Advent: Remembering the Ways of God

December 2, 2011 By
“Oh that you would rend the heavens and come down,
that the mountains would tremble before you!
Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you, 
who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.
You come to the help of those who gladly do right,
 who remember your ways.” 
Isaiah 64:1, 4-5 
Reading for the first Sunday in Advent 

The prophet’s cry echoes down through the centuries, 
right into the middle of my central California lifestyle.
Each and every Advent, sometimes multiple times during these four weeks, 
I find my spirit singing Isaiah’s words of praise and longing. 
And I stretch my mind to do what he asks:
to remember the ways of God.
To remember that the ways of God are not our ways.
To remember that the ways of God are small and surprising
more often than large and predictable.
To remember that rending the heavens will be saved for another Advent, 
one for which we still wait.
So as Advent begins to unfurl each year, I remember.
I remember the ways of God.
The small and hidden,
quiet and secretive ways of our great God,
King of the Universe,
who entered the Virgin’s womb
to become as one with us.

Out of the chaos, order.
Out of the darkness, light.
Out of death, life.
And then, in stunning reverse:
out of the glistening, glorious starry heights
into the dark and murky fluids,
the blood and the water,
the reliance upon another for nurture and nourishment,
the vulnerable, tender uncertainty of the human condition.

And I remember the ways we have seen the Baby in our midst,
in our vulnerable, tender and uncertain condition.
I remember the ways we have found the small,
the hidden,
the quiet;
the unnoticeable notices
of Emmanuel, God with us.
“O come, O come, Emmanuel…”

 I sing a verse of remembering for each of these
splendid small stories:
marrying my hero one week before Christmas 
and buying our very first tree for 50 cents on Christmas Eve, 
 a tiny thing, scrawny and misshapen 
 but so beautiful to us;

standing in the starlight on a moonless Advent night in Zambia one year later, marveling that our families were
celebrating the same Infant Savior 14,000 miles 
around the world from us; 

carrying our second baby, birthing her in December, wondering if Mary felt as overwhelmed with the wonder and beauty of it all;

being gripped with fear as our youngest entered the hospital in Advent, 
a tiny invasive bacteria literally eating his heel bone; 
then bringing him home on Christmas Eve, 
rejoicing in the goodness of God and the gift of antibiotics;

joyfully displaying an increasing supply of home-grown Advent art as our family grew up; gently saying ‘thank-you’ for each of our children as the paper became more and more tattered over the years;

learning about Lucia at our Swedish church, each of our daughters taking her turn to wear the crown of candles, ushering in the Light of the World 

on the shortest, darkest day of the year;

absorbing the wonders of the liturgical year at mid-life,

forming a home-grown wreath 
and lighting the candles each week;

creating Advent worship experiences with a team of talented musicians/dramatists/graphic artists, each one offering their gifts in thanksgiving and praise;

preaching my very first sermon on the 2nd Sunday of Advent in 1990, and just before I began, being gently told that the husband of a dear friend had died the night before, underscoring for me the smallness of all human endeavor in the face of eternity – a great place for a preacher to be;


offering the body and the blood to the community of faith every Advent for 17 years, each time amazed and overwhelmed at the power of such simple things: 
bread and wine – 
the whole world contained in ordinary fruits of the soil:
dusty gifts for dusty people. 

“O come, O come, Emmanuel…” 

Life is filled with such splendid, small stories.
And every year, I ask for eyes to see,
for a voice to tell,
and a heart to remember
the ways of God at work in the world,
at work in my everyday,
oh-so-messy yet glorious world.
“May Jesus Christ be praised.”

Responding to Charity Singleton’s kind invitation to join The High Calling Community in sharing Advent reflections. (http://charitysingleton.blogspot.com/2011/11/week-1-day-2-advent-writing-project.html) This one is more general in scope than might have been asked for, but this is where I am in life – looking backward a lot, with deep thanksgiving for growth along the way. Tiny shoots of hope and life here and there, reminding me of God’s faithfulness in the everyday.






 
Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

An Advent Surprise-a Kiss from God

November 28, 2011 By

 A tender statue in the middle of a small fountain 
at the Jesuit Retreat Center in Los Altos, CA

It’s been a strange ten days or so. I’ve felt out of sync, out of sorts, out of step. We’ve done a lot of driving, a lot of worrying, a lot of wondering. What is the best next step for each of our mothers? Is there a ‘next step?’ We’re neck deep in providing some financial counseling to younger couples in a bind, something my husband and I have learned to love doing together since my pastoring days. The Thanksgiving holiday bore down on us like a mack truck, filling the landscape with planning and shopping and the usual fol-de-rol. 

And in the middle of all of that, I stopped writing. For about 10 days. That’s the longest stretch since about one year ago, when I dove into this stuff head first, intrigued, driven, wanting to wrestle with the words, to wrestle with God, to get it down there in black and white. But I’ve wondered about it these last days. Wondered if I should just chuck it and devote myself to family and spiritual direction and give up this ‘thing,’ this force that takes enormous amounts of time and energy and thought and prayer and wondering. I’ve been asking God about it a lot. “Is this what I should be doing with my time?” 

