what?
That simple act sparked something in me,
something which I’m going to be talking about
for the next 31 days, right here.

I’ll be talking about giving permission to . . .

ourselves.

Permission to do new things,
familiar things,
scary things,
easy things,
unusual things,
usual things,
startling things,
ordinary things,
things that we too often either
forget,
delay,
ignore,
hide,
or deny.

Things that move us out of our rut,
or snap us out of our mood,
or force us out of hiding.
Things that add dimension to life,
that bring fullness,
variety,
intrigue,
maybe even transformation.

Are you interested?

Well then, just check in each day of October.
There will be a new topic everyday.
Some days there will be a lot of words,
some, not so many.
There will usually be a photo or two,
there will be room to laugh, cry,
sing, dance, doubt, lament, rejoice.

Because that’s who we are,
who we’re designed to be,
who we’re meant to be.

Whole.
Interesting and interested.
Curious and open,
attentive, inventive,
creative and responsive.

So let’s start with disconnecting, shall we?

Take a break from one thing this week.
I don’t care what it is – something that gives you
just a squinch more breathing room in your day,
something that opens up a crack for fresh air,
fresh thinking, maybe even soul searching.

Are you up for it?

Tell me your one thing – put it in the comments.
Maybe that way, you’ll actually make that space in your day,
that tiny space. . . just to breathe in, to breathe deep.

Signing on with The Nester for the 2nd year in a row. Come on over and see the hundreds of others who will be enjoying this fun (and challenging) experiment.

Every day? For 31 days in a row?
I must be nuts
But you knew that, right?

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, community, Confession, Encouragement, friendship. personal journey, God's gifts, personal journey, Uncategorized

The Noise Inside

September 17, 2013 By Diana

So. I’m taking this remarkable online writing class, one of the great workshop offerings coming from TSPoetry. This week’s assignment was to write about jealousy and it’s impact on my writing life. I would like to tell you that I am ABOVE such emotions, that I am spiritually mature enough to never have to deal with the green-eyed monster, that I am completely confident in my own ability to write what God gives me to write. I would like to tell you all of that. But, in truth, I cannot. I am grateful for this group of writers and the kindness and encouragement we share with one another. AND, my classmates tell me I am not alone in this craziness; I find that oddly comforting.

(I should probably tell you that we were to riff off of a chapter in Anne Lamott’s wonderful book, “Bird by Bird.” So this is my small attempt at humor.)

Sometimes it feels really crowded up inside my head!!

I recently wrote a piece for a A Deeper Family entitled, “The Crazy Lady” In it, I described one of the voices that inhabits my head, the one that takes me to the precipice of anxiety and tells me I’m pretty dang worthless along the way.

And she’s a mighty force, that voice, determined to push me into incessant navel-gazing and unnecessary worst-case-scenario thinking.

What I didn’t say in that essay is that The Crazy Lady is not the only voice inside my head. No sirree. She is just the leader of the pack. Her posse includes a few other banditos, of varying ages and shapes, who somehow manage to inhabit my psychic inner space with alarming frequency, making life interesting on the best of days and wildly challenging on the worst.

Shall I name them for you? Let’s see — there is The Little Girl, about age six, who needs some comforting now and again. And then there’s the gremlin-like version of my mother, The Parent Voice (or the infamous Inner Critic) who calls me names that I would never dream of calling another living soul, who constantly criticizes my every thought and word, and who often succeeds in making me feel like a worthless pile of crap.

And then we have . . . ta da! . . . The District Attorney, who is always trying to make sure the balance scales of life are even, or, if possible, tipped a tiny bit in my direction. I can see her now, in her fancy suit, pencil skirt, white blouse, tailored jacket. Large horn-rimmed glasses, minimal jewelry, hair up in a bun, and a pencil stuck just behind her ear, the better to jot down the names of others who are getting far too much attention, don’t you know?

Did you see who got ALL those comments this morning? It’s just not fair – your writing is at least as good as hers!

Are you kidding me??? SHE got a book contract? How is that even possible?

That person has not been blogging nearly as long as you have and just LOOK at the audience she has built. She’s got this ‘platform’ thing sewn up.

And it’s at about this point that, all of a sudden, the pencil disappears, the hair comes down, the tailored suit morphs into a long flowing gown that glistens darkly in the light and every piece of jewelry she owns is shining, dangling, teasing me into these kinds of thoughts:

Dahling, did you read that line? That perfect line of prose, those words that sing? What a pity that you can’t write a line like that.

I really think you should move onto something else in life. Your words are SO pedestrian, so redundant and reductive and altogether B O R I N G.

And then, in a flash, the glitter disappears, the hair turns the color of mouse fur, and she hunches over as if she’s embarrassed to be in the same space as all these other fascinating creatures inhabiting my head. She becomes a more pathetic version of the inner critic, mumbling and wringing her hands. I call her Miss Mouse.

I KNEW you should never have tried this – you just aren’t good enough.

That woman over there, she knows what she’s doing and she’s going to make a huge splash. But YOU? Not a chance.

Platform? Did you hear about something called a platform? Oh my, one more thing you simply cannot do.

So please, just shut it down, okay? Just SHUT IT DOWN, before you embarrass us all.

Sigh. It’s a wonder I get anything done ever, don’t you think?

In the spirit of playfulness and story-telling, posting this with Laura and Jen this week.