Today in our first-Sunday-in-Advent service, I was visited by the Holy Spirit in a way that totally surprised me. It came out of left field, as a friend – sitting to our left, across the aisle – strode up to the podium to lead us in congregational prayer. She took out the little prayer book I gave to folks as a thank-you gift for our years together in this place, a collection of written public prayers and a few photos that I handed out at my retirement dinner last December. And she thanked me for it. Then she read a prayer from it – along with one by Walter Bruggemann, yes, THE Walter Brueggemann!! And as she read and I listened, something shifted inside me. Something opened. I have never heard anything I’ve written read by someone else. And I hadn’t even looked at this prayer for more than a year, so it came to me fresh. And it touched something in me. That ‘something’ felt like a kiss from God. Yes, that’s what it felt like. A kiss – a gesture, an answer, a sweet call, a kind ‘yes.’ So, that’s my first-Sunday-in-Advent report for this week. The sermon was wonderful, the music perfect. But it was the prayer – my own, God-given words – that spoke to me at some deep level this week, as the door to this season of waiting swung wide.  Yes indeed, it’s been a very strange 10 days or so. (The formatting is a tad funky – I had to cut and paste and the line breaks did not all cooperate):

Prayer for the 1st Sunday in Advent, 2009
written by Diana R.G. Trautwein

Funny thing, Lord – it doesn’t quite feel like New Year’s.
But that’s where we find ourselves today, isn’t it?
The first Sunday in Advent – the very beginning of
    the church calendar.
Starting over.
Looking back at the beginning again.
Yet also looking forward, even leaning forward,
    with anticipation and expectation and hope.
That’s what Advent is for us, Lord, and we’re so grateful for it.
And for the promise this season brings –
    the promise of good things still to come,
    the promise of the manger,
    the promise of you – visiting us in some new way,
        coming to us with your arms wide open,
        ready to meet us, right where we live.

But… I have to admit that it’s sometimes tough to slide into the     
    spirit of this wonderful season when it comes so close
    on the heels of the holiday just past .
We’re still full from all the feasting,
    we’re still dizzy from all the football,
    we’re still dealing with the aftermath of family
        gatherings and conversations –
        some of which were wonderful and refreshing;
        some of which were exhausting and complicated.

So.  Today – this morning – right now –
    as we sit here with our heads bowed and our spirits quiet,
    remind us again of why we ‘do’ Advent here.

Tell us the old, old story, and open our hearts to hear it anew.
Whisper to us of starry nights,
    and shepherds,
    and wise men coming from faraway places.
Sing to us – and teach us to sing to one another – 
    about crowded inns,
    and strange dreams,
    and, O Lord, remind us about the angels!
Your special envoys, messengers come to tell us Big News,
    Good News.
And help us to hear what the angels have to say –
    what they have to say to the lead players in the                           
    Christmas story of long ago –
    and what they have to say to us,
        today, right here, right now.
Bless and encourage our pastor Don as he brings us 
    your word of hope this 1st Sunday in Advent.

For that is our primary prayer this morning, Lord:
    hope.
    Building that hope on the sure foundation of your word,
    living that hope in the nitty-gritty of every day
        decision making,
        and relationship building
        and kid-tending,
        and school assignments,
        and jobs;
    and sharing that hope in the hard places of our lives,
    offering it to those who seem to have little of it.

So, Lord God, as we take in the scent of this beautiful tree
    and enjoy the beauty of our first lit candle,
    and as we begin to move ourselves,
    both literally and figuratively,
    from the colors of autumn to the colors of Christmas,
call us again to hope, hope in you.
Take the gifts we’ve brought today and multiply
    them in the miraculous way that only you can do.

Build your kingdom in this world, Lord,
    and use us and our gifts to help do that!
And build your kingdom in us –
    heal our diseases,
    bind up our broken hearts,
    forgive our sins,
    transform our very beings so that we might
        look more and more like Jesus,
        who is the reason for the season,
        and in whose name we pray today,
    Amen.

Joining with Jen and with Michelle for their weekly invitation, after several weeks away. I am so grateful for each of them and for the communities they are building. And also sending this out to the community at Bonnie Gray’s place and over to Emily Wierenga, too.




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Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

SUNDAY!

November 20, 2011 By

Joining with Deidra Riggs over at JumpingTandem for her lovely meme called simply – Sunday!


A 6-hour drive to northern California, heading to a spiritual direction retreat with a friend, brought this amazing view during a quick stop in San Luis Obispo. And here’s the shot without the verse superimposed, because sometimes pictures can speak all on their own.


Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: do you believe this?

November 7, 2011 By
Yesterday was All Saints’ Sunday.
It was also Communion Sunday.
Sigh.
Two of my very favorite worship experiences on the same day.
When Don Johnson became our pastor, he brought with him some liturgical traditions that were new to us, 
every one of which I love. 
Each All Saints’ Sunday, we share a litany of thanksgiving for 
those who have died in the year just past.
And a couple of years ago, we added a new piece to this observance:
lit votive candles sit on a table at the back of the center aisle, and during the opening worship song, we are invited to pick up a candle and bring it to the front, placing it on the shelves to the side of the chancel. Those who wish to remember loved ones who have passed from this life to the next are invited to do so in this tactile and beautiful way. It always moves me to tears. I carried a candle for our son-in-law and for my youngest brother yesterday. My husband carried a candle for his father and mine. At least 40 people streamed forward with candles, adding their small lights to the gathering brightness in the front of the sanctuary. It provided a beautiful focus for the service which followed, most particularly for the sermon built on John 11’s story of Jesus’ encounter with Martha and the subsequent raising of Lazarus from the dead. Check it out in John 11:17-44 – it’s one of the all time great conversations in scripture, to say nothing of the miraculous activity that follows it. The photo below was taken by our pastor using the hipstmatic app on his iphone. It created a mirror image of one of our candlelit shelves – and is lovely in it’s black and white simplicity. 
Thank you, Don – for the picture and the sermon.
How many times have I heard this question asked?
How many times have I asked it myself, offering these words as a call to worship at a memorial Service of the Resurrection?
“I am the resurrection and the life. 
Anyone who believes in me will live, 
even though they die, 
and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. 
Do you believe this?”
Do you believe this??
I wonder sometimes at Martha’s quick, sure response:
“Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Messiah, 
the Son of God who was to come into the world.”

I wonder in both senses of that word – 
I ponder it, 
surprised and maybe a little doubtful 
that she truly understood what she was saying.
And I wonder – I truly WONDER.
I am awestruck at her simple, clear faith.

For in truth, who of us ever understands what this means?
This remarkable statement of identity,
this claim to divine status,
this fulfillment of centuries of promise,
of hope delayed,
of suffering and enemy occupation and senseless slaughter.

It is an astounding claim, when you think about it.
This entire story is fraught with mind-boggling details:
Jesus delayed two days before going to see 
one of his best friends who was seriously ill.
He delayed two days.

He makes strange noises about glory and death not being death.

He engages Martha – the over-busy one, the one he loves in her over-busyness – 
he speaks to her with confidence and tenderness and hope. 
He surprises her with his question, I think.
And she blurts out her gut response.
“Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord, I BELIEVE.”

He strides over to the tomb, struck by the weeping all around 
as he walks. So struck that he himself weeps.
Death is so clearly the enemy in this story.
The grief and wrenching disorientation that death brings – 
these are the things that bring tears to the Savior.

He patiently endures the blame – from the sisters, these ones who are part of his inner circle, the women who have seen him and known him as few others have. 
And the unspoken blame that sat heavy in the air all around him  
as he climbed to that tomb.
“He loved him – but couldn’t he have done something to prevent all this weeping? 
Where was he?  Where was he?“

And then comes the command: Take away that stone!

Martha – bless her – Martha once again speaks before she takes time to think.
“But Lord, he’s been here for four days – he’s going to stink!”

“Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

How this line cuts me to the quick, every single time I read it.

Did I not tell you?
Do you not know?
Do you not believe?

And then, the prayer of thanksgiving, offered BEFORE the miracle.

And the booming voice, the voice over creation, now the voice over death:
“LAZARUS, COME OUT!”
And he does!
In front of them all, this stunning truth:
trailing his burial cloths, Lazarus walks out of his own tomb.
This revelation is the big one – the penultimate one – 
and it is designed to show his closest friends exactly who he is, 
to provide the most powerful visual aid ever, to picture who God truly is – 
a God who raises the dead. 
A God who raises the dead.
And one last, all-important detail remains…
“Take off the grave clothes, and let him go.“
Let.Him.Go.
And something inside my spirit begins to ring like a tuning fork.
Yes, I recognize this deep truth, this call to freedom.
For when I take a good look at myself, 
I often see the trailing ends of rags, 
those bindings of death that slow my forward motion,
that keep me from truly seeing, 
from truly living my life. 
Sometimes I need help to get rid of them.
And sometimes, so do you.
That’s why we’re together on this journey, isn’t it?
To help each other believe.
To help each other believe that we serve a God who raises the dead. 
A God who says to us all,
“Unwind the tangles. 
Release each other to fullness of life. 
Believe.“
Do you believe this?
Joining this Monday, as I do most Mondays, with Michelle over at “Graceful” and tomorrow with the soli deo gloria sisterhood at Jen’s place, “Finding Heaven. 


 

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: what do you want me to do for you?

October 31, 2011 By
Light at the end of the tunnel…
The Old Biltmore Hotel, Santa Barbara CA October 2011
 This reflection comes from a sermon by Pastor Don Johnson on Luke 18:35-43 – the healing of the blind man by the roadside. You really need to read verses 31-34 as well. 
It’s quite a story. I’ll paste it in for you at the bottom of this post.

There is only one week left.
One week before that fateful ride into Jerusalem.
One week before everything turns upside down.
Jesus knows the time is near; his disciples haven’t a clue.
They’re on their way up the road, climbing to the city,
to the temple, to the festival.
And the ancient crossroads city of Jericho is on the way.
As usual, the teacher is dropping dark hints 
about what’s coming.
As usual, the disciples don’t get it.
 So instead of engaging Jesus in conversation about this  
 mysterious word of prophecy,
they change the subject.
“Wow, guys – look at these crowds!
They’re lining the roadside!
See them whispering to each other about Jesus passing by?
Why in the world is he being SO negative 
when it’s clear as day that what we’ve got going here 
is a regular ‘Jesus Fan Club!’
Good thing we’re the founding members.”
Then, up ahead – there, by the side of the road.
Do you see him?
Can you hear him?
My word, that beggar is noisy!
What’s that he’s yelling?
“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
“Shush it up, man! Can’t you see we’re going somewhere?  Keep it down – don’t bother us, we’re leading the parade here 
 and we don’t need some scruffy, blind beggar 
getting in the way.”

But the man shouted all the louder:
“Son of David, have mercy on me.”

And that pretty much stopped the whole climbing party.

Jesus, almost angry, demands that the beggar be brought  
 right in front of him. And as he approached, 
Jesus asked the man an interesting question:
“What do you want me to do for you?”
He didn’t say, “Well, what’s all the shouting about?”
He didn’t say, “So, whaddya want?”
He didn’t say, “Shazaam – your problems are over.”
He looked him in the eye – those eyes that saw nothing – 
and he asked him a deeply personal question:
“What do YOU want ME to do for YOU?”

And a simple answer came: “Lord, I want to see.”

And Jesus does that Jesus thing again:
“Receive your sight; your faith has healed you.”
Faith?
What faith?
Hey, wait a minute. Just a doggone minute.
We’re the ones following in your wake.
We’re the ones who’ve been with you every step 
of the last three years.
And he’s the one with faith?
Yes, boys.
HE’S  the one who gets it.
As soon as he’s told that Jesus is on the road,
he calls out the truth,
the truth that so far no one else has understood.
“Son of David” – a title for the Messiah, and the Messiah alone.
“Have mercy on me” – a prayer that is offered to God alone.
And immediately, his sight is restored –  
and he joins the Fan Club. 
As a true disciple, one who praises God for gifts received, 
 one who recognizes in Jesus the promise of God fulfilled. 
 One whose witness draws others into praising God, too.
So, I guess the question is:
What do I want Jesus to do for me?
Do I see who he truly is?
Do I believe what I see?
Do I believe deeply enough to get real when he asks me:
What do you want me to do for you?
I want to see, too, Jesus!
I want to see like you see.
I want to have your eyes for the world, 
for the people I love, 
for the people I don’t love. 
I even want to have your eyes for me.
“Jesus, Son of David – Son of God, have mercy on me!”
Jesus took the Twelve aside and told them, “We are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written by the prophets about the Son of Man will be fulfilled. He will be delivered over to the Gentiles. They will mock him, insult him and spit on him; they will flog him and kill him. On the third day he will rise again.”
The disciples did not understand any of this. Its meaning was hidden from them, and they did not know what he was talking about.

As Jesus approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard the crowd going by, he asked what was happening. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” He called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  Those who led the way rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Jesus stopped and ordered the man to be brought to him. When he came near, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”
“Lord, I want to see,” he replied.
Jesus said to him, “Receive your sight; your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus, praising God. When all the people saw it, they also praised God.

Joining with Michelle and Jen today, and also with Emily , if she’s still open!

 




Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: do you see this woman?

October 23, 2011 By
A Prayer for the Brokenhearted
Offered in worship at Montecito Covenant Church
Sunday morning, October 23, 2011
in recognition of Domestic Violence Awareness Month
Luke 7:36-50

“Show your face, God of grace,
Enter in, enter in, enter in.”

Even as we let the last echoes of that song 

rise to the rafters of this room, Lord God,
our hearts continue to cry:
“Show your face, God of grace…”

We sit here in these pews,
reminded as we have been this morning
 of unjust and oppressive acts
of violence,
of judgment,
of hatred and disdain,
of objectification and condescension
and perhaps most of all,
of blindness –
that psychological and spiritual
blindness which is the root cause of it all.

We sit here and we try to take it all in,
and we might be tempted to either brush the whole idea off
or to quickly lay the blame for it all
at the feet of others.
All those others out there –
those others who lack
our insight and education;
who lack
our resources and opportunities;
all those others.

But before we get too far down either one of those roads, Lord,
the one that leads to a quick shrug of the shoulders 

or the one that leads to rage against the machine –
we need to take a really deep breath.
And we need to ponder
our own complicity in this whole cycle.

Help us, then, as we begin with a time of
honest personal reflection,
acknowledging the ways in which:

we are impatient and uncomfortable with
this whole topic and wish it would
just go away;

the ways in which we are sure this has nothing to do with us! and the ways in which we’re beginning to think it has everything to do with us;

the ways in which
we are like Simon the Pharisee in our sermon story,
 so quick to judge others first, last and always by
how they look,
what they’re wearing,
what others say about them;

the ways in which we so easily look right past people –  
 sometimes even the people closest to us – 

failing to see them
for who they truly are,
failing to recognize how very like us they are,
and how very like you;

in short, Lord, we need to ponder and acknowledge and confess the ways in which we are dishonest, uncharitable,
mean-spirited and blind – so unlike the One we profess to follow.

So, hear our prayer, O Lord. Hear our prayer.
Forgive us our trespasses,

As confessing and forgiven people, Lord,
we are now bold to ask that you give us hearts that are tender –  
even as you did for the woman with the perfume in Luke’s gospel.
Will you give us hearts that are broken for your sake?
Hearts that will help us look beyond the surface,
beyond the first impression,beyond the…
“How are you today?”
“Oh, I’m fine, just fine…”
to see YOU in the broken hearts of our friends
and our neighbors,
the broken hearts of our wives
and our daughters,
the broken hearts of women and men everywhere.

Because the truth is, Lord,
there isn’t a whole-hearted person
on this planet.
We’re all wounded.
Help us to own our pain and then
to allow that pain – baptized and blessed by your Holy Spirit – to change us.

We are your people, O Lord.
At least we say we are.
And we want to see each other as you see us,
as human beings created in your image,
created male and female,
two sides of the human coin,
designed to work together as partners,
reflecting the fullness of who you are.
 

So I want to thank you today for Jesus,
who came to show us the way,
who came to save us from our worst selves,
and who asks us every single day,
“Do you see this woman?”
“And this one, and this one and this one…?”
Oh, may we hear and answer!
May we answer with our words and with our actions,
with our hearts and with our minds,
with our wills and with our pocketbooks,
with our eyes open,
our ears in tune,
our spirits in sync with your own.

If we don’t do this, Lord, who on earth will?

May your kingdom come!
May it come with power,
and justice
and grace.
May it come to us,
and in us,
and through us.
For Jesus’ sake.
For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

It was strange to stand up in the pulpit again after 11 months away. Very strange. It was a rich worship experience in every other way – the sermon, the scripture readings, the music! Oh, the music. I want to include here the words to a hymn which was new to me and quite powerful. The text is by Brian Wren, an extraordinarily talented hymn writer who penned this wonderful multi-verse story of women in scripture way back in 1983. This version has two verses in addition to the six we sang and it is just plain gorgeous. I offer it, along with the prayer, in lieu of other reflections on yesterday’s service. And I share it with Michelle and with Jen, as I try to do each week in response to their kind invitations: 
“Woman in the Night,” anthem and hymn; text by Brian Wren, 1983. Set to a Methodist hymn tune by Charles Webb, 1989. 

Woman in the night, spent from giving birth,
                                                   

                   guard our precious light: peace is on the earth!


Refrain (sung after each verse):
                   Come and join the song, women, children, men.

                   Jesus makes us free to live again.

                  Woman in the crowd, creeping up behind,
                                                    

                   touching is allowed: seek and you will find!


                  Woman at the well, question the messiah,
                                                    
                  find your friends and tell, drink your hearts desire!


                  Woman at the feast, let the righteous stare;
                                                   
                  come and go in peace; love him with your hair!
 

                  Woman in the house, nurtured to be meek,
                                                   
                  leave your second place: listen, think, and speak!


                  Woman on the road, welcomed and restored,
                                                   
                  travel far and wide; witness to the Lord!


                  Women on the hill, stand when men have fled!                                             
                  
Christ needs loving still, though your hope is dead.

 
                  Women in the dawn, care and spices bring;

                  earliest to mourn; earliest to sing!


 

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: do you want to be made well?

October 17, 2011 By

 Reflections and ripples on the Frio, September 2011

Thirty-eight years, I’ve laid on this mat.

Every day, this same spot.
Weak and waiting.
Wondering if today might be the day.
My body simply will not do what I will it to do.
I want to move,
just a little.
To move closer to the water.
The water that has the power in it.
The power to give me strength,
to help me stand,
to make me move again.

But, here I sit; here I wait.
There is no one who cares enough about me
to offer a hand.
Not one.
So I lie here.
And I watch.
And I wait.

You might call me a hopeless case.
A cock-eyed optimist, always thinking,
“Today might be the day!”
But I am actually more of a realist.
Really, I am.
I know my limits.
I know my needs.
And I’ve lived long enough in this crippled body to know 
that there is nothing to be done for me in the city streets,
in the medical community, such as it is.
So I’ve chosen to believe the stories I’ve been told.
The stories about this water – this
special water, this pool by the Sheep Gate.
The place where the rams to be offered on the altar
are washed clean of any dirt or grime,
made clean, spotlessly so – before they are 
slaughtered and burnt for the sins of our community.
Every so often, the water in this pool bubbles up.
Maybe it’s a spring with the hiccups,
I don’t know.
But every once in a while,
if you’re watching very carefully,
you can see the bubbles and the ripples.
My people believe those ripples are caused 
by the beating of angels’ wings.
Colorful picture, isn’t it?
The heavenly visitor stirs the water –
and if you’re quick enough to be the first person into
the water after the stirring –
well then, your troubles are over.
Your disease is cured, your injury healed,
your dignity restored.

So, this is my chosen place.
There has been no help, no ‘success’ thus far.
Yet I continue to hold out hope that one of these
water-rippling days, I shall be the first one in,
the one who leaps for joy on my way back to the city,
back to life.

So I guess that’s why the rabbi’s question just now 
startled me a little.
I watched him come into our little circle,
the circle of lay-abouts, waiting for the water to move.
And I watched him asking questions,
questions about me, of all things.
I could hear the whispers of reply,
“Oh yes, that one has been here a very long time.”

And then he looked at me.
He looked at me with such intensity, 
I almost had to avert my eyes from his gaze.
“Do you want to get well?” he asked.

Do I want to get well?
Is it not obvious?
“I try, sir, I try with all my might to be the first one
into the water. But there is no one to help me, you see.
And someone else always beats me to it.”
I almost expected a rebuke of some sort,
a ‘buck-up, lad’ sort of response.
But I didn’t get that,
not at all.
Not. At .All.

But here is what I did get:
“Get up!  
Pick up your mat and walk.”

And that is exactly what I did.
I did not hesitate, not for a second.
I kept looking into those eyes,
those tightly-focused, blazing eyes
and what I saw there was all I needed:
recognition,
acknowledgement,
openness,
power,
understanding,
acceptance,
deep concern,
total commitment to my well-being,
and hope – 
more than enough hope to match my own.

So I got up.
And I picked up that oh-so-familiar mat.
And I walked away from the pool,
free for the first time in decades –
free to decide where to go,
whom to see,
who to be.

Today was my day, you see.
The heavenly visitor arrived and spoke directly to me.
He delivered a prescription,
and I chose to take it.
He asked and I answered.
Hallelujah. Amen.
How about you?
My thanks to Pastor Don Johnson for his challenging sermon on this text from John 5 yesterday. Linking with Michelle at Graceful and Jen at Finding Heaven this Monday afternoon, with thanks for their weekly invitations:

 

Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: why do you see the speck?

October 10, 2011 By
 Trinity Lutheran church steeple, LBJ Ranch, Stonewall, Texas
“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in someone else’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say, ‘Let me take the speck our of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from the other person’s eye.”
– words of Jesus in Matthew 7:1-5
Oooh, Jesus is really messin’ with me now.
Whaddya mean a PLANK in my eye?
I’m a ‘good girl.’
(Okay, okay, maybe not a girl anymore, but I’m sure as shootin’ 
a good person, aren’t I?) 
I mean, really, isn’t it my Christian duty to help people see their faults, their foibles, their flaws?
Isn’t that what accountability is all about?
Isn’t that what it means to be a flag-bearer for the good, the true, 
the right way to do things?
Isn’t that what any good, church-going Christian believer would and should do?
Ummmm….that would be a ‘no.’

But, truth be told, it’s the default mode for most of us, most of the time. I spend way too much of my time and energy looking for the specks in my neighbors’ eyes…because that way, I don’t have to look at 
the honkin’ big log growing out of my own iris.

Jesus is using a funny word picture here,
but the laugh’s on me, I fear.
And, I venture to say, on you, too.
From Adam and Eve in that fateful garden, 
the two of them wanting to be cut in on the deal of full disclosure, 
wanting to be like God – ever since then, 
all of us have a heckuva time admitting that we are, after all,
HUMAN.
We screw up.
We mess up.
We hurt each other,
we hurt ourselves,
we deny God,
we refuse to see what’s right in front of our faces.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s because of that big old plank sticking out of one eye!

Oh, we put a good face on it,
we pretend we can do far more than we’re equipped to do,
and we refuse to admit the depths of our own willfulness,
of our own designs on divine status.
In the words of one of my favorite preachers, 
Pastor Jon Lemmond,
“We are not God.
We’re not even a one-eyed God.
In fact, most of the time, we’re not even a 2-eyed human.
We put make-up on the specks in our eyes and call them eyelashes. 
We are play-acting, being actively deceptive. 
In fact, we are incapable of carrying out the task we have assumed (to ensure that everyone knows what the ‘right’ thing to do is, that they stand corrected with every footfall off the true path), but we refuse to admit it.”

Why?
Because we fail to recognize the true nature of sin.
Because under the guise of being the good guys,
we miss the gospel entirely and become like the Pharisees.

Ouch.
Double ouch.

We were reminded this morning that history is filled with horrendous stories of ‘good’ people who believed in their own righteousness, their own ‘rightness’ so thoroughly, that they committed absolutely horrendous acts against humanity.
The upshot of this q & a in the Sermon on the Mount is this:  
human beings can twist anything into a weapon and use it to hurt others.
When we become so consumed with pulling the specks out of our brother’s or sister’s eye – without first taking a darned good look at our own – we completely forget our dependence on grace, our need for rescue.
In trying to ‘save’ someone else,
we miss the Savior.
In gripping so tightly to our own idea of ‘right,’
we cannot grasp the true righteousness offered us in Jesus.
What to do?

Spend time in soul-searching and confession.
Ask the Spirit of God to enlighten us,
to forgive us,
to strengthen us for the journey of peace and reconciliation 
to which we have been called.
And always remember that the church’s real identity is this:   
the Community of Mutual Impairment!

Our text does leave room for gentle, caring correction of those to whom 
we are closest in the family of God.
BUT only after we have cleared out the sin in our own lives.
A beautiful example was given from the life of Gandhi,
a great teacher not known for being a Jesus-follower but
who never ceases to amaze me with his Christ-like wisdom and insight:
A mother brought her son to the great teacher and said:
“Papa, tell this boy of mine to stop stuffing himself with sweet things. 
They are not healthy and will harm him.”
“Come back in 3 days,” the quiet guru said.
Three days, later, mother and son returned, 
and Gandhi turned to the boy and said:
“Young man, stop stuffing yourself with sweets; 
they are not good for you and will do you harm.”
“Why, Papa, could you not have said that 3 days ago?”
“Because, my daughter, three days ago, I was stuffing myself with sweet things. I could not ask him to give up something I had not yet given up myself.”

Exactly. That’s the only way corrective advice/instruction/words of wisdom can ever be offered to another – only after we have done our own work on our own self.
And even then, we must always remember that, “even very small specks can cause a great deal of pain and that eyes are very sensitive places.” 
So, we must always, ALWAYS tune into the pain 
when we enter into this kind of conversation.
And ultimately, we must also remember that only God can declare what is good and what is not.

Time to go look in that magnifying mirror!

Finally getting back to the group at Michelle’s “HearIt/UseIt” meme and the soli deo gloria sisterhood at Jen’s place too:
Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: who do you say that I am?

September 22, 2011 By

I am quite late this week in joining with Michelle at her lovely “Graceful” blog, hooking into her weekly invitation to “Hear It on Sunday/Use It on Monday.” And the soli deo gloria sisterhood at Jen’s blog, “Finding Heaven,” where the community is thriving. I’m late because we left CA this a.m. on a 12-day trip, landing in Nashville tonight for a 5 day stay with some long-time friends. Then to San Antonio for 3 days of sight-seeing, then to Laity Lodge for the writer’s retreat there and home again on Sunday, October 2. 

As always, the ideas you find here spring directly from the pastor’s fine preaching, sifted through my memory and life experience. This week, Don Johnson brought the word.

We jumped to the New Testament on Sunday, to the 8th chapter of Mark – the very center of this gospel. Up to this point, the rapid story-telling of Mark has been focused on the things Jesus did in his ministry; now the focus zeroes in on who Jesus IS. He gives the disciples a bit of a mid-term exam at this point, asking them a string of difficult questions, most of them centered around this idea: “Hey, do you guys get it yet?” 

The question under the spotlight this week is actually about question #11 in this chapter – most of them indicating a bit of impatience, even annoyance. There is an all-too-familiar feel to this line of questioning, leading to a rather paradoxical conclusion: those who profess to know Christ the most often significantly misunderstand him. 

Ouch. 

Have you seen this happen to others? To yourself? A developing rigidity of thought, a desire to keep God in a box of our own design? If so, then this question is of central importance to you. The answer might well determine the trajectory of your entire life:

Who do you say that I am?
 Light.
Rock.
Keystone.
Holy and anointed One.
Risen and exalted One.
“Honey on my lips.”
“Water to my soul.”
A lamp unto my feet.
A strong and mighty tower.
A shelter like no other.
My light.
My salvation.
God’s only Son.
Binder of broken hearts.
Counselor of the confused.
“I will be who I will be”
YHWH.
These are some of the names for God we offered in worship this past Sunday – 
 in song, in prayer, in scripture.
But the question of the hour truly remains:
“Who do YOU say that I am?”
As Jesus began to ask his closest followers about what they were learning 
about him,
about the kingdom of God,
about the purpose of the life they’ve been living with him,
he asked first:
Who do PEOPLE say that I am?
And the disciples were at the ready with some great answers!
“Some say John the Baptist,
some say Elijah,
and still others, one of the prophets.”
Not bad, right?
A prophet, a teacher, a powerful speaker of truth, 
one who calls others to repentance.

But…
Jesus pushes in a little harder, doesn’t he?
“So…who do you say that I am, friends?”
As he is often prone to do,
Jesus gets up-close-and-personal,
cutting to the chase,
and putting his friends on the hot-seat.
And Peter – bless him! – Peter
has a moment of astounding insight,
a rare ability to immediately 
come up with the best of all  
possible answers to that question!
“You are the Messiah!”
The chosen one,
the anointed one,
the one sent by God,
the one promised of old,
the one with true authority,
the one who shows us God.

In that moment of divinely inspired speech,
Peter lays it out there.
You, Jesus – you are the ONE.
But here is the rest of that reality:
Peter – and the others with him –
do not yet understand what it means to give Jesus this title.
Their ideas of “Messiah” are miles away 
from who Jesus truly is,
why Jesus came to this earth.
They haven’t a clue what is coming for him – and for them.
So, from here on in Mark’s gospel,
Jesus is very intentional about showing them,
teaching them, living with them, modeling for them
what God’s Messiah looks like.
And they don’t like it.
Not one little bit.

Suffering is coming?
Ah no, Jesus, that can’t be right!
Peter – the very one who spoke such beautiful truth – 
  pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him!
And that’s when the famous line,
“Get thee behind me, Satan!” 
flies from Jesus’ lips as he looks at his disciples, 
focusing particularly on Peter.

A cross?
And an empty tomb?
Nah, Jesus – that’s just lousy marketing!
Let’s jazz it up a little, talk about defeating those Romans,
create a high profile.

And Jesus will have none of it!
“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves 
 and take up their cross and follow me.”

Jesus wants so much more from us than pretty words and classy titles. 
 He wants so much more than pat answers, 
 attendance at weekly worship services, 
paying of a regular tithe.
He asks faithful, thoughtful discipleship.
Openness to the brokenness of this world.
An embrace of the difficult and the troublesome.
A willingness to make the hard choice because it is the right choice.
A desire to go deep,
deep in the Word,
deep in prayer,
deep in service,
deep in devotion.
No matter what. 
 Because that’s what he did.
He lived a life of prayer, 
he left healing and wholeness in his wake, 
he came to show us how to live outside the box,
and inside the fellowship of the Triune God, 
connected at a soul level with others 
who are on the same road.
Jesus came to be our Savior, oh yes, he did.
But Jesus also came to be our Lord.
To be the one who counsels us on how we
spend our time
spend our money
spend our lives.

So, I guess the question to me (and to you) is this:
are we willing to step both outside and inside with Jesus?
Outside the box we too often build around our understanding   
of who he is and what he asks of us,
and inside the eternal fellowship of our God,
 learning what it means 
to wrestle it out,
to lean hard into life,
to take the teaching of Jesus, 
the living of Jesus,
the suffering of Jesus,
the rising of Jesus,
the intercession of Jesus at the right hand of God,
all of it! –
to take all of it, embrace it with abandon,
smile inwardly and shout loudly,
“Ah, yes, THIS, this is living.”

Who do we say that he is?


Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word

When God Asks the Questions: where is your brother?

September 11, 2011 By

Joining with Michelle once again over at Graceful for her thoughtful invitation to HeartItonSunday, UseItonMonday. And also with Jen at FindingHeaven and the soli deo gloria sisterhood. This is the 3rd in a series of questions from God to us (usually asked of a particular person in scripture, but the applications and implications of each question apply with a very broad brush to all of us!). This 3rd sermon was preached this morning by our Associate Pastor, Dr. Jon Lemmond, who is a personal favorite (for lots of reasons, not least of which being that he now does some of what I used to do!) and whose thoughtful words never cease to mess with me. As always, my reflections here are my summary and response to the lovely and provocative ideas presented in the sermons I hear and the scripture I read with new eyes after having heard them.
   
I’m also adding this to the lovely ladies at Scripture and a Snapshot this week:

Ah, Cain. 
My brother from another mother.
So adored by his own mother – 
“I have brought forth a man!” 
she exclaimed when he was born.
So full of himself,
as most young men are.
So sure he was doing the right thing,
so used to being praised for his efforts,
so ill-equipped for a come-uppance.
But that’s what he got.
He brought his offering to the Lord – 
the first time in scripture that a religious ritual is described.
He even inspired his younger brother to do the same.
“Some” of the fruits of the soil – 
that’s what Cain brought.
“The fat portions from the firstborn of his flock” – 
that’s what the kid brother brought.
They both brought a part of themselves, didn’t they?
They both brought some of their own sweat and tears, right?
But for some reason, 
one was more acceptable to the LORD than the other.*
And Cain was not happy.
He pouted.
And his pouting soured within him,
stirring up angry, poisonous thoughts.
And God engages him at this point…
“What’s the problem, Cain? Why the long face? 
I assure you that if you do the right thing, 
you will be accepted.
But if not, beware. Sin is at the door…”

And right there, the jig was up.
Because Cain was unwilling to listen, to hear, to understand.
The result?
Stunning violence. The first murder in scripture.
From glowering shame and disappointment,
to festering anger and jealousy,
to vicious and deadly action.
Abel, the kid brother, lies bleeding in the field.
Cain, the murdering big brother,
feigns ignorance.

“Where is your brother?”
“Where is your brother?”
The question hangs in the air. 
And the door is open, 
ever so briefly, 
for a different outcome.
God, who surely knew where Abel was,
broken and bleeding so profusely that  
‘his blood cries out to me from the ground,’
this God creates a small space for Cain to confess the truth.
How might things have been different if he had done so?
Instead of playing the cool dude,
the one with the alibi sewn up,
the kid who can’t stand playing second fiddle to anyone,
so he eliminates the competition –
what if he had owned his crap?
What if he had fallen to his knees,
sobbing out his grief,
his regret,
his brokenness,
his ugliness,
his SIN?
What if?

We’ll never know the answer to that.
Because Cain chooses – 
and continues to choose for the entire narrative – 
    to prevaricate,
to cover,
to refuse to receive any blame,
or to own up.
He refuses to confess.
And the price for this refusal is enormous.
The price is homelessness.
The price is deliberately moving out and away from the presence of God.
The price is continuing to carry the weight of that  
unconfessed sin for the rest of his days,
his forehead forever marked –  
as a sign of the grace that Cain refused when he answered God’s question with:
“I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?”
YES, Cain, yes. 
You are your brother’s keeper.
We are all responsible to and for one another.
And we need so deeply to release the weight of our sins 
against each other, and against God.
We need to confess, to admit our need for a Savior,
to admit our complicity in the violence of this world,
to say, “I am so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
And the story of Cain and Abel highlights three important reasons that this is true:
1. We need to learn the difference between
honesty and truth.
Because it’s one thing to say we believe ‘the truth’  
about a certain set of doctrines 
and it is another to learn about and practice real honesty:
honest admission of our flaws and weaknesses, 
our points of struggle and doubt,
our personal foibles and demons.
If we cannot find safe places in which to be honest,
even if it embarrasses us,
even if we are forced to acknowledge our own participation 
in the problems we deal with,
then all ‘the truth’ in the world is not going to change us from the inside out.
Confession IS good for the soul!
2. We need to understand that the confession of sin is intimately connected to our responsibilty to and for other people. 
“Where is your brother?” comes before 
“What have you done?” in this powerful narrative.
It’s not primarily about us.
It’s about how what we say and what we do 
impacts our relationships – 
with God and with one another.
The fact that Cain becomes a wanderer – in the middle of a land which means ‘wandering’ – comes directly out of his refusal 
  to confess the heinousness of his actions;
it comes from that place almost 
as much as it comes from the actions themselves.
Cain took his brother’s life – he broke the web of relationship  
that was so tenuously being established ‘east of Eden.’
And then he compounded that act by refusing to engage God  
at an intimate level, with honesty and contrition.
The sin crouching at the door devoured him. 

3. Confession is the necessary precursor to the reception of grace. 
 NOT that confession brings about grace – 
God’s grace is always first, always.
But…we must be willing to put down our sin (confession)
before we have space for the gift of grace.
My husband and I saw a powerful movie this weekend that played out for us something of the price of unconfessed sin. It’s called “The Debt,” and while God is never mentioned in this story, the weight of sin carried over many years is almost palpably present in every gritty and violent detail of the tale.
And our sermon this morning ended with an illustration from another movie, one where God’s presence is acknowledged throughout – “Dead Man Walking.”  
 In one of the closing scenes of that magnificent film, the condemned man – on the verge of public execution – finally confesses to the nun who has become his advocate and friend that he did, indeed, 
 commit the crime for which he has been sentenced.
“Now,” says the nun, “NOW, you are a son of God.”
Confession opens the door to grace,
which has been standing there all along.
Thanks be to God.
*Because it was not the point of this particular sermon, the reason for God’s approval of Abel’s rather than Cain’s offering was not discussed today. I have to wonder, however, if it isn’t somehow connected to what we learn later in scripture, in the Levitical code, about the fact that God was to be given all the fat of any animal offerings. Perhaps this signifies the abundance of the flock? And the overflow of abundance (the fat!) is what is to be offered back to God? I don’t know, but it’s interesting to ponder! I have to think that the attitudes of the heart that we see displayed in the narrative following these offerings has something to do with the approval of the Lord as well.
 
Filed Under: Wonderings in the Word
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